#because who else has YELLOW text

[justuraverageweirdo]

Ok so like we all agree that was Kickin in the tape with Hoppy, right?

[ihangelic]

NICE GUY ꒱ h.taesan

synopsis. taesan climbs through your window bloody and injured, yet all he’s wanting is to know you’re okay pair. taesan x gn!reader genre. angst to fluff (hurt/comfort), bff’s to lovers warnings. ‘unrequited’ to requited love, crying, mentioned ex, protective!taesan, injury/blood, kissing, reader wears mascara, taesan calls reader ‘pretty’, reader lives with parents wc. 1.5k

𓂃 ₊˚⊹ note. woke up this morning with an empty google doc and the need for angst. came up with this and i actually really like it!

copyright of @/ihangelic

crying in your bed isn’t how you planned to spend your saturday night, but when you heard that your ex boyfriend was going around talking shit about you— you didn’t really have the ability to do anything else.

just an hour ago you were getting ready to go to a party, your best friend taesan already in his car to come pick you up and accompany you (as always).

of course you had to get the text just as you were putting on your mascara; a friend of yours texting you that they’re already at said party— but so is your ex. they went on to tell you everything your ex said to his group of friends, yet he spoke loudly enough for everyone to hear; that he wasn’t ever really into you, that he was bored and you seemed ‘easy to get’, that he decided to drop you once you got too annoying.

after that your eyes quickly filled with tears from the humiliation that curved your shoulders, quickly texting taesan that you weren’t going to the party anymore.

he sent you a few confused texts asking ‘what’ and ‘why’ and ‘you wanna do something, just the two of us instead?’. when you didn’t answer, not able to find the energy, he started calling. after the third ring, the small flood of notifications stopped, a few minutes passing before you received one more text from taesan.

it simply read; ‘i heard. i’ll be over in a bit’.

and now you’re here; mascara running in your going-out outfit that’s going to waste as you wait to hear taesan’s car pull up in your driveway.

it’s not like you were ever that attached to your ex. it was a short, unserious relationship; one that you got into because he pursued you first and you thought he was a nice guy. but the more time you spent with him, the more you realized why you were really with him—

for a distraction.

feelings you’d been swallowing down for years, butterflies you refused to acknowledge were in your stomach— not for your ex, but your best friend.

it’s funny how the human mind works, how you can shut things out and lie to yourself until you genuinely believe it, all while your heart knows. it always knows who it really belongs to. and you hate it. you hate how as you’re lying in your bed crying, you’re unsure of what you’re really crying about; the mean words your nobody of an ex said? or is it because the one person you want is constantly by your side, yet not in the way that you want?

a knock at your window has you flinching, lifting your head to see the darkened image of taesan crouched on your roof.

this occurrence isn’t uncommon, but it has you worried every time as you hurry to get up and open your window.

“what the fuck are you doing?” you start scolding before he even steps his first foot inside, voice more harsh than needed as your emotions confuse you. “would it kill you to just use the front door for once?”

“i didn’t want to wake your parents up.” taesan says while looking down, jumping off the window’s ledge and landing on his two feet.

in the soft yellow lamp-light of your bedroom, he finally looks up— and your eyes roam over each other’s faces; taesan’s eyes hardening at your obvious tear streaks, mascara darkening the bottom of your eyes; while your heart drops into the pit of your stomach when you see a bruise already forming on the high of his cheek bone and a split on the far side of his lip.

“…what the fuck did you do?” you ask, voice coming out somewhat whispered and a little rough from your crying.

taesan looks as though he doesn’t even hear you, deep brown eyes still roaming over your features. you hate how you feel your cheeks start to heat up at the tender look of concern— and you hate it even more when his hand slowly lifts to your cheek, almost like he’s cupping your face if it weren’t for how ghostly his touch is— before his thumb starts rubbing off the grey tear stains.

your heart thumps in your chest at the action and you sniff, turning your face away from his touch so you could much more roughly wipe at your own cheeks.

“taesan, answer me.”

“got in a fight.” he answers vaguely, eyes avoiding your demanding ones as he tries to dab some of the blood onto his bent wrist instead, causing you to then notice his bruised knuckles.

“…with him?” you ask, your voice piercing the quiet between you, an odd tension— because you’re not stupid. you can put two and two together that he must have driven to the party without you to confront your ex. you can only imagine the scene it must have caused, but you honestly should have expected it. taesan has always been one to have a short fuse when it comes to how others treat you.

the butterflies that have made home in your stomach seem to want to make sure you haven’t forgotten their presence, fluttering around in a sudden burst and making you feel a little sick.

“he deserved it. he deserves more.” taesan utters, voice dark as he mentions ‘him’.

“but you got hurt in the process.” you say sternly, with a little bite as you take hold of his uninjured hand to lead him to your connected bathroom.

he sits on the ledge of the tub when the warmth of your palm leaves his, watching as you open the cabinet and pull out a washcloth.

“you should’ve seen him though.” taesan jokes, your eyes looking up to glance at his smile through the mirror before he hisses at the sting of his lips being stretched.

“i wish i could have, actually.” you softly admit, and taesan’s happy to see the corners of your mouth turn up a bit.

running the cloth under cold water, you wring it out before folding it and coming face to face with taesan, the boy only having to lift his chin slightly to compensate.

your brows furrow as you gently dab up the blood on his lip, careful with the open wound.

in your concentration you don’t notice how taesan’s soft eyes continue to take you in until he speaks up again— the surprising reverency of his tone, uttered so closely to your face, sending goosebumps across your skin.

“you look really pretty.”

your ministrations pause, eyes moving from his plump lips to his gaze— which you’re too frazzled to think about what emotion they’re holding.

you try to laugh it off, awkward and airy as you shake your head with a little smile. “please. i look like a mess. i have raccoon eyes.”

“no,” taesan disagrees gently. “looks cool, like grunge-y smudged eyeliner.”

you huff through your nose, still smiling as you remove the washcloth from his mouth, rinsing off the blood under the open faucet. once it’s all clean, damp with cold water and neatly folded, you raise your hand with the intention of holding it to his lip again to prevent swelling— but taesan stops you with his fingers curling around your wrist, lowering it so it doesn’t obscure his view of your face.

“i can’t stand knowing you were crying over him— hurt because of him…”

his confession, once again whispered while you swear his eyes glance down to your lips before connecting back with your stare— it has your confusing emotions rousing all over again, like you're scrambling to hold the pieces of your heart together before they can even break, bracing for impact.

“m’ hurt because of you.” you mumble without thinking, eyes widening in panic when you realize the words you just said out loud.

“what?” taesan asks, bewildered yet desperately wanting to understand.

you attempt to escape his hold on your wrist and run like a coward from the situation— from your feelings; but taesan doesn’t let you, standing up and pulling you captive into his arms.

“don’t make me wait anymore.” he pleads, breath fanning against your face as the proximity between you has lessened even more. “say what’s on your mind.”

and suddenly there’s nothing; everything in your head quiets except for the beat of your heart and a voice that tells you to lean into his lips. and so you do, the magnetic pull of taesan’s eyes helping you inch closer, meeting you halfway until the warm press of his skin is against yours.

the moment you touch, it’s like you’re both breathing in your first breath of life, ribs expanding before sighing and melting deeper into each other’s arms. taesan’s kiss is so wanting, yet careful— as though you’re the one with an injury.

your hands grab onto taesan’s shirt as if to confirm this is real— real enough to feel between your fingers. his arm wraps more firmly around the curve of your spine while his other hand cups your cheek, and it’s like you fit together perfectly.

when you part, taesan’s eyes still have that magnetic energy— unable to look away from his gaze that’s now completely ungaurded, more open than you’ve ever seen him before.

“say it…” he yearns, warm palm still holding your cheek— and suddenly it’s like words are easy.

“i love you.”

[gloomwitchwrites]

You send him a text "Thanks for the flowers, babe" attached with a photo of a bouquet as a prank. Obvs, he gets jealous/possessive.

Anon, I love this. I cackled the first time I read it, and I've been wanting to get to it for a while. There are so many requests (and I will get to them all), but with my health being shit, I'm trying to select from the pool where I'm not overworking my brain or stressing myself out trying to come up with something. This prompt came very naturally to me.

These are all spicy. Period. I didn't hold back with this one. Maybe I'm ovulating or some shit but I literally couldn't write anything but smut for this prompt. I had a lot of fun with this one, and I hope you enjoy.

Task Force 141 x Female Reader

Content & Warnings: swearing, dirty talk, praise, spanking, oral sex (female & male receiving), face fucking, restraints, vaginal fingering, unprotected piv (wrap it up irl), creampie, jealousy, possessive behavior, orgasm control

Word Count: 4.4k

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Simon’s phone buzzes in his pocket. He ignores it, attention stuck on Price who stands in front of a large map of Europe.

There are pictures—some have a red “X” through them while a couple others have black question marks. The mission isn’t done, but that isn’t surprising. This has taken months to complete. It’s been slow, and entirely too complicated for Simon’s liking.

His phone buzzes again, the vibration pulling his attention away.

When the third buzz comes in, his agitation turns to worry. Simon never allows messages to come through at work unless it’s from very specific people. To have three come through in less than two minutes stirs something in his gut.

Price starts talking again but Simon’s brain is melting. He reaches into his pocket and fishes out his phone. Keeping it next to his thigh, Simon awakens the screen.

Your name is there and 3 new messages.

Simon glances up, but no one is looking at him. Silently, he unlocks the phone and clicks over to his messages, tapping on your name.

At first, Simon doesn’t understand. His brain short-circuits, and then unbridled jealousy comes roaring forward.

The first message is a photo of a beautiful bouquet sitting on the kitchen island. It’s fucking large, taking up most of the space. The flowers are different shades of pink, yellow, and orange. It looks like spring.

Beneath the picture are two texts.

Thanks for the flowers!!

I love you!

But Simon did not get you flowers. He didn’t order these, and he certainly didn’t have them delivered to the flat.

Fuck. What the actual fuck.

Someone else did this.

Simon’s first thought is that Johnny did it to prank him. But Johnny has been a bit subdued today, and his attention isn’t on Simon at all.

No. It’s likely not him.

Simon locks his phone and stews. He can’t just leave this meeting. It’s important, but he’s going to get to the fucking bottom of it.

By the time Price dismisses them, Simon is already out the door, charging toward his locker to grab his stuff. It usually takes him a half hour to arrive home, but today he does it in twenty. When Simon bursts through the front door, he’s ready to toss those flowers right off the balcony.

But then he sees your face—how happy you are—and Simon melts. You throw yourself into his arms, and Simon instinctually responds, embracing you tightly. He presses his face into your hair and inhales.

“Missed you,” you say, grabbing both sides of his face and kissing him. “Thank you for the flowers.”

I didn’t get you any flowers.

Simon smiles because it’s all he can manage. That jealousy from earlier starts to curl back up, twisting around in his ribcage.

“Did you like the note?”

You frown. “What note?”

The way you ask is…odd. It’s far too innocent in the presentation. Simon knows your cues and this seems forced to him. But the sender didn’t leave a message. That doesn’t give Simon much to go on if he’s going to track down who sent them.

“Maybe they forgot,” he replies, kissing your forehead. “Show them to me.”

With a bright smile, you take his hand, guiding him into the kitchen. They’re much more stunning in person and Simon momentarily freezes. Did he forget your birthday? An anniversary? An important event?

Simon recalls nothing for today’s date.

The jealousy rises again but he clamps down on it. Anyone could have sent this, especially a friend of yours or a family member. Doesn’t mean there is someone out there with predatory intentions. And for all Simon knows, you’re having a laugh, riling me up. You’ve done it before.

“They’re lovely,” observes Simon. “Better than the picture.”

Your grin is gorgeous, a thing Simon wants to bottle up. You open your mouth to answer him but the dryer goes off. “Hold on,” you call over your shoulder as you dash away. “Let me change over the loads.”

When you disappear, Simon goes for the bouquet. He quickly checks through every flower and between the stems, even sticks his fingers in the dirt. Simon doesn’t know what the fuck he’s looking for, but he’s grasping for anything.

The only thing of note is the business card which Simon quickly plucks from its holder and tucks into his pocket. Simon steps away from the bouquet when you appear again.

Jealousy is stewing, showing its fangs, curling tighter around Simon’s ribs.

When you reach for him, Simon sweeps you off your feet, planting you on the kitchen island. You giggle, but Simon cuts it off, drawing you to the edge to seize your lips in a fierce kiss.

That jealous viper between his bones tells him to possess you.

Simon’s hands drop to your waist and then your hips. He settles himself between your legs, hands moving down to your bare thighs.

You’re flushed with embarrassment, attempting to hide your face from him, giggling his name as you fist his shirt.

“I’ve been thinking about you all day,” rasps Simon.

Your lips part and Simon slides his tongue inside. You moan, suck on his tongue, and release him. Simon’s grip on your thighs tightens.

“All day?” you ask softly.

Moving his hands to beneath your thighs, Simon tugs you into his arms and carries you over to the dining room table, but doesn’t place you on top of it. He brings you to your feet, and then his fingers curl around the shorts that are little more than underwear.

“Take these off.”

“Simon—”

“Do it,” he growls, releasing them and bringing his hand back to his side.

Slowly, you do as he says. You bring them up so that Simon can see them before tossing them to the side. That viper in him hisses, the venom leaking into his system.

Simon slides his hand between your thighs. You lean back against the table, hands resting on the edge as you part your legs. What his fingers find only makes him groan.

Withdrawing, Simon licks his fingers clean. “Turn around. Bend over the table. Show me what I want.” With a smirk on your lips, you face the table, and bend forward, going up on your toes.

Fuck the flowers and whoever sent them. You’re his.

Simon unbuckles the front of his belt, undoes the zipper of his pants, and frees his aching cock. He needs to be inside you, to hear you say his name, to feel you come around him. He needs to possess because it’s the only thing he can do right now.

Guiding with his hand, Simon rubs the head of his cock through your slickness. You’re already so wet for him—so fucking needy, and he’ll devour it all. Give you exactly what you want while taking something for him.

As he starts to slide in, you whimper. Reaching back, your hand grabs your ass, opening yourself a bit wider for him.

Bloody hell.

Simon doesn’t want to go slow. Using his grip on your hip, he slides all the way in, making you take him to the hilt with one forward thrust of his hips.

Your gasp is choked, and then Simon is lost, pounding into you as if this is the last time he’ll ever fuck you. It’s only your tightness, your breathy moans of pleasure, and the desperate why you say his name. It wraps around him, satiates the viper, calms the rising jealousy until it’s only you Simon can focus on.

Through the haze, Simon finds your clit, plays with it, slows his thrusts until your orgasm arrives, squeezing him so tight he almost finishes right then and there. But once that wave crests and crashes, Simon is back at it. Planting both hands on the table on either side of your waist, Simon stutters out, his lower back tensing, everything draw up.

Simon’s orgasm is an unraveling. All the tension melts as he finishes, and even then, he continues to thrust, pushing his cum deeper inside you. His chest heaves, body shuddering as he draws back a bit. Your breathing is just as labored.

Easing out of your body, Simon admires the bloom of cum at your entrance. He presses it back inside before helping you unbend from the table. Turning you around to face him, Simon claims your mouth in a deep kiss, his grasping the back of your head.

You form to him, and Simon’s hunger flares.

“To bed,” he says, drawing you away with a tug on your hair.

“To sleep?” you ask, smirking.

Maybe you did all this. Planned it all from the beginning.

Naughty girl.

Simon shakes his head. “Not yet.”

He releases you, and then smacks your ass for good measure. Squeaking, you scurry away toward the bedroom. Simon stands there for a moment, composing himself. Reaching into his pocket, he withdraws the business card. There is an address and a phone number.

Glancing over his shoulder at the bouquet, Simon comes to a decision. Stalking toward his duffle, Simon secures the business card in a side pocket. He’ll deal with this at work.

Right now, you’re getting undressed.

And Simon is much more interested in that.

Flowers can wait.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

You send the final text and lock your phone, leaving it on the coffee table.

It’s just a little prank. A tease.

Kyle is always a gentleman even when he makes your toes curl and pulls unseemly sounds from between your lips. But riling him up can be just as fun. Kyle isn’t one to be jealous or even possessive of you. He’s certainly protective, and his presence always makes you feel safe, but you’re aching for something else right now.

The flowers weren’t all that expensive. And they are pretty.

Your phone buzzes. You ignore it.

It buzzes again.

When you check the screen, you see two new texts from Kyle. You stare at it, and set it back down. You’re going to let him stew and question. If anything, Kyle might think the flowers innocent.

Tapping your fingers against your knee, impatience stirring in your belly, you stare out the patio door. You need to distract yourself, but the urge to look is too strong. Snatching the phone back up, you glance at the messages.

That’s sweet, love.

But I didn’t get you flowers.

Honesty. This man is terrible at lying or hiding his feelings.

You tap out a reply.

Of course you did! Loved the note you left with it!

Kyle’s reply is instant.

Note?

You nearly cackle at the ceiling and when you hit send.

I want you tonight. You know you can have me whenever lol. No need to send flowers about it.

Within seconds of you hitting send, you phone starts to vibrate. Yelping, you nearly drop the thing. Kyle’s name and a photo of him at the beach pop up on your screen. You stare at it, allowing it to go to voicemail. He calls again immediately.

You launch off the couch, pacing as the phone falls back into voicemail. It’s a bit thrilling knowing that Kyle is likely worked up on the other end.

Answer the phone, comes Kyle’s next text, and then, I’m coming home.

Oh shit.

You are all nervous excitement waiting for him. And when he does come barreling through the door, you’re a bit shocked at the sight of him.

Slowly, he shuts the front door, striding into the kitchen where the bouquet is. He stares at it for a long moment before turning his gaze on you.

“Kyle,” you say brightly, walking toward him.

He holds up a finger and walks past you. You hear the opening and shutting of doors, of drawers being opened, and items moving around. Kyle returns, hands on his hips, concern on his features.

“What’s wrong?” you ask.

“I didn’t send you those flowers.”

“Didn’t you?” you reply, innocently, moving toward them.

Kyle shoots forward and begins digging through the stems. “Where is that bloody card?” he mutters.

There is no card. No note. You made it all up.

“Kyle,” you say, but he ignores you.

“Un-fucking-believable,” he says, ripping opening the plastic to see inside.

“Kyle,” you repeat, adding a bit of volume behind your voice.

Again, he ignores you, scattering the flowers across the countertop.

“When I find the fucking wanker that—”

“Kyle!”

He turns, eyes a bit wild. Kyle looks ridiculous, and you suddenly feel terrible. You reach for him, placing both hands on either side of his face. “There’s no note.”

Kyle blinks like he didn’t hear you correctly. “What?”

“There’s no note,” you repeat. “I bought the flo—”

Kyle groans loudly and places his entire hand over your face, muffling the last few words. “Bloody hell, baby girl.” He lightly pushes off, dropping his hand, and stepping back.

You grin sheepishly as Kyle crosses his arms over his chest.

“What was the goal?” he asks, leaning forward a bit.

You shrug your shoulders. “To rile you up?”

Kyle laughs, short and clipped. “Rile me up?”

“Yes,” you say slowly.

He leans in a bit more, a smirk on his face. “And what do you think was going to happen once you riled me up?”

You know that Kyle already knows the answer to this question. But he’s indulging you. As he always does.

“I didn’t think that far,” you reply, but it’s far from the truth.

You wanted to rile him up so that he’d come home and fuck you like a man possessed.

Kyle bites down on his bottom lip and you track the movement. “No, love. You did.” He straightens. “And I know what you want.”

Kyle steps into your space, his head dipping as if to kiss you but pausing just before. “You need a good throat fucking. I need an apology. And then I can give you what you want.”

“Kyle,” you breathe.

“On your knees, love. Present your mouth.”

You obediently drop to your knees, and part your lips.

“Wider,” he almost growls.

You do so just as Kyle reaches down and undoes the front of his belt. He doesn’t even look. Doesn’t flinch. The belt is gone and the front of his pants are open by the time Kyle grabs your face and brings you close.

“Tongue out.”

You do so, and Kyle taps the head of his cock against it before sliding it back and forth over your tongue. His hold shifts, falling to the nape of your neck.

“Take it like a good girl. Got it?”

You nod, and Kyle draws you forward, forcing you to take all of him. Holding you in place for a few seconds, Kyle only eases you back once your gag reflex kicks in. Kyle adjusts his stance, and your hands grasp the sides of his thighs.

Kyle’s hand on the back of your neck tightens as his other hand tangles in your hair. Keeping you in place, he starts to thrust, fucking your mouth like he would your pussy. All you can do is cling to him, to hold on as he grunts above you.

There isn’t any anger there, just a stern brow and a need for control. It’s delicious. Entirely mouth-watering. Your core warms, a slickness blooming, indicating just how much this turns you on.

To bring Kyle toward his end, you make little sounds in your throat. It makes him stutter. It makes him moan. Beneath his pants, you feel the muscles in his legs tighten. And then he’s forcing you down his length, throating him entirely as he comes down your throat.

Breathing through you nose is the only thing holding you together. And when he slides you off, you cough, wiping at your lips.

Kyle’s hand caresses your cheek, drawing your gaze to him. He arches a single eyebrow.

“I’m sorry,” you say.

Reaching out, Kyle draws you up to your feet, bringing you close. His smile is soft, and when he comes in for a kiss, it is consuming.

“Now that you’ve riled me up,” he murmurs against your lips. “I’ll give you what you want.”

Kyle pulls away, his thumb pressing on your bottom lip.

“Take off your clothes. Kneel on the bed. And bend over. Got it?”

You nod, and Kyle drops his hand.

“That’s my good girl.”

John "Soap" MacTavish

Johnny’s ears are ringing.

“You better be bloody joking,” he growls at his phone.

On the screen is a beautiful bouquet of flowers. Flowers that you’re thanking him for. Flowers that he didn’t send.

And the card? Bloody fucking hell. That card is going in the shredder. Johnny will tear it apart with his own teeth if he has to. Some fucker had the bright idea to send you flowers like he’s the one you’re dating.

No. Fuck that.

Johnny might be the demolitions expert, but he knows Ghost could dig around for him if he asked. Scratch that. Johnny is asking right fucking now.

“Hey, Lt!” Johnny jogs over to Ghost and turns his phone around. “Can you trace who sent these flowers?”

Ghost’s expression behind the balaclava remains flat. “It’s a fucking photo, Johnny.”

Cursing under his breath, Johnny forwards the image to Ghost. Ghost checks his phone, enlarging the image.

He grunts. “Should be easy.” Ghost glances up from the screen. “Why?”

“Someone making a move on my woman,” replies Johnny, holding back a growl.

“Done,” says Ghost. “Give me a couple hours.”

It doesn’t take Ghost long, and Johnny has to laugh out loud.

“You fucking naughty thing,” mutters Johnny as he unlocks the door to your flat.

When he enters, you’re nearly on your toes, eager for him. It’s cute, but you need to learn first. Sure, the prank is harmless, but you were wanting a rise out of him.

Punishment is needed.

“Johnny,” you say brightly, coming around the counter to greet him.

As you arms reach for him, Johnny removes his belt. Your gaze drops, but he is faster than you. Johnny has the belt around your wrists and secured before you can even protest.

“What are you doing?” you ask breathlessly.

“Thought I wouldn’t find out?” Johnny tuts. He yanks you forward, bringing the two of you almost face-to-face. “Bought those flowers yourself.”

Johnny tugs on the belt again. You stumble into him and he spins you around. With another quick tug, Johnny has the belt looped onto one of the coat hooks embedded in the wall.

Reaching down, Johnny palms your ass, his lips pressed to your ear. “Got me all jealous at work. Had Ghost stalking the flower shop and everything.” He squeezes, and then smacks your ass. Hard.

You whimper. “Johnny. I’m sorry.”

“No apologies, love.” He kisses your throat. Your skin is soft and he inhales, savoring your scent. You’re freshly showered, and the smell of your shampoo invades his nostrils.

It doesn’t take much to rid you of your underwear. It’s just you in an old shirt and your bare ass on full display. Johnny slides his hands between you clenched thighs.

“Spread them.”

You do so obediently and a primal part of him simmers with pleasure. Johnny slowly drops to his knees behind you. He savors the view, taking his time to enjoy the sight before him. Even from here, Johnny can see how slick you are. How wanton.

He’s going to devour you. Make you beg. Deny you what it is you most want until you’re a fucking mess for him. That’s punishment enough.

Johnny tests by running one finger over your pussy. It comes back glossy. He pops it into his mouth, groaning at your taste.

“Want me to eat this pretty pussy?” asks Johnny, running his finger over you again.

You nod frantically. “Yes. Please.”

That’s a start.

Johnny leans in, the tip of his tongue playing with your entrance. He traces it with his tongue before slipping inside, slowly fucking you with it. It’s not enough, but Johnny knows this. He needs to suck on your clit and give you his fingers to make you come.

But even then, you’ll have to wait.

You’ll have to beg.

Johnny trails upward, swirling his tongue, finding your clit. He teases it. Flicks it back and forth in a steady stroke. You’re already growing wetter. You’re already moaning above him. Too bad you don’t know what’s coming.

Johnny slides one finger inside of you, pumping twice before inserting a second. You’re tight around him. He can feel the stretch.

He works you slowly, lightly thrusting his fingers in and out of your pussy as he teases your clit with his tongue. Above him, your moans come unbroken and loud. It’s sweet. He loves the sound. But Johnny knows your tells, and when your muscles begin to clench and unclench quickly, he ceases all movement.

“What the fuck,” you gasp, glancing down.

Johnny chuckles. “You have to earn it love.”

“Johnny, please,” you beg.

“What’s that, love? Didn’t hear you?”

“Please,” you say, drawing it out.

“Please what?” he prompts.

“I want to come,” you murmur.

Johnny smirks and starts fucking you with his fingers again, but doesn’t put his mouth back on your clit. It’s not enough for you. You’re squirming. Wiggling. Needing more.

“You pull another stunt like this again, love, and this,” Johnny smacks your ass with a sharp thwack, “will be red.”

“I’m sorry, Johnny. Please. Just—please.”

Johnny teases your clit with a quick swipe of his tongue. “Beg some more.”

You do. All sorts of obscene things fall from your lips. When tears form in the corner of your eyes, Johnny finally gives you relief.

He fucks your gorgeous pussy with his fingers. He tastes and teases until you’re crying out, clamping around him as you come undone.

Johnny withdraws. Straightens.

You’re still hanging on the hook.

He frees you from it, but does not remove the belt from around your wrists. Johnny presses you against him with a flat palm upon your stomach.

“Don’t do that again,” he murmurs.

“I won’t.”

Johnny kisses your throat. “To bed.”

You frown, holding up your bound hands. “But the belt.”

“Stays on,” he says, fisting the tangling leather. “Until I’m done with you.”

John Price

John isn’t one for texting.

You’ll send him a barrage of texts only for him to call you hours later asking what you were texting him about.

Which is why you didn’t think this plan would work.

But then it did, and now you’re bent over John’s lap, bare ass in the air.

John told you that he was working late to catch up on paperwork. Whenever that happens, he always gives you a call to check-in and hear your voice. It’s routine at this point. A comfort. Most of the time, he just wants you on the other side, to have you talk about the day or whatever you want while he’s working. John will usually remain silent, listening, basking in your voice.

You planned it perfectly, knowing that he’d check his phone before giving you a call. You sent the photo of the flowers. A beautiful display really. And they were on sale. You also sent him a picture of the makeshift “note” that you made for it. All it said was “thinking of you” with no name. All of that was follow up by a “thank you” and promises to please him later.

John was calm when he called you—almost eerily so. When you thanked him from the flowers, he didn’t reply. He simply pushed past it. The thing is, John saved all of that energy up for when he came home.

Your ass stings. John rubs the spot he just smacked before squeezing.

“Now, love. Tell me the truth.” He says it so sweetly, like it’s such a simple thing.

And you don’t know how much longer you’ll last under this barrage.

“You bought them for me,” you whimper, keeping up the façade.

John shakes his head. “We both know that’s not true.” He squeezes your ass again, the sting burning slightly when he let’s go.

“I’d guess you’re seeing someone else but that would be lie. Wouldn’t it?”

He punctuates this statement by slipping his hand between your thighs, his fingers running over your pussy, parting your slickness. John dips one finger inside and then another, only to retreat and grab your ass cheek with the same hand.

“I know just how to make you wet, love. You have no one else to run to.”

“I told you—Fuck! John!” You jolt in his lap as his palm comes down on your already throbbing cheek.

“Be honest, love. Or you’ll get a few more.”

You swallow down your pride. You wanted him riled up, but you weren’t expecting this. Not for John to come home, strip you down, and bend you over his lap.

“I bought them,” you grumble.

John’s hand eases. “You what?”

“I bought them,” you snap.

“I knew you did.”

Before you have the chance to form a retort, John guides you up and into his lap. He grabs the front of your throat, bringing you close to him. He does not kiss you. He simply hovers.

“You’re going to straddle my lap and bounce on my cock until I fill you up. You understand?”

You nod, and Price let’s go of your throat.

“Get to it,” he purrs.

John is fully clothed, and you’re wearing nothing at all. You undo the clasp of his belt, pull the zipper, and he flexes his hips enough that you can work his pants down a bit. When his hard length is free to you, you straddle him, lining yourself up.

He remains impassive as you start to sink down. The stretch is perfect—as it always is, and you groan as you seat yourself entirely on his cock. Gripping his shoulders, you roll up and back down, rocking when you can to give your legs a break.

John still stays quiet but his gaze is assessing. Slowly, his hand comes around your neck again, and this time he squeezes slightly. It’s not to hurt. It’s to dominate and possess.

“Who do you belong to, love?” he asks.

“You,” you murmur, sinking down on him.

“Say it again,” repeats John.

“I belong to you,” you gasp, coming up and then back down.

“Again,” and this time there’s a growl in his tone.

“I’m yours, John.”

“Fucking right,” he says, crashing his mouth to yours.

The kiss is a claiming, one that shoots through your body and consumes your limbs and control. You shudder, pussy clenching, and then John is fucking up into you, his hands on your hips.

You’re no longer in control. It’s just John, and his need to possess.

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[covenofagatha]

A dance with death (and her wife) (Part 3)

A new murder with a different M.O. has you feeling confused

Word count: 4100

Warnings: fingering, murder

It takes you all of five minutes to leave the motel room after you dig more clothes out of your suitcase. 

You looked everywhere for the clothes you were wearing before your nap, but they’re nowhere to be found. 

It would be incredibly bad if you had stripped down and then left the room to put them somewhere else. 

But you don’t have time to dwell on that right now. 

You go fifteen over the speed limit to get to the location Agatha had texted over after she hung up the phone. 

To the location of another murder. 

You had foolishly hoped that maybe The Witch and Lady Death would slow down once you had gotten to town, maybe out of fear of being caught. 

Clearly you had done little to deter them. 

It’s only ten minutes away from your motel, near a creek on the edge of town. 

Police cars are already parked there, yellow caution tape closing off the perimeter. You slam the door shut to your sedan and hurry over to Agatha. It’s late in the afternoon, but the sun is already setting, making the colors of everything look muted. 

“Was it them?” You ask, a little breathless. Agatha glances up and down and looks like she wants to comment on your outfit change, but doesn’t. 

“Come see and tell us what you think,” she says ominously and you follow her into the trees. “Good doctor’s appointment?” 

You stop walking, forcing her to pause too. “You’re married to Dr. Vidal?” 

She chuckles. “She told you that, didn’t she?”

“Did you know that’s who I was going to see earlier?” You ask, not sure why it matters. 

“I had my suspicions,” is all Agatha chooses to say. She’s taking you further into the woods along the side of the creek and it’s getting colder, but the air starts to feel…alive, almost. 

Like it’s crackling with something. You somehow know you’re getting closer to the body.

Are you imagining it, or can Agatha feel it, too? 

And then she stops so quickly you almost bump into her and she points up ahead. 

In the middle of thin, small trees is a big willow tree. It’s a beautiful sight, if you’re being honest. 

You’re transfixed by the icicles gleaming from the barren branches and it takes you a bit to notice the pool of red snow by the roots. 

You stumble forward to get a better look in the last rays of daylight, eyes traveling up the tree trunk and you gasp. 

A man is tied to it, his pants cut open halfway down his thigh and there's a deep gash through both of his femoral arteries. Most likely the cause of death. The only reason you know what color his pants were supposed to be is because the part near his hips is unstained. 

But that’s not all. 

His flannel shirt has been ripped as well, revealing his bare chest, where a heart has been drawn with a knife. It’s a shallow cut, not too much blood, but it’s clear this was meant to be a message, rather than fatal. His eyes are gray and lifeless.

“I don’t understand, this isn’t their M.O. at all,” you say, the snow behind you crunching as Agatha walks to stand next to you. 

You can feel her eyes on you, regarding you carefully. “So what do you think?” 

You think that you’ve never felt this way before. Something is happening to your body, a heat is spreading through it, and it’s like there’s electricity under your skin. Your scar tingles, but doesn’t hurt. 

“Fuck, I don’t know,” you say in frustration. “Maybe they’re switching it up, it’s like they’re taunting me! It doesn’t make any sense to change tactics now, though. All the other bodies were found in homes and now this one is tied to a tree in the middle of nowhere? Doesn’t seem to be poisoned and they didn’t carve out his heart. I don’t – I don’t know.” 

You’re so suddenly aware of the hot blood pumping through your veins and you want something. You can’t put a name to it yet, though. 

“Do you think it could have been someone else?” She asks and you shake your head immediately. 

“No, this was them. I know it, I can feel it.” There’s a thrumming in your head now, behind your eyes and you just want to get rid of it. 

Agatha’s lips stretch into a slow smile and you can see the darkness in her eyes. “What else do you feel?” 

The question makes you freeze. Maybe you’re not going crazy. “Can you feel it, too?” You whisper; you’re afraid to say it too loudly, like it’ll break the spell. 

She slowly walks around and advances on you and you walk backwards until you hit a tree. Your heart races and you can feel it everywhere, like your entire body is beating in time with it.

“You feel the adrenaline, don’t you? Being this close to death, yet you feel more alive than ever?” She asks, and you choke out an affirmation. “It’s addicting, isn’t it? Tell me how it makes you feel.” 

Agatha leans down again, just how she did in the evidence locker, but this time, she drags her teeth up your neck and nips. The pounding in your head gets worse. “It feels…powerful,” you admit, both to her and yourself, maybe for the first time. 

“There’s an ache inside you, right?” She asks, now sucking bites into your neck and your stance widens just the slightest. 

Hearing her put a name to it makes it ever so clear to you now. “Yes,” you gasp, molten heat growing between your legs. “Please.” You don’t know what you’re asking for, but Agatha does. 

Lips still on your skin, her hands fumble with the waistband of your new pants, trying to unbutton and unzip. She’s finally able to slip her fingers in and when she moves your underwear to the side and cups your pussy, you hiss at the coldness. 

“Fuck,” you swear as she starts to swipe at your clit. You’re so sensitive already, and if you weren’t so needy, you’d take a good, long look at yourself to figure out why you’re so turned on right now. 

“Why don’t you think it was them?” She asks, pushing a finger inside you and your head falls back against the tree. She doesn’t move it, waiting for an answer first. 

The ringing in your head comes back with a vengeance. “They’re messing with me,” you stutter. “They want me to be thrown off their game.” She starts moving, slowly thrusting and curling, and you gasp. The mix of pleasure and pain is a combination you never thought would be a good one. 

“You think they’re doing this just for you?” She muses, shoving another finger inside you and twisting lazily and it pulls a groan out of you. 

“The murders were all the same until I showed up,” you whimper. It feels like your body is about to burst. “Agatha.” 

Her thumb finds your clit again and rubs it. “Shh,” she soothes. “I know, superstar. I’ll give you what you need.” She mouths at your neck, lips traveling upward until she reaches your chin, and then her face pulls away from yours. 

“Please,” you beg again. 

“What if it wasn’t them?” She asks in a low voice, fingers stilling in you. You whine and frantically buck your hips to get some stimulation. You just need more. 

You can’t even think straight. “It had to be them. Who else could it have been?” 

There’s just enough sunlight to see the wicked smirk on her face. “Guess we’ll have to wait and see.” 

And then her lips are on yours and she’s ferociously kissing you like she’s trying to devour you, and the pain in your head completely stops. 

She sets a bruising pace inside you and you’re panting into her open mouth while her tongue thrashes against yours. Your teeth clash and it’s messy and hot and everything that you need, and her fingers are hitting exactly where you need. Your hands are rough as they scramble for purchase around her shoulders, desperate to keep her exactly where she is. You dig your nails into her and she moans against you, and you’re so close. 

Your orgasm is building, only this time, it’s heightened and feels way more intense than any you’ve ever had before. You’re throbbing around Agatha’s fingers, clenching and trying to draw her in even more, and she fits a third one into you. It makes you keen and you babble nonsensically about how you’re going to cum.  

“Cum for me, pet,” she orders and you sink your teeth hard into her lower lip as you do. It’s like a dam breaks all over your body, tension and pleasure exploding through every crack and crevice and it’s easily the best orgasm you’ve ever had. 

It takes a minute for you to recover and when you’re able to think clearly again after Agatha takes her fingers out of you, you notice that her lip is bleeding. 

“Fuck, did I do that?” You ask and she chuckles, tongue darting out to lick it up. You follow the movements and feel the heat inside you coming back. 

She holds the fingers that were inside of you up to your mouth and you suck on them without hesitation. “Don’t worry about it. Not the first time it’s happened,” she teases with a wink and your stomach sinks. Your head moves back so her fingers slip out of you.

“Oh my god, you’re married,” you say and Agatha raises an eyebrow as if to say obviously. “And we’re at a crime scene, what did we just do? There’s a dead body right over there.”

Agatha raises up her hands to disarm the situation. “Hey, don’t think too hard about it. You have a very stressful job, sometimes you just need to blow off some steam.” 

“How are you so calm? You just cheated on your wife!” You snap, quickly zipping and buttoning your pants. The electricity in the air is now gone, completely replaced by cold and fear. You have to get out of here. The Witch and Lady Death are two steps ahead of you and you need to stop them. This was them, and you know it.

You don’t even wait for Agatha to respond, you pick a direction and start walking. She calls your name a few times before you whirl around, tears in your eyes. “Rio and I…have an arrangement of sorts. Trust me, she is completely okay with this.” 

Her words do little to calm you down, but you’re getting closer to the detectives and officers and the coroner’s car has pulled up. “It doesn’t matter. This can’t happen again,” you say sternly. 

“Whatever you want, superstar,” she says and it almost makes you furious. It feels like she’s teasing you, for being with the FBI. Almost as bad as the guys around the station calling you Miami. 

But you don’t argue, you don’t speak at all, you just stand there, a bone-chilling emptiness inside you as you watch the body get wheeled out from the woods after about twenty minutes. Detectives keep searching the surrounding area for any clues, but they find nothing. 

Which doesn’t surprise you at all. Lady Death and The Witch are clever. It just means you have to work harder to catch them. 

“Alright, we got everything here. Forensics is going to do some tests on the blood, see if maybe we can get a DNA match for the killer. Photos of the scene will be printed and ready for us tomorrow,” Agatha says gruffly, walking over to you, the picture of professionalism after being three fingers deep in you not forty-five minutes ago. “You should get home, get some rest.” 

You shake your head and clutch your jacket tighter around you. “I’ve been sleeping for the past few hours. I’m not tired. I can head into the station, if you want. Get a head start on work for tomorrow.” 

Something flickers in Agatha’s eyes, something you don’t quite recognize. “No, that’s okay. Go back to your motel. Even if you don’t sleep, you should still try and relax. Take a warm bath or something. That always helps me clear my head.” 

You frown, but before you can ask what she thinks you need to clear your head from, she pats you on the shoulder and walks to her car. The scene quickly clears out, but there’s something still nagging at you in the back of your mind. 

You can’t leave just yet. 

Grabbing a flashlight from your bag in your car, you wander back through the woods, desperate to find something the officers missed. 

The night passes while you tear up every single rock and leaf and clump of snow on the ground near where the man was murdered. And then you expand the search, walking along the creek edge, flashlight sweeping right and left. Your hands are bright red from the stinging frost, having taken off your gloves ages ago to better dig around, and you’ve lost feeling in your face. Tears are permanently frozen in your eyes it seems, and as the sun starts to break through the darkness, you defeatedly drop to the ground on the bed of the creek. 

You don’t know what you were expecting to find, it was a stupid idea. You’re just about to call it a day and trek back to your car to go into the station, when you see a log just a few yards away. 

Brows crinkling, you wince when you stand up, your joints aching from the cold, and stumble over to it. You shine your flashlight into the opening of the hole and you gasp. 

The light reflects off something shiny. 

This time, you’re smart about it. You put your gloves back on, flashing between your teeth, and you carefully reach inside and brush away the moss to grab onto it and pull it out. 

It’s a knife. 

The discovery makes your heart leap. You found something! This could be your first real break in the case, one step closer to bringing the pair of serial killers down. 

You turn the blade over in your hands to inspect every part of it. Strange, you think. It seems almost like a kitchen knife. The serrated edge isn’t as sharp as it should be if it were meant to be a murder weapon. But when you hold it closer to your face, you can make out specks of blood on it. 

And then there’s something else, an emblem of sorts on the bottom of the blue handle. It says WM with a circle around the letters. 

The first thing you think of is Wanda Maximoff and terror spikes through you. Has she gotten out of jail and come to find you? 

But you are absolutely certain that Tony would’ve called you immediately, so that helps calm you down. Still, you suddenly don’t feel safe in the woods, almost like you’re being watched, so you pocket the knife before sprinting back to your car. 

You slam and lock the doors immediately and you turn the heat all the way up to coax life back into your frozen body. It’s still early, barely even six-thirty am, so you decide to go back to your motel room and shower before you head into the station. 

Your stomach rumbles and you can’t remember the last time you ate. You just pulled an all-nighter (although, you could argue that because you took a nap for about five hours yesterday, that counts as sleep) and you haven’t showered since you’ve been here. 

Tony would kill you. 

Once you get back to your room, you turn on the bath, still feeling the chill deep in your bones. You carefully take the knife out of your coat pocket with a paper towel and lay it on the counter so you can remember to bring it in so Forensics can test it. 

You strip off your sopping wet clothes and get into the bath, moaning out loud at how good the warm water on your tired and shaking body feels. 

Sinking into the tub so every part of you except for your face is submerged, you lean down to turn off the faucet and settle back down. You don’t remember falling asleep, but the next thing you know, you jolt awake and splash about a gallon of water over the edge. 

“Fuck,” you cough, trying to get out of the tub, but your entire body is sore and your head feels awful. 

Apparently there’s consequences for spending over eight hours out in the snow with no gloves and then falling asleep in a bath with water that’s now lukewarm. 

You manage to maneuver yourself out and you quickly grab the robe that was hanging on the bathroom door to wrap around your shivering body. Your phone is on the sink counter and it starts buzzing. It’s Agatha. 

A hand grips the vanity to stable yourself before picking it up. “Hello?” You rasp, grimacing at the effort it takes to speak. 

“Yikes, you sound awful,” she says, teasing tone in her voice. “You okay, superstar? Get a little too much rest last night?”

“I think I’m a little sick,” you admit. You’re usually able to tough it out, but you feel like you died and barely came back to life. “Is it okay if I–” 

“Yes, stay there,” she orders and you almost collapse with relief. 

But then you remember the knife. If you don’t go in, that means it’s another day that The Witch and Lady Death remain free. “I found something last night, in the woods,” you say. “I really need to bring it in.” 

“Whatever it is, it can wait. You just need to take some medicine and get some rest. Do you have anything you can take?” 

You search through the items in your toiletry bag. “I have some Advil.” You pop two in your mouth and swallow it with water from the sink. 

“I’ll text Rio and ask if she can bring over some medicine and maybe some food, too. Go to sleep. I’ll check in with you tomorrow,” she says, and before you can insist that Rio does not come here, she hangs up. 

Groaning, you find that you don’t have it in you to be petulant, so you make your way into bed and you fall asleep the moment your head hits the pillow. 

Snow. 

It’s just started falling, there’s barely an inch on the ground. 

The branches reach for you as you walk through them, trying to grab on and not let you go. The thicket is getting denser and darker, but there’s something calling out to you, so you keep walking. 

There’s a melodic hum, and it lulls you into feeling safe. Is it real? Is it in your head? 

Is there a difference? 

You can barely see three inches in front of you and everything is going black and you can feel wounds being torn into your face and you should really turn back now –

– you break into a clearing. 

Only this time, there’s a willow tree in the middle. You can hear something, it sounds like two women laughing. 

Are they laughing at you? 

It must be the killers, they must be taunting you, rubbing it in how you can’t catch them. 

More people are going to die, and their blood is on your hands. 

The cackling gets louder and louder and then it’s all you can hear and you clamp your hands over your ears begging for it to stop, please, god, let it stop –

– there’s a hand on your shoulder and everything is silent. 

You turn around slowly. Is it them? 

Instead, it’s a man with his eyes closed. He looks vaguely familiar, where have you seen him? 

He opens his eyes and they’re gray and it hits you. 

It’s the dead man. 

He grabs you by the shoulders and his jaw drops to scream, but no sound comes out. And then his hands grab your throat and he starts to squeeze. 

The knocking on the door to your room wakes you up and you fly out of bed, gasping for breath, still feeling the pressure around your throat. It takes a moment to collect your bearings before you realize that you’re safe and the man is dead. 

Still a little shaky, you walk to the door and unlatch it to find Dr. Vidal standing there. 

“Oh, hi,” you greet, stepping to the side so she can come in. It’s hard to meet her eyes after being fucked by her wife the day before. She holds up a container of chicken noodle soup in one hand and a box of cold medicine and a plastic grocery bag in the other. 

“Agatha said you were feeling a little under the weather,” she says, plopping the stuff down on the counter and thankfully avoiding the mounds of photos and case evidence you have right next to it. Including the knife from the woods. “Did I wake you up?” 

You rub your face and feel the pillow indentions in your cheek. “Um, yeah, I was having a bad dream though, so I don’t mind,” you joke and motion for her to take a seat. 

“I would heat up the soup first before eating,” she suggests and you pour it into a bowl and put it in the microwave. “Bad dream? Do you want to talk about it?

“Would it count as a session?”

Dr. Vidal waves her hand. “Not at all. Consider it free advice. So, what happened?” 

The microwave beeps and you open it, the soup steaming. You set it down to cool off a little. “It kind of lines up with those images I had with you and another dream I had yesterday, I think. I don’t really know how to explain it, but I think they’re memories of something? I just don’t remember it. But then there’s some things that change, like today, there was this new dead man. That was recent, so maybe they’re not memories? Maybe I’m just losing my mind.” 

“You’re not losing your mind,” she chuckles. “Dreams and memories, the real and not real, it’s easy to blur the lines. Maybe your unconscious is trying to tell you something, maybe trying to remind you of something that happened to you.” 

That makes you think for a moment. You can see the woods, the snow, whatever you keep seeing, but it’s more of just flashes in time, rather than the whole thing. You can’t see what happens before, or after. “I guess I’ll just have to see if more pieces start coming together,” you say. 

She sighs. “I know it can be confusing and probably really frustrating, but I’ll help you get to the bottom of this. I have some techniques we can try during your session in a few days. I’ll help you claw your way out of whatever this is.” 

“Thank you,” you say gratefully. “What’s in the bag?” You point to the grocery bag and she nods to give you permission. You open it and with a gasp, you find your clothes from yesterday in it, all neatly folded. “How…what…you…” There’s no words. 

“Don’t worry, it’s our little secret,” she says with a wink. 

You have to grab onto the edge of the counter so you don’t pass out. “Wait, did we…” 

“Have sex?” She asks bluntly and you’re too afraid to move. “No, we didn’t. If we did, you would remember it.” 

The thrumming starts to come back behind your eyes, despite the blush at her flirtatious words. “So, how do you have my clothes?” 

“You better eat your soup before it gets cold,” Dr. Vidal sidesteps the question and it’s clear that you’re not getting an answer. 

You slide open the drawer next to the fridge and pull out a spoon from the silverware caddy. A sharp pain sears through your head and your heart starts to race. 

The spoon has the same blue handle and emblem as the knife does. WM. Westview Motel. The spoon clatters to the ground and you begin furiously counting. Six forks. Six spoons. 

Five knives. 

When they were in your room your first night in Westview, they must’ve taken it from here. 

They’re trying to frame you. 

[adalindofcabinsix]

that kind of love never dies (I)

summary: the one where barbara thinks about an act of rebellion.

pairing: jake x mc

word count: 1.3K

warnings: tkolnd takes place after the events of episode 10; cover images found on pinterest; english is not my first language.

author’s note: even though she lives in the usa, my main character, barbara, is brazilian. i added terms and expressions that we use in our country, as well as cultural elements, to this fanfic. the words that appear in portuguese are highlighted and you can contact me if you have any questions.

masterlist

Barbara was sprawled out on the dorm carpet, reading a Lucy Maud Montgomery novel she found by chance in the university library, when her cell phone began vibrating on the nightstand. Without wasting time, she closed the book and got up, waiting to hear from her roommate, Meera, but, when Barbara swiped her finger across the lock screen, she found some text messages from an unknown number.

i would like to invite you again to eat something at that chinese restaurant

if you want to meet me, just show up there tomorrow

i'll be waiting for you :)

Her head started to throb just at the possibility of it being who she was imagining, but she quickly pushed the thought away.

Jake wouldn't put himself in danger like that.

After everything that happened in Grimrock, Duskwood's chief of police, Alan Bloomgate, personally went after her to conduct the interrogation, and, more than once, made it very clear that it was best for her to stay away from her new friends for a while. He didn't go into detail when he told her about what happened at the Ironsplinter Mine, but he confirmed that Richy was alive — despite having some serious injuries — and that Jake had fled from the FBI agents during the confusion caused by the explosion.

All the messages she sent and received during that time became evidence. Barbara had what it took to close Hannah Donfort's case literally in the palm of her hand, including the kidnapper's confession.

Consequently, she also had the means that could lead the people who were after Jake straight to him.

She was interrogated by the FBI countless times for months, until Alan decided to intervene and convinced her to hand over her cell phone to them in exchange for her old life. Since then, Barbara has not been part of the joint investigation. Or at least that's what they say — she's too smart to really believe that.

For a few seconds, she considered the chance that it was someone trying to play a trick on her. The video Lilly Donfort posted accusing her of kidnapping had gone viral across the Columbia University campus. Even her grandmother, who lived in the interior of Brazil, found out about her involvement with a hacker wanted by the North American government. However, no one else knew about the brief conversation they had about the chinese restaurant.

Except, of course, the FBI.

Without a doubt, it was a trap. Barbara felt her face turn red. It seemed that solving an old international murder case, giving up her privacy, being forced to abandon her group of friends and possibly cheating on the guy she was in love with was not enough. She also needed to act as bait when it was convenient.

Barbara huffed, irritated. Little did they know that Jake had no contact. Their partnership in crime had ended almost a year ago.

Still, there was no reason to decline the invitation. She could very well take advantage of the opportunity to tell some truths to those nosy agents, and as a bonus she would have an excuse to go to Germany without Alan being able to question her too openly.

Her lips lifted into a smile as the plan emerged in her mind.

After going through customs at Zurich Airport, picking up luggage and going to an exchange office to exchange some notes, only an hour and fifteen minutes by car separated Barbara from Duskwood. Luckily, there were several yellow taxis forming a line next to the sidewalk, because it would be a nightmare to have to deal with someone trying to compete for the same vehicle as her.

She walked out of the lounge, pulling her hot pink rolling suitcase, and turned on her smartphone to announce on the family's group chat that she had arrived safely. But before she could check her contact list to see if her parents were online, she collided with a young man's broad chest.

She jumped away from him, apologizing — or at least trying to — in german. He laughed softly, grabbing her arm to stop her from tripping over herself, and for a moment, Barbara forgot to even breathe. The young man seemed to be a few years older than her, he was tall, had dark hair and prominent round eyes that resembled the curve of a teardrop, he was wearing a white sweatshirt with a hood and black jeans.

“I'm sorry, I didn't see you.” He spoke in english, with a slight accent.

“No problem, it was my fault.” Barbara quickly straightened up, realizing that she had somehow stared too long.

The young man analyzed her from head to toe with amusement before bending down and picking up the cell phone that had flown out of her hand during the impact.

“I believe this is yours.” He joked, handing the device to her.

“Thank you.”

He nodded curtly and turned, making his way through the travelers entering and exiting the airport, as silent as a wraith.

She was inexplicably disappointed to see him leave, however she had more important things to deal with. Then, she handed the luggage to the driver to put in the trunk and got into the taxi, giving the address of the Gates Hotel, on the outskirts of Duskwood.

Barbara ran across the room, feeling the cold floor beneath her feet. She was considerably late, but as far as she remembered, she had never arrived on time to participate in the interrogations, so whoever was waiting for her at the restaurant wouldn't mind too much. She put on a black strapless dress, put on her highest heels and curled her wet hair with her fingers, leaving a small trail of water on the floor.

Through an opening in the peach curtains, she noticed that the rain had picked up outside, beating violently against the window pane. She cursed under her breath, hoping someone at the front desk could lend her an umbrella, and before Barbara could procrastinate her meeting with the FBI Special Agent any further, she took one last look at the floor mirror near the entrance hall, realizing that she was dressed for revenge.

“Someone would definitely approve of that.”

Smiling to herself, she went down a small flight of stairs to the ground floor, where the girl at the reception was reading a magazine with Nicholas Galitzine's photo on the cover.

“How can I help you?” She asked in english, without taking her eyes off the celebrity gossip.

“Hey, how you doin'? Could you lend me an umbrella, please?”

“Of course.” She said, reaching for the object under the counter and handing it to her. “A fee of two euros will be added to your room bill.” Barbara sighed, surprised, as she mentally converted the currency. “What?” The receptionist looked up, frowning. “Did you think it would be free?”

“No, obviously not.” Barbara lied, smiling politely.

“Return it by midnight or I will have to charge the full value of the item.” The girl announced, turning her attention to the magazine. Then she added: “Nice dress.”

“Okay, I'll pay when I check out.” She assured, walking towards the glass doors while opening her rented umbrella. “And thank you.”

“Have fun, Cinderella!”

Barbara regretted walking out the door as soon as she set foot on the sidewalk. Not just because of the rain, but because of the wind blowing your hair back. In any case, she had come too far to give up, and despite the storm, she could see the lights of the chinese restaurant through the blue haze a few meters ahead, on the other side of the street.

Before she could take another step, someone grabbed her arm and turned her around.

“What?” She blinked in amazement at the handsome young man she had met at the airport.

“Come with me.” He said, pulling her away from the hotel entrance.

“You are crazy? I do not know you!” Barbara shouted, dropping the umbrella near her feet. The rain completely drenched them both in moments. “Me solta!”

“Barbara, please.” He asked, breathing short.

The sadness in his voice stopped her struggling.

“How do you…?” She gasped, eyes wide. “Jake?”

taglist: @daniiiworlds; @labemquarts; @deinily

[p0orbaby]

Why Do I Give You the Worst of Me (1)

summary: love and bad decisions collide as you struggle to balance a tour and a relationship that��s spiraling out of control

warnings: 18+ adult themes throughout

a/n: another series i’m hoping i don’t regret committing myself to… not sure how many parts it’ll be, i don’t plan anything

word count: 3.1k

-

You wake up face-first on a sofa that smells like cigarettes, spilled beer, and faintly, vomit. Not yours, you think. The synthetic fabric is scratchy against your cheek, and when you open your eyes, it takes a moment to realise it’s morning—sunlight cutting through the cracked blinds, striping the floor with dusty light. The sofa is mustard yellow, ugly in a deliberate, trying-too-hard-to-be-retro way. It doesn’t belong to you. Nothing in this flat belongs to you.

There’s a girl in the kitchen, humming softly to herself as she pours cereal into a bowl. You don’t know her name, but you know she wears Chanel No. 5 because it’s all you could smell last night when she leaned too close, whispering something you didn’t quite catch. Her hair’s a mess now—like spun gold caught in a tangle of barbed wire—but her makeup is still pristine. She’s the kind who sets her eyeliner with setting spray before going out, even if it’s just to the pub. You admire the commitment, if not the execution.

Your head throbs—a deep, insistent ache behind your eyes that reminds you of last night in bits and pieces: the gig (decent, though the sound guy fucked up your monitor levels), the afterparty (loud, sweaty, a haze of bodies and smoke), the lines of coke on a chipped coffee table, the bartender who kept giving you free shots because he recognised you from that NME interview last month. At some point, someone tried to fight you, though you’re not sure why. You vaguely remember smashing a bottle of tequila against a wall and laughing as glass shards rained down like confetti.

You roll onto your back and stare at the ceiling, which is peeling in a way that suggests years of neglect, a building held together more by stubbornness than actual structural integrity. There’s a stain in the corner that looks suspiciously like mould, but you don’t care enough to investigate. The flat isn’t yours, after all. You were invited here by someone whose name escapes you now—a bassist from another band, or maybe it was their girlfriend? They’re gone this morning, anyway, leaving behind only the detritus of a night well-lived: empty bottles, crushed cigarette packets, a single black stiletto abandoned near the door like a fairy-tale gone wrong.

You light a cigarette, despite the pounding in your head and the fact that you’re pretty sure it’s technically illegal to smoke indoors here. The girl in the kitchen glances at you but doesn’t say anything. You’re not sure if she’s annoyed or indifferent; you don’t care. The smoke curls lazily toward the ceiling, and for a moment, you let yourself enjoy the quiet. Mornings like this are rare—where everything is still and soft, where the chaos of your life is temporarily held at bay by the thin walls of someone else’s flat.

Your bass is propped up against the armchair, scratched and battered in a way that tells a story if you care to look closely enough. It’s a Fender Precision, black with a white pickguard, the same model Sid Vicious used to play—not that you’d ever admit that’s why you bought it. The neck has a gouge near the third fret from when you threw it at a sound tech who deserved it (and missed). The strap is leather, worn smooth where it rests on your shoulder, and the bridge still has flecks of blood from the time you played so hard your fingers split open mid-song. You keep meaning to clean it, but you never do.

You check your phone, which is cracked and sticky with something you don’t want to identify. No new messages, except for a text from your drummer that reads: “u alive?” You don’t bother replying.

-

You’ve been in the band for five years now, though it feels longer. It started as a joke—a group of friends fucking around in someone’s garage, trying to see who could play the loudest, the fastest, the most obnoxious. Somewhere along the way, it became serious. There was a DIY EP, recorded in one manic weekend on borrowed gear, and a string of gigs in dingy pubs where the audiences were more interested in drinking than listening. Then came the break—a slot supporting a bigger band, one of those industry darlings who’d already started to hate themselves for selling out. The kind of band that wears matching outfits ironically, even though everyone knows it’s not ironic at all.

Now, you play sold-out shows to crowds who scream your lyrics back at you, though most of them probably couldn’t name your second album. Your face has been on the cover of Kerrang! twice, though you didn’t bother reading the articles. You hate interviews, but you do them anyway because your manager insists. You’re better at the photoshoots—smirking at the camera in a way that suggests you don’t care (you do).

The band is your life, though you wouldn’t call it that. Calling it your life makes it sound like you have some sort of plan, and you don’t. You’re just here, playing gigs and writing songs and doing whatever it takes to keep the wheels from falling off.

Your bandmates are a mixed bag of personalities, each one a walking caricature in their own way. There’s Matt, the drummer, who swears he’s been abducted by aliens and won’t shut up about it. Alex, the lead guitarist, is constantly high and insists on bringing his cat on tour, which you find deeply annoying. And then there’s Holly, the singer, who somehow manages to be both the most chaotic and the most responsible member of the group. She’s the one who organises rehearsals, books the studio time, and keeps you all from self-destructing entirely. You love her for it, even if you’d never say it out loud.

The girl in the kitchen finishes her cereal, rinses the bowl, and leaves without saying goodbye. You watch her go, not because you care but because there’s nothing else to do. When the door slams shut, the flat feels even smaller, like the walls are pressing in on you. You stub out your cigarette, grab your bass, and leave too.

-

Outside, London is already alive, though you wouldn’t call it awake. The streets are sticky from last night—spilled pints and kebab wrappers crushed into the pavement, cigarette butts floating in puddles of something that smells suspiciously like piss. The air has that distinct urban flavour: exhaust fumes mingling with fryer grease and the faint tang of wet concrete. You pull your leather jacket tighter around you, not because it’s cold (it is), but because it completes the look.

The jacket is vintage—or at least you tell people it is. In reality, you bought it at a high-street shop three years ago, and it’s held up surprisingly well, considering the abuse it’s endured. The lining is torn, the cuffs are frayed, and there’s a mysterious stain on the back you can’t quite place. But it’s yours, and it feels like armour. The boots, on the other hand, are real vintage: a pair of Dr Martens from the ‘90s you found in a thrift shop in Brighton. They’re scuffed to hell, and the left one squeaks when you walk, but you refuse to replace them because they’re authentic.

You head toward the Tube station, your bass slung over one shoulder like a soldier carrying a rifle. People stare, but only briefly. In London, no one has the energy to care for long. The morning commuters are a mix of suits and students, their faces blank, their eyes glazed over as they clutch takeaway coffees in one hand and their phones in the other. You feel out of place but also weirdly superior, like you’ve cracked some code they haven’t even realised exists yet.

You hop on the Northern line, ignoring the signs that politely request passengers to “refrain from eating or drinking.” You’re not eating or drinking, but you do pull out a cigarette, which is arguably worse. It’s a roll-up, so you convince yourself it doesn’t count. An old woman glares at you, clutching her handbag like she thinks you’re about to mug her. You offer her a crooked smile, which she does not return, and you put the cigarette back in your pocket because she reminds you of your nan.

The train screeches into motion, and you pull out your phone. The lock screen is a photo of your bass, which says a lot about you. There are a few notifications—mostly spam emails and an unread message from Holly: Rehearsal at 2. Don’t be late, dickhead.

You glance at the time. 11:47 a.m. Plenty of time.

-

The rehearsal space is in Camden, a dingy basement that smells of mildew and unwashed socks. The walls are lined with egg cartons painted black in a half-hearted attempt at soundproofing, and the floor is sticky for reasons you’d rather not think about. The room has seen better days—probably in the ‘80s, when it was still a nightclub and not a haven for struggling musicians. There’s a single fluorescent bulb overhead that flickers ominously, and a space heater in the corner that’s never worked.

Holly is already there when you arrive, tuning her guitar with the precision of someone who takes this far more seriously than you do. She’s wearing a denim jacket covered in patches for bands you’ve never heard of, her hair tied back in a messy ponytail. She looks up as you walk in, her expression equal parts exasperation and relief.

“Christ, you smell like an ashtray,” she says, wrinkling her nose.

“It’s called branding,” you reply, dropping your bass onto the floor with a thud.

Matt and Alex show up ten minutes later, looking even worse than you do. Matt has the kind of face that always looks slightly hungover, even when he’s not, and Alex is wearing the same shirt he wore yesterday, now with an impressive new stain across the front.

The rehearsal starts late, as it always does, and quickly descends into chaos. Matt insists on playing a drum solo during every song, despite the fact that no one asked for it. Alex keeps stopping mid-riff to check his phone, claiming he’s “waiting for an important call,” though everyone knows it’s just his dealer. Holly shouts at both of them until her voice cracks, then turns her frustration on you for being “completely fucking useless.” You take it in stride, plucking random notes on your bass and pretending to care.

-

At some point, Holly storms out, leaving the three of you to your own devices. Matt immediately pulls out a joint, which Alex lights with a lighter shaped like a naked woman. You lean back against the wall, your bass resting against your thigh, and watch as they argue over which fast-food place to hit up after rehearsal.

“McDonald’s is closer,” Alex says, taking a drag.

“But KFC’s got the gravy,” Matt counters, waving his arms for emphasis.

“It’s not even real gravy,” Alex snaps.

“None of it’s real,” you interject, flicking ash onto the floor. “We’re all just cogs in the capitalist machine.”

They stare at you for a moment, then go back to arguing.

-

By the time rehearsal ends, it’s dark outside. You pack up your gear, ignoring Holly’s death glare as she reminds you for the millionth time that you need to take this more seriously. You nod, mumble something about “artistic integrity,” and leave before she can yell at you again.

Back on the street, the air is crisp, the kind of cold that bites at your skin and makes you wish you’d brought a scarf. You light another cigarette, even though you’ve already smoked half a pack today, and head toward the pub.

The pub is your sanctuary, a place where time slows down and the only thing that matters is the next round. It’s a dive, the kind of place where the carpet sticks to your shoes and the jukebox is permanently stuck on a rotation of The Clash and The Smiths. You know the bartender by name, though you’re not sure if he knows yours.

You order a pint and settle into a corner booth, your bass case propped up beside you. The first sip is like a warm hug, washing away the stress of the day. You’re halfway through your second pint when you see her.

-

You don’t notice her at first. Not properly. She’s part of the blur—the dim bar lights catching on glasses, the low hum of half-drunken conversation, the vague sense that you’ve been here before even if you haven’t. She’s leaning against the counter, waiting for her drink, and it’s not until the bartender—a man whose name might be Pete but who you’re pretty sure is just “Oi, mate” to everyone who comes in—hands her a gin and tonic that you actually see her.

And it’s a gin and tonic. Not a lager, not a rum and coke, not something ironic like a snakebite or one of those craft beers with names like Hops and Robbers. It’s a G&T, clean and crisp, with a slice of lime balanced on the rim like it’s posing for a stock photo. The glass is crystal clear, and so are her nails—short, practical, painted the sort of soft pink that suggests she doesn’t chew them during stressful moments (unlike you). She takes the drink with both hands, like she’s steadying herself, and there’s something about that—the deliberateness of it—that hooks you.

You tell yourself you’re just looking because she’s there. Because it’s either her or the guy at the next table who’s been droning on about Bitcoin for twenty minutes straight. But it’s more than that. There’s a stillness to her, an odd kind of clarity that doesn’t fit in a place like this, like she’s wandered in from a parallel universe.

She turns slightly, and you catch her profile: sharp nose, strong jawline, cheekbones that could cut glass but probably wouldn’t because she seems far too polite. Her hair is blonde—not platinum, not peroxide, but the kind of natural gold that makes you think of expensive shampoo and childhood summers. It’s tied back loosely, wisps framing her face in a way that seems accidental but probably isn’t.

She’s not wearing makeup. Or maybe she is, but it’s the invisible kind—the kind that takes forty-five minutes to apply but looks like you’ve just rolled out of bed looking flawless. Her jumper is navy, oversized enough to suggest she might have nicked it from someone else’s wardrobe, paired with jeans that sit perfectly at her hips without being skinny. On her feet are white trainers—clean, like freshly ironed bedsheets—Adidas, the classic three stripes in black, laces tied neatly, no fraying ends.

You’re staring. You know you are. But she hasn’t noticed, so it doesn’t count.

The bartender mutters something to her, and she laughs. Not the loud, performative laugh you hear from most people in bars, but something softer, like it’s meant for her and her alone. The sound is so out of place in this dingy pub that it feels almost sacrilegious, like someone’s brought a cathedral choir to sing in a nightclub.

You tell yourself to look away. You don’t.

Instead, you light a cigarette, even though the pub is strictly non-smoking. You do it for the aesthetic, the same way you do most things. There’s a half-empty pint in front of you—lager, flat and warm, probably with someone else’s fingerprints on the glass—but you take a sip anyway, because what else are you going to do?

She turns then, her gaze sweeping the room, and you’re caught like a deer in headlights. For a second, you think she’s looking at you, but she’s not. She’s looking past you, at the dartboard on the wall behind your head. Her expression is curious, like she’s trying to figure out why anyone would bother playing darts in a place like this.

Then her eyes meet yours, and the world tilts.

It’s not love at first sight, not really. Love at first sight is for Disney films and Hallmark cards and people who shop at Waitrose without looking at the prices. This is something else. Recognition, maybe. Like you’ve seen her before in a dream or a half-remembered story someone told you once. Like you’ve spent your whole life waiting for this moment without knowing it.

She holds your gaze for a second longer than is polite. Then she looks away, back at her gin and tonic, and you realise you’ve been holding your breath.

-

You don’t approach her right away. That would be too obvious, too predictable. Instead, you wait, watching her out of the corner of your eye while pretending to scroll through your phone. It’s a shitty phone, cracked and outdated, but you’ve never bothered upgrading because you secretly enjoy the low expectations it sets. No one looks at you and expects success when your phone screen is held together with Sellotape.

She moves to a table in the corner, near the radiator, and sits down alone. No book, no laptop, no visible excuse to be here other than the gin and tonic in her hand. She sips it slowly, methodically, like she’s savouring it. Like she’s savouring this.

You wonder what her story is.

Is she waiting for someone? A friend, a boyfriend, a clandestine meeting with a lover? Or is she just one of those people who can sit alone in public without feeling like a target? You’ve never understood that kind of confidence—the kind that lets you exist without an audience, without a role to play.

You take another sip of your pint, then decide, fuck it.

You stand, grab your bass (because leaving it behind would feel like abandoning a child), and make your way across the room. Your boots squeak against the sticky floor, and you curse them under your breath. She looks up as you approach, her expression unreadable.

“Mind if I join you?” you ask, gesturing vaguely at the empty chair across from her.

She hesitates, just for a moment, then nods.

“Sure.”

Her voice is soft, but not shy. Measured. Like she’s weighing every word before she says it.

You sit, placing your bass case carefully against the table leg. For a moment, neither of you speaks. You’re not sure what to say, and she seems content to let the silence stretch. It’s not uncomfortable, exactly, but it’s not easy, either.

Finally, she breaks it.

“You’re in a band,” she says, nodding toward the bass. It’s not a question.

You smile. “Yeah. What gave it away?”

She raises an eyebrow, and you realise it’s a stupid question.

“What’s the band called?”

You tell her, and she nods, like she’s vaguely heard of it but couldn’t name a single song.

“I’m Alessia,” she says, holding out her hand. Her grip is firm, her skin warm.

“Nice to meet you,” you reply, and for the first time in a long time, you actually mean it.

[dreaming-medium]

Stray Kids Kinktober Day 1

Stray Kids Kinktober Masterlist

Orgasm Denial - Han Jisung

Word Count: 3.6k

Summary: After watching other men flirt with you at a party, Jisung’s patience has officially run out.

————————————————————

You were torturing Han Jisung without even realizing it.

Jisung had absolutely no reason to be mad right now. He has no right being as livid as he is. But the jealousy that he feels in the deepest pit of his stomach is bubbling like boiling lava and spreading throughout his chest and into each of his limbs. 

Currently, you were leaning against the countertop of the kitchen talking to Hyunjin, a red solo cup held up to your lips, throat bobbing as you sipped your drink.

Whatever story he decided to tell you must be intensely captivating for you to give him this much of your time. 

The loud music booming through the speakers made the walls vibrate. None of the main lights in the kitchen were on, instead, LED strips lined the walls of Chan’s apartment. Currently, they were set to a deep blue.

You can talk to whoever you want, wherever you want. Jisung cannot do anything about that.

That’s the problem, you’re not his. And he doesn’t spend a single day wishing that wasn’t true.

Jisung has had his eye on you for the better part of a year now. Both of you were in a majority of the same classes; he actually met you on the first day when the only open seat in the lecture hall was next to him.

When he moved his bag away from the chair for you to sit down, you flashed the brightest smile with a ‘thank you’ and instantly he was hooked.

It all started out so innocently. His heart would race when you would walk into the room in those adorably coordinated outfits; his hands would get clammy and he would get tongue tied whenever you tried to speak to him.

After you would leave he would be able to smell your perfume like a phantom haunting his life. 

Class after class, you would talk more and more. Eventually you asked for his phone number.

“Just in case I need help with the homework.” Your eyes sparkled at him. Jisung couldn’t get his phone out of his pocket fast enough.

“Yeah! Of course, totally.” He fumbled with his words. All you did was giggle at him and the sound went straight to his heart which thudded against his rib cage.

Homework related texts slowly turned into more friendly conversation.

Jisung can still remember the first time you touched him, he could still feel your hand on his arm days afterwards. You were only trying to get his attention to look at one of your other classmates who fell asleep in a ridiculous position, but he couldn’t even focus on that.

All he knew at that moment was that your hand was on his arm, all five of your fingers were curled around his forearm.

Jisung thanked every single god in existence that he had rolled up the sleeves of his flannel not even ten minutes prior to your grab. Because of this, he was able to feel just how soft your hands were, how warm your skin was.

Study sessions evolved into hangouts which then evolved to him introducing you to his friends.

You were now part of his close circle of friends. It’s so bittersweet to Jisung.

Now, he sees you almost every single day, but at the same time, so does everyone else.

Innocent thoughts about how beautiful your skin tone looks with the color yellow dissolved into much more impure fantasies.

If your hands felt that soft on his forearm, then he can’t imagine how they would feel everywhere else on his body. How the pads of your fingertips would feel sliding down his chest, over his abs and tracing down his v-line. 

The day you came to his apartment after getting your nails done the only thought on Jisung’s mind was how delicious it would feel to have those pretty little nails scratching down his back. Your head thrown back in pleasure, eyes rolling into the back of your head, his name falling from your lips like a prayer.

Fuck, when you say his name it’s like nothing else exists.

And now you’re talking to Hwang Hyunjin of all people. Whatever Hyunjin just said to you must’ve been especially funny to you since your head jerks forward and a choked laugh almost makes you spit out your drink.

Hyunjin laughs with you and his hand comes up to grab your upper arm.

Jisung clenches his jaw so tight the muscles in his face hurt.

What the hell was he supposed to do? He’s been standing on the other side of the semi-crowded kitchen for about ten minutes now, silently seething as you talk to another man who is so obviously flirting with you.

You are not his. You are not his. 

But, fuck, he wants you so fucking bad. He wants to know if your perfume will linger on his sheets after you’ve left his bed. Would his pillow hold onto the smell of your shampoo?

Jisung looks down at the empty cup in his hand, his imagination running wild. 

He was the one that walked with you to this party, like always. Which means he’ll also be the one to walk you home. That thought sates a tiny bit of jealousy.

But it’s really only like throwing a bucket of water into a raging wildfire.

There’s a loud yelp and Jisung’s head snaps up and looks over at you.

Someone had bumped into the back of Hyunjin, causing his cup to jolt and contents to spill all down the front of your shirt.

“Shit,” you curse, looking down at the damage. His drink was dark and your shirt was white.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N.” Hyunjin apologizes profusely, putting his now empty cup on the counter and grabbing an absurd amount of paper towels.

“Don’t worry about it,” you smile at him. “Accidents happen.”

Hyunjin starts dabbing at your shirt with the paper towels.

Jisung’s hand clenches his cup so hard the plastic crunches and the cup crushes.

“... Dude.” Minho says in a deadpan tone next to him. Has he been next to him the entire time?

Jisung can’t take his eyes off of the two of you. Does Hyunjin even realize what he’s doing? His hands are all over your stomach and chest, wiping off the drink that drips down the open collar of your shirt, dipping into the valley of your breasts.

He wouldn’t even need the paper towels. Give Jisung three minutes and he could have you clean with nothing but his tongue. Fuck, maybe even just two minutes.

One. He only needs one. Just give him one minute with you.

“Ugh, this shirt is ruined,” you frown, holding the fabric away from your skin. “I’m gunna go borrow one from Chan, be right back.”

Once more, you smile at Hyunjin who only apologizes more.

You weave your way through the crowd of people and out of the kitchen.

Jisung doesn’t even think, he slams his crushed cup down on the counter next to a startled Minho and immediately follows you. His body is acting on its own at this point, blinded by the green hue of jealousy.

He’s only about three steps behind you when you walk into Chan’s bedroom. You step further into the room and towards the closet, Jisung enters the room and closes the door behind him.

A startled yelp leaves your lips and you turn around with your hand clutching your chest.

“Jisung!” You exclaim. God, your voice does sinful things to his mind. “You scared the shit out of me.”

You giggle and look down at your ruined shirt. “Someone bumped into Hyunjin and he spilled his entire drink on my shirt. You don’t think Chan will mind if I borrow one of his shirts, right?”

Jisung doesn’t answer, he only locks the door with a solid click.

Your expression drops. “Jisung?” you ask gently. “Are you alright?” You step closer to him with a concerned pull of your eyebrows.

His pupils are blown wide and his shoulders rise and fall with each breath. He’s zeroed in your face, his chin dipping down slightly, lips parted.

Something just… snaps within him. Maybe it’s the alcohol, who knows?

Jisung takes large steps towards you at an alarming rate.

Startled, you back up quickly until the back of your knees hit the edge of the bed.

“Jisung?” you ask again.

“Didn’t you want to get this off?” is all he says, grabbing two fist fulls of the bottom of your soaked shirt. The fabric is cold to the touch.

“Wh-” is all you have time to say before your shirt is yanked over your head. You gasp and your hands fly up to cover your chest.

Jisung throws the shirt onto the floor and reaches forward and grabs both of your wrists tightly. He tugs you towards his body and you stumble forward into him.

“All night you’ve been talking to him, Y/N.” he growls. Your eyes are wide in surprise. “All night. And you just stand there while he undresses you with his eyes.”

Jisung pulls your arms apart and holds them out at your sides. He takes another step forward until your chests are flush against one another.

His breathing is so deep that with each inhale you press even further into him.

Your cheeks heat up and you sputter out incoherent words, not knowing where any of this is coming from. 

“Jisung, I-”

“I can’t take it anymore, Y/N.” his voice dips down an octave, it’s raspy and thick. “I can’t stand by and watch other people try to take you from me.”

He leans down quickly and stops his lips mere millimeters from yours. He can practically taste your chapstick from this distance. That damn cherry chapstick that you would put on during the colder months.

“Say you’re mine, Y/N. Please, please be mine.”

You swallow audibly, your eyes are staring down at his lips. The party outside the room sounds so far away.

“I’ve always been yours, Jisung.”

It feels like he’s shocked by a live wire the way a wave of electricity travels down his entire body at your words. And that feeling is nothing compared to how his body reacts when he finally kisses you.

Every single nerve comes alive in his body at the press of your lips on his. He can’t help but let a small whimper escape the back of his throat. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck, this is really happening. 

His hands move from grasping your lips to desperately grab at your face. He can’t control his hands, one moment he’s cupping your face, the next he’s grabbing at the sides of your ribcage.

When he feels the heat of your naked skin in his hands he nearly moans out loud.

You’re so much softer than he could’ve ever imagined.

Lips desperately slide over one another. Large gasps of air in between each one. It’s filthy the way he devours your mouth.

His tongue slides out from behind his lips at the same time as yours does and they meet in the middle for a sinful dance.

Your hands wrap around his neck and one threads into his hair, grabbing a fistful and pulling.

This time he does moan and it’s guttural and deep. 

His dick has been hard from the moment you said his name in this room, and with each second that passes his jeans only get tighter. 

“Mine,” he whispers in between kisses. “All mine.”

You sigh into the kiss and press your chest against his even further. 

Jisung’s hands move behind your back and begin to fumble with your bra, it comes off within seconds. You pull your arms away from him to let it fall off your body.

He tears his lips away from yours and peers down at your naked chest. He can feel precum leaking out of his cock at the sight of your tits.

“Fuck,” he grunts and his hands come up and cup both of them in greedy handfuls. “So fucking beautiful.”

“Jisung,” you whine at his touch.

“Get on the bed, baby.” he commands and you immediately fall backwards onto it.

From your seated position, you scoot backwards towards the middle and Jisung watches, palming over his painful clothed erection.

The way you’re looking up at him from the bed does nothing to help easy the aching in his pants. You bat your eyelashes at him and his knees almost give out.

Jisung yanks his shirt over his head and throws it onto the floor mindlessly. He crawls over you and captures your lips with his again.

Your moans of pleasure are music to his ears. 

One of his hands slides up your body to grab at your chest again, he palms your one tit for a moment before pulling the nipple between his fingers. 

Your back arches upwards into his touch and you moan into his mouth. The heat from your naked body is radiating onto him. 

“Jisung,” you mewl against his mouth, “Jisung please.”

“Please, what?” he presses into you.

You answer by rolling your hips up against his. The delicious pressure against his aching cock causes him to buck downwards.

Both of you moan together at the feeling. He doesn’t care if it’s pathetic, you’re making his body sing with even the smallest of touches; playing him like an instrument.

“Touch me, Jisung, please.”

He’s died, surely he’s died and gone to Heaven.

Those words rip right through him. You’re begging him to touch you?

“Shit,” he rasps against your lips. His hips roll against yours again. He’ll touch you every single moment of every day for the rest of your lives if you’ll let him.

His hand slides down and undoes the button of your jeans as fast as possible. His fingers wont work fast enough for how fucking bad he wants to fulfill your request. 

As soon as the button is undone, he’s yanking your jeans and panties down your legs and launching them across the room. 

Jisung props himself on his elbow next to your head and looks down at your face. Your cheeks are flushed red and eyes half-lidded. Your hair fans like a halo around your head.

Your lips are completely swollen and red, their soaking wet from the spit swapped between the two of you. Deep pants are coming out in large breaths.

“You want me to touch you, baby?” Jisung purrs down to you. You gulp and nod your head quickly.

“Please,” you utter.

He smirks at your begging. 

Slowly he drags his fingers down your stomach with a featherlight touch. His eyes follow his own hand. Your stomach muscles jump at his caress. 

You’re an absolute angel underneath him.

He can’t stop staring at your body. Months and months he’s pined to know what you look like underneath those clothes. The first time you wore a matching yoga set to class Jisung nearly came in his pants.

The way it hugged every single curve on your body. 

And now seeing you uncovered before his very eyes feels unreal. Like any moment he’ll wake up from a dream.

His mouth dips down and captures your kiss-swollen lips once more, his hand splayed out on your lower stomach.

Lower and lower he trails his wet, open mouth kisses down your skin. The lower he gets, he can taste the drink that Hyunjin spilled on you. 

Rum and coke. 

The rum is so sticky sweet on your skin and it makes his head whirl. His fingers curl and he scratches down your stomach causing you to throw your head back in a moan.

“Jisung…” your hips roll off the bed again but he pushes them back down with his hand.

“No, no,” he growls against your skin, leaning down and licking between the valley of your breasts. “I’ve waited too long for this. You’re going to be patient and take whatever I give you.”

A sharp inhale is the only response he hears before he takes one of your nipples in his mouth, swirling his tongue around the pebbled bud.

Your hand comes up and you grab a fistful of his hair again.

Quiet cries of pleasure spill from your lips with every lick and nip of his teeth. 

Eventually his hand moves further down and he runs his fingers softly through your folds.

“Fucking shit you’re so wet,” he purrs against your chest.

“Want you so bad, Ji…” you sound so fucked out already and he’s barely touched you. It makes him keen and moan against your skin.

His fingers glide up and down your slit. If it wasn’t for the loud music right outside the room, he’s sure the noises coming from his touch would be sinful.

Jisung easily glides a finger into your opening and your head kicks back and is thrown against the pillow. A long moan comes from deep within your throat.

He slides another finger in and his thumb rubs against your clit slowly. Pleasure rips through your veins and shoots shockwaves down your legs.

The alcohol in your blood only makes everything feel even better. 

Every single sound of pleasure that comes out of your mouth only encourages him further. Jisung feels like he’s drowning in ecstasy just by listening to you.

The hand in his hair tightens and you yank his head up to meet your lips in a searing kiss. It’s sloppy and messy. Tongues sliding over one another, heavy exhales leaving both of your mouths.

When Jisung curls his fingers inside you, you cry out against his lips and your eyebrows furrow in pleasure.

“That’s right, baby. Focus on how good I’m making you feel.”

“Ji… Ji…” you pant his nickname over and over in between exhales, pulling his hair tightly and making him feel insane.

The speed at which his fingers move increases and his thumb presses even harder against your clit.

“Fuck, fuck, I’m… I’m close…”

“You are?” he asks under his breath, faster and faster he moves.

The pressure in your abdomen builds and builds.

“Who’s making you feel like this, baby?”

You can’t answer him, you’re too busy squirming around the bed, your hips can’t keep still.

“Answer me, Y/N.”

He can feel your walls clamping on his fingers tighter and tighter as you hurl towards the edge. But still, you don’t answer.

So, he stops.

His finger still within you and an absolutely desperate wail leaves your lips.

“Fuck!” you cry, “Please!”

Jisung shifts his weight on his elbow and uses that hand to grab a hold of your hair in a steel like grip. 

“Girls who don’t listen don’t get to cum.” he growls in your ear. “Now, let’s try this again.”

Slowly, he begins to pump his fingers in and out of your soaking wet cunt. Your hips roll against his fingers, meeting each thrust.

Too slow, he’s moving too slow. You whine and squirm even more underneath him.

His thumb is rubbing figure eights on your clit, pleasure coursing through your veins like a drug. Closer and closer he brings you to the edge again.

With each passing second, he picks up his speed even more, curling his fingers to hit that spongy spot within you each time he thrusts in.

Your juices cover his entire hand, soaking the sheets underneath you both.

Every single wet dream he’s ever had is coming to life right before his very eyes.

“Who is making you feel this good?” Jisung’s voice is dark and low, it rumbles within his chest. Your eyes are clamped shut, mouth hanging open.

Tighter and tighter your walls clamp down.

“Y/N!” 

“You! Fuck!”

Jisung stops completely again. He yanks your hair as you cry out in frustration.

“Not good enough, Y/N!” he barks.

“Please please please!”

Your hips roll against his fingers to try and relieve that terrible ache in your cunt.

He leans down and bites down where your neck meets your shoulder– hard. An even louder whine leaves your lips. He can feel you clench around him from the feeling.

“We’re going to try this one last time, Y/N.” he hums against your rum coated skin. “And you’re going to be a good girl for me, okay?”

All you’re able to do is nod, your head is in the clouds.

He doesn’t start slow this time, his pace is immediately brutal. Your eyes fly open and he leans up to look down into your eyes.

Your pupils are completely blown out, eyes hazy in pleasure. A deep scarlet color covers your cheeks.

He hits your g-spot roughly with one particularly hard thrust at the same time his thumb presses your clit and your eyes roll back, chin tipping back.

“No,” he barks and yanks your head back, “Look at me.”

It takes so much strength to keep your gaze on him. Moan after moan tumbles from your swollen lips. 

“Close… close… please, please!” you cry.

“Who. Is. Making. You. Feel. Like. This?” he emphasizes each word with a thrust into your soaking wet walls.

He needs you to remember he’s touching you, him. Not Hyunjin, no one else. .

“You! Jisung! Han Jisung!”

“Louder!”

“Han Jisung! Fuck!”

Finally, he lets you fall over the edge and your walls squeeze his fingers so tight Jisung thinks he might cum in his own pants.

Your moans and cries of his name will be tattooed in his mind forever.

With hips bucking uncontrollably, he lets you ride out your absolutely mind-blowing orgasm. Deep hums emanate from your chest as you come down from that delicious peak.

“Fuck, baby,” he purrs into your ear, running his tongue up the side. “Can’t wait to hear you scream my name again, but this time you’ll be cumming on my cock.”

[respectthepetty]

I really like Yotha in episode twelve of Perfect 10 Liners because to drag his new man between his ex and his ex's new man in front of a small audience of his brother and his brother's friend while the neon sign of "don't text your ex" shines in the background is the pettiness I thrive off of.

I, too, would have kept my mouth shut and just enjoyed the shit show unfolding in front of me.

And, honestly, I think it helped his ex's relationship because sometimes a (possible) Black Brooder needs to sleep outside and cry a little to get it together.

The man looks fine and loved, so everything worked out well.

But I'm going to need this Black Brooder to stop looming over Gun like this.

Because it's causing me mental damage every single time Gun looks up at Yotha with that ruined look.

*bites bottom lip*

But I like that Yotha is still sleeping in the pajamas Arm bought him even though he probably has plenty of black clothing to wear.

Because Arm is very aware that his mentee is performing the delicate yet elaborate queer rituals that his boyfriend also participated in to get his attention.

Like doing the most to be near Gun at all times including finessing his way into being his buddy.

Intensely staring at Gun, who seems to still be wearing Yotha's color, while drinking the green product placement

Oh, and making a scene every day about this damn tie in front of God and everyone else within a two-mile radius.

Like, we get it! Yotha likes Gun, and if the kiss didn't say it loud and clear, everything else this Black Brooder does tells us.

And yet Gun is still not sure . . .

So of course Yellow Yal Arm would notice the signs, now that he is on the other side.

He got his passionately devoted (and possessive) Red Rascal!

And now they wear each other's colors.

And Arm's best friend, Blue Boy Sand, also got his man, Orange Oddity Pond.

And they are living in domestic color-coded bliss!

So it's clear to anyone and everyone that Yotha likes his Green Guy a lot. Wait! NOT THAT GREEN GUY! (Hi, Po!)

This Green Guy!

And I'm pretty sure Red Rascal Sam even noticed that Gun is only wearing Yotha's black now.

But I get it! Not everyone is observant and picks up on the small details, like Faifa's mom who doesn't notice her son is allergic to milk and because Fai is a Blue Boy, he is too passive to tell her no, so he'd rather sacrifice himself and DIE!

However, I do pay attention to the tiny elements, so when Yotha agrees to give Green Guy Gun his bracelet while wearing his "SEE THE FUTURE" shirt, he faces Gun and his face gets hit with the green light.

So even though these color-coded boys might have had one too many drinks and can't see straight,

I know both of these boys only see each other and are already very much in love with each other.

The colors (and the extensive queer rituals) tell me so.

[prodagustd]

the road not taken 03 | myg

part three: four seconds

Summary: If you wanted to stop thinking about Yoongi, the first step was as easy as stop seeing him, but why it seemed like he was following everywhere you went?

<part two | part four>

—pairing: lawyer!yoongi x actress!oc

—rating: +18

—genre: brother's best friend, one sided pinning (or both?)

—warnings/tags: slow burn,angst, fluff, eventual smut, angst, sexual tension!!!!! flashbacks, ANGST!! Btw english is not my first language !!

—words: 11k

—a/note: HERE IT ISSSSSSSS!!! I'm sosososos sorry for taking so long, but it is finally here!! I swear I will try and update monthly from now on, but enjoy this for now!! It has a lot of backstory so I hope you enjoy it. btw these last months I've been going to a poetry workshop so I was on fire writing this (ok maybe not since I took so long to finish it lmao). As always feedback is always welcomed, and if you want to discuss this part in the asks you're welcomed as well!! ilyyyy

series masterlist | teaser | playlist

Present 

When Yoongi turned thirteen, your mother promised to bake a Batman cake as a gift for his birthday party. You had a clear memory of sitting at the counter the day before the party as she decorated the cake with yellow icing that tasted like just like bananas, and the next day when Yoongi gave you the first piece of cake you remembered thinking it was the best thing you’ve ever tasted. A few years ago, when Yoongi turned twenty three, you asked him if he remembered the taste of that cake, and, as he smoked what he swore it would be the last cigarette of his life, he said that he did not. At that time you asked him how it was possible that he didn’t remember the taste of some cake your mom made ten years ago, how was it possible that information of such importance had gone unnoticed? Looking back, you could say that it was not Yoongi’s fault, maybe you were the only one holding onto memories and he was as forgetful as everyone else. After all, Yoongi forgot he promised he would quit smoking that very same night, he would smoke his last cigarette only a year later, but even to this day you couldn’t forget the taste of that cake. 

You were just beginning to realize you were condemned to be one of those people who just remembered. Like your aunt, who knew all the birthdays and all the deathdays, all your cousins’ first words, including yours, and was often caught reminiscing every detail of the day she met her husband thirty springs ago. Maybe it was in the family, and it was only a matter of time until you started speaking memories instead of words, so you tried to stop it, but they lived in your mind regardless if you decided to stop mentioning them out loud or not. 

Like the perfume of your granddad that he only wore on Christmas, or the way blood and tears tasted the day you broke your teeth when you were eight and tried to play basketball with Yoongi and Simon but tripped. You sobbed like a baby, but Yoongi hugged you so tight that you forgot you were going to be toothless for the following month. 

You collected the memories, the words, the smell and the taste, you held them close to your heart, stuck in your chest with a stake, forced to remember everything while everyone around you just forgot. And you didn’t complain, you couldn’t,  why would you? Life was like that, happening in front of you as you stood in front of the body length mirror in your mother’s room, as you closed your eyes and tried to remember the yellow icing in Yoongi’s birthday cake, it happened in front of you as you tried to avoid it. You knew you had to stop lingering in the past when all those details, all those colors, and all those memories began to turn against you. Like every January, when your mind reminded you that your body was still stuck in the freezing cold of the morning you decided to leave home four years ago. 

That morning, when you decided to go see Yoongi five days into the new year because he had barely texted you since the last day you saw him, January 2nd, when he received the news from his aunt that his mother had an accident during their trip. You walked to his apartment instead of driving because you didn’t think it was that cold, but you were immediately proven wrong when your hands started to get frozen and your feet began to hurt as you walked in the snow, but that didn’t stop you. He said he was going to be home for a second to grab some stuff and then come back to the hospital, where his mom was, so you were expecting the look of surprise on his face when he saw you at the door, what you weren’t expecting was the way he was hesitating to let you in. You remembered the things he did and the things he said that day like they were engraved in your memory, but mostly the way he was looking at you, like he wanted to run away, from you? from his life? You still didn’t know, all you knew is that after that you had no other option than to turn around and walk away. 

When you thought about it for too long you could still feel the way the snow lingered all the way home in your clothes and hair, how it stayed on the sole of your shoes for the following years, how your tears froze in your cheeks because you refused to wipe them away. Sometimes you woke up in the middle of the night and could still feel the snow running down your back, making you wonder if winter was still chasing you. 

Inside your body it had been winter for so long that your heart seemed to be completely frozen ever since you left home, only now that you were back you realized that perhaps autumn was not warm enough to heal your heart. 

That was not the last time you saw Yoongi, but you believed it was the last time you decided to talk to him, the last time you allowed yourself to even lay eyes on him. 

You wished you could find peace for at least a moment, but it seemed that you had to work hard for it, it was getting tiring to remember that you were the one who caused the chaos that was your life, and now you were the one who had to fix it: your mother, your brother, Ian and Sally, and even your public image. Doing the last button of your white shirt you asked the universe: why couldn’t those be all your problems? You swore to the man in the sky that if he sent you all your problems in the form of a giant monster you were willing to fight it, only if he could stop you from seeing Yoongi tonight.  

Perhaps you should stay in your mom’s room tonight, not attending dinner was okay, your mom made that clear, but at the same time you were twenty five years old now, you couldn’t keep acting like an angry teenager who decided to skip dinner. You knew that it wasn’t going to make things better, but at least seeing your brother was going to make you feel normal, and that was the only reason you decided to set foot outside the room when you heard the bell ring. 

Four years ago. 

Two weeks before New Year’s Eve.

You should’ve known that it would be useless to stop thinking about what happened a week ago the minute you woke up in the same bed as Yoongi, but you still tried. You tried, and tried, and tried in countless ways, like for example, when you tried to watch a whole season of The Office in one sitting, or when you listened your mom rant about some turkish drama she was watching, or when Minnie texted a few days ago and you let her talk about that job she mentioned that night until you fell asleep. And then, you agreed to meet her for a coffee and she talked non stop about the same open audition four hours away in the city.

You were not sure if she was beginning to convince you or you were just desperately trying to stop thinking about Yoongi, you thought the only logical explanation for both theories was that you were about to go crazy. 

But if you were being honest to yourself, you couldn’t help but be interested in it. Minnie pitched the job like a gothic dramatic love story, which sounded just like something you would love. She also said it wasn’t a super big play, but it wasn’t small either, and it was pretty well paid. Minnie mentioned she knew the producers and the director and could put on a good word for you. 

“Why don’t you do it, then?” You had asked her, not being sure if you would do the same thing for someone who didn’t talk to you in years. “And why me?”

“Oh, well, I don’t know if it’s my style and… I’m not sure if I’m ready to leave home yet.” She replied with a nostalgic tone in her voice. “And why not you? I don’t know anyone who can pull it off, and you appeared in front of my eyes. Must be a sign.”

You couldn’t understand the first thing, how adamant she was to stay here, as much as you tried to see the world through her eyes, you couldn’t, a few years ago you took the first chance to get out of here and didn’t look back. But sitting there, at the small table next to the window, it wasn’t difficult to tell which one of you two looked more happy (hint: it wasn’t you). Minnie was different, she was still working at The Alley, she loved it there and wasn’t willing to let it go yet. 

The second thing, you couldn’t understand either, but it made sense for her to do it. Being kind was natural for Minnie, she didn’t hold grudges, and you weren’t sure if you deserved that kindness. She waved away all your concerns, your whens and whys and hows, she kept repeating the same words; “it must be a sign”, “it’s clearly meant to be”, and you just laughed and tried to not to think about Yoongi. And it worked for a while, because on the way home you allowed yourself to fantasize about it for at least ten minutes. Moving to the city and working there for weeks and weeks and maybe months or years, and not having to pretend you were someone else. But the minute you entered your house you were reminded of what you were trying to forget. 

The memory kept sneaking in your mind, just like Yoongi sneaked in your bed that night. The image of his hooded eyes, his pink lips and the reminder that nothing really happened kept wandering inside your head.

That night you entered the house giggling like babies and when both of you were changed and ready to sleep you got under the covers, not thinking whether it was right or wrong. And yes, your bed was big enough for you and him, but your arms and legs still slightly touched during the whole night, and when you woke up your feet where tangled with each other, leaving you wondering if you were stupid for thinking something had changed between the two of you, or maybe the way he looked at you when he opened his eyes was just your twisted imagination.

Yes, you were probably crazy when you thought he was looking at you differently when you made him breakfast, like you promised. You were crazy for thinking it felt like you were in a different universe when you sat in the kitchen island the whole morning and then found Nightmare Before Christmas on tv and discussed if it was a Christmas or a Hallowen movie on the couch. 

And then, of course, he left, bringing you back to reality. But then during the week he came back, and then left again, and came back again. You knew you had to kick him out, you knew it was for the best to make up an excuse and say you were busy, but this time he promised to get your car repaired, so you let him take you to his uncle’s garage. 

Yoongi’s uncle was nowhere to be found today, but Namjoon, Yoongi’s friend, was in charge, although he wasn’t very happy with people being loud while he was working. By the time Namjoon established he didn’t want any of you there at the garage, you had already decided you were staying.

You knew Namjoon ever since he started working with Yoongi’s uncle, he was a tall and big guy with a shy smile, he wore glasses and read books, he was funny and smart and you knew that he had more more than one girl waiting for him to text them back, and for some reason, despite being really handsome, and really cute, and really tall… he was still single. Not that you cared, of course, you were interested in… other people…You still allowed yourself to admire him, like when you watched that Turkish drama with your mom because you were trying not to think of Yoongi and the lead actor helped a lot with it. 

Now you were there, sitting on top of some dirty table next to a bunch of tools you couldn’t name, trying to keep silent when Namjoon scolded you again. 

Yoongi was very good at ignoring him, he pretended he didn’t listen to his friend as he leaned towards you, talking really close to your ear. “Should I give your grandma a Christmas present?” He asked, half joking, half serious. “You know, so she’s in a good mood.”

You turned to him, raising an eyebrow. “A bottle of klonopin, maybe.” You said, making Namjoon scoff loudly. 

He turned around, now interested in the conversation, looking at you both. “Why do you want to give her grandma a Christmas present?” He asked, confused. One of the reasons why Namjoon didn’t like people talking while he was working was because he was easily distracted, when he was interested in the topic he didn’t seem too annoyed.

Yoongi turned around to face him, deciding his friend was there all of a sudden. “I’m spending Christmas with her family next week.” He explained, being kind enough to forget that Namjoon explicitly told him to shut the fuck up about twenty minutes ago. “But she’s a bit moody.” 

That was one way to describe your grandmother, the other one was to say she was a complete witch.

“Yeah, Yoongi invited himself.” You teased him, instantly feeling one of his fingers digging into your rib, making you jump. 

Namjoon quietly observed the scene like something he wasn’t supposed to watch, with his mouth hung open ready to say something, but his mind was still searching for words. You suspected that Yoongi’s answer left him with more doubts that he had to begin with.  

“Really?” He managed to say, curious. “I didn’t know you two were… like that.” Namjoon cautiously started the sentence, but didn’t dare to finish it in case he was wrong, although the scene you were making was clearly making him believe he was right.

You jumped in your seat, opening your eyes widely as you understood what he was implying. “Oh, no.” You rushed to say, waving your hands in the air. 

“No, not like that.” Yoongi talked at the same time as you, crossing looks as if you were reassuring each other of it. His eyes were as open as yours, shaking his head trying to deny the accusation. “My mom is not here until the first week of January.” He explained, making Namjoon nod, still confused at your nervous reactions. “So I’m alone at Christmas.” 

Yoongi looked at you, giving a look that meant “it makes sense, right?” and yes, of course it made sense. You and Yoongi had spent Christmas together before, he knew your whole family since he was a kid, he grew up with Simon, he was family too, it made sense, but Namjoon’s implication made both of you jump in your seats, talking over each other as you laughed nervously. 

“So all of you three are spending Christmas together?” Namjoon continued to ask, trying to understand the conversation again. “You two and Simon?”

There was a beat of silence in the room, but you were quick to answer. “Simon is spending Christmas with his girlfriend, so we're on our own.” 

Namjoon nodded again, trying not to think too much about it. “So Simon is okay with you keeping all his gifts?” He tried to joke, but the answer only sounded worse. 

You looked at Yoongi, but he was looking at his shoes, avoiding Namjoon’s eyes. Neither of you bothered to mention to Simon that you were spending Christmas together, was it really necessary? Why was Namjoon making it sound like it was necessary for him to know? Why did you feel the need to explain to him that it wasn’t weird at all that you were spending Christmas together alone? You weren’t alone after all, there was your mom, and your grandmother, your aunt and some of your cousins too, I mean, you’ll have to share the room, of course, but- wait… You had to share the room. You forgot about that.

Oh my God… Simon couldn’t find out about that. 

You were quick to suppress the thought, agreeing with yourself to handle that matter later, but right now Namjoon was looking at you like he expected an answer. You quickly realized that Namjoon was just as noisy as you. 

“Oh, he doesn’t need to know.” You said, brushing it off, but your mind was already in chaos.

Present 

You were never really interested in astrology, you tried to get into it a few years ago only to understand what Minnie was saying since she talked about it most of the time, but you ended up being too skeptical to believe in anything. You didn’t believe in God, or in astrology and you weren’t even sure if you could call yourself an atheist completely, but you were still curious. Early in life you realized you were agnostic, (you were aware that you sounded like a pretentious man on a first date when you said it out loud), but you still asked every person you met their star signs in case they matched with their personalities, as if you were still trying to prove yourself wrong. 

You didn’t know if the universe was right or wrong, but if you were sure about something, it was that Simon was a Leo. Not only because he was born on the first of August, but because he fitted in every category of a Leo. He was charming and confident, outgoing, he was a natural leader and people always felt drawn to him, making him a little bit… self centered. 

Like every other Leo, Simon loved his birthday, that was the only reason why you were thinking about it. Two months ago, the first of August, you called him on his birthday like every sister calls her brother on his birthday. You could’ve just sent a message like the past year, but your life was already beginning to feel suffocating. Talking to Simon seemed to ease your heart for a while. He wanted to talk to you about his job at the firm and his girlfriend, the cat they adopted, how they were planning to move to a bigger apartment the following year and asked when you thought it was a great time to propose. You needed to feel like something was in place, like your relationship with Simon was normal, like he could tell you anything and you could listen and just laugh. It worked for the first ten minutes, until he inevitably brought up the topic of his birthday party, and he inevitably invited you, and you inevitably had to say no. 

You missed Simon, you missed your mom, you missed your bed and your home, but you weren’t ready to come back, you weren’t ready to see the thousand faces you left behind, you were still hesitant to come back. Now you were there, tense at the end of the stairs because the disappointed tone on his voice lingered in your mind to this day. 

Some voice in your head was telling you that it was what adults do, take responsibility for their actions, seeing people even if you preferred not to see them because that was what grown ups do. You were supposed to be an adult of twenty five years old, even if you felt like you never grew out of that bitter phase only teenagers go through, you were still an adult, so why did you feel like a kid at the end of the stairs, waiting for Simon to lay eyes on you?

Your mom hugged him tightly like she hadn’t seen him in months, and when he pulled away from her grip he noticed you, coming down the stairs as you realized that he, like your mom, wasn’t expecting to see you today.

Simon frowned, surprised, but just a second later a smile took over his face  “Hey, you.” He said, opening his wide arms, offering you a hug. “What are you doing here?”

You took a deep breath, almost turning around to check if he was talking to another person behind you, but no, he was talking to you. He grabbed your wrists, pulling you closer to hug you the same way your mom was hugging him a moment ago. “Is this not my house?” You murmured against the fabric of his blue sweater, feeling your heart hammering against your ribcage as you tried to make a joke.

“Of course it is.” He just said, leaving a kiss on your hair.

Four years ago. 

Two weeks before New Year’s Eve. 

If you wanted to stop thinking about Yoongi, the first step was as easy as stop seeing him, because your mind was not helping at all. 

After leaving his uncle’s garage you should’ve gone home to start thinking a way of telling Yoongi that he couldn’t sleep in the same bedroom as you on Christmas, you needed to think of an excuse for why he should sleep in your grandma’s one thousand year old couch instead of Simon’s empty bed, which was casually right next to yours.

The following step should be to watch some romcom with Heath Ledger and try to forget the way Yoongi rolled up his sleeves when he was pretending to help Namjoon with your car, or at least the way you stared like an idiot for a good moment before snapping out of it. 

He should’ve gone home too, he had no business walking in the same direction as you if his apartment was towards the other end of the street. It didn’t take you long to realize he was following you “for some coffee, since we’re cold”, as he said, already assuming that you didn’t have any plans (he wasn’t wrong).

You didn’t want to chase him away, you were still working on that thing of not being a bitch, and while there was a rational part of you that knew that you were better off not seeing Yoongi, there also was a part of you who couldn’t get enough of him. A better explanation was that you might be a masochist. 

The garage wasn’t far from home, but you were walking fast as if you were trying to lose him in the way.

“Is Namjoon still single?” You wondered out loud, trying to redirect your thoughts somewhere far away from him. At least for now it didn’t seem that difficult, you remembered the sweet smile of Yoongi’s friend and the way he lifted his glasses with his finger up to the bridge of his nose. Was he really shy or was he just faking it so girls thought he was cute? Either way, it was working.

“What?” Yoongi raised his voice, frowning at you. 

You frowned back at him “I asked if Namjoon is still single.” You repeated, but you were sure he heard it right. “How come he’s still single?”

The wind hit your face, so you made yourself small in your jacket, scanning the street for any cars before crossing in the middle of the street. Yoongi followed you without hesitation, running to the other side of the street before you left him behind. 

“Why…?” He yelled, trying to catch up with you, but when he was next to you he lowered his voice “Why do you care?”

The question sounded strange coming out of his lips, but you ignored his tone, turning your head. “I’m curious.” You just said, but he still couldn't shake the strange look on his face. “What?” You pushed his shoulder “Don’t look at me that way.” 

“I’m not looking at you in any way.” He defended himself. 

He was clearly looking at you in some way, you just didn’t know which. You winced, trying to brush it off “I’m just asking…” You murmured “He’s really cute, don’t you think? He works at the garage, he wears glasses, he’s got cute dimples. How is he still single?” 

“It seems like you gave him a good look.” He mumbled under his breath, taking his eyes off you. 

“I’m just a very observant girl.” You argued. “C’mon, you didn’t think about it? I’ve never seen Namjoon with a girl…” You kept wondering, staying silent as Yoongi, for some reason, refused to keep this conversation going. You still didn’t know how Simon and Yoongi were such good friends, Simon always knew everything about everyone, how was it possible that Yoongi refused to even discuss the reason for Namjoon's long singleness? Or maybe Yoongi was keeping the reason as a secret, maybe it was something no one was supposed to know. Suddenly, you connected two and two together, interpreting Yoongi’s reluctance in the most logical way. You gasped “Oh! Or is he…?”

Yoongi rolled his eyes, making a sound of annoyance when he realized you were still talking about the same thing. “No, he’s not gay, Pinky.” He sighed “He’s just not into dating.”

You turned the corner of the street, making Yoongi follow you. “Like my brother?” You asked, remember how everyone said the same thing about Simon. 

He snorted “No, not like your brother.” He said  “Simon was a mess… Namjoon is just a shy guy.”

You arched an eyebrow. That was the lamest excuse ever, it wasn’t enough explanation for you. Maybe Yoongi was right and Namjoon was just-a-shy-guy, or maybe Yoongi didn’t know the real reason why he has been single for years because men never communicate their feelings with each other, maybe Namjoon was dating his first love for years until she broke her heart, making him never want to date again, or maybe… 

“Stop.” He said, interrupting your train of thought. Now it was his turn to push your shoulder “Don’t even think about it.” 

He gave you a warning look, which made you confused for a moment… Wait, what was he thinking? Did Yoongi confuse your nosiness for something else? Did something that you said made him think your intentions were different? … Was he really thinking you were interested in Namjoon? 

You pursed your lips, trying to contain your laugh. You could explain to Yoongi that he misunderstood you and deny every accusation, but something inside you told you that the current scenario was more fun.

“I’m not thinking about anything.” You said, faking innocence, and even if you really weren't he looked at you like he didn’t believe you. 

“Yeah, right.” He huffed “Didn’t sound like that.”

“Really? How did it sound, then?” You teased him “Enlighten me.” 

Yoongi did not say another word after that, refusing to follow your game. You've known him for longer than you could remember —literally, he said he remembered meeting you when he was four and Simon invited him into the house so he could meet his new baby sister, but you had no recall of it—, even so, you had no memory of him ever being mad at you, not even slightly annoyed, so you were a bit confused when his expression remained serious for the rest of the walk home. Was it so bad to show interest in Namjoon?

“Don’t even think about it.” What did that even mean?

Present

You were trying to avoid the memory of Ian’s proposal for weeks now. It was painted in your mind, the excited look on his face, his mom’s ring on his hand, the flowers, the cool white lights, the ringing in your ears that warned you something was wrong. You remembered wondering if he knew that you read all those texts he sent to other women, if he knew how ridiculous everything looked. It still made you cringe when you accidently thought about it. Did he really think you were the same as him?… Weren’t you different? 

Despite being the most embarrassing moment of your life to date, you weren’t trying to hide it, you were planning to tell your family about it when the time was right. Like tonight, for example. You thought you could talk to them about it, that you could have time to explain everything, to apologize for not saying anything, maybe for a couple other things too… But your plan was ruined the moment your mom told you she had planned a dinner in your absence on the same day you arrived.

Now Simon was looking at you like you were thirteen and you got your heart broken for the first time. He rested his elbows on the table you and him just set, sighing. You were aware that the rest of the guests were on their way, but you tried to ignore it. It wasn’t that difficult since Simon’s thoughts were echoing in the room, making you shift in your seat. Of course Simon already knew about it, you were sure he already read it in some tabloid before you got the chance to tell him first. 

“Stop doing that.” You said, breaking the silence. He didn’t seem surprised, but still narrowed his eyes, trying to play dumb.

“Doing what?” 

You weren’t sure what he was doing exactly, maybe you were just imagining the way he was looking at you: with pity, but it was annoying you, and he knew that, perhaps it was the reaction he was expecting from you. He was laughing five minutes ago, making fun of you when he saw you trip on the step of the entrance to the kitchen like nothing changed between the two of you, but now he was sitting in silence as if he was preparing you to ask you the question. 

You wished Florence, Simon’s girlfriend, were here. She would fill the uncomfortable silences with gossip about the neighbors and ignore the elephant in the room. She was away visiting her family, so instead you were there with him as he tried to play the big brother role, but failed terribly. 

“Are you going to ask me about it?” You asked, not hesitating.

Simon let your question linger in the air, pretending you didn’t just read his mind. There were only a few people you could say you knew like the palm of your hand, one of them was your brother. Even if you spent years separated, you’ve always been as thick as thieves, you still saw right through Simon, and the only problem with that was that he saw right through you as well.

“Are you going to tell the truth?” He calmly asked, enjoying the look on your face when he heard you gasp, offended.

It hurt to know how implicit it was that you hadn’t been honest these past years, it was easy to catch you off guard. While you were out in the world, away from your family, Simon stayed here and visited your mom every sunday and tried to ignore the fact that you didn’t answer any of their messages that week, saying that you were busy working when you really were trying to avoid invitations for the next weekend. It was obvious that Simon was the one that spent more time with your mom, you thought about that the second he used the same tone as her when she was scolding you. 

You crossed your arms over your chest, frowning “Maybe, I can think about it.” You said in the same tone as him. Simon just scoffed, shaking his head. 

“Fine. That was too much to ask for, I guess.” He snarked, mocking you “I have a simpler question… are you okay?” 

Despite his attempt to appear casual and keep bickering, his concern was evident. That question could have felt like a caress to the soul, a sigh of relief, the feeling of home, but instead it felt like Simon had punched you in the stomach, leaving you without air. How easy it was to fight with Simon, how easy would’ve been for you if he didn’t hug you when he saw you thirty minutes ago. It would’ve been less difficult than witnessing his blue eyes showing you mercy. It was clear that he cared for you, but you weren't sure if you deserved it, not from him of all people. 

“Simon…” You murmured, shaking your head. It was an easy question, but difficult to answer knowing this wasn’t the right moment, this wasn’t how you planned things.  

“What?” He questioned, reading your mind “I’m not asking you just because I have to, I’m not waiting for you to lie to me and tell me that you’re alright so I can forget about it, I care.” 

“I know you care.” You breathed out “It’s just…” You sighed, vacillating “Listen… I haven’t- I’m not okay, really… But I can manage. I just feel like this is not the right moment to talk about it.” You looked at the entrance of the door and his sorry eyes followed, understanding what you meant. Simon nodded, but he didn’t stop looking at you like you were a wounded animal.

“That’s fine, I understand.” He murmured “That’s what I wanted to know. I was just wondering if you were going to be okay tonight.” 

“I’ll be fine, as long as I don’t have to talk about myself. We’ll have time for that” You assured him.

“Are you sure?” He continued to question, doubting you. 

You squinted your eyes “Yes, I'm sure, Simon.” You said, annoyed, even if you couldn’t blame him for not trusting your word. “I’m not planning to run away.”

“Not again?” He tried to joke, but you didn’t dare to laugh. 

“I assure you, not again.” You rolled your eyes, hating that that was the image your brother had of you, hating to know that he was right. “You can stop looking at me like I’m a lost puppy now, I’m not a lost puppy.”

He scoffed “Are you not a lost puppy?” He asked “Where are you sleeping tonight?” 

You frowned, offended “Here, of course… I mean, on the couch probably, but here.” You  tried to defend yourself, but you immediately realized that your room was still a mess, and instead of cleaning a bit before dinner, you spent the whole afternoon sleeping. 

His lips curved into a mocking smile, knowing that there wasn’t much difference between you and a lost puppy. “You can sleep at mine.” He offered. 

“I wasn’t asking” You resisted, too proud to say yes right away.

“I know.” He said, and he shushed you to stop you from talking, pretending that it was the end of the discussion.

You shook your head, trying to reject those kind gestures you didn’t deserve. You opened your mouth, willing to keep arguing with your brother until you heard the bell ringing for the second time this evening, making you almost jump in your seat. 

Your mom yelled from the kitchen, announcing that she was getting the door followed by the sound of her noisy shoes making their way to the door. It happened in a matter of seconds, you heard your mom rushing to the hall and opening the door, you heard muffled sounds, mixed voices, your mom greeting the guests while you waited on your chair as Simon turned his head over his shoulder, expectantly observing the entrance of the dining room. 

Then, you heard steps approaching, laughter and chatter, but something else was happening in your head, something that was restricting you from hearing clearly —from thinking clearly—.

You fixed your eyes on the door, wishing no one appeared for as long as they could delay the arrival, but soon your field of vision was occupied by a short woman with curly hair and pearls in her ears. Nari, Yoongi’s mom, watched her step while she supported herself with a cane as she entered the room. Nari was just a few years older than your mom, but since the accident four years ago it has been difficult for her to walk without help, that’s why you and your brother both stood up at the same time to help her get to a seat faster. 

The sound of both of your chairs being pushed back and your brother’s rushed steps filled the room. Simon was quicker than you, he approached Nari, smiling and saying hello as he grabbed one of her hands to help her find a seat. 

You were not hearing anything clearly, but you were sure that Nari was complaining and telling Simon that she did not need any help, but he ignored her as he asked for her coat so he could hang it on the coat rack next to the door. 

You felt clumsy, awkwardly standing in the middle of the room, unsure of what to do with yourself for the next four seconds. Four seconds that could’ve been four years, because when you lifted your gaze you realized you were standing face to face with Yoongi. An older Yoongi, a Yoongi you haven’t seen before, even if you didn’t remember when was the last time you dared to look him in the eyes, you were sure that back then he looked very different than tonight. His hair was longer, it was pushed back like he ran his finger through it, he was dressed like he just got home from work, a white dress shirt, slacks and a long black winter coat. He was dressed like an adult, a version of him that you never met and maybe never will. His gaze met yours the same way everything met you: by accident. He was not expecting to see you tonight, you knew that, now he was looking at you the same way you were looking at him, like he saw a ghost, maybe you were, maybe he was. 

Yoongi opened his mouth to say something, and you had exactly one second to prepare for what he was about to say next, but you didn’t. 

“Oh, Pinky.” Two words escaped his lips, tripping over each other as surprise and regret took over his features. He immediately realized he said something he wasn’t supposed to, but you still couldn’t hear clearly, you weren’t sure if you heard that right. 

The nickname sent a chill down your spine, you couldn’t answer to it, and he knew it. It was like he said some forbidden word to make you freeze in your place. You couldn’t help but feel like the dumbest person on earth. 

You had been thinking the whole afternoon about it, trying to think of ways of looking unbothered when Yoongi showed up tonight, but it took one stupid word for you to stop functioning normally. You wanted to say something, say hi to him and forget that he even dared to call you like that, but you refused to do it. 

“Sweetheart! What are you doing here?” Suddenly, your ears were working again. Nari’s high pitched voice snapped you out of your trance, making you look away from her son’s face. It was like she didn’t notice your presence until Yoongi called you by that stupid nickname “I didn’t know you were coming!”

She attempted to stand up again, but you rushed to meet her so she wouldn’t move from her chair to let her pull you into a tight embrace. You took advantage of it, there were no more places to hide in this house, not your mom’s room or behind your brother, so you closed your eyes, hugging her back.

It was only then when you realized how much you missed being hugged like that, you remembered how much you missed such affection. Especially from her, who was always so loving to you, it was a shame that you couldn’t look her son in the eyes. 

You shook those thoughts away, acting like his presence didn’t affect you. “I told my mom!” You explained “But she forgot, can you believe it?”

“She should've told me.” She said, pulling away to cup your face in her hands “I haven’t seen you in so long, angel, you look beautiful!”

“Not as much as you do, Nari, are you wearing makeup?” You tried to joke, making her giggle. 

“No, darling, I don’t need that stuff.” She shook her head. “C’mon, sit next to me, we have to catch up!”

Four years ago 

Seven days before New Year’s Eve. 

There definitely was a logical reason why you and Yoongi were locked in the tiniest closet of your Grandma's enormous house.

The answer was somewhere in your mind, somewhere deep where your brain functioned just fine, somewhere where you weren’t trapped between Yoongi’s body and some shelf that was digging on your shoulder blade. 

You were looking at each other in silence while you heard your name being called from downstairs. The palm of your hand was covering his mouth, preventing him from saying another word and his fist was clenched around your shirt to maintain his balance. You were trying to ignore how his knuckles were digging on the skin of your stomach, or how his chest was pressed against yours or the way his knee was digging in your inner thigh to keep you from crashing against the shelves full of cleaning products. 

You looked at him through your eyelashes, quietly observing how his hair fell on his eyes like a curtain. You took a deep breath, thinking of the reason why you were there in the first place, which was… uhm… uh…

Oh yes! You were hiding. Yes, you were hiding from your grandmother, that was why.

This morning Yoongi showed up at your house to pick you and your mother up in his car.  He was wearing sunglasses and a baseball cap with the name of his college on it. He smiled cheekily as he helped you put your bags in the trunk and you rolled your eyes when he opened the door of the passenger seat for you. Your mother was delighted, not only because she didn’t have to drive for two hours to your grandmother’s house, but also because Yoongi had that effect on everyone… including you. 

Of course your grandmother loved Yoongi as well. Through her eyes, he was like another version of Simon; he was studying the same thing, he was about to graduate just like him, of course she was delighted to welcome Yoongi with open arms. You weren’t saying that you were not welcomed, or that your grandmother didn’t love you, but you were never received the same way. Yes, she hugged you and kissed you and told you she missed you, but that didn’t mean that later on she would not make comments on the way you dressed, or the way you laughed, or whether you should eat another gingerbread cookie or not. 

You could endure all those things, you always did, it was nothing new to you. What you could not endure, howerever, was another second in the presence of your grandmother talking about her neighbor’s daughter. You hardly knew Aria, —the tall and blonde girl with gorgeous blue eyes that was sitting in the living room next to your grandmother— but you knew pretty much everything about her since your grandmother insisted on comparing you to her. 

Ever since you were a kid your grandmother liked to compare you to every other girl of your age. You were sure Aria was a nice girl, it wasn’t her fault your grandmother was such a bitch, but you weren’t in the mood to face her today, especially when Simon wasn’t around. You knew she was coming with her family, since your grandma loved to invite the whole neighborhood when the holidays arrived, so when you heard your name being called from downstairs so you would come down and greet the guests, you hid in the nearest room of the house, the cleaning closet towards the end of the hall on the second floor. 

After a few seconds you stopped hearing your mother calling for you, but then you started hearing Yoongi, approaching in the hallway as he was looking for you in the room you were staying in. You quickly opened the door, grabbed him by his arms and dragged him into the room with you. 

You resolved that problem, the next step was figuring out how you would get out of the current situation. 

Yoongi gently grabbed your wrist, removing the hand you were using to cover his mouth. “Aren’t you a little dramatic?” He whispered, completely ignoring the short distance that separated your face from his.

Yoongi’s breath smelled like the red wine he was drinking during lunch, and that should send some alert to your mind to warn you that he shouldn't be this close to you, but your brain seemed to be functioning on a different astral plane, and it was pretty much only focused on Yoongi’s lips.

You felt his hand opening to let go of your crumpled shirt, but then he slowly slid it back to your waist, grabbing you gently.

You gulped. 

That seemed completely normal.

“Of course I am.” You whispered back, and you congratulated yourself for being able to speak. “That’s why I am hiding in a closet.”

“And you dragged me with you.” He remarked.

“You were screaming my name, you were going to give me away.” You accused him, digging a finger on his chest.

He nodded, pretending that what you just said made sense “Right, I get it. So… why are you hiding here instead of your room?” He said, emphasizing his words. 

You took a quick look around the tiny dark room that wasn’t made to have two people in it. It smelled like bleach and it was full of brooms and dust. It wasn’t the most comfortable place to hide but it seemed like no one opened this room for the last four weeks, so it was safe. You returned your eyes to his face, biting your bottom lip. “My room wasn’t safe.” You explained, dead serious. “Do you think they stopped looking for me already?”

Yoongi rolled his eyes “You sound like someone is trying to kill you.”

Well, no. No one was trying to kill you, but why did you feel the need to run away as if someone was? 

“No, it’s worse. If they find me I would have to tell everybody that I dropped out of college.” You effused, making him shake his head in disbelief “You are supposed to be here to support me, aren’t you?” You tried to remind him. 

“I am here to support you.” He emphasized. “I am hiding in a closet with you, aren’t I?” You kept silent, knowing he was right. “But you can’t run away from everything, especially if it’s not worth the run, we’ll leave eventually and you’ll forget about your grandma for the rest of the year.”

You sighed, defeated. “I still don’t want to see fucking Aria.”

He scoffed, biting his lip to contain a laugh. “We don’t have to talk to her, we can just say hello and leave.” He said “I mean, but first we have to get out of here.” 

He looked around, signaling the room you were squeezed in. He was right, again, he always was. You knew that it was absurd that you were hiding here in the first place, but something inside you urged you to stay there for a few seconds longer. Now you didn’t know if you wanted to stay there to avoid the guests or because you were getting too comfortable in his arms (you already knew the answer).

You had no idea what was happening in Yoongi’s mind, but you were too busy swimming in the warm brown of his eyes to even care, you were too busy dreaming to be interested in what this meant. 

You must’ve been long gone for a few seconds, because you were only made aware that you’ve been silent for a while when you heard his soft voice.  

“Pinky,” He called for you, pulling you out of the haze of your mind, but the thing that finally snapped you out of it was when you were suddenly caught off guard when you, out of nowhere, felt his hand touching your face, squeezing your cheeks between his fingers “are we going to stop hiding or not?” He calmly asked, making your heart skip a beat. 

You blinked, feeling your knees getting weak. If you were speechless before, now you have become completely mute. 

What. Was. He. Doing. 

And what was he playing?

You couldn’t miss the way his eyes shined in the dark and how your heart swirled in your chest, becoming small the second you watched a flash of a smirk tugging at the corner of his pink lips. Was he fucking laughing at you?

And why were you standing there with your mouth hung open, racking your brain for something to say? Your mind couldn’t process if he was just playing with you, not right now, not ever. You didn’t know what game he was playing, but you decided you were not letting him win regardless. You grabbed his wrist, pulling his hand away from your face. 

“Don’t treat me like a baby…” You said in a low voice, but you didn’t know what you were talking about anymore. Everything stopped making sense the moment you dragged him into this room.

He squeezed your waist, digging his fingers on your skin over your cotton shirt. “But you sound like a baby.” He murmured, leaning over you just enough to make your noses brush with each other. 

Your heart dropped to your stomach, leaving you without air. God, you felt sick. This wasn’t real, this was a product of your imagination, like every single second you spent with Yoongi these last weeks. “Yoongi…” You whispered, trying to warn him, but instead it sounded like you were pleading. You might as well have done both; warning him because if he didn’t stop you would start believing whatever he was doing, and pleading because you were not sure if you could take it. 

He freed himself from your grasp, grazing his thumb along your jaw bone. You couldn’t recall a time, not even in your darkest dreams, where he touched you like that. 

“What?” He whispered back, his voice hoarse. “What are you going to do?”

The room laid in profound silence for a moment, the weight of your heart suffocated you and the urge to answer him, to smack him in the face, to run away, increased in your chest. You held your breath, watching him open his mouth about to say something, but then the room shook when someone knocked on the door like they were about to knock it down, being followed by the strong sound of your mom’s voice, making you jump away from him. 

“Dear, don’t tell me you’re there again.” She yelled loud enough for the whole block to hear, knocking again for good measure. 

Yoongi’s arms fell on each side of his body, and you couldn’t help but feel disappointed. He lifted an eyebrow, ignoring what just happened. “Again, huh?”

You rolled your eyes, pushing his chest to keep a proper distance between your body and his “Shut up.” You gritted your teeth, refusing to acknowledge the warm temperature of your face. You hated to see that there was no trace of embarrassment on his features, just pure amusement. Meanwhile, you didn’t need a mirror to know how red your cheeks were. 

Three more knocks. “C’mon, get out there already!” Your mother kept yelling. 

When you finally turned around and opened the door, your mother’s gaze fell upon you, looking at you with everything but surprise. It wasn’t the first time you hid there, you did it a couple times when you were a kid and fought with Simon. Your mother was well aware of your hiding place, you just expected her to think you were too old to be found here again.

The surprise came after, when her eyes caught a sigh of another face in the dark. She knew you were going to be hidden here, what she didn’t expect was to find Yoongi right next to you, maybe way too close to each other. 

Her eyes widened, out of words “Oh, dear,... Yoongi… Uh, I didn’t- I didn’t know you were both here...” The sentence died in your mother’s lips, but you ignored her reaction, you stepped out of the room, fanning yourself with your hand to cool down and storming out of the situation. 

“Sorry, I was dragged into this, Lila.” Yoongi explained, sounding way more composed than you, but the situation didn’t look good for either of you. 

“Well, I can only imagine…”  She said, but you did not miss her undertone. 

You walked back to what was supposed to be your room (and Yoongi’s), leaving both of them behind. 

“Your daughter can be very persuasive.” He continued to explain, his voice following you. 

A low hum of your mom finished the conversation, she left trying to put together what she just saw, and you hurried your pace so you could lock yourself in the room and leave him outside. 

“Pinky!” He exclaimed, stopping you at the door frame. 

You needed a second alone, but he was not willing to give it to you. 

You turned around, exasperated “What!?” You snapped, but he didn’t care one bit. 

“Didn’t you want to get out of here?”

Present

The day Ian came to your apartment to pick up the last box with his things, you finally called your mother to tell her you and him had broken up. You had only told Minnie by then, but it got stuck in your throat for two weeks, ready to be vomited at any moment. 

Your mother always said that it was important to grieve things, to be mad about them, to be sad, to cry about them, otherwise you were going to carry that weight while pretending to be okay until, someday, it would explode in your face in the worst possible way. When you broke up with Ian you patiently waited for the tears, for the pain in your chest, for the sad memories of three years with him to arrive one night at three am. You waited for the grief in your car when some sappy love song started playing, or when you went for the groceries and came face to face with the huge advertisement with his face on it, but it never came. 

You had an affection for Ian that was not easy to understand, but you liked his company, you liked his unconventional jokes, that he was politically incorrect, that he laughed in the worst moments, but you were never sure you loved him, were you a horrible person for that? For not feeling bad, for not crying for him? 

When your mom picked up the phone and you told her why you called, you broke down crying before finishing the sentence, you felt all the emotions stacking up your throat as you sobbed uncontrollably. You soon realized you weren’t crying for Ian, you weren’t crying because you missed him, not even for the proposal, you were crying because you needed a hug from your mom and she was four hours away. 

“Women grieve during the relationship.” Minnie theorized when you told her that you didn’t feel bad for Ian “It’s normal if you don’t miss him.”

Maybe she was right, but maybe you were not grieving your relationship with Ian, but the person you were before leaving home. 

Now that you were there, sitting at the table with the people that have always been your family, you knew that you were supposed to feel at ease, but the anxiety you felt at the thought of someone mentioning the big break up, as Minnie called it, was stronger. You knew everyone knew, and you knew everyone was thinking about it. Everyone but you, because you were a bit too distracted with a certain someone sitting across the table, just in front of you. A certain someone who couldn’t stop crossing looks with you. 

“Aren’t they planning to make a movie about that?” You heard Simon ask, shaking off your thoughts. 

As much as you wished not to be the center of attention, you should’ve known that none of your wishes would come true tonight, because every topic, every question, every comment was being redirected at you and your life in the city. 

You weren’t paying much attention to the conversation, but you were sure they were talking about a play you starred in two years ago, which contained one of your most acclaimed performances. You remembered those days with pure contentment and pride, but you had numerous reasons for not wanting to talk about it.

“So I’ve heard.” You just said, looking at the half eaten portion of lasagna on your plate.

“Shouldn’t you be in it?” Nari asked this time “You were wonderful in that.”

You smiled, shrugging. “Thanks, but if they don’t offer it to me beforehand I would have to audition again. It’s a different process of casting I suppose.” 

You heard almost everyone humming in response, and felt a pair of eyes fixed on the side of your face that you were still trying to ignore. In that moment you decided you would not concede said eyes another single glance tonight, as if you could ever keep your promises. 

“But wouldn’t you like to be in it?” Your mom nonchalantly asked “If it were the same casting, I mean.”

You looked at her for a moment, expecting her to realize what she was asking, but she didn’t. You knew she had no business remembering every play you’ve been in, or every casting, or every detail of the life you decided to never share, but you still waited for a moment, expecting her to remember that in that very same play you ended up killing Ian’s character by stabbing him in the heart. 

Nothing like reality, you thought. 

“Not really.” You chuckled, bitterly “Some things are made to be done just once, it might wear off.” 

You breathed out, thinking that you successfully avoided the topic without having to give any explanations. 

But of course, once again, you were wrong. 

“Oh, sorry, baby.” Your mother backtracked “I forgot you were there with…”

The name died on her throat, immediately knowing that the comment was unnecessary. 

You pursed your lips, shaking your head “It’s fine…” 

The conversation could have followed its course then, you could have changed the topic yourself, you could have perfectly saved the conversation by making something up, but Nari was quicker. 

“Oh, darling, I’m sorry about that, I just heard about it this morning.” She followed your mom, giving you the condolences as if someone just died. “I had no idea.”

“Mom…” You heard Yoongi’s voice echoing in the room as a warning, and without noticing, your gaze landed on him again for a brief moment, immediately breaking your promise. You mentally cursed yourself, taking your eyes off him when he offered an apologetic smile.

Nari looked at him, annoyed at him for scolding her, “I’m just saying, I hope you’re okay, I know it’s not easy.”

“Mom.” Yoongi spoke again, this time more insistent, but his mother paid it no mind. 

“It’s okay.” You said without looking at him “I’m okay, things like this happen.”

You didn’t know what things you were referring to, if the break up, the proposal, the leaked pictures, the fact that your ex boyfriend stabbed you in the back. Things like that did not happened everyday, you weren’t supposed to get used to them, but you acted like you already were. 

She nodded, looking at you with eyes full of concern. “I was so surprised, honestly. Didn’t you want to get married?”

The directness of the question caught you off guard, so you couldn’t help but chuckle nervously. Everyone could sense how invasive and personal was the question, but the fact that she wasn’t trying to tip-toe around you made you smile softly. You loved Nari, and you knew she meant no harm, so, only for now, you decided to answer with the truth. 

“Well, yes, someday.” You quietly professed, the words leaving your mouth like a sigh “But with the right person.”

That was enough to end the conversation, she smiled at you the same way you smiled at her and you could swear she could sense the pain in your heart, not because of Ian, but because of everything else. 

Then, Phil began talking about something else and everyone joined the conversation, too scared of saying something wrong and making you cry, but you were still stuck in the moment. After some minutes, when you felt the ache in your chest increasing, you excused yourself and left the table to exit the house through the back door in the kitchen. 

You took a deep breath, letting the cold air fill your lungs as you closed the door behind you. You sat at the bench next to Phil’s plants, trying to catch your breath. You were sure you were about to find a home somewhere, you found yourself surrounded by everything that used to feel like it, but you still felt like a foreign person, you still felt like a stranger, a traitor. You couldn’t find the person you were, or the fragments that you didn’t make disappear. 

You weren’t strong enough yet, you understood that now. The wind in your hair reminded you that you still tried, but the lack of air in your lungs just told you how immature you still were. Still, you were mindful none of this would be easy, but you just needed a few seconds to compose yourself and then you could come back to the dining room to finish your lasagna. That sounded just fine. 

When you were about to get up from your seat, you heard it. The creaking sound of the back door opening, you observed the trace of warm light that came from inside, and then, you heard that voice again. 

Inevitably, your eyes met him again, whose head was peeking to verify if you were outside, and when he saw that you were, in fact, there, he closed the door behind him, leaving the two of you alone in the cold darkness of the night. What was he doing? 

“You’re here.” Yoongi’s words were accompanied by some misty breath, lingering in the air before disappearing. You lowered your gaze, nervously looking at your feet. ‘You’re here’, he said, and for some reason he sounded relieved. 

You were confused, you didn’t understand why he chose to follow you to the backyard, but he invited himself to stay there, leaning on the wall far enough from you.

“It’s cold here.” He announced, trying to dissipate the tension you were creating by staying silent. 

You nodded your head, agreeing, but you believed you shouldn’t even grant him that. 

Yoongi sighed, “I’m sorry about my mom,” He finally said “I’m sure it wasn’t her intention to put you in an uncomfortable situation.” You tried not to roll your eyes. Was that was he doing? Playing the role of an advocate? “She didn’t mean to sound rude or anything, she just has no filter.”

“It’s okay, I know.” You murmured under your breath. “It wasn’t her fault, it’s just me.” 

He kept quiet, he didn’t seem too content with that answer but what could he do about it? You both knew it was the only thing you were going to tell him. 

“Fine, but… you shouldn’t be out here… without a coat.” He awkwardly said, making you frown “It’s cold.”

You suppress the urge to punch him in the face, instead, you put your hands between your thighs because he was right, it was cold and you didn’t have a coat on, if you stayed too long outside you were going to get sick. 

“I know it’s cold.” You acknowledged “I’m going inside in a second.” 

You waited patiently for him to leave, expecting those words to be enough for him to leave you alone for a few more seconds, but he didn’t. He stood there, in the other corner of the porch looking at you like he had something else to say. You didn’t care, you wanted to not care, it was meaningless. 

“Are you… I just, uhm… Are you okay?” He stumbled over his words, but you dismissed the way your heart clenched in response. 

“Yoongi…” You groaned, intending to sound annoyed at him, but the name came out of your voice like something intimate, something like a secret, it echoed in the air, resonating with the same tenderness that he pronounced your nickname upon seeing you tonight.

“What? I mean-”

“I’m okay, I’ll be there in an instant.” You interrupted him. He didn’t have another option but to agree. 

He made his way to the door, but lingered in there for a moment. With one hand on the doorknob, he glanced longingly at you as if he was expecting you to stop him. “You can go now.” You rushed him. 

“I know, I know, sorry.” He said, knowing he was caught. “I’m just glad to see you, that's all.” 

Before you even got the chance to curse him, he disappeared through the door like nothing happened, once again. 

taglist: @kingofbodyrolls @overtherainbow35 @namin13 @p34rluv @moonchild1 @yoongisoftface @namgihours @honsoolgloss @idkjustlovingbts @yoongisducky @bangtansmauyeondan @tarahardcore @wobblewobble822 @secfir @ot72025 @baechugff @heroinanne @mortal-body-timelesssoul @hiii-priestess @wii-wii @jungkookies1002 @busanbby-jjk @acquiescence804

[silentglassbreak]

ok bestie I have a request for my delulu self mwuah

my scenario:

Noah’s your hot neighbor, lives in the apartment across the hall. you’ve really only spoken in passing— to exchange pleasantries and phone numbers, just in case— but you did have takeout with him and his rowdy group of guy friends (Folio, Ruffilo, and Jolly, who else?) when he was first moving in. a thank you for moving one single box (that’s all they let you touch before one of them was grabbing it out of your hands). Noah mumbles something about him not about to let “his pretty new neighbor carry his shit.”

one night you touch yourself to the thought of him, you might moan his name 🤭— he’s not even home half the time, what are the chances he’d hear you? except he does. because he’s home and the walls are thin. and your phone dings with his text.

want some help, sweetheart? ft. Noah sleeping over please!!!

preferably anonymous other than x fem!reader but I like pet names!!! sweetheart, baby, angel are my favorites <33

I know it’s a lot of details, you don’t have to include them all, it’s more so to give you an idea of the vibe 💖💖 utterly filthy but still he’s still a softie and a sweetheart

thank you this is actually so cool of you mwuah

Mmmm we love a good hot neighbor trope, yeah? What a cutie patootie he is, eh?

Mkay, let’s get into this.

After Writing Notes: This man will be the death of me…

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: smut, dirty talk, Noah being an absolute munch 😜

Skin

“Good morning, Angel.” His deep voice rings in my ears, and there he is, as he always is, sitting on his balcony, joint in his hand, guitar perched against the rail. He’s likely writing again, but Christ, does he have to always be out there at 7AM? I hate being up this early, and am never in the mood to speak to anyone.

I just want to sip my coffee, clear my cobwebs, and mentally prepare for my workday. The shop is packed, and my books are completely full, my first session starting at 9AM. I don’t have time for his early-bird antics today, nor the patience.

“Morning.” I grumble between sips of steaming hot coffee.

“Sleep well?” He pushes his joint out in the ashtray, careful not to damage it, obviously saving it for later.

“Mmph.” Is all I can muster while leaning back in my chair, pulling my sweater tighter around me. The crisp October morning has brought about hues of orange and amber in the trees surrounding the building. My favorite time of year.

“Busy day today? Must be if you’re up at this hour.”

I sigh heavily, eyes darting to him. His pale yellow hoodie and black beanie look so perfectly placed.

Noah is attractive, there is no arguing it, but he’s annoying. He’s always so positive and chipper. His friends are always over, as upbeat as he is. They’re in a band, and to be fair, they aren’t bad. They just like to start practicing at 10AM, on Sundays, which are the only days I get to sleep in.

I like them. On occasion, they’ll invite me over for pizza and to watch hockey, which I usually accept. None of them have ever been creepy or made a pass at me, which is so refreshing.

Noah does some mild flirting, using pet names instead of my actual name. Nick let it slip once that it’s because his ex has the same middle name as my first name, and that bugs him. He would rather not associate me with someone like her. I suppose that’s fair, so I’ve let it go. They’re all sweet, non-provocative names anyway.

“All booked today.” I slipped out.

He nodded. “I plan to schedule with you soon.”

I rolled my eyes. “You say that every week, Noah.”

His guitar was now dutifully placed on his lap, his fingers strumming a slow melody. “True, but the struggling musician lifestyle doesn’t exactly come with a wad of cash.”

I smirked. “Told you I’d discount you.”

“Discount as in…free?” I chuckled.

Despite hating his early routine, he usually did manage to perk me up in the mornings.

I stood up, opening the sliding door and slipping inside. “Keep dreamin’, champ.”

-

The day had been absolutely brutal. My wrists were still vibrating from holding my machine the entire day. I had hoped my last client would be done two hours earlier, but he had to keep taking breaks. Because of that fact, my hands were extra tired, and there was no way I could finish my sketch in preparation for tomorrow’s client, so I had to wake up early again.

Slinging my bag over the back of the couch, I huffed out a groan as I slumped down onto it. Days like today were becoming more and more frequent, and I was exhausted. I needed to clear my books for a week and have a staycation. Do nothing and see no one.

Heaving myself up, I made my way to the bathroom, taking my hair out of the tight bun it had been kept in all day. My fingers scrubbed at my scalp before I turned the water of the shower on.

I let my wrists and hands sit under the scalding spray for what felt like hours, just trying to loosen the joints. Afterwards, I massaged a brutal amount of lidocaine cream on them to ease the tension.

Pouring myself a glass of red wine, I stepped out onto my balcony with my favorite sweatshirt and the latest book my sister had recommended to me. It was a love story with very light smut, so she figured I’d enjoy it. If only she had known the types of stories I read regularly.

Still, I humored her.

Flipping on my porch light, I leaned back on my chair and pulled a blanket from my basket over me, covering my bare legs.

“Hey, sweetheart.” I startled, nearly spilling wine all over the pages.

“Jesus Christ, Noah!”

He chuckled. “I’m sorry, I thought you saw me.”

“No, gosh you almost gave me a stroke.”

His eyes peered over the separating railing at me. “Whatcha reading?”

I snorted, taking a gulp of my wine. “Some romance novel my sister keeps bugging me to read.”

He nodded his chin at this, not verbally responding. I noted the beer in his hand, and his eyes peering out at the city below.

I didn’t know Noah well at all. In fact, I knew so little that it was almost freaky, given that I saw him all the time. That’s the price I pay for being closed off. I do, however, know that he doesn’t drink much at all, and typically only does when something is bothering him.

“You okay?” I closed my book around my fingers so as to not lose my place.

He didn’t look up at me or respond, just took a pull from his beer.

No quips or witty remarks? This was even more unlike him.

“Bad day?”

He nodded.

“Want to talk about it?” He didn’t say no, but he didn’t say anything. He just sighed heavily. I pursed my lips, watching as his eyes stayed trained on the lights flickering off in the distance of Los Angeles, entranced in his own mind.

Then an idea sparked. “Oh! I know!” I set my book down, and stood up. He looked at me, finally. “Stay there! I know what you need!”

He quirked an eyebrow and took another swig from his bottle. I ran inside, grabbing the grocery bag inside my work tote, the goodies still untouched from my way home. When I came back out, I reached in the bag, pulling out the yellow package.

“Catch.” I chucked it at him, which he caught one handed. He scanned the bag, and smiled.

“All pink and red Starburst.” He looked back up at me. “You know what I needed.”

I smirked, pulling my other candy out of the bag, Sweettart Ropes, and began munching. He popped the bag of his own candy open and began unwrapping the tiny cubes.

“Now do you want to talk about it?”

Looking down at the wrapper balled up in his hand, he sighed hard, chewing the soft candy.

“We met with our label today.” His beanie from earlier was still on his head, perfectly placed. “They want us to join a tour.”

I chewed my ropes, speaking around the candy in my mouth. “And that’s bad? I thought that was part of being a band? Isn’t that how you make good money?”

He nodded, drinking more of his beer. “It can be, but I’m nervous. And they’re pressuring us.”

“What do you have to be nervous for? You’re super talented.”

He looked over, raising a suspicious eyebrow. “When have you ever heard our music?”

I scoffed. “Every Sunday morning through the paper thin walls.”

This made him laugh, which was a nice sound in comparison to his previously somber tone.

“I just recently started working on my vocals. Our early stuff was mostly all screaming. This last album has singing, though. I don’t feel ready to perform that live.”

I nodded. “Well, you practice, I know that.”

“Yeah, but it’s not that simple. I’ve got to know I can do it. I can’t second guess myself or I fuck up. I know it.” He sighed hard, setting the candy and beer on his table, and pressed the heel of his palms into his eyes.

“Mm,” I swallowed my candy. “is it a crowd thing?”

“I’m not really sure.” He rested his elbows on his knees. “I feel like it’s a being put on the spot, thing? I don’t know.”

I mulled this around. “I see.” I played with the idea in my brain before speaking. “So sing to me.”

His eyes shot up. “What?”

“Sing to me, Noah. Right here, right now.”

“The fuck? I can’t just do that.” He looked bewildered.

“Why not? It’s about being put on the spot. So sing to me.”

Noah stared at me as if I was insane. “What do I even sing? I don’t know any Taylor Swift songs.”

I scrunched my nose up at that. “Gross. No thank you.” He chuckled at that. “Sing me something of yours.”

He shook his head. “You won’t like our music.”

“Sure I do! I know you sing one about lions? Sing me that one!”

He all out laughed then. “The one about lions? Are you kidding?!”

I joined in on his laughter. “It’s the only one I remember.”

He groaned. “You’re serious?”

I sat back in my chair, chewing my candy, silently making it clear I was dead serious. He rolled his eyes and stood up.

“Hang on.” He disappeared inside. I took a large gulp of my wine, and waited.

He returned a few minutes later with his acoustic guitar, the one he usually had in the mornings. He also had taken off his beanie and sweatshirt, his tattooed arms and freshly cut hair on display. Were his arms always so muscular? No, he had definitely been working out.

“Alright, I’ll play you the one about lions, but please don’t laugh if I go off-key?”

I leaned forward, glass in hand, giving him my full attention. “Never.”

He sighed, and strummed the opening riffs of the song. It was slower, and sadder than when I had heard him practice it.

“You set me up as a villain, but you never mentioned the root of the problem. Took what you wanted and flipped it, but you won’t be dragging my name to the bottom.”

Noah’s voice was melodic, perfectly on key.

“So much unsaid. Left me for dead. I won’t forget.”

The song sounded more powerful in this style.

“Well everyone’s listening. And they know the difference. You’re not failing our senses.”

His fingers stopped strumming for a beat.

“If you’re throwing me to the lions, you should know I’m not scared of dying. I wouldn’t take back one thing I did. One word I said, but I’m going to make you wish you did.”

I smiled at the chorus, now remembering why I remember the lions.

“Jump to conclusions, they fall for illusions, but you weren’t there trying to stop them. You’re going low at the end of the road, but that won’t be the path that I follow.”

I finished my wine, setting the glass down and intertwining my fingers.

“So much unsaid, left me for dead. I won’t forget.”

He stopped strumming again, and I noticed he had his eyes closed. He hadn’t opened them once.

“Well everyone’s listening. And they know the difference. You’re not failing our senses.”

“If you’re throwing me to the lions, you should know I’m not scared of dying. I wouldn’t take back one thing I did. One word I said. But I’m going to make you wish you did.”

The chord progression changed leading into the bridge.

“I’m holding on to this until the scale’s untilted.”

He stopped, his pitch rising.

“Well everyone’s listening, and they know the difference. You’re not failing our senses, but you’re pushing my limits.”

“If you’re throwing me to the lions, you should know I’m not scared of dying. I wouldn’t take back one thing I did. One word I said. Oh-whoa.”

I leaned back in my chair, thoroughly enjoying this private show I was receiving.

“If you’re throwing me to the lions, you should now I’m not scared of dying. I wouldn’t take back one thing I did. One word I said. Oh God, I’ll make you wish you did.”

He strummed the final chord and opened his eyes. I was smiling from ear to ear. I clapped my hands together, which made him blush.

“Oh stop.” He set his guitar down, leaning back in his chair and grabbing his beer.

“That was fantastic, Noah!”

He shook his head. “It was okay. I wasn’t on key the entire second chorus.”

I rolled my eyes. “Are you always this hard on yourself?”

He smirked. “Always.”

“Please tell me that song is called Lions.”

This made him genuinely laugh. He shook his head. “It’s called Limits.”

“Mm, close enough.” He smirked at me.

“You really liked it?”

I nodded in response. “I did. It was really beautiful.”

His eyebrow raised and his thumb traced the rim of the beer bottle.

“You’re really beautiful.”

My stomach dropped clean out of my body, and my expression stilled. He didn’t waver, however, staring at me with a stern expression.

“Thank you.” Was all I could manage to say.

He nodded in acknowledgement, throwing back the bottle and tossing it into the trash can next to his table.

“Well, it’s past my bedtime. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

I smiled. “Bright and early.”

He grinned back. “Goodnight, Angel.”

“Goodnight, Noah.”

-

I tossed and turned in bed, sleep being the farthest thing from me. I had to get some rest, as I had to be up in less than eight hours, but even the wine hadn’t been able to wash the day off of me.

To be honest, the melody of the song kept ringing through my brain, the image of Noah strumming his guitar flashing past my eyelids.

His arms are so big. He’s actually kind of…buff? He didn’t look like that when he moved in. As much as I loved his long hair, the short hair was so fitting on him, falling loose by his ears.

Before I could stop myself, my hand was snaking down into the waistband of my shorts, fingers ghosting over the top of my clit. An orgasm should help me sleep, right?

As much as I know my rose would make quick work of this, the idea of having another vibrating object in my hand made my wrists ache. I opted to just take my time, fingers circling my sweet spot, and let myself indulge in the idea of my hot neighbor, fingers running over the string of the guitar. Arms flexing when he moved his hand up and down the neck. Throat constricting as the lyrics flowed out of his plump lips.

I could feel myself getting into the idea, my body sinking comfortably into the mattress. Lips parting, I pictured him on the other side of the walls. What did he look like shirtless? Was his chest as muscular as his arms? Did his tattoos spread all the way to his chest?

My fingers applied more pressure, making me squirm, and a soft breath left my lips. I wanted to be quiet, but I was alone. Did it matter?

Noah is likely sleeping, so I doubted that he would be able to hear anything.

I let a moan escape, letting one finger dip between my lips and feel how the moisture had built up at the thought of him. My pussy ached at the idea of his hands, long fingers pressing into me. I would bet he could hit my sweet spot with the first knuckle. I gasped hard, my hips bucking at the thought.

“Oh fuck.” I groaned, my mind drifting even further.

If his fingers were that long, how long was the rest of him? Did his cock size up to his gargantuan stature? What would it feel like? Would it hurt? Would it stretch? Likely, given I hadn’t been intimate with anyone for at least eight months. Would riding him be possible?

“Mmm,” I licked my lips at the image. “God, Noah.”

His name slipped out, and for a split second, I almost blushed, until I remembered it was just me.

That is, until I hard my phone chime on my nightstand.

I groaned, stilling my hand and growling. I was so close, and now it was gone. I snatched my phone, but my body froze when I saw the text on my screen.

Noah: Having fun over there, sweetheart?

My brain melted, completely mortified. Why was he awake?! He went to bed an hour ago!

I couldn’t respond, wishing I could sink into a hole in the mattress and disappear.

His type bubble appeared, and my heart rate sped up.

Noah: You’ve been at it a little while. Sounds like you may need a hand?

What do I even say to that? Am I okay with that? The heat between my legs screamed at me, telling me to take him up on his offer, but my brain put the brakes on.

We are neighbors. Did I want to change that dynamic? Did I want to tempt the fates?

I’m not, and have not been, in a place where I wanted to be in any kind of relationship/situationship/friends with benefits agreement right now. What did inviting him over mean?

Or was it that deep? Did I need to think about it that hard?

Me: Back door’s unlocked.

My finger hovered over the send button for a good 30 seconds before finally getting the nerve to press send. Once I had, I practically threw my phone across the room in hysteria.

What had I done?

After a moment, I heard a sound of a mattress creaking and shifting, and the sound of his sliding door.

Holy fuck.

My room was pitch black, so the light trailing in to the room from the moonlight was disrupted when his tall silhouette appeared. The door slid open smoothly, and he stepped in.

Instinctively, I reached over and tapped on the lamp on my bedside table, propping myself up on my elbows.

There he stood, hair just slightly messy from his pillow, shorts hanging low on his hips, and no tshirt.

Well, that answers my question. His chest and abdomen were covered in colorful, beautiful tattoos. Behind them, his muscles were chiseled and tight.

“You good, angel?”

He stood, and leaned his back against the wall, arms behind his back.

I guess my expression had been confusing, so I shook my head.

“Yeah, just a little embarrassed.”

This made him smile. “You shouldn’t be.”

“No? How much did you hear?”

With this, he pushed off the wall, taking a few steps to the bed, sinking down on the edge next to my leg.

“Oh, not too much.” His hand reached out and his palm ran over my duvet. “Just you moaning my name.”

His eyes flicked up at me from under his lashes.

That was it. I was dead. My face turned a deep crimson and I threw my head back, pulling the pillow over it, praying it would just suffocate me.

This made him chuckle. “What’s wrong?”

“That’s humiliating!”

He snorted. “I find it extremely flattering.”

“Oh, I’m sure you do.” My words were muffled by the pillow.

“You know, you could’ve just asked me to come over.”

I pulled the cover from my face and scoffed. “Oh sure.” I put my hand up to my ear to mimic a telephone. “Hey Noah! I know we’ve never had any kind of sexual contact - ever - but would you by chance come by and help me get off so I can get some sleep, since I can’t seem to quit thinking about you?”

“Sounds good to me, I don’t see the problem.” His smile was so mischievous. I couldn’t help but sheepishly grin.

“Noah-“

He cut me off. “How many times have you touched yourself while thinking of me?”

My mouth hung open. “This is the first time…”

He nodded, his hand sliding along the blanket and closer to my leg underneath.

“What changed?”

I shook my head. “What do you mean?”

“We’ve lived next door for six months. Why are you attracted to me now, all of a sudden?”

“I’ve always found you attractive.”

He smirked, his hand slipping up over my calf, applying a small pressure. My skin tingled.

“Then the feeling is mutual.” He sighed, looking up at me. “But tonight was different?”

“I just…” I shrugged, rolling onto my side, which pushed my body closer to him. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you singing. Playing the guitar.”

His hand moved up, sliding to my hip and resting there. “Ah, okay. So I serenaded you, and you couldn’t resist?”

This made me giggle. “Gosh, you’re such a dork.”

He snickered, scooting himself closer to me. “Mm, maybe. But it doesn’t change the fact that you were thinking about me.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

Suddenly, the air was thick, and he was leaning closer to me. I leaned my head back, giving him full view of my face. When he was close enough that I could feel his breath brushing across my lips, his eyes searched mine.

“This can just be a one-night thing if you want?”

I bit my bottom lip, and nodded gently.

I felt the skin of his lips press into me as my eyes closed, and I molded, form-fitting to him easily. He shifted, his body laying sideways next to me. Noah’s hand reached up and grasped the side of my face, pulling my body in closer to him.

I couldn’t feel or hear anything but the sound of his soft breathing against me, and the pressure of his hips pressing directly against mine.

His hand fell from my face and grabbed my leg by the back of the knee, hiking my leg up to hook on his hip, pulling my body into him even further. The press of his erection behind his shorts provided the sweetest friction against my pussy, still clothed by my shorts.

He groaned into my mouth, and I bucked my hips against him, begging for more contact.

Making out with Noah was more fun than I had imagined. He licked at my tongue, and I tasted the mint toothpaste he had used right before bed. His lips made the most delicious sounds when they sucked and pulled on mine, it had my head twirling in so many different directions.

All of my fantasies were replaying in my brain. His hands, his arms, his chest. My hands began wandering down his body, feeling every last ridge of muscle he had. I felt the ripple of his skin when he flexed, his body so warm and inviting.

He pulled his lips off of mine to look down at me, eyes dark and full of what had to be desire.

“What do you want me to do?”

What kind of question was that? Wasn’t it obvious?

“What?” I felt as though I was missing some hidden meaning.

He shifted, his body now looming over me, and I laid back flat on the bed so I could look directly at him.

“What…” He leaned down to kiss my lips. “do…” Kiss to my jaw. “you…” Kiss to my throat. “want me…” Kiss on my collarbone. “to do?”

I was panting, my need to feel him against my skin causing a hot burn everywhere I couldn’t.

“I, uh” His lips were attached to my neck, nipping and sucking on the skin of the tattoo etched there. “I don’t know. I just need to feel you.”

He pulled back, eyebrow raised, and smirked.

“Well,” He huffed a breath, running a finger down the skin of my chest above the tank top I wore. “I could pull this off of you.” His hand palmed over my breasts, his thumb tracing around my hard nipple. “Suck on these until you’re begging me for more.”

His eyes glanced up at me, and I just stared at him, eyes blown wide, trying to beg with my stare.

“Or…” His hand lifted off of my chest, and swiftly reached down, grabbing hold of the waistband of my shorts. “I could bury myself between those thighs,” My legs shook at the thought. “and lick you until you’re begging me to stop?”

My hand tightened on his sides, my hips pressing up toward him.

He leaned down again, licking a stripe up my throat. “Then, when you’re a hot, shaking, whining mess, I could fuck you until you can’t see straight.”

I moaned, his hand slipping down to tangle in the small patch of hair I had above on my pubic bone. “How’s that sound, baby girl?”

“So fucking good.” I felt his lips smile against my throat.

“You’ve made it easy for me. You’re not even wearing panties.”

I huffed out a small laugh, letting my eyes fall closed. “Yeah, well maybe I was hoping this would happen.”

“Is that right?” His kisses were moving down my body, his hand pulling my breasts free from my shirt. “Knowing you were over here thinking of me had me so fucking hard, sweetheart. You have no fucking idea.”

Noah’s tongue began circling around my left nipple while his hand massaged the other, his teeth nipping at the sensitive skin.

He only focused on my chest for a moment before moving downward, leaving a trail of kisses and bites down my stomach, leaving a particularly hard one on my hipbone.

“So fucking sexy, angel. I won’t lie, I’ve thought about you before.” His fingers pulled my shorts down and off with no hesitation, his body settling between my legs.

“I’ve touched myself, dreaming about this gorgeous fucking pussy.” Noah placed a soft, gentle kiss on my inner thigh. “I can see how wet you are from thinking about me, baby. I hope you’re fucking ready.”

I didn’t have time to question what that meant, as his lips were now attached to my clit, the tip of his tongue circling it expertly while his lips sucked hard. My back arched off of the bed, the sensation nearly knocking me sideways.

“Fuck!” I screamed out, hand burying itself in his dark brunette hair. “Oh my God, Noah.”

“That’s it, gorgeous,” He licked at me, lapping up the fluid pooling between my lips. “fuck my face, pretty girl.”

My hips rutted forward, pressing myself into his lips harder. His arms circled my thighs, locking me into place while his mouth absolutely ravaged me at my core.

My entire body was vibrating, my eyes locked on his beautiful face, eyes closed and so focused.

I could feel myself beginning to crest on the edge of my orgasm, and his name came out as a string of prayers off my lips.

“Ugh, Noah…Noah…Noah…”

Without warning, he lifted me hips off of the bed, bringing himself to kneel on the mattress, so only my upper back and head were left on the pillows. The angle brought an entire new level of sensation. His tongue assaulted my clit, flipping back and forth from kitten licks to long, flat strokes, making me dizzier with each repetition.

“Noah, I’m going to come.” I breathed out, and his eyes opened, looking directly at me. His head began to move back and forth ever so slightly, him now locked onto my sweet spot. The ministrations sent me so far over the edge, I felt as though my entire body was floating.

“Oh fuck! Noah! Jesus fuck!”

He didn’t stop, however. Although he was licking me carefully through my climax, he didn’t show signs of slowing down…

“It’s sensitive. Please, I can’t take anymore.”

He disconnected from me for a second to smile deviously. “Sure you can.” And he continued.

“No, please, it’s too much.” I could feel tears welling in my eyes.

He pulled off of me, laying me back down, with a glint in his eye and a smirk on his lips. “The safe word is lions. Use it if you need it.” And he was back to it, making my vision go white.

“Noah, oh God, I can’t handle it, please!”

“You can, and you will.” His voice was factual, leaving no room for argument.

Just as I was about to protest again, I felt his tongue stop, and a sinfully long finger pressed into me, bringing about an entirely new sensation.

“Jesus Christ.” I was struggling to breathe.

“That’s it, baby. You’re so good, taking it all the way in. You’re so fucking perfect.”

My walls tightened around him at his words.

“It’s so fucking tight, baby. I’m almost worried it’s going to hurt when I fuck my name out of your mouth…” He looked up again, pressing a second finger in, a burning sensation pulsing through me. “…almost.”

My chest heaved, my breathing erratic and unstable. It was too good. It hurt so perfectly. His hand began pumping in and out of my body, causing loud, wet sounds.

“Going to make a mess, baby? I’d hope you’d wait until you were in my bed for that.” I couldn’t feel anything but his fingers inside me, driving me to insanity. “Thats alright, I’ll clean up. Go ahead and let go, honey. Come for me.”

An ear splitting screech ripped out of me, my body being rocked by another hard orgasm. His hand slowed, his fingers slipping out eventually.

“So fucking pretty. You got me all wet, I can’t tell you how fucking hot that was.”

I laid, eyes closed, working to bring myself back down to Earth. I wasn’t given much of a chance before I felt his tongue lapping at me again, making me squeal and jerk away from him.

“Nope.” His hands pulled me back to him. “I’m not done with you yet.”

The tears in my eyes were running. “Noah, please. Please!”

“I haven’t heard the safe word.” His face was buried in my folds, tongue pressing inside me. “You can do it baby, just one more, okay? I need one more.”

My head fell back on the pillows, savoring the soft, slow swipes of his tongue against me. It was almost…relaxing? He wa easing me through it, building me back up.

“Okay baby, you ready for another?”

I didn’t dare look at him, only nodded my head.

His fingers slipped back in, curling at the spot that makes my toes curl, and latched onto me again, his lips sucking hard on my clit.

This orgasm came quicker, washing over me like ocean waves hitting high tide. This time, I only managed to sigh hard when it hit me, feeling so wonderfully exhausted.

“That’s my girl. Perfect.”

I felt him lift up, but I still couldn’t make eye contact. My eyes were so heavy, and I couldn’t even fathom movement.

The bed dipped down next to me, and I cracked my lids to see him smiling. He reached down and kissed my cheek lovingly.

“Still there, Angel?”

I smiled a sleepy grin, and nodded. “That was…” There were no words. They didn’t exist.

“I’m glad you enjoyed.” I felt the blanket being pulled over me, and I opened my eyes in confusion.

“What are you doing?”

He chuckled lightly. “You need to get some sleep, beautiful. I know I talked a big game, but you’re exhausted. That was the goal.” He smoothed a hand over my stomach. “Help you get some rest.”

I rolled on my side, pouting slightly. “What about you?”

He shook his head. “I’ll be just fine.”

His hand reached over and switched the light off on the nightstand. He moved to stand up, by my arm came out to grab his. He turned his head and looked at me.

“Could you…” I cleared my throat. “I’d like it if you stayed.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Yeah? Even though it’s just one night?”

I smirked, lifting the blanket for him to crawl under. With his own grin, he did so, lifting his arm so I could tuck in, head laid on his chest and arm falling over his stomach.

“Maybe it's more than just one night.”

[carlyraejepsans]

UTY!Flowey, "lore" and how to criticize a fan prequel without being an insufferable pedantic, a guide by Biscia.

(for my muskless fellows, here's a transcript of my thread on Undertale Yellow that I posted on Twitter. enjoy!)

There's this really frustrating attitude in fan spaces i like to call "lorepilling" where people are substantially more concerned with encyclopedic knowledge of details & minutiae (so called "lore") in place of full-text thematic/narrative analysis as if the two are mutually interchangeable.

It's especially common in large franchises and story heavy videogames, and it's like... Are You Treating This Piece Of Art Like A Trivia Battle Or Are You Treating It Like A Story

This is coming from a person who is also deeply autistic about UTDR trivia btw, I'm just saying that when it comes to transformative *stories*, depending on the impact it has on character, themes, and narrative structure... lore is expendable.

Ultimately this is why most of the UTY criticism i see (on twitter specifically) falls flat. What does it matter if "lore" means Flowey couldn't chronologically be there when the justice human fell, as long as the game narratively justified his presence in the story in a compelling way?

The real criticism, in the end, is that it didn't.

He's a plot central, main cast character from the canon returning in a cast of mostly OCs and what does he have to show for it? An admittedly sick boss battle in 1/3 endings, sure but... not much else. He has no significant "presence" in the story, no tie, interaction, or even just... an opinion on the rest of the cast. Which is a huge miss when Flowey's meta role is to be Thee completionist player mirror. He's the OG lorepilled UT fan! He's an opinionated little shit!

This isn't to say that UTY *didn't* engage w/ his metanarrative. When me and @a-town-called-hometown first started playing the game (we were both skeptical of Flowey's inclusion), he immediately said "It would be really cool if they made it so this has been going on for a while and Clover has no idea". Which is precisely what the game did in the neutral ending, and what I will openly say was the most well written & well executed part of this game's story...

...a part we almost didn't see, because the pacifist ending disappointed us so much we lost all will to replay.

To put it in the words of my friend Mel @clowwwnbytes, there's a deafening hollowness to UTY Flowey's motivations & core principles where his guilt towards Chara—and resulting black and white thinking—should be. You're telling me Mr Kill-or-be-killed, "sacrificing yourself to do the right thing is stupid", would stand there after 1000s of failed attempts to make Clover survive, look on as they make the same mistake Asriel he did, and fondly call them friend? Cue the guitar, roll the credits?

He would lose it. Oh my god he would lose his goddamn mind, he would throw the nastiest temper tantrum in the world. Are you serious? How dare you. How DARE you. All this effort, all my patience, and you just let yourself DIE for a few worthless idiots? I should've let you ROT!

*clears throat* sorry got a bit too into character. as i was saying.

I can understand a UT prequel wanting to distance itself from the canon Chara storyline in order to form its own identity, but then turning around and choosing Insane About Chara The Character™ for a sidekick is... far from optimal. In the end, Flowey comes across as underutilized and inconsistent, with a whole lot of wasted potential.

This is an issue I have with UTY's character writing (original AND returning) and story structure as a whole. Lots of inconsistent character arcs, tonal dissonance, overuse of situational sadness... it's an amateurish work, after all, and you can feel it. There's no shame in that.

(Though, there ARE some issues that i take more seriously with its writing, especially when it comes to its two main female characters—Ceroba's lack of narrative agency and depth borders on misogynistic writing imo. But that's a topic for another day)

Over all, UTY was an incredible piece of collaborative transformative work, with gorgeous art and a genuinely incredible OST, which... would have benefited from more experienced writers. But hey, you can only ever learn by trying!

For all it could've been a better story, it certainly did not fail to entertain: both when my friend was playing it, and after in our many discussions of its writing, its faults and how it could've been improved (royal scientist!ceroba character fix you will always be famous. to ME!)

I'm sure this project served as an incredible source of experience for the developers: as individual creators AND as a team. I look forward to their future projects!

but also if i have to see another person say UTY is better than Undertale i might turn into The Jonker.

end of the essay! really couldn't stand any of the pedantic ""criticism"" I'd seen of this fangame so far, so i had to say my piece as someone more versed in analysis. happy to elaborate on anything in the replies or in my inbox!

[disneyprincemuke]

the thanksgiving incident * ls2

it's never fun feeling like an outsider, so you'd sworn that nobody would ever feel the way you did all those years ago

pairings: logan sargeant x platonic fem!driver

notes: my deepest apologies for not posting today, a migraine had me down bad and wishing i was dead but it's okay i'm bad baBY LETS FUCKING GO

| "wanna hang out?" | driver's parade | american burgers | american football | the thanksgiving incident | another williams adoptee | beating the heat | you’re embarrassing me | santa baby | the favourite driver | the situationship |it's nice to have a friend |

come up to my hotel room

you stare at your message in the blue bubble, trying to assess the lack of response from the younger driver. you press your fingertips into your lips and turn around. "do you think he now thinks i'm trying to hit on him?"

george, with a balloon in his mouth, stops blowing into it briefly and stares at you. he pinches the opening of the latex decoration and tilts his head at you. "what did you text him?"

"hopefully not," alex speaks, walking past you from his previous spot at the entryway. in his hands is a medium-sized bowl of mashed potatoes. "that would be weird."

"i just texted him to come up here," you say, catching your bottom lip between your teeth.

"you didn't say anything else?" george asks.

you shake your head.

"that's kinda misleading," alex mutters. "has he read it yet?"

"he left me on read," you mutter, pursing your lips. "seriously, guys! what if he thinks i'm hitting on him?"

alex shakes his head. "everyone on the grid knows you're on and off with shawn. it's impossible that logan thinks you're making a pass on him."

you raise your eyebrows. "did logan tell you that?"

there's a knock on the door, cutting george's wish to reply short. he looks at you before he resumes blowing into the balloon in his hands. you look at alex, who simply shrugs and turns away to untie the plastic on the small table of your hotel room.

you sigh and push yourself off the bed, walking over to the door slowly. "who is it?"

"it's logan!"

you huff and wipe your palms into the material of your sweats. you pull the door open and the greeting at the tip of your tongue immediately disappears when there is a singular sunflower in logan's hand.

"what is that?" you ask with a hand on the door handle.

"it's a," logan clears his throat and follows your gaze at the sunflower in his hand, "a sunflower."

"i know what a sunflower looks like," you answer softly, "but why is it in your hand and why are you holding it up?"

"well, you texted me without context, by the way," logan starts, taking a step away from you to throw himself back into the hallway, "and i didn't know what to make out of it. so i... i don't know. i got you a sunflower."

he extends his hand to offer you the flower once more.

"i told you!" you screech, turning around to call for george and alex. "i fucking told you!"

logan, out in the hallway, grows confused. he tilts his head. "what?"

"i- the text," you cut yourself off as the severity of the situation gets to you. you turn around to face logan. it's only then you realise that he made the effort to look presentable, sporting a nice pair of shorts and a polo tee. "i asked you to come up here because we prepared you a thanksgiving dinner."

you press your lips together, fighting back tears when a blush creeps up logan's cheeks. you watch as realisation slowly hits him and his jaw drops. "oh."

"yeah," you breathe out. you look down at the flower and take it into your hands. "this is very thoughtful. thank you."

"yellow flowers are a sign of friendship."

"are you rejecting me?"

"are you fucking around with me? is this a prank?"

"no, i'm just offended that the first thing you thought of was a subtle way to let me down."

"i didn't know what to say to you. you're very pretty," logan readjusts his shirt and clears his throat, "but like- you know?"

"i guess," you shrug. "would you like to come in?"

"wait, you prepared me a thanksgiving dinner?" logan asks softly, hesitantly following you inside. he slips off his shoes right by the door and lets the door shut. "me?"

"of course! i figured you'd want to celebrate it. it's nothing like home or what your family could give you," you hum, stepping aside as he gawks at the decoration that george poorly put up. "but i thought you might like to at least spend the night with people instead of being all by yourself in your hotel room."

"i- i don't know what to say," he whispers, a smile slowly growing on his face as he looks around. there's a picture of a turkey stuck on the wall, a couple of balloons taped above the tv and an entire meal prepared on the table. "thank you. this is the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me."

"we couldn't find a turkey on such short notice so," alex mutters, patting his rookie on the back. he points at the far corner of the table, where there is a stuffed animal of a turkey resting on a plate. "the genius decided to opt with a toy."

"a toy that he gets to keep!" you shriek, a hand on your chest. you turn to logan. "i'm sorry i texted you to come up without context."

"tell shawn i'm sorry i thought you wanted to hook up with me."

"we're on a break."

logan pulls a chair out from under the table and grabs a plate for himself. "then tell him i'm sorry he's stupid for breaking up with you." he takes another and offers it to you. "dinner?"

[totaly-obsessed]

Perfect

Alessia Russo x reader request

-> Reader gets a red card and Alessia tries to comfort but aggressions get in the way

-> this request

➳ Masterlist

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

You were pissed.

Arsenal against Manchester City has always been a difficult match. But this? This was a joke… Two yellow cards for you.

Okay, admittedly the second one was warranted as you had pretty much taken Chloe Kelly off her feet when the ball was somewhere entirely else. But the first one was given in a scramble near the goal. Five people were on the, with you being the only one left standing – so you had to be the cause of all of this.

It was a joke and everyone knew it. Steph and Jen tried to protest it, going up to the referee and trying to explain that everything had simply been an accident, but it was no use.

Once Manchester’s star striker had been subbed on, you knew that it was over. You had already been incredibly angry with Bunny Shaw testing your defense skills. But seeing Chloe’s mean little smirk was enough to fill you with even more rage.

Seeing Alessia, your girlfriend, getting tackled every chance they got did not calm you down either.

It was Jill Roord, covering you for a corner kick, who whispered into your ear, giving you the last push over the edge of aggression “Your girlfriend looks delicious tonight, maybe I’ll give her my number.” While your favorite blonde would never text her, it was enough to rile you up even further.

Chloe did not have the ball anymore when you started your tackle, taking her feet clean out from beneath her – you knew it was dumb but her smirk was just so agitating.

The whole team knew that the yellow card, followed by a red was deserved, and no one protested it. Alessia watched with wide eyes as you left the pitch, face still hot with anger, blinded by rage.  Leah didn’t even try to approach you, knowing you well enough after three seasons together.

In the changing room, you changed after showering, trying to get as comfortable as possible. When the girls entered you sat curled up in your cubby, headphones in and the hood of your sweatshirt up, eyes closed trying to escape their stares.

It was Katie who ripped your escape out of your ears, turning you towards her. “Think I’m rubbing off on ya!” She was all smiles, no frown in sight, as she teased you. When the Irishwoman tried to pet your hair, you pushed her hand away, a pissed look on your face. “Woah, calm down tiger.”

Laughs filled the room, as you looked a little confused by their positive attitude. It was Jen who put you out of your misery, telling you that Alessia had scored a last-minute screamer, putting them in the lead.

A bitter taste filled your mouth – of course, it had been Alessia. Perfect Alessia who could do no wrong while you fucked everything up. Perfect Alessia, who had everyone wrapped around her fingers. Perfect Alessia who just looked too good. “Yeah, good luck with that one Russo.” Perfect Alessia who gave Kyra a pained smile as a reward for her teasing.

The blonde took her time getting ready, so you were one of the last ones to leave. You couldn’t leave without her, after all, she was the driver out of the two of you. Even if you were the one driving that would have not been a good idea with all the rage that filled your body.

Silence filled the car, as you listened to music on your phone, headphones blocking out Alessia’s worried sighs.

In your joined home you threw yourself on the couch, the striker taking to the kitchen to make a snack. “You know it’s not your fault baby, right? That first card was a joke. Ref need’s new glasses.” Perfect Alessia, who thought that you were angry because of the ref. You weren’t. You didn’t even know what you were angry about, you just knew that you were so fucking angry. “You defended so well amore. Didn’t let a single ball through – so proud of you.”

She placed a bowl down in front of you, filled with fruits and nuts, something small. The Italian pressed a soft kiss to your neck, trying to cuddle up to you. “I’m not in the mood Alessia.”

That should have been her first cue to leave you alone, not that she was the one to blame. “Just a little cuddle baby.” While throwing herself on top of you she kicked the table with her foot, knocking down the puzzle you had been working on. “Alessia, please leave me alone!” She started to see the deep frown on your face, eyes tearing up in anger and cheeks still hot. Carefully she got up again, picking up your puzzle to the best of her abilities.

“You’re fine baby, I promise.” That was the last straw. You just needed some peace and quiet – so you stood up, and started heading up to the bedroom. “Wow, thanks for paying attention.” You tried keeping it together, you really did but remembering the words of a certain midfielder gave you the rest. “So why don’t you just go to Jill? Maybe she’ll give you the attention you want.” Alessia was confused at your sharp tone and your need for her to contact her hold lioness teammate Jill Scott. “Why do you want me to-“

“Can you just shut up? Please?” The blonde nearly dropped her own bowl of fruits, shocked at your yelling. “No one is mad at your cards, you didn’t do anything wrong.” The scoff you let out nearly hurt more than the words that followed. “Didn’t do anything wrong? Not that you know what you’re talking about. Right?”

You got closer and closer to her, grabbing her shirt, and pulling her face down to level with you. “Just shut up! Perfect Alessia cannot do wrong. Get seven chances but none of them hit the back of the net – but you’re just perfect aren’t you? If I let a ball through or tackle a fan favorite, I get death threats.”

By now you were yelling, Alessia’s eyes filling with tears of shock, while yours dripped down your cheeks in anger. “Perfect Alessia who scores while I get sent off like the fuck up I am!” You couldn’t even form words anymore, anger consuming you whole by this point.

Alessia, the best girlfriend that she is, took a couple of deep breaths before taking your hands off her shirt and pressing a gentle kiss on them. “Okay, baby. How about you puzzle for a bit, yeah? Calm down a little? I’ll be in the bedroom when you’re ready.” The tears kept flowing as the striker tried to wipe them away to the best of her abilities. “Shhh, no more crying amore – I’m not mad. I promise. You just need to calm down, okay?” Only when you gave her a weak nod, she pressed a little kiss to your lips before turning to the stairs and walked up to your shared bedroom.

The now reset puzzle was still lying on the coffee table where Less had been trying to put it back – but now you started to pick out the corner pieces again. It took you nearly two hours of crying your eyes out while placing a total of twenty pieces, to get your anger out.

Alessia meanwhile had been getting the bed and bathroom ready. Everywhere were cozy candles, not a single light turned on. Soft blankets were on your bed, matching pajama sets on top of it.

The sound of dragging feet gave you away, as you slowly opened the door. Alessia couldn’t help herself as she cooed at your swollen eyes, opening her arms. You took the invitation, falling into her embrace and burying your face in her neck as she gently rocked from side to side. “I’m so sorry Less.”

The blonde striker kissed the side of your head – happy that she had you back. The you that she knows. “I was so angry about the card and I took it out on you. I’m sorry – please forgive me.” She nearly teared up again as you stared into her eyes, begging for her understanding. “I forgive you amore – don’t you worry your pretty little head. That first card was silly and we both know it. But please, please just talk to me about it.” You had never nodded as fast as then, thankful for the blonde and her calm head.

The rest of the evening was spent together. In the bath, in the bed giggling in soft hugs and passionate kisses as normality caught up to the two of you.

[asumofwords]

The Sublet - Roommate!AU

Warnings: She/her pronouns, slow burn, angst. Tags will be added as the fic goes along. Angst, self worth issues, angst angst angst, fighting, yelling, tension, gods the fucking tension, smut, creampie, big feels, drinking, drug use (weed).

Pairings: Modern!Aemond x Reader

Summary: Living with Helaena Targaryen was one of the best decisions you had ever made. Meeting at university, the two of you became thick as thieves and quickly best friends, moving into a flat together. But what will happen when Helaena has to leave, and her quiet, brooding, brother moves in?

Notes: Is this chapter 11.4k because I didn't want to split it up into two parts and I'm determined to keep this series at 15 chapters? Yes. Is it smart? No. Am I stubborn? Yes. Look it's a long ass chapter, but I hope that means it makes up for the late post, however I will say this, I have finished writing sublet, so the final chapter will come in a few days! And then, THEN, I shall get to your naughty little requests hehe. If you see any spelling or grammar mistakes, no you didn't. Enjoy ! <3

Chapter 14: Over the Edge

Warm rays of the suns light beat down on your body as you lay by the pool, a cool breeze rolling through the estate causing the drops of water on your skin to cool you down. There were few clouds in the sky, and the air around you was filled with the laughter and splashing of the boys in the pool.

Daeron sat astride Aegon’s shoulders as he wrestled with Lucerys; who sat atop Jacaerys’. Their fingers were interlocked as they tried to push each other off their brothers shoulders, shouts, grunts and encouragement being yelled by Baela and Rhaena who watched on beside you and Helaena in the sun. 

The day had breezed by, and as a group, you had made rounds to the kitchen to fix yourselves cocktails and snacks.

Reaching beside you for the gin and juice drink you had made, you found only the remnants of melted ice at the bottom. You surveyed everyone else’s glasses, the boys beer bottles empty beside their chairs.

Standing, you asked if the girls wanted anything to drink. Rhaena looked up at you lazily, eyes squinting in the bright sunlight as Baela did the same, though the elder stood and came to your side, eyes skimming the empty glasses. 

“I’ll help.” She offered.

You gave her a wide smile, “Thanks Bae.”

Helaena however, did not look up at you to answer your question, her drink beside her half drunk and half melted, most likely warmed by the sun. Slim pale fingers held her phone, speedily shooting off texts to someone, too engrossed in looking at her phone to have noticed you asked her a question.

“Hel.” You tried to garner her attention, watching as her eyebrows lightly lifted, eyes still on the screen. 

“Huh?” She murmured, thumbs flying across the keyboard.

Helaena was wearing a daffodil yellow one piece that had small brown flowers printed onto it, her large floppy hat atop her head again to protect her face and shoulders from the sun, with large round glasses that had slid halfway down her nose, eyes peering over the top of them as she furiously text someone back, bottom lip pulled into her mouth by her teeth.

You clicked your fingers in her face, “Hello? I said do you want anything to drink?”

Helaena finally tore her eyes away from her phone, and you watched as she swallowed thickly when she met your eyes. 

Worry struck inside of you.

Had something happened?

Rhaena and Baela sensed her change in demeanour, though neither said anything, and turned to face the boys, asking what they wanted to drink instead. Aegon, half tilted in the water as Daeron slapped away Lucerys' hand that grabbed at his shoulder, asked through gritted teeth for a Pina Colada, the weight of his brother taking a toll on him. The others settled for beer.

“I’ll have what Aegon is having.” You told the girls, watching as they went inside, casting a curious glance back at you and their cousin.

Shifting, you stepped closer to Helaena, watching as her eyes flitted to her phone as it vibrated in her palm twice before back up at you. She looked guilty, nervous, and perhaps even a bit worried.

“Hel? What's going on?” You probed, sitting down beside her on the bed, “Don’t tell me you and Sara are fighting?”

You hoped that they weren’t, and instead wished that they would get back together again. Helaena evened Sara out, and Sara did the same for Hel. They really were a good match, and you had never seen Helaena so happy until she was with her ex lover.

Violet eyes met yours, then away to the lit screen, then back up to yours.

Her avoidance was making you nervous.

Lips parted, and then came your answer.

“Aemond’s coming.” Helaena confessed sheepishly, and you felt your heart immediately begin to race. 

Your mouth felt dry, and a knot began to form in your stomach. 

Aemond was coming. 

Here. 

To the Red Keep.

“What?” Disbelief in your voice. 

Helaena said he would never come here.

Your best friend looked suddenly guilty, eyes looking anywhere but you, “Yeah.” She said quietly, “He’s on a flight here.”

And then it made sense.

“You told him I was here.”

It wasn’t a question.

She locked her phone with a press of her thumb, turning it face down beside her on the tanning bed, “I did.”

The words put a sour taste in your mouth.

“What? Helaena, I can’t see him.” You shook your head, fluttering feeling in both your chest and your gut.

The Targaryen woman frowned at you sadly, watching you as you stood, wringing your fingers together.

“I think you should hear him out.” She whispered, but you were too anxious and annoyed to reason with her in that moment. 

She had told him you were here.

Stepping away from her, you frowned, “There’s nothing to talk about.���

-

The rest of the day was filled with heightened anxiety after Helaena confessed that her brother would be arriving to the Red Keep. You had left her by the pool, feeling all eyes on you as you stormed back inside. 

You knew it was likely childish, but you felt sick to your stomach knowing that he would turn up, and that you would have to pretend to everyone around that nothing had happened between the two of you. That you couldn’t even tell them what had happened. That you would have to pretend to be little more than strangers who simply shared a space, and that was it. 

The only person there who knew the truth of it was Helaena. 

And despite the small piece inside of you that missed him, that yearned to see him again, it was quickly squashed with the way your stomach turned in on itself, mind reeling with an array of ‘what if’s’ about what the silver haired man had gotten up to in your absence. 

Had Alys come back?

Did she stay the night?

Had she been there ever since?

Did he do the things he did to you to her in your own home? On your couch? 

But then a more unsettling thought popped into your mind. 

Had she hurt him?

Had she made him feel weak? Like he couldn’t escape?

Had she taken away the smiles that you craved to see?

It was all too much, and you had to take deep and calming breaths to try and beat the tears that began to prickle in the corner of your eyes.

Why was this so difficult? Why were you so hurt by this? Why did you care so much?

You had made it to her bathroom, and that was where Helaena found you, hunched over the double sinked basin in her ensuite, eyes shut as you breathed deeply through your nose.

“Hey.” You heard her approach. You straightened, blinking the tears away, your reflection joined by hers blurry in front of you, “I’m sorry.” She whispered.

You shook your head, turning to face her. 

Why was she sorry?

This was their home, not yours. 

“You don’t need to say sorry to me.”

Her light brows furrowed as she came towards you, “He was worried about you. Didn’t know where you were.” She explained, making you feel guilty for your reaction to not only his messages, but her telling him where you were, “I only told him because he wouldn’t stop asking. He knew you weren’t at Cregan’s. I didn’t think that he would come.”

Aemond was worried about you. 

But how did he know you weren’t with Cregan?

“Look,” Helaena sighed, stepping closer to you, “He wouldn’t come here if it wasn’t important.”

“Your father dying seems pretty important to me.”

You regretted the words immediately as they came out of your mouth. You didn’t say it to be mean, or to hurt her, it was just a statement of fact.

Helaena simply sighed again, “Yeah, and has he been here? No. He’s coming for you. And you’re going to hear him out.”

“Hel-“

“-No. You will. He’s coming all this way, to a place he didn’t want to come to. It’s…triggering for him. At least do him this one act of kindness and listen to what he has to say when he arrives.”

Listen to him when he arrives. 

That was easier said than done.

Every fibre in your being told you to tuck tail and run.

He will probably tell you that whatever you had wasn’t real, and that he was in fact back with Alys. That he was moving back to Harrenhal with her, and that you would never see him again, bar an occasional gathering with the rest of his siblings where he would probably ask you to keep whatever little tryst you had secret from the others in order to keep the peace. 

And you would agree to it, for him. 

But hearing those things from him was something you didn’t want to hear. You didn’t want to feel lesser than you already did. You didn’t want to have to lay in bed each night when he leaves, picking yourself apart in comparison with her. You didn’t want to know that you would never be enough for him, and she would.

You blinked at Helaena. You didn’t want to cause her anymore grief. But by staying here, and having to talk to him, to hear his rejection face to face, you didn’t know if you could do it without breaking down.

You breathed in deeply before exhaling.

In.

Out. 

“There’s nothing to say.” You shook your head, “Alys was on our couch, judging our home, Hel. Judging me. And he let her. There is nothing between us besides something physical.”

Those eyes you adored stared at you, narrowing slightly. 

Time stretched uncomfortably between the two of you as she didn’t respond to your terrible lie.

She knew you were lying. 

You knew you were lying. 

There was no denying it, the feelings you had for him. Not to her at least. Not with her spooky intuition that she had. Nor the way you reacted when you thought of him, or how you had fled to her family home in a moment of crisis because his ex had been on your couch, hand on his thigh.

The image made your chest light with jealousy and hurt.

You walked past Helaena and into the bedroom, eager to get away from her all seeing eyes, plopping down onto her bed heavily, stomach feeling as though it was full of stones. Had the wolf in Little Red Riding Hood come into the room in the dark of night and fill you with rocks? Or was it just the more rational, and far more nerve-racking reality that you would have to come face to face with someone who you liked, more than a friend, and deal with the impending rejection and subsequent end. 

That’s why he was coming. 

To end whatever the two of you had. 

That was it. 

You picked up your phone from the side table, forgotten once again, to see another 4 messages from Aemond, asking where you were and if you were safe. The last of the messages stating that you weren’t at Cregan’s, and he that he was calling Helaena.

His sister stood in front of you again, this time, with her arms crossed.

“You’re going to hear him out.” She stated, voice stern and steady.

Here was the rarer side of Helaena, a side that Sara had taught to her. A side in which you knew meant business. You searched her face for any sort of wriggle room. 

There was none. 

She continued, “And if you don’t like what you hear, then you can go home.”

You breathed deeply once more, in through your nose, out through your mouth, resigned to your fate.

“Fine.”

Helaena smiled at you gratefully, “Good.” Her tone was lighter, arms uncrossing in front of her chest. You could see a wave of relief flit over her body, and you felt some sort of calm knowing that she was happy with your, though forced, answer. “I think he deserves a chance to have a voice after so long without it.”

-

Helaena dragged you back down to the pool, Aegon eyeing you warily before handing you your half melted Pina Colada. You took it gratefully, plonking down on the bed beside him, sipping at it deeply. 

If you were going to get through his arrival, you would need something to soothe your nerves.

And some liquid courage.

If Aegon knew anything about his brothers soon to be arrival, he didn’t say anything, but you could tell by the way his lilac eyes surveyed your face and posture, that either Helaena had told him of her plans before hand, or perhaps he had been told by Aemond himself. 

You didn’t want to know either way. 

You were not about to draw attention to it.

You complimented the twins on their cocktail making skills, and spent the rest of the afternoon by the poolside with everyone. You had smiled and giggled and joined in on the fun, the drinks helping somewhat to calm your nerves, however as the sun began to set, and Helaena escorted you back to her room to get ready for dinner that evening, anxiety reared its ugly head inside of you once more. 

Helaena gave you another dress to wear, less done up than the one before, which made you think that the job proposal was perhaps far more orchestrated than you had realised. Tonight’s dress was a warm black, with short sleeves that sat off the shoulders with a Bateau neck. It was floor length, light rippling layers of differing lengths towards the bottom that were sheer and moved like waves.

Why these families always had to dress up for dinner in their own homes, you had no idea, but it felt as though there was some sort of silent ‘holier than thou’ competition between them all.

You had pulled your hair away from your face, and eventually made your way down to have dinner with the family again. You moved to go outside to the dining table in the back, but Helaena steered you differently, taking you to a small (if you could call it that despite it being larger than your flat), ‘intimate’, Helaena’s words, not yours, dining room. 

Rhaenyra and Daemon sat beside an empty, larger, much older chair. One you assumed would have been Viserys’ usual spot it he was well enough to join. Jacaerys and Baela sat up the end with Rhaena and Baela, and Daeron was looking at his on the other end phone in his lap. 

Aegon and Alicent were nowhere to be seen. 

Aemond, also absent.

You sat beside Jacaerys, Helaena beside you, and greeted all with a small smile. It felt easy, being in their presence, and with the majority of the Hightower kin being missing, the tension in the room was almost nonexistent. 

“Have you thought more on our offer?” Rhaenyra asked sweetly, sipping at her wine as Daemon held her hand on the table. 

You tucked yourself into the dining table, “I have, I-“

Footsteps and a hissing whisper came from behind, and all seated at the table turned to watch as Alicent guided her sons into the room. 

Both of her eldest sons.

His eye immediately found yours, and your heart skipped a beat in your chest, breath stilling in your throat. He was dressed in all black as usual, but more formal, likely for his mother and for the meal with family. He wore black slacks with a black dress shirt, three buttons undone at the top so that you could see the sliver of the silver chain he always wore. Aemond’s hair was up in a low bun at the back of his head, small wisps falling around his face with some tucked behind his ears. 

His violet gaze pierced yours, and you turned away sharply, shifting your attention to the centre of the table, looking at the flickering of one of the many candles in the room.

Oh yes, very interesting.

What a lovely candle.

Definitely attention grabbing. 

Aemond seated himself at one end of the table, Lucerys shifting at the other end as he too avoided his uncles gaze. Daeron seat was a seat away from his mother, who sat in the chair at the head of the table, the one that was usually reserved for Viserys.

Aegon, beside Helaena. 

And there it was. The tension again. 

But it was riper than usual.

Thicker.

And you couldn’t help but notice that perhaps it had something to with the fact that there was a certain member who had returned, that all others had not expected to see.

The heat of his gaze warmed the side of your face, and you couldn’t help but feel anxiety pull sharply at your gut. 

Do you say hello?

Do you ignore him?

What do you do?

If you didn’t do something, they would know something had happened. All knew you were living together, the least you could so was give him a smile. 

So biting your cheek, you turned to land your gaze upon the man you had fled from, watching as his chest rose sharply when you locked eyes. 

“Aemond.” You greeted him, though your voice sounded slightly strained, and the smile that pulled at your lips looked more like a grimace. 

His eye softened at the sound of your voice, his head tipping towards you in acknowledgment. 

A pressure moved to your thigh, and you pulled your eyes away from the man at the end of the table to the woman beside you. Helaena had her hand gripping your thigh, a soft reassurance and act of comfort. 

“Rhaenyra.” Alicent greeted her step daughter, tone warmer than the last time.

Rhaenyra turned the top half of her body towards the woman. Open, responsive, listening. 

“Ali.” Her violet gaze moved further along the table, settling on her half-brother, “Aemond, I didn’t know you would be coming. How is Harrenhal?” 

You sucked air sharply through your mouth, feeling uncomfortable for both Aemond and yourself. 

You looked back at the candle, watching the flame flicker. 

Do not look at him.

Do not look at him.

Do not-

“I left.”

Blunt. 

Emotionless. 

Straight to the point with no room for her to continue the conversation. 

All at the table felt the air crackle as an uncomfortable energy shifted around the room.

“Your talents were wasted there.” Rhaenyra spoke again, voice calm and un-probing in the way they were delivered, “Will you be resuming your studies?”

The orange flame flickered gently, and there was a pregnant pause that filled the dining room before Aemond answered.

“Yes.”

Although he was speaking with Rhaenyra, you knew just by the goosebumps that erupted on your skin that he had not once taken his eye off you. If Rhaenyra was annoyed by her brothers lack of response, she didn’t show it, and instead took it in stride, giving him a soft smile before turning her attention to the auburn haired woman beside her.

The dinner felt as though it went for hours, when in reality, shortly after Alicent and her sons were seated, food began to be placed upon the table. Entrees, sides, mains, and then finally dessert, and yet not once, did he take his full attention from you. And not only that, the tension between him and his nephews made for a more uncomfortable dinner than it already was.

You could now see why Helaena avoided visiting her family. 

Lucerys would occasionally sneak glances at his uncle, but Aemond would only meet his gaze for a moment before returning it back to you. But his watching didn't go unnoticed.

More than once, Daemon and Rhaenyra would give you and then Aemond shared looks, and Daemon on one occasion, flat out laughed, clearly enjoying the train wreck of tension that was the evening. 

When dessert was placed in front of you, a fluffy pavlova with passion fruit and differing berries, you found you didn’t have the appetite for it. You dabbed your lips gently with your napkin before pushing your chair backwards to stand, all eyes lifted to you.

“Thank you for dinner, it was beautiful.” You smiled at Alicent, her bright eyes creasing in the corners as she gave you one back, “Please excuse me, I'd like to go to bed. I’m quite tired.”

You knew he was watching you. You could feel it. You could feel the heat of his eye on your face, on your neck and shoulders, on the way your hands wiped nervously against the sides of your dress.

Alicent nodded her head at you, “Of course.” And being the well mannered host that she was, bid you a good night and went back to entertaining her “guests”, immediately turning her face towards Rhaenyra who gave you a sweet grin.

A pressure at your hand caused you to cast your eyes downward, meeting Helaena’s concerned gaze. You gave her a reassuring squeeze and a subtle shake of your head.

No.

I am fine.

I am totally okay.

Not at all struggling to breathe with my heart in my throat because your brother, who I’ve been fucking by the way in case you forgot, had his abusive ex over at our place which resulted in a fight and me coming here, has been staring at me this entire dinner and I don’t know what to do.

Without another word, you turned and walked away, briskly leaving the intimate dining room to go to Helaena’s bedroom, feeling that same heat on the back of your head as you left. Your footsteps echoed on the stone floors as you tried to take deep and steadying breaths, stomach tying itself in knots. 

You felt on the verge of tears. 

You were halfway up the stairs when you heard footsteps coming swiftly towards you. 

“Wait.” Came the smooth and deep timbre of the man you were so desperately trying to avoid. 

Your mouth opened, and you increased your pace up the stairs, almost lurching yourself up them two at a time. Not ready to hear his rejection. Not ready to speak to him. Not ready to feel the pangs of pain in your chest again.

A deep sigh came from behind, footsteps closer now.

“Would you wait a second?” Aemond called to you again. 

No. 

No I will not.

I am going to take myself straight to bed so that I can cry in the shower and pretend that I’m not crying. 

You finally came to the top of the stairs, taking a sharp left turn to speed walk down the hallway towards Helaena’s room. 

Goddamn them and their stupid, giant estate.

“I said wait.” Aemond jogged in front of you, stopping abruptly in your path so that you would have to stop. 

You almost ran straight into him. 

His chest was heaving and his brow was pulled down as he looked at you. There was a blush to his cheeks and you watched as he swallowed thickly as he took you in.

Your chest fluttered. 

“What?” You breathed, lump forming in the back of your throat. 

All you could think of was your last interaction. 

I don’t know.

I don’t know.

“I was worried about you.” Aemond muttered, eye roaming your face. 

There was that dastardly pain in your chest. You tried to swallow the lump, but it stayed thick and heavy in your throat, sadness seeping into your bones.

You shook your head, “I’m fine.”

The man frowned, “You’re clearly not. I texted you.”

Guilt.

“I know.”

The way he was standing in front of you was so unsure, so closed in, like he didn’t know what he was doing, or how to speak to you in that moment. It reminded you of how small he made himself look with Alys.

Alys.

I don’t know.

You moved to step around him, trying to get to the room which was further down the hall. 

Get to the room and then you can cry. 

Get to the room and then you can let it out. Don’t let him see you like this.

Don’t-

Aemond blocked your path again.

You huffed, breezing past him, your shoulder lightly brushing against his arm as you made your way forward.

Almost there.

Almost there.

Almost-

“Can we please talk about this?” His voice came from behind.

Keeping your eye trained on Helaena’s door you responded, “There’s nothing to talk about.”

Yep. 

Keep lying to yourself girl.

Cause that will make it all better.

“Y/n, please.”

Your steps slowed, door right before you. If you leant forward enough and reach out, your fingers would graze one of the door handles and you could simply press down and slip through the door.

But even then, would it be enough to keep him out?

He had flown all the way here.

It was time to face the music. 

You spun around, gnawing gently at your bottom lip as you looked at him. He looked almost relieved to see you turn to him, and his hands twitched at his sides. He stepped closer but kept his distance, watching as you shifted on your feet, counting your breaths. 

Don’t cry. 

Don’t cry.

Don’t cry.

“I’m sorry.”

Oh shit. 

Your brows furrowed as you looked at him. 

Aemond breathed deeply. 

It was quiet for a moment, but you let it hold. 

It was his turn to speak, and once he had told you that these things didn’t come easy to him.

So you would give him time.

You would give him five minutes to say his peace, you reasoned with yourself. Five minutes to let you down gently, to tell you that he was back with Alys, and then you could spend ten minutes wallowing in self pity and cry in the shower, and then, after all that, you would make Helaena let you go home. 

She did say you had to hear him out first. 

Well, now was his chance. 

“I’m sorry about what happened,” He continued, eye boring into your own, “I was just as surprised as you were.”

Surprised as you were?

He let her in.

Irritation stirred in your chest.

Not just at his words, but his inaction during what had happened. 

Inaction for his own autonomy and self respect. 

“Surprised.” You said tonelessly. 

Aemond cast his eye to his shoes, watching as they shifted on the hundred years old stone.

“I don’t expect you to understand-“ He began.

“-Then help me to.”

His sharp jaw ticked, “I wasn’t thinking straight. I just- I saw her and-“

“-Let her into my home without asking. And to top it all off,” Here came the anger and hurt, “You shrugged me off in front of her and allowed her to insult me.”

“She didn’t insult you.”

You scoffed, looking away, eyes focusing on an old portrait of some Targaryen ancestor with a silver crown atop his head, “You still defend her. Even when you’re trying to apologise to me. You said I was just ‘Helaena's roommate’, as if we hadn’t spent multiple nights together in my bed. How did you expect me to take that? It was humiliating!”

There goes your plan to let him to do the talking.

Regret flashed across his pale features, eye casting away from you, “I’m sorry.” He shook his head at himself, “You didn’t deserve that. I didn’t mean to dismiss you, or make you feel as if you didn’t mean anything to me.”

Mean something to him?

“But you did.” You stated bitterly. 

Aemond took another step towards you, and you had to fight the urge to not take one back.

You pressed your tongue into your cheek as you waited for him to respond, waited for him to finally tell you that he was back with her. That whatever you had together was over. You just wished he would get on with it.

The waiting was worse than the knowing. 

Tears began to prick at your eyes. 

“Please just get it over and done with.” You blurted, and watched as confusion washed over his face, “Just-“ You wet your lips with your tongue, “Just tell me what you came here to do.”

Aemond shifted on his feet, brows lightly furrowed as he looked at you sadly. His mouth opened and shut twice before words came forth, “I know my actions have hurt you, but I’m lost. I know that isn’t an excuse, and I shouldn’t try and use it as one, but I don’t know what to do.”

You picked at the skin of your finger, “I don’t know what you want from me, Aemond.”

“I want you.”

You blinked.

What?

“I need you. I came here because- Because I- I needed to see you. I needed to make it right. I’m sorry.” His face grew sullen, and you wished that he wouldn’t look at you that way. It made you want to step forward and pull him into your arms,  “I shouldn’t have let her talk to you like that. I shouldn’t have let you leave like that. I should have done many things, but I didn’t. I’m lost. I don’t know what I’m doing.” He breathed, eye roaming your face. Aemond took another step forward, face suddenly becoming harder with conviction, “But I know that I want you.”

I don’t know, replayed in your mind over and over again.

“I just don’t know what to do.” He breathed, and your heart sank.

He didn’t know what to do. 

And that meant, you would be strung along for the ride until he made his decision. 

A traitorous tear escaped the corner of your eye, sliding wetly down your cheek. Aemond’s lip twitched as he saw it, and his hand moved towards you. You stepped back, hand pressed against the handle of the door.

“That’s not good enough for me, Aemond.” You choked, pressing the handle of the door down to open it, stepping inside without another glance back.

Tears fell down your cheeks as you shut the door behind you, back leant again the wood as you stifled a sob with the back of your hand. 

He wanted you. 

But he didn’t know how. 

He didn’t know what to do.

He was lost. 

But only he could make those decisions. 

You couldn’t do that for him. 

He had to do it himself. 

And it hurt. 

It hurt so much, that your shower was a blur of tears, and you hadn’t even noticed when Helaena snuck into bed beside you after, brushing your hair away from your face as she cooed sadly at you. You let your best friend hold you as you sniffled against her, turning Aemond’s words in your head over and over again. 

You wanted him.

He wanted you.

But neither of you knew what to do.

-

The next morning you woke with swollen eyes and anxiety in your gut. Another day, and you would once again have to face him. There was no escaping the man who came here to talk to you, and although you had heard him out last night, you knew that it wouldn’t be the last time he would try. 

Helaena, being the sweet and wonderful friend that she was, trying to cheer you up, ran down to the kitchen and brought up a cool gel eye mask for you to put on. She made you sit up and put it on you with a small giggle, the frosty gel making your eyes tear involuntarily. 

You sat there for a moment with the makeshift gel goggles on, watching as Helaena’s violet eyes probed yours. She knew Aemond had spoken to you. You were sure everyone knew something was going on, what with him running out after you once you left dinner and his constant vigilant gaze upon you.

You knew what she was going to ask, and yet you couldn’t help but sigh, “Ask whatever it is you’re busting to ask, Hel.”

The silver haired woman flopped down into bed, wavy hair fanned out on the pillow as she looked up at you, “Did you hear him out?”

“I did.”

She frowned at the lack of elaboration, “What did he say?”

You inhaled deeply through your nose as you scratched at the back of your head, lightly tugging your hair, “Apologised.” Helaena’s eyes lit up, “Said he wants me, but doesn’t know what to do.” You flopped down beside her, eyes staring up at the ceiling. 

You were sure you looked as ridiculous as you felt.

“And what did you say?”

“That it wasn’t good enough for me.”

Helaena didn’t hum, or speak up again, and you could feel her encouraging gaze upon you, knowing she wanted you to elaborate, and so you did.

“I can’t just go into something with him if he doesn’t even know what he wants. You should have been there, Hel. He called me your roommate and nothing else to her, and now he turns up and decides he wants me but doesn’t know how?” You felt your gut twist in feeling inadequate, never enough, “I’m not going to be his rebound for him to figure out what he wants. If he wants me, he needs to do better than that. He needs to show me that he does. No more secrets, no more whispers in the dark of a room. He’s either all in, or I’m out.”

It felt good to get that off your chest, to let it out, to breathe the words that settled inside of you like a stone. If he wanted you, truly wanted you, he needed to show it. He needed to build that bridge. He needed to take the first steps, because you couldn’t hold his hand and guide him through that.

But in some ways, him coming all the way to the Keep to see you was a first step, but even then, you needed more.

“I need assurance that he isn’t just going to run off to her and leave me in the dirt. I need assurance that this isn’t just some game to him. I’m happy being single, don’t get me wrong, Hel. Cregan is really all I need to get shit out of my system, but there’s something more with Aemond. Something more than just sex.”

You cringed, turning to face her, expecting to see a grimace as you spoke about having sex with her brother. But there was no cringe in her features, only a look of understanding an empathy.

“Sorry, Hel. I know he’s your brother, and this is already weird.”

“My family is weirder.”

You chuckled softly, “I think I just need to go home. I want to go home and just pretend none of this happened.”

Helaena hummed, “You and me both.” Then as if realising her words, “I didn’t mean about you and Aem, I just mean in general. Mum is driving me up the wall.”

“Come back with me.”

“I can’t. I have to be here for them.” She rolled out of bed, moving to her wardrobe as she fished out some clothes for the day, “Only consolation is mum is gone, won’t be back until tomorrow, but that means Cole is with her. You’ll have to wait until tomorrow when they get back.”

You sat up, pulling the eye mask from your face, feeling far more refreshed than you wold have liked to admit. The puffiness from your eyes was gone, and you felt fresher, more alert and awake. Or perhaps that was from your conversation.

“That’s fine. This place is huge, I’m sure I won’t see him at all.”

-

Your previous statement proved to be false. Despite the sheer size of the Red Keep estate, Aemond seemed to pop up no matter where you were. 

At the pool.

In the Library.

The Billiard Room were you played a game of pool with the boys.

No matter where you were, he always seemed to find you, eye searching you out immediately as he would slowly, and awkwardly, make his way toward you. You had dodged him thus far, leaving with an excuse to go to the bathroom, all but racing up to Helaena’s room, or saying that you were hungry, running to the large kitchen to sip at a glass of water.

It got to the point where it was simply ridiculous, and even the others seemed to notice his sudden appearance, and then your very sudden absence thereafter. It was like a game of tag, he would arrive and you would leave just before he could reach you, keeping that sweet distance safely between the two of you. Because if he were to say anything like he had the night before, you didn’t know if you would be able to keep yourself cool, calm and collected.

It was late in the afternoon, the sun beginning to roll down from the sky, where you found yourself in the gazebo at the end of the garden. It was large and open, chairs, lounges and tables all within, and Aegon had brought another bag of joints down with him.

You suspected that he most likely had a plant growing somewhere on the property. And the twins, with the help of their step-brothers, brought down a large esky.

With the presence of the two brunette haired boys, you likened that Aemond wouldn’t venture down to the Gazebo with the rest of you, thus your false sense of protection from he man.

Tomorrow you would leave, and then you would be safe to wallow in self pity as much as your heart desired.

There was a cool breeze that rolled through, but you were all relaxed for the most part, enjoying each others company with the music that played steadily out of Daeron’s portable speaker, drinking and smoking, and enjoying the warmth of the sun. 

You had been rolling a cigarette, offering one to Aegon as he eyed your pouch greedily when Lucerys shifted in front of you, large brown eyes looking past your head. The younger man’s face changed, brows pulling and posture straightening. He was nervous. Dread settled in your gut. The only time that you had seen Luc react like this was when his uncle was around.

You turned in your seat, filter for your cigarette hanging from your lips, to see Aemond slowly making his way across the grass towards you.

“Aemond!” Aegon called out, lifting his half drunk beer, joint pinched between two fingers that held the bottle towards his younger brother, who made his way up the steps to the rest of you.

Your mouth felt dry, and you looked away just as his eye found you, scurrying to roll your cigarette and Aegon’s, using it as an excuse to look down into your lap and not up at the man who sat himself beside Aegon on the opposite side of you.

Movement caught your eye, and you lifted your gaze through your lashes, watching as Aemond plucked the joint from his brothers fingers, bringing it towards his plump lips, inhaling a long draw of the blunt. The ember lit and moved down the paper as he drew in, and you were annoyingly impressed that he had the lungs to hold it.

You looked back down at the tobacco in your lap, slowly filling the centre of the paper as you rolled it together between your pointers and thumbs, making a long, and neat cigarette. 

You didn’t want to look up, but as soon as your tongue darted out to lick the paper to get it to stick, you could feel heat rising into your face as Aemond, unashamedly, watched. You reached out blindly, handing the cigarette to Aegon who thank you with a chirpy ‘Ta’, diverting your eyes back down to your lap to repeat the process.

Jacaerys, picking up on the tension, opted to speak to you, and only you, trying to keep your attention on him as he passed you over another can of some sweet drink Baela had brought with her. The whole time, you felt Aemond watching you. 

Irritation boiled inside of you as you licked the cigarette closed, bringing it to hold between your lips as your hands patted down your lap and then sides for the lighter. 

“Here.” Aegon caught your attention, leaning forward with his white lighter for you. You leant in, eyes on the flame as you inhaled to light the end of the smoke. 

“Thanks.” You mumbled back, exhaling deeply, watching the smoke, trying to focus on the lyrics of the song instead of focusing on the way your skin prickled as you were being observed. 

“In my imagination, you’re waiting lying on your side, with your hands between your thighs.” 

You turned to Daeron, “Really, Daer? Arctic Monkeys?”

The youngest son of Alicent turned to you and snorted, “It’s not my phone that’s connected.”

“What's wrong with the Arctic Monkeys?” Aegon huffed, joint back in his hands as he watched you with glassy, half-lidded eyes.

“Didn’t take you for a Tumblr girl, Eggy.” You teased, inhaling your smoke, ignoring the way his brother beside him stared at you pointedly.

“It’s what gets the girls hot and heavy, babe.” Aegon winked, and you could have sworn you saw Aemond’s body shift beside him. 

Helaena gagged, “Such a slut, Egg.”

“Hey! No slut shaming in my house.”

Baela, being quick witted, jumped in, “But I thought you liked a little bit of shame?”

If you had thought Aegon’s flirty glances towards you were intense, the one he cheekily threw at Baela stilled your breath, “I love it all, Bae. Why are you interested?”

“You’re foul.”

“You love it.”

The tension somewhat diffused after that, but Aemond didn't join in on anyone else’s conversations, merely listened, and kept his eye on you. It was driving you, as Helaena would say, up the wall. You didn’t know if you wanted to kiss him or scream at him. 

Maybe a bit of both to be honest.

You had gotten down to your third or fourth drink, sun right behind the horizon, a deep orange glow spreading across the estate, when Aemond finally came to do what he had clearly intended to all day.

He stood, and you stiffened, seeing in your periphery as he came to sit beside you on the other side, Helaena having gotten up to get another drink out of the esky, lost in giggles with Luc and Rhaena.

“Can we talk?” Aemond sat beside you, voice soft and quiet.

You hated that he was trying. You hated that he was trying because it meant that there was a chance that you could get hurt again. You just wished, in some sick part of you, that he would be horrible to you so you could just move on. 

The cigarette moved in your lips as you murmured to him, the same words you had repeated over, and over despite their lack of integrity, keeping your eyes ahead, “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Y/n, please. Don’t shut me out.”

Jace, being the ever perceptive man that he was, had noticed throughout the day your tension, and finally snapped, “Dude, back off. She clearly doesn’t want to talk to you.”

Aemond’s gaze snapped to his nephew across the gazebo, and all around you, the giggles of Rhaena and Helaena halted, and that inexplicable tension exploded into the space. It was like everyone held their breath, watching as Aemond’s lips pulled down into a sneer, “Mind your business, Jacaerys.”

The brunette sneered back, “No.” Hand extended towards you, “Look at her. She’s uncomfortable as hell-”

“-Jace, I-“ You tried to defuse the ticking time bomb that was building between uncle and nephew, but Jacaerys wasn’t having it.

“-Don’t pretend you’re not. You’ve been avoiding him all day.”

You swallow.

“This doesn’t concern you.” Aemond snapped, and even though he was irritated, you could tell he was trying his best to keep his body language calm and cold beside you.

To show you he wasn’t a threat.

Jacaerys shook his head, fingers strumming against the neck of his beer. Helaena’s eyes darted back and forth between brother and nephew, uncertain of what to do, mind running a million miles an hour as she evaluated the situation.

“It does if you’re making my friend uncomfortable.” The brunette scoffed, “I don’t know what you did to warrant her not wanting to speak to you, but you should take the hint.”

Oh fuck.

Fuck.

A sharp breath was blown through Aemond’s nose, “And you should take the ‘hint’ that this doesn’t concern you.”

Jacaerys shifted his eyes to you, warmth and concern bleeding into his features. In any other circumstance, you would have appreciated his defence of you, and even come to his side, but right now, you didn’t know what to do.

“Y/n, do you want to talk to him?”

Did you?

Yes.

No.

Yes.

Oh Gods.

You stayed quiet, not sure what you wanted. Talking would mean you would be let down again. Talking would mean you would have to have the same roundabout argument, your silly heart too stubborn and too sensitive to be hurt again.

Everyone watched as they waited for your answer, but Jacaerys, taking your momentary bout of silence, chimed in once again.

“See? she doesn’t-“

Aemond stood from his seat beside you, irritation rolling off of him in waves, “-Fuck off, Jacaerys. Learn whats good for you and mind your own.”

Jace shot up from his spot across the Gazebo, poor little Lucerys beside him standing with wide eyes, unsure of what to do. 

“Say that again.”

“I said, fuck off.” Aemond hissed.

“Woah. Okay! Maybe we should just-“ Aegon starts, but was quickly interrupted by Jacaerys.

“-Get your brother in line.” He barked at Aegon, whose glassy eyes widened, and pale brows rose up his forehead, “He’s been harassing her ever since he arrived.”

“Harassing?” Aemond fumed.

Oh for fucks sake.

This was exactly what you didn’t want to happen.

The son of Rhaenyra Targaryen narrowed his eyes on his uncle, and stepped towards him, “She doesn’t want to talk to you. Whatever you have to say to her, she clearly doesn’t want to hear it. Leave her alone.”

Aemond shifted, but didn’t step towards his younger nephew, staying firmly by your seated side, “What would you know about what I want to say to her? She can speak for herself.”

Oh, Aemond.

The brunette let out a humourless laugh, “Well she hasn’t spoken once yet.”

“Because you haven’t given me the chance!” You exploded, feeling all too overwhelmed with it all. 

You didn’t want them to fight because of you.

You knew that this would happen. That their previous familial tension would be the underlying root of whatever this was.

But you didn’t want this.

You didn’t want everyone against Aemond.

Your brown haired friend, someone you adored immensely looked at you with impatience, “Do you want to speak with him?”

“I don’t know what I want.”

“See? She doesn't even know. It's no secret you hate her-“

“-I love her!”

The air in the gazebo stilled.

The sound of blood rushing into your ears was loud, and you felt your heart beating against your ribs, desperate to escape as you felt it lurch into your throat. Your mouth opened, and a sharp inhale moved through you. You couldn’t think.

All eyes were on you again, and the silence was back, the previous song slowly rolling out, to give way to the next.

Helaena watched knowingly, as did Aegon, who relaxed beside you. 

And what was more surprising, was that you could see the tension in Jacaerys’ shoulders slowly bleed from him, a blush blooming on his high cheeks.

Oh shit.

“I mean- I-“ Aemond breathed, gathering what was left of his composure, voice coming out less irritated than before, “Please, I just- I need to talk to her.”

Your mouth felt dry, and your palms sweaty. You couldn’t even look up at the man who stood beside you. 

What the-

Helaena moved quickly towards her nephew, linking her arm in his as she began to lead him out of the gazebo, “Let's let these two talk, hm?”

Aegon stood and clapped his hands, “Let's go play some pool and let these two love birds sort out their little lovers spat.”

Your eyes widened at him. 

Love birds?

Lovers spat?

You-

Wh-

You were completely, and utterly gobsmacked.

Love?

Loves you?

Slowly but surely, all left you and Aemond at the gazebo, and you desperately swallowed dryly, wishing you could run again. Jacaerys’ eyes gave you one last lingering gaze to see if you needed help, and it reminded you of the way you had been with Aemond not too long ago. 

Pain strummed in your chest.

Then finally, you were alone.

Aemond jerked away from you pacing, brushing a nervous hand through his hair as you stay seated. 

You didn’t even know if you could move.

Didn’t know if you could stand.

Didn’t even know if you could lift yourself even if you wanted. You had grown to the chair, and at the mercy of the silver haired man who walked briskly in front of you.

“Are you going to let me speak to you?”

“You’re already speaking.” You quipped back, nerves taking a hold of you just the same as it did to him.

Aemond’s gaze flicked to you, then back down to his hands which he clenched and unclenched, wiping them against his black slacks, clearly irritated and unsure.

“You’ve been avoiding me all day.” He stated.

You don't respond. 

“Why?”

“Why?” You scoffed, “What do you mean 'why?'”

“Why won’t you talk to me?”

Gods, why was this the only fucking question he had?

Didn’t he have the wherewithal to figure the rest out?

It was as if his irritation bounced onto you, heat rising into your cheeks.

You snapped, “Because there is nothing to talk about!” 

His violet eye narrowed on you as he turned to face you completely, hands at his sides, “Yes, there is.”

You shook your head, feeling that irritating little pull in your chest, and the even more irritating prickle in the back of your eyes, “No, there’s not. You made that abundantly clear. You don’t know what you want, Aemond.” You sighed sadly, looking away from him momentarily, anything to escape his piercing gaze, “You don’t even know if you really want me. This isn’t healthy. I’m not going to be your stepping stone from Alys.”

The man’s brows pulled down into a frown, “You’re not a stepping stone.”

“That's how I feel!” You felt like you were going to burst into tears, you didn’t want to show him this, you didn’t want him to feel your insecurities, but the words just kept coming, “I don’t feel wanted. I feel like an option. I don’t want to be an option to you.”

Aemond took a step towards you, hand out in front of him, palm up, “How can I make you feel that when you won’t talk to me? When you won’t let me show you. You’re not an option for me. It’s only you. If you would just let me speak to you-”

You stood up, moving away from him as you felt tears gather in your eyes, “You haven’t shown me that I can trust you. How do I know you won’t hurt me again? That she won’t just show up here? This isn’t the first time you’ve done this. Remember the first time we got involved? I can’t keep doing this and getting myself hurt, Aemond. I won’t.” You cast your eyes out to the horizon, the blanket of night falling across the realm, stars above beginning to twinkle in the darkness.

You heard Aemond come up from behind, “I’m done with her. For good. As it should have been. I haven’t seen her since that night.”

That night when he dismissed you.

That night when you ran here.

It sounded as though he was speaking about something that had happened, months, years ago, but in reality, was not that long ago. Mere days.

“And did she come back?” Your voice was small, and you felt embarrassment for impulsively asking one of your burning questions, something that had been eating away at you almost every night since you left.

“What?” There was disbelief in his tone, “No. I didn’t want her to come back. And then when I saw you were gone, I thought you went to Cregan’s or Sara’s. But then, you didn’t come back. And you wouldn’t respond.”

“Why was she there for so long?” You turned to face him, watching as his eye softened, before looking down sadly. You knew she was a hard topic, but so was this.

“Because we talked about everything. The abuse. The…grooming. All of it. I wanted her to know I didn’t want that anymore. I needed to prove to myself I didn’t. She just wouldn't stop.”

“Then why did you say you didn’t know? Why did you say that to me, Aemond? But suddenly now you know? Can you you see why I’m so lost?”

Aemond lip was pulled into his mouth as he bit at it nervously, “Because I didn’t. It was an intense conversation to have right after her, Y/n. And you deserved my full capacity, deserve my full capacity, which I didn’t have in that moment. I needed to grieve, and I felt like I was being pushed into talking.” His voice became, softer, and you watched as his hands flexed beside him, itching to do something with them as a distraction, “I didn’t know what way was up, or what to think. It felt like my mind was put into a blender. I felt everything and nothing all at once.”

Gods damn him.

Why was this so hard.

An ache spread in your chest for him, for everything that he had been through.

“I wasn’t pushing you," You shook your head softly, "I would never do that to you.” You sympathised, feeling slightly guilty, “I just wanted to know where we stood.”

“Stood?”

Of course he would pick up on that. 

Past tense.

You sighed, threading a hand through your hair, “I’m not going to be your experiment, Aemond.” The man’s head reared back in disbelief at your words, “I’m not going to be your fixer upper. Or your new start. I’m not putting my all into something when the other person doesn’t even know what they want from me.”

“I do know.” Aemond corrected you, head cocked to the side, eye imploring you to understand. 

In any other circumstance you would be a puddle on the floor.

“But you said-”

“-I know what I said.” He interrupted you, “And I thought on it. I know what I want. I want you. But I just don’t know how.”

“This is the issue!” You threw your hands up in frustration.

Gods strike me down. 

It was the same thing, over and over. He wants you but doesn’t know how.

As a friend?

As a roommate?

As a lover?

What did he want from you?

Not even he fucking knew. 

You stormed away, a lone tear falling down your cheek as you brushed it away angrily, jogging down the steps of the gazebo as you made your way back inside of the Keep. You passed Helaena and Jacaerys who stood in the kitchen, eyes wide as they watched you speed right past them, Aemond trailing behind you, hot on your tail.

Jacaerys moved to come towards you, to ask if you were okay, but you snapped at him, hand up, “Don’t.” 

You kept on, desperate to get to some privacy where you could actually let it all out. Cry and scream, and kick and shout, and then fix your makeup and head back downstairs, and if Aemond came again, you would let Jacaerys give it to him out of spite.

Aemond jogged after you, coming around the corner of the entrance that had a large staircase that wound up to the higher levels. “Let me finish.” He puffed, “I don’t know how to assure you that I want you, or how to promise you that I won’t hurt you.”

You spun back and sneered at him, “And that's not good enough for me, Aemond.” 

You watched as he flinched back slightly, and your face softened. 

Fuck.

Goddamn it. 

You hoped the regretful look on your face soothed his anxiety momentarily before you kept on, pace getting faster once more.

“What if I got on my knees and begged.”

You blinked.

The memory of the joke that had been uttered in your apartment floated to the front of your mind. The sides of your lips twitched, but that short lived happiness and fondness was squashed at the reminder of why you were having this conversation in the first place.

You turned, finding Aemond dangerously close at the top of the stairs, his eye narrowed on you as both of your chests heaved, “No. I’m tired of being used by you.”

“I’m not using you.” He took a step froward.

You took a step back.

“Oh no? So I’m suddenly not ‘Helaena’s roommate’.”

You knew you were being childish, but you couldn’t stop it.

“I said I’m sorry.” His voice sounded strained, almost coming out as a growl.

You shook your head at him, “Just stay away from me.” You turned away heading down the hall to her room, “You can get your things from th-“

A large palm wrapped around your elbow and spun you. 

Soft lips crashed into yours and you gasped, hands flying to his shoulders as he pushed you backwards into a wall, all teeth and tongue. A warmth spread through you, and as your mind caught up with you finally, you kissed him back, biting at his lip roughly in anger. 

Your hands wove into his hair and pulled at it meanly, hearing a grunt fall into your lips as he pressed into your body with all his weight, smothering you, covering you, claiming you.

Aemond’s hands held the side of your neck before skating down your body, grabbing at your waist and hips, before sliding behind to pinch at your bum.

A moan flittered from your chest as heat settled in your gut, a wetness beginning to seep into your underwear.

With stumbling steps, Aemond guided you backwards, the two of you clawing and nipping at each other breathlessly, pent up anger and frustration pouring into your bones.

The wall behind you fell through, having been a door Aemond opened, and you parted momentarily as you stepped backwards, his large boot kicking the door shut as he grasped your cheeks, pulling you back to him. He continued to walk you backwards, your feet stumbling on the edge of a rug. 

The world spun as Aemond shoved you backwards, eyes popping open as you landed onto his bed with a squeak. Your eyes took him in, and then the room. It was similar to Helaena’s, but only dark greens and black.

A room which looked like hadn’t had someone in it for a very long time. 

Aemond had taken you to his old room.

He stood in front of you, chest heaving, eye narrowed on your form as his hands moved to his belt, roughly unclasping it, sliding the long length through his belt loops with a snap. Your legs clenched together as you watched him unbutton his shirt, his pupil having swallowed his iris whole, leaving an inky black look of desire as he devoured you with his eye. 

Once his shirt was off, he kicked of his shoes and socks, and then he was on you again, lips and body pressing you down into the soft duvet that covered his sheets, a long groan peeling from his chest as he gripped your hair tightly, grinding his hardened length against your covered core.

You whined, hands flying down to the button and zipper of his pants as he ripped at your clothes, tearing them off of you until you were laid bare beneath him.

He looked down at you hungrily, tongue peeking out of his lips to wet them as he murmured at you, “So beautiful.”

Your hands found his zip and yanked it down, fingers diving under the elastic of his pants to grasp at his girth. You gave him a rough squeeze, arching up to nip at his bottom lip. A hiss came from between his clenched teeth before he gently batted your hand away, sliding off of the bed as he tugged you roughly towards him with a squeak.

He parted your legs hastily, eye immediately locked on your slick folds. You tried to close your legs, feeling heat bloom in your chest, but his hands prevented you, that and his hardened stare as he leant down and licked a broad swipe up through your folds.

Your back arched off of the bed as you whined, pleasure sparking through you. Your hands flew down and grasped his hair, tugging him towards your centre as he began to lick and suckle at your clit. He hummed into it, placing nips into your inner thighs and kisses against the sensitive nub. 

It was too much. 

All that pent up emotion. 

The waiting.

The wanting.

The hurting. 

The yearning.

And now he was back between your thighs, rubbing a long digit through your folds until he pushed it inside of your entrance, curling it upwards to rub against the spongey patch within. You jerked as warmth shot up through you, your core clenching around his digit, before he added another. 

“So fucking tight and wet.” He moaned, head dipping back down to suckle at your clit whilst he fucked you on his fingers, “Such a perfect pussy.”

The room was filled with the slick sound of your heat and your moans as you writhed atop his bed, the coil within you winding increasingly tighter with each flick of his tongue and curl of his fingers.

It was raw. It was primal. And it was a flurry of desperation. 

He came away from your core, crawling up your body as he kicked off his pants and briefs, “Want to feel you cum around me.” He breathed against your lips, settling himself between your thighs as you lifted your hip up to meet his tip, which he fisted in one hand. 

He didn’t spare a second to check in, to see if you were ready, before slamming himself inside, his pace immediately fast and hard as he rutted against you desperately. You cried out, hands gripping his shoulders for purchase as each snap of his hips drove you up the bed, your walls clamping down on him. 

“Fuck.” He hissed, feeling the way you tightened around him as he changed the angle to drive his hips deeper, lifting one of your thighs to wrap around his hip, fingers digging into your flesh in a way you knew there would be bruises come morning.

“Please.” You whined beneath him, chest arching up to brush against him, nipples pebbled in arousal. 

“Please, what?” He smirked, purposely slowing his thrusts.

You tilted your hips upwards to try and increase the pace before you huffed, “Please, need to cum.”

Aemond dipped his head, kissing your cheek softly, the first sign of affection, “You’ll cum, baby, be patient for daddy.”

He fucked into you harder, his forehead pressed against yours as he looked down to where you were connected, watching as his length disappeared into your slick folds over and over, your arousal coating his shaft and your thighs in a way that glimmered in the low light of the room.

You chased his lips, bringing him back into a passionate kiss, feeling his tongue slide over yours, chasing you desperately as you deepened for him, feeling your chest flutter, and your cunt pulse.

His hand found its way to the side of your cheek as he fucked you, breaking the embrace to look down at you. 

There was a light sheen of sweat on his forehead, silver stands sticking to the side of his face as the rest dangled over his shoulders messily. His eye bore into your own, and you watched as his pupil dilated further, a blush creeping on his cheeks as his thrusts faltered.

“I want you.” He whispered, “Only you.”

You whined, shutting your eyes as you turned your face into his palm feeling overwhelmed by his gaze, his words, and the way his cock drilled so perfectly into your cunt.

“‘M close.” You panted, fingernails digging into the skin of his shoulders as you pulled him down closer to you, wanting him to be closer, needing him to be pressed against you entirely. 

His scent surrounded you, and you felt safer, calmer, and ready to burst.

You were so close.

So close.

“’S perfect, baby. Cum for me.” He groaned, his pace beginning to falter, hand still against your cheek and neck, holding you in place as he watched you come undone beneath him.

You came with a cry, eyes scrunched shut as he grunted, warmth immediately flooding you as he came with you. Pleasure erupted through your body, your walls fluttering around his length as he fucked himself through the both of your highs, prolonging it.

His weight pressed down onto you from above as you both breathed heavily, his hips finally stilling as you felt his length throbbing inside of you. Aemond's thumb brushed against your cheek, gently, back and forth, back and forth, soothing you as you refused to look back at him, keeping your eyes shut.

You didn’t dare open your eyes, you didn’t even know if you could, but if you did, you would have been met with the loving and gentle gaze of Aemond, a warm glow on his cheeks. 

Pulling back, Aemond slid himself from your warmth and you both hissed quietly in the sudden stillness of the room. But you were too tired to talk, too tired to argue, too tired to even think about what this meant.

He wrapped you up in his arms, pulling the sheets over the both of you as he tucked your head beneath his chin.

You curled up against him, enjoying the familiarity of his warmth and the safety that he gave you. 

Fingertips brushed up and down your arm, raising goosebumps in their wake, until slowly but surely, the moment slowed, and his breathing evened out. Your eyes adjusted to the low lit room, as you took it all in, breathing in time with the man beside you. 

Your throat felt tight.

The lump you wished you could remove with your own hands, growing in the back of your throat. 

Your chest grew tight, and there it was once again, the prickling in your eyes as tears threatened to rise.

As carefully as you could, you slid out of the bed, halting each time his breath would change, or he would move, careful to not wake him. When you stood beside the bed, you looked down at him as you put your clothes back on. 

He looked at peace.

Calm.

And so, gods be damned, beautiful. 

Silver hair that had a slight wave to it now was nestled around his head on the pillow, small strands falling down his face over his seeing eye. Those plump lips you loved to kiss were slightly parted as he slept, breathing in through them and the sharp nose above.

Your heart ached as you watched him.

You didn’t know what to do.

You both clearly wanted each other, but you were scared of getting hurt. 

Aemond said he had made up his mind, but had you?

You snuck out of his room and into Helaena’s, crawling into bed beside her. She blinked at you sleepily before rolling over to go back to her dreams.

You found you could barely sleep, mind occupied with only one thing;

Him.

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

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What's next in love?

DM for personal readings

Picture 1

I sense that you may have been through a completion or some kind of ending, either or a relationship or a situation ship. you may have been feeling drained by all that has happened within the last week. You may even feel like you have bad luck in love or love and relationships may not be your strongest suits. You are being guided to work on yourself, the only reason things are not working out is because the universe is saving you for someone special. and you will be overjoyed when you meet them. But before that you will have to grow spiritually and emotionally because I see that you are not ready for a long term connection and yet you keep looking for it in wrong people. Deep down you fear being vulnerable and deep connections, you will have to work on it first.

You will meet them right after a spiritual awakening or when you will be working towards your life purpose. You are constantly in survival mode, be more open and at ease.

You may have to pause on dating somebody for sometime or you may feel like you don't want to date anyone anymore but whatever the case may be I see that you will be working more on yourself and your goals.

Things that might resonate : stars or stargazing, paperwork or court, smiling emoji or stickers, train or bus, butterflies, a gold ring or a bracelet.

Picture 2

okayy so i sense that you may be waiting for someone to contact you or you may have sent an impulsive text to somebody. or you may need to made a decision in some time. I do see that there is somebody that is interested in you and the feelings are mutual, you may already know who i am talking about but there is some kind of external forces that is stopping this person from approaching you, either you have somebody else or they are talking to somebody else. i do see that there is a third party or this person may feel like you have somebody else now. for some of you this may be an ex. I do see that you do want them back for some. but overall i see that you already know the person who is your future partner.

I also see that they may be connected to your family or you may meet them through your family. I see that they may always have earphones plugged in or they may be connected to music.

You may be wishing to be in a relationship with them because they seem to be your ideal type. one of you may have to move on from your past. their or your name may translate to wish/hope/desire etc.

things that might resonate : clock or clock tower, office work, untuned guitar, blood ties, inner circle, yes, 21, 31, 46.

Picture 3

I sense that you guys may be thinking of moving out or changing locations soon. You may meet this person while travelling or they may be your neighbour in the new neighbourhood. I see that some of you may be talking to somebody who lives at a distance or you will be talking soon, whatever the case may be, i see that this is somebody new. This person maybe rich or they belong to a respected family. For some of you this person might be your future spouse. They may have a deep voice or husky voice. You guys may not be considering a romantic relationship at first but the feelings will increase over time. I sense that you are really intuitive yourself and you already be having dreams about them. I see that they may offer some kind of help to you, both financial and physical.

They may be an air or earth sign, especially Aquarius and Taurus. They may have long hair or thick hair. Their is really significant here. They may work in the education sector or medical sector.

I see that they find you really attractive and charming. You may be wearing yellow or yellow may be really significant in the first meeting.

Things that might resonate : Butterflies, crows, black cats, white, river or water body, cloudy day, 10,5, 17, library or books.

[masquayla-the-splendid]

GUYS do you remember THIS post???

Well. Do I have a story for you.

When I was a wee young lass, I was on the Pony side of doll enjoyers. This was like 2008, so it was G3. I had several DVDs of the cartoon, but I had one of a live performance called "The World's Biggest Tea Party." It's exactly what you expect.

One day, I decide to go through all of my DVDs and re watch some that I haven't in a while, this being one of them. It's barely reaching feature film length, but the pacing makes it feel like it's well over an hour.

But I'm not here to critique an Mlp musical meant for 5 year olds, I'm here to show you where part of my Sister Location synesthesia probably comes from.

LOOK.

It was hard to find exact visual parallels, because like I said in the linked post, pink light is used when the Funtimes are preforming, which you see very little of in-game.

There were even similar plot concepts!!! Don't be alarmed, it's not what you think!!!

The movie is available for free on YouTube, but I'll summarize it since the dragging was stronger than my nostalgia goggles.

Pinkie Pie wants to plan an event with her friends where they "have the most fun in one day." So the whole movie is them preparing for a tea party that happens at their friend's house outside of PonyVille. Subplot with Spike trying to find a "how-to" book and the Ladybugs trolling him. Pinkie was so focused on making sure her friends didn't forget their responsibilities, that by the time they got there, she realized she forgot the tea. She feels super bad, but some encouragement from Minty and the screaming child audience summons an oversize teapot. Happy ending.

Text-to-text comparisons I drew:

Main character is a shade of red, and likes parties.

"The most fun in one day"

Main character being overly aware of what everyone else is doing. Super attentive, or if exaggerated, you could call it being bossy.

Main character has a big oopsie.

One of the ponies who is SO adhd coded keeps subconsciously putting off preparing her decorations. She "just wants to have fun." (Character does a thing, doesn't know why, only wants fun.)

Giant kitchen utensil.

The Ladybugs and Minireenas. They share similar design features, and pester a character associated with the color purple.

Those three fairy ponies? Bidybabs. Ones of em's even yellow, it can be Electrobab.

"Bounce Back-Ability"/Adapting from the oopsie.

The aforementioned synesthesia was all visual. I hardly remembered anything of the plot until I watched it recently. I wanna say the last time I put that DVD in, I was like 6. So like the synesthesia was coming from a near 14 year old memory. That's nuts.