#but this afternoon the memories and the feelings are slapping

[maneskings]

breaking news: another girl listens to 1d and mourns the good 2012-2014 times!!!

[muniimyg]

♡ 04: how you're lookin' at me, yeah, i know what that means and i'm obsessed

series m.list // taglist

note: a wild ride…. good luck y’all ,, THANKS FOR 1K 😻 my kitty is happy !!! hauwhahahahaa this part is lengthy so pls take a mfking SEAT. pls lmk what y’all think ,, send in asks 🫵 we’re headed towards the finale 💛 much wuv !!

warnings: tension/tampo vibes (whats that in english? lol) ,, male masturbation (jk gets himself off as he recalls oc slapping him) ,, jealousy (lots of it. like 90% of this part is filled with it) ,, oc has a hickey ,, angst ,, and a little mwaamwaaaa moment :')

//

life sucks. 

for jungkook, at least. 

it’s been almost a month since the incident, and you’ve done everything in your power to avoid him.

the memory of the fight—the words exchanged, the way he said your name—still lingers in the air between you like smoke, suffocating and inescapable.

at first, jungkook tried.

he texted you the next day and every day after that. his messages were hesitant and apologetic... and each one was left unanswered.

nerd [11:11PM]: ___, can we talk? sent nerd [11:28PM]: please? sent nerd [12:01AM]: i’m sorry. i mean it. sent nerd [12:03AM]: it wasn’t even like that. not with her.  sent nerd [1:09AM]: ik i’m gonna sound like a total douche no matter what so let me do it please sent nerd [1:15AM]: let me say sorry, let me fuck up, let me make it up to u sent nerd [2:01AM]: i really hate begging  sent nerd [2:01AM]: but i really hate u not wanting me even more seen

he did try to call though.

just once.

the ringtone barely lasted before he hung up, realizing how futile it was.

at one point, he showed up at your favorite coffee shop one afternoon. he sat alone by the window with an untouched drink, waiting. 

his eyes flicked to the door every time it opened, a glimmer of hope lighting his expression for a split second before fading when it wasn’t you.

after two hours, he left.

but now, almost four weeks later, jungkook has stopped trying (so hard).

it wasn’t a sudden decision, more of a gradual acceptance that whatever connection you’d shared—whatever you’d been to each other—was slipping through his fingers.

he told himself you needed time, that maybe this space was what you wanted, what you deserved. and so, he gave it to you.

he told himself it wasn’t the end. 

it couldn’t be.

he refuses for it to be. 

this is just… complicated. 

he gets that.

he's a smart guy after all!

but late at night, when the world was quiet and he was left alone with his thoughts, the weight of your absence pressed against his chest like an ache he couldn’t soothe. it... burns? it throbs in this aching rhythm that he can't quite figure the melody to.

jungkook thinks about the way you banter with him and how much it makes his day. how closely you sit next to him. how effortlessly you mesmerize him… 

how you flirted with him for a few days and now he's malfunctioning. how he spent the last month memorizing every detail of those days and can't get over it. he has convinced himself you're into him...  

like, remember how your fingers would brush his when you handed him something? that meant something, right? or how about the way you looked at him and tilted your head? shit, yeah.

that meant something.

fuck, the way you laugh and throw your head back and he gets a glance at your perfect neck—how he wants to leave kisses on it. how he… 

how he had you. 

for a moment, he really had you. 

under him, tangled, and messy. 

how he was so close to your lips. 

he should’ve kissed you. 

he should’ve locked the fucking door. 

he should’ve ran after you even more. 

but he didn’t…

and now? 

now you aren’t even around. 

he recalls what taehyung said to him night at the arcade. taehyung's words rub into his wound like salt. it stings. it makes him feel sick to his stomach and he just... get can't stomach it.

“she isn't gonna stick around forever... especially with all the shit you pull…”

there are no words to describe how incredibly helpless he feels.

if anything, he goes through circles in his mind; completely in disbelief he could fuck up this bad with you.

he hates that he can't think straight. he hates that he can't study properly. he hates that he stopped tutoring and even got in trouble with his profs for letting them down (they really counted on jungkook to help other students out).

he hates that he can't fucking breathe lately.

he can't sleep.

he can't eat.

jungkook hates the growing distance, but more than that, he hates how much it hurts.

he hates how much he wants to fix things even when he doesn’t know how. he just knows he wants to. god, fuck it—

fine. 

he hates how much he misses you.

but most of all, he hates that he was wrong. 

it was entirely his fault. 

jungkook hates it all.

by chance, you and jungkook run into each other. 

the scene is perfect.

it's the perfect set up to cry over when you get home—that is.

the rain starts just as you’re leaving the library, soft at first but quickly turning heavier. you don’t expect to see him—not here, not now—but there he is, standing under the awning of the café across the street, shaking out his umbrella. the door chimes as you step outside, and he looks up.

for a moment, neither of you move, caught in the heavy stillness of the moment.

jungkook freezes when he sees you. 

his eyes widen briefly, then soften into something cautious, hesitant. he tucks his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, fingers flexing nervously against the fabric as he steps forward.

“hey,” he says, his voice careful, like he’s offering a truce.

the sound of him makes your heart clench, the warmth in his tone threatening to undo you. but you don’t let it show. you nod once, lips pressed into a thin line, and move to step around him.

“wait—” his hand shoots out, not to grab you, just to stop you. his fingers hover midair, unsure if he even has the right to reach for you anymore. “___, please?”

the rain is falling harder now, pooling on the sidewalk and soaking into the edges of your shoes. you glance at him, taking in the way his hair clings to his forehead, the way his hoodie looks just a little too big on him, like he hasn’t been sleeping well or eating much.

“can you not pretend like this is a coincidence?” you ask quietly, refusing to meet his gaze. 

he stays silent. 

it wasn’t. 

truth be told, he’s been waiting outside for almost 45 minutes. he didn’t even know if you were at the library today… he just had to wait and find out for himself. 

"do you have an umbrella?" he asks, breaking the silence. 

"what—"

"here." 

he cuts you off, pushing the umbrella toward you.

you blink, startled, as he places the handle firmly in your hand. your fingers wrap around it instinctively, the metal cool against your palm.

"jungkook—" you start, your voice faltering.

he shakes his head, stepping back into the rain without a word. the downpour hits him almost instantly, soaking through his hoodie as he shoves his hands into his pockets and starts walking away.

you stand there, the umbrella trembling in your grip, watching him go. the rain comes down harder, cascading off the awning above you, but you barely notice. your gaze stays locked on him—on the way his shoulders hunch against the storm, on the slow but steady steps that carry him farther and farther away.

something tightens in your chest. 

maybe it’s regret or maybe longing… but as his figure grows smaller and the storm swallows him—you feel it.

the warmth of his lingering presence and the chill of it all—

—of your favourite almost.

a few days later, jungkook finds his umbrella in his bedroom. 

he takes out his phone to send you a text, prepared to humiliate himself and to beg for a second of your attention. he’d trade all tonight’s focus for a moment of you.

just as he picks the umbrella up, he finds a note. 

___ told me to give it back to you. she says thanks (whore). ps: she said don’t text her. — taehyung

jungkook sighs. 

does he listen? 

obviously not. 

nerd [6:19PM]: don’t tell me what to do  nerd [6:20PM]: i hate this nerd [6:21PM]: u should’ve jus kept the umbrella. giving it back to taehyung and telling him to tell me not to text u is sick.  seen. nerd [6:22PM]: reply pls seen.  nerd [6:26PM]: fine. i’ll jus talk to myself  nerd [6:31PM]: i miss u sm i jerked off the other night thinking abt the way u slapped me  seen nerd [6:33PM]: come on, kitty  nerd [6:34PM]: promise to think abt me tn :(  nerd [6:35PM]: cos i’m gonna think abt u tn nerd [6:36PM]: ignore me if u want proof  typing…  nerd [6:37PM]: kitty? seen nerd [6:40PM]: fuck. nerd [6:41PM]: how do u get me so fucking hard thru text? maybe i jus miss u too much  nerd [6:42PM]: excited for my proof?  seen nerd [6:45PM]: ft?  seen nerd [6:46PM]: keep seenzoning me and i’ll cum typing... seen ___ has notifications silenced

but it's too late.

jungkook meant it.

he's sat on his gaming chair, cock heavy.

his phone is out with that group picture from the arcade (zoomed into you) as lewd thoughts of you fill his mind. jungkook runs his thumb across his tip, hissing at the way it feels over his slit. 

he flicks his wrists, gripping his dick with just enough pressure to grow the hardness. it’s already stiff and he can feel the need to cum—but he just can’t.

he can’t without thinking of you. 

so, his eyes flutter shut as his memories of you replay in his mind. 

from the way your lips winced when he ate you out—to the way that mini skirt looked on you that day. he thinks about the way you say his name; in any and every way. angry, teasingly, and desperately… he thinks about how pretty it sounds rolling off your tongue. 

how pretty you looked under him.

how good you smelt when he kissed your neck. 

how close you sat next to him—fingertips lingering... god, what he would do to be close to you again. 

jungkook thinks about the slap. 

how hard your palms hit his cheek and how angry you looked at him. despite the negativity surrounding the situation—he can’t help it. 

you looked so hot. 

it just… gets to him. 

before he knows it, his hand is covered in his sticky cum. 

he’s a loser—a nerd in your words. 

he always has been… and here he is; jerking himself off to the pretty girl he lost his chance with.

the night is supposed to be nothing special. 

for jungkook, it’s just another event for his precious marine conservation club—a fundraiser, a schmooze-fest for potential investors, and a chance to hand out awards to appease the donors. sure, he’s getting an award, but it doesn’t feel like much.

the room buzzes with polite conversation and clinking glasses. jungkook adjusts his tie for the hundredth time, barely paying attention to the speeches and presentations. he stands off to the side with the other club members, blending into the background until his name is called.

“jeon jungkook, for outstanding contributions to marine conservation and innovation. mr. jeon has been working towards innovative chemical solutions for marine conservation, focusing on sustainable practices to protect endangered species like dolphins, and developing eco-friendly alternatives to reduce their environmental impact.”

the applause is polite but hearty.

jungkook steps onto the stage, the spotlight hitting him square in the face. as he accepts the plaque, his gaze instinctively sweeps over the audience—and then it stops.

you’re here.

sitting with the guys, casually chatting like you belong there, like you haven’t been avoiding him for a month and a half (at this point).

his heart trips over itself. 

he’s not even sure if it’s relief or panic or something else entirely, but it rattles him. he forces his attention back to the microphone, holding the plaque in his slightly sweaty hands.

“uh, thank you,” he begins, his voice steady enough, though his pulse is anything but. “our club’s mission has always been to protect and preserve marine life through education, community projects, and outreach. with this award…”

his eyes flick back to you. 

you’re laughing at something taehyung just said, your smile bright, your whole demeanor light and carefree.

“…we want to focus on…”

he falters, the words slipping from his mind as his gaze lingers on you.

“…we want to focus on… f-focus…”

a ripple of laughter spreads through the audience. someone whistles playfully. he blinks, startled back into the moment.

“…focus on sustainable practices and expanding our projects,” he finishes, clearing his throat as heat rises to his cheeks.

you’re laughing too, your head tilted slightly as you join the others. it should make him feel worse, but somehow, seeing you like that—smiling, present—grounds him.

he powers through the rest of the speech, keeping his gaze firmly away from where you’re sitting. when it’s over, he accepts the handshake from the host and makes his way offstage, barely registering the applause.

as soon as the ceremony ends, jungkook doesn’t even think. 

he weaves through the crowd, ignoring congratulatory pats on the back and comments from investors, his eyes scanning for you.

how did you know about tonight?

wait. 

shit.

he’s been texting you every day with random ass updates. of course you know. he’s yapped about it… but why? why did you come? don’t you hate his guts?

you're here so... maybe you don't hate him as much as he has convinced himself you do.

jungkook finds you near the back with the friend group, holding a glass of champagne and listening to hoseok animatedly retell a story.

“congratulations,” you say lightly, lifting your glass in a mock toast. your words are casual, but there's an edge to them, a distance you've kept between the two of you for far too long.

his chest tightens at the awkwardness of your tone, but he nods, his hands slipping into his pockets. the space between you feels impossibly wide now, though only a few feet separate you.

“thanks,” he says, his voice quieter than he intended. “... thanks for coming.”

his gaze flickers to yours for a second before dropping to the floor, and he shifts, a little uncertain, taking a half-step closer.

hesitantly, you inch back. 

his presence is suddenly overwhelming, more than you’re ready for.

“yeah… of course,” you murmur, unsure how to navigate the new dynamic between you two. the tension is thick, but there's something else there too. an unspoken history. “what are friends for, you know?”

he hates that. 

friends. 

yeah fucking right.

jungkook tries to break the tension.

he takes a risk.

he takes a small step forward, hoping you don’t move. this is the closest he’s gotten to you in over a month—he needs this. it’s like euphoria in his veins—being with you again.

he needs this.

“how have you been?” he asks, the question coming out softer than he anticipated. jungkook scratches the back of his neck and continues. “a-are you coming to the afterparty?”

your lips part, a pause hanging between you.

you don’t want to admit how much you’ve missed this. how much you’ve missed him.

but the words slip out, more natural than you expect.

“yeah,” you say, giving him a brief but warm look. “i’ll be there.”

for a moment, your eyes lock, and something shifts. 

it’s like you’ve both forgotten all the walls, the space between you collapsing. he can feel his heart rate quicken, like his knees might give out, but he forces himself to stay grounded, to act nonchalant.

“cool,” he says, trying to brush off the sudden rush of emotions. “i’ll.. i’ll be there too.” he smiles, but it’s the kind of smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes—not yet, anyway.

“i sure hope so,” you laugh. “it’s your party, nerd.”

nerd. 

holy shit. 

never has he ever felt so relieved to hear you call him that. 

as he’s about to say more, taehyung appears out of nowhere, slapping his arm and giving him a congratulatory squeeze. 

“hey, man, nice speech. well deserved,” taehyung says, grinning like an idiot. “what did you want to focus on, again?”

you laugh while jungkook rolls his eyes. he shoves taehyung playfully. 

suddenly, you can’t help but feel the awkwardness settle back in, like something’s shifted again. you feel a pang in your chest as you turn toward the other people nearby, the ones you've been socializing with before jungkook showed up. the buzz of the conversation pulls you away, and you focus on the group, hoping to escape the overwhelming emotions that jungkook’s presence stirs.

jungkook watches you go, his eyes lingering as you slip away from the conversation. 

he can’t help it. 

you’re in his head again.

he looks over at taehyung, catching his eye. 

“hyung, is she coming to the dinner before the afterparty?” he asks, trying to sound casual. his voice betrays him, cracking with just the faintest hint of hope.

taehyung raises an eyebrow, taking a sip of his drink. 

“yeah. excited?”

“no.”

taehyung scoffs. “say that again but take away the lying.”

“fuck off.”

“___’s a good friend, man,” taehyung chuckles, redirecting the conversation. “you’re lucky. you just might be back in her good graces.”

jungkook’s heart skips a beat. 

“really?” he asks, trying not to sound too eager.

taehyung grins, leaning in a little. 

“yeah, but... she’s bringing her little boyfriend with her.”

you’re doing what?

jungkook feels the need to rub his eyes or something.

was taehyung shitting on him? boyfriend? when did this happen? no fucking way. 

jungkook refuses to believe it. 

… yet, the words hit jungkook like a punch to the gut. his breath catches, and his stomach tightens. 

"what?" his voice is barely a whisper, the weight of it settling in. 

"she didn't tell you?"

"we haven't been talking."

"rightfully so."

fuck. 

no. 

he doesn’t want to believe it, but the hurt is already seeping through.

taehyung shrugs, oblivious to the internal storm brewing in jungkook. 

“shit, well... yeah, she’s been seeing him for a while. dunno if they’re officially together, but… guess she’s really moving on. good for her, right? i mean, now you can really focus on just being her friend.”

the air stills. 

the reality of it all comes crashing down. jungkook’s heart sinks, his chest tightening in that all-too-familiar ache. 

that's why you’ve been busy... 

you’ve been moving on.

his fingers curl into fists, the anger bubbling up before he can suppress it. but he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t let his emotions spill out in front of taehyung, even though every part of him is screaming. 

“yeah,” he forces a smile. “i guess.”

as the night goes on, jungkook can’t shake the feeling that he’s lost something he can’t get back. something that’s slipping further away with every step you take, every laugh you share with someone else. and no matter how much he wants to fight for it, he’s afraid it’s already too late.

jungkook doesn’t want to go to dinner anymore.

he has no appetite.

jungkook is already at the dinner when you arrive. 

his mood is off, grumpy but with an undercurrent of sadness that he can’t quite shake. he’s forcing a smile when people congratulate him for the award, but it’s clear it’s not reaching his eyes. the night’s just been a blur of congratulations and polite smiles, but all he can think about who will walk in with you. 

does he know him?

is he gonna be some super cool prince charming?

does he know that jungkook was eating you out just a month ago? 

all valid questions…

however, you arrive a little late, and immediately his gaze searches for you in the crowd. when he sees you, his heart lurches. he spots you talking to someone, and the knot in his stomach tightens.

you make your way to the table, your eyes scanning it before you stop. for a moment, you aren’t sure where to sit. usually, you sit next to jungkook… but the spot is occupied by jimin. 

not by choice.

jungkook had saved the spot for you… you just came too late and he didn’t have it in him to tell jimin to move. but, jimin catches the milli-second exchanged look you have with jungkook and immediately shifts. 

“oh,” jimin begins. “shit, i forgot… didn’t know you were gonna show up so late—”

you chuckle, shaking your head. “it’s fine we’re gonna sit on the other side! by the way,” you pause and push the guy you came with forward. “this is do-hwan. he’s a biochem major and we have a few electives together… um, what else?” 

biochem?

serisouly?

do you have a thing for nerds or something? bro doesn't even look the part. he should be majoring in physics or something even more lame.

jungkook's thoughts cut short when he hears you giggling.

“hi,” do-hwan says with a grins at everyone. then, he turns and extends his hand to jungkook. “jungkook? shit, man. congrats on the award.”

he chuckles, giving jungkook a playful look. “organic chem, huh? i guess someone has to study the pretty side of chemistry.” 

what the fuck does that mean?

jungkook’s ears turn red. 

“yeah,” he grumbles under his breath. “nice to meet you too.”

with that, you and do-hwan make your way to the other side of the table. jungkook watches, his gaze hardening as you take a seat beside him.

he’s trying his best to stay calm and to not show it—not show how absolutely fucking mad this entire thing is.

this is ridiculous! 

his chest tightens painfully at the sight of you sitting with him. his fingers curl into his glass as he watches you laugh and chat with others, inserting do-hwan like you’re some proud girlfriend. 

you've probably known do-hwan like 10 seconds.

and jungkook can’t help it! every word you exchange with do-hwan makes him feel like he’s being crushed from the inside out. 

he’s trying to focus on the conversation happening around him, but his mind keeps wandering, drifting to you.

he watches as you lean in to talk to do-hwan, the way your eyes light up when you laugh at something he says. it’s the same laugh, the same warmth in your smile, but somehow it feels so much farther away from him now—like a memory that he’s trying to hold onto but can’t quite grasp.

he forces himself to look at the group again, but his gaze keeps slipping back to you. every word you exchange with do-hwan makes his chest tighten.

it's like he’s suffocating, and he can’t tear his eyes away. the way he moves so casually, his hand brushing against yours as he reaches for his drink. 

it’s too much.

it’s too familiar.

and then, as you turn your head to respond to someone else, he sees it.

just a flash of it—right there on your neck. 

a small hickey, barely visible, but it might as well be a brand. his heart stops for a beat. the sight burns in his chest, and before he can stop himself, his breath catches in his throat.

his stomach churns violently, a rush of heat flooding his veins. everything feels like it’s collapsing inward. the noise around him fades, and all he can hear is the pounding of his own heartbeat. the world shrinks, and the weight of the jealousy hits him like a truck.

he can’t stay here. 

not like this. 

not with this tightness in his chest, not with the ache in his stomach. the room feels like it’s closing in on him, and he knows—he knows he has to get out.

without a word, he stands abruptly, pushing his chair back. his heart races as he excuses himself from the table, slipping away into the hallway outside the main dining area.

the rest of the table doesn’t seem to notice his sudden departure, but your friends quickly start murmuring, and one of them nudges you. 

"you should probably go check on him," taehyung says, giving you an almost knowing look. “i told you not to bring him.”

you hesitate for a second, then stand, glancing at do-hwan.

“it’s not do-hwan's fault.”

taehyung rolls his eyes at you. 

“you’re playing it kinda mean tonight though,” he tells you. “jungkook’s been miserable. sure he deserves to be dragged through mud for whatever happened and for whatever he said, but this? on his night? i don’t know ___…”

you gulp.

maybe taehyung is right.

but you didn’t intend for it to be like this. you genuinely brought a friend you’ve been spending time with! and, sure… yeah. you’ve been kissing him for a few weeks now, but so what? jungkook has probably been fucking every student he’s been tutoring so why the fuck does this matter?

“___…” taehyung urges you. 

“yeah, yeah… i’m going.” 

you wave taehyung off as you get up from your seat. you excuse yourself and let do-hwan know you’ll be right back.

you find jungkook outside. 

he stands with his back pressed against the cool metal of his car, arms crossed loosely over his chest. you notice that his posture is stiff... like he’s trying to keep himself grounded, but his shoulders still carry the weight of what he’s just seen.

his jaw clenches every so often, like he’s holding something back, but when his muscles tense, it’s almost as if the anger or hurt inside him is too much to contain.

as you walk towards him and he notices you. he runs a hand through his hair, tugging at the ends, clearly agitated. he lets out a slow, shaky breath, his eyes cast down toward the ground as if trying to collect his thoughts. he shakes his head slightly, as if to shake off the frustration that has settled in his chest, but it doesn’t seem to help. 

then, he looks up at the sky, his gaze distant, unfocused, lost in the swirl of thoughts that seem to chase him in circles. his arms drop to his sides for a moment, his fingers flexing and unflexing like he’s trying to release the tension that has built up in his body.

after a long pause, he lets out a frustrated sigh, raking his hand through his hair again, this time pushing it back as he exhales sharply.

his whole stance is restless.

it’s like he can’t quite settle his thoughts or his body, caught between what he feels and the reality of what’s happening. 

he’s trapped in his own head, unable to escape the weight of the situation.

by now, you’re next to him.

are you here to set him free?

“so… have the dolphins ever thanked you for your hard work?” you ask, trying to break both the silence and tension with your light tone. “you do so much for them… ungrateful little brats—you know they’re psychos right? they bully—”

he doesn’t turn around. 

“what’s on your neck?” he asks. “did your boyfriend do that?”

your chest hurts at his words. “he’s not... he’s not my boyfriend.” you swallow, trying to keep your voice steady. “he’s just a friend.”

there’s a long pause, and when he finally turns to face you, his eyes are a mixture of frustration and hurt. 

“the same kind of friend i am to you?”

he’s trying to sound nonchalant, but there’s a tremor in his voice.

you shake your head, not knowing how to explain, not knowing how to make him understand.

“you know what? i didn’t come here to make you feel like this…” your voice cracks slightly. “i didn’t... i don’t want to hurt you. i didn’t want to come.”

he scoffs bitterly.

“maybe you shouldn’t have.”

his words sting, but you can’t back down. 

“what do you want me to do?” you ask, frustrated. “if i didn’t show up, you’d be upset and blow up my phone. now that i’m here, you’re still upset—”

“and this is how you chose to show up?” jungkook raises his voice, turning to you. he steps forward, towering over you. he brings his hands to your hair, pushing it back and leaning in to look at your hickey properly. 

he squints. 

“are you proud of this?” he hisses. “fucking bug bite bullshit.”

“stop—” you snap, cutting him off now. “don’t—”

“okay. sorry, fuck..."

a beat.

"___, i miss you,” he breathes. “i just… shit. can you stay still for a second?”

there’s a long silence between you two, the air thick with things unsaid. jungkook looks like he’s about to say something, but his mouth closes, his frustration evident in the way he grits his teeth. 

instead, he just breathes you in. 

for the first time in a month and a half; jungkook can breathe.

then, he steps away and sighs. 

“think i’m gonna head home first. i… i need some space or something,” jungkook tells you. “let them know for me?”

“y-yeah. sure.”

“okay,” jungkook nods. “i’ll see you later.”

“see you.”

for the first time in a while, jungkook offers you a smile and you return it. 

short and sweet—he takes it. 

he leaves and thinks about it the entire drive home.

when you arrive at the party, you’re still reeling from the brief exchange with jungkook. 

your thoughts are completely a tangled mess. 

from the words he didn’t say to the way his eyes held that edge of something unspoken—it all lingers in your mind like an unsolved puzzle. you thought you had it all figured out…

that you could be fine.

that you could move on—but now, after that moment, you’re not so sure anymore. 

your heart races in a way that you can’t explain. why does it feel like you’re standing on the edge of something—something big, something scary—and yet, you're not sure if you want to fall or pull back?

your mind keeps returning to the way he looked at you, like he was caught between wanting to say everything and nothing at all. it’s not a feeling you can shake off easily.

it’s heavier than you thought it would be.

at the party, you try your best to focus on the people around you. do-hwan is by your side, chatting casually with a few people, most of them strangers to you. some faces are familiar—people from jungkook’s marine conservation club, and others... just people. 

you make your rounds, greeting them politely, exchanging pleasantries, but your thoughts are still drifting back to him. to jungkook. the air is thick with anticipation, and no matter how much you try to focus on the conversations happening around you, your mind keeps wandering.

and then, there he is.

jungkook is standing by the drink table, his posture relaxed but not at ease. 

his gaze flicks to you for a moment, a brief flicker of something—maybe surprise, maybe something more—before he meets your eyes. there’s a tense, palpable moment of silence.

he’s holding a red cup in one hand, his fingers wrapped loosely around it. his other hand rests in his pocket, but his stance is still too rigid... too guarded.

it’s like he’s waiting for something to happen, for you to do something.

he doesn’t smile. 

he just nods at you. 

a small, deliberate movement that somehow feels too formal, too distant.

no words.

just acknowledgment.

you feel the knot tighten in your stomach, the nervous energy in your chest quickening. it’s the simplest thing, but it feels loaded with so much more.

you can’t look away. 

something inside you is aching to go over, to close the space between you, to ask if everything’s okay, to say something—but you're frozen. the tension in the air between you is thick enough to suffocate.

you swallow hard, trying to calm the unease building in your chest, but it's no use.

the silence stretches out, heavy and thick, as you stand there, caught between the desire to run or to take a step closer, not sure if you're brave enough for either.

you take a step back, trying to break eye contact, when suddenly, someone bumps into you from behind. you stumble forward, your feet catching on the edge of a rug, and you let out a startled breath as you lose your balance.

before you can fully fall, a strong hand grips your wrist, pulling you back against something solid. your breath catches as you feel the warmth of someone’s body close to you.

it’s jungkook.

without a word, his other hand slides around your waist, steadying you, his fingers briefly pressing against the fabric of your shirt. the contact is brief but grounding, like the world, slows for a moment, just the two of you, suspended in time.

he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t offer the usual reassuring words. 

his grip is firm, and steady, but he doesn’t linger. as quickly as it happens, he pulls away, his hand leaving your waist just as the tension between you starts to build.

you open your mouth to say something, maybe a thank you, but before the words leave your lips, he’s already moving away, stepping back with that familiar, unreadable expression.

you stand there. 

you’re frozen for a beat longer than necessary. your chest tight as you try to catch your breath… his sudden departure stings more than you care to admit. there’s no time for you to process what just happened, what that touch meant—or didn't mean—before he vanishes back into the crowd.

fuck.

the night only gets louder as more people flood into the house. 

the music thrums through the walls, bass-heavy and relentless, blending with the clatter of cups and the hum of overlapping conversations.

you weave through the crowd, the heat of so many bodies pressed together almost suffocating. your heart races—not from the chaos around you but from the weight of the unspoken tension that’s followed you since you walked in.

you couldn’t bring yourself to drink, though do-hwan had handed you a cup earlier. 

it’s long forgotten somewhere, left behind on a table. you’re too afraid of what a single drink might loosen in you—afraid of saying or doing something you’re not ready for.

you don’t want to make worse what already feels so broken.

“hey.” do-hwan’s voice cuts through the noise, his hand resting lightly on your arm. he pulls you aside to a quieter corner of the room, away from the crush of people. “you okay?”

you nod, a small, uncertain smile tugging at your lips. “yeah. just... a little overwhelmed, i guess.”

he watches you closely, his expression softening as if he’s trying to read between the lines. “you sure? you’ve been kind of quiet tonight.”

“i’m fine, really.”

“you don’t have to be,” he says, and it’s the way he says it—gentle, almost understanding—that makes you crack a real smile. “pretty sure jungkook hates me. pretty sure he’s killed me 10 times in his head in the past hour or so… and he knows all the organic chem shit to make it a really clean murder, you know? “

you let out a weak laugh, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. 

he grins at the sight, his confidence blooming as he leans in closer, his shoulder brushing against yours. 

“there it is,” he says playfully. “i was starting to think you didn’t know how to smile anymore.”

you laugh softly despite yourself, and his grin widens. 

do-hwan then dips his head lower as he talks, his voice dropping slightly, as if the two of you are sharing a secret. it’s intimate in a way that makes your cheeks flush, his proximity unnerving. his eyes flick to yours, and he leans in just a little more.

across the room, jungkook sees everything. 

is it hot in here?

because fuck, he’s burning up.

actually, the entire house is on fire in his mind. 

he’s been watching you for most of the night, though he pretends not to be.

the way do-hwan hovers near you, the way you laugh at something he says—it feels like a punch to the chest. every small interaction between you two is a reminder of what he’s lost, of what he could’ve had if he’d been braver, better.

his grip on his cup tightens, his knuckles white against the red plastic. he can’t hear what you’re saying, but he doesn’t need to. the way do-hwan leans closer, the way his hand brushes your arm—it’s enough to make jealousy coil hot and bitter in jungkook’s stomach. it burns through him, unbearable, as he watches do-hwan dip his head lower, his lips so close to yours.

and then something inside him snaps.

fuck it. 

before he knows it, he’s moving through the crowd, his feet carrying him faster than his mind can keep up. his hand reaches out, fingers wrapping firmly around your wrist just as do-hwan’s face nears yours. you barely have time to process the sudden motion before you’re being yanked back, stumbling slightly into jungkook’s chest.

“what the hell?” do-hwan says, his tone sharp, but jungkook doesn’t even look at him. his focus is entirely on you, his jaw tight and eyes dark with something unreadable.

your breath catches, your heart hammering in your chest as you look up at him, startled. 

“jungkook—”

he doesn’t let you finish. 

his hand wraps firmly around your wrist, and before you can process what’s happening, he’s pulling you away. his grip is steady but not rough, a silent insistence that leaves no room for argument.

“jungkook, wait—” you try again, glancing back at do-hwan, whose confused expression barely registers in the rush of your heartbeat.

jungkook doesn’t look back, his jaw tight and his steps purposeful as he weaves through the crowd, his hand never leaving yours. the air around you feels heavy, the muffled music and chatter blurring into white noise as he leads you up the stairs.

your pulse thrums in your ears as he pushes open a door and pulls you inside, closing it behind you with a quiet but final click. the sudden silence of the room contrasts sharply with the chaos outside, and for a moment, you can only stare at him, your chest rising and falling as you catch your breath.

he finally lets go of your wrist, his hand lingering for a split second longer than necessary before he steps back. his gaze is dark, unreadable, but the tension radiating off him is palpable. the weight of the moment presses down on you, thick and suffocating, as you wait for him to speak.

a moment passes.

then, another.

and another.

and another.

and then—

“dump him.” 

you clearly your throat.

“can’t dump him. he’s not my boyfriend—“

“you and your fucking situationships.”

you gulp.

you hate the way he says it.

situationship… fuck him.

the room feels smaller than it is, the air thick with the weight of the moment. jungkook’s jaw ticks as he stares at you, the sharpness in his voice cutting through the silence.

“you’re… fucking with me, right?” he spits out, his tone teetering between disbelief and frustration. “you can’t be fucking real right now. you were just—”

“i was just what?” you snap, your glare matching his. “no fair, jungkook. i got to hear you fuck some girl, but you don’t want to watch me kiss—”

“did i ask you to?” he cuts in, his voice rising.

“no,” you huff, crossing your arms. “but what are you asking from me right now? huh? jungkook… i don’t understand you—”

“what do you think i’m asking?” his voice lowers, but the intensity behind it doesn’t waver. he steps closer, his presence almost suffocating. “you’re always trying to act like this doesn’t matter. like i don’t matter.”

“maybe it doesn’t,” you challenge, even though the words taste bitter on your tongue.

jungkook laughs, but it’s humorless, sharp. 

“yeah, sure. that’s why you still give a fuck about me fucking—”

you snap. “don’t tell me her name.”

“what?” jungkook grumbles. “is that it? you get to parade around, yelling his fucking name and announcing it to the entire fucking world but i don’t get to tell you about the girl that came onto me for months? do-hwan biochem this, do-hwan that—do-hwan kiss me! is that it?"

"jungkook—"

"fuck, ___... listen to me, okay? let me tell you what i've been rehearsing for the past month and a half.... the girl i declined over and over again and fucked a total of 3 times because i was thinking with my dick is done. okay? if you’re trying to tell me that i fucked up—fine. yeah. i fucked up. but i meant it when i said it’s not what it looked like. ___, it wasn't like that. she spread shit about me being a good tutor and twisted it. how the fuck do you think i feel about myself? how the fuck do you think i feel about you seeing it differently—seeing me differently?”

your throat tightens, and you look away, desperate for a moment to compose yourself. 

“jungkook—”

“tell me how to fix it,” he cries, his frustration spilling over. “tell me what you want, because i’ll do it. i’ll stop tutoring if that’s what you want. fuck, i already did to be honest with you.”

you glance up at him, startled.

“why? that’s not going to change anything.”

“but i have to try…” his voice cracks, and he runs a hand through his hair, his exasperation evident. “i’ll give up anything—whatever it takes. just tell me what you need, and i’ll do it. want me to stop wearing ugly ass shirts? fine. want me to stop saving the dolphins you hate so much—”

“i don’t hate dolphins—”

“you’re scared of them.”

your eyes soften. 

“how’d you know—”

“it’s obvious,” jungkook breathes. “the same way it’s obvious you’re scared of this.”

this...

what even is this?

the silence that follows is deafening. you don’t say anything, and the tension between you stretches taut, threatening to snap. his chest rises and falls heavily, his eyes searching yours, desperate for something you’re not sure you can give him.

he takes another step closer, his proximity making it impossible to think straight.

“say something,” he pleads, his voice barely above a whisper now.

but you can’t.

you don’t trust your voice, don’t trust yourself not to break under the weight of it all. so you stay quiet, the space between you charged with everything unsaid.

the weight of unsaid words and unresolved feelings pressing down on both of you. you take a step back, trying to create some space to breathe, but jungkook mirrors you, closing the distance effortlessly.

then, you look around his room for some kind of break… but it backfires as your eyes meet a plushie, laying on his bed.

hello kitty.

“what’s that?” you ask a little shyly.

jungkook turns his head, feeling a little embarrassed at what you’ve seen.

“what do you think it is?” jungkook asks gently. "___... i... i can't do it. i'm sorry, i can't..."

"can't what?"

"i can't want you," he confesses. "i can't want you when i need you that bad."

he points at the plushie and sighs. "fuck, do you know how stupid that fucking claw machine made me feel? i spent like 1 or 2—"

"hours?" your eyes widen.

he shakes his head. "hundred."

hundred.

you stay silent.

"i'm sorry, ___... for everything. i'm a shithead. i'm mean and inconsiderate. i'm a waste of time—i know... but i want you to know that... everything about my life feels so weird without you in it. the past month and half has been absolute hell. it's like... if you're not around, all i do is think about you and it fucks with me. i wonder what you're eating, who you're with, and what you're going to do next... i get excited when you seenzone me. i feel like i can finally breathe when you're near. i don't know what you did and what fucking pavlov doggy shit experiment you did on me—but fuck. woof woof. whatever you want, ___. seriously."

then, you do what you fear.

you give in.

“how am i supposed to trust you,” you start, your voice shaky but firm, “when you’re not even a good friend? you’re always so mean to me, jungkook. think about it… when have we ever been good friends?”

he scoffs, the corner of his mouth twisting into a bitter smile. 

“maybe it’s because i don’t want to be your friend.”

the words hit you like a slap, your breath catching in your throat. 

“what if i want you to be?” 

his eyes search yours, as if trying to figure out if you’re serious. 

“really?” he asks, his voice dropping lower, softer.

“really.”

his gaze flickers down to your lips, then back to your eyes, and his voice drops even lower, a dangerous edge creeping into it. 

you can feel it… you can feel it about to happen. 

“even when i’m about to do this?”

before you can process his words, his hand moves to your waist, fingers curling around you in a way that sends a shiver down your spine. he pulls you closer, the heat of his touch searing through the fabric of your clothes.

his lips find yours in a kiss that’s as sudden as it is inevitable. 

it’s not gentle—it’s firm, deliberate, and entirely consuming. his other hand comes up to cradle your jaw, tilting your head just enough to deepen the kiss. your hands instinctively reach for his shoulders, gripping him as if to steady yourself against the storm he’s unleashing.

when he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, both of you breathing hard. the air between you feels different now—heavier, laden with something you can’t quite name but can’t deny.

his hand slides up, brushing a loose strand of hair from your face, and he looks at you softly, his dark eyes searching yours. the tender gesture sends a fresh wave of confusion—and longing—coursing through you.

“bad friend,” you scold him in a whisper.

his lips twitch, a soft laugh escaping him as his thumb grazes your cheek.

“don’t do that,” he says, his voice low, almost pleading. 

you raise a brow at him. "do what?"

"don’t friendzone me.”

“why not?” 

“i just kissed you.”

“so?”

“so?” he mimics, his tone teasing, but there’s a sharpness in his voice that makes you squirm. his arms tighten around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer. 

“kitty,” he murmurs, his voice dropping to a rough whisper, “i’m gonna be impossible to get rid of now."

[adarkandmagicalforest]

blood lust

benjicot blackwood/ofc bracken (elma bracken)

warnings: fight kink, smut, rough oral sex (female receiving), short and sweet

2nd installment: once again, 3rd installment: hunted/hunter

Blackwoods were savages.

That was snarled into her ear from every person in her household, Mother, Father, brothers and even the cooks and maids.

And even if knocked on the back of her head, forcing her to lose all memory of any advice, thought and history: Elma Bracken would've immediately agreed with them when presented with Ben Blackwood.

He was a savage. From every spark of maddening delight every time she clanged the sword she'd stolen at him. His teeth were on display, a horrible display as he met her every swing, his grin broaddening each time she pushed him backward, barking a laugh when she shrilly screamed with frustration, which of course infuriated her all the more. 

She stepped right.

He stepped left. But then, she finally moved unexpectedlyand then his face wavered. The flat edge of her blade rang against his kneecap, causing a painful shout to erupt out of his mouth, much to her deep pleasure. 

Of course then, without any sort of warning, the fucking barbaric, horrible boy had snatched her sword by the blade! Minding naught the cut of the steel, he merely grunted and yanked it out of her hands, throwing it a yard off to the side of their disheveling argument before he rushed forward and tackled her to the ground.

The ground hurt from the force he's used, but she could never bare to hear that she'd lost to a Blackwood.

So Elma hit him. Then, she bit him.

But Ben Blackwood was on top of her, his body lodged between her legs while he attempted to grab her flailing arms that were trying to more solidly sock him on the nose. And that was about when she'd felt it - after her 5th blow against his cheek, when her gold ring had just sliced at his cheek. His cock, very evidently thick ans hard inside of his trousers while he bled on her.

They both knew that she knew. But she didn't care. How could she? What did that matter when there was the priority of winning? Success over a mortal enemy was surely more important than his heavy cock or the damp heat that was increasing between her legs.

So they kept fighting.

Soon, the fucking Blackwood bit her back, right upon her neck, making her hips jerk and a snarl (surely not a moan) come from her parted lips. Then, worse off, he rose his lips up in that snarling smile, she could feel it so, before he opened his mouth and slowly pressed his hot tongue along her throat and up to her ear, tasting her sweat and slightly dirty flesh and making her shiver beneath his body. So she shoved him away, freeing her arm so she might slap him again, hard across the face. The slap was loud, painful, and left a pink imprint of her hand against his cheek. But this only seemed to please him, as his cock was now positively throbbing against her.

Her riding breeches were yanked down in his attempt to wrestle her. They dropped down her milky thighs, baring her flesh to the cool afternoon.

And then Benjicot grinned wildly, devils twirling in his eyes as he suddenly released her wrists and dropped himself lower.

He dodged her kicks, catching one of her dainty ankles in hand before it hit his face. All at once, cool air hit against her cunt for just a single shocking moment - before it was gone just as fast. Her opponent had just shoved his face between her legs, his cackle of success lasting only until he'd pressed his mouth against her and began to hungrily devour her. There was no plan, rhythm or deciding motion, he simply did everything to her. Licking at her wildly, sucking at her cunt as he pleased. He'd even shoved his tongue inside her, she could feel it delving there as if to test her flavor... He'd even risen back up to disgustingly dribble his own spit over her cunt before he forcibly began to grind his flat tongue and face against her mound, then shaking his head like a filthy dog with his tongue grinding so fiercely against her cunt that she was surely sopping wet.

Elma's hands on their own had found their way to his dark hair, gripping it punishingly tight as her choked out cries escaped from her throat at the Blackwood's motion. And then he'd shoved his fingers inside her - thrusting them with reckless abandon once he'd found the angle that forced her to wriggle and squirm - and so he'd stolen her peak, the lurid, dreadfully wet sound still coming from her cunt while his fingers fucked her through the bodywrecking pleasure becoming so loud that Benji's body shook with pleased, cruel laughter. He didn't even stop when it was over, even though she'd just soaked his face. He just kept on, enjoying the sound and taste of her, especially when she yanked on his hair and hit him again, attempting to pull him away from her sensitive cunt. That he seemed to like more than anything, her swats and the pain from her pulling on his hair.

But he built her up again - doing so fast so he could insure that the second peak hurt, just enough so that the pleasure was sharp enough to force the shivers over her body and make her toes curl within her boots, her cries as he swept over her desperate for him to stop and yet desperate for him to continue.

When he finally pulled away, his lower face was shiny and wet, and his eyes were blown out just the way they'd been when they fought with swords.

"Again." The Blackwood son dared.

Elma narrowed her eyes. And then she kicked him, her heel hitting him square in the belly, before she showed him how Brackens rode.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Gray Woman 2

Warnings: non/dubcon and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Lloyd Hansen

Summary: You meet a man who tests your patience. (grumpy!short!reader)

Note: To those who didn’t help me resist this beast, I blame you.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

The bank is at peak hours. The rush used to make you dizzy but these days you barely notice the changes. There's always someone else waiting. There's always someone upset about money and it's usually their own fault.

You tap through a transaction, working from muscle memory as you ask the usual questions, hit the usual keys. You hand over their card and point them to grab their receipt from the machine on the other side of the glass. The take both. You're used to the the lack of a 'thank you'.

You wait for the next customer. When no one shows, you peer up towards the line corralled behind the stanchions and cords. A man in his suit, more interested in his phone than reality. A woman behind him clears her throat, "excuse me."

He jerks away from her as if she spit on him and scoffs. He rolls his eyes and tucks away his phone as his eyes flit up to you. He approaches as he continues to feel around under the chest of his jacket. He reveals his black card as he gets to the counter and slaps it down.

You watch him dulcetly, "hello, sir. How can I help you today?"

He scoffs again, this time louder. "That's Mr. Hansen, remember?"

You look at him, this time with actual consideration. Your customers are usually nothing more than faceless silhouettes. He sports a bristly mustache and shaved sides. Quite the look to go with his patterned suit jacket.

"I get a lot of customers, sir," you reach through to take his card and he catches your fingers. You flinch, just a little, and try to jerk your hand free. "Sir, let go or--"

"Yeah, yeah," he chortles and releases you as he slants his lips defiantly, "you call over those fake cops standing at the door. What do you think they'll do about it, sweet cheeks?"

You feel a crease between your brows but you don't bit the bait. Some people just want to spread their misery. You quickly snatch the card and swipe it through the machine. His account pops up on the screen.

"What do we need today?" You ask.

"Hm, besides a coffee and some afternoon delight," he snickers, "I need you to move some money for me, sweetheart."

You ignore the epithet. It happens often. The 'hons', the 'sweeties', the 'girls'.

"I'll need an ID." You say.

"We've been through this," he snips. "Just do what I tell you."

He steps closer to the window and you turn to blink at him. He stares back at you. He grimaces, "you really that stupid? You forgot me already?"

"Like I said, sir, it's busy--"

"Go get Veronique, right now," he demands, his nose almost touching the glass.

You put your feet on the bar and step down to the floor. You move stiffly, if not deliberately slow, and shuffle in your flats toward Veronique's cubicle. She sits behind the frosted siding and you tap on it before peeking around.

"Customer," you shrug.

She huffs, "ugh, I swear."

She stands up and leaves her cell phone on the desk. You back up and wait for her to pass before you follow her. She struts to your counter and in an instant, her posture changes.

"Mr. Hansen, you're back!" She chirps, "comment ca va?"

"The damn crow you got squawking back there is asking for my ID again."

"Is she?" Veronique hisses, "forgive me please. I promise, we will make sure this doesn't happen again." She turns and points to your chair, "just do what he say and stop bothering me. Mr. Hansen is a VIP customer. Got it?"

"Yes, ma'am," you answer. You already know you'll get a lecture later so you don't hold back the subtle snipe.

You get up on your seat and face Mr. Hansen, "what do you need? Money where?"

He chuffs out derisively, "I know your fucking with me, doll face. You remember me."

You neither confirm or deny. Truly, you deal with so many demanding managers and executives, that you might have seen him an hour ago and not realise it.

"Are we moving money out of the checking?" You ask.

He sighs and shifts, leaning on the ledge as if trying to see around your screen. He grumbles before he speaks up. He tells you what to do and you acquiesce. He gives you an account number to wire money out then announces the end of your work.

"Good girl," he winks as he stands straight.

"Do you need your receipt?" You ask as you reach for your mug, tasting the cold peppermint tea.

He watches you sip and his cheek ticks. "I need that about as much as you need that stick lodge up your ass."

It's a bit more on the nose than you're used to. Usually they call you a bitch or just huff and puff and stomp out. His effort is a bit too much. Especially if he thinks himself so important.

"Have a good day, sir," you close out of his account with a click. "Mr. Hansen," he snarls.

"Alright," you say and try to see around him, ready for the next in line. He hesitates before he backs off. When he does, a squat woman comes up and hands you a check. She slides through her bank card and ID. You put it through the scanner then ask her what account to deposit or if she needs cash.

As you issue her receipt, you glance up. That man stands by the door, his face furrowed in distaste as he glares across at you, then he spins and strides out. Hm, maybe it wasn't the same man… you can't tell that far away.

You wish the woman a good day and the next customer comes up. You peek at the clock. Still a while left. Sometimes it feels like time slows down, like the bank isn't subject to the typical laws of time a space. A special purgatory just for the forsaken tellers behind their windows.

[blindmagdalena]

Guilty Pleasures ( chapter three )

18+ 7.3k homelander x plus size f!reader. workplace harassment, stalking, voyeurism, assault (not perpetrated by HL), violence, smol murder, manipulation/gaslighting, hurt/comfort. nebulously takes place post s1. part 3/4. AO3 link. | Chapter Directory

Homelander will do whatever it takes to convince you that he's the hero you need.

It’s shortly after one o’clock when Homelander knocks a whimsical melody against your office door, deciding he shouldn’t be precisely on time, lest he look as eager as he feels. He can already smell your perfume wafting through the doorway–the same scent he feverishly pumped his cock to the night before–as a teaser of what’s to come.

“Come in,” you call from the other side.

Homelander takes in a deep breath, squaring his shoulders. He screws his eyes shut, pinching his expression in a tight squeeze before he replaces it with a flashy grin, squaring away his anticipation in favor of his showman persona.

“Goooooood afternoon,” he drawls, strolling in with the same feigned level of confidence he’s entered every other moment of your life since stumbling across you, whether you knew it or not. He’s taken aback almost immediately, slowing in how he closes the door behind him.

You look nicer than usual. Your hair is styled with more conscious effort, and he’s been in show business long enough to recognize the makeup on your face. The shine of your blouse is a quality silk blend, and he can’t hear the scrape of cheap cotton underneath it anymore. No, you’re wearing something nice below, too. His lips slowly spread into a self-satisfied smile. 

You dressed up for him. 

Homelander takes the seat set across from you, sweeping his cape to the side with a flourish. He watches you tuck an empty container–your lunch, presumably–into a side drawer of your desk. His eyes closely track the way you lift your thumb to the corner of your mouth and swipe residue from it, sucking the mess from your digit. A distinct pang of arousal hits him just watching your cheeks hollow.

Imagine what she could do with that mouth.

“And good afternoon to you, Homelander,” you respond, straightening up in your seat. His gaze briefly dips to the swell of your breasts as you adjust yourself, casually dusting away any remnants of your lunch. Saliva gathers on his tongue at the instant memory of you scantily clad in your sleep wear, nothing but a thin sheet of worn fabric between you and his hunger. His eyes snap back up before you can take notice of how they wandered.

Lucky for him, you’re busy splaying out the folder he brought you the day before, scanning over the list of bullet points he’d slapped together for the sake of having enough talking points.

“I wanted to start with your concerns regarding the marketing for your upcoming miniseries,” you say, glancing up at him.

He clicks his tongue. “Wow, alright. Straight to business then,” he says, absently rolling his palms over the ends of the armrests on either side of him.

“I’m very bad at small talk,” you say. Probably to diffuse any notion that you were being rude on purpose.

“Ch’yeah, I’ll say,” he says, smiling thinly. “Lucky that you’re good at your job.”

“Shockingly, I was actually a personality hire. I don’t know what any of this means,” you say, matching his thinly veiled snark while gesturing to the spread of documents in front of you. He snorts softly. You have a knack for using that sharp wit to diffuse, but he doesn’t feel manipulated. You actually are funny. “I was hoping you’d explain your concerns.”

Smooth segue, he thinks, his eyes narrowing appraisingly. He’s worked enough interviews to know when he’s being led, but he takes the bait anyways, widening his smile.

“Sounds great.”

Homelander knows that you’re sharp, good at your job, but he needs to needle you into giving him what he wants. He wants to understand you, and the stack of his films he found hidden in your apartment. What he gets in the meantime is ample taste of your silver tongue, parrying his every jab with an equally sharp counter.

He can’t keep the smile from his face.

Gradually a level of familiarity slips into the air between you. He can see some of that tension in your shoulders easing. He’s steadily wearing down the walls you’ve managed to construct.

“I still think audiences will be confused,” he says, feigning a profound concern, stretching out the time of your little appointment.

“Well, audiences are a lot like celebrities,” you say, the hard candied shell of your professional exterior thinning with every back and forth, poised to crack at any second.  “They’re smarter than we think they are.”

“Oohh, ouch,” he purrs. “Nice backhand you got there.”

A twitch at the corner of your mouth. He knows you’re fighting a smile of your own, and pride blooms warmly in his chest. He likes sparring with you, but he likes pleasing you even more.

“I disagree about market confusion. Your diehard audience will already be up to speed, your broader target audience will show up for anything with your face on it, and anyone more casual than that likely won’t have seen the miniseries anyways, so there’s nothing to confuse it with,” you say, scanning down through one of the pages of the document he gave you.

Perfect opening.

“And which audience is it you fall into, exactly?” He asks, cocking his head a degree. “I mean, given your position, I have to imagine you’ve seen my range of film and television.”

“I’ve done my due diligence,” you say vaguely. You’re good at answering without answering. Normally it would irritate him, but your forced aloofness combined with your closely guarded–and inexplicably secret–veneration of him makes it into tantalizing bait begging for the sharp sink of his teeth.

“So you’ve seen all my movies, then?” He extrapolates, setting a line of his own.

You chuckle, gaze flickering to him before back down to the pages. Too brief a glance to even come close to satisfying his hunger. “I didn’t say that.”

He scoffs lightly. “But you’re a fan of mine?”

“I definitely didn’t say that.” He can sense he’s hit a vein, and like any good predator would, he’s eager to bite into it.

“C’mon. Don’t tell me you’re shy,” he continues to prod, leaning forward slightly in his seat.

You inhale a breath that you barely prevent from sounding too obviously irritated. His grin remains untarnished by the scrutiny of your unwavering stare. There it is, that’s what he wants. The weight of your gaze upon him, evaluating, taking him in fully. He doesn’t care how he gets it, he just knows he wants it.

“You are shy,” he accuses, knowing you aren’t.

“I’m not shy, I’m a professional,” you say curtly, the scratch of your pen scathing while you write notations on the document.

Good, he thinks. More likely to slip up now.

“Jeeze,” he laughs. “You’re wound up tighter than my fictional manager in Darkest Day.”

“You didn’t have a manager in Darkest Day, that was Origins,” you correct. After a beat, your hand stills.

Homelander’s gaze slowly slides to meet yours. He watches your face fall and clicks his tongue. He positively relishes how your mask of indifference slips into subtle dismay at your misstep. Such a simple bit of trivia, and yet it spoke volumes.

Got��cha.

“You do watch my movies,” he said, tone dropping to a near whisper. He revels in the quiet way you groan, leaning back in your chair. 

“Only the ones I was paid to,” you say, straightening up in your chair, but he can hear the defeat in your voice.

“Liar,” he says through his perpetual grin. “Don’t be embarrassed. How long have you been a fan?”

“Stop,” you say, burying your face in your hands. Oh, this is good. Was he your first crush? Your favorite hero? He must be still, judging by the flush of heat moving through you. All that pretense, all that haughty glowering, and beneath it all you’re a fan girl. He almost laughs at the thought of the face you’d make if he called you that. 

“Which was your favorite?” He asks, burying the knife deeper, eager to cut through flesh and muscle and bone to get to the heart of truth beneath. “Bright World? Rise of a Hero? Justice Dawning?”

“I despise you,” you say melodramatically, digging your thumbs into your temples. “Also, Justice Dawning was cheesy, I’m offended you’d even offer it.” You try not to smile, but it happens anyway, and as soon as that secret little smile sneaks onto your lips it brightens Homelander’s eyes, reflecting your amusement back to you. Not just that, but amplifying it.

“You’ll learn to love me,” he tells you with confidence. You drop your hands, looking at him with subtle surprise. He holds your gaze. The earnestness of his words seems to dispel your mortification and replaces it with something more difficult to define, but he likes the shine it brings to your eyes.

The taste of your defeat is sumptuous. He’d prefer licking it straight from your tongue, but he’ll settle for this for the time being. An easiness settles into the air between you, deeper even than before your hackles rose with the lurking reality of your hidden opinion of him. It’s like a bubble has popped, dissipating uncomfortable tension, replacing it with something warmer.

He has every intention of turning up the heat even further.

The meeting moves forward. You work your way through his folder, and during a natural lull in conversation, he finally broaches the topic that’s been plaguing him since he stepped into your office.

“So,” he begins, interlacing his gloved fingers in his lap. “Gonna tell me what you’re all dressed up for?” He asks, wearing the same smile and speaking in the same tone he had when he baited you into admitting your secret love affair with his cinema.

He wants to hear you say that it’s for him, but he’ll settle for a flustered deflection. They’re as good as the same.

“Oh,” you huff with an airy little laugh, the sound like silver bells chiming. “I have a date tonight.”

You say something else, but Homelander doesn’t hear it over the tidal-like rush in his ears. He watches your pretty lips form words that he can’t understand. Everything falls out of focus as he tightly reins in the white hot rush of furious jealousy that floods his gut and erupts up the back of his throat like bile. He swallows the burn of it, jaw tight, and manages a tense smile.

“Great,” he barks, not realizing–or perhaps not caring–that he interrupted you. “First date?”

“First date,” you confirm, your tone less conversational than it had been a beat ago. The walls are going back up, but he’s too fixated on what feels like a stabbing betrayal.

“Exciting,” he says, adjusting his tone and mannerisms until they once more resemble something genuine. Something civil, despite the hostility in his gut. “Someone you know? Going anywhere special?”

“No, and not really,” you say evasively. He loathes how withdrawn you’ve become. You should be pleased he’s put off. Gloating even. It’s proof he cares, isn’t it? “It was his suggestion.” His. The leather of Homelander’s glove creaks subtly in the fist he makes. “I forget the name of the place,” you say, avoiding his gaze.

His right cheek tics. Liar, liar, pants on fire. People always underestimate his ability to read them.

You’ll learn not to lie to him.

“But you have an out if you need it, don’t you? Someone to bail you out in case he turns out to be some kind of freak,” he says, huffing the word with a lick of venom. It takes significant effort to keep the disdain from his face to imagine you as you are now sitting across from some nobody schmuck, lit by candlelight and smiling sweetly for them instead of for him.

“I always do,” you say, smiling thinly. He curates his own tone often enough to hear it in yours, and it pierces his ears like a thistle. He taps his fingers on his thigh, scrounging for something, anything else to needle you for, but your responses don’t give him much to work with.

“Well. If you did need someone–”

“I’m a big girl,” you interrupt, surprising him. He’s rarely interrupted. “I can take care of myself.”

At that, a thought strikes him. The slack line of his lips curls into a thin smile, and his hands relax on the armrests of the chair.

“I’m sure you can.”

Shaking off the aftermath of your one-on-one with Homelander proves to be more difficult than you’d anticipated. You replay it nearly moment for moment in your mind while freshening up after work. 

Homelander has an uncanny knack for moving through demeanors as though he’s trying hats, determining which one best suits the situation. One moment he’s a slick carnivore licking his chops in anticipation of his meal to come, and the next he’s every ounce the hero they market him as. He’d been relentlessly charming during the meeting, his charismatic smile becoming one you’d wanted to earn again and again. 

Then came the news of your date, and all at once Homelander possessed the ominous calm of a sentient statue. The moment still sends an eerie chill down your spine, even in recollection. How radically his appearance can change with mood or thought alone. You’d hate to ever see him truly angry.

“Get a hold of yourself,” you say to the bathroom mirror. You have a date tonight, and the last thing you need is to bring this kind of nervous energy to it. Powers or not, the commonality of man is easy to rely on, and you’ve developed the tactical mindset of an aloof cat. Never beg for what can be given freely. Never give more than you get. Never settle. “Be the cat,” you tell yourself affirmatively. 

A directive which, unfortunately, winds up being exceedingly easy to follow through the course of your date. James, bless his heart, struggles to wring more than the occasional piteous chuckle from you. Conversation with him is akin to drinking seltzer water–he is neither offensive nor particularly exciting, being only a step above plain water.

Perhaps James’ blandness isn’t entirely his own fault, but rather the basis of comparison he is subjected to. Throughout the night, you find yourself critical of the way he looks at you–or rather, the way he fails to look at you. Your thoughts keep drifting back to your meeting with Homelander and the way he looks at you. The intense ocean-blue caress of his eyes summons a blush to your cheeks even in hindsight.

He looks at you in a way that no one else does. It's as if he's trying to memorize the smallest details in your skin, to uncover every secret trapped behind your guarded gaze. He has a stare determined to lay you entirely bare to him.

James’ wine dulled ogling could hardly hold a candle to that. Looking into his eyes, you see only the planning for whatever dullard comment he was going to make next.

Still, it’s not until the end of your date–an exceptionally long two and a half hours thanks to a mishap with your order–that James displays a behavior unsavory enough to elicit a truly unpleasant feeling in you. He’s quite clingy after a few too many glasses of wine. He walks you out of the restaurant with an arm around your waist, and more than once you have to bat his hand away from the seam where your blouse is tucked into your skirt.

“You in the parking garage or the back lot?” He asks, smiling in a way he must mean to be salacious, eyes half-lidded like he’s lost control of them.

“The back lot.” Parking was a nightmare with how late you arrived after work. “Is that where you are?” You ask, hoping it isn’t.

“No, no, I actually took an Uber in,” he says, and you know immediately by the way he starts tapping your hip with his index finger why he chose to do that.

“Want me to wait for you here until your Uber arrives, then?” You ask, turning out of his grasp to stand face to face with him outside of the restaurant. It’s late enough now that the streets have calmed some, at least by New York’s standards.

James’ expression falters, but he tries for a recovery with a hopeful smile. “Well, you know, I was sort of hoping we might continue this elsewhere,” he says, slipping his hands into his pockets. Is he trying to look suave?

“Oh, no,” you say, putting forth your very best sympathetic head tilt, matched with a well placed brow furrow. “No thank you.”

This time his expression doesn’t recover. His hands lift from his pocket and he makes a helpless gesture with them, very nearly pleading. “Really? I thought we were having a nice time.”

“And I’m so glad for that,” you say, and even you can hear the corporate edge sliding into your tone, which doesn’t seem to soothe him any. “But it’s for the best that we part ways here, James. Thanks for your time.”

“But–” Your inarguable dismissal staggers him. He gropes for recourse. “I paid,” he blurts out, which proves to be his final mistake.

Your polite facade drops. “For what?“ His booze addled panic shifts into confusion. “F…For dinner, but I didn’t mean–”

“And that entitles you to fuck me?” No sense in mincing words now.

His expression morphs again, this time into mortification. “No! No, but–”

“You thought this would be a transaction? God, and here I was thinking your gravest flaw would be how mind-numbingly boring you are. But to be boring and stupid?” You scoff, waving a dismissive hand. “Goodnight, James,” you say, the kindest dismissal you can muster. You turn on your heel before he can sour the evening any further, and luckily for him, he doesn’t pursue you further.

Unbelievable. As if you hadn’t offered to split the check. As if he expected it to be a transaction that he cashed in your bed. As if the cost of dinner was worth anything more than a polite smile from you. As if.

New York doesn’t sleep, but it does grow very, very dark. You’re on a narrow street, not an alley exactly, but not a main road, either. Still riled up, you bring up the parking app on your phone as you walk, swiping through to get ready to pay for your crummy back lot space. A clatter brings your attention up, and that’s when you see them—two men. One wearing a black leather jacket, the other with a kerchief slung around his throat. 

You stop walking, caught between turning around, which would mean putting your back to the men up ahead, or continuing forward, which would mean passing within arm’s reach. They haven’t noticed you yet, or at least they’re pretending not to, but now they look right at you and smile.

The men don’t look dangerous, not like they do in the movies, but you know that means nothing—plenty of the worst people in the world looked safe. Yet the longer you stay put, the more you sense the ill intent wafting off of them like cheap cologne. “Hey, baby,” says one of them, moving toward you. “You lost?”

“No,” you say curtly, taking a step back. “Not lost. Excuse me.”

“You sure? We’re real good with directions,” says the second man, leering. Your eyes snap between them, phone clutched tight in your hand. “Y’look like you could use some.”

“No,” you say again, louder. How loud would you need to be for anyone to hear you over the sounds of the streets? Panic swells in your throat.

You don’t know how they got so close so quickly, but as you turn to run, a hand catches your collar. The guy in the leather jacket wrenches you back against him, one arm wrapping around your shoulders. Your phone clatters to the ground. 

“Hey now, what’s the rush?” He asks, yanking you backwards. “Get off me,” you snarl, but he’s squeezing you tightly across the chest, making it hard to think, let alone breathe. You struggle until you feel something hard dig into your hip. A knife? No. You realize coldly that it’s a gun, the handle of it jutting out from his waistband and digging into you. In a desperate bid, you twist in his grip, trying to grab it.

“Careful,” says the other one, moving in front of you, closing in. “She’s got spirit.”

You kick out at the other guy but he jumps back, laughing at you. They’re both laughing, relishing in your fear. Your fingers skim the gun, but you can’t quite get it.

The first man’s breath is hot and sour on your cheek. “Come on, now, let’s have some fun.” You slam your head back into his nose—or try to, but you only manage to clip his chin. Still, you hit bone, hear the crack of a tooth, and just like that you’re free, stumbling to your hands and knees as the man reels. You hit the ground hard, the shock of landing lancing pain through your arms and legs. The gun tumbles from his waistband. Without thinking twice you lunge for it, fingers successfully closing around the grip right before one of the men grabs your ankle and pulls.

The street bites into your elbows and scrapes your knee bloody as you twist around and raise the gun, barrel leveled at the man’s heart. “LET GO!” You scream, heart hammering against your chest. “Oh shit,” says the man in the kerchief, eyes wide at seeing you armed, but the other one sneers at you, blood spilling from his mouth. There’s fury in his eyes, and the unmistakable intent to hurt you. “You ever held a gun that big, baby?”

“Let go,” you say again, voice firmer than the tremble of your hands. Your finger flexes on the trigger.

“You even know how to use it?” He asks, using his grip on your ankle to pull himself over you, his other hand falling to your thigh. He gives a pointed squeeze as he lifts himself up to tower above you. He reaches to take hold of you again, but you won’t let him. Can’t let him.

“Yes.” You squeeze the trigger as you say it, bracing for the recoil, the bang. It’s always so loud in the movies.

Nothing happens. You panic, looking at the weapon in your hands in dull shock. The safety isn’t on. You pull the trigger again, but the chamber rings hollow. It isn’t loaded. You look up at the man as his shadow falls over you. He bares his teeth at you, painted an ugly dark red with the blood spilling from his mouth. The man laughs, a short barking sound, and knocks the gun from your hands with a harsh slap. It goes skidding away.

“Stupid bitch,” he says, raising his boot as if you were an oversized bug, something to crush. You close your eyes and scream as he brings it down hard.

Or at least, he started to, but his leg locks up halfway, and then he topples, a single horrifying sound leaking from his clenched teeth. Your eyes open just in time to see his body hit the ground, a smoldering wound smoking from his chest. An instant later, the second man falls. This time you see the flash of crimson light that drops him.

Homelander’s cape billows in the wind with all the majesty of the flag it’s designed after as he descends from the sky. He lands in front of you, backlit by the distant street lights that give him an artificial glow. He’s beautiful, a perfectly manufactured angel delivered straight from some market tested Heaven.

“Hey, you hurt?” He asks, reaching for you.

Awestruck, all you can do is stare at his outstretched hand. Tears well in your eyes. Shock is setting in the aftermath of all that adrenaline in your veins crashing your system. Through the blur of your tears, Homelander’s expression shifts from concern to that of determination.

“It’s alright, I’m here now. They can’t hurt you,” he says, bringing your arm around his neck while he slips his own around your waist, effortlessly lifting you from the ground. Before your gaze can drift to the corpses–whose burning flesh you can smell mingling with the acrid city air–Homelander rotates, taking them from your line of sight. 

With a flourish, he unhitches his cape from his shoulders and swings the fabric over yours. It settles on you heavier than you expected it to be, and impossibly warm. Moving back in, Homelader readily takes you back into his arms. He cradles you in his embrace, one hand cupping the back of your head, the other drawing lines up and down your back.

You try to choke out a sound, to ask him, how? How did he find you? How did he know you needed him? But none of the noises you make form any actual words. Your throat is too tight, and your tongue feels too big for your mouth, gnarled silent by panic. Everything is just too much. Your breaths only grow sharper as tears burn hot streaks down your face.

“Sssshhhhhhh,” he shushes by your ear, lifting you just enough to keep you on your feet, but take the weight of your body from you. His hold is compressive, but not oppressive. It takes everything you have left to lift your other arm around his neck while the sobs overtake you. He continues to hush you, whispering a menagerie of honeyed assurances in your ear, the core sentiment always the same.

I’ve got you. You’re safe now. I won’t let anyone hurt you.

You cry harder, coiling your arms tighter around his neck. He lets you cling to him, lets you sob away your makeup and soak the collar of his suit with the mess of it.

You don’t know how much time passes in your addled state of panic, but eventually your breaths begin to even out, though your heart continues to thunder. Your body isn’t convinced that the danger has vanished yet, eager to turn to flight now that your fight has gone.

“That’s it, just like that,” Homelander praises. “Breathe. Breathe. Good… Light as a feather now, okay? Like you can fly,” he tells you. The weightlessness you feel in his arms helps the idea, helps you to feel like you aren’t being crushed by the terrible weight of such a moment of horror. That’s all it had been, a moment–two at most–and yet the torment of it had felt hours long. Exhaustion falls over you in the wake of adrenaline, and you’re glad for Homelander’s arms around you. You doubt you’d be standing without them.

“Home,” you manage to croak. “Please.” You can still smell the man’s sour breath, the memory even more powerful than the stench of reality.

“I can take you home,” he coos, maintaining that same soothing tone of comfort. “Is that what you want?”

You nod, focusing instead on the vetiver fresh smell of him. You’ve never been near enough to him before to notice it, but now you fixate on it. Anything to drown out the stink of the alley. He smells so much cleaner, like fresh linen drying over green grass in the summer sun.

His arms flex around you before he adjusts them, lifting you smoothly into his arms. Your stomach flips the way it does when you go down a hill in the backseat of a car, gravity loosening its hold on you. You can feel the motion all around you, the wind ghosting over you, but Homelander himself feels motionless against you.

Flying. He’s flying. And so are you.

His cape shields you from the night air bite, pulled snug around you and secured where your bodies are pressed together. You haven’t felt like this since you were a child, cradled with such care and strength that feels beyond your comprehension. Homelander serves as both place and person–somewhere safe, someone kind–and you tuck yourself closer into the sanctuary of his arms, hands fisted in the protective fabric of his cape.

“I’ve got’cha,” he assures you, voice warm in your ear. 

Without a shadow of a doubt, you believe him.

Homelander doesn’t need to ask where you live. It’s an easy detail to brush off if you question him. He doubts you will with the way you’re clinging to him, though. You feel good in his arms, settling so naturally against the contours of them he might convince himself you belong here. He doesn’t mind your weeping when it comes with your arms around him, fingertips brushing the nape of his neck.

A small shiver rolls down his spine.

Of all the ways Homelander expected the evening to unfold, he hadn’t properly anticipated you. While he cradles you, he replays again and again the moment you were snatched. You fought without hesitation. You wrenched the gun free. The fierceness in your eyes as you aimed it had been exquisite. The resolve in your gaze as you fired it even more so.

He’d known you were confident, but that kind of clawing survival can only be learned of a person in action. He’s known many supposedly strong people–supe and human alike–who walk as stone giants, but shatter like glass when faced with any real danger.

You couldn’t have known that you weren’t in any real danger. You couldn’t have known that he’d told those thugs to scare you, but not hurt you. You couldn’t have known he’d ensured the gun wasn’t loaded. You fought as though it was for your life, and it enthralled him.

He hadn’t planned on killing them in front of you. They would have been loose ends to tie up after his heroic rescue, but somewhere along the line that stupid bastard lost the thread. He hurt you, bloodied those pretty knees of yours, and he moved to strike you. To grind you beneath his heel as if you were the vermin instead of him. For that–and for so flagrantly going against Homelander’s own direct order–you witnessed his downfall.

As far as he’s concerned now, everything happened precisely as it needed to. You’re in his arms now, and he’s still half hard from witnessing you choose fight when your instincts kicked in. You’re too fragile to choose it so readily. Your bones feel bird-like compared to the scope of his strength. Hollow and brittle. You would make for a hell of a supe, though.

Still, he won’t break you. He’s spent his entire life learning what it takes to snap bones like party favors, and more crucially, what it takes not to. Yours are safe from him. In fact, you’re the safest person in the whole world now.

Homelander glides down to a soft landing on your driveway. Your car will be an issue for another time. For now, he walks you to your front door before gently placing you on your feet.

“Believe this is you, young lady,” he says, leaving space for plausible deniability. If it occurs to you to interrogate him about it, it doesn’t show on your face. With hands still softly trembling, you fish your keys out of your purse. He watches you fumble with them for only a moment before he steps in behind you, one hand gripping your upper arm to steady and pause you while the other covers your shaking hand, helping you to slide the key into the lock and turn it.

Your hand fits nicely in his.

“Thanks,” you whisper. It’s the first thing you’ve said since asking him to take you home. He takes the liberty of opening the door for you while he’s at it, swinging it wide to allow you in. You grab his forearm, and he thinks you’re only balancing yourself, but when you don’t let go he steps with you, letting you lean on him as you guide him into your home. He closes the door behind the two of you, smiling to himself.

He may not need an invitation to enter, but it’s charming to have one.

Your movements are stiff, a slight limp to your gait. You fell hard, and the delicate flesh of your knee had ripped apart against the concrete when you were dragged. You hesitate at the stairs, but Homelander doesn’t. You inhale sharply  when he scoops you back up into his arms with ease and starts up the stairs. He keeps his gaze ahead, but he can feel yours on him.

“Thanks,” you say again, the word barely more than a hiccup, adjusting his cape over yourself like a blanket.

“It’s what heroes are for.” He smiles. It’s a party line, one he’s said a hundred thousand times before, but you make him mean it. This is what heroes are for. To be worshiped and loved, understood deeper than pop stars and false idols like them. There’s a reverence in your stare that transcends the vapid starstruck way most people look at him. You understand now. You know how much more he is.

He brings you to your bedroom and sets you on the edge of the bed, adjusting his cape back up over your shoulders. You’ve scarcely let go of it since he wrapped you in it. Will you sleep with it tonight? He bets you will. The thought sends a pleasant tingle through him. 

“Alright, let’s get a look at those knees,” he says, crouching in front of you. There’s blood running down your left shin. He lifts the edge of your skirt hem just enough to catch a glimpse of shredded skin. It looks rough, dirty and embedded with bits of debris. He blows out a breath. “Got a first aid kit?”

You nod numbly. “Under the bathroom sink.”

It’s odd to see you so subdued. He forgets sometimes that you humans can be as emotionally fragile as you are physically. Surely the death of two measly thugs isn’t enough to break you.

Rising, he moves to your bathroom. He feels slightly unbalanced without the sway of his cape behind him, the garment as integral to his physicality as any limb. He rummages through until his hand lands on a bright red fabric pack with a zipper. He gives it a little toss and catches it, bringing it back to you, alongside a wetted towel. He gives the pack a victorious little shake.

“H’okay, down to business.” Homelander kneels before you, splaying open the kit and placing it on your lap. He’s never used one of these before, but he’s pretended to do it on set. How different can it be? He cups your leg, thumb absently smoothing back and forth on your skin while he uses the towel to gently wipe up the blood, dirt and debris from your shin and knee.

You flinch, tense a moment before you relax. “Homelander, you really don’t have to–”

“Am I doing a bad job?” He asks, glancing up at you through his lashes. There’s a playful lilt to his voice.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” you say, the smallest hint of exasperation in your voice. He’s pleased to hear it. Perhaps you’re less wilted from the encounter than he thought. “I just mean that I can–”

“I know you can,” he says, and this time he definitely sees a flare of annoyance. You don’t like being interrupted any more than he does, but you don’t protest further. He smiles, triumphant, and focuses back on the task at hand, petting you the same way one might soothe a wild animal.

There’s a novelty in doing this for real that he hadn’t anticipated. It’s entirely unlike wiping away congealed red corn syrup from an actor. Your skin is sweeter, softer. He suddenly resents his gloves for the barrier they provide, despite his usual reliance for that very thing. He’s meticulous in flicking out the little stones embedded in your skin, spotting each one with ease.

Next, he tears open the alcohol wipes with his teeth and uses them to disinfect, rubbing at the sores. You flinch, sucking in a loud breath through your teeth. “Oopsy-daisy,” he says, switching to gently patting. He has no real concept of what you’re feeling right now. He’s never had a scraped knee before. The scientists at Vought had to get much more creative in order to gauge his capacity for healing.

He imagines they were disappointed to realize that, once damaged, he healed as slowly as a human.

“How’d you find me?” You ask, snapping him out of his unpleasant reminiscence. Your shock seems to have worn off entirely. You look more present, alert to his every move.

“Heard you scream,” he answers simply, unraveling a roll of gauze. That much is true.

“But how? How did you know where I was?” You push, watching him wind the white material around your knee.

“I didn’t,” he lies smoothly. He’s followed enough scripts in his life to do so very well. “If I’d known exactly where you were, I would have been there sooner. I was minding my business on 5th Avenue when I heard you. Familiar voices can…” He makes a vague gesture. “Cut through the din. Voices I want to hear.” 

He thinks he catches you flush at that. Just a touch. He bites back a smirk, pleased with himself. Does it matter if it’s true when it makes you look at him like that?

“I didn’t know your hearing worked like that,” you say, fidgeting with the hem of his cape.

His gaze flickers up every so often to watch your finger pick at the seam, inexplicably charmed by it. “Well, there’s some things not even a super fan can glean,” he teases, securing the gauze with tape. He expects to see a familiar indignation in your expression, but when he looks up, he’s caught off guard by the unmistakable fondness in your eyes.

“I was over the moon when I got my job at Vought,” you say quietly, like you’re whispering in a confessional. “I always wanted to work with heroes.”

“With me?” He pushes, lifting his brows.

Very slightly, you smile. “Yeah. With you.”

“Busted,” he says, his own voice equally soft.

You give him a little nudge with your foot. “Gauze won’t stay by itself. Need to use a roll of self-adhesive wrap,” you say, plucking the beige roll from the kit. He likes the shy warmth in your voice. He would have done much worse to see this side of you. Have the intimacy of your pain, fear and relief all to himself. This glowing affection you’re so full of. He feels drunk on the cocktail of it all.

“Right, obviously,” he says, taking the wrapping from you. “I knew that.”

“Probably should have put a gauze pad under it, too,” you continue, eyes heavily lidded, expression soft.

“Everyone’s a critic,” he laments, affixing the textured bandage around the gauze. You laugh, and the sound of it feels like a space he could belong in.

He checks your other knee, your elbows and your palms, but nowhere else on you calls for anything more than some antiseptic and a few bandaids. With the wrappings secure, he shuffles the mess of supplies haphazardly back into the kit, zipping it up much more bulging and misshapen a state than he found it in. He pushes it under the bed with the towel atop it, standing.

“Good as new. Or close to it,” he says, making a small show of dusting off his hands for a job well done. 

You stand, letting his cape slide off of your shoulders for the first time since he put it on you, the fabric pooling on the bed. You step forward, and of all the things he expects in this moment, you blow them out of the water by suddenly wrapping your arms around him, the soft curves of your body slotting against his in a way that trips something primal and needy in him. He puts his arms around you the second the shock wears off, holding you with the barest fraction of his strength.

Tension drains from your body. Were you nervous he wouldn’t reciprocate? It’s an endearing thought. He gives a deeper, brief squeeze. He can’t remember the last time someone held him.

“Thank you,” you say after a long beat, drawing back. He reluctantly loosens his grip, but not by much. He’s loath to relinquish you so soon after he’s gotten hold of you. “It’s not enough, but I don’t know what could ever be.”

I could make a few suggestions, he thinks, but he doesn’t give voice to the lewd thoughts that follow.

“I’ll never forget what you did for me tonight,” you say. Your face is so near to his, it makes it difficult to focus on anything other than the curve of your lips as you speak.

Instead of responding, Homelander leans in, eyes falling shut.

“Oh,” you say sharply, your soft body suddenly going tense in his arms, stopping him in his tracks. Both of your hands are braced against his chest now, creating a distance that feels craterous. 

He blinks, brows furrowed in confusion. “What?” 

“I’m really tired,” you say, tone shifting to mild diffusion. It reminds him of the way you spoke to James, and his ego stings with both the rejection and the comparison. He’d laughed listening to you reject that pathetic, simpering man. It seems less funny now. 

He scoffs an incredulous little huff. But I saved you, he thinks, indignant panic flaring in his chest. To his dismay, however, the thought doesn’t sound like his own voice. It sounds like James’.

But I paid!

Repulsed, Homelander swallows the thought like bile. If the comparison comes so readily to his own mind, there’s no way you won’t make the connection yourself. He feels his skin prickle like there are fire ants crawling beneath his suit. The memory of James’ pathetic begging is the only thing that keeps his composure together.

“Of course you are,” he says tightly. His smile is forced, slightly too wide. “You should sleep. Rest up. Take the day off tomorrow,” he says stiffly, rattling off lines like they’re pre-recorded. Only then does he surrender his hold on you, hands moving to his hips instead. You take a step back, and he stands straighter to disguise the sting of rejection.

“Thank you,” you say, tone indecipherable. It’s full to the brim with something, but nothing Homelander can parse in his current state. “I–”

“No need,” he dismisses, jumping on the opportunity to end the conversation on his terms. “Really. Just doing my job,” he says, tossing you a little two-finger salute off of his brow, already moving towards your balcony door. You don’t move, watching him from the foot of your bed, arms wrapped around yourself.

“Catch you at the office,” he says. He knows he’s speaking too quickly, but it’s all he can do to keep himself in check. Anger and misery broil in him like vinegar and baking soda, the caustic brew threatening to erupt.

“Okay,” you say, which isn’t particularly what he wants to hear. He turns his back to you, and his smile drops, his ego violently stung. With a force that billows wind through your bedroom, he takes off into the night sky.

You just weren’t ready, he tells himself, gritting his teeth. It’s easier to be angry than embarrassed. He wants to make as much distance between himself and your rejection, flying higher and higher until frost begins collecting on his lashes. He flies until there’s no sound, no oxygen, no life but his own. He flies until gravity releases him and he can finally relax, suspended by cold, vast space.

The earth glows beneath him, reflecting the light of the sun where it illuminates a distant portion of the globe.

Closing his eyes, he tips his head back.

He’ll fix this.

( chapter four )

[skyahri]

Soul |Ryomen Sukuna X Reader| HC

Summary: Sukuna meets the reincarnation of the only person he's ever loved.

Warnings: Implications of sex? Female pronouns. Reincarnation. Fear and anxiety.

- - - - -

"Rin..."

It came out like word vomit before Yuuji could even process what he was saying.

You looked at him, confused. Your name wasn't Rin and you'd never met this man before. Who did he think you were?

He slapped a hand over his mouth. Sukuna had forced his way to the surface just to ramble out a name? In all these years as his vessel, he'd never done something so trivial.

Sensing the flicker of cursed energy, Gojo, Megumi, and Nobara prepared themselves. It'd been a while since Sukuna had tried anything. Some sort of pact he'd formed with Yuuji kept him mostly content, although they weren't sure what it entailed.

It happened in the blink of an eye; Sukuna had taken over and stood directly in front of you, one hand flat on your chest and the other on your face.

"Rin... I could never forget the feel of your soul."

Your heartbeat fastened. An overwhelming feeling of fear fell onto you, rendering you unable to move.

What would you be able to do anyway? He's a God, and you had no abilities outside of actually seeing the damn things.

You had no idea what he was talking about. Your name isn't Rin and you'd never had any kind of encounter with either men until just now.

Megumi tried to move forward, but Gojo stuck an arm out in front of him. Something was off about the way Sukuna was acting, and he didn't think it was threatening.

It would be best to see how this played out instead of possibly starting a war that was never meant to begin in the first place.

"What are you doing? We can't let her-"

"Hold on."

They watched as Sukuna looked you up and down, inspecting your robes, hair, and face with a certain softness. His face was still hard and his movements still confident, but there was just that feeling.

"You look so different, but thats to be expected. Are you fairing well?"

You swallowed hard. His delicate touch did nothing to soothe your nerves. If anything, it only confused you more. He was tucking your hair behind your ear, giving you some sort of smile, and yet you feared he was going to rip your heart right out of your body.

"Um..."

Really, how were you supposed to respond? What sort of answer was he expecting? What were the consequences if you were to answer incorrectly?

Were you meant to comment on how you supposedly looked different? Was it your features? Your clothes? Your haircut?

"I'm scared."

Sukuna paused. You were horrified to have answered wrong, and now you could only hope he wouldn't kill you.

But he did something unexpected; he laughed. A thick, hardy chuckle that made your blood run cold.

Was this the end? How pitiful. Slain on a random Tuesday afternoon all because you wanted to meet up with an old friend. That's not a proper death.

"A thousand years and countless reincarnations, yet you still know how to make me laugh."

He leaned forward and pressed his lips to your forehead. You only had a moment to panic before a lifetime of memories filled your mind.

You remember the time before modern civilization when you relied on hunting in the woods and crops from the neighbor's farm.

You remembered your parents, siblings, friends, and other villagers. You remember your home on the outskirts of town just against the forest line.

But most importantly, you remember Sukuna.

You remember meeting him as a human, and then several years later as a curse. You faced off against him, and although you couldn't beat him in the end, you'd come close enough to earn his respect.

He stood above you, two arms crossed, one on his hip, and the other outstretched to offer you a hand up.

Who were you to refuse such a gesture from the king of curses?

He allowed you to join his temple alongside other followers of his with the condition you devoted yourself to him entirely. The offer was presented as a choice, but the alternative was death, so any reservations you had were null.

You wanted to go with him anyway, but that's beside the point.

From the very beginning of your journey with him, it was made clear to everyone that you were 'special' and not to be bothered.

This fact didn't hold up too well with some of the others, but what were they to do about it? Argue with Sukuna? Tell him they were more deserving of his attention? How pathetic.

He allowed you privileges that would only ever be known to you, like dining with him or joining him on trips. These small pleasantries became grand ones, like sharing his bed and allowing him to claim you.

Your relationship was equal from then on. You were not just a follower of his anymore. He was just as devoted to you as you are to him, and he ensured you knew it.

He'd always make sure to tell you how special you were, that he was taking his time with you and granting you pleasure. How you were his favorite, and no one else could even compare. How others had not been so lucky in the past.

He'd escort you to and from the hot springs, have humans bring you flowers and jewelry, and allow you to see the most vulnerable aspects of him.

He promised his love for you would never die, and here he is a millennia later proving true to his words.

Once the unrelenting onslaught of memories subsided, your hands met his- one still on your chest feeling your heartbeat, and the other slid partway into your hair- and all you could do was appreciate his presence.

You stared up at him. His face was different, but that intense look in his eyes was all the proof you needed that he was still the same man from all those years ago.

Tears beaded up in your eyes and quickly dripped down your cheeks. Crying had never been your thing in the past, but you didn't care to stuff the feelings down. Such a reunion was an occasion enough.

"My love," you whispered.

He leaned his forehead down to meet yours.

"My Queen."

[graphedpaper]

Renter Problems 2

yandere!celebrity x fem!reader

Synopsis: You're trying to find a place near your university to stay, and you've managed to find a mansion owned by a celebrity to live in. His name is Jacob, and you've known him since middle school, living in the same city as him. He's blown up as the new, hot celebrity thanks to the movie he's starred in, though, while you're just struggling to pass by. But he's been acting strange, and you're determined to .move out Details: Physical and verbal abuse, manipulation, gender neutral reader, kidnapping

Your head pounds with throbbing pressure from sudden exposure to the singular light of a fluorescent fixture overhead, unsure what happened that lead you to here.

Here, a foggy room of hard gray walls and cold gray floors, it's simplicity unnerves you, a human instinct, maybe.

Your eyes squint from the brightness and you're unable to open them.

Your mouth feels dry, your throat needs water now. You feel sick and nauseous, like almost a fever. Your right arm is sore and bruised, like you had a very bad work out.

It must be earlier in the morning, or maybe it's the afternoon...

You feel a cool, cold, but tight sensation on your wrists and realize your arms are hung up and stretched out individually to thick pipes with handcuffs and chains.

Your screams start to form, an instinctual, guttural, screech of terror that comes rushing out of your mouth with no hesitation.

"Help!" You scream, but your dry throat and dizziness restricts you from yelling loud enough.

Your heavy, tired head droops over and creates a resemblance to a crucification, only this time your raw knees press on the concrete that pushes against your slumped figure.

If not for the handcuffs holding you up, you would fall face flat and crack your forehead.

All you can do is gasp for air into your dry throat, the air stinging your channel that begged for hydration, all sense of a functioning brain and body is gone. Your arms feel numb, all blood rushing to your core. You start to yank your wrists away from the pipe in vain. The heavy metal around your wrists press and brings you another source of pain, the marks all red.

You force your neck up to look at this strange room again. Last thing you can make out before passing out was telling Jacob you were leaving.

What had happened exactly? You forced yourself to dig through your shattered memories.

He had slapped and tossed you across the living room, then he-

Your eyes droop closed. Even with the fear pounding your heart, something is still slowing your thinking. It softens your movements like walking in deep water, fluid, yet thick and weighted.

"Oh. You're up. Couldn't tell from all the screaming." A sarcastic sound hits your ears.

A clear voice calls down to you from the stairs leading up to a now open door that you had not been able to see before.

He looks so satisfied, up on the staircase, hands stuffed in his sweatpants and looking down at you. While you were kneeled on raw ground, face red and puffy from yesterday's event, his face was neat,  hair tousled gently, and smelled of aired cotton sheets, he was superior.

"What did you do- What did you do Jacob? What did you do to me?" You rasp out, no energy in your body. "Don't say that precious, I did nothing. You did this." He replies approaching you.

Your eyes widen in panic and you pull on your restraints once again. The metal shakes and rattles, making unpleasant sounds that echo throughout the deep basement. "Don't come near me! I swear, don't take another step!" You don't order, you don't ask, but beg. Beg him to stop.

You cry out screaming when he doesn't stop and calmly descends the stairs, hands still in pockets. "God, shut up! Shut your fucking mouth y/n." He snaps.

He crouches down to my level and he stares at me, like he's studying an animal he hunted down.

"If you want to get out of..."

He pauses.

"...Out of those then keep still and behave."

He hesitates to say handcuffs, like he's avoiding shattering his little dream world where we're apparently a couple. Because even he knows couples don't do this.

"Let me go please. Let me go!" You beg him, using your strength to rattle the chains connecting to your bondage.

Jacob scoffs at your behaviour. You're so pathetic, begging him to let you go. Let you go where? You'd be begging on the streets then. Better him than random strangers, right?

"Y/n stop it." He grabs your chin and pulls it upwards with his right hand. "You're acting like a fucking bitch right now." His eyes stare right into yours, it's dark. The back of your neck feels strained from the awkward angle.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry-" You jump to apologize. It's obvious this is someone unlike anyone you'd meet around town. Inhuman.

A sharp kick to your side pushes you back. It leaves you unable to think, or speak. The impact was unexpected.

He laughs at your shock. "Are you ready now?" Jacob's lips pout slightly, speaking in a mocking tone.

You can only stare at a corner of this room, mouth gaping like a suffocating fish. Still, you manage to nod slightly.

What bad luck.

What horrible luck that your friend recommended you the house of a psycho.

In this moment, you curse your parents and your friends slightly.

Jacob kneels down fully to the ground and slips out a key from his back pocket of his jeans. He swiftly unlocks the segments that connect the individual handcuffs to the chains.

What a joke, of course he wouldn't take the handcuffs off like you thought, he's only separating you from the pillars-

He takes out a second key and takes his time to release your sore wrists from the 2 metal bracelets.

You remain as confused and fearful as ever. What did he have planned now?

"Jacob, why did you do this, why did you put me in these handcuffs?" You ask him, in a raspy voice. It's hoarse from the screaming.

You observe his facial expressions carefully, like a small rabbit may to a lion. He's unpredictable.

He ignores your questions and continues to work at the handcuffs.

"You know y/n, I think you don't remember how terrible of a person you were to me all throughout our teenage years. How much of a bully you were. And that hurts me."

No. No, you were never once a bully to him. But he was to you, spreading rumours, getting his friends to gang up on you. What was he on about? He was insane. You wanted to ask him what he meant, you deeply wanted to argue against this statement. But that wouldn't save you, would it?

"I'm so sorry Jacob, I'm sorry for hurting you like that in the past, but like you said, we can all change." You bite your tongue and hope for the best.

Silence fills the room up to the ceiling, and he pauses working on the last handcuff around your wrist.

"You refused to go out with me, y/n." He stared at you.

What could you say except sorry to this psycho?

"I'm so sorry Jacob." You reply.

"You thought I was a stupid idiot, huh! You thought you could just walk all over me and I would accept it?" He yells.

"Jacob, please, I'm not sure what I did to you, I'm sorry!" You cry out, terrified. Your body starts to shake reactively towards his agression.

His move star face contorts into one of an ugly monster.

"You... you don't even know? You don't even care?" He stands up with a look of angry disbelief.

"No, no, Jacob, please, please, let me out of this place and we can talk it over, okay?" You beg.

He checks his watch then glares at you.

"You're lucky I need to go and do an interview to promote the new movie."

He kneels back down, and before he unlocks the final handcuff, he puts the other set between your two wrists like how it normally would have been used, then takes off the first handcuff that was connected to the chains on the pillar and one of your hands.

He grabs onto your handcuff and drags you up behind him to the first floor. The stairs are long and high, like the architect knew a rich person would need to have somewhere to take out their sick desires.

When he opens the locked door and tosses you to the floor of the other room, you realize its the big, airy living room from last night's dinner. You look around and see no traces of yesterday's fight. Did he get a cleaner in?

Jacob locks the door behind him, and then turns around to look at you.

His facial expression changes from stressed fury to a calmer, serene face.

"Oh y/n, you're too gorgeous to act this way, why can't you just be my perfect partner, huh? Why did you have to try and leave? Weren't we building a connection? We even had a dinner date." He rambles his thoughts to you, like you're a stuffed rabbit toy.

He grabs your hand and leads you up to his bedroom. You've never been in it.

While he's approaching his bedroom door, you decide to attempt to get out of this horror.

You'll ask him to unlock your cuffs and then you'll call the police...

Jacob pushes you onto his bed.

"Y/n, stay in my room and don't have even think about leaving until I'm back from work. There's alarms."

"Jacob, please can you get me out of these handcuffs? Let me go please, I won't ever tell anyone, I wouldn't dare ruin your career, " You try.

Jacob stops moving at your audacity to beg. You're daring, he'll admit that. Begging for him to let you go? His girlfriend?

"I'm not worried about you ruining my career, you'd just be another crazy bitch out for a young man's growing success."

You're stunned by the bluntness of his words and your face finds its way into a grimace.

"Aww. Poor baby didn't like that, huh?" He asks with a sarcastic tone.

You stare at him not sure what to say.

"I'm going to go now, but you have to be a good girlfriend while I'm away." Jacob tells you.

He forces you to kiss him on the cheek in an awkward position and leaves you on his grand bed with the door locked.

You collapse and begin to sob.

Hi, this short text is part of a larger story you can find on Wattpad, @graphedpaper, if you liked this, you should check it out there.

[1d1195]

Most VI

Read Most here | ~4.3k words

From me: I think you guys don't give me enough credit for NOT putting cliffhangers in some of these (jk, I'm the worst lol) This part is a little shorter than the most recent parts --I was going to combine it with the last part, but decided to keep it self-contained because it seemed better that way. One more part to go! :)

Warnings: Lauren, angst, and a house fire. Please suspend your belief.

Summary: Harry finally figures out why she left. He just hopes it's not too late.

Harry was buzzing. His shift went by so fast knowing she was at the end of it.

Harry stopped to get her coffee. It was two in the afternoon when he finally left work, went home to shower, then make his way back toward her place. There were a lot of things that changed, but he hoped some hadn’t. Such that she would be getting up from her nap and would want a coffee.

“Hey, Lo,” Harry said as he entered the shop with a wave. Lauren was waiting on others in front of him, so he stood in line analyzing the menu wondering if she liked something different now. He couldn’t stop smiling, he could feel his cheeks nearly bursting. “What do y’think the chances are that she likes the same drink?” Harry asked as he approached the register.

It took a minute for Harry to notice that Lauren didn’t answer. He looked down from the menu and was totally confused by the expression on Lauren’s face. “You really love her? After she broke your heart?”

He stared at her. Unsure of where the question came from. Especially from her. Harry still didn’t know Lauren extensively, but it was an odd question to ask anyone and even odder for her to broach it.

But Harry would answer it any day. “Of course I do, Lauren. Why wouldn’t I?”

She shook her head. “You deserve so much more than her,” Lauren’s eyes filled with tears and her voice cracked.

Harry’s brain worked slowly. Those words were familiar. Too familiar. The way she said them. The emphasis. His breathing felt erratic, and he realized too late that he was in flight-or-fight mode. The way his body started to shake. None of the puzzle pieces were fitting together but at the same time they were. All of them. Like he knew what happened the day she left as if they were said to him himself. “What... Lo... what did y’say?” It sounded like something she had said to him no less than eighteen hours ago. Her reasoning for that day.

Lauren covered her mouth, squeezed her eyes shut. Then, when she spoke, her words were caught on a choked sob. “She wasn’t supposed to come back! You weren’t supposed to wait for her!”

Harry took a step back. The coffee shop was too small suddenly and he was way too close to her. “Lauren,” his voice was low. His heart was aching; like it already knew what happened but unable to fully believe it. “What did y’do?” He whispered. But now, in the few seconds he had to reminisce where it went wrong. Harry thought back on it, he thought about the way Lauren’s grip had felt around his neck when he helped carry her to bed.

All that time...

It’s not fair.

Harry shook his head of the memory trying to focus on how he felt now. “Lauren,” he repeated. “What did y’say t’her?”

“I just thought that if she was gone you would see there was more than her for you.”

He backed up again, like she had slapped him. He bumped into the display behind him knocking a few bags of coffee grinds to the floor. “How could you?” He shook his head, it felt like someone had punched him in the stomach. There wasn’t enough air. All that time just gone because of someone’s rotten jealousy. “You’re supposed to be her friend!”

“I–I… I don’t know… I just thought–”

“Did y’even message her all that time? Did y’even try?” He shouted. There was only a half dozen people in the coffee shop, but they all stared at Harry’s outburst.

“Oh... oh, my goodness,” someone whispered. Someone who very clearly knew what happened between her and Harry three years ago and how Lauren, if she was anyone’s friend, would have done anything to help them. But she didn’t. She let Harry suffer and watched him order countless coffees and asked if she had heard anything from her.

“Harry—”

“How could you?!” He shouted. It was pure silence this time. Lauren covered her mouth again and sobbed. “Three years, Lauren! Three years I have been half alive without her. How could y’do that t’her? How?”

“I-I—”

“Eleven hundred days, Lauren! Eleven. Hundred. One thousand, one hundred, twenty-seven days. Six birthdays, three Christmases, three anniversaries, that we’ll never get back because of you.”

Harry might have felt bad had Lauren tried to get him to leave all those years ago instead of her. Because if Harry had left, he would have been the stupidest person alive and he would have deserved to feel broken and terrible for three years. But it wasn’t her fault. She didn’t know why Lauren said it. She didn’t know how Lauren’s hand had felt on the back of his neck. Lauren preyed upon the sweet girl’s insecurities and extorted the kindness she possessed.

Lauren betrayed her friend. She broke both their hearts because she was jealous. So, Harry didn’t feel bad. Not even a little.

He shook his head, his anger and frustration reaching a boiling point and he needed to get out of there and punch a tree before he did something stupid. Without another word, without another thought of Lauren and what she did, he started for the exit quickly.

However, when his hand touched the door there was one last thing he needed to say. Hopefully, it was going to be the last thing he ever said to her. “Don’t ever speak t’her again, Lauren. She’s too kind t‘say it and I don’t want her t’know. So, I’ll say it on her behalf: Don’t. Ever. Speak to her. Again.”

*

Harry sped much too fast in his car the entire way to her apartment building. His mind was racing. Trying to figure out what happened in the three years and how it could have gotten so far away from him… away from her.

Why didn’t he press more that night? Why didn’t he go visit her after a year—no, a week? An hour. Why didn’t he try?

Harry was so wrapped up in his thoughts he didn’t even realize there were sirens in the distant background. He didn’t realize people were pointing in the direction he was headed. For the first time since he decided he wanted to help his community and he was going to be a firefighter, Harry didn’t see the smoke.

When he parked off to the side because he knew the trucks would be coming, he searched for the car he saw in the middle of traffic just a couple short weeks ago. He prayed it wouldn’t be there. But it was. “Fuck,” he whispered to himself. He saw a new storage pod outside, but it was locked shut—she wasn’t outside. He dialed her phone number. Praying he was unblocked. He hadn’t texted or called her in the time she had been back. He had deleted her contact info but and her messages fell to the bottom of the list with disuse—it was far easier to type her number than scroll looking for it. The idea he was going to scare her away again far outweighed his desire to have communication with her—seeing her in person was more than sufficient. It was, in a way, slow and old-fashioned, he had bargained to see her by accident.

But now that seemed like the stupidest idea he had ever had.

It had been ages since he dialed her number, but the ten digits were imprinted on his mind like the melody of his favorite song or a tattoo on his arm. He tapped his screen as quickly as he could. Paced in front of the burning door, watching the flames float up curtains and walls swiftly.

He listened to it ring. Which was a miracle.

But there was no answer.

His stomach churned.

He dialed again.

No answer.

Harry started to sweat. He ran a hand through his hair. “Everyone is out,” someone shouted.

But Harry didn’t believe that. Pressed his thumb on her number again.

No answer.

Harry stared at the building. It was supposed to be a saving grace, this building. She was home. But right then, he hated it. With intense passion. Hated it more than anything.

“C’mon,” he murmured to himself.

There was a pause in the ringing. “Mmm… Hi Harry,” she whispered sleepily. For the briefest second Harry forgot the reason for his call. “Is your shift over? Are you coming to me or do you want me to come to your place?” She murmured. God, Harry loved her so much. Even in a dangerous situation, he was so happy to hear his name on her lips. Right when she woke up. It was only seconds between her answer and his sentence but after she had been gone all of time felt slower, he had to fill it with more. He thought of all the mornings he lost with her. All the weekends he would have spent in her dorm waking up on a mattress that was too small for two people, but it wouldn’t have mattered because he could never be close enough to her. He didn’t get to hear her say Hi Harry in a sleepy voice and relish it.

He couldn’t do that now.

“Baby, please tell me you’re not home,” he begged, but he was already pulling his jacket from his car. He would have put his whole suit on if he had it with him, but obviously he didn’t. The jacket wasn’t station-issued but it was flame resistant and it would have to do. It seemed so counterintuitive to cover up more when he was already sweating with anxiety and from the hot summer sun. Next came gloves that he had from helping Gemma cut down trees in her yard. Again, not fire station approved, but they would have to work. 

His eyes stayed glued to the building watching her balcony. This was a nightmare. Worse than any one that Harry ever had of her. He would take another three years apart over this.

“I just... woke up from a nap,” she yawned, stretched. God, he would have paid thousands of dollars just to see it. One brain cell was happy her nap time hadn’t changed.

But this wasn’t the time to worry about her nap. “At... Eleanor’s?” He hoped, squeezing his eyes shut.

She coughed, unaware. “No,” she coughed again. “I’m at my apartment, why?”

He opened his eyes and saw the smoke and fire crawling up to the third floor. The slew of people around him crying and watching as the building went up in flames. Memories lost and trinkets gone. He closed his eyes tight. “Kitten,” he whispered. “I need you t’listen very carefully t’me. Y’need t’stay calm. Can y’do that?”

“Harry, what’s wrong?” He heard her shuffle.

“Baby, m’here. I promise. M’not gonna let anything happen t’you,” he assured her.

“What are you talking about? What’s—it’s,” she coughed again. “Ugh,” she sighed. “It’s super hot in here and the AC isn’t working—I think I have to have the super look at—”

“Kitten,” he rubbed his forehead, terrified of her reaction. “M’outside your building. It’s on fire and you need to get out.”

There was a pause. “No...” she shook her head. Coughed. “No, the smoke detectors didn’t go off.”

It was his worst fear. Her sleeping like the dead terrified him. He always worried something horrible like this would happen. Thank God he called her. But if the detectors didn’t even go off... she didn’t have a chance.

She squeezed her eyes shut. “Baby, y’need t’go,” he could see the fourth floor, right below hers—the windows began seeping with thick smoke. She gasped and shuffled back.

“Oh... oh no,” she whispered. “Harry, the hallway...” her voice cracked. “Harry, what do I do?”

Harry squeezed his eyes shut and held the phone tighter in his hand. He wished he could teleport up there. He heard water running. Probably a towel or blanket she was soaking while she still could. Good girl. “Baby, y’need t’come to the balcony.”

It was the reason an astronaut wasn’t feasible after all their training that one week. It was why she would never have a kiss on a Ferris Wheel or why she would never reach the top of a mountain hike. Anything higher than two stories was too tall and too scary.

Now more than ever.

She shook her head, Harry couldn’t see her, but he knew it. “I can’t do that... I... I...”

“I know, baby, I know it’s high. But you have to,” he wanted to scream but he had to be calm for her.

She couldn’t even bring herself to the window to look down. Harry was so scared as he thought of how much smoke she was inhaling whether there was a wet blanket around her head or not. “I can’t,” she croaked. “It’s too high.”

“Kitten, I know,” he agreed. “I know,” he squeezed his eyes shut. “But I need you to get out,” he clutched the phone tighter. “Like right now.”

The sound of firetruck doors slammed from behind him. “Styles! What are you doing here?”

“Someone’s in there,” he shouted back.

“We’ve been told everyone’s been accounted for!”

He turned and glared toward the voice that said it. “Where’s the fucking ladder truck!?”

But Harry already knew that the building was taller than any of the ones in town. Even if it was here, it would only reach the third floor. 

“They’re coming from the town over… Who’s still in there—”

She coughed. It was muffled by her shirt, the wet towel she surely had over her head. “I can’t, Harry. I’m sorry,” she sniffled. “I’m too scared and it’s,” she was broken up by a cough again.

“S’not an option, baby,” he shook his head. She wasn’t giving up. He wasn’t allowing her to give up. He was stepping closer to the house prepared to run up the stairs from the first floor, through the flames, and five flights of stairs. Where the fuck was the ladder truck?!

“Styles, it’s unstable. You’re not to enter—that’s an order. It’s not safe!” The voice of the fire chief shouted from behind him.

He was going to get fired—but a chance of reaching her? It was well worth it. He would take third degree burns over every inch of his body in trade for her safety. It didn't matter what he needed to do. “Baby, you still with me?”

“I’m here,” she whispered. “I’m really scared, Harry.”

He winced, feeling so much agony over her fear. His brain wasn’t moving fast enough. “Where’s the goddamn truck!?” He shouted behind him, his voice quieting on the phone. The rest of the squad was hooking up hoses to fire hydrants and looking for a point of entry to determine the safety of the building. Talking with the manager of the building. 

Then his voice softened, even though he was desperate and broken. “I know, baby. I know. S’okay. M’gonna get you out,” he promised.

“Harry,” she sniffled. It felt worse than third degree burns. It felt worse than not knowing if she ate breakfast or got a good night’s sleep. Nothing felt as bad as her sniffling; sad and scared. Harry wanted to hold her and assure her it would be okay; but he was too far away.

“M’here, baby. M’here,” he promised.

“Harry—”

“Kitten, I just need t’think for one second and I’ll get y’out—”

“Harry, baby—”

“—I promise. I would never—”

“Harry, I really, really love you,” she croaked. Silencing any thought Harry had. “I always have. I didn’t stop loving you. Not even for a second. I think I love you more if that’s even possible.”

It felt like the last three years never existed. She was never gone. The hole in his heart was filled. His lungs didn’t feel short of breath, and his muscles stopped aching. She loved him. He thought of Gemma saying she would never do something that would hurt both of them.

But Harry was sick of her goodbyes. He didn’t like that they came without warning. They never said goodbye or goodnight. It was always implied she would see him tomorrow.

Harry dropped his phone without responding. He didn’t think; didn’t think logically at all. His training was gone. He relied on his instinct and the strength training he had thrown himself into at the gym. 

He marched up to the first first-floor patio railing and stood on it as the rest of his coworkers shouted. He had seen moments of incredible strength and determination from every day people choosing to be heroes. Harry would never tout himself as such, but he was going to be heroic for her.

The distinct voice of his chief started to shout after him as well, but it was too late. He had to be quick for a hundred reasons, but if they stopped him, something bad would happen to her. Then he would die--that he was sure of. The railing was a good jumping point. Heat poured from the building. People shouted at him. Shouted into the walkies to get the ladder truck there ASAP. He was so fired. But it didn’t matter. 

He jumped up from the railing and grabbed for the balusters the second floor balcony. He yanked himself up in a chin-up that his friends and coworkers would be proud of if they had a moment to admire it. Once on the second balcony, he remained perched for a moment. Gathering his nerve, and resetting his muscles before he launched up to the next floor in the same way as the second. Then he did it for the fourth and fifth balconies as well. He didn’t think about how high up he was. How a free fall would definitely break his spine or very much something worse. He wasn’t the one afraid of heights after all.

She was more important. Always. He was not going to let her say I love you on the phone to him after three years of nothing, make him whole again, and then just leave permanently.

Once on her balcony, his muscles screamed. He pulled on the slider but it was locked. He pressed his face to the glass and searched for her but couldn’t see her through the smoke.

“Goddammit!” He shouted, slamming his fist on the slider. But she probably couldn’t hear it over the sound of the room separating her, the sirens, and probably the sound of her own coughing. Harry pressed his gloved hands to his face and pressed his hands to his pockets searching for anything that could be useful.

Then his saving grace was a planter in the corner of the balcony. Time seemed to be moving so slowly, he could have cried. He yanked the stand surely straining a muscle in his back but that didn't matter either. The plant tumbled to her patio floor and in the same motion, he smashed the heavy holder it into the slider. He turned his head away to avoid the glass and the heat bloomed from inside.

“Kitten, if y’can hear me. I need you t'come t’my voice,” he shouted. The floor creaked under the weight of his foot. It made his training kick in, he couldn’t keep going. It was useless if he fell through the floor and couldn’t keep her safe. 

It killed a piece of him, but he stayed where he was. Through the smoke, he searched for her. “Kitten, please,” he begged.

Holding onto the frame of the door he stepped into the room, shirt over his mouth, his foot feeling for a support beam that hadn’t been broken by the flames or something.

“Goddammit,” he croaked. “Where are you?” His eyes burned from the smoke and heat but he tried anyway because he had to find her.

“I’m here,” she called weakly.

He closed his eyes, his heart aching as he breathed out inside his shirt. “Good. Good, baby. Come here,” his eyes were watering from the smoke or heat. He thought. Or maybe it was just pure relief flooding his vision. In actuality, they were just tears. “Baby, you have t’come here now.” He ordered.

The floor creaked and he didn’t know where she was and it killed him. He couldn’t see through the smoke. 

He prayed none of her possessions were lost. Her phone probably had pictures on it that she loved, or words jotted into her notes app that never made it to a notebook. Who bought her notebooks and pens now? Was there anyone that knew her like he did? He was going to get her a notebook and pen right after he got her out of here. There was the distinct sound of the ladder setting up behind him.

“Harry,” she croaked. “I didn’t—”

“Kitten, just come here,” he begged. “I don’t care. Just…” 

“I thought you…” God he needed to see her. Needed to hold her. Her voice sounded like she didn’t know he was coming for her—like he would ever let her die in a fire and let I love you be the last thing she ever said to him. 

“Carefully, baby,” he reminded her, wishing more than anything he could run across the room and grab her as fast as he could. Praying that she knew he would never let anything happen to her.

“Harry, it’s cracking,” she whimpered.

“Kitten,” his heart was racing worse than any other time in his life. “You have to,” he was telling her, but it sounded like he was begging. “Please,” he wasn’t against begging—not if it would get her out. “If I come t’you, I’ll fall through, I don’t think you’ll want that,” he didn’t want to sound self-important he, just wanted her out. He was so stressed by this predicament, he worried he was going to have a heart attack at the ripe age of twenty-three right in front of her. He took another cautious step toward where he thought her voice came from. The wood groaned under the pressure. “Kitten, please,” he pleaded.

Her cough was closer. The creaking was nearer. 

Then through the plume of smoke, he saw her--just barely. The collar of her T-shirt over her mouth, a wet towel around her head. The muscles of his back released ever so slightly. “Good girl,” he encouraged. “Nice and slow,” he crouched to the same level as she crawled below the smoke. He brushed the floor in front of him with his gloves. “Just a little more, baby,” he whispered. “M’here,” he promised. “There’s a lot of glass—please be careful,” he begged. But he would pluck out every piece himself if it meant she was alive for him to do it.

Once she was within grabbing range--near enough to the balcony that he wouldn't need to step on the crumbling floor, he yanked her to him. Pulling her to stand and clutching her to him as if their lives were dependent on it. For a moment, he held her, kissed the side of her face as she coughed and he felt along her ribs as if she wasn't real and holding her was all in his head.

It was no longer than three seconds, but it could have been hours or days that he held her. The sound of everything falling apart below them didn’t matter. The creaking, the wood breaking, the integrity of the building melting. All of it didn’t matter. “C’mon,” he ushered her further out on the balcony. The ladder was greeting him. Finally.

He sighed with relief. “Kitten,” his voice was soft, a bit hoarse with anxiety and smoke coating his esophagus. “Close your eyes and don’t open ‘em until I say so, yeah?”

“Please don’t fall,” she mumbled and tucked her face against his jacket. He knew it was a protective layer, but he wished with everything in him it was softer for her delicate face.

“Never, baby,” he promised, dragging a gloved hand across her cheek wishing it was also his hand and not the rough material.

“I was talking to myself,” the smallest of smiles graced her pretty lips.

Harry buried his nose in her hair. The skin between his eyebrows pinched together. Without full control of his emotions, he released a quiet chuckle and his eyes continued to water from the smoke (they was definitely just tears). His laugh was barely loud enough for her to hear. “I won’t let that happen, kitten,” he promised anyway. He hauled himself over the railing and onto the ladder. He held his hand out. “C’mere, kitten. M’here.” She tentatively stepped forward. “Hold your hand out,” he whispered. As she did, he grabbed it immediately. “Good girl,” he encouraged. “I’m going to lift you now, okay?”

“Harry,” she whispered, her voice full of worry. “It’s–”

“Baby, s’not an option,” he repeated.

“But—”

He yanked her closer, watching the smoke billow out of her slider door. The flames crept closer and the only thing that kept him from losing his grip on reality was that she was holding his hand and not victim to the flames behind them. Without hearing her protest, he lifted her. As if she weighed nothing but a bag of groceries. He cradled her as he had been taught in the academy and practiced regularly with his coworkers. But he thought of the wedding he always had dreamed about. How he would be cheesy, and he wanted nothing more than to carry her over the threshold of wherever they resided.

It wasn’t soft or pretty that way, but holding her then...

Well, it was better than any threshold he could have dreamed of.

--

general taglist: @justlemmeadoreyou @daydreamingofmatilda @sunshinemoonsposts @loving-hazz @likeapplejuicenpeach

@straightontilmornin @freedomfireflies @littlenatilda @kathb59 @babegoals

@angel-upon @lilfreakjez @mleestiles @ameliaalvarez06 @canyonmoondreams

@summertime-pills @daphnesutton @l4rrysh0use @perfectywrong @foreverxholland

@lovrave @st-ev-ie @pandeebearstyles @toosarcastic03 @luvonstyles

@tenaciousperfectionunknown @classychalamet @love-letters-to-uranus @emmaawbr @crossyourpeter

@kissitnhekitchen @kittenhere @stylesfever @indierockgirrl @michellekstyles

@just-another-reader1098 @hermionelove @tiredinwinter @whimsy-willows @hannah9921

@fangirl7060 @triski73 @vikiii07 @prettygurl-2009 @madstyles3204

@angeldavis777 @tchlamqtsgf @lizsogolden

most: @harryspirate

I'm sorry if I missed anyone in the taglist. Please let me know if you'd like to join, if it didn't work, if you no longer want to be included, etc. :)

If you like this, check out my masterlist here

[unconventional-lawnchair]

We're Always Shifting {Chapter Three}

Barty Crouch Jr. x Reader

WC: 7.5k

Masterlist

Summary: After a small fight and a make up session, Harry and the reader stumble upon a room that finally harbors some answers.

<--Prev/Next-->

The week following the disastrous attempt to steal from Snape had been a whirlwind of sleepless nights and desperate attempts to make sense of the hollow ache inside you. Hermione, Draco, and Luna had thrown themselves into the task of helping you, their worry manifesting in different ways. Hermione had suggested Legilimency, but Draco had shut that down immediately, his voice sharp with protective indignation. You had almost forgotten what he had gone through; his main argument being it wouldn’t help with memories you claimed not to have- but you know what it was. He didn't want you to feel that pain. Luna had brought you a collection of oddities- an old mirror, a battered music box, a tattered vinyl sleeve- swearing they would spark something, but they only left you feeling more adrift.

Even Draco, normally so quick with a biting remark, had grown strangely subdued. His silences spoke louder than his words, his usual bravado giving way to an unspoken concern that settled heavily between you all. It was like they could sense the cracks forming in you, but none of them knew how to mend them.

You’d tried to distract yourself. Hours spent in the library with Hermione, feigning interest as she scribbled notes with the intensity of someone trying to outrun her own thoughts. You let Luna’s voice wash over you as she rambled about magical creatures, her whimsical theories like threads of light in the dark. And when Draco had dragged you to the Astronomy Tower, pointing out constellations with a confidence that made your heart twist, you let yourself get lost in the stars, searching for answers you couldn’t name.

But nothing worked. The ache remained, gnawing at you like a shadow you couldn’t outrun. And then there was Harry.

He’d been watching you all week, his gaze a quiet weight you felt even when you tried to ignore it. He didn’t push, not at first. But his presence was constant, lingering at the edges of your world like an unanswered question. Every time his eyes met yours, there was something there- something raw and yearning, something you couldn’t face.

By the time Monday morning arrived, you weren’t surprised to find him waiting for you outside the courtyard steps. His tie hung loose, his hair as perpetually messy as ever, but his expression was different. He looked... tired. And the sight of him hit you like a punch to the gut.

“Hey,” He forced a smile, his voice softer than you’d expected. “Do you want to skip class? Go down to the Black Lake like we used to?”

The question was so simple, so Harry, that it almost broke you. Memories of stolen afternoons by the water flashed through your mind; his laughter, the sun on your skin, the feeling that nothing else mattered when you were with him. The sounds of Draco's snark remarks about you actually getting into the water- with Hermione’s fussing about getting caught- You wanted to say yes. You wanted to let him pull you back into that world, even for a moment. But the thought of being alone with him, of facing everything you couldn’t explain, was unbearable.

“I’d… rather be alone right now,” You muttered, your voice quieter than you’d intended.

Harry stepped in front of you, his brows furrowing in frustration. “Don’t do that,” He huffed, his voice sharper now. “Don’t shut me out. It’s not fair.”

You blinked, startled by the edge in his tone. “I’m not shutting you out, Harry. I just-”

“Yes, you are,” He cut you off, his hands clenching at his sides. “You’ve been doing it all week. Hell, longer than that. And I’m tired of pretending I don’t notice.”

His words hit like a slap, and you looked away, guilt twisting in your chest. “I’m not trying to shut you out,” You muttered softly. “I just… I need space.”

Harry let out a bitter laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Space,” He rasped, his voice laced with disbelief. “That’s rich, coming from you. You’ve had plenty of space, haven’t you? Space from me, but no one else.”

“That’s not fair-”

“No,” He interrupted, his voice rising. “What’s not fair is you disappearing into your own head and leaving me here, wondering what the hell I did wrong.”

The rawness in his voice made your breath catch, and for a moment, all you could do was stare at him. His green eyes burned with something you couldn’t name- hurt, frustration, desperation- and it cut deeper than you expected.

“Do you have any idea how much I miss you?” He strained, his voice breaking. “I miss us. I miss how things used to be. And I don’t understand why you don’t. It’s like… the second this year started, you wanted nothing to do with me. I need my best friend back.”

Tears stung at the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them away, shaking your head. “It’s not that simple, Harry.”

“Why not?” He demanded, stepping closer. “Is it because of Ginny? Because of Malfoy? Because I swear, if it’s about them, I’ll-”

“It’s not about them!” You snapped, your voice rising in frustration. The words hung heavy in the air, and Harry flinched, his hurt etched into every line of his face.

“Then what is it about?” He asked, his voice quieter now, trembling with something fragile. “Because I feel like I’m losing you, and I don’t know how to fix it.”

The weight of his words settled over you like a storm, and you felt your walls crumbling. You wanted to tell him everything- the flashes of memories, the way your chest ached when you looked at him, the fear that you were unraveling piece by piece. But how could you, when you didn’t even understand it yourself?

“I’m sorry.” You whispered, your voice barely audible. “I just… I don’t know how to fix it either.”

Harry’s shoulders sagged, but the determination in his eyes didn’t waver. “Then let me help you,” He huffed. “Whatever this is, we’ll figure it out together.”

His words should have been comforting, but they only made the ache worse. You didn’t deserve his loyalty- not when you couldn’t give him the answers he deserved.

Harry reached out, his hand brushing against yours for the briefest moment before he pulled away. “Take your space.” He sighed softly, his voice tinged with resignation. “But don’t forget… I’m still here. I’m always here. I'm not going to just leave you behind.”

You nodded, unable to speak, and watched as he walked away. His shoulders were hunched, his steps heavy, and you felt the tears spill over, hot and unrelenting.

As the courtyard fell silent around you, you realized how deep the chasm between you and Harry had grown. And yet, his words lingered, a promise you weren’t sure you deserved but couldn’t let go of.

"I’m not going to just leave you behind."

If only you could believe him. If only you could believe in yourself.

~~~

The days that followed your conversation with Harry dragged like wading through deep, endless water. You’d catch sight of him in the halls or across the Great Hall, and each time, the quiet anguish in his green eyes clawed at you. It made your chest ache, and no amount of distraction could dull the weight of it.

His words hung in the air, a constant echo in your mind. And yet, how could you tell him the truth? The flashes of fragmented memories, the visions that felt like whispers of another life. The image of Harry with a jagged lightning scar carved into his forehead- it haunted you. But how could you explain something that felt more like a dream than reality? How could you put that burden on him when you didn’t understand it yourself?

You tried to busy yourself, anything to drown the noise in your head. Hermione’s endless study sessions became your sanctuary, though her focused quill scratches only reminded you of your own restless inaction. Draco’s sharp comments- usually a source of irritation- started feeling oddly grounding, like he was trying to anchor you in his own backhanded way. And Luna, sweet Luna, would sit beside you, offering her peculiar trinkets and theories, her voice laced with a gentleness that made you want to cry. 

But no matter how hard they tried, and no matter how much you wished you could let them in, the ache in your chest remained, pulling you under.

And Harry.

He didn’t push, not at first. He lingered at the edges of your world, his presence always there, quietly waiting. But his patience wasn’t infinite, and you’d felt it begin to fray. The tension between you grew heavier with every passing day until finally, it all came to a head.

~~~

It was late one evening when you found yourself in the library again, the quiet hum of the room interrupted only by the occasional rustle of parchment. Hermione was beside you, her focus unwavering as she tackled Advanced Transfiguration. Across the table, Draco flicked lazily through a Potions text, his sharp features cast in the warm glow of a lamp. And then there was Luna, perched on the table’s edge, humming softly as she dangled a peculiar dried herb in front of her like it might hold all the answers you sought.

“You’ve been quieter than usual,” Hermione said finally, her tone cautious but kind. Her eyes flicked toward you, her quill pausing mid-scratch. “Still thinking about what Harry said?”

The question hit you and your thoughts came to a halt, though you tried to hide it. You hesitated, fingers tracing the edge of your book. “Yeah,” You admitted, barely above a whisper. “It’s… complicated.”

“Complicated is putting it mildly,” Draco hummed, his voice cutting but not cruel. “Potter’s as subtle as a Hippogriff, but at least he’s honest. You? You’re like some impossible bloody riddle, and I, for one, am tired of trying to solve it.”

You shot him a glare, but Luna chimed in before you could retort. “Maybe it’s not about solving.” She said dreamily, tilting her head. “Maybe the answer is already there, and you’re just scared of it.”

Hermione sighed, closing her book with a soft thud. “Look, no one’s asking you to figure it all out right this second. But pushing Harry away isn’t fair. You know how he is. He’ll wait forever if he has to, but that doesn’t make it okay.”

The words sank in, the guilt clawing at your insides. “I know.” You murmured, your voice barely audible. “I just don’t want to hurt him.”

“Bit late for that, isn’t it?” Draco said bluntly, though his tone lacked its usual bite. When Hermione shot him a glare, he raised his hands in mock surrender. “What? I’m just being honest. Someone has to.”

Luna’s voice was soft but steady, her gaze piercing in its own ethereal way. “Maybe it’s not about whether or not you want to hurt him. Maybe it’s about whether or not you trust him enough to let him help.”

The words struck a chord deep in your chest. Trust. That was the heart of it, wasn’t it? Trusting Harry to stay, to weather the storm of your fractured mind when you couldn’t promise him any clarity. Trusting him not to crumble under the weight of what little you could offer.

Without a word, you closed your book and rose from your chair, the scrape of wood against stone drawing all eyes to you. “I need some air,” You mumbled. “I’ll be back.”

Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but Luna placed a gentle hand on her arm, stopping her. Draco simply raised an eyebrow, though for once, he said nothing. You left before their collective concern could smother you.

~~~

The corridors were quiet, the late hour cloaking the castle in stillness. You wandered aimlessly, your thoughts a tangled mess of guilt and confusion, until your feet carried you to the Astronomy Tower. The crisp night air hit you as you stepped outside, the stars above sprawling endlessly, like an invitation to lose yourself in their vastness.

Leaning against the cold stone railing, you stared out at the dark silhouette of the Forbidden Forest. Your mind raced, memories you couldn’t place flitting just out of reach. The ache in your chest felt heavier here, the weight of it almost unbearable.

“You’re not the only one who hides up here, you know.”

The voice startled you, though it shouldn’t have. You turned to see Harry stepping out of the halls, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. He looked as exhausted as you felt, the moonlight casting sharp angles across his face.

For a moment, you said nothing, the silence between you thick. Then Harry stepped closer, leaning on the railing beside you. “I didn’t mean to push the other day,” He said quietly, his voice raw. “I just… I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to help.”

The vulnerability in his tone twisted something deep inside you, but this time, you didn’t look away. “I don’t know how to do this either.” You admitted, your voice breaking. “And I’m terrified that if I tell you what little I do know, it’ll make everything worse.”

Harry frowned, his green eyes searching yours like he could will you to let him in. “Worse than this?” he asked softly. “Worse than watching you slip further away every day?”

You swallowed hard, tears threatening to spill. “Harry, I saw something the other night. It wasn’t real, but it felt real. It was you. But… not you.”

“What do you mean?” His voice was steady, but his brow furrowed with confusion.

You hesitated, the memory of his scar flashing in your mind. “You had a scar. A lightning bolt, right here.” You gestured to your own forehead. “And your eyes, Harry… they looked so tired. Like you’d been fighting something- something I couldn’t see.”

Harry stared at you, his confusion deepening. “A scar? What are you talking about?”

“I don’t know.” You confessed, aspirated, your frustration bubbling over. “I feel like my mind is playing tricks on me, showing me things that just don’t make sense. And I don’t know how to make it stop.”

As the silence settled between you, Harry’s hand remained steady on your arm, his warmth grounding you in a way you hadn’t realized you needed. His eyes searched yours, and for a fleeting moment, you let yourself believe he could take on some of the weight that had been suffocating you. 

“Alright,” He said softly, his voice tinged with that steadfast determination you’d always admired. “Let’s talk about it.”

You hesitated, then nodded, letting out a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding. The two of you turned and began walking, your footsteps echoing softly in the quiet corridor. For a while, neither of you spoke, the stillness giving you time to gather your thoughts. 

“It’s hard to explain,” You began, uncertain. “It’s not just the visions. It’s this… this feeling that something’s missing. Someone’s missing.” 

Harry glanced at you, his brow furrowing. “Missing? Like you’ve forgotten someone?”

“Maybe,” you admitted. “Or maybe it’s like they were never here to begin with, but they should’ve been. I don’t know, Harry. It’s like… there’s a gap, and I don’t know how to fill it.” 

He stayed quiet, letting you talk without interruption, his attention fully on you in a way that made your chest tighten. 

“And it’s not just that.” You continued. “Sometimes I look at people- Pandora, Draco, even Luna- and it’s like I’m seeing two versions of them at once. One that feels… right, and one that doesn’t. Like they’re slightly out of focus. I can’t explain it better than that.” 

Harry tilted his head, his expression thoughtful. “And me? Do I… feel out of focus?”

You hesitated, biting your lip. “No,” You said quietly. “You feel… solid. Real. But it’s like there’s another version of you, one I can’t quite remember but still… know. It’s the you with the scar.” You glanced at him, searching his face for any hint of recognition, but he only looked more confused.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Harry murmured, shaking his head. “But if you’re seeing this, if you’re feeling this… it’s got to mean something, right?”

You nodded slowly, your steps faltering as the ache in your chest deepened. “It has to,” You whispered. “Because if it doesn’t, then I’m just losing my mind.”

Harry stopped walking, turning to face you fully. His hands came to rest on your shoulders, his grip firm but gentle. “You’re not losing your mind,” He validated you firmly. “You’re going through something, something none of us understand yet. But we’ll figure it out. Together.”

His words settled over you like a balm, and you felt a spark of hope flicker to life amidst the chaos. You gave him a small, shaky smile, one that he returned with a quiet confidence that made you want to believe in him. 

“Come on,” He said, his tone lighter now. “Let’s keep walking. Who knows, maybe you’ll start seeing something that makes sense.”

You snorted softly, the sound startling both of you into a brief laugh. “Unlikely,” You muttered, though a tiny part of you dared to hope.

The two of you continued down the corridor, your steps falling into an easy rhythm. You talked in fits and starts, describing the strange flashes of memory that haunted you, the sensations that tugged at the edges of your consciousness. Harry listened intently, his occasional questions thoughtful but never pressing. 

As you turned a corner, you felt it. A tug, faint but insistent, pulling you toward the stretch of stone wall ahead. You slowed, your steps faltering, and Harry noticed immediately.

“What is it?” He asked, his voice low.

“I don’t know,” You murmured, your gaze fixed on the blank expanse of wall. The ache in your chest intensified, sharpening into something almost physical, and before you could say anything else, the stones began to shift.

Harry stepped back, his hand brushing yours as the wall transformed before your eyes. The bricks rippled and rearranged themselves, forming a tall, intricately carved door that hadn’t been there moments ago. You exchanged a wide-eyed glance with Harry, his expression mirroring your own mixture of awe and unease.

“What… is that?” He asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I… don't know.” You whispered in a shaken voice. Then, your jaw tightened and you turned sharply to smile at Harry. He seemed confused.

“But I know someone who might.”

~~~

The quiet corridors of Hogwarts grew heavier with the weight of secrecy, and you found yourself pacing just outside the newly formed door in the stone wall. Your heart raced, caught between the tension of discovery and the uncertainty of what lay within.

The sound of approaching footsteps drew your attention, and you turned just as Harry came into view. He wasn’t alone. Hermione trailed close behind, her expression sharp and curious, while Draco and Luna followed at a more casual pace. Ron brought up the rear, his hair an unmistakable mess, and his face reddened as if he’d just been caught in a compromising position.

“Bit late for a study group, isn’t it?” Draco drawled, though his curiosity was evident as he eyed the strange door.

“Late-night adventure,” Luna corrected him dreamily, her gaze flicking between the door and the stars peeking through the high windows.

Ron, rubbing at his neck, muttered, “What’s this about, anyway? Harry practically dragged me here. Interrupted my… er, reading session.” His ears turned even redder, and Hermione huffed, though a faint blush tinged her cheeks.

“Reading session,” Harry repeated, his lips twitching with amusement. “Right. That what we’re calling it these days?” 

Ron shot him a warning glare. “Not the time, mate.”

Hermione, either unwilling to entertain the teasing or simply too intrigued by the door, stepped forward. “What is this place?” She asked, her eyes narrowing as she inspected the intricate carvings on the door. “It wasn’t here earlier.”

You hesitated, glancing at Harry before turning back to the group. “I was hoping you'd know,” You explained softly. “It just showed up when I was telling Harry.. Everything.”

Hermione’s brows knit together in confusion, her logical mind clearly racing to process this revelation. “The Room of Requirement? I’ve read about it, but I’ve never actually seen it. Why now? Why would it appear for you?”

“I don’t know,” You admitted, your voice tinged with frustration. “But whatever’s inside… I think it’s important. I think it might help.”

Draco crossed his arms, his gaze flicking from you to the door with guarded skepticism. “And we’re just supposed to waltz in there, are we? What if it’s a trap? What if it’s not what you think?”

“Draco,” Luna said gently, her voice soft but firm. “The room appears when someone truly needs it. It wouldn’t trick her. It’s here to help.”

Hermione nodded, her curiosity winning out over caution. “Luna’s right. If the room has appeared, it’s because it has something to show us. Something you need.”

Ron, less convinced, muttered under his breath, “Great. Another magical mystery to solve right before curfew. What else is new?”

Harry ignored the grumbling, his gaze locked on you. “If you think this will help, then we’re with you. All of us.” His eyes softened, the vulnerability from your earlier conversation still lingering. “You don’t have to go in alone.”

You felt a surge of gratitude, your chest tightening at the unspoken solidarity between them. Even Draco, for all his snark, looked ready to follow you inside. With a deep breath, you turned to the door and reached for the handle.

The moment your fingers touched the cool metal, it gave way. As the door creaked open, a cool draft escaped, carrying with it the faint scent of old parchment and something metallic, like the tang of magic that had been left undisturbed for years. The room beyond was vast, its high, vaulted ceilings disappearing into shadow. It resembled a library, but not one you’d ever seen before- this one had a strange, disjointed quality, as though the room itself couldn’t decide what era it belonged to.

Bookshelves lined the walls, filled with volumes that ranged from pristine to crumbling. Scrolls were stacked haphazardly in some corners, their edges yellowed with age. A large wooden table dominated the center of the room, its surface littered with papers, letters, and strange objects. Some were covered in thick layers of dust, while others gleamed as if they had just been placed there.

Luna was the first to step inside, her wide eyes taking in the scene with quiet awe. “It’s beautiful,” She murmured, her fingers trailing along the edge of the nearest shelf. “But... sad.”

“Sad?” Ron asked, clearly uneasy as he peered into the room. “It looks like someone’s attic exploded.”

Hermione ignored him, her gaze locking onto the table. “This isn’t just clutter.” She said, her voice hushed with the kind of reverence she usually reserved for particularly rare books. “It’s... research. Someone’s been experimenting here.”

“Experimenting with what?” Draco asked, his tone sharp as he moved cautiously into the room. His eyes swept over the objects, his posture stiff with suspicion.

Harry stayed close to you, his presence a steady anchor as you stepped further inside. Your heart raced as your gaze flicked over the table, the scattered papers and artifacts drawing you in like a magnet. There were pieces of broken clocks, small vials filled with swirling silver liquid, and diagrams that seemed to map out the flow of time itself. 

“Time magic,” Hermione whispered, her fingers hovering over a series of intricate sketches. “Whoever worked here was studying time manipulation.”

Draco snorted, though his eyes remained fixed on a glowing hourglass perched precariously on the edge of the table. “Brilliant. Messing with time never ends well. Just ask anyone who’s ever gone near a Time-Turner.”

“You think someone was using a Time-Turner here?” Harry asked, frowning.

“Not just using,” Hermione said, shaking her head as she picked up one of the papers. Her brow furrowed as she scanned the text, written in a spidery hand. “This is advanced. Far beyond what a Time-Turner can do. They were trying to... change something. Or maybe... restore it?”

“Restore what?” You asked, your voice trembling as you moved closer to the table. The ache in your chest had grown sharper, almost unbearable, as though the room itself was reaching out to you.

“I don’t know,” Hermione admitted, her frustration evident as she rifled through the papers. “But it’s clear they were trying to fix something they believed was broken.”

Luna had wandered to a shelf near the back of the room, where a dusty mirror hung on the wall. Her reflection shimmered strangely, as though the glass were rippling like water. “This room remembers,” she said softly, her voice almost a whisper. “Whoever was here... they left pieces of themselves behind.”

“That’s not ominous at all,” Ron muttered, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. 

Draco reached for a stack of letters, his movements careful as though he were afraid they might crumble to dust. “These are addressed to... someone named P.R.” He said, holding up an envelope. His eyes flicked to you. “Does that mean anything to you?”

P. R. The letters echoed in your mind, familiar yet elusive. Your breath hitched as your fingers brushed against one of the objects on the table- a locket, tarnished with age but still bearing the faint engraving of a crest you couldn’t place. The moment you touched it, a wave of dizziness washed over you, and the room seemed to blur.

“Are you alright?” Harry’s voice cut through the haze, his hands steadying you as you swayed.

“I... I think someone I knew was here.” You whispered, your voice barely audible. “Someone important. But I can’t... I can’t remember.”

Hermione placed a hand on your shoulder, her expression softening. “Take your time,” She said gently. “We’ll figure this out.”

As you steadied yourself, your gaze fell on a journal lying at the edge of the table. Its leather cover was worn, the edges frayed, but something about it called to you. You reached for it, your hands trembling as you opened it to the first page. 

The handwriting was familiar, looping and elegant, though the words themselves made little sense at first. But as you flipped through the pages, fragments began to emerge- notes about fractures in time, the consequences of changing the past, and a name that sent a chill down your spine.

Bartemius Crouch Junior.

Your breath caught, and the room seemed to spin around you. The locket in your hand grew heavier, the pieces falling into place with a clarity that was almost painful.

“He was here,” You furrowed your brow, your voice breaking. “Someone- Bartemius. He... he was trying to fix something.”

The others exchanged glances, their confusion evident, but Harryreached for your arm. “What do you mean? Fix what?”

You shook your head, tears spilling over as the ache in your chest became too much to bear. “I don’t know,” you choked out. “But I think... I think P.R. was supposed to help him.”

~~~

The hours passed in a haze as the six of you combed through the room, its strange, timeless air wrapping around you like a cloak. Scrolls and letters were examined, diagrams poured over, and objects handled with the utmost care. The weight of unspoken questions hung heavily in the air. Luna, ever practical in her whimsical way, had vanished at some point, returning with an assortment of snacks and a steaming cup of tea, which she set in front of you with a soft smile.

“You’ll think better with a clear head,” She cooed simply, her serene confidence somehow soothing.

You wrapped your hands around the tea, the warmth grounding you as you turned your attention back to the journal on your lap. Harry sat beside you, his presence steady and reassuring as he sifted through a pile of letters. Hermione and Ron were deep in discussion across the table, their voices low but urgent, while Draco stood by the shelves, his sharp eyes scanning the spines of books as though they might hold the answers you sought.

It was Draco who broke the silence, holding up a stack of letters with a triumphant smirk. “These are addressed to someone named ‘Vixen,’” He announced, his tone tinged with curiosity. “Bartemius seems to have been quite... devoted to her.”

The name sent a shiver down your spine, and you exchanged a glance with Harry. “Vixen?” You parroted, your voice barely above a whisper. “That sounds... familiar. But it feels important.”

Draco flipped through the letters, his expression shifting as he skimmed their contents. “He wasn’t just devoted,” he muttered, his voice quieter now. “He was... obsessed. Listen to this.”

He cleared his throat and read aloud from one of the letters:

My dearest Vixen,

How am I meant to live in this fractured, hollow world without you? Every breath I take is a cruel reminder of your absence, every sunrise an insult, every hour stretching into eternity without the warmth of your presence. You were my heart, my hope, my soul- and without you, I am unmade. Even now, I feel the edges of myself fraying, the darkness creeping in where your light once shone so brightly.

Do you know how often I find myself reaching for you in the quiet moments? When the silence becomes unbearable, I think of our laughter- the way it echoed in the halls as Regulus teased us or as Dorcas argued over some absurd plan we all knew we’d follow anyway. I think of Pandora’s curiosity, her unyielding faith in the impossible, or Evan’s snark, always ready to rally us when the world seemed set against us. We were unbreakable, weren't we? Together, we had something the rest of the world couldn’t touch. And now... now that unity feels shattered, like glass crushed underfoot. They won't look at me. Call me mad.

But it wasn’t the world that took you from me, was it? It was him.  

Dumbledore.

I see his shadow in every crack of this broken life. He played his games, weaving his manipulations like an old spider, and we were caught in his web. You, most of all. He didn’t see you as a person- not the fierce, vibrant force of nature that you were- but as a pawn, something to be sacrificed for his grand design. And now you are gone. He stole you from us. From me.

I hate him for it. I hate him with a fire that burns hotter than any magic I’ve ever known. He will pay for what he’s done- I swear it, my love. He will answer for the hole he has torn in this world, for the family he has destroyed. But my rage, my grief, my hatred- they are nothing compared to the love I still hold for you. A love that will not, cannot die.

And so, I refuse to let this be the end. I refuse to let Dumbledore’s schemes, his lies, and his arrogance win. I will defy him. I will defy the laws of magic, the constraints of time, the will of the universe itself if that is what it takes to bring you back. Whatever the cost, I will pay it. Whatever the consequences, I will bear them. Nothing matters but you, my Vixen.

I will find a way. Regulus, Dorcas, Pandora, Evan- they deserve to see you again. To feel whole again. And I deserve to hold you in my arms, to hear your voice, to live in the world as it was meant to be- where you and I were unstoppable.

I will not fail you.  

Wait for me, my love. No matter where you are, no matter how far you’ve been taken from me, I will find you. I will tear down every barrier, bend time itself, and defy the heavens to bring you home.  

Forever and always,  

Bartemius  

The room fell silent, the weight of Bartemius’s words settling over you like a heavy fog. Your chest ached, the same gnawing emptiness that had plagued you all week surging to the surface.

“Bloody hell,” Ron muttered, breaking the silence. “That’s not devotion. That’s... that’s desperation.”

Hermione nodded, her brow furrowed in thought. “Whoever this Vixen was, she must have meant everything to him. And it sounds like something happened to her. Something he blamed Dumbledore for.”

Draco set the letters down, his sharp gaze shifting to you. “And you think this is connected to you? To what you’ve been feeling?”

“I don’t know,” You admitted, your voice trembling. “But it feels... tied to everything. To the visions, the ache in my chest, even the gaps in my memory.”

Luna, who had been quietly examining a small box filled with trinkets, spoke up then, her tone calm but pointed. “What about the initials? P.R. Whoever Bartemius was writing to, they must have been important too.”

Harry hesitated, his expression thoughtful. “P.R.,” he murmured, almost to himself. “It could be a name. Or a title.”

“Pandora Rosier,” Draco said suddenly, the words tumbling out before he could stop them.

The room stilled, all eyes turning to Luna. She didn’t flinch under the weight of their gazes, her expression serene as always, but there was a flicker of something in her eyes- something deep and unknowable.

“Pandora Rosier,” Draco repeated, his voice firmer now. “Your mother. What if P.R. stands for her?”

Luna tilted her head, considering this. “It’s possible,” she said softly. “But my mother never mentioned Bartemius Crouch Jr. Or anyone named Vixen.”

“But he mentioned her,” Hermione interjected, her voice filled with quiet urgency. “If there’s a connection, it might not have been something she wanted to share. Especially if it involved time magic.”

“Wait a second,” Harry said, frowning. “If Bartemius was writing to Vixen and working with P.R., then where does this locket fit in?”

You looked down at the locket still clutched in your hand, its weight suddenly overwhelming. The crest etched into its surface seemed to shimmer in the dim light, and for a moment, you swore you saw something shift within its tarnished depths.

“I think...” You began, your voice barely audible. “I think this locket was hers. Vixen’s. And somehow, it’s tied to everything.”

Draco leaned closer, his sharp features etched with determination. “Then we need to figure out who Vixen was. And what Mrs. Lovegood’s role was in all of this.”

“And how it connects to you,” Harry added quietly, his green eyes filled with unwavering resolve.

You kept staring at the locket. It seemed old, older then most things in the room. You ran your thumb along the engravings, more stars.

Mindlessly, you lifted the tea to your lips and took a sip, immediately hit with a bitter- almost sour taste. Your expression shifted and you frowned into the cup like the liquid would apologize for it’s flavour, earning a laugh from Harry.

You huffed at him and leaned forward to take a sniff of the steaming mix and your face fell, the smell reminding you of the humid musty smell of the potions classroom. Then the memory hit you, it all hit you at once.

“I have been nothing if not fair tonight, Vix!”

“You guys.” You whispered and set the tea down. “Vix. It's what Professor Snape called me. That night we got caught in his storage closet- he called me Vix. What if.. it's Vixen? Short for Vixen?”

The room went quiet as your words hung in the air, the revelation settling heavily over the group. Hermione’s quill paused mid-scratch, and Harry’s gaze sharpened, a mix of concern and curiosity etched into his features. Draco, ever the skeptic, leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms as he studied your expression.

“Vix,” Hermione repeated, her voice soft, but insistent. “That’s what he called you?”

You nodded slowly, the weight of the memory making your chest tighten. “That night in the potions storeroom... it didn’t make sense at the time. I thought it was just Snape being... Snape. But now...”

“It’s a nickname,” Draco interrupted, his tone edged with skepticism. “One he used like he’s done it before. Like it’s... familiar.”

Harry’s brow furrowed, his hands clenching into fists on the table. “And you’re saying it’s short for Vixen. That Snape knows something about this... about you.”

“It would explain why he’s been so cagey,” Hermione murmured, her eyes darting to the journal in front of her. “If he’s connected to all of this, then he’s been keeping it from us on purpose.”

“Typical Snape,” Harry muttered bitterly, running a hand through his messy hair. “He’s always holding onto secrets. This one just happens to be about you.”

Luna, who had been quietly observing, tilted her head thoughtfully. “Maybe he’s protecting something,” she said, her voice lilting and serene. “Or someone.”

The words sent a chill through you, a nagging suspicion worming its way into your mind. “What if he’s protecting me?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

The silence that followed was deafening. Hermione was the first to break it, her tone hesitant but thoughtful. “It’s possible,” she said, glancing around the room. “If you’re tied to this Vixen, and she was important enough for Bartemius Crouch Jr. to risk everything for her... then Snape might be trying to keep you out of harm’s way.”

Draco scoffed, though there was an edge of unease to his voice. “Or he’s just doing what he always does: sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong and making things worse for everyone.”

“Draco,” Luna said gently, her eyes meeting his with quiet certainty. “Not everything is as it seems. Especially when it comes to memories.”

Your grip on the locket tightened, the cold metal grounding you as your thoughts swirled. Snape’s words from that night echoed in your mind over and over.

“I need to talk to him,” You said suddenly, your voice steady despite the anxiety bubbling under the surface. “If Snape knows something- if he’s been keeping this from me- I have to confront him.”

Ron furrowed his brow, shifting uneasily as he crossed his arms. “Yeah, alright,” he muttered, voice edged with skepticism. “But if Snape’s trying to protect you, you really think he’s just gonna spill everything the second you ask? He’s not exactly known for being... forthcoming.”

Harry gave a curt nod, his jaw tightening. “Ron’s right. Snape’s a master at keeping secrets. If he doesn’t want you to know something, he’ll find a way to shut you down.”

Draco’s sharp laugh broke the tension. “Oh, please,” he drawled, leaning against the edge of the table. “Snape’s not some untouchable genius. If he’s hiding something, we’ll find a way to pry it out of him. Subtlety isn’t Potter’s strong suit, but-”

“I’m sitting right here, Draco,” Harry cut in, his tone clipped.

“Enough!” Hermione snapped, pinching the bridge of her nose. “This isn’t about who’s better at manipulating Snape. The question is, how do we even get him to listen? Confronting him outright might not be the best idea if-”

The sound of your head hitting the back of the sofa interrupted her. Everyone turned to you, their conversations faltering as they noticed your sudden shift. You had sunk deeper into the plush cushions, eyes fluttering closed, the tension in your face softening as if the fight had drained out of you entirely.

“Hey,” Harry said, his voice low with concern as he stepped closer. “Are you... okay?”

“Just tired,” You mumbled, your words slurring slightly. Your head lolled to the side, and you let out a long, heavy breath. “Really, really tired...”

“That's strange,” Hermione murmured, exchanging a look with Harry. “You were fine just a minute ago.”

Luna, perched on the arm of a nearby chair, tilted her head with an almost serene expression. “Oh, that’s the sleeping draught,” She said simply, as if announcing the weather.

“What?” Draco straightened, his sharp gaze snapping to her. “Sleeping draught? What are you talking about?”

“The tea,” Luna explained, her tone light and airy. “I added a touch of sleeping draught. She’s been so restless, and I thought it might help her relax.”

“You drugged her?” Ron yelped, his voice jumping an octave. “Without telling her?”

Luna shrugged, her dreamy demeanor unbothered by the growing alarm in the room. “She needed it. And it’s not as if it’ll harm her. It’s just a gentle nudge toward sleep.”

“Luna!” Hermione’s voice was half-scolding, half-exasperated. “You can’t just-”

“She needed it,” Luna interrupted, her voice gentle but resolute as she looked at you, now fully dozing against the sofa cushions. “You’ve all seen how exhausted she’s been. This will give her a chance to rest. The Galanthus Nivalis I put in will help her memories.”

“The what now?” Draco hissed and snapped his entire body toward Luna. But she just smiled.

“Snowdrop. We planted it in Herbology weeks ago. It finally dried.” She hummed blissfully. “She needs it. It will help her memories, with her thoughts. And the Sleep draught.” She muttered before turning to smile at your sleeping form as Harry took off his cloak and laid it over you. “Encouragement.”

The group was silent for a moment, everyone staring at Luna in bewilderment.

“Bloody hell, remind me to never cross you, Lovegood.” Ron muttered with wide eyes.

Luna tilted her head, her serene smile unshaken by Ron’s comment. “Oh, I would never do anything harmful, Ronald,” She said sweetly. “Unless it was absolutely necessary.”

“That’s somehow not reassuring,” Draco muttered, narrowing his eyes as he took a seat beside you, watching your steady breathing. His tone was sharp, but the tension in his posture betrayed his concern. “What exactly is this supposed to do, Luna? Beyond putting her to sleep?”

“The snowdrop is for clarity,” Luna explained patiently, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “It’s said to bring light to the shadowed corners of the mind. Combined with the sleeping draught, it should help her relax enough to let her thoughts surface. Sometimes, the mind holds on too tightly to things it isn’t ready to let go of. This will give her space to remember.”

“Or,” Draco countered, leaning forward with a glare, “it’ll just mess her up more, and we’ll be left cleaning up the pieces. Did that thought cross your mind, Luna?”

Hermione interjected, her tone exasperated. “Oh, stop it, Draco. You’ve seen how much she’s been struggling. Luna might actually be onto something. Snowdrop has restorative properties- Professor Sprout mentioned it in class. If this gives her a moment of peace, we should be grateful.”

“Thank you, Hermione,” Luna said dreamily, her gaze flickering to you again. “I thought you might understand.”

Harry, who had been silently watching over you, let out a soft sigh. “Luna’s right. She’s been pushing herself too hard- too much guilt, too much pressure to figure this all out. If this helps, even a little, then it’s worth it.”

Draco let out a frustrated huff but didn’t argue further, his eyes lingering on you as if searching for any sign of discomfort. “Fine,” He muttered, leaning back in his chair. “But if she wakes up confused, crying, or worse, I’m blaming Lovegood.”

Ron rolled his eyes. “Because that’s new.”

“Enough,” Hermione snapped again, rubbing her temple. “The important thing is that she’s resting. Let’s use this time to figure out our next move.”

The group exchanged uneasy glances before nodding. Harry shifted closer to you, adjusting the cloak he had draped over you to ensure you were warm. His gaze softened, and he muttered under his breath, “She’ll be alright.”

Luna, who had been humming softly to herself, smiled warmly at him. “She will,” She said. “You’ll see.”

For a while, the room was quiet, save for the faint rustle of parchment as Hermione returned to her research and the occasional muttered comment from Draco as he sifted through the letters. Ron, looking thoroughly unsettled by the turn of events, busied himself by examining one of the dusty bookshelves, while Harry remained by your side, his unwavering presence a silent promise.

As you lay there, your breathing even and your features peaceful, something in the air seemed to shift. The magic of the room, subtle but ever-present, seemed to hum in response, as if waiting for the moment you would wake. Waiting to come alive once more when you returned.

Taglist: @bmyva1entine @edb954 @juniorlore @milunalupin @ailoda @ellipsisspelled @nessielovesfood @yannew @schrodinger-ka-billa @rory-cakes @rubyboobie17 @jennapancake @vilentia @derbygracie

[stateofmarauders]

About You - James Potter

“Do you think I have forgotten about you?”

London hasn't really changed since the last time you were there.

It was charming as ever —timeless in its blend of old-world elegance and modern bustle. The streets were alive with their familiar rhythm: the hum of black cabs, the distant chime of church bells, and the chatter of bundled-up locals and tourists. The bridges over the Thames stretched gracefully as always, framed by a skyline where historic spires stood side-by-side with sleek glass towers. Every corner seemed to whisper stories, as if the city itself had been waiting patiently to welcome you back.

You strolled through the streets, colourful leaves crunching under your footsteps. You had no idea where you were going, relying on your instincts to guide you. You could’ve contacted your friends from Hogwarts to ask them if they want to meet up. You could’ve contacted him. But you didn’t. He probably doesn’t even remember you anymore.

He must have forgotten about you.

The thought lingered, bittersweet and unshakable, as you wandered through the city that seemed to remember everything. The golden light of the late afternoon wrapped London in a familiar warmth, but your heart felt caught in a chill. You had always told yourself it was better this way—leaving the past untouched, preserved like a perfect photograph. Yet, as the memories surfaced, unbidden, you couldn’t help but wonder if he ever walked these same streets, thinking of you too.

Perhaps it was foolish to hold onto the echoes of what once was, but you couldn’t help yourself. This town screamed his name.

You shook your head, trying to dispel the ache that swelled with each passing thought. But no matter how much you tried to focus on the now—the vibrant city bustling around you—his shadow remained, trailing you like the autumn leaves caught in the breeze.

———————————————————————

James Potter stood on the crowded pavement of Diagon Alley, leaning casually against the doorway of Quality Quidditch Supplies. He was supposed to be here to pick up a new pair of gloves before the Gryffindor team’s next match, but his mind was elsewhere.

His hazel eyes followed the movement of the crowd with idle curiosity, though his trademark grin tugged faintly at the corners of his mouth as he greeted passing friends and acquaintances. The chill of autumn was biting, but James barely felt it. He rarely felt the cold—it was hard to feel much of anything when his thoughts were as loud as they were today.

For the first time in ages, he wasn’t thinking about Quidditch strategies or even his mates back at Hogwarts. No, today his mind had wandered somewhere he usually tried not to let it go. Someone, to be exact.

He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, ignoring the breeze that tousled his already messy hair, and allowed himself to think about her. About you.

The last time he’d seen you, you had been laughing. That was how he remembered it, anyway—your laughter, bright and full of life, echoing in his mind as if it were a memory burned into his soul. You had that way about you, didn’t you? You could fill a room just by being in it.

He had told himself not to dwell. People came and went in life, and Hogwarts had its way of making the fleeting feel permanent. But here he was, standing in the middle of the busiest wizarding shopping district in the country, wondering if he’d ever run into you again.

“Oi, James!” Sirius Black’s familiar voice broke through his thoughts. James looked up to see his best friend striding toward him, a mischievous smirk playing on his lips.

“What’s got you standing there like a lost Puffskein?” Sirius asked, slapping James on the shoulder.

James forced a laugh, the easy mask slipping back into place. “Just thinking, mate. Trying to decide whether I’d look better in black dragonhide gloves or burgundy. The decisions I have to make, eh?”

Sirius raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. “You’re full of it, Potter. I know that look. Who’s got you all tangled up in your own head?”

James hesitated for a beat, his grin faltering ever so slightly. He glanced away, watching a group of witches hurrying by with packages from Flourish and Blotts.

“No one,” he said finally, the lie tasting bitter on his tongue.

Sirius snorted. “Right. And I’m about to join the Celestina Warbeck fan club.”

James rolled his eyes and then stared into the distance.

“Two years ago, today. . .” James spoke, trying hard to say the painful words, “she left.”

Sirius sighed. “You haven’t spoken about her in so long. I thought, we all thought, you got over it. Over her.”

James exhaled a sharp breath, his jaw tightening as he shifted on his feet. “Yeah, well,” he said, his voice low and uneven, “you were wrong.”

Sirius tilted his head, the usual teasing glint in his eyes replaced by something softer. It wasn’t often that James Potter showed cracks in his confident, easygoing exterior. But Sirius knew better than anyone how deep James’s feelings ran—how loyal he was to the people he cared about, even if he didn’t always say it out loud.

“I don’t get it,” Sirius said after a moment, folding his arms. “You’ve had girls throwing themselves at you since third year, mate. But her—” He paused, searching for the right words. “She wasn’t even… I mean, she was brilliant, but she wasn’t the type of girl you usually go for.”

James’s head snapped up, a flicker of defiance sparking in his hazel eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Relax,” Sirius said, holding up his hands. “I just mean she was… different. Muggle-born, quiet. Not exactly a Quidditch groupie, was she?”

James shook his head, a rueful smile tugging at his lips. “No, she wasn’t. That’s what made her so… I don’t know. Real.”

Sirius frowned, leaning back against the shop window. “So why haven’t you done something about it? Two years is a long time to mope around.”

“I’m not moping,” James said quickly, though his voice lacked conviction. He kicked at a stray cobblestone, avoiding Sirius’s piercing gaze. “It’s not that simple. She’s out there in her world, living her life. She probably doesn’t even think about me anymore.”

Sirius snorted. “That’s bollocks, and you know it.”

James blinked, caught off guard. “What are you on about?”

“You don’t just forget someone like that, James,” Sirius said, his tone unusually serious. “If you haven’t let her go, what makes you think she’s let you go?”

James didn’t answer right away. The noise of Diagon Alley seemed to fade around them, replaced by the steady thrum of his own heartbeat. He wanted to believe Sirius was right. Merlin, he wanted to. But the fear of reaching out and finding nothing there—no spark, no connection—kept him frozen.

“What if she has?” James finally said, his voice barely above a whisper.

———————————————————————

James wasn’t usually one to brood, but today the city felt heavy. The memory of his conversation with Sirius lingered, as did the unanswered questions that followed him like shadows. What if she had forgotten him? What if she hadn’t?

The thought was maddening, but James wasn’t ready to let it go. His feet carried him aimlessly through the bustling streets, weaving past bundled-up strangers and dodging the occasional pigeon. He kept his head down, trying to shake off the nagging ache in his chest.

He didn’t notice the figure until it was too late.

“Sorry!” you exclaimed as you collided with him, your shoulder bumping against his. Your shopping bag slipped from your hand, the contents spilling out onto the pavement.

“No, it’s my fault,” James said automatically, bending down to help. He reached for a book at the same time you did, and his hand brushed against yours.

“Here, let me—”

The words died on his lips as he looked up and saw your face.

You froze, the breath catching in your throat. For a moment, neither of you moved, your gazes locked in a mix of shock and disbelief.

“James?” you said softly, your voice barely audible over the noise of the street.

James swallowed hard, his mind racing. He hadn’t seen you in two years—not since the day you’d left Hogwarts—and yet here you were, as if the universe had decided to play some cruel trick on him.

“It’s you,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. He straightened up, still clutching your book in his hand. “I—wow. Hi.”

You blinked, your cheeks flushing. “Hi.”

The silence that followed was heavy, charged with all the things left unsaid. James searched your face, looking for answers to questions he didn’t even know how to ask.

“What are you doing here?” You asked him, avoiding his gaze.

“What are you doing here?” He repeated your question. “You’re supposed to be in America!”

“I’m here for just a week. My cousin’s getting married in a few days.”

“Married,” James repeated your words once again. “How exciting.”

You smiled, finally meeting his gaze for the first time. You’ve felt the same feeling you used to feel when you saw him. “Yes, it is. And what about you? What are you doing in Muggle London?”

His grin returned, faint but familiar. “Avoiding Sirius. He’s been nagging me about Quidditch gloves all day.”

Your lips twitched into a reluctant smile. “Some things never change, do they?”

James laughed softly, the sound warm and easy. “No, I guess they don’t. Except you—you’ve changed.”

The words slipped out before he could stop them, and for a moment, he regretted them. But you didn’t look offended. If anything, you looked almost… wistful.

“Two years is a long time, James,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Yeah,” he said, his throat tight. “It is.”

The silence stretched between you, heavy again, and James found himself wanting—no, needing—to fill it.

“I thought about writing to you,” he blurted, his cheeks flushing as the admission hung in the air. “A lot, actually.”

You blinked, startled. “Why didn’t you?”

James hesitated, his confidence faltering. “I don’t know,” he said finally. “I thought maybe you’d moved on. I didn’t want to mess things up for you.”

You stared at him, your expression unreadable. “And what about you?”

“What about me?”

“Did you move on?”

James opened his mouth to answer, but the words wouldn’t come. Because the truth—the messy, complicated truth—was that he hadn’t. Not really.

Instead, he reached up to scratch the back of his neck, a nervous habit that hadn’t changed since your Hogwarts days. “I guess I thought if I saw you again, I’d have my answer.”

Your heart clenched at his words, but you didn’t let it show. “And do you?”

James looked at you, his hazel eyes searching yours with an intensity that made your breath catch. “Not yet,” he said softly.

A chill wind swept through the street, rustling the leaves at your feet, and you pulled your coat tighter around you. James noticed and cleared his throat, his voice breaking the tension.

“There’s a café just up the road,” he said, nodding toward the corner. “It’s warm, and they do this cinnamon hot chocolate that’s… well, it’s something else. If you’ve got time, that is.”

You hesitated, your mind spinning with a thousand reasons to say no. But then you looked at him—really looked at him—and saw the boy you used to know. The boy you used to care for, who still looked at you like no one else existed.

“Alright,” you said, your lips curving into a small, tentative smile. “Lead the way, Potter.”

James’s grin broke through, bright and unguarded, and for the first time in what felt like forever, the weight between you didn’t feel so heavy.

As he walked beside you, the golden light of the late afternoon casting a soft glow over the streets, James couldn’t help but think that maybe—just maybe—he was finally getting his answer.

[its-freaking-jordan]

Hihi!! First off all I hope you are having an excellent day / afternoon / night! May I request some headcanons of the hashiras seeing reader (who's also a hashira) as an older sibling figure (Gender Neutral if possible!)?? If it's possible all of them, if not that's alright! Please and thank you! ^^

-🌸✨

Hi! I can do this request no problem and thank you!!!

Hashira seeing you as their older sibling figure

Tokito Muichiro

First off, your 17.

He would be by your side 24/7, not giving you any type or space.

You are overprotective of him, because he’s 14 and a hashira at that.

You remind him of his twin brother a little, which he told you about one day.

Once he told you about his twin, it did make you sad, and you promised Mui that you will make sure nothing happens to him.

You take him out at night to just look at the stars and talk, or just sit in silence. Which neither of you mind.

He will try his absolute best to not forget you, but sometimes he does and say “Who are you..why are you following me?.” You just watched him in a shock but then remembered Shinbou said he has a bad memory. You’re very patient with him.

Once you both were making paper planes in your Estate he forgot what he was even doing and just walked out. It did make you confused but you laughed it off when he came back and remembered why he was even there.

He holds on to your uniform whenever he can, so he wont be “lost” but in reality he just wants to be close to you <3

Sanemi Shinazugawa + Genya

You’re 28.

He tends to be more comfortable around you, (besides Obanai.) He feels as if he can talk with you about deep things.

He interrupted the Master once at a important meeting, you glared daggers at him. You scolded him in front of everyone, he just stared at you, while the others were giggling.

He didn’t intend on bringing up Genya al all.

You found out about Genya regardless, you saw him with Sanemi, but Sanemi was yelling at him.

He slapped Genya, well almost did, but you somehow managed to stop him right before he could.

You demanded explanations from him, he wouldn’t tell you, but end up doing so because you kept nagging him.

You scolded the HELL out of him and, demanding he apologize to his younger brother.

He flipped you off, basically saying no and went on with his day. Thats when you ignored him.

You found Genya again but in the forest, and decided to talk with him as well. He was the opposite of his older brother.

He did end up apologizing to you and Genya. Now you three are a little happy family <3

Mitsuri Kanroji

You are 20

Please help her with her hair once in a while, she loves when you do her hair and style it.

She adores you 24/7. Literally every little thing you do, she gives a compliment.

Often ask if you would want to make food with her, and ofc you wouldn’t say no to her.

You both often go out shopping together, to buy gifts for the other Hashira’s.

She would tell you about her love life with a certain hashira.

You support her 100% and help her with anything she needs.

Once she came crying because she “thought” she messed up on Obanai’s gift.

“Y/Nnn! Please help me! Pleaseeee! I gave Iguro-san the gift I picked out and he just nodded and walked away!!! I think I did something!!!”

You just stared at her while she was clinging onto you sleeves as she was crying. You just smiled and hugged her, telling her she didn’t mess up anything and, maybe that Obanai was just shy to say anything and, that she shouldn’t be harsh on herself.

She suddenly looked at you, crying more and just tackled you to the ground hugging you tight. “Wahh! Thank youu! I dont know what I would do without you Y/N!!”

Obani Iguro

Your 22.

He would often watch over you as if he’s the “older sibling” Which you don’t mind at all.

He would do small talks with you before any Hashira meetings. He mostly tell you how he feels about the Love Hashira.

You support them 100%!

He would often ask you for advice because he doesn’t know what to say sometimes, which you gladly help him out with.

He did show you his scar before, but he never meant for that to happen. He is ashamed of it, but you told him that it was a beautiful scar, which he didn’t believe at first, until you had to show him how beautiful he was without his bandages.

He takes pride in it now, but still decides to keep the bandage on.

He came back with a gift Mitsuri gave him, being the nosy one that you are. You started teasing him about, which caused him to slap you.

“Are you actually older than me? You act like a child for your age Y/N.” He gave you a side eye when he heard you whine from the slap.

He ends up putting ice on your face, as a apology, which you accept fully, dragging him into a hug, he hesitated for a moment before he gave in.

Giyuu Tomoika

You’re 23

He feels more comfortable around you than anyone, minus Sabito and and his sister.

He’s still introverted but makes any effort around you.

He would often ask if you would like to accompany him during his missions, which you accept.

He would smile when you’re around him, but you cant see it.

You would try to make him not be introverted as much, which was a complete fail. You honestly didn’t mine trying though.

Whenever his haori ripped, you’re very quick to fix it up. He would try to tell you, he can do it but you didn’t listen.

“Y/N please, I can fix it myself..You don’t have to keep doing things for me.”

You told him, thats you we’re alright with helping him with almost anything, even if its small things. He simply signed knowing you wouldn’t budge, he just placed a hand on your shoulder with a genuine smile, which melted your heart.

“Fine, but let me at least take you out, as a Thank you.”

Gyomei Himejima

You’re both the same age, but you’re only older by a few months.

Jeez, you are WAY shorter than him, he ends up thinking he’s the oldest sibling just by your height comparison.

You would often meditate with him whenever you get the chance.

You both would go out just to walk and talk. That’s his favorite thing to do with you.

He has a cat, and once shows you his pet cat.

You both would always talk about your days,whenever you’re done with missions.

You’d often ask about his beads, which he would happily talk to you about.

“Y/N can you please put my weapon down..It’s not something to be toyed around with.”

You kept examining his weapon, asking how does he fight with it. You were just amazed by it. He was kinda stunned from you asking questions about his weapon and how he fights with it.

He took his weapon back, which caused you to stop smiling. He then sat you down by him and started to explain his fighting skills to you.

Shinbou Kocho

You’re 20.

You often hear her teasing Giyuu, which always make you laugh.

You then apologize for her teasing at the end.

You know about what happened to her eldest sister Kanae.

She would often do checkups on you everyday to make sure you’re not getting a cold.

You helped her around the Butterfly mansion a lot than needed which she’s very thankful for.

Which caused you to be her “sibling” now.

Whenever your both alone you would ask her, how is she doing. Which she replies:

“I’m quite alright Y/N. I appreciate you asking me.”

Which was bullshit in your eyes. You end up having that same talk with her, that she had with Tanjiro.

She honestly thought you didn’t know about her sister at all. Which caused her to stop “smiling”.

“I see…So I’m assuming you knew her then?”

You end up explaining how you promised Kanae that you would watch of her and Kanao both. Which caused Shinbou to actually smile.

You hugged her out of nowhere, not really sure of what to do about the silence in the room.

“Thank you..Y/N.”

Uzui Tengen

You’re a few months older than him.

This man had a-lot of energy, which drains you every time.

He always tease you and call you “Un-flashy”

Often mocks the smallest things you do, which ends up you hitting him on his head.

He introduced you to his wives, which caught you off guard, when he said that he has 3.

Expect dinner parties almost every week at his place.

He made you a headband like his.

“Ah! My dearest sibling Y/N! I made you thee most flamboyant gift you’ll ever receive! No need to thank me, it’s just something I thought of.”

He gave you a headpiece just like his but your stones had a heart on it.

You wore it almost everyday, somewhat matching with Uzui.

You both were close than ever.

Rengoku Kyojuro

You’re 21.

Expect to be woken up very early, by his crow.

Everyday he would compliment you once he gets the chance.

You help him with Senjuro, that he is thankful for.

You would make bentos before he leave for his missions and, he swore he will owe you back.

He never lets go of a promise, he always have a gift for you and his brother once he’s back from missions.

You him and Senjuro would all make sweet potatoes together, even if Kyojuro can barely cook.

One time he wanted to surprise both you and Senjuro, so he woke up very early than usual. He made your favorite food along with Senjuro’s.

A few minutes later you woke up to find Senjuro shaking you to wake up. You both made your way to the kitchen only to find it a complete mess.

Rengoku was done with the food he prepared, with the ingredients on him and on the counters. He had the biggest smile on his face when he served the food to you both.

“I made you both a treat! As a thank you for everything you’ve done for me. Even if it’s not the best, it’s the thought that counts, right?”

[faretheeoscar]

Lesson Learned

Pairing: Jake Lockley x f!reader

--Warnings: 🔥18+, nsfw, orgasm denial, spanking, let me know if I'm missing some--

Summary: you will never think about having sex toys around the house again.

A/N: English is not my first language so I'm sorry if there’s any mistakes. Had this sitting down in my drafts for so long, I wrote this I'm not kidding you like 5 minutes after the Brioni photoshoot came out and my mind melted and was filled with Oscar thoughts…

Thanks to my Vin @sereiist for letting me invade her discord messages with all my thots and use them as a note pad

Word count: 1.2k~

It's a cozy afternoon at your shared flat with the boys, you've been mostly being lazy all day, laying in bed reading, watching movies, while the boys were away, but after you heard the stretch of the keys your heart fluttered at the prospect of your boyfriends being at home.

You eagerly walk towards the living room and you spot Jake is sitting down on the couch, his gaze lifts up to you and he calls your name.

“Come here mi amor, I wanna talk to you for a second” 

You froze in place, your gaze turning towards him, then to the floor—his piercing dark eyes never falter, not even when he mindlessly rolls up his sleeves up, you know by the tone he is using and the way he's looking at you that it’s gonna be bad…

You walk towards him, already feeling that tingling sensation between your legs. He keeps looking at you not even phased, you can see the prominent veins on his arms and hands— a sight you don't get to see that much with him, as he's always on his suit and tie, wearing his gloves...

The gloves.... those gloves that just provide the perfect friction when he fin...

“Sientate” His command gets you out of your fantasies, he's stitching his eyebrows together and finishing rolling his sleeves all the way up to his elbows, then, he pats on his legs for you to sit on his lap. You hesitate but you end up sitting cause you know if you don’t comply it might be even worse for you. (Sit Down)

Jake reaches for your chin and forces you to look at him, he squeezes your cheeks together.

“Do you know why you’re here chiquita? hm?” He says, in that very low husky voice that makes you squirm in his lap. He places one of his hands on your hips for you to stay still, you just shyly shake your head no to him.Cause frankly, you really don’t really have a fucking idea why he has you there, why is he even looking at you like that, you feel helpless when you try to keep root into place over his lap, the thought of him probably gonna make you tremble in no time, has your mind reeling up again.

He tuts disappointed when you don’t know why he has you there, specially cause you don’t know, why he is going to punish you—he reaches up for a small thing on the side of the couch and shows it to you.

“What did we say about this?” 

He opens the palms of your hands and places the small vibrator on them—you swore to him you’d get rid of it. The last time he saw it, he punished you for even buying it on the first place, the memories of him edging you for hours with that damn vibrator—-making you squirt without even touching you himself are enough for you to start staining his pants with the wetness that started leaking between your legs.

“Jake I—“ You try to start justifying yourself but he cuts you short with a firm slap on your ass.

“Sin peros mi vida, I thought we had an understanding about having these things around the house…” (No buts, my life)

You feel everything inside of you shaking while looking at him, his pupils are all darkened and the hint of a little small smile tugs slightly on the corner of his lips.

“Get up and bend down for me, en cuatro, here on the couch, NOW” (In all fours.)

Your already shaking legs make you look clumsy, when you stumble to get up from his lap to accommodate to the side of the couch.In a non very graceful way you managed to get in all fours, all your nervous terminals were expecting a huge spanking session. It was the way Jake always started to give you "a lesson", his lessons ending on big markings of his red palms on the tender flesh of your ass, that he’d take care of later on with soft apologies.

Jake made his way behind you, he painfully slowly pulled down your night shorts, just enough for your already wet dripping cunt to get in contact with the cold air of the living room; you closed your eyes in anticipation. Expecting the first slap over your ass and cunt, but for your amusement it never came, instead the only sound you heard was the zipper of Jake’s pants and small huffs coming from him, you turned your head to see and you were faced with a sight that was nonetheless… beautiful.

Jake Lockey with that new beige suit, you bought for him on your last anniversary together, had his eyes closed, his lips snarling in an almost painful twitch as he stroke himself beautifully, his length coated with a mix of saliva and precum making the slide of his angry fist over his throbbing member easier for him. 

“Turn around, no mires” He ordered when he realised you were looking at him.You tried to obey but you couldn’t simply take your eyes off of him.Waiting and squirming around with need with a lump deep in your throat. Seeing how his eyelids closed in concentration as he worked on himself, trying to suppress moans as he circled his tip with his thumb, was in your honest opinion a pure display of art happening right in front of your eyes. (Turn around, don't look)

When he opened his eyes again, you quickly turned around hoping he didn’t catch you in the act, but those hopes went away when you suddenly felt his full length bottoming out inside you, without a warning.

“I. TOLD. YOU. TO. TURN. AROUND.” Each growl and word came with a full slap on your asscheeks as he pounded hard into you. 

“What is it that you don’t get, huh?” He said as he kept abusing your dripping cunt, he didn’t stop for a second, not to even warm you up for the size of his girth.

“Jake please… it’s too much, you’re going too hard—” You whined and pleaded as he kept on using you, earning yourself another round of slaps and a tight grope of your ass that would leave marks in there for a week at least.

“CÁLLATE!” Harsh and abusing thrusts kept coming your way and making your legs almost give up. (Shut up!)

“You’re gonna learn- *grunt*- you’re gonna learn one way or another that this- *grunt* - this pretty little cunt belongs to me and only I can make it cum”

Tears were already running down your cheeks, you didn’t know if it was pleasure? Pain? At this point it was all a blur, you were starting to feel that heat starting to build deep inside your lower stomach, mewling and moaning erupting from deep inside you. You squeezed the nearest pillow available to you, but as soon as you were barely getting there, you heard Jake growling and gasping before pulling out to jerk himself and finish all over your back.

You had to blink twice to even think about what was happening, you felt the stickiness of his hot cum against your skin as he rubbed it with his thumb as if he was painting over you, you felt the soft pattern of his thumbs— making a smiley face on you?. You were confused, overstimulated and shaking when he looked down at you to slap your ass one more time.

“Que bonita” He gave you a sarcastic smile and a dark chuckle, when he saw you confused and whimpering asking him to help you with your release. (How beautiful)

“No mi amor, I told you you were gonna learn one way of another…”

He moved himself from behind you and pulled his pants up, you heard the zipper of his pants before he threw the infamous vibrator on your side of the couch. He bent down and growled softly to your ear.

“And I really really, I hope you learned with this how frustrating it feels to know someone in this house had an orgasm without you…”

Come on just look at him... tell me I'm not the only one picturing Jake...

Reblogs and comments are kindly appreciated!

Let me know if you wanna join my tag list!

Main Masterlist

Fics Masterlist

[serverusslaype]

Shameless, pt. 7

snape x professor!reader fic

Shameless Masterpost

omg hi guys… this chapter was so long and hard to write (that’s what she said), I got stuck many times, but here it is!! It’s definitely not my favourite chapter so.. it was sort of a filler one, just to establish some information and plot sort of thing. The next chapter will be a little more interesting because we will be starting Prisoner of Azkaban woooo!!

Okay. So here is part 7, don’t kill me. It’s kinda long again, almost as long as part 5, if not longer!!

LETSAGOOO!!

The crack in your curtains caused a stream of bright, blinding sunlight to stir you awake; a raspy and throaty groan bubbling in your throat as the pounding pain of an alcohol-induced headache began to stab at your temples. Nothing better than a hangover, right?

Another strangled groan left your lips as you rolled over in your bed, your arm falling out from underneath the covers. As quick as lightning, you tucked it back in once the cool and chilly breeze began to nip at it. You cracked open your eyes, noticing that you'd left your window open during the night, and you'd hardly even bothered to draw your curtains properly. You slapped your hands against your face as you tried to wrack your brain for any indication as to how the hell you ended up like this. Gods, did you get blackout drunk? It certainly felt like it...

A stab of pain struck your chest as you remembered Snape ordering you to get out of his office late yesterday afternoon. You quickly skipped past that memory with a soft yet strained sigh and found yourself with Hagrid in a forest. Ah yes, you went to go see Buckbeak after bumping into the groundskeeper. You continued to think back, soon finding the culprit of your hangover. In your mind, you were currently sat in Hagrid's hut, your fingers wrapped tightly around a goblet of Elven wine.

Oh, yes, you thought, wincing slightly as the memory of the two of you drinking at least two, possibly three, bottles of it together. You unwillingly sat up in your very messy bed, your hair sticking out in all sorts of directions. You groaned again, squeezing your eyes shut as you slipped out of it and stumbled towards your window and braced yourself for a moment before ripping them open.

"Fuck!" You croaked out, stumbling back as the blinding light broke through. It was like someone had just chucked a flashbang grenade in your room. Your eyes burned and you felt like shoving your head down a very dark hole. Wait, what time was it?

Quickly throwing a glance to your right and checking the clock on your wall, you sighed in slight relief, noticing it was around ten in the morning. Perhaps it was time to go for a walk to clear your head - more to subside the throbbing that was currently attacking it.

Strolling down the corridors, you were rather keen to get outside and breathe in the fresh air; the thought of it made your body tingle. Considering it was Winter break now, you had opted to wear a casual, below-the-knee dress. It was a deep forest green, almost emerald. The sleeves reached your wrists and it had an elegant and square neckline that showed off your collarbones. The skirt was circular, so, if and when you twirled around, the skirt would flare outwards.

Nearing the corner, your eyes flicked to a darker, unlit corridor, a rush of unpinpointable dread suddenly surging through your body. You immediately stopped in your tracks at the uncomfortable feeling and turned towards it, narrowing your eyes. You couldn't figure out why your body had reacted so unusually to the darkened corridor. You stared for a few more moments before walking away, glancing at it confusedly as you passed by. It was probably just your hangover-induced anxiety making things up in your head.

As you rounded the corner that would take you to the stairs down to the ground floor, your eyes were immediately met with a dark, harrowing pair that you had come to adore - regretfully, might you add. You froze in your spot, unsure of what to do or say. It felt like someone had just cast Petrificus Totalus on your body. You swallowed harshly as Snape's eyes stared back at you, obviously in the same predicament. Neither of you said anything. In all honesty, you were too hungover to deal with this.

It felt like someone had stolen the air from Severus's lungs the moment he laid his eyes on your tired form. Seeing you dressed in such a beautiful, elegant emerald dress made it hard for him to breathe normally. Last night, when you tried to kiss him, that didn't make it any easier on him. It took all of his strength to step away from you. He wanted to kiss you, obviously, but he didn't want it to happen like that. Not that it could, anyway. With Snape's vast, traumatic and dangerous history, he couldn't put you in harms way because of his emotions. He wouldn't allow it. He couldn't bear to see you die, you didn't deserve that, and he didn't deserve you.

As another several seconds of silence passed, Snape seemed to ground himself. His posture straightened, and he resumed his dramatic walk to continue stepping past you. He pushed his distracting thoughts of you to the side of his mind, his eyes tearing away from you and staring straight ahead as if he hadn't just spent the past couple of seconds staring at you like you were the most beautiful being he'd ever laid his godforsaken eyes on. In fact, he acted like you were never there at all. As he passed right by you, your lips twitched and your eyes began to burn again. Gods, you hated how easily he could influence your emotions with a singular action. You stood still in your place, balling your fists in an act of silent rage, sucking in a shaky breath with a muffled sob; your teeth biting down unbearably hard on your bottom lip in a weak attempt to hide your cries.

You were suddenly wishing you'd never returned to Hogwarts, even though it was your lifelong dream the second you walked through those doors. The only thought on your mind right now was Hagrid, and even then you were doubtful his happy energy could cheer you up. You thought it was also rather selfish to come running to the man the second you were in tears. He wasn't your stuffed animal that you cried into each night. However, you could really do with his presence right now, so you pushed those thoughts aside, for now.

So, there you were, rushing off down the stairs; the clacking of your heels echoing throughout the stairwell like a choir singing in an empty cathedral. You found yourself running the second you reached the outside, your lungs burning from the way you were breathing so raggedly. The cold breeze had never felt so good against your skin, and you dared to say it felt more comforting than when Snape had taken your hand when you offered him a dance in his office two nights ago.

Tears were freely flowing down your cheeks now, your fingers flying up to wipe them away in an aggressive, careless fashion. Hagrid's hut was coming into view as you continued to run across the dull green grass, specks of wet mud and soil painting your shoes and ankles. As you reached the crookedly built hut, you slowed down and bent over with your hands on your knees, waiting for a moment to catch your breath. Perhaps some more exercise would do you good.

Suddenly, you heard the creaking of Hagrid's door opening. "Oh, 'ello, Y/N," Hagrid said happily, a surprised smile painting his face as he stared down at you. Though, he quickly noticed you weren't okay. "Are ya cryin' again?..." He questioned softly, noticing the way you slowly leant upwards, your eyes puffy and red once again. Hagrid looked at you with such sympathetic eyes that you were worried he was going to set you off crying again.

"No," you lied as your voice broke and went up an octave, your fingers rushing up to grab the bridge of your nose. "...Yes." A frustrated sigh left your lips.

"D'ya wanna talk abou' it?" Hagrid asked cautiously, his eyes searching you for an answer. You hesitated for moment, debating whether to pour your heart out to him - to tell him how much grief Severus Snape, of all people, was causing you. He wouldn't believe you for a second.

"Err, I don't think you'd believe me." You laughed dryly, your heart twisting into a conflicted knot as you thought about the raven-haired Potion Master.

"Try me." Hagrid tilted his head at you gently. You scrunched your nose up at him and swallowed. This was going to be a long and tiresome conversation.

That was the last day that you could remember running to Hagrid in tears, which was around a week ago now. You'd told him as much as you could without making yourself seem like a complete fool, however, you weren't exactly convinced - despite Hagrid's multiple promises - that he didn't view you as one now. Having feelings for the most emotionally inept, cold and ruthless wizard at Hogwarts was not an easy feat, and you wished things were different for you. Perhaps if you were a tough, brave Gryffindor or a sly, witty Slytherin, you'd be able to handle it. However, your little Hufflepuff heart was at the end of it's tether and Snape's nonchalant and cruel words were starting to chip away at the walls you'd built around it to protect it from even more harm.

You were a little late to dinner this evening, and so you didn't have much of a choice in seating. The last chair available was the one next to Snape, and you were incredibly tempted to just leave it for the night, however, your stomach was gurgling like a mad baby as you had skipped lunch earlier to catch up on some grading. You pursed your lips and silently cursed yourself for such a silly choice. Biting down on the bullet, you sucked in a deep breath. With one foot forwards, you began to pad towards the empty chair, placing your hand on the back of it to draw it outwards, purposefully creating an ear-piercing screeching noise to piss off Snape. It undoubtedly worked, as a whirl of petty pride settled in your bones as his head snapped up to look at you, his eyes piercing you with a deadly glare.

"Apologies," You said in a low tone, a hint of sarcasm in your voice. You sat yourself down, not bothering to look at him.

"Perhaps you should be sitting with the students," Snape said bitterly, glancing to the tables in front of you, "considering you're willing to act so childish." There was a bite at the end of his words, his voice spiked with irritation.

"I think you'd suit them better, Severus." You replied, gritting your teeth, still avoiding his eyes.

"You must be deluded to think that." He scoffed at you, his lips turning downwards into a cruel sneer.

"Going to tell me to leave again?" You bit back at him. Snape's head snapped towards you again. Clearly that comment got underneath his skin.

"Going to barge into my office again, when you were clearly unwanted and unwelcome?" Snape's lip twitched as he stared at you, his deep, cold voice penetrating you like a spear. It was your turn to be hurt. You felt your heart twist and your eyes burn at his words.

You let your eyes fall to your hands for a moment, wallowing in your hurt. You swallowed the growing lump in your throat, and spoke once more.

"I pity you." Was all you said, voice quiet and timid. In your head, you were trying to win the unwavering war against the tears forming in your eyes. Gods, you loathed how emotional you were sometimes. Wouldn't life be so much fucking easier if you were a sociopath? Psychopath, maybe? You suddenly found yourself envying the unfeeling and socially-detached dark witches and wizards that caused havoc amongst the wizarding world.

No, life would probably be easier if weren't so hung up on such a cold-blooded man.

"That is rather comical," Snape said, a sarcastic smile on his lips. "Do you remember that night I found you inebriated in the corridors?" You turned towards him, that familiar rush of butterflies exploding in your stomach as your eyes met his for the first time tonight. You hated and loved the feeling. It was like a drug to you, a highly illegal one at that.

You were quiet, a blush burning into your cheeks as you and Severus continued to stare into each other's eyes, silently playing a game of Chicken. Snape stared at you, scrutinising you. His taunting tone had caught your attention, and it scared you. Had you done something so stupid that night to force him into pretending like you didn't exist again?

"Of course you don't." He sneered at your lack of an answer, his unbrushed hair falling to the left a tad as he tilted his head at you in a condescending fashion. "Too busy indulging in your own selfish pleasures with that gigantic oaf that dwells with the creatures in the Forbidden Forest. Fitting, really, wouldn't you say?"

Your mouth fell open at the way he'd insulted Hagrid, and you really could not believe what you had just heard. "Excuse me?" You scoffed.

"Need I repeat myself?" Snape grunted, his fingers flying up to massage the bridge of his nose in irritation. Your brows furrowed in utter confusion and partial anger at him. You'd let him insult you, but insulting anyone else that you held dear to you was crossing the line.

"Why must you be so rude and horrible at times, Severus? You were so different in your office that night," you sighed exasperatedly, "You were a totally different person." You added quietly, your voice soft. Snape shut his eyes for a couple seconds, his brows slowly furrowing together, silently fending off his emotions that were dying to break through.

"That night was a mistake. You never should have come." Snape spat. Your eyes widened in shock at his words, and you could almost hear the crack that split your heart in two. Did he really just say that to your face? He really... felt that way? That night when the two of you crossed a line, he thought it was a mistake, something to forget about; to dismiss like it was nothing. How could he possibly think that? You saw the way he looked at you, and you had been sure that there was something more between the two of you. The way he held you so softly and tenderly had almost cemented it for you. And now he was saying it wasn't real.

"Don't say that." You clenched your jaw, biting back your emotions. "That night meant something to me, even if you told me to leave prematurely."

"That's a pity, then, Y/N, because it did not mean anything to me." Snape hissed at you. He was mocking you and his voice grew colder and more ruthless by the second. Something changed within him, and it was breaking your heart. The two of you had been fine before that night- fuck, was this your fault? Your chest tightened at his knife-like words and you felt like crying again.

"That's not true." You said softly, grasping at straws to keep your emotions in check.

"Are you calling me a liar?" Severus seethed. He looked furious now. His eyes were merciless, and the dent between his brows had deepened tremendously as he frowned at you. As you stared at him, you saw no flicker of a feeling nor emotion on his face. He was cold. Unmoving. Maybe he had just accepted your hand that night to appease you. Merlin, did he do that out of pity? Another wave of anger and embarrassment seeped into your balled fists.

You didn't reply, you didn't even want to give him the time of day after that conversation. That seemed to have settled it for you. Snape did not feel the same way as you did for him, and you needed to move on. You were only going to cause yourself more hurt if you didn't.

The first day of Spring at Hogwarts had finally sprung, and the grass had shifted from a dull green to a rather vibrant green. Beautiful shoots of pastel-coloured flowers began to appear along the pathways to and from the castle, painting the once dreary-looking area bright. As much as you thought the season of Winter could be beautiful at times, nothing compared to Spring. You adored the flowers that bloomed, and the influx of little insects and creatures that began to buzz busily around the fauna. On the way back to your classes, you'd found yourself bending down to sniff the greenery; a pleasant, soft floral fragrance filling your nose and heart with joy. If you hadn't been able to become a Herbologist, a Florist would have been your second choice for sure. Plants, flowers and anything herby made you happy.

Currently, you were hurrying yourself back to the greenhouse, and you were running a little late after having a pleasant conversation with Minerva in the hallway. You reached the greenhouse just in time, albeit a little out of breath after running to make up the time lost.

"Sorry I'm a little late," You announced to the class, panting and smiling a little apologetically. "How is everyone today?" You asked, standing in front of the table that you had fallen asleep on all those months ago whilst tending to the Mandrakes. Your stomach tied itself into an anxious knot as memories of you and Snape in his classroom brewing the Mandrake Restorative Draught began to replay like a broken record within your mind. It was a bittersweet feeling, and you were rather unhappy at the reaction your body was having to the thought of him.

A chorus of 'good' and 'okay' broke through the silence, and you nodded softly, your smile widening as you glanced at the students. "Lovely," you said, sighing, "So-"

"Professor, why is there a note from Professor Snape here?" Draco Malfoy voiced inquisitively, holding up a piece of parchment. As Draco spoke his name, your stomach dropped. The sunlight shone through it, revealing Severus's ridiculously neat handwriting, sending a knife through your heart. You clenched your jaw and paused for a moment. Why did he have to be everywhere you looked? Everything was tainted with him, and you hated it.

"Erm," You stumbled. Blinking rapidly, you walked over to where Draco was and took it from his pinched fingers, your eyes scanning over the piece of paper repeatedly.

'Y/N,

Keeping to my promise, I've left this note to let you know that I have kindly borrowed an ounce of aconite.

Severus.'

Your breathing hitched at the sight, and it suddenly felt like you could either faint, or scream; you could not tell. You didn't believe he would truly remember your request all that time ago, yet here you were, reading that exact thing. The two of you hadn't spoken much - barely, if anything - and you thought you'd healed from this fucking mess. Clearly, from your body's reaction, that was a delusional lie that you had wholeheartedly believed. Your fingers and toes were tingling with pins and needles and it was sending you into a frenzy.

"Professor?" Draco's curious, yet worried voice pulled you from your thoughts. You glanced up at the boy, a blank expression on your face.

"Yes?"

"What's Professor Snape doing leaving you little love notes?" He quipped teasingly, an amused glint twinkling in his blue eyes.

"Excuse me?" You said quietly, in complete disbelief that he had just uttered those words.

"Well, it seems a little perso-" You cut him off before he could finish.

"Detention, Malfoy," You interrupted him, physically unable to hear more about it. The whole class was now staring at you, and you could feel your heart start to beat faster once more; a sign of anxiety. This was very out of character for you, and they all knew it. Something wasn't right. "This evening."

Almost immediately, Draco scoffed at your announcement, clearly stating his disagreement with it. "What, why?!"

"Do not push me today, Mr Malfoy." You said sternly and Malfoy silenced himself, a little shocked at your unusual authoritative tone. You looked back down at the note in your hand, your eyes tracing over every letter that Snape had elegantly scribed. Some of the students had silently deduced that your change in persona was perhaps to do with Snape.

Gods, you could not believe this. Who does he think he is to suddenly start leaving notes? Why is he doing this now? You didn't need this, you didn't want this anymore, and yet he had dug up your feelings once more like a dead body at the graveyard. All those weeks thinking you were done feeling something for him was a lie.

You angrily shoved the note in a drawer to your left and sighed heavily, walking back to the head of the table. A look of shock had found itself on the faces of your class, and you instantly felt guilty. The thought of paying the Bat a visit slipped into your head, and it twisted your guts. You'd only tell him it wasn't necessary anymore to leave notes, but you were so persistent before about it, you'd only make yourself look like a weak fool, and that was one thing you were not going to do in front of Snape.

"I apologise, I'm just having a bad day." You mumbled, closing your eyes for a moment to recoup your brain. "If we could all just... behave well today, I'd really appreciate it. I'll even take back your detention, Mr Malfoy." You added, glancing at the platinum-haired boy. His eyes lit up at the sound of losing his detention you'd angrily assigned him.

"Alright, let's begin, shall we? You'll be learning about Fluxweed and it's properties and uses."

As time went on, more and more notes began to appear in your greenhouse. You and Snape hadn't spoken since that late Winter evening in the Great Hall when you were late to dinner. He'd clearly shown what he thought of you, so, you were completely confused as to why he was putting in the effort to leave all of these notes. If he hated you so much, wouldn't he just not tell you he'd taken things to further piss you off? You felt like he was doing it on purpose to torment you.

You'd let his notes pile up and gather dust in your drawer, some of them crumpled up when you'd lost your temper and broken down in tears in your greenhouse, upset and heartbroken by the tainted relationship you had with Snape. You wished things were not as they were. Gods, the pain that seared through you each time you locked eyes with the man was unbearable. Be it in the hallways, the corridors, or the Great Hall across the dining table, he'd truly broken you, whether it was intentional or unintentional. You were ruined.

Were you really that fucked up in the head that a man like him was the only man you desired so badly? Why couldn't you just move on from him? You'd begged and prayed to the gods above, day and night, to free you from his chains, but they didn't listen. Each long and tearful night, you wondered what you did to deserve this suffering. There was nothing quite fucking worse than unrequited love.

The thought of going to tell Snape to stop sending the notes and just to take what he wanted without telling you circled around in your mind almost twenty-four-seven hours a day. Each time you were about to do it, you'd back out. You couldn't backtrack like that, you dreaded the thought of him thinking you weak; that was one thing you would not do.

All verbal communication that was considered chit chat or small talk between you and Snape had ceased to exist by the time Summer rolled around. You had to distance yourself from him if you wanted to move on. You were hurting. Terribly. All you wanted to do was talk to him, or even just be around him, but it wasn't fair on you, let alone the fact that he probably didn't even want to talk to you anyway - the last words he spoke to you said it all. The only thing left that could be considered 'communication' between you two was the notes he'd scribble down each time he visited your greenhouse, and each time you found them, you found yourself numb to the pain that pricked at your skin each time your eyes skimmed over his stupidly perfect handwriting.

Not completely numb, but numb enough.

Tonight was the last night at Hogwarts until September. On one hand, you couldn't wait to leave and be free of your grief for a month and a half, and on the other hand, you were dreading it. Part of you was screaming at you to stay and fix things with Snape, and the other part was crying to you, telling you that you had to leave, and that it was true he felt nothing for you. You thought back to the beginning of the year when things weren't tainted and completely fucked. It was heart-wrenching to reminisce on those days. It almost brought you to tears thinking about the time you and Snape had got along during the Duelling Club, when he was almost beaming with pride after watching you dominate Lockhart. From then on, he was hooked with you, but you'd never know that.

For Snape, he was dreading the Summer without seeing you. He'd absolutely fucking hated the past few months. The only thing that kept him going through until the end of the year was seeing glimpses of you around the castle. If he was honest with himself, he deeply regretted kicking you out of his office that night. That was when it all went to shit. He'd fallen victim to his fear again, choosing the selfish, easy way out. Perhaps he'd be happy with you right at this current moment if he just let you stay. Perhaps he'd be kissing you right now, holding you impossibly close to his body, embracing you and breathing in your addicting scent. Perhaps the two of you would even be spending the Summer break together.

Merlin, how did he fuck up this bad? It was too late to take anything back now, that's what he thought, at least. He'd deemed your relationship dead, unrevivable. He'd truly messed up.

"At last, the school year has come to an end," Dumbledore's old, wise voice boomed through the Great Hall as he stood at his golden Owl Lecturn. All of the students and staff were listening intently. However, you found yourself looking at someone entirely different. "This year has been challenging for all, and I hope we can all take some well-learned lessons home with us for the Summer, to come back refreshed and ready for the next year here at Hogwarts." Was the last thing Dumbledore said before you zoned out into a daydream.

Your eyes were glued to Severus, lingering on his features that you'd grown to adore and loathe. You hated him at this current moment, but Merlin, you couldn't deny how handsome he was. The way his dark, black shoulder-length hair framed his long and pale face was like an art piece. You let your eyes travel down to his shoulders, your mind growing hazy and distracted as you began to think how it'd feel to touch him again, your fingers running through his hair as he pressed his lips against your neck, his hot breath tickling your sensitive and bare skin. You'd have your chest pressed flush against his as he worshipped your body with precise skill, working it like he'd known it for a thousand years.

On the other hand, you wanted to scream at him, curse him for the rest of his life, just for the cruel way he'd treated you during this year at Hogwarts.

Your provocative fantasy came to a crashing halt when Hagrid leant down to whisper in your ear.

"Yer starin', Y/N." He mumbled awkwardly, eyes still attached to Dumbledore. You blushed furiously, slightly embarrassed that Hagrid, of all people, had caught you mentally undressing and eye-fucking Snape. He was the one you had confided in the past months, so he knew how you felt about Severus - every single emotion.

Apart from one.

"Oh," You cleared your throat, reluctantly tearing your eyes away from the Potions Master. Deep down, you were unsure you'd ever fully move on from Severus, it just didn't feel... right.

"Thought ya hated 'im." Hagrid mumbled again, a hint of teasing in his tone, but he kept his voice low as Dumbledore spoke.

"I... it's complicated." You sighed quietly, taking a risk and glancing at Severus again. Your heart dropped slightly when he wasn't looking back at you. You shouldn't be surprised, nor disappointed. "I just can't wait to get out of here for the Summer."

And just like that, Dumbledore announced the end of the year. You couldn't help but smile the moment the Victorian house came into view as you Apparated from Hogsmeade to Windsor. Being back home at your humble abode in Berkshire sent a feeling of relief and peace through you. It almost felt like the past year's travesties hadn't even happened. When not teaching, you lived in a quaint cottage in the Windsor countryside. It was set down a quiet lane, overlooking the historic and iconic Windsor castle in the distance; a field of horses and summer flowers sat opposite it. It was rather dreamy, and you were incredibly thankful to your late grandmother for leaving it to you in her will. The house was built with red bricks, adorned with a pretty, white trim set around the triangular rooves. Vibrant green fauna decorated the edges of the large windows, almost framing it like a photograph.

Your favourite part of the house was the garden. It wasn't huge, but it wasn't small and it was perfect for just you. Bushes upon bushes of roses and lilies lined the edges, and your heart warmed at the sight of the bees buzzing around them all. With a strained sigh, you walked into the cottage, the familiar smell of candles and fresh lilies hitting your nose. It was a refreshing change from the usual dusty and musky smell of Hogwarts.

As you walked into your living room and dining room, you couldn't help but feel a little pang of sadness shoot through your chest. You'd imagined yourself here with Severus a couple of times, eating breakfast early in the morning, watching the sunrise as it gently woke the world up with it's warm, amber rays. And suddenly, all over again, you were a mess. You let yourself cry. You didn't hold them back, nor bottle them up. The fear of being caught had disappeared. You were alone.

As the tears rolled down your cheeks, your body began to feel hot; anger and frustration bubbling within your chest. Everything that you'd held to yourself at work was starting to crumble and fall, collapsing all around you like ash. Your eyes burned like a fire in a furnace as you squeezed them so tightly shut, silently begging for this pain to be over. You balled your fists, your nails leaving a painful imprint on your palms as you released them with a strangled gasp, your sobs becoming uncontrollable as your mind began to torture you with the memories of the past year.

'Have you no brain?' Taunted Snape, his lips curling into a disapproving sneer. You remember the way your heart beat pounded relentlessly as he leaned in towards you, his squinting eyes piercing you like a needle into a balloon.

'You are still that silly girl who did not think before she spoke.' He'd chastised, sending you into a small fit of rage.

'Lockhart came to me,' You'd said after he accused you of being nosy in other people's problems. 'Poor choice, clearly.' He'd replied bitterly, glaring down at you.

'Severus, you may call me Severus.' He said calmly, earning a surprised frown from you. The moment you broke through to him, and he'd finally accepted you as a colleague - nothing more, nothing less.

'Nicely done.' He'd muttered to you, his face proud but muted, as you'd defeated Lockhart in a duel. You were sure there was something else lingering in those eyes that day, but you could never put your finger on it.

'I wasn't the best student for you,' you'd laughed softly in his classroom, stirring the Mandrake Draught. 'No, but you weren't the worst.' Snape had replied with the faintest hint of a smile on his lips.

'Don't believe anything that gloomy bat says,' Madam Pomfrey's stern voice suddenly echoed in your mind.

You were thinking back to the moment you had caught Severus's eyes in the Great Hall when Dumbledore was acknowledging your tremendous help with the Mandrake Restorative Draught. He was gazing at you proudly, a small yet hesitant smile upon his lips.

Then, your most cherished memory with Snape flooded your mind. You felt more tears begin to pour from your puffy, reddened eyes as you reminisced in your living room.

'Dance with me?' You'd asked quietly amongst the hammering of your nervous heart, as the slow and melancholic rock song played softly in the background, holding out your hand for Snape to take a hold of. He'd taken your soft hand in his cold, calloused one, and you pulled him slowly to the middle of the room. You remembered how nervous yet happy you were, the way your eyes sparkled with silent joy as you stared up at Severus, his other hand settling safely on your waist. The two of you relished in each other's company, swaying slowly, side to side, gradually breaking down the highly impenetrable guard that he'd had up.

It broke your heart all over again, as his harsh, sudden words pierced your ears.

'Get out.' Snape had ordered, taking you by surprise.

You had been so close. So close to finally breaking into his walls, and at the last moment, he'd built them all up again, double the defences.

Tomorrow was a new day, and you'd deemed it a good time to take your mind off of everything. You needed to get out of your house. It was sending you into a fucking frenzy. So, you chose to Apparate to London - more specifically The Leaky Cauldron. Okay, it was a terrible idea, but you just needed to see other people - people you didn't know, and people that... Severus didn't know.

So here you were, standing outside of the pub, hesitant on entering. You were getting cold feet. Maybe you should just go to Diagon Alley instead, and browse the pretty shops filled with artifacts, wands, fresh smelling books and magical sweets. In all honesty, that sounded more enthralling than sitting in a dim pub, nursing a mug of whiskey.

As you were about to turn on your heel and head to Diagon Alley, a weirdly familiar voice called your name.

"Y/N?" You frowned, your head turning slightly to find the source. It was a man for sure, and it was ridiculously familiar. Shit, where have you heard that voice before? "Y/N L/N?"

You spun on your heels, your eyes almost popping out of your head as no one other than Benjamin fucking Bluewater stood in front of you. He wasn't that weaselly, little nuisance anymore. No, no, he'd grown. And grown like hell he had. He stood at least six feet tall, a five o'clock shadow peppering his rather well-defined jawline and mouth. His dark hair was no longer styled in an embarrassing bowl-cut, it was thick and pushed back, accentuating his strong forehead, and prominent cheekbones. You found yourself blushing whilst looking at him.

"Holy shit, Benjamin Bluewater?" You gasped, shaking your head lightly at him in disbelief. A million-dollar grin broke out on his face. Good lord, you thought, he'd really changed...

"The one and only." Bluewater chuckled, shoving his hands into his pockets bashfully.

"You look... great." You were speechless. This could not be happening. Your heart was pounding so fast that you genuinely could not comprehend anything. Merlin, were you dreaming?

"As do you, Y/N." He grinned at you again, sending goosebumps up your arms. His eyes flicked from yours to the Leaky Cauldron behind you, and he gestured towards the pub with a nod. "It's been a long time, would you like to, err, grab a drink or something? It'd be nice to catch up." Benjamin smiled politely at you. Shit, what the hell, why the hell not? Fuck it.

"I'd love to." You returned his smile, shrugging your shoulders gently. Benjamin's smile grew into a grin as he placed a gentlemanly hand on the small of your back, guiding you into the pub.

"So, what's new with you, then?" Benjamin asked, his eyes flicking over your reddening face. You swallowed nervously, laughing.

"Erm, well, I'm working at Hogwarts as a professor." You replied nonchalantly as the two of you strolled to the bar area.

"Are the professors that taught us still there?" He asked curiously, showing genuine interest in what you were saying. It was nice for once. Severus was so scarce with that.

"Yes," You laughed lightly, though you winced slightly at Snape passed through your mind. "McGonagall, Flitwick, Dumbledore, Hagrid... all of them are still there." You avoided his name.

"Is that grumpy git Snape still there?" Bluewater questioned, his face twisting into a expression of distaste as he glanced at the barkeep. A small ripple of sadness washed over you, you knew Snape wasn't a favourite with the students, but he wasn't exactly a bad... no, no, he was a terrible person, you corrected yourself. We are no doing that right now.

"Yeah." You nodded, pursing your lips.

"He was a bastard, always had it out for me." Benjamin tutted. You winced a little at his words. You might have a tainted relationship with Snape, but you still cared deeply for him, and it hurt you when people spoke badly about him, no matter what he did.

"Well, I doubt your pranks did you any good." You quipped playfully, trying to lighten the mood. A mischievous grin spread across Benjamin's sculpted face. You felt your knees tingle.

"I was an arsehole in school, I'll admit that. I don't know how I survived Hogwarts, honestly." A hearty laugh left Benjamin's lips. "I bet it's a pain working with that schmuck." He added bitterly, ordering two bottles of cider for the two of you.

"Yeah," You laughed awkwardly, glancing away for a moment, tears pricking your eyes a tad. You hated how your heart ached at the way Benjamin insulted Severus. "He's... well, he's Snape, you know what he's like." You finished quickly, desperate to change the subject. "What are you up to now? Something fancy surely?"

"I wouldn't say fancy, I just work at the Ministry." Bluewater shrugged nonchalantly, taking a swig of his cider as he handed you the other bottle. "I'm the Junior Undersecretary." He said, staring at you, almost like he was waiting for a reaction. Your eyebrows raised a little at how casually he admitted that.

"Oh, really? Wow, that's... wow, I really did not expect that." You said honestly, a little shocked at his confession.

"You didn't expect that?" He repeated, laughing, taking another swig.

"Well, no, not after how you were in school, Benjamin!" You scoffed, grinning.

"Ben," he corrected you, smiling, "Benjamin is too formal. Feels like I'm talking to my mother." Another laugh left your lips. Well, his charming and comedic personality certainly hadn't changed, that was for sure.

"Alright, Ben," You smiled coyly, eyeing the small peek of skin poking out from his unbuttoned shirt. You flicked your eyes back up to him, and he tilted his head at you. "Being the Junior Undersecretary, does that mean you've met the Minister for Magic?"

"Only a couple times."

"What's he like?" You asked, sipping on your cider, prompting Ben to lean in towards you. Your breath hitched slightly at the sudden close proximity.

"Between you and me, a bit of a delusional man." He whispered, his brown eyes gazing a little too deep into yours. For a split second, you were transported back to the times you and Severus were at each other's throats in the corridors of Hogwarts. You cheeks flushed at the thought, and you quickly pushed it to the side, your body stiffening.

"Oh, really?"

"Yeah, the man's bound to go insane any day now, really. Think the job's taking a toll on him." Ben said, his eyes glancing around the pub, observing the hustle and bustle.

"Well, I wouldn't be surprised," You frowned. "That's a hell of a job."

"I'm sure it's nothing compared to being a professor at Hogwarts though?" Ben teased, making you roll your eyes.

"Very funny," You smiled, averting your eyes from him for a moment. "I mean, it's hard, but not impossibly hard. The grading takes a toll sometimes, but the rest of the time it's quite rewarding. Seeing your students learning from you, it feels like you've achieved something."

"Let me guess, Herbology?" He cocked a brow at you, another similar gesture that Severus did. Can he leave your mind for one day? Fuck.

"How did you guess?" You replied sarcastically, smiling.

"I don't know, but if my memory serves me well, you were rather gifted at the subject," Ben admitted, playing along with you. Your smile widened at his compliment. "And let's not forget that you were obsessed with all sorts of flowers, plants and herbs, carrying them with you everywhere you went!"

"Oh, gods, yeah..." Your cheeks reddened at the thought, slightly embarrassed at your younger antics. "At least I didn't go around planting stink bombs amongst other things in classrooms."

"At least I wasn't a Herbology nerd." Ben quipped playfully, inducing a gasp from you.

The two of you spoke for hours in the pub, until it reached around six in the evening. You'd totally lost track of time.

"It was lovely seeing you again, Ben." You smiled up at your old classmate, your eyes flicking between his blue ones. As much as he was attractive, you weren't sure there was a spark there, not like the one you'd felt with Severus.

"Likewise, Y/N," Ben replied, grinning handsomely at you. "Erm, do you think you'd like to see me again? Perhaps on... Friday? Seven o'clock?"

"Are you asking me out?" You chuckled incredulously, in slight disbelief. Ben's grin brightened as he stared down at you. Surely Benjamin 'the menace' Bluewater wasn't asking you out.

"Yeah, if that's okay. I'd always thought you were rather sweet." He said casually, making your cheeks burn. "I suppose it helps that you're absolutely stunning, too. Always a bonus."

"Aren't you a flirt?" You laughed lightly, considering his offer. You pondered for a moment. Maybe it'd be good to go on this date, maybe you'd see something in him. Maybe it would help with your whole... Snape situation. Maybe you'd actually heal. So you accepted it. "Sure, I'd like that. Send me an owl." You smiled softly up at him.

"Your address?"

"If it's meant to be, it'll find me." You grinned cheekily.

"Ahh, I see how it is!" Ben returned your grin, his cheeks a little merry and red from the alcohol the two of you'd consumed. You hummed flirtatiously in reply. "Well, it was a pleasure, Y/N. See you on Friday." He said, confidence clear in his tone. You cocked a challenging brow at him.

"Oh really?"

"Really." Ben nodded. He reached down and took your hand gently, pressing a soft kiss upon your knuckles to bid you goodnight; prompting your cheeks to pinken once more tonight. "Goodnight, Y/N." He let go of your hand, a soft laugh erupting from your lips.

"Goodnight, Ben." You smiled at him, watching him turn and walk away, disappearing into the night.

You weren't sure about this, but it felt good to have your mind on things - or someone other than Severus.

Part 8!

okkkk I hope you guys don’t kill me for the last part, ooooo. I thought it might be fun… ehehe

Thank you for reading, let me know what you think!! I can’t wait to start the next part, I’m so excited!! My brain is buzzing with ideas for Prisoner of Azkaban 😎 love you guys. don’t forget to sleep and eat 🖤

Taglist: (I hope I haven’t missed anyone)

@a-laufeyson

@emilynissangtr

@livillain00

@meowskii

@nooneeveryonenoone

@vesperbatty

@biggest-simp-eversposts

@881127fara

@freshmoneyalmondathlete

@sonoluvr22

@v3Iv3tvampir3

@lashipperrubia

@camilla-black

@acakius

@hiddlestonspassionsackx

@tellatubbies

@mikariell95

@sunshinemink

@m0rtifiedg0th

@spookymicrowave

@sayonara30

@novas-dreamworld

[cevansbrat0007]

A Man Starved

Summary: Ari lives for the taste of you on his tongue...

Warnings: Mature Themes, Ari Being A Menace, Smut, Manhandling, Oral Sex (fem rec), Light Rimming, References to Anal Sex (mentioned), CMNF, Ass Slapping, Pussy Slapping, Light Edging, Cursing, Minors DNI

A/N: This fic is part of my Sweet Renegades Series. Takes place directly after the events in Off the Market. Not beta'd. Not beta'd. All mistakes my own. Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated.

You were working on borrowed time. Shaking your head, you reach for another plate as you take your time cleaning up after dinner. All that was left after you finished the dishes was wiping down the range. 

The floors looked good, which meant that you could probably get away without sweeping. You’d already convinced Ari to invest in the magic that was a Swiffer WetJet. It wouldn’t take more than a few minutes to do a quick touch-up.

Your eyes stray to the clock, noting the increasingly late hour. Ari could afford to be patient for a little while longer. If anything he was probably exhausted after the busy day you’d had, what with the shopping spree and the hour long drive back home to Bell’s Creek. 

He was probably half asleep by now. Meanwhile, you were secretly dreaming about the next time you’d be able to enjoy another one of those hand-dipped milkshakes like the one you’d had at lunch. Preferably without that damned Stella. 

Your lip curls into a snarl at the memory of your waitress. Having to stomach that heifer’s attempt to flirt with your man had left you feeling madder than a wet settin’ hen.

You yank the Swiffer out of the closet, jumping backwards as the broom clatters to the floor. Shit. Perhaps you were still a touch riled up. You’re just about to lean down to pick it up when you feel two large hands settle on your hips. 

“Yeah?” You huff out.

“I’ve been patient long enough.” Ari rasps. “Time for bed, sweet Bird.” Soft, warm lips skim along the curve of your throat, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. “Let’s go.” 

“Ten more minutes and I’m all yours.” You assure him as your pulse kicks up, the familiar feeling of butterflies dancing in your belly.

“No.” That one word has your spine stiffening in rebellion. 

“Patience.” You remind him, shimmying out of his grasp while still clutching the Swiffer. “Some might even say it’s a virtue. I think I heard that in a movie or something. Can’t quite remember where, but I’d like to think it’s still a good rule of thumb.”

You continue to prattle on as you set down the mop to search for a new bottle of cleaning solution found under a nearby cabinet.  

“Already told you, baby.” Ari growls, the sound rumbling from deep in his chest. “I’m all outta patience.” He reaches for you then, needing to touch you. Wanting to feel the softness of your submission as your body melts for him. 

“Ari…” You blow out an unsteady breath as your pussy spasms, your empty walls clenching around nothing. 

“You made me wait all day for a taste of you.” Your man purrs at the same time as he grabs the edges of his faded black t-shirt before tugging it over his head, revealing his brawny hair-covered chest. “You wouldn’t let me have you earlier. I admit I didn’t like it very much at the time. A man needs his fix, you know? Especially after watching you show off all those sweet curves during our trip today.” 

Frankly, even he’s surprised that he’s been able to last as long as he has. You have no idea just how close he was to snapping and simply taking what he felt was owed to him. 

Especially after he’d spent the entire afternoon fantasizing about splaying you out on his kitchen table and getting lost between your luscious thighs. He’d already gone too long without the taste of you on his tongue. 

And if Ari was being honest, he wasn’t sure if he’d be able last another minute without you – let alone ten of them. Something had to give. 

And that something was you. 

“Surely you can wait until I finish mopping, can’t you?” You whisper, scarcely recognizing the sound of your own voice as butterflies give way to raw need under the weight of your man’s heated gaze.

You’d never had anyone look at you the way he did. And even after these last couple of months together, you still weren’t quite used to it. 

“Afraid not.” Your Bounty Hunter is quick to shake his head “no”. And he doesn’t look the least bit ashamed of it either. “Time to feed me, Duchess.” His wolfish grin sends ripples of desire coursing through you, straight to your dripping core. “I’ve spent all day thinking about all the ways I plan to wreck that greedy little pussy.”

His intoxicating blue eyes dip to your waist as he growls low in his throat. You were wearing too many clothes for his liking, which meant your pink cotton panties and matching satin nightdress were about to be a thing of the past. 

“Y–you have?” You stammer as he begins to approach, his sinewy muscles bunching and moving as he bridges the distance between you. The next thing you know, he’s standing in front of you, his sinful lips hovering mere inches above yours. 

“I wasn’t joking earlier when I asked you to stay the night. I sleep best after I’ve spent the evening getting all tangled up in the sheets with my woman.” Ari leans in to nuzzle your nose with his, eliciting a quiet whimper from you. “Never had anyone as sweet as my stubborn little Bird.”

Your grip on the Swiffer goes slack as you allow it to fall to the floor, your hands going to rest on Ari’s thick biceps to keep yourself upright. Because at this point, the man’s ability to make your legs turn to jelly might as well be his goddamn superpower. 

“And I’ve never had anyone like you.” You murmur before rising on your toes to give him a swift, but meaningful kiss. “Never had my very own Beast of a man who makes me weak in the knees on what feels like a daily basis.” You’re rewarded for your honesty with another nuzzle, this one accompanied by a sharp hint of teeth, signaling that Ari was close to his breaking point. “And if you give me just two more minutes, I promise to show you just how much I appreciate – oooh!” 

Your words end in a scream when your Hunter bends down to throw you over his shoulder. Your world tilts on its axis yet again as he turns on his heel and strides off in the direction of the bedroom. “Put me down, damn you!” You screech as you pound fists pounding on his back.

Not hard enough to do any real damage, but just enough to be annoying.  

“I warned you, sweetness. I did.” Ari delivers a resounding slap to your upturned ass, loving your little whine of protest. “Told you I needed my fix. It’s just not right to let a man starve the way I have.” 

Of course he would paint himself as the victim in all of this. Nothing unusual there.

Thirty seconds later you find yourself flying through the air as he unceremoniously tosses you on the bed. You didn’t know this, but there’s a small part of him that takes special pleasure in watching you bounce on the padded surface.

After all, you’d brought this on yourself. And as such, he was certain there wasn’t a jury in the world who would convict him for all the dirty things he was about to do to your delectably curvy body. 

Ari’s head cocks to the side as he watches you sit up, your hardened nipples peeking through the thin material of your nightdress. A low hum of appreciation escapes when you reach up to readjust the silky garment, exposing even more of your cleavage.  

Oh yeah. Tonight was about to get downright filthy. 

“I suppose I brought that on myself. I should’ve known better than to…” You trail off, smoothing your hands along your sides before pulling yourself up on your knees. “Shame on me for treating you so insensitively.”

“I take it that was your version of an apology?” 

You nod sheepishly, a light blush warming your cheeks. And now it’s your turn to watch as a slow, devilish smirk spreads across your Hunter’s chiseled features.

Fuck. If your panties weren’t soaked before, they definitely were now.

“Well, sweetheart, as nice as that was…” Ari’s large hand moves to cup his impressive erection, giving himself a squeeze through his boxers. “I’m afraid I can’t accept.” He chuckles softly, not missing the way your eyes glaze over with lust as he continues to touch himself.

“Why not?” You rasp, your pink tongue darting out to wet your bottom lip. “I promise to be more mindful.” You reach for him then, intending to drag his big body down onto the bed with you. “I hate the thought of you being made to suffer all day long the way you have.” You give him your best pout, bating your eyelashes at him as you do.

It earns you nothing.

“You wanna make it up to me, Bird?” His nostrils flare as he breathes deep, almost as if he can scent your arousal. “Then I think it’s time I finally got my taste, don’t you?” His smirk returns when you nod once more. 

Your eager hands fly to the hem of your gown, lifting it over your head and tossing it to the side before your man can so much as blink. You briefly hesitate before repeating the same action with your panties, all but ensuring they would survive this erotic encounter.

“Fucking beautiful.” Ari rasps, his voice coming out hoarse. “Every single fucking inch of you.” He motions for you to turn and face away from him. “But right now, I’m dying to see you on your hands and knees for me.”

“But I–”

“Hush.” Your Beast commands, effectively cutting you off. “If you want me to believe your apology is sincere then you’ll shut that sweet mouth and do as you’re fucking told.” While there’s no bite to his words, they still make you shiver nonetheless. 

Ari smacks your left flank as you scramble to do as you’re told. Goosebumps rise across your heated flesh as you give him your back, your bare bottom on full display.

“Good girl.” Comes his silky purr. “Push that ass up for me. Now spread your thighs a little more – yeah, that’s it. There’s that pretty fucking pussy you’ve been keeping from me.” You find yourself preening at his praise, your slick coating your inner thighs.    

“I…please touch me, Beast.” You whine, your body trembling with need. “Please.” You allow your head to droop when Ari finally joins you, the bed dipping beneath his delicious weight.

But your relief, however, is short-lived.

“Tonight I’m gonna give you as much of me as you can take.” He growls, his slightly calloused palms possessively rubbing and kneading the generous globes of your ass. “And I’m not gonna stop until I’ve had my fill…”

A tiny whimper escapes when Ari parts your cheeks, exposing your drenched pussy and puckered hole to his gaze. You jump when he uses one long, thick finger to part your slippery folds so that he can toy with your sensitive little clit. 

“Can’t say when that’s gonna be, baby.” He swirls the pad of his finger over the nub, making your hips arch as white hot pinpricks of pleasure dance along your spine. “Because as you know, I've worked up quite the appetite.”

“S’okay!” You cry as you attempt to bear down, wishing he would add another finger. Or at the very least allow you to ride his thigh or something. Last time you tried that you came so hard you’d–

Your thought stream is interrupted by the sudden feeling of something hot and wet taking the place of your man’s fingers. Although you try to pull away, Ari’s grip on your hips remains steady, making it clear that you weren’t going anywhere without his explicit permission.

Leaving you with no doubt that you'd also be sporting a fresh set of bruises before the night was over.

And you can’t help the sweet moan that gets stuck in your throat when he briefly pulls away long enough spit on your tight, virgin hole before brushing his finger along the rim. “Can’t wait to take you here too.” He snarls, tracing along the seam with his wicked tongue. “Gonna make you mine in every way that counts.”

“Ooh! Christ, Ari, I fuck–!”

You’d never had a man do that to you before. Anything involving your ass had always been off limits. Until now.

A fresh wave of arousal has you trying to rub your thighs together, hoping to obtain some kind of relief in spite of your torture. Your hand slaps down hard on the bed when Ari buries his face between your thighs once more.

He takes his time devouring you, savoring your essence with each frenzied stroke of his tongue. This man planned to enjoy every sob, every moan, every cry of pleasure he rang from your body before this night was over. 

In hopes that you would think twice before denying him again. For depriving him of all your sweetness. 

“So sweet.” Ari’s eager tongue continues to lap at your passion-swollen cunt, his eyes rolling backwards in carnal bliss. “Always so fucking sweet.” The compliment comes on the heels of a desperate growl. It’s peppered by several sharp smacks, each one harder than the next.

Tears spring to your eyes as he continues to drink you down, the filthy wet sounds of his sensual feast echoing throughout his bedroom. Your hands fist the covers as you try to crawl away, only to be dragged back into position seemingly without him so much as even breaking a sweat.

“Please!Please!Oh, fuck, right there!Please!” You chant over and over like a fevered prayer. “God, yes!” 

Your voice sounds hoarse, even to your own ears. But you don’t let that stop you. Because now that Ari had seen fit to whet your appetite, you were ready for more. 

A hell of a lot more. 

You feel the coil tighten in your belly as your orgasm approaches. Sensing that you’re close, Ari tightens his grip on your hips, granting himself better access to your weeping pussy. God, you were so close you could taste it.

But right as you’re about to topple over the edge, Ari suddenly pulls away. The fucking rat bastard!

“But why?” You whine, turning to look at him over your shoulder, pleased to see your slick coating his bearded chin. His unrepentant grin making you want to scream.

“Aww.” Ari coos rather mockingly, his eyes alight with mischief. “What happened to patience being a virtue and all that?”

“Oh, you can fuck right off!” You snarl, attempting to twist out of his grasp so that you can rough him up. 

He simply shakes his head as laughter bubbles up and out of his chest. And then he flips you onto your back, parting your thighs so that he can get himself another nice, long look at your still glistening cunt. 

“Maybe later. But first, I'm gonna need another taste.” He purrs, his hand delivering a wet slap to your throbbing core. “Now be a good girl and hold these pretty thighs open for me.”

END

Unofficial Tag List

@katymae12344

@daykrisr99

@identity2212

@hisredheadedgoddess28

@blackhawkfanatic

@jamneuromain

@daykrisr99

@queerqueenlynn

@pono-pura-vida

[monstrouslyobsessed]

welcome home

—you inherited a strange mansion you vaguely remembered visiting in childhood. you were excited to start a new life, but, now, from the way the lone statue perched on the roof seemed to be watching you, you weren’t so sure anymore.

—a/n: happy (belated) halloween! this had been requested forever ago, though not as a concept but as a smutty headcanon. but it had been stuck in my brain since seeing it—so...introducing the...gargoyle!

—tw / tags: gn reader, implied confinement / isolation, implied mind control(?), implied possible grooming (from the monster), implied teratophilia, implied exophilia, general yandere themes, long post, uncut post, sfw.

—featured character(s): gargoyle, the unnamed uncle

“What happened to those two?” you wondered aloud, balancing the stack of boxes in your arms as you gestured with your chin towards the two headless statues perched atop the pillars of the front gate.

Your uncle cleared his throat, hesitating slightly at the sight of them through the tall, ornate window, “That’s a...good question,” he laughed, his voice trailing off.

You glanced up only to see the back of his grey head, your boxes successfully placed on the floor, eyebrows arched high. “Uncle?”

“...were...a week ago...” you caught the tail end of his murmur.

“Hey!” you erupted, jabbing the old man into his ribs with a playful poke. He responded with an amused chuckle, regaining his composure. With a quick complaint about the way he had ruffled your hair, you slapped his hand away with a suggestion, “probably got weathered from old age,”

You weren’t about to add more to his worries with the anxious face he’d had seconds before. He was already so old it just didn’t feel right to push for answers he probably didn’t have. Helping you to move into his old home had been so overly generous that you hadn’t felt comfortable pressing for more.

Still, as you resumed your unpacking, your eyes couldn’t help but wander to the statues.

They...looked wrong, somehow.

Their necks were too...clean.

As if they had been sliced through with a sharp blade.

Had there ever been heads to begin with?

You shook your head as a faint memory resurfaced. The statues had definitely had heads once, from your visits as a child. So, where had they gone?

As you pondered, your hands became slick with water-thickened dust and soap as you wiped down the wooden furniture in the large living room while your uncle busied himself somewhere in the background. The bright glare of the afternoon sun forced your lashes to flutter together in a wince and you groaned, relocating yourself to a shaded corner as your eyes adjusted to the sudden brightness.

You blinked.

Something strange was perched outside the window, its wings casting long, dark shadows across the room from the setting sun behind it. You paused, a brief gasp, ever so slight that it might as well have been a breath, escaped your lips. Before you could think of anything to do, a deafening explosion of something shattering rang out from another room, and you spun toward where your uncle was, shouting the old man’s name.

You pivoted again, to see what you thought you saw.

The window was empty, glowing brilliantly with the blinding midday sunlight.

As if you’d only imagined whatever that creature was.

You stumbled out, confused and unsettled, to find your uncle with a troubled look on his face, assuring you that he hadn’t meant to scare you. As you attended to the accident, the strange sight remained in the back of your mind. Discomfort grew in your heart, and you wondered if it was normal to feel so familiar with what you thought you saw.

“You always had such fanciful imagination as a kid,” your uncle chuckled, rocking in his chair in the library you remembered frequenting as a kid. This was supposed to be his final night here with you, before he took the trip back to his assisted living home.

You cocked your head as you looked for a place to slot your favorite books in one of the many shelves. “Did I?”

Truth be told, your childhood memories were muddy at best.

“Oh, ho, yes, you always chatter on about an angel trapped in stone and the stories they’d share with you. Very...terrifying tales, may I add! Frighten my ol’ love, yer did. He never did like listening to these things, said you were listening to the devil.” Your uncle sighed, plucking a framed photo from a small table to reminisce about his deceased husband—

You...vaguely recalled how upset your other uncle was, though the reason still came blank.

“...Wasn’t he the reason I had to stop visiting?” You absently added, stilling your hands in your large tote of books to look at your uncle.

He tilted his head to think, “...Said it’s for your own good, or the devil would spirit you away.”

A question lingered heavily on your tongue and you blurted it out before your uncle could step into his vintage car.

“Why leave me this mansion if Uncle,” it felt strange to say your other uncle’s name after so long when you hardly remembered ever liking him as a kid. He was a mean man, but now, after what you’d learned, you started to wonder. Shaking your head to halt your straying thoughts, you pressed on, “was so against me staying here as a kid?”

You hadn’t meant the words to sound so demanding.

He stopped mid-hobble, looking up at you with his wrinkled hand still holding the suitcase, just before tossing it into his car. For a moment, your uncle opened his mouth, hesitated, then his eyes glazed over. Finally, with a small, uncertain smile, he admitted, “I’m...not sure. I just felt compelled to give this place to you, is all.”

Compelled?

Before you could dwell on that one strange choice of word, your uncle waved you over, “C’mere and give this silly old man a hug before he goes!”

He felt especially small and frail in your arms, as you held him. You remembered him so tall, but now he was just a tiny, old man with a heart too big for his tired body. As he slipped from your ebrace with a warm grin, you were disturbed by how cold his paper-like skin was under your palms.

Words and tears were exchanged, and that was it.

He bid you a farewell, adding a gentle ‘I love you’, and he was gone, his vehicle kicking up dust as it disappeared down the winding driveway. The sound of its sputtering engine gradually faded into the distance, leaving you in the utter silence of the mountain you now occupied. When it was no more than a speck in the dense, green horizon, you made a half turn—

And then you caught sight of something unfamiliar perched on a pillar of the hipped roof of your new—albeit ancient—home.

Blinking, you tilted your head high and squinted to make out the sudden appearance of a gargoyle.

Was...it always there?

It loomed above, a bulky, weighty thing, its great wings curled protectively over its hunched back, with its claws clutching at the gutter. A crown of horns fanned out over its elongated head, shielding itself from the rising sun in the shadows of its bony appendages. The creature’s hulking form sat in a perfect stillness, its long tail wrapped tightly around its hind legs in a stony coil.

As if it had been there all along.

No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t recall seeing the gargoyle above the main doorway before.

Even when you’d first arrived to meet your uncle about your surprise inheritance, nothing so stellar yet so grotesque had sat above the door before in your memory.

Yet it seemed so oddly familiar. The childish urge to grin and laugh as if upon seeing an old friend again, rose.

Deep in your heart, you knew this was wrong. A shiver ran down your spine, and confusion twisted your expression into one of fear.

You couldn’t see its face clearly beneath its wings, but you felt its eyes pierce your soul.

With another blink, you shuffled your feet, grinding your heels in the crunch of the fine gravel below. You inhaled the cold, crisp air—and you swore you saw it

breathe.

Unable to take it any longer, you fled inside, into the safety and isolation of your new home. The door slammed shut behind you, and you collapsed against the hardwood flood, gasping. The old wood needed a good waxing, but that was the farthest thing on your mind right then, as you panted and your heart was pounding against your ribcage.

“I’m being so stupid—this is silly...!” you muttered with a weak laugh, even as your erratic heart tried to jump out of your throat.

Before you could brush it off with the excuse of the jitters of being a new homeowner, a low creak groaned from above, echoing off  the roof outside.

You stiffened, your sweaty skin prickled with the chilling realization.You were all alone—

With this stranger outside your house.

A loud thud rumbled through the floor, vibrating the door you were leaning against—as though something heavy was dragging its claws across it.

Quietly, its voice, so deep and croaky, a disembodied whisper slipped through the thick wood, sighing with unsettling fondness: “...welcome home,”

The way it said your name had you trembling, but its next words gripped you with a terrible, numbing fear.

“...it’s only two of us now.”

—end

[misshoneyimhome]

His tripod would be set up right next to your dripping hole as he lifted the skirt you had on and aimed and zoomed right at it. During the time your back was leaning against his broad chest as his hand traveled down to your folds, you were sat in between his thighs. With his thick digits spreading your pussy lips apart, he was wearing his gold ring. You both felt pleasure rising in the air as he continued to explore your body.

"You're goddamn wet for me." He said, his voice low and husky as he breathed into your ear. "So greedy, huh älskling?" He asked, pressing his fingers into your pussy. As he slowly pulled it out, you gave a small whimper as he brought two fingers to dip in. The camera recorded every delicious second as you felt full, even with his digits inside.

His smile spread across your face as he gazed at your aching clit through the camera. As he rubbed it with his fingers, he saw your folds closely. Then he leaned his chin over your shoulder, spit directly down your body so it ran directly into your messy clit.

It didn't take him long to feel you clench around him, his fingers bruising your sweet spot, as he knew when you were ready to burst. "Willy," You squeaked out your chest heating up, pussy fluttering. In an instant, he rubbed the back of your clit, letting the fountain of cum squirt everywhere as he pulled his fingers out. His hand slapped your drenched cunt before shoving two fingers in deep again as he groaned against your neck. He would proudly tell everyone he was the one who made you make such a mess through the audio as he said, “She's only a squirter for me.” A little inspo for your new series.

🥵🥵🥵 as always this is so so hot!

🔥 But as much as I'd love to use this for my new series, this kind of scene just suits inexperienced!reader perfectly 😏 She's my perfect little slut for Willy, and she definitely deserves all the attention in a story like this!

Tropes & Warnings: inexperienced!reader x Willy, 18+ smut - Quite straightforward 😂

Word count: 1.1K

➼｡ﾟ

Returning to Toronto after an off-season filled with travel and adventure was both a relief and a challenge. You and William had spent blissful days soaking in the serene beauty of Sweden and basking under the sun on the shores of Saint Tropez, surrounded by his family and creating memories that felt like dreams. But now, you were back in your shared flat, just the two of you, and the comfort of home brought with it a new kind of intimacy, one that felt more personal and intense.

The first few days back were a blur of exhaustion and simple routines. You walked the dogs together, made quick trips to the supermarket, and spent most of your time lounging around, ordering takeaway, and catching up on sleep. It was a slower pace than you were used to, but it felt right—like a much-needed rest after the whirlwind of your travels.

And as the days passed, William returned to his workout routine, preparing himself for the upcoming hockey season, while you got back into the swing of your own work. Life gradually returned to its regular rhythm, yet somehow, something felt different. The spark that had ignited between you during the off-season seemed to have dimmed slightly, the excitement giving way to the familiarity of routine.

It was during one of those quiet evenings, as the golden light of the afternoon faded into the soft glow of twilight, that William suggested something new. It was an idea he’d been mulling over for a while, unsure if it would interest you but unable to let it go. He wanted to make a video—something private, something intimate. The thought of capturing your most personal moments together, documenting the way he touched you and the power he had over you, had been on his mind.

The video wasn’t necessarily intended for sharing with others; rather, William saw it as a way for the two of you to experiment and perhaps for him to use when he needed a release while on the road.

When he brought it up, his voice was soft, almost hesitant, but the intensity in his eyes showed he was serious. The idea was bold, and though it pushed the boundaries of what you had explored before, it didn’t feel strange or out of place. Instead, it sparked a thrill within you.

The night was charged with anticipation, the air thick as you settled into your shared bedroom. William had set up his tripod, positioning the camera carefully to capture the moment from an angle that was both intimate and revealing. There was something thrilling about the setup, a sense of anticipation that sent shivers down your spine. You were seated between his strong thighs, your back resting against his broad bare chest as his hand moved with deliberate slowness, exploring the soft skin beneath your skirt.

His touch was both gentle and assertive, his fingers grazing your folds with a tenderness that made your breath catch. The warmth of his body against your naked torso was comforting, but it was the way he whispered in your ear, his voice low and husky, that sent a wave of heat through you.

"You're goddamn wet for me," he murmured, his words igniting a flush of desire through your veins. His breath was warm against your skin, and you could sense the smile in his voice as he added, "So greedy, huh älskling?"

With practised ease, his thick fingers spread you apart, the cool metal of his gold ring contrasting with the warmth of his touch. You could feel the pressure building as he slowly pressed his fingers past your entrance, filling you in a way that made you gasp softly. The camera captured every moment, every shiver and gasp, but your focus was entirely on William, on the way he made you feel.

He was patient, his movements slow and deliberate, drawing out every sensation until you could barely stand it. And as he pulled his fingers out, the emptiness was almost unbearable, and you let out a soft whimper, the sound escaping your lips without you even realising it. But William wasn’t finished. He dipped his fingers back in, the fullness returning as he continued to work you closer to the edge. Curling and twisting his digits with every pump. 

His gaze flicked to the camera, a smile spreading across his face as he watched the way your body responded to his touch. There was a possessiveness in his eyes, a pride in knowing exactly how to make you feel this way. And as his fingers then found your clit, rubbing it with practised ease, you felt a wave of pleasure crash over you, your body tensing with the intensity of it.

He leaned in closer, his chin resting on your shoulder as he watched the scene unfold, the intimacy of the moment heightened when he spat, the warm fluid running down to your sensitive core. It was a gesture both dominant and intimate, sending another jolt of heat through your body, and he stuck his fingers inside you again. 

You could feel yourself clenching around him, the pleasure building to a point where it was almost too much to bear. William knew your body well, knew exactly when you were close, and his touch only grew firmer, more insistent as he drove you higher and higher. His motions were merciless, actions that drove your mind wild and breaths catching in your throat. 

“Willy,” you managed to cry, your voice barely audible as your chest heaved with the effort to breathe. The tension within you snapped, and in an instant, you were overwhelmed by waves of pleasure, your muscles fluttering as your body released in a rush of sensation.

But he didn’t stop there. As you came undone, he pulled his fingers out, only to slap your drenched core lightly before plunging them back in, a groan escaping his lips as he felt your body respond to his touch; your juices spraying like a waterfall. The sound of his voice, low and proud, filled the room as he spoke to the camera, his words brimming with possessive pride.

“She’s only a squirter for me,” he said, satisfaction evident in his tone as he held you close, the aftermath of your release leaving you both breathless and trembling.

The room was quiet except for the sound of your ragged breaths, the intensity of the moment leaving you both spent and content. And as you both settled into the comforting embrace of each other’s arms, you knew this was something special—an experience that would linger in your memories long after the night had passed.