#everyones gone and i have to watch them scroll past me and post here while i get isolated by everything :')))

[angellurgy2]

im just gonna be a lonely unlovable excluded kid desperate for attention for the rest of my life until i die at this point huh

[withacapitalp]

@lazylittledragon did more Mombin (check it out here it's great) which I think means I might be contractually obliged to write more fic that is inspired by it. Like wowza I am obsessed with this concept

Tw: vomiting/morning sickness, reddit, discussions of cancer

Robin was dying. 

That was the only explanation. 

Dying. 

And the worst part was, she was dying of something that was both incredibly funny, and incredibly sad, and she had been so desperate for answers that she had gone to a place no mortal should ever dare to go to. 

Reddit. 

Posted by u/familyvideobrokeme

I (24F) think that I might have breast cancer, and I have no idea how to tell my (25M) best friend.

So my best friend “Sam” and I have been attached at the hip for as long as I can remember. He’s not just a friend to me, he’s my person (and before you get any ideas- I’m a lesbian, so no, not happening.) we tell each other everything, even the super gross stuff neither of us wants to hear- like seriously he’s asked me to check his ass to see if he managed to pop the pimple he found there before- so I’ve never been in this position before…

But I think I’m dying of breast cancer, and I have no clue how to start this conversation. 

It just came on really suddenly??? Like last month I was fine, and this month my boobs just hurt in this really weird way I’ve never experienced before? Like I’m sore and tingly and my bras don’t fit?! Boobs are kind of a joke between us though, so I feel like if I just blurt it out then he will start saying ‘boobie cancer’ over and over at me and we will just end up laughing and he’ll think I’m kidding. 

Sam is also my roommate? I don’t know if that matters here? I also haven’t gone to a doctor yet, but there isn’t anything else this can be, right? Nothing else just magically makes your boobs hurt and get big?

Robin had made the post at three am the night before while crying and eating Ben and Jerry’s, and she had forced herself to not look at replies all night, even going as far as to shut her phone off entirely.

But now it was the next day, and she had steadfastly ignored the notifications from Reddit all the way through Saturday Brunch and Bitch. 

She couldn’t ignore them anymore. 

“You’re good if I work a little?” Robin asked, pulling her laptop close to her and carefully angling it so Steve couldn’t see the screen. 

“As you wish,” Steve muttered, completely absorbed with whatever dog video he was watching. 

“Dingus,” She whispered affectionately, an odd mixture of love and guilt crashing in her chest as she opened the website and logged into her account. She had over a thousand notifications now, and the comments were still rolling in as she opened her post and scrolled down. 

Endofthebeginningoftheend

OP are you sure you’re not in love with Sam

Grapenuts Dude she said she’s a lesbian

View 564 more replies

Robin rolled her eyes. She had expected that, but she didn’t expect it to be the top comment. She quickly scrolled past. 

Cheercaptainfromhell

OP I would definitely go to a doctor before anything else! 

SmeddieSmunson Seriously how has she gotten this far without going to a doctor??

The answer was easy. Robin was terrified of doctors. Why go to a doctor when Steve had EMT training? 

Because in this instance she couldn’t ask Steve for help. 

Robin kept scrolling. 

Frenchiefreis

You might be pregnant honestly…I would take a test first

Headphilosopher She’s a lesbian so I doubt it, but pregnancy can also cause those symptoms-

Robin snorted to herself, side eyeing Steve to make sure he didn’t look up when she did. 

Did everyone just ignore the part where she said she was a lesbian? 

…was Robin ignoring the part where being a lesbian didn’t mean fuck all when it came to her chances of getting pregnant?

Yes she was ignoring it because it was once just once and they had barely even gotten to do anything at all and-

Robin scrolled again, growing more and more desperate

Rummingbird

That doesn’t really sound like breast cancer to me My mom had similar things happen when she was pregnant though-

Another scroll. Another flutter of her heart. 

No. It wasn’t that. She was dying. Dying was bad but the idea that she was…that she could be…

HyllyBRd

OP have you considered that you might be pregnant? I know that you’re a lesbian, but if you’ve had penetrative sex in the last month then you might want to consider-

“Are you going to be good for me?” 

Robin gasped as the memory hit her, closing the reddit tab with a slam of her finger on the mouse pad, her entire body starting to softly shake as she panic opened a google tab.

Boobs hurt????

Not exactly the most scientific way of phrasing that question, but Robin needed an answer that didn’t involve nine long months of what the fuck. Luckily there was a read more question that got right to the heart of the issue. 

What kind of breast pain indicates pregnancy? 

It was going to say something completely different to what she had, and Robin was going to laugh, and then she would turn to Steve and let him know she was dying of boobie cancer. 

It wasn’t going to be the same. 

It wasn’t. 

Robin looked at the screen. 

Fuller. Sorer. Tingly pain that felt unlike anything else. Aka exactly what she had. 

Robin’s fingers moved on autopilot, asking another question of Google

How late should my period be before I worry?

Worrying about what? She knew about what, but she couldn’t bring herself to type it, she couldn't even think of that word yet.

Google said after a week of missing your period it was time to see a doctor. Robin’s period was over three weeks late. 

And a month ago-

A month ago…

“Fuck you’re so tight,” The woman above her whispered. Robin whimpered, unable to help herself as the stretch-

“I need to use the bathroom.” She blurted out, slamming her laptop shut and practically throwing it off of her, stomach twisting into knots. 

“I’ll tell you what I tell my students Bobbin,” Steve said, barely looking up and completely unaware of her meltdown, “You don’t need to ask me for permission to go take care of your bodily functions,”

“Oh, shut up,” Robin replied, laughing breathlessly. It was such a stupid joke, such a meaningless stupid joke. But it was safe, and it was familiar, and if the sneaking suspicion creeping down Robin’s spine was true, then nothing would be safe and familiar again for a very long time. 

She stood up, stopping to press a kiss to the top of Steve’s head as she walked by, just because that was familiar too and she needed it. Steve hummed, leaning over to bonk his head against her tummy as she passed him.

A bonk on the tummy that may or may not be-

Nope. It was a no. It was definitely a no. There was no possible way. 

Robin was going to be sick. 

She basically flew the last few steps to the bathroom, managing to lock it tight before she threw up in the sink. It was disgusting, and messy, and she pushed the tap on before kneeling down at the porcelain throne and continuing to hurl. 

I need Steve.

It wasn’t even really a thought. She couldn’t think while throwing her guts up, that was an experience that required every bit of her attention and mind power. 

No, not a thought, just an instinctual message from the universe, a pull from somewhere deep inside her that felt like more than just a truth. 

Because Robin didn’t need Steve because she was throwing up. Or because she thought she might have boob cancer. 

Robin needed Steve because she knew she was pregnant. 

“Fuck me,” She groaned, leaning back from the toilet only to lean forward once more as the rest of brunch came back up. 

[holocene-sims]

next // previous

september 1, 2021 6:15 p.m. basil's restaurant

ten minutes ago

[ktmurphy86] i might be a few minutes late, but i'm almost there.

grant scrolls through the metric ton of messages piling up in his notifications until he reaches the very end, and with a lump in his throat, opens it to respond. or like it. or send a thumbs up like a cool cucumber.

baby steps, he tells himself. one task at a time. the responses to all the messages from family, friends, and former co-workers inquiring about his exam results will come later.

just meet your sister first and–

“you seem different.”

he nearly jumps out of his skin as kelly’s high-pitched voice supersedes his thoughts.

“hopefully in a good way,” grant replies, looking up as he slides his phone off the table and into his back pocket.

it’s been nearly a decade since their last encounter, and he’d still recognize her from a mile away.

kelly’s hair is dyed platinum blonde like always, but now it’s twice as long, and her natural brunette locks–peeking through at the root–are streaked through with shocks of silver. her ice blue eyes are just as piercing, only underlined with tiny wrinkles. she’s still thin, too, but rather rail thin; her sweater dress seems to wear her more than she wears it.

“yes, in a good way.” kelly pulls out the chair opposite him and sits down with her arms wrapped across her waist. the candle between them casts a strange yellow glow over her wiry features. “you look better, much healthier.”

“uh, thank you. you look great as well.”

she half-smiles. “it’s just hair dye and botox. i look old. i didn’t inherit the ageless ó súilleabháin genes, so i'm going grey very early like all the callahans. by the way, you weren’t waiting long, were you?”

“oh, no, no, not at all. i have my car, but i didn’t want to deal with traffic, so i took the subway, but then that also kind of took a while. i pretty much just got here.”

“okay, good.” kelly pauses for a moment, her lips pursed. “well. i thought about what i'd say to you the whole ride over here, and now it’s all gone.”

for a moment, they exchange no other words. they drown in the silence, staring into each other’s eyes and into the past.

she’s surprisingly warm, all things considered. the last time they’d been in the same room–

grant is distracted again from his thoughts, watching as a strange sadness falls across her face. she reaches up at the collar of her dress and tug at it like it’s choking her, and her eyes then drift away to stare at an indistinct point on the table between them.

“it’s weird to see you again,” she admits suddenly, her gaze still fixated far away from him, “i didn’t think you’d message me back a few months ago.”

“to be honest, i didn’t mean to. i replied by accident one night and then just decided to follow through with talking to you. and now i'm here. yeah. um, anyway, why’d you reach out to me?”

“i was on facebook a couple months ago, and one of those ‘look at what you posted this day years ago’ things came up. it was a picture aunt bridget tagged us all in. it was the whole family at one of your high school hockey games, i think your freshman year state championship game.” kelly shrugs. “i didn’t even know any of those pictures were still there. that was a real surprise, given i unfriended and blocked everyone i'm related to on there when i left home after high school.”

grant nods. “a picture of me probably very sweaty and gross with helmet hair made you want to reach out to me?”

“not quite. my kids were with me at the time. we were in an airport coming back from vacation, so they were bored and nosy. ‘is that you? who are all these people?’ i was then immediately caught in my lie; i'd been telling them their whole lives i had no family left, and their only extended family was their dad’s parents.”

“yikes. i'm sure that was awkward.”

“it was,” kelly says plainly, “my oldest kids weren’t happy with the news. they’ve been, um, a little jealous of their friends for having lots of cousins and big family events for the holidays, and it didn’t go over well when they figured out they do have a big family. besides, they rightfully did see it as a betrayal of their trust. if mom lied once, what else might mom be lying about? the tooth fairy? santa claus? the easter bunny? yes, those, too. sorry. also, if you didn’t already guess based on my new last name, i married jack, and…”

“i figured you married him. you’d already been together a really long time even when i last saw you. we all grew up together, and you guys were middle school and high school sweethearts and all.”

“he’s a good guy. as i was about to say, though, jack is very partial to you. he always liked you. he thought you were a sweet kid, and he won’t let me forget what happened between us. so, after the facebook incident, he encouraged me to contact you, if only for the kids’ sake. after living in a huge family, i don’t think it’s all that fantastic, but he has a bit of a chip on his shoulder being an only child, and he doesn’t want the kids to have no one besides his parents in their lives. don’t get me wrong; i will never ever get involved in callahan or ó súilleabháin bullshit again, but i will consider reconnecting with you and letting you meet the kids.”

grant bites into his lip as that nagging anxious lump returns to his throat. “well, why me? why bother getting involved with any of us again after everything? even if it is for your kids, what's your motivation?"

kelly outright ignores his question. “tell me what you’ve been up to for the last, what, eight years? nine years? i don’t remember how long it’s been. you're at least talking to our dad, i hear.”

"how do you know that?"

"my in-laws may not know anything else about you these days, but they've seen you with him around our hometown."

[theinvisiblecapricorn]

Surprise, surprise.

Author's note: This is my first ever written one shot. The inspiration popped into my head during my shower. Please let me know what you think. Enjoy

Fluffy one shot.

Part 1.

// Introduction //

A little info about Y/N and Vinnie.

So, you guys met during the first Covid lockdown.

You weren’t really seeing anyone of your friends during this time because you didn’t feel like taking any risks. So the only way for you to interact with anyone, was via social media. Before lockdown you also kind of give up on the idea of finding a lover because the last time you gave it a shot it didn’t work out.

You remember one of your best friends told you ‘’ Once you start focusing on yourself, it’ll come to you. ‘’ Well, what better way to focus on yourself other than during quarantine?

That’s when Vinnie came into the picture.

After many failed attempts of having a normal conversation with serval people, the last thing Vinnie expected was to meet someone like you. A lot of the time people tried to take advantage of the fact that he was famous. They would post his personal info on social media and share their conversations for clout. Just like you, Vinnie was kind of over the idea of meeting someone who would like him for his personality instead of his name.

You guys instantly clicked. It felt like talking to someone you’ve known your entire life. There wasn’t a thing you couldn’t share with another. But because the two of you lived in different time zones you couldn’t talk as much as you’d like, but you made it manageable. There was only one problem; traveling was not an option due to Covid, so the two of you had never seen each other in real life.

Until now…

// End of introduction //

Alex (Warren) set up his camera to make a video.

He clicked on record and looked into the camera.

‘’ So as you guys know, Vinnie and Y/N met online in the beginning of Covid, but they’ve never officially seen each other in real life. Now that traveling is allowed again and Vinnie hasn’t been feeling himself lately, I thought it was a good idea to surprise him. I bought y/n a plan ticket so she can come over and hopefully cheer Vinnie up. And I will document the entire journey. ‘’

// Vinnie’s POV //

It’s noon. I lay on my bed, scrolling on my phone through TikTok. I haven’t heard from Y/N all day. Normally she would call me before going to bed herself, but she never did. I tried texting her but no reply.

Y/NNNN????

Yo bro, you there???

I miss your voiceeee

Please don’t be asleep already 

Pick up!!!!!! Or else I’m coming for you.

God, I wish I could just fly to wherever she was at and kiss her entire face. Because, yes, I am indeed in love with her, and she feels the same way about me. I just never thought I could recognize so much of myself in someone else. She’s the most kind, beautiful and loving person I know, and I can’t wait to hold her in my arms one day and never let go.

I’m starting to daydream about a life with y/n without the long distance, because it truly sucks. Then I hear a knock on the door and before I know it Alex comes rushing in with his camera in his hand.

( Vinnie & Alex )

‘’ Vinnie, say hello to everyone! ‘’

‘’ Hello everyone. Alex what do you want? ‘’

‘’ Why are you assuming I want something from you? ‘’

‘’ Because you only enter my room if you either have one of your crazy ideas to share or if you want me to get involved in something I probably shouldn’t get involved into. ‘’

‘’ Pfft, not true. My ideas aren’t crazy, they’re brilliant in their own way. ‘’

Alex grins at me. Suspiciously.

‘’ Anyways that’s not the point Vincent, I actually came in to see if you would join me to get some groceries because the only thing left are rise waffles and I’m starving. ‘’

Alex is blinking his eyes with the same grin he has had on from the moment he came into my room.

He’s not going to leave until I agree on coming. So before I know it, we’re on our way to the grocery store.

// Y/N’s POV //

I received a text from Alex a few weeks ago. He told me about his idea to surprise Vinnie. I couldn’t be more excited. Ever since Vinnie and I started talking I have pushed many of my personal boundaries. In a positive way. Vinnie has helped me regain trust in others and has showed me that love is real. I have lost my faith in love due to my previous experiences. That’s why the connection that I have with Vinnie is so important to me.

I have arrived at the airport as I turn on my phone. My phone starts to receive all the missed text messages and calls from Vinnie. I smile as I read through them.

‘’ Oh Vin, if only you knew ‘’ I think to myself.

I hear someone yelling my name behind me. As I turn around, I see Nailea running towards me.

Nailea is a close friend of Vinnie so of course she was the first to know about Vinnie’s contact with me. She’s been super kind to me, and I consider her as the sister I never had.

Nailea hugs me once she has approached me.

( Y/N & Nailea )

‘’ OH MY GOD. Girl, I am so happy that you’re finally hereeeee!!! ’’

I laugh as I see people around looking at us.

‘’ I am also very happy to be here. To finally meet everyone. For real. ‘’

‘’ Yea, now tell me, does my nose look bigger on the screen than in real life? ‘’

‘’ Hahaha, no Nai. You look fantastic on the screen and even better in real life. ‘’

Nailea and I take my stuff and walk out of the airport.

Once settled in the car, I receive a text from Alex:

We’re almost at the store. He hasn’t got a clue. See you there.

This is all a part of Alex his big plan. First, I will act like a regular costumer shopping at the same store as Vinnie and Alex. Then once they get back, Alex will distract Vinnie just a little longer, so he won’t notice me walking past the car right away. Brilliant.

// Vinnie’s POV //

Alex and I walk into the store.

‘’ Alright, what do we need? ‘’

‘’ Anything but rise waffles. ‘’

I shake my head, laughing, as I walk to the lemonade aisle.

Alex is taking out his camera and starts filming me from a far.

I start singing Paparazzi by Lady Gaga as I act like I'm hiding from him.

‘’ Oh, you should also take a few cans of coke. ‘’ Alex suggests.

As I walk towards the aisle with cans of lemonade, I notice a girl standing in front of it. Her hair instantly reminds me of Y/N. The exact same length, color and texture. Call me a simp, but I just pay a lot of attention to the girl I love. I slowly approach the girl before Alex attacks be by throwing a teddy bear on my head.

‘’ Hey, watch it! ‘’ I fix my hair.

‘’ Sorry man, I just know how much you like teddy bears. ‘’ Alex’s laughing out loud as he zooms in to my face.

I laugh, as I start to think back to the day Alex thought it would be funny to buy a giant teddy bear and have Patrick in it to scare me.

Just then, I notice the girl was gone. I didn’t see her anywhere else again.

After collecting all the stuff, we needed, we went home.

Once we arrived home, Alex stopped me before I opened my car door.

‘’ Let’s just sit here for a bit and talk about some stuff. ‘’ I stare at Alex with a confused look on my face.

‘’ Yea, because the viewers want to know, how are things going between you and Y/N? ‘’

I scratch the back of my neck and start feeling the heat take over my cheeks.

‘’ I mean, it’s hard sometimes. She’s one of the most important people in my life, yet I haven’t even met her in person. But I just know that once I do, that everything will naturally fall into it’s place. ‘’

Alex pouts as he listens to all the sweet things I have to say.

‘’ You really like her, don’t you? ‘’

‘’ I mean, yea I do. I really do. ‘’

‘’ Alright, so imagine her standing in front of you right now, what would you do? ‘’

I look at my hands as I start to imagine a situation like that.

‘’ Uh… If she was standing in front of me right now.. I would.. ‘’ My eyes scan a figure walking past the car and I couldn’t believe my eyes.

// Y/N’s POV //

Shit, I almost got caught. The plan was to go into the store, just to admire Vinnie from a far. I didn’t plan to stand in the exact aisle, where he needed to get something from. Luckily, Alex had a plan to distract Vinnie while I fled to the exit. Phew, that was close.

Alex texted me, saying they were on their way home. That’s when it hit me, I am going to be able to see, touch and kiss Vinnie for the first time ever. Nailea noticed my anxiety kicking in and she told me everything would be just fine.

It didn’t take long before Alex’s car pulled up on the driveway. Alex and Vinnie stayed in the car for a bit. My phone started buzzing as I read the notification: ‘’ Now!’’ That was my cue.

As nervous as one can be, I walked past the car with the person who’s the other half of my heart in it. I didn’t dare to look in his direction.

// Vinnie’s POV //

I couldn’t believe my eyes. This isn’t real right? Was I dreaming? I mean, I didn’t get a lot of sleep last night because I was worried sick due to Y/N not responding to me anymore.

I rub my eyes as I watch in the direction of the person again and there’s no way it couldn’t be her.

Then she turns her face into my direction and my heart starts pounding. There she is, the love of my life, the only person who can make my day just by popping up in my notifications, Y/N.

As I try to open my door, I hear Alex locking it.

‘’ Let me out! ‘’ I look at Alex as I try to unlock the door, but unable because he keeps his hand infront of the lock.

‘’ You haven’t answered my question yet. ‘’ Alex smirks at me, but I do not find it funny at all.

‘’ Please, let me out and I’ll show you what I would do if she were to stand in front of me ‘’

And with, I heard the door unlock. I jumped out of the car and ran as fast as I could to the person who I longed for the most.

Click here for part two;

[jadequeen88]

Smart Girls Make Fast Learners

NSFW 18+ ONLY. MINORS WILL BE BLOCKED!

My contribution to the BNHarem’s monthly collab. The theme was SEx work. ⛓This piece is a first real deep dive into darker themes and was actually really, really exciting to write. 🖤 A massive thanks to my dear friend @libiraki​ for beta reading this.

TW: yandere behavior, toxic relationship, degradation, non-con, dub-con, degradation/praise kinks, mind break, oral (M and F receiving), over stim, loss of virginity, mentions of physical violence.

DISCLAIMER: I do not condone this type of relationship. This is a work of fiction and if this happens IRL please get out of the relationship!

There is a very specific type of dread that occurs when you discover that the person you built your world around has been lying to you. Tamaki Amajiki was experiencing this brand of betrayal for the first time in his twenty-one years on a rainy Tuesday in October in the dim lighting of your dorm room. His grip tightened around the open laptop as he stared at glimpses of flesh in the thumbnails of the many, many videos posted to the site. Previous live streams with thousands of views. He gulped down the bile in his throat as he scrolled through the videos. His shock and disgust morphed into a pure rage as he counted up the live streams that you’d had since first kissing him. 12. There had been twelve. Three times a week for the past four weeks. 

Those big doe eyes that looked into his eyes as you tentatively licked the tip of his cock for the first time… mere hours later they were rolling in the back of your head as you got off for strangers on the internet. He couldn’t take it. You were his first… everything… he knew that you hadn’t been innocent in your past. The way your tongue expertly wound around his when you first kissed him amongst your plush pillows and goose-down comforter reminded him of the fact. The low violet LED lighting of your bedroom made him feel like the two of you were in your own ethereal world. He could forgive you for not waiting for him as he’d waited for you. 

For the past four years, he kept to the shadows. He was there when the football player from freshman year cheated on you with one of your terrible friends (and when it happened the second, third, fourth time). He was there to binge your favorite shows with you (“*insert current guy you were fucking* just doesn’t get it, he’s not into it. I’m so glad I’ve got you to watch it with!”) He bit back the heartache that would wash over him when you’d pet him and coo over him… you didn’t see him as a man. He wanted to bend you over and prove he could fuck your brains out. He KNOWS he’d be perfect for you. But he never rejected the attention. He smiled and accepted whatever crumbs fell from your table. Whether it be helping you study or letting you complain about your shitty friends or your shitty jock boyfriends or your shitty parents… He gave and gave and gave… until that one day, 35 days ago to be exact, a shift in the tide occurred.

 ⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸

“So why don’t you have a girlfriend, Tama-kun?”

“Wh-wha?”

Tamaki dropped the pencil he’d been using and before he could bend to get it himself, your hand was on his thigh and he was putty in your grasp. You giggled and cooed over him like you always did, but this time you did it while assaulting his mouth and neck with your skilled tongue. This time, for the first time, you made Tamaki feel like a man. Like YOUR man.

⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸

Over the next few weeks, Tamaki had become quite skilled in pleasing a woman. It only took a little guidance to have him sucking at your clit with just the right amount of pressure. He learned on his own how to couple that with his long, delicate fingers twisting and pumping in and out of your slick hole. You’d cling to his silky hair, pulling him closer as a constant stream of praise tumbled from your lips:

“No one has ever made me feel this good.”

“Your fingers are perfect Tama-kun”.

“I love your mouth on me so much, baby.”

The first time you came on his face, Tamaki knew there was a god because he’d found heaven between your thighs.

But that was gone now… ripped away with one mouse click on the night he was going to finally give you his virginity. He had held on to it like it was a treasure. A treasure he’d present to you one day wrapped up in life-long devotion and worship... But Tamaki wasn’t in heaven anymore. He wasn’t going to worship you tonight. For the first time since laying eyes on you, Tamaki wanted to hurt you.

⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸

You turned the shower off and dried yourself. Wiping the condensation from the mirror, you couldn’t help but smile at your reflection. You felt like this was going to be the first time giving your body to someone. Tonight was a redo. You were wiping the slate clean. Your first time would no longer be underneath the football captain in the passenger seat of his truck, left feeling sore and unsatisfied. It was going to be with the guy you should have noticed long ago. It would be soft and slow… passionate and filled with sweet words and caresses… limbs tangled in soft sheets that smell like lavender and vanilla. 

You applied your lotion and moisturized your face. The red lace adorning your body was arranged perfectly, accentuating the soft swell of your hips and chest. With one last glance in the mirror and adjustment of your bra, you opened the door to the cool air of your dorm room…

...And saw Tamaki looking murderous. 

His eyes slowly left the screen to meet your gaze. His tear-stained face had never looked this harsh. His normally sweet eyes were narrowed and red from crying. The sweet lips you’d licked and sucked with such tenderness were hard and cold as they pulled upward in a grimace.

The only thing he said before rising from the bed and setting aside your laptop was your camgirl username. Then he was on you before you could draw a breath to explain.

⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸

Tamaki always thought he liked you best on top of him showering him with kisses and threading your fingers through his hair, but he had to admit… having your arms tied to a bed frame with the silky sash of your bathrobe cutting into your skin was doing things to him. When you sniffled, face stained with tears and snot, his dick twitched in his boxers. The whines you were choking back behind the silky red panties stuffed down your throat sent chills up his spine. You had to learn the hard way not to spit them out after a harsh slap echoed against your skin when you fought back the first time.

Tamaki stood back to survey the mess of skin, spit, and tears for a moment. You were a blank canvas for him to mark up with his rage and lust. You tried to hide away your bare pussy by clenching your thighs together. It only spurred him on.

“Do you have any clue what you’ve done?” he hovered over you, sleek muscles rippling over your own soft body, “I waited, and waited, and WAITED,” he bit down on the side of your exposed neck and you screamed behind the silky gag, trying your best not to expel it from your mouth and receive more punishment.

“I want to give you everything, Y/N,” he licks over the bite, almost apologetically, “I don’t want to hurt you. I didn’t want it to happen like this… FUCK, why?! Why did you ruin this?” his long fingers dug into your cheeks as he forced you to meet his fiery gaze. You couldn’t help whimpering and sniffling back more clear runny snot. You were so humiliated at how disheveled and disgusting you must look. His head ducked into the soft spot between your neck and shoulder and you felt him sob. 

Despite the abuse he’d inflicted upon you in the last ten minutes, you nuzzled your cheek into the top of his head in an attempt to comfort him. And he let you… he hated himself for it and he hated you for making this all so hard for him.

“No… no, no, no,” he rose from the bed to set up your ring-light and laptop, ice running through your veins at the sight. Your mind couldn’t accept what was about to happen.

“I’m... I’m not letting you get away with this,” he shook his head and pulled at his hair as he finished setting everything up, “If you’re insisting on being a slut, you’ll be MY slut. And everyone will know…” he jerked your ankle to force you flat on your back.

⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸

Maybe if he’d let the gag out of your mouth, you’d be able to tell him this was just a job to you. That it was clinical… that he was the only one who had ever been able to get you off, that his face was the only one you’d come on… that you needed the money since your parents had disowned you…

But you only laid there, accepting whatever he was going to dish out. You knew he was hurt. You weren’t stupid. You overlooked him while knowing how he felt about you. It took years of horrible one-night stands and countless frat parties pretending that whatever guy you’d picked that night was interesting for you to come to your senses. You hated yourself for being so blind for so long… You adored Tamaki, truly. And you hated yourself for all the times you’d hurt him… so you swallowed your fear and tried to prepare yourself for whatever came next.

⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸⫸

Any soft parts of Tamaki that you’d grown to love were gone, hardened by heartache and desperation. After angling the laptop to get the perfect shot, he started the live stream countdown. Subscribers started trickling in, commenting on how this was a pleasant surprise since it wasn’t one of your regularly scheduled streams. You shut your eyes to pretend this wasn’t real.

Without fanfare or warning, Tamaki ripped apart your thighs, exposing your bare slit. A raw shrill was pulled from your lungs, your back arching from the sting of an abrupt slap. Neurons fired off in your brain… were you in pain? Was it pleasure?

“Since my girlfriend likes to keep secrets from me, I can’t trust what comes out of her whore mouth,” he emphasized his point by stuffing his fingers past your lips, pushing the soaked silk further into your throat, “So she’s going to keep this gag right here until I can fuck the truth out of her,” he trailed his fingers along your reddened folds. Were you getting wet? Horror and shame blossomed in your chest. The fact that you were growing aroused wasn’t lost on Tamaki. His foreign, sadistic grin was back… aimed directly into your soul.  

“So that’s what you like, huh?” His nails bit into your thighs leaving tiny crescents behind, “I’ve been too nice? Too soft?” He pushed your thighs impossibly wide, the stretch causing you to moan. He hovered over your core, onyx orbs blown wide with a mix of hate and lust. Tamaki looked like the devil himself and you wondered just how fucked up you were for wanting his punishment.

He opened his mouth and lolled out his tongue, never severing the desperate gaze you both shared, his intertwined with hunger, yours with fear. You’d never noticed how long and thick his tongue was and couldn’t help but wonder how it would feel caressing every ridge and crevice of your inner walls. He flattened the warm, wet muscle and pressed it along your slit. As he slowly slid it closer and closer to your burning clit, you whimpered and bucked your hips chasing the pleasure you knew he was capable of giving… but this was not your sweet boy and he wasn’t doing any of this for your pleasure.

He slung his arm over your lower stomach and growled into your drenched lips. You were pinned down, helpless against his torturous tongue. Fresh tears pricked at your eyes as you remembered how he’d let you pet him and buck into his face, how sweetly he’d ease you into a gentle release. Not this time… it was all teeth and sharp sucks, his tongue forcing you open violently. You were being shoved over a cliff and despite the horror and violence of what was happening to you. You were approaching an orgasmic state at record speed. Tamaki caught on and doubled down. The arm that wasn’t pinning you into the mattress pulled your leg down straight, your knee in a death grip. The new angle made the sensations even more intense. His face pressed harder into your core and you noticed that at some point, he’d started weeping, small sobs vibrating against your skin. The overwhelming mix of emotions and the vigor in which he was eating you shoved you over the edge.

He kept going along at the same speed with the same determination through your orgasm until it became painful. You pushed past it as best you could, allowing him to sob into your over-sensitive skin until he had his fill. As the pain started intermingling with pleasure, your legs shook and the gag couldn’t hold your screams back any longer. You released against his tongue once more, both of you sobbing. He laid against your thigh for what felt like an eternity before he lifted himself to lay on top of you, his hip bones digging into your soft thighs. You could feel the bulge through the thin material of his boxer briefs. Your hips rose to meet it, a pleading gesture filled with the desire to comfort and please him. Your eagerness encourages his mercy, there’s a meek cry that leaves your lips when the damp silk slips from between your teeth.

“Please baby… I’m so, so sorry I didn’t tell you…” your voice was as weak as a kitten’s cry and Tamaki couldn’t deny it made his heart (his dick) clench.

“Say it…” his lips were close enough to kiss, but you resisted… fearful of what he’d do if you did.

“Say what, Tama?” your eyes were wide with concern and confusion. You were desperate to please him.

He turned your face to the camera that you’d forgotten was there and the gravity of the situation crashed around you again. New tears leaked from your stinging eyes as Tamaki whispered into your ear.

“Say that you’re a lying whore…”

“I..I’m a lying whore…”

The last syllable broke as your abused throat grew accustomed to speaking again. He rewarded you with a soft kiss to your cheek and your eyes closed at the tender gesture. The familiar pain in your chest welled to the surface causing even more tears to escape.

“And tell everyone that you’re my own personal slut”

You repeated the phrase to the audience behind the screen and he hummed with approval, trailing one finger along your wet cheek. 

“Good girl…” the praise sent shivers through your wrecked body.

“And tell them from now on, your boyfriend will be the only one making you come… that they only get to see you be HIS slut.”

You noticed the chat going absolutely haywire at your announcement. Before Tamaki shut your laptop, you realized you’d made three times as much as you’d ever made before and a twisted sense of accomplishment filled your cloudy mind.

“Please,” your voice came out in a croak, “Please untie me. I wanna make it up to you,” his clothed bulge was burning into your core and you could tell he was close to breaking.

“Please let me make you feel good. I’m so, so sorry,” the clench of your thighs around his waist made him whimper.

He reluctantly pulled away to sit on the foot of the bed. The way he curled in on himself hugging his knees made him appear so small, so fragile… a complete change from the man who’d just manhandled you into restraints.

“You’re a liar…” you almost didn’t hear the whisper, his face buried into his knees.

“Please!” you were losing feeling in your hands and all you wanted was to be free to comfort him.

His eyes met yours and it was your Tamaki again... Your sweet boy… the snarling, green beast that threatened to devour you was sleeping now after it reached its fill of violence. He crawled over your body and released your restraint. Before you even regained feeling in your hands, you wrapped your arms around him. You littered his collarbone with sweet kisses and apologetic sobs. He began to melt into your affectionate gestures and you wrapped your legs around his waist pulling him impossibly close. Wet lips met and your tongues fought against each other for dominance. Hips began to roll against each other, increasing pressure until you both gasped. 

The violence was gone, but this was still not a gentle coupling like you’d been planning. Tamaki pulled away and freed his straining cock from his boxers. The skin-to-skin contact made your eyes roll back into your skull. You felt his long fingers grasp your throat, squeezing to remind you just how powerful they were. You shuddered in response, arching upward into his touch, chasing that high his dominance was giving you.

With one swift motion, Tamaki speared you onto his cock. With the minimal prep he’d given you, the stretch was agonizing. This was by far the largest cock you’d ever taken and it stole your breath from your aching lungs. You moaned earning a visceral reaction from the boy on top of you.  

Tamaki stayed as still as he could. He refused to come so soon… not when he’d waited so long for this. He tightened his grip on your throat and tentatively rocked his hips into yours. It didn’t take long for it to progress into the most frantic love-making you’d ever experienced.

There was no other way to describe it, he was hate fucking you… biting and sucking your chest until blood bloomed under your skin… hammering into your sore, sticky cunt with total abandon… he was using you like a toy, taking out all his frustrations on your body.

It was ecstasy.

When his hips stuttered as he met his release, the spasms of his tip against your gummy walls sent you into a painful orgasm. You were spent and it seemed like he was too. Your fingers twitched over the crown of his head, wanting to run your fingers through his hair but too scared to initiate any contact with him. As if he could read your mind, he grabbed your hand and placed it on his head. You sighed and began carding through the tangles, gently undoing them. You felt a stream of tears running down your chest as you worked your fingers through his strands. Lifting his face gently, you met his teary gaze with your own.

“Don’t…” he drew in a shuddering breath, “ever lie to me like that again…” the monster behind his eyes stirred quietly, a malicious glint in his eye, before shifting back into your gentle boyfriend. 

“Never, I swear to you, baby…” he lets you lift his chin gently to meet your lips. His eyes close and he sighs into your kiss. His muscles relax and when his eyes open again, his warm, adoring expression falls over your face. The hand that wanted to choke the life out of your eyes minutes ago now caresses your jaw tenderly,

“I trust you…” his lips turn up into a grin that’s just a little too wide, “Because you’re a smart girl, aren’t you?” his top lip brushed against your still trembling bottom lip…

“Y-yes…”

You were fucked. This whole situation was fucked up and you weren’t blind to the fact. But as Tamaki nuzzled into your neck placing soft kisses and whispering praises into your skin, you let yourself bask in the gentleness of the moment…

Because you were a smart girl and smart girls learn their lessons quickly... 

[sailors-diary-for-elise]

Punishment (18+)

Whew here we go. First work posted. Was I expecting to post a pure smut filth work first? NOPE. But here we are. I will be putting 18+, more as a "this is a smut minors don't reblog or like" since I know I was far from innocent as a minor.

Warnings: pure filth. 100% smut, use of toys (a vibrator), language, edging, teasing, spanking (reader gets what she deserves), breast play and nipple play, bratty sub!reader, dom!Yunho, dom!Mingi, brat taming?, clit slapping, cum eating, blowjob (Mingi receiving), sir kink, deep throating, face fucking (reader receiving), hair pulling (reader receiving), fingering (reader receiving), orgasm denial (reader receiving), overstimulation (Mingi receiving), anal, double penetration, unprotected sex (wrap it up peeps).

Okay, so maybe you’d pushed your luck a little too far. You knew how much your boyfriends hated to be teased, especially in front of the others and you really should have chosen your outfit a little bit more carefully. After all, the shorts that barely passed your ass and the sheer camisole left nothing to the imagination. But sometimes, you just couldn’t help but push your usually energetic and goofy boyfriends’ buttons.

It had all started during the movie night that you’d sprung on the rest of the group, the only exception being San who was keeping your roommate busy in his own ways and had accidentally kicked you out. What San, Yunho, Mingi and the others hadn’t realized was that hearing everything going on between your roommate and San had left you feeling different, wanting nothing more than to push the limits of your boyfriends and see that dark side they had warned you of.

Walking through the front door of the dorms, you immediately run to Mingi’s room, peeking in to make sure he is still sleeping before pouncing on him. He wakes with a start, grabbing your hips and looking around slightly dazed and confused. You giggle, pressing kisses across his neck and bare collarbone.

“Wake up, baby” you purr in his ear, planting a light kiss to the skin right below it. Mingi groans below you, his grip on your hips tightening before you hop off of him, humming as you run back to the living room. Poor Mingi was left slightly confused and lost, wondering if he imagined your unusual wake-up call. Ruffling his hair, he walks out of his room, running right into Yunho. Yunho smirks at the younger boy, looking down at the tent forming in Mingi’s pants.

“So I see Y/n has already paid you a visit?” Yunho chuckles, almost feeling bad for the tired boy in front of him. Yunho himself had been your victim when you kept accidentally dropping things in front of him and bending down to pick them up. “Our girl seems to be in a mood today.”

Mingi groans, becoming irritated at the thought of having to deal with your bratty antics. “The fuck is wrong with her,” he grumbles, rubbing the back of his neck to alleviate the tension there. “Does she not remember the last time she decided to tease us both?”

“No idea,” Yunho shrugs slightly, a smirk slowly forming. “But a part of me wants to wait and see how far she’ll go to get her way. You game?”

“And what did you have in mind?” Mingi’s interest peaked, looking directly at his hyung.

“I say, we let the little minx think she has us,” Yunho starts, glaring at Mingi who actually growls at the thought of you having power over him. “only for a short amount of time, and then right when she goes to take control, is when we show her exactly who’s in charge.”

The shit-eating grin that passes over Mingi’s face is one that sends shivers down Yunho’s spine, making him almost regret voicing his plan. Almost. After all, he is the most dominant of the two boys. Mingi is about to retort when you come sliding around the corner, stopping directly in front of them in a posture that screams a challenge.

Your hands are crossed over your chest, hip stuck out slightly as you raise an eyebrow at the two men conversing.

“Are you two big babies coming? Or am I gonna have to ask one of the others to pay attention to me?” a smirk crosses Yunho’s face as well as yours, while Mingi scowls at you, counting in his head to ten in an attempt of not taking you up against the wall right then and there.

“Oh don’t worry princess,” Yunho grits out, Mingi pulling a strained smile and walking past you. “We would never leave you to your own devices.” And so the games begin.

You’ve made it about 3/4 of the way through the movie, with pretty much the entire group crammed together to watch it. Throughout it, you’ve slowly grown more confident in your advances, fleeting strokes up Yunho’s thighs, a light tap over Mingi’s bulge which has hardened significantly, even going so far of knocking your cold drink on Yunho’s lap, causing him to hiss as you press tissues on the wet spot on his pants, smirking at the realization that it wasn’t just from the soda.

Mingi struggles to maintain his cool composure, pinching your hips if you try to grind on him and forcing a laugh at the death glare Yunho gives you once you finish “cleaning” him up. It’s when you reach beneath the waistband of his pants that he can’t take it anymore, tossing you off his lap and racing to his room. You squeak in surprise, pouting thinking you might have pushed him too far. You look at Yunho, who pays you no mind while scrolling through his phone, deciding in his own mind that your little games have gone on long enough.

He too rises, heading towards the bedroom and slamming the door shut, causing you to jump in your seat. Your pout grows, guilt and doubt filling your entire being. The movie ends and everyone works at cleaning up the mess, with you being lost in your thoughts. As soon as you finish, you walk over to the room, peeking in only to find it surprisingly empty. You walk in fully, noticing a tiny note on the bed attached to your- oh. That would be your bunny vibrator.

With a shaky hand, you pick up the note recognizing the handwriting as Yunho’s immediately.

Since you decided to be a brat, Mingi and I decided to have a little fun of our own. If you touch yourself before we get back, you’ll be punished. If you don’t, we’ll give you what you’ve been asking for all evening. The choice is yours, kitten- “big baby #1″

You scoff, picking up the vibrator. So they weren’t upset at all. They were probably just getting themselves off instead of bringing you along to join the party. Well, two could play that game.

You quickly strip yourself of everything except your undergarments, picking up the vibrator and your phone, pressing record to send to your boyfriends.

“Hmph. After all of that work I put into getting you guys ready,” you whine out, stomping slightly. “you both have fun without me? Well, just for that I’m going to take that little toy you left me and-” you never finish your sentence, your phone being snatched from you.

“And here I thought our little kitten could behave,” a rough voice says in your ear, nibbling on the lobe lightly while you shudder. “Go on and finish kitten. Mingi and I are dying to hear how you were going to ignore our simple instructions.”

“I-I, I h-have no i-ideA OW!” you squeak out, your ass being smacked by a firm hand.

“Spit. It. Out,” Mingi grunts out, walking in front of you to loom over your smaller, shaking form. “What were you about to do?”

Mingi’s jaw is clenched, his pupils blown and looking at you in a way that makes you shrink.

“Oh?” Yunho hums, laving his tongue across the outside of your earlobe before pulling it between his teeth. “What happened to all that confidence and attitude you had earlier? Cat got your tongue?”

“Or maybe it’s because you realize how bad you fucked up,” Mingi asks, his calm tone scaring you almost as much as when he first addressed you, chuckling darkly at how your entire body seems to vibrate, eyes closing as you unconsciously lean back into Yunho's chest. “Honestly, what were you thinking would happen, kitten?”

“Did you really believe we wouldn’t do anything about your little games?” Yunho hums, watching as Mingi pulls the elastic of your panties away from you before letting them snap back against your hips. “Thought you wouldn’t get punished like little brats deserve?”

You open your eyes and glare at the person teasing you from the front, biting your lip before deciding to see how long you can keep this up. A small smirk forms on your lips, and you practically purr your next sentence. “I was going to take that little toy, and shove it so far into my pussy that I’d cum quicker and harder than I ever have. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

The effect is instantaneous, although to an outsider it would seem as though nothing had changed between the three of you. But you could sense it, how both boys auras switched from controlled anger to borderline blind rage. It showed in how Mingi closed his eyes, his breathing heavy and shaky as if he were pulling a boulder behind him. It showed in how Yunho’s ministrations had stopped, fist clenching around the vibrator tightly. Your inner self was begging you not to push them over the edge, not to say what was on the tip of your tongue and seal your fate for this evening. But sometimes, you just don’t know when to quit.

“Well?” you say impatiently, reaching for the vibrator in Yunho’s hand and tapping your foot impatiently. “I’m waiting for an answer?” And that is the final straw for them both.

In an instant, your panties are left in a torn pile on the floor along with your now split bra, a gasp leaving you as the boys work as if they have one mind. Mingi latches onto your nipple in time with Yunho turning the vibrator on to the highest level, pressing it harshly on your clit. A scream almost leaves you from the double stimulation, but Yunho’s large hand covers your nose and mouth.

“You make a single sound babygirl, and we’ll make sure you don’t cum for an entire. Fucking. Month.” Yunho says firmly, emphasizing his point by removing the vibrator to smack your clit in time with each word at the end of his sentence. You almost scream again, biting your lip. “Good girl. Good to know you can listen at least some of the time. Right, Mingi?”

Mingi hums in affirmation, biting lightly on your breast before releasing the abused flesh from his teeth. He stands up straight, smirking while looking into your eyes.

“Oh I know she knows how to listen, hyung,” he replies, eyes dark and smirk ever present. “She just likes to make things difficult, don’t you babygirl? You like getting us both riled up so you can get the fuck of your life.”

You are unable to respond, the realization dawning on you that you maybe- no, scratch that. You DEFINITELY pushed your boyfriends way past their breaking points and weren't going to be walking properly for quite some time. Another slap to your clit brings you out of your thoughts, Mingi biting down on your nipple.

“Focus on us, babe. Otherwise you’ll end up worse off than you already are.” Yunho warns, pressing the vibrator harshly against you as your hips buck up in response, your teeth digging into your lip to the point of almost drawing blood as you nod weakly. “Good girl~ now. How should we punish you first, hmm? Should we edge you for hours with every part of our bodies except our cocks? Since it’s clear that you want them so badly-”

It was an accident, the picture Yunho’s painting affecting you so much that it can’t be helped when a loud and shaky moan slips past your lips. Time seems to pause for a moment as Mingi glances at you, the evil grin from before returning as Yunho lets out an inhuman noise. In an instant, you are bent over the bed, ass in the air with Yunho behind you and Mingi kneeling in front of you, keeping a hand under your chin to force you to keep eye-contact with him.

“You are gonna count each spank, not missing a single one nor stuttering. I want you to speak clearly or we start all over, understand?” Yunho grits out from behind you, rubbing your bare ass with one of his large hands, the other resting on the curve of your back to keep you from wiggling away. Not that you would.

“Y-yes sir- AH!” you cry out, back arching at the harsh smack against your right ass cheek, the flesh jiggling and stinging.

“I said, speak clearly. Now, count.” Yunho slaps your ass hard, switching to your left cheek.

“One-” you whimper out, trying to lower your head only to be stopped by Mingi. Glaring at you, Mingi tangles his hand in your hair to keep you in place. You are about to speak when another smack hits, this one on your right ass cheek again. “Two, Mingi please let me hide my face-”

“What did you just call me?” Mingi tightens his grip on your hair, tugging slightly and nodding at Yunho who tuts behind you. “I think this means she should have to start over Yunho~”

You shake your head, mumbling out apologies in desperation. “Please I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to it was an accident I swear-” you yelp as Yunho lands another blow.

“Don’t be rude. You are starting over and that’s final.” You nod in response, arms and legs trembling.

You aren’t sure how long it is into your punishment, but your legs barely have any strength left in them, your ass is on fire, and wetness has been dripping down your legs for the last few spanks. As the next blow hits, your arms give out and Mingi catches you easily.

“Twelve~” you pant heavily, peeking over at Yunho who smirks at your dripping core, massaging your bright red ass cheeks and cooing to you.

“Very good my dear~ we only had to restart twice! And look at you, you are dripping wetness all over the place.” Yunho chuckles darkly, running a finger up your thighs to gather some of the slick there. “Almost makes me wanna have a taste~”

When Yunho brings his fingers to his lips, moaning around them, your eyes trail to the tent in Mingi’s boxers, tongue running over your lower lips at the darkened circle where his tip is. Mingi chuckles, stroking a thumb along your lips, tugging on your lower one. Yunho continues to swipe his fingers through your juices, enjoying watching your reactions everytime he almost brushes your folds and pulling away, driving you insane with the need to be stimulated in some way. A broken whine slips out signalling that Mingi and Yunho achieved their mutual goal of teasing you as much as you had them, which was easy considering how sensitive you are to their touches on a normal day.

“Yunho? Think this brat has earned a taste of my cock? Or should we tease her more~” Yunho brings a wet digit to his lips, grinning as he sucks off all of the juices loudly, your heat trembling in response.

“I mean, I guess you could let her~ after all, she did take her punishment kind of well~” Yunho snickers at your offended expression as you look at him over your shoulder, pouting cutely.

Swallowing your pride, you look up at Mingi with puppy dog eyes, wiggling your hips as you speak in the most innocent tone you can. “Sir? Please let kitten taste your cock~ let me take you completely in my mouth, swallowing around your tip as it hits the back of my throat. Kitten wants sir to fuck her mouth~ kitten wants to please sir and help sir cum~ pretty pretty please sir?” Batting your eyelashes, Mingi bites his lower lip hard, asking Yunho silently to allow you to give him everything you just offered and more. Yunho responds by simply shoving your face closer to Mingi’s crotch, retrieving the vibrator and shoving it into you, turning it on as he pushes it deep into you.

Mingi quickly slips out of his pants and boxers, his red and angry looking cock slapping his stomach, sending precum across his abdomen. Moaning out at the sight combined with the vibrator’s unique shape hitting all the right spots in you, you lean forward and clean off the precum from Mingi’s abs, humming before taking the tip of his cock in your mouth and sucking eagerly. Mingi throws his head back, the hand in your hair tightening and shoving you down farther, curses and grunts slipping past his lips at the feeling of you.

Yunho begins curling the toy inside of you, refusing to give you the satisfaction of thrusting it into you. You moan around Mingi, hollowing out your cheeks and pushing your head down to the point that Mingi’s tip is resting in your throat. Mingi checks on you, waiting for the sign that he can finally begin thrusting. You tap his hips, whining out around him and fondling his balls. It’s this action that causes his restraint to snap.

Mingi starts snapping his hips into your mouth, gripping your hair tightly to guide you on his cock, grunting at the feeling of your mouth around him and your throat constricting. You let out mixtures of whines and moans, scraping your teeth lightly against his shaft whenever he pulls out and hollowing your cheeks as he thrusts in, trying to stimulate him as much as possible. Yunho continues to use the toy on you, his pants becoming tighter and tighter when your worst nightmare occurs, a cry being choked back. The batteries run out.

Yunho pulls the toy from you, spreading your lips to thrust three of his long digits in you and starting to pump them roughly, causing your eyes to roll to the back of your head. Feeling the knot forming in you, you try to signal Yunho of your release, not knowing if it’s to tell him to keep going and allow you to have the sweet release you crave, or stop him to prolong your time together. Unfortunately for you, he chooses the latter and rips his hands away from you, watching your body writhe in need of him. There isn’t much time for you to complain about your denied orgasm though, because Mingi’s cock is twitching in your mouth and his pace is becoming irregular, his own release dangerously close. Running short on air and tears stinging your eyes, you bob your head faster on his cock, hearing his labored breaths and muttered curses above you. You close your eyes, focusing on bringing Mingi to his release and swallowing hard, moaning around him as you feel spurts of liquid hit the back of your throat.

Eyes shooting open, you look up at Mingi, shocked at the whimpers and whines coming from him as he cums down your throat, encouraging you to milk him of his release until he practically rips you off of him, overstimulation becoming too much as he pants and glares at you. Releasing your hair, Mingi wipes your lips with his thumb, slipping it into your mouth and swallowing before mumbling a simple “swallow” and watching as you listen to him. You open your mouth and stick your tongue out, revealing that not a single drop of cum remains in your mouth. Mingi hums and pets your head gently, soothing the ache from his grip on your hair.

“Yunho-hyung, I think she’s finally earned the right to cum, don’t you?” Mingi purrs, slipping his hands under your arms to pull you up and turn you around to face Yunho, who eyes you hungrily. You gulp, batting your eyelashes at Yunho and jutting your lower lip out in a pout. Yunho strips off his shirt, tossing it to the side and reaching for his pants, pushing them down along with his boxers to reveal his hard cock, mirroring the way Mingi’s dripped earlier before you sucked him off. One of Yunho’s hands wraps around his cock, stroking himself to spread his precum. Smirking at you, he nods at Mingi, crawling on the bed and kneeling in front of you.

Mingi pushes you, encouraging you to kneel as well while he reaches into the nightstand drawer, pulling out a tube of lubricant and popping the cap open. Mingi presses his chest to your back, opening the cap and squeezing out the clear liquid and spreading it on his fingers and rubbing some over your asshole. You gasp at the cool liquid, clenching around nothing as Yunho slides his shaft between your folds to gather more slick on his cock. Yunho leans down and sucks on your collarbone, grasping your hip in one of his hands while the other lines his cock up with your seeping hole.

“Look at you, an absolute mess~ see, this could’ve happened a lot faster and smoothly if you had just asked us like a good little girl~ but you just had to misbehave, didn’t you?” Mingi purrs in your ear, slowly slipping his pointer finger into your ass and biting on the shell of your ear. You gasp in surprise, whining and rolling your head back onto his shoulder, your hands resting on Yunho’s for support. Yunho moves his mouth all over your neck and collarbones, biting and sucking marks anywhere he can reach. The very tip of his cock teases your entrance before slipping out again, leaving you a desperate and panting mess between them both. Your legs shake as Mingi stretches you out, carefully slipping in another finger and scissoring them apart deep inside of you. “Look how well she takes my fingers~ I wonder if she can handle us both fucking her at the same time? Should we test it out Yunho?”

“I think we should Mingi~ but let’s take it slow, wouldn’t want her tearing in half from both of us now would we?” Yunho chuckles, finally pushing his cock deep inside of you and stretching you completely. You moan loudly, gripping his shoulders tightly at the feeling of having something penetrating both of your holes. Mingi manages to fit a third finger in, spreading and thrusting them into you to prepare you for when his cock enters you. You moan out, tapping Yunho on the shoulder to signal him to move, hissing when he pulls almost completely out of you and pushing back into you, repeating the movement over and over painfully slow. You whine out, nails scraping down Yunho’s chest and leaving angry red lines, causing him to hiss and reach up, tugging you back by the hair and marking up your chest and neck as his pace remains unchanging. After a few moments, Mingi pulls his fingers out of you. Yunho freezes, his cock buried deep inside of your cunt and watching Mingi over your shoulder. You try to look at him, but Yunho grasps your chin and forces you to look at him. “Unless you don’t want to cum for the next week, you will focus on me, understand?” You nod but receive a slap to the outside of your thigh, prompting you to speak.

“Yes sir” You gulp, becoming impatient as you wait for them to continue. You hear Mingi squeeze more lube out, coating his cock and pumping it before lining up to your asshole. Yunho pulls you into a deep kiss, muffling your whimper as the head of Mingi’s cock pushes into you, slowly stretching you out. Mingi pauses periodically, ensuring not to hurt you since it’d been a bit since you’d taken both of them. With murmured praises and soft nibbles on the shell of your ear, Mingi finally bottoms out, barely keeping himself restrained from fucking you senseless right then and there. Panting, you shift your hips slightly, causing both boys to groan as one grips your shoulders and the other your hips, keeping you in place. A smirk crosses your features, and before Yunho can warn you not to, you clench around both of them, causing the last of their restraint to snap.

The grip on your hips becomes bruising as they begin fucking you roughly, making it so that as one cock pulls out of you the other one is ramming harshly into you. You practically scream out in surprise, nails digging into Yunho’s shoulders and your head laying back on Mingi’s shoulder. Mingi bites on your shoulder, a bruise surfacing instantly as his hips snap into you roughly. One of Yunho’s hands trails between you both, finding your core and rubbing at your clit. You’ve become a moaning and whining mess between them, not even bothering trying to gain any control of the situation or their pleasure, too far gone to function.

A tight coil begins forming in your gut, and you struggle to warn them. “I-I’m about to c-cum~ s-so close pl-please let m-me cum!” Yunho groans, rubbing at your clit faster.

“Go on babygirl~ I want you to cum all over my cock~ it’s okay, let go now” at his words, you scream out in pleasure, clenching around them both as a ringing fills your ears. You see white, and go rigid in their holds. It only takes a few more thrusts before they’re both cumming deep within you, their thrusts becoming shallow as they ride out their highs. Whimpering from the sensitivity, you tap on Yunho’s shoulder. Yunho and Mingi nod, pulling out of you. You sigh in relief, only to yelp in surprise when you get set on your back, wrists getting handcuffed above your head. You look up at them both, the sudden cruel reality of your behavior hitting you like a freight train.

“You honestly didn’t think your punishment was over, did you princess?” Yunho looms over you, a smirk on his features. You hear a drawer opening, and after some shuffling, Mingi comes into view holding a fresh set of batteries and your bunny vibrator along with your butt-plug. “Oh baby~ we’re just getting started~”

And that was the start of the longest night of your life.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And so there it is! I hope y'all enjoyed it!

[leiawritesstories]

Give Me Wings

Rowaelin Month, Day 24: Missing scene from canon

Designing Aelin’s new tattoo in Kingdom of Ash because we deserve that. It got a little emotional...but so was their reunion...so......

Word count: 1304

Warnings: Emotions. Lots of them.

~~~~~

Every mark on his mate’s body had been erased--the scars from Endovier, from the years as Adarlan’s Assassin, the calluses, bruises, and bumps she’d earned during long hours of training, even the faint burn marks she carried from learning to control the wildfire that raged inside her veins. And her tattoos, the three scrolling lines of Old Language that told the story of how Aelin Ashryver Galathynius conquered the darkness that threatened her brightly burning existence.

The tattoos Rowan had poured his heart and soul into. Gone.

Aelin had barely spoken in the days since their reunion, the invisible scars Maeve had inflicted still too fresh, too deeply engraved. He watched her with Fenrys, the silent language they shared in the blinking of their eyes conveying so much more than speech. He watched how she curled against him in the nights, her eyes brimming with all the things she wanted to tell him but couldn’t yet bring herself to say. In the darkness of the night, Rowan gladly shared his body heat with Aelin, hoping his silence was comfort, hoping she could read the unspoken promise that whenever she was ready, he was there for her.

As they passed through the caves, guided by the Little Folk, Rowan sensed a spark of Aelin’s flame returning. When she mustered a smirk, an offhand snarky comment, his heart swelled with joy. And for the first time in months, a pulse of her own happiness slipped down the bond in response. It would take time, time they might be borrowing, before the queen of Terrasen was once again her fiery, sharp-tongued self, but she had started to move from the blackness of the past months into the hope of the future.

He knew some of it was for show, knew she was making herself smile and swagger and tease and lift Goldryn to stop the “fussing.” Yet he was more than happy to train with her on the small deck, to steal her focus for a few hours and keep her mind from falling into despondence. 

There were nights when she woke up in tears, shaking, always silent but always in pain. Those were the nights when she either burrowed closer into his side or quietly got up and curled against Fenrys in his wolf form. Rowan couldn’t hold anything against Fenrys; after all, he too had suffered at Maeve’s hand and if his presence could comfort Aelin, she deserved the companionship.

Every night after they’d exchanged rings in the treasure cave, Rowan kissed the obnoxiously large emerald on her left hand. To whatever end, Fireheart. Though she didn’t respond verbally, the tears that welled in her depthless turquoise eyes spoke more than words ever could. 

The night they saw stars, signaling they were almost at the end of the cave passages, Aelin produced a small, soft flame in her cupped hands. Rowan sat next to her, watching as she played with the flame, gradually expanding it into a sphere of flickering light that cast warmth around the whole small group. Ever so gently, he placed his hand on her back, offering support. I’m proud of you, Fireheart.

For the first time in too long, she responded. To whatever end, Rowan.

To whatever end, my queen.

Later, as everyone was drifting off to sleep, Rowan slipped paper and charcoal out of his pack. Knowing Aelin was still awake, he brushed a hand down her back. She rolled over. 

“What’s that for?”

Seating himself next to her, he spread out the page, revealing Old Language symbols sprawled haphazardly across part of the paper. “This is your story.”

“Is that…is that your sketch of my tattoo?”

“Yes.”

She looked at him, tears pooling in her eyes. “Rowan, it’s gone.”

“I know, Fireheart. I know.”

“She rutting stole it from me. My tattoo. My link to you.”

“You’ll always have a link to me, Aelin.” He touched his heart. “Here.”

Aelin twisted her ring around her finger. “Rowan?”

“Hmm?”

“Would you tattoo me again?”

“Of course,” he breathed, “of course I would.”

A soft smile crept across her face. “I want a hawk. A buzzard, just like you.”

“Aelin--”

“I’m serious, buzzard. Like this.” Taking the charcoal, she traced a series of swooping curves onto the page. “Look. This shape, Rowan.” She cast a soft golden light over the paper.

Rowan gazed at the design she’d created, a set of hawklike wings with three longer lines, like rays of light, underneath. “It’s gorgeous, Fireheart. May I?” He held out his hand, and she gave him the charcoal. Carefully, he added a light curve linking the three rays and a Terrasen knot above them. “What do you think?”

Tears dripped down her cheeks. “I love it. I love you. How soon can I wear it?”

“I need a few days to work out the script, but we can start the process in about four days, I think.”

“What are you writing this time?”

“Your story.”

“I want you in it.”

He blinked. “What?”

“You are part of my story, Rowan Whitethorn. Put us in my tattoo. Tell my story, yes, tell all of it. Sam, Endovier, Adarlan, Doranelle, our bond, everything. I want it all.”

Rowan swept away the tear before Aelin could see it. “Of course, Fireheart,” he managed, his voice husky with emotion.

Aelin picked up the charcoal again and sketched an elegant symbol onto the page. 

“What’s that one?”

She smiled. “The Wyrdmark for home.”

~

Every free moment he had, Rowan worked at the tattoo, filling Aelin’s graceful lines with Old Language script. As promised, he told her whole story, the tale of a young princess who loved her kingdom and the Fae prince who loved her. He labored over each character of the ancient Fae calligraphy, rendering every word precisely.

All the better to intertwine Wyrdmarks with the Old Language.

The home mark Aelin drew for him…it made him wonder if she knew his plan to include a centuries-old spell in her tattoo. He’d discovered, while combing through Aelin’s extensive library of Wyrdmark books and scrolls, a series of marks that could act as a map between mates. It was a simple enough line of markings, and as long as they were all in the same line, it didn’t matter what else wove around them. 

So he sketched the chain of Wyrdmarks across the wings of his mate’s tattoo, one mark in each feather, to let her fly home.

After four days of careful sketching, Rowan had a finished design. He took the design, his tools, and ink to Aelin’s tent when they camped for the night and tapped on the post. 

“Aelin?”

“Come in.”

She was perched on her cot when he entered, a map of Erilea spread on her lap. 

“Is that the design, Rowan?”

“Yes, yes it is. It’s finished. I wanted you to see it before agreeing to have it inked onto you forever.”

She scanned the page, tears springing to her eyes. “It’s perfect.” 

“Where are we drawing it, Fireheart?”

“On my back, of course. Wings across my shoulder blades.” 

Rowan nodded slowly. “Are you ready?”

Aelin folded up the map, pulled her cot into the center of her tent, and spread an old sheet over the top of it. “I am.” 

“Shift for me, my love. It’s better to tattoo you in your Fae form because of the salt and iron in the ink. And you heal faster in a Fae body.”

Aelin closed her eyes and breathed deeply.

I believe in you, Fireheart.

She inhaled a steadying breath. And shifted.

I love you too, Rowan.

The smile he gave her flooded her heart with joy. “We’ll do the wings today; the rest either tomorrow or the day after.”

Aelin pulled her shirt off and lay facedown on the cot. “Then give me wings, carranam.”

~~~~~~~~~~

In case anyone wanted to see my concept of Aelin’s tattoo:

https://leiawritesstories.tumblr.com/post/663357987153379328/in-case-anyone-was-wondering-what-my-concept-of

[junghelioseok]

clandestine. | 04

↳ forbidden fruit tastes the sweetest.

◇ jungkook x reader ◇ smut | fluff | brother’s best friend!au ◇ 6.5k [4/6]

notes: we finally have a set chapter count! did this fic really need to be 6 chapters? absolutely not, but here we are! i’m hoping to have this fella finished up in the next month or so, but we’ll see how that goes given my track record. happy new year, everyone!

warnings: a little underedited bc i’m lazy, shower sex!!! mild? exhibitionist tendencies??? reader is dumb and jungkook is slutty, but what else is new 🤷🏻‍♀️

⇢ 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 

“I swear to god, I am going to amputate your arm with a rusty hacksaw if you elbow me one more time.”

Undeterred, your brother prods you again, pouting at you from his spot in the driver’s seat. “I just want another chip, Noona. Don’t be so mean.”

“Are you a baby bird?” you ask in disbelief, gaping at the way he opens his mouth and sticks out his tongue. “Seriously, I’m not feeding you. Get your own chips if you want them so badly.”

“But I’ve gotta keep both hands on the wheel,” he replies cheekily. “Ten and two positions, at all times.”

You frown. “Didn’t they change it to nine and three?” Nonetheless, you reluctantly reach into the bag in your lap, pulling out a potato chip and delivering it to his waiting mouth. “Next one’s going straight into your nose,” you warn as he happily crunches down on the snack.

Jimin simply offers you a beatific grin in between chews. “Love you too.”

“Nope, I changed my mind. Next one’s going up your ass.”

Your brother has long since grown used to your threats. “Kinky,” he chuckles as he merges smoothly into the next lane over. The song on the radio shifts into something more upbeat, and Jungkook is quick to start humming along under his breath from his spot in the seat behind you. Within minutes, it’s morphed into a singalong, and the offkey warbling of all seven passengers—no matter how dissonant—is a perfect soundtrack for the remainder of the drive.

The beach, when you arrive, is awash with tourists and locals alike, all clamoring to lay claim to a prime stretch of sand and a decent parking space. Jimin manages to snag a spot just as someone else is pulling out, and the rest of you are quick to disembark and scope out the beach for somewhere to set up camp. Plopping your bag down onto the sand, you rifle through it until you find your sunscreen, mentally patting yourself on the back for buying the spray instead of the cream.

“Can I borrow that when you’re done, Noona?” Taehyung asks, watching you wrench off the cap.

You nod, squinting against the sunlight. “Sure. As long as you help me get my entire back.”

“Deal.”

Flashing him a grateful smile, you shimmy out of your shorts and begin applying sunscreen to your arms and legs. Taehyung peels off his t-shirt, and you spray him down too, making sure to coat his entire back before he takes the bottle and does the same to you.

“I might have gone a little overboard,” he admits once he’s done, capping the bottle and tossing it back into your bag. Warm hands settle onto your exposed shoulder blades, deft fingertips rubbing the excess product into your skin. “There, that should do it. All better.”

“Thanks, Tae.” You turn around and reach out, wiping at a stray fleck of the white lotion on his bicep. “You’ve got a little bit here too, hang on—“

“Mind if I borrow this?”

You turn at the sound of Jungkook’s voice. The dark-haired young man is standing there with your sunscreen in hand, his gaze zeroed in on the way your fingertips linger on Taehyung’s bare skin. Awkwardly, you pull away and nod, hoping that neither of them can hear your heart pounding erratically against your ribcage.

“Yeah. Sure. It’s all yours.”

Jungkook grabs his white t-shirt by the collar, tugging it up and over his head in one smooth motion, and you swallow at the way his taut abdomen flexes as he tosses it aside. “You’ll help me get my back too, won’t you, Noona?”

You nod, moving before he can even finish his sentence. Your feet carry you across the sandy ground on autopilot, and Jungkook exhales audibly as your palms smooth along the golden expanse of his muscular back, dipping down to the waistband of his black swim trunks. Ever since his visit to your bedroom last night, you’ve been itching to touch him—to feel every last inch of him. It’s impossible with your watchful brother and group of nosy friends hovering around though, so you settle for this—rubbing sunscreen into his warm skin while he sprays down his arms and legs.

“Thanks, princess,” he murmurs once you’re done, soft enough so that only you can hear and raising gooseflesh on the back of your neck. “Maybe next time, you’ll let me repay the favor.”

Then Yugyeom is calling his name, and Jungkook sprints down to the shoreline to join his friend in the crashing surf, his face creasing with laughter. Each time he emerges from the waves, droplets cling to his skin like glistening diamonds in the sunlight. It’s impossible to look away from the sight, and your tongue darts out to moisten your lips as you watch water drip off his hair and down his nape, pooling in his collarbones before he shakes his head like a dog and sends it spraying in all directions.

All that sunscreen is going to waste, a tiny voice in your head points out, but it’s hard to worry about that when you’re too busy following the path of the water streaming down past his dusky nipples to the ridges of his abdomen. And it’s almost as if he feels your gaze on him, because he’s suddenly staring right back at you, a wicked smirk tugging at his lips.

“Come on, Noona,” he calls, raking a hand through his drenched hair. “The water’s fine. Don’t make me drag you in.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” you call back, immediately regretting it when something equal parts mischievous and dangerous flashes across his face. There’s a glint in his eye that wasn’t there before, and you back away nervously as he emerges from the waves and saunters toward you. “Jungkook—”

“Yes?” he asks, his voice dropping down into a low purr. “What is it, princess?”

You edge around the towel that you’ve laid out in the sand, as if such a flimsy barrier could stop him in any way. “Just—just don’t dunk me under,” you plead.

Jungkook looks genuinely offended by that. “I would never,” he says, laying a hand over his heart and grabbing yours with his free one. “Now come on—let’s get you wet.”

You groan at the innuendo and try to tug free from his grip, but Jungkook only tightens his grasp, cackling the whole way down to the water.

///

The sun is just beginning to set, streaking the blue sky through with wispy strands of orange and gold, when Jimin raises his hand and declares it dinner time. For the past two hours, you’ve all been engrossed in a very tight three-on-three volleyball match with Jimin serving as referee, and upon hearing your brother’s declaration, Minho looks about ready to chuck the ball into the ocean.

“Dude, are you fucking serious? We’re literally two points from winning!” He gestures wildly at an invisible scoreboard only he can see. “No way we’re stopping here. I refuse on principle.”

“Yeah, I wanna see who the real winner is, too,” Jungkook drawls from the other end of the court, where he’s flanked on either side by Taehyung and Yugyeom. “I mean, we’ve been leading for most of the tournament, so…”

Minho scowls. “And we’re about to win the whole damn thing. Just you wait, Jeon.”

Behind him, you and Taemin exchange helpless glances. It isn’t the first time you’ve seen Jungkook and Minho squabble over the years, and you’re sure it won’t be the last. Both possess a razor sharp competitive streak and a certain pigheadedness that only emerges when it comes to athletic endeavors, and luckily, your brother knows this just as well as you do. Heaving a sigh, Jimin wearily gestures for them to continue, resuming his post at the end of the net. “Fine, fine,” he mutters. “Next point wins.”

On the other side of the net, Jungkook’s eyes narrow. “I’m good with that if you are.”

“Oh, I’m good,” Minho retorts. “It’s our serve. You ready?”

Jungkook smirks. “Bring it on.”

Minho cracks his knuckles and tosses the ball over to you for the serve. “All right then, let’s fucking do this.”

You sigh. Taking a deep breath, you heft up the ball, testing its weight before hitting it smoothly over the net. Yugyeom jumps up to intercept, batting it back over to your side, and Minho attempts to spike it back and into the sand. Unfortunately, Jungkook is too quick, and dives down to bump it back over to you. The back and forth continues like this for a while—you see Jimin boredly scrolling on his phone out of the corner of your eye—and you’re strongly considering calling it quits when Jungkook smashes the ball over the net and into the ground right at Minho’s feet.

“And that’s game,” he declares proudly, raking his sweaty hair off his forehead with a triumphant grin.

“Are you finally done?” Jimin asks, rolling his eyes and pocketing his phone. “Thank god. Can we eat now?”

Jungkook claps him on the back in affirmation, ignoring Minho’s loud, adamant protests that your team still technically won. Together, you head back to where your towels and bags sit in the sand, grabbing bottles of chilled water out of the cooler and fishing for snacks. Jimin pulls a package of hot dogs out while Taehyung rips open a bag of chips, and you follow their lead and grab the hamburger patties and buns. “Huh, I swear I bought ketchup,” you mumble to yourself as you rummage through the half-melted ice in the cooler. “Is it not in here?”

“I have it.” Jungkook materializes at your side, proffering the little red bottle. He’s pulled his white t-shirt back on, the material a stark contrast to his tanned skin, and you silently rise to your feet to take it when a sudden wave of lightheadedness rushes over you and sends the world spinning.

“Whoa,” you gasp, swaying on your feet. “Oh, god.”

Jungkook frowns and drops the ketchup bottle, steadying you until most of your weight is leaned against him. “Noona? Are you okay?”

You swallow, hard, and try to shake the unexpected bout of dizziness away. “I don’t know. Got dizzy, all of a sudden. I think I might have stood up too fast?”

Gently, Jungkook presses the back of his hand against your forehead. “You feel pretty warm,” he murmurs. “Have you had enough water today?”

“I thought I drank plenty, but maybe not,” you admit, and he nods decisively and gestures for you to follow him.

“Come on,” he says. “Let’s grab some water and go somewhere quiet so you can rest. Minho isn’t going to shut up about that match anytime soon, and it’s cooler down by the water.”

You laugh weakly. “We did technically win, you know. We had one more point than you guys.”

“God, not you too,” Jungkook sighs, casting you a playful look over his shoulder as he digs two bottles of water out from the cooler. He uncaps one and hands it over before taking a swig out of his, and you take a grateful sip, relishing in the cool liquid that trickles down your throat.

Nearby, your brother and the rest of the boys have commandeered one of several firepits scattered around the edges of the beach. They’re piling up pieces of driftwood and some of the long, tall sea grass that Taehyung has found, and Jungkook waves at them as he slowly guides you toward the ocean with a hand on your back. “We’re gonna go find some more wood!” he calls, and Jimin raises a hand in acknowledgment before turning back to the firepit.

Water laps gently at your toes as you and Jungkook walk along the shore, washing away all traces of your footprints. The sun dips below the horizon at last, illuminating the sky in one last burst of red and orange and gold that slowly fades into deep purples and blues as night falls. The temperature dips as the moon ascends to her lofty throne, accompanied by a smattering of starry pinpricks. Most of the beachgoers have packed up and left by this point, and here, with nothing but Jungkook’s quiet, familiar presence and the lapping waves, you feel more at peace than you have in a long time.

“You know, I’m really glad I came this weekend,” you say softly, breaking the comfortable silence that had fallen between the two of you. Your gaze drops down to your toes, fixing your attention on a pearly white seashell that’s sticking out from the wet sand. “I think you were right—I really did need a break from everything.”

“Sorry, I couldn’t quite catch that,” Jungkook says, swirling his pinky in his ear. “Could you say it again? Something about me being right?”

You roll your eyes. “Oh, shut up.”

Jungkook casts a quick look over his shoulder, and when you follow the trajectory of his gaze, you notice just how far you’ve gotten from the firepit where the others are sitting. Darkness has settled over the beach, the sand painted a wan silver from the light of the moon, and you flinch when Jungkook’s hand finds its way around yours.

“Jungkook—” you begin, but trail off when he twines your fingers together and gives your hand a squeeze.

“They can’t see us, Noona,” he murmurs. “Relax.”

Easier said than done, you want to say. Nevertheless, you suck in a deep breath and take another sip from your water bottle, trying to ignore the way Jungkook swings your interlocked hands between you as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Shouldn’t—shouldn’t we be trying to find more driftwood?” you ask after several long seconds have dragged by. “We need way more if we’re gonna keep the fire going.”

Jungkook hums softly and veers inland, until the sand beneath your feet is dry and starts sticking to your wet toes. You come across a few scattered pieces of wood, dried out by the sun, and tuck them beneath your arm. Likewise, Jungkook gathers a few pieces of his own, hefting them up before reaching out to take your hand once more. His fingers slot all too comfortably into the spaces between yours, and your heart stutters a few times in your chest before plunking down into your churning stomach.

Nighttime has well and truly settled over the beach by the time you and Jungkook start picking your way back over to rejoin the group around the firepit. You pull your hand out of Jungkook’s well before you reach the ring of orange light that the flames cast across the sand, your arm now swinging free at your side and your fingers cold from the loss of his warmth. Silently, you hasten your pace and plop down onto the towel that Jimin has spread out, stretching out your legs toward the fire and wiggling your toes.

“Where have you guys been?” Jimin asks curiously. “You just kinda wandered off.”

“Getting more driftwood,” you reply, gesturing at the small pile you’ve dropped at the edge of the towel. “We told you that’s where we were going.”

Jimin frowns for a few seconds before the memory resurfaces. “Oh, right. I forgot.”

Jungkook snorts and takes a seat beside you, dropping his stack of driftwood on top of yours. “Dumbass.”

“You’re a dumbass,” Jimin retorts.

“You’re both dumbasses,” you sigh.

The fire crackles merrily, sending orange sparks up into the velvety black sky. There’s a grill situated over the flames, loaded with hamburger patties and hot dogs, and you watch as Jimin tears open a bag of hot dog buns and begins to place them around the edges.

“Hey, can you throw me the hamburger buns?” he asks you. “I wanna try toasting them.”

“You’re gonna burn them,” you tell him flatly. Nonetheless, you locate the second bag and toss it over, watching as he makes more room on the grill.

Dinner is a loud, chaotic affair, filled with laughter and conversation and plenty of booze to go around. Jimin has procured a flask of whiskey from somewhere in his clothing—an impressive feat in and of itself, considering he’s only wearing swim trunks and a thin blue t-shirt. You wave him off when he offers you a sip, and he shrugs and throws back a generous swallow himself. Then he offers it to Jungkook, who shakes his head and raises his water bottle. “Designated driver,” he says. “I’m sticking to water tonight.”

Curiously, you glance over at him. “You don’t have to do that. I wasn’t planning on drinking, so I can drive us back.”

“With the way you were looking earlier?” Jungkook fixes you with a look of pure disbelief. “Not a chance. Besides, we’re going back to the real world tomorrow, and the last thing I need is to be hungover. I have to get us back home in one piece, not to mention the entire menu I still have to memorize for work.”

You hum. Jungkook has mentioned his new job a few times—a summer stint working as a server at a new restaurant opened by a family friend named Seokjin. “Right, I remember you saying that. You start on Monday, don’t you?”

“Dinner shift,” Jungkook confirms. “I stole a whole bunch of pens from Junghyun’s room the other day in preparation. Jin said I’d probably end up losing two-thirds of them by the end of the week.”

“That sounds about right,” you tell him with a laugh. “Some guy stole my favorite pen last summer when I was working at that diner on Main. Lesson learned, forever.”

Jungkook laughs. “Yeah, I bet.”

You grin. “But, hey, seriously. If you need me to quiz you on that menu, I’ve got time to spare.”

“Honestly, I might take you up on that offer. I have flash cards, and everything.” He uncaps his water bottle and takes a long sip, his throat bobbing with each swallow, before glancing back over at you. “What about you? You ready for your internship?”

You sigh and offer him a helpless little shrug. “I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready, to be honest. I don’t think I’m going to stop stressing about it until I get through my first day. The entire thing still doesn’t feel real.”

“I get that,” Jungkook hums. “Well, I can imagine it, at least. I won’t pretend to know exactly what you’re going through, since I’ve never had an adult job, but—“ He shrugs a shoulder halfheartedly. “I can kind of relate, I guess.”

“All jobs suck a little bit,” you tell him, and Jungkook lets out a derisive huff of agreement.

“I’ll drink to that,” he says, and the two of you tap your water bottles together before rejoining the conversation with the rest of your friends.

///

The drive back to the lake house is shorter than you remember it being—though that might be because you spend most of it watching Jungkook drive. He steers with one hand slung carelessly over the wheel, his expression relaxed as he sings along to whatever pop hit plays on the radio. Unloading the car is a team effort, though you hear no shortage of complaints from Jimin as he heaves the cooler over the threshold of the house before collapsing atop it in a pile of limp limbs.

“Thanks for leaving me to carry this thing by myself,” he snarks, not even bothering to raise his head. “Really appreciate it.”

“Don’t be a baby,” Taehyung scoffs, tossing a game console at him. “Have a beer and pick something to play. We’re waiting on you.”

You watch as your brother immediately hops up and darts over to join the rest of the boys lounging in the living room, fighting back the sudden wave of exhaustion that washes over you. “I think I’m going to head to bed,” you tell them, hiding a yawn behind your hand. “Goodnight, guys.”

A chorus of goodnights and see you in the mornings rings out in response, and you wave before heading down the hall to your room and into the adjoining bathroom. Your hair is crusty from being submerged in the salty water of the ocean, and a shower to rejuvenate your dehydrated skin is just what you need. Turning on the tap, you wait until it’s flowing warm before stripping out of your clothes and tossing them onto your bed to deal with later. Then you step into the shower and tilt your head back, letting the water stream down your face and soak into your hair.

You’re midway through squeezing a generous dollop of shampoo into your palm when there’s a soft knock on the door. “Noona?” Jungkook’s voice filters through the sound of rushing water, low and lilting like a song. “You left kinda fast. Are you sure you’re feeling okay?”

You cap the shampoo bottle and replace it on the shelf, peering out from behind the shower curtain. “I’m fine,” you call, hesitating before you steel your nerves and continue. “You can come in, if you want. I don’t like yelling through the door.”

Slowly, the bathroom door eases open, revealing Jungkook standing in his and Jimin’s shared bedroom. His brown eyes are wide as he takes in the sight before him, and you have no doubt that he’s thinking about just what the palm tree patterned curtain is hiding from his view. Your lip finds its way between your teeth when you notice him shuffle his feet awkwardly for a moment before stepping a little closer to where you’re standing beneath the spray, his mouth opening to speak.

“Join me?”

The invitation slips past your lips, unbidden, but you have no intention of taking it back. Not when Jungkook’s gaze darkens to obsidian at those two simple words, his mouth snapping shut and his hands already reaching for the hem of his white t-shirt. Not when he strips it off in one smooth motion to reveal all the dips and ridges of his abdomen, his skin golden even under the harsh fluorescent bathroom lights. And certainly not when he pulls aside the shower curtain and joins you beneath the spray, his dark eyes appreciatively raking up and down your bare figure.

“Hey,” he says, his voice a low purr.

“Hi,” you respond, reaching out and trailing a fingertip down his chest.

And then you’re dropping down to your knees, your tongue darting out to tease at the tip of his already rising cock. One hand finds its way to his balls while the other traces the line of his pelvic bone, and you smirk when you feel him let out a shuddery breath.

“Fuck,” he rasps. “Someone’s eager.”

You wrap your lips around the tip of his cock, humming, and Jungkook’s fingers fly into your dampened hair. “Oh, fuck. You’re really trying to kill me, huh, princess?” he asks, and you respond by taking a little more of him into your mouth, laving at the vein running along the underside of his length before hollowing your cheeks. Jungkook throws his head back, a deep groan escaping his parted lips, and you preen under his encouragement as he urges you to take him deeper.

You’ve just begun to settle into a rhythm—figuring out exactly how much pressure he likes and what makes his hips buck—when he suddenly pushes you away. “Jung—” you begin, only to have him silence you with a searing kiss, grabbing you around the waist and hauling you to your feet.

“Wanna fuck you properly,” he rasps. His hand finds its way between your legs, experimental fingers sliding through the wetness that’s gathered there, and your cheeks heat up when he brings them to his mouth and licks them clean. “Just let me go grab a condom,” he whispers urgently. “Don’t move a muscle, okay? I’ll be righ—”

You silence him with a hard kiss. “Don’t,” you mumble. “I’m clean. Are you?”

Jungkook nods slowly, his eyes wide. “Does that mean… I mean, are you…?”

“I’m on the pill,” you murmur. “Fuck me raw, Jungkook.”

A sharp gasp escapes you when Jungkook cages you against the cool tiled wall of the shower, the slick surface dampened by the spray from the showerhead. He grabs ahold of your thigh and hoists it up to wrap around his waist, and you’ve never been more thankful for the ugly fish patterned shower mat that your mom insisted on putting down to prevent slipping. Jungkook nestles into the newly created space between your legs, his cock hot and slick against your center, and you keen when he grinds against you in a slow, deliberate motion.

“You feel that?” he rasps into your ear, his breath hot against your cheek. “Feel how hard you get me, Noona?”

“God, Jungkook,” you breathe back. “Just fuck me already, will you?”

His answering chuckle sends a shiver from your toes to your crown. “So needy,” he murmurs, his hand sliding from your thigh to your hip. His mouth seeks out yours as he positions the head of his cock at your entrance, meeting little resistance as he slowly begins pushing inside. Your walls part willingly for him and your lips do too—his questing tongue slipping inside when you moan and beginning his seemingly endless task of mapping out every corner of your mouth.

“God, I forgot how big you are,” you breathe when he bottoms out—the entirety of his hot, heavy length sheathed within your walls. Your head falls back against the tile as he rolls his hips experimentally, a moan that sounds vaguely like Jungkook’s name escaping your lips. Your arms come up to brace on his shoulders as he picks up his pace, but he intercepts one of your hands and twines your fingers together, settling them onto the wall just to the left of your head. His other hand returns to your thigh to keep you stable and spread out for his increasingly harsh thrusts, and you whimper helplessly in his ironclad grip.

“That’s it,” he whispers, groaning when you clench around him. “God, you’re so fucking tight, princess.”

“Fuck me open, then,” you moan back, squeezing his hand and meeting his next thrust with one of your own. Jungkook’s breathing stutters, and you laugh breathlessly at the way his mouth falls open at the spike of pleasure. Emboldened, you grind against him, the spray from the shower easing the movement. “Jungkook, please.”

He chuckles hoarsely. “Careful what you wish for,” he purrs against the shell of your ear, punctuating the warning with a harsh roll of his hips that sends all remaining thought flying out of your head. In this moment, there’s only Jungkook—his dark hair dampened and dripping, the spray from the showerhead slicking his chest and pooling in his clavicle before trailing down each ridge and dip of his honeyed skin. His lips find yours again, and you sigh into the kiss as he begins to fuck you in earnest.

“Hey, Jungkook! You in there?”

Your eyes fly open at the new voice, your body tensing when there are several loud bangs on the door. Jungkook freezes mid-thrust with an expression that can only be described as a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming truck, his throat bobbing nervously as he fights to find a response. You can practically see the gears whirring in his brain, and shove uselessly at his chest in an attempt to escape his steely embrace.

“That’s Jimin,” you hiss urgently, turning his face toward yours and prodding his cheek until his gaze refocuses. “What the fuck are we going to do?”

“Dude.” Jimin’s voice is laced with irritation. “I wanna brush my teeth! What the hell are you doing in there?”

Jungkook hesitates, glancing between you and the closed bathroom door. Then he inhales deeply, pressing a light kiss to your furrowed forehead before pulling the shower curtain closed, ensuring there are no gaps. “I got you,” he murmurs softly, his brown eyes boring into yours. “Don’t worry, okay?”

Your eyes flutter shut at the gentle pressure of his lips against your skin, but they fly open again when Jungkook breaks away and yells for Jimin to come in. Warm palms slide soothingly down your sides, but that doesn’t stop you from tensing up when the bathroom door creaks open, your brother’s soft footsteps approaching the flimsy palm tree patterned curtain.

“Have you been showering this whole time? Jeez. Leave some hot water for the rest of us, will you?”

Jungkook chuckles. Ever so slowly, he pushes forward until he’s fully seated inside you again, and you do your best to level a glare at him even as pleasure flares at the base of your spine. “There’s plenty to go around,” he says. “Relax.”

You get the distinct feeling that he’s not just addressing Jimin anymore. Jungkook pulls back until only the top of his cock remains nestled in your folds, and you open your mouth to berate him but all that comes out is a low moan when he sinks back inside you in one swift push.

On the other side of the curtain, you hear the faucet turn on. “Man, I can’t believe we leave tomorrow,” Jimin says over the sound of running water. “The weekend flew by.”

“Mmm,” Jungkook hums, brushing a thumb across your clit. The pace he’s set is slow and deep, and is made all the more sensual by the steam that’s steadily building up in the small room. You try once more to push him away—to quell the growing ache between your legs—but it’s all in vain as he chuckles softly into the crook of your neck, his bare shoulders quaking. “I got you, princess,” he murmurs, his voice a wicked little whisper that’s immediately lost in the spray of water. “Just let me take care of you, yeah?”

You don’t have a chance to answer. Jimin starts speaking again, this time accompanied by the sound of toothbrush bristles scrubbing against his teeth. “I’m starting up at the studio as soon as we get back—isn’t that crazy? I mean, I’ve never taught anyone how to dance before. Not really. Not for real.”

Jungkook snaps his hips up so sharply that you nearly mewl in surprise, forced to bite down into his meaty shoulder to muffle the noises that threaten to escape from your throat. “You’re a great tutor, man,” he says, his voice steady even as he resumes his slow, lazy thrusts, his cock dragging along your fluttering walls. “You’ve been helping people with math for, what, two years? What makes you think it’ll be any different with dancing?”

Jimin spits into the sink and sighs. “I don’t know. It’s scarier because there’ll be more people, I guess. Tutoring is one on one, y’know? And at the studio, I’ll have a full class of people watching me. Every single move I make, they’ll be looking at. That’s fucking terrifying to think about.”

Slowly, Jungkook’s hips still, his cock buried to the hilt in your cunt. Your heartbeat drums in your ears, backed by the relentless spray from the showerhead, and Jungkook leans down to plant a wet kiss on your cheek, his hair dripping.

“You’re a great dancer, Jimin,” he says once he’s pulled back and straightened back up to his full height. “Best one I know. You’re also one of the smartest people I know, but right now, you’re being really fucking dumb.”

There’s a clatter that sounds like a plastic toothbrush being dropped into the sink, and Jimin lets out an affronted squeak. “Hey!”

Jungkook just chuckles, his shoulders quaking. “It’s true,” he says easily. “Seriously, man. You don’t have a thing to worry about. You’re gonna kick ass out there, and your class is gonna be awesome. You’re already, what, almost maxed out on the number of registrants? You’re already killing it.”

Your brother lets out an unintelligible grumble on the other side of the shower curtain, but you can still hear the smile in his voice no matter how hard he tries to mask it. “All right, you fucking sap,” Jimin says at last, his soft footsteps padding toward the door. “Hurry up and get out of there, yeah? You’re really gonna use up all the hot water.”

The door clicks shut behind him, and you immediately smack Jungkook in the middle of his stupidly toned chest. “Oh my god!” you hiss. “Are you kidding me right now, Jeon? We could’ve been caught!”

“But we weren’t,” Jungkook replies easily, shaking his dampened hair out of his face and fixing you with an indolent little smirk. “So why don’t you be a good girl and cum for me now?”

///

The next morning brings with it a whirlwind of frenzied packing, and you mentally congratulate yourself for preemptively gathering all of your belongings together last night. Minho is wandering every last inch of the house with a piece of half-eaten toast dangling from his mouth, and you can hear Taehyung in the distance asking if anyone’s seen his strawberry body wash. Jungkook is seated on the floor near the front door, his brows furrowed and his lower lip jutting out in a pout as he fights to close the zipper of his suitcase.

“Got it!” he exclaims after a few seconds, triumphant. “Where’s your stuff, Noona? I’m gonna load the car.”

You begin to stand up from your spot on the couch. “It’s in my room, let me go get—”

Jungkook is on his feet and halfway down the hall before you can even finish your sentence. He returns a moment later with your luggage in tow, shooting you a grin and a wink as he passes by. “I got you, princess,” he murmurs. “Remember?”

Of course you do. You remember like it was yesterday—because, well, it was yesterday and you haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since. You remember the moment you shared at the beach and the way his hand felt so right wrapped around your own. You remember the way you’d dropped to your knees for him so readily in the shower last night. And you definitely remember the way he’d fucked you afterward—slow and deep in the best possible way, even with your brother’s untimely interruption.

After what feels like an eternity, both cars are finally packed and ready to go. You bid goodbye to the boys who are riding with Jimin, promising to stay in touch, before climbing into the passenger seat of Jungkook’s beat-up sedan. Jungkook himself is already lounging behind the wheel, his sunglasses perched low on his nose as he fiddles with his phone. He looks up at your entrance and flashes you a smile, tapping his screen a few more times before holding it up so you can see.

“I changed your contact photo,” he says. “Like it?”

You peer at his phone, and something in your chest clenches when you see the photo he’s selected. You’re on the beach beside the volleyball net, illuminated by the setting sun. The sky is streaked through with pink and orange behind you, but through some editing magic, Jungkook has made it so that you are glowing even brighter in the foreground—with laughter etched across your face and the wind in your hair. It’s a beautiful photograph, and you tell him so, unable to contain the dangerously warm affection blossoming in your chest.

“I love it,” you say. “I usually don’t like having my photo taken, but wow. You have a talent for this.”

Jungkook’s smile grows. “I have a pretty muse,” he replies, and your cheeks warm.

The door to the backseat opens with a bang, and you nearly jump out of your skin at the sudden sound. “Yo,” Yugyeom says, plopping down and buckling his seatbelt. “We ready to roll?”

Jungkook scowls and puts his phone back into his pocket. “Careful with the door, man. I need this thing to last through the summer.”

Yugyeom puts his hands up in apology, and Jungkook turns back to face the front, starting the ignition with a flick of his wrist. The engine sputters to life, and Jungkook waits for Jimin to pull out first before following after him, tailing the van out of the driveway and onto the winding road that will take you back into the city.

“Music?” you ask, gesturing at the stereo.

“Go for it,” Jungkook replies. “You want my phone so you can put on the roadtrip mix?”

“Sure.”

With the help of the upbeat music and Jungkook’s tendency to drive just a touch over the speed limit, you make it to the winding roads of Yugyeom’s neighborhood in what must be record time. “You missed the turn,” Yugyeom says lazily from where he’s sprawled across the entire backseat. “Turn left here—we can circle around and approach from the other side.”

Two more turns and a descent down a steep hill later, Jungkook manages to successfully drop Yugyeom off at his house. The drive across town takes no time at all, and before long, you’re cruising into your neighborhood, coasting past Jungkook’s driveway and straight into yours.

“Looks like we beat Jimin back,” you remark, looking at the empty spot where the van usually sits.

Jungkook hums. “Makes sense. He has more people to drop off.”

“Mm. Yeah.”

The sudden awkwardness that falls doesn’t go unnoticed by you. Clearing your throat, you reach for your purse, grabbing it from where it’s fallen to the ground near your feet. “I guess I’ll see you around then,” you begin, turning to open the door.

A strong hand wraps around your wrist, forcing you back into your seat. “Is that it?” Jungkook asks, and there’s an edge of something you can’t quite place in his voice. “Are you gonna go back to pretending like there’s nothing between us?”

You shake him free. “There isn’t anything between us,” you whisper. “We’re not on vacation anymore, Jungkook. We’re back home. Back to real life. We can’t do—whatever it is that we’ve been doing.”

“But you’re attracted to me,” Jungkook growls. “You like me. So why do you keep running away?”

A sigh escapes you. “Jungkook, it doesn’t matter if I like you or no—”

He interrupts before you can even finish your sentence. “Yes it does. It’s the only thing that matters.” And then he’s pulling you into his chest, taking advantage of your skewed sense of balance, and crushing his mouth to yours.

This kiss is different from the others you’ve shared so far. It’s hungry and passionate, and yet it’s tinged with something else—something that feels strangely akin to desperation. Jungkook kisses you with urgency, and it’s so raw and unbridled that it steals the very breath from your lungs and leaves you lightheaded.

Jungkook doesn’t say a word when he pulls away. Instead, he reaches down, popping the handle that opens the trunk and stepping out to pull your suitcase from within. Silently, he presses the handle into your hand.

And then he’s turning—climbing back into his car and leaving you with nothing but the memory of his lips and a whirlwind of thoughts in your mind.

[softomi]

Catfish

prompt: mother says to be wary of people you meet on the internet, especially since you never know who’s on the other side of the screen. 

pairing: atsumu x reader

the unpaid extras: osamu, suna

general taglist: @graykageyama

Osamu liked to mess with his brother and lately he’s been planning the largest prank. It originally wasn’t supposed become a huge thing, but then Suna just kept edging him on; adding more things one by one and it just spiraled. Osamu was catfishing Atsumu with your pictures.

Now, Osamu knows that it sounds bad but technically you were in on the prank. You had never met nor even knew Atsumu, heck, you didn’t even know who Osamu was. You had been part of the prank merely through text messages and the occasional meet up with Suna.

To put it simply, Suna met you through one of his teammates; coincidentally you ended up in one of his classes and the two of you built a tiny friendship. Which was why, when Suna was thinking of the perfect person to catfish Atsumu with; your face lit up in his head.

You were the perfect candidate, exactly Atsumu’s type literally to a tee. When Suna pulled up your contact, the first thing he did was offer to pay you. Every picture you sent used for the prank, he’ll send you cash through an app and as a broke college student who needed cash fast, you agreed as long as the photos weren’t used for anything weird or sexual. He made sure to send you proof of each photo in use.

This brings it all back to dear Osamu catfishing his brother. He had created an entirely new Instagram for you, complete using your name and a cute description that him and Suna had spent two hours thinking of. They decided to even spend a few days perfecting it, posting pictures a few days apart with captions, following random groups, liking posts, essentially creating a whole new personality using your photos. Osamu had even developed a fake occupation for you; a foodie blogger to which some posts were dedicated to food reviews for restaurants Osamu deemed worthy of a post.

And when Osamu says that the prank spiraled; it fucking spiraled. Originally it started with Suna and Osamu following the account, suddenly Suna’s teammates began following the account. Osamu made the mistake of tagging Onigirl Miya in one of your photos, ultimately adding a few random people to follow the account. Suddenly after two weeks of having the account, you gained over two thousand follows.

It was no worries though, because Osamu can quickly catfish Atsumu, take down the account, and call it all good.

Safe to say, Atsumu accepted the friend request rather quickly. Osamu and Suna snicker to themselves, it took Atsumu less than five minutes to accept and he was already liking all of your photos. Not even ten minutes pass and he’s sliding into the DM’s.

The two men looking at the phone and burst into laughter. They spend five minutes cackling at Atsumu’s random ‘hey’ message that followed with a smiling emoji.

Osamu was absolutely entertained, it was hilarious that his own brother had fallen for his catfish and honestly, Osamu was ready to give up the act after three days but then Atsumu said something that just really pissed him off. He doesn’t remember what it was, he just suddenly ended up two more weeks later still having the fake Instagram account and still having Atsumu believe that he was falling in love with some girl.

Somehow the account ended up with over five thousand followers, Atsumu messages the account religiously, and Osamu for some godly reason is still managing the account three months later. It’s spiraled.

“I have a girlfriend!” Atsumu doesn’t know why his friend and brother are laughing. He’s scrolling through your Instagram, the catfish Instagram.

Osamu almost chokes on his food, “So what, have you guys gone on a date? Have you even seen her in real life?” Suna snorts into his drink, he coughs when he accidentally inhales the water sharply.

Atsumu slumps in his seat, his voice small, “No, but we talk every day and she likes me!”

Suna is coughing even harder now, tears threatening to leave his eyes to the point that he excuses himself to the bathroom. Osamu has a shit eating grin on his face, “How do you know she’s actually not some old dude catfishing you?”

“She’s not!” Atsumu stutters, “She’s real!”

“Prove it.”

Osamu was about to learn a harsh lesson about the world; the world loves to bite you in the ass when you least expect it.

Atsumu leans forward, an eerie grin on his lips, “Happily.” Atsumu whips out his phone, quickly presses a number and holds the phone to his ear. He holds a finger up to his brother, even gesturing for the returning Suna to remain quiet. The phone picks up, “Hey babe, you wanna meet me here at Onigiri Miya?” Atsumu looks at the watch on his wrist, “Twenty minutes? Perfect.”

Osamu’s believing his brother is bluffing. There was no way in hell he’d be able to somehow magically bring the catfish to life, heck, Atsumu would be a god if suddenly he could. Thirty minutes pass, Osamu is exchanging looks with Suna. It’s absolutely silent between the three.

Osamu is suddenly feeling guilty, Suna is uncomfortable to the point that he’s even texting you to make sure you weren’t actually coming, and you confirmed with him that you weren’t.

“Should we tell him?” Osamu whispers when another five minutes pass.

Suna is deadpanned, “I don’t know, we’re kind of reaching a sad territory now. Let’s just break up with him and ghost him.”

Osamu groans, “But do we want to deal with a sad Atsumu, I’ll take getting my ass kicked over him crying in my apartment.”

The door chimes and their jaws smack the floor. You walked through the door, eyes roaming the place before landing on the three huddled into the corner. Is he a fucking god? Atsumu stands from his seat, he meets you halfway, pulling you into a heartfelt kiss that has you swooning.

The closer you approach with Atsumu’s arm around your shoulder, the more they truly begin to believe that Atsumu is a god.

“Guys, this is my girlfriend.” This time it’s Atsumu who has a shit-eating grin, “Ain’t she a beauty, the pictures don’t do her justice.”

It takes everything in Osamu to not scream, “But, you said you’d never even met her before.”

Atsumu gazes into your eyes, hearts practically floating above his head, “I mean I guess technically this is our first-time meeting, right?”

You nod, a puppy like expression on your face, “I’m sorry, I haven’t introduced myself yet. You must be Osamu.” You point to him then your fingers drag to the other male, “Suna.”

“Oh.” Suna sits straight up, “Oh!” He catches the glint in your eyes, the conniving little minx of a look. Suna was no longer calm, “We’ve been double crossed!”

There’s screaming, fingers are being pointed at each other, Atsumu is gripping Osamu by the neck of his shirt, Suna is literally calling your phone to make sure that it’s actually you, Osamu is pulling his brother’s hair. The customers of the restaurant stare with their jaws dropped at the scene.

Everyone is squished into Osamu’s small office. Suna is sitting on the desktop, Osamu in his chair, Atsumu in the spare seat, and you lean on the arm of Atsumu’s chair. His arm dangles around your waist, pulling you to lean on him with a cheery grin.

Atsumu leans forward, taking in the expressions of the two bewildered boys, “I guess let’s start at the beginning.”

While the story technically began three months ago with Suna asking for your cooperation, the story of you and Atsumu began two months ago.

The extra cash from all the pictures you sent Suna was giving you enough to be able to go out and live a little on the weekends. Originally the bar was dead, you and your friends were tucked into the corner in a booth when a rowdy bunch of men came in. Your friends gasped having recognize them as members of a sports team and with their excitement, they must have won a game.

It didn’t affect your group that much until it came to split ways; being in your last year of university, you excused yourself, insisting that you needed to go home to finish a project. As you stood at the register, card tapping against the counter, that was when he showed up.

At this point, Atsumu had spent the past hour believing the gods were on his side. He practically walked by your table ten times just to make sure the face matched the one in his instagram’s DM. After forty minutes of the constant back and forth, your quick gazes at him walking by the table seem to do nothing. Were you unable to recognize him?

He took his shot watching you stand alone at the counter. He finishes off his drink and smoothly strides to you.

“Hey!” Atsumu leans on the counter, flashing a smile despite alcohol dripping from the side of his mouth, “Wouldn’t you consider this fate?” He gestures between the both of you.

You’re confused, shooting him a puzzled gaze, “Sorry, you must have me mistaken for someone else.” You hand the card to the worker, anxiously eyeing the male who’s increasingly invading your space.

Atsumu places a hand on the small of your back, it was something Instagram you had mentioned you liked, instead it triggered a fight or flight. Your hand makes harsh contact with his cheek, he retracts his hand immediately.

“Don’t touch me!” You bark at him, “Perv.” You’re aggressively signing the receipt, storming out of the door while other men seem to ooh at Atsumu’s situation.

“Hey!” Atsumu catches your figure outside of the bar, you’re waving a hand to catch a cab, “I think we got off on the wrong foot there.”

You don’t give him a second glance, “Look, I don’t know who you think you are.”

“Atsumu.” He stands right in front of you, blocking your sights for a cab. He’s got the widest smile on his face as he holds out a hand, “Miya Atsumu. Volleyball player. Setter for the Black Jackals.”

“Okay.” You run a hand through your hair, oddly taking his hand into a shake while eyeing him, “Miya Atsumu, volleyball player, setter for the Black Jackals.”

You step to the side, arm out still trying to catch a taxi but he blocks your way once more and he looks at you with such wonder. His eyes practically having stars coming out and his smile warm and inviting. He was wondering if you were a twin, maybe he had actually gotten the wrong person.

“You are?”

The wind is causing your hair to blow in your face, he wants to so bad to brush the strands behind your ears but the way you gave him a slap earlier makes him think that’s a bad idea. Your fingers pull your hair back, “Y/n. I don’t have a fancy title like yours but, I guess I don’t know, senior to be graduating at the university.” You sidestep him once more, “I’m just trying to catch a cab home.”

Once more he blocks your way and you look at him with defeat. He was persistent. He laughs, “Sorry, last time, but do you not know me?”

You’re still as confused as ever, “Look if you’re going to pull some cheesy line about seeing me before, it’s not going to work.”

“Wait, just hold on a second.” Atsumu pulls out his phone, his fingers are shaking as he presses onto the app. He pulls up your profile, handing you his cell phone, “This is you isn’t it?!”

Your eyes scan the social media page, your mouth falling open, there’s a hidden laugh itching in your throat. These were all the picture you had taken for Suna and somehow, you’re being shown by a stranger your fake profile.

“We’ve been messaging for like a month, I can’t believe you don’t recognize me.”

I don’t recognize you because I’m not the one talking to you.

You’re perplexed, you weren’t sure what you were supposed to do, if you told him he’s being catfished you’d lose the flow of side cash you’ve developed but if you didn’t, isn’t that just wrong. And the more you look at him from under the stars, he’s rather cute; you suddenly feel bad for slapping his face earlier.

“Do you want to get some coffee?”

Your offer sends him over the moon, he’s walking alongside you to the nearest convenience; Atsumu is rather talkative, bringing up topics of everything and anything that comes to his mind. As the two of you look over drink options in the cooler, his hands pull two cans of black coffee.

“You’re favorite right?” He holds one out to you.

Your actively smiling, biting your lower lip and wondering if you needed to play along with the role but as he stares at you with such adoring eyes, it makes your heart skip a beat just taking in the fact that he would remember something trivial over text.

“Actually.” You place the drink back, opting for a sweeter caramel macchiato, “I would say that this is my favorite.”

Atsumu quirks a brow, “Are you saying you were lying to me?” He places a hand over his heart, “And here I thought we were soulmates.”

Your hand smacks against his arm, “Shut up.”

“So what are you studying for?” Atsumu sips his drink, the two of you leaning against the windows of the convenience store. There’s a slight sway in his body and you’ve unknowingly followed his movements.

“Literature. Once I graduate, an internship is probably where I’ll start but I’m hoping I can get hired into a publishing company.” He’s comfortable to be with and you aren’t sure if it’s because he thinks he knows you or because his presence is just like that; comfortable.

Atsumu finishes off his canned beverage, “And you do that, all on top of running a foodie Instagram.”

From what you gathered on a quick skim of the account; they have your occupation as a lower level food blog; it’s rather funny. You can only nod to him, “It’s just a side hobby really.”

“Well maybe I could join you on one of your little adventures.”

You try to suppress the immense grin that wants to grow on your lips, there’s an internal battle happening of whether you should tell him or not but once again, the way he looks at you, the cute doe eyed look; it puts butterflies in your stomach.

“How about tomorrow?” He lets out a small gasp, your hands pull out your cell phone and offer it to him, “Your number?”

“I’m free for lunch, just text me when and where.”

You press the number he’s inserted into his contact; in a second his cell rings and he’s showing off his screen, “Don’t message me on Instagram though, I’m detoxing from social media for a bit. Just, text my number.”

He walks you to the curb, helping you flag down a cab, and you give him one last gleeful glance before getting into the car. As you sit, you’re quick to dial Suna’s number. You know he’s probably sleeping but the light feeling in your heart overrides his sleep schedule.

“What?” He’s groaning.

“Suna listen to me carefully. The prank that you guys are doing.” You hear a small snore, “Suna!” He jolts awake and you groan, “You know what, go back to sleep.”

“Thanks.” He hangs up immediately.

Your phone dings, Atsumu’s name pops up. Can’t wait for our date. You bite on your thumb, a smile on you before you respond.

Although having just seen him forty minutes ago, you two text back and forth. First he wondered if you arrived home safe, next he sent pictures of himself insisting it’s for you to choose for his icon, then he proceeds to narrate his way home. You wonder if you’re responding like catfish you but the more he brings up random topics, the more you forget about that stupid prank.

Wait let me call you.

Your heart beats faster, your phone lighting up with his name. You press the answer button slowly, “Hello?” You giggle.

“You’re telling me that you like spikers more than setters.” His voice is nearly screaming and you lean back on your chair laughing into the phone.

The quick research you did on his team had you watching short videos, and while you had to admit it was amazing to watch, your eyes drifted more to one of his teammates than him, “What’s his name?” You lean to look at your computer screen, “Bokuto Koutarou?”

“No!” He’s whining out into the air, “If I had known you were a spiker girl I would have changed positions.”

Your eyes catch the time on your laptop, “Woah. It’s three in the morning.” That meant you had spent over four hours total texting him and now you were on the phone with him, “What are you doing awake?”

He blows out a breath of air, “I could ask you the same thing.”

“Well.” You draw out the word, dragging your self to your bed, “I’m going to go to sleep now.” There’s a pause on the line, “Atsumu?” He hums tiredly, “Good night.”

There’s a small snore from him before he shifts around, “Good night.”

The morning light urges you awake, for a second you peak at your phone’s time and it nears ten in the morning. You’re about to throw your phone back onto the bedside table until Atsumu’s name catches your eye. For having gone to bed at three a.m. he shot you a text at seven.

Morning beautiful.

It was sweet, simple, and it made you smile; giving you the extra push to get out of bed. You stalked your own catfish page, there hadn’t seemed to be any updates so there was still time. A quick search of the internet has you picking out a random restaurant nearby and you send off a text to Atsumu about a meeting time.

You were late, pushing through the doors of the restaurant, your eyes scan the place to see him raise a hand for you. He’s dashingly handsome despite being in casual wear, you wonder if he spent time like you did just trying to pick out an outfit or if he spent forever gelling his hair as long as you tried to get your strands into the perfect waves.

“Sorry, did you wait long?” You pull into the seat in front of him.

He’s smiling and you hope to god that when you break the news to him, he’ll still smile for you, “I just got here not too long ago too.” He looks over the menu quickly, “What do you think you’ll get?”

You inspect each dish, a light hum on you as you dance around the option, “The spaghetti sounds nice.”

Atsumu tilts his head, “It has red meat in it.” You stare blankly at him, “Aren’t you allergic to red meat?”

“Oh.” You set the menu down, “Actually.” He follows your actions, you’ve become nervous at what you’re suddenly about to do, “There’s something you should know.”

“Fuck this!” Atsumu throws the napkin on the table, you jump as he harshly stands, throwing the chair back.

“Atsumu.” You stand.

“No! Don’t. Were you just messing with me then? Did Osamu tell you I was going to be at the bar last night?” Atsumu’s fist ball, “You know what, whatever.”

“Wait.” You follow him behind, “Atsumu. I’m sorry.”

He harshly turns to you, god, even in sunlight you were beautiful to him. He wants to laugh, the month he spent talking to the fake you; yeah that was all bullshit to him but honestly when he saw you last night, when he spent over four hours actually talking to you; he actually felt that maybe this could be something deeper.

“I’m really sorry, I know I should have said something right away.” You have a soft pout on you and it makes him outwardly groan.

He runs a hand through his hair, “Okay, it’s fine. I probably deserved this prank too anyways; must have pissed him off somehow.” He waves a hand, “You can just go back to doing whatever.”

Your hand pulls on his wrist, “I owe you a meal.” You bat your eyes with a cheeky grin, “If you take pictures of me, we can send them to Suna and use the money for our food.”

“Oh.” He begins to smile, “I like that idea.”

Back into Osamu’s office, Atsumu has now pulled you onto his lap, your head resting on his shoulder with arms hanging around his shoulders. The two bachelors stare at the sickly loving sight.

A lightbulb goes off in Suna’s head, “Wait! My money!”

You snort a laugh into Atsumu’s shoulder, “Hey, I earned that fair and square. You paid for goods.”

Osamu is having a staring contest with his brother, “So you two have been actually dating for two months? Why would you still message the catfish account then, why not just kick my ass when you found out?”

Atsumu taps a finger on his chin, “Well, I was just originally going to ghost you guys but then babe here and I discovered that we could fund all of our dates with Suna’s money. We even started setting aside leftover cash from our dates to plan a trip.”

You giggle, “We’re going to Disney next weekend.”

“All the pictures.” Suna whispers.

There’s an amused hum in your throat, “Honestly I’m surprised you guys didn’t figure it out. We were dropping hints in the photos.”

Indeed, the two males looked at the pictures you sent them. If they backtracked to two months ago, there wouldn’t be any hints but the closer they get to the present; it was painfully obvious. They were just too caught up in their excitement to even notice. In one photo, part of Atsumu’s shoulder and hair was just barely in the picture; another had his reflection vividly displayed in the window of the restaurant, and somehow Osamu and Suna missed the obvious Black Jackals jacket sitting on the back of the chair next to you.

The two boys were having a mental breakdown.

You shifted on Atsumu’s lap, leaning forward to tap against the top of Osamu’s phone, “Now, if you’d please deactivate the account since this whole charade is over.”

Osamu ended up not deleting the account. He set the account to private because seeing how his brother was so deeply entranced by you, Osamu had a feeling this one was going to last and he was right; on Atsumu’s wedding day, his little best-man speech had him whipping out the catfish Instagram to display on the monitor for everyone to see.

[callivich]

This took me a while because I am terrible at coming up with prompts, but I wish you would write a fic where, Lip and Mickey acknowledge that they are friends and are important to each other. 🖤👬 I loved your post-anniversary fic and I just need more mickey & lip content!

Aww, thank you so much, I’m so glad you enjoyed the post-anniversary fic. So, here’s a little sequel to that, set the morning after:

(This is canon-divergent as I’m changing it so either Frank doesn’t die or they aren’t informed until after this.)

————

Lip (8:42am): need me to come and get one of you to pick up the ambulance?

Mickey frowns at the message on his phone that had woken him up. It’s too early for this. Ian is, of course, already awake and….changing into his running clothes? Ugh. “Your brother texted.” Mickey mumbles, watching Ian pull on a t-shirt.

“You’re awake.” Ian smiles at him and throws himself on top of Mickey, kissing him softly. “Happy first day of our second year of marriage.”

“Mmm, yeah. Same to you. You seriously going on a run?” He hooks his fingers into the waistband of Ian’s shorts and begins to pull them down.

“Yeah, only because I thought you’d want to sleep for longer. Was gonna come back, wake you up nice and slow and then-”

“Well I’m awake now, no thanks to Lip.”

Ian fumbles for his own phone, smiling as Mickey’s hands go lower, he reads the message that Lip had sent to both of them. “I’ll go.”

“Nah, man, go run. I’ll pick up the ambulance. Haven’t got any pick-ups till 11, so,” he smacks Ian’s ass, “we can start this second year of marriage off with a bang. Literally.” He wiggles his eyebrows and bites his lip.

Ian smirks at Mickey’s cheesy line and kisses him, “Sounds good,” before rolling off him, and pulling his shorts back up. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Don’t shower when you get back. I like it when you’re all sweaty.”

Ian laughs as he leaves. Mickey grins as he thinks of the fun they’ll be having later.

————

Grabbing his phone, he fires off a quick text to Lip - (8:50): meet you out front in half an hour?

Lip (8:50): k

Mickey showers quickly, pulling on a pair of jeans and one of Ian’s hoodies, and drinking the cup of coffee Ian had left him on the counter in the kitchen - next to a note that says ‘🖤 love you :) 🖤’ Fucking dork, Mickey thinks, but he smiles and shoves the note in his pocket.

Lip is already waiting for Mickey when he makes it outside. In the past, he would dread spending any amount of time alone with Lip. But as he slides into the passenger seat, he finds that he doesn’t feel as annoyed as he usually does and Lip’s stupid smirking face doesn’t make him want to throw a punch. Maybe it’s the promise of sex with his husband that has put him in a good mood? Or maybe he doesn’t hate Lip as much as he thinks? Nah, that can’t be right.

“Morning. Surprised it’s you up this early and not Ian. Thought you’d be worn out after last night?” Lip begins the drive towards the Southside, his fingers tapping on the wheel.

“You really wanna know if I’m too tired after getting railed by your little brother?”

“Mickey.” Lip groans, “Fuck no. I was asking if you were hungover. You were wasted.”

“Oh. Nah. M’fine. Ian’s gone for a run. He was gonna let me sleep in but you woke me up with that text.”

“Hazard of having a baby, you forget everyone else isn’t awake at the crack of dawn everyday.”

Mickey shrugs, and they fall into a comfortable silence, and he notices that he’s still not feeling that familiar sense of annoyance that he usually does with Lip. He’s definitely going soft. Ian’s fault probably. He supposes that Lip has been alright recently - helping with the wedding anniversary as though it was no big deal, acting like it was normal that Mickey had asked him for help. There were no sarcastic comments or dirty looks like Mickey was intruding in the Gallagher family. No, he just asked what he could do and helped round up the other siblings to help too. He treated Mickey like he was part of the family. Even Mickey can reluctantly admit that. Even if it is through gritted teeth.

“Thanks for…y’know, driving us home last night and helping me organise the party.” Mickey is staring out the window, his voice low. He doesn’t know why he’s saying this, but he knows Ian would like that he did. And maybe there’s a tiny part of him that likes that he can say this and it doesn’t feel awful. “Especially after that…uh…fight.”

————

Mickey’s words take Lip by surprise and he’s speechless for a moment. He supposes this is as close to an apology as Mickey would ever give him. And to be fair, Lip knows he needs to say sorry too. But he realises he can’t quite say it either. “Whatever. It doesn’t matter. And it won’t happen again.”

Mickey snorts, “Don’t know how you can be sure of that.”

“Well, Ian said - and I quote - ‘hit my husband again, I’ll fucking kill you’. So. Yeah, ain’t gonna happen again. At least from my end. And he’s right. Shouldn’t be getting into it like that with family.”

Mickey is silent for a moment, sneaking a quick glance at Lip. “He said that?”

“Yup.”

“Ok. Then, yeah, I won’t hit you again.” He says it easily, with a firm nod. “Probably. If you don’t do anything to piss me off.”

Lip rolls his eyes, “Yeah, because it’s me who’s the annoying fucker.”

“Glad you can admit that.”

And he can’t believe it, but he genuinely laughs at that. Lip can count on one hand the times he actually found Mickey funny. Most of the time he thinks he’s a dick, but lately….well, there’s been moments when he’s not been that bad and, dare he say it, he’s actually not minded being around Mickey. Sure, these have also been countered by moments when he absolutely wants to kill him but there are less and less of those. He must be adjusting to the fact that they’re family now - Mickey’s not some scary, dirty kid from the neighbourhood anymore, he’s not just Mandy’s brother, he’s Ian’s husband. He’s Lip’s brother-in-law. And that means something. So, yeah, he’s gonna treat him like a brother, like family. (As much as he can that is, because Lip isn’t a saint and sometimes Mickey really is very fucking annoying.) But he’s gonna try. That’s the important thing. And it seems like Mickey is going to try too.

“You’re a dick.”

“Yeah, well, got a reputation to uphold. Can’t let you think I’ve gone fucking soft or some shit.”

“Wouldn’t ever think in a million years that the guy who planned a romantic surprise anniversary party for his husband with accordion music and dancers was soft.”

“Fuck off.” But there’s no heat in his words, he’s just got a pleased look on his face. Probably thinking back to the night before.

————

They get stuck in traffic - due to roadworks where there seems to be less work and more standing around going on. Mickey checks his phone and scrolls through the pictures he took last night, that get steadily and steadily blurrier as the night goes on. It really was a great night. He feels his face flush in happiness just thinking about it. He can’t wait to get home.

Lip is tapping his fingers on the steering wheel again, Mickey notices he looks tired. He thinks back to Lip’s admission that he’d slipped up and had beer, and wonders if he’s had another slip. He could ask him straight out, Ian probably would, but that feels like a step too far. So he decides to hint at it.

“Everything alright with you and Tami?”

“Oh, yeah, you know….just a lot going on.”

“Right.” He shifts in his seat, glances towards his brother-in-law, and sighs. “Yeah, lot of difficult shit going on. Stressful shit.”

Mickey thinks he’s going to have to say it but apparently it’s obvious what he’s thinking. Lip stops tapping the steering wheel. “You fishing to see if I want a drink?”

“Do you?”

“I….sometimes. A bit. I’m going to meetings so.” He shrugs, avoiding Mickey’s eyes.

“Tami know?”

“Sort of.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“There’s just been so much going on. We’ve kinda talked but not properly.”

The traffic starts to move and soon they are almost at the Alibi. “Talking…communicating. All that shit, it fucking sucks but it’s important.” Mickey feels awkward talking to Lip like this, but strangely it doesn’t feel too uncomfortable. “Don’t put it off, it’ll be worse the longer you wait.”

“I know.” Lip pulls up in front of the ambulance. “Thanks.”

“Whatever.” He peers at Lip cautiously. “You’re not gonna tell me you love me again are you?”

“Was hoping you might not remember that considering how drunk you were last night.”

“You’re soft as hell. I’d stick around to make fun of you but I gotta hot date with my husband.” He moves to get out the car, “Thanks for the ride, man.” He gives Lip the finger and a cheeky smile as he walks over to the ambulance, shouting “see ya!” over his shoulder.

—————

For the ask meme: I wish you would write a fic where….

[lightsovermonaco]

A Decent Workout (NSFW Pierre Gasly)

Masterlist

Completely and utterly self indulgent fic inspired by how damn GOOD Pierre looked over preseason testing. Beta read by @acollectionofficsandshit

The buzzing of an alarm woke you not long after the sun had risen over the deserts of Bahrain. You groan, rolling over and smacking the solid shoulder of your boyfriend, startling him awake as well. “Turn it off, Pierre.”

He does as he’s told, then clumsily tucks an arm around you and pulls you to his chest. Voice rough with sleep, he murmurs, “Good morning.”

“Morning,” You echo, nuzzling into his warmth. You curl your frigid hands against his chest, utilizing your personal space heater to the fullest extent. “How long until testing?”

Pierre rests his cheek on your head. His hand traces lazy circles on your shoulder blade like you have all the time in the world. Your eyes slide shut again, sleep beaconing on the horizon. “About an hour.”

You sigh, suddenly awake. “Not much time for lounging around then."

Eagerness mingled with disappointment in his reply. “First day of the new season.”

Pierre's excitement had been palpable the entire week. Buzzing about like a honeybee on the first day of spring, he had prattled on about the specs of the AT02, what changes he was most excited to see, and his predictions on how the car would compare to others in the paddock. You offered your thoughts when prompted, but were just as happy to listen to his happy ramblings and share his enthusiasm. 

It had been his idea to arrive in Bahrain early, allowing the two of you a few precious, uninterrupted days with each other. From now on, his weekends would be packed. No more last minute trips to ski resorts or visits to Charles in Monaco. Starting today, his primary focus became Formula 1. He would travel around the world to compete in a total of 23 grand prix this year, and you would follow faithfully to cheer him on.

You lay tangled in each other for a few minutes, trading sweet kisses. “I have to go,” Pierre murmurs against your lips. You tighten your grip around his bare middle, determined to make him stay a little longer.

“You’ll be gone for so long though,” You whine, pouting. The last few days had spoiled you. He smiles and presses a kiss to your forehead. “Eleven whole hours without a beautiful Frenchman to keep me company.”

“I’ll be back before you know it. And besides, you can watch the entire session from the comfort of our suite.”

“It’s not the same as being in the garage.” Damn the personnel restrictions the FIA had imposed for the upcoming season. You wouldn’t be allowed in the paddock for a single race. You understood and respected the decision, but it bothered you that you couldn't be there when he inevitably made it on the podium this year.

“I know.” Pierre tapped your arm in silent request. Reluctantly, you release your death grip and allow him to slide out of bed. He turns his back to you and stretches, granting you a moment to drink him in. He had packed on a significant amount of muscle during the offseason, filling out in all the right places.

Deciding there was no use trying to go back to sleep, you rise and join him at the dresser. He rummages through it, finally settling on a plain tshirt. As usual, you can’t take your eyes off him as he effortlessly slides the fabric over his head. How did he make an everyday act so inherently sexy?

Catching your stare, he fights the smile playing on his soft lips. “What?”

“Just admiring the view,” You say simply. Going up on your tiptoes, you press a meaningful kiss to his cheek. “Be careful out there, okay?”

He holds out his pinkie to you. You smile, wrapping your own tightly around it. “Promise.” He allows you one more passionate kiss before he slips out the door to make his way to the track.

At least one perk of staying in a suite was the fully stocked kitchenette. You grabbed an apple before brewing a cup of strong coffee, taking in the view off the balcony while it percolated. You could just see the track from here, something you knew Pierre had specifically requested. Although it was early, heat already rippled from the pavement. Hopefully his Alpha Tauri would stay cool and not throw a tantrum in the intense temperatures.

After a quick shower, you threw on one of Pierre’s extra shirts and let the comforting scent envelop you. Settling into bed with your coffee in hand and a laptop humming on your legs, you wait for the testing livestream to begin. In the meantime you scroll through your phone, reading the comments on the pictures of Pierre arriving at the circuit. 

His carefully selected outfit had caused quite a stir and honestly, you understood why. A loose blue shirt, white skinny jeans and sunglasses. On anyone else, it wouldn’t have been impressive in any way, but on him… He somehow always managed to deliver exactly what his fans - and most importantly you - craved.

And when the livestream started and he stepped out on the track with his white and navy Alpha Tauri suit half undone, the moisture-wicking underlayer practically painted on… You damn near lost it.

In the months since last season, you’d forgotten how mouthwateringly attractive he was in a race suit. The underlayer left nothing to the imagination, clinging to the hard lines of his torso. The famous Bahrain heat didn't help your sanity either, the sweat soaked fabric turning slightly translucent in places. Your eyes stay glued to the screen as it flips between cameras, desperately praying for another glimpse of your frenchman. 

How were you supposed to wait nine more agonizing hours for him to return?

As if picking up on your neediness, you didn't see another shot of Pierre for twenty minutes. The camera cut to the Alpha Tauri garage, where Pierre’s car waited in the pit lane. The closeup of him geared up sitting in his Alpha waiting patiently made you slap a hand over your mouth. Those eyes. You knew the little quirk of his brow he threw at the camera was meant solely for you; a way to unravel you when he wasn’t physically there.

You silently cursed him for how well it worked. 

Moments later, the tire blankets are peeled off and his car is lowered to the ground. Gasly was one of the first drivers to head out onto the track, giving him plenty of clean air to lay down fast laps. He completes seventeen laps in the first hour, and by lap twenty he holds the second fastest time, less than a second behind Verstappen. 

You try to focus on the precision and skill Pierre is displaying, but your mind keeps wandering back to the image of him standing on the track in his race suit. The consuming need to strip him out of it is incredibly distracting. It doesn’t help that your social media feeds are flooded with images of it either, offering you no reprieve.

By the end of the second hour, Pierre edges past Verstappen to take the fastest lap and go purple. He nearly holds onto it at the end of the session, just a few tenths slower than Ricciardo and Verstappen. It doesn’t matter; pride and love swell in your chest when he finally pulls back into the garage, his excitement evident before he even pulls his helmet off. The Alpha mechanics share his excitement, the camera showing them congratulating him before cutting to post session interviews.

As much as you tried, nothing could make you focus on Max or Daniel’s interviews. You spun the ring on your pinkie impatiently, waiting for Pierre to make an appearance. Ages later, he finally took a seat at the press conference. He took no mercy on you. Again dressed in crisp white and navy that accented his sun kissed skin, the ring twin to yours back on his finger… 

“Fuck me,” You groaned, throwing your head back. Even with half his face covered, he was still breathtakingly gorgeous. He carried himself with an easy confidence that no one else on the grid could match, on top of the world and determined to make it everyone else’s problem.

The entire time he spoke, you dreamed of running your tongue up the column of his neck, right over his Adam’s apple. You could taste the salt settled in the hollow of his collarbone, hear his breath catching as you worshipped him. 

Only half an hour until he came home to you.

The interview finally ended and you snapped your laptop shut, tossing it to the chair at the bedside. The second he came through that door, you’d pounce on him. Ten hours of straight torture, being forced to endure watching other women on social media drool over him and being unable to congratulate him on his amazing morning session at the garage. 

And fuck, would you congratulate him.

Minutes dragged by as you mindlessly scrolled through your phone, the endless pictures of Pierre not helping your desperation. You started at the sound of a key fitting in a lock. Throwing your phone aside, you scrambled from the bed, launching yourself at the door as it opened.

“Hey baby-”

You cut him off with a feral kiss, your lust boiling over. To his credit, he didn’t hesitate in dropping his bag and kicking the door shut behind him. He caught you when you jumped, broad hands cupping your ass as you wrapped your legs around his waist. 

“I love whoever designed Alpha’s suit,” You mumble between the open-mouthed kisses you pepper along his stubbled jaw. “You look fucking amazing in white.”

“I’ll be sure to pass your thanks along.” Tangling your fingers in his hair, you pull, exposing the thick column of his neck. Your tongue darts across his skin, savoring the softness. He groans, his grip shifting to dig his fingers into your thighs.

You don’t pause when he lays you on the bed, mouth continuing its needy exploration down to his shoulder. He settles over you, his solid body a familiar and welcome weight against you. 

“I couldn’t concentrate on anything once you stepped out onto the track,” You tell him, hands slipping under his polo. “Do you know how many women were talking about you today?”

“There’s only one that I care about,” He murmurs, pulling back to strip off his shirt. You take advantage of the power shift to wriggle out from under him. “Where are you-”

“Lay down,” You say, quiet but firm. The corner of his mouth quirks up but he obeys, taking his sweet time. You don’t mind; watching his shoulders ripple as he settles back against the downy pillows.

“Miss me much?” He taunts, the deep baritone resonating with some primal part within you and sending a shiver down your spine. “Usually our roles are flipped.”

You bracket a bare leg on either side of his with a wicked grin. “Do you really think I’d let you set the pace when you tortured me all day?” You bite your lip and let your gaze wander over the hard planes of his pecs, down his sculpted abdomen, finally coming to rest at the line of muscle disappearing beneath his waistband. You don’t miss the way his attention dips to your thighs, your center barely covered by the hem of his band tee you wore.

Pierre grins, folding an arm behind his head. “Do your worst.”

Your shirt joined his on the floor, piercing blue eyes eating up your newly exposed skin. You sink forward, eye to eye with him. You tip your head to the side, letting your hair slide forward to tickle his shoulder as you lean in to whisper, “I will.”

Lips, teeth and tongue float over his skin, leaving small, easily hidden marks in your wake. You let your hands slide across his abdomen as your mouth makes its way down his sternum, pausing to delight in his rapidly beating heart.

Fingers brushing the waistband of his riot-inducing white jeans, you press a tender kiss just below his belly button. "Why do you always insist on wearing white?"

"D-drives you wild," He gasps out, stumbling over the simple words. You hum against his skin in response, cock twitching against your shoulder. One of his hands flies back to grip the headboard, veins in his forearm bulging. 

Only when his eyes slide shut in anticipation do you finally undo the button, unzipping his fly agonizingly slow. Your name is a breathless plea tumbling from him as you ghost your fingers over his length. He lifts his hips just enough to allow you to slide his jeans down his thighs, followed by his boxers. The tip of your finger runs along the underside of his shaft, causing him to groan. The headboard creaks under his crushing grip as he tries to stop himself from shattering at your barest touch. 

Flicking your tongue over the tip, you spread the bead of precum that had gathered there. Slipping into French, Pierre swears viciously, his free hand tangling in your hair. He may know how to make you squirm from across the city, but you knew how to return the favor tenfold.

"You gonna win for me in two weeks, my love?" You purr, curling your fingers around his cock. 

"I'll w-win every race if it means you'll fuck me," He replies immediately, wholly submitted to the promise of your touch. 

You hum noncommittally before taking the tip of his cock in your mouth, swirling your tongue over the head. His hips buck, but you're already reacting in anticipation of that very movement. He groans in frustration when your mouth leaves him. A welcome change from your normal games, when it was his head between your thighs, his teasing tongue flicking across your center, your hips rocking in frustration. You enjoy his frustration for a few breaths, lazily drawing circles on his hip like he had done to you that morning.

"I think that could be arranged."

Bracing your hands on his chest, you position yourself so your slick folds brush against his cock. Arching your back, you grind your hips against him, your own chest heaving in time with his. The hours of anticipation had left you dripping wet, evidence of the effect he had on you. You silently praised yourself for your restraint; you wanted to drag out his need and tease him like he had done to you all damn day.

 "Mon amour," he murmurs, and you damn near lose your mind. Two words in his native tongue, dripping with honeyed softness but spoken with such rawness, it sets your soul on fire.

You reach a hand back, guiding him into as you sink down. Your pussy stretches to accommodate the thickness of him, and you have to give yourself a moment to adjust to the fullness.

Sweat beads on his golden brow as you begin to ride him in earnest, his hips rolling to meet yours. Panting, you dig your nails into his forearm, leaving angry red crescents behind. No matter how many times you fucked, it always felt like the first. The perfect fit never ceased to amaze you, the angle of your hips putting delicious pressure on that magic spot inside you with every thrust. 

"Pierre," You breathe, head falling back. His own thrusts become more frenzied, the wet sound of skin on skin sending a bolt of ecstasy through you.

His breathy moan of your name guides you over the edge into oblivion, your orgasm slamming white hot over you. Your desperate movements begin to slow, Pierre stilling beneath you as you struggle to regain your senses. Limbs shaking, you roll over, allowing yourself a moment to steady your breathing before turning back to him.

Pierre jerks when you take him in your mouth once more, tasting yourself on his cock. Hollowing your cheeks while taking as much of him as you can, you wrap your hand around the rest of him.

"Fuck," He mumbles, over and over as he thrusts his hips into your mouth a handful of times before his release finds him. His hips jerk as he cums, your tongue coaxing every last drop from him. You let him finish before swallowing the salty liquid, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. 

Sighing blissfully, you collapse onto the pillow next to your beloved. His arm hooks around you, still sticky with sweat but you don't care.

“I would say that counts as my workout for today,” He jokes, voice shaking in the aftermath. You laugh, wrapping an arm around his chest.

"Tomorrow, I choose your outfit."

Pierre’s laugh rumbles through you, setting your toes curling. "As long as it makes you attack me when I get home, I'll wear anything you ask me to."

[thedistantdusk]

Arcadia, Chapter 3

Thanks to everyone who followed along! Things are heating up with this chapter! Most of the referenced triggers from chapter 1 apply in this chapter specifically. Here's the link to chapter 2, if you're just seeing this now :)

Thanks again to @secretkeeper13, @accio-broom, @remedialpotions, @jamezbot, @jenoramaca, @not-steve42, @ginisbetterthanfirewhiskey... god, I'm forgetting people, and I'm sorry! But you're all amazing <3

___________________________

D A Y + T H R E E

As fate would have it, Ginny wakes before 0-700.

Not that she sleeps.

Nightmares, the likes of which she hasn’t experienced in years, torment her throughout the night. They leave her scared. Miserable. Guilty. Around 3 AM, she finally reaches for her Dreamless Sleep potion with shaking hands. For more reasons than one, she’s pleased that Harry’s slept on the couch.

She knows now just how stupid this entire mission truly was. The longer she analyzes it, the more she accepts that her bloody pride got her here in the first place. A chance for a promotion, however small, gave her false confidence in her ability to disregard a decade of sexual tension, all while trapped in close quarters with the person she wants the most.

She hopes Harry makes himself sparse today, though she knows that sounds cruel. But the longer they spend together, the clearer it becomes they’re on the cusp of something… and not something that would look good on a performance review. He’s been kind and understanding so far, even when she’s fucked things up. She just hopes she can ignore the most human parts of herself until they’ve dealt with this.

So at half-past 8, Ginny — Jenny — emerges from the house in a bright floral sundress and nude pumps. Were it not for the secret weapon clutched in her right fist, she might have fit in quite well... but Jenny has no intention of fitting in. Not anymore. In three confident strides, she marches across the front lawn, bends down, and spears the prongs of a lurid pink flamingo into the grass.

Yes.

She grins and takes in her work. How ghastly against the backdrop of earth tones! How repugnant!

Ginny steals quick glimpses over each shoulder, only to be met with the eerie, blanketed silence that’s defined Arcadia since their arrival. No activity at all. Which means she’ll have no issue with the next bit…

She strides to the mailbox at the end of their driveway and gives it a sharp kick. The post slides out of alignment, leaving it askew. Perfect. She returns to the house with a bounce in her step. Living with the twins taught her a thing or two about how to infuriate complete strangers.

She just hopes it’ll be enough.

___________________________

As luck would have it, it is enough. Her efforts receive reward more quickly than she thought— more quickly than she’s been conditioned to expect.

Scarcely an hour passes before she finds the warning she needs. And to be honest, it could’ve been there sooner; she just figured she’d give it that long before she checked.

Still, it’s not even 10 AM when she opens the door and sees it on their welcome mat: a folded paper with Pee-tri scrolled on the front. She can’t help but admire the sheer cheek as she unfolds it; this is the closest they’ll get to a public call-out for the way Harry insists on correcting everyone’s pronunciation. The message inside doesn’t surprise her, either.

Be like the others before dark. Or else.

Ginny glimpses out at the lawn, just to confirm— and yes. Sure enough. Just as she’d suspected, the flamingo's gone. The mailbox is straight. Everything’s back to normal.

She kicks the door closed with a smirk and wonders if they’re aware of how easily they’ve exposed themselves. How—

“What’ve you got there?” Harry calls from the sofa in the living room. He looks up from his laptop with bleary, dark-rimmed eyes. A wave of guilt washes through her; that sofa clearly didn’t get more comfortable overnight. Not that he would’ve accepted the alternative.

“Erm. A letter.” She waves in front of her and walks into the living room. “I’ve done a great job annoying them!”

He offers a gentle smile. “Any chance you’ll let me know who this ‘them’ is that you’re so worried about?”

Ginny rolls her eyes and settles on the other end of the couch. “You know I can’t—”

“Talk about your work,” Harry finishes, turning back to his computer. “Right.”

“Mm. Not exactly that I can’t… talk about my work,” she ventures, putting her feet up on the white ottoman. “More like I can’t give information until it’s essential knowledge for all parties involved. Based on criteria that I also can’t share.”

“Sounds like a fun job,” Harry deadpans, still looking at the computer. “But anyway, if I were to suggest something like… I don’t know…” He casually tilts the screen in her direction. “The fact that Oliver Skinner definitely has a criminal record, and maybe that’s worth looking into. You couldn’t confirm or deny that?”

Ginny just shrugs. “That’s correct. I can neither confirm nor deny.”

His theory is wrong, of course. Dead wrong.

They wouldn’t have sent an Unspeakable and an Auror into the country if this were a simple Muggle murderer. Harry would be able to suss this out, she reckons, if he had more sleep. Poor bloke.

He groans and cracks his back. “I’m starting to understand why King’s always so frustrated.”

“Probably because he has to deal with you all the time,” Ginny quips, reaching for a magazine on the floor. Ugh. Of course, it’s only the TV guide, Radio Times. They don’t even have a TV, but it came with the Daily Mail on Sunday.

Harry reaches for a glass of water on the coffee table. “Fine,” he relents, in between sips. “I’ll stay in my lane. But if I get bored, I’ll get tetchy.” He gestures to the computer. “And since they’ve given us this laptop, I’ve had time to do a bit of—”

“They’ve given me a laptop,” Ginny corrects, arching a brow. “As you’re well aware, Auror Potter, that is technically the property of the DoM.” She returns to the guide with a shrug. “I just don’t care if you use it, mostly because I don’t expect you’ll be looking up tits all day.”

He chokes on his water; Ginny just laughs and turns the page. Ooh, lovely! Eurovision looks particularly flamboyant this year…

“You’re absolutely right,” Harry says, once he recovers. “I’d never look up tits on government property!” He looks affronted as he hands over the laptop, but she knows he’s not done... not when he’s set that up so perfectly. Annnnd sure enough…

“You of all people should know I'm an arse-man, Ginny.”

Now it’s her turn for an unattractive snort as he winks over his shoulder and marches upstairs.

When he’s gone, Ginny rolls her eyes and opens her laptop. He’s an incredible liar on the arse-man front, but it was a good joke. A simple joke…. one that didn’t deserve looking into.

It’s just unfortunate that can’t stop these stupid fucking butterflies from erupting in her stomach like she’s ten years old again.

___________________________

He launches into the air again, the gardens of his neighbors spanning out in front of him. Each perfectly manicured. Each disturbing in its performative precision. None of this is real; none of this is life.

He pulled out the trampoline after dinner, when Ginny okayed it. He’s not used to that— checking before he does things. This whole exercise has been a great reminder that his teamwork skills are rusty, especially when he’s in a subordinate role. Ron left after their first year to work in the magic shop instead, which only made sense after… yeah. Harry draws a deep breath and jumps again. Ron and Hermione haven’t been problem-solving in his head for ages. There’s been no one to share the burden of choices or—

“OI!” Oliver’s voice thunders across the garden.

Harry smiles and takes another huge leap into the air. Just in time…

He rips open the fence door and stomps over, hands balled into fists. Harry’s never seen anyone look quite so furious while dressed in cashmere. And standing beside a trampoline.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Oliver hisses, eyes narrowed to slits. “Are you trying to make enemies, Henry? Is this entire estate a bloody joke to you?”

“Of course not!” Harry lands on his bum before he jumps up again. “This is very serious!”

“Oliver!” Sharon wails, hurrying over. “Oliver. Please! This really—”

“Keep your nose where it belongs, woman,” Oliver snarls, looking at her like she’s scum on his shoe. “No one wants your opinion!”

Sharon flinches… and this, more than anything else, gets Harry’s back up. “No need to take it out on her!” he snaps, climbing down from the trampoline. “Talk to me if you’ve got a problem, Ollie. Why not—”

But just as Harry’s feet touch the grass, something very weird happens: A dull buzzing fills his ears. Sharon and Oliver hear it too, but unlike Harry, they aren’t looking around in bewildered confusion. In a flash, the rage on Oliver’s face transforms into something much different: fear. And as the pressure grows, Harry can only watch as Oliver grabs Sharon’s hand, yanking her from the garden, when—

An unmistakable sound replaces the buzzing. A large piece of glass from somewhere in the front of the house shatters on the pavement. And with that, the buzzing stops.

Birds chirp again. Someone laughs in the distance. Harry jabs a finger in his ear, trying to clear it, but it seems Oliver’s returned to his furious state. He lunges towards Harry, a vein ticking in his neck, his hands outstretched as if to push him over— but Harry doesn’t have time for this. He’s already running around him, bolting towards the source of the sound, his hand inching for his pocket…

Because whatever they’ve got going on isn’t related to Oliver, is it? No… definitely not. That buzzing was too creepy to be muggle. Harry hadn’t really been convinced of the Oliver theory in the first place, even if the wanker has a criminal record for drunk driving. He mostly suggested it to Ginny to see if she’d give him any information.

Harry spots the broken glass the second he reaches the pavement. The lamppost right outside their house has shattered, light bulb and all. Bits of glass sparkle on the street, but the lamppost is at least 10 feet high. Harry scans around for signs of a ladder, or some form of a projectile… any method someone might’ve used to— oh! A baseball rolls around in one of the open garages across the street. He’s about to march over and collect it when his conscience stops him.

Because that’s the definition of circumstantial evidence, isn’t it? Harry sighs, rubbing his forehead. Snatching the baseball while working alone is one thing, but it’s not worth risking Ginny’s job. Especially because he reckons these thoroughly unmemorable homes are each equipped with monitoring systems. At absolute best, that would be… awkward to explain to the muggle police, especially without an obvious connection between the ball and the shattered lamppost...

Harry’s just about to turn back inside and write it off a freak occurrence when—

Shit.

His breath freezes in his throat.

What the...

He blinks a few times to make sure he’s not imagining it, but no...

There’s no weird buzzing this time… but something else is happening instead. The grass on the far side of their yard is bulging and curling, right in front of his eyes. The soil creaks as this… this mass — a huge sphere of some sort — passes through; bits of dirt fly into the air before settling back.

Harry’s veins turn to ice, his stomach churning. Work has introduced him to new, vile varieties of ghouls and nasties. He’s been bitten by a leprechaun. Stalked by a vampire. He’s encountered every disturbing otherworldly menace that one could imagine.

But he’s never seen anything like this.

His only solace is that it’s headed towards Mike’s empty house… this massive, rolling boulder that travels beneath the soil. ‘Boulder’ isn’t exactly the right term, though; he’s never seen a boulder move with a slinking, predatory grace. He’s never gotten gooseflesh from a rock, no matter how large.

And try as he might, he can only stand there, wide-eyed, his heart racing. Because now he knows for sure what Ginny only alluded to before: whatever they’re chasing isn’t human.

And it’s aware of them.

___________________________

The door creaks open less than five minutes after the glass shatters, but Ginny’s prepared.

She’s standing in the alcove just off the entryway, wand in one hand, fire poker in the other. It’s probably not the best strategy she’s ever had— but she reckons that if a Muggle were to catch sight of an altercation, it would be an easy memory supplantation. Wands and fire pokers don’t look that dissimilar, and—

“Ginny?” Harry calls. Directly into her ear.

Shit! She jumps into the air, the poker clattering to the ground.

“When did you learn to move like a cat?” she demands, turning to face him. “You nearly—”

“We need to talk,” he says brusquely. It’s only then that she takes in his wide, haunted eyes. His white pallor. The way he hasn’t even commented on the ridiculousness of her fire poker.

Oh.

He’s scared.

Scared in a way she hasn’t seen him in ages. Maybe ever. Which means he heard…? Shit. She’d might as well ask.

“What do you erm…” She toys with her wand handle. “Want to talk about?”

Harry heaves a tired sigh. “I’m only going to ask you this once,” he says flatly, rubbing his hand over his forehead. Then he blinks up at her, his eyes pulsing and stern. “What the fuck was that?”

“The… shattered lamppost?” she hedges. “I’ve no idea. I just—”

Apparently, that was the wrong response.

Harry groans. “You know damn well I don’t mean the bloody lamppost!” he snarls. “I mean that… that thing! First the weird buzzing, then whatever moved through the grass! It was like some creepy worm, or—”

“—not a worm,” she amends, staring at her cuticles.

This, too, was the wrong reply; she’s never seen him go from bewildered to enraged quite so fast.

Harry lets out a furious roar and kicks at an empty box. “This is why Unspeakables are so fucking annoying!” he shouts, tossing his hands in the air. “You never fucking say anything — even if it might help someone!”

Pfft! He can do better than that...

“Not sure what you expected,” she deadpans. “Would it help if I were a Speakable instead?”

Harry rolls his eyes and throws himself on the couch. Ginny just leans against the door… and waits. She can’t say she blames him for being angry. It’s probably made him feel vulnerable in ways he hasn’t in ages.

“The least you can bloody do,” Harry says, cutting into her thoughts, “is to let me know how to kill it.” He glimpses up at her, his chest still heaving. “Because if anything happened to you….” His hand curls around his wand, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. “We both know I’d never forgive myself.”

Fuck.

Her heart clenches; as embarrassing as it is, tears sting the backs of her eyes. She wasn’t expecting that… but it makes perfect sense. He’s not angry because he’s vulnerable; he’s angry because he doesn’t know how to protect her.

Because he’s Harry.

Her Harry.

And try as she might, she can’t deny that. He’s hers… even though now he’s broken and angry and scared and alone. Which is probably why she loves the fucking fuck out of him.

No.

She stops herself, squeezing her eyes shut. Mission. Mission. They’re on a mission.

Right. She clears her throat and steps forward, two papers clutched in her hand.

“What’s that?” Harry grumbles as she hands them over. He scans the pages, brow furrowing. “Sugar… engine oil. Red Dye 40. What am I supposed to do with—?”

Ginny smiles and tries to make this easy. “It’s the report from the necklace. The thing that was on Mike’s medallion… it’s rubbish. Not blood, not some ghost slime. It’s just a weird mixture of types of rubbish.”

She should’ve figured he wouldn’t find this significant.

“What a brilliant scientific discovery.” Harry tosses the paper to the side. “Hermione would be thrilled.”

Ginny gnaws at her cheek, choosing her words carefully… but if he’s already seen it, if he’s already heard it, surely there’s no harm...

Harry rises to his feet and takes a step closer until he’s towering over her, all warm and brooding. They aren’t touching… not exactly. He’s just hovering close enough to give her strength, whether he knows it or not. When she finally gets the nerve to look up at him, his green eyes are swirling with more pain than rage. Truth be told, she prefers the rage. “I deserve to know,” he says thickly, like he’s suppressing something in his throat, “what the fuck is going on.”

Ginny breaks their eye contact. Some of this she hasn’t even shared with Attica yet. She’s violating about a million protocols by telling Harry first, but if they’re together on a mission…

“It’s… not what we thought. Not what I thought,” she admits softly, after a moment. “We came out here under the assumption of chasing something from the Thought Chamber. Something that erm… may have escaped. During a routine experiment.”

He’s not impressed, though. “Yeah,” he says, arching a brow. “I gathered all of that from your intro with the camera, thanks. Do you ever plan on telling me anything new?” He jerks his chin towards the window. “Because you’ve sure as hell never mentioned Evil Grass Monster Experiment #6, and that may have been helpful to fucking know before I saw it.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake!

His attitude is more infuriating than his actual words, but she lacks the patience for dealing with either. The bloody nerve, to act all impatient with information that’s kept secret for a reason...

“I don’t have to tell you shit, actually,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest. “And in case you’re unaware, I can protect myself.”

Harry pulls back with a laugh, but this one is cruel. Dark. The sort she’s never heard from him before. “Makes sense,” he says with a fake grin. Then he taps her on the nose. “Because when that thing outside inevitably kills someone else, we all know how well you’ll manage the guilt.”

Ouch.

She reels back, stung. He’s got to know that’s a low blow. Younger Ginny would have Bat Bogeyed him into oblivion, but she’s better now. She’s changed.

At least that’s what she tells herself as she glares at him, her hands fisted so tightly they turn white. “Say what you mean,” she manages several moments later, when rage isn’t clawing at her chest. “If you’d like to rehash our breakup, Auror Potter, I’m all ears!” She gives her best impression of an icy smirk. “This isn’t exactly professional… but then again, when have you ever been?”

Harry looks like he’s going to respond, but a loud vibration starts in his back pocket. “Fuck!” Now it’s his turn to leap into the air before he realizes it’s just his wand. And really, she’s tempted to laugh— but the look on his face helps her put the pieces together.

Because if his wand’s vibrating, that means it’s an emergency; only department heads can summon their employees like that. They’re the only ones with access to that sort of technology, not that she’s really interested either way.

“It’s King,” he mutters. She’s about to get on him for stating the obvious, but when he peers at her again, his face is filled with such timid yearning that she can only see the 11-year-old boy on the train platform. “Can I…erm. Use your mobile?”

Fine. Ginny nods towards the bedroom, her head still spinning. She’s still a bit angry with him, but he’s so fucking broken. They both are. And besides, they’ve got bigger problems. What could possibly have King so worried that he’d call Harry from a mission? The man is unflappable.

Harry returns a minute later, his face stony, jaw set. In another life, she might’ve seen the bulge in his pocket and asked if that’s just her mobile, or if he’s happy to see her.

Instead, she tucks her hair behind her ears like the seasoned professional she is. “There’s no reception inside,” she points out. “I’ve had luck calling Attica from up the street, right at the corner. Just watch out for…”

Harry smirks. “Grass monsters?”

Ginny draws a breath to consider her options. She could keep him in the dark forever, but isn’t that the whole point of this assignment? To learn? It’s time for the truth, she reckons...

“It’s erm. It’s called a tulpa, actually.”

His eyes light up at this. “A tulpa?”

Ginny shifts her weight and searches for the right words. “It’s a… it’s sort of like an evil imaginary friend, created by a group of people to do their bidding,” she explains, reaching for the discarded papers. “They come from the material of whatever’s underground. I’ve only heard of creatures made from clay or water, but since this village was built on a rubbish tip”— she flicks the papers with her fingers— “that’s our guy!”

She can almost see the gears spinning in Harry’s head as he studies the far wall. “So…” he says slowly, still peering off, “it’s basically an evil dump monster, made of rubbish, that can murder people.”

A laugh slips past her lips. It sounds a bit dumb when he puts it that way. She clears her throat and continues. “I was wrong because it’s not something that’s escaped, more like something that’s—”

“Formed,” Harry finishes quickly. For the first time all week, he sounds intrigued. Like he’s happy to be here. “So… they’ve made it to keep order, then?”

“It would seem so.” She shrugs. “I… honestly don’t know. But between the weird buzzing and the rubbish, it’s the closest match we’ve got. According to the system database, anyway.”

There’s another pause as Harry mulls this over. “So, how do we get rid of it, then?”

How fucked up is it that her heart warms at the way he says ‘we’?

Ginny brushes that aside. “Considering the mask in Gogolak’s house and the way they’ve made a point to tell us he’s in charge, I’d say he’s the one we need to get rid of.”

Harry crosses his arms over his chest but doesn’t object.

“Or at least… knock him totally unconscious,” she adds, swallowing; Gogolak’s a wanker, but she’d rather not kill him, either. “Beyond just being asleep. Because he sleeps at night, but the tulpa’s still here, which means he needs to be down for the count. Comatose, even.”

Harry’s wand buzzes again. Ah, shit; in all the hubbub, she’d forgotten about that.

Concern floods Harry’s face. “Give me five minutes.” He blinks. “Ok?”

She waves towards the door. “Duty calls.”

He gives her a weak smile and turns away; she begins the trek upstairs to send Attica an email update.

“Ginny?”

She stops to look down at him. Harry’s paused, halfway out the door. “Thank you,” he says softly, meeting her eyes. “And… I’m sorry. For everything. Ok? I’ll always, erm…”

But she can’t right now. She actually fucking can’t.

“Later,” she whispers, nearly begging. “Please. Let’s do this later.”

Because of course she loves him.

She’s always fucking loved him, even though that’s changed forms. It’s shifted. It’s evolved. He feels the same way… she knows he’s bloody feels the same way. She just doesn’t have the resources to deal with whatever this fuck is reigniting, right in front of her eyes, as the tulpa dances in the back of her head.

Luckily, he understands. Harry just swallows again, nods at her, and heads out into the night.

___________________________

As it would turn out, he was wrong about the identity of the summoner.

“Great news!” Hermione announces on the other end of the mobile. “MLE found Yaxley. He was hiding in a cave in Romania, just like you said.”

Harry snorts; he wishes that gave him more pride. “Well, if you’d listened to me months ago, then—”

“The important part is that we have him,” Hermione says, cutting across. “We need you back ASAP to prep for witness questioning. You’ll take the stand, of course. The trial’s set to start next week!”

He can practically hear her bouncing with excitement. Very little brings her more joy than trials of former Death Eaters.

“Erm… about that.” Harry rubs the back of his neck. “We’re actually right on the cusp of something here. I’m gonna need a couple more days to wrap things up.”

“Really?” Hermione sounds surprised. “Kingsley and Robards said you’d be pleased. Said you found this mission as useless as they did.”

Fuck, he was such an arse.

“Well, things… changed,” he offers lamely. “It’s going really well. This mission is so important to her. I’d just hate to leave at the last minute.”

“Ohhh?” Hermione draws out the word in a way that suggests she finds herself quite clever. Even before she asks, he knows what she’s on about. “How’s it going with Ginny, then?”

Harry rolls his eyes. Her coy prodding is obvious, even over the phone.

“As I already said, it’s going well,” he replies flatly. “We’re a great team. Always have been.”

But she can’t let him have that one, can she?

“Well… not always,” Hermione allows. “After Percy—”

Harry groans. For fuck’s sake, what’s her obsession with stating the obvious? “Yeah, well,” he retorts, “I’d like to know who you think did well after that, especially since…”

He trails off with a sigh.

Especially since what, exactly?

He toys with the fraying ends of his hoodie string.

Especially since Ginny was the last to speak with Percy? That she still carries the weight of the guilt for what she said that night? That she’s never admitted it, but that he suspects her choice to become an Unspeakable was influenced by the things she wishes she could un-say?

Harry makes a face. That’s corny as fuck, isn’t it? What a thing to pull from his arse...

Hermione interrupts his thoughts for a bit of bragging. “Well, Ron and I have done just fine.”

He can almost imagine her staring at her engagement ring in dreamy affection. The mental image makes his reply sound more bitter than he intends.

“Well,” Harry snaps, “Ron wasn’t the last person to speak with Percy. So I’m not sure how you could compare the two, really.”

Shit.

The silence on the other end tells him he needs to apologize, even if it’s true. Fortunately, Hermione gives him an easy out. “Anyway.” She clears her throat. “I’ll give you until tomorrow night, but we really need you the following day. If you haven’t settled this, we’re swapping you out. Got it?”

Harry sighs. He’s exhausted, but this couldn’t possibly take much longer. Ginny’s more or less got the proof she needs now. They just need to confront Gogolak, knock him out, and—

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

Harry cranes his neck towards the source of the noise. Huh… weird. Far up the street, flashing lights tip him off. That’s definitely Oliver’s Audi, the one parked in the driveway directly beside theirs. It’s in utopia blue with a metallic finish, a detail Oliver probably mentioned at least fifty times the other night. Then, while Sharon and Ginny were out walking the dog, Oliver began a mind-numbing lecture on the car’s exact miles per liter. Harry was a bit drunk, which is probably why he interrupted to ask a much more important maths question: How many blow jobs per week is too many, exactly?

Even from a distance, Harry can tell that Oliver’s nearly the same shade of murderous red now; he storms from the house and turns off the alarm with his key fob. But then he pauses, glancing around like something’s spooked him. He must decide it’s not that significant, though, because he huffs back inside soon enough. Fucking wanker...

“....Harry?”

“Sorry!” Harry shakes his head. “Yeah, sorry, that works. See you then, Hermione.”

“Can’t wait!” she trills. He doesn’t need to see her face to know she’s smug and grinning.

___________________________

Two minutes after Harry leaves, Ginny feels it again: that same sensation she experienced while walking Captain Bone.

She’s sitting at her laptop when it starts… this deeply unsettling shift. It stands the hair up on the back of her neck. She rushes to the window on instinct, but just like before, everything outside looks the same. There’s no “moving grass monster,” as Harry called it. Not yet, at least.

Still, she can’t deny it’s growing louder. Getting stronger. And now that she’s felt it for a bit longer, she can put more words to it. It’s like she’s plummeting through the absence of sound; like all the wind’s been sucked from the air. It’s a building pressure, a mounting unease, and before she knows it, her whole body starts to shake.

Then two things happen in quick succession: that weird feeling stops, and a car alarm begins to blare in the distance.

Weird.

She shudders. This whole thing is so fucking weird. Weird is her job, and this place is still Very Fucking Weird. Seriously, who enjoys living here? She’s reaching for her wand, just in case, when the front door slams open.

In retrospect, it’s a blessing she knows Harry as well as she does… because she can tell that those heavy, clobbering footsteps don’t belong to him. She knows he’s not the one drawing deep, ragged breaths as he marches up the stairs.

She hides around the corner of the bedroom, her heart racing, and goes through a mental list of spells she might use. Shield charms. Enchantments. The buzzing’s stopped, so this probably isn’t the tulpa… but who else would be here? Gogolak? It sounds more human than—

“Jenny?” a deep, soothing voice asks. “Are you in here?”

Her breath freezes in her throat. She’s only heard that voice once before… but it’s so similar to her former life that she identifies it at once.

“Mike?” A wave of relief washes through her. She shoves her wand into her dress as she comes around the corner. Sure enough, there he is, in the flesh. Mike Snodgrass. A man she presumed dead days ago.

“Hi!” Mike pants. He cracks a smile. “I’d offer to shake your hand, but.” He winces, wiping a palm on his ripped khakis. “Been hiding!” Fuck. His whole outfit (yellow Polo, khakis) is the same he wore days ago to unload their boxes, except now it’s filthy. Stained. Like he’s been living beneath cars and inside drains. He’s just missing his Saint Julian medallion, which she’s sent to the Ministry.

Ginny feels sick. She wrote him off as dead so carelessly...

“I’ve been trying to take it down,” he adds earnestly, peering at her. His cheeks are caked in something red and grimy, the same stuff she stuffed into her bra. He’s been tailing the tulpa, she realizes, her stomach plummeting…

Except he’s got no clue what he’s doing.

“I was about to leave the development, to just run away, but that’s when I figured out it was coming for you two!” He shudders, closing his eyes. It feels like he’s been waiting a long, long time to say this. “And I’ve been aimless without Jess in the first place. So what was the point in leaving, really, if I could save…?”

He trails off, clearing his throat; when he looks up at her again, there’s a flash of annoyance in his eyes. “I’ve been leaving clues, though! Why didn’t you listen?”

“Clues?” Ginny sounds like she’s a million miles away.

Mike’s nearly pleading now. “You had to go and kick the mailbox and stick the flamingo in the grass, didn’t you?” He raises his pointer finger. “And even though I left you a note, you had to make it even worse! It only attacks when the sun goes down, see.”

“You… you left the note?” she whispers. She was so certain that it was from Gogolak...

But Mike proceeds in such a rush it’s clear he hasn’t heard her. “It was about to get Henry by the trampoline, so I threw the baseball as a diversion. I broke the lamppost, too— which worked. For a second,” he adds hastily, glancing over his shoulder.

“How did you also set off the car alarm— oh.” Her head’s still spinning. “Buddy system. Right.”

Mike dangles a keyfob. “Covenant rules. Stole the spare off Jane.” He glances into the hall again before whipping back to face her. “It’ll need a sacrifice tonight, though,” he adds grimly. “And every night, until you all have perfect behavior. It was coming for you earlier, see. We aren’t meant to be outdoors after dark without a permit for dog-walking, so.” He shrugs. “If there’s an unapproved disruption like a car alarm, it knows just where to hunt.”

It’s then that the final pieces of this dreadful puzzle slide together in her brain. “Captain Bone,” Ginny breathes; she swears a feather could knock her over. “He was the first since we arrived. Punishment for us sticking out.”

“I couldn’t save him,” Mike laments. “It came up and snatched him. So I threw in my medallion, right after his collar, just to make them think I was already gone.”

“That’s… that was brilliant,” she admits, biting her lip. “Thank you. You didn’t have—”

“Nah,” he says firmly. “I did. For starters, you remind me so much of…” He stops mid-sentence, an odd expression on his face.

For a second, she thinks he’s being sentimental, but then she feels it too.

Shit.

The hairs on her arm stand up. It’s back… that weird way she felt before. Like the air’s sucked from the room. That creeping, clawing silence. This time, though, it only gets louder, louder, louder, until she’s throwing her hands over her ears, all hope of self-defense forgotten.

But Mike knows what he’s doing. He knows exactly what he’s doing. She doesn’t have the chance to object or get her wand before he’s ripping open the closet door and throwing her inside. Ginny opens her mouth in a startled cry, but it’s like she’s screaming underwater, the sound distant and distorted. Mike slams the door closed with her inside and stomps to the center of the room— but now the thundering, roaring wind is causing her physical pain… it’s so loud now that it reverberates in her chest, so loud that her hands shake as she reaches for her wand at long last, but fuck fuck fuck, it’s too late…

It’s too fucking late.

Because Mike’s made a choice. One he can’t take back. He just stands in the middle of the room, puffing out his chest, offering himself as the proud sacrifice, even as the noise grows so loud that Ginny screams her throat raw.

She feels it enter the bedroom, this looming, shifting mass— but by then, she’s certain her ears are bleeding, her eardrums bursting. Her whole body rattles and shakes as she peers through the slats in the closet door, but she’s frozen. Stuck. Miserable. She couldn’t cast a spell if she tried… even as the tulpa oozes into the room, lunges itself back, and swallows Mike with a sickening squelch.

Even though the slats of the door, Ginny’s sprayed with blood. Covered. And she’s dizzy now… so dizzy. A drop of blood trickles into her eye; she reaches up to wipe it from her face, and it’s only then that she hears her own screams again. They reverberate through the small space, anguished and pleading, so loud that she’s certain someone up the street could hear, but she doesn’t care. She doesn’t fucking care. She just screams over and over and over, her nails clawing at the walls, until the world slips away into darkness.

___________________________

Blood.

It’s the first thing he smells as he charges up the steps. His chest squeezes, his eyes water, his head pounds over and over again with one word: No.

No. No. No.

Not Ginny. It can’t be.

But almost as soon as he smells the blood, he hears her screaming, and yes! His heart soars. Screaming is good; screaming means she’s alive and breathing and—

Fuck.

His dinner rises in his throat as he steps into the bedroom. He smelled the blood from the steps, he hadn’t expected… this much. It always takes him aback, exactly how much blood is in one human body, and he’s certainly never seen it sprayed, all over the floor… covering the walls. Covering the closet, even, where Ginny’s still screaming.

He flings open the door, thinking he’s prepared for what he might see. Somehow, though, none of that measures up. Because he’s dealt with tears in his line of work… but he’s never, ever seen her so broken. His chest clenches when he takes her in. Her perfect suburban dress — the yellow floral one, the one he liked so much— is now red and grimy, caked in blood, as Ginny rocks back and forth on the floor, sobs wracking her body.

Blood’s covering her face, too, and her arms. Dried trails of it have crusted around her eyes, like she’s fallen asleep wiping them away… or perhaps lost consciousness. The thought is too terrible to bear. He kicks the door open completely and brings her into his arms in one fell swoop.

She melts against him, her voice raw and broken. “H-Harry!” she manages. “P-please! I need-I need!” She begins to shake, pressing her face to his chest.

“A shower,” he says firmly, stepping into the en-suite. “You… you just need a shower. Ok? And maybe some calming draught, I’ve got some in my luggage, and—”

“No!” she cries, shaking her head. Her eyes are wide and filled with horror. “Don’t… don’t leave. Don’t leave me, Harry, please!”

“I… ok,” he allows, carrying her to his luggage to retrieve the bottle. She clings to his neck as he reaches for it, but she weighs next to nothing. Fuck, she’s so thin… he’d just been too busy eyeing her up to realize exactly how thin. What a complete wanker.

It’s not difficult to unzip the suitcase with one hand and pass her the bottle. “Take this,” he urges, thrusting it into her hands. “Please, Ginny. You’ll feel—”

She’s already downed it before he gets to the end of the sentence. She tips her head back, drawing air into her lungs. “Thanks.” Her voice is still hoarse. Ragged.

“Shower, then,” he murmurs, walking her into the bathroom. He feels her start to relax against him, her body growing looser, as he opens the curtain and turns on the tap.

“Thanks,” she whispers again, her head tucked beneath his chin. His fingers itch with restraint; he’d do anything, he thinks, to hold her against him. To press a kiss to her temple. To tell her he loves her and that she’s beautiful and perfect and he’s sorry, so sorry, that any of this happened and—

She peers up at him, her eyes more focused now, less wide-eyed and horror-struck. “Would you stay here?” she asks, biting her lip. “While I shower? Just so I’m not—”

“‘Course.” Harry swallows, putting her on her feet. She lands with unintentional grace, one foot after the next.

“And can you… erm.” She turns her back to him, lifting her hair above her zipper. His hands shake as he reaches for the clasp. He knows the exact shape of her back as he slides it down, over the middle bump of her white bra strap. He nearly unstraps that for her, too, before he catches himself. It reeks of intimacy, doesn’t it? All of this…

His eyes linger on the soft swell of her bum before he turns around, self-disgust hammering in his throat.

“I’m… I’m sorry,” he adds feebly. He balls his hands into fists as her dress hits the floor… followed by her bra. And her knickers.

“Not your fault,” she croaks, stepping into the shower. He smiles, his glasses fogging up as he moves to sit on the closed toilet seat. Even covered in blood and traumatized, she can't bring herself to blame him.

She finishes several minutes later.

“Erm… towel?” She shuts the water off. “Could you?”

“Sure,” he soothes, thrusting one through the curtain. “D’you want me to leave, or…?”

Ginny manages a weak snort. “Nah. Nothing you haven’t seen before.”

He chuckles at the door as he turns around again. She’s right, of course; he knows every bloody inch of her… but it’s not quite the same now.

There’s a tap on his shoulder. He whips around to face her. Admittedly, she looks… better. The blood’s gone. Her eyes are still red-rimmed from sobbing, but she’s looking a bit less like a woman who witnessed a death. Which reminds him…

“Erm. Give me a second to get it all cleaned up?”

Ginny shudders and settles on the toilet seat; he immediately kicks himself for asking. “Yeah,” she says a moment later. “Just… come get me, ok? When you’re done?”

He nods.

___________________________

It can’t be later than 10 PM when he finally carries her to the bed, still wrapped in a towel.

He’s exhausted from the nights on the sofa, but he knows she’s worse off. He’s cleaned the bedroom fairly well, he thinks, considering. There’s a rust-colored stain above the closet that he reckons won’t go anywhere anytime soon. He just hopes she doesn’t see it.

He rests her on the duvet surface, fully prepared to head downstairs for the night— but the pleading look on her face informs him he’s got other plans, instead. So without sharing a single word, he spreads his palms, lies beside her, and waits.

It comes eventually, as he knew it would. One person can’t deal with all that, see all that, without eventually cracking. And as a fellow fucked-up individual, he would know.

It starts as simple tears, ones that he wipes away. It progresses into sobs… full-body sobs. The sort he heard coming up the stairs. He’s surprised she’s got any left, but Ginny’s always been the sort to keep him on his toes. And just as her water-dark hair starts to dry and sprout red tendrils, he faces the thing he expected least of all: a kiss.

She starts softly. Slowly. Her lips so tender and soft that he forgets everything. She moans against his mouth, her whole body leaning into it; he’s instantly reminded of how much he’s fucking missed her. How lonely he’s been. How could he have forgotten the tiny mewl she makes in the back of her throat as her tongue parts his lips? He must’ve blocked it out, he realizes, as she begins to slide her body against him, panting, as she tips her head back. His lips trail down her neck, nibbling and biting, as she grips his arms and hair and bum. Because if he’d remembered all of these little details, he’d have gone mad long ago.

He’s throbbing hard by the time he gets to the tail end of her towel, which brushes the tip of her thighs. He tries to adjust himself, to—

“You can take it out, you know.”

Oh. He blinks up at her, his breath freezing in his throat. She’s peering down at him, her lips red and swollen.

“I know you’re hard,” she adds, her voice still raw. “So if it’s uncomfortable… take it out.”

He arches a brow from his position at her thigh. He’s about to retort with something snappy. Something that might keep them bantering for ages. But Ginny has no patience.

“Please.” It’s nearly a command. She blinks down with glassy eyes, her lips swollen. “I want you, Harry.”

Fuck. He groans, rubbing his cock against his palm to relieve some of the pressure. It doesn’t help for long, not that it matters; he’d rather focus on her, anyway. So with a slip of his fingers, the towel opens. She releases a breathy moan, tipping her head back.

Naked.

She’s finally naked. In front of him. His breathing grows ragged, his eyes scanning the territory somehow both totally familiar and completely new. She is thinner; he was right. Her hip bones jut out now, her stomach more sunken. But most of her is the same. The smattering of freckles on her chest. The way her breasts have puckered and darkened, the way her chest is rising and falling so fast. The thatch of dark red hair at the apex of her thighs.

“Well,” she quips. He blinks up at her as she reclines on her elbow. “Are you going to fuck me, Harry, or just stare all day?”

With that, he removes his glasses and gives her a smirk— her only real warning— before he kisses her one more time, just as his fingers spread her thighs.

She opens beneath him with a breathy sigh. Fuck, she’s so wet… he groans into her mouth as he dips his fingers further and further down. She’s dripping by the time he finds her clit… by the time he begins to swirl in tight circles. Clockwise. The pattern that screams of such intimate familiarity that it’s as if the years never passed.

He’s scarcely done anything, but she’s already writhing against his fingers, arching her back. “Please,” she slurs after a minute, “put them in.”

He’s never been one to deny her, has he?

It’s like muscle memory how quickly he finds his face between her thighs instead. He spares a moment of self-indulgence as he closes his eyes, breathing her in. She smells like home. She always has. It’s comfort… but more than that, it’s proof. Proof she wants him as much as he wants her. It’s why he stuffed his face in her knickers whenever he got a spare moment on the Horcrux hunt: one hand on that black lace, the other pulling at his cock. It’s bloody erotic, seeing proof of how much she wants him… but it’s more than that.

It’s love.

And despite all the things he’s forgotten tonight, he’d never forget this. He presses two fingers inside her, his hands shaking, and lets his body do the rest. Fuck, he’s missed this. She cries out above him, her hands grasping at his hair, tugging him closer. He’s never forgotten this… the way she tastes. The way she smells. The right way to run his tongue against her clit. Exactly how many fingers she needs, pressed against her just there… crooked in a certain position… just as she begins to thrust herself up and down on them, her cries growing louder, more insistent… and yesssss, there it is, she’s right there, right fucking there—

“Harry!” Her hair rubs against the pillow with abandon. “I’m… I’m so close,” she pants, her body starting to shake.

“Come for me,” he commands, his cock fit to burst, his face slippery. “Come for me, Ginny.”

He returns to her clit for a split-second before she says the words that change everything.

Her whole body tenses, a blush spreading up her chest. “I love you!” she cries, her voice strangled… and with that, she’s coming, clenching around him, her body shaking as he rides her through it.

What he doesn’t tell her is that he comes, too. The second those words wash over him. Those fucking words that prove he’s fucked up, fucked up, fucked up… but he can’t exactly help that, can he?

He just shoves his face into the duvet, thrusting his hips once, twice, and with a grunt, he’s off. His cock tightens and bursts, filling his boxers. Soaking through his jeans. He pulls back, dizzy, when the clenching finally stops.

Luckily, she seems too distracted to notice. Ginny’s half-asleep as he rises from between her thighs, pulling the blanket over her. He presses a kiss to her temple and makes quick work of removing his soggy clothes. Fairly embarrassing, this. Like he’s 16 again and rutting on the lawn.

He mutters a quick cleaning charm and changes into basketball shorts before settling down beside her in bed… making sure he’s on top of the duvet.

But as he drifts off, there’s something far less sentimental that hammers through his chest: They need to get their shit sorted.

Before he ever, ever lets that happen again.

[emwritesstuff]

as the world caves in | ch. 5 | bucky barnes x reader

synopsis: You are a ghost story. A former Air Force pilot who had her plane shot down by Germany in 1945, but here you were in 2023, alive and frozen in your 25-year-old body.

You haven’t seen Bucky since the 1940’s, before his fall, before you went on a suicide mission only to come back alive. You aren’t sure reliving those memories – and being a living memory of everything the man has lost – is the best for him.

But you and Bucky won’t be apart for long.  

This will loosely follow the plot of TFATWS - so spoilers ahead, specially regarding episode four. Thread carefully!

masterlist | AO3

notes: I was going to make it only one chapter with the plot of episode four but it ended up HUGE, so I'm splitting this one in two. I’m posting the next one very very soon (probably tomorrow), just need to finish reviewing it sksksk

(warnings: mentions of death, gunshots, blood) (word count: 4K)

five: funeral

Ayo considered you for a moment, then turned to Bucky. “Eight hours. Do not forget.”

You exhaled slowly after she was gone, allowing yourself to return to a more relaxed state.

“You know Ayo?” Bucky said, after he made sure the door was well closed.

Sam mused from behind you.

“And you speak Xhosa!”

“When King T’Challa opened Wakanda to the world, I ended up leading the relations between our countries from our side. Learning the language was the least I could do.” You shrugged, smiling fondly when you remember the awkward phase where you still mispronounced everything, and how astoundingly lenient the King had been during it.

“Accomplished. It was sweet of you to defend me, at least.”

You raised an eyebrow at the glass of water you’re drinking, grateful that Zemo didn’t speak the language. If only he knew.

Well, you had a feeling he would. Eight hours. T-minus-fifteen.

“Hey, you shut it. No one is defending you. You killed Nagel.” Sam bit at Zemo, and you put down your water and took your phone.

It had been blowing up since the signal returned after your flight to Latvia, every single person who ever had your contact was looking for you. Understandably. It was your first “vacation” in a long time.

You swiped the notifications away, and your eyes met Bucky’s while Sam and Zemo squabbled.

“You shouldn’t be good at that. It’s not fair.”

“It’s just a phone, Buck.” You smirk up at him, and a corner of his lip tugs upwards in response. “And I’ve been around long enough to know how to deal with the ever-changing technology.”

“Does that mean you’re the older one now? I’ve been frozen.”

“Do I get older privilege?” You asked, not looking up from the screen. The news feed caught your attention, and you were quick to scroll past the one talking about The Winter Soldier’s appearance in Madripoor.

“…No.” Bucky pushed his bottom lip forward, shaking his head. You bit your lip to refrain yourself from telling him just how much of a child he was, but couldn’t hide your grin.

The next headline made the grin fall out of your mouth, it being replaced by a frown. You slid the phone to Bucky, you two sharing a concerned look as soon as he read it too.

“Sam. Karli bombed a GRC supply depot.”

You rubbed your temples and started pacing as Bucky explained to the other two men the situation. Three dead. Eleven wounded. Your heart wrenched, and you pressed a fist to your chest when you imagine how dire the things have to be for that to had become the latest desperate measure.

Wars have civilian casualties. People are bound to be caught in the crossfire. You knew this. You’d seen it. This was a deliberate attack, and it was a different time and conjecture, but you felt almost the same as you did when you walked through the rubble made of Europe, 80 years ago.

Seeds for a new war. You’d hoped you wouldn’t get to see it sprout again.

You finally looked up as Zemo questioned the three of you about having the will to complete the mission.

“She’s just a kid.”

You moved to rest a hand on Sam’s shoulder, but in the end, you might have been more looking to ground yourself than anything. He nodded at you either way, and you could see Bucky’s eyes on you from your peripheral.

“You’re seeing something in her that isn’t there. You’re clouded by it. She’s a supremacist. The very concept of Super Soldier will always trouble people.” Zemo spoke with certainty, as if he was a professor and the three of you his pupils.

“I doubt she sees things that way.” You raised your finger as soon as he opened his mouth to retort. “Not everyone has the chance to be studying politics and understand how revolutionary movements can become extremism. Most people are just fighting to get to see another day.”

You wondered if Baron Helmut Zemo would ever understand that, the struggle. The uncertainty that wakes up with you and goes to sleep when you do, only to pose itself the next morning.

“It’s that warped aspiration that led to Nazis, to Ultron, to the Avengers.” His next line seemed to be enough of an answer. You let your hand slide off Sam’s shoulder, realizing you had it in a tight grip the whole time, and resumed your pacing.

You doubted Karli Morgenthau had much chance to reflect on the long-term consequences of her mobilization. She was helping people, people who needed things right away; she was providing immediate relief. The world only had given violence in return.

“She will not stop. She will escalate until you kill her. Or she kills you.”

“Maybe you’re wrong, Zemo. The Serum never corrupted Steve.” Bucky retorted, but that obviously wasn’t enough to shake Zemo’s convictions.

The ache in our chest grew just a tad stronger, and you sank on the large sectional couch; Bucky seemed to have sensed your wariness, because soon enough he was bumping knees with you on the empty seat to your left. He radiated irritation, squared shoulders and head thrown back.

You laced your arm with his, nodding along with Sam as he talked about his aunt, understanding his plan when he reasoned that they might be doing a funeral ceremony for Donya. Bucky seemed to have loosened it up a little, and you agreed with him. It was worth a shot.

“You doin’ okay?” Bucky whispered, adjusting his arm so yours could have more room.

You raised your eyes at Zemo, stopping for a few seconds to observe the golden embroidery of the couch behind Bucky’s head before looking at him.

You squeezed his bicep. You mustered a small, strained smile.

Bucky’s eyes did not leave yours the entire time, two pools of blue and warmth and comfort that made you ache with how much you’d missed them all of these years.

“Jus’ fine.”

Bucky nodded.

“Liar.”

You flicked his ear with your free hand, which made him grunt. You giggled as Bucky shook his head and muttered something about you being such a child, and you could feel your nervousness easing up.

“Don’t be so grumpy, old man.”

---

You parted ways as Sam, Bucky and Zemo went to the displacement camp, and you went to the GRC office in Riga in search of information. You hadn’t been seen with them yet, so you took the chance of still being considered just a diplomat on a trip, seeking to maybe be of assistance in trying times.

It hadn’t been the most productive of mornings. The people at the office knew as little as you did of Donya Madani, or any of the other displaced people, which was appalling at the least. All they had was some half-assed records of when the camp had been formed, and that was months ago. Who knew how many people had joined by then. No wonder the Flag Smashers were at large, with more people joining and supporting the cause every day.

John Walker and Lemar Hoskins walked through the building’s doors, just as you were ready to leave. Hoskins recognized you immediately, whispering something to the new Captain America before both men approached you.

You shook their hands graciously, but your eyes remained on the door, you not wanting to waste precious time with the two. Especially Walker, who seemed to wear the shield on his back like it was a badge of honor, or even a safe-conduct to back up his moves.

It didn’t sit right with you, and not just because the man who wielded the shield before him was unreplaceable to you, and the man who stood before you seemed to have been handpicked to step inside Steve’s shoes, same size and all. His height, his built, his set jaw, the blue eyes, the blonde hair; as far as looks went, the perfect impersonator. It was the way he carried himself that set you off though, proud of himself and his own privilege. And you had barely any interaction with him aside from watching him perform in front of cameras, and, well, now.

“I’m very sorry gentlemen – but I should get going. This detour of my vacation is already on borrowed time.”

Hoskins nodded solemnly, but Walker took another step towards you. “I know about your previous work with Steve, it would be nice to have you on your side too.”

“Like I said, I’m off duty. Try not to make a mess out of it.” The lie slips off your lips easily, and you offer them an apologetic smile before turning to leave.

“There’s some Avengers on the hunt for the Flag Smashers too.”

Hoskins’ voice stopped you in your tracks, and you studied the two, wondering just how much they actually knew.

“Just think about it, okay? If you’re gonna help someone, make sure you’re helping the right people.”

That’s exactly what you were doing, but you weren’t about to tell him that.

“Hoskins. Cap. Have a nice day.” You nodded at them, not looking behind you as you take off to the cobblestone streets.

---

Sam and Bucky turned to watch you when arrived back at Zemo’s condo, closing the door gently behind you.

“Nothing.” You answered before they could ask, shaking your head slightly. From the defeated way they were sank on that couch, you assumed they were met with dead ends as well. “And Walker’s here, so expect things to get complicated.”

“You met with Walker?” Bucky asked, his jaw tensing up as he looked up at you.

“More like he met me. Offered me a job.” You chuckled humorlessly at the irony of it. Apparently you were now known for getting Steve out of trouble, and not for getting into it with him. How the tables turn. “He’s lacking intel as much as we are though.”

You threw your coat on the coffee table, and watched it slip down to the floor unimpressed. Bucky dipped to pick it up, draping it over the back of the couch while shaking his head and grumbling under his breath. Sam giggled, earning himself a glare.

Zemo approached your group with a tray of steaming tea. Bucky focused his glare on him.

“That little girl. What’d she tell you?” Bucky narrowed his eyes, a taunting tone to his voice.

Zemo paused, and his eyes jumped from Bucky, to Sam, to you, and the ground. The mood is restless, charged with tension, ready to spark like an open wire at the edge of water.

The Sokovian visibly relaxes his posture when he bends down to serve himself tea. “The funeral is this afternoon.”

It wasn’t not surprising to you that he was withholding information, though it was bold. His confidence was baffling, if anything.

“You’re on thin ice, Zemo.” You narrow your eyes at him, and he offers you a small, lofty smile.

Bucky looked at you and nodded before reminding Zemo of the Dora Milaje and demanding he kept talking.

“Leaving you to turn on me once we get to Karli.” He retorts to Bucky and hums, shaking his head. “There’s still much I want to know, including why an American diplomat is tagging along for an altercation against a group of Super Soldiers.”

Zemo looked at you, inspecting your form as you leaned over a tiled column. He lingers on, but you know you have the higher ground. You don’t look the part of super soldier, in the way like the Flag Smashers don’t also. It’s advantageous, it gets you to blend in with the rest of world. You were aware that Zemo has been suspicious ever since you walked through the heavy wooden doors the first time, though, and he was trying to carve information out of you through veiled threats.

“I prefer to keep my leverage.”

This seemed to spur Bucky on. He got up from the couch, stalking towards Zemo in a casual gait, only to grab the teacup from the other man’s grasp and throw it violently at another column.

Your breath hitched.

“You wanna see what someone can do with leverage?”

It sounded almost alien to you, the venom that dripped from Bucky’s words. You definitely hadn’t kept that in your memories of him, and you remind yourself that Bucky was no longer just that gallant boy from Brooklyn, he had more wars and baggage than anyone should carry.

So did you.

Sam got to Bucky before you could get your legs to move. “Take it easy. Don’t engage him. He’s just gonna extort you and do that stupid head tilt thing.”

As if on cue, Zemo tilted his head upright.

Sam retreats to make a call, whacking Bucky on the shoulder as he left the room. The sound makes you shift, and you walked forward to put yourself between him and Zemo.

“Thin fuckin’ ice.” You snarl. Bucky disengaged by leaning on his heels.

“Want some cherry blossom tea?”

You huffed and nudged Bucky’s waist to prompt him to follow you, wanting nothing more to get him – and yourself – away from Zemo before disaster ensued. He still held the information you needed, though his bargaining chips were running out.

You had the distinct feeling that he knew that too.

“No, you go ahead.”

The room you found yourselves next is small, but just as luxurious as the rest of the apartment, with thick embroidered cushions littering a daybed and stained glass on the windows, casting colorful rays of light over the floor.

“You won’t go home if I ask you to, will you?” Bucky asked, and you chuckled.

“Absolutely not.”

A pained little sound left Bucky’s throat, and you sat down on the daybed to face him. He was leaning against the wall, eyebrows knitted.

“It’s like you don’t know me at all, Buck.”

“I do. That’s why I’m worried.” You rolled your eyes at him, making him look away from you, jaw clenched.

You sighed. “Bucky. I’m a highly trained super soldier.” Retired, too, and probably rusty, but you decided to not put that thought on his head. “I have more field experience than you, I bet. Don’t trouble yourself too much.”

His shoulders sagged, and you raised your hand to smooth the collar of his jacket, like you’ve done a million times before, back when you were still only a girl, and he was only a boy. The familiarity in those acts of intimacy covered you like a warm blanket, and you caught yourself wondering if Bucky felt the same.

“I worry about you too, you know. Why I’m here.”

Bucky turned his head to look at you, eyes roaming over your face. “How much did Sam tell you about Madripoor?”

“All of it, I think.”

There was torment in his eyes, that he tried concealing by looking at the floor. He nodded curtly, and the gesture propels you to leap forward and hold his face in your hands.

“Not worried like that.” You knit your eyebrows together, speaking firmly at him. “Worried about you throwing yourself into another fight. And losing you to it, again. So here I am, James, and stop trying to get rid of me.”

He either crashed into you or you into him, you’re not sure, but it barely mattered. Bucky had his arms firmly around you, his forehead resting on your shoulder. A hug that came eight decades too late, making you have to blink tears away.

“Don’t wanna lose you again too.” Bucky mumbled into your hair, and you squeezed him just a little bit tighter.

“You won’t. M’ here.”

I’m here. I’m here. You believed it, because you knew yourself. Keeping away this long, because you knew that once you were with him, you wouldn’t be leaving.

You hoped Bucky believed it, too. You’d tell him over and over, just in case.

The moment was short lived, though, coming to an end the when Sam knocks on the door. You pry yourself apart from him like a band-aid, and the door opens, leaving you and Bucky to compartmentalize and get ready for the next steps in your mission with your backs turned to each other.

“You guys good?” Sam asked, looking from you to Bucky, and you groaned internally at the sight of the slight curl at the corner of his mouth.

It’s not like that, Sam.

“Yeah. Are you?”

He quirks his brow. You quirk yours. His smirk is more out in the open, now.

“C’mon, old guard, we have a funeral to attend.”

You and Bucky shoot him a double glare and follow him back to the living room, then out to the cobblestone streets. Sam specifically said no weapons, no doubt intending to keep things civil, but you strapped a knife to your boot anyway.

Bucky smirked at you when he caught you red handed and showed you the handle of his own knife secured at his hip. It’s funny, how among so many things that haven’t changed at all, remaining intact as if eternized in marble, so many other things did.

It’s the caution. Having a plan B, C, D, up to plan Z. It’s knowing every possible exit points when you enter a room, and it’s strapping a knife to your body even if you’re going on a mission of peace.

You wanted to think that the years made to fade most of your scars, but the smallest things reminded you that faded didn’t mean gone. The weight of the blade on your left foot was doing that, as you walked through the streets of Riga beside Bucky, Sam and Zemo.

“Karli Morgenthau is too dangerous for you guys to be pulling this shit.”

John Walker and Lemar Hoskins jogged down the steps in your direction. Bucky opened his arms in irritation.

“Ah! How’d you find us now?”

It wasn’t really a question.

“Come on. You think two Avengers can walk around Latvia without drawing attention?” Hoskins questioned rhetorically back, and his eyes land on you. You raised your eyebrows at him. “Y/L/N.” He didn’t sound terribly surprised.

“No more keeping us in the dark. You can start by telling us why you broke him out of prison.” Walker’s voice nearly overlapped Hoskins’, and his eyes traveled from Zemo to you.

“He did that himself, technically.” Bucky quipped, and shifted to your side slightly.

“I thought you were on vacation.” Walker sneered, making you shrug. You waved idly at the buildings.

“What? I’m sightseeing.”

“Oh, this better have an unbelievable explanation—” He raised his arms, taking a couple steps in your direction, but you didn’t budge.

You were resigned to simply rest your hands at your hips and wait for his temper tantrum to be over, but Sam clapped him on the chest and commanded him to not make things weird. Walker simmered down enough, which makes you beam proudly at Sam.

“I know where Karli is.”

You’d never be caught dead saying that out loud, but thank heavens for Zemo.

The new Captain America insisted on leading the action and turning it into a hostile one. You couldn’t stop staring at the shield on his back while he strutted ahead and turned, arguing with Sam about whether or not attempting to reason with Morgenthau was a good idea. She was indeed dangerous, but the echo of Sam saying that she was only a child earlier filled your ears.

It was risky, but Sam wasn’t reckless. You believed in him wholly.

“Is that why you roped a diplomat into this? There’s still time to change sides and save your job, Y/L/N.”

You didn’t doubt John Walker could and would get you to lose your job position, but you were aware of that possible outcome the minute you flew yourself to Latvia. That was the kind of inconvenience your future self would have to deal with. Sam looked at you for a brief second, forehead creasing with worry.

“Don’t threaten her, Walker.” Bucky warned him, and it was like you were fighting off a gang of bullies in an alleyway back home again.

“You’ll let him do this? Are you gonna let your partner walk into a room with a Super Soldier, alone?” Walker pressed on, holding Bucky’s stare.

“He’s dealt with worse. And he’s not my partner.”

You highly doubted that. These men were as hard-headed as you were, but you didn’t buy into the whole we-aren’t-friends thing. It was evident, in the way they checked on each other from time to time, and had each other’s backs.

“I used to counsel soldiers dealing with trauma, okay? This is right in my wheelhouse.” Sam stepped forward, and Walker was quick to resume the argument. He was desperate for a win, any win, and you caught yourself wondering if he was truly ready for the role he was given.

Hoskins seemed to be the voice of reason he lacked. Walker gave in, reluctantly, and motioned at Zemo.

“We’ll deal with you later.”

You tapped your feet impatiently.

“Boys, there’s no time for this.”

“I’m sure it will all come to an agreeable conclusion. My associate is just up ahead.”

There was a small girl waiting by the building in front of you. She guided the group to an abandoned factory of some sort, and Zemo announced that Karli was inside, and not long after he was being handcuffed to an iron vault door.

Sam stopped himself in his tracks while Walker manhandles the man, and you and him shared a look.

“You wanna come with?”

“No. It’s two against one, might set her off.” You shook your head, turning to look at Walker as he paced around. “You got this, Sam.”

Sam nodded at you and went in.

Ten minutes. You listened attentively for any signs of struggle, hoping things would go smoothly. Your knife felt heavy inside your shoe. Bucky seemed to be focused on the same task next to you.

John Walker grew more anxious by the minute, and you stopped listening to watch him pace around.

“It hasn’t been ten minutes, John. Just sit tight.” Bucky sighed.

“Don’t do that. Don’t patronize me.”

Rich, coming from him, who seemed keen on doing just that to everyone else. Walker squared his shoulders and marched on, Bucky having to stand on his way to stop him. You got off your post on the stairs and blocked the rest of the way. Walker glared at you, then at him.

“This is all really easy for you, isn’t it? All that serum runnin’ through your veins.”

Of course, he would consider the serum more of a blessing than the true curse it was. You exhaled sharply, struggling to keep your emotions in check, watching Bucky’s back as Walker continued.

“Barnes, your partner needs backup in there. Do you really want his blood on your hands?”

You could almost see Bucky’s resolve wavering.

“Bucky, don’t.”

“You really want a casualty that big, Ambassador?”

“You need to cool down, Walker. Sam is—”

You didn’t get to finish, because Walker is barreling his way through you and towards Karli Morgenthau. Hoskins is pushing you and Bucky back as you try to get to Sam and the girl before things blew up even further.

“Walker you can’t—”

“Karli Morgenthau, you’re under arrest.”

Karli knocks Walker down, and Bucky managed to shove Hoskins away to run after her.

“Y/N, ten minutes!” Sam said as the both of you ran off to join the pursuit.

“I know, Sam! There’s no reasoning with this guy!” You groaned. “I’ll go this way, cover more ground.”

Sam nodded, his concerned expression mirroring yours.

You split up as you take off to your right, passing through archways and enclosed cubbyholes, finding nothing but old industrial machinery and junk.

Gunshots.

You counted four, at least.

You managed to pick up the source of the sound after the third discharge, somewhere at the lower level of the building. It would take you forever to find your way down the traditional way.

You landed on the ground floor with a soft thud, and couldn’t help but grin as you look up at the window you had just jumped from. Not bad, though the impact was unexpected and almost knocked the wind out of you.

The sound of smashed glass prompted you to snap back to reality and run into the basement of the factory, the place holding massive iron pipes and boilers. Zemo had his back to you, gun in hand.

A flash of red curly hair poked from behind the last pipe. You tiptoed your way to Karli, crouching next to her. She was clutching her side, blood seeping through her fingers. The receiving end of the shots.

Karli looked at you with terrified eyes, then up, and your gaze followed hers to a man you didn’t recognize, but one of her friends without doubt.

“Get out of here, kid. Go.”

She wasted no time, clambering up the stairs and disappearing through a metal door.

Faster than you and Zemo could acknowledge each other’s actions, he was hit on the heat with flying metal, sending him unconscious to the floor. John Walker stepped into the light.

“Morgenthau?”

“Gone. I was too late.”

Walker appeared to believe you, or he didn’t care, eyeing with interest the shards of fine glass littered on the floor. Zemo had smashed every single vial of serum before being hit with the shield. You kneel next to him and check his pulse.

“Is he…?”

“No. Just out.” You breathed. Walker let out a disappointed hum, leaving you to attempt to waken Zemo by yourself.

Bucky and Sam entered through the door that Karli had escaped through, and Hoskins through the doorway you came in before.

“What did we miss?”

[magnhild]

the misconceptions and mis-framing of penny’s death

i hesitated to make this post here for a good while; partially because i didn’t want to right when people’s emotions were heightened from the finale, partially because i’m sure some people are going to argue with me here and i’m not looking for a debate- if you don’t agree, please just scroll past.

i’ve made a large number of posts of penny’s death on twitter before, but some were based on my own heightened emotions, and they were all scattered over the course of a couple of weeks, so i’m making this psot to kind of gather all of those thoughts together, the most important ones, at least.

a quick disclaimer before we start- don’t mistake this as all being ‘oh you must just not really care that much about penny’. it couldn’t be more untrue. penny is a comfort character of mine, and a kin to boot. her second death was also the only in the show to really impact me, seeing as i watched v1-3 within a couple of days and didn’t give myself enough time to get attatched to any characters (and i just didn’t personally care for clover all that much). so, please don’t assuming this is coming from a place of not caring- it’s coming from the opposite.

i’ve tried my very hardest to look at what people are saying when they call her death inherintly bad writing, and honestly, i can easily see the validity to some of their points. there were a lot of flaws in the scene. 

it felt very rushed and blown-over, but then again, the entire episode did, and i have to wonder if it was done on purpose to emulate the chaos of war- you usually don’t get time to process anything. i mean, in rwby’s case, cinder was winning a fight, half of the characters that would’ve moured her were in the void, and the other half was in another kingdom. that left jaune, who had to focus on fighting cinder. it’s the same as when ruby wasn’t given time to mourn yang.

it also was weird to kill her off two episodes and probably only, like, 10-15 in-show minutes, after she’d been saved from death by gaining a human body. i think it would’ve happened anyway, given the many death flags she had, but i’d have expected- and liked- for them to wait a little longer. it would’ve been nice to see her adjust to having a human body, that’s for sure.

and i can fully agree that framing suicide as a good thing is not...a good thing. but, that brings me to the first point when i say ‘misconception’. because, penny’s dead wasn’t suicide at all. and i have no idea why people would frame it that way it the first place.

first of all, if we’re going to start labelling sacrifices as suicides, we’re going to have to say the same about pyrrha, vernal, and probably yang even though she didn’t actually die (but she thought she would). but being killed in a battle while protecting people...is sacrifice. penny asking jaune to kill her quicker, so that she could make sure the powers went to winter, was sacrifice. it also meant that she didn’t have to die slowly and painfully instead. penny was not suicidal. she has never been suicidal. to be suicidal is to want to die. penny never wanted to die- she only ever believed that it was her only choice to save the people she cared about and the city she was assigned to protect. in penny’s situation, i imagine you’d have a hard time finding another way out of all the siuations she’s been in too. it honestly feels like people are only calling it suicide instead of sacrifice to frame the scene as worse than it was, and that rubs me the wrong way.

and now you’re probably wondering, ‘but blaire, if she’d let jaune save her, she wouldn’t have died’. except that everyone who thinks that is missing one critical factor- she would have died anyway.

cinder’s blow was a killing one. from the moment she struck, she was already starting to steal the maiden’s power. a little longer, and she probably would have. but the one thing a lot of people seem to miss is that, even though jaune was there, he would not have been able to save her. firstly, his aura would have been extremely low at that point, considering we see it shatter in this episode; he probably would not have had enough to fill another person. he maybe could’ve sealed the wound a little before his aura would have broken, and then cinder would’ve just kept going with no problem.

but, even if he somehow had been able to- his aura recharges pretty quickly, after all- another critical factor is that there literally wasn’t time. penny said so herself. as i mentioned earlier, cinder was winning the fight agaisnt weiss. and we’ve seen how long it takes for jaune to heal someone. with weiss, he was lucky; there were several other people there to protect him and weiss while he did his work. with penny, there was only weiss. the moment cinder saw jaune healing her, that would’ve been it. with both of them defenselss, she probably would have killed jaune on the spot, given that weiss never would have been able to stop her on her own, and continued to take penny’s power. jaune or not, penny would have died. because penny didn’t kill herself, jaune didn’t kill her, cinder killed her. this was a murder.

bu then, what was all that about penny finally making her own choice? was it not to die?

no. of course it wasn’t. how i ever believed that myself at one point baffles me, because the more i look back, the more it’s very obvious that it wasn’t the case. it’s almost funny, actually, because my current self would’ve called myself from two weeks ago stupid for believeing such a thing. 

as i mentioned, penny has never wanted to die. and, in this case, it wasn’t even that she felt she had to for the greator good; she was dying anyway. her choice had nothing to do with death. her choice was who to pass the winter maiden’s power onto. because, if jaune hadn’t used his sword and severe’d cinder’s connection, the power very likely would have gone to cinder instead. she’d have the relics and both the fall and winter powers, and she’d have been near-unstoppable otherwise. 

even the wiki editors somehow saw this more clearly than i did, but like i said, it’s actually pretty obvious. once you get the weird idea that penny was suicidal out of your head, it’s clear to see that the choice she was talking about was to choose winter. and it’s a damn good thing she did, because winter probably would have died otherwise, and the evacuees would’ve been left defensless agaisnt the grimm- penny wouldn’t have been able to save them, as we’ve established.

the last thing that everyone should consider is that we literally have no idea what could happen next. it’s hard to write this off as anything when we don’t know what effect it will have on the story and characters, or- though it’s a stretch- if penny will even stay dead. she is, after all, based off a character who dies and is ressurected on a frequent basis. it was the same case with pyrrha and clover’s deaths; both were dismissed as bad writing based purely on assumptions, only for the auidence to find out later that both deaths actually served pretty reasonable purposes; pyrrhas’s to set the stakes and give all of the character’s a reason to keep fighting, and clover’s to demonstrate how loyal-to-a-fault the aceops were, and that ironwood had no problem sacrificing his own men.

in the end, to call this a good writing choice is probably a stretch. but, it wasn’t a bad one either. there were just too many factors that weren’t considered, or were misunderstood, and the aformentioned rushed feeling of the episode probably did not help with picking all this out. these are realizations it took me days and even weeks to come to. what’s instead important is to look at the situation from as many different angles as possible, and to keep in mind that we can’t really say anything for certain about the consequences of the event. nuance is important! espeiclaly in media critisism!

i genuinely hoped this has opened people’s eyes, even if they already didn’t consider it bad writing. seeing crwby, and this show, undermined so drastically, has been pretty hard for me to see, especially when some people are using it to call crwby morally wrong. i’ve even seen people say it was transphobic, because penny was trans-coded, while totally dismissing may, a canonically trans character. and i know that crwby are getting death threats again, which is bitterly disappointing and enraging. stop. and stop enabling this behaviour. 

also, if you’ve read over all of this and still don’t personally like the decision, that’s fine and understandable. i can easily see why people still wouldn’t. but i think it’s important to remember that not liking a writing deicsion doesn’t necceserily make it a bad one. kind of like how me not liking any of star wars doesn’t make it a bad franchise.

thanks for reading, and please remember to just...be nice. and if you’re still mourning penny’s death, which is understandable, remember to look after your mental health! she would want you to!

[ouyangzizhensdad]

I just saw a post saying nhs has an inferiority complex and I'm?? Confused?? I always thought he was fine with being weaker in terms of cultivation, maybe I missed something

Hi anon,

I have to say, I struggle as well to figure out where people are getting this from the text. I think, oftentimes, people don't actually pay attention to what the text provides us in terms of characterisation as a whole, but take elements of what makes the character or which happens to them and simply extrapolate how they themselves would feel in that situation as a means of understanding the character. I can easily imagine how a reader would think: wow, if I had low cultivation in a world that values it (and within a clan that values strength even more so!) and a brother who was not only super strong and admired but who wanted me to fit into that role, and then found myself having to fill his shoes after his sudden death, I'd feel some sort of inferiority complex. I think that's the same reason you see so much people insisting WWX has self-esteem issues.

The thing about NHS is that, as a youth, we never saw him value high cultivation or "academic" achievements (not sure how to otherwise call his time at CR but there is probably a better word for it) or brute strength. He's afraid of consequences from his brother for failing at the CR, as we see here:

Although the brothers were not born from the same mother, their relationship was quite solid. Nie Mingjue had always taught his younger brother with extreme harshness, particularly caring for his studies. This was why, even though Nie Huaisang respected his older brother, he was the most scared of Nie Mingjue mentioning his schoolwork.

and here:

Although he didn’t understand a single bit as he listened in class, Nie Huaisang worked as hard as a slave when the date of the test approached. He copied Virtue two times for Wei Wuxian, and begged before the test, “Please, Wei-xiong, if my grade is lower than yi, my brother would really break my legs! Stuff like telling apart direct lineage, collateral lineage, main clan, clan branches… For us disciples from big clans, we can’t even distinguish our relationships with our own relatives, randomly calling everyone who are more than two tiers away from us aunts and uncles. Does anyone have enough capacity in their brain to remember those of other clans?!”

After thinking for a few moments, an expression of envy and yearning appeared on Nie Huaisang’s face, “To be honest, Wei-xiong’s words were quite interesting. Spiritual energy can only be obtained through cultivation and taking great pains to form a golden core (金丹). It would take I-don’t-know-how-many years to do, especially for someone like me, whose talent seems as if it was gnawed by a dog when I was in my mother’s womb. But, resentful energy are from the fierce ghosts. If they can easily be taken and used, it would be beyond wonderful.”

[...] . If disciple from a prominent clan forms the core at a later age, it would be a disgrace to tell other people of it, yet Nie Huaisang didn’t feel ashamed at all. Wei Wuxian also laughed, “I know, right? No harm comes from using it.”

The only moment that I can find that could tangentially be used to suggest that NHS has an inferiority complex could be this one, where NHS wants to avoid LXC's questioning about how his studies are going (and WWX picking up on his cues like a good friend to redirect the conversation). However, when you consider the whole context of the scene, it’s not because NHS feels self-conscious but because he’s afraid LXC is going to report to his brother that he’s not working hard at his studies:

Lan Xichen turned to him, “Huaisang, a while ago, as I returned from Qinghe, your brother asked of your studies. How is it? This year, will you be able to pass?”

Nie Huaisang replied, “Generally speaking, yes…” He seemed like a wilted cucumber, looking at Wei Wuxian in a helpless way. Wei Wuxian grinned, “Zewu-Jun, what are you two going out for?”

[...] Nie Huaisang also wanted to join in, but he had been reminded of his older brother as he met Lan Xichen. Cringing silently, he didn’t dare to have fun, “I’ll pass and go back so that I can review…” With this act, he hoped that Lan Xichen would put in some good words for him to his brother.

NHS seems very industrious at finding ways not to have to do anything that relates to cultivation or to leading a sect, and that is linked once more to the fact that he does not want to do these things (so not a case where we could say he’s self-sabotaging because he fears failure):

Lan Xichen took Nie Huaisang’s saber into his qiankun sleeve, “Huaisang has been using the excuse that he left his saber at home. Now he will have no excuses for lazing around.”

or here

“Nie Huaisang!”

Nie Huaisang fell at once.

He really did fall to his knees from the terror. He only staggered up after he finished kneeling, “D-d-d-da-ge.”

Nie Mingjue, “Where is your saber?”

Nie Huaisang cowered, “In… in my room. No, in the school grounds. No, let me… think…”

Wei Wuxian could feel that Nie Mingjue almost wanted to hack him dead right there, “You bring a dozen fans with you wherever you go, yet you don’t even know where your own saber is?!”

Nie Huaisang hurried, “I’ll go find it right now!”

[...]

In a hurry, Nie Huaisang dropped a few fans on the ground. Jin Guangyao picked them up for him and put them into his arms, “Huaisang’s hobbies are quite elegant. He’s dedicated to art and calligraphy, and has no propensity for mischief. How can you say that they’re useless?”

Nie Huaisang nodded as fast as he could, “Yes, Brother is right!”

Nie Mingjue, “But sect leaders have no need for such things.”

Nie Huaisang, “I’m not going to be a sect leader, though. You can be it, Da-ge. I’m not doing it!”

or here

Nie Mingjue was on the school ground, teaching and supervising Nie Huaisang’s saberwork in person. He did not acknowledge Jin Guangyao, so he stood at the edge of the field, waiting with respect. Since Nie Huaisang was quite uninterested and the sun was bright, he was rather half-hearted, complaining that he was tired after just a few moves. He beamed as he got ready to go to Jin Guangyao and see what presents he brought this time. In the past, Nie Mingjue would only frown at such things, but today he was angered, “Nie Huaisang, do you want this strike to land on your head?! Get back here!”

If only Nie Huaisang were like Wei Wuxian and could feel how great Nie Mingjue’s rage was, he wouldn’t grin in such a bold way. He protested, “Da-ge, the time is up. It’s time to rest!”

Nie Mingjue, “You rested just thirty minutes ago. Keep on going, until you learn it.”

Nie Huaisang was still giddy, “I won’t be able to learn it anyways. I’m done for the day!”

He often said this, but today Nie Mingjue’s reaction was entirely different from his past reaction. He shouted, “A pig would’ve learnt this by now, so why haven’t you?!”

Never expecting Nie Mingjue to burst out so suddenly, Nie Huaisang’s face was blank with shock as he shrunk toward Jin Guangyao. Seeing the two together, Nie Mingjue was even more provoked, “It’s been one year already and you still haven’t learnt this one set of saber techniques. You stand on the field for just thirty minutes and you’re complaining that you’re tired. You don’t have to excel, but you can’t even protect yourself! How did the QingheNie Sect produce such a good-for-nothing! The both of you should be tied up and beaten once every day. Carry out all those things in his room!”

The last sentence was spoken to the disciples standing by the side of the field. Seeing that they had gone, Nie Huaisang felt as though he was on pins and needles. A moment later, the row of disciples really did bring out all the fans, paintings, porcelain from his room. Nie Mingjue had always threatened to burn his room, but he had never actually burned them. This time, though, he was serious. Nie Huaisang panicked. He threw himself over, “Da-ge! You can’t burn them!”

Noticing that the situation wasn’t good, Jin Guangyao also spoke, “Da-ge, don’t act on impulse.”

Yet, Nie Mingjue’s saber had already striked. All of the delicate objects piled at the center of the field erupted in roaring flames. Nie Huaisang wailed and plunged into the fire to save them. Jin Guangyao hurried to pull him back, “Huaisang, be careful!”

With a sweep of Nie Mingjue’s hand, the two blanc de chine antiques shattered into pieces in his palms. The scrolls and paintings had already turned into dust in a split second. Nie Huaisang could only watch blankly as the much loved items that he had gathered throughout the years vanish into ashes. Jin Guangyao grabbed his hands to examine them, “Are they burnt?”

He turned to a few disciples, “Please prepare some medicine first.”

The disciples answered and left. Nie Huaisang stood at the same place, his entire body trembling as he looked over at Nie Mingjue, pupil encircled by veins. Seeing that his expression wasn’t right, Jin Guangyao put his arm around his shoulders and whispered, “Huaisang, how are you feeling? Stop watching. Go back to your room and have some rest.”

Nie Huaisang’s eyes brimmed red. He didn’t even make a sound. Jin Guangyao added, “It’s alright even if the things are gone. Next time I can find you more…”

Nie Mingjue interrupted, his words like ice, “I’ll burn them each time he brings them back into this sect.”

Anger and hatred suddenly flashed across Nie Huaisang’s face. He threw his saber onto the ground and yelled, “Then burn them!!!”

Jin Guangyao quickly stopped him, “Huaisang! Your brother is still angry. Don’t…”

Nie Huaisang roared at Nie Mingjue, “Saber, saber, saber! Who the fuck wants to practice the damn thing?! So what if I want to be a good-for-nothing?! Whoever that wants to can be the sect leader! I can’t learn it means I can’t learn it and I don’t like it means I don’t like it! What’s the use of forcing me?!”

I'm not saying he didn't have a hard time during the first moment of him taking over a leadership role in the sect after the sudden death of his brother (ultimately we can wonder whether the yiwensanbuzhi persona originated then, as he could have felt overwhelmed and actually didn't have the answers needed for the position he didn't prepare for--or whether it was always a pure fabrication to serve his goals), but I don't think we can chalk it up to an inferiority complex.

In the past, Wei Wuxian and Nie Huaisang studied together, so there were a few things he could comment about this person. Nie Huaisang wasn’t an unkind person. It wasn’t that he was not clever, but that his heart was set somewhere else and used his smarts on other areas, such as painting on fans, searching for birds, skipping classes, and catching fish. Because his talent in terms of cultivation really was poor, he formed his core around eight or nine years later than the other disciples of the same generation as him. When he lived, Nie Mingjue was often exasperated by the fact that his brother didn’t meet his expectations, so he disciplined him strictly. Despite this, he still didn’t improve much. Now, without his older brother protecting and supervising him, under his lead, the QingheNie Sect declined day by day. After he grew up, especially after he became the sect leader, he was often troubled by all kinds of affairs unfamiliar to him and looked for helpers everywhere, mainly his brother’s two sworn brothers. One day he’d go to Jinling Tower to complain to Jin Guangyao, and the next day he’d go to the Cloud Recesses to whine to Lan Xichen. With the two leaders of the Jin and Lan Sects supporting him, he still barely managed to settle on the sect leader position. Nowadays, whenever people mentioned Nie Huaisang, although they didn’t say anything on the surface, the same phrase was written on their faces—good-for-nothing.

And after NHS pieced together what happened to his brother and set out on a path to revenge, I don't see how someone who is so sharp and deceptive and able to reach his goals while hiding behind a facade the entire time would feel "inferior".

[ckneal]

Now, I’ve been around fanfiction long enough to know that in any angel-turns-human AU story, there is one question that burns brighter than all the rest: What about their first sick day?

Well, I’ll tell you this: That first year after the rapture, out of the two of them, Adam is actually the first one to get sick. He picks up a really, truly nasty, slowburn of cold about a month after bringing Michael home. And, aware that he had just taken a huge chunk of time off (convincing Sam and Dean to help bring Michael out of the Empty was not an overnight task, nor teaching Jack how to make a new human body from scratch), Adam initially tried to smother the growing ailment with over-the-counter remedies and sheer willpower, while this bug steadily asserted dominance, laying waste to his sinuses, building up pressure inside his head, and settling into his chest and making itself heard in his throat. Three days in, his boss finally sent him home because everyone knew, even if he was refusing to say that he was sick. Michael, of course, was relieved to see Adam finally resign himself to bedrest, even though the entire situation is a sharp reminder of the fact that Michael is no longer a divine being, capable of healing with a touch. He feels all the more useless when Adam, well-meaning but also speaking through a haze of cold medicine and the beginnings of a fever, tells Michael he should keep his distance, because who knows how badly his cold would hit someone with virtually no antibodies.

Adam then passed out for the majority of the day, while Michael proceeded to mope in the living room, feeling like he’d been banished, pretending to have something to do but really just moving things around the room that were perfectly fine as they were before. He’d given up, gone online, and scrolled past the third post on his favorite Supernatural site that he normally would have jumped to correct on their misinterpretation of lore had he not been so preoccupied (never mind that he still hasn’t actually read his father’s books), before it struck him that he does know what to do in this situation.

Adam had shared a lot of memories in the cage, particularly during the years right after Lucifer’s departure, when they were first alone together and Michael was more guarded when it came to participating in conversation. Many of those memories had been from Adam’s childhood that he had deemed “harmless.” And as such, while Michael was new to the practice of being around sickness, Michael actually did know how to take care of someone. At least, he knew how Kate would have taken care of Adam. While never having met Kate Milligan, Michael was aware that she had been very young when she had Adam and that she had raised him alone, that she worked often, and that as Adam got older, it became increasingly difficult for her to take time off from work to care for him when he became ill. But she would do what she could in her off hours.

One of those things was preparing meals in advance that Adam could pick from as needed. Michael wasn’t overly acquainted with cooking at that point, but luckily, Kate hadn’t been either. She would buy premade items from the grocery store and alter them at home. Adam’s favorite had been half and half peanut butter chocolate chip cookies, which had been made by purchasing dough for both confections and simply meshing them together before baking. Oddly, the more difficult item to find was the soup. It was canned, but Kate had stuck to a specific brand, because it had been Adam’s favorite brand during a brief period of pickiness when he was eight. It didn’t appear to be as common in the city where Adam and Michael had settled as it had been in Minnesota during the 90s. Fortunately, Michael had stolen Adam’s phone before going shopping, and a stranger he came across in the greeting cards section at the drug store showed him how to use the map function to locate various stores nearby.

Adam managed to sleep through the racket that ensued from Michael coming home and fumbling his way through what, make no mistake, could only very loosely have been called cooking--Michael managing to unsettle a tower of stacked mixing bowls and burn himself on both the stovetop and interior of the oven--Adam only finally waking up when his nose cleared long enough for the smells to reach him. Michael was standing by, and Adam very quickly found himself being pushed onto his back when he opted to sit up.

“Michael? Get out of here, you’re going to get sick.”

“Not if you don’t breathe on me,” Michael said, quoting a memory from when Adam was nine that he knew wasn’t strictly true, but did not particularly care. He had a jar of Vicks Vaporub in hand and was pulling Adam’s shirt out of the way.

“What’s that smell?”

“Dinner. Hold still.”

“Since when do you cook?”

“Since a half hour ago, hold still.”

Despite twice repeating the instruction, it’s only when Michael straddles Adam that Adam actually lays still. He continues to press for details though, because Adam does recognize the aroma drifting in from the kitchen, and while he doesn’t particularly remember sharing those memories, he isn’t so much surprised that Michael does (Michael’s recall verges on obsessive), as he is by the fact that Michael actually did something with it. In the month since leaving Kansas, Michael only very rarely left their apartment, and never on his own.

Had it not been for the fact that he was determined to wait for Michael to decide when they would be back on those terms, Adam might have forgotten he was contagious and kissed Michael right then.

“You didn’t have to do all that.”

“I wanted to.”

Michael only looked up from Adam’s chest and noticed the way Adam was looking at him when Adam’s hand settled on top of his. That was, additionally, the moment when it struck Michael he was straddling Adam, and that the last time one of them had done that to the other, one of them hadn’t actually been physically real, and that they hadn’t done what they’d been doing then in a fairly long time. Of course, it hadn’t seemed strange to him to get into this position a second ago, as, in terms of Michael’s projections, they had done a lot more than kiss, and their relationship with one another hadn’t changed at its core since, but in terms of Michael being a physically present being in a body of his own, they hadn’t actually. . .

“Michael?”

“Yes, Adam?”

“I’m pretty sure I smell smoke.”

And then all at once, Michael was scrambling off the bed, the moment hastily pushed aside in his rush to save the cookies (which were burnt, but a benefit of Kate’s “recipe” was that there was plenty of dough leftover for new batches). By the time that Michael came back, Adam had remembered that he was a breathing germ farm and subsequently put his bedroom eyes away, and Michael suggested they relocate to the couch and watch the obnoxious devil show that Adam liked (Lucifer) while they ate.

Of course, despite Adam’s gradually flagging efforts to keep Michael at a distance for the sake of his health, Michael wound up catching the cold and would spend the next two weeks buried under every blanket they owned while Adam returned the favor of taking care of him. Because Adam was right, he had no antibodies, of course he was going to get sick.