#but this afternoon the memories and the feelings are slapping | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

blindmagdalena · 7 months ago

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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 )

#heavy breathing #icb i actually did it #tysm to everyone who let me scream and cry at them about this fic as i wrestled nonstop with it #homelander x you #homelander x reader #x reader #homelander fanfiction #yandere x reader #my writing

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skyahri · 7 months ago

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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."

#sukuna x reader #jjk x reader #jjk #jujutsu sukuna #jujutsu kaisen #sukuna fluff #sukuna ryomen #ryomen sukuna #jjk headcanons #jjk hcs

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graphedpaper · 4 months ago

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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.

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1d1195 · 3 months ago

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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. :)

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#harry styles writing #harry styles fluff #harry styles blurb #harry styles blurbs #harry styles smut #harry styles angst #harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #one direction #one direction writing #harry styles #most #best friend!harry #second chance romance!harry

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its-freaking-jordan · 1 year ago

Note

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?”

#kny #demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #rengoku x reader #obanai x reader #uzui x reader #Shinbou x reader #mitsuri x reader #sanemi x reader #giyuu x reader #muichiro x reader #gyomei x reader #demon slayer x you #demon slayer fluff #kny x reader #kny fluff #anime #anime fluff

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faretheeoscar · 7 months ago

Text

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.

Jake is sitting down in the living room and he calls for you.

“Come here mi amor, I wanna talk to you for a second”

You frroze in place, your gaze turns towards him, he's looking with dark eyes at you, not stopping eye contact for a second and when you see him rolling 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….

So you walk towards him and you can already feel the tingling sensation between your legs when he’s 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 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 would 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 this in that very low husky voice that makes you already 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 you really don’t have a fucking idea why he has you there, why is he even looking at you like that, you just feel helpless when you try to stay steady on his lap just thinking that he’s probably gonna make you tremble in no time.

He tuts disappointed when you don’t know why he has you there and why he is going to punish you, so he reaches up for a 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 punished you for even having it, the memories of him edging you for hours with that damn vibrator and making you squirt without even touching you himself are enough for you to already start almost staining his pants with the wetness 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 last time…” (No buts, my love)

You feel everything inside of you shaking while looking at him, his pupils are all darkened and the hint of a little small smile appears on the corner of his lips.

“Get up and bend down for me, en cuatro, here on the couch, NOW”

Your already shaking legs make you look clumsy when you stumbled 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 already expecting a huge spanking session, as it was the way Jake always started to give you "a lesson", his lessons ending on markings of his red palms on the tender flesh of your ass.

Jake made his way behind you, he pulled down painfully slowly your night shorts, enough for your already wet dripping cunt to feel the cold air of the living room; you closed your eyes in anticipation of the first slap 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 was with 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 noticed you were looking at him, you tried to obey but you couldn’t simply take your eyes off of him there was a lump in your throat, you were waiting and squirming around with need. Seeing how his eyelids closed in concentration as he worked on himself and tried to suppress moans as he circled his tip with his thumb was in your honest opinion a pure display of art happening in front of your eyes. (Turn around, don't look)

When you saw him open 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 without a warning inside you.

“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 nonstop without even warming 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 groping 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, as 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 when 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 and slapped 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 as 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...

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serverusslaype · 1 year ago

Text

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 🖤

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cevansbrat0007 · 1 year ago

Text

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

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monstrouslyobsessed · 5 days ago

Text

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

#my writing #monster's writing. 👹#gn reader #tetrophilia #exophilia #reader insert #long post #unedited #yandere #yandere imagine #yandere imagines #sfw #concept #gargoyle #gargoyle x you #you x gargoyle #gargoyle x reader #reader x gargoyle #implied isolation

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misshoneyimhome · 3 months ago

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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.

#my asks #queued post #inexperienced!reader x Willy #wn88 imagine #thirst night #18+ smut #william nylander smut #william nylander imagine #toronto maple leafs imagine #nhl fanfiction #nhl hockey smut

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tillyysaturn · 5 months ago

Text

Cold

Your stuck inside on a snowy day at Hogwarts when your boyfriend Mattheo gets an idea. Warnings: Non! Just pure fluff and slight swearing. Reader may or may not fall through some ice ;)

It was a cold day. It had been snowing as soon as you opened your curtains in the morning. It was now the afternoon and after a first year had been hit so hard with a snowball that it ended in a trip to the infirmary, everyone had been under strict instructions not to go outside. So you were practically trapped in the Slytherin common room, sat by the fire as you watched the snow fall softly outside the window. You sent Theo a quick glare.

“What?! Y/n I didn’t know the bloody snowball was majority ice!” Theo raised his voice, he had been dealing with snarky remarks from practically everyone in school since he was the one who threw the snowball at the first year.

“It was pretty funny though, the kid went straight down like a sack of potatoes.” Mattheo said, sniggering at the memory. The pair of them had been having a snow fight outside, purposely aiming for unknowing first years while you had been having a nap, planning on joining them until you were told you were no longer allowed outside.

“You should have woken me up.” You snapped at Mattheo who raised his arms in defence, “But you looked so cute and peaceful sleeping.” He said, reaching his hand out for your hair but you hit it away before he could. He pouted at this but you only scowled back at him. Mattheo’s eyes suddenly lit up, something clicking in his mind.

“I mean, who says we have to follow the rules?” He says, smirking slightly. You knew exactly what he was thinking, “But won’t Dumbledore have put some sort of spell around the castle?” Theo said, taking a hit from his cigarette and not really paying much attention to what Mattheo was saying. Your eyes lit up. Mattheo was at times not the best boyfriend but there was one thing he loved more than anything. Something he would do almost anything to see. Your smile. So when he saw the smile tugging at the corners of your lips, he knew what he was going to do.

“Quick, go put some warm clothes on.” Mattheo said, you didn’t have to be told twice, jumping up and practically running to your dorm.

“Your whipped man.” Theo said, scoffing but Mattheo didn’t let his friends snarky comment bring him down.

“Just because you have a better relationship with your cigarettes than any girls.” Mattheo said, earning another glare from Theo who refused to move from his chair, “Now get up. We’re going outside.” Mattheo said, he was determined to get everyone together so you could have a good time. “We? No dude. This is between you and Y/n. It’s fucking freezing out there.” Theo said, Mattheo swiftly made his way over to him and grabbed his cigarette from his hand, putting it out on the closest ashtray. Theo sighed in defeat, standing up finally.

“I’ll get Draco and Blaise.” Theo said, defeated as he headed towards his dorm room.

———

Once everyone was outside, you shivered slightly. It was really, really cold. It had been an effort sneaking past the teachers that were guarding the exists of the castle but it wasn’t anything you haven’t don’t before. You were now stood beside the black lake that had frozen over, admiring its beauty. Until your head was forcefully hit to the side. The cold, icy snow came in contact with your cheek like a slap across your face. You gasped, hearing Draco laugh obnoxiously at your reaction. You didn’t hesitate to pick up your own snowball and launch it in his direction, Mattheo also had the same idea and you both erupted in laughter when both your snowballs hit him in the face, getting in his perfectly gelled hair.

You all immediately erupted in laughter and yells and snowballs were being thrown from all directions. You could feel your hands going numb but you didn’t care, throwing snowballs at whoever was close enough. You must have hit Mattheo because you felt him tackle you down into the thick snow that covered the ground.

“You hit me, I thought we had a truce.” He said as you yelled and squirmed in his grip but to no success. You began laughing uncontrollably as he began to shove snow down the back of your hood. In return you picked up as much snow as you could and shoved it in his face. He froze for a moment and in his shock you shoved yourself away from him. It was only when you slid backwards that you realised you were now on the black lake. You looked down, you could see how deep the water was. Your heat rate quickened at the thought that you might fall through. Once Mattheo had picked himself back up off the floor, he immediately saw the panic in your eyes as you had somehow made your way quite far across the lake in your attempt to get away from him.

You immediately tried to stand and walk back to him but you lost your footing and fell. The sound of ice cracking beneath you sending shivers through yours and Mattheo’s spines. You looked down again, now surrounded by cracking ice. That was when you noticed just how thin the layer of ice was. The sound of screaming had now died down as the others became aware of your current situation.

“Y/N!” Pansy yelled as she tried to run over to you but was held back by Lorenzo, “Don’t, we can’t have both of you falling.” Lorenzo told her as everyone yelled at you to try crawl back. You were about ten feet away from everyone and as you tried to move, you only heard more cracking from the ice. You froze.

“Don’t move. I’m coming to get you.” Mattheo said, about to step onto the ice but Theo tried to stop him. Bad idea. “You’ll fall too.” He said but Mattheo wasn’t in the mood for listening to him right now, “I don’t give a shit.” He said, stepping cautiously onto the ice. It didn’t crack. Another step. It didn’t crack. Everyone held their breaths at the scene, cursing themselves for not bringing their wands. Another step. The ice cracked, not around Mattheo but you. You looked down just in time to see the ice fall from beneath you. You screamed and then all you could feel was cold. It encompassed you immediately, sending you into instant panic as you hurriedly kicked your feet and arms in an attempt to get back to the surface. You could hear yells from above the ice.

Mattheo didn’t know what he was doing in that moment he just ran. He didn’t care that he was on thin ice. Didn’t care that he was risking his life. It all happed so fast, he reached the water just as you began to drift further under the ice. He grabbed your hand just in time, pulling you back to the surface and onto the ice. He didn’t give himself time to think and he picked you up, getting you off the ice in seconds. Nobody had the chance to process what had just happened until you were back in front of them, coughing up water as Mattheo fell back into the snow, catching his breath. Pansy was crying as she hugged you, thankful that you were back. The boys didn’t show it but they all breathed a sigh of relief that they didn’t know they were holding back.

“Fuck.” Theo mumbled as you finally pulled yourself together. “I’m freezing.” You say, shivering profusely as you wrapped your arms around yourself.

———

Once you snuck back into the castle which was also a task as you were leaving water wherever you went, Mattheo hurried you back into your dorm. He picked you out your fluffiest pair of pyjamas and laid them on your bed for you.

You wasted no time in having probably the hottest shower of your life and exited the bathroom to be greeted with Mattheo laying on your bed. You half expected him to have left by now but he was still here, waiting for you to finish your shower.

“Get here.” He said bluntly, opening his arms for you. You did as he asked and he pulled you into the tightest hug of your life, you almost couldn’t breathe.

“Never scare me like that again.” He said into your fluffy pyjama top as he threatened to never let go of you again. “Thank you.” You said softly, you didn’t know where you would be without Mattheo right now, literally. You would probably six feet under ice at the bottom of the black lake.

He pulled away from you, holding either side of your head as he held eye contact. You couldn’t help the smile that began to spread across your face as you looked at him. It was big smile, a genuine smile. And Mattheo loved it.

#mattheo riddle #harry potter #hogwarts fanfiction #theodore nott #slytherin #slytherin boys #benjamin wadsworth #fluff #drabble #fanfic #x reader #imagine

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princessbrunette · 1 year ago

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thinking about modern!anakin and spanking…….

i think it’s something that would develop overtime naturally? anakin is a handsy guy, even going as far to say his love language is physical affection. he’s always been groping and grabbing at you any chance he gets, and not even in a sexual way all of the time — sliding his hands up your tank top in the morning, hugging you from behind as you make breakfast, cupping your tits to keep his hands warm, the spongey flesh giving his palms somewhere to comfortably rest. or, giving your ass a little tap as you pass him in your apartment, a little silent greeting. it was something you were used to.

so it was no surprise to you when he’d slap your ass a little harder as you stand between his legs, the man sitting on the couch grabbing at your behind because you’d stepped into the living room wearing tiny booty shorts. hot and heavy tension laces the air when he smacks the skin a little harder and you wince, hands bracing his shoulders falling forward slightly, letting out a whiny noise that sounds dangerously similar to the ones you make when he fucks you.

“sorry baby. turn around though, i wanna see the hand print.” he smiles cheekily, and you bite your lip when he soothes his hand over the spot — cunt throbbing just a little.

the memory stays with you for a while, but you’re too shy to ask for it again. and plus, what’s the point in being spanked as a reward? you observed anakin, watched the way he casually dominated his day to day life, dominated and corrected your behaviour with ease — you wanted to transfer that to your bedroom life.

it didn’t take him long to catch on, not when you’d started acting like a complete brat to capture his attention. he was used to this, you’d usually get like this when you wanted something from him — but usually, it was because you were stressed, and just needed to get the attitude fucked out of you so you could feel your emotions properly, anakin set into the routine of using that gentle voice on you and coaxing you onto his lap to take his fingers or his dick or whatever it was you needed that day to feel better. this however, was different.

you craved punishment, correction, reinforcement— and that’s what you’d get. you planted the seed from the start of your afternoon, standing close to him in public and pushing his hand up the back of your skirt to feel your bare ass, no panties. he’d kissed his teeth, shaking his head — but smiled regardless. smiling won’t get you spanked.

so you keep pushing, starting with giving him attitude, refusing his requests, acting like a slut. though you could tell your behaviour was starting to grate on him a little, he holds it in — leading you back through the apartment door guiding you with a hand on your shoulder, voice still patient and calm because he knows what you need. sorry, he thinks he knows what you need. when he calls you to him, sitting down on the couch and starting to remove his rings, placing them one by one on the coffee table — you stop him in his tracks.

“no ani, i was bad. don’t treat me so nice.” he can tell this isn’t a comment of self deprecation but instead a shy request from the way you look down and toe at the carpet.

things change from that moment on. with a quick conversation on rules, he’s got you bent over his lap in no time— coarse palm stroking over the plush skin.

“i’m gonna hurt you so good, sweet girl. can i get you to count for me?”

#anon #modern!anakin #modern!anakin smut #modern!anakin drabble #modern!anakin prompt #anakin skywalker au

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here2bbtstrash · 2 years ago

Text

look down on me like that - 10 (explicit)

genre: slow burn enemies to lovers hatefucking coworkers au, smut, angst

pairing: yoongi x reader

summary: your asshole coworker min yoongi has made it his personal mission to ruin your life.

word count: 13.1k

contains: there are some serious mental health moments and topics discussed in this chapter (and not all of them handled well 😵‍💫) - this includes mentions of anxiety and su1c1dal ideation, reader experiencing a panic attack, and there's just like.... quite a lot of self-loathing, emotional constipation, and horrible choices being made all around. would also maybe say some hints at gaslighting if you squint. please take care of yourselves for this one 💜 and yes..... no smut warnings for this one 😬 sorry 😬

A/N: besties...... hold my hand and trust the process, mkay?

an eternal thank you to @haliiimede and @monimonimoon for betaing and for doing extra hand holding on this one because 😵‍💫 omg it's a lot and it was a lot to write lmao

read on AO3!

chapter nine | masterlist

~*~

The headache hits before you even open your eyes, like an ice pick driven straight through your skull.

You roll over with a soft groan of despair, burying your face between the pillows, reaching one arm out as far you can, as if in search of something. Your splayed fingertips only find the down comforter; it’s cool to the touch.

With the kind of deep inhale that can only be conjured by an early wake-up with a terrible hangover, you blink your eyes open, immediately squinting at the harsh morning light.

The bed is empty on the other side. You sit up slowly, shivering a little. The room feels unsteady around you.

You press your face into your hands, trying to wake up enough to think through your headache. Last night… Last night. It feels like a dream you’ll soon lose the details of. The Grammys, the afterparty, K-town. It doesn’t feel real.

Yoongi said he loves you.

Your stomach churns.

So where the fuck is he?

The sound of a drawer opening makes your head snap up, and you quickly kick the bedsheets off, trying to ignore the way the world tilts as you get to your feet and pad out into the living room.

Yoongi is kneeling beside his open suitcase, folding up the clothes he wore earlier in the weekend and carefully placing them inside. He reaches for his toiletries bag, zipped up on the couch next to him, and sets it atop the last stack of clothing.

“What are you doing?” you murmur, rubbing sleep from the corners of your eyes. The words slide together, almost gibberish. You think you might still be drunk.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Yoongi mutters, taking a final once-over of the contents of his suitcase before zipping it shut. He gets to his feet, then stoops down to turn it upright and extend the handle. “I’ve got a car to the airport about to pull up downstairs.”

“I— what?” You shake your head, confused. You’re barely alive, let alone packed or ready to go. “It’s so early. Our flight’s not til this afternoon.”

He’s already crossing the room, grabbing his laptop off the desk to slide into his shoulder bag, then reaching for his watch. “I had a change of plans.”

“You what?” You don’t understand how you’re so far behind on this, especially given that you’re the one who’s supposed to have the schedule committed to memory.

Yoongi sighs as he turns to face you, still fiddling with his watch, clearly exasperated. It's only now that he’s held still long enough for you to realize he’s wearing his glasses. “I’m going to Tokyo for a few days to work with some talent. There’s a whole thread in your inbox about it. Feel free to read it at your leisure.”

The dry tone of his voice stings like a slap to the face, enough to make you recoil. You take an unsure step back. “Okay, when did this happen?”

He slow-blinks, and you can’t help feeling like you’ve somehow gone back in time, like you’re standing in front of him on your first day of work. Like he’s your enemy all over again.

“I’ve been up for a while,” Yoongi answers flatly. “Any more questions?”

Your back teeth stick together, tense. The room is too bright, Yoongi’s voice too loud, all of this happening too fast.

“Uh,” you start, less than eloquent. “Can we— talk?” Yoongi stares at you pointedly until you feel forced to continue. “About last night?”

“Let’s see.” He pretends to mull it over, and dread creeps up your spine.

“I lost at the Grammys, almost got in a fight, drank my body weight in alcohol. The last thing I remember is… barking.” You’d smile at the memory, but your lips are pulled too tight at the sour taste of his words. “I assume you dragged my drunk ass back here and I passed out, then I stumbled out of bed around four this morning and promptly became very well acquainted with the bathroom floor. Did I miss anything?”

The question punches an ache behind your ribs.

“Don’t fuck with me, Min Yoongi.” Your voice comes out weaker than you would’ve liked, but it’s getting hard to breathe.

“What else?” he asks, still going faster than you can keep up with. “I was an asshole? Gave you embarrassing intel you’ll be using as blackmail when we go back to work? I didn’t barf on your shoes, did I?”

Why is he asking you?

You bring a hand to your temple, trying to rub out your splitting headache so you can process his words. “Are you… telling me you don’t remember?”

There’s a flash of something in Yoongi’s eyes, and though he drops his gaze, he doesn’t quite manage to hide the way his face twists. “If I said anything, let’s just say I didn’t mean it.”

No. No, no, no. Your world goes spinning. He can’t do this.

There’s a lump in your throat, so thick you can scarcely breathe. You try to swallow around it. “Yoongi, what the fuck is happening right now?”

You swear you can see it in his eyes, the wall going back up. It’s infuriating: he’s right fucking there, yet suddenly somehow unreachable. Impenetrable.

“I am going to Tokyo,” he says simply. “You are… doing whatever you want.” You stare at him, overwhelmed and so fucking confused. He stares right back. “I can still upgrade your seat to first class. If that’s what you’re worried about.”

Some final thread snaps inside you, and your delayed anger finally kicks in. “You think that’s what I care about right now? I’m not your fucking charity case.”

He outright rolls his eyes. “Jesus. Forget I asked.”

As if to signal that the conversation is over, he slings his bag across his shoulder and heads for the door, suitcase in tow.

“Yoongi.” You hate the way your voice shakes when you say his name. He turns back to face you in the threshold, his expression unreadable.

You don’t know how to say it. You can’t say it.

“So what, then?” you try instead. “I’m just supposed to… forget it?”

That you said you love me? That I might have been ready to say it back?

His mouth pulls into a flat line, and for a moment, he doesn’t say anything at all. Each second of silence that passes feels like another twist of the knife lodged in your heart.

“Guess so.”

And just like that, the door is slamming shut behind him.

In your head, you chase after him. Yank open the hotel door, sprint down the hallway, call his name loud enough to stop him. You tell him everything that’s been building up inside of you, let all the ugly truths out for him to see, said aloud for the first time, undeniably real. He drops his bag in the hallway, grabs you, kisses you breathless. He stays.

But you can’t make yourself move. Can’t bear the thought of unzipping yourself right up the middle, standing in front of him with every last wall torn down, defenseless and asking for the worst hurt you can imagine. Life has taught you better than that.

Your knees hit the hotel carpet as the tears start to fall. In your head you might be brave, but here in the real world, you’re scared. Too scared to do anything but watch him leave.

~*~

“I’m so fucking confused, Mochi.”

You’re curled up on the couch in your living room with your face pressed into Jimin’s shoulder and his arms wrapped tight around you. Delirious from a thirteen hour flight and the time change, your suitcase still lying in the hallway by the front door where you dropped it. True to his word, your best friend showed up within the hour, a bottle of rosé and a pint of ice cream in tow.

There’s no room left to keep lying, to pretend you don’t care about Yoongi, that it doesn’t mean anything. Not when it hurts this bad, bad enough that it feels like you can’t fucking breathe. At least the tears have finally stopped, now that you’ve soaked a wet spot into the collar of Jimin’s sweatshirt.

To his credit, Jimin seems to find no joy in your meltdown, and you’re grateful for it. The last thing you need on top of all the pain is him gloating about being right. You both know he is, always has been. The things you spent so long trying to deny seem obvious now, in the harsh light of day, at the bottom of this emotional hangover.

Funny how that works.

When you pull away with a sniff, Jimin sighs a little and gently untangles himself from you to get to his feet. You bring a hand up to swipe at some of the wetness still stuck to your cheeks, then reach for the bottle of wine while he slips into the kitchen.

“How did you know I’d need this?” you ask as you twist open the screw top. Your throat is rubbed raw from exhaustion, and from so much fucking crying. “You had that little faith in shit working out?”

Jimin returns with two wine glasses and two spoons just as you ask the question, and he pauses in the threshold. The unsure look on his face makes your stomach twist. Your best friend never looks at you like that.

“I have to tell you something, babygirl.”

You can feel your chest starting to tighten again as he sinks back down onto the cushion next to you, gingerly taking the bottle from your hands to pour a little in each glass. It’s like he’s biding his time, trying to delay some sort of inevitable reality.

“Please just say it.” Your voice comes out in a thick whisper.

He thuds the bottle back onto the coffee table with another soft sigh. “I’m leaving Seoul.”

The words sweep over you like a tidal wave, heavy enough you drag you under to drown. “You’re… leaving?”

“Not forever,” Jimin says quickly, but the look on his face as he takes a sip from his glass is telling. “You remember the group I did the concert with?” His gaze flits over to catch your nod, and he continues.

“They booked a whole international tour. Asia, Europe, North and South America. It didn’t look like they were going to scout any new dancers, but then someone got injured last-minute and they personally called me to ask if I could cover. And it’s so short-notice but…”

There’s a fire in his eyes when he looks up at you again, all determined passion. “I just feel like this could be the opportunity I’ve been working so hard for. And Wonho has been so supportive and understanding about it. He helped talk me through it, reminded me how much I want this. So I said yes. And I’m going.”

You’re quiet for a moment, and you can only nod, trying to wrap your mind around it all. “For how long?”

He grimaces. “Six months, at least? Could be more if they decide to extend it.”

A fresh tear slides down your cheek before you can stop it. “Fuck, okay. Wow. When do you go?”

Jimin downs the rest of his wine, then finally answers. “I’ll be honest, the timing is bad. I really thought you’d be coming home with good news, so it would soften the blow a little.”

“Mochi,” you press him, more tears already threatening your waterline. You can feel your heart on the precipice of shattering into a million pieces— you just need him to fucking say it.

“Tonight’s my last night,” he admits.

There is a voice in your head that knows how you should respond. You should be enthusiastically happy for Jimin, and proud of him, and you are; you know deep down that you are. And you should be reacting to this unquestionably good news the way a best friend would: excited, screaming, hugging him, pouring another glass so you can toast to his success, telling him how great he’ll be.

But you’re sunk so deep in your own pain, you can’t help feeling… betrayed. Abandoned by your best friend, just when you need him most.

You set your wine glass down and press your face into your palms, trying to breathe, trying to stop the ache of a suppressed sob that squeezes tight in your throat.

“It’s not forever,” Jimin reiterates, and you know he’s trying to be kind, but you whip your head to look at him, suddenly aggravated. You can only imagine what he must see staring back at him: your glassy eyes gone red from crying, inset with deep shadows from exhaustion, tear tracks staining your cheeks.

“A little more notice would’ve been nice,” you respond as you pick your drink up again. The words come out harsh, jagged at the edges.

Jimin’s brows raise in clear surprise. “I’m sorry?”

The sweet wine goes bitter on your tongue, and you swallow it with a grimace. “I just think it’s interesting that you had all this fucking time to talk to your boyfriend about it, but not two seconds for the person who is supposedly your best friend.”

You can see a muscle tighten in his jaw. “Are you fucking serious right now?”

“Are you?”

“Do I really have to remind you what happened the last time we actually spent an evening together?” Jimin asks, and the razor-sharp tone to his voice already tells you that you’ve made a huge mistake, that you should’ve just choked all your bitter feelings down with your drink.

“Because in case you need help putting the pieces together, I believe you left me, alone, at some shitty dive that you specifically begged to go to. And maybe it hasn’t fucking occurred to you yet, but I was actually planning to ask what you thought that night, whether or not I should take the opportunity. Because I love my boyfriend, but you’re right, he’s not my best friend of a fucking decade. You are.”

Fuck. The weight of his words hits you like a truck. You drain the rest of your wine as he continues, relentless.

“And yet that was the night my best friend of a decade decided to ditch me to go hook up with a man she has consistently called an asshole since day one, and it made me wonder if maybe, just maybe, I deserved a little bit more in life. So I went home and told Wonho I wanted to take the job, and he supported me wholeheartedly. Even cooked me dinner to fucking celebrate. And now here we are.”

Jimin spreads his hands in front of him, palms up, as if to set the stage. “You are somehow shocked that the asshole you got yourself involved with turned around and acted… like an asshole. And I am off to go live the dreams that I have worked so hard for so long to finally achieve. Because as it turns out, we are a product of our own fucking choices. So tell me this, bestie: when are you going to take some fucking responsibility for yours?”

It’s only as you move to set your empty glass down that you realize your hands are shaking. It takes a concentrated effort to complete the motion, especially considering the way your eyes have started to blur with tears. You can feel deep, overwhelming shame stretching up from the pit of your stomach, like a black hole that threatens to suck you in entirely.

The sudden warmth of Jimin’s touch makes you flinch, and then you realize his hands are closing over yours, squeezing tight.

“Look at me,” he says hoarsely, and tears spill down your face as you do. You don’t know if you can take any more of his brutal honesty, but you figure you deserve it, so you brace yourself.

“I fucking love you,” Jimin says. The words are so unexpected and voiced in a tone so fierce that a sob wracks your chest before you can hold it back. He squeezes your hands tighter, and you try to return it. “You’re not just my best friend, you know that, right? You are my family. That will never, ever change. You could fucking kill someone, and I’d show up with bleach, two shovels, and a plan, okay?”

You laugh a little despite yourself, and you can feel Jimin’s thumbs brush gently over the backs of your hands. His voice is softer when he speaks again.

“I know shit has been really, really hard for you. For the last few years, and especially lately. But if I’m honest, it’s like you move through the world as if everything is just… happening to you, through no fault of your own. It makes it so fucking hard to root for you sometimes.”

You do your best to breathe through the sting of his words, and you nod, because you know he’s right.

“And that’s all I want to do,” Jimin stresses with another squeeze of your hands in his. “I want to be your personal fucking cheerleader, always, and not just because my ass would look great in the skirt. I know you are more than capable of getting your shit together, but it’s not going to happen if you don’t start taking some accountability for your own actions. And to be crystal clear, I am not a bad person for not wanting to sideline my own life while I wait for you to figure yours out.”

“You’re not,” you agree with a sniff and a small smile. “And I’m sorry for trying to make it about me.” You shake your head as you blink back a few more tears. “You deserve everything, Mochi, seriously. I don’t think there’s another person on the planet who would’ve put up with my shit for as long as you have.”

He rolls his eyes, despite the smile pulling up the corners of his mouth to match yours. “You make it sound like fucking charity work, come on. Have some self-respect! I don’t waste time on people who aren’t worth it.”

“I just thought you kept me around because I was the only person who could keep up with your drinking,” you admit, chasing the words with a giggle, and Jimin makes a face like you’re not wrong.

As if in response, he finally releases your hands, grabbing the wine bottle to top up your glasses.

“I really do wish I had better advice for you and your situation,” Jimin concludes on a heavy sigh as you both pick up your drinks. “But my already limited knowledge on Min Yoongi is also like fifteen years out of date, so all I can say is this: You got yourself into this mess, and I have full confidence that you can get yourself out. Even if it means cornering him and forcing him into a vulnerable conversation. It sounds like it will be great practice for both of you.”

You huff against the rim of your glass. “I have to figure out what the fuck to even say.”

“You will,” Jimin murmurs, his free hand alighting over yours for a final squeeze. “Just start with the truth.”

When your eyes find his again, you can feel your lower lip beginning to tremble. “God, I’m gonna miss you so fucking much.”

Clearly done with the dramatics, Jimin rolls his eyes. “I’m not dying, bitch! If anything it just means I’m going to text and call and FaceTime you more than I already do. Prepare to be sick of me.”

“I could never,” you tease, and he grabs a spoon off the coffee table, gently nudging it against your side.

“Come on, eat your sad girl ice cream before it melts.”

~*~

Even with Yoongi still in Tokyo, the thought of going back to the office and feigning normalcy feels impossible. You end up texting your boss to take a sick day, blaming it on the travel, and he responds quickly, telling you to rest up well and come in the day after.

But between the emotional overwhelm and the jet lag, sleep is hard to come by. You toss and turn, unable to doze off for more than a few minutes at a time, until you kick the blankets off in the early hours of the morning, sick of staring at the walls.

Your body moves as if on autopilot, and you pull your winter coat out of the closet to zip up over your sweats. You grab your phone and your house keys, then slip your feet into a pair of boots by the front door and step outside.

It’s cold, with the barest amount of dawn sun starting to bleed light and color across the horizon, but the fresh air feels good, like it’s easier to breathe in.

Hands shoved in your pockets, you make your way down the stairs to the entrance of your complex and begin to walk, aimless. You’re too fixated on everything whirling around in your mind to pay attention to where you’re headed, and it isn’t until you hear barking that you realize you’ve wandered your way to a neighborhood park down the street from your place, with a fenced-in area for owners to let their dogs run off leash.

It’s a nice place, even now in the dead of winter. You can’t help but wonder why you don’t come here more.

A voice snaps you out of your thoughts, and you blink slowly, your sleep-deprived brain taking several seconds to piece together why it sounds so familiar.

“Bam, Bam! Come here!”

A laugh of disbelief bubbles up in your chest as you take in the scene in front of you: it’s none other than your baby-faced coworker Jeon Jungkook, giggling high and sweet as a large brown Doberman jumps up on its hind legs to playfully tackle him. You recognize the dog as one he’s shown you pictures of, along with the two Italian greyhounds sprinting the length of the fenced-in area, clearly just as energetic as their owner, even at this ungodly hour.

You lean against the fence to watch them, and your heart sinks a little when the memory of your last conversation with Jungkook comes back. It occurs to you that this is probably what Jimin was talking about when he told you to start taking some accountability. But fuck, it’s certainly easier said than done.

You can see your breath in the cold air as you inhale deep and let it out again. Maybe you should just leave him alone, you determine. Turn around and walk home before he sees you.

But then, like the very thought is enough to trigger his awareness, Jungkook’s gaze flits up to meet yours. You wish his Baby Star Candy eyes weren’t so damn expressive— even several yards away, you can see a dozen different emotions flash over his face in the span of a few seconds.

Swallowing down the lump in your throat, you wave a hand in what you hope reads as a peaceful greeting. You’re surprised to see him begin to jog towards you, but even more surprised when someone else beats him to it.

“Can I help you?”

The person standing in front of you looks to be about Jungkook’s age, but immediately hits you with an aura so intimidating that you take a cautious step backwards. He has a black beanie pulled low over his dark hair, and his hands are shoved in the front pocket of his hoodie.

“Oh, sorry, I just, uh— Jungkook is… my coworker,” you offer dumbly, gesturing in Jungkook’s direction. Clearly thinking that they’re still playing, Bam keeps crossing in front of his owner, nearly tripping him up, and you can’t help smiling, watching him stop every few paces to redirect the dog.

“Yeah, I know who you are,” the guy in the hoodie retorts, and your gaze snaps back to him. “Don’t you think you’ve done enough damage?”

The question makes your jaw drop. “What?”

“I mean, seriously, what’s your plan here? Gonna lead him on some more and then tell him he’s not your boyfriend again?”

Your eyes threaten to pop out of your head just as Jungkook makes it over to the fence, Bam still nipping at his heels.

“Chan,” he quickly interjects, breathless. “It’s cool. Let me talk to her, okay?”

Chan eyes you up and down, disapproving, then takes a few steps back, his mouth pulled into an obvious scowl. “Yeah, alright. I’ll get the dogs.” You watch as he manages to divert Bam’s attention away with a well-timed ball throw.

Your mind still reeling from the interaction, you try to keep it together as Jungkook laughs, clearly slightly embarrassed. There’s an ache in your chest when you finally bring yourself to look him in the face.

“Sorry if he said anything to you,” he offers, looking back towards Chan, who is now entertaining all three of Jungkook’s dogs, plus a spaniel that must be his own. “Chan is a really good friend of mine, and he can be… protective.”

You huff a soft noise that comes out in a little cloud of steam. “It’s alright. I deserve it, honestly.”

“You don’t,” Jungkook says firmly, and you open your mouth to argue, but he speaks first. “Do you have a second? To talk?”

Uneasiness twists in the pit of your stomach. “I can talk,” you say, tentative. “But don’t let me interrupt. I think your friend already hates me enough.”

Jungkook shakes his head. “It’s cool. Chan and I always take the dogs for a run in the mornings. We’re just trying to get all their energy out, but we’re about to head back after this.” A smile spreads across your face before you can bite it back, and he quirks an eyebrow. “What?”

“You’re telling me you go on a run every morning before your six AM boxing class?”

A pink flush blooms in his cheeks that you can’t quite believe is from the cold. “Well, I guess I also have a lot of energy.”

“You’re superhuman,” you laugh, and Jungkook glances down as he smiles, like he’s suddenly gone shy. It’s enough to crack your heart right down the middle, and you can’t keep the words in any longer. “Jungkook, I am so fucking sorry. For what happened before.”

The smile drops off his face as he looks up again. “Don’t be. I was way out of line.”

You tear your gaze away from Jungkook, choosing instead to stare at the thin layer of frost beneath your boots as it all plays back in your head. As much as you wish you could just patch everything up and be friends again, you can’t ignore the truth of his feelings for you, and the way it complicates everything else.

But you can certainly relate to wanting to live in denial. To avoid an inconvenient truth.

“You were just trying to keep me from getting hurt,” you murmur. You wonder if he can tell that he was right, that it happened anyway.

“Yeah,” Jungkook admits, and you glance up to see him pause, considering. “But, you know,” he adds. “My own stuff was mixed in there too.”

“Yeah,” you echo, unsure of what else to say.

“I should’ve listened to you,” he continues with a sigh. “I should’ve been more honest. About how I was feeling. Am feeling. I don’t know.”

“It’s okay.” You do your best to shoot him a sympathetic look. “Trust me, I really do get it. And I shouldn’t have been so harsh. I was just– I’m in a really weird place right now. But it’s not an excuse.”

Jungkook nods slowly. “I appreciate that. It definitely… snapped me out of it.”

You can’t help grimacing. “I was a bitch, you can say it.”

“No, no!” he exclaims, but his mouth is already pulling into a smile. “I needed to hear it. Seriously.”

There’s a moment where neither of you speak, and you both gaze across the park, watching Chan as he does his best to tire the dogs out.

“Your sons are even cuter in person,” you finally say, and you hear Jungkook exhale a soft laugh.

“You can meet them if you want,” he offers.

You scrunch your nose up slightly as you turn back to him. “If your bodyguard will let me?”

He shrugs. “Nah, Chan’s fine.” You raise an eyebrow in disbelief, and he waves one hand dismissively, the other already working to fumble open the lock of the fence gate. “All bark and no bite.”

Your eyes roll back at the terrible joke, but you can’t help laughing, too. You really fucking missed this kid.

~*~

Not wanting to worsen your jet lag further, you force yourself to stay awake once you make it back to your apartment, determined to take the day to properly unpack from Los Angeles. The routine of putting your things away and dumping your clothes into the washer is enough to keep your hands busy, and your mind takes the opportunity to retrace back over everything that’s happened in the last few days. It’s all come at you so fast, you feel like you’ve barely had a second to breathe, let alone process everything.

Things with Jungkook feel okay again, but your heart weighs heavy with the understanding that your friendship won’t ever go back to the way it was before, not entirely. That dose of reality stings a little, but you know it’s for the best, for both of you.

The loss just makes you miss Jimin that much more, but you know he’s currently on a plane to Bangkok to go live his dreams: he’d texted you a picture of his airport fashion while you were at the park, and you’d sent back a father/son candid of Jungkook playing with Bam. You don’t think Jimin’s bark bark bark response had anything to do with the dog.

You’re grateful for the conversation you had with your best friend before he left, even though it was hard to hear. The thought of sorting this mess out on your own still fills you with dread, but you tell yourself that if Jimin believes you can do it, then maybe he’s right. He’s certainly been right about everything else.

And that thought just brings you right back to Yoongi. A heavy sigh washes over you when you carefully unpack the rented Grammys dress from your suitcase, and the memories of the weekend flood your mind in waves as you brush your hand down the velvet fabric.

For a split second you swore the two of you had figured it out, that there wasn’t just sex and hatred between you, but something more. But as soon as the idea had come into focus, that one sweet night where it all felt possible, you’d watched it slip right out of your fingers again, with Yoongi acting cold enough to make you question if maybe you’d made the whole thing up after all.

You can’t help wondering how the morning could’ve gone in another universe: one where he’d stayed a little longer, one where you’d been a little braver. If you could’ve maybe met in the middle, somehow.

He told you he loved you. The words repeat in your head, again and again, as you stare down at your borrowed dress. Drunk as you might have been, you know you didn’t imagine that part. You just wish you knew what you were supposed to do now.

With a thoughtful hum, you reach for the garment bag slung over your closet door, unzipping it so you can hang the dress back up inside. You guess this is what Jimin was talking about. A vulnerable conversation. At this point, it feels like the only thing you haven’t tried with Min Yoongi.

“No time like the present,” you murmur to yourself as you tug the zipper up.

~*~

Going back to the office the next day feels like jumping straight into the deep end. There’s plenty to get caught up on from the aftermath of the Grammys and the work days you missed while traveling. It takes you most of the day just to get through your inbox in the brief moments of downtime not spent running between conference rooms.

Your one beacon of hope is the reassurance that Yoongi is scheduled to be in Tokyo for the rest of the week. It gives you time to calm down, to focus on work undisturbed without anticipating him around every corner. You’ve got the weekend to plan out what you want to say, to prepare yourself to push past the fear and actually say it, all of it, out in the open.

The very thought makes your chest constrict, but you try to breathe through it. You’ve got time to figure it out, you tell yourself.

And then you glance up to see Min Yoongi pushing the glass office doors open, and you swear your heart stops beating.

“Yoongi.”

His name leaves your lips automatically while you attempt to try and process this as really happening. Your voice comes out soft, as if in fear that speaking too loud will make it all dissolve in front of you, or make him turn around and walk right back out again.

He doesn’t respond; his stride doesn’t even falter as he walks past your desk and rounds the corner, heading for his own office. Acting on sheer impulse, you get to your feet to follow after, catching up to him as he’s keying the code into his door lock.

“What are you doing back?” is all you can think to say. You can’t read any emotion on his face, save maybe exhaustion.

“The sessions went well,” he answers, not sounding particularly glad for it. “We finished ahead of schedule.”

“Oh,” you answer dumbly, and he pushes down the handle and steps into his lab. You catch the door before it swings shut again, taking a deep breath to steel yourself as you step inside. “Can we talk?”

With a grunt, Yoongi drops into his desk chair, tapping at his keyboard to wake his computer and log in. “Sure. I was going to ask you the same thing.”

His response surprises you enough that all you can manage is another, “Oh.” You cautiously close the distance between you until you’re standing beside his desk, your gaze sweeping over his unblinking profile. It strikes you that you haven’t actually planned out what you want to say to him. You thought you had more time.

“Uh, I guess you can go first, then.”

Yoongi’s eyes don’t move from his screen. “I think you were right. This was a bad idea.”

“I— what?” It takes you several seconds to piece together what he means. The night at the company happy hour, when he’d proposed that the two of you establish some kind of arrangement, you had said it was a bad idea. And then you’d followed him into the bathroom to say yes to it anyway.

But now he’s… changing his mind? Just like that?

“I think we should both just focus on work,” he says, as if it’s that easy. “And stop being so distracted.”

Distracted? Your gut twists. It’s suddenly hard to inhale, like all the air has been sucked out of the room. “So what, then?” you ask, hating that you can’t quite keep the emotion out of your voice. “It’s over? All of it?”

Yoongi’s gaze alights on you for a split second, then flits back to his screen. The realization makes you want to scream: he can’t even fucking look at you. His adam’s apple jumps in his throat as he swallows.

“Look,” he finally sighs. “Whatever it is you think I can give you, I promise you, I can’t.”

A flush of heat creeps up your neck. “What I think?!” you retort, still in disbelief. “You started this, Yoongi, all of this was your idea. And you’re the one who fucking said you l—” He winces as you cut yourself off, your throat constricting too tight to get the words out.

“I was drunk,” he murmurs, unconvincing.

You stare at him for a moment, stunned.

“You know what I think you were?” His gaze finds yours, and you spit the word at him. “Honest.” There’s a flicker of recognition in his face, and it spurs you on. “I think you told the truth for once in your life, without this weird ‘I don’t care about anything’ veneer, and it fucking terrified you.”

Yoongi shakes his head. His voice is soft when he speaks again, and a little uneven. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” you snap.

“Don’t act like you know me.”

You scoff, too angry to stop yourself, unable to bite back the urge to press him until he says something real. “You think I don’t? Really? I guess you just tell everyone you fuck about the time you almost jumped off a bridge?”

He flinches as he glances up at you again, and your heart drops like a lead weight at the look on his face. You immediately clap a hand to your mouth, as if in a too-late attempt to shove the words back in.

“Fuck, Yoongi,” you breathe. “I-I didn’t mean that, I’m just—”

All at once, he’s on his feet, moving towards you until you have no choice but to start walking backwards, in the direction of his office door.

“Here’s what I know.” Yoongi’s voice is firm and oddly calm as he speaks over your fumbled apologies. “I’m an asshole. I’m a workaholic. I’m way too hard on myself. I push people too far, and then I shut them all out. I’m never satisfied. I get bored easily.” He pauses for a moment. “And yes, sometimes I get so fucking sick of myself that I want to jump off a bridge. To put it bluntly, I am not somebody you want to be with. At all.”

Your breath hitches as your back finds purchase against the door, and Yoongi stops, still several paces apart from you. His dark eyes feel like they’re burning into you, glassy with emotion in a way you’ve only seen once before.

“We hooked up a few times,” he says, as if there’s no room for debate. “That’s all. It didn’t mean anything. And it’s over now.”

As his words crash into you, it occurs to you what this feeling is, itching like fire under your skin and squeezing tight at the muscles of your throat: you’re embarrassed.

It’s fucking embarrassing, standing here in an office you’ve been in dozens of times before, trying to beg a man you’re supposed to hate into a single honest conversation, into loving you when he already fucking said he did. Yoongi said he’s in love with you, and now he’s just… standing here, blinking at you like you’re somehow the unreasonable one for thinking that it meant anything at all.

“I guess you’re right,” you barely manage to choke out as your hand brushes over the door handle behind you. Your skin is flushed so hot that it feels cool against your palm. “You are a fucking asshole.”

You don’t wait around to see the look on his face at your remark. You just push the handle down and stumble out into the hallway.

When the Genius Lab door closes behind you, you slam back against it with enough force to knock the air out of your lungs. You press your palms to the wood grain and squeeze your eyes shut, trying to calm down, but that choked up feeling refuses to dissipate. The world feels like it’s closing in around you, white noise roaring so loudly in your ears you can scarcely think.

It takes you several seconds to realize that someone is speaking to you, and your eyes snap open again to find Jungkook standing in the hallway, his brow furrowed like he’s concerned. It’s hard to focus on him, like you can’t quite open your eyes wide enough. Black spots have started to dance in your vision, and you blink a few times, hoping to clear them out.

“Whoa, are you okay?”

You attempt to take in enough air to answer him, but all you can manage are shallow gasps: it’s like everything is stuck. You’re not even crying, you just can’t fucking breathe. The only response to his question that you can give is a slow shake of your head, and then your knees buckle.

Your brain must lose the ability to keep up with the pace of everything that’s happening, because suddenly you register that your palms are pressed flat to the office carpet. Jungkook is kneeling beside you, one hand smoothing circles against the back of your dress. You’re still heaving, trying to breathe, but your chest is squeezed so tight that it’s like it won’t take. You can feel your heartbeat behind your ribs, slamming so fast that it makes your whole body shake, and there’s a buzzing sensation in your fingertips, like TV static.

“Hey, hey.” You shut your eyes again and try to focus on Jungkook’s voice. “I think you’re having a panic attack.”

“I—” you gasp, but the words are stuck, too. I can’t breathe. I don’t know what’s happening. I think I’m dying.

“It’s okay,” he answers quickly, and you nod, as if it might force your mind to believe his words. “You’re okay. Just— I’m gonna breathe with you, okay?” You immediately shake your head, and Jungkook shifts a little closer. “I know it feels like you can’t right now. But look. We’re gonna go slow. In for four.”

I can’t fucking do this, you want to scream, but you dig your numb fingers into the carpet and try to follow his lead. You can hear him take a deep inhale through his nose, and you do your best to match it. One, two, three, four.

Jungkook’s voice comes back, stilted this time. “Hold it for seven.”

You nod, trying to focus on the feeling of the floor beneath you, his hand against your back. Your chest is spasming with a desperate need to keep hyperventilating, but you force the little air you’ve taken in to stay in your lungs, and you count. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven.

“And out for eight.” You can hear Jungkook push a stream of air out of his mouth, and you echo it, though your own airflow feels pathetic in comparison. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight.

“Can we do that again?” he asks gently, and after a moment, you nod.

You go through the process again and again, and each time it gets a little easier, until you’re finally able to pull yourself up to sit back on your heels. Your head is spinning, your heart still hammering in your chest, but you try to focus on Jungkook, seated cross-legged next to you like he has all the time in the world.

“I think—” you start, and you have to take another breath in before you can get the rest of the words out. A dull ache is beginning to bloom in your temples. Your throat feels like sandpaper. But at least you can breathe. “I think I’m okay now.”

“There’s no rush. Just give it a second,” he says with a nod, and you do, flexing your hands in your lap to try and bring some feeling back.

“Where did you learn to do that?” you ask softly, and the corner of his mouth pulls up into a half-smile.

“My therapist taught me. I used to have really bad panic attacks. Still do, sometimes.”

You blink at him, trying to process the information. It never occurred to you that Baby Star Candy would be the kind of person to have a therapist, or any kind of mental health issues at all. Not when he seems so… well-adjusted.

“Do you need anything?” he offers. “Water?”

You shake your head, not quite ready to be left alone. “I just need this day to be over so I don’t have to fucking be here anymore,” you sigh.

Jungkook makes a face, as if in thought, then shrugs. “How about I drive you home?”

Your eyes widen in surprise. “I— I’m the keyholder, JK. It’s literally my first day back, I can’t just leave.”

“Where’s the key?” he asks, pulling himself up to standing in one smooth motion. Your legs feel shaky beneath you, and you gladly accept the hand he extends for support as you slowly right yourself next to him.

“It’s, uh—” you have to think for a second before it comes back to you, your brain still a little scrambled. You’d taken it back from your cover earlier this morning, and now it’s… “In my purse. On my desk.”

With that, Jungkook heads down the hallway towards your desk, and you follow after, slightly unsteady in your high heels. He stands to the side when he gets there first, like he doesn’t want to just dig through your things, and you reach for your purse to fish the key out of the bottom.

“Can I borrow that?” Jungkook asks, extending his palm. You pause for a second, then nervously drop the key into his hand.

Before you can even ask any follow-up questions, he’s disappearing back down the hallway. Your gaze lingers over your desk as you let another cautious breath out, and it feels like you’re moving in slow motion when you grab your laptop and slide it into your purse.

It seems like less than a minute before Jungkook returns again, rapping his knuckles against your desk. “You’re off the hook for tonight.”

“Really?” you ask, incredulous. “What did you do?”

He just shrugs. “Talked to your boss. Told him you weren’t feeling well and wanted to leave early. He said he’d lock up. It’s not a big deal to ask for help sometimes, you know.”

You blink, attempting to keep up, your reaction time slowed enough that it’s like you’re on a five second delay. “Thanks, Jungkook. I guess your therapist taught you that too, huh?”

Jungkook nods without a trace of shame. “Sure did. Now let’s get out of here.”

Nothing about the world around you feels real as you follow Jungkook into the elevator and down to the parking garage. It’s like floating through some strange dream, everything fuzzy and far away. You slip wordlessly into his passenger seat, and it’s only as he pulls out onto the city streets that a creeping sense of dread starts to dot up your spine.

This scene is too familiar, and that thought alone makes your mouth go dry. When you try to swallow, you can feel your throat threatening to constrict again.

“Jungkook,” you manage to choke out, and his eyes flit from the road to your face and back again.

“Everything okay?”

The silence in the car is suddenly deafening. “Can we, uh— put on some music? Just, anything?”

Jungkook looks a little cautious, like he doesn’t want to do too much too fast. “Are you sure?”

You nod, your eyes fluttering closed as you try to remember his stupid breathing pattern. “Please. I… need a distraction.”

“Okay. Sure,” he answers quickly, and you let out a ragged sigh of relief when he leans over to press a button and the car fills with upbeat pop. It takes you a second to place it, and then you blink your eyes open again as a laugh of surprise rips through you.

“Hype Boy, really?”

“What? This is a great song!” Jungkook’s already tapping his thumbs on the steering wheel in time to the beat. “I just learned the dance, too.”

You tip your head back against the seat with another soft giggle. “Sounds like somebody’s about to go viral on TikTok again.”

The two of you settle into silence, and you let yourself be distracted by the music, your brain still cotton-fuzz numb. You’re grateful that Jungkook doesn’t force conversation or babble on the way he normally does, instead choosing to hum along in a way that’s oddly comforting. You count your breaths and watch the city pass by in a blur, until all at once the car is coming to a stop at your apartment complex. The building seems to loom over you as you blink up through the windshield, one hand fumbling for the car door.

Up those stairs is the safety of your apartment. But now that you’re here, it doesn’t feel so reassuring. It’s not like there’s anyone waiting for you on the other side of your front door. No best friend to come over. It occurs to you now that you’re not ready to be alone just yet, but that’s exactly what you’ll be the minute you step out of Jungkook’s car.

The words leave your mouth before you have time to reconsider. “JK, do you want to come up for a bit?”

“Oh.” Jungkook is wide-eyed and blinking when you glance at him, like he wasn’t expecting the invitation. “Uh, yeah. Okay. For a bit.”

It’s a little funny, stepping inside your front door with Jungkook following after, the two of you slipping your shoes off in the hallway, then padding further in. You never pictured this happening, not even when he came to pick you up for Jimin’s concert.

Jungkook cautiously perches on the edge of the couch, like he’s not quite sure what to do with himself, while you continue into the kitchen, calling back over your shoulder. “Do you want something to drink? Water, tea?”

There’s a shuffling sound, like Jungkook is peeling out of his jacket. “Just, uh. Whatever you’re having, I guess.”

“Wine, then,” you answer.

You make short work of cracking open a bottle of red, then grab two glasses before returning to the living room and dropping down on the cushion next to Jungkook. His jacket is slung over the arm of the couch now, leaving him in his usual business casual uniform, a button-down and slacks.

“What a fucking day,” you sigh as you pour Jungkook a glass of wine, then one for yourself. “Thank you again, for… you know. Reminding me how to breathe.”

Jungkook still seems a little nervous as he reaches for his drink. “Yeah, of course.” There’s a moment of silence as you both take a sip, and then he speaks first. “Can I ask—“ he interrupts himself, as if making a correction. “I mean, I don’t want to pry. I know it’s not my business. At all.”

“You want to know why I had a panic attack in the middle of the office?” you offer, and he nods.

“Outside of Yoongi’s lab,” Jungkook finishes quietly, and your heart briefly stalls out at the mere mention of his name.

“It’s a good question,” you murmur as you stare at the liquid swirling in your glass. Jimin’s words suddenly come back to you in a whole new light. Start with the truth.

You glance up at Jungkook again. “Yoongi and I were…” You trail off, unsure what to even call it. Involved? Hooking up? Enemies with benefits? Nothing feels right. “We were something.”

“But not anymore?” Jungkook’s response is immediate. You shake your head.

“No, I guess not.” There’s a dull ache in your chest, like pressing on a fresh bruise, and you try to breathe through it, your gaze flitting down to the hem of your dress. “When we were in LA, he said he loved me. And now he says it didn’t mean anything. That it’s over.”

“Wow,” Jungkook huffs, sounding dazed and a little pissed off. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah,” you sigh as you sink back against the couch cushion. “Me too.”

It all feels more real, now that you’ve said it out loud. Hurts just as fucking bad. Maybe worse. “And I’m sorry I lied to you. I should’ve just told you, but. I don’t know. I think I wanted to believe I had it all under control.” A sad laugh flutters out of your lungs. “Clearly, I do not.”

“It’s okay,” Jungkook says, and he pauses for a moment, placing his wine glass on the coffee table before he continues. “Were you— I mean, was it… the whole time?”

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth as you shrug. “Not the whole time, but. Most of it, I guess. It was like a weird slow burn thing.”

“Got it.”

When you glance over at Jungkook, there’s a distant look in his eyes, like he’s still processing everything. You suppose it’s probably a lot to hear all at once. It feels good to be honest with him after so much time spent keeping secrets. A heat starts to bloom in your face as you take another sip of wine, then set the glass down.

There must still be a lingering post-panic disconnect between your brain and your body, because all of a sudden you’re moving on sheer instinct, without giving it any thought at all. You drop back against the couch cushion again, then tilt yourself to the side until your head is pressed gently into Jungkook’s shoulder.

You wonder if you’re imagining the way he tenses slightly at the contact. You glance up at him through your lashes, but he’s not looking at you, and the expression on his face is hard to judge. There’s a faint scar on his cheek that you’ve never noticed before.

It could be so easy, you realize now. All he’d have to do is turn a little and close the distance. He could cup your jaw in his hand, tilt your chin up towards him, brush his lips against yours. Soft and sweet.

And maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. At least you wouldn’t be alone.

“It should have been you, Baby Goth,” you hear yourself say.

Silence weighs heavy in the air between you, and then Jungkook speaks.

“That’s not fair.”

It’s like the words snap you out of a trance. You jump back like you’ve just been burned, purposefully sliding over to put as much distance as you can between your bodies on the couch.

“I’m sorry,” you say reflexively, but Jungkook is still staring at the floor. His leg has begun to bounce, like a nervous tick.

“I don’t—” Jungkook starts, and then he pauses, taking a deep breath in before he begins the sentence again. “I don’t want… this. Not if… if it’s not real. Or just a rebound, or whatever.”

Shame rushes up in your chest, makes you hot all over. You can’t exactly say that he’s wrong, but the thought of a brief distraction from the pain was so promising. Now it’s only served to dig you in that much deeper.

“I’m sorry, Jungkook,” you repeat dumbly. You can feel your heartbeat hammering behind your ribs. “I shouldn’t have said that. I’m just… Fuck, I’m such a mess right now. I keep fucking everything up.”

His gaze finally drifts up to meet yours, and you’ve never seen him look more serious. “You know, Chan said something that stuck with me. When I told him about what happened. He said, ‘if she really wanted to be with you, she already would be.’”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, and you recoil at the impact. You try to blink away the impending tears as you slowly nod. “Chan’s right,” you whisper, and Jungkook’s mouth pulls into a sad, flat grimace.

“Yeah,” he answers, his voice gone raw. “I thought so too.”

All at once, he’s on his feet and tugging his jacket back on, and you can only sit motionless and watch him. You press a finger to your waterline, trying to catch the tears before they start to spill down your face.

“I’m sorry you had a hard day,” Jungkook says, reaching up to adjust his collar. “And I really do want to be your friend. But I think I just need a little time.” He tucks his hands into the pockets of his jacket, turning over his shoulder to look at you, then quickly averting his gaze again. “We both do.”

“Yeah,” you sniff. “I want to be friends too. But, yeah. You’re right.”

Jungkook keeps his head down as he heads for the entryway. He slips his feet into his shoes, then swings the door open, pausing in the threshold for a final glance back towards you.

“Get some sleep,” he murmurs. You nod. And then the door clicks shut behind him.

~*~

Despite your best attempts and the rest of the bottle of wine, sleep doesn’t come. You stare up at the black of your bedroom ceiling, and it feels like staring at the rubble of every bridge you’ve burned. All from your own choices. The things you said that you shouldn’t have, the things you didn’t do that you should have. All your mess, and all your fault.

You keep your eyes open, because closing them is worse. Closing them is when it all comes back, a looping film strip in your head of everything that’s haunted you, played out in technicolor on the backs of your eyelids.

Extending a mug of coffee to Yoongi on your first day. Stealing food off Jimin’s plate at dinner. Splitting red bean buns with Jungkook.

And then it speeds up.

A locked office door, a stolen set of keys. A four digit code and a smirk. Your fingers gripping the edge of Yoongi’s desk. Dancing close with a dark-haired stranger in a packed club. Yoongi’s hands slipping up your thighs, closing over your throat. The flashing lights and noise of a concert. A full glass of whiskey. Standing outside of a bar in the cold night air. Rain on a windshield. A maple pastry and a paper coffee cup. Seoul lit up at night, cut through by the river. A hotel bed. Yoongi’s hands on the zipper of your dress. Yoongi’s hands on piano keys. Yoongi’s mouth on yours in a conference room, in his shower, in a K-town noraebang. His face pressed into your shoulder on the cab ride home.

And you see yourself, too. Running away. Saying the wrong thing. Fucking everything up, irreparably. Over and over, the movie replays.

Tears slip across the bridge of your nose as you turn onto your side, cheek pressed to the pillow, and wait for morning.

~*~

“There she is!”

Your boss’ greeting rings loud in your ears, and you wince as you duck your head through his office door. He gestures for you to have a seat in the chair across from his desk, and you comply. You can see him taking you in as you sit down, and when his smile falters slightly, you know why: there weren’t enough ice rollers in the world to completely de-puff your face after a sleepless night spent crying yourself dry.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, a little more gently.

You fold your hands in your lap and take a deep breath, willing the words not to get stuck in your throat. You can feel the tension in the room, your knife’s edge poised at the final cord to cut.

“I want you to know that I’ve really enjoyed my time working here,” you begin, doing your best to keep your voice even, squeezing your laced fingers tight to give your mind something to focus on. “But for personal reasons, I think I need to tender my resignation.”

Your boss sits back in his chair, clearly stunned. It takes him a second to recover. “I— wow. Can’t say I saw this coming.” He leans forward again. “It wasn’t something that happened here, was it? Because if we need to report an issue to HR, you should know I take that kind of thing very seriously. I’d hate to see you leave over something we could take care of.”

Another breath in, another squeeze of your hands in your lap. “No, it wasn’t,” you say firmly. “It’s just me. My own stuff. I think… I think maybe I need to leave Seoul for a bit.”

He pauses, considering your words, and you consider them, too. It isn’t a thought you were ever cognizant of having until this moment, but it doesn’t feel like a lie, either. It makes sense. You’ve snapped every tie that once might have kept you tethered to this city. There doesn’t feel like much point in staying, or like there’s anything still here for you.

“Well, good for you,” your boss finally says, his tone serious. “For knowing your own limits. Gotta be a human first, right?” You offer him a half-smile and a nod, and he leans forward to grab a pen off his desk, fiddling absentmindedly with it. “Thinking of going anywhere in particular?”

You shake your head, your smile turning self-conscious. “Hadn’t gotten that far.”

“If I’m overstepping, just tell me to shut up,” he starts, and you can’t help breathing out a laugh. “But you got some rave reviews from the Los Angeles team. Seriously, you blew them away. They asked if it was possible to clone you. Apparently they’ve been looking for an admin for a while, but can’t seem to find anyone who can walk the walk.”

Your eyes go wide as you begin to put the pieces together, and your boss just keeps going.

“I mean, it’s probably a bigger move than what you were looking for. Unless you’re really trying to get away. But you’re such a great asset, I’d love to keep you in the family, if we can.”

He looks at you pointedly, and you swallow around the sudden lump in your throat. “You… can do that?”

Your boss shrugs. “We’d have to get you a visa, but that’s easy enough with a specialty occupation lined up. And we can cover the fees for premium processing so it doesn’t take half a year. But only if it’s something you’re genuinely interested in. If you’re just trying to cut and run, I get it. No hard feelings.”

Your head goes spinning. Los Angeles. It’s about as far away from your mess of a life as you could possibly get. It feels too good to be true, and you drop your gaze to the floor as a tidal wave of guilt surges over you.

You hadn’t planned on this admission, but all at once, the words are coming out of your mouth.

“I lied,” you say, your voice soft, your eyes fixed firmly on the carpet. There’s no way you can look your boss in the face as the truth spills out of you. “On my job application. I don’t have any experience as an administrative assistant. I made it all up, and my reference was fake. I was actually a waitress before this.”

You finally manage a glance up. Your boss’ eyebrows are nearly at his hairline, but he’s quiet.

“It just… doesn’t seem fair to send me off to the Los Angeles team. Not when I don’t even know what I’m doing,” you conclude with an embarrassed grimace.

“You really feel like you don’t?”

His question makes you blink. You don’t know what you were expecting, but it certainly wasn’t that. You’re not sure how to respond.

He drops the pen in his hands to press his palms flat to the surface of his desk, as if he means business. “Look, obviously I can’t condone what you did. But I’ll be honest, if anything, that just makes me all the more impressed with your performance. I thought you adjusted quickly even for someone with past experience. To know you were flying blind…” He huffs a laugh of disbelief. “I mean, that’s a fucking crazy thing to do. But you did do it. I’ve seen you working your ass off to keep this office together. And that’s the thing: you have. You’ve met every deadline, kept up with every deliverable. You’ve taken everything we’ve thrown at you and handled it.”

You pull your bottom lip into your mouth, willing it to stop trembling. Fuck, you’d really thought you were done crying.

Your boss shakes his head as he continues. “Maybe if you’d just started, I’d feel differently about this. But I gotta be honest. When I look at your performance the past few months… I don’t give a fuck what your last job was. Because in this job, you’re killing it. And I know you’d do the same in Los Angeles, if you made the decision to go. They want you out there because they’ve already seen what you can do. They know it, and I know it. And I hope that some part of you knows it, too.”

A single tear rolls down your cheek, and you quickly reach up to swipe it away. “Thank you,” you choke out, your voice thick as you try to keep it together. “I seriously can’t tell you how much it means to hear that right now.”

He doesn’t respond right away, like he’s waiting for you to say more, and you take a shaky breath in as the decision solidifies in your head. “I really enjoyed my time with the Los Angeles team. And I would love to transfer there, if they’ll have me.”

Your boss’ mouth pulls into a smug smirk. “Please,” he says dryly. “As soon as they get wind of this, they’re going to beg me to ship you overnight.” You laugh as you dab at your eyes with the edge of your sleeve, and his face softens slightly. “I can’t do overnight. But do you think you can hang on for just a couple more weeks?”

You chase your nod with a gentle sniff. “Yeah. I think I can do that.”

~*~

Time passes quicker than you would’ve expected, split mostly between preparing for your transfer at work and trying to pack your life up into cardboard boxes at home. Apart from those two things, the days feel aimless, and a little unreal. It’s like you’re living in a liminal space, halfway between your old life and the promise of a new one. Your boss offers to hang onto the office key of his own accord, to give you more time to get your things in order, and you gratefully accept the help.

It’s a weird change, no longer having to worry about being the first one at the office and the last one out. No meeting Jungkook at the doors each morning. No fighting with Yoongi to get him to leave at the end of the day. You see relatively little of either of them, save for the occasional meeting or brush of shoulders in the hallway. You’d think losing both of them in one go might be unbearable if you didn’t already have your eyes on the horizon.

Your boss announces your upcoming transfer in the next team meeting, though Yoongi is naturally nowhere to be found. Jungkook’s eyes go as wide as you’ve ever seen them at the news, but he still slips out of the conference room immediately after the meeting wraps, rather than hanging back to talk to you.

You try not to take it personally; you can’t exactly blame him.

Life goes on. Your boss swings by your desk to excitedly share the news that your visa was approved, and you set a final transition date. You sort out the travel, the logistics of shipping your stuff, and lock down a place to sublet in Los Angeles to get you started. It’s admittedly shocking how easy it is to take your old life apart, piece by piece. To draft your escape plan, to run away from it all one final time. To make a clean break.

It’s nearly the end of your last workday in Seoul before you’re able to put a name to the feeling that’s begun to blossom in the pit of your stomach: it’s hope.

“Hey.” Your boss’ voice cuts through your concentration, and you glance up from your laptop to see him leaned up against your desk. “Can you walk to the break room with me for a second? Got a few last-minute questions for you.”

Your eyes go wide, your mind instantly racing, trying to think of what it is you might have forgotten.

“You’re not in trouble,” he says with a laugh, and you nod as you get to your feet, not quite able to believe it. “Just, uh, follow me and put on a happy face. Alright?”

You have no idea what he could possibly mean until you round the corner and a cheer rises up. The rest of your coworkers are standing around the break room in groups, like they’ve been waiting for you, though that doesn’t seem to have stopped them from already partaking in the assortment of food and drinks that’s been set up beside the vending machines. There’s a farewell banner pinned to the wall, signed with well-wishes from what looks to be everyone at the Seoul office, and someone’s turned on a playlist that you realize upon closer listen exclusively features songs about California.

There’s even a cake.

For a moment, you can’t do anything except stand there in the threshold, dumbfounded, as your coworkers clap and laugh.

“I— wow,” is all you can think to say, and you shoot your boss an incredulous look. “Thank you.”

He makes a face. “Hey, I didn’t do this. Thank JK.” Your boss nods across the room. “That kid loves any excuse to throw a party.”

Your heart immediately sinks at the mention, at all this kindness shown to you by the person you’ve arguably treated the worst.

It takes a while to get to him, with nearly every person wanting to stop you for a chat, but you finally manage to make your way over to where Jungkook is loading up a paper plate with so much food that it’s threatening to cave in.

“Make sure you get something to eat before it’s all gone,” he says by way of greeting, gesturing to the catering dishes with an elbow so he can keep both hands on his plate. “It’s really good.”

“Jungkook,” you say softly, and his gaze alights on you for a second before returning back to his food. You don’t think you’re imagining that he looks somewhat nervous. “I really can’t thank you enough. You didn’t have to do any of this.”

He shrugs, taking a few steps over to a nearby table, and you cautiously trail after him. “I didn’t,” he admits as he sets his plate down, then scoots a chair out. “But you deserve a good send-off. It takes a lot of guts to do what you’re doing.”

You shift nervously where you stand. “It’s either that or cowardice. I’ll let you know when I figure out which.”

A small smile tugs at his lips as he digs into his food, and you suddenly feel like you’ve overstayed your welcome. But then he glances up again, speaking through a mouthful. “Well, whatever it is. I hope it works out for you.”

“Thanks, JK.” You do your best to return his smile. “I hope so, too.”

By the time you grab your own plate, you’ve been swept into another group to answer an endless litany of questions about your move. You tell yourself it’s probably for the best to leave Jungkook alone anyway, so you try to stand there and smile, to assure your nosier coworkers that nothing happened; you just needed a change of scenery.

Eventually the conversation shifts, and you find yourself on the outskirts of it, more than a little relieved to no longer be in the hot seat. You sip politely at your drink and nod along, not really paying attention to whatever’s being said, until a tap on your shoulder makes you start, and you turn around.

You nearly drop your cup when you find Min Yoongi staring back at you.

Your eyes had scanned the crowd for his face when you got here, like they do in every room you walk into, but he wasn’t here. He wasn’t, you’re sure of it, and you honestly hadn’t expected him to show at all. Why would he?

But now here he is, standing in front of you, his dark eyes searching yours. And you have no idea what to say to him.

You might be face-to-face in a crowded break room, but he still feels unreachable, like he’s a thousand miles away from you. It occurs to you that after today he’ll be much, much further.

Your lips part, but you can’t get the words out. You don’t even know where to begin. But then he speaks first.

“I just want you to be happy,” he murmurs, and as he says it, his hand brushes yours for less than a second. It’s a touch so brief, so imperceptible, that anyone else would think it was an accident. But you know better.

Yoongi pauses, as if to take one final look at you, and then he slips between two groups of your chatting coworkers, and you lose sight of him again. As if he was never there at all. It’s like you can feel your heart drop to your feet and shatter against the linoleum floor.

It hurts just as much as it did before— watching him walk away, not having the guts to stop him. Even if you did, you know you’d find a way to fuck it up, the way you always do. So you say nothing. Do nothing. The party turns to white noise in your ears as you stare down at the liquid in your cheap plastic cup. And then it hits you all at once: you need to get out of here.

You’re able to slip out of the break room unnoticed, dropping your drink in a trashcan on the way out. You move down the hallway on unsteady legs, and you don’t stop until your hands are pressed flat to the bathroom door to push it open. Shouldering into a stall, you can barely fumble the lock closed behind you before the tears start to spill over.

You don’t try to hold them in. You just slump against the door and let it all pour out of you. You cry until your throat goes thick, until a muted thud blooms at the back of your skull, until you find yourself distantly wondering if you’ll ever stop crying. You’re so fucking sick of crying.

Occasional groups of coworkers drift into the bathroom, and you stifle your sounds each time to avoid detection, your cheek pressed to the stall door as you wait to hear them trickle out again. The interruptions get further and further apart until there’s a long stretch of silence, and your hands shake slightly as you slip the lock open to make your way out to the sink.

The face looking back at you in the mirror is not a pretty sight, all puffy and tear-stained, your makeup a disaster. You reach for a paper towel to try and clean yourself up, and then the bathroom door creaks open a few inches, just enough for Jungkook to stick his head through the gap.

You can’t help smiling a little at his unexpected presence, though it’s more of a grimace, considering you know full well how awful you look right now. “Hey, JK.”

He blinks, eyes widening as he takes in your current state. “I know I’m not supposed to be in here, but… are you okay?”

The laugh you manage is all self-pity. “Kind of a loaded question.”

Jungkook nudges the door open with his foot, and you realize his hands are preoccupied with two paper plates. “Everyone’s gone; I was just cleaning up,” he explains. “I brought cake.”

“Thanks,” you say softly, watching his reflection in the bathroom mirror as he steps inside.

After a moment of internal debate, you turn to press your back to the sink, flattening your palms against the counter and hopping up to sit on it. Jungkook sets the plates between you before following suit, his long legs dangling over the edge of the marble surface. He reaches into his shirt pocket to retrieve two plastic forks, performing the motion with just enough flourish to make you really laugh as he hands you one with a shy smile.

The two of you take your first bites in silence, save for your own sniffling.

“This cake is really good,” you murmur as you chew.

A longer pause settles between you, and you find yourself relieved for the quiet. You figure Jungkook doesn’t need to ask the obvious question, that he’s perfectly capable of putting the pieces together as to what might’ve led you to lock yourself in the bathroom and cry all your makeup off. And any words of comfort he could’ve once offered would only make you feel like even more of a monster right now.

Jungkook has already finished his slice of cake by the time he speaks again. “Did you… hate the party?”

“No, JK,” you respond immediately, the corner of your mouth pulling up in a sad half-smile. “It was wonderful.” Guilt gnaws at the edges of your conscience, and you can’t help but question what you ever did to be worthy of this friendship. Of Jungkook’s kindness, given freely, even when you didn’t deserve it. “Seriously, thank you. For everything.”

“You’re welcome,” he answers. You look down just in time to see him extend a leg so he can gently tap his foot against yours. His voice is quieter when it comes back. “I’m really gonna miss you.”

“I’m gonna miss you too,” you echo, glancing up at him as you return his foot tap with one of your own. “But you’ll be alright.”

Jungkook’s gaze drifts down to the floor, and he nods as you take another bite of cake, his jaw set firm. “Yeah. I will be.”

~*~

As you pack up the last of your things, there’s a lingering feeling in your gut that you can’t quite manage to shake, and you’re not sure why. Maybe Jimin got in your head with all the TV show drama talk. Or maybe it’s your stupid heart, foolishly holding out hope that things could still change, even at the eleventh hour. That it all can’t just… end like this.

But none of the scenarios you’ve dreamed up come true. Yoongi isn’t standing at your apartment door when you swing it open with your suitcase in hand. He doesn’t step out of the cab that pulls up to your complex to take you to the airport. He doesn’t run through the terminal to catch you right before you make it to security.

Yoongi doesn’t stop you. So you go.

chapter nine | masterlist

#yoongi smut #yoongi angst #yoongi x reader #bts fanfic #bts x reader #look down on me like that

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