#finally finished it despite college kicking my ass

[mortifying-macaroni]

[evansbby]

⭒✮▹𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐄𝐲𝐞𝐬

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: older husband!Ari Levinson x naive wife!reader

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: daddy!kink, smutt, dd/lg vibes, pregnancy!kink, breeding!kink, housewife!kink, lactation!kink, size difference,  age gap, innocence!kink, naive reader, 18+ only, minors dni!

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦��𝐫𝐲: Ari finally comes home to his very pregnant wife.

𝐀/𝐍: I’m just surprised I didn’t write this sooner tbh. Enjoy!

“Honey, I’m home!”

Your husband’s booming voice echoes around the house, sending thrills up and down your spine. You feel a huge smile plaster itself on your face – despite the fact that you’ve been married to him for almost a year now, you still feel giddy like a little girl every time you hear him come home. You carefully set down the casserole that has just finished cooking, impatiently shaking your oven mitts off before making a beeline to the front door and launching yourself at your big, beefy husband.

“Ari!” You hug him hard, pressing your nose into his hard chest that smells so deliciously like him. Like fresh soap and his manly musk with a hint of salty seawater. Just him. And you can’t help but breath him in, trying your best to climb up his body and wrap your legs around his waist, which is obviously a hard task considering how big your belly has gotten. “Missed you so much,” you mumble against his solid body, loving the feel of his warm arms enveloping you into his embrace. You wish he’d hug you harder, completely crush your body against his like how he used to. Till you can’t breathe but in the best possible way.

But of course, he’s ten times more mindful of you now. Pregnancy and all.

“Baby,” Ari breathes, burying his nose in your hair and nuzzling the top of your head. He presses a bunch of kisses against your hairline, one hand already on your belly (its favourite place to be, as of late), stroking it softly while his other hand meanders down to your ass (his other favourite part of your body). “Mm, I missed you too, sweet girl. Missed your little body against me like this.”

He cups your face, tipping it upwards and lifting you slightly so he can plant a kiss to your lips. He was just so damn tall and big – kissing was a bit of a problem unless he bent down or picked you up. You didn’t mind, though. You loved how much bigger he was than you, how strong and beefy and muscular he looked.

And Ari’s genes were strong enough that he’d passed them down to his unborn children too. You were about eight months along with Ari’s twins in your belly. Both boys. Both bigger than average according to your last scan. And both extremely active and strong just like their daddy – you knew because of all the somersaults and kicks they were subjecting you to day after day. But it was worth it. Ari said that you were the always the most beautiful thing he’d ever laid his eyes on, but pregnancy just made you glow differently. And he’d get that fire in his eyes every time he looked at your belly growing his babies, and it made you feel so powerful, so sexy, so wonderful.

You’d only been married to Ari for a month before you’d found out you were pregnant. You’d met him less than a year ago, this business tycoon who’d swept you off your innocent feet. He was handsome, charming and respectful, and he’d proposed to you after only a few weeks. You’d said yes, of course. And he’d made it clear that he wanted a big family, a cute little housewife (you) who took care of him and his children. You were all too happy to oblige, because you wanted all those things too.

“How are my boys?” Ari whispers, cupping your belly with his huge palm. God, he was just so big – built strong like a wrestler yet also lithe and athletic. Not to mention so goddamned handsome! You couldn’t believe your luck. Some of your friends had told you that you were too young for a man like Ari. You were only fresh out of college and he was almost double your age and the CEO of one of the biggest tech companies in the country. That didn’t matter to you, though. You liked being his little baby, having him dote over you and spoil you (which he had done since the day he met you, and continued to do till this day).

And so what if he babied you all the time and made all your decisions for you? You liked giving up the control, and Ari was just so smart and level-headed, it just made sense to allow him to take over every aspect of your life.

“Your boys have been extra rowdy today.” You giggle as your husband continues to press kisses all over your face and neck, his long hair tickling you as he does so. “They keep kicking me like they want to come out already. How am I supposed to tell them they’re not due for another month?”

Ari smirks, easily picking you up with one arm like you’re a little baby yourself. His other hand is still splayed over your swollen stomach. He’d grown addicted to cupping your belly ever since the day you told him you were pregnant. It was a problem in the early days, when none of your friends and family knew yet your husband kept stroking your belly in front of them, a cocky look on his handsome face that all but gave everything away.

“I can’t wait till they come, but I also want to keep you pregnant just a little bit longer.” Ari murmurs, carrying you into the living room. He gives your ass a loud slap, the action making you yelp and clutch his muscular bicep as he grins. “You’re so sexy like this, baby. Have I ever told you that?”

“Only about a gazillion times,” you roll your eyes, but this earns you another hard slap on the ass and a warning look from your husband. You squeal, “Ari! That hurt!”

“You know not to roll your eyes at me, honey. I may have married you and knocked you up but you’re still my little baby.” Ari pats your bum and gives it a soft squeeze before kissing your cheek to make you smile. “And I’ve told you to call me daddy, princess.”

“Oh yeah, sorry daddy!”

“That’s okay, baby.”

You’d called Ari “daddy” during sex ever since he took your virginity on your first date almost a year ago. It just fit him; he took care of you so good and he was just so big and strong and dominant. Ari was really into it, always coaxing you to call him daddy – even outside the bedroom. And he’d always look so extremely smug when you’d inevitably slip and accidentally call him daddy in front of your friends and family.

But especially now that the two of you were married and lived in Ari’s big suburban mansion, he just went crazy every time he’d come home to you in your checkered apron, pregnant with his babies and calling him daddy. He’d told you once that it was his idea of heaven on Earth, and you were the one who’d given it to him.

“You have no idea how hot you look right now, baby.” Ari tells you as he takes a seat on his armchair and sets you on his lap. You’re still dwarfed by his huge size even when he’s sitting down with you on top of him, holding you securely on his knee like you’re his little baby. His gaze grows dark as he watches your breasts bounce slightly as he sits down, pink tongue peeking out to lick his lips hungrily. “I couldn’t concentrate at work, all I could think about was my baby wife, round with my children and taking care of my house in your cute little dress.”

You glance down at your dress, it’s one of many that Ari had bought for you. He had said that baby wives only ever wore dresses around the house so it was easier for their daddies to fuck them. You had absolutely no problem with that, seeing as you loved wearing the cute dresses he bought for you, and you also loved it whenever he’d slip his hand up the cotton material, or bent you over a random piece of furniture around the house and fucked the living daylights out of you.

Ari was a loving and doting husband, but sometimes he would get extremely rugged and rough with you. He’d tell you that you were his wife and it was your duty to bend over for him whenever he pleased. Sometimes, he’d watch you with lust-filled eyes while you did the housework around the house. And all he had to do was snap his fingers and you’d come running over to him.

He’d either push you down to your knees and make you suck him off till he was satisfied, or he’d bend you over the arm of the couch and fuck you fast and hard, calling you his cute little baby housewife, telling you how all your holes belonged to him only, because he was your husband and he owned you. And you’d whimper and mewl and wail and cry while he had his way with you, till he’d fill you up with his cum and then pull you upright, straighten your dress, slap your ass and send you back to your housework.

No wonder he knocked you up so quickly.

“Honey? You still here?” Ari bounces you on his lap and you blink before smiling up at him.

“Oh. Sorry, I was just thinking.”

“Why would you need to think, baby? Daddy does all the thinking, remember? You just look pretty.” Ari bounces you on his lap again, making you giggle while his eyes once more zero in on your breasts. They’re so much bigger now that you’re pregnant, and Ari has been paying more attention to them than usual. In fact, your pregnant body in general has him incensed and feral. He’s always grabbing at you and pawing at you, squeezing and groping and stroking your every curve like he can’t get enough.

He reaches past you to grab the cold bottle of beer which you’d already set out for him on the coffee table. You watch him as he takes a deep swig, admiring how handsome he is. He’s got a defined jawline covered with his thick beard that makes him look more manly and virile than ever. A gorgeous sloped nose with a cute bump on it that you love to kiss, and high cheekbones smattered with freckles. He sports a golden tan almost all year round, as well as a wonderfully beefy, sun-kissed body that you can’t get enough of.

Even now, you slip your hand up and down his hard stomach, feeling his hairy, toned abs through his cotton shirt that’s stretched taught over them. God, he really was the hottest man alive. All the women that worked for him were crazy about him, including his secretary. But Ari had told you not to worry, that you were the love of his life and he’d waited forty years to find you, and he’d wait forty more to find you again.

“Dinner’s all ready for you.” You say, pressing a kiss to his cheek because he looks so deliciously handsome and you can’t help it. “I made all your favourites, daddy. I think I’m getting better at cooking now.”

You’d struggled with cooking at the beginning of your marriage. You knew Ari expected you to be a good little housewife, but cooking was never your strongest suit. Ari hadn’t minded though, always finding it adorable when you’d sheepishly serve him burnt food that was borderline inedible. And then he’d order a takeaway and you’d both eat in front of the TV, and he’d lick the pizza sauce off the corner of your mouth before pulling you into his lap to make out.

But you’d wanted to be a good housewife for him, after all, Ari worked so hard to provide for you and he bought you whatever you wanted. He didn’t expect you to slave away in the kitchen, of course, but you figured he deserved a good homecooked meal once in a while. And so, you sifted through various cookbooks and online recipes and YouTube videos until you’d finally been able to cook something half decent. And Ari had been so proud of you when you’d served him a roasted chicken and mashed potatoes, and making you husband proud was all you really wanted to do.

Back in the present, Ari playfully chucks you under your chin, “You’re an amazing cook, sweetheart. I can’t wait to eat dinner. But I won’t lie, baby, right now I’m hungry for something else.”

His eyes go down to your chest again, and you smile demurely as thrills shoot down to your core. Ari’s big hands cup your breasts, squeezing them lewdly before tweaking your hard nipples through the thin material of your dress. You never really wore bras inside the house, and Ari was not one to complain about that. He grins wickedly when two wet spots appear on the fabric covering your nipples.

You’d started lactating recently, and Ari had been nothing short of thrilled about that. “Baby wives feed their daddies their mommy milk,” he’d told you, and of course, he was always right. You were scared at first, having him drink from you. But he’d been so ravenous, so hungry for your milk and the intimacy that came with doing something like that. How could you possibly say no?

Now, Ari fed from you all the time. It was almost a daily occurrence which almost always ended in mind-blowing sex.

Ari holds you close to him as he kisses down your neck, his hands slipping up your arms to push the straps of your dress down. Your breasts are painful and heavy as he frees them from the dress, your nipples already hard as glass but you still hiss as the cool air hits them, making them even more erect, if that was possible.

“Poor baby,” Ari coos, tweaking your nipple casually while you squirm in his arms, whimpering like a baby who needs to be tended to. That only incenses Ari more, and he gives your erect nipple a couple of flicks, making you gasp as he laughs wickedly. “Look at your sexy tits, all sore and heavy. They must really hurt, huh baby?”

You pout and nod, grabbing his forearm desperately, “Y-Yeah, they do. Daddy, plea–”

“My poor baby,” Ari continues, squeezing and groping to his heart’s content as droplets of your milk begin to leak. Your husband licks his lips, spreading the liquid all over your sore breasts, making you hornier than ever but he only smirks. “Bet you’ve been waiting all day for daddy to come home and breastfeed from you, huh?”

“Y-Yeah, please!” You whimper, jutting your chest out till your heavy breasts are almost smothering his face. And all he does is laugh, giving your nipple another hard pinch while you feel the tears of frustration well in your eyes. He reduced you to tears so easily, but it was only because you craved him so badly and didn’t like it when things didn’t go your way. He often teased you about this, calling you a needy, spoiled baby who lacked any type of patience.

Ari gives your nipple a light flick with is tongue, his blue eyes shining wickedly as your breath hitches. But then he lets out a feral growl, completely enveloping your nipple between his lips and sucking down hard. You whimper again, grabbing his hair and holding his head close to your breast as he begins to drink your milk, groaning, biting and licking at your nipple like a starved man.

“God, you have such sexy tits, baby.” He mumbles against your breasts, burying his face into them as he continues to suckle. He grabs your other tit and gives it a rough squeeze, kneading the soft flesh with his expert fingers. “And your mommy milk tastes so good.”

“Th-Thank you, daddy!” You manage to get out through all the different sensations you’re feeling. He’s still bouncing you up and down on his lap, his hard dick poking against your butt like a steel rod through his pants. Plus, his mouth working against your nipple is making you see stars, and you feel pleasure mixed with the relief from him draining the milk from your breast.

“Good girl with good manners,” Ari grunts approvingly, his voice slightly muffled as he lewdly takes your whole breast into his mouth (as much of it that fits) giving it a hearty suck while rocking you against him as he dry-humps his dick up into your clothed core. “Just like how daddy trained you to be. Fuck, baby. I bet none of my friends’ wives are as obedient and cute as you, huh?”

“N-No!” you agree with a yelp when he gives your ass a firm slap before grabbing a handful of your ass-cheek from under your dress and giving it a lewd jiggle. “D-Daddy, need you so bad!” You try to grab his hard dick out from the waistband of his pants but he easily slaps your hands away, making you pout and whine as he continues to suck your breasts.

“Let daddy have his meal first.” Ari scolds, slapping your butt again, harder this time, before focusing his attention to your other breast. He suckles you sweetly at first, before growing greedy once your milk starts flowing into his mouth. Incensed, he moans against your breast, grabbing your hips and repositioning you on top of him. He bounces you up and down straight on top of his crotch while he feeds from you, and you moan wantonly as your body begins to work itself up.

“B-But daddy, I waited all – ah! – I waited all day for you!” You pout, trying to grind down against your husband but he holds you in place, always wanting to control your pleasure and never letting you seek it out by yourself unless you had his permission.

Ari releases your nipple with a pop before grinning wolfishly down at you, a thoughtful look on his face as his hand splays itself on your belly once more. “Well, you were a good, patient baby today, weren’t you?”

“I was, I was!” He slips his hand down under your dress, quickly settling it between your legs while your breath hitches and eyes cloud over with lust and want. And all it takes is for his pointer finger to press down on your swollen, panty-covered clit and you’re cumming. You squeak and clutch on to his muscular forearms as you orgasm, your other hand going down to hold his hand in place between your legs as you hump and ride against it. Your panties are completely soaked through and your entire body is buzzing with sensitivity as you pant his name.

Ari looks extremely smug as he watches you orgasm in his lap, leaving a sizable pool of your wetness on his clothed leg. Casually, he tweaks your nipple, his blue eyes trained on your face as you gasp in response, your body twitching in his arms.

“You’re so sensitive now, baby. I bet I could make you cum without even touching you.” Ari says, looking proud and smug at the same time.

“S-Sorry,” you shoot him a sheepish look once you’ve come down from your high, “can’t help it sometimes, daddy. Specially since I can’t ever touch myself when you’re not here.”

That was one of Ari’s firm rules that you had to follow. At the beginning of your marriage, Ari made it clear that baby wives like you had to follow all the rules that your husband set. That included not speaking to other men without his permission, always doing what he said, always telling him where you were, and of course, never touching yourself without his permission – certainly never when you were alone in the house.

“Dumb babies like you don’t know how to touch yourself.” Ari answers, pressing a kiss to your cheek as he slips his hand out from between your legs, licking his fingers lewdly. “That’s why you need daddy to tend to you all the time. Now tell me, baby, how would you like to be fucked tonight?”

In next to no time at all, your big, beefy husband has you on all fours on your king-sized bed upstairs. A feral energy had overtaken him when you’d shyly voiced your desires to be fucked as hard as possible. Pregnancy made you so horny and feral for him, and in the early days he only ever allowed you on top, because he was so much bigger than you and so scared of hurting you. But soon, he’d learned to be rough in a way that had you both feeling satisfied without ever really causing you any harm.

And so, Ari had wasted no time in carrying you up the stairs, laying you down on the bed and slapping your ass as you scrambled to get on your hands and knees for him. And he’d slapped your ass once, twice, three times, and you knew he was mesmerised by how it jiggled.

“You’re so fucking hot like this, baby.” Ari murmurs, spanking you again like he can’t get enough. “Kept thinking of you like this while I was at work, bent over like a little whore in front of me.”

“Please put it in, Ari!”

“Patience, sweetheart.” He chuckles, running a hand up your spine and sending shivers all throughout your body. He presses his dick against your naked backside, and he feels so hot and pulsating. He’d torn your dress off the moment he’d entered the bedroom, and his own clothes had quickly followed suit. And now you were at the mercy of one big, horny, muscular, beefy man. A caveman, by the looks of how feral he was getting behind you. It’s like seeing your pregnant, naked body just flipped a switch in him, and his own patience was riding thin along with yours as he continues to rut against you.

With one quick thrust, Ari drives his huge dick inside you. You cry out in pain because he’s so big, and you’ll never get used to just how big he is. He’s more than twice the size of you and so incredibly well hung, and all you can do is brace yourself and take it, your whole body jerking forward from the force of his thrust. You’d have gone face first into the mattress had he not anticipated that and grabbed on to your hips tightly.

“Oh, fuck, baby, such a tight fucking hole you got. Daddy barely fits inside.” Ari’s fingers are clutching your hips so tightly, you know it’ll leave a bruise. And he’s rough from the get go, although you know he’s holding back because you’re pregnant. “God, fuck, sweetheart. You got such a good and tight fuckin’ snatch, so perfect for my dick, fuck!”

“H-Harder, daddy!” You cry, rutting back against him as your breasts bounce up and down from the sheer force of his thrusts. But your request earns you a swift smack to your bum.

“Take it how daddy gives it to you, baby.” Ari sneers, the alpha male inside of him taking complete control as his hips increase their pace. It feels like he’s ripping your insides with his hard dick but you feel so goddamn full and so good that you don’t even care, even as he continuously rains slap after slap down on your ass. “God, fuck, such a good little baby wife. Obedient as shit, aren’t you? Daddy’s little baby, gonna give me a bunch of babies, aren’t you?”

“Y-Yeah, gonna have your babies, daddy!” You agree, sounding delirious and very much like an airhead who’s only capable of repeating what her daddy is saying to her but he’s reduced you to this state through his sheer hard fucking and you don’t even care. You want it harder, want him slamming into you till you can’t catch your breath and you pass out. But you know he wouldn’t, you can tell by how he’s got one arm now wrapped protectively around your belly, as if he needs to keep it there to remind himself not to lose control like how he often does during sex.

You remember a couple of times when Ari had gone completely feral, fucking you like you were an animal. Relentless and unforgiving, leaving you with bruises and bumps as he’d had his way with you again and again. But the dark side of you had enjoyed being a cumdump for him, despite the fact that you’d cried from the pain and overwhelming pleasure. And Ari had taken you into his arms afterwards, telling you how sorry he was, how he’d be careful with you in the future, how he got too riled up and how he couldn’t help but take you roughly when he saw how sweet and innocent you looked. And then he’d always be so sweet with his aftercare, and run you a bath and dote on you and hug you till you fell asleep in his arms, smelling like rose scented bubble bath.

“Want me to knock you up again, sweetheart?” Ari asks you back in the present, fucking you so hard you’re seeing stars. His fat dick is hitting all the right spots inside you, making you arch your back as he keeps thrusting into you, hips going into jackhammer mode. “Because I will knock you up again, baby. Soon as you give me my boys, I’ll have you on your back and filled to the brim with my fucking cum so you get knocked up again. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, baby? Wouldn’t you? Fuck!”

“YES, YES, YES!” You scream at the top of your lungs, the pressure building up inside you till that invisible coil snaps and you cum so hard, you’re seeing stars. You collapse underneath Ari, and he has to hold you up as he continues to fuck you. But him describing how he’s going to knock you up again was enough for you to squirt all over his dick, your slippery walls squeezing his hard, fat cock that doesn’t stop its relentless assault inside you.

“Fuck yeah, baby, squeeze my fuckin’ dick!” Ari groans, using your limp body as a literal hole for his dick as he grabs your hips and makes you shake your ass on his dick, “Fuck yeah, baby couldn’t help but cum from the thought of getting knocked up by daddy, huh? Well, you gotta give me another one, honey. One orgasm isn’t enough for my baby girl.”

He pulls you up to your knees so your back is against his chest. And your body is completely limp and void of energy since orgasming had taken everything out of you, and you’re not even sure you can cum again like how he wants you to. But your beefy husband holds you up against him nevertheless, one big hand wrapping around your throat while the other cups your heavy breast and squeezes, and this whole time his hips don’t stop moving inside you. His fat dick driving in and out of you at different, varied paces. Slow so you can feel every ridge and vein, and then fast till his hips are a blur and you feel your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

“You best fucking believe I’m always going to keep you pregnant from now on.” Ari growls in your ear, squeezing your tits together as he paws at you like a feral caveman, his fingers pressing against your throat and cutting off your air supply just enough for your vision to blur and it all feels so deliciously good and you’re long past the point of even being coherent as you wail and scream for him.

You can feel him losing himself, getting rougher and rougher. You know your husband too well, you know he’s turning himself on more and more at the idea of impregnating you again. His lips latch onto your neck, sucking and biting while his hands squeeze your breasts so hard it hurts, and you feel your milk dribble down your nipples.

Ari sees it too, and you swear you can feel his dick get even harder inside you. In a nanosecond, he’s manhandled you into a different position. Now, he’s sitting on the bed with you on top of him, and he’s bouncing you up and down on his dick. And oh my fucking God, it’s so much deeper this way! You can feel your puffy clit grind against his trimmed pubic hairs as he does all the work, his muscular arms wrapping around you, not caring at all that your pregnant belly is in the way as he continues to fuck up into you.

“Can’t let your mommy milk go to waste, can we?” Ari grins, grabbing your tit and latching his mouth on it immediately, sucking down so hard that you see stars. He lets go with a pop, “Guess I didn’t get all of it, huh, baby?”

You hold his head in place, carding your fingers through his brown waves as he continues to drink your milk like a ravenous beast, like he can’t get enough of it. Switching from one nipple to the other, giving both your breasts equal attention as he drains the milk from them.

“You’re so fucking hot when you’re breastfeeding daddy, baby.” Ari tells you, his voice muffled as he keeps his face buried in your breasts. And all the while he’s bouncing you up and down on his dick, and you can feel your second orgasm start to build up – and he hasn’t even cum once yet! You wonder how he remains so calm, so casual enough to have a conversation with you during sex. Meanwhile you’re a dishevelled mess on top of him, head lolling to the side as you’ve already gone dumb from all his ministrations.

“God, fuck, gonna keep you pregnant at all times now, sweetheart.” Ari declares, getting feral again as his hand splays out on your belly. “I want at least five more kids, baby. You gonna give daddy five more babies?”

“Y-Yeah! Yeah, I will!”

“That’s a good fuckin’ girl. A good fucking baby wife. I’m so glad I found you, baby. I love you so fucking much.” He kisses you, pulling you by the hair till you’re flush against him, his hips fucking up into you at a blurring pace that makes you feel like he’ll rip you in half any second now.

“And all the other guys will be so fucking jealous that they don’t have a cute little knocked up baby wife who does whatever they ask. Fuck! Tell me you’re my cute little baby wife!” He pinches your nipple harshly before going back to your belly, rubbing it with his huge hand as he clutches you so close on top of him.

“ ‘m your cute little b-baby wife!” You moan, finally finding the energy to desperately ride him, up and down and backwards and forwards, grinding against the thick steel rod that is his dick as it jams up your poor, abused fuckhole.

“Damn right you are. And I’m your daddy who knocked you the fuck up. And I’ll do it again and again, because you’re my fucking property and I can do whatever the fuck I want with you! You got that? Fuck!”

“Yeah, oh fuck, yeah, daddy, you own me! Wanna have more of your babies! Want you to keep me pregnant all the time!” You blabber incoherently.

“And you’re gonna obey me, and be a good little mommy to all our children, aren’t you?” He smacks your ass hard, once, twice, three times till your ass is sure to be raw and all the while you nod and agree with him, “A good little mommy who does what she’s told to do, and spreads her legs every time daddy wants to knock her up again, you got that?”

“Yes!”

“Fuck, sweetheart. Can’t wait to come home to you taking care of our little ones. Five of ‘em, with another one on the way. Fuck, can’t fuckin’ wait for that.” Ari grunts, his thrusts growing deeper and hitting your spot so deliciously and making you mewl, as well as his words and promises of keeping you pregnant which have you turned on beyond belief.

The pressure in your lower belly builds up higher and higher, more intense till you almost can’t stand it. And it feels so deliciously good, your pleasure mounting higher and higher as Ari continues to fuck you throw it all, holding you close and coaxing you, telling you to cum again for daddy, giving you permission to let go and cover his fat dick in your cream. And you obey, and you cum so hard, marvelling at how much of it squirts out of you.

Like a broken faucet, squirt after squirt of your cum covers his cock, and you sob and clutch at Ari’s hairy chest, burying your face in his hard chest as you cum so hard you almost faint. “Oh daddy, daddy, daddy!” you whimper like a broken record, like a baby who’s collapsed and needs to be held by her big, strong daddy.

“That’s a good baby,” Ari coos, stroking your hair like you’re his good little girl and the pride in his voice makes you sag with relief and euphoria, and his thrusts grow sloppy as he continues to ride you through your orgasm. His fat balls slapping against your pussy, and you know his load will be big because he’s held off so long.

“Fuck, baby.” Ari lets out a guttural groan before he cums, emptying himself inside of you as spurt after spurt of his hot cum sears you from the inside out. Brands you as his as your greedy pussy squelches and swallows his seed like it’s your job. And Ari looks so proud, holding you so close to him till it hurts, like he doesn’t want a single drop of his cum wasted as he fills you up like you’re his personal cumdump. “God-fucking-dammit, your greedy little snatch is squeezing me so good, baby. Best fuckin’ pussy I ever had, taking all my daddy cum like a good little girl. Fuck, take it, take all of it!”

And you do, taking every drop of his thick ropes of cum till you feel so full, stuffed to the brim with his heavy load as you fall down, completely spent and breathing hard, on your back on the bed.

You’re completely sapped of all energy, and again you marvel at how Ari seems perfectly fine, as if he hadn’t just emptied the world’s biggest load inside of you after a long session of unbridled, hot, rough sex. But your husband seems more interested in your body in its post orgasmic glow, rubbing you all over as you rest from the fucking you’ve just received, marvelling at his cum as it drips out of your pussy.

“Looks like your baby pussy couldn’t keep it all in, honey.” Ari swipes a finger up your slit and it comes up covered in his cum. Your mouth drops open in the shape of an o, which works out in your husband’s favour as he feeds you the thick cum. Globs of it, again and again, swiping up from your pussy before he brings his finger to your lips and allows you to suckle it off him. And it’s all you can do in your weakened, post-fucked state, suckle his fingers like a baby as your daddy feeds you his cum.

“Th-Thank you, daddy.” You murmur weakly, not forgetting your manners as Ari smiles down at you smugly. Finally tearing his gaze away from your body, he lies down next to you and gathers you into his arms for a cuddle. Kissing the top of your head and all over your face as he holds you close to him, till you can feel his heartbeat in sync with your own.

“You’re welcome, baby. I love you so much.” Ari answers, looking like the happiest man in the world. And it’s such a powerful feeling, knowing it’s you who has made him feel this way.

“Love you too, daddy.” You say tiredly, cuddling close and burying your face into his hairy chest as you breathe in his intoxicating post-sex musk. “Can’t wait to give you more babies. Can’t wait for our boys to come. I’ll be the best mommy to your babies, I promise.”

Ari chuckles, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear as he gazes at you with eyes filled with adoration. His hand goes down to cup your belly, and he squeezes you so close to him, you feel you might suffocate. But in the best way.

“I know you will, baby. I know you’ll take care of my children, but right now I’m going to take care of you, okay?”

“Okay, daddy.”

He runs you a strawberry scented bubble bath, carrying you to the bathroom and getting into the tub with you. Gently scrubbing you clean and massaging your sore muscles and sensitive skin while you lie on top of him in the bath, content and barely conscious from the incredible session of fucking you’ve just received. Smiling faintly as he whispers sweet nothings in your ear, promising you the world and more, his words painting the perfect life which lays in store for you in the future, as well as the perfect life you’re currently living now – all because of him.

THE END! This is my ultimate fantasy and i have no clue why i never wrote it before now! pLEASE PELASE let me know what you think! thank you very very much! love you all!

[ectologia]

I don't know how to explain this but bear with me! Reader and Tomura have a dynamic of a popular girl who is secretly a total masochist and a nerdy incel guy who is a degenerate freak and gets off humiliating and degrading the reader. Not sure if that was coherent but it's been rotting my brain and I needed to share

♱ ˖ ࣪࿐ 𝒟𝐼𝒞𝐻𝒪𝒯𝒪𝑀𝒴 ؛ 𝓉𝑜𝓂𝓊𝓇𝒶 𝓈𝒽𝒾𝑔𝒶𝓇𝒶𝓀𝒾

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 ؛ dubcon ﾉ noncon ﾉ quirkless au ﾉ college au ﾉ bullying ﾉ abuse ﾉ graphic violence ﾉ unhealthy relationship ﾉ blood ﾉ profanity

“Hey, Tomura.”

Blood-reds peer up at you through fluttery, moth-like lashes. Pale and silken like an angel’s. He tugs his headphones down to rest around his neck before setting his phone in his lap. “Yeah?”

“Can I ask you something?” You thumb a lock of hair behind your ear.

He’s dubious by the way your friends chitter behind you. Petite hands and manicured nails swat at each-other, hissing between smirks. His ankles uncross, planting themselves firmly on the ground as though in preparation. He winces through his response. “Yeah.”

“What’s wrong with your skin?”

You’ve barely finished your sentence before you’re doubling over with witchy cackles, the girls behind you following suite.

Tomura doesn’t find it funny at all, in-fact, he doesn’t even understand the joke. Dull nails rake at his protruding collarbone before sinking further into the pool of his hoodie, swimming nose deep in the black fabric. “I have a skin condition..”

A piggish voice squeals from behind you. “What’s it called? Not washing?”

He scowls, biting a scabbed-over chunk of blood from his lip, shrinking further into his hunched position in an attempt to make himself as small as possible, or as small as you can be after being picked apart by a bunch of snot-nosed bitches.

You get the last laugh as you strut off with your group, leaving him boiling with rage. Clutching his phone between a set of white knuckles and wringing the strap of his bag in the other. His palms split inside his fists, wretched and shaking with ire.

Of course, that was only the first of many instances.

He remembers on another account, when you’d pulled his hood down in-front of everyone and sneered in disgust at the powdered nest of matted white hidden beneath. Or when you and your gaggle of other titless twats thought it would be fun to fling food at him during lunch, sealing the deal by dumping a fresh load of apple juice into his lap. He’d waddled home that evening, quivering at the sticky feeling of liquid squelching in the pocket of his underwear. Or another time, when you’d tripped him up on the way to his seat, howling with laughter along with everybody else as he laid face down in the middle of the classroom, snivelling with a scuffed chin and bruised cheek.

But, despite everything.. all these things added up — just makes it that much more delicious when he finally gets to face you alone.

Tomura’s palm collides with your face, once on the left side and then on the right, knocking you about with a heavy hand bludgeoning you to the brink of death.

Your whimpers only spur him on as he kicks your heels in, sending you flying, knees splitting atop the sharp gravel coating the ground. “Tomu—”

“Shut the fuck up.” A rubber sole plants itself onto your cheek, imprinting it’s swirled pattern into your skin in a heap of dust. He stands above you, stoic and proud, uncaring of the sickening crunch that erupts from your broken cartilage. “You shut your fuckin’ mouth, I can’t be asked to listen to your whinin’ right now. I’ve already got a fuckin’ headache.”

You heave through the stream of bubbling crimson pooling on your tongue. “I’m sorry, Tomur—”

“Oi, what’d I just say?” He kicks you again, digging the tip of his red sneakers into your stomach. Swinging his leg back, he clobbers you, battering your, no doubt, already bruised body further. “Stupid — fucking — dumb — ass — bitch.”

A spill of blood accompanies your gasps, left retching and writhing and clutching at the ground, clawing at the loose stones dotted about the pavement.

“You like that, huh?” He crushes your fingers, twisting and grating them into the concrete as you scream, clinging to his shins in prayer. “Yeah, you do. You fuckin’ love it.”

He squats down to cradle your chin in his palm, craning your neck back into a painful arch. “Who’s my little bitch? — That’s right you are.” He coos at you through grit-teeth, pressing down on your popped lip with the pad of his thumb. “You are..” He whispers before letting the weight of your head fall again.

“I hope you’re thirsty.”

The zip of a fly has your ears perking, squinting through your lashes at the pale length throbbing in his palm, slit already frothing with pre. “Get that fucking tongue out.”

“Wait, Tomura, please!—”

“What? — I don’t think I asked you, you cock-sucking little bitch.” He brandishes his cock like a weapon, squeezing it between dangerous fingers. “Get that tongue out now, before I do it myself.”

You comply with a whimper. Statuesque as you point your tongue out wide, leaking thick globs of drool over your chin and onto your shirt.

“Better.”

It wouldn’t be uncommon to expect the plush velvety feel of a salty tip prodding at your mouth, snaking its sweaty shaft down your gullet. But this time, you’ve been particularly naughty.

“You think it’s fuckin’ funny, huh? Gettin’ your little boyfriends to jump me in the bathroom?” He clutches your neck in a vice grip, jostling your spooked form. “Well, since you seem to like playin’ around toilets so much — I’ve got you a little gift.”

His fat dick jumps while a stream of urine accompanies his harsh jerking. “Yeah, get it down ya’.” He whistles, shooting the acidic stream of piss straight to the back of your throat, making a game of it as you gag and cack at the air.

“Had enough?” He angles his cock down, allowing you a burst of air but soiling your clothes in the process.

You nod frantically, gurgling with bubbles foaming.

“That’s cute.”

He sprays the last few acrid droplets over your forehead, letting it drench your hair to the root and then some.

Your nose wrinkles at the smell, putrid and pungent and most likely undiluted by the amount of water you know he drinks, or lack of.

You’re hoisted onto your feet by a pair of hands. Looking down, you see how the curve of his cock slaps against your hip. Propped up against the wall, he hikes your legs up over his elbows, pinning you into a tight hold where you’d have no chance at escape. He only peels the crotch of your underwear to the side, letting your chubby folds do the rest of the work by holding it in place while sliding his uncut prick up and down the little triangle placed between your thighs.

“Preparation isn’t needed when you don’t deserve it”, Is what he whispers into your ear, stale breath warm and ticklish against your canal as he begins to sheath himself inside, chunky mushroom tip popping through the first ring of muscle before feeding the rest through. It’s akin to being impaled in the awkward position, sat without a centre of gravity on a hot, girthy pole, just twitching to tear you through the middle and come out the other end.

Tomura’s eager to hurt you, already humping you against the bricks, bouncing you up and down with guttural and down-right animalistic grunts. The noises are purposeful, he doesn’t need to make such strange sounds but he much prefers the curl between your brows to the foggy look in your eyes.

“I’m fuckin’ you.” It’s an odd but factual statement. “I’m fuckin’ your pussy. My dick is inside you. You get that? Raw.”

“Uh, huh.” Your jaw whips up and down, soft as your tongue hangs out.

He’s unsure whether to scowl or smirk — so he settles for a bit of both, catching a lip between his stained teeth. “You’re a freak.“ Forehead to forehead, he puffs into your mouth, loving you down with a thumb digging into your crack “What would all your friends say, hm? That you like gettin’ your ass beat and raped after school everyday.”

Sharpened fingernails dig into the flesh of his striped neck, crying out with dewy eyes falling, rolling behind sunken eyelids. “Ngh.. I’m.. I — gonna’..”

He smacks your face for the umpteenth time, a litter lighter than the others. Perhaps even a tap. “Don’t you dare.”

“Ca..”

Your toes curl inside your socks and your pussy tightens, twisting and pulling on his engorged manhood despite his obvious protests. He drops you on your rear, startling your spinal cord as you hit the concrete with a thud, legs still shivering and clitty still pulsing with the shattered remains of your ruined orgasm.

Tomura growls with a livid expression as his cock spurts, still throbbing with the remembrance of your gummy hole massaging him. His balls tighten and he throws his head back, canines bared as he lets the white darts shoot out onto your face.

“God — shit — wasn’t meant to fucking cum..” He murmurs, dabbing a knuckle over the damp sheen across his forehead.

He cracks his neck, then zips up his pants, shaking off the tension held between his shoulders before snapping his fingers, nudging your crouched form with the toe of his shoe. “Come on then, hand it over.” He demands with an almost exasperated sigh.

Panting, you turn to rummage through your bag. With two $20 notes crumpled in your palm, you offer them to the man with timid, shaking hands.

Enthusiastic as he snatches the paper from you, he eyes the green with scrunched carmines before clicking his tongue. “Seriously, $40 bucks? That’s it? I even made you cum you stingy cunt.” He looms over you with a menacing glare.

“Uhm.. I.. there’s..” You search through your pockets in a frenzy. “I don’t have any more on me..”

“Well, that’s gonna’ be a problem then, isn’t it?”

“I.. I can give it to you tomorrow! I’ll get you another 20!”

He tuts, narrowing his eyes at you before turning on his heel. “Make it 30.”

As he moves to make his leave, you begin to crawl with desperation, reaching out for him with an outstretched arm. “Wait!”

“What.”

“..Do.. Do you want to hang out this weekend?..” He thinks you resemble a love-sick puppy with the way you blink up at him. “..Please?.. Tomu-kun?..”

There’s a hint of a smile that plays on his cracked lips as he looks down at you, still thumbing the creased bills in his pocket. “Hm.. Actually—”

“Make it another 40.”

[lizard-on-a-window-pane]

5 times you and Miguel walked away from each other and 1 time you didn't

pairing: Miguel O'Hara x reader notes: brother'sbestfriend!Miguel, soccerplayer!Miguel, college au, slow burn, somewhat mutual pining but written from reader's perspective more exclusively, SFW - only slightly suggestive (worst thing is probably a boner), fem reader (pretty neutral though), saying soccer instead of football felt so dirty but oh well, thank you for reading!! word count: 5.9k

You’re having your first lazy day in forever. It’s the first day in recent memory that you didn’t have something to do or somewhere to be. You’re just going to hang out in your apartment and watch your favorite shows or read for fun for once or whatever else you feel like doing. Because you don’t have to go anywhere, you don’t even take a shower, opting to stay in your comfy pajamas, not bothering with any makeup or hair effort, as you lounge around. 

You have the place to yourself now, but you share it with your twin brother Alex, the two of you lucky enough to go to the same university. 

When you eventually hear his keys scratching at the door, you’re sprawled on the couch reading a novel you’d left half-finished for ages despite actually really enjoying it. School really had a way of making you not read. Or at least never full books. 

As Alex opens the door, you’re surprised to hear him talking to someone else. You see his unexpected guest a moment later from your spot on the couch, your college apartment rather small after all. And you’re mortified. Miguel. Alex’s best friend, university soccer team superstar, ridiculously attractive Miguel. 

God, why did Alex not warn you he was bringing someone over? All it took was a quick message, for fuck’s sake. And Miguel of all people? Ugh. Well, it wasn’t like you could tell him. “Hey, brother dear, I have a huge crush on your best friend, so can I please get a warning next time he’ll be around? You know, especially so I’m not looking like a total mess when he shows up?”

He’d been coming over a lot recently actually. He and Alex were both on the soccer team and happened to share a few classes too, so their schedules really lined up. Usually, it was nice to get to see him. It’s not like either of them paid that much attention to you when they were hanging out, but Miguel was nice to look at. Even now, they seemed like they were coming back from a casual soccer match or something, and he still looked amazing. His thick, dark hair was messy in the way that made you want to run your hands through it; his t-shirt hugged his unreasonably broad chest and shoulders perfectly, and his sweatpants — fuck, his sweatpants — his ass looked miraculous as he turned to put his gym bag down.

Miguel’s looking at you as he and Alex step into the living room. “It’s Saturday, Y/N, and the weather’s finally fucking nice. Why’re you reading a book? You’re such a nerd,” Alex snaps as he plops onto the couch next you, pushing your legs off to make room. 

“I’m a nerd because I’m reading a book? Am I am tomboy because I’m not wearing a dress, too, or are we keeping it to one stupid superficial stereotype?” 

Miguel chuckles as he sits on Alex’s other side. “Cut him some slack, Y/N, he took a soccer ball to the head today. Might be making him even more of an idiot than usual.” 

You can’t help but worry; you love the idiot after all. 

“You okay? Was it bad?” you’re asking as you run your hand over his head looking for bumps. “I’m fine, mom,” he mocks, pushing you away. “And you? You asshole,” he accuses Miguel playfully. “‘Took a ball to the head’?” he repeats, then turning to you adds, “It was him that kicked it!” Miguel starts laughing.

“It was the perfect setup, man. Not my fault you were distracted.” “Whatever,” Alex says as he reaches for the video game remotes. Knowing them, it was time for FIFA.

You’re eager to hide with how you look right now anyway, so you get up to head into your room. “We didn’t mean to kick you out,” Miguel starts kindly. “ You don’t have to go; you were clearly comfortable here.” “Clearly comfortable”? God that sounded bad in your head. He was “super hot”; you were “clearly comfortable.”

“Thanks, Miguel. It’s fine. I was going to —“ but you don’t finish your excuse as you trip on the remote’s charging wire as you step across, falling unceremoniously to your face right in front of them. 

“Mierda!” Miguel yells.

Alex immediately asks, “You okay?,” but it’s Miguel who’s up and over you in the same instant.

“You alright?” he asks softly as his hands grab your hips to help you up. 

His hands on you were the last thing you needed right now. So much for composure. “Fine. Really,” you say, your breath shaky. You’re kneeling on your living room floor; Miguel’s squatting in front of you, close; his hands haven’t left your body even though you’re no longer prone. He just watches you closely, eyes beautiful and concerned. You stare back into them, and after a couple more shaky breaths finally manage to stand up and step away, looking anywhere but at him. “‘M fine,” you repeat. You turn away hurriedly and go the few steps to your room. Once safely behind closed doors, your face scrunches and your stomach sinks at the sheer embarrassment. 

~

It’s been days since Miguel was at your apartment, and part of you is happy for the lack of pressure but another part of you still gets a funky feeling in her gut at the idea that the last memory of you he had was of a clumsy mess. He and Alex have a game today, and pretending to convince yourself that you just felt like it today, you make yourself up more than usual for it. You’re actually pretty happy with your look as you head out to meet some friends at the match. 

They win. Miguel scores. Twice. Alex’s defense is probably the main reason for their clean sheet. 

So, hyped up on adrenaline and victory, they’re laughing and messing around with their teammates as a bunch of people approach the sidelines to congratulate them. Alex spots you and makes a goofy face, always so playful when he’s happy. He jogs over to you and gives you a huge hug.

“Stop, you’re so sweaty!” you squeal. He just holds you tighter and rubs his sweaty hair on you, laughing. When he finally pulls away, Miguel is standing right next to him, smiling at the two of you. “Do I get a hug too?” he teases. “I scored two more goals than he did!” 

You’re not sure if he’s kidding, and you’re sure the chuckle you give in response is somewhat tense.

But, stepping toward him, you just say, “Congratulations,” and wrap your arms around his shoulders without getting too close. Damn, they were like boulders. Miguel wraps his arms around your waist and closes the distance you’d maintained, giving you a surprisingly intimate embrace. You’re struck by the feeling of him around you. He’s sweaty, too, and you can smell his musk, but instead of off-putting, you find it incredibly arousing. You can feel the rise and fall of his breathing where your chest is flush with his. He’s so warm, and you just want to breathe him in and trace every ridge of his body. But the hug is already lingering too long to be normal, and you pull back a bit awkwardly. Miguel is still looking at you, a subtle smile on his face. 

He seems about to say something when a high pitched squeal right next to you startles you. 

“Miguel!” a very pretty girl yells at him as she approaches, unabashedly jumping onto his back. She’s in a cheer uniform. “Oh my god, you were so good!” Miguel’s so sturdy, her jumping on him didn’t throw him off physically, but his face looks a little flustered. “Uh, thanks,” he says politely, putting her down. She just giggles and grabs his arm as she compliments him again. 

You feel so awkward watching this, so you just turn around and walk away. You don’t see Miguel looking after you.

~

You’re at the after party with a couple of your friends. The soccer team was quite popular, and the victory parties tended to be good. You’re mostly having fun, but you can’t help but keep looking over to where Miguel is. Man of the match and man with that face, he was obviously the center of attention. People were coming up to congratulate him left and right. He handled it all so graciously. It shocked you how there was no arrogance in his demeanor; he was just the easygoing life of the party. 

You wanted to go talk to him too, but you’d already congratulated him and didn’t know what else you would say. The last thing you wanted was to embarrass yourself again. You could go talk to your brother, who was right next to him, but he was busy flirting, and you didn’t want to ruin it for him. 

A bunch of people are dancing in the open space between you and Miguel, and the chaos lets you sneak long looks at him without his noticing. But when your friend leans over and asks, “Who do you keep looking at?,” you realize you have to be less obvious. “No one, just curious who Alex is flirting with,” you lie, proud of how quick you were with it. 

“You a jealous, protective sister type?” she laughs. 

“No, just curious.” “Is he?” “What?” “Protective?”

“Um, sometimes, depends. Why?”

“Because that guy over there keeps checking you out.” She nods toward an okay-looking guy chatting with someone on the edge of the dance floor. A second later, he was indeed looking over at you. “You should go talk to him!” “Oh, I don’t know. I’m not so interested.” “Why not? He’s hot! I’m pretty sure he’s on the team too. You don’t have to marry him, Y/N, just go dance! You’ve been weirdly tense all night.”

You look over again, and your eyes meet. Before you can do anything else, he makes the decision for you, walking over to you.

“Hey.” “Um, hi.” You exchange names and pleasantries, and he asks you if you want to dance. Without thinking about it, you glance toward the person you really wish you were dancing with. To your surprise, Miguel is already looking toward you. He looks less happy than before. You look back at this guy quickly, hoping neither of them noticed. 

You feel slightly bad thinking this, using this guy you weren’t super interested in, but you couldn’t help but feel it’d be nice if Miguel saw a side of you that might make him think of you differently, not just as Alex’s sister. It’s just a dance anyway, so, you accept the offer and head to the dance floor. 

You fall into a rhythm with the music, with the guy. The dancing is fun; the guy is fine. Your back is to Miguel, and you can’t resist spinning to catch another glimpse, doing it seamlessly as you keep dancing. Your breath catches when your eyes meet his. 

Miguel watching you from across the room is doing much more to turn you on than anything your current dance partner is doing, but you channel your new energy into your movements. It’s not a well thought out decision, though in the back of your mind you know who it’s for, but you start moving a bit more suggestively. You let your hips follow the music, let your hands come up to your hair as your body rolls rhythmically. Feeling especially bold, you even manage to meander closer to where Miguel is, giving him a better view. 

Unbeknownst to you, this unfortunately also makes Alex, now unoccupied, notice you for the first time. You don’t hear him leaning over to Miguel and saying, “Gross. I hate seeing my sister with random guys. Let’s go get more drinks.” He drags him away, and Miguel, unable to come up with a good reason not to follow, does. 

The next time you spin, all you catch is the backs of their heads.

~

The following week, you’re coming home from classes, and all you can think about is eating. You’d had to skip lunch to finish an assignment and couldn’t wait for dinner. 

When you enter your apartment, you find Miguel sitting on your couch. 

“Hey,” he greets. “Hi.” He’s sitting on the edge of the sofa closest to you, and he adorably shifts over to make room, as if you couldn’t just go around. You weren’t planning on sitting anyway, but now that he’s wordlessly extended an invitation, you do. “Where’s Alex?”

“Went to take a shower. We’re gonna play a couple games when he’s done.” He gestures toward the video game console. “Are the remotes charged?” you joke. “I hear it’s a hazard to have the wires across the living room floor.” Miguel chuckles lightly at your self-deprecating humor. He’s turned toward you, sitting in the middle of the couch, his elbow on the backrest as he occasionally messes with his luscious hair. “I felt so bad that day. Taking over your space and tripping you. When you looked so peaceful when we got here.”

“Don’t feel bad,” you laugh, amused but also masking your stirring feelings at the fact that he had thought about it at all. “I was just a mess that day. And I wouldn’t call my pyjamas peaceful, just comfortable. In my defense, though, I wasn’t expecting company.”

“I liked your pyjamas,” he teases, and you roll your eyes. “What? I did! I’m all for comfy clothing; have you not noticed 90% of my wardrobe is gym clothes?”

“Yes, well, you can get away with it. You’re a guy, and you look like that,” you say, gesturing at his body before you really realize what you’re saying. You tense as soon as you do. It just slipped out, the conversation getting weirdly easy and comfortable with him. “Like what?” he asks, but he’s smirking, knowing what you meant. You just roll your eyes again. “No, c’mon, chula, like what?” He lifts his eyebrows in challenge, mirth in his eyes. You’re too busy reeling from the pet name to have mental energy to come up with a retort. You’re grateful for what would’ve otherwise been embarrassing: your stomach grumbling. Miguel looks at your stomach and giggles. “Hungry?”

“Starving,” you say, taking the escape route and walking to the adjoining kitchen. He follows. “You can get away with it too, you know,” he says nonchalantly. You think you know what he means but look back at him questioningly. “The clothes. You always look good.” 

You’re glad you’re not facing him, your expression probably revealing your excitement. “Thanks.” “You’re welcome.” He leans on your counter. “So what are you having?” “I don’t know, whatever we have. Haven’t had time to go to the store.” You’re rummaging through your cabinets. “I can make you something,” he offers. You stop and look at him. “What? I’m a great cook,” he shrugs defensively. “Have you never had my tamales?”

“It’s not about you being good or not,” you giggle. “There’s no reason you should have to cook when you’re just here to hang out.” 

He just shrugs again, but there’s a tinge of shyness in his typically confident facade. 

You turn to open your fridge, and he comes up right next to you. “Oh shit, you guys have jarritos. Can I steal one?”

“Yeah, of course,” you laugh. “Grab whatever you want.”

You didn’t think he would immediately… As you bend over to grab something from the drawers, Miguel reaches up to grab the soda, leaning forward. Both of you moving simultaneously, your ass presses firmly against his crotch. You both freeze in panic, prolonging the position, before you jump up at the accidental contact. His and your “sorry”’s and “I didn’t mean to”’s get jumbled together in the colossally awkward moment. Miguel looks down, then back up again looking startled. He scurries around to the other side of the counter, it now separating you. “Jesus, Miguel, I didn’t do it on purpose! You don’t have to put a barricade between us; it’s not like I’m gonna jump you!” “No, no, it’s not that! Fuck, it’s, uh, fuck…” He looks lost for words. His hand comes to his face, covering it in resigned embarrassment. His voice is a mumble through his obstructing hand, “I’ve a bd’ve uh sitch-ation.”

“What?” He uncovers his face with an exasperated sigh. “I have… a bit of a… situation,” he whispers, looking down.

“Oh… oh!” you say, realization hitting you. Probably largely because of the awkward tension, at least partially at the idea of you giving Miguel O’Hara a boner, you start cracking up. He just stares at you, deadpan, his hands coming to his hips. “It’s not funny.” “It’s a little funny.” His glare cracks the tiniest bit. 

“Okay, maybe it’s a little funny. But it’s your fault!”

“I didn’t mean to!”

“Didn’t mean to what?” Alex asks nonchalantly, coming out of his room, lazily drying his hair.

“Nothing!” you and Miguel say simultaneously.

“Okay… should I just pretend that wasn’t really suspicious?” 

“Yes,” you tell him. “It’s nothing, really. Just me being clumsy again.”

His eyes are still skeptical, but Alex just chuckles and nods, letting it go at the look on your face. He heads to the couch with an easy “C’mon, man” at Miguel. Miguel follows, giving you a sideways glance and tense smile. When he sits, he immediately puts a cushion on his lap. You grab the first thing that looks edible in your fridge and head to your room. 

~

Two weekends later finds you at another soccer team party. They’d lost this time, 2-1. Miguel scored their sole goal, and the other team’s second had been a sketchy penalty. If the victory parties were good, the defeat ones were wild. Most of the players, Miguel and Alex among them, were drowning their sorrows, especially after such a disheartening defeat.

You weren’t a player, but you had your own sorrows to drown, and you weren’t stopping yourself from doing just that. You’d hardly seen Miguel in almost two weeks, and the few times you had, he’d been cold, keeping interactions mainly to greetings and goodbyes. You didn’t know if you’d done something wrong, if he was still caught up with your little awkward encounter, or if you were just making it up, your feelings for him needing some outlet. Making up stories by constantly obsessing about him was as good as outlet as you could get sometimes. Alcohol was a better one now. 

A while into the party, you’re at the bar for your… you lost count… numberth tequila shot. You down it, lick the salt off your hand, and stick the lime in your mouth, cringing. 

Your eyes are still closed when you feel a hand on your shoulder. You open them and see Miguel standing beside you. “Maybe switch to water, huh, guapa?” he tells you.

“Why? M’fine,” you slur. 

“Maybe, but you won’t be if you keep this pace up.” “And how would you know?” 

“Just noticed,” he shrugs. 

You squint your eyes accusingly at him. You didn’t know what you’d feel next time you talked to him, but you hadn’t expected to feel this angry. 

“You notice me enough to watch how much I drink but not to say more than two words at a time to me for weeks?” He looks surprised. “Y/N…” 

You cross your arms and lift your eyebrows in an implied “what?”

When he doesn’t say anything, you just walk past him. You end up walking through the dance floor, and though it wasn’t your plan, you kind of like moving to the music. You’re drunk enough to the lack the inhibitions to just dance alone. You’re enjoying yourself, not even bothering to look back and see if Miguel was still there. A bit later though, you startle as you feel a hand on your ass. You turn and find a random guy you’ve never met before, smiling at you disgustingly drunkenly. You’re taken aback, your mind already a bit slow from the alcohol, so you haven’t decided yet how to tell him to fuck off by the time Miguel is in front of you shoving him away. He’s not overly aggressive but, even drunk, easily moves the guy away from you with an angry “What the hell, man?” 

The other guy looks seriously scared and just lifts his hands with a pathetic “sorry, Miguel.” 

“Fucking better be, what the hell is wrong with you?” The other guy stumbles away. Miguel turns towards you, and his expression melts from frightening anger to warm concern in two seconds. “You okay?” he asks, his hands carefully grazing your shoulders. You nod and lean into him. At your seeming comfortable, he lets his arms come around you. 

“Thanks,” you whisper in his ear.

“Of course,” he whispers in yours, and it sends a shiver down your entire body. You stare into his eyes, your hands resting on his chest. 

“Miguel?” 

“Yeah?”

“Wanna dance with me?” 

They don’t call it “liquid courage” for nothing. 

Miguel considers you for a moment, but a soft smirk is whispered across is sharp features. He nods slowly, and his hands move slightly further down your back. You close your eyes at the sensation of his hands running along your body. You run your hands up his chest slowly and wrap your arms around his neck. When you open your eyes, you see his crimson ones boring into you. 

You start moving a bit more as you focus on the music to relieve some of the tension you’re feeling. He follows your lead, and soon you’re dancing together much more easily. As a couple of songs go by, you’re both moving freely, staying close to each other the whole time.

You’re so exhilarated, and he seems as enveloped in you as you are in him, so the next time the beat calls for it, you let your body twist rhythmically in his grasp. Your back is now flush with his chest, your ass on his crotch, your hand reaching behind you on his neck, in his hair. His hands are firm on your hips, and when you roll them against him, you hear his whispered “Fuck, mami” in your ear and feel his arm come around your middle, pulling you into him. His hips move in rhythm with yours. You’ve probably never been so turned on in your entire life. You keep this up for a delicious while. You can feel Miguel is hard through his jeans, but he makes no sign of being embarrassed, just continuing to dance with you with expert hip movements that make your imagination go wild. Of course he’d be an amazing dancer. Of course you’d imagine what else his hips could do. 

You twist back in his embrace, coming to face him. He holds you close, and you bring a hand to his face. He leans into your touch. You move your face up slightly, and he seems to be following, moving his down. You’re so close, even think you feel your lips graze his, when someone bumps up against you, making you stumble. 

Miguel’s strong arms catch you, but the moment is gone, and a second later, he looks startled.

“You okay?” he asks, stepping back a bit, speaking loudly to keep his distance. “Yeah, I’m fine,” you assure, but he seems off. 

“Let’s get some air, huh?” 

You follow him outside, the sudden change in ambience making your head spin a little. You lean against the wall, and he puts his hand on your shoulder. 

“Sure you’re okay?” You nod but don’t say anything, maybe a bit drunker than you thought, trying to ground yourself. He leans on the wall next to you. His body is warm where it grazes your side. You can feel his gaze intermittently on you. You get a little dizzy again, and you lean onto his shoulder. He just lets you, and you stand like that for a while. 

His fingers graze the back of your hand.

“Want me to take you home?”

You nod into his body. He wraps a firm arm around your shoulders and leads you away from the party. 

You’re home before you know it, the whole journey a blur dominated by his warmth by your side. When you reach your front door, you lean on it and look up at him. His subtle smile elicits your full one. “Thanks,” you whisper. “’S no problem,” he shrugs. “You’ll be okay?” “Yeah,” you nod. You’re already sobering up. “You?”

He chuckles and nods. 

“I wasn’t the one downing tequila shots like water,” he teases. Your cheeks warm, and you look down as you chuckle. 

“Wasn’t that many…” 

He laughs.

“It was, cariño.” Again with the pet names. 

“I’m still surprised you noticed.” “I always notice you,” he responds without missing a beat. Your eyes snap up to his, and you see the longing there. 

You stare at each other for a heavy moment, then, drunk more on the sensations of your earlier almost-kiss than on alcohol, chasing that feeling, you lean up to try again. Your lips are a breath away from his when he looks down, effectively rejecting your advance. You pull away, mortified. 

“Sorry, I… sorry,” you stutter as you scramble for your keys. You turn to your door. “Y/N,” he whispers, his hand holding your wrist softly. “It’s okay,” you say, looking back him, wiping tears from your eyes. “You don’t have to say anything; sorry I misunderstood.” 

You quickly go inside and close the door. You lean on it, crying. Miguel, eyes closed, fists clenched, rests his forehead on the opposite side. 

~

Miguel doesn’t come around for a while. Even as days pass, you can’t stop thinking about your night together. Confusion, sadness, embarrassment — all mixing together into a terrible cocktail.

Another match day rolls around, and you can’t stomach the idea of watching Miguel play, of potentially having to talk to him after. You tell Alex you’re really sorry to not support him this time, but that you’re not feeling well. He worries over you a while, unhelpfully but adorably emptying your medicine cabinet onto the kitchen counter, looking through stuff, suggesting this and that, telling you to text him anything you needed that he could bring you after. 

A while later, you’ve just slumped down onto the couch, when your stomach sinks at the sight you’re met with. There, at the corner of the room, lie his cleats. He’d been cleaning them the night before and had clearly forgotten to put them back in his gym bag. 

“Fuck.” 

You lift yourself up, grab them, and head over to the stadium. 

When you get there, you pound at the locker room door, and it opens — of course, you couldn’t catch a fucking break — to Miguel O’Hara’s gorgeous face. Though he looks at you intently, you can’t quite read his expression. Then he yells over his shoulder, “Ale!” 

Alex jogs over and, upon seeing you, lets out the biggest sigh of relief. 

“Oh, thank God. I fucking love you.” He reaches for the cleats you’re holding up to him and gives you a  bear hug. “Saved my fucking life, Y/N/N. Thank you.” He kisses your forehead. “You don’t look as sick. You’ll be okay?” He’s clearly in a rush to get back but wants to make sure you’re alright. 

You nod and playfully shove his chest, pushing him back into the locker room. “You’re the best!” he yells over his shoulder as he saunters back. Miguel is still just standing there, all geared up for the match. It crosses your sick mind how good the uniform looks on him. 

“You’re sick?” he asks. 

“Nothing I won’t get over.” You offer him a weak smile. He’s nodding slowly, considering. 

“Stay for the match?”

“Miguel, I —“ “Please.” You’ve never heard him plead before. You’re head is nodding before your mind can catch up. He just nods too. “I’ll find you after.” And with that, he jogs back into the locker room. 

You’d never known ninety minutes could drag on for eternity, with a half-time’s worth of eternity in between. You’re sure you’re heartbeat was elevated the entire time, your mind and emotions reeling. What was Miguel going to say to you after the match? You had absolutely no read on him during your short interaction before. Then again, apparently you weren’t always great at reading him. 

Minute after minute trickles by. At the end of the second half, your team up a goal (yes, Miguel’s), the ref announces an unusually large number of minutes. You moan with everyone else, for your own reasons. What was a potential leveler compared to the leveling of your heart?

Slowly, the minutes pass. The other team builds a mounting attack; they get a good attempt; they miss. The whistle blows; the crowd cheers, and you, you’re frozen in place. 

You thaw yourself slowly as the players shake hands, go to their respective huddles. By the time they’re roaming the sidelines freely, you’ve only just managed to leave your seat. 

As you descend the bleachers stairs, you catch sight of Miguel. He’s obviously searching, halfheartedly ignoring the congratulations coming from all sides. His eyes eventually meet yours, and as soon as they do, he’s running over to you, meeting you much closer to the bleachers than the field. 

He comes to a stop right in front of you and just watches you. You just watch him. “Congratulations,” you say. He chuckles, lightly shaking his head.

“Thanks.” 

He takes a step closer to you. “Y/N…” “Yeah?” “I…” “Miguel!” you’re interrupted. “Congratulations! Way to pull it out!” “Thanks, yeah, thank you,” he says hurriedly, looking back over to you. “Listen, I just, I wanted to clear things up after how we left them.” You nod, worrying your bottom lip, your arms wrapping around you defensively.

“I didn’t want you to think that —“

“Congratulations, Miguel! Did it again, man!” And a slap on the back.

“Uh-huh, yeah, thank you,” Miguel responds, turning away, approaching rudeness. “For fuck’s sake,” he says, much more softly. “C’mere.” He grabs your arm and drags you around the bleachers, stopping when you have a semblance of cover. He’s looking around to make sure no one else is about to talk to him, and his worried looks right after he’s just won makes you laugh. The sound draws his attention fully back to you. He smiles at seeing you smiling. 

“Where can a guy get a little privacy, huh?” he jokes. “Probably not still by the field where he just scored the winning goal, I’m guessing,” you tease. He chuckles. Then he takes a deep, sobering breath. “Listen, Y/N…” 

His tone sounds apologetic, and it makes you immediately think the worst. He probably just didn’t want you to be embarrassed. Wanted to fix things so they wouldn’t be awkward if he hung around, which he’d obviously want to do given Alex was his best friend. 

Already fighting back tears, wanting to beat him to the punch to save face in whatever way you could at this point, you cut him off. “Miguel, you don’t have to explain anything or anything. I’m sorry I made more out of a good time than I should have. Please don’t let me keep you from hanging out with my brother even if I’m around, and I hope we can still be friends.” “What? No, that’s not… This isn’t about Alex. I mean, well it is a little bit.” He’s looking unsure. “Just keep things how they were before. It’s all fine.” “Is that what you want?” He looks serious. “What do you mean?” “Is that what you want? To keep things how they were before? To still be friends?”

“I… well… it’s what you want, isn’t it?” “I never said that.” “You didn’t have to. I tried to kiss you, and you pretty much said no to that. Twice.”

“I didn’t. Well, once, yeah I did, but it was only because I was worried you were too drunk. I didn’t want to take advantage of you. And, also, maybe a little bit because I panicked, okay?” He sounds more vulnerable than you’ve ever heard him yet. “I was worried it’d be weird with Alex or that I’d fuck it up with you, and I just, I don’t know, I panicked. And the other time wasn’t my fault. I was going to kiss you if you hadn’t stumbled.” “Someone bumped into me!” “I’m not blaming you! I just, it just, it made me remember you were drunk, and I didn’t want to be like that idiot guy I’d had to push away a while earlier.” “You’re nothing like that guy,” you say sternly. “I…” He’s started to look frustrated, unable to find the words. He runs his hand over his face, takes another deep breath. “What if you try now?” “What?” “I don’t know how to tell you. So maybe I can just show you. Try again, and no one will bump into you. I won’t panic, and I won’t think of all the things that could go wrong. I’ll think of how I’ve been feeling since that night. Absolutely fucking miserable. It’s been eating away at me; all I could think about was making it right with you, but I didn’t know how, didn’t know if I should. But I can’t take it anymore, and if you feel the same way, then, fuck, let’s just stop getting in our own way.” 

“Miguel…” “Yeah?” “That was pretty good for not knowing how to tell me.” Your face forms the slightest teasing smirk, your eyes lighting up at the realization of what he’s telling you. “Shut up and kiss me already,” he says, rolling his eyes, unable to help his bright smile, pulling your body to his and bringing his lips onto yours. 

You pull him into you, reciprocating eagerly. He moans into your mouth, and you feel his towering body sink onto yours. His arms are tight around you, one hand cupping your head, bringing you close. His kiss is fervent, desperate but concentrated. 

You run your hands in his hair, and he chuckles gruffly, the sound muffled by your chasing mouth. You lose yourself in his embrace. You grip him tightly, breaching into his mouth, wanting to kiss him as much as wanting to be kissed by him. You could feel the beginning of a beautiful push and pull as your mouths move together, your bodies mold into each other’s. 

You want to kiss him forever, but some loud cheering nearby startles you slightly apart. Miguel is looking deeply into your eyes. He kisses you again, lets his forehead rest on yours when he pulls back. You’re smiling when you say, “You should probably get back. I’m sure people are looking for you.” He groans dramatically and hides in the crook of your neck. He kisses it before saying, “I just want to be with you.” 

You giggle, nuzzling his face with yours, holding him close, your hand in his hair.

“Yeah, me too.” He hums into your neck. He plants another kiss there, and one on your cheek on his way up, as he lifts his head again. His rough hands caress your face tenderly. 

“This is good,” he says simply. You laugh and nod. “Fuck ‘em. I’ll go over there at some point. Let’s just stay here a little while longer.”

“Okay,” you smile. 

Miguel leans back into you, kissing you and kissing you and kissing you. 

[intimacyequalsdeath]

Can i ask dor 'don't you trust me' with Michael Myers?

Of course! Sorry these requests are taking so long, college has been kicking my ass recently but I'm gonna try and upload more regularly. The prompts the anon chose for this request are: Prompt 1: "Don't you trust me?"

For future requests the prompt list is HERE Notes: Minors DNI, SFW, No specific pronouns or description of reader are used as anon did not specify as always I hope that's ok anon! TW: Talks of canon typical violence but that's about it.

You looked on, rather unimpressed, as Michael washed off his hands and his knife in your kitchen sink. He had been doing it as long as the two of you had been together, quite frankly you never knew the infamous shape of Haddonfield had any moral compass at all when it came to cleanliness but you guess even he got to be annoyed by it after a while.

"There's blood on your mask too Mike"

He craned his neck to look up at you from the sink. He stopped scrubbing his hands momentarily and tilted his head at you ever so slightly as almost a "what?" expression. You sighed and rolled your eyes.

"You can take your mask off here Michael, ya know, to clean it?"

Michael had only ever taken his mask off long after you had went to bed despite the fact that the two of you had been together, which you always kind of assumed was an official relationship since Michael wasn't really much of a talker to confirm or deny it.

Michael gave something that resembled a half shrug sort of thing before returning to scrubbing his hands.

"Ya know, It's not like I'm going to tell anyone who you are under there"

Michael didn't look up this time, ignoring you and he finally finished washing his hands of the blood and turned to grab the hand towel you laid out for him.

"Plus I mean, we've been together for a while and I've kinda sorta never seen your face"

Michael set the towel down after he was down with it and without so much of a glance left the kitchen. He put his foot on the first stair heading upstairs before you called out after him.

"Don't you trust me?!"

Michael paused, you waited with baited breath as you stared holes into the back of the mask, the bane of the argument. He stepped back off the stairs and slowly turned around to face you.

A moment of stale air passed between the two of you before he began slowly stepping toward you as opposed to where he was going. You stood your ground as he approached, knowing that Michael wouldn't hurt you.

Michael stopped in front of you, peering down at you from inside the mask. You peered right back at him, his eyes emotionless as usual as the two of you held direct eye contact with one another.

Michael's hand came up and for a split, fleeting second you thought he might strike you before his fingers wrapped around the bottom edge of the mask. He gripped it and slowly pulled it over his head until it was entirely off of his head. You kept your eyes connected to his as he stripped himself of his poisonous identity for the first time right in front of your face.

You spared a glance to allow your eyes to scan over his face. Allowing yourself a moment to take in each feature as you took in the man that you know but at the same time had no idea who you were dealing with. Emotionless orbs watched you as you took in his features, Michael stood so still that if you couldn't feel his warm breath fan across your face you would think maybe he was frozen in time.

After taking in his features you gave a gentle smile. Again, as usual, Michael stared on emotionless, but you smiled anyway. Michael, shockingly, allowed you to take the mask gently from his hand as you took it and placed it on the kitchen counter next to you. You then took your hand into his and lead him gently up the stairs where he was originally headed before you had reached your breaking point.

Michael allowed himself to be at your will and follow you up the stairs. His mask lay there, still sitting on the counter where you had put it. Michael would probably grab it in the morning and slip it back on and it would most likely be awhile before you saw his face again.

But tonight, you were going to drink him. Enjoy him and the fleeting moment of vulnerability. To Haddonfield he was the shape, but to you well, he's just Michael.

[pissclump]

This Is Gonna Get Worse Before It Gets Better

Chapter 1

HIIIIIII!! This is my first attempt at writing a multiple part fic with an actual story line, so if it sucks, PLEASE tell me. My original plan for the story was a Toby x Reader, but I may end up making it a Toby, Masky, and Hoodie x Reader. Anyways, I'll try to update as regularly as I can. Reader is depicted as female. This story is cross posted on my AO3 as well: https://archiveofourown.org/works/61232158/chapters/156483289 <3

Warnings: swearing, use of cigarettes, violence, eventual smut in later chapters

A frustrated groan escaped your lips as you ran your fingers through your hair. As if being a broke college student wasn't bad enough, you also had treacherous amounts of homework. Your evenings were usually spent with Kimberly, your roommate who quickly turned into a close friend. It didn't matter if you were out all night or just staying home doing nothing, you were content as long as you were in her presence. Tonight, however was different. Kimberly has been gone all day. And she won't be back for the next two. She said she was feeling homesick and insisted going back home to stay with her parents for the weekend. You were bummed about her being gone all weekend, but you knew it would be selfish to attempt talking her out of it. Which is how you ended up in your current situation; sitting on your couch with your laptop attempting pointless assignments until you eventually give up and submit whatever half-assed effort you gave. After at least three hours of repeating the same cycle, you finally had enough. In almost an instant, you slammed your laptop shut, setting it aside.

You stood up from your couch and stretched. Sitting in one place for so long can make you cramp sometimes. You're almost used to it by now. You walked into your room and grabbed the first pair of shoes you could find before leaving your tiny apartment. The stress from school never failed to steadily increase your need for nicotine. Luckily, your usual gas station was only about a five minute walk from home, so there was no need to take your car and waste gas. Swinging the door open, you were met with the smell of cheap air freshener. Behind the counter sat just the man you wanted to see. Mr. Kurtz was always a delight to talk to. He also had no problem selling you cigarettes despite the fact that you weren't legally old enough for them yet. You're only a year away from being 21, it's really not that big of a deal, is it?

"There she is! Haven't seen you all week. How have you been, kiddo?"

"Evening, Mr. Kurtz. I'm alright. Just getting my ass kicked by school and stuff. Nothing new."

The older man let out a noise that sounded like a mixture between a huff and a chuckle. He turned his back to you, now facing the variety of cigarettes behind the counter.

"Let me guess. The usual?"

"You know me so well."

He let out another huff of laughter as he pulled your favorite brand from the shelf. He didn't even bother to ask for an I.D. He never did. Which was what led you to become a regular at his store along with his sickeningly friendly personality. You rummaged through your pocket until you found enough cash to pay your total.

"Thanks again, Mr. Kurtz. I'll see you again soon."

You grabbed the fresh pack of cigarettes and flashed him a friendly smile.

"Sure thing, kiddo."

Immediately upon exiting the store, you opened the small box and removed one of the cigarettes before placing it between your lips. You keep a lighter on you at all times. You fished it from your pocket and lit the end of the thin cancerous stick. Taking a long inhale, you closed your eyes in relief as the familiar flavor of tobacco filled your mouth and lungs. This is exactly what you needed.

The walk back home was uneventful. Finishing your cigarette, you stamped it out on the ground just before climbing the stairs to the small apartment you and Kimberly shared. With your key already in hand, you inserted into the keyhole on the doorknob. However, when you twisted the key, you weren't met with the familiar 'click' sound it always made while being opened.

“𝘏𝘶𝘩… 𝘔𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳��𝘰𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘤𝘬 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘰𝘳 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘐 𝘭𝘦𝘧𝘵.” You thought to yourself.

You jiggled the doorknob, and sure enough, it was already unlocked. You shrugged it off and stepped inside, closing the door back behind you. You stood in silence for a moment, your breath catching in your throat. Something was off. You weren't sure what it was, but the moment you stepped through the door, the sudden unshakeable feeling of dread took you over completely. It was almost as if you were being watched. No, you 𝙬𝙚𝙧𝙚 being watched. You reassured yourself that it was just your imagination, but your instinct told you to get out of there as quick as you could and never look back. Before you could process another thought, a hand made its way from behind you and was clasped over your mouth.

"W-we've got you n-now!~"

Your first instinct was to scream, however it was muffled due to how hard this fucker's hand was pressed against your mouth. You opened your mouth and bit down on the hand before you with all the strength your jaw could give. However, it only resulted in an increase of maniacal giggles from your perpetrator. He wrapped his other arm around your torso and held you tightly in place. You could taste the blood and small bits of flesh in your teeth from his hand and nearly gagged.

"𝘏𝘦'𝘴 𝘭𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨? 𝘐 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘣𝘪𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦'𝘴 𝙡𝙖𝙪𝙜𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜?"

The only other plan of escape you had was to try and struggle free from his grip. You tried your hardest to pull yourself free from his death grip, but your efforts were about as useful as a lamp without a lightbulb. You grunted in frustration as his hold on you only tightened. You then felt something cold and metallic press against your neck. You tried to crane your head to the side for a better look, but quickly whipped your head back up was you felt the sharp object slide against your skin. Small droplets of blood dribbled down to your collarbone as you hissed in pain at the uncomfortable sensation.

"You're a f-fuh-feisty one, a-aren't ya?"

"Who the FUCK are you?! What do you want from me?!"

Before he had time to answer you, you heard heavy footsteps coming from the hallway. Approaching you was a man in a white mask. It was painted with eerie feminine features, but what caught your attention the most was the crowbar resting in his palms. Your breath quickened with every step he took closer to you. You felt like you were on the verge of fainting from hyperventilation. This was the first time you had ever experienced anything like this, and you prayed that if you survived by some miracle, it would be the last. The masked man took a few more steps until he was just inches away from you. He leaned down so that he was at eye level with you and just stared before letting out an annoyed scoff.

"For fucks sake, Rogers, you've got the wrong one."

What.

"Huuuh? You mean sh-shes not our t-t-target?"

The man release his grip on you and you immediately collapsed to the floor. Your legs were shaking too much for you to stand on your own right now. Hell, your whole body was shaking. You looked up from the ground at the man who had restrained you. Like the other one, his face was also covered. Except instead of wearing a mask, he wore bulky orange goggles and what seemed like some type of mouth guard.

"No. But she is now. She's seen too much."

Oh, fuck no.

Adrenaline shot through your body as you stood up and bolted towards the kitchen. Quickly, you threw open a few drawers and looked for literally anything to defend yourself with. You wrapped your fingers around a large kitchen knife and defensively yielded it in front of you. This only caused the goggled man to let out another sickening giggle.

"Look, M-Masky, she's g-g-gonna try to f-fight back! H-how cute!"

The masked man let out an annoyed sigh, clearly losing his patience with the other man's antics. "Let's just get this over with."

"Get the FUCK away from me! Fucking psychos!"

You didn't have the guts to approach and attack them. Your mind raced as the masked man started taking long slow strides towards you. You then did the only other thing you could think of to slow him dow. You threw open the fridge door and grabbed the unopened gallon of milk with shaky hands.

"I SAID FUCK OFF!"

With all the strength you could conjure up, you threw the gallon of milk directly at his head at full force, causing it to bust open on impact. He let out a grunt of both pain and annoyance and stumbled back a few steps. He clearly was NOT expecting that. The goggled man began to howl with laughter.

"HAH! Sh-she got you good, d-didn't she, Masky!"

"Shut the hell up, Rogers!"

He turned his attention back to you. He was a lot less intimidating when he was covered in milk, but still intimidating nonetheless.

"You fucking bitch!"

He wiped the milk from his mask with his arm and practically pounced on you. Your back hit the hardwood floor with a thud, the impact knocking the breath out of you. You threw you arms in front of you in a pathetic attempt at defending yourself, but before he could lay another hand on you, you heard the front door open. Another man with his face hidden made his way into your field of vision. He was wearing a tight ski mask with a poorly drawn frown on the front, covered by the yellow hood of his shirt.

"Both of you. We need to leave. Now."

"I'm not going anywhere until I've bashed this whore's skull in!"

"You don't have much of a choice. Neighbors heard the commotion and called the cops."

"Oh for FUCKS sake!"

With that, he roughly shoved you back to the ground and released you before heading towards the door with the hooded man. They were both followed by the shorter male with the goggles. He turned his head towards you again before walking out with the others.

"I'll see you ag-gain soon, p-princess!"

What the fuck. What the actual fuck. You were unable to move from your spot on the floor. Tears made their way from your eyes as your entire body shook. You definitely weren't gonna be sleeping tonight after that.

[ziggyzolch]

Headache Ⅴ (Wanda Maximoff x Reader)

Summary: After 2 months at the compound, you finally get some good news. Warnings: nothin really Previous Chapter

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❅❅❅

“Got it?” You were bouncing in your seat as Steve concluded the meeting. “Yes!” Jumping up, you speed towards Wanda’s room. You hadn’t used your speed much aside from training since you’d gotten here, but you couldn’t contain your excitement. The meeting had ended 10 minutes ago, actually, but Steve asked you to stay back to tell you something you’d been waiting to hear for ages. ‘Blablabla…allowed on missions…blablabla’.  The stress of your upcoming exam was dulled by your excitement for your first, real mission.

“Jesus! Can’t  you knock?” Wanda yells as you burst into the room, holding a towel up to her chest. With a yelp, you slap your hand over your eyes, rushing back out and closing the door, waiting patiently for her to finish up with a light blush on your face.  Wanda seemed to ease up on you after the Ouija incident, even confessing that she controlled the whole thing. You seemed to be growing on her, despite the teasing. She’d even occasionally buy you coffee, something she randomly started doing after a month of you living at the compound. She had noticed how stressed out you were about all your assignments and upcoming exams, and figured it’d help.

 “Don’t mention it.” She’d roll her eyes and say when you thanked her with a kiss on the cheek. 

 Leaning back on the door, you get lost in your thoughts. Your first, official, mission. After 2 months of training, Steve’s finally letting you go on a mission. Your time at the Avengers Tower so far wasn’t the most exciting. Wake up, train, eat, and study until you pass out on Wanda’s desk. Things were finally about to get interesting-

Wanda watches you fall backwards into her room as she opens the door, laughing at your glare. “You need to stop leaning against the door,” She offers you her hand, which she yanks back just as you were pulling yourself up. “Cunt.” You mutter under your breath, pushing yourself off the ground. 

“What’s got you so excited, speedo?” Wanda asks as she dries her hair.

“Nothin’ much; just that I’m going on my first mission!” You jump up and down..

Wanda raises an eyebrow, “Huh. When? What kind of mission? Are you ready-”

Taken aback, you raise an eyebrow, “Uh, Steve said it was soon.” You scratch the back of your head, “ I don’t know much else, just that it's happening.”

Wanda gets lost in her thoughts as the conversation dies out, walking into the bathroom. You ignore the sudden change in her demeanor. 

The excitement fades as you glance at the pile of books at your desk. College was kicking your ass. School was never an issue for you, being a straight A student up until you graduated, so struggling at your studies was foreign to you and all the stress had been piling up. That, plus your overwhelming homesickness, had been bringing you down the past couple of weeks. Your first exam was in a week, and you felt completely and utterly unprepared. 

A meow coming from under the couch brings you out of your thoughts. You coo, picking up your cat and spinning around, “My baby, my baby. You’re my baby say it to me,” Adjusting your hold on him, you start swaying back and forth. You found him as a kitten shivering under a dumpster towards the end of high school. You were skipping with Peter when you found your adoptive son, and you kept him hidden in school until you could take him home. Your father was not pleased. “My baby, my baby- Ah!” A familiar laugh startles you. 

“Did you birth him or something?” Tony jokes, putting his hands out as you hand him your baby, “I might as well have, he’s my son.” You pout, watching the cat climb onto the man’s shoulder. “What’s his name, anyways?” He asks, bending his arm awkwardly to pet your son.

“Wesker, but my father nicknamed him ‘Little shit’” 

“Like mother like son, amiright?” Tony puts the cat down, scratching his little chin for good measure.

“Ha. Ha. What did you come in here for?”

“Well, speedo,, I heard from a little, 6’2, jacked, bearded birdie that you were going on your first mission soon,” He walks towards the door, urging you to follow him, “I’d like you to help me design your suit-” Tony’s interrupted by your squeal “Yes!” You clear your throat, “I mean, yes of course I’d like to help.” 

“Great. Maybe after this mission I’ll let you have your own room.”

Tony pauses at the door to his lab. He leans in to type in the code, before glancing back at you and putting his hand up to cover the screen. You roll your eyes, he must’ve installed it after your failed heist. 

“Alright, let’s start.”

❅❅❅

“That looks like shit.” Wanda deadpans as you show her the design you came up with. You and Tony discussed the features you’d want for your suit, but he left the aesthetics to you. “What the fart! This is the third one I’ve shown you.” You whine, Wanda raises an eyebrow, “‘What the fart’? Are you 6?” You roll your eyes, “You wouldn’t get it.” The witch chuckles, pushing aside crumpled papers and taking a seat next to you.

“Why is the suit fully green, wouldn’t black make more sense?” 

“I’m not trying to look goffik.”

“Goffik?”

“Never mind.” You have to make her read ‘My Immortal’ later.

The door being pushed open interrupts your conversation. Steve walks in, acknowledging Wanda with a curt nod, before placing a file with ‘CLASSIFIED’ plastered on the front on your desk. “Mission details.” He says before turning and walking out. “Uh, okay…” You mutter, picking up the folder and skimming through.

‘Abandoned Hydra facility, low security. Pick up leftover documents, blueprints, etc. Limited to zero engagement.’ 

Seems easy enough, if not a little boring. The mission was taking place a day before your exam. You probably should’ve mentioned the fact to Steve, but you could deal with it. You can feel Wanda’s presence behind you, reading through the document as well. Wanda mutters something under breath before walking towards the door. “No wait! I still need your help- and she’s gone.” You sigh, pushing yourself off the couch and moving towards the desk. 

Putting your glasses on, you crack your knuckles and stretch your neck. You’re locking in. 

❅❅❅

You’re awoken by a nudge on your shoulder. Lifting your head up, you look at the ruffled papers and pens, your biology textbook on the floor by your foot. “Hey sleepyhead.” Wanda teases, ruffling your hair and placing a cup of coffee next to your laptop. “Hey, thanks.” You lean up, giving her a peck on the cheek. “Don’t mention it.” She smiles. 

You groan, holding your head in your hands. “What’s wrong?” Wanda glances back at you as she takes off her shoes. “This shit is kicking my ass.”  She approaches you, flipping through the various worksheets.

“All the lectures I missed are catching up to me.” You had studied the material at least 5 times by this point, but you still don’t feel like it’s enough.

“Aren’t they recorded?” She picks up your textbook, placing it on the table.

“Yeah, but I can’t focus with videos.” 

“Huh, I never expected you to care about school so much.” She mutters, “Maybe I can help?”

You raise an eyebrow, ignoring the subtle jab, “How?”

“I could quiz you, or something. Maybe research some new studying methods you could try?”

“Oh, yeah. Smart!” You light up, “But later. My eyes are starting to cross.”

Wanda giggles, patting your shoulder and walking towards the couch.

“I’m joining the mission.” Your eyebrows shoot up at Wanda’s statement.

“Why? Is it more dangerous than I thought?”

“No, no. Nothing like that, just wanted to see how you’d do, and maybe make fun of you if you mess up.”

“Oh. Okay,” You don’t think too much of it, having been used to her teasing by now, “Who else is going?”

“Bucky and Natasha, maybe Pietro. Steve won’t be there, so Natasha’s in charge.”

You nod, standing up and pulling out the spare blanket and pillow. Wanda stops you before you can place them on the floor, “You can sleep on the couch, if you’d like.” Your eyes widen, “Really?” The witch rolls her eyes, “Yes, idiot.” Picking them up, you place them onto the couch, “One day, those eyes will roll back so far they’ll never come back down.” She lightly punches your shoulder, “Don’t make me take it back.” You put your hands up in surrender as Wanda walks towards the window. You always take a nap around this time. Wanda thinks that if not woken up, you could sleep till judgment day. 

She sets up an alarm for you to make sure it doesn’t happen. You never asked about it, figuring she set it for herself and that you happened to benefit from it. Before you could tuck yourself in, Wanda asks, “I found a polaroid of you and your father in the drawer. How come you never talk about him?” You sigh, turning away from her, “Nothing really. Just distance.” 

Wanda knows there’s more to it, but she won’t read your mind to find whatever information you left out. The witch closes the blinds and picks up your worn out teddy bear from the floor, placing it next to you and walking towards the door. Turning, she glances at you, snuggled up on her couch, already asleep. Maybe sharing a room with you wasn’t all that bad.

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Next Chapter

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A/N: hello again. kinda long authors note but i got a lot to say.

i went back and changed a few minor things in the other chapters, mainly grammar and spelling errors.

one major thing i changed was becca to kate bishop. It felt out of place for her to be there tbh, figured itd be better to have an already established character.

also in the last chapter i accidentally left in ‘quinn’. She was another character that i put in that i ended up scrapping, but forgot to remove that mention of her.

Also, I know a lot of my followers came from my regina fic, so if you guys are reading this and want a new regina fic, give me some suggestions!

Sorry for the super long wait. Summer break started so new chapters coming!

Also, is there any character in particular you guys would like to see? Or any already introduced character youd like R to interact more with? Tell me bout it. tbh i’d love to hear any suggestions you guys have for the story.

Comment if you'd like to be added to the tag list. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed!

Tags: @sgm616 @gabby-duhh @le3-r1n @unicorniusfallapatorius @ayoungexwife @anaaam

[karkatbug]

🦀🕶️🫂

A tight, hot sensation works its way along Dave’s arms and sits at the pads of his fingers, which he taps restlessly against the cool, waxed wood table of their local coffee shop. He continues the motion despite his classmate’s evident irritation, hoping the contact would somehow encourage the feeling to pass through his fingers and onto the table via osmosis. It’s a familiar tension after enduring copious amounts of stress. Assignments, exams, working part-time. His social life, hobbies and habits. College had a knack for narrowing time and forcing life into a bottleneck. If you’re lucky enough to come out the other side alive, you’re left an exhausted shell of yourself, stiffly trying to relax your shoulders and convincing yourself that’s all you need and are totally fine now. Booking a back massage was pussy shit. No way in hell was he ever gonna let some man rub oil on him and get all touchy feely with his nude bod, no the fuck thanks.

Not to mention things were good. He’s quite literally in a better place. There was no reason to be rigid with stress now when he wasn’t going through anything like back then. Sadly logic did little to work out the knots in his shoulders. 

“Mind over matter my ass,” Dave mumbles to himself.

“What’s with you?” Karkat demands. “You’ve been fidgeting all fucking day. All week, actually! Usually I let your human quirks slide but at this point I’m starting to get worried.”

Dave winces at the other’s raised voice.

“I’m fine, dude,” he says quietly, hoping to lead Karkat by example. “Finish your thingy.”

“Our thingy,” Karkat corrects. Dave huffs and glances back down at his laptop screen. A word document is open, and Karkat’s cursor flashes where he stopped typing. “And I’m not writing another word until you tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing’s wrong, man.” Dave forces himself back into his quiet facade—fixing his calm along with his posture. They work some more. He grits his teeth when a leg begins to bounce. God how he’d love to crawl out of his skin right now. Instead, he sits up straight, grabs the side of the table and twists one way, repeating the motion as he does the other. His back pops both times. He lets out a satisfied sigh. 

It’s still not enough. 

“That’s the third time you’ve done that,” Karkat notes. His eyes are fiery despite the lack of red. Dave is one of the few who know about his blood color. He knows they’ll kick in a few years from now, and yet sometimes Dave can feel the color on him. Or maybe he’s projecting. It is his favorite, after all. The color. Not the troll.

Karkat pushes the screen of his laptop down as he points an accusatory finger at the restless human sitting across from him. “You’ve also rubbed your neck twenty seven separate occasions in this past hour. You’ve kicked me in the shin twelve times trying to stretch those freakishly long appendages you call legs. I’ve heard your back pop more times than Egbert’s fucking “grandma” and I lived with them for an entire year!”

“Why did you put quotations around grandma?”

“My point is what the fuck is happening to you? Are you about to molt? You’re acting like your frail skin is about to rip open.”

“Your inexplicable obsession with me is duly noted, and flattered as I may be that you watch me like a hawk—sorry, a talonscreecher— you can park those observations back at the Target parking lot you were at just this morning along with that awful thing on your wrist that you bought from there.”

Karkat tugs his long sleeve over his wristwatch with a scowl and flips Dave off.

“I usually exercise,” Dave explains, figuring he was one more digression away from Karkat finally deciding to kick him back for all the times earlier, most of which were definitely intentional points of contact on his end. “And I haven’t been able to for almost two weeks now because of—” he gestures to his laptop, the cafe they’re in and the campus visible outside the window they’re sitting by. “Our muscles get stiff and shit if we don’t move. It’s kind of unbearable for me.”

“Well, go! Go run a lap and come back!”

“What did we say about asking people to fulfill your furry kinks? I know our recently established friendship is cool and all but I’m not moirailling with you, dude. Next thing I know you’re going to ask me to get on my knees and bark—” Dave sucks in his breath and clenches his teeth, fighting the instinct to yelp following the sharp pain in his shin.

“Fuck off, Strider! Suffer in that meatsack for all I care.”

“I jog at ass in the morning or in the middle of the night, there is no in between.”

“Those are our peak cram hours.”

“I know! That's why I haven't been able to go!” Dave exclaims. “I hate feeling watched while I workout.” That’s not incriminating to admit, right? Most people hate the gym for the very same reason. There’s no way Karkat’s tragic-past detector would go off.

“‘Cause of your Bro?”

Dammit.

“No,” Dave utters stubbornly while raising his knee for easier access to rub his throbbing leg. “Can’t a guy be a little self-conscious when asked to run around his school in tight jeans and a baggy hoodie at peak hours? Can’t a troll accept that nothing will fix me right now besides getting on my stomach, spreading my legs and praying some forklift certified fuck accidentally gets in a steamroller and runs me over?”

“Jesus, Dave. If it’s that bad… just let me sit on you!”

Dave’s mind is pulled in so many different directions that for once in his life, he’s at a loss for words. The imagery, one he’ll never admit to having, even if burnt at the stake, takes hold. It’s so vivid in his mind that he closes his laptop with an abrupt snap and shoves it into his backpack.

“I think we’re done here.”

“Humans do it all the time!” Karkat continues. “You lie on the couch and your friend sits on your back, right? John and Jade fucked with me like this all the time but they’d make me do it back. They said it feels good.”

“You have got to remember that those two are outliers when it comes to what is considered ‘normal’ by human standards.”

“Right, because you’re a sensible being and should be considered the standard life form for your race.”

“You’re not convincing me to let you sit on my back, dude.”

“Fine, but where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

“Home?” Dave shifts out of the booth and shoulders his backpack. 

“No the fuck you’re not! We’re not even halfway done with this paper!”

“I’ll bullshit something tonight.”

Karkat follows him, protesting the entire time. Dave tries and fails to shake him off. The sticky heat of the summer has yet to take hold of the city. Accustomed as he may be, Dave never looks forward to it, and the dread along with his current bodily aches makes him clench his teeth and curl his fists. He snapped at Karkat once, two years ago, in the summer. He was in a bad mood. Sweat-slicked hair framed his features. The humidity sat heavy in the air and made his clothes cling to the small of his back. He was tired, his brain had reached capacity after back-to-back lectures. The sun drained what little energy he had left, so when Karkat tried to lecture him about his romantic life, embarrassing him in front of their friends, he was genuinely mad. They weren’t close then, but were in each other’s circle. Dave had regretted it instantly. Karkat was a good dude. Sensitive in a way that made Dave cringe, sure, and outright obnoxious at times, but it was from a place of caring. He was fooled at first, with the way the other talked and typed. Karkat Vantas came off aggressive, loud and arrogant, but in actuality was all bark no bite (though his throbbing shin would argue otherwise). When he apologized, Karkat hugged him tight and everything seemed to magically get better after that. 

Dave’s pace slows to a stop once they round the corner, officially off campus and away from the crowds of students. 

“Sorry,” he blurts when the other stumbles to a stop to avoid crashing into him. “For getting all pissy.”

Karkat raises a brow and tilts his head to the side.

Dave uncurls his fists and tries to relax his shoulders. He doesn’t want to be uncool like back then, two years ago. Not to the troll he now knows well. Someone he genuinely likes despite pretending otherwise.

“It’s not anything you said or did.” Why was communicating so hard? And so fucking awkward? Why did he have to explain his feelings instead of relying on the people around him to telepathically understand what was going on in his head?

“Yeah, I know,” Karkat snorts. “You just need to book a fucking massage.”

“Phrasing,” Dave smirks.

“No, Dave. I know what I said.”

Dave flushes at the other’s nonchalance. He hates when Karkat has the drop on him. 

“I hear you can request a happy ending from some plac—mph.”

Dave gets him into a headlock with one arm, the other going over his mouth. There’s a familiarity to the action. “Be glad there’s no table to suplex you over,” Dave threatens. He releases Karkat the moment he detects the other open his mouth to bite him. Yet another familiar action. 

They tussle for a while longer until they’re giggling as they pull away. The distance between them lasts only a brief moment. On a whim, Dave reaches out and pulls Karkat back in, this time for an embrace. Karkat squeezes him tight. It knocks the air out of Dave in the best way possible. Karkat pops his back and nearly lifts him off his tippy toes. God he loved this fucker’s hugs.

“Did that help?” Karkat asks with a small smile, sharp teeth peeking shyly over his lips.

“I’m not sure,” Dave lies, chest tightening at the sight. Shit. “Can you do that again?”

Karkat embraces him with all he’s got. Shit, shit, shit. Dave fights back the groan. He’d never hear the end of it if he made a single sound in front of Karkat. But he can’t lie, this shit felt good. He wraps his arms around Karkat and hugs back. It becomes a competition. They embrace each other until Dave is certain one of them is going to pass out from lack of oxygen.

They release each other with dizzied laughs and crash back into each other, initiating another round. This time Dave reaches around Karkat’s waist, leading the other to lock his arms around Dave’s shoulders. Karkat squeezes the tension right out of those muscles. Dave strengthens his grip until that tight, hot sensation that had wormed its way along his arms and to the pads of his fingers dissipates completely. 

They stumble apart with dopey grins, wordlessly resuming their walk home with nothing to fill the air between them but the sound of passing cars and chirping birds. He should have known. All it took was Karkat hugging him tight. Everything always seemed to magically get better after that. 

[writings-by-fairy]

Show Me

Fandom: American Housewife

Pairing(s): Oliver Otto x Cooper Bradford with background relationships

Words: 1,823

Rating: M

Warnings: sexual content

Summary: On college break, Oliver and Cooper relieve some tension after being so busy.

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Fall break, finally. Despite going to the same school and seeing each other every day, Cooper and Oliver were so excited to be home together. Midterms had kicked their asses and they both were working so hard every day. It was Friday night when they got back from college. The Otto’s swarmed the two boys showering them with love and fake annoyance that they were back, Oliver could not stop smiling. He hadn’t realized how much he missed his family until they started the journey back home.

Because it was so late, the greetings were short lived. “Look, I’m glad you two are back but mama needs her beauty rest.” Oliver and Cooper giggled at classic Katie Otto before they retreated downstairs to the basement. They changed into their cheesy, matching pajamas (Cooper’s idea) and put on some music in the background. They laughed in hush as they recalled the memories their first semester gave them: Cooper joining a frat by accident and liking it (then being asked to move in by the president because he liked Cooper so much), the LGBT club approaching Oliver and saying its obvious, Oliver crying because he saw a squirrel eat a piece of popcorn (the stress of midterms was getting to him…hard).

As Oliver was rambling on about some guy in his pre-law club who kept saying “do you know who my dad is?”, Cooper couldn’t help his eyes from wondering down to Oliver’s lips. He listened intently even responding with an occasional gasp or “you’re so right”. Eventually, Cooper looked back up at Oliver’s eyes.

Cooper leaned in and softly kissed Oliver. They stayed like that for a few minutes, kissing softly, letting the music wrap its warm sounds around them, gentle hands resting upon different parts of the body.

“Gosh, you have no idea how much I missed this. Everyday I thought about you.” Oliver groaned; he truly did miss this. With everything going on at school: studying, joining one of the most active clubs on campus, going to Cooper’s frat parties even when he has an 8am the next day, and so much more, he did not have time to really hang out one on one with him. They still had to be careful in the frat, Cooper was new and barely knew these guys and also did not want to hear “Just so you know, I’m not into you but I am okay with the whole being gay thing.” Sigh.

“Yeah…well, what did you think about, hmm?” He slowly pushed Oliver back on the couch until he had him pinned; he held Oliver’s hands by his head as he laid a couple kisses along his jawline. “Go on, Babyboy, tell me everything.”

Oliver blinked hard and slowly, trying to clear his mind but couldn’t. “I-I would uhm…” He trailed off but soon felt his cheeks go hot when he started to think about what he used to think and do. Cooper’s grip got tighter on his wrists, and he knew that meant hurry up. “I would think of you.”

“Well, I would sure hope so.”

“I would think about you on top of me.”

“Like this?” Coope rolled his hips slightly making Oliver moan and arch his back up. He did this for a little while before sucking marks onto Oliver’s neck. “Go on.” He continued a trail down the visible neck.

“Yeah uhm, then I would…ohhhh.”

Cooper pulled away completely staring down at Oliver with faux disappointment, but it felt real in the moment. “Do I have to stop or are you going to finish what you were saying?” Cooper sat up and beside Oliver as he asked the question, he looked away “uninterested” as if we get up and walk away at any moment.

Oliver scrambled up and onto his knees beside Cooper, his nimble fingers clinging to Cooper’s arm.

“No, please, no, no, no, I’ll be good. I will tell you every though I had, everything I did to myself, oh please!” By the end, Oliver was basically crying but it seemed Cooper could not care less (though he did, greatly. He wanted nothing more than to reach over and caress his face and wipe away the few tears that escaped.

Cooper looked as though he was pondering something significant, he turned towards Oliver and pushed the disheveled boy to lay back on the couch. Oliver fell back with obedience: he propped himself up on his elbows and legs spread so he could look at Cooper. His brain tried to think of what was going to come next: was Cooper going to crawl up between his legs and fuck him like no tomorrow? Was he going to give Oliver a blow job? Was he going to leave him there high and dry and see how long it takes Oliver to start actually begging? God, he hoped anything but that.

Cooper could see the ongoing battle of anxiety of what was to come war on in Oliver’s head. “I have a better idea than you just telling me what you did and thought.” Oliver looked into Cooper’s eyes, not a coherent thought could be formed, what was he going on about? “How about you show me?”

Oliver’s mind went blank. Show him…how do…I can’t…but I really could. They stayed there in silence for a moment, Oliver couldn’t help but feel exposed about this idea; touching himself in front of his boyfriend while he just watched but oh did the vulnerability feel so good.

“Yes, so uhm, typically it would start after I got off the phone with you or I would just be laying in my bed at night, alone. Then I would start thinking.”

“Go on. Tell me what you would think about.”

Oliver started to push his shirt up to his chin exposing his torso. “I would think about how you touch me. How you would trail hickeys down my neck and chest and thighs, how you were marking me as your own. I would think about how well you take care of me.” Oliver looked down sheepishly, he didn’t know why that last part felt so intimate for even his boyfriend but it was true. He would think about how Cooper protected him from the rumors at the frat, how he would walk Oliver to class when get possible, how he would only let Oliver walk on the inside of the sidewalk, just every little thing Cooper did to make Oliver feel safe and well cared for.

Cooper couldn’t help but feel his chest puffed up with love and somewhat pride that he could make his boyfriend feel so loved and protected. Call him cocky.

Oliver started to lightly trace down his neck and go down to his nipples. “Then I would think about how you would tease my nipple softly.” He finally brought his hand down softly to his right nipple and started rubbing roughly. “Then usually you would start to leave hickeys on the other one so I had to improvise.” Cooper was a little confused by what he meant but soon found out exactly what he meant; Oliver brought his other hand down so now he was pinching and twisting roughly. Oliver was rolling his hips up and down hoping for friction but got nothing.

Cooper felt his mouth water and hand twitch with the need to just touch the angelic boy in front of him. Instead, he turned completely towards Oliver resting his back against the arm rest and started to palm himself. He groaned softly.

Oliver kept this up for a few minutes before finally reaching his hands down to his plaid pajama pants. He lifted his hips up to push them to his thighs before reaching down to start touching himself. Cooper did not like his view being abstracted so he leaned over and pulled the pants the rest of the way off. Oliver gasped and his eyes flew open: he hadn’t even thought about his pants being in the way, he was just doing muscle memory.

“Good boy.”

Oliver moaned, loudly; he realized his mistake when he saw Cooper’s worried face. He calmed his breather before he reached down and started to jerk himself off. He soon became extremely aware of the situation: Oliver almost completely naked touching himself while his boyfriend watching his every move completely clothed. Feeling displayed made the whole situation hotter.

Oliver continued to slowly jerk himself off while twisting his nipple. He was trying so hard not to make a noise, but it was so hard. There was so much pleasure coursing through Oliver: the physical pleasure, the pleasure of looking up at Cooper who was moaning slightly, just the pleasure of finally being with Cooper one on one, just everything was too much but not enough. “Oh fuck Cooper.” Oliver hissed out and twitched his legs.

“Not yet.” Cooper knew the infamous leg twitch, he was close as well but want to watch Oliver whine and huff. Oliver went to pull his arm away to help himself from coming. Suddenly a sharp pain formed on the inner side of his thigh, he looked up at Cooper and registered that he slapped Oliver’s thigh.

“Did I say you could stop?”

Oliver blinked a few times then opened his mouth to respond but let out a quiet sorry and continued what he was doing. It was slightly painful now but it still felt so good. He looked up to Cooper with pleading eyes but was ignored. He almost started crying.

Cooper started to pick up his hand movements and panting. Oliver looked down and say a dark spot start to grow, that’s when he started whining more with tears falling softly down his face. Not fair. Not fair. Not fair!

Oliver’s eyes rolled back as the edging was beginning to cross the line to overstimulation. “Keep you eyes on me.” Oliver groaned as he forced his eyes to Cooper’s, Cooper decided to take pity on his boy when he saw the red cheeks and tears streaming down his face. “Go ahead.”

Oliver let out a yell but he couldn’t care less, it felt so good. He started breathing heavy after he came, he couldn’t help his eyes from falling shut. He could hear Cooper shuffle around the basement and him change his pants. He heard his footprints walk away but could not open his eyes to see where his boyfriend was off to.

Oliver was jerked awake from his sleep (he didn’t even know he fell asleep) when a cold washcloth wiped across his torso to clean up the cum. Oliver smiled gently, he felt so loved. Cooper threw the washcloth somewhere on the floor near the couch and maneuvered Oliver to big spoon him. He leaned up and kissed Oliver’s temple the snuggled into Oliver’s back.

Oliver felt warm all over before sleep took over the both of them.

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I am on AO3 as the same username if you want to check out my other works. This is on there :P Requests are open so please message me

XOXO Fairy

[homeofrodeoapplejack]

What's Coming Up?

OOC//

Hi guys! I dunno how many people actually read this blog HOWEVER here's a bit of an update.

It's been a few weeks since the last Reins update. If you follow me on Twitter, you'd know that I had to take a break from like... EVERYTHING because college was kicking my ass, and then I had family over during the break and I've just been trying to feel like a person again.

College starts back up for me again on Tuesday (I don't have classes on Monday) and strangely my motivation to write came back with it. I've just hit 100k words on the Reins document which is crazy, and I'm trying to finish up this chapter so I have two ready to post. I'm excited that we're finally moving forward in the story after sixty thousand words (yes, sixty thousand) of Applejack being either in a hospital or in a rehab centre.

What have I been writing? Lots of dialogue, lots of Applejack being angry, lots of Applejack being kind of sad and pensive, and... Some arguing. Typical Reins stuff.

There are horse things, there are family things, there are Strawberry things, there are Thistle things...

Sometimes, I feel like this story kind of has a mind of its own. Despite me having most things at least roughly planned out, there's a lot of blank space that I kind of just fill in as I'm writing it and sometimes the story surprises even me.

This day in the Reins universe has kind of been dragging on for multiple chapters, but it's kind of a big thing. I actually really like how this part of the story has been working out. I don't think it's my strongest writing, not at all, but I think it's something that's been getting put down in a way I'm happy with.

Sometimes I find it hard to feel confident in my writing, but sometimes I have people tell me they like the story and that really helps. So to those of you leaving me nice comments or even messaging me and saying you like the story, I want to give you thanks. I don't think I would have ever gotten this far in the story without you. To those of you who sent in questions to this blog, thanks as well. Hopefully, when I get back to more regular uploads I'll have more to put on this blog.

In terms of art, I have been extremely burnt out. I haven't been drawing almost anything. I did start drawing a bunch of busts of Reins characters for fun and just for me to have someplace to look at 'em for reference. Maybe I'll post that. Is that something that might interest anybody? Or maybe just even tell me what character you wanna see and I'll draw them. I know I've drawn some, but there is definitely a lot I've neglected.

There are some things in my personal life I'm trying to deal with. Falling back into bad habits isn't great, but it's something that I've been going through. It makes it hard to want to do anything but luckily Reins is something I love and that I actually enjoy doing. That's why I'm so thankful that people are enjoying it. It's not a huge smash hit on FimFiction, but that's okay. It's like our little corner of the site. A little secret place.

I'll hopefully have something to post on the site soon in terms of the next chapter. Like I said before, I have the next one done, I just want to have two done. So I guess I do have something to post, but you know what I mean.

For those of you who like to make roll credits jokes, I did accidentally write the words "letting go of the reins" in the narration. I thought it was funny. I kept it. You'll see. Maybe even chuckle. Point a finger and go "haha title drop".

Anyway, I'm sorry for my absence. For those of you that I was having a conversation with that I suddenly disappeared from, I'm sorry. If you still want to talk feel free to hit me up again I just forgot how to talk to people, to be honest.

More content soon. I promise. If there's anything you'd like to see or hear about, you know the drill.

[genericfangirlnumber4]

On this day 10 years ago (at age 16) I got in a big fight with my dad’s household about how I wasn’t growing up fast enough and I needed to figure out my future already. As an adult, I can’t help but think about what a disservice this was to me. A 16 year old is still a kid. I wasn’t out there doing drugs or spending lots of money or partying or getting knocked up, in fact I was getting better grades at the time than I had been getting the year prior, finally had friends, and had joined a couple of school clubs. I was finally drawing things that weren’t depressing again, I was visibly improving my health, and I was even helping out with the family business. But none of it was good enough because I hadn’t been applying to any colleges and wasn’t seeking part-time work and didn’t feel a need to do more chores than the adults in the house (Why should I do dishes if Adult 2 won’t even get off his ass to put his dishes in the sink? Why should I clean the litterboxes for cats I didn’t ask for if nobody is going to teach me and Adult 3 only does it once a week?).

What this pressure did, what this fight did, was not to help me along the path to adulthood, but instead pushed me further into the depression I was supposed to be improving from, and became one of the echos I heard in my head when I struggled (especially after having to quit college twice). What it did was make me feel I couldn’t ask them for help on those necessary tasks (how do I apply to a college? how do I write a resume? what is a cover letter?) because I had, in their eyes, already failed them anyway. What it did was convince me to return to anorexic/restrictive eating behavior because I clearly wasn’t earning my food, and I only ate when I was being observed because I knew not eating would be seen as another reason to get mad at me. What it did was make me feel this way constantly for years until they kicked me out at 19.

Now at 26, I still haven’t finished college, like I said I quit, twice. But I didn’t fall into debt, and despite my many mistakes along the way, I am now living with my fiancee, and I have a job that allows me to pay our bills while she goes part-time and focuses on her wellness and her art.

That household still seems to think that providing a roof and some food makes them saints, even though the cost of those things was torture, degradation, and being made to feel like an unwelcome burden as a child in my own father’s home, and being insulted for not taking it with a smile. That household still tries to make it out like I was the villain because I didn’t praise them every day and spent much of my time in my room when I was home, and said room wasn’t cleaner than the rest of their house.

But I’m free of them, and I won’t be inviting any but my father from that household to my wedding.

Oh and did I mention 19 is also when I got diagnosed with fibromyalgia and depression and when I told the doctor how long it’d taken to find that diagnosis she was pissed off? Because I started experiencing fibromyalgia symptoms at 15/16ish and had CLEARLY had depression issues from the ALARMINGLY low age of 6? Imagine hearing that about someone in your care and instead of apologizing for never being mindful of their symptoms, you kick them out for not getting a job outside of their abilities fast enough while they’re also trying to go through community college.

[jammie3132]

Fandom: Glee Pairing: Blaine Anderson & Sebastian Smythe Summary: Before they began dating, Blaine told him he wanted to be wooed. Now he’s saying it’s too much and to rein it in. One look at a calendar and Sebastian knows he's screwed. But if that’s what Blaine Anderson wants, that’s what Blaine Anderson will get. Notes: Roses and Chocolates

Season 4 AU: No sad Blaine. Bad Klaine break-up but no cheating. No Hunter. No steroids. Tie at Sectionals similar to what happened in Season 2. In other words, ignore the stupid stuff.

However, this one time, we’ll accept the stupidity of canon trying to convince us Lima and Westerville are practically right next to each other so Blaine doesn’t have to drive 2 hours (each way) to school every day.

September

School had been back in session for a week before Sebastian finally gave into Niff’s whining and agreed to go to the Lima Bean. He’d been avoiding the place because Blaine was always there. They shook hands at Regionals, but nothing came of it. They still weren’t talking. But Niff insisted there was something he had to see. It must have been big considering two cars full of Warblers followed them.

When he walked through the doors, he knew exactly what they were talking about. There, in all his glory, was Kurt Hummel wearing an apron, exactly as he’d predicted last year. Oh, he was going to have so much fun with this.

3 Weeks Later

Fridays were half days at Dalton. It was so those leaving for the weekend had time to prepare. This weekend he was staying back to study for his first big Economics (the subject that was going to kick his ass) test. But he could do that later. Right now, he felt like going on a run. He got ready but then changed his mind. He was still going for a run but was going to drive to Lima instead of using Dalton’s track. There was a little park there with a running trail he enjoyed. It also just so happened to be across the street from the Lima Bean. When he finished his run he could get an ice coffee and participate in his new favorite hobby Annoy the fuck out of Hummel.

After 3 weeks some would think he’d grown tired of it. Those people obviously didn’t know him.

High on the endorphins running gave him, Sebastian mentally organized the new zingers he’d come up with. Unfortunately, when he arrived at the coffee shop Hummel wasn’t there. Blaine was.

Shit!

Before he could make a hasty retreat, his former friend (and first boy he fell in love with for more than 20 minutes) called him over.

Shit!

"Shouldn’t you be in class at that public school you slum in?”

"I’m playing hooky.”

"You? Golden Boy Blaine Anderson is skipping? I’m both impressed and curious. What was so important you brought out your inner rebel?”

"I ended my relationship with Kurt.”

October

Blaine was meant to play Teen Angel. Watching him go down those stairs, dressed all in white and singing like a dream was doing things to him...naughty things.

That day in September when Blaine told him he had ended it with old Gayface, he immediately started his Come back to Dalton campaign. The former Warbler had a dozen reasons why he couldn’t. At the time, only one made sense. He didn’t want to change schools yet again (even though the first one wasn’t his fault). It wouldn't look good on his transcript.

Now, seeing Blaine Anderson own yet another stage, he could see another reason for his choice. Dalton didn’t have a Drama Club. Despite only having one scene, any performing arts college admissions officer would be able to see he was the best thing about this monstrosity. He hated to admit it, but this mess desperately needed Rachel Berry. It wasn’t like they weren’t already using graduates. For some reason Santana Lopez was playing the second female lead. Blaine explained why but all he heard was blah blah blah…Sam’s not happy about it…blah blah blah…he’s dating Brittany…blah blah blah…Santana’s ex.

This bit of information, plus the break-up of Berry and the Oaf gave him enough to keep him entertained both before and after the Teen Angel portion of the evening. Hummel looking back at him every 5 minutes also helped. He made sure to give him a little wave every…single…time.

Blaine warned him it would take around a half hour once the play was over for him to be able to leave, but it had almost been an hour. He assumed the delay was people trying to talk him into going to the cast party at Breadsticks. It was no secret Hummel (and the other graduates) planned to ignore the fact it was a cast party and crash. He decided to give it 10 more minutes before he went to find his unofficial, maybe someday, boyfriend. 

But then the yelling began.

“Are you kidding me? Never mind, I know you’re not. You expected me to sit on my ass and pine for you until graduation. I can’t believe I was so stupid.”

“Sebastian…”

“Sebastian is none of your damn business.”

“I knew you're cheating on me!”

That was his cue. He ran down the hall and around a corner to find Blaine with the current New Directions on one side and Hummel and the graduates on the other. Fucking great. The one thing Blaine made him promise was not to instigate an already tense situation. Wait…he was on the other side of the building. He (technically) had nothing to do with this showdown starting. But he knew a way to end it.

Game on!

He walked through the Old New Directions, winked at the NYADA reject and handed the flowers he brought to Blaine’s new (McKinley) BFF, Sam. Then, without a word, took Blaine in his arms and kissed him…hard. Blaine caught on and jumped up, wrapping his arms and legs around him like a Koala. When he grabbed hold of the Koala’s (perfect) ass to keep him up, the comments began. Applause erupted from the current New Directions side. Sam yelled Go get it, Anderson. There were catcalls from (who he believed was) Lopez. He was a little too busy to check it out.

If Hummel responded, it must have been at one of those pitches only dogs could hear. When they finally broke apart, he was in a best kiss I ever had daze and didn’t know what to do next.

Blaine did.

“Thanks, Babe. And Kurt, I'm not cheating on you. Not because I'm with Sebastian but because I broke up with you.”

“So, you are sleeping with Smythe!”

Now he knew what to say. “Why? You want to watch? Maybe I can teach you a thing or two. The New York Gays aren’t into, shall we say, vanilla. Then again, neither is B. Oh…you didn't know? You're a bigger idiot than I thought. Sorry about that B...in more ways than one.”

"It's alright. I'm sure the differences in my sex life have been highly speculated since you came back into my life."

Dog whistle, incoherent screaming

“Come on Killer, let’s go.” He took the flowers back from Sam and walked over to Artie (the director on Blaine’s side) “Apologies, but Blaine will not be attending the cast party.”

“No apologies necessary”

They went back to Dalton and crashed the Warblers monthly movie marathon. When Nick took Blaine upstairs to get some pj’s his phone started to go off. Of course, it was Hummel. He said to let it go to voicemail, but Thad answered it. He was able to use the words mock or mocking eight times before the other end went dead. The Warblers who were at Dalton with Hummel were literally rolling on the floor laughing. Someday, someone was going to have to tell him what that was about. When Blaine and Nick returned, he told Blaine what happened. He just shrugged then sat down next to him, stealing half his blanket. After grabbing his phone and blocking his ex's number, Blaine told the story of what happened after the play.

The movie marathon was scrapped. The group spent the rest of the night telling stories and laughing. At one point, some of the guys brought down their laptops and graduated Warblers were Skyped in. He learned what was so funny about the word mock. It was his favorite story after the one where Blaine jumped on a 100 year-old table, broke it into pieces and then somehow managed to charm the headmaster into not giving him detention for destruction of school property.

Fucking amazing

Blaine smiled the entire night until exhaustion took over. By this time, he’d hogged the majority of the blanket and was once again practicing being a Koala bear.

Again, fucking amazing

"Hey, Seb. Did we ever tell you about the Gap Attack?”

Thad took off at a full sprint when Blaine instantly woke up at the mere mention of the Gap Attack. It was ok, he knew the story but never got why it was such a big deal. Because, seriously, how could anyone reject such a grand gesture from Blaine Anderson?

November

The Warblers and New Directions decided to combine their We won Sectionals parties since technically they both won.

“A fucking tie? How the hell did we fucking tie?”

“It’s happened before” Sam reminded him, only slightly slurring his words. “When Blaine and he who shall not be named were at Dalton. Blaine took the lead on both songs and knocked them out of the park. Then Quinn and I did an awweeesooome duet. You know, I really liked Quinn but then she started sleeping with…yeah, I’m drunk.”

“Slept with who? Come on Evans!” Good thing that Sugar girl’s basement was huge so there was plenty of other furniture for the others. Sam was out cold. Watching his girlfriend eye fuck her ex all night probably contributed the situation, especially when that Quinn girl actually fucked some guy behind his back. But who?

He needed to find Blaine.

It didn’t take long. He was off to the side talking with the Oaf. If he understood what happened, the guy flunked out of the Army and has now taken over the New Directions since Schuster abandoned them. Fuck! He was also Hummel’s stepbrother.

Everyone knew their kiss after Grease was just to piss-off Hummel. It must have worked because the delusional diva-wannabe had gone silent. That changed today when he called Blaine, five minutes before they were supposed to go onstage. His number was supposed to be blocked but somehow rang through. That could wait. The real problem was figuring out what triggered the call in the first place. Since he wasn’t going to get answers from the fucking narcissist, the Oaf would have to do. “Did you tell the Bad Fairy what a dick move it was to call Blaine right before the New Directions went on stage? Or at least find out what the hell he wanted?”

The Oaf looked toward the ground and huffed, the international signal for you’re not going to like this. “Kurt thought he and Blaine would get back together when he was here last month. When that didn’t happen, he told anyone who would listen he found out Blaine was cheating on him with you even before he left for NYC. Supposedly he's been super depressed enough for his boss to call him into her office yesterday. She told him he’d never be able to move on until he offered forgiveness to those who wronged him. Kurt called Blaine so Blaine could apologize for cheating on him and then he could forgive him.” The Oaf and Blaine silently waited for a response. It wasn’t what they expected.

Full-on laughter

When he was able to breathe again, he sobered (not really, he was still pretty drunk) up to stare the Oaf directly in the eyes. He seemed a little taken aback. It probably didn’t happen very often. The dude was tall, but so was he. “Seb…”

“No, you’re going to listen to me. Tell that delusional son-of-a-bitch to stop saying shit about me and Blaine. If he says no, remind him my father is the State’s Attorney. I will never…ever see the inside of a jail cell. Oh, sorry Blaine."

"Don't be. Even if I wanted to press charges, which I didn't, the idiot gave away the evidence." 

"True." He turned his attention back to the Oaf. No, really turned. It made him nauseous. "And also let Gayface know my new, very good friend Sugar told me her Daddy can dispose of a body so it's never found. Got that?”

“Yeah, I’ll take care of it.”

He (slightly) nodded his head (still nauseous) and backed off. Blaine was smiling that smile that made him want to drop to his knees and offer everlasting fidelity…and give him a blowjob. However, this wasn’t the time or place. “Now that we’ve got that settled, can one of you tell me who the asshole was that fucked Sam's girlfriend behind his back? I need to kick his, or her, ass. No, I can’t hit a girl. Hey, Sugar! Come over here. I might need a favor!”

December

“Explain it to me one more time.”

"You understood the first time. You understood the second and third time.”

"I understand the part about Sam and Brittany getting married…”

"Fake married”

"But they didn’t know it was fake.”

Blaine lifted his coffee and gave it a slight tip, acknowledging his point. “Touché. So, what don’t you understand?”

"How Sammy-boy is still walking around. I thought Lopez would be here on the first flight out of NYC. She might not be as delusional as Hummel, but even I can tell she thought Britt would come running back if she changed her mind. The true question is she pissed because her ex moved on, or that Britt moved on with Sam, Satan's other ex?”

"You know about Sam and Santana?”

"I know he was just a beard but didn’t know it. Those girls in the New Directions treated your BFF like shit, which is really, really bad considering I'm the one saying it. You’d think he’d be quite the catch with those lips. Since he’s on team vagina…”

"Stop! Sam’s my best friend.”

"Are you telling me you’ve never thought about what those lips could do if he was on his knees…”

"Oh my God! Don’t put that thought in my head!”

He had to admit he’d thought about Sam that way a time or two, but it was always centered around Blaine. Primarily, what would happen if the guy was a switch hitter. He and Blaine were extremely tactical together. He’d watched them hug more times in 3 1/2 months than his parents had in his lifetime. They also had a cool nickname…Blam. He and Blaine needed a nickname. Bastian? No…Seblaine. Image Hummel’s meltdown hearing the Seb in his name replacing the K in Klaine.

"Earth to Sebastian. Please tell me you’re not thinking of Sam giving you a blowjob.”

"I wasn’t until…kidding. I’m only kidding.” He took a sip of his coffee before changing the subject. It was time to push things forward, or at least find out if it was possible. “But I was thinking about how close you and Sam are. I mean you were practically holding hands the other day when I picked you up. If your BFF could be your BF, would you be with him?” Well, that sounded stupid.

"Have I thought of me and Sam together? I'm a 17 year-old gay boy and he's gorgeous 17 year-old boy with six-pack abs. Of course, I've thought about it. But I'd never do anything to jeopardize our friendship."

Good! “So, if Blam is totally platonic, what about dating in general? You’ve had enough guys hit on you at Scandals. Or are you still not over Hummel?” Please be over him, please be over him.

"I don’t think the guys at Scandals are looking for dates. And I’ve been over Kurt for a while now." YES!!! "I should tell you something.”

That didn’t sound good. “Anything”

“Burt, Kurt’s dad, came to see me the other day and asked me to go with him to NYC for Christmas, obviously to see Kurt.”

WTF?! “He knows you and Hummel aren’t together anymore, right? Or didn’t he care.”

"It’s not like that.” Blaine finished his coffee before sitting back in his chair. “You can’t tell anyone.”

"Done.”

"He has cancer. Cancer is what killed Kurt’s mom. Burt’s going to NYC to tell him in person.”

Great, now he feels like an ass. "I’m sorry. I know you’re still close to him despite everything. But that doesn’t explain why he asked you to go.”

"He thought I would…you know what? I don’t really know why he thought it would be a good idea. Sam overheard Burt on the phone with Kurt and he mentioned our annual Christmas duet tradition. Maybe it was something to do with that.”

"Christmas duet tradition?”

"The first song Kurt and I sang together was Baby, it’s cold outside. And you saw the Christmas TV Special the New Directions filmed last year.”

"And you were great. But you said annual tradition.”

"Last year and the year before.”

“Killer, doing something two years in a row isn’t an annual tradition, it’s a coincidence.” For some reason Blaine began to laugh then volunteered to get them another round of coffees and a couple of Christmas cookies. When he returned the laughter had stopped, but the boy across from him seemed lighter somehow. “What did I say to put you in this mood? Not that I’m complaining.”

"Don't get mad but I was feeling a little sad about the Christmas duet tradition until you called it a coincidence."

O...K? "Why?"

"When I took the time to look back on my relationship with Kurt, I realized we didn't have a quote/unquote thing. The closest I could come was the duets."

"Nothing else? You were together over a year."

"Exactly. He gave me red and yellow roses once, but it was his attempt at an apology for accusing me of stealing Tony, West Side Story, from him. Even before the official announcement, it was pretty clear I had the part considering Artie had me read with both Rachel and Mercedes. Don't ask." He made the locking gesture over his lips. This sounded like the beginning of a rant, and he didn't want to stop progress. Hopefully, it would give him the information he had (badly) been trying to get since they got there.

"After that, every romantic gesture came from me. Hell, I weaved together a bow-tie ring out of gum wrappers. Don't ask." Wouldn't dream of it. "Oh, I forgot. He did give me a stuffed dog when my brother he was visiting, who by the way, Kurt didn't try to hide his massive crush on. Anyway, I was so touched he thought of me that I didn't wrap my head around the story of the dog until later. The seniors were at the amusement park for Senior Skip Day. Rachel made Finn play the games so he could win her stuffed animals. On the way back, Kurt thought of me, or Cooper and thus me, I don't know, and realized he didn't bring me back anything, which he said he would. So, he stole one of Rachel's multiple animals and gave it to me, saying she wouldn't miss it. He didn't win the dog. He stole it and then told me like it was no big deal."

"That's...that's a lot."

"I've got dozens more."

"No, that's ok. I believe you." And he had enough information. Anything more would just piss him off and cloud his focus. "So, what you're saying is when you're ready to date, you want to be the one who is...I know there's a word."

"Wooed. Yeah, I want to be wooed. And not just wooed. Bigly wooed. Hugely wooed. No, humungously wooed."

"I don't believe anything you said was grammatically correct."

"I don't care. I want chocolates and roses..."

"Just not red and yellow ones."

"Exactly! And besides being humungously wooed, I want to be with someone I don’t have to hide myself from. He’d have to accept my inner Geek…comic books, video games, Star Wars…”

Shit! "That eliminates me from the pool of potential boyfriends. I will never understand Star Wars. At least the canon…”

"Oh My God!!! I told Sam to stop sending you links to clone/clone smut!”

"I can’t help it. I find them fascinating. I mean, they’re clones of the same guy. So, the clone is basically having sex with himself. How is that not Masturbation?”

December 23 in Lima/December 24 in Paris

"Hey, Killer. I thought we agreed to Skype on the 26th after we opened our gifts?"

Blaine smiled and picked up Sebastian's (already opened) gift. "You got me a stuffed dog!"

"It's not the 26th!"

"I can't believe you actually thought I'd wait!"

Yeah, he should have known better. "Just so you know, I didn't win him, but I did build him."

"You went to Build-A-Bear and made me a puppy? You know what Build-A-Bear is?"

"Trent did. Then I asked Sam if he thought you'd like it. He showed up with Tina because she wanted to make sure I didn't fuck it up."

"You...?"

Something changed. Blaine had been like a hyperactive puppy...oh, now he gets the whole Puppy Dog Eyes of Doom thing Sam went on and on about. "You ok Killer?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm great." It looked like he hugged the stuffed animal tighter, but he couldn't tell for sure. The Skype was a little fuzzy. "Open your gift."

"No..."

"Open it. I want to see your face." When he came back with the box, Blaine was practically bouncing through the screen. "Open it!"

"Ok, ok...oh. Men of McKinley?"

"January and December."

"Jan...oh, shit!" 

"Remember when I told you the New Directions had to raise money to get a handicapped accessible bus for Regionals? Ta-da!"

"Um..."

"Speaking of January, December, do you want to get dinner before Sugar's New Year's Eve party?"

"Sure. Breadsticks, since it seems like that's the only place the New Directions go?"

"No, when I said dinner, I meant just you and me."

🎉🎉🎉"That sounds great."

December 31 11:59 PM/ January 1 12:02 AM

When the kissed ended, he lowered his head to put their foreheads together. "Blaine Anderson, I promise I am going to humungously woo you like no one has been humungously wooed before."

February

Blaine was in the Warbler Commons holding the basket he had delivered to McKinley. The Warblers were nowhere to be found. Thad told him Good Luck when he literally ran into him in the hallway but didn't say anything about canceling Warbler practice. Regionals were in 3 weeks. "Hey Babe, do you know where the guys are?"

"I asked them to give us some privacy." He held up the basket before setting it on one of the sofas. "You've got to stop, Bas."

"You don't like the puppies? They're for Bas Dog. The puppy with the pink bow is Alexandra and the one with the blue bow is Devon." Blaine sighed, then took his hand, taking him to the sofa across from the basket. "Did I do something wrong? You're the one who said you wanted to be humungously wooed."

"And I love being humungously wooed by you, but it's every day and I can't imagine the amount of money you've spent."

"That's not my fault, it's yours." Shit! He didn't want to tell Blaine this but no lying or hiding feelings was their Rule #1. "Remember the day you came to my house to help put away the Christmas decorations?"

"Yeah, there were a lot more than I thought there'd be considering your family spent the holidays in Paris."

"When you're a politician, you've still got to keep up appearances. Anyway, New Year's morning, after my wooing promise, I realized something. I had no fucking clue how to woo someone. Then I made a humungously big mistake. I asked my mother."

"Your mother is a lovely woman. Maybe a little over the top."

"No, and I love her, but she's an overbearing French snob who looks down on everyone and everything...except you. You come over, being all charming, (air quotes) forgetting not to call my parents Ma'am and Sir. You brought delicious homemade muffins you baked that morning because you didn't have a hostess gift. I invited you for manual labor not a dinner party."

"It was the polite thing..."

"And then when you and Mother went missing, and Dad and I found you both at the piano singing the score to Les Misérables? My dad pulled me aside and told me he was doubling my weekly allowance but called it my Don't fuck this up fund. Later that night, after you'd gone home, Mother came to my room and gave me a 3-hour lecture on wooing. Then she told me she was tripling my weekly allowance but called it my Don't fuck this up fund."

Blaine's smile was the only thing holding back his laughter. "Did you tell Vivian your father had already given you a raise?"

"Not at first. I thought she was just adding on to what Dad had already done. But when I checked the next day, the original amount was now five times larger. I told them but they waved it off. So, long story short, I haven't spent nearly what I could have. I didn't want to freak you out. And if you haven't guessed, my parents really like you."

"My parents like you too. If my father says the word "upgrade" one more time..." Blaine kissed his cheek but he could tell it was about his developing relationship with his father more than what they were discussing. It sometimes overwhelmed his boyfriend (he loved saying that) how he and Patrick Anderson got along so well. "Thank you for telling me what your parents have done but I want you, and your parents, to understand something. You're an amazing boyfriend and not because of the gifts. Ok, not just because of the gifts. If you don't believe me, believe the universe. You got into Harvard and I'm going to Berklee. We applied to those schools last year, when we weren't talking."

"Berklee was your backup school."

"Yes, at the time, but I could've chosen NYU and didn't. Something was steering me toward Boston. You're stuck with me. And maybe Brittany. Evidently, she's some sort of math genius and MIT is flying her out for further testing."

"That...that...that...huh?"

"I can't explain it either. I'll let you know when I know." Blaine got up and came backed with the two stuffed animals. "I love being wooed by you. Puppies for Bas Dog is incredibly sweet. The problem I have is you keep sending everything to McKinley."

"Are any of those assholes giving you crap because your boyfriend is sending you gifts?"

"No, it's not because you and I are gay. It's because Valentine's Day is next week. Today, a group of guys came into the Choir Room after Glee begging me to ask you to stop. Their girlfriends are constantly pointing out what you've sent me. No way can they live up to those expectations."

"That's not my fault."

"I know, just please, nothing else to McKinley until after Valentine's Day."

"Fine, but afterwards we're back to humungously wooing?"

Blaine sighed and gripped his hand tighter. "I told you, I'm not going anywhere."

"But..."

"I had an idea. Have you heard about Wes' Lent Challenge?"

"Yes, but you know my opinion on organized religions. They call me an abomination. I call them a bunch of hypocritical pedophiles."

"And I agree, but the Challenge wasn't about religion. It was about creativity, but we didn't get to choose what to give up. I had to give up boy band moves for 40 days. We were getting ready for Regionals!"

"Boy band moves?"

"And jumping on furniture."

"Ah, that makes more sense." Something about the way Blaine was looking at him let him know he wasn't going to let this go. "What's your idea?"

"Let me show you my Blaine Anderson everything has to be over the top skills and allow me to take over Valentine's Day."

OH, HELL NO! "That's not going to happen. We can both do Valentine's Day."

"That's what I figured you say. But I want you to understand, I'm with you because of you, not that you're the King of Humungously Wooing. You do believe that, don't you?'

Uhhhh... "Maybe"

"I know the Lent Challenge is a bit extreme, but I couldn't think of another way to get you to stop wooing me and let me prove to you how we can be really great without it."

Maybe he'd been going overboard. At first, he could blame having no idea how to be in a relationship and then bringing in his parents. Then Hummel found out they were together and conveniently came back to Lima to check on his dad, despite just beginning classes at NYADA. If he was there for his dad, how come he was at McKinley daily "helping" Schuster and the Oaf get the New Directions ready for Regionals? That's when he started sending the gifts to McKinley. But once he started, he couldn't stop. Ok, Hummel said something about Blaine will dump him once the gifts ended and he'd be there to pick up the pieces. 

He wasn't proud that he'd let it get to him.

"So, nothing to McKinley until after Valentine's Day. Then wooing, just not humungously wooing. And then, the Lent Challenge." He leaned in and kissed his boyfriend...his boyfriend. Yeah, he should learn to accept that. "When does Lent start?"

"It's not like Christmas. It's the 40 days before Easter and Easter's usually somewhere in April."

Later that evening, he pulled out a calendar to find out exactly when Lent began. 

Oh, shit! He's so screwed.

But if that’s what Blaine Anderson wants, that’s what Blaine Anderson will get.

February 14th

The next week was pretty great for him and Blaine. Sam on the other hand...

Brittany broke up with him via text, when they were in the same room, because her cat told her to. The next day she flew off to MIT. The breakup (dumping) was most likely due to that, but the cat story was more fun.

Sam's pain was real, and he kind of felt bad, but it gave him the opportunity to woo Blaine but look like he was cutting back at the same time. Thankfully, even after all the money he's spent to this point and the money he was spending on Valentine's Day, there was still a substantial balance in his Don't fuck this up fund.

Sugar told him she didn't know what guys did, but when girls had a breakup, they usually spent the next few days in bed with friends (to tell you what a jerk your ex is), ice cream (to eat your feelings) and a movie (probably the Notebook). That wasn't going to work, but it gave him an idea. He and Beat (the Warblers gaming expert) went to the mall. Two Play Stations and multiple (including the latest Marvel and Star Wars) games later, they moved on to the grocery store. Sam watched what he ate (obsessively) so he didn't know what ice cream to get. He bought them all along with everything he needed for a sundae bar.  

While took the haul back to Dalton, he went to Hummel's house to kidnap Blam. He thought the Oaf was going to swallow his tongue when he opened the door to see him standing there. It wasn't a picnic for him either.

Sam protested but Blaine convinced him to go with it. When they got to Dalton and saw the setup...2 large TVs with a game station on each, stacks and stacks of pizza, a wide variety of non-alcoholic beverages (the good stuff was for later) and a freezer full of ice cream...the McKinley boys were in complete shock.

"Sugar told me about the ice cream, Notebook, friends version of a post-breakup party, but Sam's a dude. I thought video games, junk food, ice cream and later, alcohol, sounded better. And for once, you're not going to scrutinize everything you eat. We'll deal with the aftermath, you know, after. And before you ask, I didn't invite anyone else from McKinley because Britt is their friend as well. Here, you can trash her all you want and nothing gets back to Satan."

As the Warblers took Sam under their wings, Blaine drug him to his dorm room and gave him the best blowjob of his life...times 10! Not that he expected it to happen but...holy shit! Maybe there was another way to woo Blaine Anderson.

But that was last week. Today was Valentine's Day. The creme de la creme of romantic holidays. All other wooing meant nothing if he didn't get this right. He knew it wasn't true, but it sure felt like it.

He honored Blaine's wishes and sent nothing to Mckinley. They agreed to meet at Dalton and he was pretty sure some of the guys were helping Blaine with something. It was driving him nuts. To make it worse, his Economics (his worse class) teacher noticed he was distracted and called on him constantly. Asshole!

When class ended, Jeff took one arm and Nick the other. Without explanation, they escorted him to the Conservatory on the other side of the Academy. Blaine was at the grand piano wearing the same outfit he was wearing when they first saw each other. He was even wearing the bowtie, which he didn't do as much anymore. 

When your legs don't work like they used to before And I can't sweep you off of your feet Will your mouth still remember the taste of my love? Will your eyes still smile from your cheeks?

And, darling, I will Be loving you 'til we're 70 And, baby, my heart Could still fall as hard at 23

And I'm thinking 'bout how People fall in love in mysterious ways Maybe just the touch of a hand Well, me, I fall in love with you every single day And I just wanna tell you I am

So, honey, now Take me into your loving arms Kiss me under the light of a thousand stars Place your head on my beating heart I'm thinking out loud

Maybe we found love right where we are

"Did you like it?"

"I loved it. You know Ed Sheeran is one of my favorites right now, but, isn't there more?"

Blaine picked up a gift sitting on the other side of him and brought it over. "I thought we'd save the rest of it for later."

He opened the box and... "Holy shit! These are front row! And backstage passes! How? I thought about this but he's not performing near here."

"I know, those are for his Boston show. It's during Spring Break. I thought we could go check out the campuses and surrounding area. It would be nice if we could find a coffee shop before we actually move there."

"Oh, wow, yeah. Wait a minute, your parents agreed to me and you going to Boston unchaperoned?"

"So, did yours."

"That's not surprising. They love you. I wouldn't be surprised if they find some apartments for us to check out while we're there." He leaned in to thank his boyfriend for the amazing gift when... "Seriously Killer, how did you get these? From what I've heard, he doesn't allow backstage passes unless he personally approved them."

"Cooper"

"Cooper? You're brother, Cooper?"

"When Ed first moved to LA he lived in the apartment across the hall from Coop. They became friends. Since my brother had never asked before, Ed was more than willing to help him out. However, this does mean I owe him a HUGE favor. I don't really want to think about it." Blaine went up on his toes and kissed him before taking a step back, obviously anticipating something. "Well?"

"Well? Oh, you want your gift." He reached into his messenger bag and handed his boyfriend a small box. "I hope you like it. I tried to remember everything you told me."

Blaine's blazing smile faded the moment he saw the contents of the box. "A chocolate bar and a plastic flower?"

"Rose. It's a rose. I remembered when you went on your original wooing rant, and you said you wanted someone who would give you chocolate and roses. And I hope you noticed it's white, not red or yellow."

"I noticed, but...I mean, I know I asked you to scale back, but it's Valentine's Day."

"And?"

"And what?"

He opened the calendar on his phone and showed it to his thoroughly confused boyfriend. "Today is Valentine's Day and the first day of Lent. Easter is early this year. Maybe next time you get a big idea, you should make sure of the details before implementing it."

It took a little bit of time before Blaine put it all together. "The Lent Challenge. You were supposed to stop with all the gifts for the Lent Challenge."

He tried hard to suppress the snark in his expression but couldn't. "I couldn't get you nothing..."

"Oh, no, this is great. You did exactly what I wanted."

"Excellent! Let's go to the Commons. I want to show the guys what my wonderful boyfriend got me for our first Valentine's Day." That was laying it on a bit thick, but he'd already gone this far. Blaine trying to smile and saying how much he loved the candy bar and dollar store flower was pretty pathetic. "That's strange" he said when they found the doors shut. "We've got practice in 20 minutes." He opened the doors and stood off to the side.

"Oh...my...God!" Blaine ran right past him. Inside the Commons were seven (one for each week they'd been boyfriends) bouquets of a dozen white roses. There were also a dozen handmade chocolate hearts from the best chocolatier in Paris. 

"Like I said. I remembered you wanted to be with someone who would give you chocolate and roses. I thought maybe you would forgive me this one..."

He couldn't finish the sentence when Koala Bear Blaine returned, kissing him with everything he could put into it. When it ended, there were tears on both their faces. He's never understood happy tears until Blaine came into his life. "Are you ok?"

"More than. And I promise, I will never question your wooing again."

20 Years Later

The noise of his husband and children carried up from the kitchen to his bedroom, even with the door closed. Sebastian was making Alexandra and Devon heart shaped pancakes as he had every year since they ate solid food. He always made sure not to go down to the kitchen until they were finished. This was a tradition between just the three of them. Sebastian also kept up the tradition of giving him chocolates and roses for Valentines Day. The most memorable was during their senior year of college. They flew to Paris so Sebastian could take him to the chocolatier who made the chocolates from the first year. Inside one of the hearts was an engagement ring.

He walked over to his dresser and pulled out a small box. It was the secret he hid from everyone, even the man he married. Inside were his two favorite possessions in the world…a chocolate bar wrapper and a plastic rose. The moment Sebastian explained the logic behind them, he knew he’d marry that boy someday. He had listened to him. He had paid attention. No one had done so in a very long time. THAT was the greatest gift he ever received.

"Daddy”

He quickly put back the box and turned to see 4 year-old Devon, the spitting image of his husband. They were in so much trouble in approximately 10 years. “What are you doing here Mr. Man? You know the rule about knocking.”

"Sorry Daddy, I’m xited.”

“That doesn't excuse not knocking. Now tell me, why are you excited?”

"Papa put choccy chips in the heart cakes! And he making flower cakes!”

“Chocolates and roses” he couldn't help but smile at the fact Sebastian was still a total romantic. He'd always been, it just took him a while to trust it. ”Wow, those sounds amazing!”

"Can you eat flower and heart choccy chip cakes with me and Ally and Papa?”

"Oh Sweetheart, pancakes are your Valentine tradition with only Ally and Papa.”

"But Papa says we can have new dition with you. But we has to do it three times or it’s a co…co…”

Killer, doing something two years in a row isn’t an annual tradition, it’s a coincidence. "The word is coincidence and your Papa is right, as usual. Let’s go start a new tradition.”

Thinking Out Loud: Sheeran, Ed 2014

[gukyi]

the love project | jjk

summary: from running to mcdonald’s at 3am after a halloween party where the two of you dressed up as the teletubbies to timing how long it takes for him to drink a cup of monster mixed with mountain dew and iced coffee and then do fifty push-ups, you’re used to your best friend jungkook asking you to do all sorts of crazy things. but, of all the shit the two of you do, letting him follow you around for a week with a camera and take candid photos of you for a photography assignment might just be the craziest of them all.

{college!au, friends to lovers!au}

pairing: jeon jungkook x female reader genre: fluff, comedy word count: 12k warnings: college antics, hopeless pining, slow burn a/n: me: this fic will be 10k max! also me: actually nevermind on par for the course of this blog, i hope you enjoy this fic! it was so much fun to write and it definitely got me back into the ~writing mood~. more fics coming soon!

These days, the weeks pass you by like trains on a platform. They whiz past you, the only discernible features being the beginning and the end of them, with the middle nothing but a blur. 

At least, that’s how it feels when you’re in college, and the days bleed into weeks bleed into months, and suddenly you’re one year closer to graduating, one year closer to figuring out what next to do with your life, even if you’re still missing that one general education requirement you forgot to take in your first year so now you’re trying to cram it into your schedule at the last minute.

Okay, you’ll admit it. Introduction to Astronomy is kicking your ass. That’s what you get for putting it off until junior year, when you’re supposed to have reached the point in your History major career where you don’t have to look at numbers anymore and the idea of doing basic math is absolutely unfathomable. History majors don’t do math. They just don’t. It vanished from your academic arsenal long before now, alongside your ability to interpret word problems and understand science textbooks. 

Perhaps in another universe, you would have actually retained those skills past high school, but that universe is not this one, and so your problem sets can solve themselves or not be solved at all. 

Your best friend would have to disagree.

“It’s not even calculus!” Jungkook exclaims over a mouthful of a Starbucks tomato and pesto panini, pointing to your laptop in exasperation, as if the answer has been staring you in the face for the past fifteen minutes. “It’s just algebra! All you’re doing is plugging the numbers into the formula and finding the missing variable!”

“Easy for you to say,” you huff, furiously erasing at the notebook in front of you as you get yet another incorrect answer. Who knew math could be so difficult? Oh, that’s right. You did. “You took that advanced differential equations class for fun last year. It’s not even required for your major. You’re just a masochist.”

“Says the person who convinced their advisor to let them take seven classes because they, and I quote, ‘all seemed so interesting’ and you ‘didn’t want to miss out.’” Jungkook rebukes pointedly. “Because your life would be so terrible if you didn’t take Economic History of Pre-Industrialized Europe.”

He’s got you there. Seven classes is a lot. In your defense, Economic History of Pre-Industrialized Europe was very interesting and you got a 4.0 that semester. So who is he to judge? Jungkook’s favorite pastime is pretending that taking three different computer science classes in a single semester isn’t going to single-handedly kill him.

Jungkook watches you struggle for a few moments more before he sighs, like he can’t take looking at someone so mathematically incompetent any longer. He stuffs the remaining third of his Starbucks panini into his mouth all at once like the ravenous beast he is before he reaches over the tiny table you’re sat at to look at your problem set himself. He turns your laptop towards him and grabs hold of your notebook, furrowing his eyebrows as he enters Work Jungkook Mode. 

Work Jungkook Mode is the mode of him you see most often during finals week or the rare occasions where you meet up to actually try and get work done. Work Jungkook has tunnel vision for whatever assignment is currently in front of him, which he will do either in one sitting or die trying. Work Jungkook lets his coffee get cold and forgets to answer your text messages, even when you’re sat right across from him and you know that he can see the notification on his laptop. Work Jungkook refuses to turn in anything that he hasn’t devoted his entire being to, even if it’s something as simple as a discussion board post. Some of his other friends say that when Jungkook is in Work Jungkook Mode, they won’t even try to contact him, lest their messages get lost in the flurry of his coding assignments. 

But you are not “some of his other friends.” You are his best friend. So rules do not apply to you. And Jungkook has long accepted that fact.

“Hey, don’t mess up my work—” You exclaim defensively, grabby hands reaching over the table to retrieve your notebook. “Wait, how did you do that?”

Jungkook scribbles something down in nearly-illegible font, determined to solve the problem in front of him. He thinks for a few more seconds before eventually jotting down an answer, circling it with his pencil. Holding the notebook out so both of you can see, he scoots his chair over to your side of the table, your shoulders pressed together in this tiny corner of the Starbucks, right by the bathroom, and explains, step by step, what he did. 

He does that for the following two problems in your set, walking you through the kind of math he was doing in freshman year of high school like it’s nothing, answering all of your stupid questions and giving you tips on how to finesse the system by taking as many shortcuts as possible. Teaching you things you never learned, or possibly had just forgotten. Things that a professor would think is idiotic to re-teach to a junior in university. Things that Jungkook wants you to know because he just wants you to have a little more faith in yourself. 

“Does that help?” He asks when he’s finished, still doubting his fantastic teaching abilities despite the fact that he just taught you more in the last thirty minutes than your professor has managed in a month and a half. 

“It actually does,” you tell him, pleasantly surprised. Looking back down at your notebook, what was once a shapeless blur of numbers, letters, and formulas is suddenly a clear and organized outline of each and every step to follow. “I didn’t know it was that easy.”

“Anything can be easy if you just commit yourself to learning how to do it,” Jungkook says, one of those random sentences that are too wise for a college student surviving off of RedBull and Starbucks food, the ones that always make you think Jungkook is secretly an immortal sage with life experiences far beyond your own. “Except coding. Which is hard no matter how good you are at it.”

“Aw, you can do it,” you rally, reaching up to pinch his chin in between your fingers and squeeze it tight. “It’s also too late to change your major now, so you’re stuck.”

“Wow, thanks for the encouragement,” Jungkook chides, hand coming up to rub at where you held his jaw, rolling his eyes. “You should let me help you with your Astronomy work more often. Gives me a break from Python.”

“I would have made you help me whether you liked it or not,” you tell him pointedly, because he is your best friend and he doesn’t get out of things as easily as he thinks he can. “But thanks. I’ll definitely take you up on that.”

“Of course,” Jungkook says with a good-natured grin, always so selfless and kind and giving. He practically signed himself up for a semester’s worth of TA-ing for Introduction to Astronomy despite the constant mountain of work he has himself. Just because it’s you. 

“My very own personal genius,” you muse, wrapping your hands around his arm and snuggling into his body, a whisper of a language only the two of you share. It’s something the two of you have long gotten used to, pressing your fingers all over each other’s bodies like it’s second nature. One of the things that makes you feel so certain about having Jungkook in your life. About wanting him to stay with you for the rest of time. “I’m never letting you go.”

Jungkook smiles, a warm hand coming to rest atop of your own. He breathes, in and out, chest rising beneath your touch. “Like I’d ever let you,” he says.

There is no question about it. Jungkook is one hundred percent, absolutely, undoubtedly, positively, indisputably smarter than you are. It’s something that the two of you used to jokingly fight about (because Jungkook claims that he’s a bad essay writer, even though he’s not), but at this point it’s cemented in stone—he’s a damn genius. A genius who is inexplicably good at everything. A double threat. Triple, if you count the fact that he’s built beyond belief and could probably chuck you into next week if you really, really ticked him off. 

The truth is that, ninety percent of the time it is you who is going to Jungkook for help. Whether it be an assignment you need assistance on (namely Astronomy, because Jungkook probably couldn’t help you on your Mesopotamian artifact and primary source analyses despite his best intentions), a date that was a lot worse than you were hoping it would be, or even just the right coffee to order from that expensive place on the corner. Jungkook knows how to fix everything. 

So when Jungkook slides into the seat across from you in the food court after his Mastering Photography class with that I’m in trouble look on his face, you know something is horribly wrong. 

“Are you alright?” You ask, concerned as you watch him devour the sushi takeout in front of him, stuffing the spicy tuna rolls into his mouth like they’re Skittles. His camera hangs haphazardly out of his open backpack, like he barely had enough time to stuff it into the pocket while he was making his way here. There’s a worried expression written all over his face as he fumbles with the chopsticks in his hand, losing his grip on them every ten seconds. 

It’s not until Jungkook has finished the container of spicy tuna rolls in front of them that he finally seems to work up the courage to answer you. 

“My Photography class is gonna be the death of me,” Jungkook exclaims, exasperated. 

“I thought you liked it,” you comment unhelpfully. Jungkook had been so excited to be enrolled in it, because you needed a recommendation from a different professor and you had to submit a portfolio in order to join the class, making it one of those exclusive (and thus, much better) courses. Not to mention the fact that Jungkook is basically already a professional photographer if his Instagram is anything to go by. He’s going to walk out of university with a Photography minor whether he realizes it or not.

“I do,” Jungkook insists, even if right now it sounds like the two of you both need convincing of that fact. “But this project is ridiculous. I don’t even know how my professor expects us to have the time to finish it.”

“What do you have to do?”

Jungkook sighs. Just thinking about it seems to stress him out. “I mean, it’s only really a week long. So I guess it’s not too bad. But we’re supposed to compile a portfolio of the same subject, taken over the course of the week, with them in all sorts of different poses and lighting and locations, to express a personal theme.”

You scrunch your nose up in confusion. “I might be wrong, but isn’t that what photography… is?” You ask cluelessly. 

“Yes,” Jungkook argues, “but also no. Photography is taking pictures of things just for the hell of it. Not because they necessarily speak to a part of your soul. You just like the look of it. You want to capture the scene. That’s it.”

“Oh,” You say dumbly. 

“And our subject can be whoever or whatever we want, but he recommended choosing a person because taking pictures of our water bottles in different places is boring,” Jungkook huffs, though his professor does have a point there. Modern history wasn’t made out of photographs of store windows and miscellaneous items. It was made out of people, out of events in their lives that shaped the rest of the world, out of personal experiences that changed their point of view. “But I don’t even know anybody who would be willing to let me photograph them for a whole week! I’d basically have to follow them around like paparazzi!”

“I’ll do it,” you suggest casually, because it seems like the most obvious choice to you. There’s no one Jungkook spends as much time with as you. 

Jungkook’s eyes pop out of his head. “What?”

“I’m serious,” you insist. “Think about it. You need a subject for your project that you can photograph in a wide variety of places and over the course of a week. Who else do you spend that much time with, other than me?”

“Well..” Jungkook begins, trying to fight your reasons with his own. “Would you even be comfortable with something like that? I mean, I’m literally going to constantly be taking photos of you.”

“Like we don’t already do that on our phones,” you tease, having amassed quite the album of terrible Jungkook pictures over the years. 

“A camera is different from a phone,” Jungkook protests weakly. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know. But I’m just saying. It won’t bother me,” you say with a shrug. Why is Jungkook being so… weird about your suggestion? You thought he would be jumping at the offer, especially considering it means he won’t have to go out of his way to find and photograph someone else for this assignment. But he’s being rather hesitant. You watch as he glares down at his empty sushi takeout box, eyebrows furrowed in that thick, nervous way. “But you don’t have to,” you backtrack. “It was just a suggestion.”

He breathes in and breathes out, expression solid. Even from here you can see the cogs whirring in his brain, placing each and every potential result into a pro and con list inside his mind, trying to work out whether the benefits will be greater than the cost. 

Quite frankly, you don’t know what all the holdup is about. 

“You’re… sure about this?” He asks, looking up at you, determined to ensure your comfort. As if that’s even an issue. “You’re cool with being photographed and everything?”

“Only because it’s you,” you tease lightheartedly, expecting some sort of equally cheesy response. Instead, it makes Jungkook do something weird. He freezes in place, darting his eyes away from your gaze for a split second, collecting thoughts you can’t see. “Yeah,” you say loudly, trying to bring him back. “I’m fine with it.”

He inhales, exhales, closes his eyes, and opens them. “Okay then. I guess it’s settled. You’ll be my subject,” he declares, an almost unnoticeable wobble to his voice. It’s probably nothing, so you don’t think too hard about it.

“Can you at least pretend to be a little more excited about this?” You ask, jabbing him in the chest with a wooden chopstick. “It’s the first time we’ve ever gotten to be part of a project together!”

“Yay,” Jungkook says, lifeless. 

“How about a photo to commemorate it?” You suggest, reaching over to pull the camera out of his backpack, pushing it into his hands. “This can be the start of your portfolio.”

“Fine,” he eventually caves, bringing it up to his eye as he turns it on, twisting the lens to perfect the focus. Even caught off guard like this, he looks like a professional, like someone who was born to be behind the camera. He’s a computer science major but you know that photography will always be something special to him.

You strike a dramatic pose, holding your chopsticks out, one in each hand, with a wide, excited smile on your face. “How do I look?” You ask, scrunching your eyes together. 

Jungkook’s finger hovers over the silver button. “Perfect,” he tells you, voice soft and honest. 

Click.

“So, how many photos are you supposed to take for this portfolio?” You ask as you flop around on Jungkook’s bed, pretending that the open tab on your laptop with your fifty-page reading doesn’t exist. You don’t even know why professors assign readings that long. Do they really expect you to read all of it?

From across his room, you can make out the top of Jungkook’s fluffy brown hair over his sleek gaming chair, one of the ones that look like high-tech airplane seats. “I don’t know,” he says. “He said at least twenty. And no more than fifty. Which really makes me wonder if someone once submitted like, one hundred photos for this project that he had to grade them on. But yeah.”

“That doesn’t sound too bad,” you say. When you’re around a cute animal, you can easily take twenty photographs. Granted, they aren’t exactly award-worthy photographs, but it’s not a physically demanding task. 

“Yeah,” Jungkook says. “Hypothetically you could finish it in a day. But it looks really obvious.”

“Well, how many do you have now?”

It’s been a day and a half since Jungkook agreed to let you be his so-called muse, but already you’ve lost track of how many photos he’s taken of you. He loves his camera, you know that, but you didn’t realize exactly how much he loves his camera. And with you as the sole subject for his project, he’s practically letting it hang from his neck all day long, just waiting for the right time to snap a photo of you standing in line at the food court, frowning at your textbook, or waiting to meet up with him. Every time he sees you he snaps a picture, even if the lighting’s bad, even if you haven’t had your morning coffee yet, even if it’s midnight and you look like a zombie. In his mind, there are no bad pictures. Just memories.

You wonder what the hell he sees in you. 

“A lot,” Jungkook answers unhelpfully, making no effort to elaborate on that statement. 

“Have you counted?” You ask, getting off of his bed to join him at his desk. 

Jungkook doesn’t seem to realize what you’re doing until you’re standing right next to him, placing a hand over his shoulders as you lean down next to him. He fumbles around for a second, the mouse slipping through his grip, and you catch a glimpse of one of the photos he’s taken of you, a sliver of your pursed lips, the wrinkles between your eyebrows. 

It’s from the library yesterday. You didn’t even know Jungkook had taken a picture of you there. You had a stupid reading to complete last night, one that made no sense and was terribly-written, and you spent an hour just trying to figure out what the damn argument was, and Jungkook captured it. You were there for an hour and Jungkook was there too, watching you like it was nothing, waiting for the perfect moment. He was there, sitting across from you, camera at the ready. You didn’t even hear it click. 

He closes it before you get a closer look at the photo, frantically hitting the little red dot at the top corner of the window before you have a chance to ask why. 

“What, I’m not allowed to see?” You chide, a little bit hurt but more confused than anything else. Why is Jungkook being so secretive?

“No,” Jungkook spits quickly. making you raise an eyebrow in alarm. “I mean, it’s a surprise. You get to see when it’s finished. I still have to… uh, edit. And stuff.”

“Edit? You think I’m that ugly?” You tease, knowing that he probably means color correction but enjoying the way that he gets all flustered when he hears your voice.

Jungkook’s eyes widen at that, like he just realized he made a wrong turn and is desperately backtracking. “What, no! I don’t—I don’t think you’re ugly.”

You laugh, letting the sound of your voice ease the tension in his shoulders, reveling in the way his big doe eyes seem to soften when he realizes you were just teasing. He looks like a kid caught stealing a candy bar from a gas station, looks like one of those boyfriends in the viral videos where the girl reveals that she got him a present or something instead, all nervous and full of explanations. 

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” you assure him, rubbing up and down his arm to soothe him, calm his heart down. “You don’t have to show me. I’m just excited. No one’s ever taken photos of me like this before.”

“I would,” Jungkook speaks up softly. “If you asked. I would.”

“I know,” You say. You’re not sure if there’s a thing in this world Jungkook wouldn’t do for you, and you, him. If he asked, you would pluck the stars from the sky for him. Bring him back a piece of the moon. Stop time. Anything. Everything. Just for him. “I know.”

 “What are you doing?” Jungkook asks, changing the topic as he whirls around in his gaming chair. 

“Just another reading, like always,” you dismiss, because you’re positive the last thing Jungkook wants to hear about right now is your primary source reading on irrigation techniques in agrarian Europe. You don’t even want to hear about it. “But I could use some help on Astronomy.”

Without another word, Jungkook gets up from his desk and the two of you head over to his bed, where an untouched problem set waits on your computer. He grabs a notebook from his backpack along the way before sitting down next to you on the edge of his bed, bodies pressed together. Slowly, he begins to coach you through each problem, step by step, drawing pictures and diagrams if he has to, until you finish all ten problems. 

The truth is, you didn’t really need help with this unit. Astronomy’s gotten a lot easier now that Jungkook has taught you the strategies to tackle it. But Jungkook sometimes feels like a ghost when he works, especially when he’s sitting at his desk, quiet and focused and almost invisible. And call you clingy, but you like it when you can look up and see his face instead of the back of a chair, a little tuft of wavy brown hair. You like it when he’s right beside you, in a place where you know you won’t lose him, where you can hold on if things get rough. Where you can see his stupid brown eyes and his goofy smile and know that he’ll always be there for you. 

When he’s finished, Jungkook doesn’t get back up to sit at his desk. He flops down on his back, staring up at the white ceiling of his room, eyes tracing the cracks. You join him, side by side, pretending that there’s something there. Looking up at the sky would be nicer, but it doesn’t really matter, so long as you’re with him.

“I didn’t know you took so many photos,” you say.

“I never want to miss anything.”

“You should give me more warnings, next time. I feel like I look so ugly in some of them.”

“No, you don’t. Don’t say stuff like that.”

“You don’t think I’m ugly?” You ask him, for real this time. It’s not that you think he’s going to say that he does, it’s that you want to know what he really thinks. How he really sees you. You turn your head to him, back pressed against his comforter, barely a foot apart. And he turns back to you, and he’s right there, right there in front of you, big brown eyes wide and blinking. He’s right there, how could you miss him?

“No,” Jungkook says, honest and true. He looks at you, looks right at you, right into you, and he muses to himself, chuckling. “Why would I ever think that?”

At the end of the day, you can’t really be bothered to put on real pants in anticipation of Jungkook’s trigger-happy camera-taking tendencies. He’s seen you spill a boiling hot bowl of tomato soup all over yourself in the dining hall. He’s seen you at four in the morning in the library the night before finals begin, eyebags down to your knees and mismatched shoes on your feet. He’s seen you in the middle of a frat house, sweat dripping down your forehead and smelling of nothing but straight alcohol. Getting dressed up just for him would be antithetical to the very foundation of your friendship. 

You have, however, become keenly more cognizant in the last few days of when Jungkook is about to take a photo of you. Mostly because you glance up at your surroundings every three seconds to make sure you aren’t getting sniped from across the food court. Nobody else needs to see a picture of you picking up three pieces of sushi with your chopsticks and stuffing them all into your mouth at once. And, from what you can tell, you’ve been pretty successful, which either means you’ve gotten better at telling when Jungkook might be taking a photo of you, or Jungkook’s gotten better at hiding it. 

Either way, he’s got a lot more pictures of you reflexively flashing a peace-sign in his direction when you hear the telltale sound of his camera lens focusing, so you’re not really sure what that means for the fate of his portfolio. 

Besides your newfound hyper-awareness of the sound of a camera lens adjusting, the strangest part of you and Jungkook’s little project is how quickly the rest of your friends adjusted to this brand new dynamic. 

This is not to say this assignment is the weirdest thing you and Jungkook have done together, because there was once one week where you and Jungkook challenged each other to only eat bananas for every meal to see if anything would happen to either of you. Nothing did, but after that week you swore off bananas for the rest of your life and have had little appetite for them since. 

It’s more that your other friends have just accepted the fact that ridiculous, extravagant shenanigans are a necessary part of you and Jungkook’s relationship and have simply chosen not to question them anymore. At least, most of them have. 

“So, how’s you and Jungkook’s little photography fling going?” Maisie asks, and even through the phone you can hear the way she’s wiggling her eyebrows. 

“It’s not a fling, and it’s fine,” you hiss back, trying to keep your voice down as you pack up your belongings, phone pressed between your ear and your shoulder. “Stop speaking so loudly, everyone else in the library can probably hear you.”

“Good, because they’ve all probably noticed the way Jungkook’s been following you around like an unrestrained fanboy for the past four days taking pictures of you,” Maisie says pointedly, voice so sharp it causes you to look around at the other tables to make sure no one’s listening in. 

You frown, hoping your deadpan expression is audible through the phone. “It’s not like that and you know it.”

“Don’t you think it’s even a little strange that you’ve given Jungkook full permission to take photos of you like you’re a model and he’s some sort of weird, professional paparazzi?” You can practically see Maisie’s face in front of you, all wide eyes and raised eyebrows as she makes her point.

“No, it’s what we agreed on,” you remind her for the umpteenth time. There’s nothing weird about this. You’re helping him with a project, what more could it be? “Jungkook needed someone to take pictures of for his photography project and I thought it would be a good idea if I was that someone.”

“Hmm… wonder why…” Maisie trails off, deliberately vague and suggestive all at once. 

“You’ve been going on about this ever since Jungkook and I met, Maise,” you say with a roll of your eyes, tossing your backpack over your shoulder. “You know that Jungkook and I are just friends. Like we have always been.”

“Friends that take candid photos of each other under the guise of a project,” Maisie adds, and you can see the air quotes around the word “project” right in front of you.

“Friends that help each other out because that’s what friends do,” you correct. “You’re just going to have to accept the fact that Jungkook and I are always going to be just friends and nothing more. No matter how much money you’ve bet on us getting together.”

Maisie gasps. “I have not bet money on such a thing! This is slander!”

“Don’t think I don’t see you and Jimin’s damn Venmo history.” You pull up to the front desk of the library to check out a primary source book needed for one of your classes. It’s the first edition, and it’s battered beyond belief, but it’s better than paying for it. “Just this, thanks.”

“The only way you could convince me that you and Jungkook are just friends is if you go on a date or something,” Maisie comments snidely. “I don’t think I’ve seen either of you romantically interested in someone else the entire time you’ve known each other. Isn’t that proof enough?”

“You want me to go on a date with someone?” You demand, determined to get Maisie to hop off your ass about this. 

You and Jungkook are just friends. If swiping right with someone on Tinder and getting dinner and a movie with them is what will convince Maisie of that, then that is what you will do. It’s not as if being friends with Jungkook is mutually exclusive with you going out with other people. Should be easy, right? 

The boy behind the counter tells you your book is due back at the end of the semester, and you nod your thanks before heading out of the library.

“Fine, I’ll go on a date with someone. If it’ll get you to stop trying to convince me that Jungkook and I are gonna get married and have babies,” you declare, pushing your body against the door handles as you leave, five minutes to spare before your next class begins. 

“You guys would have really cute babies, I’m just saying,” Maisie points out like it’s nothing. 

You roll your eyes, taking the phone away from your ear as your finger hovers over the red button. “See you, Maise.”

You’re barely three steps out of the library, still rolling your eyes at the Call Ended screen on your phone when a voice catches your attention. 

“Y/N!”

You turn your head just in time to see Jungkook’s devilish grin disappear behind his camera, and you don’t even have time to blink before he begins snapping away, finger mashing the silver button at the top as your expression morphs from surprise to defeat, unable to counter his sniping abilities with a signature peace sign. Even from twenty feet away, you can hear Jungkook laughing as you take the opportunity to pose for a few moments, like you really are a model and he really is your personal photographer. The sound of his giggles fills the air, music to your ears, lingering between you like dandelion wisps, blown by the wind. 

Another voice breaks you from your trance. 

“And here we have our resident celebrity and her paparazzi,” Jimin says, motioning to the two of you as he speaks to an enormous tour group of potential applicants and their parents. Caught in front of them, the heat suddenly rushes to your cheeks as you instinctively cover your face, embarrassed to have been pointed out by Jimin, whose amicable, lovable personality is both a blessing and a curse when it comes to his part-time job as a tour guide. 

The worst part is how some of the parents and students seem to believe him for a second, that you really are famous and that Jungkook really is your photographer, looking at the two of you inquisitively as you shrink beneath their gazes. 

“I’m kidding,” Jimin quickly continues as Jungkook joins you where you stand, laughing at the way you look like a deer caught in headlights. “They’re just some friends of mine who we happened to catch outside the library, which is our next stop. But don’t they look so cute together?”

“Are you guys dating?” One of the students pipes up, asking what no one else dared to. 

Your eyes widen at the notion, wondering if you and Jungkook really are cursed to always be mistaken for a couple when you two have never been, and most likely will never be one. Shaking your head, you force out a laugh, “No, we’re just friends.” Beside you, Jungkook is noticeably silent. You suppose he’s gotten just as sick of explaining as you. 

“Bummer, right?” Jimin asks his group, earning a couple of disappointed nods from innocent high-schoolers that still believe in love. “But I’m working on that, so don’t worry. Anyway, this library will be your main destination for studying, book-reading, and everything in between, and is conveniently located two minutes away from the freshman dorms…”

The conversation finally drawn away from you and Jungkook, you let out a breath you hadn’t even realized you had been holding in. “Weird, right? Even high-schoolers think we’re together.”

Jungkook doesn’t meet your eyes, fiddling with the settings on his camera just to keep his hands busy. The quiet makes you wonder what is going on up inside his head, makes you wonder what it is he’s thinking about, what it is you’re not seeing. Lately, it’s felt like there’s something on Jungkook’s mind you wish he felt comfortable telling you. 

“Hey, you alright?” You ask, giving him a little nudge with your side. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No,” Jungkook says, voice soft, barely audible. It doesn’t make you feel any better. “No, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it. Don’t you have class soon?”

“Oh, shit, you’re right, fuck,” you say, checking your phone only to find you have barely a minute to get to your next class. Guess you’ll be using one of your allotted absences today. “Thanks for reminding me. Dinner tonight?”

“I’ll text you,” Jungkook promises, and you nod your agreement as you dash off, determined to turn a five-minute walk into a one-minute one with the power of exercise. As you leave, you watch as Jungkook flounders outside the library, staring down at his camera and scrolling through his photos, and you still find yourself feeling like you’re missing something. What is Jungkook not telling you? 

What do you not know?

By the time you reach your class, two minutes late and completely out of breath, tardiness is the last thing on your mind.

This project was just meant to be a friend helping out a friend. So why does it feel like you and Jungkook are losing each other?

Using Tinder is easy. Dangerously so.

You’re no expert in app design, but its simplified “yes or no” mechanic has you swiping through people like it’s an extreme sport, barely giving some of them a second glance if their Tinder profile description doesn’t make you laugh within the first sentence. 

Tinder was, admittedly, not your first choice of potential date-finding methods. Call you old-fashioned, but whatever happened to asking someone in person if they wanted to get a meal with you? To showing up at their doorstep with a rose bouquet and a toothy white grin? Perhaps all of those old-timey movies you and Jungkook always watched have given you unrealistic expectations. But can you blame them? 

Even if Tinder wasn’t your first choice, it was certainly the fastest. It takes a second to look at someone’s designated Tinder thumbnail, two to read their description, and three to decide if they’re worth a swipe right. Compare that to actively meeting up with someone, getting their contact information, and then continuing to dance around each other until you finally decide to get dinner together. That’s the sort of thing that could take weeks. Maybe months. And in some cases, years.

Besides, it’s not like you had very many options at your disposal. You don’t trust Maisie to set you up with someone because she’ll probably just choose one of the many boys from her management class and call it a day. Asking someone yourself is absolutely out of the question. And, for some strange, unknown reason, the idea of getting Jungkook to hook you up with one of his friends just doesn’t sit right with you.

So, Tinder it is. And as it turns out, chivalry isn’t dead. It’s just archaic.

An hour into your mindless swiping, you get a message notification. Two hours after that, you’ve got plans with a nice senior boy whom you’ve never met. 

And for the first time in a very long time, there’s something to mark on your calendar for Saturday night.

The little blue block on your Google Calendar tab stares back at you from where your open laptop sits on your desk, the red line that signifies your current time slowly inching towards it as you fumble around in front of your mirror, more dressed up than you have been in weeks. Maisie was right. It’s been so long since you’ve gone out with someone that you’ve completely forgotten what the dress code is for something like this. A dress? Heels? Makeup?

You don’t want to overshoot it, but part of you thinks you will anyway. What if he’s wearing a hoodie and sweats while you look like you’re about to attend the goddamn Academy Awards? Maybe the eyeshadow was a little too much.

You don’t want to overshoot it, but part of you thinks it’s inevitable that you do. The door to your apartment swings open, and you can hear heavy footsteps making their way to your bedroom, that easy gait of his familiar as always.

“Hey, do you think we can just get some take-out and watch a stupid old noir movie, or something? I’ve had a day,” he shouts out, the sigh audible in his voice.

You don’t want to overshoot it, but part of you thinks you definitely have when you turn around to see Jungkook standing right outside your bedroom in the floppiest sweater you’ve ever seen and jeans with holes in the knees, mouth agape as he stares straight at you. It’s impossible not to notice the way his eyes are blown wide at the sight of you, at the way they rake up and down your figure, like he can’t even believe what he’s seeing. It’s impossible not to notice how he seems to flounder at the sight of you.

The only thing that breaks the both of you out of your stupors, frozen in place like two criminals caught red-handed, is the sound of his hulking black backpack thudding to the floor. 

“Whoa.”

“Do you think it’s too much?” You ask, voice wobbly. God, why are you so nervous? It’s just Jungkook. 

“Too much for what?” Jungkook blinks, deliberate and slow, as if he’s determined to make sure his eyes aren’t deceiving him. “Where are you going?”

“I think we’ll have to do a raincheck for the noir movie and takeout,” you say sheepishly, pursing your lips together in fright as you force out a small, tense smile. “I’m… going out. With someone.”

“Like,” Jungkook begins, and even from here you can hear the way he stops himself, hear him breathe out every word, thick on his tongue. “On a date?”

“Yeah.”

It’s a one-syllable word and yet it takes nearly all of your willpower just to say it. Just to confirm what Jungkook’s already thinking. Just to tell him, your best friend, your ride or die, your number one, that you’re going out on a date. 

“Oh.” Jungkook’s voice is lifeless. “Do I know them?”

“No, uh, it’s just some guy I met on Tinder. I don’t know, I just wanted to see what all the hype was about, I guess. And I haven’t really been on a date in a while, so I figured I might just take up the opportunity, so we’re probably just going to go out to a restaurant and maybe go to a club afterwards if we’re still in the mood, and—” You cut yourself off, so nervous that you’ve resorted to your terrible habit of rambling to try and ease the tension. “Why? Do you think it’s too much?”

“You use Tinder?” Jungkook asks instead. It sounds like he’s shocked to hear this. 

“Yeah…” you trail off. “Why?”

Jungkook freezes at the question, but it’s not because it seems like he doesn’t have an answer. It’s because it seems like he does. Only it’s an answer he doesn’t want to share. 

“Nothing, it’s nothing,” he eventually settles on, shaking his head. “You, uh, you look good.”

“You think? I feel like it’s a lot. I don’t know how to dress appropriately for stuff like this anymore,” you ask, palms sweaty as you furiously straighten out the skirt of your dress. “Should I change into pants, or anything?”

“No, no, I think that’s fine,” Jungkook says with an honest smile. “You look nice like this.”

“It’s probably been like, a year since you last saw me in a dress,” you comment mindlessly, turning back to face the mirror as you fiddle with your makeup, finger wiping away a bit of smudged lipstick or a stray bit of mascara. “I miss my sweats. Hey, whoa, wait, what are you doing—?”

You whip around to find Jungkook slowly fishing out the camera from his backpack, hand gripping it tightly as he brandishes it in front of you. 

“I, um, I just wanted to see if I could maybe take a photo of you,” Jungkook says, a small, little grin decorating his features. “Since you’re all dressed up.”

“Seriously?” You ask in disbelief. 

Jungkook nods, holding the camera out in front of him. “Just one.”

He looks so small, standing across your bedroom. He looks so small and delicate and intimate, body curled in on itself ever so slightly as he looks at you, the yellow glow of your ceiling light reflected in his hazelnut eyes, drowning beneath his clothes. He looks like he has never seen a moment more perfect, never seen an opportunity as clear, looks like he thinks that if he blinks he’ll miss it. 

Looks as if a photo will be the only way to remember it. 

And you nod. Because he is your best friend, and who are you to deny him of something so simple? Of a press of a button? It doesn’t feel like a project anymore. It just feels like a memory. 

Jungkook brings the camera to his eye, and you smile at him, soft and gentle and warm. He grins back, focusing the camera lens before snapping away. 

You wonder what he sees. 

(You wonder if it’s as beautiful as what you see.)

“Have fun tonight, okay?” Jungkook asks of you as your Google Calendar notification sounds, letting you know you have approximately two minutes before he’s supposed to pick you up outside your apartment.

You nod. “I will. And if I don’t, then I’ll come over afterwards. And we can watch that stupid noir film.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Jungkook says with a roll of his eyes, a shrug of his shoulders. 

“But I want to. So I will. Okay? I’ll text you,” you promise. “Don’t think I’ll forget about you.”

Jungkook smiles at your little tease, at the way you cup the side of his jaw with your hand as you head towards your front door. 

“Wait, Y/N,” Jungkook sputters out, running after you. He reaches you right as you get to the door, hand grasping the doorknob. You turn to look at him, blinking. “I hope tonight is everything you dreamed of.”

There is something so distinctly sad in his voice. It makes you wonder who has broken his heart. Makes you wonder what you can do to fix it.

“Even if it’s not,” you say to him, taking his hand in your own and squeezing it tight, reminding him that, no matter what, you’re still here. “I know you’ll always be there to take care of me afterwards.”

Your phone buzzes with a message from your date, and you scurry out the door. 

For some reason, there’s a part of you that wishes you never even left. 

The date is okay. Not bad, but nothing to write home about. By the time you finished eating, it was obvious neither of you had any interest in continuing the night elsewhere, whether it be a club or a karaoke bar. He pays for your meal despite your insistence that you can handle the check perfectly fine on your own, thanks you for a nice night, and drops you right back at your apartment. And so goes your one and only Tinder experience, blowing away like a leaf in the wind. 

You look down at your phone. It isn’t even nine o’clock yet. 

[November 7th, 8:48PM]

You: you still game for that movie?

[November 7th, 8:50PM]

Jungkook: you finished your date already?

You: is that a yes or a no

Jungkook: my door is always open, you know that

You: you’re gonna get robbed one day and it’s gonna be by me You: i’m coming over

The walk from your apartment to Jungkook’s is six minutes and thirty seconds on a good day, and seven minutes and fifteen seconds on a bad day, which is usually dependent on if the traffic light over the main road has decided to be extra slow or not. You could walk the damn route in your sleep if you really wanted, having done it so many times in the last year and a half, ever since he moved out of on-campus housing and into his own place.

Tonight, it takes you nearly eight minutes to get to his apartment, but you mostly chalk that up to the heels you’re wearing. If you cared any less about your dignity, you’d probably take them off and walk barefoot like a defeated heroine in a romance movie, shoes dangling from your fingers as they hang low by your side. 

But you aren���t defeated. You didn’t have the world’s most spectacular date, but the night isn’t over just yet. 

Jungkook’s waiting at his front door by the time you arrive. 

“Eight minutes, huh? You’re getting old,” he asks snidely, looking down at the invisible watch on his wrist. 

“Your counting is just off,” you retort easily, falling into that same friendly rhythm, that familiar little beat that the two of you share. You push past him and into his apartment, instantly feeling more at home, shoulders sinking and heartbeat soothing as you soak in the scent of his room, of his home, of him. 

“How’d it go?” Jungkook asks, eyes hopeful as they watch you tug off your heels. They were hardly three inches tall and yet you still want nothing to do with them. 

You shrug. “Eh. It was okay.”

“Just okay?” Jungkook asks, sounding seriously upset for you. Upset that you didn’t have a good night even after you promised him that you would. Upset that it didn’t turn out to be everything you wanted. 

“I don’t know,” you admit, looking over at him, dejected. “It just—I just had this feeling that it wasn’t going to work out.”

Jungkook scowls to himself, eyebrows furrowing like he’s trying to figure out what exactly you mean by that. And the truth is, you’re not sure either. The date was fine, and he was nice, but even when you first met it felt like you weren’t going to get what you wanted from him. Like you were just going on the date to go on the date. Like you already knew that it would mean nothing. 

Jungkook was going to be waiting for you at the end of the night whether it went amazingly well or terribly bad. And knowing that, strangely enough, almost made you want the date to be horrible. Like it would make seeing Jungkook afterwards that much sweeter. 

“Oh,” Jungkook says lamely. “Well, I’m sorry. It seemed like you were really looking forward to it.”

“It’s alright,” you assure him. “Can we just watch this movie now and make fun of how sexist it is? Please?”

To that, Jungkook easily agrees. As he’s queueing up the movie, you raid his closet for a hoodie and sweatpants, desperate to strip yourself of your dress and tights and cozy up in clothes that are much more appropriate for your comfort level. At this point in your friendship, Jungkook doesn’t even question it when he sees you march into his room, fishing through his closet and drawers for your favorite matching set of his, this grey pair that he’s worn so much it still smells like him even after it’s come right out of the wash. 

He only stares back in awe when he sees you emerge from his bedroom wearing them. 

“Ready?” You ask, breaking him from his resolve.

Jungkook blinks wildly from where he’s seated on his dinky old couch, as if to clear his vision. “What? Oh, yeah, I’ve been waiting for you.”

“Then hurry it up, Mister,” you demand, sitting down next to him and curling into his body. It’s instinctual, at this point, wanting to be close to him. To feel the warmth of his body radiate upon your own. To feel his chest beneath the palm of your hands, his arm wrapped around your side. “All good?” You ask, looking up at him. 

Jungkook looks down at you, and you swear, you’ve never seen him more at home. “Always, when I’m with you.”

The movie is predictably good and predictably sexist, but your favorite part by far is when Jungkook reaches around on the coffee table in front of you for his camera, holding it up to his eye and snatching a picture of the television, the film grainy like an old polaroid, faded like an antique photograph. He clicks away at the scene in front of him before turning on you, the lens so close to your face you’re almost certain all he’ll manage to capture is your nose. You laugh, pushing yourself away from him as he snaps, and snaps, and snaps, image after image after image, until his camera battery has died and there’s no more room left on his card. 

“Guess I’ll have to charge this thing, then,” Jungkook sighs as he declares his camera dead, screen black. 

“You aren’t going to include any of those, are you?” You ask, an eyebrow raised. 

Jungkook shrugs. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Don’t you have enough?” You deadpan, thinking back to the hundreds of photos Jungkook must have taken of you over the past week, and even more that you don’t know about. There’s certainly no shortage of them in his current camera inventory. That’s for sure. 

“Never,” Jungkook says wickedly. He stretches out an open arm, and you don’t have to think twice about falling into it, letting him wrap you up in his hold, curling into his body. 

The black television screen crackles before you, DVD player waiting for Jungkook to turn it off. There’s no need for either of you to look up at each other. Not when you’re strung together like this. Not when you already know exactly where he is. 

“It’s due on Monday, right?” You inquire softly, fatigue slowly overtaking you. 

“Yeah. I’m almost finished, just have to do some curating and editing.”

“I want to see it.”

“What? My project?”

“What else?”

“It’s just a project, it’s not that exciting.”

You pull away from him at that, looking up at him with furrowed brows and scrunched-up nose. “What do you mean ‘it’s not that exciting’? It’s your photography project. You’ve spent a whole week working on it.”

“Yeah, but it’s just you, you know?” Jungkook objects. “Like, you know what you look like. It’s just going to be a bunch of photos of you, like I said it’d be.”

“That’s exactly why I want to see it,” you say like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You took pictures of me for a whole week. Don’t you want to share them with me?”

“If you really want some of the photos, I’ll send you some, but you don’t need to see the whole portfolio, you know? It’s just for my professor,” Jungkook says stiffly, surprisingly resistant. What’s the big deal? It’s not like there will suddenly be new information about you that you didn’t know before. You want to see what Jungkook has been working tirelessly on this entire week. Where’s the harm in that?

“Why are you getting so hung up on this? It’s just photos,” you say with a frown. 

“Why are you getting so hung up on this?” Jungkook challenges back. 

You sigh, sinking back into him, defeated. Even a little disagreement like that is enough to knock the wind out of the both of you, so you decide not to push it much further. 

“Do you promise to show me eventually?” You ask, hopeful.

Jungkook pauses for a moment, and you almost expect him to say no, considering how protective of his work he’s being. “One day,” he declares. “One day, I will.”

And that’s good enough for you. 

You lose track of how much time passes after that, feeling your eyelids getting heavy as the warmth of his body envelopes you, drowsiness settling in. There’s just something about this moment, right here, right now, that makes you want to fall asleep.

You’re on the verge of slumber when Jungkook’s voice breaks through.

“Why didn’t you think your date would work out?”

“I don’t know,” you respond sleepily, barely even opening your eyes. “It just felt wrong.”

“How do you know what feels right?”

Good question. Perhaps if you had the energy, you’d answer it. But right now, all you can think about is how cozy you feel in Jungkook’s hoodie and sweatpants, how the scent of him surrounds you, that indescribable, boyish aroma that can’t be replicated. Right now, all you can think about is how easily your body molds into his, like two pieces of a puzzle meant to fit together. Right now, all you can think about is him. 

The worst part about each and every week is when it ends. Because the end of one week signifies the beginning of the next, and when you’re in university, the beginning of the next week means a whole new batch of assignments that you have to complete and a whole new batch of due dates to meet. 

So, yeah. The weeks have been blurring together for you lately. But what else could you expect?

Sunday evening, as per usual, finds you right back where you always are: Jungkook’s apartment. 

The two of you have been regularly getting together on Sundays to study, ever since you both realized you work significantly harder when motivated by the other, determined to finish all of your work on time so you can spend the rest of the night fooling around by mixing Monster with as many unhealthy drinks that you can possibly think of. And it’s been working out well for the both of you so far. Jungkook powers through his coding assignments and you whiz through your readings, intent on keeping up to date with your tasks so they don’t all come crashing down on you at the end of the semester. 

Studying with Jungkook has always been easy, largely due to the fact that it’s the one allotted time during your friendship where the both of you deem it best to not speak to each other for the sake of your work. The moment one of you opens your mouth it’s over, so you sit on opposite ends of the room and pretend that the other person isn’t even there. 

Jungkook told you earlier today that he had already finished his photography portfolio, so there would unfortunately be no sneaky glances over his shoulder to see if you can catch a glimpse of one of the pictures. Which is fine by you, you’re just a little embarrassed that Jungkook had told you this outright. Not that you were planning to do exactly that, but you were planning to do exactly that. 

Part of you. more than anything, wants to know why Jungkook won’t just show you himself. Why he’s being so secretive, so protective of his photography project when you both know already exactly what’s in it. For God’s sake, he just spent the entire week taking photos of you non-stop. It’s like not as if any part of this is a mystery to either of you. What more could he have done?

Whatever. You aren’t going to force it if he doesn’t want you to. You suppose that maybe one day, far into the future, he’ll finally decide that the time is right. 

“I’m so fucking tired,” Jungkook declares lifelessly as he gets up from where he’s sitting on your bed, dead inside. “I need a break.”

“Are you going to the kitchen? Can you make me some tea, please?” You ask him, looking up from the laptop on your desk. 

Jungkook nods wordlessly before disappearing out of the room. 

You and Jungkook’s best study practice to maximize productivity is the taking of each other’s cell phones so that the other cannot be tempted to look at it. It’s worked plenty of times before and will probably work plenty of times again, because as they say, out of sight, out of mind. 

Unfortunately, it’s hard to pretend that your phone is out of sight when it’s been buzzing on your bedside table for the past five minutes, and your fingers have been itching to get over there and answer your damn notifications. So, while Jungkook is out of the room, you decide to cheat a little by dashing over there just to see what the heck is going on in the rest of the world. 

As it turns out, nothing much. Just Maisie texting you as she binges yet another television show, giving spoiler-free updates anytime anything remotely dramatic happens. You have a couple of new emails as well. 

The thing that actually catches your attention the most, is Jungkook’s laptop screen. 

There’s just a Word document open on it, but a Word document is a far cry from his usual coding program or Photoshop. Because you can’t help yourself, you peer over to see what he’s written. 

What did you learn about yourself through this assignment? How do you think you’ve changed?

Hard to say that I have. I don’t think I learned something about myself so much as I confirmed what I already knew, cementing it as a real thought in my brain, rather than just a daydream. Nothing changed in the way that my best friend and I interacted, and I can almost confirm that nothing changed in the way that she feels about me, just as nothing changed in the way I feel about her. I guess you could say I learned that I don’t think anything could ever change the way I feel about her. 

What?

Do you think you’ll ever look back on this project, whether it be as a reference or a memory?

Yes. Not as a reference but to remind myself of this very moment in my life—a single week over the course of my life that I felt was worth saving. I imagine that there will come a time, far in the future, where my best friend and I have separated a little bit, found our own lives and created our own families with our own people. And when that happens, I will look back on this project to remind myself of who we used to be. How we used to feel about each other. Maybe, by that point in time, it won’t hurt as much as it does now. 

This feels personal. Maybe you should stop reading. But there’s just one more question left on the page… 

This assignment forced you to create an entire portfolio, from scratch, using a subject you would have to regularly schedule time with. It was demanding. But, that said, would you ever do this again?

Yes. If it meant getting to spend more time with her, take more photos of her, see her smile once more, I would do it a thousand times over. 

“Y/N?”

You hadn’t even heard the kettle whistling. 

“Jungkook,” you say, breathless, caught red-handed. 

“What are you doing?” He asks, placing your steaming cup of tea down on the desk as he stares back at you in horror, in surprise, in worry, in something. Something that gives you this imminent sense of impending doom. 

“Uh—”

“Were you reading my computer screen?”

It’s not like you could say you were doing anything else. 

“I couldn’t help myself, I came over here to check my phone since it’s been buzzing like crazy and your computer was right there and I just…” you sputter out, thoughts swirling inside your head. 

(I will look back on this project to remind myself of who we used to be. How we used to feel about each other. Maybe, by that point in time, it won’t hurt as much as it does now. 

If it meant getting to see her smile once more, I would do it a thousand times over. 

I guess you could say I learned that I don’t think anything could ever change the way I feel about her.)

“What do you mean, how you feel about me?” You ask, because you can’t help yourself. Because the sound of his voices echoes in your head like the beat of a drum, over and over and over. Because you’re staring back at him and even if he just caught you snooping through his computer you can never be worried when it comes to him. Because everything he has ever done puts you at ease. 

“Y/N, that is private, why would you read something like that?” He asks, each word a sucker punch into your heart. 

“Because I just had to know, okay?” You shout back. “I had to know what you were hiding from me.”

“So you decided to snoop through my computer to see if you could figure it out yourself?” He demands, storming over to you. 

“So you are hiding something?”

“That’s not the point, the point is that—”

“What are you not telling me, Jungkook?” You cry out, watching as he approaches you, dark eyes piercing your gaze. “Why won’t you show me your goddamn portfolio? If there’s really nothing to be afraid of, why are you keeping it from me? I’m your best friend, I’m the fucking subject of your project? Don’t I deserve to see it? Why won’t you show me?”

“Because then you’d know!” Jungkook shouts back, leaving deafening silence in his wake. You look up at him, blinking. In front of you, Jungkook is out of breath, chest heaving. 

He looks so strained. So tired. Like he’s been carrying around this secret for months now, maybe even years, and this is the final straw. This is what has sent the both of you crashing down upon each other. This stupid fucking project. You’ve known Jungkook ever since the beginning of your freshman year, and never before have you seen him so hopeless. 

“Jungkook—?”

“You’d know, goddamnit,” Jungkook says, hand coming up to rub at his forehead, dragging down his cheek. “And I wasn’t sure if I was ready for that.”

“Know what? What would I know?” 

Jungkook closes his eyes. Takes a deep breath. Opens them again. “That I’m in love with you.”

The words drift in between the two of you, hovering in the air like feathers. You see them, clear as day, in front of you, hear them echoing in your head, over and over and over again. Feel the way your blood is pumping, the way your heart is beating. 

“You’re in love with me?” You ask him. 

“I didn’t want you to find out this way,” Jungkook admits. “Or at all, really. But I have been, for a while now.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I was afraid that I’d lose you.”

You chuckle, a small, little thing from the back of your throat. “You must have known I’d never let that happen, hmm?”

Jungkook smiles softly. “I was scared. Can you blame me? You’re my best friend.”

“And you are mine,” you remind him. 

“It’s just—” Jungkook begins, like the gates of a dam are opening up. “We’d known each other for so long, and we have such a good thing going as is, always texting and calling and hanging out together, studying together on Sunday nights and seeing each other during the week, and I didn’t want to ruin anything. And then my professor assigned this project, and the only person I could think of to take photos was you, but I didn’t want to ask that of you in case you thought it was weird, but you suggested it anyway so I said yes, but I knew. I knew then that the moment I took one goddamn photo of you it would be obvious, and that if you ever saw you would just know. Stuff like that is easy to pick up in pictures, because a camera is like, tunnel vision for whatever it is you want to focus on most, and that’s you, that’s always been you, so I—”

“Jungkook,” you interrupt, reaching out to him, pressing a soft hand to his cheek. “Just, shut up, okay?”

And then you cup his head in both of your hands, and press a kiss to his lips. A small one, if nothing else, but a kiss nonetheless. You press your lips against his own and immediately you feel the sparks rush through you, this flash of heat that settles into something softer, something sweeter. It ignites and soothes you all at once, like a stray lightning bolt out on the open ocean. Like a single clap of thunder and the pitter patter of rain. 

You press a kiss to his lips and when you pull away, Jungkook’s eyes are closed, lips parted ever so slightly. And for a moment there, you almost think you did the wrong thing. 

But barely a second more passes before he’s scooping you up in his arms and pulling you in close to him, his lips finding yours like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do. He holds you tight, hands pressed against the small of your back as he kisses you, warm and fiery and full, as if he can’t get enough, as if this is his only chance. You gasp into it before relaxing in his hold, cold hands on his warm cheeks, body melting at the feeling of him, of him all over you, of his hands and his mouth and his chest, this perfect, solid figure. 

He kisses you and it sends heat shooting through your body, filling you up from the inside out, like your heart has burst and filled your bloodstream with fire, with sparks of warmth that tingle all over. He kisses you, and everywhere his hands press is another sizzle to your skin, an electric shock that makes you giggle into his mouth. 

He kisses you and it feels like a storm has settled, feels like gentle rain after a hurricane, feels like waves crashing against the shore. He kisses you and it is the only thing you can think about. 

By the time you part once more, you don’t think you’ve ever seen Jungkook so blissed out. 

“See?” You point out softly. “Nothing to be afraid of.”

Jungkook looks positively dazed. “I think I need to lie down.”

“Ooh, was I that good?” You tease.

“I’m dreaming.” He shakes his head. “I’m definitely fucking dreaming.”

Jungkook sinks onto your bed, hitting the mattress with a thud. He stares mindlessly in front of him, like his brain needs time to process. 

You smile to yourself. He can have all the time in the world. 

“Is this real?” He mumbles when you sit down next to him, press another kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Are you real?”

“Just like you,” you promise him. “I didn’t know this is what we had been missing, all this time.”

“It wasn’t missing,” Jungkook assures you. “It was just hidden.”

“I love you,” you whisper, watching him swallow the words like a glass of wine. “I think I always have. You just needed to say it first.”

“Oblivious as always.” Jungkook grins, smiling against your lips. “But I’m glad. If this is what it would take, then I’m glad.”

“You wouldn’t change anything?” You ask him, eyes wide and curious. 

It’s hard to know how long you and Jungkook have been secretly pining over each other. Hard to know how long Jungkook has known that he’s loved you, how long it’s been since you started to feel the same, even if subconsciously. It’s hard to know how long you would have kept going if not for this project. It might have been months. Years. Years that Jungkook was willing to spend holding back, if only it meant keeping you by his side. 

“No,” Jungkook says like it’s the easiest answer in the world. “I have you now. Why would I?”

What did you learn about yourself through this assignment? How do you think you’ve changed?

Previously, I had responded to this question by saying that I hadn’t learned anything, and felt that nothing changed in my life. Then, some things happened. And after those things, I learned that I am the luckiest man alive. To know my best friend is one thing. To love her is a privilege. To have her love me back is nothing less than a miracle.

Do you think you’ll ever look back on this project, whether it be as a reference or a memory?

Yes. Every day for the rest of my life. I don’t think I’ve ever been as thankful to receive a homework assignment as I am, right now. I owe everything to this project. It is the reason I have her. 

This assignment forced you to create an entire portfolio, from scratch, using a subject you would have to regularly schedule time with. It was demanding. But, that said, would you ever do this again?

Yes. I want to take photos of her for the rest of my life. I want to save every memory we ever share together. So that far into the future, we can look back on them together and say, “Remember that?”

↳ links are broken, but don’t forget to message me with any thoughts or feedback!

[salemwritesxx]

𝓰𝓻𝓪𝓭𝓾𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷.

𝔹 𝔸 𝕂 𝕌 𝔾 𝕆 𝕌  𝕂 𝔸 𝕋 𝕊 𝕌 𝕂 𝕀

     ⇴ male reader [quirkless, support class]      ⇴ all characters are depicted as [18]+

↳ summary: Bakugou and [Your.name] graduate from UA. However, they had hidden their relationship for the past two years, so now it was time to finally show what had been going on behind closed doors.  

↣ rating: General Audience ↣ warnings: fluff, cute

｡☆✼★━━━━━━━━━━━━★✼☆｡

“Can you actually believe it’s over? 3 years? Gone…”, Eijirou sighed happily while looking at the graduation papers in his hands.

“Bro I am just glad I passed. I haven’t slept in weeks, I am merely functioning on Red Bull and 10 AAA batteries I sucked on in the last two days.”

The friend group laughed thanks to Kaminari’s words, but they also completely understood. They all had leftover blueish hues under their eyes from countless nights of training and studying, just to graduate from UA.

One, however, in the friend group, was rather quiet – very, very unusual for Bakugou. And so, Ashido asked him, “Bakugou? What’s wrong, you’ve been awfully quiet? Aren’t you happy? You can finally work as a pro-hero!”

She grinned, knowing how much he worked to get there, though he didn’t even really register her words as he kept looking around, trying to find someone in-between all the students that graduated today.

“Yeah, yeah. It’s great- Ah!”, Katsuki didn’t even finish properly when he saw you – finally!

“Oi, where are you going? We wanna take a photo!”, Sero yelled after him, but Bakugou just ignored him and walked through the crowds, his ruby eyes set on you. Not even realizing that his friends followed, intrigued by his strange behavior.

“[Your.name]!”, he called out to you.

You were standing with your classmates from your support class, now that you had graduated, you couldn’t wait to get your hands on heroes and help them. Even if there was someone who definitely would always be your first priority to support with your endless ideas and genius brain.

“Hey, someone from hero course is calling you.”, one of your classmates you.

Because they couldn’t have known. No one knew. You kept it a secret for the past two years.

“Ah, yeah, it’s-“

However, before you could say any more, Katsuki had already grabbed you. In a very dramatic scene, he spun you around so you fell into his arms while he hovered above you, tilting you back and kissing you. God, your boyfriend was so damn dramatic, really. (You watched too many K-Dramas with Bakugou that was for sure.)

But, even though you were surprised, you instinctively kissed him back, one arm around his neck, the other desperately grabbing onto him. You were, pleasantly, surprised how strong Bakugou really had become. Even though he was a bit shorter than you, due to his endless training to graduate and become a true hero, he was so strong, easily holding all your weight securely.

Everyone around you was gawking at you both. Bakugou’s friend group was silent for a moment, before they started cheering – of course they would.

“God… you’re so fucking dramatic, Katsuki.”, you giggled when he finally broke the kiss, his big, fat grin however also making you smirk a bit.

That’s it. With that, you had outed your relationship and fuck it felt good.

“You have no fucking clue for how long I’ve wanted to do this.”, he said while pressing another kiss to your lips before pulling you back up onto your feet; the smaller male instantly reaching around your hips in a possessive way.

“Why the hell did you never say anything?!”

“Ow!”, Katsuki got kicked by Sero, though his outcry was rather playful and exaggerated.

“How long??? Huh? I am really disappointed, I thought we were friends.”, Denki overdramatically ‘cried’, whipping his non-existing tears.

“Bro, calm the fuck down. [Your.name] and I thought it was the best.”

“Hmh.”, you nodded in agreement, your own arm around his back.

“But, I always thought you hated [Your.name]???”, Ashido finally asked, completely confused.

And now it was Bakugou’s turn to lightly blush and clear his throat, all while you were laughing beside him.

“We had a really long way to go.”

“He turned out to be quite useful for my hero suit despite being quirkless. So…”, Katsuki tried to explain, even though he didn’t like having to go back to that time – he was horrible at first.

“Yeah, Kat was an ass! I even wanted to help him negate the backlash from his Howitzer Impact, but no. All Mighty King Explosion Murder didn’t want my help .”

“Fuckin’ Jesus- stOP!”, he cried out in embarrassement.

“Awww, it’s okay, it was cute when you came crawling back after being hospitalized ‘cuz you used it too often and were intrigued by my grandiose invention after all.”

“I swear, you are the fucking worst.”, grabbing your neck, he pulled you down the few inches to capture your lips, making you giggle.

Meanwhile Ashido, Sero, Kaminari and Kirishima all just stared, then nodded in agreement.

“I can see what happened.”, Eiji said, grinning.

“Oh yah, they complement each other very well.”

Mina giggled, the other two boys also starting to chuckle, agreeing with her. They could see why it happened after such a rough start.

Though, truly, no one could imagine how rough the start of your relationship really was. Despite feeling the obvious sparks between you both, it was hard for him to see past your “handicap” – being quirkless. Now he wanted to slap his stupid self from 3 years ago. Because even though you were quirkless, he didn’t see it as a handicap anymore. Also, your brain was quite endless and despite hating to admit he wasn’t the best, you really were incredible when it came to inventions to help heroes. Bakugou had learned quite a lot and he was just grateful that, even though there were many ups and downs in the last 2 years, your relationship succeeded.

Especially in the last 5 months you both grew closer despite no one noticing it.

For a few minutes, you were still standing and talking with his friends, before you both decided to finally go home after graduation. Not really in the mood for partying or going out.

And for the first time, you didn’t part ways halfway, but in the end, walking through the tunnel the cherry blossom trees had formed – right into the bright future that was ahead of you and Bakugou. Finally together, open and proud.

｡☆✼★━━━━━━━━━━━━★✼☆｡

@salemwritesxx || do not repost, edit, modify or translate my works

⇻ salem.talks: in celebration of having finished my first year of college, I wanted to write something funny and stupid and cute! I was pretty tired from studying so the headcanon weekened I actually wanted to do will be postponed to next week. For now, hope you enjoyed this little thing.

[99zmist]

sleep — song mingi.

pairing: song mingi x gn!reader

word count: 0.8k

genre: fluff, idol!au

additional notes: sorry for my inactivity regarding posting here — college is kicking me in the ass. anyways, i have a few fics to put up soon so stay tuned !!! <3 this was written a few months (?) back, and i actually just saw this again while looking through my google docs. figured i'd reread it, and thought it wasn't so bad (i wrote this at 11 pm and high on caffeine lol). this was based on bts v's unreleased song "sleep", which you can listen to here.

enjoy reading, i would greatly appreciate it if you leave feedback when you finish. thank you! xo

mingi stares at the moon, his night robe hugging him tightly against the cold, midnight breeze. he stands on the balcony, leaning against the railings as he sighs blissfully—somehow feeling at ease despite the tiring schedule and workload he had lately. from the bedroom, he hears the tossing and turning of the blankets behind him. he shuts his eyes softly, muttering slightly under his breath when he hears footsteps approaching.

he doesn’t wait for another second to turn around, so when he does, he can feel his heart leap slightly in his chest the moment his gaze meets with yours.

“hey,” he sounds breathless—as if you’ve knocked every little ounce of air he has left. “sorry, did i wake you?”

“no,” you respond, pulling your robe closer to you as you shiver slightly from the cold. mingi’s eyes shift, but he doesn’t say anything. “i actually woke up all of a sudden, and i wanted to tell you i couldn’t sleep. turns out, you can’t, either.”

he chuckles, “yeah, sorry about that. i’ve been standing outside for nearly an hour.”

there was silence for a few moments; just the two of you standing there, leaning against the railings of the balcony. his eyes fixated on the sky, and yours were fixated on the cars driving past below. mingi pondered on his thoughts for a while, and the night was so full of tranquility that he felt like you could hear his own heartbeat from here. there was no hustle and bustle or the honks from cars heard even with the busy streets of incheon. there were only a few sounds of laughter echoing – coming from a group of drunk friends walking out of the pub.

“penny for your thoughts?”

startled, he turns to look to his left to see you staring at him—and his chest tightens as his mind fills with questions like how long have you been looking, how embarrassing this is, given that he might’ve looked like a complete idiot while contemplating.

again, he doesn’t waste time to reply. “only if you give me yours.”

you raise an eyebrow, but you nod your head.

“y/n,” he starts, and you hum in response. “do you… enjoy being with me?”

his question catches you off guard, as your face scrunches up in confusion. you nod again, tilting your head to the side. “well yeah, of course i do, mingi. why would you ask that?”

“i just,” you can see how he shifts uncomfortably, a frown tugging at the ends of his lips. “i’m sorry i can’t take you out on dates yet. i really would want to show you off to the world but– you know how it is. with my career, i– you know i wouldn’t want to put you in an uncomfortable situation. i’m sorry how we’re forced to hide. maybe with the set up now, you aren’t happy with me anymore. and i’d understand if—”

“mingi.”

he immediately stops from rambling the moment he hears his name leaving your lips. his uneasy gaze finally meets again with yours, suddenly feeling shy.

“sorry.” he mutters.

you shake your head. “no, don’t be,” you pause, biting the inside of your cheek as you cross your arms, trying to keep yourself warm. you didn’t know if you suddenly grew cold because of the midnight breeze, or if it was because of your boyfriend’s sudden confession.

“i’m sorry if you feel like that. i’m just not really good at showing off my emotions,” you brush your hair back to ease yourself, as you give him a smile. “i might not say much but i’m really grateful for you. for the little moments we have—even if it’s sometimes only for a short period of time.”

“you’re not disappointed i couldn’t give you more time?”

“i’d be lying to you and myself if i said i don’t get disappointed,” you chuckle. “but what can i do? my boyfriend’s a ‘superstar’,” this time, it was mingi who lets out a chuckle, rolling his eyes at the term. “i should’ve known what i was getting into the moment song mingi asked for my number—which i still don’t understand why you did that, by the way.”

mingi laughs, and the worried look on his face finally softens a bit. you give him a comforting smile.

“i don’t worry, mingi. at night, you always come home to me, anyways.”

“okay,” he says softly, and he feels the huge amount of weight lift from his shoulders. he then stretches his arms out, reaching out to you. “hug?”

you step forward and slip your arms around him as if you were a missing puzzle piece. he embraces you, rubbing your shoulders before placing a kiss on top of your head. you smile, heart warm and fuzzy at the comfort of his embrace.

“let’s head back inside,” mingi tells you. “i’ll tell you everything that happened today.”

— © 99zmist.

[notchesandbullets]

She’s Mine (Protective!Bakugou x Punk!Tattooed!Reader) feat. Erasermic

Warnings: racism, implied homophobia (not by anyone in the main cast), sexism, discrimination/discriminatory behavior, Modern!AU, Aged-Up!AU, features Bakugou’s parents, Erasermic, Kota, Eri, Mahoro, Katsuma and all of Class A defending you when insults start to fly.

Synopsis: This is not the first time you’re seeing Bakugou’s family but it is the first time you’re meeting his grandmother, who is not the best company to be around. He comes to your defense after you stand up for yourself and he had no qualms about sticking his face in the old hag’s because he’d be damned if he lets anyone talk to you like that. You’re his.

Words: 3.2k

“Y/N’s here!!!” Mitsuki called over her shoulder as she threw the front door wide open before you could even ring the doorbell.

Her son had texted her that you two were on their way and she was eager to see you. With the job and your relationship with her son, you two were busy bees and didn’t come around as often anymore. 

Which is why she insisted that her stubborn son at least come around for his birthday since it only happened one day out of the year. Then he could continue doing whatever it was that he was doing. 

Luckily, you were on her side and helped convince him to go just this once.

You laughed at the pitter-patter of tiny feet scampering across the cherry hardwood before dropping everything to catch the little kid that tunneled into your legs. 

“Y/N!!! You’re back!!!”

Eri’s ruby red eyes sparkled with joy as she clung to your legs.

“I missed you!!!” She shouted excitedly, hugging your knees tight.

You giggled, resting a hand on top of her head. “I missed you too, munchkin.”

Bakugou snorted behind you and you were reminded of his presence. “Oi, brat. Are you going to let us in or what?”

Eri stuck her tongue out at him childishly before dashing back inside, a trick she learned from her big brother Izuku, doubling back to grab your hand and hauled you inside with her. You casted a glance over your shoulder at your boyfriend but he shrugged, giving you the go-ahead.

He would catch up to you two troublemakers later. Besides, he knew you would want to see all the kids first. 

Kota, an orphan whose extended family gave him up for adoption, along with the siblings, Mahoro and Katsuma, were all under Aizawa’s guardianship.

After he adopted Eri, it sort of just snowballed until he was in too deep. He told Mic repeatedly that it wasn’t his fault that he had a soft spot for orphans.

His husband had merely shook his head with a laugh and hoisted Katsuma up higher so that he could reach the cupcakes they were going to sneak behind his back before dinner.

Mitsuki closed the door behind him as her son kicked off his shoes. 

“She gets that from me.” She said proudly as she gazed lovingly at Eri. She loved having her around the house. 

Since Aizawa and Mic lived relatively close, they came over often since she was feeling rather lonely with an empty nest.

Bakugou snorted. “Yeah, no shit.”

His mother glared at him for his language but didn’t reprimand him like she normally would and his eyes turned into hateful slits.

“Don’t tell me—” He started, gritting his teeth.

“They’re here.” She said with a heavy sigh.

Bakugou cursed vehemently under his breath, his brow furrowing deeply as he fought to control himself. He was banking on them not making an appearance today. 

His grandparents on his dad’s side, though he adored his grandad and thought the world of him, he absolutely could not stand his grandmother. 

She was racist, sexist, had limited views on literally everything and would raise hell if she didn’t get her way and she was a huge pain in his ass.

Even his own mother couldn’t stand her and that was saying something because she tolerated everyone to some degree, despite her odd love language when it came to him. 

They were both shit at communicating but it had gotten better as he got older. 

Now, the worst things that happened were spats here and there when they disagreed but his mother was usually good about backing off if she felt he could make the right decision for himself, which wasn’t often but it was better than none. 

Bakugou strolled inside and his eyes softened for a second when he saw you playing with Mahoro, Kota sitting on your lap as Eri was climbing all over Midoriya. You four were currently playing Monopoly and Eri exclaiming in shock as she realized she was losing since the devious Kota was slowly claiming more and more property.

“Haha!!” He cackled, rubbing his hands together evilly. “You landed on the purple one!!”

“No fair!!” Eri protested. “I don’t have enough money!!!”

“Too bad!!”

“Deku-niichan.” Eri cried, her eyes watering and you nearly fell over laughing as he frantically tried to get her to stop crying. 

The rest of his old class from college was already here, as per his mother’s request and Kirishima’s invitation.

Shinsou, Tsuyu, Todoroki and Iida were all near the food, the previous class rep serving drinks even though it wasn’t his job to play host. 

Tokoyami was currently engaged in a conversation with his dad and as Bakugou spun around the room, he realized every last one of his old classmates had shown up.

It was fucking crowded in his house. 

But the spark of joy he felt diminished the instant he saw his grandmother and he scowled, straying to your side almost protectively as her eyes burned into his back. 

This. 

This was why he didn’t fucking want her here. He didn’t want her to rain judgement upon the person who had won over his heart.

No way in hell.

Look, you weren’t fragile by any means. Your heart was filled with a healthy amount of self-esteem and you had built up your walls to protect yourself against people who had something to say about your many tattoos or piercings, yet you still were the kindest soul he had ever met. 

It was in the way you walked and interacted with people, a genuine smile always present on your features as you gave them more respect than most would give you upon first glance.

Bakugou knew you could handle yourself but you shouldn’t have to with his own fucking relatives. That shit was messed up. 

You glanced at your boyfriend out of the corner of your eye and your gaze dropped down to where his hands were clenched into fists, jaw locked tight and you sigh, softly urging Kota to get up and continue playing with Mahoro and Katsuma until you got back.

The boy grumbled but did as you asked, easily getting swept up in the competition of the game as you drifted to Bakugou’s side.

“I know that look,” You murmured into his ear, your hand covering his as you ignored the idle chatter coming from your friends and family around you. “What’s wrong?”

Bakugou clenched his teeth and debated about it for a second.

“Nothing.” He spat out eventually, choosing to deal with the old hag himself and you let him go when he stomped off, knowing that Kirishima or Kaminari would handle whatever it was that just happened if he didn’t want to talk to you about it. 

Momo greeted you warmly and a smile slipped onto your face as though it had never left. 

You hadn’t bothered to dress all that nice or different from your usual getup, feeling more comfortable in leather and all black that looked like you just came from a rock concert but you got the feeling that not everyone was feeling it as much as Jirou was when she came over to compliment you on your fashion taste.

Shoji and Koda each greeted you respectively and before you knew it, the catered dinner arrived and it was finally time to eat. The judging look you had been aware of from someone you didn’t recognize passing by as you brushed it off as unimportant and focused on helping Mitsuki set the table. 

You clapped your hands gleefully when Eri pitched in to help, complimenting her on how well of a job she did as she finished and you beamed at her when she smiled up at you.

Of course, Aizawa needed to help her since he didn’t want her to stand on a chair and lose her balance but it was easy enough to lift her up. She wasn’t that big yet. 

He had already told Mic he was dreading the day when she would grow up and have to leave home to start her own life and his husband patted him on the back sympathetically, reassuring him that it wouldn’t be the end of the world. 

They loved their children and their children absolutely adored them. 

You had told them as such on more than one occasion since they got insecure that they weren’t adequate parents but you reassured them that they were perfectly imperfect.

They put their kids’ health, safety and happiness before everything else and did everything they could for them. 

You wished your own parents had done that for you. 

As soon as you set down the place settings for everyone and called everyone in for dinner, they flooded the huge dining table that overflowed into the living area to accommodate everyone. 

Bakugou had left for a second to grab something from his old bedroom, promising to be back right away and you reassured him that you would be fine. 

You were barely into helping Mic convince a stubborn Kota to take a spoonful of green beans onto his plate, Shinsou helping Aizawa with Mahoro’s vegetable serving, when a throat cleared itself loudly.

The lively chatter died all around the table died down as grey eyes pierced your own and you stiffened but held your ground. 

You knew that look, you had seen it too many times. 

The older woman opened her mouth and spoke.

“So, you’re my grandson’s girlfriend?” She enunciated, looking you up and down from where she was sitting at the head of the table, her hands setting down her knitting project to glare at you. “I don’t see why he’s dating you.”

The expressions of shock at her vulgar words made several of your friends angry in your defense, Iida and Todoroki trembling in anger and Mina’s eyes narrowed as she dropped her happy-go-lucky personality in favor of ripping her a new one. 

But before any of them could act, she was continuing evenly.

“For someone who doesn’t know how to dress properly and looks like that, I mean, it’s already bad enough that your skin is that color, my dear, and you’ve ruined it even further with those ugly things.” She spat, unaware of the wrath she was evoking from every single person in the room. 

Kaminari’s electric eyes glowed as he saw red. “Bad enough?” 

“Excuse me?” Shoji seethed with unparalleled anger rising up in his chest, a rare sight for the normally calm and collected man.

Jirou, Ochako and Momo were furious at the way she was talking down to you and they shared a look amongst themselves, communicating wordlessly that this wasn’t going to be allowed to get out of hand any longer.

Kirishima was visibly shaking and even the normally shy Koda was fuming in his seat, openly glaring at the elderly woman who spewed insults at you. 

A chair scraped back as Midoriya shot up but you shook your head, holding your finger up to your lips as you subtly gestured for everyone to hold back. 

Aizawa’s nostrils flared from where he was covering Eri’s ears while several of his former students took care of the rest of the kids to make sure they wouldn’t hear this.

To their horror, the grandmother wasn’t even close to being done as she pointed a gnarly finger at you.

“Your job as a girl is to stay in the kitchen and attend to your husband. To even think you’re worth anything if you weren’t involved with my grandson is absurd.” She hissed at you venously, her skewed ideals rooted deeply in her beliefs and how she was raised. “You are a disgrace to even breathe the same air as someone like me.”

“Mother!!”

Bakugou’s father frantically tried to amend what had been done and Mitsuki was about to yell at her but you stopped her. 

Everyone’s eyes turned on you as you took a deep breath. 

“I’m sorry you feel that way, but I won’t apologize for being who I am.” You said quietly but firmly, failing to notice someone coming down the stairs and overhearing your steady words as they flowed from your lips like honey. 

Not tricks. Just genuine sympathy, like you didn’t even hear her say all those horrible things to you. 

It was supposed to be your boyfriend’s day and you weren’t going to ruin it for him in the same manner that she had just done. 

“I understand what you’re saying, but don’t you think that we should be allowed to love who we love?” 

You inclined your head slightly, allowing a sliver of the emotion you felt to slip onto your face as you glanced pointedly as Aizawa and Mic.

After you noticed her staring so openly at you, you also noticed that she would scowl whenever the two men would walk in the room and play with their kids and while you would take whatever she was going to throw at you, you weren’t going to tolerate the same for them.

They didn’t deserve that.

Holding up your arm, you inspected the ink running up and down the length of it. “As for my appearance, my style is my own. I don’t recall asking for your opinion.”

There were a couple of snickers from Jirou, Kaminari, Sero and Mineta as you put her in his place and Todoroki leaned back in his seat, gazing up at you proudly as you stood your ground without firing any hate back at the old woman. 

Hagakure clapped her hands jubilantly as a few cheers of agreement sounded around from the table but you had one more thing to say. 

Your eyes softened. “I understand how you may feel about me, but I don’t need your acceptance. I love myself just as I am and if Katsuki ever feels differently about me and we split, then we’ll split. But please do not judge my love for him based on how you believe I should be. I am who I am and I won’t ever apologize for that.”

“And you never fucking have to.”

Bakugou strolled into the dining area, smirking at the old hag who had the nerve to look shocked at his appearance. Of course she would be so fucking disgusting to say something this horrible to you when he wasn’t within earshot. 

Bitch. 

Blood relations didn’t excuse behavior. 

Narrowing his vermilion eyes at his grandmother, he faced her head on as he took your hand into his. 

“She’s my fucking girlfriend.” He declared, tenacity and stubbornness dripping off of his tone as he snarled at his grandmother. “And if you ever speak to her like that again—”

He nodded in time to Mic and Aizawa, the men who had mentored him and taught him almost everything he knew. 

“Or either of them, including the rest of these shitheads, I’ll fucking kill you.”

The veiled threat hung in the air and you squeaked as Bakugou abruptly dragged you to the front door.

“Where are you going?!” Mitsuki cried out, worried that you both were going to leave without eating anything and she was sad to think that her mother-in-law had driven you away.

Bakugou gnashed his teeth at the confused clamour that arose from his classmates. “Out!! We’ll be back later!!”

You could hardly get a word in edgewise as he dragged you all the way out to the car after barely giving you enough time to put on your shoes.

“Katsuki!! What—”

Your bewildered protests were interrupted as he whirled around and kissed you hard. You melted into his touch as his hot palms settled on your hips, pulling you flush against him. Whining softly when he pulled away, you panted as he breathed hard against you, his exhales fanning out over your face.

You were in a daze as he led you to the car, buckling you in before he got in the driver’s seat. 

And he drove, taking a detour that would take him towards the countryside where there were no people, no places, just you and him. 

Just how he liked it. 

The painted lavenders and pale pinks of the setting sun faded to midnight black with stars twinkling high above you as you cruised around for hours before he finally spoke. 

“I’m sorry.” He apologized quietly and you immediately grabbed his hand that wasn’t currently occupied with steering.

“No!! You don’t have anything to apologize for—”

“Yes I do.”

His grip tightened on the steering wheel a fraction as he slowly explained that if he had told you earlier about what she was capable of instead of ranting to his best friend like an idiot, maybe he could’ve—

“Katuski.”

Your soft murmur brought him back down to planet Earth and you shook your head firmly. 

“It’s not your fault.” You told him without wavering once as he brought the car to a stop just at the edge of the trail. “I don’t blame you at all.”

Bakugou slammed his hand against the steering wheel angrily. “Yes it fucking is!!!”

He ranted and he ranted about how he had come downstairs only to hear his own flesh and blood spitting those vile insults that you didn’t deserve at all. 

You didn’t deserve it at all.

You were quiet when he finished and when his chest was heaving with the spent rage he had aired out, you asked, “Feel better?”

“Like hell I do!!!” He snapped at you, about to go off again when he noticed the bemused expression on your face. “What the fuck, dumbass?”

You tilted your head in confusion. “Huh?”

“Why the hell aren’t you bothered at all?” He questioned, genuinely flabbergasted. 

Eyes clearing in understanding, you traced the back of his hand with your fingers. “Because it doesn’t bother me.”

At the sight of Bakugou opening his mouth, you hurried out, “I mean, do you really think someone like that gets to cut me down? Her words don’t mean anything to me.”

You hesitated and opened yourself a little bit, trusting him not to take advantage of your weakness because while her words stung in the moment, it was nothing your heart couldn’t come back from. But…

“If you were to say them, it would hurt a lot more, but I don’t think you would— eep!!”

You yelped as he dragged you over to his seat, yanking at the seatbelt that got in the way, but pulled you to his chest once he released the safety clip.

“Never.” He breathed against your hair, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. “I would fucking never.”

You closed your eyes. “I know.”

There, in his car, you two stayed in a tight embrace under the stars until you it got late enough that you insisted you should go back and at least spend the rest of the time with your friends, which, if their sleeping schedules hadn’t changed since college, there was a good chance almost all of them would still be up.

So Bakugou drove you both back, his heart a little more at ease after he got to hold you close and be alone with you. 

That was all he wanted.

Well… He thought to himself as he unconsciously brushed his left hand over the small velvet box that had been hastily stuffed in his pocket the second he grabbed it from his room.

That and one other thing.