#fair warning you won’t see any of these for probably a year lol

[ranchclan]

Out of curiosity, which would you pick?

[ryuichirou]

Replies

A couple of replies about other fandoms, then a couple of replies about twst boys (including one about them loving hands).

Anonymous asked:

as someone who found you through twst i was EXTREMELY surprised and pleased to see your marchen art since sound horizon is still a bit of an obscure thing, esp compared to all the linked horizon stuff. do you have a fav song from the album or their discography in general?

Anon! I am so excited to hear from someone who also knows about Sound Horizon <3 Yes, we love it very much! We haven’t listened to their newer stuff properly, and by “newer” I mean anything that came out after Marchen lol so not that new, but I do remember Marchen (+Ido) coming out and how overwhelmingly amazing it was. It still is, to be fair; I’d say this is my favourite album. I also REALLY love Moira and Elysion.

There are a lot of songs that I love (from Roman and other albums as well), but if I had to pick one from each of my 3 favourite albums, I’d say it’s Yoiyami no Uta, Shiseru Eiyūtachi no Tatakai and Ark.

I don’t listen to Linked Horizon stuff all that much, but I adore everything that Revo wrote for Shingeki. Akatsuki no Requiem is probably my favourite from these songs… and Sasageyo, of course.

The majority of my SanHora art is so old, I’m sorry you had to look at it lol One day I’ll draw all of our faves again…

Anonymous asked:

Yooo! Black butler throw back!? The nostalgia! In ref to ur recent black butler art

Yeah, we post Black Butler art pretty often! Funny enough, even though we watched it ages and ages ago and rewatched it several times, it took all those years for us to finally appreciate it lol So now we love it a lot. And I draw it quite often…

blackbutlerfandomnerddomain asked:

I'm sorry did I see W.I.T.C.H. on your fandom list?? Do I sense some good angsty toxic yaoi Phobos from you by chance-

In theory, yeah lol I think Cedric/Phobos was my first ever ship. I would love to draw them at some point, but that probably won’t happen anytime soon.

Anonymous asked:

I sent a link to a translated clip from chapter 7 without realizing you haven’t gotten there yet! I’m so sorry and please don’t click if you don’t want spoilers!

It’s okay! Well, unfortunately, one of us already looked at it oops, but it’s obvious that you didn’t mean it, so don’t worry.

We appreciate your apology and warning <3

fate-muse-club-house asked:

Jamil got to look sexy enough and Kalim will buy him anything he wants

Fact. And Jamil doesn’t even have to do anything – he is sexy enough just normally…

Anonymous asked:

QUESTION!

Do you think any of the twst boys would have a liking/kink of some sort for hands?

Also, I love how you draw Jamil and Kalim.

:)

Thank you, Anon <3

Let’s see… Rook is absolutely the one, he pays attention to hands all the time. He doesn’t like being touched, but loves grabbing hands and caressing his own face with someone else’s hands…

Vil probably has a very specific type of hands that he loves. Manly, but not overly masculine, but strong, but very tidy and elegant? Super specific.

Trey has a thing for tiny hands. They make him physically weak when he looks at them.

Cater also loves hands, and he probably takes pictures of his own hands a lot. He does it just for fun and for the aesthetics of it. Azul adores his own hands. He also thinks Idia’s are prettier than he thought they’d be…

Idia loves either cute and tiny ones or big and masculine ones, and he is in denial about both.

Sebek is also a big lover of hands, but he didn’t figure it out quite yet.

Anonymous asked:

Imagine Idia having a waifu body pillow and whoever he’s with is jealous of it.

Oh they would get jealous 😭 All of them. Even Azul who would at first think that he is above this, and that this is just one of Idia’s million otaku quirks, would get unexpectedly annoyed whenever Idia would hug this thing or even have it on his bed.

Lilia would yeet it from the bed lol it’s his bed! Maybe he’ll get Idia a new daki, the one of Lilia himself doing a cute pose in a cosplay <3 Idia would get uncomfortable and complain about Lilia acting out of character…

Ortho wouldn’t mind it though. If he’s making a scene, it’s intentional! He knows that Idia just uses this anime girl for comfort and that she isn’t as cute as him.

[17magpiesinatrenchcoat]

oh yeah, the short story I wrote when I was 14 lol

it’s not very good but here💀

realising that this was the last time I wrote something is not a nice feeling. I didn’t even realise it’s been so long, holy shit, like i knew it had been a while but I didn’t realise it was literal YEARS now that’s just sort of depressing, especially since well.. I still can’t do better than 14 year old me now and she’s probably better bc I have not practiced in years smh💀💀

I wish I knew how to be a writer, it would be so amazing to get my stories out in the world, but I’m just so lazy ☹️☹️☹️ if any of y’all got any tips on how to get into it well. You know where to find me

anyways here (cw for death/suicide I think, idk what 14 year old me was cooking)

Candle

`At first, it was only an ember.

It was near the end of the Great War that they found her. Cold and trembling, crumpled in the ruins of her scorched village, a lone survivor. She was the only ember of life in a ruined land.

The kingdom set up camp among the blackened stones, wary of the stranger. They could not afford to let their guard down, because even the tiniest spark can start a fire. However, the princess did not heed their warnings, and went to talk to the stranger. The girl reminded the princess of a candle in the night, hopelessly shining, doomed to eventually burn out, fated to never see any light apart from her own. She could not help but pity her, this pathetic little ember, soon to burn out. The princess thought she had already seen it all, ravaging fires and thunderous floods, so what could a tiny, blackened ember do to hurt her?

She held out her hand to the candle, beckoning to a shining future. She might as well blow a little air on a dying spark, keep it burning for a little while longer, a good deed for the day. It wouldn’t affect her in the long run. Or so she thought.

Then, it was a spark.

The candle hid in the shadows of the palace, too afraid to talk to anyone higher than her. Amongst the glittering scarlet tapestries and golden sunrises, she was a moth amongst butterflies, draped in beige rags. She prayed to the moon and stars to forget, to no avail. She glared out from under black veils at the butterflies, half-hoping that one would someday give her some sort of reassurance, that everything would eventually be alright, but the only thing she got from them was judgemental glares and mistrusting whispers. Who was this little moth to enter their lair? In the middle of a war against her, no less? She felt their eyes boring into the back of her head as she sulked through the corridors. She scowled at them from her corner of shadows. It was one of their own who brought her here, so why couldn’t they blame her instead? She felt a spark of spite flickering in her chest. It wasn’t fair. None of it was.

Somewhere, a spark was struck.

Then, it was a flicker.

The candle slammed open the doors of the princess’s lair. She glared out at the princess from her scraggly veil of hair, her face twisted into a vicious scowl,

“Why did you bring me here? Don’t you know how the others treat me? Won’t you do anything?”

The interruption caused the princess to snap the nail she was busy pruning. She scowled towards the intruder, before realising who she was.

How curious.

It was the ember she had rescued a couple weeks ago. She somehow looked even worse for wear, with her clothes that were barely more than stray rags sewn together, and eye bags so dark she looked half-dead. But her spirit was completely unscathed, apparently. The princess felt a smile tug at her lips. Who did this candle think she was, harassing the very person who spared her? Who could take it away in an instant? It was the most absurdly idiotic thing the candle could do. The princess decided that she liked her.

She smiled a sickly sweet grin, her eyes boring into the candle.. “So you want to fit in?” she trilled to the candle. “You want to be loved?

The candle scowled again, but she could not hide the longing gaze in her eyes.

“I guess.”

“Well,” warbled the princess, her grin widening, “There is no easy way for it. But, a way some outsiders in the past have found that their place in this sad world is theatre. People will not care about who you are if you are too busy pretending to be someone else.”

The candle did not bother hiding her longing any more. “How do I do it? How do I make that my place?

The princess’s grin was now so wide she looked more monster than human. “For that, my dear,” she said, as her eyes shined, “You need to learn how to dance.”

And so, the candle did.

Then, it was a flare.

With the princess as her mentor, the candle slowly learned the art of theatre. She did not understand why the princess was helping her, but she was grateful, because though she picked up the techniques easily, she would not have been able to do so without help. She danced through the days, some she was a princess in glittering golden robes, some she was a villainess, clad in deep violet, slung elegantly across her throne. She found her new stunt was to light a ruby red torch and fling it hand to hand as while elegantly gliding across the stage as her audience screamed. She loved her new life more than a flame loved the fuel, but it was not enough. While the butterflies may have loved to see her on stage, they still were mistrusting. She would never be one of them; to them, she was still the sad little moth who the princess had rescued to keep up appearances. She’d never really be accepted. Whether the princess had lied or she just hadn’t known, the candle couldn’t be certain. She was right, in a way; they accepted her when she was pretending to be someone else, as momentary entertainment, but it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.

And, despite her own warnings, the spark slowly grew to a flicker.

Then, it was a blaze.

The candle continued to dance in the glory of the stage, but she could no longer find any small solace from it. She watched the butterflies’ eyes follow her, dead, unfeeling. They didn’t care if she lived or died. They only cared about the characters she played. Without them, she was nothing to them. The flame of hatred grew.

There was a recital that night. The candle refused to come. She crouched sleeplessly in her room, staring out at the barren landscape, dead-eyed.

She watched the dark turn to bright emotionlessly. She was still waiting. Only when the sun was so high that it was obscured from view, did she hear the knock at her door.

“Where were you?”

It was the princess. Her chartreuse eyes glared into the candle. “We were all waiting for you.”

The candle stared at her. “You lied.”

The princess stumbled back. “What are you talking about?

“You said that they’d accept me if I did what you said. They don’t. They only see me as momentary entertainment. When I’m away from the stage, I am once again an outsider.”

The princess hissed, like a flame being put out. “How was I supposed to know that? For all I could see, that was the truth. Stop being so ungrateful.”

The candle whipped away from her and glared out the window at the blackened landscape. So, the princess was just like them after all. She made up her mind.

“Leave.” She commanded, without turning around. “I never want to see your face again.”

Then, it was an inferno.

That night, the candle returned to her dreaded stage, for the last time.

She glared out at their cheering faces, disgusted. These were the same people who shunned her in the hallways. She was nothing to them. Even her one and only ally turned out to be no different. She was going down, and they were all coming with her.

It was time to pull her favourite stunt.

She lit a bright ruby torch as the crowd cheered. She swirled around and around with it, cradling it in her arms, only this time, she didn’t stop. The crowd screamed in terror as the candle hurled the torch into the crowd and it lit up in flames, roaring and tumbling onwards. The doors were sealed; there was no escape. The candle gazed blankly as her tormentors perished.

Because of them, she had become the very thing they feared she was.

She held onto this thought as her world crumbled around her, beautiful and terrible. She felt it all at once, and crumpled to the floor in unbearable anguish. But it didn’t matter. None of it did. Soon, she would turn to ash, just like her first and last allies on that fateful day, and none of it would matter. She would finally be free.

What a pity, that candle.

[watchmegetobsessed]

SNACKS AND SEX

A/N: a little something, because i thought i would be done with the single dadrry fic by now... but im not so i just wrote this quickly bc i felt bad hahahah

WORD COUNT: 1.4k

WARNING: a bit of body issues

SUMMARY: You're three months pregnant, but the world doesn't know. Seeing some pictures of yourself online really get to you.

MASTERLIST | SUPPORT ME!

Social media has been a weird hole in your life ever since you started dating Harry. You weren’t an obsessive user before, but you spent your fair share of time scrolling on Twitter and Instagram, checking out funny posts.

But then they were about you.

Five years into dating Harry, one year of that spent as husband and wife, you still can’t stop yourself from wandering online and hurting yourself by seeing something mean about a photo or a nasty gossip. You promised yourself a million times before that you wouldn’t even check what complete strangers have to say about you, but it’s hard to keep away from the internet.

It’s a random Thursday evening when you break your promise again and it brings you to tears. Harry is out to get your Sour Patch Kids, because that was your pregnancy craving of the day and you tried to ignore it, but then ended up asking Harry to run to the store and get them for you without a word or complain. He’s been your hero not just since you’ve found out you’re pregnant three months ago, but probably since you met him.

So while you’re waiting for him, you’re munching on some chips, scrolling on Twitter aimlessly.

And then you find a thread about yourself.

Two days ago you went for a walk around the neighborhood, the weather was nice, you felt like you needed to get out of the house so you and Harry walked to your favorite bakery, got some donuts and took a stroll. Paparazzi keep away from the neighborhood where you live, Harry has had a long but successful fight with them in the past so now they keep their distance, so you weren’t worried about getting papped. But you can’t have normal people away every time you’re out on the streets. He has fans everywhere and love taking pictures of him doing literally anything, whether it’s just crossing the street, being on a run or walking around with her pregnant wife eating donuts.

Well, people don’t know you’re pregnant and hopefully they won’t find out for months.

You kind of saw a few girls get worked up when they spotted the two of you, but you were hoping they would be respectful and not take pictures. You were wrong. And now you’re met with a series of photos of you, your face stuffed with donuts like you never ate any before. They caught you in a bad moment, for sure. You haven’t washed your hair in days, you were wearing baggy clothes because one, they hide your growing belly amazingly and two, those are what you feel the most comfortable in. Your body is going through some major changes, comfort is your number one priority these days.

But now you’re watching people tear you apart for looking so slobby and practically just the shadow of yourself compared to what you used to look like five years ago.

She definitely shouldn’t be eating donuts, lol.

Wow, she put on so much weight!

Harry is just getting hotter, while she is turning into… that.

She is twice the size like she was at the Grammy’s omg!

You just can’t stop reading the nasty messages, they seem to be endless, about your look, your clothes and mostly about the size of your body. You immediately stop eating the chips and toss the pack away as you keep scrolling.

Tears start dwelling in your eyes, feeling like all these comments are being thrown at you relentlessly. There’s no doubt you’ve gained weight, pregnancy has been crazy for you, you’ve been constantly hungry, always eating something because whenever you tried to keep yourself out of the kitchen, your body definitely started rioting against you until you gave it what you wanted. So you’ve been putting on extra weight these past months, but you didn’t think much of it until now.

“Fuck,” you mumble, tears rolling down your cheeks as you lock the phone and toss it to the side, staring ahead of you, the comments playing in your mind on repeat.

It gets you so worked up that you don’t even notice when Harry returns.

“Love? I got everything you’ve been craving!” he sings as he walks down the hallway, smiling to himself thinking about all the treats in his tote bag.

You jump at his voice and try to hide your state, but a moment later he walks in and sees you sitting at the dining table, crying.

“Hey, what happened?” he asks, dropping the bag and rushing over to you, kneeling in front of you. “What happened? Talk to me, baby!”

“Nothing,” you breathe out shakily, but even the blind could see that you’re crying. “But… I don’t want the snacks anymore.”

“What? You’ve been craving them all day, I got all your favorites!”

“I don’t…” you shake your head and even though you’re fighting hard to stop crying, it just gets worse.

“Y/N, don’t tell me nothing happened, something clearly upset you! Please, I want to help!” he begs, feeling helpless seeing you like this.

Instead of answering, you just grab your phone, unlock it and hand it over to him and wait as he reads over some of the mean tweets.

“Baby…” he exhales, putting the phone to the side as he pulls out the chair next to yours and sits beside you, his hands never letting go of yours in your lap. “These idiots don’t matter, they have no idea that you’re pregnant!”

“I’m pregnant, yeah, but I also gained a lot of weight and I’m only entering the second trimester! I look horrible!”

“No, you don’t, you look amazing!”

“Don’t bullshit me, I look like shit on those pictures and I have a feeling I look the same now as well!” you snap at him. Your hormones have been all over the place so you’ve been overreacting a lot lately, but you just can’t help it.

“But that’s not what I see. I see my beautiful wife enjoying some great donuts she deserved because she is growing our baby in her belly. Did you put on some weight? Yes, but that’s nothing to be ashamed of. I loved you before pregnancy, I love you now and I will love you forever.”

“How do you not think I look hideous?” you moan, still not convinced.

“Because I’m in love with you and all I care about is that you’re nourished, loved and cared for so you can care for our baby in there,” he says, placing a hand to your growing belly. “People will always have something to say about us, that doesn’t mean it’s true. I was there with you on our walk, I saw you eat those donuts and wanna know what I thought?”

“What?” you ask in a whisper.

“I was so happy that I saw you eat them with those pleased hums, I loved knowing that you have what you want and need. That’s all that mattered to me.”

Harry can tell you’re still not entirely on the same page as him and he is determined to get your mind to the right place.

“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, Y/N. And you’re going through some extreme changes so we can grow our family. Be nice to your body, because it’s gifting us with a baby. I promise you that even on your worst day, when you feel like you don’t want anyone to look at you, I would still think the same thing about you.”

“Are you sure?” you ask as he wipes your tears off of your cheeks.

“I can’t be more sure, I promise. Now why don’t we get comfortable on the couch, I’ll rub your feet and we can eat the snacks I got and then maybe have sex too,” he adds cheekily and it finally makes you laugh.

“Harry!”

“What?” he grins. “I told you, you’re beautiful. Of course I want to have sex with my amazing wife!”

“You don’t mind the weight I’ve put on?”

“No,” he answers confidently. “I love all of you, I love this wonderful body of yours that’s cooking my baby in there,” he smirks and leaning down he kisses your stomach, making you laugh. Then he wraps you in his arms and pulls you into his embrace. “We good?” he hums.

“Yeah,” you nod, holding onto him tight.

“So, snacks?”

“Yes.”

“And sex?” he adds, his hands wondering down to your butt, giving it a nice squeeze.

“Mm… Maybe. After snacks,” you say, making him laugh this time.

“Deal!”

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed and buy me a coffee if you want to support me!

[shuadotcom]

Stuck | MYG (2)

› Summary: When Min Yoongi’s parents arrange for him to marry their top business competitor’s daughter, he’s less than thrilled, but being the filial son he is, he does what his parents ask to keep the business successful. You’re much less receptive to the news, and it takes your parents threatening your fortune to get you to go along with it. As expected, things between you and Yoongi go from bad to worse. It only takes half a year before it all comes to a head, leaving you both exhausted, heartbroken, and unsure of how to pick up the pieces.

› Pairing: Yoongi x Female!Reader (nicknamed Peach)

› Genre: Angst, fluff, arranged marriage au, chaebol au

› Rating: PG-15

› Words: 11k

› Warnings: Profanity, toxic parents

› Note: F I N A L L Y HERE IS PART 2 OF MY Sons of Midas COLLAB FIC😤 For whatever reason, this fic really beat my ass. I hate how long it took me to write it, but every time I opened the doc my brain all of a sudden didn’t know how to function?? 🥴 BUT SHE’S HERE. I’m gonna be real with y’all, I have no idea if Peach and this Yoongi (Poongi? Yeach? Thanks I hate both options) will make a comeback in any of my future fics, but if they do, it won’t be for a while. I love them but I need a break from them lol.

Thank you soooo much to my wonderful wifey and Peach stan @agustdealer and my precious lovelies @oftenderweapons & @lavienjin for being my wonderful betas!!! I tagged everyone I could remember that asked! Thanks you all for waiting and reading!! ❤️❤️

PART 1

› Taglist: @jwlmnbt​ @jalexad​ @siadreams @elyte​ @neverthefirstchoice​ @angeltothecore​​ @hello-kittyy​​ @superperfectionnut @630wrld​​ @sugarkive​ @taegigucci​​ @leanimal90​​

You’re not running away. That is absolutely not what you’re doing. Just because you packed two big suitcases when you got home, bought a one-way ticket to Antigua, and are on your way to the airport doesn’t mean you’re running away. You sent a text to the group chat with your friends as you were in the car going home, telling them you’re leaving for a while before putting your phone in airplane mode and turning it off completely. 

If you were running away you wouldn’t have told anyone that you’re leaving, obviously.

You just need time away. Time away from your overbearing, insufferable mother who will no doubt be blowing up your phone any second now. You’re sure that the videos of you and Yoongi screaming at each other have already made it online. That only means that your mother will either see it when browsing online, or someone will send it to her. This, of course, will lead to furious phone calls and text messages, probably blaming you for fucking up the business image once again. You’ll deal with that when you’re back.

You need time away from life as Peach Y/l/n. You just want to be Y/n in a place no one knows you. No pressure to always be made up and schmooze with every wealthy person you’ve ever met. No image of your own or your family’s to uphold, no paparazzi in your face at every turn, just waiting to crucify you for your next scandal. No offspring of other wealthy families trying desperately to get into your pants for notoriety or a quick fuck. It’s draining and you’re at your wit's end. 

You need the most time away from anything that is Min Yoongi. You’re tired of thinking about him and talking about him and being reminded that he is your legal husband. You’ve had your fair share of issues with partners, but the way that you and Yoongi treat each other (yes, you acknowledge it’s your fault) is poor and it’s exhausting. The mental and emotional toll of being married to Yoongi has aged you at least fifteen years. He can divorce you and ruin your family business merger for all you care. He can slander your name and trash you to any press who will listen. He can do whatever the fuck he wants as long as it’s away from you. 

That’s why you’re taking such an impromptu vacation in a place you’ve never been to. You want to lie on the beach and forget your problems. You’ll deal with your mom, your life, and Yoongi when you return home, but for now, you’ll focus on yourself.

Yoongi is a huge fucking asshole. He knows this. He knew this as soon as all of the vile things he said to you slipped out. He knew before you even opened your mouth to retort and before you even threw your drink at him. Now he’s standing in one of the bathrooms on the boat, blotting at the wet spots on his suit, wishing he could turn back time to before he acted like complete trash to you. 

But, he can’t. He said awful things to you and just watched as you built even higher and stronger walls, and pushed him away even more. Yoongi hates himself knowing this — that he’s the one that keeps fucking things up over and over again. 

“What is wrong with you?” he asks his reflection, getting no response. Your words about him seeking therapy ring in his ears, and he thinks that may be for the best. 

While it’s still on his mind, Yoongi fishes his phone from his pocket and sends a text to Tzuyu asking her to email him a list of the best therapists in town tomorrow morning. When he gets the text back that she’ll have it for him as soon as she can, he lets out a sigh. It’s not going to magically fix anything between the two of you, but it’s a start. Maybe if he’s a little less broken, you’ll be willing to work on things with him.

Yoongi would be a liar if he said he wasn’t very obviously still holding on to feelings for you. Why does he have to show this in the worst way possible? He doesn’t have the slightest clue, but he knows something is wrong with him and for you, he’ll fix it.

After exiting the bathroom, he is painfully aware of the eyes that follow him as he leaves the ship. He already knows people were recording his entire fight with you, and he’s willing to bet that tabloids are soon to follow. He needs to get home and start working on damage control before this spirals even more out of control than it inevitably will get. 

Once he’s seated in the small boat to take him back to shore he toys with the idea of texting you that he’s sorry or that he’ll make everything up to you but decides against it. He knows you well enough to know that any response he’ll receive will be anything but positive. 

As expected, the paparazzi are still at the shore, snapping more pictures as he beelines to his waiting car. Before his driver shuts the door, he hears plenty of questions. 

“Why did Peach leave before you?!” 

“Peach looked upset when she left, did you two fight?!”

“Are you getting a divorce?!” 

The last question makes him frown, but he tries to shake it off. He won’t divorce you unless that’s what you truly want. He’s lost in thought, you on his mind when his phone starts ringing.

“Jimin?” he asks, answering the call on the second ring.

“Yoongi, get to the hospital now!”

“What?”

“Jungkook and Candy were in a car accident! Everyone is on their way — get here now!”  

“I’ll be there.” Yoongi curses before he hangs up and tells his driver to take him to the Park’s hospital.

His driver gets him there in record time, Seokjin pulling up to the curb at the same time. Yoongi and Seokjin nod at each other, worry etched all over their faces as they rush inside, frantic to find their friends.

Upon entry, Yoongi locks eyes with Jungkook’s girlfriend, the woman that he had just warned Jungkook about hours ago.

Yoongi isn’t sure if the anger he feels upon seeing her is coming from the intense worry he’s feeling for his friends, the fury at himself about the way he last ended things with you, or the exhaustion he feels about what’s to come when his father finds out what happened, but he already didn’t like the girl. It all bubbles over when he sees her.

“No. What the fuck is she doing here?” Yoongi sneers, rushing over and giving Hoseok a look for an answer. His friend gives him nothing, so he turns his attention to her. “Get. Out.”

“No,” she says to him, standing up, arms crossed and frown strong. 

He doesn’t have time to get into it with this girl, opting to beckon security to take care of her instead. He walks off after letting out a harsh laugh, more so at her blatant disregard for his words.

The guards don’t even question him when he approaches, explaining that there’s someone that’s not family or friends trespassing. They make quick work removing the two-faced woman from the hospital, a smirk on Yoongi’s face the whole time. He feels a twinge of what he thinks is guilt once she’s finally gone and winces. It’s not that he doesn’t usually feel guilt, but as his friends like to joke, he barely feels anything in his cold, dead heart. He frowns for what feels like the hundredth time tonight and pushes that away.

His mind refocuses on his friends as he gets comfortable in the chair next to Hoseok. This is cut extremely short when Yoongi’s phone rings, his father’s name on the screen. His body sags in exhaustion as he tiredly answers. 

“Min Yoongi, what the fuck is the meaning of this video?!” His voice booms through the receiver, both Seokjin and Hoseok eyeing him as his father yells.

“I know that it’s bad and -”

“Oh yeah? Then why the fuck did it happen?!”

“Father, it was an accident. Y/n and I just had a small disagreement.”

“Aboard a ship where the children of every business partner of mine in the goddamn country happen to be! This isn’t the first time the tabloids have been sniffing around your marriage!”

“I know.”

“So then why does this keep happening, Yoongi?!”

Yoongi closes his eyes, his brain struggling to come up with an answer that his father will find acceptable. Of course, this isn’t possible, as nothing is ever acceptable to his father — especially when he’s angry. 

“I’m sorry,” is what he settles on saying.

“You will be if you don’t do something about this. Do a press release or find a photoshoot of some sort for you and Y/n to do. I don’t know, just take this harsh spotlight off of us.” The line clicks dead after that, not so much as a goodbye is offered to Yoongi.

Letting out a heavy groan that he feels in his chest, Yoongi leans his head back against the wall, wishing he was anywhere in the world than in this reality. 

“I assume that was about the fight with Peach on the boat?” Seokjin speaks up, glancing at Yoongi.

“Yep and I assume you already know how CEO Min is taking it.”

“About as well as he takes any criticism about your family.” The two men share a bitter laugh. “The usual, ‘Yoongi get your shit together’ yelling.” 

“Not to take his side, but your dad’s right.” Hoseok pipes up, the man looking worse for wear from his spot next to Yoongi. “You like Peach. You’ve told us as much these past few months. Hell, you had a crush on her before you ever even spoke to her. But all you keep doing is being an asshole and pushing her away. If this moment right now has taught me anything, it’s to get things right with the people you care about.” Hoseok sounds sad as he says this, no doubt his worry for Candy driving him mad.

“He’s right,” Seokjin agrees. “We all know you used to have a thing for her. And you’ve told us yourself that you feel something for her. So do something about it that doesn’t include calling her a whore and nearly getting murdered by her.”

“Oh yeah, you’re lucky it was just a drink,” Hoseok tiredly jokes. “If she had had something sharp on her, we may have been here in this hospital for you.” The three men laugh before Hoseok turns serious again. “We’re not here to be your marriage counselors, but if you do actually care about her maybe do something about this. And you better be lucky Candy can't check her phone right now because you'd already have had a shitstorm thrown at you about what you did.”

Seokjin and Hoseok are right. This is the worst scenario to happen for things to slide into perspective for Yoongi, but he does need to fix things with you. Not only to get his father off of his back, but he knows that making it all up to you is most important. As bad as your last fight was, and how many terrible things he’s said to you, he would lose his mind if he was coming to the hospital to see you because you were in an accident. 

“You guys are right,” Yoongi groans. “She’s not going to answer my calls right now though. She’ll probably tell me to eat shit and die or something.”

“Yeah, that’s something she’d say,” Seokjin chuckles. “Give her a day or so. She put up with your cranky ass all these months so I’m sure you can work it out.” Hoseok agrees and the three of them fall into silence as they await news on their friends; meanwhile, Yoongi’s mind immediately goes to you and what you’re doing. Are you home already? Have you fallen asleep or are you thinking of him too?

“Miss Y/l/n, we’re here.” The voice of your driver wakes you from your small nap as you look up at your apartment building. You tiredly thank him and step out of the car door he’s holding open for you. Taking both suitcases from him, you wheel them into the lobby, greeting your doorman, and heading straight to the elevators.

While your month away was much needed, it also did very little to help completely clear your mind. Your days were filled with massages and spa trips at the resort, eating fancy meals, and even a few activities held at the resort with other guests. The problem is that when you weren’t doing these things, you still found yourself dreading what you needed to deal with when you returned home. 

Manicures and seaweed wraps weren’t enough to clear your mind. Neither were any of the people who hit on you while you were away. You wanted to accept the advances that were thrown your way - or at least you thought you did. You were polite to anyone who came up to you. There was even a fair share of men who approached you that reminded you so much of Yoongi that you had to reject them especially. Whether you’re still changing as a person or you’re letting everything get to you, you found yourself having no interest in anyone. Who even are you anymore?

Back in your apartment, everything is just as you left it. You wonder if anyone has been by and almost go ask the doorman, but you stare at your phone in your hand instead. You still haven’t turned it on, feeling utterly terrified of what awaits you. Taking a deep breath, you power the device on, and plop onto the couch, waiting.

As soon as your lock screen appears, notification after notification starts to light up the screen. You unlock the device and watch as the notification number on your messaging app goes up and up. Scrolling through, you see texts from, Candy, Honey, Swan, and a few other casual friends. Your mother’s assistant has texted you and of course the she-devil herself. Your father even messaged you which surprises you, but it’s the text notifications from Yoongi that have you freezing.

You’re oh so curious about what he could have to say, so you open his messages first.

[Sep 3, 12:29 PM] Yoongi: Hey, I know I was a complete and utter asshole to you the other day. I can’t tell you how sorry I am over a text message, so if you don’t hate me too much, can we talk?

[Sep 5, 6:27 PM] Yoongi: Peach can we please talk? I haven’t come by because I’m trying to respect you. Please.

[Sep 7, 10:10 AM] Yoongi: Hey I just came by but you didn’t answer and I don’t blame you. I’m begging Y/n, can we please just talk? You don’t even have to answer me, just let me say what I have to say.

[Sep 8, 11:05 AM] Yoongi: Okay let me just say what I need to over text since you clearly don’t want to see me which I get. 

[Sep 8, 11:06 AM] Yoongi: [voice memo sent]

Hitting play on the voice note, you turn the volume up to listen.

“Okay, This is really hard to say, but I’ll cut to the chase. I’m a terrible person. I’ve treated you horribly and I took all my problems out on you and I’m so sorry. I know an apology doesn’t mean shit if I don’t actually change, but I will. I’ll show you and make a bigger effort to prove I’m not just the shitty rich guy that treats his wife like she doesn’t matter. And I don’t want a divorce. But if you want to, then I will - I’ll sign the paperwork, but I don’t want to. I want to work through all this and I still want to talk in person, but this is what I wanted to say. I’ll give you time and leave you alone.”

Yoongi doesn’t want a divorce. 

This realization makes you feel some indescribable emotions. Hopeful? Optimistic? You’re more of a glass-half-empty person, so hopefulness and optimism are foreign feelings to you, but they sound right. You’re feeling unsure as to how exactly Yoongi will be able to atone for the shitty things he’s done, but you know you’re not going to just let him waltz in and play with your emotions anymore. You’re not that type of woman and refuse to let a man that’s confusing your feelings for him make you one. 

Glancing back at your screen, you go back to your text messages, seeing Yoongi texted you again a day after that voice message, begging you to at least acknowledge you are reading his messages. He then texted you a day after that saying he talked to Candy who told him she knew you were away since you texted them. He respects you not telling anyone where, but he is still worried.

There are more scattered texts from him throughout the month, saying he hopes you’re okay and that when you’re back and ready he wants to talk to you face to face and that he still means everything he said in his voice message. One of the last texts he sent was two days ago, saying he misses you and he’ll be there when you’re ready. 

Biting your bottom lip between your teeth, you reread that last text. The urge to hit the call button is strong, but you push it back to glance at the rest of the messages. All of your friends sent you messages checking in on you, missing you, and hoping you’re okay. It’s a text from Seokjin to you and your friends that catches your attention first. It was sent thirty minutes after your text telling the girls you were going away.

[Sep 1, 11:36 PM] Seokjin: Candy and Jungkook are in the hospital. I’m on my way there now.

Your eyes widen and you scramble to Candy’s contact, calling her immediately. 

“Look who it is!” she says instead of “hello” when answering.

“Are you okay? I just saw you were in the hospital!”

Candy chuckles. “Oh, yeah. The night of Jungkook’s party when you made your great escape, he and I got into a car accident. We’re both fine now, but I’m not going to lie, it was scary as hell.”

“Holy shit, I’m sorry I wasn’t here. I was just — I needed to get away.”

“It’s okay. I know you’ve had your own drama to deal with. Did leaving help?”

Sighing, you lie back on the couch. “Yes and no. It helped except when it didn’t. It wasn’t as much of a vacation as I wanted it to be.”

“I’m sorry. If it makes you feel any better, Yoongi was losing his shit when he couldn’t get any answers from the fifty million texts I know he sent.”

“Yeah, I saw them. I don’t know what to make of it, honestly. I thought it was obvious he hated my guts.”

“I know it seems like that and I’m not trying to make up an excuse for him at all. I’ve known Yoongi since we were young and honestly, he needs a good therapist and some deep self-reflection. And I mean… you do too, you know.”

“Hey, we’re talking about Yoongi!” You say with faux-offense, knowing she’s right.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Anyway, he has a lot to unpack in that big, yet stupid brain of his and he shouldn’t take that out on you. But he doesn’t hate you. He does care about you even though he’s a complete asshat at showing it.”

“Asshat doesn’t even cover the way he’s acted.” You both laugh before you let out a groan.

“I should talk to him shouldn’t I?”

“Only if you want to.”

“You think he still wants to even though it’s been a month?”

“Peach, he’s been in absolute shambles not knowing where you were or what’s going on. There’s no way he changed his mind in the last two days.”

Knowing that Yoongi was so eaten up by your absence made you feel a little better about your confusion surrounding your feelings for him. You say goodbye to Candy and hang up to take a shower and properly decompress from traveling before reaching out to Yoongi to have a talk you’ve been dreading.

This has been, by far, the hardest month of Yoongi’s entire life. Not even the most critical of essays in college that he procrastinated finishing until a month before can measure up to the month he’s had. He’s incredibly grateful that Jungkook and Candy recovered as quickly as they did from their accident. There’s no way he would’ve survived that on top of not knowing where you are and if you’re okay. 

When he did find out from Candy that you left the night of Jungkook’s party and hadn’t been seen since, he started to panic a little. He went to your apartment after learning this and waited outside of your door. He remembers standing in front of it, pressing his ear close to the wood and hearing nothing. 

Yoongi found himself stopping by a few times after that, hoping that he’d see you coming home and even catch a glance of you. He only did that for about three days before he slipped up and mentioned it to Hoseok who told him to stop. He reminded him that you needed time and that he needed to remember the person you are. After what happened and with you being you, you'd reach out to Yoongi when you're ready to speak, and he just needed to deal with it for now.

So he said he’d wait for you and he did. The whole month you’re gone, Yoongi throws himself into things for him. He works hard at Min Electronics, essentially hoping his hard work will stop his father from asking him about you. Both your families know you’re still gone and that Yoongi doesn’t know where you’ve run off to, but if he works and stays out of his father’s line of sight he’s hoping to be left alone. He released a statement a couple of days after Jungkook’s party, apologizing for making a private disagreement public and citing that your relationship is fine and that you are on a self-care vacation. He leaves it at that and refuses to comment on anything further.

In addition to work and occupying his time with his friends, Tzuyu finds him a few therapists to try. While they’re all just fine, Yoongi only truly clicks with one of them. Dr. Lee isn’t young but also isn’t so old that Yoongi feels that he doesn’t listen.

Yoongi meets with him three times a week to start and while he is typically one to bottle any semblance of emotion up, Dr. Lee makes it easy (well, easy-ish) for Yoongi to unload what’s in his head. Yoongi’s realistic and knows that talking to a shrink won’t cure him of his many issues magically, but even after a single session, he feels just the smallest bit lighter. He can’t place it, but it’s something. He just wants so badly to be better, finally. He needs to fix himself - not only for him but also for you. He can’t keep hurting you. He won’t.

After finally stopping himself from texting you as much as he did for the month, he finds himself still thinking of you. It isn’t until a couple of days into October that he finally cracks and needs to stop by your place, just once more. He vows to himself that if you aren’t there, he’ll stop until you decide you want to speak to him. 

It takes you a couple of days of sleeping and resetting before you’re ready to see anyone. You plan on it being Yoongi, but your mom has other plans, bursting into your apartment as you’re eating breakfast on the couch.

“Well, well, well. Look who decided to come home.”

“You didn’t even knock,” you moan, placing your bowl on the coffee table.

Your mom scoffs at this. “You have some nerve saying that. After what you did.”

“What I did? What did I do?”

“You’ve been gone for a fucking month with no phone call, no texts, no nothing! Your father and I had no idea where you were, your little friends didn’t know, and not even your damn husband knew where you were!”

“Because I didn’t want any of you to know. I purposely disappeared. I needed alone time.”

“You’re so selfish, Y/n!” Your mom snides, her temper flaring. “How dare you run out on this family like that!”

You feel your blood boil at her words and the way she screams at you immediately sends your defenses up. 

“What family? This whole fucking bloodline only cares about power and money! You and dad were never happy and guess what? That shit trickled down to me and I live with that! The fucked up view on the world and relationships that I learned from you affects me every day in everything I do! We were never a family!” You’re off of the couch now, face to face with your mom’s furious face. You curse yourself for the way your eyes begin to sting.

“Your father and I’s relationship is none of your concern, Y/n! You need to focus on doing what needs to be done for our image and our name!”

“That’s all I’ve ever had to do and I’m so tired! I’m tired of being treated like a pawn in this business and socialite game!” 

“You wouldn’t have any of the nice shit you do without this game or without us!” Your mom clutches her bag, looking just as angry as you, but you refuse to bite your tongue.

“But I’ve never had a choice! I’ve always been told how to act, what events to go to and everything was just handed to me! What choice did I ever have? I had nothing but privilege, a cold household, and being raised by a nanny because my father is too busy signing contracts and my mother is too busy with literally everything that isn’t her daughter.” As hard as you try to fight it, you begin crying, nose stuffing up, and vision blurring. 

“I just… wish I was normal sometimes. I don’t expect you to magically embrace me and for us to go on mother-daughter trips together, but fuck I just wish I knew you loved me or something.”

Your mother stares at you, not having moved from her spot on the other side of the room, but her expression softens the tiniest bit.

“You don’t think I love you?”

“How could I?! You constantly treat me like a fuck up and you constantly talk down to me like I’m some random asshole on the street. Do you know what that’s like? My own mother has never hugged me. You were probably overjoyed when you thought about me being gone for good and not able to ruin your image anymore.” Something stirs in her eyes that seems like a semblance of emotion.

“Y/n,” the edge in her voice seems to shift. “I was worried when you were gone. I -” she is cut off by her phone in her hand. She glances at it and then back at you.

“Just go. Do what you always do.”

She wants to say something else but decides to turn her back and leave instead. Once she’s gone, ugly cries leave your mouth. Your legs, feeling boneless, collapse under you and you’re on the floor. You’ve never once told your mom how you truly feel about her and your childhood. Having the words come out to the person that needed to hear them makes you feel empty in a good and bad sense, but you don’t regret a single word. You’ve done your part and the rest is up to her.

The encounter with your mom wasn’t a long one, but it was plenty emotionally draining. You spend the rest of the day moping around your apartment before you eventually fall asleep on the couch. Knocks on your door wake you up the next morning, or early afternoon by the clock on your phone.

Dragging your groggy body up, you’re surprised to see Yoongi when you look through the peephole. Heart racing, you weigh opening the door versus keeping it closed. You want to speak with him about everything, but after the day and shitty sleep you had, you’re honestly not sure if you can have a coherent adult conversation. 

Waiting a few seconds before you open the door, you peek out when you finally do and you see Yoongi has already started walking away, but he turns when he hears you. 

He freezes, reminding you of a deer in headlights, looking at you and wanting to say something. He doesn’t and neither do you, but you walk back into your apartment and leave the door open behind you.

Sinking into your couch, you wait and a few seconds later, Yoongi enters after you. He cautiously perches on the chair diagonal from you, not quite sitting comfortably. He looks ready to dart out of the door at any minute if this conversation goes south.

The only sound that’s heard is the tv going on a reality show you fell asleep to. 

“I’m glad you made it back home safe,” Yoongi speaks first. His tone is hushed as if he’s approaching this conversation gingerly. 

“Yeah. I got back a few days ago.”

“Where’d you go, if I may ask?”

“Antigua.”

“Did you have a good time?”

“It was fine. I just needed alone time.”

Yoongi lets out a hum and nods, eyes drifting to the tv.

“Yoongi,” you start. “I don’t have the energy to argue with you. Even though in my head I’m cursing your ass out and possibly leaping over this couch to choke you out, I’m too exhausted. What is it that you want to talk to me about?”

“I’m sure you’ve seen my texts when you were gone. I just wanted to apologize and tell you that I don’t want to get a divorce. I will, if you want, but I don’t want to.” His words are genuine and his expression seems sincere.

“I don’t think I want to either. But then where do we go from here? I’m not about to move back in with you and pretend we’re some happily married couple because we’re not.”

“I know, I know. I don’t expect you to because I know that wouldn’t be accurate. I wouldn’t want to either. I think we need to just, I don’t know, get to know each other more? We knew of each other before all of this and I feel like we never honestly got to know each other.”

“Other than hurling insults and a couple of customized gifts,” you chime in.

“Right. But I’m working to be better. I’m in therapy.”

“That’s good. Just know though if we pick this back up, I will not tolerate you speaking to me the way you did before — not again. I’m not your emotional punching bag. You can’t just take your baggage out on me.”

“I won't, I’m sorry. I can’t express how sorry I am. I hurt you so much. I was the worst husband to you and an even worse person and I don’t know why, but I’m so sorry.”

“How do I know anything will change? I thought we were okay until you slut-shamed me in front of an entire boat of people.”

Yoongi winces as if he’s been punched, but you don’t take back your words.

“I can show you that I’m fixing myself. We can stay in our own apartments until we’re ready and I won’t stop apologizing until you tell me to and I’ll mean every word.”

“So how do you propose we go about all this?”

“Well, I was thinking maybe we can go out on dates and get to know one another. I can show you how I’m changing and learning to be less shitty. I’ll even say that if we go out on these dates and you find out that you really, truly don’t want anything more to do with me, then we can go through with the divorce if you want.”

You mull his words over. He has a point — you don’t truly know Yoongi other than what the last six months showed you which was mostly negative. You can’t deny the feelings that haven’t gone away for him, so maybe this isn’t the worst idea.

“Okay. Let’s try dating and go from there. I think that maybe I should also talk to someone about my… everything going on.” You gesture to yourself from head to toe.

“We can work on ourselves and each other together,” Yoongi says, hope clear on his face.

“The second you disrespect me, we’re done,” you warn, standing firm in your words.

“Yes, of course. I won’t hold you with me if you don’t want to. I promise.”

“Alright, we’ll see.” The tiny smile that dances on Yoongi’s lips almost has you smiling too, but you bite it back.

“Will you go out with me this weekend? I’ll take you wherever you want.”

You think, surprisingly coming up blank rather quickly. This new state of mind you’ve entered is leaving you no desire to go to any of the places you usually go on dates or to hang out. 

“I’ll go out with you, but you decide. Just figure it out and tell me a time and I’ll be ready to go.”

Yoongi blinks, seeming surprised at your answer, but recovers quickly, agreeing. “Okay, I’ll text you. Saturday night?”

“Saturday night.” Yoongi doesn’t answer, just smiles at you again and this time, you do smile back. In the last half a year you’ve been around Yoongi, you can’t remember the last time you’ve seen him genuinely smile at you and he’s done it twice already.

He leaves soon after, even though you could feel that he wanted to stay or say something else, but you don’t stop him. 

After Yoongi’s gone, you’re alone with your thoughts again and you contemplate calling your mom to have that conversation next. Ultimately, you opt not to. Whenever she decides to stop being so stubborn and uptight, she’ll reach out. If you’re lucky, it’ll be some sort of apology, but truthfully, she’s more likely to call and act as if nothing happened. Whatever the case, you won’t be reaching out first. Instead, you decide that it’s time to get some help and start a search for therapists in the area.

Nervous doesn’t even begin to explain the way Yoongi feels when he shows up at your apartment on Saturday. His tie feels much too tight and his loafers feel far too pinchy. The vice grip he has on the bouquet in his hands may very well kill the flowers, and the sweat beading on his hairline is likely causing his hair gel to liquify. 

Taking a deep breath, he brings his hand up to knock, the sound seeming much too loud in the quiet hallway. You answer rather quickly, Yoongi’s mouth going dry at the sight of you. He texted you a few days ago telling you to dress nicely, but you didn’t need to be too fancy. You’re somewhere in the middle in a black, fitting skirt and equally as fitting blue top that compliments your complexion wonderfully.

“Hi,” you say first, eyeing the flowers.

“H-hey. These are for you.”

“Wow. Pulling out all the stops, huh?”

Flushing, Yoongi scratches the back of his neck. “Well, you know, I wanted to do this right. Proper date and all.”

“Mmhmm. Let me go put these in the kitchen.” Yoongi doesn’t miss your smirk as you disappear back into your apartment.

Once you’re back and your door is locked, the two of you head towards the elevator and downstairs. Yoongi decided to drive himself, running over to open the passenger side door for you. You don’t have any comments, you just throw him a lopsided grin as you get in.

“So where are we off to?” You ask once en route. He hadn’t told you where you’d be going, just the dress code.

“To that new steak and winery place. They offer wine tastings in a nicer part of the restaurant after dinner so I thought that’d be nice.”

“I do love good wine. So far so good.” You move to fiddle with the dials on his radio after, the atmosphere in the car lighting significantly. Yoongi can’t remember the last time one of you wasn’t upset or feeling ready to rip the other’s head off so it’s a start.

Dinner also goes smoothly. No threats, no yelling, no glasses being thrown. Yoongi tells you that therapy is going well and that if he’s not there or working, he’s with friends. He mentions Namjoon and how he’s also finally seeking help for his problems. He can’t help but gauge your expression, the lingering curiosity of how you may still feel about him and if your brief hookup still lingers in your mind. Luckily, you don’t seem particularly interested, remarking that it’s good he’s finally getting the help he needs.

You mention that you have your first therapy session tomorrow and how nervous you are, saying how you’re not completely ready to divulge all of your family issues. You tell him about the argument with your mom earlier in the week after she dropped by unannounced. The tone of your voice is casual, but he can tell the situation is sitting heavy in you even though you try not to show it. Having seen the way your mother’s words have impacted you in the past, Yoongi is almost certain that there’s more going through your mind about the situation, but he won’t push you about it. 

Once you arrive at the restaurant and are seated, Yoongi changes the subject to lighten the mood, asking you more about your trip.

“Not gonna lie, it was pretty boring. Like, I wish I had picked someplace else. There’s only so many beaches and spa trips you can make before it’s all repetitive, you know?”

“No extravagant shopping trips or fancy dinners?”

“Oh yeah of course,” you share a chuckle. “But doing it alone wasn’t that enjoyable. I left to get away and get some alone time, but it was my first solo vacation which wasn’t as fun or special as I thought it’d be. Like, they had a zipline tour thingy and swimming with stingrays, but maybe I don’t know how to have fun alone because I didn’t wanna do those things with just me.” You shrug, sipping your water.

“Well, maybe one day you and I can go together and do that stuff.” Yoongi mumbles, half-hoping you don’t hear him.

You do, though, and eye him cautiously over the table. “Maybe.” It’s said casually, but not negatively so perhaps it’s something you’ll consider one day.

It’s your turn to change the subject then, pushing Yoongi to tell you more about his hobbies. He mentions his love for all things music - not just piano - and basketball which you seem surprised at.

“Wow. I never expected you to be a jock.”

“And why not?”

“I mean the whole suits-buttoned-to-the-very-top-button, serious resting bitch-face thing isn’t what I imagine when I think of sports players.” 

“You know, the same could be said for the wild party girl who actually likes to read books and…” He trails off, hoping you’ll fill in the blanks with other hobbies of yours since he only knows the one.

“Do art.”

“Really?” Yoongi is shocked, not being able to remember seeing anything art-related in your room when you lived together.

“I’m an artist in my head, at least. I was always getting straight A’s in art class in school because I loved it. I even did some painting in my free time after I graduated, but with my mom being, well, my mom, I really didn’t get a chance to go into it more, and then I just kind of dropped it.” Yoongi notes the sad sag in your voice as you recount a forgotten hobby. 

The conversation continues after that about other much more positive stories you both decide to share. Yoongi likes to think that taking time away from one another and meeting in a mutual, stress-free environment also contributes to your much more favorable interactions.

Soon, dinner is over and you and Yoongi are being escorted through the restaurant and to a side room where a few other people are sitting at the waiting tables. Waitstaff brings around wine flights once everyone is seated as another employee in more formal attire talks to the room about the wines in front of you.

Surprisingly, the rest of the evening is delightful. Yoongi wonders if it’s the many wines you sip on that put you in an even better mood, but he’ll take any good interaction with you that he can get. On the ride back to your apartment, you plan another date. This time it’s your turn to pick, and you tell him you’ll figure something out in a few days and let him know.

He walks you to your door, says goodnight, and waits until you’re inside before he leaves, feeling optimistic about your relationship for the first time since you got married.

The sheer fact that not once during your first date with Yoongi did you call him an asshole is surprising. You’ll admit, you did go into it with an arsenal of insults in the back of your mind in case you’d need them, but when you didn’t, it flustered you a little. It’s not as though you want to always be at odds with Yoongi, your track record just isn’t great. But, your first official date that isn’t a forced event by your families ends up revealing a much softer side of Yoongi that you had only ever caught glimpses of.

This afternoon, you decide to open yourself up to more and have Yoongi take you two to the local art museum. His eyebrows are practically in his hairline once you arrive at the destination, but he doesn’t say anything about it. 

“You should be flattered, Min.” You point out as you’re walking together, taking in the art. “I’ve never told anyone that I’m into art like this.”

“Really? Not even Candy or Swan?”

Shaking your head, you stop in front of a particularly beautiful painting. “Candy, Swan, and the other girls are great, but I’ve never really let anyone in. Blah, blah, blah, trauma and trust issues from my youth or whatever. It’s nothing personal against them, I just never felt like I could, I don’t know.”

Yoongi’s standing closer now, so close you feel his body heat radiating off of him. “You can be open with me. No judgment here.”

You raise an eyebrow at him, turning to face him. “You sure? The last time I got too comfortable with you, I kissed you without your consent and we verbally assaulted each other.”

A frown is etched onto Yoongi’s face at your words as he turns to face you too. “Y/n, I’m sorry. Again, I handled so many things with you wrong.”

“It wasn’t just you Yoongi. I was super shitty too.”

“Yeah, but I was shittier.”

Pursing your lips you contemplate for a second. “Yeah, you were.” He withers, looking guilty. “Calm down. We’re working on fixing the past, aren’t we? Let’s just focus on righting all of your terrible wrongs.” To stop him from saying anything else — like he looks like he will – you grab his arm, dragging him to another part of the museum, and share more of your art knowledge.

With a second date down and a third on the books for later in the week, you and Yoongi seem to be doing well so far. You can’t say for certain, but he does seem to have changed, even if just a little. You’d like to think you’ve changed too. Dr. Byun listens to you when you go on tangents in the few sessions you’ve had so far, and it feels as though she’s the first person to ever genuinely listen. She doesn’t ask you about the latest parties or fashion trends or make you practice things you should say or how you’ll behave. You’ve only talked to her about bits and pieces of your childhood, but it still feels like more than you’ve given nearly anyone.

You just finished a session and decide to get back into a comfortable headspace by watching trash tv. After finishing off dinner and preparing for bed, pounding at your door nearly jolts you off of the couch.

Approaching as quietly as you can, you peek out of the peephole and see your mom’s chaotic appearance. You hadn’t seen or even spoken to her since the last time she stormed out of your apartment. Truth be told, you awaited the day that you would receive a text banning you from the family and telling you that you had 30 days to move out of the apartment your parents pay for.

As soon as you open the door, you see she’s crying. She pushes past you and stands in the middle of the living room.

“Mom? Is everything okay?”

“Y/n…” Your mom starts as tears fall. In your twenty-something years of life, you don’t think you can ever remember a time when you saw your mom cry. “I’m sorry! I’ve been terrible to you! I’ve been the worst mom in the whole world!” Dropping her bag on the floor, she rushes over, pulling you into her arms. You freeze in her embrace, letting her cry on your shoulder and you can smell the alcohol wafting off of her like perfume.

“Mom, have you been drinking?” You ask even though you know the answer.

“I just couldn’t stop thinking about what you said to me! I didn’t know you felt any of that about me or how you grew up - I just thought you were fine with the way things were.” She sniffles, and you can feel her tears soaking the shoulder of your t-shirt. “I’ve just been thinking and thinking and I just started drinking because I wanted to stop thinking, but that didn’t work so I got a ride over here.”

“I don’t know what to say right now. I’m sorry about what I said to you, but I won’t take it back. I’ve been holding all of that in for years and you needed to know. The way you feel right now is the way I’ve felt my whole life.” You’re just being honest, but this causes your mom to sob louder.

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” She wails. You decide to shuffle with her over to your couch, setting her onto it as she cries into her hands. This has got to be one of the most uncomfortable moments of your life. 

Your mom, the most cold-hearted person you’ve ever met, is crying in front of you on your couch because you told her about your feelings. This will be something you need to bring up in a therapy session in the future.

To your surprise, your mom stays on your couch for another hour, spending most of the evening crying until she eventually falls asleep. You let her stay, covering her with a blanket and leaving water on the table for her.

Retreating to your room, you get ready for bed, itching to tell someone. You’re not sure who, but your finger ends up pressing Yoongi’s contact once you’re under the covers.

“Hey,” he says on the second ring. “What’s up?”

“My mom is over.”

“Do you need me?” Panic is in his voice, which makes you smile.

“No, no. We didn’t fight. She showed up here, drunk off her ass and crying about how much of a terrible mom she is.”

“Wow. Is this because of the stuff you said to her last week?”

“Yeah. I just didn’t think she’d take any of it to heart.” You sigh and there’s silence over the phone. Why had you even thought to call Yoongi? “Well, I’m gonna go…”

“O-oh yeah, okay. Are we still on for Thursday afternoon?”

“Of course.” 

“Great. Goodnight, Y/n.”

“Night Yoongi.” Once the call is over you find yourself thinking of Yoongi up right until you fall asleep.

Your mom is gone that morning, but she texts you an apology for showing up the way she did and says she wants to talk to you properly later. You accept, agreeing to meet her for lunch at a restaurant of her choosing.

When you arrive, she’s sitting, sipping on water and looking as poised and put together as she usually does. Nothing like the distressed woman that barged into your home the night before.

“Hi,” you greet as you sit across from her. A waitress appears almost instantly, eagerly taking your drink order. After asking for lemonade, you and your mom sit in silence before she clears her throat, looking at you with an unreadable expression.

“Y/n, I want to apologize again about last night. I shouldn’t have shown up like that.”

“It’s alright. I’ve been around worse drunks.”

“Be that as it may, it was still inappropriate. But, I did have time to properly think about the things you said to me and I also want to apologize for that. I suppose things were difficult at times when you were growing up and I simply didn’t realize it.”

You just barely stop yourself from making a snarky comment. You’re trying to be better in your relationships — the one with your mom included. 

“Thank you for acknowledging it.” 

Your mom nods and then the waitress is back with your drink and taking your food order. Your mom orders a salad and you ask for a pasta dish. All apologies aside, you don’t miss the judging expression that sticks to your mom’s face when she hears what you want to eat. You’ve seen the expression enough to know what she’s thinking - no doubt counting the calories up in her head.

Surprisingly, she doesn’t have a scathing comment to provide once the waitress leaves, even though you’d been waiting for it.

“So I hear you and Yoongi are seeing each other regularly?” She says instead, jumping right back into business mode.

“Yeah, we’re working through things. Taking it slowly to get to a good place. We haven’t had any more fights for once.”

“Well, that’s good to hear. Your father and I were worried we’d be hit with divorce papers when you ran off.” Because it’s bad for the business, not that she cares about your marriage — this is what she’s thinking and you know it.

“No, no divorce right now. But how are you and dad?”

She visibly bristles at the question. “We’re fine.”

You mumble a “that’s good,” knowing full well that they’re not. ‘We’re fine’ means they’re just as cold to one another as usual and she probably hasn’t spoken to him in days. 

The remainder of lunch goes as expected. You eat, you get more judgy stares from across the table, and your mom runs her mouth about the business and new deals and the other trivial shit she always talks about with you. No more questions about how you are, how Yoongi is doing, or even your trip. The apology itself from her is a feat on its own and did seem genuine, but that’s all it was. An apology. An apology about the past and what’s been done, but it ends there. Aside from the lack of meanspirited commentary, everything seems to be the same as it was. This is disappointing, but not surprising. The apology is probably the best you’ll get out of your mom for now, if not for the foreseeable future, but it’s something, right?

“Yoongi, your father wants to see you.” Yoongi is working on a new proposal for his father when his assistant pokes her head into his office.

“Thank you, Tzuyu, I’ll be with him in a minute.” The brunette nods, leaving him to finish typing the last sentence on his document. He’s been working hard on this proposal for a new business partner for the whole week and he’ll be using it to show his father that he is completely capable of taking over once he finally retires.

“You wanted to see me?” Yoongi steps into his father’s office after knocking and the older man holds up a finger as he finishes a phone call. He bids farewell to whoever is on the other line and waves his son into the room.

“Yes, I just wanted to check in with you. I heard that Y/n has returned and that you two are on good terms?”

“That’s correct.”

“And there is no divorce in talks, is that right?”

“Yes, we’ve been working on things.”

“Good. My offer still stands though. If the two of you need a marriage counselor I have a few on my roster I can recommend.” 

Gritting his teeth, Yoongi declines, once again. He already knows whatever marriage counselor he is to see from the recommendation of his father will be sure to report back to Mr. Min with whatever it is the two of you talk about. Yoongi has done a good job of keeping the specifics of his marriage to himself, only sharing the broader details even with his friends.

“If you insist. Though I did expect that to be your answer, since you’ve been seeing a therapist on your own, isn’t that right?”

Scowling, Yoongi immediately raises his guard. “How do you know that?”

“Didn’t you know? There was an article about it. Someone from the press published a story, albeit a small one, about seeing you going into a therapist's building recently.” His father peers at him over the rim of his glasses.

“No, I wasn’t aware until now. If you must know, yes I am seeing a therapist.”

“Just make sure this doctor of yours knows to keep their mouth shut. We don’t need anything that you talk about getting leaked. We’ve had enough negative press thanks to that troublesome wife of yours.”

Yoongi feels anger course through him at his father’s words and he speaks before he can think better of it. 

“First of all, Y/n is not troublesome. And did you happen to forget that we’re married because you arranged that?”

Mr. Min scoffs. “Yes well, we all make mistakes now don’t we? You can go now. We both have work to do.”

Feeling brave enough for once to continue, Yoongi doesn’t leave and instead uses this opportunity to say what else needs to be said.

“She isn’t a mistake and I am going to ask you only once not to speak ill of her. We’ve had trouble, I’m not denying that, but no one is perfect and as I said, we are working on it.”

His father studies him, taking in his words, but most likely not processing them. “Yoongi, I will not be engaging in whatever argument you are trying to start. Go back to work. I hear that you have some sort of big proposal for me.”

Fists clenched, he nods. “Yes. It’s for a new business partner. I am considering it my first large partnership before becoming CEO.”

“Assuming I grant you that,” his father chortles, only serving to make Yoongi’s blood boil further.

“I am becoming CEO of Min Electronics, let’s make that clear. I’ve worked my ass off for this company — for you — before I even finished college. I am the only person in this entire building, other than you, that knows exactly how much sacrifice it takes to run this place. I have given up countless opportunities growing up to be right beside you working to build this company up. So, as I just stated, I will, in fact, be CEO of this company, and now that we’ve merged with Y/n’s family’s company, she will be right beside me, running this conglomerate with just as much authority as I. That is the last time I will speak on this. Now, unless you have any more questions, I will be going.”

Yoongi’s father looks red from across his oak desk. Obscenities are likely flying through his head as he looks to be formulating a response. The beat of silence between the two is enough that Yoongi turns on the heels of his loafers and leaves his father’s office. 

Once he returns to his office, he shuts the door with shaky hands and sinks into the leather couch in the corner. He has no idea what came over him — whether it was his desire to defend you or put a stop to the doubts of him becoming CEO, he’s not sorry about the things he said. Never once in his life has he stood up to his father like this, but he feels a sense of pride swell in him.

This spurs him on to move to his desk and begin chugging away even more at the proposal he’s been working on. He works through the afternoon and into the evening, only stopping occasionally to text you or call his assistant to bring him food. 

It’s nearly nine at night when he finally completes it and almost ten when he officially finishes looking over it and emails it to his father. He doesn’t expect to hear anything back from him, so he packs up and goes home with sleep on his mind.

It’s when he’s climbing into bed, and sending his goodnight text to you does he see an email notification from his work inbox. It’s a reply to his emailed proposal from his father. It’s not special or fancy or groundbreaking at all, but from Mr. Min, his no-nonsense father that has rarely ever praised anything Yoongi has done, it’s enough.

We can go over this more tomorrow. Good job.

When you and Yoongi agreed to take it slow, you truly meant slow. Going on dates for three more months is slow for you. It’s the end of December, nearly Christmas time when you decide you’ve reached a point where you can move back in together into your shared apartment.

As surprising as it is, Yoongi does prove himself to be a changed man. The vicious arguments of earlier this year are forgotten and never repeated. There are plenty of times that you disagree with one another, but it’s never as bad as it was — you’re both truly making an effort.

Having a professional to speak to helps you more than you could ever hope. You talk to Dr. Byun about your life as it is, your past, your parents (especially your mom), and having a judgment-free outlet is the most freeing feeling in the world. She’s helped you accept that even though your mom is the same person she’s always been in terms of being all business, she is much less harsh on you than she used to be. Gone are the snide remarks about things you wear or pictures of you in the tabloids. She doesn’t call just to antagonize you and hurt your feelings anymore which she’s always been an expert at. It’s jarring to get used to, given the years you endured it, but eventually, it’ll seem normal.

You tell Yoongi that there must have been something else that happened to her other than the things you said when you returned home from your trip, but she won’t tell you and you know if you ask you likely won’t get to know the truth, so you simply accept the slight shift in attitude.

Yoongi tells you every day that his father has also made some sort of bizarre change. According to Mr. Min, he was impressed with the fact that Yoongi stood up to him during a back-and-forth they had about him being the CEO, and that’s where the newly gained respect came from. Yoongi is still unpacking how fucked that is, but he always tells you how grateful he is to have you by his side as he does so. 

Somewhere between the dates out and the goodnight and good morning messages, you and Yoongi seem to understand your feelings for one another and how much they’ve grown. On your fourth date, he reached out to hold your hand and you didn’t pull away. On your sixth date, after walking you to your door, he kissed you. To this day, you remember the way your stomach fluttered and your heartbeat raced. It felt like something out of some cheesy rom-com you’d laugh at, but feeling it at that moment in real life changed everything for the better.

Kissing Yoongi — really kissing him — was a feeling you couldn’t quite place into words but it didn’t go away after that kiss, or the second, the third, or even today after what is probably the hundredth time you’ve crashed your lips into his. You’ve yet to tire of the feeling and you hope never to.

“Yoongi, did you get the other ornaments?” You call through the apartment as you finish wrapping the last of the tinsel around the Christmas tree.

“Yeah, I left them in the dining room I think, let me grab them.” You wait for him, tapping your foot impatiently until he comes around the corner, holding the powder blue and silver ornaments. He gingerly opens the box and begins handing you the glass ornaments to hang.

“So, after this do you want to do some other Christmas-y stuff?” He asks, glancing at his watch.

“Other than watching Christmas movies? That’s all I’ve ever done.”

“Well, yeah me too. But I don’t know, we can go ice skating or something.” You raise an eyebrow at him, inspecting him as he nearly drops an ornament.

“Since when do you ice skate? I’ve never seen you on wheels that weren’t attached to your Lamborghini.” 

Scoffing in faux-offense he places his hands on his hips. “For your information, I took ice skating lessons for a whole week when I was like six. My mother wanted me to learn because she thought it’d make me more distinguished.”

You can’t help but lean over with laughter, imagining a tiny Yoongi stumbling around on the ice. “Did you get to wear a little leotard and do a triple axel or whatever the hell it is they do?”

“I was six so no I couldn’t do a damn axel, for your information. And no I didn’t. I wore jeans and sweaters.” All amusement is lost from his voice and he looks at you expressionless, only causing you to laugh more.

“Alright, simmer down. I’m sure you were fine. And yes we can go after we finish the tree. We can even make it a tradition or something since neither of us have any.”

“Hmph! I’ll show you I still remember everything from my week of lessons.” Yoongi sticks his tongue out at you as he hands you the last ornament. You giggle again, placing it in the last open spot on the tree.

“I believe you, now go close the curtains. I wanna try the lights!”

“But it’s like two in the afternoon and the sun is still pretty bright.”

“Just close 'em!” 

Rolling his eyes, Yoongi does as you ask and once all of the sunlight is gone, you lean over the tree to flip on the switch, the white, twinkling lights illuminating the living room instantly. You take a step back to marvel at the huge tree, the silver star at the top nearly touching the ceiling.

Yoongi comes up behind you and wraps his arm around your shoulders as you take in the massive evergreen. The white tinsel reflects the lights and glistens off all of the silvers, blues, and whites of the ornaments. With neither of you ever having truly celebrated Christmas aside from tons of presents, you decided to make the most out of your first real holiday together. This naturally meant getting the most extravagant tree you could and decking every crevice of the apartment in Christmas decor.

“Looks good,” Yoongi comments, leaning down to kiss the top of your head.

“Yeah it does,” You smile, momentarily entranced by the sight in front of you before snapping out of it and slipping out of Yoongi’s arms.

“Okay! Let’s go, Yuri On Ice! Time to go school me in the ways of the figure skater!” You laugh at the deadpan expression Yoongi gives you.

“You’re still as annoying as ever, you know that?”

Laughing, you send him a wink. “Yeah, but that’s why you love me!” You mean it as a joke, but Yoongi’s expression stays serious.

“Yeah, I’m starting to. Love you that is.” Wide-eyed, you stare at him, never having even talked about the L-word with him. Yoongi closes the space between the two of you, pulling you into a kiss that has you holding your breath and turning to putty in his arms.

When he pulls back he gazes down at you, brown eyes looking even dreamier with the twinkling Christmas lights behind him.

“Now let’s go get ready so I can beat your ass in the rink.” With a final kiss on your nose, he’s gone, heading to your shared bedroom. You don’t answer, still slightly dazed from the kiss, but break into a smile as you follow him.

The Peach of three, even six months ago, would’ve never seen herself here in this apartment, spending Christmas with Yoongi. Let alone, kind of sort of maybe, starting to fall in love with him. 

Min Yoongi was once known as the stoic, seemingly cold-heart son of the Min Electronics empire. In reality, he’s just Yoongi, your sweet, goofy, fun, husband. 

At the end of it all, you’re still stuck with each other and you couldn’t be happier about it.

[xoxo-ren-xoxo]

Rambling About Hunter (The Owl House)

Warnings: discussions of neglect/abuse & dehumanization. Kinda sad and angsty in general.

Basically I just binged The Owl House and I think I deserve to be a little autistic about it. Especially about my favourite character Hunter because he’s my special little meow meow or whatever. This all probably won’t hold up after the finale (I’m writing this on 24/05/22) but eh I have my speculations about his character and I want to ramble about them. Mostly about What he is and how badly he is dealing with it lol.

Canon-inspired fanon, angst, and spoilers (duh) under the cut

Ok so. Hunter. The Golden Guard. Caleb? Uh, whatever you wanna call the guy. He’s a grimwalker (that reveal got me in the heart) and he is messed up and I have a lot to say about him ok. Let’s go.

First I wanna talk about how Hunter doesn’t want Willow and Gus to know he’s a grimwalker. Like, we the audience know they wouldn’t care, but it seems like Hunter thinks they would. Like they would see him differently somehow knowing that he’s a grimwalker. Which leads me to believe he thinks he’s somehow less/different now because of what he is. He doesn’t even KNOW what he is, really, aside from that he’s a copy.

And copy is a really interesting word to me. I think Hunter uses it himself. It implies something unoriginal, replaceable, and perhaps even less valuable than the ‘original’. Although Belos calls him a ‘better version’ of the original, he also says that Hunter was the most accurate to the original, which has gotta mess with your sense of self, right? Individuality must be really confusing for him, like, who is he, what is he, and is he truly his own person if he is a copy of someone else. Of course he is, but does Hunter believe that? God, it makes me too sad let’s move on to sadder things.

He’s lived his whole life trying to impress Belos so that he won’t be replaced, because that’s his biggest fear (likely because being replaced means being Dead) and now he finds out there were potentially HUNDREDS of copies before him? (Belos has been alive for hundreds of years so, I would say he’s probably had quite a few Golden Guards). The shot of all the masks strewn across Belos’ mindscape with Hunter just looking at them, horrified, was honestly haunting to me. Being so innately replaceable must just have messed with Hunter, and Luz barely acknowledges it (fair enough, she had her own shit going on) so I’m not surprised that Hunter ran away after that and decided to start living out of the trash. He was already a mess before then. What kind of teenager fears his boss so much that he legitimately starts digging his own grave in defeat? Hey that’s some real PTSD type shit don’t think I forgot about that.

Hunter is also 16, by the way, which I kept being reminded of by the show itself. Thanks show. And that makes it way more horrific to me. Like, the other Golden Guards are implied to have not lasted very long either, so I doubt any of them made it to their 20s or 30s. Which is some legacy to live up to, right? As someone who never quite thought they would reach 20 (and it is getting closer every day oof) I understand what it feels like to look in the mirror and still see a child who doesn’t know how to handle all of this. And I think Hunter, being so young and put into such an important position, might also be feeling that way even before he found out he was a grimwalker. It’s sort of a live fast die young kinda job.

Also, this is pure speculation, but because Hunter was Created, and the grimwalker info in the book doesnt seem to imply a timeline, just illustrations, we have no way of knowing how old Hunter ACTUALLY is. Like, maybe grimwalkers are born and then mature in a matter of days/weeks. Because how would Belos have the foresight to make a new one 16 years or so before the current one dies? Hunter knows nothing about the previous grimwalker, and only really seems to mention his trials before entering the emperors coven, as part of his ‘childhood’. But what if he’s only been alive for a few years and his memories are fake, placed into his mind to make him believe he’s a generally normal witch? That is something I would be freaking out about if I was Hunter. It’s a lot to take in. Very Blade Runner.

Back to Willow and Gus. Is Hunter upset that Luz found out about the grimwalker thing at the same time as him? It doesn’t seem like he wants anyone to know about it, maybe because he’s worried they will also see him as replaceable (like Belos did) or that he will have to start proving his worth so they see him as an equal. God. I don’t think Hunter fully trusts all of our protagonists, he still has his guard up at all times (cough cough PTSD) and he’s visibly more nervous than when he was the Golden Guard. It’s just smthn to think about.

Also the fact Hunter has scars? When there’s a healing coven that can clearly heal wounds leaving no scars (we have seen this!). Like, yes there have been other characters with scars, but they seem to be characters who have been way more severely hurt (eg Eda’s dad) and more deeply scarred. I think there are three possibilities as to why Hunter has scars:

Belos didn’t let the healers help him after he got hurt, so the scars healed naturally

The scars were super severe but they look less bad now because of healing magic

Belos made Hunter wait a while before summoning healers, giving the wounds more time to become permanent before being healed and therefore leaving scars

The last option is the most “fun” (not really) to me because what I mean by it is, maybe Belos hurt Hunter (as is implied throughout the show) and didn’t want the healers coven to know he was the one who did the damage, so he made Hunter wait (because he couldn’t risk the healers noticing the pattern of Hunter visiting Belos and coming back with wounds) for a while then claimed he was hurt on a mission of some kind, to cover his tracks. OR it was pure neglect, Belos forgetting/being too busy to call the healers coven and leaving Hunter to deal with it by himself. Both options are fucked up but also lead on to my next point:

Hunter finally realising why Belos was careless with him, why he hurt him, why he sent him on dangerous missions despite Hunter being unable to perform competent magic. It was because he’s literally a replaceable clone. I don’t think Belos wants Hunter to die on a mission, purely because making a grimwalker seems difficult and this Hunter especially was apparently most like the original. But I think Belos doesn’t care that much- doesn’t care enough to make Hunter’s life particularly safe. That realisation must be fucking crushing for Hunter- the person he has looked up to all this time never cared about him, always saw him as a weapon/tool, and really just hurt him for the hell of it. Fuuuuuck.

And now Hunter is seeing all the love and appreciation and determination coming from his new friends, and he cares enough to help them like they help him and I think what he’s scared of is all of it being a lie. Like Belos. Who he is now terrified of (and perhaps always was). He doesn’t want them to see him in the same way Belos sees him. Ugh he has so many issues he needs so much therapy. God.

Anyway seeing all the love around him must fuckin. Be difficult. Like, Luz and Amity, obviously, but just like all of his friends. They care about each other and I don’t think he entirely trusts that yet? But he is getting there and I would die for him and... cries.

anyway puts him on the shelf of characters i will never shut up about. the end

P.S. the fucking palisman. flapjack my sweet boy. cries again.

[sunkissedpages]

instead of you [part eighteen]

pairing: [best friend’s brother] tom holland x college!reader

summary: you didn’t expect to spend your summer pretending to be your best friend’s girlfriend- then again, you didn’t expect to fall for your best friend’s brother, either.

warnings: swearing, mentions of +sex

word count: 2k

series masterlist

“Sam and I will take the bunk beds.”

The room was a decent size. It was definitely bigger than Sam’s dad had made it sound. A large window on the back wall flooded the space with natural light and offered a view of the city below. By the door was a small fridge and a countertop with a sink and a couple of burners built in so that guests could cook their own meals. There was a queen sized bed jutting out from the western-facing wall and built into the adjacent wall were two twin-sized bunks, one on top of the other, making the room feel... cozy.

Harry and Tom traded looks with each other.

“Kidding.”

The boys visibly relaxed and chuckled awkwardly.

“If I ever have to share a bed with Tom again it’ll be too soon,” Harry sighed.

“Is that any way to treat your big brother?” Tom scoffed.

“I’m taller than you.”

“For now.”

“The fuck’s that supposed to mean? You’re twenty-five, you’re done growing.”

Tom shrugged. “Yeah, but I could always make you shorter.”

“Oh, what are you going to do, cut my legs off?” Harry challenged.

“I never said that.”

“Jesus Christ guys,” Sam said, finally cutting in. “Can we not threaten each other until we’ve had at least a few hours of sleep?”

“Whatever,” his twin grumbled, kicking off his shoes by the door.

Tom slung his backpack onto the top bunk and pulled his sweatshirt off over his head, exposing a strip of his stomach in the process. You looked away instinctively, hoping that you hadn’t drawn any attention to yourself while doing so.

“You always get the top bunk,” Harry whined.

“Yeah, because I’m older.”

“That’s not fair!”

“My brothers are actually ten years old,” Sam explained to you, raising his voice so that you could hear him over the bickering.

“No, I think ten-year-olds know how to take turns,” you said dismissively, not missing the glares from the other two Hollands.

“You’re right,” Sam agreed. He pushed his hair out of his eyes and sighed. “Reminds me of the family vacations we used to take. The six of us used to share one hotel room when we traveled.”

“Four boys... I don’t know how your mom did it.”

“None of us do.”

“I thought we were going to sleep,” Harry muttered from where he was already laying down on the bottom bunk, clearly irritated.

“Give us a minute to settle in, dude,” Sam shot back before dropping into a whisper. “It’s going to be a long week.”

You shook your head, putting your hands on his shoulders. “Everyone’s just cranky because they’re tired,” you reasoned. “We’ll get some sleep and then grab some food and then maybe they’ll be in a better mood.”

“You don’t know them like I do,” Sam warned.

“That’s true, but won’t they tone it down since I’m here?”

Sam snorted. “Wishful thinking.”

You rolled your eyes. “Whatever, I’m going to hop in the shower. I feel gross after being on a plane for so long.”

“I’ll go after you,” Sam replied with a nod. “Let me know if you need anything.”

You thanked him with a kiss under the watchful eyes of his brothers who both groaned in protest.

“Oh, fuck off,” Sam growled against your lips.

“By the way, sharing a bed doesn’t mean you get to mess around because I don’t want to hear that shit.”

“Harry!” Sam and Tom shouted, Tom going as far as throwing a pillow at his younger brother from the top bunk.

“Just being honest! We heard you going at it like rabbits when you had your own room, and I didn’t say anything about it then-”

“Harry.” To your surprise, it was Tom who cut him off, raising another pillow in warning. Thankfully, Harry took the hint that time and shut up, crossing his arms over his chest in annoyance.

You smiled to yourself with the knowledge that your little Easy A stunt had worked, and looked over to see that Sam was wearing a matching smirk. He winked at you before turning to glare at his brothers.

“On that note, I’m going to shower,” you said, mostly to Sam, and made your way over to where you had dropped your suitcase by the door.

You gathered a set of pajamas to change into and then wandered into the bathroom, quietly closing the door behind you. It was one of those rolling doors so you had to be extra careful not to knock it off its hinges or the track and cause even more noise than necessary. You set your change of clothes on the counter next to the sink and began to undress, leaving your worn clothes on the floor.

The shower was kept in a room separate from the room with the sink and vanity, something you had read was common for Japanese washrooms. Inside the second room was a bathtub with a complicated looking panel next to it. With a closer inspection you determined it was used to fill the bath with water and customize the temperature. The showerhead was secured to the wall just to the side of the tub which meant you would have to hold it while you showered, but you didn’t mind. You were used to holding the showerhead for... other reasons.

Your shower was quick. You didn’t want to take too long when you knew other people were waiting for it. You were drained too. Even as you dried yourself off with a towel you could feel your arms start to get heavier.

You wrapped your hair in your towel and put on your pajamas shortly after, trying not to cringe at the way the fabric clung to your still-damp body. Usually you wouldn’t get dressed in the bathroom right after taking a shower because it was always so humid and sticky, you’d go out in the bedroom to do it, but as Sam’s girlfriend the latter wasn’t an option. So you dealt with the discomfort and ventured back into the main room.

It was dark now. Someone, you assumed Sam, had pulled the blackout curtains shut so that the daylight could no longer stream through the window. Harry was already fast asleep, but Tom and Sam were still awake, scrolling through their phones on their respective sides of the room.

Sam was perched on top of your bed, resting comfortably. He wasn’t underneath the covers, probably because he knew you didn’t like to share a bed with someone who hadn’t showered.

He smiled when he saw you and pushed himself up onto his elbows.

“Shower’s all yours,” you said.

“Thanks.”

You watched him rifle through his suitcase for pajamas and then eventually disappear into the bathroom before finally flinging yourself onto the bed. You still needed to take your hair out of the towel and brush your teeth, but you took a moment to just. Lay there.

Tom didn’t acknowledge you, hadn’t so much as looked at you since you came out of the bathroom, but you still found yourself looking over to him.

At the airport he had seemed at least a little concerned that he would have to share a room with you. Even in the cab to the hotel he kept sneaking glances at you when he thought you weren’t paying attention. But now he looked completely relaxed and you were second guessing yourself. Maybe you’d been projecting. Maybe he hadn’t been anxious at all.

You, on the other hand, felt like you hadn’t been able to exhale since Dom had announced that you’d be sharing a room with Sam’s brothers.

It had dawned on you as soon as you stepped into the hotel room that you’d never be able to let your guard down. Before this point you had at least been able to take breaks, retreat to your hotel room with Sam and be yourselves without worrying that one of his family members was around. You hadn’t needed to keep up the act 24/7, but now you had no other choice. It was only for a week, but you knew it was going to be exhausting. You weren’t even sure that your current performance was believable, and that was without all of the more intimate interactions couples had in private. The good night kisses, the cuddling in bed together, falling asleep in each other's arms, the good morning kisses, all things you’d have to take into consideration. Most couples you knew moved in harmony, like they were one person, half of a whole. You and Sam were more like the hands on a clock. You were always moving in the same direction, and once in a while you’d overlap, but more often than not you were facing each other on completely opposite sides of the clock. It was what made you such good friends. Best friends. But what would make you terrible lovers.

To be fair, a lot of people misunderstood your dynamic, which you had been using to your advantage. They assumed that since you were always together you were basically the same person- and they weren’t necessarily wrong. You and Sam spent a majority of your time together. You knew each other well enough to finish each other’s sentences, to voice aloud what the other was thinking before they even said it.

The vibration of your phone next to you disrupted your train of thought. It was a text from Sam.

Can you come here rq? I need help lol.

Confused, you pushed back the covers and stood up. You dropped your phone back on the bed and walked over to the bathroom, keenly aware of the way Tom stiffened in his bed.

You rolled back the door and found Sam standing in his boxers next to the tub.

“What is it?” you asked, shutting the door behind you.

“How did you figure out the shower? I can’t get the water to be hot.”

“This is what you called me in here for?” you said, exasperation dripping from your voice.

“Yes! I don’t want to take a cold shower.” He said it like it should’ve been obvious.

“Did you try messing with the knobs? That’s how I figured it out.”

Sam’s cheeks turned a faint shade of pink as he pursed his lips, thinking about how to answer.

“Not all of them,” he admitted.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Sorry?”

“It’s the one on the left, dumbass,” you said and twisted the knob for him.

“Thanks,” he mumbled sheepishly. “I just didn’t want to fuck up the shower or anything.”

Men, you thought to yourself shaking your head.

“I’m going to bed,” you told him. “Before your brothers think I’m in here giving you head or something.”

“Let them think what they want,” he said, shrugging it off.

“I want to preserve what little amount of respect they have for me, thanks.”

Sam just chuckled and thanked you again as you let yourself out into the room with the sink. While you were there you hung up your wet towel and brushed your teeth with your finger and the toothpaste the hotel provided. You were too lazy to go get your toothbrush out of your bag.

“That was fast.”

You jumped, hand racing to your heart when you realized it was just Tom. He was still in his bed, but had rolled onto one side so that he could talk to you.

“You scared the shit out of me!” you hissed.

“Sorry.” He didn’t sound very sorry. “What did my brother want?”

God damn it, Sam.

“Why do you ask?”

Tom shrugged. “Just wondering.”

“He needed help figuring out the shower,” you explained.

“Glad he has you for that.”

You narrowed your eyes at the boy in the top bunk. He was trying to get under your skin. Why?

The ball was in your court. You could be the bigger person and let it go, or-

“He has me for a lot of things.” You pushed your tongue against your cheek so that there was a visible outline and brought your fist up to your mouth, moving it back and forth subtly so that he’d get the idea without being too obscene. “But you already knew that, didn’t you?"

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[leossmoonn]

can i request a stefan imagine where bonnie locks you both into a room because you guys fight to hide your feelings, and when you're inside, you both finally talk it out and then when the next day the room is unlocked everyone makes fun of you because you fell asleep on each other

yes! this is such a cute idea :))

masterlist

warnings / includes - mild language, casual sex talk, underage drinking (you all are 18 tho), fighting, kissing, ugly crying (lol)

————

“i thought he was supposed to be the smart one,” you grimaced.

“boys are often enchanted by half-naked girls,” elena stated. “yeah, but not stefan,” you said, taking a big gulp of your beer.

“well, contrary to popular belief, stefan is like other boys. he got turned at 17, he didn’t have much time to mature.”

you gave elena a ‘are you serious?’ look before turning back to the man whom you were hopelessly in love with. it shattered your heart to see him dancing with another girl.

she was wearing a belly top with a skirt you knew that not even vicki donovan would approve of. she had her back facing towards stefan, running her hands through his hair as she moved up and down on him, obviously trying to get him riled up and fuck her in the bathrooms. meanwhile, his hands were on her waist, following the movements her body made. he had a big smile on his face, winking at her as he told her dirty little nothings.

the red solo cup crushed in your hand, beer running down your arm, some getting on your jeans. you didn’t even realize until elena started to wipe your skin with napkins, taking your attention off of the vampire for a few seconds.

“you had an accident,” elena snorted. “oh,” you frowned, helping her. “oops.”

“why don’t you just go and replace her? i bet stefan then would actually get hard,” elena suggested.

“please, it’s not like he’d even notice me. i mean, look at her, she’s gorgeous.” your insecurities took over your brain, and you couldn’t help but think of how many other pretty girls stefan could have.

“please, she’s below average, and she’s had herpes two times in the last four months. i know stefan is immortal and his body heals fast and all, but no guy, supernatural or not, wants to get involved with a girl like that,” elena assured you.

“then why is he letting her use him as a stripper pole?” you frowned. “maybe to make someone jealous?” elena raised her brow, looking at you and hoping you caught onto the hint.

“like who, you?” you smirked.

“he doesn’t like me anymore! and trust me, before we even got together, he was in love with someone else. he just used me as a jealous device,” elena shrugged, taking a sip of her beer.

“ouch. who did he love instead of you?” you asked, completely clueless. “oh, it doesn’t matter, but it’s okay. i was in love with damon, anyways, so really, it was fair. and he did love me, he just wasn’t in love with me, you know?” she asked.

“yeah, i guess there is a difference,” you nodded. “yep, and stefan definitely does not like that girl, so go and talk to him! you’re his best friend, and if you pull him aside to confess your feelings for him, he definitely won’t mind,” elena nudged you.

you looked back at him, your heart racing at the thought of you actually telling him you’re in love with him, and have been for the last year and a half. you shook your head, looking down at your shoes.

“no, no, it’s too risky. what if he doesn’t like me back? i can’t risk losing your friendship over some silly little crush.”

elena rolled her eyes, setting her drink down and taking ahold of your shoulders. she looked you in the eyes, causing your own eyes to widen.

“it’s not just a “silly little crush”, okay? you are in love with him, and it’s not going to get any better for you if you just stand here and push your feelings down. and look, he likes you, too. i know you don’t believe it, but he does. in fact, he’s also in love with you. just take a chance, y/n.”

“but what if he doesn’t like me and you guys have just been rallying me up for no reason?” you frowned.

“that’s not going to happen. now, go and be with your soulmate!” she pushed you towards him.

you glanced to her and gave her a glare, but complying once you faced stefan again. you walked over to him confidently, tapping his shoulder. he immediately turned to you, a bright smile lighting his face. oh, how you loved that smile.

“hey, y/n, what’s up?”

“i wanted to talk to you,” you prompted. “okay, sure,” he nodded. he abandoned the girl, letting you lead him to a quieter part of the grill.

“so, what’s this about?” he asked.

“um, well…” you weren’t sure you could just flat-out confess, so you decided it was best to have him confess first. “do you like anyone?”

stefan’s eyes widened, a flash of fear clouding his eyes. he shifted his weight, stuffing his hands in his jean pockets.

“u-um, no. why would you think that?”

your heart fell at his response, but you kept up hope. he was probably just scared because he didn’t know you liked him back, right?

“well, a little birdie told me that you liked someone. and me being your best friend and all, i thought it would be fitting for me to know. you know, i can help by getting you and her together.” you flashed him an eager smile.

“well, i don’t like anyone. and if you don’t mind, i’d like to get back to -“

“you’re really leaving me to dance with that slut?” you cocked your brow.

“n-no, well, yeah, but -“

“c’mon, stefan, i won’t judge. just tell me who you like.” you slipped your hand into his, interlocking your fingers together.

stefan’s dead heart dropped in his chest, giving him that somersault affect your touch often gave him. he looked into your eyes, seeing the desperation and pain that they held. he knew that he should tell you that it’s you, but he wasn’t 100% sure you even liked him back. like you, the thought of losing you was too risky for him to take the leap. so instead, he deflected.

“you don’t have to know everything about me! i know you’re my friend, but i have my own private life outside of our friendship. just leave me alone and let me dance with her.” he pulled his hand away from yours, the loss of warmth and comfort disappearing from you both.

you looked at him incredulously, not believing the words that came out of his mouth. you open and closed your mouth multiple times, not sure how to respond. you didn’t even know how to feel, really. you just felt your heart break for the millionth time that night.

he looked at you helplessly, guilt filling his chest as he saw the struggle you had with choosing to leave, or choosing to stay and work it out. he hoped you would choose the latter.

“you’re an asshole, stefan,” you spoke.

your words cut him like a knife.

“you’re right, you do have a personal life outside of our friendship, but you have always shared everything with me. you once told me that i’m the one that you trust the most, that you can tell anything that, that i’m your bestfriend. and-and what now? i-i’m only a friend? someone who you can’t even tell who you like? you told me that you liked elena, and i helped you with that. what is so different about this girl, huh?” you argued.

“nothing! i-i just… you just don’t need to know everything, is all.”

you looked at him good and hard, trying to decide if he was telling the truth or not. was elena wrong? did he really not like you, but like someone else?

“i don’t believe that,” you shook your head, speaking to yourself more than him.

“why not? you are never this… grueling.”

“because i… i just…” you couldn’t tell him that you really thought.

“you what? you think you know who i like? please, enlighten me,” he taunted.

you gritted your teeth, your hands balling into fists. you lifted your first up, ready to hit him, but bonnie and elena came over, restraining you.

“okay, let’s calm down, yeah?” bonnie suggested, pulling you back.

you started to cry as bonnie led you to a different part of the restaurant.

“you-you guys are wrong. he doesn’t like me,” you sobbed.

bonnie sighed. “he does, we swear. he just doesn’t know you like him.”

“are you serious! what is he, blind?” you scoffed.

“guys are pretty clueless, even immortal ones.”

“yeah, that’s what elena said,” you sniffled. “well, what do i do now? we can just resume being friends.”

bonnie pursed her lips, thinking for a moment. “here, let me show you something.”

she took your hand, leading you to the storage room. you went along with her until you saw stefan there.

“what? bonnie, what are you -?”

“have fun you two,” elena winked as bonnie closed the door.

you heard the lock click. you ran up to the door, banging on it and begging for your friends to let you out.

“hey! this isn’t funny! i’m claustrophobic, you know this!”

“no can do! work it out, you two!” bonnie shouted from the outside.

“here, let me,” stefan said.

you moved away, crossing your arms as you watched him try to kick down the door. he took ahold of the handle, pulling it off. he then tried to open the door, but it didn’t budge.

“well, good job. you’re a genius, you know that?” you remarked.

he turned to you with a glare. “as if you could do anything else.”

“well, maybe if you let me find something to unlock the lock, then there would still be a door handle!” you hissed.

“don’t blame me for trying to help!”

“well, it’s the truth! you always think you can fix things. just accept the fact that you can’t.”

“woah, when did this turn personal? if i remember correctly, you once told me that my determination was admirable. why the sudden change now?” he hummed, crossing his arms and looking at you like a smart ass.

you sighed deeply, your eyes filling with tears as you answered him.

“because you hurt me. i-i’m hurt, okay?”

he softened up immediately, his arms falling to his side, his smirk disappearing. remorse shined in his eyes as he tried to reach out to you.

“i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to hurt you.”

you stepped back, putting your head down. “it’s fine.”

“no, it’s not. you don’t deserve it.”

you turned your back to him, your eyes settling on the boxes full of kitchen supplies. you sniffled multiple times, your shoulders shaking as you tried to keep your weeping to a minimum.

you heard stefan sigh behind you. his feet dragged along the steel floor, his hand coming up to gently rub your back.

“please, look at me, y/n,” he whispered.

you turned to him slowly, the sorry pit in his stomach growing. you looked at him, your eyes drooping, tears lining your cheeks. your lips were swollen, your nose running. you sniffled once again, trying to calm yourself down.

stefan walked away for a few moments, bringing back a towel. you looked at him, heart fluttering as he wiped the snot that surrounded the bottom of your nose. he wiped your tears away, running the cloth carefully under your eyes to capture the remaining moisture. you watched him as he kept his eyes on yours the whole time. you felt yourself falling for him again.

he set the rag on a shelf, taking your hand and slipping his into it. you couldn’t help but smile at the gesture. stefan smiled with you, looking at you sweetly.

“i’m sorry. you are my best friend. you are the person i trust the most. i will continue to tell you everything and anything. i just… i was just scared to tell you who i liked,” he explained.

you nodded, understanding his explanation. “no worries. i get it. i don’t like being interrogated either.”

“you didn’t interrogate me.”

“oh, please,” you snorted. “we both know i did.”

he shrugged with a little smile. “well, i know you mean well.”

you nodded, “i do. i really do.”

“i know, y/n, i know,” he reassured you.

you looked away from him, the tension in the room weighing on your shoulders.

“you know, i think bonnie also put a spell on the door,” you stated.

“i was thinking that, too,” he sighed.

“well, what do we do now? we’ve made up,” you asked, looking back at him.

“i don’t know. are you hungry?” he asked.

“no. i am tired, though,” you said. “wanna lay down? i can be your pillow,” he suggested.

you smiled and nodded. “yeah, sure.”

he took your hand, getting on the ground. he laid flat on his back as you put your head on his chest. your heart hammered against your ribcage as he slipped his arm around you, holding you close to him. you fisted his shirt in your hand, closing your eyes and breathing in deeply.

his scent filled your nose, making your mind foggy and muscles relax. he smelled of sandalwood, leather, and jasmine. jasmine was something most guys didn’t smell like, but he did, strangely. it was a sweet, yet musky smell. it fit him very well, and you loved it.

your heart stopped as you felt him rub your back. his fingers scratched your clothed skin softly.

“so, can i ask who you like now?” you hummed.

stefan laughed. you felt the rumbling in his chest, making you smile.

“what?” you looked up at him, batting your eyes innocently.

“why do you want to know so bad? i thought i told you i was done dating for a while,” he stated.

you looked away and back at your hands that held the material of his shirt. “just wondering. and we both know that you’d love to have a girlfriend. one that isn’t in love with your brother.”

stefan laughed again, making you smile to yourself as his chest came up and down in multiple breaths.

“i mean, yes, but i don’t want to just date someone to prove that there are people that like me and not damon.”

“i know, but… what if the girl you like likes you back?” you suggested.

stefan stopped breathing for a second, his hand that was scratching your back stopping to a halt.

“you sound so sure of that,” he said.

you shrugged, looking up at him, hoping he could read the look on your face. “it’s because i am.”

he looked at you, his eyes giving away his emotions. he looked uncertain, but you knew that he understood what you were hinting at. he just couldn’t believe it.

“i love you, stefan,” you spoke, sitting up in his lap.

stefan’s face shone brightly as his lips upturned into a smile. you could physically see all the weight lifted off his shoulders. the hot tension in the room filtered out, being replaced with a cool breeze of relief. he sat up, putting his arm back around you, reaching his hand up to cup your face. he looked deeply into your eyes, his pupils running into his emerald irises. your hands went up to his neck, your fingers entangling in his hair.

“i love you, too, y/n,” he spoke, as if he had said it a million times before.

both of your reactions were minimal, but spoke a thousand words. the words felt natural, right.

you leaned in, eyes flickering from his lips to his eyes. your chest heaved up and down in anticipation, your heart ramming itself against your ribacage. stefan was the one to close the gap.

tingles shot up your spine, goosebumps lining your skin. you pressed into him - no space was between you now. you kissed him quicker now, opening your mouth and taking initiative.

he caught on in an instant. his hand that was on your cheek was now on your neck, cradling your head closer to his. he pulled you impossibly closer to him, sparks flying between you two as your chests rubbed against each other. you pulled on his hair that was at the nape of his neck as his hands reached further below your lower back.

his tongue ran across yours deliciously. you explored his mouth, tasting the bourbon and fries he had eaten earlier. you took a shallow breath as your lungs were gasping for air. you would’ve passed out if it weren’t for him.

“did you really like that girl dancing against you?” you blurted.

stefan tilted his head, chuckling. “no, i did not. and also, that’s really the first thing you’re going say after our first kiss.”

you shrugged. “a girl’s gotta ask.”

“well, then, no, i did not. i was trying to make you jealous.”

“well, good job, because it worked,” you snorted.

“yeah. i’m sorry again for making you cry. that was unfair.”

“it’s okay. i now know that you were just being a scared jerk,” you smirked.

“yep, that’s me,” he chuckled.

you hummed contently, placing your head on his shoulder. stefan resumed rubbing your back, setting back onto the floor again. it only took a few minutes for you two to doze off. you awoke again to the sound of laughter.

you opened your eyes, confused as you saw your friends standing over you.

“man, i thought you two were going to have sex, but this is worse!” damon cackled.

you grimaced, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes.

“shut up, damon. at least i know how to treat a girl right,” stefan muttered.

everyone but damon snickered. damom crossed his arms, glaring at his younger brother.

“i do know how to treat a girl right. right, elena?” damon asked.

“mm, i’m not so sure,” elena said with a shit-eating grin.

“okay, you all suck. i’m out!” damon walked out of the storage room, leaving only you two with elena and bonnie.

“so, did you two make up?” bonnie asked.

“yep,” you nodded. “and we are going on our first date tonight,” stefan added.

your head whipped up to him in surprise. “really?”

“yeah, if that’s okay with you.”

“oh, it’s more than okay,” you grinned.

“well, just don’t fall asleep on each other during the date,” elena smirked.

you rolled your eyes. “we aren’t rabbits like you and damon!”

“okay, and like damon, i am out!” elena exclaimed, walking out of the storage room.

“they’re children,” you rolled your eyes.

“so were you two last night, but i’m glad you made up,” bonnie said.

“thanks. us, too,” you smiled at stefan.

stefan returned the expression, leaning in and kissing you softly.

“ew, okay! i, three, am out. please don’t have sex on this dirty floor,” bonnie stated before leaving.

“wanna have sex at my house?” stefan whispered.

“buy me dinner first!” you scoffed. “what about breakfast?” stefan cocked his brow.

you pursed your lips in thought. you couldn’t help but grin.

“i think that would be lovely.”

————

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[chosonore]

cynosure

cynosure [noun. one that serves to direct or guide; a center of attraction or attention]

pairing: sukuna/f!reader

summary: in which sukuna re-discovers being human one aspect at a time, through many lifetimes, at the price of losing you over and over.

wordcount: 8.7k

content/warnings: reincarnation au, slow burn but also not really because there's only hints of romance? language, it's not canon at all, just pretend sukuna was never sealed away, lowercase is intended

a/n: this is more self-indulgent tbh sukuna is probably uncharacteristically soft? sometimes i'm reminded of the fact that he used to be human and while we don't exactly know how he became a curse just yet, i kinda felt sad about it lol i'm too sympathetic with everything, it's gonna kill me one day fhuierhfa a lot of these moments are based on my own experiences, where i had to remind myself that even the small things in life are really good and important, especially during the pandemic. that being said, i hope you enjoy and stay safe everyone :) (and please don’t judge me too hard on this lol i haven’t written in like what. six years?)

001.

“oh,” you stared at the tall, pink-haired man in front of you. “i didn’t think anyone would be here around this time…” he stared back at you, not replying nor making any move to scoot over so that you could sit on your bench. it was only then that you noticed the black markings framing his face and adorning his wrists. you were a little dumbfounded - your mother had always said that you had a poor survival instinct. though you supposed that his pink hair eased your nerves a little; surely someone with pink hair couldn’t be as evil. but you couldn’t recall ever seeing someone like this around the proximity of your village. maybe he was a vagrant. 

“i don’t mean to be rude but… that’s my bench and i would appreciate if you could maybe… scooch over?” you asked gingerly, not wanting to upset the stranger. you approached him slowly, grasping your basket tightly. if he got a little rowdy, maybe you could just wack him with the basket, right? although it probably won’t hurt but it surely would stun him long enough for you to run.

“i don’t see why i should move just because it’s your bench,” the stranger answered gruffly, crossing his arms. were you naive or just stupid? “do you not know who you’re talking to, woman?” 

you cocked your head to the side, not sure what he meant. maybe he was one of those famous poets or musicians that your parents liked to talk about. you weren’t entirely sure. even though he sounded annoyed, the look in his eyes didn’t quite match the hostility - he looked rather bored, unamused even, but not hostile. maybe you could humour him a little. “am- am i supposed to know you? i’ve never been outside of the village so i don’t know much. only what the merchants tell me. i apologize if i’ve offended you,” you explained hastily, then pointing at your basket. “i just came here to enjoy the sunrise. um, today is my birthday, so i treated myself to some dessert!”

“if- if you scooch over a litte, i could share some with you…” you tried to bargain with him. now you were truly starting to sound desperate but this was your favourite spot and it was the first time in a while that you had a free day to relax. out of all days, just why did he have to be here now? you’d be damned if you let your day get ruined by this unfriendly stranger. 

“are you trying to bribe me?” the stranger narrowed his eyes at you and you thought this was it. he was going to kill you and bury your body in the forest and your parents would come look for you, only to find your empty basket and then start a huge search party to find you and- the pink haired man moved to the side, refusing to look you in the eyes. “sit.”

you let out a squeak in glee, quickly taking a seat beside him. he watched in silence as you unwrap your desserts, glancing at the objects in question. even though you’d offered to share with him, he didn’t actually expect you to give him some of your food. sukuna was surprised when you handed him a… round squishy thing? 

“what is that? how is that going to satiate me?” he asked, almost offended, which made you giggle. you didn’t reply, instead thrusting the mochi towards him until he begrudgingly took it, closely inspecting it in suspicion. 

“that’s a daifuku mochi. it’s made out of rice flour and filled with red bean paste. but come to think of it… do you even like sweets? i’m sorry if you don’t particularly enjoy it,” you explained and grabbed one as well. you were about to bite into your mochi when you saw the stranger opening his mouth, ready to devour the entire mochi in one go. in horror, you quickly grabbed his wrist to stop him, only to have him suddenly pin you down and tower over you.

“i’m sorry, i’m sorry!” you hastily said, now suddenly aware of the dark, threatening aura that he was emitting. maybe he was a killer after all. “i just didn’t want you to eat it in one go! they’re kind of difficult to eat in one go… plus you’re supposed to savour and enjoy it, take your time eating it!” 

sukuna stared at the girl in disbelief, you’d grabbed him out of nowhere just to stop him from eating too fast? not only were you not aware of who he was, you apparently did not know how to be cautious around strangers. it irked him that you were acting like he was a harmless human being. so much so that he briefly contemplated killing you. “who are you to tell me how to eat?” he growled at you, not softening his grip. he saw the panic and fear in your eyes but for some reason, he couldn’t quite put a finger on it, it didn’t fill him with joy as it usually did.

“i’m just telling you how we usually eat mochi!” you harrumphed, now annoyed that he was acting like you just committed murder. “you didn’t know what these were, so i was just trying to explain! food is supposed to be enjoyed, not ravished all at once. you have to appreciate your food because there might be days where you won’t have any. and besides, enjoying and properly tasting your meal is the least you can do to show gratitude to the person who cooked it for you.” sukuna let up and sat back on his previous spot, seemingly accepting your answer. you sat up, adjusting your yukata and pouted at him. what a rude stranger! you at least expected an apology from him but seeing that he was already taking a bite from his mochi, you guessed you should just let it go. it wasn’t worth getting angry over anyways, not on this day.

“why are you looking at me like that, little girl?” sukuna questioned, taking another bite from his mochi. he did actually enjoy it and it took every bone in his body not to hastily eat more and to savour it like you’d told him to. maybe this wasn’t so bad after all, it made him think about his meals a little more. not eating for the sake of eating, but for enjoyment, he mused. sort of like living for enjoyment, not for the sake of living. 

“you never told me your name,” the girl replied innocently. sukuna sighed. so you really weren’t aware of who he was. “my name is y/n! now it’s only fair if you tell me, especially because i shared my food with you. please?”

before sukuna could reply, he sensed someone quickly approaching. they were hiding somewhere in the forest; it likely was a jujutsu sorcerer, trying to exorcise him. he could deal with them later, but not here, not with you around. the girl looked at him in disappointment when he abruptly stood up, turning towards the forest behind them. unfortunately, he had the inkling that you wouldn’t let it go until he answered: “my name is sukuna, king of curses.” your eyes widened in recognition but you didn’t immediately react or scramble away from him, most likely frozen in fear. 

“now go. someone is coming and you do not want to be in the crossfire.”

002.

as a seamstress, you’ve encountered all kinds of customers. ranging from rude and bratty to eternally grateful, you’ve seen it all. your supervisor had always told you to remain calm and polite, to just adhere to their wishes to not cause any ruckus. after all, people of status often assumed that they were untouchable and could treat others poorly. it wasn’t worth the hassle to start a fight with them, you could lose your job after all. there was moments you’d have to stand up for yourself but this wasn’t it. fortunately, your employer paid you well, enough for you to provide for your family. the customers were high-profile after all.

you looked at the clock on the wall, your next customer was supposed to come soon. it was a nobleman that apparently travelled here from far away, having heard that the store offered beautiful, one of a kind fabrics. you just hope that he wasn’t rude and that you could leave in time. you’d been working overtime for weeks now, taking every appointment and customer that you could get. your mother’s birthday was approaching and you’d been saving up to buy some of the soft and silky fabrics to sew her a new yukata. your mother had always sacrificed her own comfort to buy the best items she could afford for your siblings and you and now that you were older, you could finally treat her to something nice as well. your employer was even willing to give you a small discount and you gratefully took up on her offer.

the chime of the doorbell made you look up, the good feeling in your stomach slowly fading when you saw who entered. you were familiar with the customer after all; he was well known in the area, being a rather volatile and sometimes scary aristocrat who had the reputation to be particularly difficult and having outrageous demands. you hastily stood up, brushing the wrinkles out of your clothing and walking over to greet him. you bowed politely, taking the outerwear that he took off and placing it on a nearby armchair. “sir, i’ll bring you a few samples shortly. do you have any colour or pattern preferences?” you asked him, placing a pot of tea and a cup on the small side table for him to enjoy. you made note of his wishes and disappeared in the storage room to pick up the samples. the customer had made himself at home, eyeing you scrutinizingly. he made you queasy, looking so incredibly unfriendly and you could tell that you were not going home early tonight.

you showed each of the fabrics to him, explaining what materials they were made of and what occasions they were good for but with each explanation, he just looks more and more uninterested. not to mention the snarky remarks he made, seemingly not happy of the choices you presented him. you were running out of options and you didn’t know what else to do to please him when suddenly you heard someone enter the shop. both the customer and you looked over confused - you weren’t expecting any more customers today, it was already late after all. a tall, pink-haired man entered the shop, scowling at your customer. you jumped slightly; he looked scary and you were terrified, not sure what to do in this situation. not only were the black markings on his face and body terrifying, there was also a threatening aura surrounding him, dark and slowly spreading out, all your instincts were screaming at you to run. should you politely ask him to leave? he looked like he wouldn’t take it too well. before you could ask him whether he was looking for something, the stranger spoke up: “you know who i am, leave.”

your eyes widened, slowly inching back towards the back of the store. you were not aware of who this man was but by the looks of your pale-faced customer, he surely did. “this is outrageous!” he exclaimed indignantly, jumping out of his seat. “you can’t just burst in here and demand that i leave! i have an appointment! are you aware of how long the waiting list is? this is the finest shop in the entire prefecture and i would rather die than to give up my spot for a scoundrel like you.” the stranger raised his eyebrows at the shorter man, clicking his tongue in annoyance. you slowly reached out to grab your pair of scissors. they probably weren’t of much use but it made you feel more safe, knowing you could at least somehow defend yourself.

“oh? you would rather die? i’m sure that can be arranged,” the stranger threatened and it was with horror that you watched his fingernails, sharp and pointy, grow in size. he wasn’t human, you’d just encountered a monster. he would kill you and it wouldn’t take him much effort to do so, you were sure he could just stab you with those fingernails. your customer squeaked and left the store in panic, slamming the door in the process, while you quickly hid behind the counter. you hoped he would leave you alone, you didn’t want to get involved. this wasn’t your problem, you were innocent and it was an unfortunate coincidence for you to be here. 

“stop hiding,” the stranger commanded, slowly approaching the counter. you peeked from below the counter, holding your breath. what else could he possibly want from you? demons surely didn’t need money. oh god, was he going to kidnap you?

he swiftly rounded the corner and knelt down to take a closer look at you - you couldn’t react fast enough, he’d already grabbed your chin and made you look at him, turning your head from side to side as he examined you. his fingernails were slightly digging into your skin, making your face scrunch up in discomfort. “so it is you,” he exclaimed in a low voice, then abruptly standing back up. you were confused - what did he mean by that? at least he didn’t kill you, at least not yet. but what else could he possibly want from you? “i need a new kimono. that scumbag just left anyways, make one for me instead.”

a kimono? a simple kimono? you couldn’t believe what you just heard. this demon just came in here, threw a fit but all he wanted was a simple kimono? you couldn’t help but scoff at the situation though it probably was difficult to enter a store without people fleeing or refusing to serve him. while he did look human, the markings on his face made it difficult not to feel threatened. but why did he know you? you had never seen this man in your life before. not in passing, not on drawings, nowhere. no matter how hard you wracked your brain, you just couldn’t recall. “d- do you have any- any colour preference?” you questioned him, watching how he took a seat and grabbed himself the cup of tea. 

“white,” he answered curtly, taking a sip from the tea. “i’ll leave everything else up to you.”

you felt uncomfortable but there was nothing else you could do than follow his orders. you grabbed a few plain white fabric samples and slowly inched over to him, holding them out with your trembling hands. “what?” he deadpanned. you huffed in frustration. 

“sir, you should… you should choose the fabric. it’s your kimono after all, you might not like the feeling of the fabric or it might not be a good fit for your everyday life,” you explained.

“i don’t care, just choose whatever. i’m above the comfort you stupid mortals choose.”

“that’s stupid,” the words left your mouth quicker than you could stop yourself and you slapped your hands over your mouth. the stranger looked at you as equally shocked. “i mean- i mean there’s nothing wrong with indulging in comfortable clothes!” you explained quickly, pressing the samples into his hands. “see you wouldn’t like scratchy clothes, right? or fabric that quickly makes you sweat or feel too warm! i always talk to my customers about what kinds of fabrics they would prefer… i believe life is too short to wear ill-fitting clothes or ones that don’t feel comfortable! good clothing should make you feel like… like a warm hug.”

the stranger didn’t look like he understood what you meant, making you scoff again. some people really didn’t care about what they wore and how they looked like and it just bothered you. good quality fabrics and well tailored clothing could make you feel confident and safe, even in the worst situations. how could you possibly relax if your clothing was maybe scratchy or ill-fitting? “i’ll prove it to you!” you exclaimed and left the room to gather your supplies, then coming back to instruct him where and how to stand so you could take his measurements. now that he was towering over you, you were suddenly very aware of how tall and broad he was. you felt like a dwarf next to him. up close, you noticed more details about him. he was attractive, you couldn’t deny that - the long wispy eyelashes, the watchful ruby eyes and his soft-looking pink hair. if he picked up on your staring, he didn’t comment on it.

once you were done taking notes and choosing fabrics, you gave him a slip of paper, noting down time and date for him to come back to pick the kimono up. “as for payment-” you started but the stranger dropped a huge bag of coins on the counter. you gasped, pushing the bag back into his arms. “sir, that’s too much! i’ll calculate the exact price for you but-” 

“take it,” he insisted and pushed it back towards you. “i have enough. you need the money right? see it as a generous tip.” your face flushed, you didn’t even know what to say and instead only profusely thanked him. it was so much money, the tip was enough to cover your family’s expenses for a year.

when sukuna picked up his kimono weeks later, he still didn’t understand what a hassle you made about the choice of fabrics and why you were so diligent in taking the measurements. he was fine with everything as long as he had something to wear in the first place. he didn’t care, he wasn’t a measly human that whined about the mildest inconvenience. in the private of his abode, he tried the kimono on, abruptly halting his movements as soon as the fabric touched his skin. so the girl was right, the fabric did feel incredibly good on his skin. it was very smooth and silky, a little cool on his skin. very lightweight but not flimsy. the kimono wasn’t too short and fit his tall statue well, you really did a good job he supposed. he glanced at himself in the mirror. it did look good on him, even the matching colours and patterns were chosen well. you really were a good seamstress, no wonder everyone was flocking to the store.

now that sukuna wore the kimono, he suddenly didn’t want to take it off. it was comfortable and soft, reminding him of you.

003.

your favourite spot was one below a tree, on top of a hill where you could see everything. the small city below, the horizon, the stars in the sky. you often came here when you felt like your life came crashing down your shoulders. it didn’t feel like your own anymore, not with your future already laid out for you without you being able to control it. complaining had always felt redundant and ungrateful to you - you had everything you needed, a loving family, food on the table and your family was wealthy enough to not have to worry about money. but in return, they expected everything from you, their eldest daughter. sometimes, the pressure was too much for you but they expected you to do as they say. everything was well until they announced that you were to get married and they’d found a suitor for you. you couldn’t even protest, the decision had already been made behind your back and you couldn’t refuse. you sniffled quietly, wrapping the blanket tighter around you. you didn’t know this man; he might be a complete asshole and not treat you well at all.

the wind was biting at your skin, cold and unrelenting, and yet you felt safe here, away from all your worries. the starry sky made you feel like your worries were miniscule, reminding you that there was so much more out there for you to discover. you’d always liked the sight of stars, they always made you happy. on lucky days, you’d even get to see a few shooting stars. you’d close your eyes and clasp your hands, hopeful that whatever wish you made would come true. the crunch of leaves and twigs made you look up in alarm, scared that your parents had found out you left the estate and now found your secret hiding spot. you couldn’t quite make out the figure in the darkness, only being able to tell that a tall person was approaching you.

you were wary, inching towards the tree behind you to hide but froze when a voice rang out: “i know you’re there. i was looking for you all over the city, little one.” a man clad in a kimono was coming closer, stopping right in front of you and looking at you in disdain. your eyes lit up as you recognized him; you’d met sukuna a couple of times in the city before, mostly when you went to pick up some books to read. he’d been there one time when you were choosing your books and scoffed at your choice. you’d ask him about it, wondering why he thought that your choice was a bad one. he went on and on about how historically inaccurate the book was and that the information about curses was wrong and how an author like that should be ashamed to even publish it. you appreciated the dialogue, you liked having someone to discuss with you. your parents didn’t like that you read fantasy books and books that talked about supernatural events and beings, dubbing them as nonsense and that you should focus on your studies instead.

after your third meeting, sukuna had finally opened up and told you his name. your meetings became more frequent then but you’d never met anywhere other than the bookstore. you were surprised that he even found you here; you decided not to question him though, sukuna always seemed to know where you were, always sensing where you were headed. truthfully, you looked forward to spending time with him. he was attentive and always listened to you, barely ever talking. oddly enough, it made you feel like finally, someone was paying attention to your thoughts and needs. lately, a heavy feeling in your chest was always accompanying you when you met up with him. it was a dull ache, some kind of yearning that you couldn’t quite put a finger on. it didn’t help that you felt like you’d met him before, but you really couldn’t recall where you had met him before. “what are you doing here?” you questioned him, scooting to the side to offer him some space on the picnic blanket.

unceremoniously, he sat down and glanced over to you. he didn’t reply, simply shrugging. “why didn’t you bring a coat?” you asked another question instead, frowning at his choice of clothing. aside from his kimono, he wasn’t wearing anything else. “you’ll catch a cold!” you scolded him, swatting his arm before tugging on his sleeve and signalling him to move closer to you so you could wrap the blanket around his shoulders. you struggled a little to reach him, almost stumbling - sukuna’s arm immediately shot out to hold you so you wouldn’t fall. your cheeks flushed red and you were thankful that it was dark. you cleared your throat and sat back down, snuggling into the blanket and his side. 

“by the way, i read that book you disliked the other day,” you told him, rambling about the contents of the book and what you thought of it, all while sukuna simply listened to you. he only spoke up when he challenged your way of thinking or to agree, otherwise staying silent and just watching you.

suddenly you grasped his hand in excitement, pointing at the sky. “oh, oh! look!!” sukuna’s gaze followed the direction you pointed to, spotting some shooting stars flitting across the sky. “you have to wish for something!” you squeezed his hand and nudged him, then squeezing your eyes shut to prepare yourself to wish. 

“what would i even wish for?” sukuna frowned and pinched your cheek. “what do you wish for?”

“you’re not supposed to share wishes! if you do, they won’t come true,” you argued back and stuck your tongue out at him. sometimes, he really was too skeptical, never indulging in harmless fun. it might be childish to believe in these things but sometimes that little spark of hope was all you need to wait for better things. you sighed when the shooting stars disappeared and let go of his hand, screaming internally. did you really grab his hand like that? you sure hoped you didn’t unsettle him. 

“i don’t think i told you, but my parents have found a suitor for me,” you confided in him quietly, staring at the grass near your feet. “i’m supposed to marry him next year but… i don’t want to, i don’t know this person and i just want to live my life with no one controlling it.”

“i see. there’s still time to get to know him, isn’t there?” you knew sukuna was trying to console you but it wasn’t exactly working. your words frustrated you a little; subconsciously, you’d hoped that he shared the same opinion and maybe, just maybe, help you do something reckless. 

“i don’t want to get to know him,” you huffed and crossed your arms (sukuna thought you looked like a petulant child). “i… i already like someone.”

“you do?” sukuna looked at you surprised and that was the first time that he’d shown any other emotion than indifference. you nodded shyly, hoping that maybe he’d get the hint. you weren’t confident just yet to confess to him but maybe he’d get it from your description alone? 

“i recently met him and i really like that he makes me feel like, you know, important and always pays attention to me. he doesn’t talk a lot but i think that that’s okay, we still have a silent mutual understanding, i guess. and i also think he looks really handsome! although i-”

sukuna had enough of your rambling, he felt annoyed that you were telling him about your stupid crush. whatever boy you had a crush on, they would never amount to the likes of him. why would you look at someone else when he was right there? right here, with you. sukuna reached over and grabbed your cheeks to make you look at him before pressing his lips on yours. you froze for a short moment before returning the kiss, holding onto his kimono when he wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you closer. why would you pay attention to someone else when he could be with you? for the first time in his existence as a curse, he briefly felt human again. maybe shooting stars were the key to wishes coming true after all; in this moment he wouldn’t mind being human again, being alone with her with only the stars as your witnesses.

004.

gradually you were really starting to dislike your night shifts. usually, you’d ask to cover them because it was quiet, there were no nosy customers and the only people that ever came in so late were sleep deprived students that pulled all nighters to write papers or study. well it used to be that way until a group of, presumably, freshmen started coming more and more frequently - they wouldn’t have been so annoying if it wasn’t for them talking and laughing obnoxiously loud. they would stay until late in the night and kept ordering drinks. the audacity to have oddly specific orders, to watch you like a hawk while you were preparing their drinks, it made your blood boil. to top it all off, one of the guys kept flirting with you, even when you’d already made it obvious that you were not interested at all. no matter how uninterested and abrasive you acted, the guy would not leave you alone and his friends would try to act as wingmen. clueless and horrible wingmen.

you were glad that you were never alone during your night shifts, depending on the weekday you’d work in a team of two or threes. whenever they could, they’d cover for you and you were thankful but also felt bad, which usually resulted in you taking over anyways. you placed the basket on the counter, grabbing a towel to dry the cups you’d just washed. the chime of the doorbell made you look up, your heartbeat speeding up at the sight of sukuna coming in. like the group of freshmen, sukuna had recently started to visit the café more and more. he usually only came late at night and he probably was your favourite regular. scratch that, he was your favourite, no one was as calm as him and he never caused trouble. yeah, maybe those night shifts weren’t all that bad, you thought to yourself. you looked forward to him visiting every time you had a night shift.

“hi sukuna,” you greeted him softly and gave him a smile, placing the cup on a shelf. “the usual?” he took a seat near the bar, placing his wallet on the counter and taking off his coat. sukuna was peculiar, not particularly in a bad way. you always thought that he was a little mysterious. he always wore the same kimono - who wears kimonos everyday in this day and age anyways - the same white kimono but maybe he just owned mulitple of them. you could never tell what he was thinking and he had never shown any emotions other than brief moments of bliss when he was having his usual order. his order had always and would probably always be a simple black coffee and some daifuku mochi. it was a weird combo, you mused, but somehow fit him. it was a sharp contrast, just like his tattoos and the soft pink hair. you finished up the order, pushing the cup of coffee and the plated mochi towards him - you’d sneaked another one in just for him, knowing how much he seemed to like them. sukuna looked up at you, ready to protest but you just brushed it off, telling him that it was okay.

out of the corner of your eye you saw your not so secret admirer approaching with an empty cup and you instantly knew you were bound to be annoyed again. you sighed, returning to the cash register to take his order. “so, when am i finally going to get to take you out?” the guy asked, leaning on the counter to get closer to you. you gritted your teeth, ignoring his question and instead took the empty cup, placing it in the kitchen sink behind you. 

“oh come on, don’t ignore me, baby,” he whined, not letting up until you answered. you were annoyed, so so annoyed. your co-workers were currently organizing the inventory so you were all by yourself - usually that would be fine but you’d had enough. this week has already been awful and you just wanted to be left alone. you glanced around, spotting sukuna on the side. suddenly a lightbulb went on in your head and you faced your admirer confidently. 

“i’m sorry but please stop flirting with me and trying to ask me out,” you started and pointed to sukuna who was innocently taking a bite from his mochi. “i already have a boyfriend and i don’t think he appreciates you cornering me like this. you being this persistent is really annoying, girls don’t like that.”

upon hearing his name, sukuna looked up and as if on cue, he glared at your admirer. “yeah, i suggest you fuck off. get a hint, you creep, she’s mine,” he snarled, making a move towards the other guy who was already scrambling to get away and profusely apologizing. mine, mine, mine. his words kept repeating in your head, your heart squeezing painfully. was he interested in you? would he ever come to see you more than just a barista? you sighed in both relief and affliction, trudging over to sukuna. 

“i’m sorry i dragged you into this,” you apologized embarrassed, shoulders drooping and you stared at the floor just so he wouldn’t see your reddened cheeks. “he’s been pestering me so much and i kind of thought that that was the only way to get him to back off.”

“i don’t mind,” sukuna replied curtly, resuming his seat. he didn’t say anything else and you slightly panicked, you wanted to keep talking to him, stay in his company for a little longer. 

“ah uhm sukuna, i want to thank you! if… if you don’t mind, i would like to treat you to another drink?” you suggested, your face now beet red. this was the most straightforward you had ever been with a guy, usually too shy to make a move. in distance you could hear the chime of the doorbell and the doors slamming, indicating that the group had left. you were alone. sukuna didn’t reply at first and you were sure you’d fucked up and got ready to backtrack and laugh it off when he nodded. 

“go ahead, little one,” he nodded towards the counter. “you choose the drink.”

you didn’t know why sukuna kept calling you little one but for some reason, you didn’t mind. it did however make your heart ache in what you could only describe as melancholy. you weren’t sure why. while you started brewing some green tea for the two of you, the sound of thunder rumbled in the distance. the pitter patter of raindrops against the glass front was the only sound audible in the entire café. sukuna hadn’t uttered another word, not even making a sound of acknowledgement when you handed him the cup of tea and sat next to him. 

“you didn’t bring an umbrella,” you noted, looking out of the window. it was raining heavily, with no signs of it stopping anytime soon. “i guess you’ll have to stay here for a little longer, otherwise you’ll get sick. i hope you aren’t sick of me though.”

sukuna took a sip of his tea. “i don’t mind your company,” he replied, looking at you. you couldn’t tell what he was thinking but you sincerely hoped he wasn’t joking. hearing that gave you a little hope. 

“i like moments like this,” you confessed to him, clutching the warm cup with your sweater paws. “having a warm cup of tea and watching the rain from the comfort of your home. or in this case, a café. the sound of rain is really calming, isn’t it? makes you forget about all your worries for a while, it’s just you and your cup of tea.”

again, sukuna didn’t reply for a while. you thought you’d bored him to death with your monologue until he spoke up: “i don’t see how it’s any different from having a cup at any time of the day.” your cup was placed back on the counter. you frowned, not sure how to explain it to him. in moments like these, sukuna seemed to be something of an old being that has seen everything, feelings now dull and locked away. 

“well, see it like this. making yourself a cup of tea or coffee everyday is a normal thing to do, right? it happens almost automatically because it’s just part of your daily routine, you like how it tastes, it makes you feel more awake or helps you sleep. but… but you never really take your time to enjoy it, right?”

sukuna was contemplating, you almost giggled at the little frown on his face. but you were glad that he was willing to listen to you and discuss it with you, instead of dismissing the topic entirely. “but what does that have to do with rain?” he finally asked. 

you pointed outside. “you wouldn’t really go out in this weather, right? not if you have any emergencies or urgent matters to attend to. and same goes for everyone else; it kind of… kind of forces you to stay inside, to fully enjoy your warm beverage. the sound of rain is pretty calming, it’s some kind of whitenoise that might block out intrusive thoughts, at least it does that for me. so it’s only you, the sound of rain and your cup of tea. for a few minutes, you can just relax and have a moment for yourself.”

sukuna still didn’t quite understand how humans worked. it’s been hundreds of years since he’s ceased to be human, he’s forgotten what is what like being human. what human emotions entailed. but he agreed, it has been a while since he’s felt at ease and peaceful even. it was a moment of bliss, a moment that caused a flare-up of old, buried feelings inside of him.

004.1

you still hadn’t mustered up the courage to actually ask sukuna out after you dragged him into that fake dating-situation. he did still come late at night, being the most loyal customer of the café at this point. it was almost… almost as if he’d seeked out your company. though he did tell you that he didn’t mind your company; your ego deflated a little. sukuna still wore his kimono but paired it with a thick winter coat - it was winter after all and the weather had been very extreme. the ground was covered in inches of snow and you hadn’t seen the sun in weeks. sukuna insisted on walking you home when your shift ended. you weren’t sure why because he’d never offered to do so before. you were thankful though since it was still snowing and the streets were completely empty; even though the snow looked beautiful, it was still a little eerie to walk home in this weather. especially since a lot of busses weren’t running anymore due blocked roads.

“sukuna, aren’t you cold?” you asked as you switched off the lights and fumbled with your keys. finally finding the right one, you closed up, shoving the keys back in your back and fishing out your gloves. “you don’t even wear gloves!” you gasped when you saw his bare hands, handing him one of yours. sukuna looked at you as if you were crazy.

he wasn’t cold but he couldn’t tell you that, couldn’t let you know that he was a curse. but handing him one of you gloves? you were too nice, always thinking of others first and never being selfish. sighing, he put on the glove that was uncomfortably small but he’d endure it for your sake.

“it’s been a while since we’ve had this much snow,” you mused and took a few steps around, giggling at the sound of crunching snow beneath your feet. sukuna simply followed you, looking comical with the bright yellow and tiny glove on his hand. you smiled at him, admiring how etheral he looked underneath the streetlights with the snowflakes flurrying around him and some getting stuck in his hair. your heart suddenly ached, a far away memory emerging. it was blurry and unclear, a cold night similar as this underneath the stars and a face staring at you. you couldn’t tell who it was nor were you sure whether it was just a case of déjà vu.

“you know, this kind of calls for a snowball fight,” you grinned at sukuna mischievously and grabbed some snow, beginning to form it into a ball. he raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms, looking at you defiantly. 

“i’m not going to indulge in childish business like th-” he didn’t get to finish his sentence as you hurled the snowball at him and giggled like a maniac as it hit his shoulder. you quickly hid behind a bush as you quickly tried to form another, enjoying the dumbfounded look on sukuna’s face. clearly, he didn’t expect you to follow through with your plan and was caught by surprise. “oh you’re on,” he growled after a moment and grabbed himself some snow as well. you quickly threw another snowball at him, this time only being able to hit his leg. eyes widening at the sight of sukuna raising his arm to throw his snowball at you, you let out a squeak and dove behind a tree - the snowball still hit you square on your back, making you yelp at the cold feeling.

for minutes you could only hear the crunches of snow, loud laughter and snowballs hitting objects. you sat on a bench, exhausted from running and ducking away and your belly was starting to hurt from all the laughter. sukuna caught up to you, juggling a snowball in his hands. “you gonna give up?” he asked, a smirk gracing his lips. clearly he was winning, being able to aim a lot better than you. you missed him most of the time but had fun regardless. 

“never!” you replied, holding out your arms to defend yourself from the incoming snowball. it never came and instead sukuna was inching closer with an evil look in his eyes. oh no. what was he up to? you yelped when you realized that he was aiming for your neck, jumping up to get away from him. sukuna was quick to react and grabbed your arm, pulling you back into his chest and holding you close, smushing the snow against your neck. “ew sukuna, stop!” you laughed and squirmed in his arms until he threw the snowball away, rubbing your back gently. 

“that was really cold, you know,” you pouted, burying your face in his chest. 

he wrapped his arms around you, sighing quietly. “i know, i know, sorry.”

you swore that you felt his lips on the crown of your head.

005.

you were, undoubtedly, lost. your phone was about to die and you were stranded in the middle of the city, not sure where to go. to be fair, it was very, very easy to get lost here and it was your first time visiting. your grandparents lived here and while you’ve visited before, you couldn’t quite remember anything anymore. you were a child back then. and the city had drastically changed too, making it difficult for you to navigate yourself around. though your poor sense of direction was probably at fault as well. you sighed, trying to call your grandparents again. no one was picking up. you turned your phone off to save some of the battery, maybe you could call them later.

luckily, you’d brought your cameras so you could at least keep yourself busy until someone freed you from this misery. you walked towards the nearby shrine; there didn’t seem to be any people here, it was very quiet aside from the sound of cicadas. you took a few photos before continuing your journey, soon finding yourself standing on top of the hill. the view from here was breathtaking, even more so because the sun was starting to set, painting the sky in a beautiful yellow and orange hue. you fumbled with your camera again, trying to take a photo when someone suddenly moved into your shot. you paused and looked at the person in front of you who was staring at you as well. considering they were wearing a kimono, you assumed that they must work here. did you make a mistake? maybe you weren’t supposed to take photos and this person came to tell you off.

“i’m sorry!” you said quickly, quickly shoving your camera in your bag. “am i allowed to take photos here?” 

the stranger frowned at you, clearing his voice before replying: “how am i supposed to know? i don’t work here.” 

you groaned, rubbing your face in embarrassment. of course you’d say something wrong, you always did. and now you probably annoyed him too - he looked really annoyed. but since he wasn’t working here and there was no one else around, you guessed you could take photos after all. there was no one to tell you off anyways. however, the stranger was still standing there, looking at you in what seemed like interest. you felt awkward just continuing your endeavors without acknowledging him, so you asked: “do you live here? i’m just visiting, so i’m not very familiar with the city.”

“you could say that,” the stranger simply replied. when he didn’t say anything else, you decided that it probably was okay if you just continued taking photos without acknowledging him. though it did make you queasy, knowing that he was just watching you. didn’t he have anything else to do? a few minutes passed. he sighed and walked over, pointing at your camera. “what are you doing?” you were surprised at how straightforward he was, not expecting to engage in a conversation with you. maybe people in this city were just extra talkative and you’d have to get used to it. your grandparents never told you about this though. 

“ah i’m visiting my grandparents here and i thought i’d document my stay here. so i can look at these photos whenever i want and just have the memories on photo,” you explained and rummaged in your bag to show him the polaroids you took earlier. “i particularly like polaroids because you can’t edit or change them… whatever moment you capture, it’s true to what you saw. there’s no need to make photos beautiful when they hold a special place in your heart and are tied to a specific memory.”

the stranger nodded, pointing to your polaroid camera. “and you take them with this device?” his choice of words startled you a little, he didn’t seem to be familiar with this type of camera which you found odd. everyone knew what these were nowadays, almost everyone owned them. but you didn’t want to judge him or make him feel stupid though, patiently explaining to him how the cameras worked and where he could purchase them. he seemed to be really interested, closely inspecting the camera, turning it around and fumbling with the buttons. only after you finished rambling, you realize how much time had passed - it was almost dark now and your grandparents were probably worried sick. your phone was turned off the entire time and you forgot to call them. 

“excuse me, i really need to call my grandparents!” you looked at him apologetically, leaving him with your photos and camera. normally, you would be very wary; normally, you wouldn’t even show anyone your photos, rather keeping them to yourself because they were your precious memories. but something about him resonated with you, he seemed familiar and yet he didn’t.

you found a spot a few meters away from him calling your grandparents and profusely apologizing to them for not calling sooner. you promised them to wait at a popular and well known spot nearby so they could come to pick you up since it was already getting late, then hung up. to your relief, the stranger was still standing there, watching you intently. “thank you,” you smiled as he handed you your belongings. “my grandparents are picking me up soon, thank you for keeping me company. won’t you be going home soon?” 

suddenly his face expression turned rather… sad? somewhat melancholic and you feared you’d said something wrong until he shook his head. “i have to go somewhere later. let me walk you for a bit, it is dark after all.” you looked at him a little dumbfounded, not expecting him to suggest something like that.

“oh you don’t have to! i’ll totally be fine, i-” “i want to. let’s go,” he interrupted you, already beginning to move. you hastily followed him, clutching your bag in your hands. the entire walk was rather silent, none of you saying a word. it wasn’t a tense and uncomfortable silence though - you very much enjoyed his presence. it made you feel safe too, even though you’d told him earlier that you didn’t mind walking by yourself, it was comforting to know that he was by your side. you were in an unfamiliar city after all. hell you even got lost, so who were you kidding. you wondered who the stranger was, what his story was, what his personality was like. this was a one time meeting though, so you didn’t really have any hope of meeting him again. that was very unlikely.

“okay this is the spot. my grandparents are going to pick me up here, so it’s okay if you go,” you pointed at a café and gave him a reassuring smile. he didn’t look impressed. “o-oh wait, i need to thank you somehow.” you held a finger up to signal him to wait for a bit and fished out a polaroid you’d taken earlier. it was a simple shot, only the temple, bits of the trees and the sunset in the background. but you thought it was appropriate, the two of you had shared this moment after all. 

“here, this is for you. it’s not a lot but i guess… it’s a really nice photo and maybe the start of your collection, if you decide to get a polaroid camera?” he took the photo from you, inspecting it before nodding and thanking you. he looked like he was about to say something else but was interrupted by some bright car lights and the sound of honks.

“ah, i have to go! it was nice meeting you,” you bid farewell to him and waved, running towards the car. sukuna watched your figure retreat, arms dropping to his sides.

006.

it was so cold, so incredibly cold. you really hated disliked these long winters, the sky was constantly dull and grey, the days were short and you hadn’t seen the sun in weeks. it made you feel sluggish and unmotivated, you were just hoping that spring was coming earlier this year. you yearned for sunshine and warmth, to be able to go outside without freezing and just spend more time outside. regardless, you held onto your daily walks because they gave you some peace of mind in your hectic life. you were approaching the last year of your studies and the amount of exams, assignments and your looming thesis were just suffocating you. but soon, soon you were done and could finally take a breather, until then, the only moments of relaxation you’d have were your walks.

despite the cold, there were a lot of people near the park; children who were engaging in snowball fights, elderly who were walking their dogs and some joggers too. your eyes were wandering around, watching all the busy people around. too absorbed in your task, you didn’t notice the man in front of you until you bumped into him. you quickly removed your earbuds and apologized to him, about to continue walking when he suddenly grabbed your arm, holding you back. you were confused, did you maybe accidently hurt him when you bumped into him? you looked him up and down to make sure that he was okay; there really wasn’t anything wrong. he let go of your arm. “is something wrong?” you asked concerned and turned to him. 

“y/n?” 

you froze at the mention of your name. how did he know you?

“who are you? i’ve never met you before.”

in all your past lifetimes, you’d taught him how to be human again, how there was value and joy in even the littlest of things. with each iteration of your existence, sukuna thinks that he’s learned to love you more than the last. when he sees how at ease you are spending time with him, a curse that is feared by everyone, he contemplates confessing to you. but something holds him back, it’s the fear; the fear that you won’t return his feelings. he’s seen you be with someone else, see you fall in love countless of times. he yearns for it to be him, hoping that you do choose him, love him. for thousands of years, he’s spent his time finding you - your reincarnations don’t recognize him and it pains him to get to know you anew each time but nothing pains him as much as his existence. he wants to hold you, be yours, grow old with you.

for the first time in thousands of years, sukuna wishes to be human again.

ps.: i am so sorry if i hurt your heart there omg

[swtki]

HP Boys: Surprise Pregnancy Head Cannons

Summary: The HP boys and their reaction to their s/o (afab) being pregnant when its not planned.

A/N: This takes place post Hogwarts so all characters are 18+, though no real smut happens in this so its not an 18+ fic.

WARNINGS: UNPLANNED PREGNANCY, MENTIONS OF PRO CHOICE OPINIONS, MENTIONS OF SEX IN LITE TERMS, SWEARING, FLUFF, MENTIONS OF ALCOHOL, ALSO THIS IS SUPER LONG SORRY LOL

Draco

So everything is going great for the happy couple, you two just moved into a flat together and are working normal jobs, drinking wine like adults.

And sure, Draco knows he wants to marry you, but he knows you’re not ready to settle down like that so he just plans and dreams.

Due to poor choices, when you’re late by two weeks, you know what it probably is.

Draco doesn’t even notice that you ran out to the store and came back and hid in the bathroom for 10 minutes. CEO of minding his own business ig

You just kinda...walk up to him and hand him all 3 tests while your eyes fill with tears because what if he demands you get an abortion?

Or what if he fucks off to god knows where?

But instead he just looks at you with the most un-draco like smile. Like his face was soft and it looked like he could cry any moment.

“Oh my god,” He says, putting his hand on your belly, “I can be ready for this, but if you aren’t then we can you know...”

“No, I want it” then both of you rejoice bc yay baby!

Cut to 6 months later when your feet hurt so bad you have to lay down and watch while Draco fails to put a crib together.

He eventually gets it done tho.

And when the time comes, he’s built and arranged everything for your bundle of joy.

Harry

So you guys are probably already married, but with everything at the ministry going on, it makes Harry less than a family man.

You both agree that it’s probably better to wait so you can be home and yk...raise it.

Well smart man Harry forgets that to not have a kid you need to use protection.

So of course when your period is late you don’t think about it, until its four weeks late.

That night, you and Harry are laying in bed, and thats when you tell him.

“Harry..I’m late.”

“Late for what?” headass.

You: 😳😐

Him: 👁👁😲😲

He’s hesitant to say anything, because he knows its ultimitley up to you what happens with it until its out.

“I think I want to keep it...you know it wont remember much for the first year and a half so if things are stressful it will be okay and-“

“Love...Its going to be perfect”

Mf built the crib in like 45 minutes I swear.

And of course he forced you to keep up with your vitamins, pre natal care, and appointments.

Swear tho you’re about to kill him because cofFeE

But the way he holds your baby 🥺 its his most valued thing ever now.

Ron

Ron is iffy on the kid thing sometimes.

He does want them, but only later when you guys have lived and travled.

So no, you two haven’t planned nor is it even in the picture when your wedding roles around.

It’s in the early days of the marriage when you see his family at the burrow on the way back from the honeymoon.

And of course Molly knows

Because Weasleys are hyperfertile I swear.

She takes you into the kitchen and puts her hands on your arms, shes got that big Mrs.Weasley smile on too.

“I knew it!” She says and pulls you in for a hug, “How far dear??”

You’re just standing there like🧍🏻

“I can see it by the way you glow! Oh my you and my Ron must be so happy!” This woman doesn’t notice that you’re confused.

“Wait what? Mrs. Weasley what are you-?” Then you count the days, “Oh. Well I guess I just found out for myself”

Her face falls slightly, but then she tells you can make you a potion that will tell you if you are or not, stan.

The stupid potion turns green when you spit into it, so everything is confirmed.

That night, you and Ron are getting ready for bed in the guest room and you decide to tell him.

“Ron, sweetie. We need to talk.” He looks like he’s gonna start crying but sits next to you on the bed.

“Y/N...I know its scary but please, we just got married I don’t want to divorce quite just yet 🥺🥺”

“Ron I-“ you start smiling, “I’m pregnant you dufus.”

He just freezes, for a while. Not saying anything, he just looks at the wall with his mouth ajar.

So you get up and go to Ginny.

“Gin, I broke him.”

“Ew, I don’t want to know about how you and him”

“No, I told him that I’m pregnant.”

“Oh, yeah that would do it. Just I don’t know... Give him a minute?”

You give him several, getting a glass of water then heading back up to the room.

Ginny was right, he needed a minute.

“I don’t...I wasn’t...you were.?”

“You don’t have to stay, but I think we can do it. Plus, you would disapoint your mom if you left so...”

“Okay...we’ll do it. I’ll be the best damn Father you have ever seen.” He says, talking to your womb.

Well...he’s a father I’ll give him that.

Pro of having a Weasley baby: free crib thats already put together.

Even if it looks like a death trap.

“We’ll put some blankets over it don’t worry”

You know how some Dads hold their parters hand during the delivery? Yeah he got sick and was moral support from the outside.

To be fair, you weren’t screaming in pleasure by any means.

Scary. But beautiful.

He shows the kid to everyone, he might be more in love with the baby than he is with you.

Ron see’s the appeal of having kids now.

Neville

Moving in with your boyfriend is always fun, right up until you guys go at it so much you forget protection more than once.

You think about it, then move on with your day.

Until the doctor calls, then “oh fuck”

Romance Neville bf

“Why aren’t you having any wine? I thought it was your favorite?”

“I don’t think fetal alcohol syndrome is my favorite.” BRO HE SPAT

But he looks up with tears in his eyes, and runs over to you to grasp you in a hug.

“Oh my god! You’re pregnant! Oh my - We’re gonna be parents!! Oh my god we’re gonna be parents oh-“ Que you petting his hair till he’s calm again.

Lets be honest, this man probably swapped the herbology books for the parenting guides.

“Well I mean I’m just wondering if we should go with this color or this one”

“Nev, it doesn’t matter. Our baby will not care.”

“I read in my book that Infants actually can recognize mood in-“

He won’t let you do anything during your pregnancy.

Gotta love a man who cries because he loves you so much and you’re having his kid.

“I never had a father, what if I do it wrong? What if the baby hates me and runs away at seven?”

“We’ve got quite a lot of time before then.”

He was there during delivery, letting you crush his hand like a champ.

You can’t help but cry when you see him sleeping on the floor next to the crib, its so sweet.

Fred

You two most likely already had two kids, so you decided to wait a bit so your hands weren’t quite full.

Well...your body decided not to wait.

A test provides the two lines, another wild child.

The two toddlers already run around like thing one and thing two, only with red hair.

I think Fred would gladly make the family dinner, and wear an apron. He’d own it, as he should.

But mf gotta not drop the salad bowl when you tell him of the fetus inside you.

“Fred we are going to have a bee-ay-bee-why.”

Your five year old has just begun to spell 😐

He’s happy tho.

Like over the fuckin moon.

He buys the two kids big brother/sister shirts too 🥺🥺

He knows the drill pretty well, so he isn’t too worried about the future.

But its funny that he still freaks out about the crib and feeding chair since he gave it away, you know because you guys werent having another kid.

He packed a hospital bag and kept it in the trunk, counting down the days.

Hours of delivery (He just sat back and held your hand) only to end up with a room full of 7 Weasley family members.

Fred always said that 3 was his lucky number :)

George

You guys were taking it slow, no marriage until you both felt it was time. And certainly no children before that.

Well you know...things changed when the test was positive.

You slid it over on the table, tears pooling in your eyes. He was stunned and quiet, which made you burst out sobbing because you knew that neither of you planned on having a baby.

But to your surprise he starts to smile.

“I want whatever you want, I’m staying by your side no matter what.”

“I mean...would it really be so bad? A house, a kid, a dog?” He holds your hand as you think aloud.

You both give it a week to think it over and the virdict is to keep it.

Thats when he decides he has to marry you, asap because he loves you and will never let you go especially now.

He loves to gush about the carrier of his child, to him you are a godess.

He’s the Dad with a predestination complex.

“Y/N, I just see him being a star quiditch player”

“George, we don’t know if it’s a him.”

He rolls his eyes “Okay then I can see her being a star-“

He made Hermione take you out for a movie date so he could rearrange your bedroom, since you only had a single bedroom flat.

You come back to a new set up including a cot.

Damn pregnancy hormones make brain go 🥺😭😭

He freaks when your water breaks lol

ceo of driving like a maniac to the hospital.

He can’t hold your hand, he’s pacing back and forth, sweating and maybe crying though he’ll never admit to it.

You get the joy of watching him cuddle the baby while refusing to give your child to you.

“George I’d like to hold-“

“No, you need your sleep honey, don’t worry”

Hogging the child.

Cedric

Its no secret that Cedric wants a baby someday.

And he makes it clear your wedding will be spectacular too.

However, finding out you’re pregnant the week of your dream wedding was a shock.

A shock that made you bang your head into the wall because how could you be so stupid?? We had a plan??

So you decide to wait until after the wedding, that way it wont add onto the stress (happy stress) of the wedding.

Cedric keeps trying to fill your glass at the reception, to which you kindly refuse saying you want to remember the night entirely.

Yeah he’s like 🤨 mhm okay.

You can only pick at the dinner because ew salmon doesn’t sound like an option if you want to keep the contents of your stomach.

As everyone waves goodbye to the car, and you both set off into married life, he leans over.

“I may be out of my mind, but are you...?”

“Pregnant.” His face lights up, pulling you into a hug.

Finally, your car pulls up to a small cottage with lush garden scapes all around, putting a hand out, he walks you both from the car to the door.

“Ced, where are we?”

“Home.”

Somehow it was perfect with Cedric, even when it was rushed.

He loved talking to your womb, even if it was weird that he was talking about the babies future brothers and sisters.

“Cedric, slow down. We haven’t even had this one yet”

Basically he is father of the year before he’s a full father.

He’s there while you deliver, holding your hand and telling you how great you’re doing.

He doesn’t even complain when you insult him <3.

He updates you on everything.

If his eyes aren’t on that child, he’s either asleep or dead.

I think Cedric was meant to be a family man, because he loves everything about being one.

Taglist: @truly-insatiable @amourtentiaa @imdoingathingmom @annasdani @anchoeritic @mullthingsoverinthehotwater @cedricsyellowscarf @faeinorbit

[alrightberries]

dante’s inferno

request: wassup homie could you maybe write a college au fic where levi and reader are rommies, then one day reader brings home an adopted cat without levi's prior knowledge? You could decide what happens next lol. Tysm 🥺

❈ pairing: levi ackerman x reader

❈ genre: fluff, semi-crack ❈ word count: 4k

❈ summary: college au. in which you bring a stray cat to your dorm and your neat freak roommate won’t let you keep it.

alternatively: a compilation of college shenanigans where you and levi are best friends who are bad with feelings (ft. an unamused cat named dante)

❈ trigger warnings: profanity. mentions of alcohol and smoking. implied smut.

a/n: this was supposed to be loosely based on the nine circles of hell according to inferno by dante alighieri— hence the title— but i did my research wrong so now it’s loosely based on the seven terraces of purgatory according to divine comedy. i’m keeping the title tho.

Inspired by this art by @ryuichirou on tumblr.

Permission to repost art was granted by the artist. Do not repost/edit the art without explicit permission from the artist.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

i. first terrace: pride

“We’re not keeping it.”

“But why?”

“We’re not keeping it.”

“But why.”

Levi’s tongue clicks in annoyance. His eyes glance next you where the offending creature lay on your bed; tail curling, paws kneading at his your favorite fleece blanket. Quite frankly he’s a little offended when the little shit has the audacity to glare at him back.

He’ll never admit it, but his ego’s a bit bruised because the cat’s glare was slightly better than his.

“I said no,” he firmly replies, looking back to you. “It’s bad enough I have to share a room with an anarchist who has no respect for boundaries—“

“One time, I forgot to use a coaster that one time!”

“—and now you expect me to share a room with a dirty fur ball who does nothing but eat, shit, and sleep?”

“He’s a cat, Levi.” You murmur, scooping the cat into your arms. “And he has a name,” you give a nervous smile when you see your rommate grit his teeth. He feels a headache coming.

“You named it?”

“Dante is not an ‘it’.”

Levi makes a move to step closer but immediately stops when the ‘Dante’ hisses at him.

“Aw, he likes you.” You coo.

“Clearly,” he replies unenthusiastically. “Listen,” he sighs. “I respect your cat’s pronouns but that doesn’t mean he’s allowed to stay. Or do I need to remind you of the mac and cheese incident?”

Okay, maybe he was on to something. If you got caught with a pet in the dorms you’d breach your third and final warning, and you’d be forced to dorm off-campus. The fact that you were still here after the mac and cheese incident was solely because Levi pulled some strings (aka asked Erwin, golden boy of the campus who owed him a favor, to pull some strings).

But you couldn’t just let Dante go. There was something about him that felt so familiar; something about his black fur, thin silver eyes, unamused snarl, and overall grumpy demeanor. Especially endearing was the way he’d grumble and pretend to be annoyed whenever you tried to cuddle him but would complain if you stopped.

You just couldn’t figure out who or what he reminded you of.

Maybe you would’ve figured it out too if you weren’t so distracted with watching Levi and Dante stare at each other. Your eyes dart back and forth between the grouchy cat sitting on your bed and your grouchy roommate sitting on his desk. Both were slightly crouched over with their heads tilted up in a show of dominance; they were engaged in what seemed to be a glaring contest, gunmetal irises unamused and mouths taut in a snarl as they protected their territory.

You sigh. You really, for the life of you, couldn’t figure out why Dante felt so familiar.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

ii. second terrace: envy

Levi is not jealous. He’s not.

At least that’s what he tells himself as he sulks alone on his bed. His arms are crossed and his lips are in a pout, eyebrows knitted in distaste, occasionally glancing to your side of the room where you sat up on your bed. He’s sure whatever movie you chose to watch together is interesting and all, but right now all he could pay attention to was that stupid cat. Sitting on your stupid lap. Getting its fur stroked by your stupid hand. Getting all the love and affection his stupid self should be receiving.

It was him you should be cuddling, not Dante. Saturday nights were reserved for him and you, not you and a cat while he happened to be in the room. He’s been trying to make a move on you since high school and he can’t fucking believe he’s losing your attention to a cat. Sure, he’s always been too chicken to make a move and had to suffer seeing you get together with assholes— as per your type during your emo high school days— but this was a new low. He can’t wrap his head around the concept that he’s losing his longterm crush to a motherfucking cat.

When you coo at how adorable the fleabag was for what felt like the 50th time that night, Levi decides he’s had enough of the cuddle-hogging piece of shit.

Wordlessly, he crosses to your side of the room and lifts the cat from its perch, ignoring your protests as he sets it down on the floor and tells it to ‘scram, you little fuck.’ He uses a hand to dust your lap free of any microscopic cat particles Dante probably left behind before lying down his head down once he was satisfied. He grabs your hand to put it on his hair.

“Stroke.” He orders, eyes closing.

“What? No! You pushed off Dante.”

“He was in my spot.”

“You couldn’t have given up your lap pillow for one night?”

“One night?” He scoffs and turns to look at you. “You’ve been abandoning me for two weeks. That disgusting, tic-infested, rabies-carrying slob has no business sitting on your lap.”

“He’s not disgusting, you gave him a shower before you agreed to let me keep him. And I took him the vet to make sure he had all his shots. He’s clean, Levi.”

“Tch, good. Now throw him out and let him find someone else to freeload from.”

“Okay, what’s going on?” You guffaw. “You’ve been grumpier than usual. And why’re you being such an ass to Dante? He’s just a cat.”

“Don’t think he’s special in some way. I’m an ass to everyone.”

“Then why does it feel like you’re always extra mean to him?”

He doesn’t reply. His lips are downturned into a frown when he looks away with a click of his tongue, and you realize with a sigh you won’t be getting an answer from your cryptic roommate soon. Your fingers start mindlessly stroking his undercut when you get lost in your thoughts— a habit you developed through years of Levi using your lap as a pillow. He always complained the first few times you did it but you knew it calmed both him and you, and that it put both your minds at ease. Moreso Levi right now, apparently.

You’re keenly aware of how he seems to curl up into you the more you keep going. You watch as his shoulders slump down when you stroke the side of his face, and his eyebrows relax slightly. From your angle, you could even see the way his eyes close in content. Maybe even a tiny smile if you were being delusional.

Your lip twitches upward.

“Oh my god, Levi, are you jealous of a cat?”

“Shut up and play with my hair.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

iii. third terrace: wrath

“You owe me a new cravat.”

You blink up at your roommate. “What?”

“You owe me a new cravat.” He repeats. He pulls from his pocket a white piece of fabric— barely recognizable— torn into shreds, releases it mid-air. It gently lands on your open palm.

“Wait, did Dante do this?” You ask, eyeing the slik in your hands.

“Unless you went feral in the middle of the fucking night and decided to cut up my clothes, yes.”

“Oh my god, Levi, I’m so sorry. I swear Dante will never—“

“You actually owe me three cravats,” he interjects. “The first two I overlooked since they weren’t that expensive but I draw the line here.” His lips are downturned into a frown, eyes poorly concealing his clear distaste. “This one’s my favorite and it was made from silk.”

You eye the fabric in your hands once more before nodding in understanding, setting down the once beautiful cravat before taking out your wallet. It was only fair that you paid him back; he was being more than generous with letting your cat stay and keeping it a secret, and now you wonder how many bad things Dante’s done that Levi’s overlooked or simply never brought up with you.

“Sure, I’m really sorry. How much do I owe you?”

Levi doesn’t say anything. Instead he pulls out his phone and types something on what you could only assume was google, most likely looking for the same brand of the cravat your cat had just torn into shreds. You weren’t entirely sure how much those could cost, but surely you could afford—

“What the fuck!” You screech, eyeing the page with very, very hefty price tags listed. Holy fucking hell where did he even get the money to buy something so expensive. Gulping, you nervously look up at your unimpressed roommate. You already knew he was taking it easy on you; his aura was the only thing intimidating, at least he wasn’t giving you the murder eyes. And even though he was a man of his word, you were thankful he hasn’t reported Dante.

Still, it didn’t change the fact that Levi looked pissed beyond belief.

“Uhm... can I pay you with a check that’ll definitely bounce?”

“You will pay me in cash.”

“Fuck, fine!”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

iv. fourth terrace: sloth

Levi silently works on his desk. His laptop’s open in fromt of him, numerous notes from classes and books from the library surrounding him. The gentle sounds of clicking and clacking echoe throughout the room as fingers typed at the keyboard, eyes concentrated and lips pulled taught as he focuses on his task. He’s on a roll. He’s almost done with this part of his research, nothing could snap him out of this, he just needs to—

“Levi, when do you think Dante will come back to me?”

He stops typing and grits his teeth.

This is how it’s been the entire night. Ten minutes of peace before you ask him some stupid questions that could’ve been answered with common sense.

“Fuck if I care.”

“Do you think it was something I did?”

He resumes typing. “Yes.”

“Do you think he’ll come back?”

“No.”

“Even after all we’ve been through?”

“Still no.”

“I miss him,” you sigh. “I miss him so much.”

“Then you shouldn’t have left the door open.”

It’s been a week since Dante escaped the dorm and Levi doesn’t understand why you’re still so depressed about it. I mean, you only lost a cat that you loved and treasured and treated like family. Surely a week of moping around in your pajamas and eating nothing but chips and soda was catharsis enough.

He hears you shift in your burrito blanket, presumably to turn away from him so you can sulk into the wall next to your bed. Good. Now he can get back to working on—

“Levi do you think Dante-“

“Enough.” He grits, slamming his laptop shut.

“Where’re you going?” You ask, eyeing the way he hurriedly stuffs papers and books into his bag along with his laptop.

“Out.” He replies, grabbing his keys and his coat. “I can’t stand this shit anymore.”

Your head is burried in your blankets when he slams the door shut and all you could do was slump down because great. You lost Dante, and now you’ve royally pissed off Levi.

Great. Just fucking great.

Unlike your cat, however, your roommate comes back hours later, just before curfew. He doesn’t bother with a hello— he never does— and neither do you, opting to stay hidden underneath the sheets. Though suddenly, there’s a dip in the mattress followed by a pur next to your head.

Could it be?

“Dante?” You murmur, lifting your head from underneath your cocoon of fabric. Small black paws and silver eyes meet your gaze. “Dante!” Immediately sitting up, you pulled him to your lap, scratching his little head and cooing about how much you missed him as he purred and curled into to you.

Levi would never say it, but he missed seeing you smile at the little fleabag.

You turn to look at your roommate. “How’d you find him?”

“Asked around the campus. He wandered into another dorm building and probably thought it was ours.”

“Well yeah but... I thought you hated him?”

“I do.” He replies instantly.

“Then why’d you find him?”

“I hate him, not you.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

v. fifth terrace: avarice

“I fucking hate both of you,” Levi grumbles, staring at the dorm.

Towers of boxes lined his supposed to be clean dorm room. He had a hard time prying the door open since it was blocked, and he wasn’t even sure how the boxes weren’t blocking out the light from how high they were piled. Dante’s sat on a stack of box directly next to the door, purring and flicking his tail around. Levi squints his eyes and glares at the little shit.

“You especially.”

“Mrow?”

Levi’s day had been, with no irony or sarcasm at all, amazing. He got a good grade on his research paper; the guy in front of him at the cafe accidentally ordered an extra serving of (coincidentally, Levi’s favorite) tea and gave it to him for free; and he got full marks for the presentation he’s been worrying about for weeks. His class even got dismissed early so he had an extra hour for lunch. He knew you didn’t have classes, so in honor of his great day he thought he’d do something nice and take you out for lunch. His treat, of course.

But any trace of his good mood vanished when he went back to the dorms and got greeted to a room that looked like it came from an episode of Hoarders.

This is what he gets for trying to be nice.

“Levi! Is that you?” You called out.

“What the fuck happened?”

You laugh sheepishly— at least Levi thinks you do. He couldn’t see you beyond the hundred boxes that took up your shared room. He hears some rustling and the sound of things being moved around before finally your head pops out from behind a wall of brown, smiling at him apologetically before walking towards him (and tripping a few times).

“Remember when I said I’d order some toys for Dante as a surprise?”

Levi’s eye twitches. “Don’t tell me—”

“I accidentally ordered 10,000 instead of 10. Online shopping struggles, am I right?” You nervously chuckle at his pissed off face. Levi was not in the mood.

Your smile widens as you make twinkly gestures with your hands. “So uh... surprise?”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

vi. sixth terrace: gluttony

The clinic is still when you first entered.

The harsh smell of alcohol and sterile metal makes your nose grimace, and the coldness of the thermostat brings goosebumps to your arms. Behind the wall, somewhete in the waiting room, cats are hissing, dogs are barking, and you could even hear the sound of birds angrily chirping and rattling their cages.

Dante cowers in fear on the silver table, and your heart aches. His ears are down and his fur’s standing on its ends, but you couldn’t comfort him. Not right now, at least. The veterinarian still needed to do a few more checks.

You gulp, “how’s... how’s Dante looking, doc?”

“Not good,” she murmurs. Her eyebrows are furrowed, and she takes a deep sigh as she eyes the information on the chart. “It’ll take months before he can walk properly again, possibly more if we don’t do anything about it soon.”

“Don’t tell me... is he—-”

“I’m sorry, my dear,” she sighs. “But your cat is heavily obese.”

The corners of your lips twitch down into a frown, and your palm is warm when you start to stroke Dante’s fur. He calms down a bit from your touch, less on edge but still guarded as he warily eyes the doctor’s gloved hands.

“But I don’t understand,” you reply. “I’ve been following the recommended diet you put him on, and I haven’t been feeding him anything other than the cat food and vitamins you recommended. How’s he still obese?”

“Well, we could look into other solutions, but for now I think we ought to look at whether or not Dante has an underlying health problem.”

Levi tunes out the chatter between you and the vet, bored eyes staring into nothing. He’s leaning against a wall and he’s watching the cat carrier. Your bag’s slung over his shoulders and your coat’s in his arms, and he was sure you didn’t even need him to be here for “moral support.”

He mentally scoffs. You probably just needed a chauffeur to drive you for free, and honestly, Levi would rather feel like a chauffeur than a coat rack.

His eyes make contact with Dante’s, and all the fear in the cat’s eyes is suddenly gone, replaced with a steely glare and bared teeth. A warning, one no one else notices but him.

Levi gives him a solitary nod, understanding what Dante wanted to say.

Don’t tell Y/N I’ve been sneaking to the neighbors.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

vii. seventh terrace: desire

There’s something about the buzz of alcohol and nicotine that makes Levi confident—- the liquid courage in his veins and the smoke in his lungs clouding his judgement. Perhaps that’s where he finally gets the balls to cross the room, drunken eyes on your equally intoxicated ones, before he pulls you in for a kiss.

The kiss starts slow, with lips just interlocking and lightly testing the waters. But then he feels your tongue make its way inside his mouth and your fingers weave into his hair to tug him closer, and Levi loses the last threads of inhibition he has. His tongue massages yours and one of his arm wraps around your waist, the other comes down to grope and knead your ass. He feels you walk backwards and your hand pulls at his tie, dragging him with you. Suddenly he’s trapping you against a wall, lifting one of your legs up to wrap around his hips so he could grind his crotch into yours.

Levi doesn’t expect his first kiss with you to be like this; messy and full of tongue and spit, full of fingers clawing at clothes and small grunts escaping your lips. He was hoping it’d be more romantic, with warm cheeks and fingers softly intertwining, shy kisses exchanged through little smiles.

But he’s not about to complain—- he’s wanted to be with you for years, and god he loved having you like this. Loved having you all hot and desperate, trapped between his firm chest and the wall. His cock is hard in his pants, and he just about growls when he feels you start to undo his belt, the fly of his pants coming down as you got on your knees and stared up at him with innocent eyes as you pull out his aching boner. There’s a cheeky grin your face when you pump at his length, and your tongue peaks out of your mouth before—

“Levi, are you okay?”

His eyes snap open, and he’s greeted to the sight of your worried face directly above his.

“Fuck!” he yells, and his forehead slams into yours when he flinches away. “Sorry, sorry” he quickly ammends when you yelp in pain.

He’s covered in sweat, he notices. Chest heaving, heart beating a little too loud for his liking, and he silently pulls the blankets over his cum stained boxers when you sit beside him.

God, he was really hoping you wouldn’t notice the fact that he came in his pants like a high schooler. And it was before dream you even got to suck him off. How much more pathetic could he be.

“Are you okay?” He asks, and you nod.

“Yeah, m’fine, it’s just...” your eyes are distracted, staring off into space. Fingers trace his thighs, and you sigh. “You were having a nightmare,”

Levi blinks. “What?”

“You were having a nightmare,” you repeat. “Kept tossing and turning and groaning in your sleep. And you kept making these... funny faces,”

“...right,” he nods. Sure, a nightmare. A nightmare he never wanted to wake up from.

It takes about ten minutes to reassure you that yes, he was fine, don’t mind the way his cheeks are flushed, he was just... shaken up from his nightmare, is all. Then you’re back to bed, sleeping the night away, and twenty minutes later he’s on his way back to bed too; this time with a fresh pair of boxers and a content look on his face, all thanks to him finishing off his fantasies in the communal bathroom during his shower.

The door makes a quiet click when he shuts it behind him, and he freezes when he catches sight of Dante sat up on your bed, tail flicking behind him as he gives Levi a knowing look.

Levi squints his eyes, and he threateningly whispers, “you tell no one.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

epilogue

The half empty room brings a frown to your face, and all you could do was pout as you sealed up the last of the boxes.

“Why do you have to leave again?” you ask, and Levi turns around as he finishes folding the last of his clothes. He shrugs. “Cats aren’t allowed in the dorms.”

You owed him your entire college career, that much was sure. The RA’s found out about Dante, and Levi had taken the fall to spare you. He wasn’t required to move out since it was only his first strike, but he insisted on doing so so that Dante wouldn’t be alone, saying he already found an apartment nearby and he’ll never hear the end of it from you if he didn’t take Dante with him.

Bullshit. Levi had a soft spot for Dante, you knew that much. He wasn’t doing it for you, he was doing it for himself. Though normally you’d be overjoyed to know that Levi really did secretly like the cat he pretended to hate so much, this time, you were just pissed. You couldn’t believe a fucking cat was stealing away the guy you’ve been in love with since high school. Sure, you were too much of a coward to ask him out, but he was basically your boyfriend already—- the entire campus knew you inadvertently had dibs on each other.

“Yeah but... do you have to leave me alone?”

“I asked you to come with me, and you said no.” He points out. “I still don’t see why when we’ve been roommates since we were freshmen.”

“It’s different off-campus!”

“How?”

“Because it’s like... it’s like we’re moving in together, y’know?” you reply. “And it seemed wrong to move in with you when we’re not even dating.”

“Let’s do it, then.”

“What do you mean?”

He sighs, handing you a spare key to what you could only assume was his new apartment. You glance between him and the key in your hands, and he rolls his eyes when he realizes that you still don’t get it.

“I know we’re doing this backwards since couples don’t typically move in before the first date,” he says before gesturing to Dante. “But we already have a son, and I know you’re his favorite parent. We can share custody until you can move in with me.”

You blink. “What?” Your brain stopped working when Levi referred to you as a couple, and you’re pretty sure your heart stopped beating too. At this point, anything he said went in one ear and out the other. He flicks your forehead.

“Hey— ow! What was that for?”

“You weren’t listening.”

“And you’re being a prick!” you grumble. “It hurts, y’know.”

He scoffs. “What do you want me to do? Kiss it better?” he scoffs.

Your mouth moves faster than your brain, “I’d rather you kiss me.”

Wait. What?

Before you could go back on your words, Levi shrugs. Warm palms gently grab your cheeks, pulling your face closer to his. Your eyes widen and you momentarily freeze, brain definitely not working anymore. He hesitates when you don’t make a move, but then you’re shyly leaning forward, and that was all the confirmation Levi needs.

“If you insist,” he whispers, and suddenly your words die on your tongue when his lips interlock with yours.

alrightberries © 2020. do not modify or repost.

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[morgana-ren]

SUBMISSION: How about a nasty sweaty incel shiggy waiting everyday for his dad to go to work so that he could have his relief with stepmom? 

Excellent submission! Love that. Love that a lot! I find it only fair to warn you, however, that I won’t be doing mommy kink for it. Mommy kink is one of my squicks, and one of the very, very few I have. I’ll do the closest thing to it though: Daddy kink. Also I find the irony of him making his little stepmom call him daddy to be absolutely hilarious.

Also this one is a great concept and I love it but it’s going to have to be a multi-parter cause it got a little bit long. Lemme know if you like the concept and I’ll continue it. Also this posted under anonymous for some reason so cheers to tumblr and its endless fucking glitches that it never fixes or seems to make any better.

Warnings: Noncon, dubcon, sexism, really gross incel behavior, nsfl things, masturbation, violent sexual fantasies, nefarious planning, horrible suggestions from even more horrible friends, absolute LOATHING of family, and entitled bastard.

There is only one thing on this planet that Tomura hates more than his father.

Only one thing can even compare to the level of abject disgust he has for his dad. Everything about the man is abhorrent and degenerate, only tolerated because Tomura is, admittedly, a NEET, and had no where else to go after graduation. But if anything- anything- could hold a candle, it would be his taste in women.

All women are trashy on some level, but his dad really manages to find ones that pretend so hard that they aren’t. Vipers behind the veneer of smiling faces clad in red lipstick and smart skirts. Always “kind”, always “thoughtful”, and always fleeting. Fickle, stupid bimbos charmed by his dads surface level charisma to quickly realize just how shallow the pool became.

Even his own mom was like that: She fucked off once she realized staying with him meant staying with his dad, and that was a sacrifice she wasn’t willing to make. So she left him to rot in this cesspit with his worthless father and no other way out.

He figures he can’t hold it against her, not as much as he’d like. A few weeks with his shriveled up paternal figure and most women quickly figure out they can do so much better. It’s in their nature to seek out the best, and that certainly isn’t Kotaro; A bumbling idiot with nothing to offer on the best of days. They don’t know any better, so they never last long after being brought home to meet his son, and those are the ones that even make it that far.

So when he starts yammering on about meeting yet another skank and how ‘in love’ he already is, Tomura’s eyes roll so far back in his head that he swears his retinas will detach. He makes a point to be around as little as possible, but somehow still manages to catch an earful about his latest fling and how excited he is for Tomura to meet her.

Great.

True to his word, Kotaro brings you home one evening, eager to impress his son with his latest catch.

His father had a lot of nerve dragging him from his room to meet you- his latest glorified slut. Adding insult to injury, you had the unmitigated gall to talk down to him like you were an adult and he wasn’t. Even though you had to crane your neck to look up and greet him, you still talked at him like he was some child. So different from you even though you were so much smaller than he was- barely even a few years older than he is, if even that. 

So polite, introducing yourself and gently shaking his reluctant hand, making a point to smile at him and telling him how happy were to finally meet him and that you’d heard so much about him. Your hands were so soft, so little in comparison to his own. He dwarfs his pathetic father, practically towers over you, yet you still talk to him like you’re the adult in the equation.

So young, so pretty, though. Far better than anything his father had a right to pull. They weren’t exactly swimming in cash, the house was nothing in particular to gloat about, and he’d done enough eavesdropping around late at night to know his father suffered a particular… ailment, so it certainly wasn’t sexual satisfaction keeping you around. What was it then? 

Probably nothing. You’d probably run off in a few weeks like they all do.

Kotaro is a worthless sack of drooping skin and aging bones; A ghost of a man not worthy of the phantoms he’s seen pass in his years. No longer the dominant male even in his own home: not with a stronger, more virile son coming into his prime under the roof as well. A beta male at best, withering away while his own son eclipses him in strength and intellect and physique. Tomura is in his mid twenties and blooming- His father… who even knows. He doesn’t care- he doesn’t bother to keep track. 

So, maybe you really are just a dumb little whore. It would make sense. Father dearest always had been a dirty old man; A raging pervert with wandering hands and lingering eyes. Always sets his predatory sights on some cute thing too good for him. 

Then again, the poisoned apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, now does it?

You’re cute enough you could have gotten some alpha at your beck and call, yet you’ve attached yourself to his worthless father who, in turn, parades you around like his most beloved trophy. Taking you to dinners he can’t afford despite your ‘insistence’ that you be allowed to pay, buying you things you claim you don’t need. Oh, how the moron dotes on his whores as if it’s enough to keep them anchored to him.

Strangely though, you don’t run off.

If anything, you sink your claws in even further, getting more and more comfortable and showing up more and more. Every time Tomura leaves his fucking room- which isn’t often- you’re there around the corner, smiling dumb and pretty and greeting him politely.

Fuck, he hates you. Hates your stupid voice, your shitty dresses, hates hearing his father happy for once.

It’s no surprise- but unwelcome no less- that he’d move you in sooner rather than later. Terrified to let you out of his sight for even a second lest you come to what little senses you have in your tiny brain and dump him. Of course, he’s quick to take on all of your burdens as his own, even if it means working overtime to support you. He’s always wanted another little housewife, and now he’s so close.

Tomura listens in on the whole conversation feeling sick to his gut.

You beg him not to- offering to pay your own way just like a good girl, but of course his dumbass dad will hear none of it. He’s more than happy to spend a couple of extra hours at work. His dad is so idiotic, so fucking blind. He’s playing right into it. He’s willing to be your workhorse if it means keeping you all to himself.

He’ll hear none of it. None of the fussing or the questions. You’re welcome in his home, he wants you there. It’s no imposition at all, he knows the house will be better with you around.

Except he forgets one crucial detail-

The son he leaves home alone with you every single day when he leaves. 

You’re nothing but a nuisance, something infringing on his private space. The time he used to get home alone to spend to his own devices is now split with you flittering around the house doing whatever it is bimbos like you do. Cleaning, cooking, pretending to read, whatever. He doesn’t have to see you if he doesn’t want, sure, but he still knows you’re there and that’s more than enough to annoy him.

It’s almost like you catch on to his animosity after a while. The way he won’t greet you back, the way he utterly ignores your existence. It bugs you, and as far as he’s concerned, good.

You try to slip him up, try to get close to him and make him like you. You always set a place for him at the table even after Kotaro repeatedly insists- truthfully- that he’ll never join for dinner. Even then, you always bring the plate to his door. He never bothers to answer- not after the first few times when he only opened it a sliver to see your stupid smiling face. After that, he didn’t bother answering. He’ll eat it of course- won’t pass up free food he doesn’t have to leave his room for- and then leave the dirty dish back outside where you left it. You brought it, after all. You can clean it up. 

All your efforts only get you mocked, and boy do you try so hard to get his affection. He even overhears you whining to his dad once or twice, not understanding why he doesn’t like you.

It makes him smile.

His friends- online of course, but still friends or comrades or kindred spirits or whatever- have more opportunistic ideas about it. His first post to the forum complaining about the new living situation was met with envy and awe- not necessarily the response he was expecting, though looking back on it, he supposes they were right. 

lmpwrst: Why u bitchin’? Ur living with a girl ur not related to and that’s closer than any of us have gotten u ungrateful ass

KingKockRool: Go jerk off on her pillow.

Stacystabber91: take a video hold her down and fuck her then idiot

KingKockRool: No wait till she’s sleeping and jerk it on her face

st8lker: Bet she’s ugly tho if she’s dating your dad lol

Oddly enough, he doesn’t agree. That’s one thing he understands about you, loathe as he is to admit it. His new ‘stepmom’, for all her annoyances, is pretty easy on the eyes. The kinda girl that would have caught his eye in an unrelated situation and earned a permanent spot in his spank bank. Thinking about it, the whole ‘dating his dad’ situation maybe threw off his judgement more than he realized.

He’ll let the jury decide: He finds a photo on your social media, crops everyone else out of it, and hits enter. Easy peasy. He saves it to his hard drive for later too. Might as well.

‘Here, you decide then.’

Thus the shitstorm begins. 

st8lker: Oh fuckkk fuck me mommy lmao

lmpwrst: Opportunity is wasted on u

Stacystabber91: you pussy punk bitch, i stand by what I said earlier. dont be a bitch and fuck the little cunt already

VolceliSwear: Whos the bitch

lmpwrst: Scratchy’s new stepmommy lol 

VolceliSwear: Nice. Hit it yet?

Stacystabber91: he hasn’t cause he’s a gigantic fuckin pussy like i told you all

VolceliSwear: Come on dude you actually have that gash sleeping in your house and you haven’t made a move? 

Stacystabber91: it’s not like she could say no cause you’re a big lanky bastard aren’t you? that’s one thing we got over the shortcels and you’re bigger and stronger than her so take what’s yours idiot or I will 

lmpwrst: I agree with SS lol U complain all the time about not having a hole to fuck and now u do

VolceliSwear: ^^ Isn’t your dad a limp-dicked prick who can’t get it up? Someone’s gotta do it so it might as well be you. Hit the bitch so hard and fast she doesn’t know what way is up

Stacystabber91: and send pics moron I want to see tits or I’m coming over there to do it myself

It’s an… intriguing thought. To be honest, he’s never actually considered fucking you before. Had the passive thought like he does with most girls he sees, but never stopped to think on actually doing it. For some reason, there was a mental wall between him and his father’s girlfriends. But why should there be?

Depraved little bastard that he is, he’s not above cornering a girl and forcing himself on her but he’s not keen on going to jail, so he’s never escalated past creepy photos and following the occasional broad a little too closely. Maybe a couple gropes in passing… okay, maybe a lot. But he’s never gotten caught- maybe the girls don’t report it or just couldn’t find him afterward. Either way, it’s all worked out so far because he doesn’t cross certain boundaries.

Most girls are repulsed by him and his repugnant behavior, so they stay far, far away. It’s like he’s a giant blaring warning sign that they tend to heed instinctively.

But you don’t. 

This is different. You live here, so close to him, so within reach. Just how close you are. How easy it would be for him to force you down and make you take it. Just how much time alone he really has with you since his father leaves and returns like clockwork. He’s got the entire day once his father leaves for work. And all night once he takes his sleeping medication. An easy, pretty little catch already wiggling in his web.

 ‘Maybe I will.’ 

That’s how it starts. 

Snowball into snowstorm.

With an idea and a lot of goading from his online buddies, a monster is born and weaned on his own depravity and escalates into something very real, and very dangerous.

Tomura is achingly familiar with the scene- he’s seen enough porn to give him ample ideas. But he’s got all the time in the world. It’s hard not to rush things considering how eager he is, but it’s safer to test the waters first. Get you nice and scared so you’ll keep your pretty mouth shut unless he tells you to open it for him. See how far he can get, how much he can toy with you before you finally catch on.

Who knows? Maybe you’ll fuck him willingly. You are a stupid little slut, after all. Most of you females are deep down beneath that holier-than-thou, stuck up bitchiness you hide behind.

So he starts with a time honored tradition. He steals your panties. 

The bathroom is cluttered with your shit. Your fruity shampoos and conditioners, your makeup, your perfumes. Tomura has a toothbrush and a comb he doesn’t use, a bottle of 3-1 for when he forces himself into a shower, and a singular gray towel, but the rest is between you and his father. Your body washes, your scrubs, your clothes in the hamper. 

It’s easy enough to fish out a fresh pair- only a couple of hours old. Some lacy contraption you must’ve been wearing beneath your clothes and carelessly left in the bin when you showered. It’s easy to pocket them before you hear him rummaging around, and maybe you’ll miss them, but that’s not his problem. Washer eats things all the time, doesn’t it?

He’s hidden back in his room, safely dodging you before he allows himself to indulge- Bringing them to his nose and inhaling the doubled fabric of the crotch so hard that it catches on the edge of his nostrils. 

Fuck, your cunt smell good- tangy and sweet but the tiniest hint of bitter. A couple of whiffs is enough to get his cock twitching, inflating into a painful hardness as he hears you walking around outside in the hallway. Shit, you’re so fuckin’ airheaded, walking around so oblivious as he tongues at the cloth that was nestled right up against your pussy until a few hours ago. He can taste you, sucking your left over essence through his teeth and he swears he’s going to cream all over the inside of his jeans if he doesn’t jerk off right now. 

He’s quick to drop his sweats and sprawl on his bed, thumbing the tip of his prick and licking gratuitous stripes up the slim of your discarded panties with his tongue. You’d look so good sucking his cock; On your bruised knees, face a slathered mess of cum and saliva and running makeup. Bulge in your throat from taking him so deep and trying so hard to please him like you always do- or maybe avoid a painful punishment because he isn’t above using his hands on you and you learned that the hard way.

The thought of your ruddy, soppy face makes him throb- fucking your wet little throat until you’re suffocating, pulling out to let you breathe only to cum on your face. Yanking you up to bend you over the stove and force you to make his worthless father’s dinner with his spend tacking across your face and his cock lodged deep in your cunt. Worthless fucking sack of shit that his father is, he’d spit in it too and make you serve it to him with a smile while your actual daddy watches you do it and rewards you later with his dick fucking you between your tits.

Fuck yes, that’s what he’ll make you do. He’ll make you call him daddy when he creampies you- the opportunity is too perfect to pass. He’ll fuck his father’s pretty whore as she screams and moans for daddy’s cock while his father is away at work to pay all her frivolous bills like the beta-cuck he is. None of the work and all of the reward- as it should be.

It’s not like Kotaro can fuck you, and his friends are right. Someone should. So why not him? Why not spread your legs for your boyfriend’s younger, more powerful son? Oh, sorry, did he give you the illusion that you had a choice? He’ll take what is rightfully his and there’s not a fucking thing you or his pathetic fucking father can ever do about it.

He plucks your panties from his face, moving them instead to work over his cock. It would feel so much better if you were wearing them- grinding your sweet little cunt against his dick, begging him not to fuck you but getting so wet all the same. The silky fabric feels so good against his hypersensitive skin, coupled with the clenched pumping of his fist as he daydreams about railing you into his filthy mattress until you’re too weak to even move on your own, his cum dripping from every one of your used holes. Limp, useless little whore too fucked out to even fight him as he fucks her in the ass again-

Fantasies swirl in his head, flashes of scenarios that tease him and work him into a frenzy. He’s going to cum hard to the thought filling you, your agonized face as the tip of him knocks against the opening of your womb, buried so deep in your cute pussy that he can feel the wall that keeps him firmly locked out of your guts. So close, so tight, so warm. He’s going to pump you full to the brim like the skank you are, fill you nice and thick full of his seed and then use you again and again and again-

He feels it in his spine, waves of pleasure furling at the base and congealing together impossibly tight, so ready to burst. His thighs flex, muscles in his stomach tightening and breath staggering. Searing white behind dry, clenched eyes and his cock twitches in his palm, knot bursting deep between his legs as his hand stills momentarily. His hands twitch, cock throbbing as thick ropes of cum spill over the slats of his fingers, splattering his stomach and the waist of his sweatpants and all over your adorable little panties. 

“Shit-” 

Shallow, shaky breaths, still seeing stars popping behind his eyelids. Fuck, he hasn’t cum that hard in- well, a very long time. Is it the thought of having something tangible soon? His very own cunt to abuse? Grinning, he looks down at the absolutely drenched pair in his hand, sticky with fresh seed.

He thinks so.

Instinctively, he wipes the excess off his fingers and onto his dirty, rumpled black sheets, swiping across his shirt and his skin. Just another ‘mystery spot’ among the rest, soon to become a crusty, flaked white stain on the fabric among all the preexisting ones.

With some effort on his part, he sits up, still trying to catch his breath. He thought post orgasm clarity might deter him from this path, but if anything, he’s even more determined now. Why should he sit and touch himself in a dark room when there’s a perfectly good set of holes to fuck wandering around freely outside?

Oh yeah, this should work out just fine.

There’s a knock on the door while he’s still wading through his gross thoughts, softly at first but then slightly more insistent. It jolts him alert, irritating him that he’s being bothered when he’s scheming. He’s already finished the dirty dead, all ready to put himself away for now but it’s still jarring none the less when someone comes around so closely to him wanking. A quick dash at the clock tells him it’s not dinner time yet, so what gives? Why are you bothering him now? Nothing is ready yet.

He tucks himself away and quickly buries your soiled underwear in the pocket of his sweats. Quickly wiping any remnants on the knees of his pants before swinging his door open, agitation palpable as he greets your stupid, sunny face.

Speak of the she-devil.

“Hi, Tomura! Just wondering if you have any laundry or anything you want me to take!” “N-”  He’s about to slam the door. About to. But you know what? You want his laundry? Sure. He’s got some for you.  “Yeah- yeah, sure.” 

He steps back from behind the door, letting it creak open a little as he rips off his freshly re-soiled sheets.

“Oh, good! Yeah, I’m throwing in my own so I’ll take your load too-“

Yeah you will.

Balling it up, he chucks it at you as you curiously peek your head in. You’ve never seen the inside of his room, but soon you’ll see plenty. He doesn’t know if you can feel the fresh cum on the sheets, but he’s willing to bet you can probably smell it. To your credit, you barely falter, even with the sheet cradled in your bare arms.

You’re probably having a moment of “understanding.” ‘He’s a young man with no girlfriend and no other outlet. Of course he’s going to wack off’ and all that. It’s cute, the way you pretend not to notice. That’s okay, he’ll give you something you can’t ignore.

He steps up to the door again, yanking his black shirt over his head and dropping it in your arms with a shit eating grin.

“Oh- okay, yeah-“

Your sentence halts completely as he starts to strip off his pants and you’re left staring in slight horror as your stepson strips down to his boxers in front of you before placing his sweats on the top of the pile you’re carrying- right by your face.

“I’ve got some more dirty boxers if you think you can handle anymore.” He’s grinning like a fiend, reveling in your poorly concealed discomfort as he leans against the doorframe, swinging out towards you. You’re backing away from him, desperately trying to keep your eyes up and away from his very exposed body, and especially the half hard cock tenting the front of his boxers. Your face is turning a viciously dark shade, stifling your breathing because he just knows what you’re refusing to see, you can almost certainly smell.

“Um- nope! This should be a full one! I’ll get them back to you soon!”

“Oh, take your time. No rush.” 

You scurry off down the hall much quicker than your usual casual walk, probably to scrub your arms clean with iron wool. Poor little thing, just trying to be nice and this is what it gets you.

He cackles something fierce as he shuts his door again, going to look for your ruined panties to post a pic but remembering they’re still in the pocket of his sweatpants, covered in his cum and saliva. A fun little surprise for you to find when you go through pockets to ensure nothing gets stuck in the washer.

And he notices, in the coming days, you stop leaving your clothes in the hamper- or even being able to meet his eyes.

Oh, this should be fun.

[babyjamiebarnes]

Build-A-Bear

Part One

Featuring: Bucky x Stark!reader, dad!Tony, Peter Parker (platonic), background MCU characters

Warnings: [chapter] language; [series] language, smut, violence

Summary: The only people who knew she was actually a Stark were her dad, her step-mom Pepper, and her “uncles” Happy and Rhodey. A promotion within Stark Industries takes her from an already-sought after position in the Weapons Anaylsis Unit straight to the Avengers as a Weapons Enhancement Specialist... which means her dad is her new boss. There’s only one rule at work: no fraternizing with coworkers. There’s one more rule at home: no dating any Avengers. So what is she supposed to do when a grumpy super soldier becomes not-so-grumpy around her? At 25, do her dad’s rules still apply? Or is her entire livelihood at risk?

Author’s Note: I’ve written a decent portion of this but know I won’t keep writing it or post it unless I hold myself accountable and get it out there in the first place 🙈 I haven’t written much for Marvel yet but I’ve read plenty and have written for other fandoms in the past (not to mention the writing degree on my wall lol). I’ll try to post every 2-3 days to keep this moving! And if you like it and want to, buy me a coffee!

No one knew Tony Stark had a daughter. No one but Tony Stark and his daughter. Well, and her step-mom Pepper. And her godfather Rhodey. And her uncle-not-uncle Happy. But no one in their everyday lives knew. She was given her mother’s maiden name and kept a secret, even when she turned 17 and moved to a small apartment near NYU’s campus (with Happy stationed right next door, of course) to start life as a truly normal adult, or as close to normal as an undercover Stark could be. When she graduated with her PhDs in robotics and electrical engineering at 25 — proving brains really do run in the family — she moved into her own apartment in Manhattan, funded by her father under the pseudonym “Michael Myers.” Subtlety was never his strong suit.

Fortunately for you, growing up without the Stark name let you live a relatively normal life. It also allowed you to apply for a position within Stark Industries without being ushered past any red tape because of who your father is. Outside of the financial advantage you had, you worked for your spot in a STEM career. You suffered through every man in your field belittling your work despite knowing less than you. You dealt with the constant interruptions and “well, actually” because of your gender. You powered through late nights and early mornings when your mind was flowing too smoothly to quit.

The last thing you wanted to do was have all that work disregarded because you shared a name with genius billionaire playboy philanthropist Tony Stark. So you filled out the application, sent in your resume and cover letter, and attached three letters of recommendation from your professors. You went through hours of interviews, background checks (conveniently redacting your father’s name), and polygraph tests until that offer letter showed up in your email. You even had to sign the Non-Disclosure Agreements that would bar you from discussing *anything* work-related with anyone outside of your department.

You spent your first year in the weapons analysis department, evaluating alien weaponry and determining how it worked and how to disable it. You had your fair share of mishaps, of course. Holes blasted into walls, fried robot dummies, even burnt animal carcasses. By the end of your first year, your supervisor sent a commendation and proposal for you for an undisclosed promotion. After Pepper Potts “thoroughly examined your resume, cover letter, and accomplishments during your tenure with Stark Industries,” as the letter read, you were awarded a position working on the Avengers’ weapons as a Weapons Enhancement Specialist. You’d never see a fight in-person, but you were assigned to work on advancements and post-battle repairs for everyone, from the Winter Soldier’s arm to the Falcon’s wings to Vision’s... everything. The only heroes you wouldn’t work on were Iron Man and War Machine (those were your dad’s territory) and Spider-Man.

On your first day in your new position, the one and only Pepper Potts showed you to your new lab on the 47th floor. It took all your willpower to look your step-mother in the eye and say, “Wow, Miss Potts. This is amazing. It’s such an honor to meet you,” with a straight face to convince any passerby that you had no outside affiliation with her. Even if her eyes stayed steady on you, you could see her mentally rolling them.

Once you were alone behind the doors of the elevator, conversation changed course.

“You’re going to be sharing a lab with someone else,” Pepper said.

“Sweet. As long as they’re competent, that’s fine by me,” you shrugged. Part of earning your degrees was learning to share a workspace with others, even those who bumbled and fumbled with no idea what they were doing. You’d had more hair singed by nearby explosions than you’d like to admit.

“He’s still in college so he’s not here as often as the others. Most of his work will be on Spider-Man’s gadgets and suit, but you can use him for any help you need.”

Walking past the familiar faces of Dr. Banner and Dr. Cho in their respective labs, Pepper ushered you into your lab, where you were met by your father and put on the same excited facade you did with Pepper.

“Oh my god, you’re Tony Stark! This is incredible! It’s such an honor to meet you, sir!”

He shook his head at you and reluctantly accepted your outstretched hand. Oh, the jokes you’d be making at family dinners.

“Yeah, anyway, this is your new lab, Miss [Y/L/N]. Make yourself at home. This lab rat over here is mister Parker. If you have any questions, he can at least bullshit an answer for you.”

The young man on the other side of the lab perked up at the sound of his name. He tugged the goggles off his face and set down his soldering rod to rush over to you.

“Hi. Hi, I’m Peter,” he said, reaching his hand out to you.

“I’m [Y/N]. It’s nice to meet you, lab partner.”

He looked to be a bit younger than you and at least relatively smart, if the MIT sweatshirt peeking out from under his lab coat said anything. If your dad gave him an internship like this, you knew you shouldn’t question it. He had to be a genius.

The kid just smiled at you, continuing to shake your hand past what most would deem socially acceptable.

“Okay, enough of that,” Tony said, pushing on your joined hands to separate you two. “Mister Parker might be in and out of the lab from time to time. He joins the Avengers on the occasional recon mission for immediate repairs but since he’s on break from classes, you’ll see him more often than not. Play nice.”

When he noticed you surreptitiously looking Peter up and down, he added, “Remember, no fraternizing with coworkers.” He pointed a finger directly at you before he spun and pointed to your fellow lab mate, realizing he should warn Peter too to save face.

“All the blueprints you need for the Tin Man’s arm are in the system. We’ll have you start on that and see what you can do about minimizing the sound that thing makes. Any other questions, give Pep a call.”

“Thank you, mister Stark. I really do appreciate everything,” you said genuinely.

“Yeah, well… don’t let me down,” he replied, patting you on the shoulder on his way out. Pepper followed close behind, leaving you alone with Peter Parker.

“So Peter,” you started, sliding onto the lab chair next to where he remained standing, “tell me about yourself.”

“Uh… what do you want to know?” he asked as he shoved his hands into his coat pockets.

“How old are you?” you asked immediately.

“I’m 21.”

Only four years younger than you. So you’d probably get along just fine.

“I assume you’re at MIT?” He nodded. “What are you studying?”

“Biomolecular and mechanical engineering.” He said it so casually, you’d think he was talking about the last song he heard on the radio.

“Damn,” you responded, eyes wide. “I thought robotics and electrical engineering was wild but fuck, that sounds like hell.”

He laughed and nodded, letting a bit of the tension in his shoulders fall. “Yeah, it’s not easy. But it’s worth it.”

He shot you a small smile before gesturing back at his project. “I should probably get back to work and let you get started.”

For the rest of the day, you familiarized yourself with the Winter Soldier’s arm to figure out how to… turn the volume down? You assumed it was the gears inside causing the noise, but part of you wanted to outfit an audio jack and speaker just to fuck with your dad.

You and Peter worked in relative silence, aside from the playlist he had quietly playing through the lab sound system. When lunch rolled around, however, you finally spoke up.

“Hey Peter,” you called, his eyes flicking from the chemical beakers in front of him up to you. “First of all, what are you doing?”

“Um, it’s Spider-Man’s web fluid. Just trying to find more durable combinations.”

“Interesting.” As much as you wanted to touch the stringy substance, you knew better than to fiddle with someone else’s lab work. “Okay so second thing, in my last position, I’d just order food and have it brought to my floor but now that I’m on an exclusive floor, what do you do for lunch?”

“Oh, there are a couple security guys who have clearance to come into this floor. They just can’t get into any rooms so you’d have to meet them at the elevator. But I usually find something in the kitchen down the hall.”

“Oh, sweet. Thanks!” you said as you made your way out the door. Before you could fully exit, you turned back to see if Peter wanted you to grab anything. Once he promised he’d take his own break ‘once I get this one thing figured out,’ you continued to make your way to the kitchen.

As you drew closer to the doorway, you could hear three voices speaking over each other. They didn’t sound angry, but they were definitely arguing. You opened the door anyway and almost immediately froze in your tracks. The Falcon stood with one hand on his own head and one on the Winter Soldier’s head while Captain America rolled his eyes before those same eyes landed on you, along with the rest of the room.

“Perfect,” Sam started. “Hey new girl, between the three of us,” he said, pointing to himself, the Soldier, and the Captain, “who has the best hair?”

“First of all, my name is [Y/N]. Second,” you continued, making your way past them to the fridge you hoped your dad kept stocked with goodies, “that’s an unfair question.”

You grabbed a soda and popped it open before turning back to the three men. “Your hair suits each of you. Cap wouldn’t look good with Winter Soldier hair and Falcon wouldn’t look good with Cap’s hair.” You took a few steps closer, leaning against the island counter between you and eyeing each of them. Your eyes settled on the Winter Soldier, unashamedly flitting across his face and admiring the sharpness of his features. “You,” pointing at him, “could probably pull off either of their looks, though.”

Bucky smirked at you, but his rosy cheeks gave away a hint of embarrassment at your compliment. Steve and Sam, on the other hand, weren’t taking it quite as gracefully.

“What?!” Sam shouted. “Okay, now I know you’re lying. I could pull off Cap’s hair for sure.”

“You know, I think shaggy hair would really suit me,” Cap said, only half sarcastically.

You giggled to yourself as the three of them started talking over each other again, all dead set on their own hair being the best of them and positive they could pull off the others’ looks. While they bickered, you searched the pantry until you found a snack to at least get you through the remainder of the day.

“Alright boys, it’s been fun but I have work to do,” you said as you walked past them again. “Actually, wait. Bucky — can I call you Bucky?” He nodded even though you continued anyway. “If you could stop by lab six today, I’d love to check out your arm in person. The digital renderings aren’t quite the same.”

“Uh, okay. Sure. I’ll find you,” he said quietly.

“Sweet, thanks!” And with that, you skedaddled back to your lab.

[outofsstyles]

a/n: This is by far THE MOST requested fic I’ve ever had and (a year later) it’s finally here!! First of all, sorry that it took me so long but when I first wrote Wildest Dreams I never intended on it having a follow up, but the amount of love I got from it was so overwhelming that I decided to put this together for you all :) I’m not gonna lie, I’m a bit nervous about it, considering the amount of requests I’ve had the past year, I know there’s gonna be a lot of expectations and I wanted to do something a bit different so it’s not too predictable lol. So yeah, as always, feedback is very much welcomed!! If you enjoy please reblog it to support my writing, it would mean the world to me <3

word count: 13.7k

warnings: none!

concept: It’s Evan’s birthday and he decides to do something a bit different.

Wildest Dreams: read part 1 here :)

                                               ~*~ ~*~  ~*~

In the last two steps, you have to use your leg to support the box as it starts to slowly slip down your fingers. This serves as a reminder to start exercising again now that the midterm is over — meaning that you should finally give in to Nia’s pleas to join her in the free week of Pilates classes she got when signing in at the gym, “Exercising is one of the best ways to relieve stress!” She would argue, to which you’d simply reply with something along the lines of: “So does binging another trashy reality tv show!”

Thankfully, no one seems to notice your struggle, sparing you the embarrassment of listening to their teases due to your difficulty in carrying one of the smallest boxes of the bunch. Nate barely glances at you once you finally reach the car to hand him the box, only shooting the longest smile you’ve ever seen coming from him—which somehow still manages to be probably the quickest when compared to any other regular person. His girlfriend, who stands with hands on her hips, entirely held his attention. Nia’s purple strands of hair poke out of her half-bun in every direction and her bottom lip has found its permanent spot between her teeth as her eyes fixate on the vehicle in front of her, barely blinking.

“Everything alright, Ni?” You prompt, trying to even your breathing. “Forgot something? There’s still time to check.”

“It’s not that.” She mumbles, shaking her head to break out of her thoughts. “My keyboard doesn’t fit.” Nia nods at the instrument lying on top of the car’s ceiling.

“Oh,” You say, frowning your lips as you take in her stressed figure. Clearing your throat, you attempt to blurt out a joke, “Maybe it’s a sign you shouldn’t move it and stay right here in our little flat with creaky doors.”

She breathes out a sharp laugh, finally looking at you as she drops her arms. “Don’t start.” She warns, “You promised; no crying today.”

“Don’t worry, I’m good at holding back the tears.” You give her a soft smile, pulling her smaller frame into a hug. The sudden reality of your best friend and roommate leaving you hitting you at once. “Gonna miss you, Ni.”

You feel her sigh into your shoulder, arms circling around your middle. “I’ll be ten minutes away.”

“Not the same.”

“I know.”

The two of you sway in silence for a moment, and you watch from over her shoulder as Nate attempts to awkwardly pick up the keyboard, almost dropping it on the sidewalk in the process. He grunts, the instrument tilting in his arms, and you giggle as you hear Nia sigh once more. Tightening your arms around her, you release each other as she turns to check on her boyfriend who holds the instrument as you would a newborn — except this one is half his size and hard as a wood plank.

He glances between the both of you, helpless. “Uh, where does this go?”

“You can put it with the other big boxes upstairs, babe. We’ll take them Sunday.” Nia says, moving to close the trunk. She looks back at him, calling back in a sing-like voice before he disappears inside, “Thank you!”

You lean back against the car, a playful pout plumping your bottom lip. “Am I only seeing you again on Sunday, then?”

“Nope, I’ll pick you up for Evan’s birthday — did you forget about it already?”

You have. “Of course not. It’s on — tomorrow.”

“Is it tomorrow?” Nia gasps, eyes widening. “Holy shit, tomorrow’s Friday.”

You nod slowly, just as shocked as she is about how quickly the past couple of weeks have flown by. Between piles of book reports and stress-tear-stained essays during midterms week, you also had to find some time to help Nia with packing boxes while searching for a new roommate for yourself. If you managed a five-hour sleep on these past days, that would have been a well-rested night. So you can’t really blame yourself for forgetting about Evan’s birthday when Nia herself had it slipping through her mind.

“This is an emergency,” Nia says, eyes focusing on a point beyond you and, you feel like, if you listen close enough, you can hear the engines inside her head working. “I’ll have come here earlier so you can help me with my outfit.”

You chuckle. “What even is the theme this year?”

“He didn’t tell me,” Nia says in a huff. “But, on the bright side, I don’t think this year he’ll do anything too crazy — he was too busy these last couple months with that short film I told you about, remember?”

“Evan doing something low key? That’s a first.” You raise your eyebrows, skeptical.

“I mean, I don’t know. I’m just guessing.” Nia shrugs, picking at her nails. “I’m only saying because he mentioned once he was only inviting, like, twenty people.”

Now, this is a surprise. “I’m glad I made the cut, then.”

It’s not a secret to anyone who’s ever had any kind of interaction with Evan that he’s fond of the dramatics of life — his bright-colored outfits with mismatching patterns being the first example that comes to mind — and that reflects as well in his events. Especially when it comes to his birthday.

To be fair, you’ve only actually been to two birthday parties of his so far — considering the invitation usually finds you because he’s close to Nia and sees you as some sort of extension of her. Nevertheless, they were both impactful enough that left a clear impression of how much he enjoys celebrating himself. Last year in particular you remember quite well. It was what he called “Evaney” themed; being a mix of himself and his favorite artist: Britney Spears. And, while you and Nia showed up as one of at least fifteen different variations of the Baby One More Time schoolgirl outfit, Evan pulled a perfect match of the Oops! I Did It Again red bodysuit that he got one of his fashion student friends to tailor for him, as well as freshly dyed beach blonde hair to suit it. He even went as far as photoshopping pictures of himself on Britney’s body and had them printed on posters hung on every single room of the house. There were even custom-made cups and napkins with them — two of them that Nia stole at the end of the party still sit somewhere in your kitchen to this day.

Another particular thing you remember quite clearly was that there were enough people crowded in his living room to fill up your entire apartment, as you recall. And that’s about how a typical event at his home is like — even on his friendsmas dinner there were much more than just twenty people eating turkey out of disposable hot pink plates. So, Nia’s information leaves you wondering what he could have in mind for tomorrow with such a limited list of people.

Before you can voice your wonders to her, though, Nate pushes through the entrance door again. You can tell he, much like you minutes ago, is trying to cover his heavy breathing. “I left it on top of those big boxes with a bunch of books in ‘em.”

“Brilliant! Thank you, baby.” Nia grins, wrapping an arm around his middle. “By the way, we just remembered Evan’s birthday’s tomorrow.”

“Is it tomorrow already?” Nate asks, and you hold back a giggle at the way his face scrunches in discontent. He hates going to Evan’s to a point that’s nearly comical. “Fuck’s sake.”

“And I think I’ll come here early so we can get ready together.” Nia nods towards you.

Nate grunts. “Do I have to go this time?” 

“Of course, darling.” She rises to her tiptoes to pinch his cheek, to which he brushes it off.

Nate looks at you, and you only send him a tight smile in solidarity. The two of you share similar experiences with Evan, considering the only reason either of you even gets invited is that because you’re close to Nia, and she’s close to Evan. Although you like Evan, even if you’re not that close with him, you can still put on your social mask for a couple of hours and have fun at his parties. Nate, on the other hand, is likely the least sociable person you’ve ever met, and it’s obvious how uncomfortable he gets every time. 

Nia seems to sense how tense he gets as well, because she steps in front of her boyfriend, finding his eyes with her doe-like ones. “I mean, if you don’t want to, then you don’t have to.”

He sighs, “Of course I’ll go with you.” He looks up at you. “Maybe this time we can actually count how many faces of his we can see from the couch.”

This time you don’t hold back a giggle. “I have a feeling we’ll have an easier time this year.”

“Hope so.” Nate taps on Nia’s back. "Let's go, then? Is everything you need in the trunk?”

“Yup.” She answers, circling the car and opening the door to the passenger’s side. Before entering, she gives you one last look. “Do you want me to bring anything for you tomorrow?”

“I’m good.”

“‘kay!” She enters, closing the door behind her in a click and leaning over Nate to wave at you from his window. “See you tomorrow! Don’t cry too hard tonight!”

“I won’t!” You wave back.

Watching as the car pulls back, before driving away and disappearing around the corner, there’s a light breeze that raises goosebumps on the exposed skin of your arms. You cross them under your chest, leaning back into the wall of your building, not quite ready to go back to your empty home yet. The seconds blend into minutes and you stand there The promise you made to Nia not even a minute ago already pooling in your eye, knowing you wouldn’t be able to keep it anyway, you let it tickle its way down your cheek.

A rougher gust of wind hits you and, this time, you turn to go inside.

                                              ~*~ ~*~  ~*~

The days are still not long enough so that the sun can shine proudly at seven in the afternoon, but as spring just about rounds the corner there’s still a golden glow as the rays provide one last warmth before disappearing on the horizon. And that’s how the sky greets you once you step out of your building to make your way towards Evan’s house for his birthday.

As planned, Nia arrived at yours with plenty of time so the two of you could help each other get ready, a bag filled with clothes she’s just taken to Nate’s yesterday under her arm for you to help her choose. “I’m thinking something monochromatic tonight.” She said as she walked in, making you jump in your spot on the couch as you didn’t hear her using the spare key. “I’m just not sure what color.” 

She ended up choosing red. There was an old box of red hair dye you found lost inside the bathroom cabinet after Nia left — along with two different brands of shaving cream, although those belonging to Nate — and, after presenting it to her, she decided to go all for it, taking it as a sign. Nate showed up just about an hour after his girlfriend, still in his work attire and barely batting an eye at Nia’s new hair color as she blew dried it. The only comment leaving his mouth being, “You look like a tomato,” before kissing her forehead and excusing himself for a nap while the two of you finished getting ready.

What neither of you realized was that Nia’s last-minute decision took more time than you predicted, giving you barely enough time to get dressed. To her, that wasn’t exactly an inconvenience considering she had an outfit ready to match any color she wanted — in this case, was a red-dyed denim two-piece. and a matching jacket that ended up discarded after she noticed it covered her newest shoulder tattoo (though you tried to argue she could just have Nate carry it so she could wear it considering she eventually would get cold at some point). To you, however, was more of a stressful task, seeing you hadn’t taken in mind to think of an outfit beforehand. So you ended up just going with the safest option that didn’t give you a lot of room to overthink, choosing to finish your makeup on the way so Evan wouldn’t have any of your heads on a plate for being late.

You’ve found that applying mascara on a moving vehicle is not the easiest task, as Nia holds your elbow to help you keep steady while talking nonstop with the driver about a topic you stopped paying any mind to about ten minutes ago.

“I’m loving our black and red moment, by the way.” She turns to you, loosening her hold as you finish the last coat. “You look like one of those hot businesswomen with your teenage daughter who likes to dress like an animated character.”

You laugh at her comparison, only now noticing the discrepancy between both your outfits. Without even realizing it, you also ended up going for the monochromatic look. Except unlike Nia’s, yours completely lacks any color. “That’s actually the best comparison you could make.”

“I know — You can take a left right here — Here, I have lip gloss.” Nia fetches a small tube from her jacket (that she ended up taking, after all), presenting it to you.

“Do you not have lipstick?”

“Are you not planning on smudging it later?” Nia wiggles her eyebrows, teasing. The hint behind her words makes you roll your eyes, snatching the lip gloss from her hand without bothering to give her an answer. There was about a month or so, just before winter rolled around, that Nia felt as if she had a mission to get you with someone. You suspect, knowing too well how her mind works, that she must’ve felt some sort of guilt for what happened during her film project last year. It was clear that her attempts came from a place of good heart, but this doesn’t mean that it made them any less annoying. However, after her plans to move in with Nate became more concrete, her cupid persona seemed to have disappeared, or so you’d thought. But now that there’s nothing else filling her mind anymore, it looks like she’s back at it, and you can’t help but snort. “What? I’m just saying-”

“You say a lot of things, most of them are incorrect.” You say, “I’m not smudging anything tonight. Not on a party with twenty people, for fuck’s sake.”

“Don’t say that before — right there! The big house on the corner!” Nia leans over the console, signaling to the driver where to park. It’s so sudden that you notice how he jumps just slightly from his seat, chuckling to yourself at how Nate snaps his eyes at her. 

The front of Evan’s Victorian home is unusually quiet once you step out onto the sidewalk. So much so that, if it weren’t for the lined cars parked along the street and filling his driveway, you would’ve thought you’d typed in the wrong address. 

The discrepancy is clear to you when compared to other gatherings Evan hosts in his house, but especially for his birthday. Last year, you could hear Toxic blasting from his place from the moment you turned on his street, and a small crowd gathered on his front yard — most of which you recall being comprised of people plastered out of their minds, particularly one semi-naked man who was using one lamppost as a strip pole while swinging a stuffed snake

That’s more or less the standard one could expect when invited to a party at Evan’s. So, to find the street as silent as any regular day is, to an understanding, odd. 

“Are you sure it’s the right date?” You ask as the metal creak of the front gate mends with gushes of wind whistling through the air.

“Yup,” Nia says simply, walking in front of you. “You can hear the music inside, shush.”

You come quiet, listening in, and, surely, you can hear the faint keys of a piano coming from the other side of the stone walls, but it only brings up more questions to your head than answers. Evan seems like the last person on Earth who would listen to classical music. Deciding not to voice your question this time, you follow short behind Nia, kicking some loose stones on the gravel path leading to the front door.

There’s no need for more than a single knock for it to open almost immediately, revealing a lace-clad Evan downing the last bits of his wine. Without the barrier you can hear the music more clearly, the keys of the piano meshing in a peculiar way, not like anything you’ve ever heard in a classical song— at least not ten years ago when you tried to learn piano for a year before giving up.

“Look at my favorite people!” Evan says with his purple-stained lips, pulling Nia for a hug with the arm that’s not holding the door open while pointing at a spot behind her. “Did you greet Jonathan when you passed him? It’s his birthday as well.”

He points to a spot where a gnome statue sits in the dry grass, face painted in clown makeup. Nate’s voice comes from behind you, “Christ.” 

“Nate!” Evan chirps, going straight for the man standing with a sharp smile and throwing his arms around him. “You know you’re my favorite grumpy, right?”

Nate only taps on the shorter man’s back, quickly moving to Nia’s side as soon as he’s free from the embrace. With that, Evan turns to you, hands finding your elbows as he takes you in, “And what have you been up to, bug? It's been ages.”

“You know… Books and… Stuff.” You chuckle, brushing it off. “Happy birthday, E.”

“Thank you!” He claps his hands together. “Now, c’mon, let’s get all of you started.”

Following him inside, you’re met with a glittery box standing right next to the entrance; rolls of tape seal it shut, and a hand-sized hole has been cut on top of the lid. You try to peek at what could be inside, but strings of colorful crepe paper are stuck to the hole, making it harder to know its contents.

Evan picks up the box, holding it to his side. “So, I need each of you to grab a piece of paper inside the box. There will be a number in it but for now just hold on, drink, and chat while waiting for further instructions.” His voice lowers at the end to give his words more of a mystery behind them.

Nate tenses in front of you and you have to keep yourself from chuckling at his desperate gaze moving from the box to his girlfriend as he moves uncomfortably on his feet. Nia, however, only gives him a pat on his back, barely looking at her boyfriend as she does a little dance in excitement. “Oh, this feels fun.” She says, quickly reaching her hand inside the box and retrieving a piece of paper. “Mysterious, but fun. What do you have in mind, sir?”

“Nothing too crazy this year, darling, you can relax — We’re all too tired.” He moves the box towards Nate, who reluctantly reaches inside. “Just something to mesh people together that won’t give me too much of a headache to clean tomorrow.”

“Smart.” You say, peeking at the box as it’s presented to you before reaching for a paper inside, quickly reading the number eight written on it before folding the piece between your fingers.

“Nice! As always, drinks in the kitchen. We’re starting in ten minutes!” Evan claps, hushing the three of you further inside.

Surprisingly, this time around there are no posters of his face in sight as you follow Nia and Nate to the kitchen. There’s a mild mash of voices coming from the living room — where the sound of the piano is the loudest, and you wonder if he got an actual piano or if it’s just a Bluetooth speaker —, but it’s not nearly as loud as you’re used to from past times. The lighting has been lowered to a buttery yellow; you realize once you enter the kitchen that feels too bright to your eyes in contrast to the hallway.

“Is there any alcohol?” You wonder out loud, and Nia glances at you with her eyebrows shot towards her hairline. “What? I’m just asking ‘cause everyone is unusually quiet.”

“There’s wine and — what are these guys right here?” She picks up one out of four plastic jars sitting on the kitchen island, reading the label stuck to it out loud, “Strawberry Mary — ooh, this looks fun.”

You reach for the other three to check their contents, but all have names similar to the one Nia now fills her cup with — fruity, yet mysterious: Lana Banana, Jenny Berry Mix, and Pineapple Suzan. “Did he come up with these?” You chuckle, reaching for the berry mix.

“It was probably Adam,” Nia says, and you frown. “That bartender guy? The one with the pet snakes.”

“Oh, yeah. I know him.”

The room comes quiet as you serve yourself, and only after you glance up you realize a tension lingering in the air. Nate stands awkwardly in a corner, eyes fixed on Nia as he moves his head around subtly. Glancing between the two of them, you notice how their expressions change as they keep their eyes locked, not a single word being uttered out loud. To you, it almost feels as if they are reading each other’s minds, and the heat of their silent argument becoming clear once Nate huffs, shaking his head. 

Nia clears her throat, seemingly uncomfortable, shooting you a knowing look. It’s only when she gives you a toothless smile that you realize the silent question behind it. “Uhm, I’m going to check if there are any sweets outside.”

Beelining towards the doorway, you quickly make your way out of the room. The hallway is empty and, from where you stand awkwardly in the middle of it, you can tell Evan’s left his spot by the front door, meaning he’s likely gone to the living room where the rest of the guests are. You can hear them chatting, although like you previously pointed, the voices are much more controlled than what you’re used to, and that makes you oddly flustered by the thought of walking in alone. 

Considering the limited amount of invitations this year, the chances of you knowing anyone are slim and, to add to your sudden nervousness, most of the people from Evan’s closest circle of friends are — like himself — inexplicably intimidating. This is mostly because it feels like this unspoken competition that everyone has settled with each other, to subtly brag about your success whilst simultaneously pretending to be impressed about the other’s accomplishments. And for you specifically, considering you’re not part of this artist clique that they lock themselves into, it feels particularly tiresome to be part of those interactions. 

So, you opt to wait for Nia, pretending to admire one peculiar painting hanging on a wall opposite to where the doorway leading to the living room stands. Every so often, you catch yourself glancing over your shoulder one way or the other, either towards the kitchen to check if your friends are joining you, or to the doorway where the rest of the guests are in. At one point, the voices get louder, joining in a laugh before tangling together in a mess of noise you can’t make sense of. It’s after a minute that you hear footsteps coming from the living room, making you freeze on your spot, carefully turning your back to whoever’s about to catch you avoiding the party, and focusing on the piece you’ve been staring at for the past five minutes.

The painting you first thought was just random strokes of earth tones abstractly put together you now realize it’s a man and it doesn’t take you more than a second or two to recognize Evan’s side profile in a peach shade. Your hand claps on top of your mouth as you fight the urge to laugh. The sound comes out muffled, but it stops as you hear the footsteps falter as they turn into the hallway. Keeping you back to them, you listen as the wooden floor creaks as whoever was approaching makes their way back. You peek to catch sight of who it might be, but all you make out is the shadow of mustard corduroys turning the corner.

As if on cue, Nia and Nate finally appear from the kitchen, thankfully neither appearing to be sour after the talk in the kitchen. 

“Finally.” You say, still feeling giggly from your finding. “Nate, you have to check this-”

“Okay! Let’s start, then. Do we have everyone in the living room?” Evan’s voice interrupts you as he calls out. Nia guides you along with her to the living room. And, as soon as the three of you enter, Evan nods at you, before continuing, “Now that all the bunnies are trapped, we shall begin!” He laughs, clapping his hands together before motioning vaguely to everyone. “Before I explain what I have planned, I want to pair you all. So, I’ll call out the numbers that each of you picked when you arrived, so everyone can find their pair.”

You frown, confuse yet curious about what Evan’s up to as he calls out the numbers. Now that you stop to glance around the room, you note how there are more people than you’d expected. It’s still not nearly as many as previous parties of his, but it still feels like the room is nicely filled, maybe just a dozen people above twenty. And amongst them, there’s quite a few you recognize as they pair up together — like Georgia, the first one to be called, whom you spent a good half of the New Year’s party with, or Taylor, who gets paired with Nia (you remember him particularly from a film festival that Nia had been part of — he produced and directed a short film comparing the second wave of feminism to the wildlife in the Amazon Rainforest, and Nia couldn’t stop complaining about how bad it was for the entire week after). 

It’s when Evan jokes with someone on the other side of the room, however, that you see him.

He’s tucked in a corner, right next to the bookshelves, arms crossed under his chest in a way that makes his tattoos pop out of his biceps, something you notice even standing on the opposite end of the room. His smile is subtle as he watches the scene in front of him, but it’s still enough for a dimple to poke at one side of his face -- it’s barely there, but you’ve seen it up close enough times that you notice those details. His hand holds a drink, but you pay no mind to it because what calls your attention is the mustard corduroy hugging his hips, the same one you watched run from you not only five minutes ago.

He laughs, and you avert your eyes, mouth still hung open. You wonder if anyone will notice if you leave.

But, as though he could read your mind, Evan calls the number written on that sits crumbled inside the pocket of your jacket. “Where are my number eights?”

You step forward and, like a magnet, your eyes glue on Harry as he raises his hand. 

Shaking your head in disbelief, you have to fight against an urge to shut your eyes tightly as the regret of having left your room at all tonight becomes almost overwhelming. All you expected for the night was to forget about book reports and endless essays piled up on your computer, to relax, maybe drink a bit more than you should while watching Evan’s friends dancing with a taxidermy beaver or something of sorts (that was on his friendsmas party two years ago). Instead, here you are on what feels like the first day of class dynamic your teacher has imposed to make everyone interact with each other. And, suddenly, the long pages of (insert boring book) don’t seem that bad right now.

And to make matters worse (because the universe just likes to add a little more spice to your tragedies) of all people standing in this living room you just had to be paired with the one with whom you had a fling-like relationship six months ago.

It’s awkward before he even approaches you, the tension making you fidget in your spot anxiously, barely being able to shoot a tight smile his way. 

The last time you saw Harry was through the rearview mirror of a car, standing on the sidewalk like an abandoned puppy with his tail between his legs. Though you admit you let your dramatics take away when you turned away from him to leave, the feeling behind it was genuine. You were upset. He had led you on, after all, made you think he wanted to have something more just to ignore you for months and, later, appear with a redhead under his arms and call her his girlfriend. So, yes, it wasn’t the best note to leave on.

But despite how you left the last encounter, the spark of nervousness that shoots through your stomachs right now doesn’t come exactly because of his presence, but more so for the awkward nature of this encounter. At the time it happened, you avoided any activity that had the slight possibility of seeing him again like the plague. You were hurt, and you were mad — though the second part was more directed at yourself than at him. But that was six months ago. After all, as much as you felt enchanted by him and as much as those two weeks you spent together were nice, that’s all that it was: two weeks. Yes, you were sad and, yes, maybe you shed a tear or two while watching Love, Rosie with Nia afterward, but that passed as quickly as it came.

That is, until now.

“Your hair is shorter” This Is all you blurt out when he stands in front of you again.

“It is, yeah.” Harry runs his hand through his hair. The strands that last time you saw him, curled around his jawline, now peek just under his earlobe. “Did it myself, actually.”

“Really?” You take a big gulp from your drink, gaze going anywhere but meeting his own. “Found yourself another talent.”

“Another?” You can hear the smirk in his voice.

“I mean, besides acting.” You grin, holding the cup to your lips and sparing him a glance. “Suppose after your debut you’ve gotten yourself busy with casting calls”

“Of course” Harry laughs. Now that you’re closer you have a better look at his dimples as they pop out, as well as the constellation of freckles hugging his nose, and the mole right under his lips. You avert your eyes again. “I’m set to be the next Bond, in fact”

“Oh, wow.” You raise your brows, grinning at the brim of your cup. “I can see it.”

He turns to you, “Can you?” You peek at him. "Why is that?”

This is exactly what you were afraid of all those months ago after last seeing him. The entire reason you ran from any possibility of seeing him again afterward. You can still remember clearly how much of a flirt he is, even when he doesn’t mean to be. It’s not a secret that Harry’s a charming man. His words are like honey, and when he uses them just right, you know is enough to have you melting. And it doesn’t help how well you seem to click together. Even now, you still feel it by your impulse to flirt back, to look him in the eye, and get just close enough to feel the scent of his cologne. Do all that just to turn away in the last second. Tease him the same way he did you. But you don’t do any of that, of course, because you’re as petty as you are bitter. So, instead, you click your tongue. “Don’t get too comfortable, Harry, bet your girlfriend wouldn’t be happy about that.”

He chuckles. “What girlfriend?”

This time you turn fully at him, brows shooting up not in defiance, but surprise. “Yikes.” You say before you’re able to hold back.

“Yikes.” Harry still holds a smile when he repeats it, head falling as he lets out a — nervous? — laugh.

A question pops into your head. One that lingered in your mind for a good while now, but comes back a bit louder now that you have the information that his relationship was short-lasted after all. It’s a short one, but one that requires a long answer, you suppose. What happened? You think. But you don’t dare to voice it, you don’t want to have this conversation with him. Whatever the explanation is, it’s not going to change anything. So you just avert your gaze back to Evan, who now calls for everyone’s attention again.

“I know you’re all dying to know what this is all about. So, I’m going to explain it all.” And with that introduction, Evan dives into a monologue you only pay half mind to. It’s hard for you to focus on the words rapidly leaving his mouth as you can feel Harry glancing at you every so often from the corner of your eye. You listen in to Evan describing himself as a feisty kid and mention his love for drama, and then you feel the ghost of Harry’s arm bumping against yours as he sways on his feet. You try to pay attention to the story being told of the events leading up to this birthday party, and then you have to hold yourself back from meeting Harry’s eyes once you feel them at the side of your face once again. He makes a comment under his breath that you don’t quite catch, and you’re about to question him before Evan’s voice comes in an even higher pitch. “I wanted tonight to be exactly that: chaotic. I didn’t want anything to quite make sense, and I didn’t want to think much, if I’m honest, last year of film school is taking a big chunk of my functioning neurons and m’dad’s whiskey collection is taking the rest of them.”

There’s a collective laugh that takes place and, once again, Harry’s eyes peeking at you. “Everyone can relax, it’s not one of those murder mystery parties, as I’ve heard some people guess — for fuck’s sake as if I have the time and patience to plan something like that.” He says with a sip directly from a wine bottle you just now realize he’s been holding. “It’s a scavenger hunt, you have a partner and an envelope with clues. Each pair will find something related to moi and after it’s all done, we’ll eat burgers and talk about me for the rest of the night.” 

“Sounds easy enough.” Harry mumbles.

Evan claps his free hand on his wrist, hushing everyone. “So off you go, c’mon! I’ll be hungry in an hour.”

“This is gonna be…” You start. “Interesting.”

“Interesting is a great word to describe it.”

“Well, let’s try to do this as quickly as possible, then.” 

 The side of his lips quirks up. “On a rush?”

“This is not exactly a comfortable position to be. I think you get it.” You say, fidgeting on your feet. You wait for a second for him to say something so you can start the activity, but he doesn’t and you realize there’s a piece missing. “Do you have an envelope?”

Harry nods, reaching for his pocket where the envelope sits folded in half. He swiftly opens it, taking out a card.

 “Well?” You prompt, “Read us the first clue, Bond.”

There’s a smile that Harry fights against at the nickname and you’re not sure due to the dim light, but you think there’s a hint of a rosy tone on the apple of his cheeks. “An activity that grows lives and ruins manicures.” He reads out loud, pausing for a moment before laughing to himself. “I know this one.”

“Grows lives?” You frown. “As in, a pregnancy?”

Harry shakes his head, leading the way towards the corridor. “As in, gardening.”

“That’s a very weird way to put it.” You say, following him. “Does he garden?”

He walks into the kitchen, greeting two people you don’t recognize who are searching for something — their clue, you assume — inside the cabinets. “No, but his sister does. There’s a greenhouse in the back.”

You simply hum in response, muttering a quick thank you as he opens the door for you that leads to the back garden. The greenhouse is not unfamiliar to you from the outside, there have been a good amount of summer gatherings in his back garden for you to know of its existence. But you’ve thought nothing more about it. If you’re honest, you never really paid much attention to it. If anything, you assumed he used it as storage at most, never taking Evan as someone who enjoyed gardening. Though now you know you were right, you've also learned that his sister lives with him and you wonder why he’s never mentioned it before.

The curiosity inside of you wants to question Harry about it, to ask him what else he knows you don’t. When you think about it, there’s a lot you want to ask him about. Not just regarding Evan, but also regarding him. You wonder what he’s been up in the past six months if he ended up adopting the kitten he’d told you about back when you were still filming or if he read any of the book recommendations you wrote on his notes app one particular night the two of you chatted for longer than the moon could hold itself up in the sky. The part of you that begs for you to say something on the short walk is so strong you have to physically bite your tongue to be able to hold back.

You don’t have to hold for long, however, as Harry takes it upon himself to say, “So,” He starts, clearing his throat, “How- uh- how are you doing?”

Somehow, his words click something inside of your mind. They remind you of why you shouldn’t let that curious part of you win. The sole purpose of it not falling for his charm. You shake your head, “We’re not doing this.”

“Doing what?” He frowns, his steps faltering for a second.

“Small talk.” You answer, focused on your goal. “We’ll just solve this thing as quickly as possible so I can go back home and finish my Euphoria marathon.”

“Right.” Harry nods once, and you can’t help but notice the way his lips quirk down, the frown not leaving his face. You can’t lie and say it doesn’t make your stomach drop the slightest bit to see you’ve upset him, but you have to remind yourself how much he’s upset you, too. 

It’s protecting yourself, you think. After tonight, you don’t have to see him ever again.

Inside the greenhouse, you’re greeted with a mix of scents you’re not prepared for before stepping in. The space is compact, with a single corridor narrowed with garden beds on each side. Dozens of branches and leaves tickle you as you walk in, most of them belonging to different flowers that, despite the chilly weather that still lingers outside, are already blooming. It’s a blend of colors, bright reds, and ocean blues, soft purple petals kissing pink and yellow ones. 

“We should look for gloves.” Harry’s voice startles you, chuckling as you jump a bit.

“Huh?” 

“Gloves.” He says. “I think whatever we’re looking for has to do with the gloves, ‘cause he mentioned manicure.”

“That makes sense.” You look around. Many gardening tools are piling under the tables that hold the garden beds; watering cans and empty pots. You look between bags of fertilizer and drawers filled with shovels. There’s so much stuff to look through that, at one point, you sit back on your calves, glancing around, lost.

You hear Harry leafing through as you’re doing, feeling his legs brushing against your back as he passes by and you stop, watching him from your spot on the floor. He’s got a concentrated look on his face, bottom lip worried between his teeth as he scans through the walls before he opens another drawer. That’s when his gaze falls, catching yours. You quickly turn away, pretending to go through another pile of empty pots and blocking the sound of a chuckle coming from his spot.

For a moment, the only sound in the room is the clicking of ceramics and the opening and closing of wooden drawers. That is until you hear from Harry, “A-ha!”

You look up again, seeing him move to the back where few pairs of gloves hang on the wall — so obvious yet still hidden between raincoats and summer hats. “Right under our noses.” You say, getting up.

Harry searches inside the gloves, tongue trapped between his teeth. “Bingo!” He says, pulling out two tiny bottles from inside one pair.

“What is it?”

“Liquor.” He grins, peeking at you from under his lashes before ripping a piece of paper attached to it. “It says ‘one for each, now get to clue number two.’” He holds up one bottle, offering it to you, to which you take it. “It’s chocolate flavored.”

“Of course it would be a drinking game.” You open it, feeling the artificial chocolate scent braid with the alcohol. “Christ.”

“Don’t smell it, or it’ll be worse,” Harry says, downing his with one quick tilt of his head. “‘S not that bad, actually.”

You mimic his action, letting the drink swiftly burn its way down your throat. Unlike Harry, you can’t help but scrunch your nose at the taste. “You’re a fucking liar.”

Harry only giggles in response, taking the empty bottle from you and placing it back inside the gloves, along with his own. 

And then again, silence. You turn to the flowers to find some comfort.

A family of tulips glances back at you, their petals in a full red, it’s the kind of beauty you’re scared to ruin if you touch, so you just rest your hand on the wood. “They’re beautiful.” You only notice you say it out loud when Harry hums back in agreement.

“They are.” He says quietly but somehow feels loud by how close he is. “Tulips are my favorites.”

You stop, brows raising incredulously at him. “No, they’re not.”

“What?”

Cursing the universe for playing with you like this, you can’t help but laugh at the situation. “It’s just- they’re my favorites, too.” You look at him. “My nan used to plant them when I was little.”

“That’s sweet.” He says, smiling and you nod. “The red ones represent true love.” He points. “And the purple ones represent royalty.”

You blink at him. “Do you just look up tulip facts in your free time?”

Harry laughs. “Yeah, basically.” He looks down at you, and you can’t help but notice how the greenery around brings out the shade of his eyes. “I worked at a flower shop for a tick.”

“Really?”

He nods. “For eight months. My favorite part was writing on the store board every morning.” His face lights up as he recalls his experience. “I used to write silly stuff like, ‘one day I’d like to meet tulips.’ The old ladies loved it.”

You shake your head, breathing out a laugh. “You’re dangerous.”

“Dangerous? Why’s that?”

Because you’re sweet, you want to answer, because when I think I won’t get charmed by you again, you hit me with tulip puns. Your lip finds its spot between your teeth, you’d be damned to give him the satisfaction of hearing you tell him that, so, instead, you shrug. “Because.” You can tell he wants to dig more by the way his lip twitch up, teasing a smile, but you just nod towards the door before turning away from him and heading out. 

There’s a distinct change of temperature when you step outside, and it’s only when you do that you notice the greenhouse was heated. Thankfully, the night is not too windy as it would get a week or two ago when winter was still insisting on making itself present, but it’s still chilly so that it makes you hug your jacket closer to your body. Harry also notices the difference, as you hear him wince as he steps out from behind you — unlike you, he’s not wearing anything to protect his arms from the cold, which only makes it harder for you to not ogle the tattoos hugging his skin.

“So, what’s next?” You prompt.

Harry reaches for the card again, taking it from its spot on his pocket before reading the second clue. “‘Not feeling too creative to write this one, it’s on the third tree on oak.’”

“I mean, at least we don’t have to think too much on this one.” You say, “Oak Street is the one to the left, right?”

“Yeah.” Harry sighs. “Can’t believe he’s making us go out on the streets.”

You start to make your way back towards the house. “Too tired for a stroll?”

“‘S cold,” Harry says, scrunching his nose. “Here, there’s a side gate.”

He guides you through a gravel path to where the black gate stands, hidden between bushes and branches. Strings of fern hug the bricked fence and the surrounding grass is high enough that it tickles your calves through your tights, making you believe this path has probably been left unused for at least a couple of months now. This information brings out an extra worry for you, as you take a better look at it, noticing how the gate is closed shut to the fence.“Is it open?” You wonder out loud.

“Shit, I don’t think it is.” Harry huffs under his breath. “But, I mean, we could easily jump it.”

You stop, turning to glance at him as the suggestion leaves his lips. He stands there, hands on his hips, examining the gate, tongue poking out as he frowns. After a second, he meets your eyes. “What? It’s not that tall.”

“I suppose.” You say, looking back at the fence that ends just below your shoulder length. It would be easy enough for you to climb it with a boost, however, “I’m wearing a dress.”

“Oh,” Harry scratches the back of his neck. “Let’s just go inside-” He turns back.

“Wait,” You stop him, not sure if it’s the slight amount of alcohol in your system already making you more adventurous, you train your gaze at the gate, analyzing it again, before looking back at him. Squinting your eyes, “You have to close your eyes.”

He laughs, “Are you sure?”

“It’s not that high.” You shrug. “But I need your help.”

“Of course.” He moves next to the brick wall, kneeling before it and nodding towards you. “C’mon, step up.”

Hesitantly, you glance at his thigh stretching his trousers, a sudden wave of insecurity hitting you. “Are you sure you can lift me?”

Harry simply puts his hand out in a silent request for you to hold. “Of course.”

“No peeking.”

He shuts his eyes tightly, chin meeting his chest as he looks down. And then you take his hand, feeling his fingers lock in a firm hold as he helps you use him for support. You hesitate again before using his thigh as a step, “Wait, I’m gonna ruin your trousers.” You worry, but Harry only shakes his head, still keeping it facing the ground, the strands of his hair falling above his eyes in a makeshift blindfold. When he doesn't feel you stepping in still, he encourages you with a squeeze in your hand. 

You attempt to do as quickly as possible with your dress clinging to your legs, tightening your hold to Harry’s hand to step on his thigh. Once you let it go, you can still feel it lingering behind your back as you use your arms to boost yourself up the wall, sitting on it for a moment before jumping to the other side with a huff.

“Can I open them?” You hear Harry’s voice calls from the other side, and you smile, nodding even though he can’t see it.

“Yes!”

And then his face appears as he stands up in a jump, grinning at you. “See? Easy Peasy.”

“I feel like a teen sneaking out.” You say, and you instantly give another meaning to your words as Harry boosts himself up. This time, you certainly don’t hold yourself back from staring at the way his muscles flex at the movement, the tattoos on his arms stretching, and his shirt rolling up. He makes it look so easy, so effortless, barely taking five seconds until he’s jumping in front of you.

“That was fun.” He puffs, patting his trousers lightly.

“So, how are we finding the tree?” You ask, taking a quick glance to where his hands brush on the fabric of his trousers. “Should we read the clue again?”

“I know which one he’s talking about,” Harry says, nodding to the left before beginning his stride in that direction. You follow him, trusting his words as the two of you turn the corner where Evan’s house is located. 

The street in question is much calmer than the one you were just in, with no cars coming or going from the residences — that stand much closer to one another, you notice, giving the whole street more of a narrow feeling to it --, which is not exactly odd, but certainly is a contrast with the main street that Evan’s home faces, that one being more lively with people either coming home or leaving it to enjoy their Friday night. The sudden lack of background noise makes the walk to your destination a tad awkward, as none of you make an effort to strike a conversation. Instead, you resort to silently observing the surrounding area as you walk alongside Harry, noticing how the trees here bend over the sidewalk, their naked branches slowly but surely growing back the leaves they lost months ago — it makes you wonder how beautiful this must look during the peak of springtime, their full branches blending together, making a ceiling of flowers.

“Here.” Harry stops abruptly, making you almost bump into his shoulder, as you were too busy with the scenery you’ve made in your own head. “‘S this one.”

“I thought it said the third one.” You frown, looking back and noticing the way you’ve passed way more than just three.

“This one is the third.” He says, motioning to a small birdhouse stuck to its trunk with a number ‘3’ painted to the front in blue. “It’s a bit of an inside joke,” Harry chuckles to himself. “Now I get why the bastard wanted me to have this card.”

You look closer at the tree, trying to see if there’s something attached to it besides the birdhouse, but there’s nothing. Before you can question it, Harry opens the front of the tiny house, retrieving two tiny bottles from inside of it, similar to the ones you found in the greenhouse.  “Oh, no.” You say, laughing. “Did he just put liquor inside a stranger’s birdhouse?”

Harry shakes his head, “This is not a stranger’s birdhouse.”

“Huh?” You frown, glancing back to the house where you stand in front of, its front completely dark, showing that no one must be at home. You point to it over your shoulder. “Do you know who lives here?”

“Yeah,” He starts, offering you one bottle. “I do.”

Your brows shoot up in surprise, glancing back and forth from the house to the man standing in front of you, an amusing grin growing on his face. “You live here?” You ask, “This is your birdhouse?”

“It is, yeah. In fact, I was the one who built it.” He gives the birdhouse a small pat.

You can’t help but let your mouth hang open for a second. “That’s-” You pause, not sure which word to use. Impressive? Amazing? Hot? “That’s nice.”

Harry smiles, and the two of you stand there for a moment, admiring his work in silence. You suck your bottom lip in, keeping yourself from inquiring further. 

Being presented with how little you know about Harry only peaks at your curiosity at what had happened last year in your brief experience with him. When you were with him it felt as if you’d known him for months rather than weeks, but looking back at it now, you wonder if your infatuation fooled you into thinking the two of you were close. Maybe that’s why you were so upset at the premiere after all because all that did was prove to you how much you didn’t know him at all. No matter how many sleepless nights you spent together sharing bits of your lives, it wasn’t enough for you to get to know him.

It’s only when a car turns into the street that you break away from your thoughts, looking up at him and clearing your throat. “We should take this back to Evan’s.” You say. “I’m not sure how it would look from an outsider’s point of view to see us downing these tiny bottles in the middle of the street.”

“You’re right,” Harry says. “Should we read the last clue while we’re at it?”

“Sure, yeah.”

He reaches for the card inside his pocket, presenting it to you. “You do the honors this time.”

You take the card, brushing your thumb over the words before stopping for a second to read them out loud, “You’ll find your prize behind the words of buried legends.” You snort. “That’s so corny.”

“Words of buried legends,” Harry repeats, letting out a hum. “Bet he was feeling quite poetic when he wrote this one.”

“Maybe because it has to do with poems.” You peek at him, a slight raise to your eyebrow. “‘Words of buried legends’? like dead poets and stuff?” Upon reading it again to make sure, you mumble, “He really made this card especially for you, huh?”

“Makes sense.” Harry agrees before nudging you playfully with his arm. “Look at you with your literary mind!”

“Could’ve used some better wording but I’ll let it pass.” You giggle, shrugging as you hand him back the card. As you do so, you notice there’s something written on the other side. “What’s in the back?”

Harry’s brows meet. “Huh?”

“In the back of the card, something’s written on it.” You nod towards his hand as he’s about to pocket the card again. 

Harry turns it around, reading it with a chuckle. “Ice breakers.”

“You gotta be fucking kidding me.” Your mouth drops open in amusement. “Well? Go on, then. Break the ice.”

Harry makes a show of clearing his throat before reading the question as an announcement, “What celebrity do you think you could pull on your best day?”

“Is this the actual question?” You squint your eyes at him and he turns the card to allow you to read it as well. Surely, the same question reads right on top of it and, as you take a glance at the ones below it, they’re not that much better. You shake your head, “God, I have no idea.”

“I know mine.”

“You didn’t give a single thought on that one.” You say. “This should be good.”

“Jennifer Aniston.”

“Jennifer Aniston?” You stop on your tracks, raising your brows at him. “You know she was married to Brad Pitt, right?”

“Ouch.” Harry makes the theatrics of putting a hand on his heart, head falling dramatically to the side. “Right where it hurts.”

“I’m not saying you’re bad-looking, but he’s Brad Pitt.” You emphasize with a laugh, pushing him playfully as you keep walking. “Like he is the male beauty standard. Personified.”

The front of Evan’s feels more vivid than it was when you first walked in hours ago, the lights inside seeming lighter and the curtains having been pulled back, showing people wandering around on the inside. You walk past another pair crouched in front of the bushes that line next to the front gate that creaks as you open it.

Harry rolls his eyes. “Sure, let’s hear yours, then, sweetheart.”

“Ew, don’t ever call me that again.” Your nose scrunches and your face grows hot, but you attempt to shake it off, stopping to think of the question. “Huh, on my best day? I think… I don’t know, maybe Drake?”

“Oh, no!” Harry’s hands cover his face as he shakes his head into them. “I feel like that’s the most basic answer anyone could ever give to this question.”

You gasp. “Did you just call me basic?”

Harry holds the front door open for you and, before he’s able to give you an answer, you bump right into Nia. She instantly blurts out your name, as if she’s been expecting you to appear. “I’ve been looking for you!” She says, sparing Harry a glance over your shoulder before pulling you slightly to the side. “Do you think we could talk for a second?”

“Sure.” You hold out the word, looking at Harry before focusing on your friend again. “Did something happen?”

“No, no, nothing happened. Just—” Nia starts, locking your arms as she guides you back outside, pulling you to a corner a few steps away from the front door. “How are you? How's it going?”

“I’m fine. Why?” Your brows knit together at her interference and you wonder if it has anything to do with her conversation with Nate.

“I’m talking about-” She looks over her shoulder, clearly checking if anyone is listening in. Even after making sure that there’s no one there, she still lowers her voice. “When I saw he was your pair, I wanted to rescue you right away, but fucking Taylor pulled me with him and I didn’t get the chance.”

Oh. “Oh.”

“Is it too awkward?” She keeps her inquiry, holding your hand close to her chest. “We could ask them to switch so we can do the rest together, I’m sure Evan’s too plastered to notice.”

“Nia, I-” You smile as you come to realize that she pulled you aside just to check if you’re uncomfortable, having witnessed first-hand your whines and cries over Harry last year. “It’s okay, really. It’s not that bad, surprisingly.”

“Really?” Nia blinks, taken aback. “I- What happened?”

“Nothing.” You reassure her with a squeeze on her hand. “We’re just chatting, it’s not that awkward.”

“Okay.” She nods and nods, before falling serious again. “But if anything happens you just have to scream for me and I’ll be right there, okay?”

“Okay.” You say, pulling her for a brief hug. “Thanks, Ni.”

The two of you return inside just as Taylor brings up his brother’s hair sculpture collection that’s being exhibited at a local gallery — a subject you already have been the victim of hearing for about an hour during New Year’s and, by Harry’s face, he seems as helpless as you did back then. Nia doesn’t waste a second before pulling her pair away, “Let’s go, pal, those clues won’t solve themselves,” she shoots you a look over her shoulder, pushing Taylor towards the living room and you chuckle.

“He really is one of a kind, that man,” Harry says with a sigh before meeting your gaze. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, just lady talk.” You brush aside. “Let’s find those poets, shall we?”

“We shall.” Harry smiles, looking around for a second before guiding you down the hallway, turning just before entering the kitchen where a staircase. This is a way that — like the greenhouse — you’ve never been to. Still, Harry navigates so casually as if it were his own home and, to some degree, you suppose it is. You follow him up the first flight of steps, stopping just before turning into the next one where a door you never really noticed before stands. Harry rests his hand on the handle, turning to you before saying, “There’s an office hidden right here.”

You watch as he opens it, motioning for you to walk in first. And, indeed, the inside of it is an office, just a bit smaller than the living room on the opposite side of the house. Two bookcases that go from the floor to the ceiling mostly covered the wall, only leaving a single space in the middle for a dark wooden cabinet. In front of it, an L-shaped desk takes up the middle of the room, most of it is filled with files and paper stacks, as well as two computers lying asleep. For a moment, you just stand by the doorway, admiring this room you’ve never known of its existence, your eyes quickly sweeping through the bookshelves completely packed with dark cover books of all sorts. “Do you think this is where it could be?”

“Probably, yeah.” Harry nods, turning on the lights. “I don’t know where else he could have any poetry hidden.”

You move towards one bookshelf, the one closest to the door, reaching to brush your finger through the spines perfectly lined. “But look at the size of these, we’ll take forever to find anything in here.”

“Those big ones are mostly law books, I think,” Harry says, opening cabinets at the other side of the room, right next to where a white couch stands. He turns to look at you, “His sister’s a lawyer, this is her office.” Harry says, “But Evan’s got a corner right here where he keeps some of his stuff— like books of sorts. It’s the only place I could think of.”

You hum, not knowing exactly what to respond to this information.

“You can go through the ones on that side, it could be there as well.” Harry nods towards a cabinet right next to the door where you came from, and you nod.

The first two cabinets are of no luck, both being mostly filled with boxes full of children’s books and old toys — some of them mixed with more stacks of paper, but those, instead of having long texts, have drawings of all kinds from what you could gather in a glance, from child-like scribbles to actual sketches. You can hear Harry going through drawers on the other side of the room and, upon closing another empty cabinet, you peek at him, watching his broad back flexing under his shirt as he moves around. Averting your eyes as swiftly as you looked, it’s still enough to bring warmth to your cheeks.

Finally, you open the cabinet at the very bottom of the shelf. On the top, there are piles of DVDs, most being different variations of Barbie movies, but, right at the bottom, you find books. You don’t stop to check their genre at first, simply moving them away until you stumble upon a small box, the top of it marked with the word ‘prize’. “Found it!” You call back, taking the box away from the pile before setting the books back in place again. “Under Rupi Kaur? Correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m pretty sure she’s very alive.”

“Don’t tell Evan that,” Harry says as he crouches next to you, taking the box from your hands. Inside, there are, as expected, two tiny bottles like the ones you found before but, what calls both your attention, is a small bag of sweets lying in the middle. Harry takes it, “Oh, those are nice.”

He hands it to you and you open it, quickly shoving a jelly candy into your mouth before nodding. “Yeah.”

“So…” Harry starts, peeking over his shoulder, “Do you want to go back there?”

You glance at him, his eyes hovering above yours, lips twitching up just barely. “Uh… Maybe not right now.” You answer, “Unless you feel like sharing our Jellies with other people.”

Harry only laughs, shaking his head as he sits back and you do so too, right next to him. He reaches for his pocket, presenting another tiny bottle, the one you found inside his birdhouse, “We still got these.” 

“Right!” You fetch your own out of the pocket of your jacket.

Harry opens his, holding it up towards you. “Cheers.”

“Cheers.” You say, mimicking him.

Both of you down your drinks, the liquid tasting bitter, like medicine on your tongue, the only reminder of alcohol being the burn as it slides down your throat. You rest your head back on the cabinet behind you as the two of you fall into silence once more. A part of your mind is already beginning to swim around the space inside your head, and you decide to not take the last drink just yet, laying it next to your leg. Though you’ve only had the equivalent of two shots, you realize the long break you’ve had from drinking for the past couple of months -- which wasn’t exactly an intentional choice, but more like the result of your lack of free time -- is showing itself to have been enough to make you more of a lightweight. 

And even though the night so far has been strikingly surprising in terms of how comfortable you felt being around Harry again, it doesn’t mean the questions you’ve been carrying since last year have gotten any quieter. They’ve only gotten louder. More persistent, even. The curiosity you feel to know what happened is almost suffocating now. And you’d be damned if you let a drunken mind stop you from having this conversation.

You glance at him from the corner of your eyes, only watching the back of his head bobbing along with the music -- still the piano -- that comes faintly from behind the closed door. Your lips part, feeling the question form right at the tip of your tongue, but not knowing how to voice the words. Will it be awkward? You think so, but what if it ruins the night? Tonight, that’s been so oddly refreshing. A night that only served to remind you how you became so infatuated with him in the first place.

But you know you won’t be able to let go of this ich inside your head unless you bring it up. And you want to, you do, but as you take too long to think of the right way to do so, Harry decides to break the silence, murmuring next to you, “That’s a good one.”

Your brows knit together, trying to make out any trace of familiarity within the song that’s playing, but you don't find any, which only leaves you even more confused.  “Do you like classical?”

“Love,” Harry says simply, his eyes closed as he moves his head with the piano keys. “Especially this one. One of the greatest works from one of the greatest contemporary composers: Billie Eilish.”

Your lips fall open, “Shut up. Is she playing this?”

Harry laughs, a full one, that brings a grin to poke at your lips. “I mean, as far as I’m aware, no. It’s a version of her song — listen in.” He points to his ear, nodding with the melody as he sings along, “So you’re a tough guy, like it really rough guy.”

You shake your head incredulously, “Of course he’s playing classical versions of pop songs!” 

“Did you really think Evan had a taste for Chopin or Debussy?” Harry asks both dimples poking on his cheeks.

“I think at this point I’d believe anything you tell me about him.”

Both of you laugh, the air surrounding you light and warm, before falling quiet again. This time, however, you simply stare at each other for a beat. You watch his eyes, with their almost hypnotizing jade shade, glancing between your own. He rolls his lip between his teeth, nibbling at it. This is the closest you’ve been to him all night, and the details on his face only feel like a reminder of your doubts. Like the nostalgia you feel with a bittersweet memory.

“Should we-“ You stop, the words falling from your lips before you can think about them. “Should we talk about the elephant in the room?”

You half expect Harry to frown, to play dumb, and question you the meaning behind your words. For a second, you even expect him to shake his head, to get up and leave the room. And, for some reason, you kinda want him to do so. To finally break the mask of the nice, sweet guy he’s been putting on all night and allow himself to play the role of cold prick you put him on for the past months. 

But he doesn’t do it. He only gives you a short smile. “I was thinking about how to bring it up.” Harry’s gaze falls to his lap for a beat as he scratches his nose. “We should, yeah.”

You nod, more to yourself than to him. This is it. The moment to ask what you’ve been waiting for for six months now. You decide not to think much anymore, allowing the question to roll freely, “I don’t really know how to word this better but- pardon my French- what the fuck happened?”

Harry chuckles, but not an amused one. It’s more of a dry, nervous laugh. “How cliche is it if I tell you I was really fucking stupid?”

“Pretty cliche.” You say, “But also pretty true, I suppose.”

“I’m sorry for that.” He looks up, eyes meeting yours again, his own softening upon seeing you. “I really am.”

“Thank you for apologizing.” You smile a little, “But I think I deserve an explanation.”

“You do.” He speaks quietly before clearing his throat. For a second, he doesn’t say anything else, just takes a sharp breath, focusing on his fingers that play with the hem of his trousers. “I- Uhm- I know this might come as a surprise, but I’m not very good at letting people down.”

“A bit, I guess.” You try to humor, but your tone doesn’t show it. You sound quiet, hurt.

He peeks up at you, and continues, “Jess- the girl you met at the premiere- she’s lovely and all, but- how do I say this- we were never really supposed to be together.” Harry sighs, “I didn’t like her like that.”

You frown, “Then, why did you?”

“A couple of months before we met- before Evan even mentioned the film project to me, one of my mates kept insisting that I should meet his sister.” He pauses, “That was Jess.”

“I figured.”

Harry nods, “As I said, she’s a lovely girl, really nice, but we just- didn’t click like that, you know?” You hum in agreement, ignoring a small twist in your stomach when he repeats the endearment term. “But I guess she really wanted to try it, and, for months, I just kept pushing and pushing, cause I thought maybe with time I could bring myself to feel the same way.” And then again, another humorless laugh, “But- spoiler alert- I couldn’t and I should’ve just told her that.”

Your mouth hangs open for a beat before you decide against saying anything. It’s clear as you watch him explain that the entire situation for him felt more complicated than you’d ever considered. Not once did you think about the possibility of him being caught in a twist of his own decisions, and not once did you regard his feelings with the whole situation. In your bubble of gloominess, all you could think of was how he played you and used you for a bit before moving on to the next girl that fell for his sweet talk. 

Looking at him now, however, his head low and brows set on a permanent crease, lips frowning down, you can feel the internal conflict pooling out of his pores. You’re not sure if it’s exactly a look of remorse that he gives you, but it sure seems close to it.

Harry huffs in what feels like frustration as he keeps recalling the events, “But all my mates kept taking the piss, pushing me to ask her out and then, in the middle of it, I met you.” He finally smiles a bit, and you have to look down to hide the warmth that spreads on your cheeks, “And we-uh-” He shrugs, “I mean, we clicked, didn’t we?”

“I think so.” You say, just above a whisper.

“I think so, too,” Harry says, holding your gaze with his own. “And when I was with you I let myself forget about that, forget about the pressure to be with someone else, I guess.” His lips fall again, eyes meeting his lap, “But when we came back, there wasn’t much running away from it anymore. The night we got back I met that friend of mine and, I’m not sure if he said anything to Jess, but she asked me out.”

“And you said yes.”

“I said yes.” He repeats, shaking his head, “I shouldn’t have, but I said yes.”

“So you just dated her? Even if you didn’t like her like that?” You say, trying to understand his thought process. Even if his words tug at your heartstrings -- which you try to not think about right now -- you still can’t help but feel a bit for the other girl.

“I thought I could- I don’t know, I thought with time maybe I could-” He stumbles around with his speech, before finally letting out a sigh, “I don’t know what was going through my head, to be honest. I was a prick.”

“At least you can admit to it.”

“I was a prick to both of you.” 

You fall quiet, hoping he takes your silence as an agreement. When he doesn’t offer anything else, you speak up again, “Did it work, though?” He frowns, and you clarify, “Letting time force feelings into you?”

“I found very quickly how hard it is to develop feelings for someone when there’s someone else on your mind.” He says, and you bite back a smile that wants to spread on your lips.

“It’s very easy to say that now.”

“I know.” He agrees, “And I wish I could’ve realized that earlier, before even bringing you into this mess.” Harry reaches for your wrist, which lies on top of your lap, giving it a gentle squeeze. “For that I really am sorry.”

“I know you are.” You reassure, turning your hand to find his, squeezing it back. “And what happened to Jess?”

“She was rightfully upset when I told her.” His thumb brushes against your knuckles, moving the rings on your fingers around just slightly, and it’s almost enough to distract you from his voice. “We broke up a day after the premiere.”

“Ouch.”

“But it’s fine now, she’s got a boyfriend now who actually cares for her the way she deserves,” Harry says.

“That’s nice to hear, at least.”

“It is, yeah.”

You look down at your hands locked in your lap, squeezing his one more time before letting it go with a sigh.  “You really made a big mess, huh?”

He chuckles, a guilty smile poking on his face, “I did.”

You nod, finally reaching for the tiny bottle left forgotten next to you, opening it. This time you only take a sip, but it’s still enough to end half of the liquid inside. You click your tongue, “I’m glad we talked, though.” You look up at Harry again, who’s already watching you, giving a small tap on his thigh. “It’s nice to have closure, you know? To give it a conclusion and wrap with a nice little bow.”

Harry rolls his lip inside his mouth, “Is this a conclusion, then?”

You raise your brows, “Is it not?”

“I guess it could be.” He shrugs one shoulder, leaning closer to you just barely, eyes trained in yours. “But I’m hoping that, after today, maybe we could start over?”

You laugh, scrunching your nose at him as you shake your head. “Not a start over, no.” You poke his side, “You’re not getting away that easy.”

“You’re right.” He says, still not budging as he frowns his lips. “But I wish it didn’t have to be an ending as well.”

“Is that so?”

Harry nods, you can tell his eyes hold a shyness that wasn’t here a minute ago, but at the same time -- as paradoxically as it seems -- there’s a boldness as well, one you’re more familiar with. “Maybe we could chat again. This time with fewer ice breaker cards and more bags of sweets.”

You smile, rubbing your chin as you pretend to ponder about his suggestion. “That does sound very promising.”

“I really do think we clicked.” He drops his playful tone as if wanting to make sure you feel the sincerity behind his words. “Wasn’t just saying it.”

“I know.” You say, “And I think so, too.”

His smirk grows, and he doesn’t offer anything else to say, but you can tell he’s holding something back. With the silence, you suddenly become too aware of the way your arms brush together, and how his knee bumps against yours. You notice how his eyes fall a bit from yours, so quickly you could’ve imagined it, but you choose to not think so. If you lean forward, you know he will too, but you don’t want to give him the satisfaction. You’re not letting yourself make the first move.

Surely, you’re aware these thoughts are a direct result of the alcohol sweeping through your mind, testing how much of your pride you’re willing to ignore. There’s no questioning of the wall that you built all those months ago after walking out of this very house with this very man on your tail blurring out apologies. It still stands, tall and strong, and you're not letting sweet words mixed with a drink or two pull it down. Not that easily. But at this moment, looking at his stupidly beautiful face with his stupidly beautiful eyes so close to you, you feel like maybe you could peek through a window, or open up a door — just a creek, just to have a sample of what it would feel like if you were to pull it down.

“Do you want to go back?” Harry asks again, this time more quietly, this time his question has a different implication than it did before.

You're quick to shake your head, voice quiet, “Not yet.”

The corner of his lips quirk up and you raise your brows, silently daring him to ask what he’s been holding. You see his hand moving from the corner of your eyes, but you don’t break your gaze from his, not even when you feel his fingertips moving so gently against your cheekbone, brushing your hair away from your face. Harry leans closer, again just barely, and again, you stay still, only smiling softly in encouragement. Now, you’re stuck in your own silent conversation; both seeking the same thing but not making the move to achieve it -- either for pride or apprehension. 

“I’d really like to kiss you right now,” Harry whispers finally, eyes moving down again, this time slowly, making sure that his intentions are clear.

“Do it, then.” You tease.

Harry breathes out a laugh, his hand caressing its way down to your jaw. He rubs his thumb against your cheek, a feathery touch, taking another second to look at you before pulling you in. Your eyes fall closed, as you focus on your senses, and allow yourself to peek from that window, or creek that door open just a bit, to have just this moment to remember when you first got lost in his touch. 

First, it’s the warmth of his breath tickling your cupid bow, making your hold your own breath in anticipation. Then, the tip of his nose, gentle against your own, and you can’t help but lean in a bit more when you feel the ghost of his lips on yours. But he pulls back, just so slightly, hoping to have you reach for him again. Except you don’t, knowing what he’s trying to do.

“Uh-uh,” you shake your head, pulling back just a bit to look him in the eye. “You don’t get to tease me.”

Harry huffs out a laugh, “That’s fair.”

This time, there’s no teasing. Still, he goes in just as slowly as he did the first time around, curving his lips around your bottom one so softly it almost makes you lean in again. His kiss is cloud-like in a way that makes you a bit dizzy and when he presses his lips harder, you have to refrain from letting out a dreamy sigh -- still too stubborn to give him the satisfaction. It’s when you feel the tip of his tongue poking out to lick at your bottom lip in a silent request, that you pull away completely.

It’s your turn to smirk now, licking your lips before announcing, “I think we should go back now.”

[mypoisonedvine]

Bankrupt | dark!40′s!Stucky x reader

Your husband’s gambling addiction quickly got him in hot water with the mob, and you by extension.  When some debt collectors come by to settle what is owed, you realize that you have a lot more to worry about than money problems.

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: non con, dub con, DP, anal sex, coercion, a lil bit of knife play, basically everything awful you can imagine, please don’t read if you would find it upsetting.

@hnryycvll thanks for watching me write this live lol

moodboard by @nsfwsebbie​

You knew something wasn’t right when Bruce left in the morning.  He kissed you on the forehead, which was normal, but just before he stepped out for the day he turned back.

“You know I love you, right honey?” he asked nervously.

“Uh, yes, of course I do,” you answered with a raised brow, “I love you too.”

“Good,” he nodded, stepping out the door again.  

“I’ll see you when you get home,” you smiled.

“Of course,” he agreed, and shut the front door behind him as he walked to his car.

You’d seen that look before, and you knew he’d done something.  But it felt different this time.  You wouldn’t be shocked if he came back with a few bruises, claiming he had tripped when you knew he had been roughed up by mob thugs over his gambling debt.  He had told you before that he’d settled the debt and that it was going to be fine, but you weren’t sure you could really believe it anymore… after years of lying and stealing to feed his addiction, you had lost a lot of trust.  But you always tried to stay positive.

That said, a knock at the door an hour later made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.  You really considered not answering it, and yet you were already unhooking the latch and turning the knob before you knew what you were doing.

Two men stood outside, dressed much nicer than a visit in this sort of neighborhood merited.  You nearly had to crane your neck to look at them: they were so tall.  And you could tell that underneath the three pieces, they were carrying a lot of muscle.

You’d seen guys like this hanging around before.  You knew what they did.

“My husband isn’t home,” you instantly informed them.

The blonde one standing in the front smiled.  The dark-haired one in the back took a last puff of a cigarette before dropping the butt and stomping it with his shoe.

“That’s no trouble,” the blonde explained.  “Why don’t you let us in and we can talk to you?”

“You can go hassle him at work, if you want,” you shrugged.  “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“We’re not here for your husband, sweetcheeks,” the other one interjected with a tone of irritation.

“Just invite us in for a drink, won’t you?  It’s hot out,” the blonde requested.

You didn’t get the sense you had much of a choice.  You stepped back and opened the door.  The two of them nodded as they filed in, giving your living space a cursory glance as you shut the door.  You knew it wasn’t much.  You hoped they felt guilty for taking all your money and leaving you with so little that you had to live in a place like this.

When you turned back to face them, you caught their glances moving up your body.  You tried to ignore it.

“Do you want ice water?  I think I might have some tea--” you began.

“It’s fine,” the blonde dismissed, “we’ll make this quick.  We just need to have a little chat with you.”

“What about?” you asked nervously.

“Your husband owes a lot of money to my employers,” the dark-haired man explained through a thick Brooklyn accent.

“I don’t see why that’s my problem,” you frowned, crossing your arms.  

“It’s about to be,” the blonde chimed in, his tone lacking in any sense of mocking or deridition… which somehow made it even more sinister.

You did your best to keep a brave face, not show any fear.  You knew that’s what they wanted, and you had no intention of giving them anything they wanted.

“What, you gonna beat me up?” you asked incredulously, rolling your eyes.

“No, sweetheart, that’d be a waste of a pretty face…” the dark-haired man looked you up and down with a grin, “...and a great body.”

“Let’s start from the beginning,” the blonde suggested, cutting through the tension.  “I’m Steve, and my associate here is Bucky.  We’ve become quite acquainted with your husband.”

“Heard a lot about you,” the other-- Bucky, apparently-- added as he took a seat on your sofa like he owned the place.

“Only good things, I hope,” you chuckled nervously.

“Only great things,” Steve confirmed.

“Come sit on my lap, doll,” Bucky smiled, patting his leg.

“N-no, I’d better not,” you denied, stepping back only to bump into Steve’s towering form.  He pressed his body against you and you gasped as you felt the hard outline of a gun by his waist.

“Go sit on Bucky’s lap, sweetheart,” Steve recommended with a low voice, his eyes scanning you hungrily.

You nodded a little as you obeyed, watching Bucky’s face as you uncomfortably stepped towards him and sat on his knees.  He slipped an arm around your hips and pulled you back until you could feel what you hoped was a gun against your thigh.

“You seem like a good wife.  Obedient,” Steve praised, stepping a little closer.

“Loyal,” Bucky added, his voice reverberating over your neck as you felt the heat of his gaze.  “Stickin’ with him even when he spent all your money.  You shouldn’t have to live like this.”

“Yes, well,” you swallowed, “marriage requires… sacrifice.”

“You’re more right than you know,” Steve laughed.

“I don’t underst--” you began.

“Buck, hold her legs open,” Steve commanded as he started to reach for his fly.

Before you had a chance to attempt to squirm, Bucky obeyed and grabbed your legs, wrenching them apart with a brutal strength that you had no chance against.  Your skirt rolled up your thighs and you tried desperately to cover yourself but it was futile.

“No, please,” you began to beg, the illusion of fearlessness finally cracking.

“Does your husband ever get rough with ya?” Bucky asked with a low voice right against your ear that sent crawling chills up your spine strong enough to make your back arch.  “This’ll be like that.  Only better.”

“No, no please, you don’t have to do this,” you rushed as you saw Steve step forward, pulling his cock out from his trousers.  You looked away, though as you did you realized you should look at it to prepare yourself as best you could.  You gave it a glance only to whimper and look away again; it was big, and thick, and he was stroking it to its full size with ring-adorned hands.  He laughed a little when he saw your intimidation.

“Don’t be scared, sweetheart, I bet you’ll like it.”

“Please, I’m sorry, I’ll get the money if you need it, just don’t--”

You were interrupted by Steve’s hand roughly grabbing your jaw and forcing you to look him in the eye.

“You think this is a negotiation?” he growled.  “It’s not.  The negotiation happened yesterday, with your husband.  He traded you for forgiveness of his debt.  Don’t you understand?  It’s over.  You’re ours now.”

Before you had even fully processed the meaning of his words, tears were welling in your eyes and you began to sob.  “It’s not true,” you denied, “you’re lying.  He would never…” 

“I’m a lot of things but I’m no liar,” Steve frowned.  “Buck was there-- he sold her right?  You remember?”

“Yeah,” Bucky nodded, “and pretty quick, too.  It was his idea, actually.  We didn’t even lay a hand on him before he offered you up.  Showed us a picture and everything.”

You fought against Bucky’s grip again as you cried but it was useless: he managed to pull your legs up higher, hooking under your knees, and grab your wrists too.  The position was uncomfortable but you couldn’t really worry about that as you screamed and cried at the feeling of betrayal.  “No, it’s not true, it’s not true…” you sputtered, not making much sense anymore, and not really believing your own words.

“You look pretty when you cry, doll,” Bucky purred.  You tried to kick at Steve and Bucky pulled at your legs harder, sending pain to your hips and causing you to yelp.

“Stop fucking fighting,” Steve hissed.  “You understand that if your husband isn’t good for the deal he made, we’ll kill him, don’t you?  So you’d better behave if you want to save his life.”

You froze.  On one hand, this was the guy who had apparently traded you to these awful men as if you were his to give away, and you hated him for all the years of lying and sneaking around and, most notably, gambling away all your money until he was deep in the mob’s pocket.

On the other, you still, for some reason, loved him.  You couldn’t stop yourself from loving him.  You’d promised to stick by his side for richer or for poorer.  You hadn’t known then that this was the poorest option, let alone one you would have to choose.  But you couldn’t let these men kill him.

Steve held your face with his hands in a way that was both dominant and soothing-- or at least, an attempt at soothing.

“You’re going to be good, aren’t you?  For your husband’s life?” Steve pressed.

You shivered a little, but took a deep breath and nodded.  He smiled and patted you on the cheek.

He pulled a knife from his jacket and quickly sliced off your underwear.  You sniffled as you tried to stop crying, fighting the urge to try to close your legs as Steve kneeled to look at you closer.

“Such a pretty little pussy,” he cooed.  “You know, at first I wasn’t sure this was a fair trade.  I mean, he owes us a lotta lettuce.  But now I’m thinking he’s the one getting screwed.”  Steve stood up and wiped a tear from your cheek.  “You know, besides you of course.”

“Just get it over with,” you whispered.  They both laughed.

“What’s with the pessimism, sweetheart?  Behave yourself and I’ll make it good for you.”

You whimpered a little as he rubbed the head of his cock through your folds, focusing instead on the hard grip Bucky had on your arms and how it would probably bruise tomorrow-- it wasn’t a pleasant feeling either, but much easier to handle than a near-stranger’s cock about to plunge into you.

He had to push pretty hard to get it to go in, barreling past the resistance of your walls until he was sliding into you.  You gasped and cried out, feeling Bucky’s cock harden underneath you in response to the sound.

“Fuck, so tight,” Steve groaned. “If I had a wife like you I’d’ve never let you go, sweetheart.  Wouldn’t even let you leave the house.  Not when I could fuck this perfect little pussy all day long.”

“It’s that good?” Bucky asked with a husky voice.

Steve buried himself in you completely and savored the feeling of your muscles fluttering around him.  You bit your lip and fought your tears.  

“You’ll get your turn, Buck,” Steve promised, “but I can’t promise I can give her to you in one piece.”

He pulled back out nearly all the way before slamming back in, making you choke on a scream.  He set a brutally hard, yet slow, pace as he fucked you senseless, stretching you open more than you’d thought was possible.  You hoped you weren’t as loud as you seemed to sound in your own head.

“You like my cock, don’t you?  See, this was what you always needed,” Steve purred.  “A real man.  Somebody to fuck you like a whore, just how you like it, huh?”

“Hnng,” you gurgled in lieu of a reply.

You relaxed into Bucky’s embrace as best you could, letting Steve use your body and hoping it would all be over soon.  

“You ever gonna let me get a piece of that?” Bucky growled at Steve.

“Soon,” Steve nodded breathlessly, “just a little more… fuck, it’s so good.”

Steve made a noise when he pulled out like he was mustering all his restraint to do it.  He gripped his cock once it was free, stepping back and watching Bucky adjust your body on top of him as he freed his cock from his suit pants.

“Fuck, you’re gonna be good, right?” Bucky pressed as he angled you to slip onto his cock.  You nodded feverishly as he finally pushed into you, rougher than Steve had, making you wince.  “Oh god,” he groaned, “you’re so wet.  Your pussy feels amazing, doll.  Jesus.”

You felt an unexpected sense of pride warm your chest.  You refused to believe that you actually wanted to make him feel good.  You decided it was just a tactical thing-- the more you pleasured him, the sooner this would be done with.

“Good, right?” Steve asked with a smile.

“So fucking good,” Bucky agreed, leaning you forward a little.  “Come on, baby, bounce on that cock,” he encouraged.  You set your legs on the ground and balanced your hands on his knees, lifting and dropping your hips with stuttered breaths as his cock brushed against something inside you that made your legs shake and quiver.

Bucky leaned back and watched you work, occasionally taking a moment to squeeze or slap your ass.  His hands wandered over your back, your shoulders, even your thighs; Bucky’s touch explored you until you felt his thumb circle over the puckered opening of your ass and you jumped a little in shock.

“Not there,” you begged, stopping your movements.  “Please, not there.”

“Wherever I want,” he corrected sternly.  You whimpered a little as you felt him press ever so slightly, your tight rim expanding to accept the tip of his thumb.

“Say it,” he demanded.

You forced your eyes shut.  “Wherever you want,” you repeated.  “Wherever you want, Bucky.”

He hummed in approval, and pushed his digit in to the first knuckle.  You suppressed a gasp.

“Did your husband ever fuck you here?  Or did he try, but you wouldn’t let him?”

“He never… we never…” you began, shaking your head.

“Seems like a waste,” he replied in a low voice, pushing in a little deeper.  “You’ve got such a great ass.  First thing I noticed when I walked in.”

“Is this what you were thinking about?” you asked with a gulp.  “Is that what you wanted to do the whole time?”

He chuckled darkly, and it was answer enough.

He pulled his cock from your pussy and you hated that you’d supplied plenty of lubrication all on your own.  He held you up as he started to press the head against your tighter opening, watching himself penetrate you with dark eyes.

He pushed his hips forward, adding more and more pressure until he was able to break past the tight ring of muscle, and you gasped like the wind had been knocked out of you.

“Fuck!” he yelped, his head falling back against the top of the couch.  “So fucking tight.”

It stung like nobody’s business but you tried to keep your breathing steady as he pulled you down to the base of his cock, which was apparently even thicker and so much harder than you seemed to remember.

“Aw, I’ll be gentle, baby,” Bucky soothed as you whimpered, moving you on top of him slowly.  “I don’t wanna break you.  Yet.”

The pain took what must have been hours to subside, your toes involuntarily curling into the shag rug-- which made you realize your shoes must have fallen off at some point.  Even when it hurt, you felt the pleasure underneath it all, his cock managing to stimulate places inside you even through the layer of your body in the way.

“She’s dripping, Buck,” Steve observed with a predatory grin.  “She loves it.” 

Bucky slipped his fingers between your legs and felt the wetness for himself, indeed as plentiful as Steve had promised, reacting with a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a groan.  “Fuck, you like my cock in your ass, don’t you?”

You shook your head even as you felt your hips moving with his involuntarily.  

“Just admit it,” he growled, wrapping a hand tightly around your neck.  “Admit that you love getting fucked in the ass, because you’re my dirty little slut.”

You sobbed, choking from the tightening grip on your throat.  “Bucky,” you whimpered, trying to plead with him but not getting very far into it.

“Do it for your dear old husband, huh?  God, what would he think if he saw you know?”

You closed your eyes, trying not to imagine the answer to that question.

“He’d probably be wishing he’d known sooner that his innocent little wife liked it up the ass.”

They laughed and you winced, feeling Bucky graze his teeth over the shell of your ear.

“Say it, doll,” he whispered, “say it just how I told you to.”

“I…” you began, but trailed off.  You yelped when he slapped you right between your legs, sending a shock of pleasure-pain through your body.  “I love getting fucked in the ass,” you finally stuttered out, “because I’m your-- your dirty little slut.”

Bucky moaned right into your ear, thrusting faster and deeper into you.  “Yeah, that’s right.  Dirty mouth on ya, too.  Gonna fuck you there another day.”

“Please,” you whimpered, not entirely sure what you were asking for.

Every slam of his hips into yours made your body shake, and you whined when he stopped thrusting to hold you down and grind against you.

You moaned with every movement, unable to stop the tears from flowing as the pain and the pleasure became indistinguishable.

You were so lost in it that you didn’t realize Steve was standing in front of you again until you felt his fingers pressing into your pussy.  You were so wet that it took almost nothing, but you still gasped.

“Damn, so wet for us.  Such a good girl,” Steve groaned.

Bucky pulled your legs up again, stilling inside you to hold you open for Steve.

“You can let go of her now, I reckon,” Steve informed Bucky.  “She’s done fightin’.  Look at her, she loves it.”

Bucky nodded and let go of your legs and arms.  You did try to shut your legs a bit, not out of any notion that this would stop: you were just trying to relieve the soreness in your hips.

It didn’t last long as Steve pushed your legs apart, freeing Bucky to wrap his arms around your waist.

You hadn’t even known it was possible to fit two cocks at once, especially two cocks like this.

You made a noise that was purely inhuman as Steve pressed into you again, feeling full beyond the brim, incapable of taking anymore-- and there was still so much of him left.

“I can’t,” you began to protest, but it fell on deaf ears as Steve continued to slide into your pliant body.  “It’s too much!  Steve!”

That got his attention, and he looked down at you with bared teeth.  “You’re gonna take it, whore.  You’re gonna take our fucking cocks.  And you’re gonna say my name just like that when I come in this ruined little hole.”

You sobbed as he bottomed out, feeling your holes clenching around them as you struggled to fit their girth.

Both of the men groaned a bit as they felt your struggle, Bucky licking and kissing at your neck while Steve tore your blouse open and roughly palmed at your tits.

“So fucking perfect,” Bucky praised before pushing your face to the side, pulling you into a deep and sloppy kiss.  You reciprocated instantly, though you struggled to put much thought into it as all your attention was on the peculiar and powerful feeling of two men inside you at once.

You heard your moans get louder and more unabashed as they were lost in Bucky’s eager mouth, echoing back until you weren’t sure who you were hearing anymore.

Steve’s thumb roughly rubbed at your clit and you nearly screamed from the overwhelming sensations flowing through your body; your head fell back on Bucky’s shoulder again, who kissed your temple and cheek in a way much too delicate for the situation.

“Didn’t I say I’d make it good for you?” Steve growled.  “Tell me how good it feels.”

You would look back on this moment and try to convince yourself that you were immersed in your role, that you were just saying whatever he wanted to hear for your own safety.  You would repeat over and over internally that you hated it and that you were just a hell of an actress with a strong sense of self-preservation.  But you would know that it was a lie.  Because what you said next was the honest-to-God truth, and deep down, all three of you knew it.

“It feels so fucking good!” you screamed.  “Please don’t stop, oh my god, I’m going to-- fuck!”

“Yeah baby, come on my cock,” Steve praised.  “His cock, too.  Come for us.”

“Oh fuck,” you moaned, wrapping your arms around Steve’s neck to brace yourself, “yes, yes, yes!”

Every part of you tensed up and tightened, your entire body like a spring pulled to its limit.  And as the tension released and you felt yourself shatter in their arms, a gush of wetness pulsed out of you.

“Fuck,” Steve grinned, “look at our girl, coming so hard for us.”

“Bet her husband’s never made her do that,” Bucky laughed.  “She’s clenching around me, Steve, I don’t think I can take much more.”

“Want us to come in you, baby?” Steve growled, nipping at your jaw.  “You wanna be so full of us, don’t you?  Wanna make us come?”

“Yes,” you sobbed, exhausted and weak, limp in his arms, “yes, Steve, please…”

Bucky lost it first, holding you so tight that you could barely breathe.  He babbled praise against your ear as he spilled inside you, telling you how good you were for him, how you were gonna make him feel good from now on, whenever he wanted.  You could barely process that as you felt Steve follow suit, moaning weakly as he pumped into you with stuttering thrusts, painting your insides with his spend.

“Yes,” Steve hissed as he began to come down from his high, both of them buried in you as deep as they could fit, all three of you panting like you’d just run a marathon.  

You winced as Steve pulled out of you, your face feeling hot as you felt his cum begin to leak out of you.  

Bucky helped you stand up and adjusted your clothes a little until you were covered up again… but you were sure you must’ve looked completely fucked anyways.  He scooped you up into his arms; an hour ago it would’ve terrified you, but now you leaned into his shoulder and curled up into a ball in his embrace.  He carried you out of the house and laid you down in the backseat of their car, with a tenderness you wished he had shown a little sooner.

He sat in the back with you while Steve drove you to Bucky’s apartment: your new home, they informed you excitedly.

The movement of the car rocked you to a place between sleep and wakefulness, and you tried not to listen to the men talking about the plans they had for you, or the ‘assignments’ they needed to complete this week.  Steve talked about needing to go out of town, and they decided that he would take you with him to relieve his stress.  “I’ll miss you though,” Bucky cooed, stroking your hair.

You were crying but there were no sobs, just tears flowing silently as you tried to think about the lines they were leaving on your face and not the fluids leaking from the rest of your abused body.

When the car stopped and you were carried into Bucky’s apartment, you felt your locket slip from your neck and fall into a grate.  A picture of your husband was inside that locket.  You got the sense you wouldn’t be needing it anymore.

[omgitsshrimp]

[SPOILERS from Manga!] Attack on Titan Theory: The baby was NOT PLANNED.

MAJOR SPOILER WARNING!! IF YOU’RE ANIME ONLY SKIP THIS POST! 

I thought I’d share my own theory on the whole situation with Eren and Historia. Keep in mind this is just my opinion/interpretation of everything so far. I just want to get my two cents in. 

I know suggesting that the baby isn’t planned sounds nuts, but hear me out. In Ch 130 we’re shown panels of Eren and Historia discussing the military’s plans for her, Eren telling her his plan, and Historia discussing a baby with Eren. 

In one panel, Historia is standing in front of the wooden fence, on the left side of the panel; then in a later panel she’s standing in front of the wooden fence on the right side of the panel. 

I don’t think this is by accident. This implies that Eren and Historia met up more than once, which opens up a strong possibility of them meeting up several times in the past. So when Historia asks Eren about having a baby, we don’t know if she said that in the same conversation as the earlier panels. It could have happened at a completely different time. We only have a close up of her face when she says it, and we dont see the whole convo, which means we don’t know the full context around her bringing up a baby to Eren.  

*Assuming they have met up several times, it begs the question, why does Eren even meet up with Historia? In my opinion, it’s because he has feelings for her, and they might be involved romantically.

 We know that the songs for AoT can allude to or foreshadow events in the story. I feel like Eren and Historia’s meet ups were alluded to in two songs (that I know of) in AoT OST, “Zero Eclipse” and “Yuugure no Tori” (ed3).

Zero Eclipse (only later part of the song is related to Eren):

“Make a promise that I cannot regret, As long as I can see you but in secret”

Yuugure no Tori:

“I’ll sing out with my girl, Go to the meeting place sing alone”

If the Baby was Planned, It Would Contradict Eren’s ideals/motivation

Another reason I don’t think the baby is planned is because if the point is to not produce kids just for a strategic purpose then why would Eren and Historia make a plan to do just that? (ie having a baby to put off Historia eating Zeke). Having the reason for making a child be reduced to convenience/serving your plan doesn’t sit right with me. It doesn’t align with Eren’s beliefs, in my opinion.

Assuming that Eren and Historia are romantically involved and have been physically intimate for some time, I think its fair to consider that this baby was conceived by chance (as well as love) rather than some sort of necessity brought on by a situation. I think upon hearing what the military was planning for Historia, Eren decided to make plans for another way that wouldn’t sacrifice her. I don’t think that involved making a child. I think the child came about by chance and the panel of Historia asking Eren about a baby was maybe part of a longer conversation where she was telling him that she was pregnant. I know I’m making a lot of assumptions, but I don’t think its impossible. 

I think from there, Eren and Historia came up with a plan to hide the pregnancy in order to protect Historia from being connected to Eren, since he knew he was going to start going against the military and wanted to protect Historia from any association with that. And also, kept it secret because if Zeke some how found out, it would compromise Zeke’s confidence in Eren and mess up Eren’s plans. Eren and Historia’s plan to keep the paternity a secret involved lying about the due date and using the Farmer as a cover. I suspect the farmer guy agreed because he really did feel guilty about bullying Historia as a child. The fact that he felt guilty enough to work there for years opens the possibility of him willing to go along with Eren and Historia’s plan, so he can make up for everything.

Paneling Choices

Now I want to talk about Isayama’s choices when it comes to the panels in ch 130, specifically in regards to the scene of Eren making his plans, Eren and Historia talking, and Eren and Zeke discussing Mikasa. How Isayama chose to order these panels seemed to me, very intentional and meticulous. 

In the previous panels in the same chapter we see Eren refusing to allow Historia to be sacrificed and we see him willing to go against humanity for her (and Paradis as a whole). Isayama decided to shows us the process of Eren deciding to carry out this plan through his interactions with Historia, as if to convey that she’s a big reason for why he’s doing all this. He’s emphasizing her importance in how Eren came to start this mission by positoning her front and center. This sequence ends with Eren telling Historia that she saved him, paralleling Mikasa in a big way.

Then, we go to a conversation between Zeke and Eren about the Ackerman bloodline. Zeke is clarifying to Eren that there is no ingrained behavior and that Mikasa does all these things for him because she loves him. And right after Zeke says that, there is a panel of Eren and Historia. I feel like Isayama gave us an explanation of Eren’s actions right here. A discussion about Mikasa’s affection and devotion juxtaposed with images of Eren and Historia right after we saw several panels of Eren doing exactly what Zeke described Mikasa does for Eren, in my opinion, was meant to indirectly allude to why Eren is doing this and how he feels about Historia. Isayama doesn’t want to give it away just yet, but is giving subtle breadcrumbs. Using Mikasa’s feelings to juxtapose probably threw people off too.    

It’s my opinion that Eren loves Historia. There’s other evidence that people have pointed out that I also agree with, but I won’t delve deep I’ll just mention them here:

 -Hanji noticing Eren smiling at Historia and defending her wellbeing, then asking Eren about it. Eren snaps at Hanji when she brings up Historia.

-Historia getting teary eyed when Eren defends her in the meeting. 

The only person Eren has been consistent with protecting this whole time has been Historia. His desire to protect her never wavered. He’s been talking about protecting her since the end of season 3. The only person we’ve seen Eren confide in (about his plans etc.) is Historia. She’s clearly significant to him.

What Eren Kruger Said to Grisha

Another reason I think Eren loves Historia and is romantically involved with her is because of what Eren Kruger said to Grisha. The Attack titan shifter can see future memories as well as past ones. Kruger told Grisha to “love someone in the walls, build a family. If you can’t do that, the same cycle will repeat itself. If you want to save Mikasa and Armin, carry out your mission to the end”. I think Kruger was also talking to Eren here, OR Isayama was alluding to what Eren will need to do in order to save everyone. In the anime, they added a line for Kruger, he says “someone in the future might see this [moment/memory of their conversation]”. I think it was added to establish that there may be a link between what Kruger said and what Eren is doing. Afterall, we know Eren saw this conversation. 

I think Eren did fall in love, with Historia, and is building a family (conceived a baby by chance), and something about the experience of love and impending fatherhood has played an important role in Eren carrying out this mission and ultimately saving Armin, Mikasa and Paradis, while also ending the cycle of hate.

In Ch 130, we see Eren saying that he has to do the rumbling in order for the cycle of hate to end. Similar to what Kruger said. Everything is happening exactly as Eren saw it, we saw that with that little boy Halil (or was it Ramzi?). The future memories were all correct, so if Kruger was speaking based on future memories then what he said about love, building a family, saving Armin and Mikasa, probably had truth to it.

 Eren’s Talk with Mikasa in Ch 123

A lot of people see this as an ErenxMikasa moment but since Eren and Zeke’s conversation in Ch 130, I don’t think that’s the case. In Ch 123, Eren asks Mikasa “what am I to you?”. Mikasa flusters and says “family”. I think Eren asked her this because he was suspecting that her Ackerman bloodline was influencing her decisions. This probably worried him because he didn’t want Mikasa to be a slave to her bloodline. Mikasa’s answer didn’t clarify anything for him. He was left ambivalent on the subject and that’s why he asked Zeke about the Ackerman bloodline. 

Mikasa says in Ch 123, that maybe if she gave a different answer things would have happened differently, but Zeke did give Eren a clear answer about how Mikasa felt. Eren knew how she felt and it didn’t change anything. Eren was concerned about the Ackerman bloodline influence because he wanted Mikasa to be free, not because he’s romantically interested in her.

I do realize I could be dead wrong. I know suggesting the baby wasn’t planned is a huge stretch but I just thought I’d put it out there. I just want it to be true so badly lol. Even if the baby is planned, I think there’s still some truth to some of the other things I pointed out. This was just a fun thing for me to do. I normally don’t write long theory posts, but I figured why not since it’s so close to the end and everyone is speculating. Why not join in?

I think that’s it. I hope I’m not missing anything. As for how I think the whole story will end? I think because Eren freed Ymir, titan powers might cease to exist. But I don’t know how that’ll affect the 13 year Ymir curse if that does happen. So I guess we’ll see. 

Feel free to share your thoughts. I’m not AntiMikasa or anything. Please be respectful! Thanks for reading!