#but taking time off school and subbing has given me a lot of reading time

[britneyshakespeare]

the more time goes by the more i'm like yeah... cymbeline might be my favorite shakespeare play

[spicyspiders]

sub/service top steve x reader

maybe reader is stressed because of school or work which leads to a strain being put on his relationship with steve. in order to combat this steve comes up with the idea of letting the reader use him for their pleasure deterring from their usual dynamics. elements of reader choking steve while riding him, whiny/whimpering steve, dry humping, frottage and lots of praise received and given between one another

ps: thanks so much for taking the time to read these and taking them from concepts to full on body’s of work, i hope you know that your talent isn’t taken for granted

I’m sorry that it took me so long to write this. I really appreciate the ps, that’s very sweet.

“Have you gotten your new schedule yet?” Steve asks when he comes through the door of your apartment.

You let out a breath through your nose, trying to quell the anger that you felt has been with you all day. It doesn’t help, and when you snap your response back at Steve, “I won’t have it until tomorrow,” you automatically feel worse.

“Okay okay,” Steve responds back with much more composure than you expected. He sets his keys down onto the counter before he walks up to you and pulls your tense body into a hug. ”You’ve had a rough week, so I wanted to know your new schedule to take you out on a date next week,” he says softly into your neck.

”Oh Steve,” you whisper back in a soft, shaky voice, “I’m sorry.”

Steve runs his hand up and down your back slowly, “I know, baby,” he presses his lips to your neck, “it’s okay.”

You pull out of Steve’s embrace, just enough to look into his eyes before you speak, “I shouldn’t take it out on you, I-“

Steve cuts you off by pressing his lips to yours, “I mean it. Besides, you know how frustrated I can be when I get off a shift from Family Video.”

You try to turn your neck and hide the smile on your face, you’re supposed to be angry after all, but Steve grabs your face to keep you still. Steve’s smile matches yours, but his looks more sheepish, and when he opens his mouth, you know exactly what he’s about to say.

”Maybe you could call out?” He suggests.

“Steve,” you hiss, “you know I hate calling out.”

”I know. You’re just such a goody two-shoes,” Steve responds in a joking manner.

“I’m not-“ you cut yourself off with a loud huff, “you know I hate it when you call me that,” you say angrily.

”You are though,” Steve responds, pulling your bodies flush, “my good boy,” he whispers against your mouth.

“Is this your attempt at turning me on?”

“Is it working?”

It did in fact work. Your anger fuels your movements, and by the time you’re sinking down onto Steve’s cock, you can’t tell if the feeling running through your veins is lust or anger.

“Wait!” Steve says, wrapping his hands tightly around your hips, trying to stop your hips. ”You didn’t prepare yourself enough you’ll-“

”Steve!” You wrap a hand around his neck as you bottom out. You push him down into the pillows as your fingers tighten around the sids of his neck, “please just,” your voice breaks off into a moan as you shift around on his cock.

“You’re right,” Steve says, nodding, “take what you need.”

Steve’s cheeks are pink when you look down at him, and the color nearly reaches your fingers, “you like this,” you observe at the color and how hard Steve is panting on the pillows.

The first time Steve tries to open his mouth to respond, he can only groan as you bring yourself up and then back down onto his cock. The second time he tries, you move your fingers from his neck to press two of your fingers into his mouth at the same pace his cock goes back into your hole when you bring your hips up and then down.

”Shut up, Steve,” you say as you press the pads of your fingers onto his tongue. It’s wet and warm as it swirls around your fingers, reminding you much of how it feels when he sucks your cock. The feeling almost distracts you enough to keep you still on his cock, but after you shift your hips around, you’re reminded of what you’re after.

When you pull your fingers from his mouth and place both hands onto his chest for balance, Steve speaks. You can’t be mad though, knowing that Steve wasn’t exactly that good of a listener. “You’re so beautiful,” he says as he rocks up into the heat of your body, “taking charge.”

”You’re so beautiful,” you respond as you move one of your hands to bury your hand into his sweaty strands of hair, “the way you submit,” you say as you pull his head back to expose the column of his neck.

You move down into his neck, past the marks you’ve already bitten into his neck to an empty patch skin. You can feel the vibration of Steve’s moan against your lips as you suck a new mark into his neck. You answer with a moan of your own into his neck as Steve mindlessly thrusts into your hole.

You gasp into Steve’s mouth as you try your best to kiss him through the feel of his cock nailing your prostate. “Fucking me so good,” you say, biting at his lip, “such a good boy for me.”

”I’m close,” Steve moans as his thrusts begin to lose their rhythm.

“Gonna cum for me?” You breathe against his mouth, “gonna fill me up?”

Steve’s back arches below your body as his thrusts end with a loud moan, and when his body falls back to the bed, you move off of his softening cock.

You’re tempted to push your still hard cock into his open, panting mouth, but you settle for wrapping your fingers around your cock and stroking at a quick pace. It only takes a few strokes for your cock to shoot ropes of white all over Steve’s face.

Your eyes fall shut under the intensity of your orgasm and when you open them through the aftershocks, you’re met with the site of your cum that’s painted a messy picture all over Steve’s face. You groan as you move your stiff legs so you can flop down next to Steve.

He only gives you a few moments of running your fingers through the mess on his face before he’s getting off the bed and leaving the room. A hot feeling runs through your body when you feel his cum start to trickle out from your hole, but soon, Steve is back with a warm rag to wipe you down.

“Missed a spot,” you say to Steve, looking up to the cum that landed in his hair.

“You’ll have to help me clean it out,” Steve says as he lays back down beside you. He tosses the rag onto the pile of your combined clothes before he throws his arm around your waist.

“You could come work at Family Video with Robin and I,” Steve says once he’s settled down onto the pillow beside your head.

You roll over onto your stomach, your soft cock rubbing against the cotton of your sheets, “we’d get fired so quickly,” you say before the both of you fall into a fit of laughter.

Steve rolls over onto his stomach too so he can run a hand down your back, “you’re just so tempting,” he growls, his hand moving to your ass.

[justmeinadaze]

Take It Out On Me Part 21 (Steddie X Plus Size Reader)

A/N: Ok so I wanted to do kinda like a Scream like thing but didn't realize until I started writing this out that I'm limited by the technology of the 80s lol But I made it work with what I had lol I hope you enjoy.

There is a 2 year time jump from the last chapter.

Warnings: Daddy Steve/ Sir Eddie & Sub Fem Plus Size Reader; SMUT, of the rougher variety, they are roleplaying and she asks them to be this way and scare her, spitting, choking, slapping, spanking, threatening, brief knife play (they tear off her dress), public play (in the school after hours), handcuffs, FLUFF near the beginning and very end (aftercare is given of course <3 ), ANGST, this is a role-play and everyone has given consent especially the reader, I WOULD NEVER WRITE A VERSION OF THESE TWO THAT WOULDNT STOP IF SHE SAID THE SAFE WORD!, they do call her and threaten her over the phone, she's chased down a hallway, lots of intimidation.

Word Count: 4198

Two years had passed since the incident with Eddie’s mom and he seemed to be doing so much better. He had really been focusing in on his music and Corroded Coffin spent every other night practicing and doing whatever they could to save money for some studio time. 

Steve still worked at Family Video with Robin but he had been looking into other alternatives like opening his own business. His friend and her current girlfriend had suggested the three of them start a non-profit to help kids who were kicked out of their homes or on the run due to unfortunate circumstances. You three understand that better than most and that was one of her greatest fears when it came to telling her family about her sexuality. 

You were on your senior year at college and ready to graduate. Taking Steve’s advice (and Eddie’s adamant approval of the idea), you majored in teaching with a minor in English hoping to teach high school kids in the future. Your courses required an internship and one teacher at Hawkins High was more than accommodating. 

“Y/N! Always good to see you. How are the other troublemakers?”

“They’re good, Mr. C. I do have a favor to ask if that’s alright.”, you giggle.

As soon as Eddie found out, he was so overjoyed like a kid in a candy store. 

“Mr. C! How’s my favorite teacher?!”

“Jesus Christ. Hello, Mr. Munson. How can we help you today?”, he sighed.

He always acted annoyed but you knew he cared about the metalhead like he did all his other students. 

“Oh, I’m just here to have lunch with the love of my life. Sweetheart, get out so you don’t get too jealous.”

You laugh at his antics as the teacher rolls his eyes. 

“It’s been 5 years.”, you announce as Steve steps into the living area, drying his hair. 

“Uh, I’ve been in the shower for like 15minutes but okay.”

“No, you goof. It’s been 5 years since we got together. Well, I mean, since you cornered me in a classroom.”, you giggle.

“And fucked you till your eyes rolled. You’re welcome.”, Eddie sasses from his spot by the window. 

“Is there a particular reason you wanted us to know that? Did you want to do something, honey?”, the other man asks as he leans against the counter. “We didn’t have something planned already because I thought we decided our official anniversary was when we officially got together a year after.”

“I know, Daddy. I just…it’s 5 years. I feel we should do something to commemorate it right?”

The metalhead tosses out his cigarette and closes the window before coming over to sit beside you on the couch. 

“What did you have in mind?”

Biting your bottom lip, you head for the case of movies and grab a couple before handing them to Eddie. 

“These are all scary movies. Well except this one about the girl stalking the guy.”

“Yeeeeah. I, um, I was thinking we could try that…like role play.” Both men exchange a look you can’t read and you immediately feel yourself get self-conscious. “I was just thinking you know? Those first few times when we were together like that first night or even the night you two snuck into my room the end of junior year. That was so hot. Not to say, what we do now isn’t hot. Just that—”

A palm comes up from behind you to cover your mouth and you lean back into Steve’s warm chest. 

“You’re over thinking again.”, he grins. “I mean, we can try it. Do you want us to go that far?”, he asks pointing towards the movies in his friend’s hand. “How far is too far?”

“Don’t hurt, hurt me. No like punching or cutting my skin or anything. When I think about it, you guys doing this to me, more than anything…I want you to scare me.”

Eddie’s head ticks to the side at your statement. “Why? No. Why?”, he repeats when you shrug.

“It’s a different level of control, I guess. That first night, I wasn’t scared of you. I was scared of how you made me feel but I’ve never been afraid of you.” You smile when Steve softly kisses your cheek.

“If we do this, I think we should set some ground rules now. We already have one which is no punching or cutting. Of course, we would never do that, sweetheart.” The long-haired boy flashes you a comforting grin before he continues. “If we’re dropping into this headspace, Y/N, that means we probably won’t be asking you for a color but that doesn’t mean you can’t say them or the safe word. Promise us if at any point you feel uncomfortable you’ll use it.”

“I promise, Sir. 100%.”

“What about you, Stevie? Anything you can think of?”

“Not that I can think of.”

Eddie nods in agreement. 

“Alright, baby. Your wish is our command.”

###############

For the next week, you let your imagination run wild with what they could be planning. Everything ran like normal and nothing they did stood out to you to trigger the notion for you that the game was about to begin. You gave them free reign to choose the time and date but the anticipation was killing you. 

That following Friday, you had called to tell them you would be staying late at the school to work on some stuff for Mr. C who had to leave earlier that day to take care of his sick wife. Wearing your Walkman and listening to the mix tape Eddie had made you for your birthday awhile back, you hummed as you graded papers. 

The phone on the desk ringing abruptly startles you as you grab your chest and yank off your headphones. Thinking it may be one of the boys, you answer without hesitation. 

“Hello? Mr. Castillo’s classroom.”

“Hello there. Well, don’t you sound sweet. Is he available?”, a deep voice you didn’t recognize asked. 

“I’m sorry. He’s out for the evening. Can I take a message?”

“Oh, honey. No need to worry. I can just try again later.”

“Alright. Well, have a good night.”

“Wait a minute. If he’s gone why are you there?”

“I’m Mr. Castillo’s teaching intern but he had a family emergency so I’m just helping him get things done. Are you sure I can’t take a message or something?”

“No. I can deliver it myself. I’d rather talk to you.”

“Look, if this isn’t school related and you don’t want to leave a message I’m going to have to hang up.”

“Ooo so sassy. I love it. Sounds like you need someone to teach you, Miss Teacher. Give you a lesson on respect.”

“I don’t respect assholes. I’m ending this conversation. Don’t call again or else.”

“Or else what?”, he chuckled causing a chill to run down your spine. 

“Fuck off.” You slammed down the phone but you still felt uneasy. Dialing the apartment, you prayed one of them was home but to your dismay no one picked up. As soon as you placed the receiver back on its dock, it rung again. “H-Hello?”

“Don’t ever hang up on me again, Y/N.”, the voice growled and you quickly rose to your feet in panic at the sound of your name. 

“I-I just called my boyfriend’s. They are on their way right now so you should j-just leave.”

“Aw, sweetheart. You think Eddie and Steve can save you? That’s so cute.”

“Don’t mock me. They take care of me!” You try to control the tears of fear that threaten to fall as you remain as confident sounding as possible. 

“Oh, little one. Trust me. Your Master and Daddy can’t protect you from us.”

“Fuck you!”

“That’s the plan, pretty girl, and with that sexy ass dress you have on, it won’t be hard.”

You dropped the phone and ran out of the classroom towards the front door of the school. Tugging on it aggressively, you whined when it wouldn’t budge. The phone in the front office blared loudly making you scream. Shakily, you headed towards it, sobbing as you put the speaking to your ear. 

“Where do you think you’re going, little girl? It’s just us three tonight, baby. NO ONE is coming to save you.”

“Please…” The voice snickers at your pleading.

“Let’s play a game, Y/N. Run and hide but if we catch you we fuck you.”

“W-W-Why? If you can see me, just fucking get it over with!”

“I like the idea of you thinking there’s hope when there isn’t.”

He laughs again, making you angry. 

“No. I won’t play your game. F-Fuck you.”

The growl that flowed through had your knees weaken as panic once again flowed through you. 

“Run. Now.”

“NO!” 

The line disconnected and you stifled your sobs as you slowly tiptoed back out into the hallway. A throat clearing startled you as you turned to see a tall figure dressed from head to toe in all black, his face except for his eyes and mouth were covered. A sinister smile spread as he pulled a knife from his pocket and flashed it in your direction, taunting you as he wiggled it between his fingers. 

The man bolted forward and you ran in the opposite direction like you had never run before. Yanking open the auditoriums doors, your goal was to hide in the sound booth and lock yourself in but as soon as you ran across the stage, however, you were met with another figure dressed the same way as the other sitting haphazardly in one of the auditorium seats. 

His legs were crossed as his arms hung over the backs of the chairs with a smug grin on his face. It was almost like he was expecting you to come this way. 

Long arms tackle you from behind and you fight back as the other man wrestles you to the floor of the stage. While he tries to pin your arms down, you get in one good smack across his slightly more protected cheek before he responds by doing the same. Dizzy by the force, you allow him to get the upper hand as he turns you on to your tummy and pressed his knee into your back as he moves around behind you. 

You whimper as your arms are tugged behind your back and you hear the clinking metal before leather is wrapped around both your wrists handcuffing you in place. 

The figure in front of you all too casually stands up and walks up to the stage, kneeling down slightly so his face was level with yours.  

“Boo.”, he teases, laughing when you cringe away. Sighing, he reaches for his mask and pulls it off his face, exhaling in pleasure at the cool air. 

Your eyes quickly took note of Eddie’s features. His own eyes were dark like they normally where when you played rough but there was a coldness behind them that made the little girl inside you tremble. 

“Jesus. Do you know how long it takes for people to fully empty this building? I thought we were never going to be alone.”

You feel movement behind you again and right as you glance behind you Steve pulls off his mask as well. 

“Yeah, man, but we have her now.”

Wiggling underneath his hold, he turns you on to your back and straddles his legs over your waist.

“STOP moving, God damn it. We gave you a chance to run and hide but you didn’t want to play.”, he growled as he pointed a finger in your face. Like with Eddie, Steve’s eyes were different; darker. They both exuded a new type of confidence that had your pussy clenching between your thighs. “Nothing to say now that we’re in front of you, huh, little girl? Where did all that sass go?”

“Hm. I don’t think she’s there yet, Steven.”

“What do you mean?”

“Little girl here seems to think she’s still in some kind of control. Don’t you, babe?”, Eddie mocks making you cringe. “See. That right there.” His head tilts as his palm reaches out to grab your throat. “That little face she made. I don’t know what your boyfriends have been letting you get away with but it won’t happen here. Do you understand me?”

“Yes.”

You gasped as his hand tightened its grip. 

“Yes what?”

“Yes, I understand.”, you choke out as he releases you. 

They both chuckle as the man above you manhandles you back onto your stomach and tugs on your hair as he guides you to your knees. With one hand, Steve fumbles with his belt buckle and hastily unzips his pants before pulling out his cock that was now level with your face.

“Open.” You shook your head at his command, wincing when he pulled back on your hair. “I wasn’t asking. Open your mouth.”

Eddie slides onto his knees beside you, reaching under the bottom of your dress, and runs his fingers through your folds. 

“Little slut is so wet but won’t do as she’s told.”, he sighs with a condescending tone. “Open your mouth.” You don’t move or say anything even when the metalhead shoves two of his digits into your entrance. Steve’s angry eyes remain locked on yours, smirking when he sees them flutter as you try to do everything you can to keep your moans from escaping out of your mouth. 

“Open, Y/N.”

When you don’t respond, he thrusts into you faster and you feel your body quickly running towards that ledge. Just as you were about to fall, however, he stopped his movements making you whine in your throat. 

“Ready to behave?”

You did something then that you would never do with Eddie and Steve under any normal circumstances. In a defiant gesture, you spit in the long-haired boys face. After wiping it with his hand, he shifts his gaze back to you and flashed you smile that made your blood run cold (and your pussy drench around his still fingers).

“Oh we’re going to have so much fun with you, little girl.”

Eddie pumped his fingers again at a fast pace as you struggled to catch your breath. Right now, you were breathing mostly through your nose but it wasn’t enough with how he was building you up. When he stopped again, tears ran down your cheeks. Once he felt like your pending orgasm had fully dissipated, he started over but this time his thumb reached up to message your clit. 

You couldn’t stop it from happening. Your mouth opened as you let out a loud moan and Steve took the opportunity to guide his cock into your mouth. Eddie removed his fingers, making you jump as he lightly smacked you between your legs. 

Trying to move your head back, the metalhead held you in place as the other boy began thrusting his hips. 

“Fuck me. Her mouth feels so good. Hold her still.”

“Don’t worry. I’m not letting her go anywhere.”

“Shit. How do you think I-I should take her, man? I’m just dying to feel that pussy.”

“It’s up to you, dude. She’s our toy to use how we please. Little whore can handle anything, can’t you, babe?”

Drool dribbled down your chin as the boy continued to fuck your face making him groan at the sight. 

“Fuck, I need her now.” After pulling out his cock, you were pushed back down onto the stage, freezing when you felt steel touch you skin. “Don’t move.” 

You heard the sound of tearing fabric and shivered when the cold air caressed your skin as your now cut apart dress was tossed aside. Grabbing your hips, you were tugged backwards towards Steve who was now on his knees as well. 

Lining himself up, he roughly pushed his cock into your dripping cunt and you both mewled as he held you tightly against him. 

Hearing the clinking of another belt buckle grabbed your attention as you lifted your head to see Eddie sauntering towards you. 

“If you cum, when it’s my turn, I’m going to make sure that you’re sore between your legs for the next month. Do I make myself clear?”

“J-Jesus. She fucking liked that.”

His head slanted as he waited for your answer. Eddie knew you believed he was telling the truth because he saw the one thing you asked for push through your gaze; fear. 

“Yes, Sir. I understand.”

“I’m going to help keep your mind distracted.” His pants fell to his ankles as he stroked his cock a few times in front of your face. “Open.”

This time you didn’t argue or protest as you opened your mouth wide and encased your lips around him. The metalhead’s ringed hand rested behind your head as it bobbed along his length. 

“Come on, little girl. You can do better than that.” Suddenly, you felt another palm land on your hair and forcibly moved your head for you, making you gag as his cock hit the back of your throat. “You can take it all. We know you can.”

You tried keeping up with the pace they set for you but every time your head didn’t go low enough, Steve pushed you into the other boy’s lap causing you to drool and spit all over him. 

“You love this don’t you, you little whore. You like to spit.”, Eddie sneered, licking his lips while you whimpered around him. 

Steve’s thrusts started to falter, giving you sense of pride knowing he was about to cum and you hadn’t yet but your relief was short lived when he reached around and rubbed your clit with his fingers. You pushed back against their hands as your head hung in front of you. 

“No! I’m…I’m not supposed to cum. Please!”

The man ignored you as he continued till he grunted and coated your walls with his release. As he aggressively pounded into till he was empty, your own body trembled in his hold as the coil broke and you came.

Calloused fingers lifted your face from under your chin to meet Eddie’s oddly calm features. 

“Did you just cum even though I said you couldn’t?”

“I-I-I’m sorry. I tried. I tried so hard. Please.”, you cried.

Steve backed away as Eddie leaned over you to unhook your handcuffs. You took the opportunity to your advantage, resting your head in the nook between his neck and shoulder as you sobbed while continuing to apologize.

“You wanna help me, man?”

Taking hold of your hair, the metalhead walked towards the front of the stage before letting you go to jump down. Something grabbed your shoulder and your body was slammed down flat onto your back as Steve grabbed your wrists, bringing your arms above your head so he could restrain you with the handcuffs once again.

Eddie hovered over you, eyes scanning your sweaty features. 

“Open your mouth and stick out your tongue.” After doing what he commands, you watch with wide eyes as he spits between your lips. “Since you love spit so much, hang onto that for me. If you can keep it in there till I say, I may actually let you cum.”

Standing to his full height, he lifts one of your legs over his shoulder and you whine as he guides himself into you entrance. 

True to his word, his hips slam into yours with rough abandon, your eyes squeezing shut as you focus on not swallowing the nicotine flavored salvia that currently rests on you tongue. Steve’s palms slide down your arms to your breasts eliciting a soft moan as his fingers graze your nipples. 

Eddie’s tip abuses your g-spot, overwhelming you with a feeling of euphoria that has tears falling down your face.

"Fuck! Your pussy feels too good.”, he groans as he spanks your ass, slowing his pace. “Look at me, little girl.” When you don’t move, he leans over you and lightly slaps your cheek. “Look at me.”

Your eyes flutter open and they both can’t help but smirk at your fucked out, glassy eyed expression. 

“Swallow.”

Nodding, you do it and open your mouth for him to show you listened. 

“Good girl. You wanna cum?”, Eddie coos as his nose softly caress your own.

“Please.”

“That’s it, baby. Beg me. Beg me to make you cum.”

“Mmm—please. I need you to make me cum again. I want to cum so bad, Sir, please.”

The metalhead’s mouth fell open as he thrust into you with purpose while his thumb came down to play with your clit.

“Shit. Cum with me, Y/N. I want to—mmm— fill you up as your tight little pussy clings to me.”

When you nod you head, his thumb moves faster against your nub and after a few more aggressive thrusts, you stumble over the edge right as rope after rope of his seed warms your insides.

The room goes quiet and all that can be heard is the two of you panting for air. 

“Baby girl.”, Steve whispers above you in a much softer tone than before. “Can you open your eyes for me, honey?”

When you do what he asks, you are meet with his gentle and love filled face. 

“There she is. Are you ok? Do you need anything?”

“C-Can you free my hands, Daddy?”

“Shit. Yeah, of course. I’m sorry.” 

While he removed your restraints, Eddie grabbed a bag that was in one of the auditorium chairs and jumped up beside you onto the stage.

“Drink this, sweetheart.”

“Can you help me, Sir? My arms kinda hurt.”

“Yeah, pretty girl. I can help you.”

Placing the water bottle by your lips, he guides your head back as you chug down the liquid.

“Now, did you want to shower here or at home? We can head towards the gym or—”

“I’d like to go home please. I’m sleepy.”

“I can imagine. Do you think you can walk?”

“I can carry her. Just run to the classroom real quick and grab her stuff. We’ll meet you at the van.”

#############

A small smile remained painted across your lips while the three of you sat in the bathtub as they cleaned you. 

“I don’t think she’ll be coming down from cloud 9 anytime soon.”, Eddie chuckled. “I assume we did good?”

“Very good.”

“Nothing felt over the line?”, Steve asked. 

“No. It may be too rough for an everyday thing but…for special occasions…”, you giggle. “Did I cross a line?”

“No, honey. What would make you think you might of?”

When you and Eddie exchange a look, his grin grows as he bends forward to kiss your lips. 

“You didn’t bother me, princess. It’s not like you normally go around spitting in my face. It was kind of hot if I’m being honest.”

“I just hope you know I wouldn’t normally disrespect you like that.”

“We know.” 

After comforting touches and delicate kisses, they help you out of the water and get you in comfortable pajamas before leading you to the bed. Climbing in beside you, Eddie wraps his arms around your waist as you lay your head on Steve’s chest. 

“Y/N, can I ask you something?”

“Of course, Daddy.”

“What we did tonight…that’s not how you viewed us that first night 5 years ago, is it?”

“No, baby. Not even close. You were rough with me but you didn’t scare me like that. I’ve always felt safe with you…even when I thought you two were assholes. Can I ask you both something?”

“Always, sweetheart.”, Eddie soothed as he tenderly kissed your shoulder. 

“What made you two decide to make a move that night? How did you know I’d respond to you the way I did?”

“Short answer? Hope.”

Steve smiled when you giggled at his response. 

“There were so many times you could have said something to rat us out but you never did. When I first spoke to you in detention or when Stevie threatened to spank you, you didn’t tell Mr. C at all. We…we’ve never told you this but we watched you when he asked you to stay behind to put everything away.”, the metalhead elaborated. 

“You had this extremely adorable, concentrated look on your face until you came back to get your things. As you walked off the stage, you were smirking. We selfishly thought maybe it was because of us so we took a short cut to a classroom and the rest is history.”

Keening into his chest, you placed a soft kiss on his skin before lifting Eddie’s hand that was intertwined with yours to your lips so you could do the same. Steve rolled onto his side, gently moving your hair and petting your head as he watched you gradually fall asleep. 

“Hey, Munson?”

“Harrington?”

“Do you have any plans this weekend?”

“Not that I know of besides work. Why?”

“I was thinking, maybe, you and I can go look at houses. See how much they cost so we can start saving and surprise Baby Girl here. She deserves a house.”

Eddie grinned as he reached over and patted his friend’s shoulder. 

“Sounds like a plan, man.”

############

@manda-panda-monium @sherrylyn628 @eddiesguitarskills

@needylilgal022 @local-stoner-bitch @katethetank @strangerfreak

@sidthedollface2 @justanotheryn @pedropascalslilbaby

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[leslie057]

penbleed;

pairings: jonathan/nancy

rating: light teen (swearing + mild sex references)

word count: 2.4k (chapter 1)

read on ao3

@jancyweeks day 1: history - her diary as a personal history + a bonus history test incident

𝒩𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓂𝒷𝑒𝓇 16, 1984

—

𝑀𝓎 𝓆𝓊𝑒𝓈𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃 𝒾𝓈 𝒽𝑜𝓌. Actually, how do you forget an exam? Actually. How did I forget? And it’s not even that I forgot, it’s that I never knew. I am still so mad but not as mad as I was. Genuinely have no clue why we were not given verbal reminders for that history test. That stupid little secret of a test, that fucking sub rosa fucking social experiment of a thing to see who looks at her minuscule writing under the date on the board every day! Just tell us. Need it. Out loud. This is crazy arrogant and borderline disgusting of me to say, but she doesn't have a better student than me and I deserved better. It was like a setup. Of course I was taking notes, of course I was listening, of course a lot of it was prior knowledge. It’s the history of America and I’m not an idiot. I just thought a test would be coming up after the break, not before.

I mean it’s all been worked out now, though. 

But it makes me upset, because where was my head? No, I know where it was, my head was here with me. I was simply using it for its escape function. Wild how my ears can be turned on, and my pen will be going and going and going in perfect time with the lesson, but mentally I’m reliving whatever I want to relive. Or don’t want to relive. I’ve been like this since last year. Stuck inside my skull and cannot climb out. Don’t wanna climb out because sometimes I need to be there, it’s nice in there. Sometimes not nice. I brought this up to Jonathan, he said yes he does understand. Shocker. The difference is he’s been in his head for the last sixteen years, and he doesn’t continually think all the awful things that I think. He’s good and decent and he’s sweet and he’s built a strange, adorable habitat up there for song lyrics and checklists and worries. He does so much in one day. I don’t love his work schedule. Working on Friday nights, God. Then at home he does, like, budgeting and reads their bills and shit? I wouldn’t have time to steep in hate for Mrs. Kincannon, either. (He doesn’t hate her. That’s me.) Not that he’s dealing with his trauma or whatever, our trauma, I don’t know, he isn’t. Still, because his many responsibilities burn up the majority of his mental energy, he doesn’t seem to follow the spirals I follow. At least not when the sun's out. He’s a dramatic pessimist, my dramatic pessimist, oh that was fun to write, but I would assume his internal voice has more of a filter mechanism than mine. Could be a self-preservation thing. 

Who knows. But, yeah, neurogymnastics. Neurogymnastics to get me through my day. Each week is a series of extreme highs and extreme lows, lows that I just administer my fantasies to until something new happens. It’s good in the moment. Later I realize that I’ve missed things, spaced out, fell short, and I get all guilty. I feel hypocritical. I’ve fought for my life, why am I not training myself to live it well again. I’m rushing through things because they’re hard. I want to be successful, and this is not the path to success. The pressure is off me and yet all over me. Maybe I shouldn’t care about school, knowing what I know about the flimsiness of this dimension’s edges. Sounds clinically insane. Not ever going to be sure what to do with the fact that I’ve seen a parallel plane, that I was really there. I wish I didn’t care about school. I do care less about it than I did freshman and sophomore year. My grades are forever important to me, but there’s currently a big disconnect between my habits and my academic goals. When I’m at school, I fantasize about it being over. When I’ve set aside time to work, I can’t get through it and I go to my boyfriend. Maybe I am a bad student. Right now. I am. Hard to care about history since I’ve got a lot I would rather focus on. So, right, there are a lot of coercive acts I could be learning about if my teacher calmed down and gave me free time to coerce him. Sorry. 

I cannot stop thinking about what I was able to 

How he knew about the test is beyond me. He’s missed more days, he’s had more distractions, he’s more susceptible to distractions, and to top everything off he’s on possession watch. You know, just making those frequent check-ins with Will. I don’t know what that would look like. I guess you just ask him how he’s feeling, try to gauge the honesty. I would never ever say this but it seems likely to me that Will is still being…communicated with. Accessed. Scary sounds in his ears or something. Sensations. It’s not like he’d say anything! He’s like this meek little mouse, he could actively be experiencing organ rupture and wouldn’t make a sound. This is terrible, but being at their house does scare me every now and then. In a ticking time bomb sort of way. Is their family not kind of cursed? Then I get kissed and forget where I am anyway, so nothing matters. No complaints overall, it is a very nice place for a slumber party. 

My reaction last night was the most embarrassing. How I went from zero to a hundred that fast, how we went from squeaky bed springs and my proposed hickey competition (hate that this is in writing now, but context needed—also I was in a competitive mood yesterday) (he was not) to me whining and crying and essentially hyperventilating because I didn’t understand why he would mention a test when we didn’t have a test. I hate my emotions being played with and all of that bullshit. For some reason I’ve always been on the receiving end of that haven’t I? With boys in our class. Middle school, junior high, that kind of timeframe. At one point I could have convinced myself I was being flirted with. It’s a no, because “all statements.” All pines are conifers, but not all conifers are pines. So all interested boys will tease, but not all the boys that tease are interested. They really were just that eager to let me know my body wasn’t up to par for our age bracket. Pal, are we not eleven and twelve. I cannot be Catwoman for you.

I’m told I’m pretty now, so I’ll count it as a win. 

Anyway, Jonathan was not playing with my emotions, and we did have a test. We did. When my panic set in, it was bad. The pressure was building up in my chest, I thought I was in danger of dry drowning. My GPA is literally the only thing I ever feel in control of. In my arms were two options, have an absolutely miserable fucking Thursday night or risk baby’s first F on her transcript. But then he just looked at me, calm as ever, and said, “Why can’t you ask for an extension? I want you to ask her for an extension, okay?” Which I should have come up with on my own. I don’t know why, but hearing him say that was like. Insane. Made everything feel lighter, light as a feather. He doesn’t do this for himself, but for me—he zooms out, he figures out a way to make things less daunting. He can be so positive when it's a problem of mine on the table instead of his, and I'm like who are you, I love you. I usually have no problem cheating systems, swinging things in a way that's better for me, but requesting an extension? My pride lies in academics, I'm aware of that, I don’t often ask for help there. Want to accomplish things without accommodations being made for me. Meanwhile, school stuff is some of the only stuff Jonathan is willing to seek out help with. He has to. He can't afford to not get help. Not like he can spend an entire evening on one little section of an assignment when he needs to be clocked in at work for five hours. In conclusion, he talks to our instructors more than our peers. I have to respect a teacher's pet.

So, I took his advice. However tricky extensions may be. Kincannon is also tricky. Her iron will and everything. You’re not gonna get one if you always ask. You’re not gonna get one if you haven’t already established yourself as a trustworthy kid. You’re not gonna get one for being an athlete. I wasn’t convinced of the plan at first since she dress coded my mid-thigh skirt last week and had to tell me, on a few occasions, to stop chatting with/distracting my boyfriend. Him being in the picture was so in my favor, though, because he seriously might be her favorite. Personally I wanna say it’s gross; it makes her feel good about herself to cosset sensitive, troubled teens that she wouldn’t give a shit about otherwise. Like, you’re not his mommy, but I’m way off topic. 

We got up incredibly early this morning. We made her a tiny consolation coffee with cream and cinnamon, pulled up at 6:25 I want to say it was? And the conversation was ace. He had messed up my hair a little to hint at a sleepless night, coached me on how to look pitiful when we were in the car. I really hope I didn’t mishear him mumble something about puppy eyes. He was very tired. I stayed as honest as possible, that’s what he wanted from me. I told her I was having a rough time, that grief keeps getting in my way of things. I talked to her about my selective hearing issue. I said I’m an oral learner, I needed verbal reminders, and I said school means so much to me. Hesitantly I pointed out that Jonathan and I are still getting used to our new relationship, and maybe if our assigned seats were adjacent I wouldn't have to get up to talk to him. She was slightly passive-aggressive, but she was understanding. Then I found out I would be testing Monday. New test, just for me. There was something so ridiculous and fun about sitting in class this morning, reading while everyone else suffered. After, I couldn’t stop apologizing to Jonathan for freaking out. He said I didn’t freak out, I reacted, and he suggested I go easier on myself. That distinction felt huge, really huge. 

Right now, I'm desperate to preserve that feeling of lightness, but I’m mad at myself and furious in general. In hindsight I should have savored being comforted a little more, but I was busy having half a meltdown. I’m sure I’ll get to hear one of those soft pep talks the next time something doesn’t go my way. I have so much studying to do, especially since my Special Nancy Test is all writing. I’ve got it, though. I’m fine. Angry but also happy and fine. This will never happen again. I won’t let it happen again.

—

“Uh oh,” Jonathan suddenly murmurs to himself on her bed. 

She swivels at her small desk, not fully ready to turn her attention away from her entry. “Hmm?”

“Sorry, no, you can keep writing.” 

“But why uh oh?”

There's his gentle huff, his eyes flicking upward in annoyance. He holds a necklace she'd tasked him with untangling using tweezers. Its old, delicate chain was in no less than six billion knots. Somehow he’s the only one in the world who has the patience for this. She sure as hell doesn't have the patience for it. "I'm scared I'm about to break it." 

“Break it? Please don’t Jonathan,” she begs on impulse.

“It’s just really far gone. I’m trying.”

And he is. He’s been sitting quietly for as long as she’s been writing. So—long time. She sort of forgot about him over there. “Sorry, I know, I know you are," she says.

He’s silent. 

“You’ve been cleaning up a lot of my messes lately, huh?”

She flips over her journal, nudges it away from the table’s edge, and approaches him. From her desk she couldn’t see the glow of afternoon sunlight streaming onto her quilt. Very pretty. Her personal jewelry surgeon sits there in the middle, equally pretty, possibly feeling neglected. He’s gone the full nine yards here. Pushed up his sweater sleeves, swiped her reading glasses, set out a few safety pins and needles as his supplementary tools. He looks sleepy, the brown of his eyes lighter in the path of the sun. 

Her arms are behind her back until they’re not, and she crawls on top of him. He absently places the necklace on her flattest throw pillow. 

“I said you’re fixing a lot of my messes.”

“I mean…not really.” He’s blushing already, hands awkwardly grasping for purchase at her hips so that he won't get pressed back too hard into the poles of her bed frame's headboard. “If I am, I don’t mind.”

Her lips cushion against this little spot on his jaw that’s so sensitive it kills him, sucking carefully. The action might have the same effect on her that it does him; her heart jumps, swings wide, threatens to capsize in the wet of her chest. It’s that familiar adrenaline response, the uncontrollable energy spike she always gets alongside the realization of oh, we’re touching! She sighs into his skin, and he shudders, a pathetic sound of bliss escaping his throat.

“Okay, well don't start drooling,” she quips. Kisses his pulse point, spittily.

He mumbles something unintelligible, so she keeps on keeping on, shifting her weight back and forth, trying to make the most of the time they have and get some good play in while she can. She’ll have to kick him out soon. She’ll have to study in complete isolation. She dips back, and he follows, she leans forward, and he pulls her closer. “Said I need an extension,” he manages, repeating what she didn’t catch.

“What?”

“If you’re gonna do all this, I need an extension on my necklace project.”

Well, that is definitely going in the diary. 

[autisticrosewilson]

Todd Family Tree pt. 1

I know you guys have been waiting with baited breath for this (Read: no one but me and a handful of select mutuals care), but fret not because it's finally here.

Let's start with the side of Jason's family we know the most about, Willis's. A lot of things I'll have to say about Willis himself will be things I've said before with maybe some new additions, but a lot of the focus will be on his relationships with his family anyway so hopefully it won't get too repetitive.

Someone on my last Todd Family post commented that the Ma Gunn aspect may have been retconned, however I already integrated it into my personal canon so let's just keep going shall we?

Also shout-out to @perseus-jackass who let me ramble to them about all of this and helped me iron out some of the finer details!

The Todd/Gunn Family; Canon:

- Willis reportedly named Jason after his father, Jason Todd Sr.

- Faye Gunn II is the niece of Willis which implies Willis has at least one sibling that is never mentioned, although Faye was either raised by or very close to Ma

- Faye was named after Ma implying that whichever sibling she was raised by was close to Ma

- Assuming Gunn is her maiden name, or perhaps an alias, she didn't keep her husband's last name and Jason Sr. Is never mentioned, which could mean that they split or that he's dead

- Obviously from a meta textual stand point the reason Ma Gunn was never mentioned as Jason's grandmother is because it was a later retcon, but in universe this and Willis's choice to keep his father's last name implies he wasn't fond of his mother/was closer to his father

Sub note: The candidates for Jason's mother included Lady Shiva (I'll get into my thoughts on her in Part 3) and an Israeli woman. Edit: @ammomancer informed me that Jason was Spanish (Basque specifically) in the Bombshells continuity as well!

- Ma was implied to be from Australia, and likely taught there for a time.

- Ma implied that she had sons, and possibly that they're dead. (I have obviously disregarded this, but I'm not against the interpretation that one or both of the girls are trans.)

So my version of Jason is black/Asian/Latino! I think he's Japanese/Indian from his mom and black/Latino from Willis so keep that in mind.

Fleshing Them Out; My Expansion:

I'll start with Ma Gunn, since we see the most of her in the comics and she has the most groundwork laid for her already. Mostly I'd like to make her a little more complex.

She's proven to be a ruthlessly pragmatic character, but I don't see her being someone who does what she does for fun. She's someone who values control, someone who doesn't take perceived slights lightly. I imagine growing up a woman on Gotham's streets with so many relations to organized crime builds grit, spawns bitterness and hate. She seems like the type to value tradition - in the Gotham crime family way- this is how she was raised and the way she raised her own children. There is no changing the world they live in, only surviving it. I think she really wanted to teach her kids, both the ones she birthed and the ones she fosters, how to survive.

That's not to say she really cares though, I don't think she's close enough to anyone to really care, even if maybe in the early days of motherhood she wanted to be. She's a stone cold bitch and she's proud of it, she made her kids strong and look at the reputation it's given her. Ma Gunn's school for wayward boys isn't just for strays anymore, there are some big names dropping their brats off for training these days. Crime lord daycare. Truly, only in Gotham.

Jason Todd Sr. Is a non-character. We know basically nothing but his name and that his marriage failed, and he's probably very dead. Which may or may not be related to said failed marriage.

Do I think Ma hired a hit on her husband? I wouldn't put it past her. I think she'd get rid of anyone if they were dragging her or the family down.

We can assume he was close to Willis, and I like to think that Mr. Todd was the homemaker because I can't really imagine Ma staying home to tend the kids. It's more likely her version of family bonding was a bank heist. Willis may have very well learned to drive from high speed car chases.

I think it would be very funny if Mr. Todd is from some third or fourth rate crime family that's using a mechanic shop as a front but Mr. Todd was actually really interested in it so he got an engineering degree and had little to nothing to do with the actual crime side of things. Maybe his family married him off to make him someone else's problem and while the Gunn's aren't a notable crime family they have a lot of resources and a lot of contacts, not to mention the small army of feral children.

Ma thought she was getting a seasoned criminal to help fund her illicit activities but instead he's a stay at home dad who has turned their home into a board game because he insists on fixing it all himself (if you use the microwave the doorbell might ring and you need a screw driver to use the shower ect.)

A lot of the experiences I associate Jason having with Willis I imagine Willis had with Mr. Todd, doing homework together, working on cars in the garage, Willis definitely learned how to cook from Mr. Todd because I just don't think Ma can do better than hamburger helper and public school lunch.

For the sibling situation, and I have no real evidence canon has completely left the building with this one, but I think he has sisters. Middle child Willis and also boy who grew up with all sisters Willis is real to me for reasons I couldn't say.

Completely made both of them up, but this is my house I can do what I want.

I'll start with the oldest sister, who I've decided to call Celia. I think she's the closest to her mother, the one who took over after her. Probably a serious, studious kind of person, she grew up with more opportunities than Ma did so she probably had more schooling. I can definitely see Celia as someone who worked her ass off to bring home good grades to make her mom proud and always falling short because Ma didn't really value traditional education.

Her and Willis definitely clashed growing up, Willis never liked Ma but Celia idolized her. Where Ma's crude demeanor and distance drove Willis to acts of rebellion it made Celia even more desperate to please.

Although I'm sure Willis would deny it, I think it's still a sore spot to him that Celia's way kind of worked. Once she got old enough to really learn about the business Celia was great at it, Ma started coming around to the benefits of having someone better with the numbers and paperwork.

I think that even after Willis leaves he genuinely tries to keep in touch with everyone, I don't think he ever stops trying to reach out to Celia. I don't think he agrees with who she became even if he saw it coming, regardless of how much he doesn't like their mother (he'd never say he hates her) Celia is still the girl who put bandaids on his scraped knees and let him crawl into her bed when he had nightmares and he can't bring himself to cut contact with her.

Celia is nicer than Ma, more adept at caring for the kids and because of this she earns their trust more which ultimately makes them more loyal to the Gunn's. This is a purposeful tactic because although she does see the kids as her own she doesn't see anything wrong with manipulating them for her gain. They're family, and family always want to help each other.

Jason was not allowed to visit his auntie, and didn't even know his grandmother was still alive.

I don't think she'd have a husband or boyfriend, a romantic relationship would take too much attention away from her business and if there's one thing she learned from her mother it's that a man would only drag her down or try to control her.

Willis is, to the surprise of no one, is who I have the most to say about but I'll try to keep it brief. For all he gets a bad rep I think he's a family man at heart, I'm positive he always planned on kids even if he wasn't sure about settling down with anyone at first.

Mostly because his mom kept trying to arrange marriages which is how he ended up dating Sheila for a time...which obviously didn't work out. One could say he wasn't keen on a repeat performance after that fell apart.

Man whore I fear, Gotham's fourth most bisexual man. Where's that one post about the goon who causes a distraction for his boss by making out with the bank teller and his wife. That's literally him Willis Todd ghost wrote that post. I'll get more into his various relationships in Part 3.

This man was born to tell dad jokes and wear funky ties but he's forced to live a life of violence and crime. Because of poverty and generational trauma.

I think the most tragic part of Willis Todd is that he tried. He loved his wife and he loved Jason and he gave everything he had to providing for them so Jason wouldn't have to grow up like he did but it ended the same anyway. And he'd never be disappointed in Jason, although Jason thinks he would, because home knows his son and he knows Jason wouldn't do it unless he really thought he was helping people.

I know everyone holds the opinion that Catherine was the most serious about Jason's school but I argue it's Willis, Cathy taught Jason to love learning but Willis taught him the importance of it. I think Willis always got good grades but he never went to college because part of ditching his family was ditching their money and most of what he made went towards supporting himself.

I've named the youngest sister Joan, and I think it's important to define her relationships more than her personality for reasons I'll get into in a bit.

For continuity's and sake I'll say she was a pre-teen when Willis moved out at 18-19, which would give her a large gap between both Willis and Celia - who I imagine are maybe two or three years apart - age wise. So while Willis likely tried to take care of her, to influence her away from their mom and sister, I don't think he was super fond of being at home to begin with so I don't think he was around much and I think Mr. Todd died not long after she was born so she didn't really have the gentle hand that Wills did growing up.

This left her with little to rely on but Ma and Celia, it was a real rock and hard place. Ma is honest in her ruthlessness at least, but Celia uses her love as a tool for manipulation. I'm sure she grew up right beside the other kids at Ma's school.

So I think it's no wonder that when she found herself with a baby she had no clue how to take care of, it was very easy for her mom and sister to convince her to give the baby over. Easy for Joan to decide that her daughter was in better hands with Celia as her mother.

And then Joan...vanished. No note, no phone call, no body. Most suspect it was Ma who did it, even though the woman had her kids - former and present - rip the city apart looking for her. No one knows the full story, and no one knows Joan Gunn's whereabouts.

Well, no one except Willis Todd, not that anyone else knows that.

Faye Gunn II has a lot of potential. I think there's a chance for her to parallel Jason. They both grew up on the streets and both have affiliations with organized crime, but where Faye is comfortable perpetuating the cycle of violence expected of the Gunn women Jason spends every night busting his ass to make sure another kid never has to go through what he did.

I also think it would be fun if maybe Faye wasn't entirely human, y'know give her a little bit of meta gene as a treat. Beast Boy isn't using the name Changeling anymore and I've long subscribed to Gotham operating by faerie rules so maybe she can borrow it for a few issues.

I don't have many thoughts on her as is but I'd like to do more with her in the future!

This got really long and I'm certain it will only get longer with the next additions. The next part will focus on the Clemens/Johnson family! Catherine Todd lovers stay tuned for part 2. Remember that all of this is just how I view them based on the cookie crumbs we get about them in canon.

[spotlightauthors]

Yatta Rose

Yatta Rose, a highly successful author and publisher from Chicago, boasts a diverse writing portfolio spanning urban fiction, Christian fiction, and women's fiction. Her writing journey began at age 8, and her debut novel catapulted her into the literary limelight. She’s a beloved figure worldwide known for crafting compelling plots and resonant characters.

Beyond writing, Yatta Rose established a publishing company to support new talent, serving as a mentor. She left an indelible mark with over 7+ published titles in various genres. She also conducts workshops and webinars to help aspiring authors navigate publishing.

Yatta Rose's impact extends beyond her books. She's renowned for empowering others and is a guiding light in the literary community. Her storytelling, whether in urban landscapes, faith exploration, or womanhood, continues to inspire. From a young girl with a dream to a bestselling author and influential publisher, her journey encourages aspiring writers to share.

Author Name: Yatta Rose

How long have you been writing? I’ve been writing since I was around eight years old. After going viral for the short story challenges, I started writing professionally at nineteen years old.

Did you ever imagine that you would be published one day? No, I never imagined being a published author because that wasn’t my dream originally. I knew it was something I wanted to do when I wrote my first stage play. I never thought in a million years this would be the career for me.

What made you want to become an author? I became an author because I knew I wanted to help people. My primary career is Social Work, which I’m still in school for. But when I started writing for fun on social media, I realized how much I impacted people. Folks would message me and tell me how they enjoyed my art and how it helped them through certain situations they were facing in life. In those moments, my heart sparked to take this journey and make it real.

How long have you been published? I’ve been published for about seven years now. The experience has been one heck of a journey.

How does it feel to be published? When it comes to being published, it feels incredible. I meet many new people daily who read my work or are authors themselves. Publishing my first book had me shaking in my boots, but after seeing the reviews, support, and even the ugly, I knew I wanted to take this on as a full-time career.

Are you self-published, or did you go through a publishing company? Why? I WAS NOT PUBLISHED when I first began my journey as a writer. Once I began to gain exposure for participating in the Short Story Challenge on social media, I became more seen and acknowledged by big-name publishers in the game. One of my pen sisters, Diamond Stanford, introduced me to a smaller company that was popping up. I spoke with the publishers, and they put me on board. I was around nineteen or twenty when I signed with the publishing house.

After some time with them, they had me branch off under them with a sub publishing company. I was given my own company, which goes by Yatta Rose Presents. Later, I decided to branch off as an independent company and go on my own journey. From there, I began to become an independent author with my company.

I chose to get a publisher the first time around because I needed mentorship. A lot was happening at that time in the industry, and I needed someone to help shape and mold me into the author I knew I could be. I needed help with book covers and editing. So, I took that route and learned everything I needed about writing, publishing, and how the industry works.

When I decided to go independent, it was because I wanted to finally soar, and other things that transpired. It was a scary choice, but I made it with faith in myself and God. If I could do it published, hitting #1 on the Charts in three categories, both books soared, and I had never seen anything under $200 at that time, I knew I could do it independently because my fanbase was already there, but it got bigger. There were mentors all around me who had decided to take this young girl from Chicago and help her be a beast in this writing game. They would be there if I failed to help pick me back up. So, I went solo and built myself all over again from the ground up, but on my own, using the knowledge I obtained from former publishers and writer friends.

How many books have you written? If we include collabs, ghostwrites, and mine, I’ve written roughly ten books.

What is/are the name of your book(s)?

The Real Mistress of Atlanta

Devlin In the Pulpit 1

Devlin In the Pulpit 2

Whew, Chile, the Ghetto

It Won’t Happen Again

The First Ladies Club

Phaedra Denise

Married to a Chicago Hitta

What genre is it/are they in?

Urban Fiction

Urban Romance

Urban Christian Fiction

What do you feel will inspire others never to forget when they read your story(ies)? I like to write books that are super relatable to everyday life. I want everyone to feel like they are a part of the story. People remember that because it reminds them of a situation they have heard of, been through, or know of. I like to bring twisted endings in these books that can end good or bad. People remember these stories because they always inbox me, telling me how they can relate or how my stories have helped them through things.

What's the hardest part about writing a book? The hardest part about writing is when you have so many stories brewing and don’t know where to start. I often write, and another character from another book talks heavily and wants story time. I have difficulty staying on one book when all my characters want to have their time.

What's the easiest part about writing a book? The easiest part about writing a book is the storyline. When it comes to creating a storyline, it’s super easy for me. I can look at a picture and be inspired from there. It’s so weird, but I have many stories waiting to be completed right now because I have an easy time generating storylines.

What do you enjoy most about being an author? I get to meet new people from around the world from many different backgrounds. To see people from other countries reading my work is so cool. I enjoy making people laugh and engaging them with what I discuss between pages. I always loved entertaining people in the most creative ways.

What do you enjoy least about being an author? I don’t necessarily have anything I least enjoy. I will say I dislike that some reviews are not based on the fact a person read a book, but on personal issues. Also, when we gift books to our readers, they don’t collect the book. Or when they read the book and don’t review it. It sucks sometimes because those reviews genuinely matter to us. READERS YOUR REVIEWS MATTER!

What is your favorite genre to read? Is it different than the one that you write in? I love to read Urban fiction and thrillers because they’re everything. Urban Fiction has been my favorite genre for a long time. I love drama books because they’re loaded with things that keep you hooked. I write books in the Urban Fiction genre and add drama to the mix. I’m working on writing thrillers and suspense stories. I’ve read enough to know how to master it… I think.

Where can interested readers purchase their copy of your book(s)? Readers can purchase my books on my website.

Do you have any future projects in the works? Is there a tentative release date? I released my book, “The First Ladies Club,” in August. I’m working on a series that will be released by December. Also, my authors are dropping by the end of the year. So, stay tuned by subscribing to my website.

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[atla-recluse]

*So I'll go point by point in this response to your reblog. I'm not necessarily against everything you said but I do feel I may need to specify what I meant by certain things said within my post and explain why I disagree with or believe myself misunderstood because of parts of yours.

"Respectfully disagree as Mako and Iroh II (Zuko's grandson) of the name both bend lightning in TLOK yet they are undoubtedly heroic characters. I have 0 idea about whether Zuko ever learned to shoot lightning or not, though."

So I only mentioned LOK in my OP because it's the only sequel series with have that showcases a much older, adult Zuko. Everything else is either comics or novelizations. LOK is known for having things in it that take away from or imply unexpected things about the original series and its characters. Also, never seeing a young man Zuko lightning bend is different from never seeing an old man Zuko lightning bend. The latter, to me, means that it's okay to headcanon that he just never learned. However, that doesn't tell us how the writers originally conceived lightning bending to be, "morality-wise", within the original series and especially early on.

"While there might be some implicit bias in the first series [...] it is nowhere comparable to bloodbending which has been outlawed by Katara and shown to be used 99% by villains"

As I explained to julietwiskey1: 'My comparing it to bloodbending isn't about how the forms of bending are done or the effect they have on their targets, but rather what the show implies about the "aura" given off by both attacks and those that use it. That being a negative one.'

You can read that entire reblog for more context and as a possible explanation for what I was actually thinking when I typed up the OP.

"I mostly believe that lightning is just a normal (ok sophisticated, but NOT inherently evil is what i mean to say) sub bending which might get some bad rep because the FN at the time was mostly comprised of bad guys."

I agree with you and basically said as much in the second to last paragraph of the original post. My point was that the show was implying something negative about the usage of the ability and its users based on the biases sewed into the show, not that the ability itself must be intrinsically wrong to use/have.

To that very large paragraph: Again, I'm not saying lightning bending is inherently bad, only that the creators and/or writers were trying to paint it as though it were because of who used it and how it may be able to be used. Like, imagine you have a spear and a net. Is the spear more "evil" than the net because you can use it to stab another living being? The net, after all, can also be used to kill other beings by trapping them and then taking them away in it to end their lives. Both can be used to hunt for food. That's how I view all forms of bending. I don't think any are worse or automatically more ethically bankrupt than the rest in any way. That includes bloodbending, too. It just matters when and why they're getting used.

"Of course, you could also run with the fairly cool headcanon that Azula healed and created her own lightning bending school just like Toph did with her metalbending academy, contributing to the "vulgarization" of lightning bending. 🤷🏻‍♀️"

That's a nice theory and I'd love it if it turned out to be true. I love good endings for Azula, especially ones with a lot of growth for her.

"PS: this is very YMMV, but the fact that the writers were much more at ease with vilifying bloodbending (the sub bending done by brown characters whose country was colonized...A curious coincidence if you ask me) vs the way lightning was still overhyped (even tho the FN was the OG evil colonial genocidal empire) and seen as cool has some unfortunate implications IMO. 🤷🏻‍♀️"

I think that's a great point and deserves its own conversation. Why did these two forms of sub-bending get such differential treatment by the show's plot and narrative?

I can't be the only one...

who felt like it was implied by the show that lightning bending was somehow a more "evil", "impure" or "cruel" form of bending in line with what bloodbending was made out to be, based on who we know was skilled enough to do it (Azula, Ozai, likely "past" Iroh). Am I?

I feel like that definitely could have been a bias that they chose to lean into, based on what we learned up to and past the point of lightning bending's introduction as well as bloodbending's.

Hama being an unforgiven-antagonist to the Gaang means that bloodbending was going to be framed as an especially awful form of combat from the start. (A form that seems to get implicitly compared in-show to a physical or spiritual violation.) Likewise, Iroh describes lightning bending as "cold fire".

Lightning? Cold? The surface of the sun would beg to differ.

The previously mentioned three from the Fire Royal Family are also the only ones we see and know of doing the skill. Two of them are show antagonists (Azula, Ozai). The other technically starts as an antagonist but eventually becomes someone that we're now supposed to believe views his past self as though they would have been a wrongful enemy of the Gaang and of world peace itself (Iroh). Meanwhile our poor, good-hearted, awkward turtleduck (*snickers*) Zuko, just can't seem to learn how to do it. Even when the time period of LOK comes, he's implied to have still not learned how.

Also, if we are to assume that no forms of firebending were looked down upon in Fire Nation culture, especially post-dragon extinction, then it makes even more sense that a form of firebending that's "harsher" wouldn't be disapproved of and would even be preferred over other forms for that very reason.

Now if true, that leaves the question of "what makes it worse than other forms of firebending?". I'd argue nothing, really. It seems, at worst, to only be faster and more deadly than other forms of fire bending. Like icebending compared to regular waterbending. A cherry on top for Azula seems to be that she looks fantastic and elegant when she aims her fingers at someone/something, and for Ozai, that he can prepare his shots extremely fast.

Of course, it could also have been the other way around and it was the characters that learned the ability who were having something implied about them, not necessarily the ability itself. Maybe even both.

[theharrowing]

Couldn't Pin You Down

You had finally moved on when that certain someone from your past pops back up, throwing the trajectory of your life into a tailspin. Will you forgive him for his past mistakes, or is it too little too late?

🎳   Yoongi x Female Reader

🎳   word count: 14.8k 

🎳   exes to lovers, smut, angst, fluff, somewhat slow burn, nsfw, 18+

🎳   warnings: Yoongi and mc switch. semi-public sex & exhibitionism, fingering, thigh-riding, nipple play, oral sex, throat fucking, anal play, anal sex, sex toys, double penetration, pegging, sub & dom dynamics, play fighting, degradation & light humiliation, spanking & light masochism including a tiny bit of blood, nicknames “baby,” “baby boy,” and “princess.” open/unresolved ending. 

🎳  note: I learned a lot about bowling while writing this, but it's not too heavy on the bowling stuff once the story gets rolling (haha, get it, "rolling"!). 🎳  beta read by @neoneunnajimin​ 🎳   posted march 2022 | read on ao3

"What do you mean he's here?" you whisper loudly through gritted teeth, staring at the floor with your fingers entwined with the laces of your right shoe which you've suddenly forgotten how to tie. It has been months since you heard Yoongi’s name, and you almost did not believe your ears.

Your eyes lose focus on the linoleum floor, trying to wrap your head around the information; around you, the lively sounds of the bowling alley flood your senses. Tonight is the first game of the new season, you came with your lucky shoes in tow, feeling ecstatic, electric, on top of the world, ready to win because not only did your team, Alley Cats, get second place last season, but the team that won first place—The Savage Strikers—lost their star player. You have been confident that this season would be yours. But now, that confidence is dwindling.

"What is he doing back here? He's not supposed to even be in this country, and now he's in this league? What is he doing back here?" 

You are spiraling; you have moved to sitting with your head between your hands, wringing your hair like a damp cloth.

"Uh, look," your teammate and best friend Jungkook mutters, "I don't know...I just saw him walk into the bar with The Savage Strikers. I could, uh, I could go find out?"

"No," you respond briskly, feeling as though your heart is sinking. "Don't do that. I'm just going to have to do my best to get my head in the game and not let him distract me."

"What if he’s part of that team? What if we play against his team tonight?" Jungkook asks. 

Your eyes meet Jungkook's, and he looks concerned, almost devastated on your behalf. He was there when Yoongi left—when Yoongi accepted a job offer and moved halfway around the world because you were still in school and not ready to leave—not that he had given you the chance to go along, anyway. 

Jungkook saw what the aftermath of that event did to you, how your entire world seemed to halt one day, and how, over time, you slowly began to pick up the pieces again. Jungkook was there for you when you went to your first therapy appointment, celebrated with you when you landed your first big job after graduation, and did not hesitate to join you when you chose to pick up bowling as a hobby to help distract you from your stress—a hobby that turned into weekly competition when the owner of the alley approached you about forming a team, dragging his boyfriend Jimin along to create the perfect 3-person squad.

And now he is here. The man who broke your heart, who left you behind when you had plans to start a life together. You feel crushed and, quite frankly, pissed off. Taking a deep breath in, you let the sounds around you fill your ears, grounding you while you let the deep breath out, slowly, over and over, in through your nose and out through your mouth. Heavy, hard-lacquered balls hit the waxed floor, whiz down their lanes, and crash into pins. You hone in on the cacophony of noise, pulling yourself out of your anxiety spiral and into the present moment.

"If we play against him," you respond, finally starting to even out your breathing, looking up at Jungkook, who sits across from you, "we're just gonna have to whoop his ass."

As it turns out, you do not play against The Savage Strikers tonight, much to your relief; you are playing against Team Kim Seokjin, which consists of your friends Seokjin, Hoseok, and Hoseok’s wife. This information, however, does not stop you from nursing your beer and keeping your back firmly to The Savage Strikers whenever you are not sending your bright purple ball hurling toward the pins. 

And it goes well, at first. Sure, you feel the urge to look, to turn your head, to see for yourself, but you breathe through it, keep your eyes forward, and pretend Yoongi is not there. Thanks to the noise of the alley, you have not heard his voice, or a voice that closely resembles his as far as you can tell, and you stay on top of your game, soon forgetting all about the ex who infiltrated your Thursday night activity. 

That is, until you are standing in the approach, ball in hand and ready to roll your last frame of the night, when Taehyung from The Savage Strikers shouts, "That's it, Yoongi! Get us the win!" and you freeze up.

You do not turn to look; you do not want to see him. But your hands begin to sweat, and your knees buckle. Inside your chest, your heart is pounding, and your lungs are too full but too empty at the same time, and holy shit, when did it get so hot in here? The sounds of a ball meeting the lane, whooshing ahead, and crackling into the pins is so loud. 

Cheering fills the space; confirmation that he did well. He got them the win, meaning his team will be moving up the bracket and competing against either your team or Seokjin's team next week. Part of you wants to throw the game, get a gutter ball and hand them to Seokjin, but you hold yourself back and talk yourself down. Bowling is your hobby, your favorite pastime, your chance to see your friends and unwind, and you came here to win, so win, you will.

With a deep inhale, you focus on the pins ahead once more, drowning out the noise of bowlers and congratulatory exclamations. You line up your throw, and exhale, pushing your body to the foul line, extending your arm, and sending your ball forward. And although your ball hurls ahead in a nearly straight line and crashes into the pins, giving your team the strike they need to continue on to next week at the top of your bracket, you know that inertia will not be on your side anymore; not with Yoongi here. The trajectory of your throws may be solid, but the trajectory of your life is changed, and you are not sure how you will navigate it after tonight. But for now, you should celebrate.

As you turn to face your team with a wide smile from your win taking over your features, your eyes immediately pan up, and all you can see is black hair against pale skin and that fucking smirk. Yoongi stands against the railing that separates the bar from the bowling lanes overlooking your team, and his eyes are glued to you. 

You hardly notice Jungkook and Jimin crowding you for congratulatory hugs and shouting until their arms are around you; all noise is sucked out of the room like a vacuum as you stand, sweaty and suddenly angry and once again too warm. Your smile falls as you face your ex-fiancé Min Yoongi, the man who left without a trace, who never contacted you again, who never offered so much as an explanation, and your blood begins to boil.

All week, all you have been able to think about is Yoongi. Yoongi standing against the railing, watching you as you make the winning point for your team. Yoongi smirking and walking away once he managed to stop you in your tracks and sully your mood. What is his fucking deal, you wonder. Why did he join The Savage Strikers in the first place? Hadn't he done enough just by returning at all?

Tonight is your team against his, and you cannot help but feel antsy, fixing your hair over and over, and making sure your makeup is just right. Ordinarily, you do not put much energy into looking nice for the games, using this as a time to relax with your two best friends without any pressure, but you feel like flaunting yourself a little since Yoongi clearly has some bullshit up his sleeve. 

Yoongi. You grimace at the thought of his name alone. 

When Yoongi left you, he was just coming into his own style, starting to wear beanies and streetwear brands, wearing nicer clothing without looking too polished—casual. But last week, he had a fresh cut, black dye job, and an undercut sharp enough to cut glass, with a tight-fitting black leather jacket. You would be lying if you did not think he was by far the hottest he has ever been. Two can play that game.

Although nobody looks great in their bowling shirt, you wear a bra that accentuates your curves a little more, just in case it gets warm and you need to undo a button or two. Purely for revenge purposes, of course, because fuck Min Yoongi, fuck his leather jacket, and his really good haircut, and his stupid hot fucking face, and everything about him. 

You try to calm yourself, breathing mindfully as you tuck your bowling shirt into your favorite pair of skinny black jeans—the ones that are extra stretchy and hug your ass just right. You hate how worked up Yoongi makes you—how legitimately angry his presence turns you. And tonight, you are not only going to kick his ass in bowling, but you are going to demand answers, both for why he left you and for just what the fuck he thinks he is doing coming back and joining the league. Your league.

When you arrive, two-thirds of The Savage Strikers are already setting up on their lane, and you approach to find Jimin and Jungkook sitting nervously across from them. Both men gasp when they see you, and you watch as their faces melt into different expressions. Jimin smirks and rolls his eyes, and you know what he is thinking, and, for the record, he is wrong. Jungkook, on the other hand, just looks confused, not used to seeing you put much care into your appearance just to come to the alley.

"Hey, guys," you mutter, taking your bag off of your shoulder and placing your lucky purple ball into the ball return before fishing your shoes out and sitting next to your friends. 

"Makeup?" Jungkook asks.

"Someone trying to win her ex back?" Jimin mutters, and you shoot Jimin a stare that would shoot daggers if only it could, grimacing as he flinches into the arms of Jungkook. 

"No," you bite back. "I'm just hot for revenge purposes, only. I haven't forgiven him. In fact, seeing him here has made me more pissed off than I have felt in years."

You realize you have been waving your shoe around as you speak, which has made Jimin recoil further into his boyfriend’s strong arms. You are about to continue with your rant when, from your right, a deep, raspy voice you have tried to forget asks, "Is that so?"

Your head whips to the side, and Yoongi is standing with his bowling bag over his shoulder with his leather jacket slung over his arm. His arm, which appears to be covered in black ink—intricate designs snaking from his hand under the coat before appearing only to disappear under his tight black v-cut shirt. 

With a huff, you tear your eyes away, not interested in which designs cover his perfect pale skin; you are certainly not interested in how coiffed his hair is this week, and you finish putting on your shoes, then storm up to the bar to get a pitcher of beer for your team. And to get the hell away from Min Yoongi.

Behind you, Namjoon—the captain of The Savage Strikers—approaches, leaning against the bar and nodding to the tender before turning to you to ask if you are okay. As you turn to him, you exhale deeply in an attempt to fortify yourself. You do not want to blow up on him, but he is part of the problem, after all, so you pull your mouth into a very fake smile as you say, "No, Namjoon, I'm great. Thanks for asking!"

Namjoon sighs. 

"Look, I'm sorry. He told me you guys patched things up, which is the only reason I—"

"He what?" you interrupt in disbelief.

Namjoon sighs again and pinches his brow. 

"I should have called you," he mutters.

And although your anger rises to all new heights, you do not blame Namjoon. 

"Okay, well, the damage is done,” you concede. “It's not like you want to find a new player after the season has started, so, we'll just have to handle this like adults."

"So no hard feelings?" Namjoon asks. 

The bartender sets down a pitcher of cheap beer and three glasses on the bar in front of you. As you slide your hand into the handle of the pitcher and grab the stacked cups, you give your friend a smirk. 

"No hard feelings, but we're wiping the floor with your asses, so you, Yoongi, and Taehyung better be ready to grovel to your queen."

Alley Cats are averaging a pitcher of beer per game as you bring the third one to the table and set it down with a heavy thunk. Although you are friends with two-thirds of The Savage Strikers, you have done a decent job of not interacting with or looking toward them for most of the first game, only having one awkward encounter at the approach where you and Yoongi happened to be throwing at the same time. You went ahead even though it technically was his turn, got a spare, and that was that, you did not look at him again. Sitting this close, you have a better view of Yoongi's arms and the illustrations that cover them, but you keep your eyes on the prize and disregard him as best as you can. Tonight, you are here to win. 

And it is not even his physical body that distracts you the most; it is his voice. Coarse and euphonious yet brittle on the ends, with enough rasp to make the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. He mutters and hums in his deep satoori, never really raising his voice unless he is excited, and you hate the way it pulls you back to years ago when you were happy—when that voice called your name and told you that you were perfect, when it moaned in your ear so deliciously. That fucking voice. 

For the most part, you are not paying attention to their scores, only concerned with how Alley Cats are doing, but mid-way through the third and final game of the night, Jimin starts nervously muttering about how close the games are. You overhear Yoongi mumble something to Jimin about placing a bet, and you grab your ball from the ball return, readying yourself to take your turn; you have no interest in placing any wagers with him. 

You get a strike and turn to do a little victory dance, but Jimin and Jungkook are too busy watching with knitted eyebrows as Yoongi gets ready to toss. You do not mean to look at Yoongi, but you turn your head to see what your friends are staring at and happen to make eye contact. 

Yoongi winks and mutters, "Winner gets a kiss?" to which you respond, "Sure, take your pick of one of them," lazily waving your arm in the direction of Jimin and Jungkook before making your way back to your seat, not missing the amused scoff Yoongi sends in return. 

Jimin and Namjoon bowl head-to-head and both get spares, keeping your teams neck-in-neck, then Jungkook and Taehyung bowl head-to-head and Taehyung scores one point higher than Jungkook, making it imperative for you to get a strike or spare in order to secure a third ball and give yourself more than enough room to kick Yoongi's ass—and the rest of the team, too. 

You bowl first, knocking down nine pins, then Yoongi bowls, knocking down seven. As long as he does not get all three in the next shot, you are okay, but you want that tenth pin so you can score even more points over them out of spite. 

The last pin on your lane is all the way to the left, in seventh position, which is the curve you do best, and you hardly line the ball up. Instead, you go straight from the ball return to the foul line, and chuck that bad boy onto the lane unceremoniously, watching it curve perfectly into the tenth pin, and doing so nonchalantly enough that, when you turn around, all five men at the bowling table are shocked. 

Yoongi's smirk seems to have been wiped from his face, and you walk back to the ball return, eyes on Yoongi, watching him line up his shot with your tongue pressed into your cheek. Perhaps your sudden boldness makes him nervous, or he is just not up for the shot, but Yoongi knocks one of the three pins over, securing his team's loss.

Yoongi turns, face to the ceiling, with a bend in his knees, groaning over his poor throw. Namjoon and Taehyung insist that he did great, that the game is only two points off, but you remind them that you still have that precious third throw in the last frame as you pick up your lucky ball, turn to The Savage Strikers, and chide them. 

"Get ready to grovel to your queen!" you shout, sending them a wink before lining your ball up, flinging it down the lane and straight into the center with enough momentum to knock all ten pins down.

You can already hear Jimin and Jungkook roaring behind you, and, although you kicked their asses, Namjoon and Taehyung are shouting, "All hail the queen!"

Yoongi, however, is silent, and you assume, unimpressed. That is, until you turn around, stopped in your tracks as Yoongi gets down on his knees in front of you, with his hands clasped in front of his chest. You feel taken aback, especially by how soft Yoongi's features are, how he almost seems to be pleading to you with his eyes. The sight stirs a lot up inside of you, and you feel yourself forcing your gaze away from him—the air is stagnant and too heavy in your lungs. Your face falls to a flat, uncertain expression, and you clear your throat, walk past Yoongi and leave the bowling area hastily, up to grab some drinks.

When you get to the bar, leaning on your elbows and taking a moment to rub your hands over your temples and along the sides of your head, an arm wraps around your shoulders. You do not have to look to know it is Jimin; his signature is the arm on the shoulder, and his classic floral and citrus smell hits your nose almost immediately. 

"That was amazing," Jimin gushes, squeezing your shoulder in his hand. "Not only did you kick Yoongi's ass, but you looked so cool!"

You feel happy, you do, but something about Yoongi's presence, especially seeing him on his knees, makes you feel things—nostalgia, sadness, a tinge of arousal, and other things you have no interest in feeling at the moment. 

"Thanks, Jimin," you remark, trying your best to sound happy.

The bartender comes around, and you order six whiskey sours. Typically, as a show of good faith, you buy a round for both teams when you make the scoring point, since most people in the league are on friendly terms with one another. It is not your intention to leave Yoongi out, so you swallow the lump in your throat as all six drinks are placed onto a tray for you to take back to the table. Jimin trails behind as you carry your peace offering, and when you return, you are surprised to find Jungkook and Yoongi are gone. You do not make assumptions about their whereabouts, and set the tray down for the others to enjoy.

You, Jimin, Namjoon, and Taehyung toast, and you thank them for a fun game, then drink half of your cocktail in one long gulp. Namjoon and Taehyung are in good spirits as always and easily make chatter with Jimin around you, and after a while, you begin to glance around, wondering where Jungkook is. 

Jimin must notice, because he nudges your arm and says, "He probably went to the arcade."

This bowling alley truly has it all—karaoke rooms, a sports lounge, and an arcade. You take one of the full drinks and make your way up toward the bar before veering to the right. It is dimmer in the arcade room, full of blinking lights and a chorus of chiptune tracks, which always makes walking into the space a bit disorienting, at first. 

After a stroll around the somewhat crowded area, you deduce that Jungkook is not in there. That is, until you pass a shoot-'em-up zombie game booth with the curtains drawn, and you hear a familiar voice from inside. 

"Well, maybe you should have told her that," Jungkook says.

There is a grumble in response that you cannot fully make out, but the next words are clear as you hear Yoongi mutter, "Huge mistake."

Your heart begins to pound, pumping your blood at a dizzying rate through your body, and you feel glued in place.  

"I get that," Jungkook responds, "but you must have known she wouldn't be pleased to see you unannounced."

Yoongi sighs, and for the first time since he has been back, you are eager to hear what he has to say. 

Before he has a chance to respond, however, Jimin approaches with the full drink that you left behind, shouting, "There you are! Did you find Jungkook yet?"

You would bury your face in your hands if only they were not both full, and when the curtain opens to a surprised Jungkook looking back at you, you gasp, flinching away. Your eyes are wide, your heartbeat is too loud, and coherent words do not make their way from your trembling lips—in fact, no words do.

"H-hey," Jungkook mutters as he awkwardly leaves the arcade booth, squeezing past you to Jimin. Jimin hands Jungkook a drink, and Jungkook looks nervously between you and the booth, where Yoongi has not moved from. 

"Maybe you should talk to him," Jungkook finally suggests. His voice falters, but Jimin nods along because although he was not here to catch any of the conversation, when it comes to Jungkook, nodding along is something Jimin does best.

You hesitate, staring at Jungkook apprehensively, but something in his eyes urges you to turn to the arcade booth; Jungkook would not be sending you into a lion's den after everything you went through—everything he was by your side for. So, you take a deep, fortifying breath and turn. When you look past the curtain, Yoongi is sitting with his arms crossed over his chest, staring ahead at the game's attract mode screen. The curtain on Yoongi's side is still drawn, so he sits in near darkness as lights and colors dance across his face and arms.

When you take the one step needed to close the gap between yourself and the booth, Yoongi does not move. And when you lean forward and say, "Hey," he still does not, so you continue with, "I got everyone a drink, including you. Want it?" 

Yoongi finally turns, looking at the drink in your hands, studying it silently before taking it and muttering, "Thank you." 

Meekly, you ask if you can join Yoongi, and he simply shrugs, leaving the proverbial ball entirely in your hands—something it has not been in years. 

So you decide to sit in the booth. What could it hurt? You are both adults, you are both free to leave at any point, and you cannot help but think about what little bit of Yoongi's and Jungkook's conversation you overheard. The words huge mistake dance around in your mind, reminding you that you deserve an explanation.

But Yoongi says nothing, just stares ahead at the zombies as they amble towards him on screen, exploding from invisible gunshots while INSERT COINS 0/3 flashes in big yellow text. There is about a foot of space between the two of you, and for the first time in years, his scent hits you, washing over your senses in a way you had forgotten about. Amidst the musk and citrus is a hint of something new—something a little floral, a little woody—and you look down at the almost empty glass in your hands as you slowly and deeply inhale.

"Didn't realize you were so good at bowling," Yoongi finally mutters. 

You chuckle quietly and purse your lips as you nod unenthusiastically because although you chose to sit here, it is incredibly fucking awkward. 

"Yeah," you respond. "I guess there are a lot of things you don't know about me anymore." 

And you do not necessarily mean for your words to be so sharp; you sat down with a curious mind, hoping for Yoongi to explain himself. But you find it hard to bite your tongue, still feeling the dull, painful sting that he wrought. Yoongi knows you, though—knows your attitude, your emotional intricacies, even after all this time—so rather than seeming bothered, he hums in agreement before lifting the drink to his lips. 

Yoongi doesn't sip it before muttering, "Whiskey sour, huh?" and when you turn to look at him, he is smiling. It is a shy, nostalgic smile, taking you back with him to memories of crowded bars, of loud clubs, of kitchen experiments, and of date nights with whiskey sours.

"Oh, uh, yeah," you confess, looking down at your fingers that tap against the glass cradled between them. "It's still my favorite."

When you look back up, Yoongi's gaze is focused on you. His eyes are soft, and his lips are parted, the edges quirked ever so slightly. So many thoughts flood your mind, but none of them are coherent, so none of them come out; instead, you sit staring at one another. It is almost as if, in this moment, the last several years never happened. Almost as if you are two amicable adults sharing a loving glance. 

But you are not, and there is an air of heartbreak still floating tensely over and around the two of you, keeping you apart. 

Yoongi finally speaks up, voice raspy and quiet as he asks, "What did you overhear?"

You clear your throat, feeling your cheeks warm up. Suddenly, it feels hard to look at Yoongi, so you turn ahead, staring at the button pads and fake guns sticking out of the front of the machine, letting your vision blur around them, blowing out tiny details until they are nothing but obscure shapes painted in bright primary colors. 

"Not much," you admit, "just Jungkook telling you to talk to me. Only thing I heard you say was, 'huge mistake'."

Silence hangs, and when Yoongi says nothing, you look up, finding him still watching you with the same expression, only his lips are more downturned. 

"What was a huge mistake?" you ask.

Yoongi chews on the inside of his mouth, and you take this opportunity to finish your drink, tilting your head back slowly as the cold liquid coats your throat, tasting the whiskey and lemon on your tongue. Yoongi was full of long pauses back then, and you anticipate the same to be true now, so you do not ask again, letting your eyes fall to the empty glass cradled between your fingers while you wait. 

"There were—" Yoongi pauses, clearing his throat and taking a sip of his drink. "There were many mistakes—huge mistakes. Leaving you being the biggest."

Tears prickle at the back of your eyes, taking you by surprise, and you do your best to blink them away. When you turn to look at Yoongi, his eyes are glassy; he seems to be glancing past you.

"I thought that I had no choice but to take the job. My dad was pressuring me, and I felt like I couldn't back down. I was terrified of disappointing him." Yoongi's eyes shift, meeting yours, and your breath hitches. "It was stupid. I was young and stupid, and I was scared to tell you because I knew you would urge me to follow my dreams instead of fulfilling his. I knew you would think I was being pathetic. I couldn't even look at you because I was so ashamed, so I—" Yoongi's voice cracks, and his eyes fall. "So I left."

Your breath comes out in a soft tremble, sadness lilting the ends. "I would have gone with you."

"No," Yoongi responds as he looks back into your eyes, shaking his head softly. "No. I moved a lot; I worked constantly. You were in school, and your education was way more important. You needed to stay."

"That's not fair though," you mutter. "That's not your choice to make."

"I'm sorry," Yoongi says, and the words ricochet through you. They bounce around in your brain, shoot down your throat and choke your airway. They send the blood flowing through your veins at breakneck speeds, forcing every hair on your body to stand straight up. I'm sorry. Those two little words you never thought you would hear him say—two little words he said so easily—said as if they were nothing. 

"Sorry for what?" you ask, because if those words were so fucking easy, then maybe the next ones will be, too. 

Yoongi takes another drink, his glass now about half empty. 

"I'm sorry for leaving. I'm sorry for not being honest. I'm sorry for being too fucking pathetic to call you, to tell you I was sorry, to beg you to forgive me. I'm sorry."

You do not know what to say, and frankly, you are kind of angry. Of course, the reason he left was so fucking innocuous. It boils your blood that the Min Yoongi you knew and loved and planned on spending the rest of your life with left without a word to move around the world and be his father's lapdog. The Min Yoongi you saw a future with, who you loved with your whole heart, easily traded everything for a dream that was not even his. But although you are furious, you cannot help but feel sad for him, knowing what he lost, wondering what he must have felt. You cannot look into his eyes and hate him when he is sitting here, in the flesh, apologizing. But you are not going to crumble so easily. 

"So what," you bite, "you're just back now? As if nothing ever happened, you're just waltzing back?"

Yoongi tongues the inside of his cheek, eyes flashing with mirth, which takes you by surprise. 

"Yeah," he responds, smirking and tilting his head as if challenging you. "I am."

You want to smile, to laugh, to shout, to slap the crooked fucking smile off of Yoongi's face; so many things at once. But you mimic his head tilt, eyebrows rising incredulously. "I don't forgive you."

"I know," Yoongi acquiesces as he raises his glass to his lips, tipping his head back to drink the last of the cocktail, and you would be damned if your eyes did not watch the curve of his neck, the bob of his throat, how his lips gently stick to the glass as it is pulled away. 

"I don't expect you to forgive me," Yoongi continues, "I fucked up."

You need another drink. Yoongi is giving you just enough to pique your interest, keeping you hungry for crumbs—no, making you hungry for crumbs—and you need another fucking drink. 

"So, now what?"

Yoongi's smile is sweet for a split moment before it sharpens once more, giving you goosebumps. 

"Now," Yoongi declares, "I get on my knees and beg."

Your pulse pounds in your ears, and suddenly the zombie groans behind the chiptune music seem so loud. The air feels thicker and warmer and you wonder whether Yoongi has always been sitting so close. Everything feels overwhelming, yet you make no move to exit, sitting and watching Yoongi as he sets his empty glass into a cup holder on the side of the machine and then rotates, facing you. Yoongi pries the empty glass from your fingers before leaning forward, angling himself in front of you to reach the cup holder that sits on your side of the machine, never taking his eyes off of you. 

Now Yoongi's scent is strong, filling your senses and disarming you entirely. Yoongi's fingers slowly leave the glass, his hand slowly retreats, but he does not move, leaning forward, crowding your space, as if he is waiting to see what you may do. But you feel unable to do anything. The man you hate, the man who broke your heart and upended your life, is inches away, looking beautiful as hell and smelling like heaven, and you are unable to do anything but watch him.

"Please, let me beg," Yoongi rasps, and you can feel all of the air trickle haphazardly from your lungs, fluttering between your teeth. 

"Yoongi," you begin, "I don't—"

"You don't have to forgive me," Yoongi continues, leaning closer, speaking softer, deeper. "But let me at least try. Please, baby."

Baby. Your breath hitches then heaves—everything that was still in your lungs gets knocked out from that one word. 

Baby. The way his voice rasps when he says it, how it sounds exactly like it sounded all those times years ago, sending your heart into a frenzy. You do not want to cave so quickly, but you would be lying if you said you did not want that back—to be called baby, to let Yoongi please you in ways only he knows how to.

"Please," Yoongi mutters, his voice so quiet it is almost a whisper. 

You reach back with your left hand, awkwardly trying to tug the curtain closed all the way, and Yoongi sees you, following the movement with widening eyes before grabbing onto the curtain and dragging it all the way shut. 

When Yoongi's hand releases the cloth, shrouding you in even more darkness than before, his fingers brush down your neck, gently pulling you in his direction, and you follow the movement, angling your face to connect your lips to his. 

You let out a whimper as a chill rolls up your spine, bursting into waves of fireworks throughout your entire chest cavity, and you gently grab his shirt, tugging at the collar to pull him closer. Yoongi moans against your mouth, licking at your lips, asking for an invitation.

Yoongi tastes like whiskey sour with a hint of long drives to the sea, night markets, and lazy Sundays, and you melt, sighing sweetly as you part your lips and beckon him to taste you, gripping onto his shirt tighter. 

"Fuck, I missed this," Yoongi groans, fingers cradling your neck while his other hand grabs your thigh. 

"I don't forgive you," you whine, deepening the kiss by licking into Yoongi's mouth, chasing the flavor you have craved for so long. 

Yoongi's fingers tighten on your thigh, and though they are not too high—closer to your knee—you suddenly ache for him. You want to beg Yoongi to touch you, to taste you, to make you fall apart in a way only he knows how to, but you do not want to give him that satisfaction just yet, holding that card close to your chest. 

"I don't expect you to," Yoongi responds, gently sucking on your bottom lip and drawing a gasp of air from you. You can feel Yoongi smile against your mouth before he pulls away from the kiss entirely, resting his forehead against yours. You open your eyes to meet Yoongi's gaze, and from this close, he is all soft edges and sweet memories. 

"I made a huge mistake," Yoongi mutters, holding eye contact and gently tracing the delicate lines of your neck as if committing them to memory once more. "I've regretted every day. I never stopped thinking about you. I'm so sorry. It's okay if you don't forgive me, but I need you to know, I need you to hear me say it. I'm sorry, baby. I'm so sorry."

"You broke my heart," you respond, voice almost a whisper—a secret meant only for him. "I almost dropped out of school. I was devastated, Yoongi. Some days it felt like I couldn't breathe, like my lungs forgot how."

"I'm sorry," Yoongi responds, voice trembling on the edges. "I'm so sorry."

"You never called; you never said a word." Your voice breaks at the end, and you swallow the urge to cry. 

Softly, Yoongi mutters, "I felt so ashamed; I didn't know what to say."

You squeeze your eyes shut; you do not want to cry. Here, in the dark, with your hands on your ex's chest, while zombies groan and explode against dramatic 90s horror chiptune music, you do not want to cry. 

"What if you leave again," you utter, feeling as pathetic as you sound but eager to get the words out. "What if you—what if we start again and you leave me? I can't go through that again, Yoongi. I ca—I can't."

Yoongi does not respond, and when you open your eyes, you find his fluttering closed. His hand falls from your neck, finding purchase on your arm and giving it a gentle squeeze. 

"I don't know what to say," Yoongi finally responds, opening his eyes once more. "I don't want to mutter empty promises. I don't deserve you; I know that. And coming here like this was selfish, I know it was wrong of me to show up out of the blue, but I couldn't stay away. I'm not leaving again, but I know you have no reason to believe me. I'm sorry."

"What about the business?" you ask. "What do you mean you're not leaving again?"

Yoongi chuckles, biting his bottom lip before. "I sold it."

Your heart pounds, breath hitches. "Y-you sold it?" 

"I became CEO last year. I did everything expected of me, and once my dad stepped down, I sold it. I'm done with it."

At a loss for words, you settle for, "Oh."

"I bought a house and came back," Yoongi continues, squeezing your arm and leg. "I don't plan to move again. Unless you..." Yoongi trails off.

"Unless I what?" you press him.

"Unless you wanted to. I could—we could start over anywhere. Anywhere you wanted."

"I don't think I'm ready for this conversation," you confess. 

A zombie lets out a low, pained growl, and it is impossible to hold back a chuckle, breaking the tension. Yoongi's hand travels up your arm, back to your neck, as he gently pulls you closer, kissing the corners of your mouth and the tip of your nose, and you smile, leaning into the feeling. 

"That's fine," Yoongi responds sweetly. "I can wait as long as you did. Longer, even. If you let me, I would wait my entire life to earn your love again."

"Again?" you scoff, rolling your eyes. "Do you really think I stopped loving you? Even when I hated you, even when I never wanted to hear your name uttered again, even when I thought my life was crumbling, even when I wasn't sure if I would never be able to heal, I loved you. Everywhere I went, I saw you. When I tried to meet new people..." you trail off, and Yoongi connects your lips, groaning softly as he pulls you impossibly closer, rekindling flames in your chest and setting a small spark between your legs.

You drop one of your hands to grab his hand that rests on your thigh, feeling the warmth of Yoongi's skin, the length of his fingers, and you tug it up your thigh, closer to your heat. Yoongi gasps as you smirk against his lips. 

"Beg me for forgiveness," you instruct, opening your mouth as Yoongi's fingers dig into the denim over your leg, and his throat sends a groan from his lips to yours.

Yoongi has never needed more coaxing than this—has always been a man of few words when his body could speak volumes, instead—so he wastes no time sliding his fingers along the denim until they are touching you right where you want him. You sigh into the feeling and attempt to open your legs wider, but there is no room, so Yoongi lifts your leg, slamming your heel into the arcade case and making you giggle as the sounds of zombies groaning bring you back to reality for a moment. In a rush, you undo your pants, and Yoongi's hand is breaching the opening quickly, fingers touching you over soft panties, rediscovering your curves and folds. 

"Fuck, I've missed this, too," Yoongi growls, and you hold in a moan, lolling your head back against the wooden booth with an unceremonious thwack. 

"Please," you whimper and Yoongi obliges, pulling the cloth that covers you to the side.

You take Yoongi by the face and crane your neck to reach him, to keep his lips against yours so you can moan into his mouth. Yoongi's fingers start at your entrance, then move up to your clit, drawing circles with the slick he has gathered, forcing you to mewl into his mouth. Your lips hang slack while Yoongi explores you with his tongue, sucking and nipping and exchanging sweet little sounds of his own. 

Yoongi plays you like an instrument, fingers deftly moving in patterns he memorized long ago, hardly needing to relearn the cords and note progressions, allowing muscle memory to guide him. And oh, do you sing pretty for him, letting out sounds and stammers that only urge him to give you more. With one finger, Yoongi enters you, pushing in quickly, crooked at just the right angle, and setting off a new round of tiny explosions all over your body, under your skin. 

"This what you want, baby?" Yoongi rasps.

"Y-yes," you whimper, "yes, Yoongi, please."

"More?" Yoongi grins.

You nod your head desperately, and Yoongi does as he is asked, pushing a second finger into you, stretching you around his knuckles as he opens his mouth against yours to receive your throaty praise. Your entire body trembles as Yoongi fingers you in small strokes, caught in the confines of your jeans, which have inched down over your ass just enough to make some space for him. Your fingers stroke Yoongi's undercut, feeling the short hairs tug roughly against your skin before tangling in his hair. 

Yoongi growls into your mouth as he pulls his fingers all the way out, leaving the warmth of your pants. He moves his face just far enough away to slot his fingers into his mouth and, with a deep, pleasing groan, taste you. 

"Fuck," Yoongi hisses with wide, hungry eyes, "I need you right now. We have to go somewhere else; I need to taste more of you."

You nod a quick, somewhat frantic gesture as you pull your pants up and fasten your button. Yoongi exits first, abandoning the empty glasses in the cupholders, and when you manage to push your curtain open with a shaky hand, Yoongi is already there, reaching for your hand and tugging you gently to your feet. The lights and sounds of the arcade are dizzying—or maybe it is the intoxication from the whiskey sours and warmth of Yoongi's hand that are dizzying. You assume that this will lead to the two of you grabbing your stuff from the lane, climbing into one of your cars, and driving to one of your places, so when Yoongi leads you into one of the private bathrooms, you feel a bit shocked.

"Yoongi, what are we doing?" you exclaim, but Yoongi answers in actions once more where words are meaningless, locking the door and shedding his bowling shirt, leaving a tight black tee that hugs his chest and arms deliciously. The sound of his shirt buttons hitting the sink in a clatter quietly echo around the room, and you finally take in the ink that is scrawled all over Yoongi's skin, floral patterns and stippled foods all in blacks and greys, from his wrists to where his shirt sleeves begin.

Yoongi catches you staring and points to his left elbow, closing in on you as you back up toward the wall. "A sakura tree branch, like the one we shared our first kiss under." 

Then to his wrist, "Peonies, like the ones I bought you when we moved into our apartment." 

With a gasp, your foot hits the wall, and you open your hands, bracing yourself against the cold tile. Yoongi leans on his palms against the wall, caging you between his arms, and when you eye up a medley of sliced fruits on Yoongi's bicep, he follows your gaze before smiling sweetly at you.

"Our picnic on the sea," Yoongi reminds you. "We had pomegranates and those pears that were the sweetest thing I had ever tasted, second only to you."

"A-all of these tattoos," you begin, but Yoongi finishes your sentence.

"They're all pieces of you."

You feel stunned, heart pounding nauseatingly fast as your eyes dart around from design to design, wondering what some of them symbolize while figuring out others.

"Anyway," Yoongi growls, leaning forward so his mouth nearly touches yours, "I came here to beg, and beg I shall."

Yoongi connects your lips once more, licking hungrily into your mouth as one of his hands travels down to your pants and flicks your button open. Yoongi pulls out of the kiss, and goosebumps cover your skin as he tugs the denim down, sinking to his knees in front of you. With some struggle, Yoongi helps you step out of the jeans without taking off your shoes, then looks up at you, taking in your legs, your panties, your heaving chest, and your face. His expression is a mix between hunger and disbelief, and he licks his lips as he sits up on his knees and leans forward, slowly laving a stripe across your clothed pussy.  

"F-fuck," you stammer, watching wide eyes as his tongue continues to tease you. 

Yoongi's hands press against your thighs, fingers spread, thumbs massaging the skin so close to your heat that you whimper, tempted to beg him to touch you. But you let Yoongi take his time as he gently rakes his nose over your clit, breathing a warm breath over the moist spot he has left on the thin fabric that covers you. With one hand, Yoongi pulls your panties to the side, groaning as he licks a slow, thick stripe over your slit, parting your folds and tasting as much of you as he can, and you bite back a moan, whimpering instead as a wave of pleasure washes over you. 

One hand continues to brace you against the wall while the other tangles in Yoongi's hair, gripping onto the soft locks as he laps at you at a measured, languid pace. Your eyes flutter shut as your head lolls back against the cold tile wall, and Yoongi brings you closer to euphoria alternating between long and short licks and sucking gently on your clit in a pattern he seems to have committed to memory—a pattern that only he knows. From outside, someone jiggles the bathroom handle, sending a wave of excitement tingling over you when you remember you are not alone. 

Yoongi takes one of your legs and slings it over his shoulder, and you let out a small yelp as he dives back in, picking up his pace and licking you like a man starved. Two fingers enter you and, without giving you a chance to adjust, Yoongi fucks them into you, once again crooking them just right, hitting every spot you need him to, sending you to the brink of collapse in no time at all. 

"Please come, baby," Yoongi rasps, and you unravel at the sound, the feeling, from everything, closing your eyes and leaning into the wall as your legs tremble, threatening to topple you over, especially with the only foot you have on the floor being covered in a smooth bowling shoe sole.

"F-fuck, Yoongi, yes!" you cry, using both hands now to grip onto the wall behind you. 

Your hips convulse as you ride Yoongi's face, stifled moans coming out as squeals and shattered breaths. As you come, Yoongi does not slow his pace, and you lurch forward, grabbing onto his head with both hands to stay upright. 

"Need to take those shoes off," Yoongi mutters as your hips slow, and you finish riding out your high.

"Let's just get out of here," you respond, panting as you lean back against the wall. 

Yoongi groans, impatient and horny, gripping tightly to your thighs. "Need you now."

You scoff and roll your eyes. "We're in a bathroom, Yoongi. Let's just go." 

Yoongi looks up, pouting, nibbling on his bottom lip petulantly. 

"Yoongi, you made me wait years, you can wait twenty more minutes."

Yoongi huffs and sits back on his knees, grabbing your pants and straightening them out for you. "You're right. Let's go to mine?"

You nod and hum in agreement, reaching for your jeans. Yoongi hands them to you but takes you by the wrist, causing you to look into his eyes. He looks sad, his lips pulled into a straight line, but then he smiles softly and sweetly. 

"I'm sorry," Yoongi mutters.

"I know," you respond, pulling your wrist from his grip and stepping into your pants, moving your gaze to the floor. 

Once you are all straightened out and ready to go, you check your phone to find several missed calls and texts from Jungkook, the last one being "Locker 613, get home safely!" 

You smile to yourself as you tuck the phone back into your pocket. Jungkook must have stashed your and Yoongi's bowling bags into a locker after you never came back, and you make sure to stop and grab those on your way out of the bowling alley.

Once outside, Yoongi leads the way, taking you to a black sports car that looks way flashier than you expect from him. The interior lights up purple when the engine is turned on, and the ride is so smooth you feel like you may be floating on air. Or, perhaps, part of you is floating on air. Still unable to process everything that's transpired, you almost feel a bit removed from your body—numb but also acutely aware of every single sound, touch, sight, and scent. 

You spend the car ride watching lights whiz by, streaks and splotches against the cool night sky, only to realize, as Yoongi pulls into the driveway of a rather impressive home, that you have no idea where he has taken you. This is, of course, a detail you can discover later, as you are not really interested in the particulars at the moment. All you can think of is him. The way he used to touch you, the way he used to fuck you—like your bodies were meant for each other and nobody else. You wonder how he has changed and if he has learned any new tricks while out there in the world without you.

Yoongi's home is large, and when you step inside, you find it very open and minimally furnished. You take off your shoes and follow Yoongi into the kitchen, where he leans against his cold marble countertop and offers you something to drink. In silence, share a glass of water, then Yoongi stands with both palms open on the countertop, staring at you. You can tell that the wheels are turning in his mind, so you lean on the counter opposite him and wait for him to speak. Instead, Yoongi moves from the counter and leaves the kitchen, walking to where you can only assume is his bedroom, so you follow behind. 

The bedroom is dim, and when you enter, Yoongi is already shedding his shirt, tossing it aside, and reaching for his belt. You advance quickly and stop Yoongi's hands, cupping yours over his, making him gasp, and his lip juts out, pouting petulantly. Briefly, you search his eyes for a sign that you are on the same page—that he remembers the power play you used to engage in—and when Yoongi sniffles and casts his gaze downward like a scorned child, you bite back a smirk. It has been years, yet you fall into your old roles seamlessly, understanding that Yoongi expects to be punished for what he has done to you.

"What are you doing?" you demand.

"I—I don't know," Yoongi whines.

"Why were you getting undressed?"

Yoongi's eyes widen, and although you have to look up to meet his gaze, he seems smaller, more timid.

"S-sorry," Yoongi whines, and you slap Yoongi's hands away from his belt before grabbing onto his jaw, noticing how his breath hitches as he looks at you fearfully. 

"You will speak when I say you can, and you will follow my instructions, understand?"

Yoongi nods as best as he can in your grip, and you snarl, "That was a question, use your words!" to which he croaks a weak, "Yes, princess."

"Good," you sneer, pushing Yoongi's face away from you, watching as he stands still, waiting for instruction. 

"Do you still have your toys?" you ask, and Yoongi responds with a feeble nod as he mutters, "Yes, princess."

"Get them," you command, and Yoongi complies, walking to his closet and taking out a familiar black plastic bin, carrying it to you. 

As Yoongi sets the container down, the sounds of metal, glass, and silicone shift and clink, and you stand with your arms folded over your chest, watching as Yoongi removes the lid. It is as if no time has passed; everything is right where you remember, and the sweet smells of the lube bottle and silicone toys meet your nose as you survey the contents of the bin.

"Take off your pants and get on the bed, baby boy," you instruct, watching in delight as Yoongi's hands shake, his huge, nimble fingers making unsteady work of his leather belt before he unbuttons his jeans and pushes them to the floor. 

Yoongi seems to curl in on himself as he stands up, posture all fucked up and small, and when he crawls onto his bed, awkwardly scrambling to the center, you advance, pulling off your shirt and bra, then undoing your jeans and pushing them to the floor. As you step out of your pants, you command Yoongi to get on his knees and face the headboard, which he does. 

You get on the bed behind Yoongi, just far enough that he can stick his ass out as he grabs onto the wooden bed frame for stability, arms outstretched as his hands grip the upper edge of the headboard. Slowly, delicately, you run your hands down Yoongi's back, surveying the many tattoos that bleed over from his shoulders and snake around his ribcage, covering his pale skin, then you stop with both hands gripping his ass over his tight black briefs. 

Yoongi whimpers, and you lift your right hand, landing a cursory slap against the fabric, watching him jiggle lightly from the impact. He lets out a huff of air from the contact, and when you rub the spot you slapped, his head lolls back.

"Why am I punishing you?" you ask.

"I—I left you," Yoongi cries out.

You lift your hand and crash it down harder this time, soliciting a yelp to fall past Yoongi's lips. 

"Why did you leave me?"

"I'm stupid," Yoongi whines, and you spank the same spot, watching his hips jerk forward.

"What else?"

"I'm selfish," Yoongi responds, whimpering expectantly, anticipating another slap. 

You sit up on your knees and slot a leg between his, taking Yoongi's hips and grinding his ass on your thigh. Yoongi moans, arching his back into the friction of the fabric between you, and you squeeze him harshly as you tease him. 

"What else, baby boy?" 

"I'm weak," Yoongi croaks, "I'm pathetic, I'm, I'm—"

Yoongi's voice breaks, and you are certain he has begun to cry, so you stop grinding and sit back on your heels, ready to give him something more to cry about. Your left hand slaps Yoongi on the ass, and he yelps, hips shaking from the impact.

"How are you going to make it up to me?" you sneer.

"A-anything you want, princess," Yoongi whimpers. "Please, use me, hurt me, make me cry! I'll do anything."

You sit up on your knees again, tugging Yoongi's hips back and grinding his ass against you. 

Yoongi mewls, begging, "Please, please," and you indulge him for a moment, loving the way his voice sounds so broken and desperate. Then you take a handful of his hair and pull, bowing his back until you are speaking into his ear.

"I don't think you could take the amount of pain I endured, baby boy," you growl, and Yoongi whimpers, continuing to beg, "Please," in a shattered whisper. 

With your free hand, you slap Yoongi's ass, holding your thigh firmly between his cheeks and watching him shudder and shake. You take Yoongi's throat in both hands, gently tugging him back against you again, and growl, "Go get the toys you want me to use, okay, baby boy?"

Yoongi croaks, "Yes, princess," and, when you let go of him, he scrambles off the bed to the plastic bin, taking out a thick purple dildo, a strap, a metal butt plug, and a bottle of lube. He brings the items to the bed, then gets back into position in front of the headboard. The weight and texture of the dildo are familiar in your hand, and you inspect it, feeling the soft material against your fingers. 

"Spotless," you note, "do you use this often, baby boy?"

Yoongi's head shakes, and he whimpers that he cleaned it for you, which fills you with a sense of joy, knowing he hoped you would want to fuck him with it just as you had years ago. You hook your fingers into the waistband of Yoongi's briefs and pull them down, gasping at the sight of him—his pretty puckered hole and round, soft cheeks. 

You almost lose your composure, feeling overwhelmed by the familiar sight and memories of nights spent exploring his body in a way you have never done with anyone else, but you spread Yoongi open and lean in, licking a long stripe over his asshole, grinning as Yoongi whimpers and shakes in your grasp. Yoongi tastes like home—tastes like heaven—and you dive your tongue inside, stretching him gently around the muscle, squeezing his soft skin in your hands.

As you eat Yoongi out, you find the butt plug and bottle of lube, squirting enough liquid onto it to cover the length of the toy in a nice sheen. You lean your head to one side against Yoongi's ass while lining the cold metal up to his hole, and Yoongi moans loudly as you slowly push the toy inside, working it in and out, bit by bit, filling him more each time. Once the toy is pushed past the tapered end, Yoongi trembles, head falling forward against the bed frame, and you take the end in your fingers, moving it around just enough to elicit a response, smirking as Yoongi mewls and writhes from the sensation.

"On your back, baby boy," you command, and Yoongi falls forward before wriggling around so that he is laying on his back, facing you. 

You pull Yoongi's briefs all the way down, licking your lips at the sight of his cock. Pale and heavy with hints of red and a dribble of precum, and fuck, you have missed this cock so badly. You keep your panties on as you turn and straddle Yoongi's chest, backing your pussy up so he can reach it with his mouth, then you take Yoongi's cock in one hand while reaching down to push on his butt plug with the other. 

"You know the rule," you instruct, "first to come loses. Winner gets the strap."

Yoongi whines, "Not fair, I have a disadvantage." 

You tug on the plug in Yoongi's ass as a sign of acknowledgment. 

"Shouldn't have been a bad boy, then hmm?"

With a pump of Yoongi's cock, you take him into your mouth, matching your movements with your hand, swirling your tongue around his head, and Yoongi takes your hips, bringing your clothed pussy into his mouth, licking wet, greedy circles over you. Already, his mouth feels amazing, so you tug on the toy in his ass in hopes of working him up faster. Although you would love to fuck him in the ass, it has been a while since you have been double penetrated by Yoongi and the thick purple dildo, and you want it so badly, you need to win at all costs. 

The game starts innocently enough. Yoongi pulls your panties to the side and shoving two long, talented fingers inside of you, feeling the wetness from your first orgasm squelch around him. But as you begin to get Yoongi deeper into your throat, he starts to become more aggressive, fingering you harder with one hand while prodding at your asshole with the other. You fear that, at this rate, you may not be able to hold back much longer, so you try to pull your hips away from Yoongi, making it so he cannot reach you with his mouth. 

Yoongi pulls his fingers from you, shoving you by the hips onto the bed, and with a yelp, you topple over, falling onto your side. He gets onto his knees and spreads your thighs, ripping the panties from your body and tossing the destroyed fabric aside before diving back in, savoring your pussy, and you gasp, nearly sinking into the feeling as he fingers you while his other hand holds one of your legs in place. Yoongi is strong, but this position does not put him at an advantage, and you are able to use your free leg to push him off of you, sending him into the headboard with a light crash while you wiggle free and get into your knees. 

You do your best to hold down both of Yoongi's legs with your legs, taking his cock as far into your throat as you can, but Yoongi's arms are free, and he takes you by the hair, yanking you off of him and pulling you close enough that he can reach your clit. Yoongi's fingers work fast, drawing circles over your swollen bud before entering you and fucking into you at a punishing pace. 

His fingers hit every spot inside you that you need, and as you feel your orgasm build, you panic, trying to push out of his grasp. Instead, you pull yourself backward, crashing into the mattress in an attempt to get free, and Yoongi lets go of your hair in the process, which you hope will give you an edge, but he mounts you quickly, holding your legs down under his while his fingers continue to work you.

"If I fuck you, it's over," Yoongi snarls, and you gasp, doing your best to wiggle away, but it is futile. 

"Please, baby boy, please don't," you plea, not ready for the fight to be over. 

In this game, however, you both understand that no does not actually mean no, so Yoongi grins as he gets off of your legs and spreads them open, lining himself up with your entrance.

"Sorry, princess," Yoongi growls as he pushes his cock into you, all the way to the base.

The stretch is incredible, and you cry out, squeezing your eyes shut and arching your back from how good he feels. Yoongi holds your legs open, angling himself to fuck you just the way you like it, and already you begin to see stars. His cock feels so good; it is no wonder you were heartbroken when he left. Men and women tried and failed to make you feel as good as he can with little effort; it is as if your bodies were molded to fit each other perfectly. 

This, of course, is terrible news if you want to win this little game. 

Panicked, you try to shimmy away, managing to get Yoongi's cock out of you, but that just makes him push more weight into you to hold you down and fuck you harder. As you moan, Yoongi squeezes his eyes shut, gritting his teeth, and you realize you might be able to win this thing yet, so you moan louder, squeezing your pussy walls around him as much as you can.

"Fuck, Yoongi, yes baby, right there," you cry out, watching Yoongi's eyes widen with both fear and pleasure. 

"Your cock is so fucking good," you moan, "that's it baby make me come, please!"

Yoongi's hips halt as a shattered breath leaves his throat, and you grab onto his arms and wrap your legs around him tightly. With more loud, breathy moans, you grind your hips against Yoongi, fucking yourself on his cock, using your feet to push and pull his ass cheeks in hopes of stimulating his rim with the toy. Yoongi's hips buck uncontrollably as you fuck yourself on him, and rather than trying to fight it any longer, he leans forward and fucks you hard and fast until he is filling you with his come, pulling pitchy, breathy moans from your lips. 

"Fuck," Yoongi whines as he falls forward, resting his face against your neck. "I can't believe you won. I want you to fuck me."

"Alright," you concede, also wanting to fuck Yoongi. "Get the smaller dildo for me, and I'll use the purple one on you once you're done. But I get to fuck you against the window."

The window in Yoongi's bedroom overlooks a sprawling residential area, and his eyes widen at the prospect, glancing over and seeing city lights shine through the sheer curtain. 

"Okay, fine," Yoongi agrees, then gets up and walks to the box, finding the other dildo that connects to the leather strap, which is only slightly smaller than the purple one, and dark blue. 

Yoongi steps into the leather harness, pulling it to his hips and anchoring it so that the dildo rests above his cock, filling you to the bring with excited anticipation. You shimmy to the edge of the bed and spread your legs wide, smiling up at Yoongi, who squirts lube onto his fingers and begins to slowly open your ass, first with one finger, then with two, making you moan and pant as you do your best to get used to the stretch, breathing through it as Yoongi takes his time, using his come as extra lubricant as it leaks from your pussy.

"So fucking tight," Yoongi groans, leaning forward to suck the skin around your knee.

"Stop fucking around and stretch me open," you whine, getting impatient from Yoongi's cock not being burrowed deep in your ass. Yoongi chuckles and tilts his head to the side, entertained by your petulance.

"If you don't hurry up and fuck me, I'm punishing you," you threaten, and Yoongi raises his eyebrows, pressing his tongue into his cheek. 

"You gonna dominate me when I'm knuckle deep in your ass, princess?" Yoongi growls, leaning over you as his fingers quicken their pace.

You pant and moan, letting the pleasure-pain wash over you, and Yoongi takes you by the throat with his free hand, fingering you harder. 

"This what you want, baby?"

You nod your head and whine, "P-please." 

Yoongi pulls his fingers out, pushing a third inside, and your vision goes hazy. It feels so intense and so good, and you want his cock inside of you now.

"I'm ready," you cry, "please fuck me, please."

Yoongi scissors his fingers inside you, stretching you more, and you arch your back, gripping onto the comforter below you with both hands. When he finally pulls his fingers free, you are panting and dizzy, and you watch with your mouth hanging slack as Yoongi squirts lube onto his hand, coating his cock with it.

Yoongi enters you slowly, stretching your ass more than he prepped you for, and you scream out, finally getting what you wanted from him, inch by inch, in and out, each thrust deeper than the last.

His hips stay still a moment while you accommodate, and Yoongi holds your legs open as he slowly pulls out and pushes all the way back in. It is too much, but you do not want it to stop, and you curse and mutter incoherently as you adjust to the feeling of Yoongi's cock buried deep in your ass. 

"Ready for the rest?" Yoongi asks, voice soft and deep, taking you off guard. 

His voice causes something to well up in your chest that you absolutely do not want to think about when he is sheathed inside you, so you nod eagerly, squeezing your eyes shut as he pulls his cock nearly all of the way out.

Yoongi pushes the dildo into your pussy, filling both of your holes slowly, and you melt into the feeling, overcome with pleasure. It is not long before Yoongi is finding a steady pace, and all you can do is wail and moan, completely lost in the euphoria of him. 

It is just as it was before he left, and better than anything you have experienced since, and you do your best to bury the thought for now, trying not to focus too much on the emotions surrounding his presence. But how could you not, when, as you open your eyes, all you see is firm muscle, soft pale skin, dark illustrations, and, worst of all, his face. Sharp, fox eyes and his pouty pink lips and cute, button nose; he is so fucking pretty it is infuriating, so you stare at the middle of his chest, blocking out your emotions as Yoongi picks up his pace to one more deep and erratic.

You reach down and touch your clit, and that is all you need to send a shockwave through your body, giving you just the push to fully collapse—to turn to dust and drift away into a plume of pleasure. 

Yoongi growls, "That’s it, come for me, baby," and you lose it, squeezing the dildo and his cock as your body convulses and relaxes, frantically and beyond your control. You come so hard you choke out sobs, squeezing the blanket in one hand while your other hand rests limply over your clit. 

Yoongi's hips do not slow, and you feel another wave build up, threatening to crash harder than the last. You are overstimulated and pliant, whimpering weakly as Yoongi fucks you hard and deep, pulling another orgasm from you, turning you into a trembling mess beneath him, and when his hips finally do slow, you find yourself panting, covered in sweat. 

"You didn't come?" you ask, knitting your eyebrows in frustration. 

How dare he finish without finishing?

"I came earlier," Yoongi corrects.

"Right," you pant, "okay. Bend over, then."

Yoongi chuckles, likely at your impatience; even while fucked out and exhausted with two cocks inside you, you continue to boss him around. As he pulls out, you hiss, clenching around nothing as both holes are empty. Yoongi undoes the leather harness and carefully removes it over his still-hard cock, then replaces the dildo with the one that has been sitting on the bed this entire time.

You find the strength to sit up on your elbows, watching Yoongi as he puts the purple dildo into the strap for you, and your eyes rove over his body, following vines that snake down his ribs, to his hip. And that is when you see it—that is when you feel a knot grow suffocatingly fast in your chest. It is so small, so hidden, that you would surely miss it if it said anything else, but it does not say just anything; it says your name. 

"What is that?" you ask, pointing to the tattoo, knowing damn well what it is but unable to form a question that asks what you are trying to communicate.

Yoongi looks down, and when he sees what you're talking about, his mouth falls open, and his eyes widen. 

"Oh, right," he mutters, not bringing his eyes back to look at you, looking elsewhere.

"Oh, right?" you parrot. "Did you—did you forget? Why is it—why did you get that?"

"It has been there so long; I guess I do sometimes forget," Yoongi admits.

"It has what? How long have you had that?" you provoke, feeling a huge mess of emotions well up inside you.

Yoongi finally meets your gaze, eyebrows knitted in frustration. 

"Are you mad at me for getting your name tattooed on me?"

"I—no—I don't know! Okay! It's a lot to take in!" you snap. 

You are not sure why this bothers you so much, but something about the idea of him missing you and getting pretty tattoos for you while you were left in the dark feeling confused and miserable over him fills you with anger.

"The flowers are fine, though?" Yoongi provokes, hands on his hips as his softened cock hangs between his legs. You have nothing to say, so Yoongi continues. "The flowers that remind me of you, the fruits that remind me of you, all of these little fucking memories are fine, but your name is what bothers you?"

Your voice is weak as you croak past the lump in your throat, holding back tears. "The whole time you were gone, you thought of me, and you missed me, and you loved me. Did you plan to come back to me? This entire time? Did you plan to see me again and apologize and win me back as if nothing ever happened?"

"Not as if nothing ever happened," Yoongi responds, his voice soft once more.

"I was devastated, Yoongi!" you shout, sitting up and crossing your arms over your chest, blocking out the soreness between your legs. "Some days, I thought my heart was being ripped from my chest. I felt like I was dying. And all the while, you were getting tattoos and thinking of me, but not once fucking talking to me! You were letting me wonder, and cry, and pick up the pieces of my shattered fucking life while you were planning your return trip home with your pretty little tattoos as if nothing fucking happened."

"I was devastated too," Yoongi laments.

"It's sweet," you admit, voice hushed but shattered. "It's a beautiful tattoo. All of them are beautiful tattoos. Had I known that you were coming back, had I known you still loved me, maybe it would have been okay, but now...I don't know."

"I didn't just sit around and expect to see you again, pretending everything would be fine," Yoongi mutters as he sits on the bed, keeping some distance between you. The sweat on your body has gotten cold, and you hug yourself—a motion that Yoongi mirrors. "Sometimes I did, but sometimes I tried to move on, meet someone new. But nobody was you."

There is a pause. Your mind is racing, but you cannot formulate a sentence, so you wait for Yoongi to continue. 

"When I found out I was getting promoted, I toyed with the idea of coming back. I even reached out to Jungkook and confided in him."

Your head whips around; you cannot believe what you're hearing. 

"You what?" you ask, and Yoongi nods. "What did he say?"

Yoongi scoffs, then makes eye contact, and you can see his deep brown eyes swirling with sadness. "He said, 'Don't you fucking dare promise anything unless it is set in stone.' He told me not to contact you until I was already on my way back for good."

It makes sense, really. Of course Jungkook would say that. He, of all people, knows how easily you would cave at the promise of getting back the life you had before, even if it took you a while to come around and fully forgive Yoongi. Especially with the promise of a new house thrown into the equation, if only because it meant Yoongi would not be able to easily leave again.  

"I'm sorry," Yoongi mutters. "I can take you home if you'd like. You don't have to stay."

"No," you respond, feeling your nerves settle. "No, I'm sorry too. This is all just a lot."

The air is tense, but you are finally calm once more, considering the weight of everything. Yoongi tinkers with the buckles on the leather harness he is still holding, and you snicker at the sight of him sadly cradling his favorite dildo. You decide that, for now, you will finish what you started. After all, you still have not gotten to fuck Yoongi tonight. Even if things fail to work out in the long run, you want to fuck him one last time.

"I'll just have to punish you some more," you finally declare, and Yoongi looks at you with wide eyes. You get onto your knees on the bed and face Yoongi, closing the small distance between you as you slowly crawl. "I am going to use you. And hurt you. And make you cry."

"Please," Yoongi whimpers.

Against the large window in Yoongi's bedroom is a wide lounge chair with a cushioned back and armrests. You point to the chair and tell Yoongi to get on it, on his knees. 

Yoongi mutters, "Yes, princess," and sets the strap down on the bed before making his way to the chair, and you watch the light catch the metal plug that still sits nestled in Yoongi's ass and smirk before getting off the bed and stepping into the leather harness, pulling it over your hips and adjusting the straps to fit you better. 

The lube bottle had been tossed onto the bed, so you take that with you and rummage through the black plastic tub, finding the two leather cat masks you had hoped would still be in there. You place one of the masks over your face, which covers your eyes and nose, securing the strap over your ears before approaching and putting the second one over Yoongi's face. He gasps and adjusts the mask, and when you pull the curtains open, he recoils a bit.

“If the cars drive by, will they see us?” you ask.

“Maybe,” Yoongi whimpers nervously.

You set the lube bottle on the window sill, then take Yoongi by the face, pulling his head down until his mouth is above the silicon cock hanging from your strap. Yoongi opens up wide and takes it, slowly and deeply, breathing through any urge to gag that he may have. You begin to slide the cock between his lips, pulling back, then thrusting forward, and Yoongi whimpers around it, drooling as he takes it into his throat. 

"You like sucking my big, hard cock?" you tease, slapping Yoongi softly on the cheek. 

Yoongi whines a response, but it is all vowels, dying in his throat. 

"Aren’t you a good little whore?" you snarl. "Sucking my cock down so good. Is this what you want, baby boy?" 

More whimpers huff around the toy as you pick up your pace, throat fucking Yoongi with his own strap, and he whines and takes it, holding his tongue out like a good boy, blinking through the tears that streak down his face. Yoongi always found choking on the toy cock while you spit degrading names at him to be a bit humiliating, which also happened to make his cock throb harder, so you indulge him before fucking him, just like old times. When you finally pull the dildo all the way out of Yoongi's mouth, his lips are swollen and pink, covered in spit, and you bend to suck his bottom lip into your mouth, slurping at the saliva and swallowing his moans.

You release the kiss and go behind Yoongi, sinking to your knees and licking around the plug, teasing his stretched rim with your tongue, and he trembles and whines—music to your ears. Gently, you tug on the plug, pulling it from Yoongi's ass, watching his puckered hole squeeze around nothing as you fully remove it and toss it onto the bed behind you. 

"Want me to stretch you more, baby boy?" you ask, flicking open the lube bottle and pouring a generous amount onto the thick purple cock on your pelvis. 

"No," Yoongi croaks, "want it to hurt."

This is a request you have fulfilled many times before, so you slick up the toy and pull Yoongi's hips down until he is at the right height for you to touch the tip to his entrance, pressing forward enough to make him hiss. As you breach Yoongi's hole, his legs begin to shake beneath him, and you rest your hands on his shoulders, then drag your nails down, scratching his back as the head of your silicone cock goes all the way inside. Yoongi pants and holds onto the chair like a lifeline while you pull the toy out, only to inch it in a bit further, back and forth, little by little.

Once the dildo is a little over halfway, you begin to rock your hips. Yoongi does not like to adjust to the stretch, and as much as you want to make him beg for you, you enjoy the cries and moans that come from him now, so you roll your hips, watching as his eager ass swallows the cock whole. 

With one hand, you grip onto Yoongi's hip, digging the tips of your fingers in enough that your nails form dimples in the soft skin. With your other hand, you slap Yoongi's ass hard, echoing the crash around you, squeezing the flesh as he cries, only to do it over again. 

You begin to pick up your pace, bucking your hips into Yoongi, watching him take the entire length of the dildo while his ass slams against your thighs. You could get hypnotized by the ripples of his soft, plump skin, but instead, you mark it, digging your fingernails in and leaving pink welts and scratches. Yoongi whines and begs you not to stop, and you alternate scratching and slapping Yoongi's ass and lower back until he is covered in raised streaks with tiny spots of blood. 

"Sit up, baby boy, let me touch your nipples," you command, and Yoongi scrambles to arch his back so that you can reach. 

Yoongi whines and trembles as you twist the sensitive buds between your thumb and forefinger, fucking into his ass at a punishing pace. You wonder how much longer Yoongi might last, slapping and tugging at his nipples while he cries out; he is always so sensitive. 

"Wanna come, baby boy?" you ask as you sink your teeth into Yoongi's tattooed bicep, swirling your tongue around the mark, pulling a choked whine from his throat. 

"Please!" Yoongi shouts.

"Please, what?" 

"Please, please make me come," Yoongi begs. "Please, please!"

You reach around and grab onto Yoongi's cock, squeezing the head in your hand, prolonging his orgasm, and Yoongi wails, begging you not to stop him, begging you to let him come. With a hard slap to his ass, you remind him that he will come when you say he can, to which he chokes out, "Yes, princess."

Your hands are back on Yoongi's nipples as you fuck him hard, and Yoongi is a mess of incoherent whimpers and pleas, bending over the back of the chair. It has been years since you have heard his choked sobs, since you have scratched pretty little welts into his skin, and you do not want to stop. But you must, eventually, because all good things must end. And also because it has been years since you have fucked someone like this, and you are already becoming tired. 

A car drives by, and its headlights shine into the windows for a split moment, causing Yoongi to whimper and duck his head down despite his face being partially covered by a mask. 

"Think they saw you, baby?" you groan, and Yoongi continues to whine. "I'll let you come if you sit up straight next time a car drives by. Let them see me stroke your pretty cock."

There is a slim chance anyone can actually see into these windows clearly enough to know what is happening as they drive past, and they especially cannot see Yoongi's body behind the chair. But the idea of it turns you on so much you continue to fuck Yoongi hard, squeezing the head of his cock to remind him that he is not allowed to come yet. Yoongi's knuckles are white as he holds onto the chair tightly, and sweat beads like dew along his shoulders and neck. And Yoongi's moans. Oh, his moans are so deep, so raspy and sweet, and you are certain you could drown in them, hanging on every saccharine sound as it fills the room. 

You slow your thrusts, rolling your hips to fuck Yoongi at a deep, languid pace as you grab the lube bottle from the windowsill and squirt more directly onto his ass. Yoongi cries out, likely from how cool it feels against his sensitive skin, and you gather a little of the liquid into your palm. In the distance, you see a car coming around the bend where it will eventually drive past the window, so you grab Yoongi by the shoulder with your non-lubed hand and tell him to sit up straight.

"Wanna come, baby boy?" you tease, and Yoongi sits up as best as he can, nodding desperately as he whimpers, "Please, please."

You pick your pace back up and grab onto Yoongi's cock, gathering his precum in your palm along with the lube and stroking his length. Yoongi cries out, his whole body trembling as you send him over the edge, and as soon the headlights come into view, you grab Yoongi by the hair with your free hand and jerk him toward you as you growl, "Come for me, baby boy," stroking his pretty, throbbing cock. 

Yoongi comes with a pitchy groan, spraying his release onto your palm and the chair as the headlights momentarily fill the room, and you slow your thrusts, matching your tender strokes as his body convulses in your grip. As soon as you let go of Yoongi's hair, he falls forward, draping his body over the back of the chair. You slowly pull the toy cock out of him, rubbing his back and tracing your fingers over the fresh scratches you left behind.

"Fuck," Yoongi groans. "Holy fuck."

Exhaustion hits you like a wave, and you back up until you reach the bed, sitting on the edge as you undo the buckle of the strap. Your legs feel shaky and weak as you shimmy out of the leather cock holster and let it hit the floor. 

"I assume this place has a bathtub?" you ask, and Yoongi groans a sound that may be a confirmation, though it is hard to tell. You take it upon yourself to hobble into the bathroom and are pleased to find a tub big enough for the both of you, turning it on and setting the temperature. 

Yoongi stumbles into the room and dips his toe in the barely filled tub before deciding it is good enough and getting in. You chuckle at his impatience; some things never change. 

Now that you have fucked, you feel like it is time to address the giant elephant in the room, but you also feel hesitant; you are not sure what you are ready for, and although this night has been amazing and has rekindled a lot of flames, you are scared shitless to lose him again, leaving you to wonder if it is worth it to even try. 

But, for now, you can at least sit down in the bathtub and rest your muscles. And so, you do. 

With a tap to his shoulder, you urge Yoongi to sit forward so you can take the place behind him, wrapping your legs around his hips. You are so overwhelmed by everything that has transpired, that suddenly, you begin to cry. It is a silent, undetectable cry, save for streaks of tears that Yoongi cannot see—tears he does not need to see because you are not sure if you are ready to start over again, and you do not want to have to explain yourself. Sure, he has returned, and sure, he has covered his body in illustrations dedicated to you, but you are not certain if your wound can heal so quickly. 

So, for now, you close your eyes and rest your head against the wall as the water level continues to rise, and you keep everything bottled up and close to your heart where it is safe. For now, you try not to wonder what comes next.

Tag list: @dasexydevitt13, @giriiboyy, @mwitsmejk 🎳

Couldn’t Pin You Down is copyright 2022 theharrowing, all rights reserved. Don’t be a silent reader, I love to hear from you! 

[ushidoux]

Good Teacher - Sugawara x Reader

Summary: You meet Sugawara on an online dating app expecting something tame, but get more than you expected. (~3.1k words)

Warnings: fem pronouns, fem!reader, some features are described ***, dom/sub dynamics, collaring, daddy kink, breathplay, dacryphilia, spanking, edging, toy use, restraint use, sub drop

A/N: Again, this was a commission so some features are described!! Otherwise, please enjoy my first longer BDSM fic.

---

Being alone in your bedroom at 9pm on a Friday night may have felt like a loss on any other day, but today, with your phone buzzing non-stop and every neuron in the sexy parts of your brain firing, you could not think of anything else you would rather do.

Well, actually you could think of a few, and most of them involved slipping out of your pajamas and slipping under your new flame.

Sugawara Koushi.

A name like that sounded sweet. Maybe even bland. Safe.

When you’d swiped right on his profile on the tamer of your social media apps, you’d expected someone mild-mannered and easy to speak to. He was an elementary school teacher with soft features, white hair and a cute mole under his left eye. He couldn’t possibly be as forward as the other guys you’d dealt with over the years. A tame, responsible choice.

You’d started texting back and forth quickly, with polite, formal introductions which progressed to cute messages and long phone calls, and you’d even managed a very chaste first date where he’d picked you up at 8pm on the dot and taken you to a fine restaurant on the water.

You normally would have expected to be dicked down that night, and had paired sexy lingerie under your silky mauve dress for exactly that, but you weren’t too surprised when he left you at your doorstep with a peck on the forehead.

The only unsettling thing about the kiss was the way his eyes had lingered on your lips, just as his fingers trailed the curve of your jaw as he tucked your hair behind your ear. It was too practiced, too… dominant.

You suspected he was holding something back.

And he was, because once you’d ventured to call in the middle of the night, a little bit tipsy and yearning for a little bit more than a smile and a gentle touch from him, you’d broken some sort of dam.

He’d called you a needy, desperate, pretty little slut, desperate for Daddy’s cock but needing to prove herself that she was willing to ride with Daddy’s very, very strict set of rules first, and you’d practically cum at the sudden turn of his voice.

Now anything was fair game.

I have… particular taste. Are you sure you can keep up, princess?

The warmth between your legs and the image of full balls and a weighty, rigid cock told you, you would absolutely be ready for anything he had in store for you. 

Yes, daddy. I’m up for anything you want.

You, of course, couldn’t see the wide smile spreading across his face on the other end, as he palmed his cock slowly while reading your texts and admiring your nudes, and texted back:

We’ll need a shit ton of rope.

---

Sugawara’s hands are much larger than you’d anticipate, and rougher, and you wonder how much of it is due to high school athletics or from the fact that he’s quick to slap or spank you at any chance he gets. Your skin is sometimes red, sometimes bruised, and always marked, and it’s exactly the way you like it.

The first time you have sex, he starts you off as though you are the most shy of virgins even though you claim that you’re not exactly inexperienced.

“I wouldn’t want to break you, pretty girl,” he teases, as his hands worship your body, tracking down your waist to the center of your legs, and patting your cunt softly. Today, he’s promised to focus on your pleasure only because he wants to “break you in.” You wonder how many he’s “broken in,” then you realize you don’t really care. You’re his one and only princess right now, and you intend to be for quite a while. 

The pleasure of being a good dom is that he can choose to serve - he can choose to be doting and he can choose to be harsh with punishment. Since it’s your first day since you’ve entered this contract with him, he’s decided to focus on the catering part of his personality, and familiarize you with his desires.

The rose-gold Turian collar on your neck compliments your skin well, he takes note, as he takes one of your nipples in his mouth and leans you against him while you are seated on the edge of the bed and he’s kneeling just so before you, fingers deep in your cunt.

“You’re gonna keep that pretty little thing around your neck, aren’t you, pretty baby?”

His fingers move so fast that it’s hard for you to speak, and the arm that’s wrapped around your waist and keeping you flush against him is tightening the longer he continues. He’s a lot stronger than he looks, you know from every heavy spank he’s given you.

“I-I will, daddy, every day and every night,” you pant out, your tongue lolling as his fingers curve upwards and his lips leave your nipple with a soft pop and make their way to your quivering mouth.

“Good,” he whispers as he bites your lower lip. “You’re so obedient… I like that in a little one,” he affirms.

---

He’s kind when he teaches, patient even. 

He’s also generous; he gifts you with your first corset, a dark, lacy and tight thing that almost takes your breath away initially, especially when he tightens it onto you himself. Even if it’s constraining, you feel empowered from the very moment you look in the mirror. Your breasts sit high, and you spin once in a gesture of delight; he kisses down your neck as you admire yourself.

“This is only to get you used to a little bit of restriction,” he reassures, as he pulls you into his lap. “But I can’t deny that you look breathtaking.”

---

Since you’ve been so bold as to take his breath away, it isn’t too long until he decides he wants to see what you look like when you’re truly struggling for air. After all, the little shiny thing around your neck catches his eye way too often for his comfort, and his pants suddenly feel too tight for a casual grocery store run.

Your safeword is red, like the blood that courses through your veins as his fingers tighten around your throat.

He thumbs your pink, puffy lips, and it would be loving if he wasn’t calling you a stupid little cocktease.

“Pretty little bambi, prancing around like you’re free to be with anyone other than me.”

The breath that tickles your face is a taunt, because you’re slowly getting lightheaded, barely able to focus on the long index finger he’s commanding you to suck. 

The pressure he puts on your neck is varying; for moments you can draw a single staccato breath, which encourages him to press his lips to yours and absorb you in a kiss before he reapplies pressure; his naked body presses against yours, rolling painstakingly slow. He hasn’t even entered you yet.

Breathplay, he calls it.

You gasp as his cock slips into your wet entrance just as fast as his hand leaves your throat, and he too draws a deep breath as he fills you to the hilt. 

He lets out a soft laugh as he caresses the hair that is sticking to your face, and readjusts himself yet again - of course, he’s also better endowed than you’d expect him to be - before he picks up speed and chokes you again.

---

“I… Kou-”

“Daddy,” he stresses, unphased as he continues to press a small clitoral stimulator to your tender, overworked bud.

“D-Daddy~” you cry out in a soft, drawn out whine, and you shift a little bit because the ties that keep your ankles attached to the legs of the chair, your pussy exposed and vulnerable with your crotch wide open, are starting to dig into your skin. But you can’t move all that much, there’s additional rope around your waist that keeps you against the back of the chair and you think the soft satin that keeps your wrists behind you is probably overkill, even if you have to admit you like the color.

“Yes, sweetheart~” he whispers in a voice accented with assertive sweetness, his eyes still lowered and focused on the heave of your chest as he watches you drip before him.

“I-” 

You scream.

He’d angled the toy upwards, and somehow within the small bundle of nerves he’s targeted an even more precise cluster of endings - there’s a flash of white you see before you cum practically violently, lurching forward so rapidly that he has to keep the chair steady so that you won’t fall over on the pretty little face he adores.

It’s possibly the fourth time he’s had to ground you in the past hour, and it’s an act of mercy because he had been edging you repeatedly, forcing your pussy to clench desperately around nothing but air.

The way you gush and spray so lewdly onto the chair, onto the floor, onto the hand he plays on your sopping wet pussy reminds him he chose very, very well.

---

It’s nearly silent and it’s dark now, far too dark for you to see. 

Your Koushi has prepared you for this next step lovingly, sometimes not so lovingly over the past couple of weeks to build up to this.

The blindfold that obscures your vision is soft and slightly sweet smelling, as though spritzed with a floral scent about a day ago prior to this. Again your hands are bound, but he’s used lined handcuffs instead of ties, and your wrists are before you, not behind you. 

But you’re lying on your belly, a spreader forcing your thighs apart. He must really love the way your pussy looks staring him in the face.

“You seem to be a glutton for punishment, princess,” he says, accenting his words with a hard slap on your inner thigh. You gasp, but his hands linger tighten, and are then followed by what can only be the press of his tongue against the stinging portion.

“Daddy, I’ll behave, I’m so sorry,” you moan as his hand grips a generous portion of your asscheek.

But you won’t behave, because you’ve learned that Suga likes just a touch of bratty behavior and that gets him quite physical with you. He knows this just as much as you.

He slaps your ass fervently, the slight jiggle drawing a pleased sigh from his lips.

“You’re a silly little slut, though…” he starts, rubbing a hand along the length of your thigh, “how can I trust any of your promises?”

His finger travels to your open center, and when he sees you tense up, he stops.

“You need a firm hand to guide you always…”

His right hand curves again around your cunt and his middle and ring finger finds its way into your slippery hole, while his index taps your clit and his little finger (he’s dexterous like this), taps ever so lightly around your asshole. 

You shudder.

“Arch your back, you little cumslut. Make it easy for daddy.”

As you inch backwards slowly using your elbows and knees to rise up, his right hand continues to move with you, but then his other hand lands heavily on your other asscheek.

It breaks your concentration and you almost fall because it takes quite a lot more energy than you would expect to move this way with your hands bound and your legs spread, but you persevere. 

For him.

Before you can whine once you’ve gotten into position, he withdraws his hand from your cunt.

“No!” You find yourself shrieking before you realize. You can’t have him edge you again, he’s absolutely cruel, you can’t…

“Oh, I thought I called the shots here, princess,” Sugawara reminds you, voice honeyed and cruel. You can feel his fingers weave into your hair and the warm tip of what must be his cock prod at your entrance.

“Sir, please~”

“Beg.”

He spreads you open with a hand massaging your ass, again tapping teasingly all around your vagina, but he won’t push in to give you the pleasure of having his cock inside you.

Your heart is pounding with desire.

“Please!”

“Please what?”

“Please fill me up, daddy!”

That statement of desire earns you an inch, an inch that makes you swallow saliva hard and your muscles tense with need and want.

“M-more, more please!”

“You’re so demanding. I would say your eyes are bigger than your pretty little pussy, but you can’t see, can you?”

He laughs, but he pushes in further another inch, than another, moving painstakingly slow, slow enough that you’re biting your lower lip until blood is drawn. The stretch is achingly delicious but it leaves you starved for more.

You’re begging and whining, and soon you’re trying your best to sink onto him further but he’s got you restrained for a reason.

“Greedy little bitch,” he murmurs, but he kisses your neck lovingly as he fills you to the hilt.

The unmistakable noise of flesh hitting flesh and minimal friction fills the room but you care less about sound, only about the slap of his balls against your cunt as he thrusts into you from behind.

More. Deeper. Faster. Harder.

He’s a master at drawing desire out of you, you wonder if you even needed these toys and ties and other accoutrements. You’re already so utterly wrapped for him. 

---

There’s a movie playing on your screen that you had both been pretending to watch, cuddled together on the couch, your legs resting across his lap. You had barely gotten through the opening credits before he pulled you onto him fully and had you straddle him.

“You want a snack, pretty baby?” He whispers, as though it weren’t just the two of you staring in each other’s eyes.

Your eyelashes bat and you nod.

He doesn’t break eye contact while he reaches for a strawberry, fresh from the farmer’s market you’d strolled through this morning, from a bowl set on the table. 

This one is drizzled in chocolate, and he runs it along the length of your collarbone, eye contact still heavy and unflinching before he dips down to catch it in his mouth.

It hangs out halfway from his teeth and he cues you to take it from him mouth to mouth. You split half of it, letting the sweet tartness permeate your senses.

His arm hooks around your waist and pulls you in close as he presses his lips against yours. You weren’t aware of the glob of strawberry-flavored saliva he’d collected until he draws away, tilts your head back and tells you to open up wide so he can spit directly into your mouth.

---

“Swallow.”

Suga’s relentlessly pounding an erect, frustrated and thick cock into your mouth, past your teeth and down your poor throat, and he’s close to his release now, you can tell by the way he’s now pressed your face so far against him that his carefully cropped pubes prick your face.

He’s warning you beforehand, and you’re thankful for the warning because when he cums with a soft, almost angelic moan, his penis jerks inside your mouth ever so slightly, and there’s a gush of hot, slippery liquid that slides down your throat.

You breathe through your nose. He tastes sweet, maybe it’s because of the strawberries from just earlier today, but nevertheless it’s a pleasant liquid you gulp down around his cock.

He loves the way your throat feels when it clamps around him, especially when you initially gag once accepting his cock.

You’re perfect.

“Come up, darling,” he bids you, pulling you up from your position on your knees.

“Are you gonna fill me up, daddy?” You mewl softly as he lifts up and carries you before laying you on your back.

“Yes, pretty baby, but let me taste your juicy little cunt first,” he says before he dives in between your legs.

---

“You’re so good for me, you know that, don’t you?”

He kisses your neck softly as he holds you close to him while you lay in bed together. It’s close to 1am and he’s focused on aftercare, caressing your arms and waist and the curve of your hip gently. You’re facing away from him, not because you’re upset, but because you’re exhausted.

He’s worried you’re having a sub-drop; after all, he’s spent the last two hours slapping your face and calling you disgusting. He wonders if you forgot to use your safe word.

You’re new to this and he’s put you through a lot in the past few weeks.

“Sweetness,” he whispers, directly into your ear. “Look at me?”

You turn, cheeks still flushed from particularly hard slaps. His heart aches a bit for you, because those sweet lips are pulled downwards into a frown and he’s not sure if those are fresh tears that wet your eyelashes. 

He kisses your eyelids then rests his chin on the top of your head.

“Are you doing okay, my princess?”

You nod and reach for his face with your fingertips. Your dom softens under your touch because you are so precious to him. His fingers close around yours and he kisses your forehead.

“The most important thing is your comfort,” he asserts. He taps the collar around your neck that suggests in some way that you are his and he is yours. “You can take this off at any time.”

You wrap your arms around his waist and bury your face into his chest. It’s been fun and it’s also been freeing to have him take care of you. There’s a soft haze that wafts around your brain lately as you surrender to him. You are in love with him, deeply, in such a short amount of time.

“I would never,” you say, finally. 

His heart skips a beat.

“Unless you want to buy me a nicer one, of course.”

He chuckles. 

“You’re a feisty little one, aren’t you?” He remarks. He’s glad to look down at you and see you smiling again, eyes bright and brown. He reaches for your ass cheek, then raises your leg so that it lies across his hip. 

Your eyes twinkle with mischief.

“Well, that’s why you picked me to teach, isn’t it?” You raise an eyebrow, and the cheeky grin on your face is enough to make him get absolutely hard again.

Of course, only if you’re up to the task.

Suga bites gently on your lip again, his hand on your thigh. 

“I didn’t expect you to learn so quickly.”

“Maybe you really do have the gift of teaching,” you reply, as you stick your tongue into his mouth.

[shititbe]

Anyway, HSM2 is about internalized homophobia, and no one can tell me otherwise.

High School Musical is one of the most beloved franchises in the world. Teenagers all over the world grew up watching Troy and Gabriella harmonize together. Three movies, and nearly a decade later it’s still beloved by all. The first film easily forgotten in the ashes of the early 2000’s, the third film stuck in a purgatorial limbo of the rather unfortunate late 2000’s. The second film on the other hand sticks out between the ruckus. 

The second High School Musical film takes place at Sharpay and Ryan’s family country club, during the summer between junior and senior year. The Wildcats are working summer jobs on the country club, often forced to the beck and call of Ryan and Sharpay themselves. Sharpay uses all her prestige to help Troy with college instead of starting at the bottom ( or rather, in the kitchen washing dishes) with his friends. In the time she’s helping Troy, she is also pushing her brother away; replacing him with Troy in their musical number for the talent show, and refusing to hang out with him in preference for Troy. Ryan becomes vengeful to his twin and starts hanging around the Wildcats in the kitchen. At first, he was met with some distasteful looks and words (most of which from Chad). With the help of Kelsey, and her neutral party, Ryan fits in smoothly with the other teenagers, eventually giving the WildCats all dance lessons.

 Throughout the movie, the main conflict continues to be the internal conflict of Troy Bolton. He debates over and over again if he should go through with Sharpay’s shenanigans, or if he wants to “listen to my own heart.”  This of course involves Gabriella, as she is Troy’s love interest. She’s not in the second film except for the beginning, then, where she leaves in the middle of the film - in order to create angst for Troy - then when she shows up again in the finally to sing/rejoin Troy. 

The conflict in the second film  is the combining of Troy’s two worlds. His first - his main world in the first movie, that hence became his secondary world - which is represented by Chad. Then his secondary world - which becomes his main world in this movie - which is represented by Ryan. Chad represents Troy’s masculinity, or his more idealized version of himself. Ryan represents Troy’s femininity or his current version of reality. These two worlds collide in the iconic song “I don’t dance”.  

Since this movie - and hence this scene - came out in the early 2000’s, a lot of the innuendoes went over people's heads. Luckily, as the children who watched this movie grew older and more experienced, and the world became more accepting, we’re able to see this song for what it is. 

Before getting into the lore and symbolism of the iconic “I Don’t Dance” sequence, context is needed. For most of human history, homosexuality was seen as a sin in all places except ancient times (see: Greece and Japan). The modern age is the most accepting on all fronts, such as sexual orientation, race, and religion. In the early 2000’s, High School Musical director Kenny Ortega was not publicialy out yet. He wouldn’t be till 2014. 

Originally, while writing this, my first thought was  that Kenny - the director - would be using Troy as a y/n type character to project his insecurities and struggles with masculinity, and what that means in defining his orientation and societal views that would be placed upon him. Then, it came to me later that this is in fact not the case, Troy (and Gabriella - who is in fact a y/n character for the female audience) is more of a character for a man of his time, confused with his own ideals of masculinity and the views of society because, “oh god, I can’t like theater/drama because only queer people and girls like it!” The second point is pushed further with the Troy and Sharpay sub-plot. Sharpay tries to further Troy’s career as a basketball player, though that’s not what he wants anymore, and Troy is no longer sure if that is what he ever wanted to begin with (enter the song “Bet on it” and the hilarious meme “no dad, I’m giving up on your dream”). 

Keeping these things in mind - Kenney’s queerness, and Troy’s struggle to realize you can in fact sing and be a heterosexual, wow, revolutionary - it became clear to me that Kenney’s y/n characters were Ryan and Chad. 

For those who aren’t into the arts, or find them too difficult after a singular attempt thinking they could write a world class novel on the first go, let me be the first to tell you every author has a y/n character. First, for those who don’t know what y/n stands for, it’s a popular fanfiction trope where a writer will write a story about a character dating, being friends, and so on, with the reader. The y/n stands for “your name” so anyone can be the main character in this story at any time. For a writer of mainstream fictional work, such as High School Musical, Game Of Thrones, Lord Of The Rings, Pride and Prejudice, Harry Potter, Hunger Games, even most comics. Now, most writers or directors aren’t going to be as obvious as having a character not named (or named y/n) or even named Jane (looking at you Jane Austin), the y/n character of many mainstream authors/directors/comic artists and so on is usually the character they feel or have given the most attributes similar to themselves. 

It’s the same reason people have favourite characters. You see a fictional character and you either 1. Want to Bob the Builder them, 2. Some sort of weird sex thing, or 3. See more/the most of yourself in this character. Number three - thankfully - is usually the main reason. Some people just create their own favourite characters. An even easier way to think about this, is just projection baby, that’s psych 101.   

Before I went off on a small tangent of fictional works and how human emotion plays into creating them (except anything Disney has made in the past decade, and no you can’t change my mind on that) I mentioned that Chad and Ryan are Kenney’s y/n characters. As a queer person myself, it’s clear for me to see the different struggles each of these characters face and how these reflect the queer experience. 

So, let’s finally get into it. 

Ryan, without it being explicitly said is clearly a character of what people in the early 2000s think a gay man is. He is effeminate, wearing bright coloured outfits with lots of accessories - namely his signature hats - he is also in the theater department doing musicals, and passive/subservient to any of his twin sisters' wills. Yes, now we know gay men aren’t just feminized men, but in the early 2000’s a gay man who can do "masculine" things like change their car oil, like sports, and so on, break the "effeminate" stereotype thus confused many cishet people. Sharpay is painted as more confident - or, for sake of comparability - masculine to her twin in the first movie, and most of the second movie. Making Ryan a bit of her dog who would do anything to get by - painting Ryan as lesser than human, once more, playing into the homophobia of the early 2000's.     

Despite the clear stereotypes playing into his character, Ryan is consistently one of the most confident characters in the movie. The other, being his sister of course. This confidence in himself is what gravitates the other characters towards him, either by being intimidated (Troy, thinking Ryan and Gabriella were a thing), or admiration (Chad, by the end of “I don’t dance”). 

Chad, on the other hand, is a whole different ball game. While he is confident in the first movie, and the first portion of the second movie, he begins to break more and more when Ryan becomes a more integral part of the Wildcat group. To keep in mind, Chad is also the most vocal about his distaste for Troy’s artistic past-time. When the other Wildcats join Ryan and begin learning how to dance for the talent show at the end of the movie, Chad is also the most vocal about his distaste. The baseball game where “I don’t dance” takes place, is the climax of Chad’s arc and his turn towards acceptance to Ryan/Troy’s hobbies. 

Of course, there is more to the “I don’t dance” sequence than just Chad’s realization - the exact one Troy comes to terms with in the second movie as well - of “oh my god I don’t have to be gay to enjoy stereotypical ‘feminine’ things.” That is the main part of the song though, that and all the sexual tension. 

Going back to what I’ve stated previously, Chad and Ryan are Kenney’s projection or y/n characters. Let me do a small recap before we get into the nitty gritty of the famous “I don’t dance” video. 

Thinking back to the first few paragraphs, I stated that Kenney wasn’t publicly out till 2014, about 7 years after the second movie came out. This could be due to the fact that a) it’s the early 2000’s and everyones still very homophobic, or b) self-doubt that comes with the queer experience. The most likely reason is a mixture of both of these. Because of this, Ryan is the more self-assured version, or idealized version of Kenney that he wants to be. Ryan is confident, never being swayed about his lifestyle (could be read as: sexuality) even though Chad - and most of the wildcats in the first movie - put him through relentless “teasing” and humiliation. He’s confident, almost to a fault, he’s sure of himself, and yet still reaches out a hand to Chad and the other wildcats to show them that they’re just being, kinda dick-ish. 

Every queer person wants to be Ryan. Despite his heavily stereotyped characterization, I personally believe he is one of the stronger written characters in the movies, mainly due to Kenney putting the time in to really make Ryan feel like a real person, to give himself some sort of relief of his own anxieties, a chance to see the world through a person who truly has no fear. Unlike Kenney himself. 

This is where Chad comes in. 

Chad is seen as “confident” in the first movie, the second Troy “leaves” basketball though, all that confidence comes crashing down. His best friend has another hobby - one he thinks is “not right” (it’s okay, you can say gay), - they wont be spending all their time together (first, can you say dependent relationship much, yikes).Chad’s defining characteristic up until their fight that instigate act three of the second movie, is being Troy’s best friend. I’m going to take this as if this were truly the case, and not a decently written character arch. Some people base themselves around their friends and their whole identity on being a friend, that they lose sight of themselves, this mainly in high school of course, when your whole world is really nothing but school, and friends. Newly developed independence is there, but that’s scary, so instead of worrying about the future, cling to something that’s reliable. I’ve seen this happen, mainly at the end of high school, when the “real world” is coming a bit too close for comfort. This could generally be the case if a person is lonely, but for timeline sake I’m going to say Chad has got some anxiety about graduating (considering the second movie takes place the summer of junior year). 

His lashing out at Troy’s hobbies and at Troy’s neglectful friendship, make more sense with that background, and are seen more in the second movie where Troy begins spending all his spare time with Sharpay (trying to collect that BAG!). Chad - and others (read: father) - insists that music is not a feasible career option, and Troy should just stick with basketball (like...that is a feasible career option). The tension Chad creates in the studio only grows when the other wildcats decide to take up Ryan’s offer for dance lessons and move from the kitchen, to helping out with the talent show. (Next essay idea: how high school musical two was really about class all along, cause Jesus). 

 Chad is the less obvious option for a y/n character. Though again, the 2000’s were not as cool people like to pretend they are. Chad - for Kenney - represents what he actually feels, this fear of being rejected for how he is and how he chooses to live his life/lifestyle, so he sticks to something reliable. Ryan is new, and exciting, and confident in a way that Kenney/Chad wish they could be, but in order for that to happen they need to understand that maybe people are complex creatures, and can enjoy multiple hobbies (aka: the same lesson Troy is teaching the viewers, but far less boring). But, for Kenney/Chad facing that thought and that realization is scary, and thus, they lash out at anyone (read this paragraph as: Chad mad jealous of Ryan cause Ryan bomb as fuck). 

All this build up, finally comes ahead in the employee baseball match 

                                                       ******

The baseball game is probably the most memorable scene in the whole High School Musical franchise (minus Sharpay’s “Fabulous” solo, but that’s also from the same movie, and it’s kinda rude to give what’s already the best more points); the tension in the scene, and what it implies makes it the best written segment of all three movies, let alone the most entertaining. 

Some things to keep in mind from our background information: Chad is missing his bestie and struggling with what being “masculine” really means for him and others. Ryan of course makes this confusing, because the traditional method is being thrown out the window. In short, Chad has internalized homophobia, and Ryan being open - or as open as Disney would let him - is causing all sorts of problems. 

Despite the song, “I don’t dance” being logged into our collective skulls for all eternity (you’re probably humming it right now, sorry about that), the very brief interaction of Ryan and Chad before the game is lost on the public consciousness. The two are clearly comfortable with each other, though the distaste seems to be on Chad’s side more than Ryans. So, the two start playfully jabbing at each other before deciding to do a bat toss to see who will be in the outfield first. 

Before they begin the bat toss, Ryan says “You don’t think dancing takes some game?” Chad then very clearly checks him out, doing a simple but effective ‘drag-your-eyes-over-them-top-to-bottom-then-smile’ and says “you got game?” (Seen in gif below) 

I don’t know how much you know about sex metaphors and how many of those baseball has in it (seriously though, it’s a lot), but with the bat toss, Ryan’s hand ended up on top, and Chad’s under Ryan’s. Let’s ignore this for now, it’ll be implied again later. Ryan’s team starts out in the outfield because he won the bat toss, and hence, the song officially starts. 

The first lyrics (ignoring the chores of “hey batter batter, hey batter batter, swing”) is 

I'll show you that it's one and the same

Baseball, dancing, same game

It's easy

Step up to the place, start swingin  

This part is sung by Ryan, who is taunting Chad out in the outfield. Before the game, as stated, Chad was taunting Ryan about his lack of “game” (both sexual and not sexual metaphor are implied), and now, Ryan has turned those tables around. Baseball - is seen as more masculine than dancing, not as masculine as football or basketball, but it’s up there. Chad is someone who cares about his masculinity, enough to the point that Ryan playing baseball makes him loose his mind. Makes him question his own personal definition of masculinity, if you will. 

Ryan says, “baseball, dancing, same game,” impyling that, to him, baseball and dancing are one and the same. That is baffling to Chad, cause well, how can something meant for girls even be close to something meant for boys. 

Chad comes back with: 

 I wanna play ball now, and that's all

This is what I do

It ain't no dance that you can show me, yeah

This only proves my previous point. 

I had a conversation with myself about this, and I’ve decided not to include it in this essay, but a second essay may or may not be possible. Basically the premise - the dancing/”musical” moments of High School Musical are conjured up images by those meant to see them (ie: like a visual hallucination, but, not really) but this scene kinda poo-poos that idea. 

Now, the thing I am talking about is Ryan and Chad’s  peacocking at each other during the time they sing these lyrics. The movements they’re making could be mistaken for dancing - as we automatically assume it is because of the title and themes of the movie - or it could be them just getting ready for the baseball game. Ryan swings his leg over the pitcher's mound, tossing the ball up and down into his glove, making wavy hand gestures, etc. Chad brushes off his gloves, swings his legs, hits the bat on each foot, and so on. 

For the peacocking, Chad makes a mock of the ballerina foot stance before strutting over to the home plate. Ryan laughs at this, which earns quite the smirk from Chad himself (see gif below). 

This is when it becomes a conversation.   

You'll never know - R

Oh I know - Ch

If you never try - R

There's just one little thing - Ch

That stops me every time, yeah - Ch

Come on - Ch

When Chad says “Come on” it’s when Ryan throws the baseball at him, starting the game, and giving Chad’s team their first strike of the game (get it, it’s funny). Now, obviously we need to talk about the “there’s just one little thing that stops me every time.” As a queer person, I assure you, two of the things that kept me from living my Best Life were 1) my own ignorance of what asexuality was and 2) the fear that everyone I love would hate me for who I am, and what I have no control over. 

Sorry to get deep like that on main, but, can any other queer person say different? Obviously, your first point may differ, but my point still stands. In the video/scene there is a very short moment (to which I have condensed into a gif for you all, you’re welcome, and I’m sorry about the quality in advance), of the camera moving over to Chad’s team (or his friends in this case since it’s an employee baseball game) as he says this line (gif below). 

I will not be explaining the use of subtly in this essay, but I’m sure you get the metaphor Kenney is trying to use. If not, let me spell it out for you in very simple words. This song has a lot of sexual innuendos (as mentioned pervious with the baseball bat scene and still, more to come), with that in mind, and clearly queer themes at play (as mentioned before, again), this scene only shows Chad isn’t as straight as he leads on. His fear/phobia of Ryan/the arts come from a much deeper place. 

In shorter, and much simpler terms: Chad queer. 

But, let’s get back to the boy's conversation. 

I don't dance - Ch

I know you can - R 

Not a chance, no - Ch 

If I could do this, well, you could do that - R 

Translation: “If I can do this weird, sweaty, dirty, Male thing without blowing a fuse, you can and should be able to dance just fine.” 

But I don't dance - Ch 

Hit it out of the park - Both 

I don't dance - Ch

I say you can - R

There's not a chance, oh - Ch

Slide home, you score, swingin on the dance floor - Both

I don't dance, no - Ch  (This is just the chores, you’ll see it multiple times throughout the essay, I just figured if the song is going to be in your head, go all the way right). 

Two-steppin, now you're up to bat - R

Bases loaded, do your dance - R 

Here we are with the baseball metaphors you’ve all been waiting for ladies and gentlemen. Girls, gays, and non-binary pals. For those who have somehow managed a sheltered existence with access to the internet, lemme help you. Ryan is talking about “loaded bases” both in the context of the game (where it shows each base has one person from Chad’s team on them) and in the term of sex. While you go out there dating - while it’s mostly douche bags and people using it ironically - your nosey friends may ask you how far you got. 

“First, second, or third base?” They may ask. Or something like, “oh wow, did you get to home plate/base?” These are simply the rankings of the stages of a sexual relationship. First - kissing, sometimes just handholding, Second - making out, some light groping, Third - full on groping, no clothes come off, but it gets close. While each person has different boundaries, these are the general accepted definitions for the bases. 

Home base is obviously full blown sexual intercourse. Since Chad has his “bases loaded” it means he’s done all these things before, just never gone completely to sexual intercourse with someone - in the terms of the song and the history we’ve already established, it’s most likely a male character. This is only proven by Chad’s uncomfortable nature towards Ryan (internalized Homophobia, thank you, returning theme) but his easy, and cocky personality towards everyone else. “bUt thAt DoEsnT pRovE” hush, that’s the final cherry on top. Remember this conversation. 

It's easy - R  

Again. Previous points have been made.  

Take your best shot, just hit it - Ch 

I've got what it takes, playin my game - Ch

So you better spin that pitch - Ch 

You're gonna throw me, yeah - Ch 

I'll show you how I swing - Ch

Ah, the famous “I’ll show you how i swing” a very strong baseball metaphor for everyone. Keeps queer people from defining themselves to dangerous (straight) people, and, well, that’s it actually. This term is mostly used by bi/pan people, though if you want to stay in the closet or are in a dangerous place, it is also used to subtly tell other queer people you are in fact, not straight. My favourite is when this term came into play when President Buchanan got elected in 1856 (for those that don’t know, he’s the first and only gay president). 

You'll never know - R

Oh I know - Ch

If you never try - R 

There's just one little thing - Ch

That stops me every time, yeah - Ch 

This is again, the same lyric as before it doesn’t pan, and the tone is much different. The camera stays on Chad as he says this line, meaning he’s reflecting, he is now his own problem, the person that is keeping him back. His friends are not on his mind anymore, which is good, Ryan’s Gay Propaganda has been working. 

Come on - Ch

I don't dance - Ch

I know you can - R

Not a chance, no, no - Ch

If I could do this, well, you could do that - R

But I don't dance - Ch

Hit it out of the park - R

I don't dance - Ch

I say you can - R

There's not a chance, oh no - Ch

Slide home, you score, swingin on the dance floor - Both 

I don't dance, no - Ch

Lean back, tuck it in, take a chance - R

Swing it out, spin around, do the dance - R

I wanna play ball, not dance hall - Ch

I'm makin a triple, not a curtain cal - Chl

I can prove it to you til you know it's true - R

'Cause I can swing it, I can bring it to the diamond too - R

You're talkin a lot, show me what you got - Ch

Again, like the beginning of this song, this is a heavy base for flirting and sexual tension, which this song is drowning in. 

Stop swinging - both

Hey - both

This is the part where they all start a flash mob in the middle of the baseball diamond. Again, alluding to the conversation I had to myself earlier, this only proves my own theory as no one takes notice of this. But, that’s not this essay, this is where I mention how close Chad and Ryan are at the end of the group dance.  

Come on, swing it like this - both

Oh, swing - both

Jitterbug, just like that - both

That's what I mean, that's how you swing - both

You make a good pitch but I don't believe - both 

Here is yet another (and the final) sexual innuendo. This is actually a rather quick one. Pitching in queer culture is considered the person who tops (because queer people even had to straight-ify their sex lives to “top” and “bottom”), this is the person who is giving, if you know what I’m saying. 

I say you can - R

I know I can't - Ch

I don't dance - Ch

You can do it - R

I don't dance, no - Ch 

 Here is where that mosh pit ends, and how they get a little too close to comfort. 

Nothing to it, atta boy, atta boy, yeah - both

The rest of this song is simply a mash-up of the baseball game being finished, and this lovely gem. 

Now, clearly, Chad’s self conscious nature towards his sexuality is gone, he’s sitting close - if not squishing - Ryan, and talking to him like they’ve been friends forever. Take note of the change of close, most likely due to all the tension at the end of the song, and maybe a little of Chad’s own natural human curiosity built in. Now, I leave you with this note: 

If there is anything that confirms all this more, its Chad’s girlfriend wearing the pride colours. 

Also note: this could also be seen as a friend helping his bro discover his sexuality and fighting internalized homophobia, but, that’s ignoring the sexual tension, so go off I guess. 

Thank you for coming to my TED talk.  

Watch the full thing here

[fruitoftheweek]

Little Cherry Book:

Chapter 1: Who is She?

Chapter 2 Here/ Chapter 3 Here

I guess this is a Switch!Spencer (mainly Sub! Spencer)X reader fan fiction this is my first fan fiction I’ve written since middle school so bare with me and feel free to message me constructive criticism. This will probs be multiple chapters but I just couldn’t get this idea off of my mind so here we go! And yes this season 1/2 Spencer because he is just the cutest!

Pairing: Spencer Reid X reader

Plot: Doctor Spencer Reid has heard of little black books, but that pales in comparison to what he has just found in the BAU’s elevator. A sweetly scented notebook filled with salacious journal entries illustrating the writer's sexual fantasies. He doesn’t know what it is about this book but all he can think of is finding its owner.

TLDR: Spencer finds your kinky notebook and uses super sleuth skills to find you.

Series TW: 18+, smut, degradation, piercing, choking, knife play, mommy/daddy kinks, spanking, exhibitionism, Will update as time goes on

Chapter TW: Cumming in pants, Hinting at sex, exhibitionism, no panties, Language, General 18+, Hinting at future kinks

Word Count: 2,439 (gah damn)

𝒯𝒪 𝒲𝐻𝒪𝑀 𝐼𝒯 𝒞𝒪𝒩𝒞𝐸𝑅𝒩𝒮:

𝒟𝑜 𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹, 𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓂𝓎 𝓈𝒶𝓀𝑒, 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇𝓈. 𝐼 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝒷𝑒 𝓌𝓇𝒾𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓂𝓎 𝓃𝒶𝓂𝑒 𝒾𝓃 𝒸𝒶𝓈𝑒 𝒾𝓉 𝒸𝑜𝓂𝑒𝓈 𝒾𝓃𝓉𝑜 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝓇𝑜𝓃𝑔 𝒽𝒶𝓃𝒹𝓈. 𝐼𝒻 𝒾𝓉 𝒸𝑜𝓂𝑒𝓈 𝒾𝓃𝓉𝑜 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓇𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝒽𝒶𝓃𝒹𝓈, 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝒻𝒾𝓃𝒹 𝓂𝑒. 𝐼𝒻 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝒾𝓃𝓊𝑒, 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓈𝒽𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝒷𝑒 𝒸𝓊𝓇𝓈𝑒𝒹, 𝒷𝑜𝓉𝒽 𝒾𝓃 𝒶 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒸𝒽𝓎 𝓌𝒶𝓎 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓉𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓎. 𝒴𝑜𝓊 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝒷𝑒𝑒𝓃 𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝑒𝒹.

As Spencer read these sentences, he paused. Not for the warning of so-called curses, there was no scientific evidence for such things and Spencer knew magic was just science with a trick of the eye, but for the vehement warning making him feel intruding on whoever had left their journal in the elevator.

It had caught his eye as he stepped into the elevator on his way out of the office. As someone who had lost plenty of books in his days roaming the halls of the BAU, he knew how frustrating it was to not know what happened at the end. As he picked it up, he noticed the cover. It was old, bound in aged cherry red leather, yet too small to be more than a pocketbook. He had found your message while searching for a name to return the book to, and simply reading the first page already felt prying.

Alas, one sentence enticed him “If it comes into the right hands, You can find me.” Where his hands the right ones to come into? The probability of that could be found easily by calculating how many people got on and off of this specific elevator that day, no, in the past hour, with the hustle and bustle of people leaving for the day. Spencer could and he would calculate it he wasn’t so distracted by the message and his voracity to solve this mystery.

Tentatively, he flipped the page, finding a handwritten table of contents. This book had obviously been very important to the reader if they had taken the time to write in page numbers, detailed headings, and chapters. The table was nearly full of chapter titles in scrawled cursive lettering. His eyes stopped on the first chapter title. “Male Needs” with shakey lettering. He could tell by your handwriting that you grew more confident in your journaling as the chapters progressed, the hesitations in your strokes growing few and far between.

As he flipped the page once more he had reached the next floor and a large group of people bustled into the elevator. Spencer shied away from them, not just because he had an aversion to contact with strangers and their germs, but because of the sentences, he had read underneath that first chapter “I do not need a man, a man needs me. Yet, when I am with a man, I have needs. Needs that most men can’t fulfill. I need a man that eats pussy like it’s the only way to quench his thirst-“ and with that Spencer slammed the book shut, earning some confused looks from the others on the elevator. He should have heeded the warning because now all he could think about was the fact that this was your nervous entry and as your confidence grew, it was bound to escalate from there. He wasn’t sure if it was his flustered mind or the heat growing deep from inside him that made him feel dirty; not because it scandalized him, but because these were someone’s fantasies and he had intruded in their secrets and soiled them with his mind.

Ding! He had reached the ground floor and that was when he decided to leave it alone. He couldn’t bring it to the lost and found as it would be more likely to end up in the wrong hands there and your secrets would be for someone else to find, not that he even knew who you were.

On his drive home, he tried to think of anything else besides the book. His lunch, Garcia’s new item she added to her collection, how to get back at Derek for putting salt in the sugar container, but his mind kept wandering. It didn’t help that the notebook sat tauntingly on top of his satchel as if saying “Open me, you know you want to. You want to know who I am. You can find me.” There was no way that it had been there for that long as the janitor was on duty today and he had been on the elevator two hours ago on his way to clean the top floor. Since Spencer had left a little later than most people that meant there were multiple elevators full of people who would have noticed. He knew it wasn’t so but part of him felt as if you had left it there specifically for him to find. Like it was made for him. He quickly shook off the thought and went back to who it could be. He wanted to return it without reading any more. You clearly would miss it but he couldn’t imagine you wanted others to know about what lay in those folded corners of your book and your mind.

As he walked up the steps of his complex, he clutched onto the notebook with all of his strength, he feared that he would look down and it would have disappeared, he wanted to keep your deepest secrets safe as if they were his own. He was only able to relinquish his grip when he shut and locked the door to his apartment. He set it on the table as he got prepared for the night. By now he had limited his pool to 54 women who were regularly in and out of the elevator at that time of day which was a cut down in comparison to the 860 roughly women in that building on any given day. But that number still wasn’t small enough. He had to minimize the sample size even further. That was the only reason he reopened to the table of contents, right? Not because of his own morbid curiosity and definitely not because of the heat burning in his stomach.

He looked down at the page numbers, still too nervous to look at the titles, and saw that each entry was a page long consisting of 23 entries and one with a title but no page numbers. Not chapters as he previously thought but entries giving lascivious details into what he had not yet mustered up the courage to read. He was still unable to look at the titles in fear of what he might find. If graphic depictions of female oral sex were displayed under “Male Needs”, what possibly could lie ahead.

For now, he studied the handwriting. Cursive, not often used by many younger women, was often associated with antiquities and traditional values but he noticed something off. There was a very specific curl to certain numbers. Every even number had a specific extra curl or flourish to it and the zeros had a line through it like a “do not enter” sign. This went directly against the hypothesis that you were an older woman that the cursive provided; as many older women who wrote in cursive stuck to the rules even when it came to numbers. She wasn’t old enough to even be Hotch’s age but she appreciated the charm of the past. 'Who is this girl?' Spencer wondered. He was able to narrow it down to about half of his previous lot, excluding the women on his team. He had seen them write enough to know their handwriting inside and out. And while Garcia’s had similar flourishes to yours, she never crossed her zeros.

Spencer knew that he would have to read at least the chapter titles to grasp a better understanding of your handwriting and who you could possibly and as his eyes scanned the page, for the first time in a while he was actually reading slowly; putting all of his focus into each word and what order they were in. Unfortunately, his focus was his downfall. His face became so hot that he felt as if you could see steam coming off of it.

Table of contents:

Male Needs

Praise

Degradation

Mommy

Daddy

Work

Exhibition

Choking

Collars

Breeding

And that was all he could take. Ha couldn’t look at the thirteen and a half more entries, even this much knocked the wind out of him. He didn’t have much experience with women and certainly not enough to understand what all of those words necessarily entailed but he knew that whatever it was keeping his internal fire roaring with heat.

While he hated snooping, he knew he would need more information. He chose the chapter that sounded the most mundane out of all of them, "Work." ‘What was more normal than work.’ he thought, but he was so sorely mistaken.

"Work:

"Before I move on to exhibitionism, I have to talk about work. Yes, I would love to have sex at work where I and my partner are one step away from getting caught, I haven’t done that yet. I want to tell you what I have done. Almost every day I go to work wondering if the others can tell that I’m not wearing underwear.”

His heat spread from his face down until it pooled in his loins and his cock became hard imagining this mystery girl walking the halls of the BAU with a breeze in her skirt, nearly exposing the secret that lied beneath. Had he sat next to you when you were partaking in this activity? What would he have done if your skirt bunched up your thigh as you sat, exposing the tan lines where your underwear should be. Would he be able to see you in your tight work pants with no pantie lines and be the only one who truly knows your secret?

“I kinda want to be caught someday by Him. I wonder what he would do. Would he tell me off for being unprofessional? Would he take me to that storage closet 3 doors past Garcia’s office, just far enough away that he could teach me a lesson for being naughty at work?”

He felt so dirty, inserting himself into the fantasies of a girl which he did not even know that he almost glanced across the use of Him, capital H.i.m. He wanted to indulge in his imagination that in some way or another that the “Him” in question was in fact the man reading this with trembling hands and an impossibly hard cock. He couldn’t stop himself from imagining situations in the storage closet that he regularly used as a reading nook when he needed time away from the others.

He rested his head on the pages of the book, hoping somehow that his dirty thoughts would be transplanted from his head and back into the pages so that he could stop thinking about you. His efforts were thwarted as this action meant that he could spoil himself in your scent that enveloped the book. As if you had wrapped it in the deepest most vulnerable part of you to hide it away from others. You smelled of bergamot, patchouli, and musk but deeper than that, you smelled like sweet, tart berries and honeysuckle in summer. There was something else that he couldn’t put his finger on at first but it was intoxicating all of his senses. It was saccharine, heat, and sex all combined in one. When it clicked, it no longer felt as if his head was pressed against a book but as if his he sat kneeling on the ground with his cheek resting in your inner thigh, your hot sex waiting for his indulgence, “like it's the only way to quench his thirst” echoed in his brain. The scent was your natural pheromones beckoning him closer with the promise of a treat.

And that was it. That was what sent him over the edge. The purest embodiment of your scent had him cumming, hot in his pants.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You sat down at the edge of your bed after a long day at work; shucking off your work clothes to get as comfy as you could in your PJs as a way to unwind from the day. You went to grab your lip balm from your bag and noticed that the front pocket of your bag had been left open. You instantly panicked, searching everywhere for your little red book. The one that kept the key to your deepest secrets and darkest fantasies. You tore your bag apart, knowing that you had it at the end of your workday because you took it out of your desk drawer and tucked it back into its home in your bag. You cursed your carelessness for not double-checking that you zipped your bag before leaving. With your forgetfulness, you knew it would happen one day but you didn't realize it would be this soon.

There was an odd mix in your heart and your stomach. Part of you felt your heart drop through your ass thinking that it had ended up in the wrong hands, part of you had butterflies thinking about someone knowing the deepest parts of you, intimately in your own words. You had the assurance that your name was nowhere to be seen in the book but you also knew that you worked with people who analyzed people's dark desires for a living. While none of your fantasies involved murder, they were like precious gems that you kept locked away in your heart. You couldn't dare imagine what would happen if it came into His hands. While you were the youngest at the BAU, only by a few months and you weren't even part of the group because you were still tentative, you couldn't put your dirty thoughts into the innocent head of the pretty boy genius. It was almost more worrisome than if SSA Hotchner or Gideon found it and you were fired. The idea of tainting someone so pure...

You had to literally shake your head to clear your thoughts. Imagining His face tinged red in innocence reading through your lewd writing had your head in a tizzy. Imagining Doctor Spencer Reid sifting through the pages with lightning-fast fingers, stroking down the pages of smut as you had imagined him stroking down your thighs so many times before. You decided to bury your head in your pillow, hoping that would calm your mind enough to slip into slumber.

Unfortunately for you both, your efforts would be fruitless and you would both go to sleep unknowingly thinking of each other.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter 2 Here/ Chapter 3 here

And that's Chapter one. Hope y'all like it. LMK in my messages and all that <3 have a great week!

[axoxtxhxh]

Pairing: Sub!Goshiki x DomFem! Chubby!Reader Part 1 Summary: You met your good friend Goshiki at work one day, having similar interests in books. When you start developing feelings for him, things get difficult. Especially when he asks a special favor. Content: Body image issues

A/N: Thank you for following along! We’re now on our fourth week of stories! Both virginity loss stories are three parts. The second part will release on Wednesday and the third part on Friday. Be sure to check out @millenialfanfictionaddiction​s story Oikawa’s Oasis! You can reach it through the Please Me Series Masterlist. Feedback is appreciated!

This wasn’t the way it was supposed to happen. It wasn’t supposed to be like this at all. It wasn’t like you had your whole life planned out, in fact, it was quite the opposite. You didn’t know what you were doing half the time and you had reached a point in your life where you were kind of okay with that. While there were good things you tried to bring into your life, there was an even longer list of bad things you tried to keep out.

After hitting your late twenties, you decided it was important to take care of yourself. Getting rid of toxic friendships and focusing on your mental and physical health became your priority. You were doing a great job, as much as the rolls on your stomach and all over chubby look you had attested against it.

One of the other things you decided to finally pursue was your dream of being a romance novelist. You quit your nine-to-five day job that you hated and started working at your favorite bookstore in town while your nights were spent writing. The support you had from your friends at the bookstore was way more than you could ever have imagined. Even your boss loved hearing about your story ideas.

“You look tired.” Your boss, Dylan, joked as you walked into the breakroom, ready to start your shift.

“I was up late last night writing.” You hung up your jacket in your locker. “I could really use some… cof…fee.”

Your eyes lit up as you saw the full cup of coffee in your boss’s hand, extended to you. It was from your favorite shop down the street.

“How did you know I wanted coffee? Are you even real?” You took the cup and gulped down half of it.

“You forget, I’m your beta reader.” He laughed. “When you’re up writing, I’m up reading. You’re welcome, by the way.”

“Thank you!” You held the cup up to him, then took another big gulp.

“You get another tattoo?” He asked, eyeing your arm as you closed your locker. You looked down at your arm and smiled.

“Yep. Trying to finish up this sleeve.”

“I have a question.” He leaned back in his chair, his hands resting in his lap. “Why don’t you ever write with characters that look like you?”

“People like me don’t get to have romances like those in the books.” You shrugged and headed out to the floor.

The morning mid-shift was always your favorite. As much as you hated getting up early, the bookstore was at its quietest then and you could relax with your coworkers. You spotted your favorite co-worker manning the help desk and focusing on something on the other side of the bookstore.

“What are you looking at?”

“Shh…” They put their fingers to their lips. “I don’t want him to know I see him.”

“See who? What are you talking about?” You whispered, trying not to expose yourselves even though you still didn’t know what you were looking at.

“That guy.” They pointed and your eyes followed the direction of their finger to see a tall figure in the magazine section, his hood up, mask on and wearing sunglasses. You could see black bangs peeking out under the hood.

“So why don’t you want him to know you see him?”

“In case he’s stealing.” They whisper-yelled and you laughed.

“I’ll just go talk to him.” You stood up straight and made your way over. He looked a little less shady up close because you could see that he was lost in his reading and didn’t even really notice you being there.

When you first walked up, you saw him reading one of the car magazines from the shelf, but now that you were closer, you could see he had a book inside the magazine and was reading the book.

“You know, normally people put the magazine in the book, not the other way around.” You leaned closer to him and he jumped back, shrieking as he dropped the magazine and the book. He backed away from you and if he didn’t have his entire face covered with a mask and sunglasses, you could only imagine his eyes wide and his mouth open.

The magazine was all bent on the ground and you leaned over to pick it up along with the book. You could only imagine what he was reading that he had it hidden in a car magazine. Putting the magazine back on the shelf, you looked at the cover of the book. Romance?

“Were you reading this?” You held the book up to him with a smile.

“No.” He shook his head back and forth anxiously.

“Then why is it here?”

“It fell.”

“From where?” You questioned.

“Alright fine, I was reading it.”

He dropped his head low and you gasped sarcastically, your hand to your chest. “No! Really? I would never have guessed.”

“Very funny.” You laughed, looking back down at the book.

“So why are you hiding then? Or did you not notice there’s only like two other people shopping.” You gestured to the rest of the store. “Or maybe you couldn’t see well with those incredibly dark sunglasses.”

“That’s not it.” He pulled off the sunglasses and mask, dropping the hood to his sweatshirt as he looked around the store nervously. “I just don’t want anyone to know I’m reading it.”

“What’s wrong with it?” You looked at the book. It was one of your favorites. “This is a great book.”

His eyes widened as he quickly looked back to you. “You like romance novels?”

“I love them. I’m trying to write one actually. This one has given me a lot of inspiration for my current story.”

“That’s so cool.” He smiled, looking really amazed, you weren’t sure by what though.

“So, let me get this straight.” You narrowed your eyes skeptically. “You come in here to secretly read these romance novels because you don’t want people to know you’re reading them?”

“Yes.”

“Why don’t you just buy it and read it at home?”

“I have a roommate and I don’t want him to know.”

“You could go to the library.”

“They don’t have the ones I like and they don’t release as quickly as you guys do.”

“How long have you been doing this?” His mouth opened and he turned away, looking nervous by the question so you changed the subject. “Never mind. Honestly, as long as you’re not stealing or planning to steal, you can read however you’d like.”

You stepped back, adjusting the unorganized magazines, and turned to walk back to your station.

“Well, wait.” He went to grab your arm, but thought better and pulled back as you turned around. “You said you write.”

“Yes.” You nodded at him.

“Can I read your stuff?”

“Why would I let you read my work?” You laughed slightly uncomfortably. It was a weird question. He doesn’t know anything about you or your writing. You could actually suck at it. “I don’t even know you.”

“Goshiki.” He put his hand out with a smile and you shook it, telling him your name. “So we’re friends now?”

You started laughing. You couldn’t believe this guy. Friends? You met less than two minutes ago because he was being a creep in your store.

“You don’t have to laugh.” He grumbled.

“Why do you want to read my work so badly? You don’t know me. It could very well suck.”

“I just don’t have anyone to talk to about this stuff. I’ve been reading these books for years. I tried to avoid them in high school because I knew I would get made fun of, but I’ve never met anyone in person that likes them too. Not since you.”

The look on his face made you feel so guilty. Why did you have to have such a big heart? The guy just wants to talk about romance novels. He also had a point. You barely knew anyone that liked romance novels and you worked at a book store. Honestly, you could use a second opinion. Dylan had no idea what he was talking about half the time.

“Fine.” You sighed and he started smiling.

“Really?”

“Yes, but I’m not letting you read it without me watching. The last thing I need is you to steal my ideas.”

“That’s perfect.” He pulled out his phone. “There’s a coffee shop just down the street I like. We can meet there. Can I have your number?”

“Are you talking about Milstead?” You took his phone and typed your information, handing him your phone.

“Yeah, you know it?”

“Know it? I love it. I practically keep them in business.”

That’s where your friendship with the weird guy in the bookstore started. You weren’t so stuck in middle school that you would call him your best friend, but he was definitely your best friend. You had even caught him calling you his best friend to your coworkers and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t have you smiling.

You had never gotten along with someone so immediately the way you did with Goshiki. You had an endless list of similar interests, from favorite books to your favorite coffee shop. You even had the same oddball order from the café. Though, you were both pretty sure that he accidentally got your order once and liked it so much he continued ordering it.

It didn’t take long for you both to start hanging out nearly every day and he started coming into the bookstore to talk to you rather than actually reading the novels he loved. After a couple weeks you trusted him enough to email him your work and it was only a month into your friendship before he was going over to your apartment to hang out regularly.

“Don’t you think it’s weird how close you’ve gotten?” Dylan asked as he helped stock the shelves. He had been wondering how your writing was going and if you were going to finish the latest chapter you had been working on. When you told him Goshiki was coming over to your place later so it wouldn’t get done, he worried.

“I don’t think it’s weird. Is it?” You didn’t feel uncomfortable. Honestly, Goshiki didn’t give off any of the red flags you were so used to seeing in people. He was genuinely a nice person who loved the same things as you.

“I don’t know. You just so happen to love all the same things?” He paused his stocking and looked at you. “Are you sure he doesn’t just have feelings for you and maybe he’s pretending to like the same things as you?”

“Stop trying to put me in my romance novel.” You laughed. “Guys don’t do that for me.”

Later that night you were in your kitchen waiting for Goshiki to get there. You had done something so stupid, something so completely thoughtless that you knew would ruin your mood yet you couldn’t resist the torture apparently. You weighed yourself. The level of fluctuating your weight did was honestly unbelievable. You always had good days when it was down, but days like today when it was up, you couldn’t help but let it sour your mood.

There was a knock at the door before it opened up and Goshiki walked in. You hadn’t given him a key or anything, but it was only a matter of time before you both hit that step.

“I brought Oreos.” He smiled, setting the container on the counter, pulling it open and eating one. He grabbed a second one and split it open, handing you the side without the cream. “Here.”

“You can have my side.” You tried to smile.

“But you always eat my half that doesn’t have cream.”

“It’s fine.” You shook your head. “I shouldn’t be eating it.”

“Shouldn’t be eating it? Are you sick?” He pulled another Oreo from the container and ate it in one bite. He was honestly so lucky he could eat whatever he wanted.

“No just watching my weight. I sort of fell back into some old habits.”

“What’s wrong with your weight? You look great.”

“Let’s get started on the story.” You tried to change the subject.

“Did you finish the chapter?” Goshiki’s eyes were wide and he spit the dryness of the cookies from his mouth out of excitement. You laughed as he quickly covered his mouth. “Sorry.”

“Maybe.” You smiled coyly, grabbing his hand and he grabbed the Oreo container. “Come on.”

Moving to the couch, you sat on the end, Goshiki plopping next to you, and you put your laptop in his lap. There was a tiny bit of anxiety building in your stomach as you sat there watching him read and you were pretty sure part of it was what Dylan had said earlier. Was it possible that Goshiki had feelings for you? You watched as he put another Oreo in his mouth, his eyes glued to screen of your computer, scanning back and forth as he read. You weren’t even sure if he was blinking, the glow of the monitor shining onto his eyes. There was no way someone could be that into you to fake that look of concentration.

You smiled to yourself and kept watching him read. This chapter had a pretty steamy scene in it but you’d known Goshiki long enough and seen him read enough of your work to know that it didn’t matter what he was reading, his expression never changed. His eyes were always wide with interest, mouth closed in a pout.

He put another Oreo in and you watched him as he chewed, his jaw working. You could see the sharp, jagged edges of the cookie through his cheek until it eventually became a smooth, round bump and he swallowed it, reaching for another.

Propping your head up on your hand on the back of the couch, you continued watching him. He was definitely good-looking. You had noticed how good-looking he was the first day you saw him in the magazine section, hiding his romance novel. Not wanting to interrupt him, you tried not to laugh, but definitely couldn’t hold back the smile as you thought about the memory. Would it be so bad if he did have feelings for you? You had dated some really terrible guys in the past. Goshiki wouldn’t even be close to the list those guys were on.

He licked his lips, wiping Oreo crumbs from his mouth and you licked your own lips, swallowing hard as you watched him. You liked the same food, the same coffee, the same books, you had so many hobbies that overlapped and you could honestly spend hours with him without getting bored. You started to think that maybe you were feeling anxious not because of what Dylan thought of Goshiki, but maybe what you were feeling about him. Was it maybe you that had feelings for Goshiki?

“Wow, that was such a good—” He turned to look at you but noticed something in your face, an expression he wasn’t sure of. “Everything okay?”

You had made a lot of questionable decisions in your life, some of them you regretted, some led you to the most amazing times. This last year especially was a time of making really great decisions, cleaning out the bad and bringing in the good. You weren’t sure which direction this decision was going to take you, but you leaned into Goshiki anyway. His eyes went a little wide as your lips barely touched. You wanted to give him time to pull away if he wanted, but he didn’t and that made you push yourself the last inch until your lips met his.

Soft, plush, velvety lips pressed against yours and for an instant you were taken out of the moment, your head swirling with a mix of feelings, amazing feelings that you weren’t even sure you could separate but it didn’t matter because the cocktail they created in your head made you feel drunk, stupidly drunk as you kissed him. Your heart was pounding in your chest and you pulled back.

“Oh my—I’m sorry—I don’t—"

“No, it… it feels good.” He brought his hands up to your cheeks and pushed his lips against yours again, this time without any hesitation. You never knew the feeling of his nose touching yours or the little puffs of his breath against your face, or just how warm, calloused, and big his hands would feel against your cheek. Suddenly you were feeling them all at once and you pulled him closer, your tongue licking over his lips until he opened his mouth.

He dropped his hand to your waist, rubbing at the fleshiness of your body and you couldn’t stop the heavy beating of your heart. The awkwardness you had briefly worried about didn’t exist, it was only bliss. It was the best kind of overwhelming and you wanted more of him.

Pushing the laptop to the other side of him, you lifted yourself up until you could climb over him, straddling his lap. His hands immediately went to your plump hips, cradling them, but again you wanted more and you scooted yourself closer.

“Uh—I…” He gasped, sitting back from you.

“Is this too fast?”

“I’ve just never—I mean, I don’t know how—I’ve never—reading it is totally different.”

“Are you okay?” He kind of looked like he was shutting down. He was saying a lot, but none of it was complete and made no sense to you.

His eyes widened as he whispered quietly to himself. “Holy shit, my dick’s hard.”

“Goshi—”

“I have to go.” He started standing up with you in his lap and you quickly moved out of the way so he could get up. “I’m sorry. I just… I have to go.”

He didn’t even turn around to look at you as he moved hurriedly to the front door of your apartment. You heard the door quickly open and close and you couldn’t even let yourself feel bad. You were just confused.

It was possible you misread the situation, but he seemed really into it. Maybe he changed his mind partway through. You didn’t want to think about you being the problem, but it was hard to ignore. He felt your weight. You sat on his lap and he held you and maybe he finally realized that you didn’t ‘look great’ like he always told you.

You sighed, sitting back on the couch and running your fingers through your hair. You had done so much this last year to better yourself. This wasn’t the way it was supposed to happen. It wasn’t supposed to be like this at all. Great decisions would lead to great opportunities and you were trying to bring good things into your life. Falling for your best friend was not on that list, yet here you were.

Shit.

.....

@chaotic-nick​ @yep-seeyalaterbranflakes​ @serostapesweat​ @lovelyzabrak-meadow​

[jackrrabbit]

Short Leash /// Lev x f!Reader x Alisa (18+)

Summary: [Post-timeskip] The Haiba siblings get up to no good with their favorite pet.

A/N: Lev really went from skinny goblin to sugar папочка, and don’t even get me started on Alisa 😭 Also, imma lay heavy on those Russian terms of endearment 🇷🇺 I know Lev doesn’t speak Russian but I feel like post-timeskip he might, and it makes me horny so…

Dedicated to my eternal muse @koiibito​ for thirsting with me and stoking my lust for this duo and to @thisisthehardestthing​ for providing the fashion references that brought this fic to life for me (although I still can’t describe clothing for shit). Thank you!!!

Tags/warnings: (slight) pet play, threesome, alcohol/drug use mentions, size kink (yk Lev is 6’5 and Alisa is 5’10), dom/sub, orgasm control, rough sex, filming, breath play, crying, reader is a sugar baby in denial, no incest but the siblings fuck you together, yandere-ish, established BDSM relationship, all characters are adults

They like playing dress-up.

With you, if that wasn’t obvious. They’re models, so you could say that playing dress-up is a career for them, a method of putting food on the table…and Balenciaga in the closet…and every luxury pharmaceutical known to man in the medicine cabinet. And they’re so beautiful, both of them. They look good in anything. But when it comes to you, playing dress-up is a labor of love.

Today was Alisa’s turn, which means today was red: crimson lingerie in a box she had delivered to you before the party tonight. The box…it looked so out of place propped up against the bottom of your shabby apartment door that it’s a miracle no one stole it. Black packaging, lettering in gold, and the label printed on the box was French, you think? The two years of language class you took in high school didn’t help you read it, but you had no trouble understanding the number at the bottom of the receipt Alisa included with the set.

She left it on purpose, you know that. She wants you to know that the money she dropped on these flimsy little undergarments could have paid your rent for two months. But you can’t tell her that, or she’ll just insist again that your apartment is so small and ugly, it’s not worth it, it’s high time you moved in with her and Lev already, they would love to have you, and you’d never have to worry about rent again.

Spoiling you. That’s what they call it. Sometimes you think the Haiba siblings spoil you because they know it makes you uncomfortable.

Either way, you can’t say no. You’ve tried, over and over, told them they need to stop buying you clothes and shoes and diamonds but they just laugh you off. Lev, especially—he’s got this way of tipping his head to the side and blinking down at you while you try to explain how nervous it makes you to be dripping in excess, smiling lightly like he’s watching a child throw a tantrum. They just don’t get it. Or they do, and they think it’s funny.

Yeah, it’s probably the latter. You were raised right, raised not to accept gifts like this when you have nothing to give in return—but you were also raised to be gracious to the kindness of strangers, and while they aren’t exactly strangers, it’s just too exhausting to try to deny their generosity. Over time, little by little, you’ve given inches and the Haiba siblings have taken miles.

The Haiba siblings. That’s who they are, constantly presented in juxtaposition since Lev made his debut. They were born for this, and not because of their height. It’s the eyes—something savagely beautiful about that shade of green, those pale eyelashes, the slitted pupils like a cat’s.

The lingerie was Alisa’s choice, but the dress was Lev’s which is probably why he can’t keep his hands off you at the party, grip gliding down the low back and breath ghosting over your neck every time you try to put some distance between you. He’s usually more careful than this—Alisa can get away with the playful touching (groping?) because the cameras will just play it off as friendly skinship, but if someone catches Lev stroking across your thighs or tracing those long fingers over your spine while you move together on the dance floor, there’s going to be trouble. Not that it’s your problem, but one of you has to be responsible tonight, and judging by the number of times Lev’s excused himself to go to the bathroom and come back blinking and grinning and rubbing his nose, the responsible one is going to have to be you.

This time when he returns his gelled-back hair is mussed and—Jesus, how careless can he get?—there’s a little dusting of coke spilled over the collar of his black shirt. You roll your eyes and reach up to brush it off for him but he catches your hand and lifts it to his mouth. A kiss on your inner wrist first, and then his teeth are grazing over that tender skin, blunt edges digging in and drawing dents. A bite.

It’s just on the edge of painful when you belatedly yank your hand away. “Lev—you got it on your shirt, seriously—“ You try to make your voice sound scolding, but it comes out too high.

Lev’s eyes are dark, dilated; he laughs breathlessly and nudges closer to you, trapping you between his long arms and the bar. “You want some? Kotyonok, little kitten wants a treat?”

“No…I’m just drinking tonight. I don’t want to be out too late.” The vodka soda in your hand isn’t nearly strong enough, but if you have any more you’re going to be too drunk to keep your act together and deal with their antics. You don’t have the tolerance they do, and just because they can get away with all the coke and the alcohol and whatever else they’ve been playing with tonight doesn’t mean you can.

…Not that your relative sobriety stops Lev from dragging your face up to meet his, lifting your chin with both hands wrapped around the back of your head and bending down only enough that you still have to rise up on your tiptoes to kiss him. You only catch a hint of the smell of honey before the sour-sweet taste of Lev’s favorite drink (that medovukha mead stuff, it’s Russian, you think) is filling your mouth and his long tongue is sliding over yours. “Mmph—“

“Kitten, always so good,” he sighs, pressing closer so your face has to arch up to the ceiling to meet his. In your limited view you can see the muscles in his jaw flexing as he kisses you, sweeping over your tongue, biting your lip and laughing into your mouth. “So sweet…and impatient, yeah? Want to go home with us already?”

His hand on the small of your back is bunching your dress up, giving him the space to push his knee between your legs. You gasp sharply but it just eggs him on and his mouth dips down under your jawline, his body covering yours, so sudden and so public that your eyes flash around the room, wondering who might witness Lev—the international model Lev Haiba—sucking on your throat. “L-Lev, wait, someone—someone will see—“

“You’re asking to go somewhere private? Greedy girl…Alisa’s still having fun.”

You try to come up with a response, but it’s not easy to think straight when he’s holding your waist, circling it with those big hands and petting up to your ribs, cupping your tits while his thigh rubs between your legs. You can smell his cologne, bergamot and amber, and—and—you can smell his cologne—

“Lyovochka~” Alisa’s voice rings out and you know just by hearing it that she’s had as much as Lev. Her hand fists in her brother’s hair and pulls him off your neck none too gently, ignoring his curse and complaints. “Naughty, naughty. Playing without me, were you?”

“Alisa, you’re fucking up my hair,” Lev whines, but he straightens off you, pulling Alisa into your tight little trio at the bar. “Kitty says she wants us to take her home.”

You feel your cheeks heat up and wonder if they can see the blush under your foundation. “I didn’t— I can go home myself—“ Not that you have a chance in hell of leaving the party without them, but still. You can pretend to play coy.

“No.” Alisa places a finger on your mouth to shush you and then her eyes lower and her fingernail—painted silvery white, her signature color—pushes into your bottom lip. You stumble closer, hands meeting her shoulders through the thick white padding of the jacket she’s wearing, over the glittering crystals that look blindingly bright under the blacklights.

Silver and white. Always silver and white.

Her fingernail traces down your lip, drawing a fine line on your chin; on instinct, you tip your head back to give her access to pet down your throat until she comes to a rest on the neckpiece of the harness she included with the lingerie set. When her hand reaches the ring in the center of the choker she grips it, pulling your face away from Lev’s and toward hers. “Lyovochka, what do you think…? I saw it and thought of kotyonok. A collar for our little kitten.”

“Hm, I don’t know. I need to see more.” Lev’s hands are on you again now, splaying flat over your chest before his fingers curl, one by one, around the harness strap that leads from the ring at the choker down between your breasts until it disappears under the neckline of your dress. He’s tugging on it—lightly, but you can’t deny the feeling that it’s like a leash…or the feeling of heat gathering in your pussy at having the two of them all over you like this.

You shouldn’t be letting them touch you (and they are touching you, Alisa’s hand stroking your throat and Lev tugging your side into his chest). There’s always people watching at parties like this; you’ve attended these things on Lev’s arm or Alisa’s enough times to know better than to let them do as they please. You’re supposed to be the responsible one. Too bad your body is craving a lot more than the innocuous touches they can give you in public.

You swallow and Alisa grins, dark-painted lips stretching over those perfect white teeth. “So. Kitten, would you like us to take you home? Say please.”

You don’t have to say it. You could ask yourself why you let them get away with this, why you keep letting yourself fall to the mercy of these siblings, why they even want you in the first place, but those are questions for tomorrow morning—tonight, even though you should hate it, there’s a part of you that wants to purr every time they call you kitten.

“…Please,” you murmur, and as soon as the word is out Lev’s grip on the harness tightens, pulling the choker taut around your neck.

///

They end up ripping the dress.

You kind of hate them for it when you think about how many bills you could have paid with the money they spent dolling you up for tonight. But by the time they get around to it, you’re pretty much too horny to care.

They didn’t even wait til you got home (their home, you remind yourself, not yours), although that shouldn’t have surprised you. From Alisa tugging on your hair and Lev’s arm draped possessively around your shoulders, you should’ve seen it coming, but it still takes you by surprise that the three of you have barely piled in the back of the Uber when Alisa’s dragging you to sit on her thigh, unceremoniously pulling your dress over your hips and sliding her hand up the slit where the fabric falls open to rub your pussy.

You whine and squirm but can’t quite make yourself say the word “no”, instead squeezing your eyes shut and trying to focus on Alisa whispering in your ear that you’re a good girl, getting so wet for them. All three of you can hear the squishy damp noises your pussy is making sucking around her fingers, and dear god you hope the driver can’t hear it too—wait, is he looking? Your eyes peek open, traitorously seeking out the rearview to see if there’s a possibility he’s watching the show, but before you can work up the guts to tell them to quit it, Lev’s hand is folding around your jaw again and forcing two of his fingers past your lips for you to drool on. And—fuck—Alisa’s petting over your cunt, drawing slow lines up from the wetness gathered at your hole up to your clit.

By the time you’ve reached the building Lev and Alisa are staying at in Tokyo, you’re past the point of caring that other people are around. Lev has to pull you out of the car and off Alisa’s lap to get you to stop humping your ass into her lap and trying to push your mound into her fingers. Alisa winks at the driver—probably earning herself a 5-star rating despite all your bad behavior—and then the two of them are steering you past the doorman and into the elevator.

As soon as you’ve got the barest semblance of privacy, Lev pulls your back into his chest and grinds himself into you. You can feel how hard he is, the heat of his body leaching through the fabric of your clothing directly into your skin, hands around your waist forcing you to mold yourself into him while he layers kisses over the side of you neck. “L-Lev, ah— mm, someone’s gonna come in,” you whine as he pushes the bulge of his stiff cock against your lower back, but he just lets one of his hands drift up to scratch at the choker of the harness again.

Alisa’s hands meet your cheeks on either side, framing your face for a short moment so she can study your dazed expression, the flush on your cheeks, your sex-glazed eyes. You look like you want to get fucked, you know that? You look like you want them to push you down in the elevator and fuck you right there. “But kotyonok, you’re so darling. We should let other people get a chance to see, no?”

Lev’s hand spans the breadth of your throat, not quite pressing down (yet), so he must be able to feel the way your muscles contract and release when you swallow—not to mention the edge of tension that enters your body at the thought of someone seeing you in such a compromising position. “Ahh, kitty wants to be all ours, doesn’t she? She doesn’t want us to share.”

“Is that so?” Alisa doesn’t give you a chance to answer, just tipping your face up and letting her lips close over yours. She tastes more bitter than Lev did and for the brief moment you have between getting pressed between them and your brain short-circuiting, you wonder what she’s been drinking. “Are you being selfish?”

“Nnnh, I—“ you don’t have an answer for her, but it doesn’t really matter because the elevator is dinging at the penthouse and Alisa’s pulling you away from Lev into their apartment by the center strap of the harness. You’ve got no choice but to follow, and you consider telling her to quit dragging you around by your neck but there’s something about the pressure on your throat that isn’t…entirely unpleasant, so you hold your tongue.

Lev murmurs to Alisa in Russian—you hate when they do that, especially because you know they’re only doing it because they don’t want you to understand—and then you’re in the spare bedroom, the one that the siblings insist on referring to as your bedroom. Even though you don’t live here. Even though you do everything you can to avoid staying here. Even though the only times you ever spend the night are when you’re too fucked-out by the two of them to consider putting in the effort to get home.

Something tells you this is going to be one of those nights.

They work in sync, teasing down the straps of your dress and easing you out of it until Alisa snaps the harness between your tits and Lev gets impatient and someone pulls the back of the dress a little too hard and that’s when you feel tearing. “Shit,” you hear in Lev’s voice, a soft curse in Russian from Alisa, and then a reluctant peal of laughter as the dress flutters down to the ground.

“Did you—“ You’re about to curse them out for ruining something so fucking expensive, but Lev clucks his tongue and shakes his head and you fall silent. He’s pulling back from you—so is Alisa—and your heart jumps for a second wondering if you did something wrong until you realize they’re just looking at you, drinking in the image of you naked except for the lingerie Alisa picked out for you.

“Bordelle?” Lev murmurs, running fingers down the straps cinching around your waist, the belt holding up the garters—as usual, you don’t know whether to move away from his touch or melt into it.

Alisa smiles. “It was made for her, don’t you think? Our kitten looks good in red.”

Honestly, they call you kitten, but the way they look at you is less like the way owners look at a pet and more like wolves sizing up a little lamb they’ve cornered. Hungry. Starving. You’re not sure which you prefer, but it makes you self-conscious. You’d felt pretty confident about the way you looked when you examined yourself in the mirror before the party—Alisa has good taste, even if the lingerie is just this side of bondage gear and not something you would’ve bought for yourself in a million years—but now you have to fight the urge to cover yourself up with your hands…not that they’d let you.

True to your prediction, as soon as your hand twitches with the instinct to cross your arms over your bound-up tits Lev snaps down to catch it. “Let me see,” he instructs, and the authority in his voice is so definite that your arms fall back down to your sides automatically. “Good girl. Alisa, do you think we can keep it on while we fuck her?”

While we fuck her.

He says it so nonchalantly. And it’s not like you didn’t know that’s what you’re here for. You’re a grown-up, you’re sober (ish), and you’ve been in this room with the two of them enough times that you’re well aware there was only ever one way this night was going to end up. But the way he says it makes you shiver. They’re going to fuck you…like they own you. And it’s kind of terrifying how much you want to be owned.

“I think we can get the panties off without taking off the rest,” Alisa says to respond to Lev’s question, even as she brushes a stray lock of hair away from your eyes. “Besides, I have a surprise for her.”

A surprise? It wouldn’t be the first time one of them has pulled out something unexpected in bed—last time it was a ball gag and nipple clamps, and the time before that it was a magic wand vibrator (plated in literal gold, because the Haibas are nothing if not excessive) that had you begging and crying and creaming all over the sheets. You can’t help your anxiousness as Alisa pulls something out of the otherwise-empty dresser and sets it up to face the bed.

It’s…a camera. A camera? “You want to film it?” you blurt out, your voice sounding pitchy and nervous even to your own ears.

“Great idea,” Lev says, patting your head like that’s all it’ll take to make you feel better.

“Yes, kotyonok. I’m going to film you,” Alisa replies, fiddling with the settings and batting those long blonde eyelashes at the lens once she’s satisfied.

“Wait, I—I don’t know. I’m not like you, I can’t just—” you stammer. Sure, the twins will look perfect and irresistible and bewitching, but you? You’re not sure you want to have a video of yourself getting fucked stupid in their hands. “What if I don’t want to…?”

“But I want to.” Alisa’s gaze sweeps down over you and you lower your eyes so you don’t have to meet it, don’t have to feel the weight of it holding you down more securely than any leash. There’s a reason she’s a model—she could sell anything. Those eyes. How are you supposed to say no?

You want to step back away from her. You almost try, but Lev’s at your back already, long arms draped over your shoulders, a loose hold that nonetheless keeps you from moving. So instead of backing up, you just bite your lip.

Alisa’s face softens—she’s good at that, good at picking up the cues when she’s pushed a little too far for your comfort—and a second later you feel her hand wrapping around yours, holding it. “Safeword?”

Cherry. The safeword is cherry. It’s not that you’ve forgotten. It’s her way of reminding you that you have a safeword, and you can use it, and it’ll be okay. This isn’t even a full-on scene, but Alisa must be able to sense that the addition of the camera made you scared.

Picking up the change in mood a second later, Lev’s hand finds your other one and he strokes his thumb over your skin reassuringly. God, maybe it’s wrong that they can make you feel hunted one second and adored the next, but you let out a breath and relax, shaking your head to indicate that you’re not stopping.

She brings your hand up to her mouth and kisses it so lightly her lipstick barely leaves a mark—wait, oops. You’d forgotten she was wearing lipstick. You must have it all over you by now.

“Good girl. We take good care of you, don’t we?”

“…Yes.”

“We do.” Lev’s impatient, you can tell from the way he’s adjusting his grip to your waist and pushing you over to the bed. “We’re not going to share the video, if that’s what you’re worried about. Alisa likes to joke, but really…”

Your ass hits the mattress so you’re half-sitting, half-lying on the covers, propped up on your elbows, peeking through your eyelashes at the two of them looming over you—and, oh, there they are again.

The wolves.

“…we don’t want anyone else seeing you like this,” Alisa finishes, holding up the camera and flicking the little red light on to record.

///

Lev starts, like usual. You think maybe it’s a control thing, that Alisa doesn’t let you touch her until you’re already falling apart on Lev’s fingers, his tongue…his cock. As much as she likes it when you bite back, you’re cuter when you’re begging.

She’s holding your face off the bed by a hand under your chin, wrenching your neck back so your wrecked face is level with the camera. You’re on your hands and knees—or, more accurately, your hands and elbows, with your ass arched up and Lev’s face buried in your slit. “Nngh, nnnnn, fuck please please—“ Your whining is barely coherent, but Lev knows what you’re asking for and he digs his fingers into the meat of your ass to hold you still as he latches his mouth over your clit and sucks.

Fuck— you keen and try to drop your head down to the sheets to angle your dripping cunny closer to his mouth, but Alisa’s grip on your jaw prevents you from getting any further out of the camera frame. “Uh-uh, no. I want to see you.”

“Alisa…ahhh…” Your tongue is lolling out of your mouth and you know you must look like a mess, spit practically falling over your lips as you try to stop yourself from cumming right here. Fuck, it feels good, feels so hot and wet that your juices don’t even have time to cool on your thighs before more is dripping down.

“Tell the camera what’s happening, kotyonok,” Alisa purrs, wiping the saliva off your lip and then pushing her fingers over your tongue.

“…eating me out, he’s—uhhhn—licking my pussy…” you slur around her fingers. Your glassy eyes flit between her appraising expression and the lens of the camera—even though you trust that they won’t show the video to anyone outside this room, it’s making you shudder to think about what’s on the little screen you can’t see—Alisa’s pretty silver fingernails coated in your drool as she presses them deeper into your throat, your body all bound up in red straps and gold fastenings, and Lev behind you, hair falling out of its careful style as he shoves his face deeper between your legs.

The edge of Alisa’s finger bites into the plush of your lip as you moan and unsuccessfully attempt to wriggle your ass under Lev’s grip. “Who’s licking your pussy?” she asks calmly, like she’s asking what the weather is like today.

“Lev, it’s, it’s Lev—fuck ohh, oh,” you whine as Lev slides his tongue flat from your clit up to your hole and pushes the slimy wet muscle inside. It’s so long, you’re never going to get used to how stupid long his tongue is, licking out your walls and making slurping sounds that are downright fucking vile.

Heat is gathering quickly in your abdomen, and you can feel it—that plateau rising before you hit your peak, and the tension in your thighs making them twitch and quiver as your muscles contract in anticipation—and his tongue is so long and thick it’s almost reaching your g-spot, almostalmostalmost, god-fucking-damnit. Your spine curls even further, arching yourself into him, wordlessly begging for him to keep doing exactly what he’s doing. “Gonna cum, fuck Lev please make me, make me cum!”

“Oh? Did I say you were allowed to cum?” Alisa asks, cat-like eyes narrowing.

Shit, fuck, she didn’t, but you don’t know if you can help yourself. Your hand fists in the sheet, curling your fingernails around the fabric to try to ease up the heat where Lev’s mouth is latched to your cunt. “Please Alisa—I need to—“

Alisa shakes her head. “But you don’t get to decide what you need, kotyonok.”

She’s right, but—but, it’s not fair, Lev’s switching between dragging his tongue over your clit and fucking you with it—you try to pull your hips away from his mouth but he doesn’t let you, effortlessly holding you in place while he teases you even higher.

“Who decides?” she continues, petting your jawline and wiping away the first hint of a tear from your cheek as you try to hold it back—

but you can’t.

“You-you decide! You decide when I cum!” you gasp, but your body is already betraying your words, convulsing and contracting as your climax hits you like a truck. You try to hold yourself through it but it’s impossible—your eyes roll back and arms go slack, dropping flat on the bedspread with your ass still pushed up into the air as your pussy walls contract around Lev’s tongue.

He’s still licking you—slower now at least, but you’re shaking at the feeling of him stimulating that sensitive bud. “Stop…too much,” you whine weakly, but he just raises a hand off your ass cheek to give it a light smack.

“Bad kitty,” he murmurs with his mouth still pressed against your slit, and the contact makes you seize up and twitch.

“Yes. Very bad.” Alisa doesn’t look angry—she’s never angry with you, even when you’re…disobedient, you guess—but there’s a note of mischief in her eyes that sends a thrill of fear (and not just fear) down your spine.

“S-Sorry, I’m sorry,” you whimper, but Alisa’s already pulling you upright by the ring on your choker.

“Did you cum? Even though we didn’t give you permission?” she asks, even though all three of you know you did. You nod, avoiding looking at both her and the camera as if that’ll disguise the obvious flush painting your cheeks red. At your admission, she smiles indulgently and murmurs something in Russian that you don’t understand, but you get the gist.

You’ve been naughty. And you’re going to get punished.

You hear the bedsprings squeak and feel the dip of the mattress as Lev climbs up behind you, settling his body against yours so the bulge in his pants is pressed against your back again. He’s still wearing most of his outfit from the party—they both are, and you note (not for the first time) how ridiculous it is that the siblings are willing to fuck you together but being naked in front of one another is the one boundary they won’t cross—but you don’t have to wait long before you hear him undoing his pants and pulling his cock out to rut it lazily against your back.

Automatically you shift your legs apart and reach down to finger yourself like you usually do, stretch your cunt out so you’re ready to take him. But before you can reach your pussy, Lev’s hand is folding over yours and lacing his fingers over your hand to stop you. “L-Lev?”

“No, kitty,” he tells you firmly.

You shiver. Alisa pinches your cheek and rubs over your ear. “What…”

“You already came,” Lev continues, and then you feel his cock sliding between your thighs, between your soaking-wet lips, using your cum as lubrication. “You came, so you don’t need to get ready. You’re going to take all of me, okay?”

All of him. You swallow. The full length slowly rubbing between your legs is going to go inside of you, without any preparation beforehand. “But…if I don’t, it’ll—it’s gonna hurt…”

“Yes, it’s going to hurt.” He waits for a moment, giving you a chance to say the safeword, but you don’t. “It’s going to hurt, and then it’ll feel good, and then you’re going to cream yourself on my cock like always. Yes?”

“Uh—“ You blink rapidly, already feeling his cockhead pushing between your lips toward your hole. Alisa combs your hair out of your face and you turn toward her. “Alisa?”

“Don’t ask her. You need to learn that your owners will take care of you. You need to trust us.” Lev presses in, stretching your little cunt around the thick head, and you suck in a sharp inhale.

“A-Ah—it’s too big,” you whine, scrunching your eyes shut and biting your lip as he slides himself deeper into you. And yeah, it hurts…but with how riled up you are, it definitely doesn’t hurt enough for you to want it to stop. The burn from the stretch is just making you wetter, and the feeling of being filled up by him is unbelievable. This was supposed to be a punishment, right?

Alisa cups your face to kiss you gently, and then her hands drift lower to circle your neck. Lev’s still sliding his cock into your pussy, slowly, slowly, so you can feel everything, every inch of his skin and every vein dragging against your g-spot. The deeper he gets, the more it hurts and the more you want to stop him, to take the lead—but he doesn’t let you.

“Are you going to cry, kitten?” Alisa asks you, reaching down to take one of your hands and pull it over her shoulder so you’re holding her. You grit your teeth and shudder and shake your head, making her lips quirk into a smile. “It’s alright if you cry. You’re still cute when you’re crying.”

With another roll of his hips Lev’s pushing up against your cervix and you choke out a curse. “F-Fuck, I’m not—not gonna c-c-cry…”

“Shh…” Upright on his knees behind you, Lev’s body is so big curled over yours that you feel smothered between him and Alisa. You sneak a glance back and there’s a pale pink flush over his cheeks and shoulders. “You’re taking me so well…taking my cock like that, going to make me forget you were bad…”

You stay still because it hurts more when you try to move, and you need to get yourself adjusted. You have to relax, you have to, but he’s so big, heavy and thick between your aching legs. You still haven’t recovered from cumming earlier, and every time one of the aftershocks hits you and you clench around him, the mix of pleasure and pain is almost too much. Even as aroused as you are, your cunt sucking him in for all you’re worth, he’s pushing against your cervix…and his hips haven’t even hit yours yet. He hasn’t bottomed out.

You’re going to take all of me, he said. You’re not even sure you can. But no matter what, you’re not—you’re not—gonna cry.

Until Lev pulls his hips back, sliding his cock out of you so it’s only his head sheathed at the entrance to your cunt, and then snaps forward again, filling you back up in a single stroke. He knocks into you so forcefully that you jerk forward, your chest mashing into Alisa’s. The force and his weight pulls a squeak out of you and—fuck, fuck—you feel tears welling up in your eyes.

“—t-t-too fast,” you pant, squeezing your eyes shut as if that’ll prevent them from getting glossy. The pads of Alisa’s fingers are skimming over your cheeks, and her skin is so soft and silky that you want to nuzzle in for comfort.

“But Kotyonok likes it fast, doesn’t she?…you feel how wet you are on my—my cock?” Lev’s face nudges against your shoulder, and you can feel his hands curling around your upper arms, securing you underneath him, holding you in place as he pounds into you.

You like it…like it fast? Your head is spinning, you’re dizzy and hot and feverish, Lev’s cologne is mixing with Alisa’s perfume and you feel like you’re drinking it, ugh. Fuck. Feels like you’re getting bruised up inside and it feels good. Your legs are jerking, weakly trying to push yourself back on his cock to make him fill you up deeper than your pussy can take but you’re totally at their mercy.

“Let her down, Lyovochka. I want kitty to lick,” Alisa says, looking over your shoulder to make eye contact with her brother. She shifts back on the bedspread, easing herself into the pillows and pushing the skirt of her dress up over her waist to expose her panties: mesh, lace, powder-pink. They’re so pretty against her pale skin that you just stare down at her for a second, open-mouthed, before Lev’s releasing his grip on your arms and splaying his palm into your back, shoving your face down toward her lap.

You catch yourself on your elbows—barely—but you don’t have time to adjust to the new position and how stupid fucking goddamn deep Lev’s cock is hitting you before Alisa’s pulling your face up closer to her clothed pussy and adjusting her thighs to make room. Is she going to keep the panties on? Fuck—you almost ask her to take them off but you know you aren’t allowed so you just angle your face in and let drool coat your tongue so you can try to lap at her pussy through the fabric.

The awkward angle means you can barely taste her, but fuck, what you can taste is so good—they’ve conditioned you, the two of them, conditioned you like Pavlov’s dogs to crave what they’re doing to you so badly you can’t even think. The slightly-bitter taste of her cunt soaking through to your mouth has you intoxicated. She got like this from watching you, watching you cum all over the pretty lingerie she bought you, watching you get fucked so hard you’re crying. The thought of her getting off on watching you squirm makes your pussy clench around Lev’s cock.

“Gonna cum again?” Lev asks with laughter in his voice; his pace slows, dragging out the stimulation to your g-spot right as you feel him reach down to tease over your clit. You squeak out a denial but he doesn’t believe you—and why would he when he can literally hear the nasty wet noises from your pussy eating up his cock? “Yes…you are."

“I’m—n-no, I’m noooot…”

“Poor baby, can’t control herself.” Alisa’s pushing you back into her cunt, fingernails scraping over your scalp as you desperately try to lick her pussy. “Don’t be cruel, Lev.”

Another laugh, low and raspy and juddering from the pace of his cock stretching your walls and pushing against that sweet spot inside you. “I’m not the cruel one.”

They’re both cruel, you think, but that’s the only thing going through your mind because you’re pretty sure you’re going to go fucking crazy, your pussy is so hot you feel like you’re melting around him but you keep at Alisa’s cunt because you want to be good, want to be their good girl, want to be their good little kitty.

You want to be theirs.

“Please—please, can I, can I? Please let me, please I need you to let me…” you beg—somewhere in the back of your mind you know you’re going to hate yourself for giving in to them tomorrow but you want it so so so bad and you can’t cum without their permission, you can’t, you can’t be bad again.

“Well…what do you think, Alisa? Has she earned it?” There’s a growl in Lev’s voice—is he holding himself back? Yesss… He’s slowing down, fucking you up from the inside and the outside, pulling that heat out of you, making you squeal and whine and plead just like he said he would.

You want to, you need to, need to earn it, be good make Alisa feel good earn it—fuck, you have to try harder, and you flutter your tongue over her clit through her panties as well as you can, knowing you’re being sloppy but you don’t know how to help it. She waits a long moment and then sighs, pulling her fingers through your hair, pulling it away from your face so you can look up at her, those pretty pretty eyes looking down at yours so indulgently. Adoringly. Like you’re something to be cherished. “Mm…yes.”

And that’s all it takes.

Your mouth falls open and your pussy does something, convulsing—

“—cumming I’m cumming Lev, A-Alisa—“

fuck, can’t breathe why can’t you breathe? something digging into your throat—

Lev’s, Lev’s hand under the choker dragging you upright tightening cutting off the sounds coming out of your mouth, choking your scream into a pathetic little mewl so he can hold your body up next to him while he fucks you through your climax—you can feel your face turning pink, your cunny holding around him, squeezing him so tight he can barely move but he still does, hips thrusting against your ass, the pleasure so bright and heavy you’re seeing sparks, head rushing, or maybe that’s just the lack of oxygen,

too tight the choker’s too tight you bring your hand back and tap against Lev’s and he lets go immediately. “Shit—sorry, are you alright? Can you breathe?”

You can feel him pulling out, and just that movement is enough to set off another round of clenching in your pussy. You’re sputtering, throat contracting in time with your cunt, not too painful. Just raw.

“Try to breathe, (Y/N),” Lev repeats, stroking down your back to soothe you. He sounds worried, and…that’s your name, isn’t it? It’s been a while since you heard one of them actually say your name instead of just kitten or kitty or kotyonok. It’s not like you can really bother pretending you’re not at least a little bit into the nickname, but hearing your real name out of his mouth stokes some kind of soft, nervous pleasure in you. And goddamn, you do not have the brainpower to analyze why.

It takes a moment for you to catch your breath—the air tastes sweeter than it did a minute ago—and then you roll over. “Did...did you cum?”

Lev shakes his head. You turn toward Alisa, and she just pats your cheek—of course she didn’t cum. Which means you’ve gotten to cum twice, and you didn’t get either of them off.

You bite your lip, turn to the side, and try not to let your eyes water for the—third? fourth?—time tonight. “I’m sorry, I—I’ll do it again, I’ll be better—“

“No,” Alisa says gently, adjusting her position to sit next to you and kiss your forehead. “You were so good, (Y/N).”

Lev mirrors her actions on the other side so you’re bracketed by the two of them. After a second of stillness to gauge your comfort, he starts undoing the clasps at the back of the choker and massaging his fingers over the tender skin underneath. You sniffle and then feel him lay his chin on the top of your head, arrange his arm over your side. “It’s okay,” he murmurs. “You know we like you no matter what, right?”

Alisa nods in agreement, pupils coming to a rest on the skin of your throat as she helps Lev remove the tangle of red satin straps from your body. “Our perfect little kitten. Who’s a good girl?”

Kitten.

Your stomach drops. Not your name. Just kitten.

It must be the twentieth time she’s called you that tonight, but somehow this time it’s different. You cringe, feeling cold where she touches you, but that doesn’t stop her from wiping away the smeared mascara and tear tracks from your cheeks. When you try to flinch away from her, Lev huffs out an annoyed breath and pushes you back into place. “Myesto. Stay.”

It’s a command. Like you would give to an animal. When you freeze, Alisa smiles and then she’s tilting your chin up with her fingers and bringing the camera—the camera, you forgot about the camera—to your throat so she can capture the mess of pink lines and indentations from where the choker bit into your neck…

…and who are you kidding? It’s not a choker, it’s a fucking collar. And you’re not their lover, or their girlfriend, or even their fuckbuddy.

You’re their pet.

[doctorstethoscope]

The Right Chapter 23 || Aaron Hotchner x Fem Reader

hello my loves! Some of you may have already seen this, but I have news! This fic is officially complete. There are thirty chapters, so you still have seven left after today’s update. I’ll be keeping the usual Tuesday/Saturday posting schedule, so you have a month left of updates.

Now that I am done drafting this fic, my requests will be open while I begin to bank up new chapters of the Hotch x Reader Scandal!AU that I plan to write next. Please send in requests here. I would also LOVE if you could fill out this survey about the Scandal!AU so I can get a sense of what you all would like. I will make sure to write it in a way that makes sense, even if you haven’t seen Scandal! 

As always, thanks so much for reading, y’all are just the best. 

Read previous chapters of this fic here!

contains: canon-typical descriptions of violence, cursing, hospital mention

wordcount: 2.3k 

A little while later, Hotch sends JJ and Emily to the school to interview the classmates of the students who had been murdered, and you and Morgan head off to the medical examiner’s office. 

“Find anything interesting in the calls from the tip line?” Morgan asks you as he pulls out of the parking lot, and you shrug. 

“I need to go back through my notes. There were a couple kids' names that came up, but I want to go back and cross check for the names that came up more than once-- i figure if the name only comes up once, it’s kids pranking each other and I don’t want to waste our time on dead ends. Garcia’s looking into a teacher for me, though.” 

“We just need a couple more puzzle pieces, and then it’ll all come together,” Derek says, more to himself than to you, and you murmur out your agreement as he pulls into the examiner’s office.

“Cause of death for Mrs. Mack and Mrs. Sutton was a gunshot wound to the neck. The daughters, to the abdomen,” the doctor says, passing over her report. “The men were all strangled. The boys by hand, the men with a garrote.”

“Any idea what order they were killed in?” You asked. 

“My guess is the women first, one right after the other. Then the sons, and the husbands.” 

“How did he stop the husbands from taking him down while he killed the sons?” Morgan asks skeptically. 

The medical examiner points out a bruise on Mr. Sutton’s skull. “Looks like he was knocked unconscious, maybe by the butt of the gun or something in the home.” She explains.

“Thank you,” you said to the medical examiner, who smiled and left you both to your work.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Morgan asks you.

“White man in his twenties or thirties, snubbed by a woman he desired for another man, taking out the families he’s convinced he’ll never have?” 

“Call Hotch,” he said, taking off at a brisk pace back towards the car and trusting you to follow. You pulled your phone out of your pocket and discovered that Garcia was already calling you. 

“Hi Garcia, can you patch Hotch in?” You asked. 

“Already here bug, and trust me, you’re gonna want to hear this.” She told you, and you put the phone on speaker so Morgan could listen in while he drove. 

“What did you find, Garcia?” Hotch asked. 

“So, I looked into Marc Vexper, and it turns out this long-term English sub has something to hide-- he didn’t make a single card purchase on either day that he was out, and his phone was completely off from the moment he stepped off the school’s campus to the time he returned.” 

“Morgan and I are just leaving the medical examiner’s office now-- Marc fits the profile to a tee.” You interject. 

“Oh but wait, the high school of horrors doesn’t end there,” Garcia warns you. “I took a peek at Marc’s texts looking for clues about his whereabouts, and I noticed some too-friendly chats with Victoria Sullivan, a student in his AP Literature class. Her phone was on both days, and I’ll give you one guess as to where she was both days-- and it wasn’t school.” 

“You’re kidding,” Morgan sighs out. 

“So did he groom Victoria into doing it herself, or was she an accomplice?” Hotch asked. 

“The men were strangled, Aaron. There’s no way she could have done that herself.” You tell him. 

“We need an address, Penelope.” Hotch demands. 

“Already on your phone. The station’s closest.” She tells you. 

“We’ll meet you there.” Hotch says, and the line clicks. 

In a routine you’ve performed too many times to count, Morgan flicks on the lights and sirens as you mount your phone with the GPS sending you in the right direction. It’s all the same as it usually is, so why are you so nervous? 

**********************

Hotch elects not to put on his lights and sirens as he approaches Mr. Vexper’s house, not wanting to alert him that anyone had found him out. There are two cars in the driveway-- a modest sedan with a few dings in it, and a shitbox of an old jeep with a parking permit for the local high school on the back bumper. 

“The girl is here-- she might be a hostage.” Hotch tells Spencer, who nods. “We need to be careful. There’s no need for any other kids to lose their lives,” he says, quietly opening up his car door and gesturing for Spencer to take a back entrance while he takes the front. He climbs the worn wooden steps and peeks into the window, seeing nothing before he takes one hand off of his gun to swing open the front door of the home, where he’s met face to face with the Victoria Sullivan, standing on the main stairway of the home, gun leveled square at the middle of his forehead. 

“Victoria, put the gun down,” Hotch says slowly, raising his own hands as a sign of good faith. “I’m here to help you. Where’s Marc?”

Before Victoria can answer, Hotch hears the woosh of metal in the air and feels an overwhelming crack in his legs, falling to the ground as he yelps in pain. 

“Run, Vicky! You know where to go!” Marc yells, and the girl disappears from Hotch’s blurring line of vision as March continues to beat on Hotch with a crowbar, stomping on his legs. 

Hotch vaguely hears Spencer's running footsteps, and Marc takes off, running in the same direction as Victoria. 

Spencer falls to the ground next to Hotch, attempting to gently tend to his injuries, but Hotch weakly waves him off. 

“Go, go, save the girl, he’ll kill her next. I’m okay. Go,” he coughs out, and after a moment’s hesitation, Spencer goes. 

Hotch groans as he gropes around in his pants pocket, pulling out his cell phone and calling Garcia. 

“I need help,” he says once the line clicks.

****************

If Aaron lived through this, you were going to kill him yourself. You knew you were being irrational, you knew it wasn’t his fault, and worst of all you know that he hadn’t even done something you could be mad at him for, like going in without backup. This was just the job. This just happened sometimes. And you were absolutely fucking livid that it was happening to him. Not to mention scared shitless. 

Morgan had pumped the gas as soon as Garcia called, but it still wasn’t fast enough. Your leg bounced anxiously in the passenger seat. 

“He’s gonna be fine,” Morgan attempted to placate you, but you wouldn’t have it. 

“You don’t know that,” you spat out. 

“He’s tough. He’s got a lot to stick around for. He’s gonna be okay,” He tells you, and this time you don’t argue.

When you finally pull up to the house, Aaron is on a stretcher being loaded onto an ambulance. You throw yourself out of the SUV before it’s even fully stopped, calling out for Aaron. 

“I’m okay,” he sputters out as you climb into the back of the ambulance. 

“No you aren’t, you asshole,” you scoffed at him, your voice a little watery. “Tell the paramedics what happened so they can help you,” you said, stroking at the hair at the top of his head as your chin quivered. 

“Don’t cry,” he says, reaching up for you and you see that his hands are bloody. 

“Shh, shhh. Don’t worry about me. Let them help you,” you calmed him down, trying not to let your tears interrupt the medics when his eyes roll into the back of his head and he loses consciousness.

 Aaron will live, and you suppose you won’t follow through on your threats to kill him. Once he’s in the hospital, they wheel him back to a restricted area, leaving you alone in a waiting room while the rest of the team finds the unsub. You call Jess, let her know what’s going on, but ask that she keep it from Jack until you’re back in the room with him and Hotch is able to talk to Jack himself. You didn’t want Jack to worry, and you knew that Aaron’s assurance that he was fine was the only comfort Jack would accept.

After a while-- it could have been thirty minutes or three hours, Emily appears in the waiting room..

“I was appointed to come check on you,” she says by way of greeting. “Have you seen him yet?”

“Not since they took him out of the ambulance. He looked… bad,” you struggle to find a word that explains the magnitude of it. 

“He’s gonna be fine. No gunshot wounds, just some nasty bruises. I’m sure it looked worse than it actually was.” She consoles you gently.

“I hope you’re right.”

At that moment, a doctor appears in the doorway. “For Agent Hotchner?” He asks, and you walk over to him. 

“I’m Aaron’s partner,” you explain, the word “girlfriend” feeling entirely too childish for the scenario. 

“Agent Hotchner is going to be just fine. His left leg is fractured slightly at the femur and the kneecap, but we’ve put him in a brace to stabilize the knee, and he should recover over the next eight to twelve weeks. He’ll need some physical therapy, and field work is out of the question until he is cleared, but he’ll make a full recovery.  He has a mild concussion and a few bruised ribs, but we’ve given him some meds for the pain and the concussion shouldn’t present any further complications.” 

No field work. Aaron was going to be pissed. “Thank you, doctor.” You said gratefully. 

“He’s been asking for you, if you’d like to follow me,” The doctor responds, and you allow him to lead you down a maze of hallways, leaving you just outside Aaron’s room, where his eyes are shut and his chest rises and falls slowly. Figures, you were sure he’d been up all night running through profiles in his head.

You sat on his right side, away from his injured leg, and rested your head against his mattress, near his hip bone. He looked so fragile like this, wrapped up in a thin blanket and a johnny, bandaged from his collar bone to his toes. You wondered, briefly, if he felt this helpless and frustrated the night that he picked you up from your old apartment. The tears well up against your will, but you allow them to fall, for a few moments. You had earned the right to care for him, to worry about him, to fret. You had earned the right to sit vigil at his hospital bed and try to force images of a lifetime lived without him to stop passing through your head. 

Aaron stirred, and you sucked in a quick breath, not wanting to wake him. He settled, again, and you rested your head back against the mattress, letting the gentle rhythm of his breath lull you to sleep. 

He twitches a little while later, and the sudden movement jolts you awake. His return to the waking world is slower, and you let him come at it at his own pace, not wanting to overwhelm him when he was probably already going to be in pain and disoriented. You hear him mumble out your name and you stand, placing one hand on his cheek and the other in his uninjured palm. 

“I’m right here, baby,” you whispered to him. 

“Are you okay?” He asks, trying to look you up and down without moving his neck. 

“Am I--” you chided gently. “Honey, I’m fine. Are you okay? Does anything hurt?” 

“My leg,” he tells you, trying to sit up, but you push back on his shoulders. 

“Absolutely not,” you tell him. “You broke your leg. You are staying in this bed until a doctor tells you otherwise.” 

“Fuck,” Aaron muttered out. Suddenly, a thought occurs to him. “Is Spencer okay? And the girl, Victoria Sullivan?” 

“The team took them both alive. Spencer is fine, just a little breathless from his run.” You tell him. 

“When is it gonna heal?” He switches topics back to his injury. 

“You mean, when are you going to be allowed into the field again?” You asked skeptically, and he at least has the good grace to look sheepish. “Not for at least six weeks, more than likely closer to ten, plus physical therapy.” 

“God damnit,” Aaron sighs. 

“It could have been a lot worse, Aaron,” you point out softly, and he looks up at you. 

“You’ve been crying.” He says softly. 

“No, I haven’t.” 

“Don’t lie to a profiler,” He chides you gently.

“Well, I’m the woman who loves you and I’ve earned the right to cry when you’re hurt.” You said defensively, but not unkindly.

“Hey, I’m okay. Really, I swear. Come up here,” he urges you, and you roll your watery eyes. 

“I’ll hurt you,” you tell him. 

“You’ll hurt me worse if you don’t come cuddle,” he pouts. 

“Corny bastard,” you chuckle, tenderly sliding into bed next to him. 

Unable to shift and cuddle, Aaron settles for reaching out for your hand, which you allow him to take in his own. He strokes his thumb over the back of your palm tenderly. 

“I’m sorry I scared you,” he whispers, and you might start crying again right there.

“Don’t do it again. I was ready to kill you myself,” you warned him. 

“Noted.” 

“We should call Jack. I didn’t tell him what was going on, I didn’t want to scare him. Jess knows.” 

“I just… want to hold your hand for a couple more minutes.” 

“Okay, love. A few more minutes.”

tagging:  @romanogersendgame @wanniiieeee      @zheezs14      @greeneyedblondie44 @angelic-kisses13  @baumarvel @ssamorganhotchner  @ijustwannaread2k19    @rexit-mo @shmaptainhotchnersmain @qtip-blog @averyhotchner  @the-modernmary @itsmytimetoodream @choppa-style @hotforhotchner11 @infinite-tides @isthatme-thatsme @g-l-pierce @bakugouswh0r3 @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads

[adam-banks2024]

Deja Vu

Part 1

Word Count: 2.3k

Summary: Kind of angst for now, backstory, arguments, and extremely slow burn. Also future poly

He’s insufferable

He’s arrogant. He’s rude. He’s annoying.

He is insufferable.

And I have to deal with him.

Of all the people Mrs. Moore could have partnered me with, she just had to choose him. It’s not like we even put a show on in public, and it’s sad but, everybody knows about the feud between us that started four years ago. 

I had just moved to town from three states over, and I didn’t know anyone my age. After a few weeks of summer went by of not knowing anyone, my dad convinced me to join the district’s hockey team. He told me that it was because he wanted me to make some friends, but I knew that he really just couldn’t afford to pay a babysitter. And my mother, well, she wasn’t in the picture. So I ended up having to go through the lost and found at six different ice rinks in Minnesota in order to get all of my equipment. At first, I was wary of the idea, but my dad said that it was kind of like shopping, so I agreed to go with him. Originally, we would have only had to search five rinks, but I couldn’t find any skates that were my size. After almost twelve hours of rummaging through sweaty pads and broken sticks, I had myself a full set of hockey gear.

Now I was on to the next challenge: How To Skate. I had been ice skating a couple of times before for birthday parties, but I’ve never been able to skate at the level that I had to in order to survive during an entire hockey game. I thought maybe it would just come to me naturally after attending a few practices. Until I did some research at the school library. Apparently, it takes a person at least two months to learn how to ice skate. But ignoring the negative, I decided to focus on the positive. ‘I could at least balance myself...and besides, I probably would be on the bench for every game...and just remember, you’re doing this for friends.’ These were the only three things that ran through my mind on the way to the ice rink. I was honestly terrified. I was scared that the other kids would make fun of me, or worse, ignore me. Well, maybe being made fun of is worse, but at least then they’d acknowledge me. I had to stop myself from thinking about that kinda stuff. I haven’t even attended a single hockey practice yet, and now I’ve added at least four more stressors into my life.

When my dad pulled up to the building, my stomach was tingling. My hands were clammy, and my eyebags had definitely seen better days. I wanted to run so fast away from this place, and not move at all at the same time.

“Nerves,” my dad said. He must’ve noticed from my frozen state in the backseat of his minivan. “You’ll do great! Just don’t break any bones.” He chuckled at the end in hopes that it would come off as a joke, but that is definitely not how it sounded.

To my surprise, I was the first kid that had arrived. I didn’t know much about the team, but I did know that most of the other kids had been on it since they were five or six years old. I was almost the exact opposite, thirteen and just starting. I wasn’t really sure why I was the first person to arrive, and it only added to my nervousness. 

I tried to brush it off as I saw someone outside in the parking lot leave a car holding a bag like you had. I could hear his muffled voice. “I’ll see you at six.” Whoever he was talking to must have responded because the boy spoke again, “yup, love you too.” A parent maybe. A mom? I could faintly make out a silhouette in the driver’s seat, but the glare from the sun blocked most of the car window.

Thank god someone else was here because at least now I knew that I was in the right place. But another problem arose. Now, different things were rushing through my head about what to say to the other boy. Should I make a joke, ask a question? Simply say ‘hello’? I didn’t know. So, I decided to settle on the most stupid thing anyone could ever say. 

“Are you on the hockey team?” What kind of question is that? He has a bag, this time is cut out specifically for hickey practice, and he has a hockey stick with him. Why else would he be here?

He looked up from where he was walking and stared at me awkwardly. It was likely that he wouldn’t have even noticed me if I hadn’t said anything to him. But I did. Which I regretted.

“Oh, um, yeah.” He went to keep on walking but he stopped himself quickly. “Are you?”

I had to keep a laugh in because the boy looked genuinely confused. Or maybe I misjudged that for concern. Still, though, it sounded a bit hopeful. This kid was really hard to read. Either way, I was pretty sure that he thought I couldn’t play hockey.

“Yeah. My dad made me join to make some friends.” 

Suddenly the boy’s demeanor changed. He seemed almost excited that there was a new kid on the team. “Well, I’ll be your first friend. My name’s Adam. Adam Banks. Walk and talk.” And then he started towards two big double doors.

My eyebrows rose at the sudden confidence, taken off guard, but at least he was being friendly. I adjusted your bags and followed right behind him. “So what’s it like here.”

He answered after struggling to open one of the doors, “Well it’s not so bad. It’s super cutthroat during the regular season but in the offseason, it’s pretty relaxed.” As I made myself around the outside of the rink, he kept rambling. “Especially during summer league. The kids who only play during that league have it nice. You’ll definitely survive.”

“Um, so what happens during the regular season?” The thought of angry yelling coaches wasn’t appealing to me, but I could make it work

Adam shrugged his bag up so it wouldn’t fall from his shoulder, “Well. Usually, coach yells at us, tells us that if we don’t win we’re failures, and everyone is constantly fighting to be a starter.” There was silence. “So that’s fun.” I just nodded my head, trying to take this all in. Adam didn’t say anything until he reached the locker room doors. Then he turned to me. “Yeah, but coach is a lot less lenient during summer because it doesn’t really matter for playoffs.”

I scoffed, “yeah, but I’ll eventually have to deal with him. Right?”

Adam’s expression flattened, “Wait, you’re doing winter league too?” He looked genuinely concerned, and now I was second-guessing joining hockey. If this boy didn’t think I could survive, then how could I? Even if I was just gonna sit on the bench, the way this kid was making it out to be was not sounding like the greatest way to make friends.

“Well, yeah. Is that bad?” I needed to hear him say it. Say that I should quit, or join dance, or something. Just so I could have an excuse to tell my dad in case the first day of practice goes awry.

He spoke fast, “Oh no, no. It’s just that--” 

“That I’m not good enough…”

He didn’t say anything. Harsh. I was just trying to make a joke but, I guess that’s what he was really thinking. We stood in silence for a few more seconds, and then he finally thought of something to respond with.

“No. I just feel like you’ll get hurt… and, um.”

I started to laugh. I applaud Adam for trying to make it seem like he didn’t think I was bad, but he just couldn’t do it. “Don’t sweat it, I know I’m gonna be bad.” He started to laugh with me. “Hey, at least I’ll get abs out of it.” 

He and I were actually pretty good friends for the most part. He was my first friend here in Minnesota. He taught me how to skate, and in turn, I offered him some sub-par jokes. He always used to laugh at my jokes even if they were awful. He was what I considered my best friend. He definitely wasn’t a best friend, I couldn’t confide in all of my secrets, and he couldn’t do the same to me, but Adam was the only kid I was friends with. We laughed hard, we fell on the ice together. He even told his mom that practices started to end later just so he could wait with me until my dad got off work and picked me up. 

Not long after we bonded, I hato the ducks. At the time, I didn’t know exactly what happened. All my dad said to me was something about how the coach wasn’t that nice, and that he didn’t want me on his team. I didn’t really care since hockey wasn’t something that I cared about too much. So I said goodbye to Adam and explained that I had to go. I didn’t say anything about the coach-not-liking-me part because then I thought he’d feel bad for me.

“Yeah, I’m supposed to switch teams too, but I think my dads’ gonna see if I can stay on the team.” He spoke almost as if he was trying to convince himself. I thought it was a great idea to tell him why he had to go to the ducks.

“They don’t want you, Adam. Maybe if you go to the ducks, you’ll get a coach who appreciates you.” I didn’t know what was wrong with what I said to him until about a year later, but by the time I finished my sentence, he was fuming.

The situation afterward was a blur, and I can’t remember what all was said. I just remember Adam touching on the fact how I’m an awful hockey player, and that he only talked to me because he felt sorry for me. Now, if my old coach had told me that I was awful at hockey, I’d be completely fine. I already knew that, and coach is just...coach. But hearing it come from Adam? It wasn’t like he was just telling me how it is, he wanted to hurt me.

It took me two weeks to stop thinking about the situation constantly, and then it started to fade away. I never even told him the real reason why I told him what I did, but now I have to work on a history project with him. How am I gonna do that if I can’t even tell him the reason for our quarrel that we had three years ago? Let alone complete a whole project?

“The syllabus will be given tomorrow, and the deadline for this project will be written under the ‘AP History’ bulletin. You may get to work.”

I slumped out of my desk and started putting away my things that were on the table attachment. During this, I tried to think of what I was going to say when I went over to him. I almost decided on either trying to make a truce or just acting like he didn’t exist.

He was slouched in his desk, pencil in hand, avoiding eye contact with me. As I sat down my stuff on an empty desk near him, his words startled me. “So, 50/50?”

I just stared at him. For some reason, my brain could not process what Adam had just said. It took a solid four seconds for me to respond. “I don’t understand.”

Adam’s eyebrows rose while his eyes rolled, “Of course you don’t.”

I scoffed, “What, you’re just gonna say some numbers and you think I’m gonna understand what you’re trying to say?”

He was leaning forward in his desk now, “Well you seemed to be doing well in calculus, so, yes.” A small, mocking smile was now gracing his face. 

I took in a deep breath to try and refrain from spewing whatever profanities came to mind. “Look, can we just set aside whatever this is so we can do this project?” He crossed his arms in response. “C’mon, I can’t afford to get a bad grade.” Still no response. If his goal was to ruin my life, he sure was on the right path. 

“What do I get out of it?”

The audacity.

“I’m just saying. I’ll be fine with one bad grade, so what exactly is the payoff for tolerating...you?”

So there was a shiny glimmer of hope, but it would definitely come at a cost. “Anything. Anything you want. Just please, tolerate me.”

He brought a hand to his chin, acting like he was pondering his choice, “but will it really be anything?”

“Oh my god, you are so annoying.”

“Watch it.” His voice was stern.

“Okay, okay. Sorry. But yes, anything. You name it.”

Did he even know what he wanted? Or was he just trying to play this out? Either way, I’m about to have a conniption if we don’t start working on this project soon.

We sat in silence for what felt like forever. Of course, Adam had to change his thinking position almost every second, until he decided on what he wanted. “Okay, here’s the deal. I help you get your precious little A, and you have to get me a date with Charlie.”

[another-dra-anew]

see if he'll reach out today? :O???

//We leave the classroom, which has been empty for a good ten, fifteen minutes now, and head to…

Sub-Event: Haruhiko heads home?

//Hopes Peak Main Course Dorms, Floor 2, Class 79-B: Kobashikawa’s dorm.

~*~

//Kobashikawa lays on his bed, still in his uniform, slowly kicking his legs as he scrolls on his phone.

Kobashikawa - …

Kobashikawa - No ones posted anything new…

Kobashikawa - Tsurugi will probably update with a picture when he’s back to his dorm after looking at the market…

Kobashikawa - But it’s only been a short while since class got out.

Kobashikawa - …

Kobashikawa - …Mmm…

//He pauses for a moment, before swiping out of Instagram, and clicking on his phones texting service. It’s still selected on the last contact he was messaging; his mom.

Kobashikawa - …

//He scrolls up, re-reading their conversation for the millionth time.

~*~

Description: A text conversation between Kobashikawa Yuriko, and Kobashikawa Haruhiko. Given names used for clarity.

Monday, December 9th

6:37 AM

Yuriko: Have you texted Miki today? 

Yuriko: Today’s her birthday; she isn’t up yet, don’t worry.

7:46 AM

Haruhiko: i remembered, so i stayed up until midnight to text her

Haruhiko: is she out of school yet? 

Haruhiko: I know none of her classes required her meeting with them this quarter, so itd be fine for her to sleep in even if she’s not, I’m just curious 

Yuriko: Good job, honey!

Yuriko: No, she’s not out until the 13th.

Yuriko: Which should be the same as you get out…?

Haruhiko: they aren’t letting kids go until the 22nd, I believe. We have to stay on campus until then

Yuriko: You could always tell them you want to work the break, and head home when you’re off…

Yuriko: I’m not saying you have to go earn money, I just know you usually get to fly a lot more than you’ve been able to.

Yuriko: And I wouldn’t want you to spend all your time with us up in the air…

8:22 AM

Yuriko: You’re free to do whatever, but I don’t want you to be off in a different country when you could be sleeping at home.

Yuriko: You don’t have to leave your room, I’d just be happy knowing you’re in there ❤️

8:31 AM

Haruhiko: sorry, I was taking a bath

Haruhiko: I can try to apply for an early leave, I’d need to get it approved by administration, and get a work schedule cleared

Yuriko: Do you need me to call anywhere for you?

Haruhiko: I have people I can text to coordinate with airports for me

Yuriko: Okay! 

9:16 AM

Haruhiko: Love you, mom

Yuriko: I love you too!!! ❤️❤️❤️

Tuesday, December 10th

2:32 PM

Yuriko: Do you think Miki would like this? //Attatched is a picture of a torn up black shirt, taken at a bit of an odd angle.

Haruhiko: yea

Haruhiko: get it for her!

Yuriko: Got it ❤️

4:52 PM

Yuriko: Have you asked for early leave, Haru?

Haruhiko: not yet, no

Yuriko: Okay, be sure you get that handled!

Yuriko: I still have a copy of your schedule, do you think it’d help for me to text you when class is out? As a reminder?

Haruhiko: it’s okay, i’ll ask today

Yuriko: Thank you, honey!

5:07 PM

Haruhiko: :( //Attached is a picture of a paper sheet taped to a window. It reads:  OFFICE HOURS (Dec 8-14) M-F 8:00 AM - 5:00 PM SAT-SUN 8:00 AM - 6:00 PM

Yuriko: Oh no!

Yuriko: Think you can go before class? Or send them an e-mail?

Haruhiko: i’ll try to get there tomorrow morning

Yuriko: Sounds like a plan!

Wednesday, December 11th

8:03 AM

Yuriko: Don’t forget to ask the office about leaving early!

Haruhiko: 👍

5:30 PM

Yuriko: How did it go?

Haruhiko: they said i can go early if i can get  four hours flight time per day i leave early.

Haruhiko: I’d have until I come back to get those complete though, so they could be dispersed over the week between christmas and new years

Yuriko: Hm… what do you think?

Haruhiko: idk

Yuriko: Well, do you want to come home early?

6:16 PM

Haruhiko: i don’t know 

Yuriko: Honey, I just don’t want you to feel like you need to escape during the time you have with us.

Yuriko: If you don’t want to come home early, that’s okay! 

Yuriko: You can stay at the school, you can come home and take some flights, it’s whatever you want.

Yuriko: I just worry about you…

Yuriko: Do you think you’ll be able to spend time outside of your room this season?

8:37 PM

Yuriko: It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it, or can’t. I don’t you to feel like you’re being pressured.

Yuriko: I love you, Haru.

9:29 PM

Haruhiko: ♥️

Yuriko: ❤️❤️❤️

10:16 PM

Haruhiko: it’s hard right now. 

Haruhiko: i love you all, i just get really really anxious when i think about coming home

Haruhiko: i don’t want to waste my chance to see you all, but im having a hard time this season

Thursday, December 12th

7:32 AM

Yuriko: I hear you, honey, I’m sorry.

Yuriko: And it is okay if you don’t feel up to leaving your room when you’re here! No one would be upset, we understand.

Yuriko: We love you ❤️

12:51 PM

Yuriko: Miki needs to learn to not cause trouble… //Attached is a short video of a young woman throwing snowballs at a teenager a few years older than Haruhiko. The young woman has long, honey brown hair, and is wearing a light green winter coat. The video is filmed from a small distance away, but she seems to be very pretty in a conventional way, and very upset, in a “attack the cause of anger with snowballs” way. The teenager has jet black hair pulled back into two buns, and wears a black coat. The video starts about a second before she falls to the ground, screaming as the onslaught of snow continues even after she falls. The person behind the camera can’t be seen, but after filming for a bit, says “…They’ll work it out just fine…” and ends the video.

4:08 PM

Yuriko: Have you tried talking with your classmates? They seem nice, I’m sure they could help with your anxiety…

Yuriko: Also, isn’t there counselors at the school? 

Yuriko: Or I could reach out to your therapist for an online appointment, those are pretty common now!

7:14 PM

Yuriko: Shira should be sending you gift ideas for your grandparents; no promises on how they’ll behave, but I’m fully planning to make a quick escape this year!

10:01 PM

Yuriko: Sleep well, honey ❤️

Friday, December 13th

2:37 AM

Haruhiko: tell shira im proud of her and am looking forward to her amazing snowball throwing skills when miki inevitably decides to bully and torment me

3:13 AM

Haruhiko: love you ❤️

6:58 AM

Yuriko: I love you too!

Yuriko: And Miki also loves you~

7:56 AM

Haruhiko: Miki bit me last time I was home

Yuriko: She’s teething.

Haruhiko: SHE IS SEVENTEEN AND RUDE

Yuriko: And she loves you!

Yuriko: Love bites. Like a puppy.

1:17 PM

Haruhiko: I’m not really doing well.

Haruhiko: I have an hour and a half to focus on my talent, i might try to get a quick flight in.

Haruhiko: But idk, i just wanted to say something? Keep you updated, u know 

2:14 PM

Yuriko: Sorry honey, I was in a meeting!

Yuriko: Do you maybe want to call? We can video chat, if you don’t want to talk, or we can talk, if you think this is one of those episodes.

Yuriko: Whenever you want though, I know you’re up in the skies now!

Yuriko: I’m here for you ❤️

Yuriko: Stay safe!

~*~

//It’s around a quarter past five now. 

Kobashikawa - …

//He slides his shoes off, and nudges them off the bed before grabbing one of the many blankets tossed onto his bed, and cocooning himself inside it.

Kobashikawa - Aaaaa…

//He continues to stare at his phone, watching the cursor blink on the empty text box…

Kobashikawa - …I miss my mom…

//Then clicks on his mom’s contact, now hovering his finger over the “Call” button.

Kobashikawa - …

Kobashikawa - ……….

//Kerosene and copper and a sting in your nose and pain in your ears and tears in your eyes and blood on his face and waking up and sirens and sobs.

Kobashikawa - No no no no no no no nooo… let’s… let’s not, let’s not do that.

Kobashikawa - That’s… a bad idea.

//He turns off his phone, and throws it to the carpeted floor. Then, he frees himself from his blanket, trading it for a pillow which he uses to cover his face, and-

Kobashikawa, muffled - Aaaaaaaa…

Kobashikawa - AAAAAAAGH

//Finished with his attempt at ruining his vocal chords by screaming without opening his mouth, he stays still for a moment, before rolling off his bed, joining his shoes and phone on the floor.

//Once again, he takes a moment to… ? Before blindly grabbing for a blanket from his bed, with a surprising amount of success.

Kobashikawa, muffled - Mmmmm…

Kobashikawa, signing - Fuck… fuck fuck fuck.

//He lays still on the floor for a solid five minutes, before abruptly standing, and cleaning his things from the floor.

//Blanket and pillow back on the bed, shoes in the closet, and phone plugged in to charge.

Kobashikawa - …

Kobashikawa - I feel sick…

Kobashikawa - M’kay… uh oh, uh oh, let’s just…

Kobashikawa - I’m gonna take a bath, that’ll help, yeah?

Kobashikawa - That’ll help…

~*~

//Kobashikawa emerges from his bathroom, carefully drying his hair via microfiber towel, focusing on caring for the slight curl in his hair instead of addressing any of the actual issues in his life at the moment.

Kobashikawa - Keep this calm energy, keep this calm energy…

//He stands still, closing his eyes, and breathing deeply.

Kobashikawa - …Okay.

Kobashikawa - What do I need to get done…

Kobashikawa - Kisaragi and I are doing homework tomorrow, so I’m not concerned about that…

Kobashikawa - …I really want to fly.

Kobashikawa - What time is it?

//Kobashikawa grabs his phone- no new texts.

Kobashikawa - Oh… Ōtori’s shift isn’t over yet.

Kobashikawa - …Yeah, I’ll go get coffee, why not.

Kobashikawa - Maybe he’ll want to go fly with me when his shifts over…

//Kobashikawa pauses, thinking over his options for clothing; he puts on a undershirt, then a loose-fitting sweatshirt, and stares uncomfortably at his reflection.

Kobashikawa - …I got dressed sometime after 8, plus four hours makes sometime after 12…

Kobashikawa - But I went to my room to calm down, and can’t fly with it on, so… another hour to get to 1, making 5 hours,

Kobashikawa - Then I’d put it back on before class, making… 

Kobashikawa - I mean, that is a bit over 6 hours, but not consecutively, and I just had it off, and I’ll take it back off if I go to fly…

Kobashikawa - …

//He removes his sweater and his shirt, grabbing a black binder from his laundry pile, and adding that to his outfit. The undershirt is tucked into his jeans, and the front hem of the sweater follows it, better helping to hide Kobashikawa’s figure.

Kobashikawa - …Ugh…

Kobashikawa - Good energy, good energy, good energy.

Kobashikawa - It’s cold out, this sweater is thin enough… I can add a overcoat, yeah.

//True to plan, he grabs an overcoat from his closet and pulls it on, fixing his collar, but not checking his reflection again.

Kobashikawa - …Mkay, I need to grab my phone…

Kobashikawa - …I’ll call later, not now.

Kobashikawa - Maybe I’ll ask for some flights out of HND…

//Kobashikawa takes a moment, fidgeting with his hands, and taking deep breaths before signing and placing his phone in his jacket pocket. He grabs a pair of gloves, and tugs them on as he opens the door to leave his dorm.

~*~

//Kobashikawa stands last in line behind three people- a duo, and one sole person in front of him. His eyes visibly widen, and he stills, before slowly grabbing his phone from his pocket. He rapidly types as the person in front of him orders.

Ōtori - Here you go… enjoy your drink.

??? - Thank you! Have a nice break.

Ōtori - You as well!

Ōtori - …Kobashikawa, I need to cut you off, this isn’t okay.

Kobashikawa - …

//He gives Ōtori a awkward smile, and holds his phone out at him.

Ōtori - …

Kobashikawa, via phone - TOP TEN REASONS YOU SHOULD COVER MY DRINK

1)I forgot my wallet back at the dorms and don’t want to walk back 

2) We live in the same class area, and you’re always in my room anyways, you can literally steal my money anytime you want, so it’s not even on me to get the money to you, you can just grab it

3) I’ll tip you really really well for the amazing customer service 

4) Please

5) I’ll tell Tsurugi and make it sound like you did something wrong

6) Please don’t make me walk back that would be so mean

7) Pretty privilege. Really I shouldn’t even have to pay. I’m amazing and so attractive and the sight of me is enough payment

8) I’m literally so cold I neeed a warm drink or I’ll die

9) And then you will be a murderer

Ōtori - …That’s nine reasons.

//Kobashikawa types again

Kobashikawa - 10) Please

Ōtori - You already said that!

Kobashikawa - And?

Ōtori - You’re so spoiled, and I hate you.

Kobashikawa - It’s okay Ōtori, I still love you, even when you talk to me like this.

Ōtori - Vanilla latte?

Kobashikawa - Yes please.

Ōtori - Fucking hell…

//Ōtori starts to make Kobashikawas drink.

Ōtori - Did you just bathe? 

//He turns to watch Kobashikawa.

Kobashikawa - Mhm!

Ōtori - If you go out in the cold with wet hair, you could get sick. 

Kobashikawa - I don’t want to blow dry it and kill it…

Ōtori - Hmm… one sec.

//Ōtori turns back to finish Kobashikawas drink, and passes it to him.

Kobashikawa - Thank youuu, I love youuu…

Ōtori - Yeah, yeah… what have you done since class got out?

Kobashikawa - Nothing much, I pretty much just took a bath and stressed over what to wear to seduce the cute guy working at the student store.

Ōtori, dryly - Yeah, checks out.

Kobashikawa - Mhm… such a shame you were here instead…

Ōtori - That’s it, I’m charging interest on your coffee.

Kobashikawa - Ah. Fair.

~*~

//We’ll return to Kobashikawa won’t communicate later, for now…

{Follow Maeda and the others to the market}

{Make sure she’s on time}