#i haven’t yet done a full dark urge play through so i’m not sure if he’s going to give into the urge or not

[morgotts-moved]

durge time 😌

[milliedazzledust]

Even When It Hurts (Clark Kent imagine)

Request by @icyhollands​ : Clark comforting the reader after she got hurt by someone pretty badly, and him comforting her from a anxiety attack after she gets hurt

Words: 2009

A/N: I know a lot of you were waiting for this so I’m sorry it took so long to write - thank you for your patience and I hope you’ll like it :) 

“Clark, you need to come down, now!”

Flying across his enemies on the battlefield, he faintly heard the sound of a voice, even with the distance. As soon as Bruce had found the aliens associated with Darkseid, they had been quick to act and the whole team had made the trip to fight.

While the others were keeping most of their opponents on the ground, he had taken upon himself to divert their attention from the precious object they were trying to steal by attacking from the sky. Too focused on the task, he had missed Arthur and Y/N going after a bunch of them. When she had seen her friend in bad posture, she hadn’t hesitated to put herself between him and the alien, taking the full blast of his hit. Her body had flown across the field before landing on a large tree trunk, breaking it in half. Her vision had been blurred for a moment, too disoriented as her breath was knocked out of her by the hard impact. She hadn’t been fast enough to notice the monster running toward her until she had felt the pain. Arthur had come to her rescue and killed him, but it was too late. The damage was already done.

When she looked down, all she saw was the tip of the weapon he had used, the other half was deep in her side, buried between what she guessed was her ribs. 

“Y/N’s been hit!” Arthur yelled as he grabbed her when she fell on her knees. 

High above their heads, Clark looked down and quickly spotted the wounded woman. He wasted no time in making his way to her, sending some of the aliens flying with a flicker of his hand. When one of them launched at him, and conjuring up all his frustration and his anger, he punched him with a force that knocked him out instantly. 

His eyes remained on her, always. He felt his heart clenched when he saw pain twisting her features and instantly understood the gravity of her situation. She was holding onto Arthur, clutching her side, holding the weapon steady in her flesh. Fear is all he could feel when he landed on the ground, staring at the large gash of blood around her wound. He could even hear her heartbeat getting faster by the second. 

Furrowing his brows in concern, he kneeled in front of her and grabbed her face. For a second he just studied her, softly brushing a tear with his thumb, until his eyes landed on hers.

“How bad is it ?” She asked him, her voice a weak whisper.

“You’re gonna be fine” He assured her.

“You’re a terrible liar, Clark” She tried to smile but even that simple movement seemed too much in her state.

She knew if she didn’t feel a thing yet it was purely because of the adrenaline. Tiny little molecules running through her veins, urging her body to fight back, to survive and fix what the foreign object had torn. She could sense fluid pouring out of her injury, the hand clutching her side was already covered in red. She was waiting for the moment the hormone would stop working and she would feel like a bomb had exploded inside of her. 

She closed her eyes and a sob escaped her mouth. Her breathing was getting irregular and she was losing her grip. She was exhausted.

“Y/N, stay with me” The superhero tried to motivate her, slowly shaking her head. “Show me those pretty eyes” 

She was starting to lose consciousness, and that observation alone terrified him. He kissed her forehead in a sign of encouragement and laid his hand over hers so she wouldn’t let go. She cried out in pain and glanced down. It only took a couple seconds before he was covered in blood as well. He pursed his lips, forcing himself to keep his eyes on hers and not look at the wound. His face was betraying him and he wasn’t even aware of it. She could so easily see the reflection of his own fear in his gaze, the depiction of worry over his features that she lazily traced with her fingers. The shadow of a smile appeared on her lips knowing only she could read him like an open book. 

“It’s alright, baby” He comforted her. 

“You should work on your poker face” She tried to joke. She was glad it made him smirk.

He turned his head toward Arthur, still holding the woman’s body.

“We’re gonna lay her down” He told him.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea” Y/N warned him, grabbing his biceps to stop him. 

“Do you trust me ?” He muttered, stroking her cheek.

“You know I do”

“Then trust me” 

She faintly nodded and let the men handle her wounded body. Arthur was behind her, holding on her shoulders, and Clark was in front of her, one hand on her wound, the other behind her neck. As gently as they could, they started to rotate her. Clark never moved his gaze away from hers, not even when her hand gripped his shoulder in pain or when her tears flowed freely as the pain started to become unbearable. 

The moment her head touched the ground, she began to cough blood. Her eyes widened at the realization and her heartbeat hastily palpitated. 

“We’re alright” He reassured her.

“We’re alright” She repeated in a whisper. She could no longer focus on anything around her. Anxiety was creeping up and threatening to take over. She knew it would do no good but she couldn’t stop it. Her hand tightly clutched the fabric of her man’s costume and her chest started to rise more rapidly as bile rose in her throat. 

“Clark” She called for help in a single breath. 

“I’m here, baby. I’m not leaving your side” 

He wiped the blood on her mouth with his finger.

“You and I have a date tomorrow, remember ?” He spoke, smiling when she faintly nodded. “So you’re not allowed to fall asleep. I haven’t even introduce you to my terrible cooking yet”

Her laugh started a coughing fit, bringing more blood out of her mouth.

“I have to take it out, Y/N” He said more seriously, motioning to the weapon in her body. 

Her eyes widened in panic and she shook her head, ignoring the pain.

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s alright, beautiful. I’ve got you” 

“A .. plan ?” She asked.

“Yes, I do have a plan” He understood her question. “But you’re not going to like it” 

“Tell me” She murmured.

“You’re hemorrhaging,” He explained. “If we let it in, you’re risking an infection”

“And if you take it out, I’ll bleed out” She weakly responded.

“Not if I cauterize the wound” 

“How ?” 

She understood the moment she saw his eyes flashing red. She gulped, mentally preparing herself for what was to come.

“I trust you” She repeated the words she had said already.

He nodded and gave her one last encouraging smile before motioning for Arthur to come closer. He explained his plan in a hurry before standing up, letting the King of Atlantis take his place. 

“Ready ?” He questioned the woman.

“Do it” She said, clenching her teeth. 

She averted her gaze toward Clark, mouthing one last ‘I love you’ before Arthur pulled out the weapon in a very fast movement and held her down. Superman’s eyes immediately started glowing and he directed his heat vision to the open wound. The moment the high temperature laser touched her skin, she screamed in agony. A horrible, searing pain suddenly invaded her body and she was convinced she was going to die right there. She felt the urge to get away from the source but Arthur had a good grip on her. She kept shouting, as if it would ease the burning sensation. Clark’s jaw tightened and a tear rolled down his cheek, hating to be the one causing her pain.

After only a couple of seconds, she could no longer handle the torture and lost consciousness. The superhero stopped his ministration when he was sure the wound was closed properly and no blood was leaking anymore. Ignoring the smell of burned skin, he silently picked her up in his arms, listening closely to her heartbeats to make sure she was alright.

“I’ve got her” He told Arthur before bolting in the air.

She woke up hours later in a bed, completely disoriented. It took her a solid minute to recognize Clark’s bedroom inside the Kent farmhouse. She felt a throbbing ache on her side and muffled a scream when she touched it. When she looked down, she realized Clark had taken off her suit and had replaced it with one of his shirts. She lifted it to inspect the damage but all there was left of her wound was a small scar made by the man she loved. She shuddered at the memory and swung her legs off the bed. The moment her feet touched the ground, her body crumbled and she lost her balance. A pair of strong arms caught her before she could injure herself.

“You’ve not healed yet” A voice scolded her.

She didn’t answer. Her eyes closed, she let her head fall on his chest and circled his waist, squeezing him in a tight embrace that she so desperately needed. He was her safe line when she was spiraling down, which was happening now that she remembered she had almost lost him.

“How are you feeling ?” He inquired, kissing her head

“Alive” She replied. “I got … I really got scared for a minute”

She brushed a tear and tried to stop the hurricane of negative thoughts hitting her. He felt it too when her body started shaking and ran a hand on her back to calm her down.

“I wouldn’t have let anything happen to you” He swore, holding back the anxiety creeping in. “And I hope you know I won’t let you out of my sight for at least a week” 

She knew it was his way of lightening the mood when he could feel her darkness hovering above both of their heads. He had a way of guessing when it was coming and always reacted quickly, diverting her attention to anything else but her mind playing games.

“Do I, at least, get to spend that week in your arms ?” She smirked, raising her head so only her chin was resting on his chest.

“I have conditions” He replied with a smile.

She rolled her eyes.

“Name it” 

She saw the change in his attitude and tilted her head in confusion when he took a step back. Cupping her face with both his hands, he stared deeply at her. She could see his quiet emotion through the way his eyes bore into hers, his fear and his devotion.

“Never say I love you like it’s the last time I’ll ever get to hear it” He told her, his lips quivering as a shaky breath escaped his mouth.

Instead of answering, she led him to the bed behind them and together they laid down. He pulled her close and she raised her head until her lips found his. She didn’t need words when she could condensed a million loving thoughts into this moment. The emotion of that kiss alone spoke volume. A simple gesture that meant ‘you’re my home and I won’t leave’

“I love you, Clark”

She repeated the words again and again, making him laugh with happiness. He tightened his hold around her waist until she was almost laying on his chest. Her ear against his heart, she listened with a smile and closed her eyes, soothed by the steady rhythm. 

“Thank you” She whispered after a while. 

“What for ?”

“Bringing my head and soul back home to you when they get lost” 

“Always” He promised.

Her face nuzzled in the crook of his neck, she kissed his cheek and peacefully fell asleep in his protective embrace. 

[after-witch]

Title: Quality Time [Yandere Shigaraki x Reader] [It’s My Party Part 3]

Title: Quality Time [Yandere Shigaraki x Reader] [It’s My Party Part 3]

Synopsis: You’re fiddling with the frayed edge of a blanket, made even flimsier by the incessant picking of your nails, when the thoughts simply bubble past your lips, forcing their way into existance.  “I miss it.”

Word Count: 1036

notes: yandere, kidnapped reader, eating disorder, stockholm syndrome 

You’re fiddling with the frayed edge of a blanket, made even flimsier by the incessant picking of your nails, when the thoughts simply bubble past your lips, forcing their way into existence.

“I miss it.”

Tomura doesn’t look up from his Switch, his face eerily illuminated by a myriad of bright colors in the dimness of the room.

“Miss what?”

It’s a strange sight. Before all this, the thought of seeing a violent villain crouching over a video game screen, snapping pictures of Pokemon and grumbling when he can’t get the perfect shot, would have surely broken your brain. Yet it’s all you’ve seen for the past 2 days, as he binge-plays the newest release.

On one hand, his obsession with the game meant he was easing off on you--at least for the time being. For a little while, no forceful demands to sit in his lap, no awkward moments where he stares at you (literally, staring, eyes wide open) until you fall into a fitful sleep. Too busy with his game, too busy showing off his favorite shots--including one of a Pokemon’s round little butt. Charming.

Yet you couldn’t deny that the lack of his overbearing presence freed up your mind for other things. Other thoughts. Like the idea that you were getting a bit too full lately, weren’t you? A bit too complacent? With your captor, with yourself.

You were being so “good” for him, and didn’t that mean you liked all this obsessive attention? You ate with him and let him hold you and made awkward small talk and attempts at playful jabs while you played video games. And you haven’t thrown up in months--haven’t even fought him about throwing up in months. You sometimes argued about taking more bites when he insisted you eat everything up, but that was hardly the same.

Normally, your captor hovered over you while you ate; waiting for you to finish your last bites (or argue, if you insisted on not eating much) before keeping you put until he decided you weren’t going to rush to the bathroom (or garbage, or stray plastic bag) and vomit. You haven’t done it in a while.

Because he hasn’t let you, but also because the urge had been abating; maybe out of some primal survival instinct, some base way for your body to shout out “we’re in danger! Keep all your fuel!” Or maybe because your current stressors have pushed aside the thoughts that led you to endless takeout boxes and clogged plumbing. Or maybe because having someone care about you enough to kidnap you and make you stop hurting yourself was sickly thrilling.

And yet… and yet.

He didn’t sit with you after dinner last night. He didn’t even say anything when you barely touched your rice, picking at the few vegetables in the bowl and leaving most of the meat behind. And now this morning, he’s been too busy with the game to notice that you haven’t eaten anything on your breakfast tray.

“Well?” His voice is reedier, bordering on annoyed. You think he’s on a new level right now. He gets testier when you interrupt new gameplay.

You look down at the tray on your plate and focus on the way the steam from the microwaved eggs has collected on the underside of the plastic wrap you haven’t removed, only for water to dribble down in little streams. The apple he found looks bit old, but edible enough if you ate around the mealy part; it sits, dark and round, and as whole as it was when he gave it to you.

You stare at the steam, at the lukewarm eggs still wrapped in plastic, at the redness of the apple. You scrape your knuckles against the underside of the tray, feeling the ghost of scabs on them.

“I miss throwing up.”

His eyes finally leave the screen to dart down at your plate, quick and anxious. His lips are pursed tight when he sets the Switch down--you glance and realize he didn’t even bother to pause, and a sick feeling of combined flattery with anxiety thrumms through you.

“Don’t be stupid,” he says, before unceremoniously pulling the plastic wrap from the microwaved bowl. The scrambled eggs inside look wet and sad. “Eat.”

It’s your turn to purse your lips.

“I’m full.”

He prods the dark, iffy apple with a finger. It rolls sadly on the plate. 

“You didn’t eat anything. You hardly ate last night, too.”

Your cheeks feel hot and you can’t stop the words before they come out of your mouth.

“Yeah? How would you know? You’ve been stuck on that stupid game for days. I could’ve thrown up for all you care.”

His mouth makes the strangest sound--he almost sputters--before fixing a serious gaze on your face. He looks as if he wants to say something, but doesn’t. Maybe it’s better that way. Instead, he stares at you for a beat longer and then picks up your chopsticks, pressing a large, slightly congealed looking piece of scrambled egg in between them.

You know what he’s going to do next before he even holds the bite up to your lips, and the urge to slap his hand away, to lash out at him, is strong and tempting.

He looks at you expectantly. The egg hovers in between the two of you, a fitting lukewarm reminder of your situation.

You open your mouth and accept the bite; you swallow and instinctively open your mouth again, ready for another piece.

“Good job,’ he says, almost breezy, before picking up another piece.

Your stomach curls sickly at the praise and you stamp down the voice in the back of your head that wants to point out how utterly fucked up you’re being.

A noise from the Switch distracts you, and you glance down at the screen to see that the level is over; he’ll have to do the entire thing again. But not until after he’s finished with your breakfast.

[bokutoslittlebird]

Your Place

Akaashi x sister!reader

Author’s Note : This was originally gonna just be a short drabble but like.. I’ve thought of this before. So I changed it into a full fledged fic; Fukurōdani has a girls’ volleyball club ; Love hotels in Japan are pretty popular, especially in Tokyo, and happen to have kiosks to keep up the anonymity, while also offering options of staying overnight or for a few hours (generally 2-4). The rooms offer lots of options, including room service (including food and toys), such as jacuzzi, showers, massage chairs, King-sized bed, as well as a box of free condoms ; okay I don’t know if a butt plug can actually plug up a vagina and if it is even safe (it should be) so don’t take my words as fact! Please!

Warnings : Incest, noncon/dubcon, gaslighting, naïve and innocent reader, manipulation, alcohol, underaged drinking [legal age in Japan is 20], love hotels, Keiji wants lil sis to be his housewife, mating press, pussyjob, orgasm denial, overstimulation, sex toys [butt/anal plug, egg vibrator, hitachi wand vibrator], lots of Nii-sans used, breeding kink, no actual pregnancy (yet), fingering (f. receiving)

The roars of the crowd enters your ears as the ball bounces against the floor of the large stadium, the opposing players diving to receive the ball only to fail. Your team screams and cheers, everyone running to envelope the ace of your team, Akari, as she hugs everyone back. Screaming hurts your ears, yet you’re still doing it. Adrenaline rushes through you as the announcer claims your team with the victory and the announcement that you’ll be moving onto the next round, the finals of Nationals.

Your team lines up, shaking hands with the opposing team as congrats is shared between members. Once that is done, you all face the seats on both sides, bowing and thanking them for cheering you all on. When your eyes look into the stadium seats, they immediately catch the lidded eyes of Keiji, his hands clasped together as he smiles. The simple motion has your chest puffing with pride, tears sliding down your cheeks as you know you made him proud. With your position on the team, he’s the one who trained you to be the best setter the Fukurōdani girls’ volleyball club has ever had these last three years.

Once the moment is over, everyone is back at the hotel room and either on their laptops, phones, television, or asleep. When you exit the bathroom, your hair has been brushed and styled with a nice dress, accompanying the leggings and boots Keiji gifted you to wear. Akari whistles, her arm over your shoulder as she talks to you.

“Who you lookin’ so good for?” She pries, eyes tracing the lip gloss you put on.

“My brother. He requested me to wear something nice. He’s taking me to dinner,” a bit of heat is in your voice as you say that. Keiji’s always pampering you, he loves seeing you dolled up. It’s been like that since you were playing dress-up when he was 10 and you were 5. Akari’s gaze takes on a confused look, pursed lips as she processes your words.

“He’s always taking you somewhere nice after a good game, it feels like. Why don’t you ever invite us?” She finally says. Your head snaps up, looking in the mirror at yourself compared to Akari who is also looking at your face and outfit. It wasn’t glamorous in your eyes, but it suddenly dawns on you that it’s more than a brother should expect. The twist in your gut is ignored, your head shaking as you clear your head.

“He doesn’t know any of you guys. Plus, he’s an alumni. He’s always at our games,” your response isn’t what she was expecting, you’re sure of it. But the truth is, you don’t know why Keiji takes you out to nice restaurants or just on nice walks after games. It’s the few times he has off, always requesting off to be with you, cheering you on, his full support as your brother. Occasionally, he even brings along Bokuto, his best friend, who always congratulates you and asks to have you visit his own team someday. It’s a request that you always turn down, Keiji’s eyes taking on a dark glint that sends shivers down your spine at just the mere memory of them.

Akari leaves you alone after that, your time to get ready slowly coming to an end as your phone rings. It’s Keiji, of course, asking if you’re ready yet. “Almost, nii-san! I just need to get my coat and then I’ll head down.”

He’s at the lobby of the hotel, lounging in a chair as he swipes on his phone. He’s dressed as nicely as you are, black slacks with a nice white dress shirt, all under a large coat to keep out the cold. You bounce up to him, excited for the dinner. “You look beautiful, [Y/N],”

“Thank you! You know me so well, so it’s really all your doing,” you giggle, linking your hand in his offered elbow. It felt so right, being beside as you had been these past few years. Walking towards the restaurant, you didn’t even feel the ache in your ankles and balls of your feet from the heels nor the unmistakeable tension between the two of you. It just felt familiar and right to be in this position, sitting across from Keiji as he lets you gush about all the stuff going through your head during the match or even when you happened to be getting ready for the dinner. A shadow seems to settle over his face as you refer to it as such, just a dinner. You almost referred to it as a date, but quickly corrected yourself.

Tension hangs between you two, you having to force it away by breaking the silence Keiji brings. He’s usually much more talkative, praising you as he talks about what you did right and correcting you on things you did wrong, but never criticizing you too hard. Dinner ends, with Keiji paying the full bill without ever letting you know, saying that he simply cannot let a woman pay, regardless of situation. The champagne and wine he let you have a taste of lingers in your mouth, a burn in your throat from the bitter taste of alcohol. It’s not enough to get you drunk, but you do find yourself clinging to Keiji tighter, feet unstable and legs unreliable as he brings you back to the hotel.

He stops and even in your bubbly and hazy state, you can tell the hotel isn’t the same. “Come on, you need to rest,” he says, lips next to you ear as he ushers you inside. Upon entering the room, the lobby, you know it’s not the same. You panic, the alcohol making you less restrained in your actions as you go to tug on Keiji’s arm.

“Nii—”

“Ah, ah, Keiji, dear. Until we get back to your room,”

His usage of ‘your room’ has your nerves calming down, even as he uses his card to pay the kiosk and tap on the screen, buying something. A metal jingle comes from the bottom of the electronic, Keiji picking up the key to a room. Urging you along, you follow him to the elevator. The lack of people seems to enter your mind, confusing you as you glance around the spotlessly clean black elevator. A small voice enters your mind, telling you that the hotel’s elevators are supposed to be silver, shimmering in the light that shines down.

Keiji has to practically drag you into a room, the door shutting and clicking behind you as it locks. The room is spacious, a large tub in the corner of the room as the king-sized bed offers comfort and relaxation. Yet, you falter— unmoving, your voice seems to barely get out as you question your brother. “Where... where are we?”

“My room for the night, dear. You’re drunk, you need to rest,” his comforting words have you slowly shuffling towards the bed. The chair beside the bed seems too fancy for something in a normal hotel room, more adrenaline entering your veins as you panic from unfamiliarity.

“Nii-san, I don’t like this. Take me back to my room. Akari and Hana and-”

“Shut up, you little slut,” the venom in his words has you squeaking, your much smaller frame easily being pinned to the bed by Keiji’s much broader frame. “I’ve been generous this entire evening and all you’ve blabbered about is your team and your friends. What about me, huh? You haven’t even asked how I was doing the entire date,”

“Nii-san, stop!”

“Do I not hold the most importance in your life anymore? You used to be all over me, my sweet little sister that absolutely enjoyed being around me. Now you’re prancing around as if you have not a care in the world. That boy from the boys’ volleyball club seemed awfully close for comfort, don’t you think?”

“He-,” you once more falter, the brief images from after the game when the captain of the boys’ team congratulated all of you on the win. He wasn’t close to you, you were sure of it, but why would Keiji have been there? “He’s barely a friend, nii-san,”

“Not only that, but you always have that giggle and tendency to twirl your hair as you talk to Bokuto-san, your body moving closer to him as he would walk beside you. You barely acknowledge my existence anymore. Do you know how that makes me feel?”

“I’m sorry,” the tears spill down your cheeks, a hiccup as he continues to say mean things. “I’m sorry,”

“You’ll be graduating soon and then you’re going to live with me. You’re going to live with me and be my little housewife. I’m going to make you completely mine, inside and out,” his breath is hot as it fans over your face, his grip strong as he continues to squeeze and hold your face. You’re unable to do anything, the fear from his words and actions has you frozen beneath him. As his words settle in, ice crawls through your veins as you realize your gut feeling, the tension between you two, everything you ignored for the past hour and a half had a reason for being there. His entire plan was to bring you here, but you’re unable to do much of anything against him — he’s always been stronger than you. When you were young, it was comforting, his arms holding you after a nightmare or even when your first friend moved to America, but now it just served to bring more tears to you eyes, your body forced to let him do what he wants to you.

Keiji’s quick to undress you, your coat being shed as he pushes your fancy dress up, the leggings, shoes, and panties being pulled off and left to fall on the floor. Tears continue to fall, chest heaving as you’re powerless to do anything. Even if you could find the energy to move and attempt get him off of you, it wouldn’t bring anything to fruition. “You’re so dry, are you not enjoying this?”

“No, nii-san. I’m not,” you’re honest with him, yet he doesn’t stop. Sitting back on his heels, he lets his eyes trail over your form. Before a thought can enter your mind to move, he’s pushing his weight on top of you as he grabs something the table beside him, a long metal rod emerging from the miniature dresser. He keeps you pinned, moving the rubber head down to your clit, pressing a button as it begins to vibrate. “Ah! Nii-san,” your muddled voice comes out, the sensation sending an unfamiliar tingling up your spine.

“It feels good, doesn’t it? Don’t worry, I’m going to make you feel even better. All you gotta do is relax, pretty girl,”

“I’m- I’m still- y-your—” your words die on your tongue, your gut twisting into a knot as the sensation turns pleasurable. You’ve never touched yourself, always being told by Keiji that only bad girls touched themselves, that whores and sluts did. Keiji-nii doesn’t like those kinds of girls, so you never dared to go against his wishes.

“Of course you are, baby. You’ll always be my pretty girl, even if I have to remind you exactly where you belong. I’ll remind you of your place,” his words stop there, but in your head his words continue. Silently, the words of ‘if you’ll let me’ enter, an unspoken question that asks for your consent. Yet, you don’t give him anything else. Your moans and mewls are all he gets, a hand grasping at the unbuttoned dress shirt still on him. A small smile paints along his lips, your vision going black as you roll your eyes. Before the knot can release, the vibrations are removed from your clit and you whine, aftershocks coursing through you.

Keiji’s voice is barely a whisper, under his breath, “I’ll give you something much better, don’t worry.” The vibrator is forgotten and discarded, his hands fumbling with his slacks as he pulls them down, along with the dark grey underwear. His cock springs free, hard and thick and long, you unconsciously scoot away as he strokes himself. “Don’t move away,”

“But it’s scary, nii-san,” you whimper, arms close to your chest as your head bumps against the headboard. He doesn’t say anything, using his hand to rub his cock’s tip against your folds. Contrary to earlier, you’re dripping wet as the wet smacks of his appendage against your skin has you clenching around nothing, more juices dripping out. Moving his hips back and forth, he adds another sensation on your clit as he thrusts in between your folds. His tip catches onto the hood of your folds, brushing against the overly sensitive nerves as you whine and mewl at each move he makes.

“You’re so nice and slick for me, it won’t hurt. It just seems scary, look,” he forces you to do just that, hand gripping your hair as he forces you to look at his cock. The underside of it is glistening with your slick, absolutely dripping with you as it slides down to his base and over his balls. “It’s just in your mind, it won’t hurt. Don’t you trust me?”

“But nii-san, I don’t want this,” it’s not what he wants to hear, you’re sure of it. Yet he says nothing. A sigh finally breaks the silent tension as he rubs his finger against your cunt, two fingers slipping in until they can’t anymore. You’re tight, you know you are, clenching around only two of his fingers.

“If you didn’t want this, you would still be dry. You wouldn’t be squeezing my fingers so snugly. This is your body saying it wants this, don’t you remember what I said?”

Of course you don’t, he says a lot to you, so you shake your head. Another sigh.

“You need to listen to your body. It knows you better than you know yourself. I know you better than you do, you know,” his words ring true, his fingers continuing to pump themselves into you as he talks. Eventually, the feeling is no longer unfamiliar, the sensation pleasing as you moan. He smiles at that, leaning to press a kiss to your forehead as his fingers retract themselves. Using the slick on them, he rubs them against his cock to use as lube.

Pushing his tip into you is scary, but it’s not painful. As he sinks further into you, it becomes much more painful. The room must be soundproof, since Keiji keeps pushing in without trying to make you stop your screaming. He does, however, lean down to press his lips to your tear-stained cheeks as you squeeze him. He groans, his hips rutting against you. “You’re fine, stop screaming. Stop being so pathetic,”

His harsh words have your screams silencing, tears and sniffles as your walls flutter around him. It still hurts, it burns, it stings, it’s more painful than anything you’ve ever dealt with before. Before you can manage to get adjusted, Keiji is pushing your legs up to your chest, somehow making himself feel deeper than he actually is. The feeling of being crushed is back once more, his hips rearing back only to come back down against your skin. The scream from your throat is more of a moan, nails digging into the back of Keiji’s neck and teasing the small hairs as he pistons his cock into your cunt.

It’s a tight fit, the way you’re sucking him in and squeezing him with every thrust. Keiji’s balls slap against your slick ass, cunt squelching with each pump of his cock into you as more juices are forced out. His own moans and grunts of pleasure are drowning in the wave of mewls, squeals, and moans spilling from your lips. The feeling from before is back, the knot in your tummy as he rubs his cock against the inside of your walls and instead of being denied once more, the knot finally snaps as you cream all around his cock, accompanying a squeal of his name.

“That’s it, pretty girl. Cum on my cock, let me know how good you feel,” he chuckles, picking up his pace as you continue to suck him in. A garbled call of ‘nii-san!’ leaves your lips, the sensation of his heavy balls slapping against you and his thick cock against your fluttering walls has you creaming around him once more. A sound akin to a growl comes from his throat, leaning even further forwards as he gets himself as deep as he can go, the hair at the base of his cock rutting against your sensitive clit. “I’m going to fill you with my seed and you’re going to have my babies, okay?”

“No, nii-san, I don’t want that!” You cries are ignored, your body continuing to clamp around his cock as he shoots his load into you. The feeling of being full and so warm inside has your eyes rolling, drool spilling from your open mouth as you gush around him, clear liquid splashing against his abdomen.

Once the high has passed, he removes his cock from you, keeping you in that position. You don’t dare speak, unsure you’ll be able to as your throat burns from all the screaming and cries. A metal object briefly enters your vision, the object being inserted into your pussy that drips with your brother’s seed, milky white and thick.

“If you keep it all inside, I’ll give you another treat, okay? You wanna be a good girl for me, don’t you?” He doesn’t wait for a response, but he does take out another object. “You need to keep having an orgasm, I’ll make sure you feel real good, okay?” A medium-sized egg-shaped object enters your ass, another stinging pain from the insertion. Another round of vibrations start, your legs shaking as you mewl, head thrown back as you feel another orgasm quickly coming on. “You’ll be a good little housewife for me, won’t you? Swollen with my child and your pussy will be all for me, you know this, don’t you?”

Of course you do, regardless whether your mind agrees with you or not. He’s your nii-san and he knows best.

[5-falsehoods-phonated]

You Don’t Own Me (You Don’t Even Know Me)

Chapter 5

Summary:  As the son of a Baron, Roman Sanders always knew that when he married, it would be due to a political arrangement rather than true love. Still, when he is sent away to marry an older, more powerful Earl, he is determined to make the best of his situation. Despite the Earl’s indifference towards him, Roman forges ahead and prepares to become the best husband he can possibly be, making new friends along the way. But when his fiancé’s demeanor turns from cold to cruel, Roman must shift all of his focus to survival, and find a way out of his marriage before it’s too late.

Ships: Logince (Logan x Roman)  Moxiety (Virgil x Patton)

Content Warnings: arranged marriage, abuse, attempted sexual assault, murder, poisoning, character death, hurt/comfort, angst

Chapter Warnings: mentions of physical and emotional abuse, murder planning

Word Count: 2490

Read on AO3: here!

Cowritten with @ironwoman359 masterlist

False masterlist

Roman was not used to feeling small.

He was used to standing out, being loud, and carrying his shoulders with a confidence worthy of the title he held and the company he was expected to keep. Wherever he went, he knew he could always hold his head high.

Staring at his reflection now, he had to fight the urge to duck his head. His face was, quite simply, a mess. The cut from Lord Howard’s ring was small enough that Roman didn’t feel the need to bandage it, but the wound was slightly swollen, and his cheek was a truly shocking shade of purple.

Swallowing, Roman picked up a small compact that had been left on his vanity. He wasn’t in the habit of applying makeup, but when the supplies for doing so had appeared in his room overnight, the message he was being sent was quite clear. He wasn’t even sure whether he was sickened or relieved by the act, at this point. In some ways, it felt like another mark of ownership; the earl wanted him as perfect and pristine as ever, no matter what happened. But on the other hand, Roman wasn’t sure if he could stand to walk about the estate with the mark on full display like a brand.

Roman winced as he gingerly applied the powder to his face. It didn’t completely erase the injury’s appearance, but if he added some blush to the other cheek and styled his hair so it hung lower than usual, obscuring the bruise from the side...it was almost enough.

It would have to do for now.

Taking a deep breath, Roman exited his room and quickly made his way through the halls. He’d told Patton that he didn’t feel well this morning (which was not entirely untrue), and so he wasn’t expecting anyone to wonder where he was. After a few turns, he found himself standing before a door that he had never actually gone through before: the door to Logan’s office.

The office’s large door glistened with fresh wood polish and gave a pleasant, welcoming smell, though the scent actually only succeeded in making Roman’s nerves worse. He knew Logan would be on the other side, working on managing this set of numbers or that pile of letters even this early in the morning. Lightly touching the bruise across his cheek he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. It had to be Logan- no one else. He trusted Patton with everything he had, but there was no telling how the loyal attendant would react. He knew Patton cared about him, but as kind and caring as he was, he was hardly a good actor. And Virgil was far from a snitch, but he was so wary of any sign of trouble that Roman didn’t want to burden him with this...at least not yet.

He had to be sure...he had to know he had even half a chance before letting the others in, and to have that chance, he needed Logan.

If Roman listened closely, he could hear him on the other side of the door, muttering softly to himself as he ran through whatever calculations he was scratching out with his favorite pen. Paper rustled every now and then and Roman could tell by the coolness of the hardwood floor just in front of the door that the window must be open. He stood a moment more, letting his mind’s eye follow the thought, picturing Logan’s long hair blowing softly across his shoulders as he sat hunched over his desk, glasses sitting just so on the bridge of his nose that Roman could probably reach forward and straighten them if he was quick enough.

Shaking the thought out of his head, he took a breath and knocked quickly, then without waiting for an answer, pushed the door open before he could lose his nerve.

Logan glanced up from his work, frowning slightly as Roman entered. His eyes widened when he saw Roman, and he stood so quickly that his chair screeched across the floor. Wincing at the sound, he smiled apologetically and gestured for Roman to take the seat in front of him.

“Roman, to what do I owe the pleasure this late in the evening?”

“I-” Roman’s throat ran dry, and his thoughts along with it. Logan was looking at him, worry etched across his brow and work forgotten, and Roman swallowed. “I need your help.”

“Certainly,” Logan said immediately. “How can I assist you?”

Sitting across from Logan now, Roman almost changed his mind. It seemed absurd to think that Logan would agree to what he had in mind...what if he had misjudged him? What if he had misinterpreted the withering looks Logan shot the earl when he thought no one was looking, what if he had placed too much faith in their budding friendship, and if Roman so much as breathed a word of his plan, Logan would be the first to warn Lord Howard?

“Roman? Are you alright?”

Logan’s voice pulled him from his thoughts, and Roman looked up. Logan was sitting patiently, nothing but concern and quiet understanding marking his features, and Roman suddenly didn’t know why he should be worried at all. He could trust this man- he was sure of it.

“I need your help taking control away from Lord Howard.”

Logan binked once, then twice, fiddling with a pen that lay in front of his hands before setting it down firmly and leaning forward. No sound came from his mouth when he opened it at first, snapping it shut to blink a third time, slow and deliberate while he gathered his thoughts. “I’m sorry?”

“I- I need your help, please Logan.” Roman leaned forward as the other man straightened back up, his attention fully caught. “The earl has his fingers in far too many pies...and I’m not even sure he remembers what all the flavors are. If last week's meeting was anything to go by he disregards anything that doesn’t directly benefit him and only him and I’m sure land isn’t the only thing he’s notoriously stubborn with. Look at the way he treats his staff, expecting them up day and night to serve him and his entertainment of the day, extending that to you and all the responsibilities he shoves to the side in his confidence that you’ll pick up the slack. I haven’t even been here for very long but I know you hardly sleep for all the work you do in his stead. He expects everyone around him to be the perfect picture of their roles to mask the fact that he cannot play his own and I cannot continue this betrothal and eventual marriage in a state of constant anxiety and silence. He isn’t...he isn’t a good man Logan.”

Pursing his lips, Logan held up a hand. “Roman, I still don’t know that I understand what you want me-”

“He isn’t a good man, Logan,” Roman interrupted. “You must see that.”

“Yes, but Roman, he- I don’t know what you’re asking of me. He has more power than he knows what to do with, true, and he certainly abuses it, but I’m not certain what you expect me to be able to do about taking it away. I manage his finances and remind him of meetings; I hardly have the reach to do anything substantial.”

“For people like him, money is his power, and you’re the one that takes care of that. How many times does he actually ask you about anything official? Does he ever want full accounts of where anything goes? You sign documents for him of all things because he believes himself too important and you’re going to sit there and say you have no weight to throw?”

“But I-”

Seeing the doubt, Roman was quick to lean forward. “What if we could control the estate? Actually control it, and make smart decisions for it and know what’s going in and out of it? Surely you of all people would jump at the opportunity to make the changes you know need to be made here.”

“Roman.” Logan fixed him with a stern look, and Roman snapped his mouth shut. “It’s a nice thought in theory. I’ve spent many nights worrying over things that truly should not be my responsibility, and have done enough research to present to the earl a myriad of solutions to his problems, should he ever decide he actually wants to listen to my counsel. But for us to be in control of the estate, the earl would have to be deceased.”

Roman stared at him blankly.

Logan’s eyes widened. “Roman that is not-”

Taking a deep breath, Roman brought up a hand to wipe at his face, the flesh colored powder smearing his sleeve to reveal the dark purple and red underneath. This time it was Logan that snapped his mouth shut, with an audible click. Horror, anger and worry flashed across his face, and Roman winced.

“It’s going to get worse. I know it and so do you. This is how it starts, especially once he has someone who officially belongs to him, and especially when that someone doesn’t just lie down and take it. I won’t. And so it will keep getting worse, and he will never be accountable until one of us finally has an accident. I am not going to let that one of us be me.”

Logan regarded him sadly, sighing as he lowered his gaze. “What you’re suggesting is extremely risky. Even if we could do something after you marry him, the fact of the matter is that this is the Howard family’s estate. And I’m sure you’ve figured out by now that the earl isn’t exactly...interested in making you an official member of the family in any capacity. If he were to pass away, the estate wouldn’t be bequeathed to you. You’d still have no control, and might honestly end up with less if his other family members decide not to tolerate your presence.”

“That’s where you come in.” Roman smirked, and Logan’s head snapped up. “I need your help to forge the will.”

--- --- ---

“Well that’s-”

“Excuse me, what?”

Roman fidgeted with his sleeve as Logan attempted to sooth Patton and Virgil long enough to allow them to explain. After getting Logan to agree to help him, Roman had immediately requested that they bring Patton and Virgil into the scheme. Roman was certain he could trust them, and Logan seemed to agree. They certainly wouldn’t be able to pull their plan off with only two of them. Getting Patton and Virgil to see the necessity in it, though...well that was the first hurdle they were trying to clear.

“It seems like a drastic measure to take, even with the lord’s uh...mood as of late.” Patton squirmed on the haystack he was curled up on, pointedly ignoring the baffled expression Virgil threw him.

“A drastic measure? You think? This is treason, Patton! We’ll be hanged!” Virgil turned to glare at the two men across from him. “We will be hanged. There has to be a better way.’

“We will have the will forged and officiated before the wedding, and then arrange it to look like his death was natural. As long as we can figure out a way to do that it’s a fairly simple process.” Logan held his hands in front of him in a pleading gesture. “Even if we can’t find a way to make it look natural, I assure you Lord Howard has enough enemies grabbing at his various businesses and properties that it’d be anyone’s guess who tried killing him off. Half of them would end up paying investigators off just to avoid any public suspicion, it is almost guaranteed that no one would expect Roman to be the culprit.”

Virgil stared at him. “You’ve thought this through. Logan, why have you thought this through?”

Patton reached over and grabbed Virgil’s hand, rubbing soothing motions against his knuckles while humming softly. Virgil’s shoulders remained tense but he leaned against the attendant's shoulder, taking a shuddering breath as he raised his eyes to the ceiling.

“I think...” Patton said slowly. “I think that maybe while we have this opportunity we should take it. Not that I take any pride in using you Roman!” He was quick to assure. “But- I’ve seen the way he gets...and how he is getting. People like that only worsen with age, and I’d rather not see any of us hurt...more.”

Roman touched his cheek self-consciously, trying to subtly cover up the spot where he had wiped the make-up off, but of course fooling no one. Patton glanced away but Virgil’s gaze only hardened, squeezing the other man’s hand and swearing under his breath.

“I guess....I guess all of us here- everyone at the estate really- would benefit from him not being in charge. It’s still incredibly risky.” Here Virgil glared daggers at Logan and Roman specifically. “But I think with the right people...the right poison maybe, it could work.”

“Do you have a suggestion?” Logan asked curiously.

“Not me, but I know people that might. What are we thinking the time table will be for this?”

Roman perked up as they all looked at him. “Well...it might be a good idea to carry it out a good while after the wedding. If it happens immediately after, it would look a lot more suspicious than if we waited.”

Logan frowned.  “But Roman-”

“Logan, you know I’m right.” Roman startled a bit at the sheer amount of concern he saw in Logan’s eyes, but gave him a small smile as reassurance. “I’ll be fine until then.”

“Well,” Both of their heads snapped around to face Virgil again, neither acknowledging the slight pink in their cheeks. “If we’re waiting that long that’s plenty of time for me to get in contact with my guys and figure something out. Really it shouldn’t be too hard.”

Patton made a small noise in the back of his throat. “Um, exactly what kind of guys, Virgil?”

Virgil laughed outright. “Oh, total degenerates for sure! But they’re also both idiots, and that didn’t change when they set up their apothecary, so I wouldn’t worry about it too much.”

“So it’s set then? We’re doing this?” Roman couldn’t help the hopeful edge to his tone, and he immediately felt a stab of guilt.

What would his friends think of him now, so eager to take such a drastic measure? But a quick glance at their faces revealed only sympathy and determination, and he forced himself to breathe. There was a reason he’d come to these three specifically, and now he had to trust that he’d made the right call.

“Yes.” Logan said, taking his hand and giving it a squeeze, and Roman felt himself relax. “We are.”

First Previous Next

[anashins]

No Talking in the Library || Taeyong

"Losing my virginity? Better say taking someone’s virginity. Triple check."

There are still so many things you want to do in your last semester before graduation, and Taeyong is willing to help you.

_______

Skinny dipping

Partying all night long

Drinking hard shots

Dancing on a bar counter

Playing spin the bottle

Getting completely drunk

Attend an illegal rave

Kiss s/o I just met

Ditch classes

You inhaled deeply and tucked the sheet back into your dress’s pocket and out of your sight, your thoughts revolving around the last point you’ve written again.

Losing my virginity

You were already a few months into your last year of university and yet you still felt like you hadn’t experienced everything a normal college kid should have once done in their young lives.

That you hadn’t really lived so far.

Looking at your friends, they had left you behind a long time ago in the first semester already when it came down to checking off bucket lists. It wasn’t like you were too shy or stayed away from parties and boys, though. The opportunity just had never arisen, and only now you realized that it probably never would if you wouldn’t take fate into your own hands.

You were sick and tired of waiting for the perfect moment and the perfect guy.

Looking at your watch, you realized it was nearly time for your next class and that you slowly had to get going.

Passing by different bookshelves, you were pondering whether to still search for lecture here in the library to read through the weekend in preparation for the project you had to work on the next week, but you quickly resisted the urge to do so as you had already collected enough and headed straight to the door.

“Watch out!” you still heard before the next thing you felt was pain crippling your face.

Only the break of a second was needed before numbness turned into pain and shot through your nerves that even reached the tips of your fingers with the root of the ache being your nose.

“Oh my god!” you squealed and brought your hands to the middle of your face while tears welled up behind your squinted eyes.

“I’m so sorry!” a male voice said, full with panic.

When you dared to open your lids, you looked into the eyes of the guy who had banged the entry door right into her face.

“You nearly killed me!”

“I’m so sorry, y/n!”

When he mentioned your name, you turned keen-eared. Blinking through your tears, you slowly started to get a sharper view of the boy in front of you as well. Just slightly taller than you, dark hair, and an expression as shocked as yours.

You just didn’t know his name anymore.

“Does it hurt that bad? Shall we go to the ward to get a cooling pad or something?”

You shook your head and slowly brought your hands down again. The guy had a hard time biting down the smile that threatened to slip off his lips. With care, he touched your arm in a comforting gesture to reassure you.

“I’m sorry, but you totally look like Rudolph the reindeer now.”

You sniffed. “Yes, thanks to you!”

“Okay, that’s true,” he admitted and retreated his hand. “How about I make it up to you, hm?”

“Uh…” You stared at him, yet you still weren’t able to classify his familiar face.

“Hey!” You suddenly got interrupted by the library’s supervisor, a middle-aged woman who was always wearing a frown and owned the hearing of a bat. “No talking in the library! Go inside or leave, but this door has to be closed, understand?”

You nodded, and the guy made a move to pass by the librarian, but not without whispering to you “Come here!” before you disappeared into the library again, the door closing shut behind you.

Having you by his arm, he dragged you along the rows of bookshelves until he found a quiet corner in the very far back of the library. All the while when you were looking at his back, you tried to remember where you knew him from.

And then it suddenly came into your mind.

When you opened the group convo with your friends, his face would appear right next to the unsaved contact that your friend Johnny had added two days prior.

It was Lee Taeyong.

Johnny, Ten, and Jaehyun’s new roommate who you had also met once before at Johnny’s birthday party last week.

“Hey, at least your nose is not red anymore, huh?” he laughed when he came to a hold.

“Banging a door into my face again, Taeyong?” you asked back. “I have to admit, this is kind of a weird way to hit on a girl.”

“You know my name! Admittedly, even just now I wasn’t so sure whether you remembered.”

“That was true, but once the pain vanished and I looked at your back, that scene seemed very familiar to me.”

He grinned. “Johnny’s birthday party, yes, I banged a door into your face back then as well. I’m sorry, I am actually a gentleman, I just didn’t have a chance to prove it yet. I hope this isn’t becoming our thing now.“

“You mean… you banging doors into my face? I hope not, because you actually seem like a nice guy, and otherwise I have to do a runner right now. I’d like to live a few years more.”

“My roommates wouldn’t like the thought that I scared their friend away, so let’s keep this a secret, alright?”

He winked and you laughed. You liked his humor very much and were wondering why you two hadn’t talked before at Johnny’s party.

„Oh, what’s this?“

Taeyong lifted his hand and picked up something white from the floor. He inspected his finding and then frowned. The next moment, he presented something to you that hadn’t been supposed to get seen by anyone else aside from you. The sheet. Apparently it had fallen out of your pocket while hurriedly walking!

You blushed up to her ears and snatched it out of his hand. “Don’t read this!”

He shrugged. “Well… it was quite hard not to miss the significant writing while picking it up, so…”

“Ugh…” You rolled your eyes into oblivion and wished for a hole to appear right under you to vanish in there right now.

You felt your ears burning and a hot flush running down your back as you remembered the last point you had written down. A stranger knowing about your virgin life! Embarrassing!!

“Do you… actually mean this?”

“Mean what?” you questioned with a shaky voice.

You hadn’t heard the slightest tone of mockery in his voice, you then noticed, and when you dared to look at him again, his gaze was even radiating curiosity, far from scorn.

“The points on this list.”

“Please don’t make fun of me!” you defended yourself. “You don’t know me or why I did this in the first place, so…”

You wanted to quickly pass by him and escape from the scenery, but he grabbed you by your arm and made you stop.

“What I know,” he then spoke, “is that you’re a kind and funny girl, apparently looking for the full college experience, am I right? I would never make fun of someone for that.”

“Okay… thank you. And I’d prefer if you won’t tell anyone about that.”

“That’s a given.”

“So… having checked off anything yet?“

You shook her head, suddenly feeling a weird knot in your stomach. “I just made this today. But now that someone knows about it, it’s probably ridiculous.”

“I don’t think that it’s ridiculous. You just want some fun, what’s so wrong about that?”

You hadn’t looked at this from another point of view, but now Taeyong was giving you his perspective. And he sounded so nonchalant and positive about it that you suddenly didn’t feel as exposed and embarrassed as before.

“You know what I think?” he then blurted out.

“What?” Now, you grew curious.

“I think you need someone to guide you through it, and many more experiences. Go hard or go home.” He grinned. “Someone who’s done all that already.”

“And you’re such a person?” you challenged.

“Let me see.”

Taeyong took the sheet from you again and read through the list. “Skinny dipping? Check. Partying all night long? Every weekend. Drinking hard shots? Also every weekend. Dancing on a bar counter? Double check, except for that one time I fell off. Playing spin the bottle? Boring, but check. Getting completely drunk? More checks than I can remember. Attend an illegal rave? Double check. Kiss someone I just met? I’m not counting this one anymore. Ditch classes? At least once a month. Losing my virginity? Better say taking someone’s virginity. Triple check.”

“Okay I understand!” You yanked the paper out of his hand again. “You probably had a few years to experience all this, and I only have the rest of my senior year left.”

“Why the rush?” Taeyong asked.

Reluctantly, you answered, “I’m leaving the country for my PhD.”

He nodded. “I see.”

Folding the sheet in your hands, you tucked it back into your pocket. “But please don’t tell the guys, I haven’t opened up to them about my future plans yet, but I want to tell them personally when the time is right.”

“Of course.” Taeyong paused. “Well, then what’s stopping you from joining a party with me tonight to get started?”

“The fact that I barely know you yet?”

“Hm, of course, you’ve got a point.” Taeyong pursed his lips and seemed to ponder over something. “Why haven’t we really talked before though at Johnny’s birthday party?”

“I really cannot remember what happened after you’ve banged the door into my face.” You chuckled. “I probably went to cry in the bathroom and then we’ve just lost sight of each other, because you haven’t found a weird sheet from me like today.”

“So… Since you only could remember me just now, we can technically say we’ve just met, right?”

“I’d sign that.”

“Great.”

You barely had time to wonder why he was grinning from ear to ear yet again when you felt Taeyong’s lips on yours the next moment.

They were soft and warm, his movements gentle at first, and he tasted so fresh and minty, and a little bit sweet as though he had drunk some fruit juice just before. Very summerly, and very manly.

His sudden kiss had left you speechless as well as motionless in the beginning, but you, now in high spirits, started to take pleasure in this act not long after his first move as you leaned against him and were welcomed with open arms.

Taeyong was a very handsome guy, there was nothing to deny about that fact, and he was a good kisser on top of that.

His hands made your body angle so that he could circle his arms around your waist and pressed you firmly against him. With your hands, you wandered upwards and sunk your fingers into his fluffy hair just in the moment Taeyong made you part your lips to deepen the kiss with his tongue.

Of course you had kissed boys before. Just because you were still a virgin didn’t mean you had never made out with someone.

But you had never made out with someone this good before.

Although you had gotten a door into your face shortly before, you weren’t so sure whether it was truly only the aftereffects of a possible head injury or Taeyong’s uninterrupted, passionate and oh-so-good kissing or both that got you feel so lightheaded and dizzy.

But what you knew was that you were enjoying that kiss very much.

And that you wanted more.

And Taeyong apparently as well as he proved it to you when his hands curved against your buttocks, and he gently shoved you backwards until your back rested against the wall behind you.

With his fingers, he felt the tender and glowing skin under your shirt’s bottom hem, massaging the spot there lightly as your hands simultaneously grabbed onto his shoulders and pulled him so close to you that no sheet would fit in the slit between you two anymore.

Secretly kissing in the library hadn’t been written down on your agenda, but you took whatever you could get to make your last semester a memorable one.

This was so fun to you that you started to think that this bucket list that you had made wasn’t that much of a bad idea after all if every single one of the experiences would leave you that excited as kissing Taeyong.

When you parted, he was still wearing that grin that now seemed more sweet than smug to you, and you joined him.

“Kiss someone you just met? Check.”

“Well, then our meeting here didn’t go to waste after all,” you concluded.

Admittedly, you wanted more. And by the way Taeyong looked at you, still so turned on and dreamy, he didn’t seem to loathe that idea as well.

“How about putting another point up that list?”

“Such as…?” You tilted your head.

“Making out with someone you’ve just met at a party?”

You playfully looked away as though you were in deep thoughts, but to you, the answer was clear the moment he had proposed the idea to you. “I think that’s an experience I shouldn’t miss as well.”

Just as Taeyong let out a relieved laughter and leaned in to you again, you heard a familiar,

“No talking in the library!”

In front of them stood the librarian with the worst timing ever.

“Technically, we weren’t talking,“ Taeyong cleared up cheekily as he withdrew from you, and you nodded in approval.

The librarian though looked confused.

The wink Taeyong shot into your direction was only visible for you, and you blushed faintly as you agreed, “Yeah, we were anything but talking.”

„But I heard you!“ the elderly woman scolded.

“Well, we did something much more fun than talking,” Taeyong explained, but before the librarian could chide more, you laughingly escaped to the outside.

„So about the party…“ he then started as the library’s door closed behind you. „Since we’re technically no strangers anymore…“

You rolled your eyes, but smiled. „Perhaps, I’ll come to the party.“

„And then move on to check off the other points?“ He smirked.

You stuck your tongue out at him, but were really looking forward to tonight.

[stargazing-enby]

“I can’t believe you told them you were my fiancé” + Drarry 😘

Thank you @stavromulabetaaa @secretlycrazyhummingbird and anon for your prompts! I turned them into a New Years story, I hope that's all right 😁 

Thanks @april-thelightfury115 for betaing!

Drarry | 2k | Teen and Up | Fake Fiancés, Auror Partners, Locked Down Together, Love Confessions | Read on AO3

“...And we’re still unsure whether the situation will be safe enough for us to marry in spring, so that’s why we haven’t organised much yet. Don’t worry, you’ll be the first to know as soon as we have a date.”

Harry, mind still fuzzy with sleep, empty mug in hand, stopped in his tracks by the living room door. Had he heard right?

“We understand, Draco,” came Narcissa’s voice from the Floo. “But you must understand our concerns, too.”

“I do, mother. But you know this was necessary.”

“We do,” Lucius said. “The most important thing is that we’re all safe right now, even if we missed having you home last night.”

Harry didn’t hear the end of the conversation—didn’t notice Draco walking into the kitchen a minute later; he was too busy frowning at the kettle. 

“Morning,” said Draco from behind him. “Didn’t know you were up.”

“Didn’t know you were engaged,” Harry said without thinking—without turning around, without even understanding why he didn’t want to turn around; didn’t want Draco to see the whirl of emotions unravelling in his chest.

“Oh,” Draco said, voice low. “You heard that.”

Harry shook his head, eyes still fixed on the kettle. 

“Not on purpose.” His words came out strained, and he cursed himself inwardly. Why did he even care? It wasn’t like Draco’s personal life was any of his business. Sharing a flat didn’t make them friends, now did it? No matter how much Harry had grown to enjoy having the git around all the time, and watching him fall asleep while they watched telly together at night, and getting to see Draco’s tousled hair in the mornings—

Draco sighed—a slow, heavy sound—and leaned against the counter beside him. Harry did look up at him then, and the maelstrom of emotion probably still all over his face came to an abrupt halt when he realised Draco was holding back a giggle.

“I’m not engaged, Potter,” he said, grin widening. “You look really upset at the idea, though. It’s a cute look on you.”

Draco’s mirth was beautiful, and so, so good at softening Harry from inside out. Still, Harry crossed his arms over his chest with an indignant huff, grumbling, “Sod off, I thought you were keeping an engagement from me!” When Draco only laughed at him, he added, “Why on Earth do your parents think you’re engaged, then?” 

“I’ll tell you,” Draco said through another giggle, “but don’t murder me. I’m the best Auror partner you’ll ever have.”

Harry just raised his eyebrows at him—curiosity and concern mixing with a subtle hint of betrayal that refused to fade away just yet.

“My parents are…very traditional,” Draco started.

“I’d gathered that much, thank you.”

“Shut up, you giant prick. The thing is, they firmly believe people must live with their parents or on their own until they marry. Sharing a living space with anyone other than your spouse is…improper to them. I’m sure I don’t need to go into detail as to why.”

“You really don’t,” Harry said, grimacing. 

“So when I told them I was moving in with you temporarily, I sort of…kind of…had to tell them we were engaged, and the only reason I was moving in with you before getting married was that we wanted to wait until the pandemic was over to have a big wedding with all our loved ones.”

To Harry’s credit, he didn’t drop the mug full of piping hot coffee all over himself.

He did gape at Draco for a good three seconds, though.

“Your parents think we’re engaged?”

“That’s what I said, yes.” Draco had the decency to look sheepish, at least. “If it’s any consolation, they also trust me to remain chaste until my wedding night, so they don’t think you and I have—”

“Oh my god.”

“I would never, anyway. They raised me well.”

“Stop. Shut up.” Harry rested the mug on the kitchen table—sat heavily on a chair, gaze unfocused. “But didn’t you explain—”

“I did explain to them I was moving in with you because we work together and it’s safest to have you as the only person in my bubble so I don’t put them at risk, yes. They argued I had enough money to rent a place for myself, and I panicked and told them you and I had plans to marry anyway, so it wasn’t all that bad, since they trust me to wait until my wedding night to—” 

“Yeah, yes, got it.” Harry pressed his eyes closed, desperately trying to will images of a virginal Draco Malfoy draped over a white king-sized bed from his mind. “Were you planning on telling me any of this? You’ve been here for weeks…” 

“I was, of course.” 

Harry side-eyed him.

“It’s just—I guess…I was waiting for the right time to tell you, and it never really came up. And don’t give me that look! Remember how long it took you to tell me you weren’t dating Ginny anymore?” 

“That’s different!” Harry said. 

“Potter, you let me send both of you a Christmas card as though you were a couple and replied to it with her because it felt too awkward to tell me you’d broken up!” 

Harry took a sip of his coffee to avoid Draco’s gaze. 

“That may be true,” he muttered eventually, when he looked up at Draco again and found him still looking expectantly at him. “But this involves me directly. I mean, what if I’d answered a Floo call from them while you were in the bathroom and they’d brought up the engagement?” 

“Excuse you, I never schedule anything at bathroom hours!” 

“I...don’t want to know what that means.” Would it be too much for him to bury his face in his arms and fall right back asleep? “What are we going to do now?” 

“We wait until lockdown is over and pretend we’ve broken up and are no longer engaged, of course.” 

“What, so your parents hate me forever?” Harry asked. “No, thank you!”

“What do you mean, no thank you? The alternative, in case you hadn’t noticed, is to marry me, Potter!” 

“You’re making my year start with a headache,” Harry groaned. “I hope you’re happy.” 

“Very much so, actually,” Draco said. “Because you will pretend you’re my fiancé over Floo, won’t you? My parents have been asking to talk with you directly, and if it doesn’t happen soon, they’re going to start thinking you’re a bad husband…” 

“Fiancé! I mean—flatmate. Colleague. Ugh. Fine. Fine. I’ll do it,” he said when Draco just pouted dolefully. He couldn’t resist those puppy eyes, dammit. “But I’ll be cursing you to hell and back in my mind the entire time.” 

Draco’s grin was definitely not worth the sacrifice. 

***

“Harry! What a delight to finally be able to talk to you. Draco says you’ve been busy with work matters lately.” 

“Y-Yeah, it’s been chaos,” Harry said, resisting the urge to glare at Draco and hoping Narcissa couldn’t see the puzzle sitting on the coffee table or the stack of movies by the sofa through the Floo. “I’m really glad to see you, too.” Fuck, that’d sounded awfully awkward. “Happy new year, by the way—let’s hope it’s a better one.” 

“Oh, I’m sure it will be. The year an offspring gets married is always among the best of a mother’s life.”

“Right. Of course.” Add ‘upsetting Narcissa terribly’ to the list of reasons to curse Draco. 

“And I imagine it will be an even happier year for you two, especially if a future heir is in the picture by the end of it!” 

ADD ‘ALMOST CHOKING TO DEATH ON MY SALIVA’ TO THE LIST OF REASONS TO—

“Mother, please, I think it’s a little bit to early for that—” 

“I know, I know, sorry.” She didn’t sound sorry at all. “I’m just really excited for you, my Draco. You’ve wanted this for so long…”

Harry’s heart skipped a beat. 

“Harry, you are one very lucky man, I hope you know that,” Narcissa went on, oblivious to the look Harry and Draco were sharing—the colour drained from Draco’s cheeks, a breath caught in Harry’s lungs. “I do hope you will be taking the Malfoy name, too! It would be an honour to have you as a part of our family tree…”

She went on about the Sacred Twenty-eight for what seemed like forever, and Harry was only vaguely aware of Draco interrupting her with the excuse they had to get back to work and ending the call after a round of good-byes. 

For a moment, they both stared into the faceless flames. 

“You’re not going to buy it if I tell you I really do need to get back to work, right?” Draco said after a moment, voice low. 

“You know the answer to that.” 

Draco huffed. 

“Well, then, go ahead and ask what you want to ask. Don’t make me suffer for longer than necessary.” 

Harry sneaked a glance in Draco’s direction. Unlike a few moments before, his face was a dark shade of red, hand clutching the edge of the carpet, knees drawn close to his chest. 

“I don’t want to ask if you don’t want to tell me,” Harry murmured, looking back into the flames. 

“It’s not like I can Obliviate you,” Draco retorted. “You heard what you heard.”

Harry nodded. 

“That you’ve wanted me for a very long time.”

Draco didn’t reply. 

Harry glanced at Draco’s hand again, now playing nervously with the fringe of the carpet, and, after a moment of hesitation that faded with his next exhale, he reached out and rested his hand on it. Draco’s fingers stilled under his touch, and Draco’s eyes found his—wide, scared, vulnerable. 

He dared run the tips of his fingers over Draco’s knuckles, and his own breath caught when he heard Draco’s hitch. 

“Draco…” Harry started, not knowing what he was even going to say. “The past few weeks have been… they’ve been—”

“Don’t,” Draco said, voice strained. “Don’t. Just—” He looked away again. “Just tell me you just want to be colleagues and be done with it, please.” 

“Maybe that’s not what I want.” He slipped his fingers between Draco’s soft own; squeezed them gently. “Maybe what I want isn’t so different from what you want. You don’t know what’s going on inside my mind. You have no idea what the past few weeks have meant to me.” 

Draco didn’t move under his touch—didn’t seem to move at all, except for the quick, uneven rise and fall of his chest. When he talked, the words came out quickly, in a whisper, as though he was terrified to hear himself say them.

“What are you saying, Potter?”

“What I’m saying is I want more of this. More puzzles, and movies, and more of your way-too-salty chicken soup, and more evenings and mornings by your side. I’m saying I hadn’t realised until very recently how much I want more of you, Draco. But I do. Merlin, I do.” 

A sound somewhere between a whine and a choked cackle came out of Draco’s throat.

“You sound like I’ve actually proposed to you, you idiot,” he groaned. Harry rolled his eyes at him, squeezed his fingers yet again.

“I’m being serious!” he said, unable to hold back a laugh. “Don’t laugh at me!”

“I’m not! I’m just—this whole situation, it’s…”

“I know,” Harry murmured. “But it doesn’t have to be. Things don’t have to be so different now. I mean, we already work together and we’ve been having movie nights every Saturday for, what, three years now? And now we live under the same roof, we cook meals together, we fall asleep together on the couch…Merlin. We’re already like a married couple, aren’t we?” Harry said, horrified. “No wonder your parents bought the engagement story!”

“Wait till I tell you they were actually surprised it hadn’t happened sooner…”

Harry buried his face in his knees to stifle a groan.

“Come on,” he said after a moment, and stood up still holding on to Draco’s hand. “Let’s make some lunch and pretend like this wasn’t the most embarrassing conversation we’ve ever had.”

Draco’s fingers were still comfortably hooked around his as they made their way to the kitchen.

[calpalirwin]

Adventurous Spirit

Summary: Ashton becomes more and more of a (lovestruck) hippie.

Word Count: 1.6k

And away, and away we go!

__

Ashton’s adventurous spirit was what had drawn you to him in the first place. Sometimes you weren’t sure what he loved more: being a drummer or being able to travel the world as a result. All you knew was Ashton seemed most at home when he was on the road, making the most of every moment, and you were an absolute sucker for someone who loved life with that much fierceness.

With tour dates lined up, and studio time charted out, life at home buzzed with the excitement of what was to come. Then, the world shut down.

The first week, you watched anxiously as Ashton paced about the house, phone glued to his ear as plans B through Z were discussed and refined, tension slowly building up in his neck and shoulders. But with an album release so close, the feeling of restlessness didn’t get a chance to settle in, and for that you were grateful.

About a month and a half into lockdown, you found him sitting on the couch, staring blankly into space. “Hey,” you said softly, sitting down next to him, and pulling him out of his trance. “You good?” you asked, your fingers dragging slowly up and down his arm.

“Hmm?” he questioned, giving a small shake of his head. “Oh… Yeah, I’m good, I guess.”

“You guess?”

Ashton shrugged. “It’s hard to put into words. Like, I’m thankful for the time to slow down. Because I know I sometimes worry you with how much I work. And my body could probably use the rest. But not knowing how long this lasts is… It fuckin’ sucks. Because there were a lot of things I always said I’d do if I just had the time. And now I do. But how much time? How long am I stuck here?”

“Well” you started with a slight teasing tone, “I’m pretty sure you have time to make a garden, and get some chickens if you’re really dedicated to that.”

He giggled lightly, then sighed. “I just hate not knowing. I don’t want to lose myself.”

“Oh, I don’t think you need to worry about that. Just take it one day at a time, and go from there.”

“I suppose that’s true. And hey, I got you, right?”

“Of course,” you smiled at him. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Good. Cuz I need you more than I can put into words.”

“I love you too, Ash.”

~~~

You both stared at the box of Superbloom merch, you in awe, and Ashton somewhat dejectedly. “Oh, c’mon!” you urged, nudging into his shoulder. “You could be a little excited. You worked hard for this.”

“I am…” he defended. “But I want to do more.”

“More with the release? Or more solo stuff?”

“More with the release. I want to celebrate. I want a chance to play it live. I want everything the guys and I wanted with Calm, and this shit,” he thrust an angry finger in the direction of the window, “won’t go away!”

“So let’s celebrate.”

“How?!”

“We get tested, and we get out here for a bit. Camp in the desert under the stars for a few nights. I dunno. We’ll figure it out.”

“That… is not half bad. But that only solves one of my problems. I miss performing, babe.”

“Virtual concerts are a thing, you know.”

His eyes lit up in a way you hadn’t really seen for months, before he was kissing you passionately. “You! You’re a fuckin’ genius!”

You laughed against his mouth. “Thanks, I try.”

His forehead knocked against yours, his eyes holding yours steadily. “You are everything to me.”

~~~

If there was a downside to suggesting a weekend getaway for the Ashton’s album release, it was that it revived his desire to travel, and the desire was now stronger than you ever remembered it being.

“You’re becoming a hippie,” you joked as you guys woke up in the back of a pick up truck in the middle of nowhere.

“Becoming?” he laughed. “Thought I always was.”

“Well, it’s becoming more prominent now,” you laughed with him, running your hands through his hair. “I don’t think you’ve let your hair get this long since 2016.”

“Ah yes, the first hippie Ash stage. I’ve learned a lot since then.”

“So this is Hippie Ash 2.0?”

“The new and improved hippie.”

You both broke out in a fit of giggles, before you sighed in content, curling yourself into his side. “So where to next?”

“Anywhere we fuckin’ want to. Well… within reason. The guys and I are discussing the next album.”

“Shit, already?”

He shrugged. “Might as well. Gotta be prepared for when the world opens up again. Wanna hit the ground running. Make up for lost time.”

“Well, fuck. Let’s go somewhere with the guys then. A working vacation.”

“Working vacations are my favorite types of vacation. But after the holidays. I’m getting used to lazy vacations where it’s just me and you, and I’m not ready to give that up just yet.”

“Oh, some place with snow would be cool. Maybe a cabin so we don’t freeze to death.”

He took the hint, pulling you into him with the blanket. “Sounds perfect.”

~~~

You awoke to an empty bed, sunlight, light laughter, and weed smoke filtering in from the open window.

“Morning, Luke,” you greeted as you found the blonde in the kitchen, leaning against the counter with his hands wrapped around a coffee mug.

“Mornin’,” he nodded, side stepping out of the way of the coffee machine. “Still practically a full pot if you want a cup.”

“Nah, I’m good for now. Ash?”

“Outside getting high with Cal.”

“Fuckin’ hippie…” you chuckled, headed for the front door of the cabin, Luke’s own laughter following you out.

Calum had a camera in his hand, pointed at Ashton who sat on a couch in his robe, a random disarray of items scattered nearby on the ledge of a firepit. “Oh, hey, Y/N!” Calum said, noticing you first, as Ashton looked over his shoulder at you.

“Hey guys,” you smiled, taking a seat next to Ashton on the couch and leaning into him. “Starting the morning off on the right foot?” you asked with a pointed glance at the ashtray with the cigarettes and blunts.

“Oh, yeah,” Ashton drawled, shifting to wrap his arm around your shoulders.

“Ever think you lean into the hippie stereotype a lil too much?”

“Nah. Haven’t gone completely off the grid.”

“Yet,” Calum snickered. “There’s still time. Luke kinda did, and I’ve never seen him happier.”

“I dunno. I’m already pretty fuckin’ happy.”

“That’s true,” Calum nodded, then clapped a hand against his leg. “I’mma head back in. Maybe shower. Maybe get another cup. You guys good?”

“Yeah, we’re good, mate.”

“You know,” you spoke up as Calum headed back inside, “when this first started last year, I was really worried about you.”

“Worried about me? Why?”

“You said it yourself back then. You’ve always pushed yourself harder than you probably should. I mean, face it, Ash, you’re restless. I was worried about all the things you were worried about. That you’d get stuck, or lose yourself. But then, I dunno. I guess I stopped because I realized how silly it was to worry about you. I mean, you’re you. You’re always gonna make the most of whatever you’ve got. Even if what you got was a year that wasn’t anything like you originally expected it to be.”

“This year was harder than I anticipated. And I did get stuck, and I did get lost. Like those moments did happen. Because you’re right. I’m restless. I’m at my most relaxed when I’m constantly on the move, either doing something or working towards something. So, yeah. This past year fuckin’ sucked. But it was also everything I needed at the same time.”

“Sometimes you gotta lose yourself to find yourself?”

“Something like that, yeah. So, while this past year has taught me a lot, it’s also solidified a lot of things I already knew to be true. Like how I couldn’t have done any of this without you. More than that, I don’t want to do any of this without you. And I wasted too much time trying to reconcile how both you and the band can be the adventures I want to spend my whole life chasing before realizing that I don’t have to.”

“Ash…” you cut in softly. “I’d never make you choose between me and the band. Or me and anything, for that matter. I’m always going to support whatever makes you happiest.”

“No, I know. That’s what I’m trying to say. My life with you in it is what makes me happiest, because you are what makes me happiest. In a year where I didn’t know which way my life was going from one day to the next, the one thing I knew for certain was that I’d have you. It made the dark moments bearable, and the light moments much brighter. That’s not something I want to give up. You’re what I want, now and always. So,” he got up from the couch, reaching into the pocket of his robe as he sank to his knees in front of you. “Marry me.”

You gasped as he snapped open the little box and cool metal slid across your left ring finger, your mind in a whirlwind of both his sentiment, and the fact that he said “Marry me,” more as a direct statement. “Mrs. Hippie does have a nice ring to it.”

“So, that’s a ‘yes’?”

“It’s a million ‘yes’s, Ash. You’re the love of my life.”

“And you’re mine.”

__

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[god-of-dust]

after much deliberation, i decided to post what i wrote of chapter 2 and 3 of Trick Me here. this will probably never end up on ao3 because of Reasons, but someone might enjoy reading it and i definitely enjoy the validation. (also, leaving this to rot in my folder seems like a waste.)

this is rated T, no particular warnings apply besides tom’s occasional murderous thoughts.

-----

There’s no sign of Potter. Figures. Tom glares at the suit of armour as if it’s the one meant to carry the blame for this situation.

Disillusionment Charm firmly in place, he leans on the rough stone wall and resigns himself to wait.

“You’re early. Why am I not surprised?”

In a split second, Tom turns in the direction of the voice and points his wand towards... the empty corridor?

Then Potter’s head—only his head—emerges from thin air.

“Jumpy, too. Again, not surprised,” Potter says, smirking. Then he moves, revealing the rest of his body and the rippling fabric of a cloak.

An Invisibility Cloak. No wonder Potter can get wherever he wants without getting caught. “Where did you get that?” Tom asks, envy colouring every word. That kind of Cloak is worth thousands of Galleons, which is more money than Tom has ever possessed in his entire life.

The things Tom could do with one... he’d have no need for permission to slide beyond the wards of the forbidden section of the library. While certainly tame compared to what a collection from a Dark pureblood family would hold, there are also many old books there that Tom has been dying to get his hands on since he’s seen their titles and felt the power they contained.

“Family heirloom,” Potter says with a shrug.

Of course Potter has a family that provides for him, and of course he has the gall to shrug, like it’s absolutely normal to carry around an object this valuable and use it to go to the Quidditch pitch at night. It’s maddening, to witness this utter lack of ambition in someone who has so much at his disposal and wastes it so pitifully.

He reaches out to touch the fabric. It’s soft and perfect, spells woven so beautifully that it appears not to be enchanted at all. He refuses to believe that this Potter is the one who cast them. “What kind of spells does your family use to prevent the magic from fading? How frequently do you have to refresh them?”

Potter only smiles and shakes his head. “You and Hermione would be amazing together if you just stopped being an arse to her.”

Tom glares at him. His thoughts on that particular topic must be crystal clear, because Potter laughs that full-bellied laugh of his. “You haven’t answered my question,” Tom insists.

“Do you want to stand in the corridor all night discussing my cloak? I thought we had Quidditch to play.”

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Tom says: “Fine.”

“Get under here, then,” Potter beckons, holding a side of the cloak open for Tom to slip under and cover himself.

Sliding in the offered space, Tom instantly becomes very aware of how close they have to stay for them both to be concealed. Wonderful, he thinks, just wonderful. Just what I needed: more contact with him.

He lets Potter lead the way outside; after a bit of fumbling, they find a rhythm that allows them to walk in sync without constantly bumping into each other’s shoulder.

“Thank Merlin you’re shorter than Ron. His feet try to peek out all the time, it’s an absolute nightmare.”

Are his friends all he can talk about? Tom vaguely wonders, before noticing the route they’re taking. “The Quidditch pitch is the other way.”

“We’re not going to the pitch,” Potter replies.

Tom stops in his tracks, making the cloak tangle around Potter’s form; unsurprisingly, it only takes a moment for the miraculous Golden Boy to recover his balance. Tom, voice strained with the effort to keep it under control, hisses: “If you’re trying to trick me, Potter, I swear—”

“I’m not,” Potter interrupts. “The pitch is too open and couples go there to shag all the time, so the chances of someone seeing us are too high. I’m taking you to a place only I and my closest friends know about.”

Again with his friends. “Are you really so arrogant as to believe you’re the only one that knows anything about Hogwarts?”

This time, Potter is the one who stills abruptly. He turns to face Tom, noses almost touching under the cloak, eyes ablaze with an emotion that Tom has never seen on him: genuine, unfiltered anger. “Listen, Riddle. I offered my help, but what I didn’t offer was being target practice for your fucking abrasiveness. You want to learn Quidditch? I can teach you. You want to act like a bastard? Go do that somewhere else, because I’m not afraid to punch you in the face if you insist on constantly accusing me of imaginary crimes.”

“As if I’m not able to defend myself from your punches,” Tom snarls.

Potter’s eyes narrow. “Were you even listening to me?”

There’s nothing stopping Tom from hexing Potter into the next century; nothing, except for the fact that he’d be expelled and then the whole Potter clan would ensure that he’d rot in Azkaban for an indeterminate amount of years. Right now, it seems like a minor price to pay.

He keeps his twitching fingers away from his wand. He needs to hold himself in check if he wants to avoid Potter’s suspicion. After a steadying breath, he says evenly: “I was. My words were... out of line. I apologise.”

Silence stretches while Potter stares at him. Then he turns on his heels, facing away, and they resume their walking.

It takes them a few minutes to reach the boundary of looming trees that students are supposed to never cross. “Is this secret place of yours really inside the Forest?”

“Yeah. That’s why I’m reasonably sure that no one else has discovered it. A wrong turn would take them either into an Acromantula nest or in centaur territory,” Potter explains, navigating with sure steps amidst trunks and twigs and weeds and bushes as if he owns the place.

Both options are incredibly dangerous, for many different reasons. Not even the Headmaster has jurisdiction over the creatures in the Forest, and any reckless student who wanders too far is responsible for their own fate. Over the years, Tom has done a little exploring of his own to gather herbs, shed fur and other potion ingredients, but he never went as deep inside as wherever Potter is taking them now. “How did you discover it, then?” Tom asks while memorising the convoluted trail so that he’ll be able to return later. The potions he could brew with even a small vial of Acromantula venom, or some eggs... he has to find out more about those supposedly wrong turns.

“I followed my nose,” Potter says with a mischievous smirk, previous anger washed away like a leaf in a river. “And perhaps I had a bit of help.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Well, sorry, but I’m not going to divulge my secrets to anyone who asks... besides, you’re smart enough; perhaps with time you’ll figure it out on your own.”

Focus still firmly placed on their surroundings, Tom ignores the compliment. He has no use for Potter’s pretense.

A large clearing suddenly materialises before them, encircled by towering trees whose foliage forms a protective half-dome high over their heads. Ancient magic caresses Tom’s skin, making him shiver with anticipation. There’s a circular area in the center, large enough to hold a dozen people, empty of any grass or stone; Tom is certain that someone has built it that way on purpose. He steps closer, prudent and fascinated in equal measure. “What is this place?” he wonders, eyes wide and searching as he studies the stone while taking in the feeling of rightness and inspiration the space emanates.

“Somewhere where we can have all the privacy we want,” Potter says lightly as he slides off the cloak from their shoulders. To him, this secret spot humming with magic that vibrates in Tom’s blood and bones must be just another day, just another priceless thing dropped on his lap that he wields without a care.

After enchanting a few Lumos spheres to hover around them, Potter extracts a small object from his pocket, lays it on the even ground and enlarges it with a wave of his wand, revealing it to be a trunk. Then he points to a twisted root that peeks out from the soil and transfigures it into three Quidditch hoops, about three meters high.

“I assume you know about Quidditch roles and rules even if you’ve never played, correct?”

“Yes.” Tom’s skimmed through a Quidditch book, if only not to be completely unprepared when it came to playing his part in this charade. He will carry his plan forward and rip the rug from under Potter’s feet, even if it involves studying a few tedious rules of a tedious sport.

“So, you can probably imagine that every role requires different skills, which is why we’ll explore every one of them and gradually build up your stamina and reflexes while you discover what you’re naturally good at.” He scratches at his head contemplatively. “When was the last time you rode a broom?”

“First year flying classes. I was average at the basics and never tried anything more elaborate.” Tom isn’t eager to recall most of those memories because, in truth, it had been humiliating to realise how far behind his peers he was. Unlike them, he’d never had a broom of his own to practice and his confidence had faltered when he needed it the most. The broom’s magic had caught on his hesitation and thus his performance had been lukewarm at best.

“Yeah, I can imagine it wasn’t pleasing for you. Hermione was the same. You really can’t stand it when you don’t excel at something, huh?”

“I doubt anyone enjoys the feeling of being incompetent.”

“Good point,” Potter admits, “but that’s not the attitude you need right now. You always have to start from somewhere and build from there, even if that starting point isn’t as glorious as you’d like.” He squats to open the trunk; it contains a clearly well-loved yet also well-kept set of Quidditch balls.

Tom eyes suspiciously the Bludgers struggling against the chains holding them in place.

“Since we’re starting from the basics, tonight we’re both going to play Chasers, which means that we’ll pass the Quaffle between us and do our best to score through the goals. Of course, there’s more to being a Chaser than this, but it will be enough for now. Before that, though, I want to see you on a broom.”

“I don’t have one. I presumed we’d use one of the school brooms,” Tom says, crossing his arms, mild irritation colouring his tone.

Unbothered, Potter reaches again into his pocket to produce two shrunken brooms. “I brought my Nimbus. It’s very good, especially for a beginner, with quick responses and great stability.”

He holds out his hand and Tom takes the now appropriately sized broom. “...Thank you.”

“Wow, you’re really making an effort into being polite. I appreciate that,” Potter says, apparently pleased. “But now, Riddle, show me how you ride.”

There’s nothing in Potter’s smile and in that particular phrasing that Tom could possibly care for. He straddles the broom and pushes himself to hover in mid-air, one meter from the ground and then one more; feeling how precarious and uncertain his posture is, he does his best to correct it.

“Good. You don’t seem to be struggling much. Are you afraid of heights?”

Tom shoots him a venomous look. “No.”

“That’s one less thing we have to worry about, then.” Potter jumps on his broom and rises too, graceful as a phoenix. Bastard. “Let’s try some loops.”

Tom nods and watches as Potter demonstrates a few simple figures: circle, spiral, figure-eight. They seem easy enough, but when Tom tries to follow Potter’s directions his broom moves in shaky zig-zags instead of the smooth curves he expects it to perform.

“This broom isn’t working,” Tom snarls. He looks at Potter, who’s certainly dying to make fun of him... only to find no trace of sadistic glee on his expression.

Potter circles around him, examining him from head to toe with furrowed brows, almost hawk-like in his focus. “You’re clenching your thighs and hands too hard. The broom reads that as a sign for ‘straight line’ and ‘speed’, and right now that’s not your objective. For curves like these, you have to flow with the movement and lean into the direction you want without overbalancing.” His posture is relaxed, bordering on lazy, as he flies in a large, slow circle for Tom’s sake. “Like this.”

Tom imitates him as best as he can, loosening his grip. “What if I want to achieve a fast curve?”

“Fast curves are more advanced. We’ll try those later.”

Tom tries again with a figure-eight, and he’s surprised when he finds that the broom’s following the path he intended with increasing ease.

“See? Way better,” Potter beams. He looks like he’s genuinely enjoying this.

After a few minutes of loops, Tom’s acquired a mild amount of confidence in his form; at least the feeling that he’ll tip over every time he steers the broom has lessened until it’s nearly gone. Seemingly satisfied, Potter instructs him on how to repeat the same figures with a single-handed grip, then handless, as he explains: “You’ll need your hands free for the Quaffle.”

Even while going through boring drills at this insignificant height, there’s an undeniable thrill to flying, to acquiring control over something as elusive as air. “One day,” he declares, “I’m going to invent broomless flying.” Perhaps a variation of Wingardium Leviosa, combined with a Feather-Light Charm... yes, he’ll do it, and succeed.

“That would be amazing. And honestly, if anyone could do that it would be you.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” Tom scoffs, close to amused. Does Potter really think that compliments will have any effect on him? Tom’s too acquainted with the subtle art of manipulation to take any of Potter’s amateurish attempts seriously.

Potter rolls his eyes. “It’s not flattery, it’s me making an observation. Every single person in Hogwarts knows that your knowledge and control over magic are impressive.” Smoothly diving forwards, Potter reaches for the trunk and grabs the Quaffle inside it.

“Catch!” he says, and throws the ball at Tom.

Instincts rearing up before he can think, Tom steers sideways to dodge, but he’s too quick, too sudden, the broom refuses to cooperate—fuck, he’s lost his balance, he’s going to slip off and fall on his face like a bloody—

An arm slides around his torso, holding him up. A steady hand over the handle of his broom stops its lurching. Tom is barely breathing, his mind catching up to the fact that he’s not going to become one with the forest soil.

“Shit, Tom, I’m sorry, I thought you were ready, I should have warned you—”

Heart still finding the way back to its regular beat, Tom interrupts Potter’s rambling: “It’s fine. Nothing happened.”

“Well it was a stupid thing to do, and I won’t do it again,” Potter insists, wide eyes painfully green even in the dark.

“Just drop it, will you?” It’s embarrassing enough that he ran away from a Quaffle like it was the Killing Curse; Potter’s self-flagellation is just rubbing more salt on the wound. As if he hasn’t done it on purpose anyway, the fucking prick.

With a sigh, the arm around Tom tightens briefly before Potter releases him. “Do you want to stop? We’ve done a lot already. You’ve been great.”

More useless flattering.

“Let’s try again,” Tom orders. He wants to challenge Potter, confuse him, shock him, give him a lesson that he’ll never forget. The plan to ruin his reputation isn’t enough; the matter has become personal.

Uncertain, Potter nods. This time, when the Quaffle comes towards him Tom catches it, albeit unsteadily. A victorious glint in his eyes, he does his best to throw Potter off-balance by flinging the ball back at him.

The back-and-forth of the Quaffle between them slowly acquires a flow. Potter accepts Tom’s viciousness and in turn pushes Tom’s limits, building his reflexes with progressively more elaborate throws, flying around him in circles like an annoying snidget. Tom fumbles, stumbles, grumbles, but he manages to avoid another fall, and he even scores a few points through the unprotected goals.

By the end of the lesson they’re both sweating—disgusting—and Potter is positively radiating joy.

Tom can’t say the same about himself. His performance’s been nowhere near satisfactory, his dexterity and form nowhere near Potter’s. While he still holds no interest for Quidditch, he also can’t stand the thought that Potter can have this golden opportunity to gloat over him. There’s no way that Tom will accept being considered inferior to anyone.

“So, uh... how was it?” Potter asks once they’ve dismounted, self-consciously running a hand through his hair. It looks like a habit of his.

“You’ve been patient,” Tom concedes. It’s true, at least on the surface: Potter’s been nothing but helpful and tolerant of every mistake, adapting his teaching to Tom’s pace with flawless precision. “I could have done better.”

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake,” Potter says, “will you stop with the self-deprecation? You’re learning. It’s all part of the process. Believe me, I’ve seen worse.”

Tom hands the Nimbus back to Potter, who’s extinguishing the enchanted lights and reverting the goal posts back to their original shape. “You’ve also seen best, I reckon.”

Potter huffs in annoyance as he takes the broom and stores it away along with the rest of the equipment. “Yes, and it doesn’t matter. This isn’t a competition. The whole point of us being in the middle of the forest instead of the pitch is that you can be away from judgemental eyes, so could you please stop being your own worst critic?”

“We should go.” If Potter considers having standards the same as self-deprecation, then Tom has nothing else to say. “I can find my way back.” He turns to follow the hidden trail that led them here.

“Wait,” Potter says, interrupting Tom as he was about to cast a wordless Disillusionment Charm on himself. “Do you want to do this again? More lessons?”

Does Tom want to? Is the headache of spending time with Potter worth it?

Like a sharp edge, a thorn stuck in his side, Potter’s words echo in his head. This isn’t a competition. But it is, in a way—it’s Tom’s endurance against his desire to chalk up the whole plan as a failure and sweep it under the rug.

And Potter is still an issue—he still needs to go down in flames, and Tom is the one who has to ignite that fire.

He straightens his back. I won’t quit now. “Same time, next Saturday?”

“I’ll be here,” Potter says. It sounds like a promise.

##

[missing scene with Tom and snake-Harry]

##

At half past eleven on Saturday, Harry prepares to slip away from the Gryffindor dormitory under his Cloak.

“Ron, hey,” he whispers in the darkness of the dormitory, shaking his friend’s shoulder.

Still more than half-asleep, refusing to open his eyes, Ron mutters, “What?”

“I’m going out, will probably be late again. Don’t wait for me, okay?” He’s a little ashamed of taking advantage of Ron while he’s in this state, knowing that he won’t ask questions.

“Yeah, yeah—g’night, mate,” Ron says, words slurred as the dream world ensnares him again.

Then Harry leaves, sliding through the many corridors of the castle as if he were in his Animagus form, until he crosses the entrance; outside he can run, free, breathing in the cold wind that chills his face and lungs. He feels so light, like the world is full of exciting possibilities, like he’s on the hunt for something marvellous.

Yes, he hates hiding these nighttime escapades from his friends. However, he also loves the secret thrill of this undefined thing he and Tom have, this strange agreement that’s neither friendship nor rivalry, while not being neutral either. He knows, he can see that Tom—and how weird it is, that he already thinks of him as such—still despises him... yet he’s also invested in Harry in a way that goes beyond simple hatred or spite.

He could have used many excuses to get his hands on Harry’s Firebolt and sabotage it. He could have cursed Harry himself, especially with how close they’ve been, and Harry has no doubt that Tom possesses a sizable arsenal of slow-building, undetectable curses that would have sent Harry to his grave with no one the wiser.

But then, how absurd it is that Harry’s still not afraid to know that a part of Tom, a loud and powerful one, would rejoice in his pain and in having caused it?

He’s certain that Tom Riddle’s bite is deadly venomous, and he’s been thirsting for Harry’s blood for a long time. The bane of his existence, indeed.

Yet Harry saw something else during their time together: the fierce competitiveness, the stubbornness, the drive towards excellence, the desire to be greater than anyone... and also the insecurity, the self-loathing, the fear hidden behind harsh perfectionism, the sense of not being enough, of having to push himself harder, of not belonging anywhere, of being unloved and unlovable.

Tom Riddle is human and flawed. And he has bite, yes, but along with the venom comes a blazing fire that he keeps carefully concealed under his detached, polished façade. Harry wants to witness more of that fire, wants to bask in it, wants to revel in the privilege of being the one who can bring it out.

He knows what Tom could do, the potential of his cruelty. However, night after night, he discovers an inescapable curiosity for what Tom will do.

A laughter, full and thrilling, shakes Harry’s body as he skips through the forest, jumping over traitorous roots and avoiding thorn bushes intent on drawing blood.

Tom, of course, has already arrived.

Harry admires the transfigured goal posts, smoother and more symmetrical than how his own half-arsed magic would ever mold them, and thinks, This is going to be fun.

“Eager?” Harry can’t help but tease.

Tom gives him one of his looks. “I don’t like wasting time.”

“Of course. Let’s get to it, then.”

Like last time, Harry offers Tom his Nimbus; they warm up by playing with the Quaffle, letting Tom reacquaint himself with the feeling of flying by revisiting a few of the trickier turns. Tom’s control over the borrowed broomstick is still shaky and hesitant, which he clearly hates with a passion, but he’s also improved considerably in a small amount of time.

This may be the one thing in which Tom Riddle isn’t a natural. However, for some reason he’s actually putting in an effort to learn, which leaves Harry wondering why. Merlin knows Tom’s mind works in mysterious ways, and even after spending a few nights with him as a snake and witnessing his unfiltered rants Harry’s not closer to understanding his convoluted reasoning.

“Tonight I think you could try your hand at playing Keeper.”

Tom, always straight to the point, immediately flies towards the transfigured hoops and circles around them. “On a practical level, how is it different from playing Chaser, anyway? The ball is the same, it’s just a matter of catching it as we’ve already been doing.”

Harry feels an appraising smile rise on his lips. “Interesting question,” he replies, turning the Quaffle in his hands. “I believe the main difference is in the freedom of movement. As a Chaser, you can follow the trajectory and position of the Quaffle and other players in the way that’s most convenient for you, while as a Keeper you have to stay in a confined area, since leaving the goals unguarded equals failure. You need sharper eyes and quicker reflexes, which is why I considered it more advanced.”

“But the smaller area should make it easier, not harder,” Tom says with a small frown.

“Theory is theory, practice is practice. You’ll see by yourself.”

“Let’s begin, then.” He looks impatient, and Harry privately thinks that it’s kind of adorable. Perhaps my love for Quidditch is rubbing off on him. Or perhaps he’s just that competitive.

So Harry begins throwing and Tom begins to understand Harry’s point as the Quaffle slides under his guard and passes easily through the hoops time after time. With sweaty hair plastered to his forehead, eyes aflame and gritted teeth, Tom struggles to prevent Harry’s craftiness from allowing him to score yet another point. He’s only managed to catch five out of twenty-four throws.

“You have to keep in mind that I’m not an actual Chaser myself,” Harry says, immensely enjoying the murderous look on Tom’s face. “This could be way worse.”

Tom stills, holding the ball as if he wants to strangle it. “You do so love to make fun of me,” he snarls. “Idiot Tom Riddle, who’s never learned to play Quidditch, who can’t even catch a bloody Quaffle. Must be so nice to sit on your throne and laugh at my pathetic attempts.”

The aggressiveness in Tom’s tone makes Harry feel all kinds of ruffled, and perhaps he should be keeping his mouth shut, but when has he ever listened to reason? So he says, “I thought you had more spine than this, for someone who sits on his throne and laughs at others all the time.”

“What?” Tom says, eyes narrow and voice sharp as a potioneer’s blade.

“You heard me. Is it fun, being an arsehole to Hermione and who knows how many others? How does it feel when you are the one whose efforts feel inadequate, Tom?”

“It’s Riddle, to you.”

“Well then, Riddle: how does it feel? And mind you, I was teasing you as I would with a friend, but I could also be cruel and cutting like you. I could get on the same level of ‘polite bastard’ you seem to revel in.”

The look Tom gives him is utterly blank, which could be seen as an improvement over being murderous, or could also mean that he’s so much more murderous than usual that he’s already on the phase where he’s choosing how to dispose of Harry’s body.

Harry sighs. This is all pointless. Tom hates him, will always hate him, and they’re just dancing around each other waiting for the perfect opportunity to... what? Tom is most likely waiting for Harry to lower his guard enough for him to strike undetected, but what does Harry want? What’s his excuse for being here?

Perhaps this time his curiosity is better left alone.

“Forget what I just said. I’ve been an arsehole,” Harry says. “We don’t have to do this if you’re so frustrated it makes you miserable.”

“Is this what you think of me? That I go around lording my knowledge over people?” Tom doesn’t sound angry—he just stares at Harry like he’s speaking in a different language.

“From what I’ve seen of you... well, yes,” Harry says, uncertain. He feels like this whole conversation is balancing on a very delicate thread. “It’s not overt, but you do act superior and rub your grades on other people’s faces, with those condescending smirks and such... and I don’t believe that you don’t do that on purpose.”

“I—do that,” Tom admits quietly, almost disturbed by the revelation. Even more interesting, he appears to be honestly considering it. “Perhaps... it’s a bit excessive.”

“We all know you’re the most skilled student in this school anyway. It’s not just about grades—you clearly have a touch, a passion for magic that can’t be found in books and that most of us can’t hope to replicate.”

Tom’s eyes catch Harry’s then, a blazing intensity passing between them that makes Harry feel… funny. “You’re telling the truth. You do think that.”

“Yeah. I mean, it’s pretty obvious, isn’t it?”

“Not coming from you.”

Harry frowns. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“You—” Tom pauses, raking a hand through his already mussed-up hair. He looks more unbuttoned than Harry’s ever seen him. “I’m not sure.”

“That you wanted to murder me in my sleep, probably,” Harry says unthinkingly. He knows that Tom has never been confused on his opinion of Harry; he’s heard enough dramatics when Tom’s spoken to him as Ezra, long tales on how insufferable Harry is, and how much of an attention-seeker, how brainless and privileged, and so on.

Surprisingly, Tom laughs. It’s brief, blink-and-you’ll miss it, but it’s happened.

Tom Riddle has laughed.

“I might have considered it, yes,” Tom confesses, not even remotely apologetic.

Harry is shocked and more charmed than he’d like to admit. “I don’t know what to do with this sudden honesty.”

Tom shakes his head, and he’s still smiling—not smirking, but smiling—and he looks as unbalanced as Harry feels. “Neither do I.” He locks eyes with Harry, and for a few brief seconds there’s that intensity again; then he breaks the spell to Accio the Quaffle from where he’d dropped it. “Let me try again.”

“Sure,” Harry says, quietly thrilled.

##

[missing scene with Tom and snake-Harry]

##

The trunk containing Potter’s Quidditch equipment sits on the forest floor, lid open. Tom studies the set of chained Bludgers and lifts an eyebrow. “Last time you said that in this lesson I was supposed to ‘learn my way around a Beater’s bat’.” The unspoken question of why Potter hasn’t handed him any bat yet hangs in the air.

“Yeah, I said that, but then I realised that Bludgers might not be the best idea right now,” Potter admits, shrugging. “You’re probably already familiar with how they work from a spectator’s point of view, but this is another instance of theory being very different from practice.”

“In short, you believe I’m not able to undertake this particular task,” Tom says. Of course Potter wouldn’t consider him worthy enough for the scary, angry balls, not when Tom still struggles with inconsistent balance and shaky steering at the best of times. Furthermore, Potter’s famed superior abilities allow him to keenly judge the depth of Tom’s incompetency and find him wanting.

Unimpressed by Tom’s logic, Potter rolls his eyes. “Is it necessary for you to be so dramatic?”

“Don’t bother with lying. We both know it’s the truth,” Tom insists. He has no patience for this display of futile denial.

“It’s a distorted version of the truth, so you can beat yourself up for not being perfect enough, or some crap along those lines. Yes, it’s probably not safe for you to engage with Bludgers yet. No, it doesn’t mean that you’re useless of whatever you’re telling yourself.”

“You seem awfully confident in your ability to interpret my thoughts.” Out of ingrained habit, Tom reinforces his Occlumency shields. While it’s unlikely that Potter has the wits and finesse to master the delicate art of Legilimency, he’s also revealed himself to be unpredictable in many occasions. Better safe than sorry.

“Maybe you’re just obvious,” Potter says dismissively, before tapping his wand on the small set of chains that holds the Golden Snitch in place at the center of the trunk. The ball springs free, only for Potter to catch it immediately with practiced ease and a gleam in his eyes that promises nothing good for Tom. “Tonight we’re Seeking.”

“Will the Snitch’s movements be restricted to this clearing, or will we have to follow its path amongst the trees?”

“Only the clearing,” Potter confirms with a small smile.

Tom lets his gaze roam to evaluate the length and breadth of the space. The shiny surface of the ball would be easily discernible against the dark background. “Seems feasible.”

The smile on Potter’s face grows wider. “Let’s begin, then.”

What followed were blurred hours of Tom fumbling his way through sharp turns, desperately trying to keep himself from losing his grip, then losing it anyway at every attempt to catch the blasted ball, then trying to regain his balance, then remembering to loosen his posture, then failing at commanding his limbs to go on a single direction, thus dipping downwards at uncontrollable speed until he would have surely eaten grass if not for Potter’s steadying hand.

Once they finally touch the ground, Tom flings away Potter’s broom, rage painting his world in red. He doesn’t give a single fuck about the bloody stick of wood and the bloody Snitch, he’s bruised all over the place and he’s sick of this, he won’t stand a single second of humiliating himself any further, he’s utterly and completely done. “How do you fucking do this?” Tom roars. “Why would you willingly subject yourself to this torture?”

“Uh, T—Riddle—”

“I don’t know what I was thinking,” Tom goes on, ignoring him. “Why I even considered to accept this whole ordeal as if it deserves any of my time.”

“Riddle, I told you, this isn’t an obligation,” Potter says. “We can stop, it’s okay.” He’s dismounted too, and he stands there, slowly and cautiously inching towards Tom.

‘It’s okay’—as if Tom needs to be soothed or, worse, coddled. The infantilising undertones make Tom want to tear Potter to shreds. There’s a Cruciatus on the tip of his tongue, waiting to be unleashed, waiting for him to reap Potter’s pain for witnessing Tom making a fool of himself and daring to treat him like a volatile child. I doubt he’ll be so entertained when he’s contorting on the ground, screaming his lungs out, he thinks savagely, extracting his wand from its holster.

As the first syllable of the curse leaves Tom’s mouth, red light charging on the tip of his wand, Potter is fast—he crouches and rolls away from its trajectory, touching down over the stone in the middle of the clearing and drawing up a Shield Charm strong enough that Tom can hear it crackling like lightning. “What the fuck, Riddle?” he snaps, but there’s no surprise or fear on his face, only the sharp focus of a seasoned duellist.

Unfortunately for Potter, a mere Shield Charm isn’t enough to deter Tom; many Dark curses are designed to eat through them like a parchment set aflame. He smiles, all teeth, and Potter seems to sense his intentions, eyes narrowing.

Then the unthinkable happens.

Potter casts non-verbally at the same time Tom’s spell almost strikes home; the jets of their magic meet in midair and twine together in a single stream of pure gold light. Birdsong erupts, filling the space with an otherworldly melody, while luminous threads of magic are birthed from the stream like a spiderweb, surrounding Tom and Harry in a dome until the forest disappears beyond the shimmering brilliance.

What in Salazar’s name is this?

The entirety of Tom’s world is reduced to this moment in time, to Potter’s green eyes reflecting the light. Mesmerised, Tom watches as beads of light appear in the stream of their magic. His wand vibrates and he clutches it harder; the beads gets closer and closer to its tip, and Tom feels the light whispering at him to accept sanctuary in its song, to let it wash away his anger, to cease fighting, to surrender, and his whole body becomes weightless, being gently lifted from the ground by this invisible, absurd, liminal force—

And suddenly it ends.

The light disappears, leaving them to adjust to the night again: the link has been broken. Tom aches for it, deep in his bones. He can already tell how the echoes of that melody will haunt him for many nights to come.

He and Potter stare at each other, feet back on the ground, eyes wide, breathless and at a loss for words.

“What was that?” Tom breathes. “What did you do?”

Potter shakes his head, bewildered. “I have no clue. I just—stopped it.”

“You stopped it?”

“I think so.” Potter crawls towards a point to his side, scanning the grass back and forth until he recovers his wand from where he must have lost it when he interrupted the contact.

“Why?” Tom asks, unable to keep the word inside his still pounding chest. Why would you commit such a blasphemous act?

“Because—whatever it was, I’m not sure either of us was prepared for it.” He’s holding Tom’s gaze, straight on, in a way that reaches deep under his skin.

Unnerved, Tom skims the surface of Potter’s mind and finds a confusing jumble of... something. Too many somethings, all swirling in dizzying patterns. Wonder, doubt, curiosity, wariness, joy—all underlined by the same pure bliss that has enveloped Tom under the dome.

This magic is messing with my senses. “Don’t speak to me ever again. We’re done,” Tom says, with as much vicious strength as he can muster, rising on wobbly legs.

Potter sits in the grass and says nothing, making no move to stop him.

Tom can feel the weight of his gaze all the way to the castle. Once he reaches the dungeons, the Slytherin common room and finally his own bed, he realises how not a single part of his plan has worked out as expected.

His wand, who’s been a faithful companion since he was eleven, has acted in a way that was absolutely mystifying. Still shivering with the residue of that golden magic that doesn’t let go of his limbs, Tom performs a series of spells only to have the proof of what he already expected: the wand responds as usual and nothing is out of the ordinary—not now, not anymore. But if that unreal... thing wasn’t a malfunction, or caused by a curse, then what was it? He’s never heard of anything like it.

For the first time in what feels like forever, Tom’s out of his depth.

He thought he’d ruin Potter’s reputation, only to end up tired, bruised, with his magic acting up unpredictably and his thoughts scrambled beyond recognition. He thought he would teach Potter a lesson, and yet he lost himself in birdsong and light, giving away his power like an utter fool, until Potter was the one to separate them. And isn’t it funny that the reckless Gryffindor poster boy was the one who acted appropriately, while Tom has been too weak, too compromised? Weak, his mind provides.

How could it all have gone so wrong? How could Tom have lost the guidance of his own compass so completely?

For the briefest of moments, he wishes for Ezra’s presence; the snake has no interest in what he calls ‘complicated human affairs’, and his snark would help to keep Tom grounded. And isn’t this another sign of Tom’s weakness, to need another—an animal—to recover his balance?

He rubs his eyes, feeling both keyed-up and drained to the bone. A restless night awaits him.

However, he refuses to surrender to the hold of these thoughts. It’s completely useless to wallow in defeat and waste any more time contemplating this utter failure. Whatever happens next, whatever stunt Potter pulls that could interfere with Tom’s position in Slytherin, he’ll deal with it. Tom is cunning and capable enough to adapt to what fate has in store for him, as he’s always done.

He digs into his potion stash for a vial of Dreamless Sleep.

Potter can rot.

##

Harry crosses for the millionth time the opening sentence of his Potions essay. His parchment has turned into a blot of ink and he sighs, his wand to vanish the black stain. Then, he stares at the blank scroll, mind empty of coherent thoughts, unable to string together the meaning of a single line in the open book before him.

“I need help,” he finally says to Hermione, almost begging. They’re sitting, along with Ron, in their usual corner of the library. “I know, I know, I should write my own essay, but this isn’t—Hermione?” Harry hesitates, as he sees her casting a sturdy Muffliato around their table, the usual sign that a serious conversation was about to happen. Harry shoots a questioning look at Ron, but for once his friend appears to be on the same page as Hermione, leaving Harry out of the loop.

“Harry,” Hermione begins, with a concerned tone and furrowed eyebrows, “what’s going on? You’ve been distracted and spacing out for days, like you can’t focus on anything. It’s the third time you’ve asked for my help this week—even with difficult assignments, it’s not usually that bad.” She’s studying Harry’s face like she would a particularly complex Arithmancy equation, looking for the familiar tells that will betray his secrets.

Even though he knows perfectly well that she’s right, and that he did in fact intend to have one of those conversations, Harry protests on principle: “It’s Potions, you know how much I struggle with it! These essays are an absolute nightmare!”

“Yeah, mate, but maybe it would help if you read from the Potions book, instead of the Defense one,” Ron suggests, tapping his index finger on Harry’s book.

Harry stares at him, mild horror creeping up on his face, before letting his eyes fall on the book. He closes it and, sure enough, the battered cover doesn’t lie. “Fuck,” he says, defeated. He pushes up his glasses to rub at his face. “No wonder it didn’t make sense.”

Unlike Hermione, Ron doesn’t seem bothered by Harry’s behaviour; he shakes his head in playful disbelief, but he seems more curious than worried, which is relieving.

“So, what is it?” Hermione says.

Here it is, the moment Harry’s been dreading since this whole ordeal with Tom has started: telling the truth to his friends.

Like many other times, he doesn’t have a proper explanation for acting the way he does; in true Marauder fashion, he’d just acted on impulse, following the trail of fun. Unlike those other times, however, an explanation will be needed at some point.

This doesn’t mean that he isn’t also feeling quite defensive about this particular issue. After all, it’s not just about him; this is Tom’s business as much as it’s Harry’s, and Hermione won’t be happy to discover that her rival is involved. Harry still isn’t prepared for the fuss she will undoubtedly kick up.

And of course, predictable as the sunrise, Ron asks: “Is this because of whatever you’ve been doing when you sneak out at night?”

“Why are you being so secretive, Harry?” Hermione questions, leaning forwards and lowering her voice even though the Muffling Charm protects them from eavesdroppers. “Are you doing something that could get you expelled?”

“Hermione, I do things that could get me thrown in Azkaban on the regular.” Like being an unregistered Animagus, for instance.

And isn’t that another guilt-flavoured train of thought? The list of people that will need an explanation does include Tom himself. He’s warming up to Ezra in a way that he would have never allowed if he were aware of who hid behind the snake’s form. Yeah, Harry can’t say he’s looking forward to confessing that particular secret to Tom. After all, how can Harry admit to him that’s listened to his unfiltered rants and musings without Tom murdering him in cold blood? The Slytherin is already mistrustful enough, and lying by omission is one of the most dangerous things Harry could do, especially considering that Tom is a Legilimens.

Hermione waves an impatient hand to dismiss Harry’s point, snapping his attention back to the conversation. “You know what I mean, and you’re deflecting.”

Harry begins to open his mouth, but before he’s figured out what he’s going to say Hermione interrupts him again, voice gone soft: “Did you break up with your partner?”

“My what?” Again, Harry looks at Ron and finds none of the confusion he expects on his face.

“You have been disappearing a lot,” Ron offers with an half-shrug. “It was the most obvious conclusion.”

Harry gapes, stunned by the turn the conversation has taken. “Did you two really think that I have a secret lover? Why in the name of Merlin would I hide that?” If only they knew who my supposed ‘lover’ is. And isn’t that a thought, Tom being anyone’s lover, and Harry’s lover to boot? It’s too absurd, too unthinkable to even consider.

Yes, Harry can admit that Tom is handsome, and that he certainly doesn’t lack admirers; even with his poor eyesight, he’s not that ignorant of the Slytherin’s charms. However, Tom’s usual regal demeanour creates a distance between him and the rest of the world. Like a marble statue, Tom Riddle is meant to be admired while staying unreachable, and Harry can’t imagine him letting his shields down for anyone.

Except he did with me. Harry has been a witness to Tom’s temper, his cruelty, his smile. As obstinate as Tom has been with his will to drag Harry into the mud and his constant misinterpretation of Harry’s motives, he’s also let Harry see unflattering, vulnerable sides of him that many others would kill for.

How did that happen? What does this say about us?

“You’re spacing out again,” Hermione sighs. “But if it’s not a secret lover, then what is this all about?”

“I’ve been seeing someone. Not in that way,” he adds, before they can say anything. “But we kind of, uh, had a disagreement, and our magic reacted strangely and I was wondering if you knew something about it that I don’t.”

At the mention of an intellectual debate Hermione perks up, her posture instantly straightening. Harry tells them an abridged version of what happened in the clearing, glossing over the more incriminating details that could reveal Tom’s identity or the reason behind their fight.

“I’m pretty sure I’ve read about something like this before,” Hermione says, tapping her index finger to her lips. She bends to the side to rummage inside her magically expanded bag where she keeps a ridiculous amount of books—though Harry has to admit that, on occasions like this, having a portable library does come in handy. “I believe it was on a wandlore book I got last year. It’s hard to find any useful information on the subject because wandmaking is passed on through apprenticeship and very few masters have bothered writing down their knowledge, but I lucked on this tome that was gathering dust on a corner at Flourish and Blott’s, I’m fairly sure they didn’t even remember having it—ah, here it is!” she exclaims, showing them an ancient leatherbound volume whose title has faded completely. After a few minutes of leafing through the yellowed pages, she says: “I was right! Priori Incantatem, an extremely rare phenomenon that manifests when two practitioners bearing twin wands—that is, wands with the twin cores—attempt a duel.”

“So my... acquaintance’s wand has a phoenix feather core like mine?”

Hermione studies the book again. “Not just any phoenix feather, apparently. It has to be a feather from the same phoenix as yours, which I guess is why most wands don’t have a twin at all, or never meet their twin.” She lifts her gaze from the page to meet Harry’s eyes with her bright ones. “Harry, who is this person? This could be an amazing opportunity to study something that—”

“I can’t tell you, and they made it very clear that they don’t want me to speak to them ever again,” Harry says. Classes with the Slytherins have been... something. While outwardly nothing had changed between them, as they’d never interacted in the first place, Harry could feel the spiky coldness radiating from Tom as if it were alive and ready for him to try and cross it.

“But mate,” Ron interjects, gesturing vaguely at Harry, “wouldn’t they like to know about this? If my wand started shooting weird golden light during a duel, I’d be freaking out and thinking that my magic isn’t working or something like that.”

“I think they’re perfectly capable of researching this on their own.” Maybe that’s the reason behind their odd connection. Their wands... attract them to each other, or something.

Would Tom even want to know? The truth is... Ron is right. Someone like Tom, who prides himself on knowing everything and always being in control, must have been utterly shaken by his magic going haywire all of a sudden.

Harry’s choice is made.

##

A week after the last encounter with Potter, Ezra reappears in the dungeons just as Tom’s Prefect rounds come to an end.

Tom wonders at the snake’s ability to be so precise about his routine. Ready to cage his wayward almost-but-not-quite familiar again, this time with no intention of letting go, Tom lifts his wand in lieu of a greeting.

“Put that away, human,” Ezra hisses, and his tone is enough to still Tom’s tongue. He sounds stiff, his muscles tight and struggling against his obvious distress.

Eyes narrowing, Tom asks: “What happened to you?” If someone had dared to hurt his snake...

“Too many questions.”

“That was one question.”

“Pointless details. Follow me,” Ezra commands, before slithering down the dimly lit corridor, wasting no time to check if Tom is going after him.

Tom curses under his breath. Disrespectful, disobedient creature. He casts a silent Disillusionment Charm over himself and trails behind the sinuous shadow; the snake avoids the treacherous staircases, leading Tom behind faded tapestries and secret passages that he’s never encountered before. Spelling away the cobwebs to prevent them from sticking to his skin and hair, Tom finds himself thinking that not even Potter would have discovered these places—then banishes the reminder of Potter’s existence from his head entirely. The bastard doesn’t deserve a single crumb of his attention.

At this point he’s also wondering if Ezra is trying to get him in trouble on purpose. While the snake has never been particularly talkative and often acts oddly even by reptile standards, this mysterious demeanour is unusual and bordering on suspicious.

Ezra halts in front of a familiar, half-open bathroom door, flicking his tongue at the air; then, apparently satisfied, he slides inside.

More and more confused by this bizarre pseudo-adventure, Tom follows.

Once they’re under the greenish, dim light of the Chamber of Secrets, surrounded by snake-decorated pillars that hold up the vast ceiling, Ezra melts into the shadows and disappears from sight. The last shreds of Tom’s patience evaporate. “Ezra, what is going on?” he barely refrains from shouting.

He hears rustling from behind him, and when he turns in the direction of the sound his eyes fall on the pavement. There’s a book in front of him that hadn’t been there before. The cover is clearly old, black and unassuming, but it means very little for Tom. Wary, he extracts his wand. The Chamber is not a place in which one can trust random books appearing out of thin air.

It’s enough to distract him.

“Incarcerous,” a voice says—a treacherous, insufferable voice—and Tom is bound and constricted by ropes of warm magic that bring him to his knees. As if the humiliation wasn’t enough, he watches, powerless, as Potter waltzes in his field of vision and oh-so-casually disarms him.

“You utter bastard,” Tom snarls, like a flesh-eating curse, “release me.” The spell holds strong against his attempts to free himself wandlessly.

With a grin that shows too many teeth, Potter replies airily, “I don’t think I will. We have a lot of things to discuss, you see, and I don’t fancy being hexed.” His gaze turns sharp and he crouches in front of Tom, mockingly. “Besides, you deserve a little taste of your own medicine. Going around caging random snakes? Very rude, Tom.”

“What have you done to my snake?” No ropes will protect Potter from Tom’s ire. His magic is beginning to flare up, warming his skin, ready to set ablaze everything on its path.

Potter feels it, but all he does is sit cross-legged before Tom, unbothered. “Your snake?” he laughs.

“I caught him. He’s mine.”

“Putting me in a glass case and having a few one-sided conversations about how much you hate me is hardly enough to call me yours.”

Tom’s thoughts screech to a halt. The implication behind Potter’s words dawns on him, like curtains closing at the end of a play. It can’t be true, can it? Tom couldn’t have been so foolish—but wasn’t he the one who’s compared Ezra to Potter more than once? Oh, the irony. The cruelty of his misplaced belief that he could be himself with anyone, even an animal.

And then, Potter’s face opens, and his expression morphs into a genuine smile. Something travels down Tom’s spine at the sight. “You’re surprisingly warm, though. And you smell good under that posh cologne,” he says.

“You knew,” Tom says. “You knew all along that I wanted to sabotage you. That I despise you.”

“Yes.”

“You had no right.”

“You put me in a difficult position, Tom. On one hand, I was very aware of the fact that I was taking advantage of you; on the other hand, however... what was I supposed to do? Let you harm me out of the goodness of my heart? I’m not that self-sacrificing.”

[nyxisuga]

Evening with Kenma

genre: k.kozume x reader // fluff

word count: 1k

a/n: I just started writing this with no particular goal in mind, umm I haven’t read the manga so I don’t know what the characters are like post-timeskip. I know their general occupations but since I don’t really know their typical life-style, I kind of just made it up. Again I didn’t really plan anything, I just wanted to make a fic as Kenma’s s/o, just something short and sweet so I hope you enjoy :>

The evening was mostly pretty chill. I imagine spending time with Kenma would most definitely mean playing some of his favorite games and watching certin movies.

You wouldn’t really go anywhere, you’d both stay in the comfort of his home.

If Kuroo found out that the two of you were spending time together, he’d invite himself over, but that wouldn’t ruin your fun. If anything, it would make everything even more entertaining.

He’ll eventually leave to attend to his own responsibilities but you’ll stick around not wanting to go home just yet.

Kenma will try to close it off by getting food because he knows you have more important things to do but since his fridge was unexpectedly empty you’d have to go out to buy some.

The two of you had gone out to get food. You had already spent the day together at his house and you were gonna close it off by eating some ramen at your favorite park. It was nothing fancy, it was just a small business selling bowls of delicious food from a cart in the park but you had to admit, it was really good. Kenma ate about half of his before he stopped and took out his phone. “Are you gonna eat that,” you asked. “You can have some if you want,” he offered. “Leave a little for me though.” You took the bowl out of his lap and ate a portion of his ramen before giving it back to him. “Whatcha doing?” You leaned over to glance at his screen. “Just playing… you ready to go now?”

“You didn’t finish your ramen though,” you pointed out. “I’m full.”

“Hmph, then I’ll eat it.” You quickly finished off the rest of his food before returning the bowls to the cart. “Thank you,” you told the old woman running it. She bowed her head in response but eyed Kenma as the two of you departed. “It’s kinda late… you should be at home,” he said to you as you caught up. “It’s a Friday, it’s never ‘late,’” you argued. “I meant it’s dark and you shouldn’t be out here during that time…” he argued back but his tone was softer.

“We can go back to my place so you can pick your stuff up and I’ll drive you home.” His expression was monotonous but you could hear the insistence in his voice. The two of you walked in comfortable silence, counting the cars that passed you. Every once in a while you would tell each other how many cars you caught to see who had more. Kenma suddenly broke the silence with a question; “Are you doing anything tomorrow,” he asked instead. “No… why?”

“You wanna come over again? We could play this new game I got. I haven’t played it yet, I wanted to wait so we could start it together at the same time.” You smiled, “Sure.”

After a little while, you could tell you were close to his apartment. Suddenly you began to feel a light drizzle come down. Raindrops started to fall, tapping you on your eyelids and nose. The drizzle then turned into rain. “Ack!” You felt something be draped over your head. Kenma had put his hoodie over you for cover. You wanted to protest, knowing he needed it too but he grabbed your wrist and ran. “It’s not much farther,” he tried to reassure you. You ran until you finally arrived at the lobby of his apartment complex. The moment you escaped the rain, Kenma stopped his hands on his knees, breathing hard. “You good?” He nodded through his breaths. He recollected himself after a moment. “Sorry.”

“Here.” You wrapped the hoodie’s sleeves around his neck and draped the rest of it over his shoulders.

“You have no stamina,” you teased. He looked away, blushing. “You know, I’m not used to you being this close to me,” he said. “Sorry…” You stepped back, trying to give him some space.

As soon as you were inside your apartment, You plopped down on his couch and checked your clothes. They were damp. Kenma disappeared into his room. Moments later he came back out. “Here.” He tossed you something. When you caught it you found it was a pair of his sweats and an old short sleeve shirt from his high school. “Put those on, I’m gonna go change,” He disappeared again, closing his bedroom door this time. 

You quickly changed into the new clothes he gave you. They were much bigger than you expected them to be. His shirt hung loosely over your legs and his sweats practically dragged on the floor. You sat back down on his couch. “I’m done,” you called. Moments later, Kenma came out of his bedroom in his pajamas and sat down next to you. Getting a closer look at the patterns on his shirt you laughed. “Kitten pajamas?” Kenma blushed once more. “They’re old, Kuroo picked them out without my consent,” he hissed. “There there.” Your tone was mocking. Kenma let out a huff. You stroked your hand on the top of his head, it was something you did often that actually worked when you wanted him to calm down. “Your hands are cold,” he said. You were about to respond, probably to tease him again but he leaned over you and grabbed a blanket from your side. He draped it over the two of you and pulled you closer to his chest. The comfort made you drowsy but you still managed to blush through it all. “I might not be used to you being this close to me, but that doesn’t mean I don’t love it,” he said softly. He noticed your head bobbing, an effort you made to stay awake. “I don’t think the rain is going to stop anytime soon… and we’re most definitely not going to drive through that to get you home, so… just rest here for a little bit.” You gave in to exhaustion. Everything about the setting made you sleepy. The pattering of the rain on the windows, the warm comfort of the blanket and being held by Kenma, and his soothing voice that finally urged you to sleep, which you did. 

You rested your head on his shoulder and he rested his on you in return. “Kenma,” you murmured half asleep. “Yes?”

“I love you.”

“Love you too n/n,” he whispered back.

[enchantedblackrose]

All the Pieces Pt 2

Sirius Black/Fem Reader

Warnings: light swearing, kinda long, unedited. I broke canon and will probably continue to do so in other parts now?

Part 1|| Part 3|| Part 4|| Part 5

Part 2 of ?

No more secrets from you I would lose to love you And I have never felt so Like a man that's been set free I can spread my arms now - Pieces, Dan Powell

Your questions wait longer still as you watch Sirius step hesitantly into your living room. It's not completely conscious, but you can't stop looking at him. He's so skinny and looks defeated, but then that fresh morning sunlight dances across his face. For a second you see glimpses of the boy you knew years ago.

Sirius clears his throat. The sudden noise startles you and you nearly jump.

"Shower!" You yell, though you're not sure why it comes out as a shouted demand.

"'m sorry, what?"

"I mean, you must want a hot shower?" 

Disbelief creeps onto his face. "I would love a hot shower so don't take this wrong, but you must have a hundred questions for me?"

"A thousand actually," you smile, "but they can wait."

Your compassion causes a warmth to fill Sirius that he hasn't felt since the last time he was in your presence. He nods his gratitude, not trusting himself to speak. 

You direct him to the top of the stairs and inform him of the fresh towels in the linen closet and the second bedroom he may use. Before he closes the bathroom door, you tell him you'll see if you can scrounge up any other clothes for him.

"And then if you want," you say, "we can set those damned robes on fire." Sirius laughs as you walk away.

Never being one able to throw anything away, you know for certain you have some old clothing belonging to Sirius. Not trusting the old rickety steps of the pull down ladder, you apparate to the attic. 

"Lumos." The tip of your wand illuminates enough of the storage space that you easily find the light fixture and gently pull on the chain. You put out your wand.

Immediately you spot the desired trunk and the sight of it causes you to draw a sharp breath. Your habit of saving everything while at times like this is beneficial, it often brings you some pain. You sit in front of the trunk, opening it slowly.

Photos and a small midnight blue velvet jewelry box sit on the very top. You pick them up and hesitate before setting them aside. 

Next you pull out a large leather jacket, followed by men's pants, several shirts, including tees with the face of David Bowie, another with the Stones, and even one with ABBA. You throw your head back in laughter; you really do keep anything and everything, but this is why. Even these mundane items hold precious memories.

You set the clothes beside you and thumb through the photos: Sirius kissing you on the cheek, Sirius kissing James on the cheek, you and a very pregnant Lily at her baby shower, you and Remus laughing with a pink haired, confused Sirius in the background, Peter attempting to rollerblade, Sirius in his dog form, the marauders near the Whomping Willow at school, you and Sirius slow dancing at James and Lily's wedding. You sigh before gently placing them back in the trunk. You pick up the little box, the delicate fabric still plush and smooth in your hand. But you decide to return it to the trunk without opening  it. 

Sirius should be getting out of the shower soon and you want the clothes ready for him when he is. You turn off the light before disapparating to the guest bedroom. The clothes were well preserved and a few incantations later they are freshly laundered. You leave them at the end of the bed.

You retreat to the kitchen to prepare brunch. The food is mostly done when from above you hear the water stop, squeaks of doors opening and shutting, the creaking of floorboards and then Sirius barking a hearty laugh. You smile to yourself.

"You always were a pack rat," he says, appearing after a minute. You see he opted not to wear any of the muggle musician shirts, but instead he's in a solid black t-shirt and dark jeans. Both hang loosely on his thin frame. You say nothing about his playful quip, mostly because it's true. You indicate for him to sit in one of the wooden kitchen chairs. "That said where's your engagement ring?"

Your heart sinks as you think to that blue box upstairs.

"Sirius," you warn, your voice low.

"I'm sorry. That wasn't fair. Though you not wearing it was the second thing I noticed about you." He offers a smile, but you don't relent, refusing to dive into this conversation when there's still so many answers he owes. Seeing your hardened expression, he holds his hands up signaling he still means no offense.

You sigh. "What was the first thing?"

His grin widens into a full smile. "Your eyes of course. They're just as I remember. Beautiful,  full of goodness and emotions. I could always tell what you were feeling."

Despite yourself, you feel heat rise to your cheeks, blushing over Sirius Black's words like you were still a schoolgirl. It's mortifying to adult you and you take a large sip of orange juice to avoid eye contact.

Sirius smirks slightly, but begins to eat. The array of food mimics a small buffet: chocolate chip muffins, pancakes, bacon, toast, oatmeal and scrambled eggs. A glass pitcher with orange juice sits beside jams and butter.

Sirius takes more than a bit of everything. A mostly comfortable silence falls over the table as two of you eat. Even when you have finished, you refuse to bombard Sirius with questions, allowing him to enjoy the meal.

Finally, getting his fill, he peers at you across the table. It's finally time for you to learn the truth.

"What do you want to know?"

"Everything," you reply without missing a beat. And so Sirius starts with Peter's betrayal ("literal filthy rat! How could he?" you cry) and ends with knocking at your door.

Your eyebrows furrow. Sirius told you his story and you're still left with questions.

"What's on your mind?" He asks knowingly.

"How did you know where I was? Remus stays here once in a while, did you know that? What's Harry like? Merlin, Peter escaped? He's out there free and you're...do you think he knows where You Know Who is?" You rapid fire questions without thought or pause, but Sirius chuckles.

"I can only answer one at a time, darling. Slow down. Breathe, maybe. I'll answer them all." He shifts in his chair, leaning back slightly. "Dumbledore came to that tower where I was held and told me, in his way, that I may have a friend here. That he would send an owl to that friend explaining my innocence. Remus and I had little chance to chat dealing with that treacherous rat, and Snape," he sneers "and the full moon, of course. But I am glad to know you and Remus maintained your friendship," he pauses as if wanting to say more, but thinks better of it. 

Both a sad and happy smile plays on his lips as he answers your next question. "Harry is a carbon copy of James, with the same knack for trouble, though he has Lily's eyes. I'm hoping he has her common sense, too. He's got a good head on his shoulders and the right sorts of friends surround him." Sirius's expression goes dark. "Peter will go wherever he thinks he'll be protected. Voldemort is out there, and I'm willing to bet Peter will do anything to get to him."

Another silence falls over the two of you and you shudder at the prospect of Voldemort returning.

"I'm sorry if I asked too many questions," you finally say after a long moment.

"You didn't."

"You're welcome to stay here. For as long as you need."

"I'd like to. I'm not sure how long, but a couple nights at least if it's no trouble."

"It's no trouble. Er, does your hippogriff need anything?"

"Buckbeak? Nah. There's plenty for him to hunt and he's free to roam a bit, right? I'll introduce you two later."

You laugh. "I'll show you to your room. You must be exhausted."

He catches your wrist before you walk away. His touch makes you feel as though you're on fire. You ignore the sensation and look Sirius in the eye as he speaks. "Thank you. Your kindness is truly unmatched, y/n. Always has been." You don't know how to respond. As if on cue, he yawns and then frowns. "I haven't asked anything about you."

"There will be time for that later. C'mon." You smile reassuringly but mentally you're thankful to prolong any more heavy conversations.

Sirius follows you up the stairs into the bedroom. Your eyes scan the room and you frown. The pale green wallpaper accented with tiny pink rosebuds and the bed donned with oversized blankets and half a dozen throw pillows is a stark contrast to Sirius. You mumble something about not being able to redecorate this room just yet. But Sirius just smiles. You draw the curtains shut in an attempt to block the midday sunlight.

"I think you should have everything you need? Of course help yourself to anything in the kitchen. I'll head to town to get some things."

His face is solemn. "Y/n, stay with me?" He clears his throat. "I mean...will you. Please?"

Wordlessly you nod. You let him climb into the queen sized bed first. Once he's settled, you get in, laying next to him. He moves you closer. Your head rests on his shoulder. He breathes in your scent as his arms wrap loosely around you. You drape an arm across his chest, assuring him his touch is welcomed. His grip tightens slightly as his breathing slows. You watch the rising and fall of his chest until your eyelids flutter shut.

Light tapping on your front door pulls you out of your dreams. Confusion hits first as you're heavy with the weight of a man's arms around you. Sirius. You smile as you become more awake, remembering the moments just hours ago. The knocking grows louder. Urgent, even. Panic sets in.

You shake Sirius awake. He bolts upright in bed, his breathing labored. You place a hand on his chest to calm him. For the moment at least. "Someone's at the door." You tell him in a harsh whisper . Sirius's eyes widen. "Transform," you urge. "And for Merlin's sake stay here." He wants to argue, but knows you're right. You wait until he becomes a large black furry mass of a dog. You close the bedroom door behind you, earning a low whine from Sirius in the process. You hurry down the stairs, clutching your wand in your dominant hand. Fear courses through your veins. You feel your heartbeat quicken with each step.

Drawing a deep breath, you swing the front door open.  The sight nearly stops your heart.

"Finally y/n. Is he here?"

Taglist: @oingo233

[omg-imagine]

Forget Me Not (Part 12/15)

Pairing: Keanu Reeves x Reader

Summary: After you wake up from a coma and realize that your memories from the last five years have been erased, Keanu works to bring back what you have lost.

Words: 4.7k

Warnings: Angst, language

A/N: Kinda nervous posting again since it’s been a while, but we’re winding down to the end of this story with only three more parts to go (2 chapters + an epilogue). As always, feedback is appreciated. Thanks for sticking around, and I hope you enjoy!

Part 11

Home.

You are home. It’s supposed to be home.

But it wasn’t. To you, it couldn’t be. 

This place feels too far from home, too foreign. You had no memories of it, no recollection of the safety and security it offers. Not even the faintest remembrance of the laughter, smiles, and tears; the fondness and the sadness these four walls have witnessed over the years. 

You can’t call it home. You don’t know where home is, and you’re not sure you have one anymore. 

Not after leaving him behind.

It’s cold and dark when you first wake, sleep weighing heavily in your eyes. A pair of curtains block out the sun from filtering into the room, leaving you to wonder if you had slept through half the day. With a yawn, you stretch, the bed underneath creaking as your body fully rouses from yet another night of fitful slumber. Almost a month back in New York, and it doesn’t make sense to keep blaming your lack of energy on the time difference.

The ache is still ever-present. The pain caused by the void in your heart remains, sharply throbbing in your chest with its refusal to go away. Two heartbreaks, two betrayals, occurring five years apart, but it feels as though not much time has passed in-between. 

It hurts to ponder about it, that evening when your seemingly perfect little world came crashing down. Hiding behind rose-tinted glasses, you were unknowingly tricked, fully caught up in a well-crafted illusion. His illusion. Love has blinded you to the sad reality, and in the end, it left you a shattered mess, a hollow shell of your former self.

You doubt you’ll ever be whole again.

Forcing yourself out from under the covers, you reach for your phone on the nightstand to check the time before scrolling through your notifications. Nothing was of interest to you, fortunately; you didn’t have the energy to respond to those you suddenly abandoned. Friends who cared about you but realized you were never close to them. Not in the way it used to be.

As you skimmed over the new texts and emails, you then came across his now unsaved number. The moment you stepped on the plane, you deleted his contact from your phone and blocked him. Yet the last messages he sent to you were still there and haven’t been read since, though you already knew what they could entail—

I’m sorry.

It was never my intention to hurt you.

Please give me another chance.

Let me fix this.

Just come back, Y/N. Come back home.

Home. There was that damn word again. You were beginning to loathe it, even more so knowing that whenever you think of home, you wind up thinking of him.

The last time you saw him was the morning after the storm. Booking a one-way ticket back to the east coast, you then spent the early hours packing as many clothes that would fit in a single suitcase. Tears had long since dried up, having none left as you headed down the stairs, ignoring the look he gave you from afar.

He was dressed in the outfit he had on the night prior; his hair disheveled, eyes bloodshot, and it was quite obvious he endured no sleep. Your resolve nearly crumbles as your gazes connect, bodies close enough that he could reach out the slightest bit, and he’d be holding your hand in the palm of his. 

Fighting the urge, you didn’t cave in. You couldn’t allow yourself to fall for it—for him. 

No, never again.

As expected, he followed you out of the house, remaining quiet as he watched the cab driver load your luggage in the trunk. You paid him no attention when he approached the vehicle once you climbed in, wanting nothing more than to escape this nightmare. With nowhere else to go and no one to turn to, you decided it was best to leave California, not that you belonged there anyway.

It played out like a scene from a movie—the taxi pulling out of the driveway slowly as the raindrops started to fall. Hearing him call out your name, his voice cracking with each syllable, made you hesitate for a beat. Perhaps you could forgive him, you had thought in that split-second. Forgive and forget; let what happened in the past stay in the past. 

But even if you did, the pain’s still there, and it was overpowering. This pain resulting from his deception had been too consuming, too unbearable to move on.

You told the driver to hurry as you couldn’t afford to miss your flight.

The atmosphere in the car was fraught with grim silence. As the house sequestered in the hills vanishes in the rearview mirror, you knew you were running away from it all. You couldn’t stand being here in LA, where every turn, every corner, and every street reminds you of a life that wasn’t truly yours. 

As idyllic it once was, you wanted no part of it anymore. Instead, you sought for familiarity, the life you used to have, the one you could only remember. 

What you thought was your real home.

Unable to hold it in any longer, you had broken down in the backseat, never feeling more alone than you did at that moment.

You wish you could forget, but it’s not that easy. It’s never easy. Memories of him linger in your mind, still tragically fresh as they haunt you day in and day out. Closing your eyes, you could see him wearing this smile that used to make your stomach flutter. You came to love his smile the same way you had loved him wholly. 

Now? Seeing it was a stab to the heart—a reminder of how he took advantage of your condition, your vulnerability. Of every lie you were fed. That smile, the one you previously hoped to wake up to for the rest of your life, had been an act, a facade. 

Everything had been a facade.

A sudden knock on the door startles you, and you clicked off the phone screen before announcing to whoever that they could come in. Your mother Nancy enters soon after, her face displaying concern when she realizes you had just woken up. She’s silent as she walks towards the window and then pushes the curtains aside, the sunlight outside immediately washing over the room. 

Briefly, you squint to adjust to the brightness, a confirmation that it was past noon already—another wasted day.

“Hey, darling,” she speaks softly as she moves to sit on the mattress beside you. “How are you doing?”

There’s no point in lying, but as much as you greatly appreciated her caringness, you didn’t want to burden her with your problems. They were yours to deal with and yours alone. 

“Better.” And that, you were. Just a week ago, you finally stopped crying yourself to sleep. “I might even go out tomorrow and look for a job. Can’t keep freeloading under your roof, right?”

You release a half-chuckle, a small attempt to lighten up the mood. It was comforting when your mother cracks a smile in response.

“Oh, hush. You’re always welcome to stay as long as you need to,” she assures, a loving warmth radiating from her tone. 

Lips pressing together, you sense that she has another thing to address. “What’s wrong?”

Nancy pauses to take a breath, shoulders rising and falling. For some reason, you’re on edge, finding yourself bracing for what was to come.

“Have you spoken to Keanu lately?”

Upon hearing his name, you swallowed away the lump in your throat. After telling your parents what had transpired, it stirred up various emotions—mainly anger from your father, sorrow from your mom. Their hearts sank as you recounted the story, tears blurring your eyes that you couldn’t see their faces. It was a good thing, however; you probably wouldn’t have reached the end.

Since then, they’ve refrained from speaking of him and to him. He’s called the house on a few occasions but could never get past the automated answering machine. Pictures of the two of you hanging on the walls were taken down shortly after the revelation, and you were unsure of who had done it. 

Your parents still couldn’t believe he was capable of such a thing. He had played them the same way you were, twisting the truth and omitting facts. Painting himself in a way that made them think allowing you to stay with him was the best decision when just months before he treated you as if you didn’t matter. 

As if he didn’t love you.

“No.” Curt, you had nothing else to say. 

“He’s a persistent one, I’ll tell you that. Left another message last night,” Nancy comments, feeling her stare as you fiddled with the hands in your lap. The next time she speaks, it’s slow and controlled. She’s careful with her words, wary of how you would react to what she has to say. “Hon, the last time you were here, you told me something. Something that I probably should have mentioned the day you woke up in the hospital.”

You tense, eyes flickering up to hers. “What is it?”

She sighs deeply, her smile fleeting and replaced by a taut frown. “I knew you and Keanu were having… problems. Not the full story, but enough that told me you’ve been unhappy for a while.”

“W-Why didn’t you bring this up then?”

“Because the second I saw him in your hospital room, I could see how much he loves you. How scared he was at the thought of nearly losing you—”

“Pfft, sure he was,” you scoff at the statement in disbelief. “What he did—you don’t do that to someone you love. You don’t lie to them, betray them. Hell, if you had given me a heads up earlier, then it would have saved me all this trouble.”

“Y/N—”

“Don’t you get it? He’s an actor. Of course, he’s good at playing pretend. Got us all believing that things were all sunshine and rainbows. He fucked up and fucked up even more by lying. I’ve always had a bad track record in relationships, so I shouldn’t have been too surprised.”

Tension hangs thickly in the air, an apology murmured at the end of a passing second. You didn’t mean to snap at your mother, to let the anger and betrayal consume you that you began taking it out on others although unwillingly. 

But you were just too goddamn hurt. Every day, the memories are suffocating you despite constantly wishing and pleading for them to disappear. That life, the one you had with Keanu, no longer exists, and yet you were still holding onto the frayed remains of it, not ready to move on—to let go. 

You grieve. You grieve and mourn for the recent past, the happiness and love you experienced in the time you were left unaware. Never have you felt so complete, so content, and much at ease. You had turned a blind eye to the signs, to the small inklings of doubt brewing inside because you thought that there was no way you could get something else as close to this.

Perhaps you were both to blame after all.

“I thought he was different,” you whisper, sorrow flowing from your words. “I thought he was the one. The man I’d settle down with, marry, and then maybe someday, be the father of my kids. We’d build an entire life together, a family, a future. The kind of life where I could look back on it fifty years from now when we’re old and gray and not regret a single thing.”

Feeling your mother’s hand come on top of yours with a light squeeze, you fought off the tears forcing their way from your eyes. You swore you would never shed a tear for Keanu ever again, but you are crumbling from within. The weak walls you put up are now tumbling down, leaving you even more vulnerable than before. 

“I want to hate him. I want him to feel my pain and suffer through it, knowing that he’s the reason why. But I can’t. Somehow, I just can’t.”

“It’s because you still love him. No matter how much it hurts, you’re still in love with him,” Nancy adds solemnly, and you nod shakily. “You’re healing, dear. So far, all you’ve done is put on a bandaid, but it doesn’t mean the wound closes up immediately. It’ll burn, it’ll bleed, and it’ll ache, and right now, that’s what you’re feeling; the pain of a fresh open wound.”

“Make the pain stop,” you mumbled incoherently as you lean against your mom’s side, wet cheeks pressed to her shoulder. “It has to stop.”

“And it will,” she promises, listening to your soft and tired cries. “It’ll take time for the wound to heal, but eventually, it will. Until then, life continues, and you would have to as well. You don’t have to go all-in right away, but don’t let this heartbreak hinder you from living, sweetie. You’re strong, and I believe you will feel that same happiness again, in one form or another. But you won’t find it unless you go out and look for it.”

For the first time in what seemed like a while, you felt something other than loss and despair. It creeps into you slowly, half-expecting a cold, crushing weight to fall heavily on your chest rather than the warmth and light it is. But as quickly as it came, the sensation subsides, a wave of loneliness, emptiness filling the vacant space surrounding your heart.

A shuddering breath released, you then reflect upon what your mother said about time and how time heals all wounds. You wonder how much time is needed until you can finally break free from the remnants of the past and breathe again. Could be days, weeks, or even months more, but it’s right there, waiting for you on the horizon. 

You may not have a place to call home, but what you do have is time.

---

Seconds turn into minutes; minutes turn into hours. The sun sets, the moon rises; bright, blues skies bleed into a fiery red before dimming to an inky darkness. The world spins on its axis as people wake, move, then sleep, and the cycle begins all over again.

Two weeks have come and gone, and life pushes onward. You could tell by the scenery outside where the season of fall has taken charge of the Northeast. Days are shorter, with nights stretching out longer as the year fades into winter. Time was flying by at a brisk pace. Very soon, a blanket of snow will cover the ground you walk on, reminding you to take a step back and admire the natural beauty of mid-November.

The crispness of the late afternoon air is refreshing as it fills your lungs, a welcome change from the hazy summer heat. Leaves that were once lively shades of green are now painted in deep hues of amber and burgundy, and they crunch beneath your boots with each leisure step down the earthy path. The nearby lake is as pristine as ever, sparkling freely underneath the rays of the ochre sun as it waits for the impending frost.

Wandering about outdoors for hours now, you were lost in your stream of thoughts. You honestly felt better, not entirely mended, but just enough that you can step out of the house and explore the quaint little town. A picturesque place, it was a perfect settlement for your retired parents where everyone knew everybody; their faces, names, the street they lived on. Boilding down to more personal details such as knowing the pets they owned, which book club they’re a part of, and any recent travels. 

When the townsfolk saw you, you sensed the feeling of familiarity. Those you passed by in the streets waved at you, and though you couldn’t exactly recall your relationship with them, it made you smile. Recently, old friends and family in the area had begun reaching out after hearing you were back. You never gave them the full explanation, only revealing that things in California did not work out, and you figured it was best to leave. 

Was it a permanent decision? Most likely. Life here is simpler, quieter. You enjoyed the peacefulness, favoring the calm atmosphere of this town much over the hustle and bustle of Los Angeles. It gave you space to think, to focus, to breathe. To reacquaint with yourself, rebuild who you are as a person by taking this journey of self-discovery. 

It’s the brand new start you desperately wanted, needed. An opportunity to find your place in this world without the past holding you back. Without the shadow of the woman you once were looming over you. And if your memories don’t ever return, which deep down, you hope they never would, you would be fine with it. 

You were tired of being stuck searching pieces of the past. You had to live.

Trekking up the gravel road leading to your parents’ home, a black car sits on top of the hill, one that you did not recognize. Perplexed, you approached the house with hesitant steps, dragging your feet through the pile of dead and dry leaves. There was a moment of panic when you noticed a man sitting on the front porch steps, hands clasped on his knees as he hung his head low, a curtain of dark hair masking his identity.

But you don’t need to think twice, for you already know who it is.

“Keanu?”

His name slipping out of your mouth feels different now. Gone is the affectionate tone that it was usually spoken in. It held no meaning, void of any warmth or tenderness. Keanu, the name is bitter on your tongue, a poison that could cause you to spiral down yet again, and saying it out loud brought upon a rage that swirls through your veins.

How dare he show up here unannounced?

As you take your breaths, one… two… three... and out, Keanu straightens his posture and meets your stern glare. Slowly, he gets up, the expression on his face hard to read. But aside from that, he looked worse for wear. The bags underneath his eyes were dark and prominent, the beard on his chin was unruly and untamed. He appears gaunt and exhausted, as if he hasn’t slept a wink ever since you walked out of the door and out of his life.

“What the hell are you doing here?” You’re the first to break the thick silence, a testament of your bravery and strength of some sort. Brows furrowing and teeth gritting in anger, it contrasts with Keanu’s lax demeanor as he steps closer. “No, stay back. You have no right to be here right now.”

“Y/N, please...” He speaks calmly, each and every one of his movements measured. “I’m not here to fight—”

“I have nothing to say to you,” you seethed, shaking your head as you stormed past him and towards the door. Tears brew in your cloudy eyes, a sign of how much he still affected you. Seeing him again after all this time only proved that the wound he had inflicted bleeds to this day.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Keanu quickly trails from behind, his voice dripping with utter desperation. “Please, just… give me a chance to talk. All you have to do is listen, and I promise you won’t ever have to see me again.”

The seriousness in his timbre causes you to halt in your tracks. Swallowing dryly, you turn around, sad, tired eyes reaching his guilt-filled ones. Keanu stands before you with a face written in despair, making him barely recognizable. The way he’s staring at you as if he’s hopeless and in pure anguish is unsettling, and you almost pitied him for it. 

“Y/N…” He pleads softly, defeatedly. “Hear me out, please.”

You wrestled between your options, half apathetic, half curious of what Keanu had to say. Unspoken words on the tip of his tongue, he mutely begs for you to relent, and if this is all it takes for him to leave you alone, leave you for good, then so be it.

“Ten minutes,” you muttered, low enough that he barely catches it at first. Crossing your arms against your chest, the gentle autumn wind rustling through the trees pierces the silent air as you observe Keanu staggering forward, a hand rubbing at the nape of his neck. 

“I’m sorry,” he begins, gazing at you with his searching brown eyes. “I-I know saying it a thousand times won’t make a difference, but I really am sorry. What I did before and after the accident was inexcusable and selfish. I hurt you, and I will never forgive myself that. Don’t expect you to do so, either. You probably hate my guts right now, and flying out here might be a mistake, but I needed to talk to you in person. To say goodbye one last time.”

Brushing his hair back, Keanu then pads over to the trunk of the car, and all you can do is wait for him to come back. It doesn’t take long, but he makes two trips to unload two boxes, setting each of them down in the space separating you two. He instantly notices the confusion etched across your features, burying his hands in his coat pocket with an exhale.

“Are those—”

“All the things you left behind,” Keanu finishes feebly. “Thought you would want them back.”

Stunned, a mirthless chuckle escapes your throat. “You didn’t have to do this. Those aren’t my things anyway.”

“But they are—”

“They’re not mine,” you cut him off with a weary gaze. “Keanu, I’ve said this before; I’m not the woman you fell in love with. Not anymore. Look, throughout those months we spent together, I tried to fit into this life everyone told me I had. A life that’s far from what I was used to. God, it feels like a dream being her. So confident, happy, and successful. Waking up from the coma, of course, I would want that. I had just gotten out of a terrible relationship which left me broken and unworthy of anything and anyone. Then you showed me the love I thought I didn’t deserve, and it kept me from realizing that it was all too good to be true.”

Eyes faltering to the ground, your fingers fumbled with the hem of your sweater, ultimately distracting yourself from the tears threatening to fall. “The truth is, I didn’t know you. You were, are, a stranger to me. You had done things behind my back, hid details that would have been a deal-breaker, but you didn’t care. I’ve thought about it a lot lately; would I have stayed if you told me from the very beginning. I wasn’t sure if I was madder at you kissing someone else, knowing how much it would hurt me, or the fact that you lied to fix this—us.”

There is a moment of silence that weighs over everything. The wind stops blowing; the leaves are motionless. Time seems to slow around you and Keanu as he waits for your next words. Words that you are still searching for since you hadn’t prepared to voice those thoughts out loud. They all came rushing, flooding like a broken dam, too overwhelming to keep at bay. 

“Which one is it?” Keanu probes delicately, equally afraid of which answer you’re going to give.

“Neither,” you revealed, surprisingly. “I’m angrier at myself for falling too fast; for being the naive little girl who let herself be fooled, who refused to listen to her instincts even though she knew they were usually right.”

You see Keanu open his mouth to speak, but you weren’t done. “I always believed this accident was a curse. It erased years worth of memories that, at this point, I’ll never get back. But now, I see the good that came out of it. Our fights, our arguments, they were all signs that our relationship was falling apart, but I couldn’t let go of it—of you. I held onto us thinking the bad will just phase out eventually when in reality, I couldn’t bear giving up on you and this life we shared.”

Another pause. “Huh, funny. Looking at it, the same thing happened all over again.”

With that said, you felt relieved, somewhat lighter. Despite previous inclinations, you didn’t shout or yell at Keanu. Nor did you discuss to the fullest extent of the suffering you’ve endured. Strangely, it was nearly therapeutic admitting all of that to him, to yourself. For months, you had been unable to let go and accept the truth, allowing fear and doubt to control your actions. 

But that was then, and this is now. 

And now, it was time for you to be free.

“Guess this is it,” Keanu sighs dejectedly. He didn’t come here to win you back, knowing there’s nothing that he could do or say to repair the damage. Like you, he’s letting go, letting this be the closure he needs, and you need as well. “I guess this is goodbye.”

“Yeah,” you agreed quietly, “Guess this is goodbye.”

Before you could leave his sight to spare Keanu the awkwardness, he holds up a finger, signaling you to wait a second. Swiftly, he goes to retrieve something that’s lying on the front seat, something that you’ve spent countless hours flipping through. He then reluctantly passes it over to you, and you’re unsure what to do with it.

“Your pictures,” he points out, though you were already aware. “I’m not trying to be an asshole or anything by giving this, but this book is yours. Keep it, burn it, do whatever seems right to you. But I want you to know, to remember, that I did love you. I still do, and these photos are proof of it, even if you can’t bring yourself to believe that I’m telling the truth. You deserve love and to be loved, Y/N. More than anything in the universe. I fucked up my chance to be the one to tell you that every day, but it doesn’t mean the next person you fall for will.”

“Ke…” your voice suddenly breaks with emotion, uncertain of what to add after his statement. It’s because you still love him. No matter how much it hurts, you’re still in love with him, your mother’s earlier words echo in your mind, ringing true in your heart. Even after everything, a piece of you still loved Keanu, and saying goodbye to him more painful than you anticipated.

As you stand frozen, Keanu inches nearer until he’s by your feet, the palm of his hand coming to rest on your cheek. He strokes your face with a tender caress before tilting your chin upwards to meet his gaze, brushing his thumb along your lower lip gently. You allow him to have this moment, to hold you and study you for a final time, commit you to memory as this would be the last. 

Eyes fluttering shut, you feel him press a soft kiss on your forehead, the warmth of it immediately spreading throughout your body before he slowly pulls away.

“Take care of yourself, Y/N,” Keanu says, opening the driver’s side door of his rental. You look at each other once more and see the subtle, hopeful smile he shoots your way. “And don’t be afraid to love again.”

You watch as he starts driving away, opting to wait until the car is finally out of view before releasing the breath you didn’t know you were holding. 

In your hands is a keepsake of your memories. A collection of captured moments that you had cherished so dearly. But things are different now; mistakes were made, words were said, people have grown apart. You found no reason to linger in the past when there’s nothing left to salvage. 

Nothing left to do but heal.

The warmth of Keanu’s kiss eventually disappears, the world around you unpausing, continuing as it was before. You stay standing in place, glancing back and forth between the book you clutched on tightly and the boxes laying on the ground. 

Yet in the quietude, the wind still blows. The leaves still fall, and the earth still spins.

Time resumes, bit by bit; passing for life to move forward— 

For you to move on.

Part 13

Tags: @penwieldingdreamer​ @fanficsrusz​ @toomanystoriessolittletime​ @awessomness @meetmeinthematinee​ @ringa-starr​ @ficsnroses​ @iworshipkeanureeves​ @keandrews​ @greenmanalishi​ @feminine-machinegun​ @thehumanistsdiary​ @lilyette​​ @rdjloverxxx @flaminasteroid @danceoftwowolves @ravenpuff02 @wheretheriversrunintothesea​​ @breakthenight​​ @allie1804-fan​​ @partypoison00​​

[reddie-is-my-life]

Hi

I’m not sure if any of the people that follow me are even active anymore but its been a couple of years since i posted on this account. I’ve written a couple things throughout the time that I actually posted on this account which is what this post is about. I was scrolling through my wips and turns out I have a not completed fic that could really be considered a drabble. Anyways, I wanted to post it just to say i did. You don’t have to read it. Or you can. Its up to you. I wrote this in 2018 so if you do decide to read it don’t be harsh. Thank you.

The thrum of the music under his feet guides him further into the pack of bodies grinding against each other. The smell of sweat, weed and alcohol curls around him making his nose scrunch up from distaste, the further he walks into the house. Someone in the crowd bumps into him slamming their shoulder into him, making him stumble slightly before someone reaches out to steady him. He decides to not acknowledge the hand considering the owner of said hand is the one to blame for his presence at the party. The same hand leads him into the open kitchen where all the liquor is lined up on the counter.   

“Come on Eddie, I know you don’t wanna be here but at least don’t look like a 5 year-old that got their favorite toy taken away from them,” Bill pouts already reaching for the bottle of whiskey.

“Oh, I’m sorry for being so petulant. I should’ve realized that it was hurting your feelings Billy. I also didn’t realize that your favorite toy was a party filled with people that don’t care who sees them wasted and filled with idiocy ,” Eddie snaps back. 

Bill only raises his shot of whiskey in the direction of the other boy before tipping it back. Swallowing he takes a moment before he responds, “You seem snarkier than usual, something up?”  this time he takes a step closer as if it’ll block the dark room, loud music, and the dozens of people surrounding them. 

Even if Eddie wanted to talk about it, he sure as hell would never hold a heart to heart conversation with Bill in front of so many people. Instead he shakes his head and reaches for the cooler filled to the brim with beers. Expertly popping the cap off with his car keys he turns to Bill again finally meeting his expectant eyes, “It’s nothing, I just have a small headache is all,” it wasn’t a complete lie, he did feel the beginning fingers of a migraine graze his head. Ignoring it he decides to change the subject before the other man decided to pry more, “So what’s the deal with this guy? He’s got a pretty nice house to be someone of the middle working class.”

It was true after all, no one with decent money income could afford a sleek looking chandelier hanging in the middle of what looked to be the living room. The couches seemingly pushed next to the walls giving more space for people to grind against each other. The couches were filled with people either shotgunning or just full on making out. The sound system though, playing songs that made him skeptical about the type of music the host listened to, seemed mighty expensive even from his vantage point in the kitchen. The place itself was big, the open kitchen looking out into the living room and what seemed to be a room with a pool table, leading into a hallway Eddie was sure was a couple bedrooms. He wondered if the rest of the place would look just as expensive as the part that was filled with people. Maybe he would sneak away and explore the rest of the house if Bill got caught up with someone else. 

Bill nods his head in agreement, “Yeah, it is a pretty damn good house. The guy that invited me here, Ben,” he takes a second as if remembering the man. And if he’d be damned he thinks Bill is blushing lightly ,”he’s, uh, best friends with the host. Said he was a radio host or something and he had his own show even. He also said he would be here but I haven’t seen him yet,” he looks around the room but it’s no use due to how smokey and dark the whole house is. 

Looking at his friend more closely he realizes that he is indeed blushing like some schoolgirl with her crush instead of a 25 year old man. He wonders when Bill met this so-called Ben and when he had formed his crush. But more importantly he wonders why in the world Bill never even mentioned him to him. Eddie was surely privy to this information, he was his best friend after all. Perhaps Bill finds you annoying now. Maybe Bill doesn’t even want to be friends with you but is too nice to tell you directly so he brought you to the party you didn’t want to go to so you would leave him. Perhaps Bill finally sees you for who you really are. You dirty-, “Hey Bill, do you happen to have a crush on this Ben fellow?” 

“Uh, w-w-why wouldd you say that Ed-d-die?” Bill's stutter comes out clearly, making him flustered and proving his hidden secret. Instead of coming clean he reaches for his third shot. Swallowing it cleanly only slightly wincing he takes a look around the dark room again as if someone will appear and save him any second from the questions Eddie is surely going to press him with. 

Eddie moves to the side when someone comes up behind to get something to drink but pulls Bill right along with him. Deciding to at least ask, without intention of harm he opens his mouth, “Come on, Bill. You don’t need to lie. I am your best friend for a reason. You can tell me these types of things,” he laughs ruefully at that, “actually technically you can tell me anything, that’s what comes with being best friends. A small dumb crush definitely falls in that category.”

Bill winces at that and a sad glint fills his eyes along with disappointment but before he can answer him someone calls his name out. He turns along with Eddie to meet a guy smiling and walking towards them, “What’s up, Big Bill? What are you doing huddling next to the drinks? Don’t you know this is a party?” Eddie watches the man come closer and notices how Bill lit up with excitement as soon as he recognizes him. So this must be Ben. He would let out an appreciative whistle if the man weren’t so close and Bill wasn’t so infatuated with him. The man - Ben - was handsome as hell. His light colored hair was styled to look as if he hadn’t done anything with it but it wasn’t a lazy look, it looked rather sophisticated. The beard that adorned his face looked sharp and regal, complimented even by the small scar that lay on the corner of his top lip. God damn, a scar has never looked so right. His build was leaning towards gruffer and broader. His arms seemed to bulge even from Eddie’s vantage point. It was all on top of legs fit into jeans that seemed to only highlight the fact that his arms weren’t the only thing taken care of. Though the man would look intimidating with a face and a body like that but his eyes were kind and his tone was playful. 

He takes a second to catch on to the nickname and is soon distracted by that rather than the man standing across from him, “Big Bill?” he whispers quietly turning to face Bill.

Before he can say anything about the nickname he receives a hearty laugh from Ben. Facing him again he waits for his answer, “Ah, you haven’t met Richie yet then. He gives everyone a nickname. Or at least everyone he likes. I’m Ben or Haystack,” He says extending a hand to shake. 

Though Eddie finds it strange to shake hands as if in a business setting instead of a raging party he shakes his hand, “Eddie or Eddie.”

Though it wasn’t a joke, Ben still lets out a smile at his response. His brown eyes twinkle before turning to Bill. He goes to touch him before seeming to think better of it and turns to Eddie again, “You wouldn’t mind if I took Bill from you would you? At least for just a little bit.”

Raising his eyebrows he shakes his head, “No, no, not at all. You guys should go dance.”

Bill clears his throat before responding, though Eddie sees right through it. Almost as an afterthought it comes to him that Bill usually clears his throat when he plans on what to say without having to worry about his stuttering. Guess Ben makes him nervous, “You sure Eddie? I can stay if you want,” but from the way he was looking at the other man he doubted that it was something he wanted to do.

“Yeah, I’m sure. I’ll go find something to do. Maybe even find the host to tell him how shit his beer is,” he cracks a smile at that, urging his friend to leave him in the kitchen and dance with the handsome devil that clearly seemed interested in him too.

“Alright, just give me a second,” he tips his head back taking the shot in his hand before turning and taking another one. He shakes his shoulder at it and turns to face the other two, “Alright, let’s go dance.”

Eddie almost expects a high pitched giggle from his friend for a second by the way he grins so widely. He makes no reaction outwards but inwardly he’s utterly confused. Bill wouldn’t be acting this way if it was just a small crush. He wonders when Bill met Ben once again before he notices that his friend has turned his head looking at him briefly making Eddie smile and pumping a fist in the air before he turns around once again saying something in Ben's ear that makes the bigger man face him smiling widely. He lets out a quiet sigh, confused as to when Ben had made an appearance in Bill's life enough that he would look like - funnily enough - he was given his favorite toy. 

Before he figures out what he wants to do while he waits for Bill to come back - if he even comes back - his eye catches on someone walking up to the counter looking more than enough wasted that he feared that the second they got their hands on another drink they would puke all over Eddie’s shoes. Deciding not to even chance the thought of it or at best try to hold a conversation with them he walks towards the pool table. Sidling up to a corner of the pool table he takes into account the people surrounding it. Most seem pretty similar to each other making commentary on the play going on in front of them. Yet, he focuses on one of the players, while most people around the table - hell even the other player - are more drunk than not, he seems perfectly sober. 

His moves are crisper than the other guy who is moving around slowly. He watches as the small bun on the man's head bounces around a little as he jumps up and down from seeming excited on his clear victory. His actions lead to a couple curls coming out and framing his face. Eddie looks at him closer and notices that the man has a shocking color of blue eyes that pair nicely with his sharp cheekbones and jaw. Strangely he remembers Ben and thinks how complete opposites these two are. While this stranger is just as attractive as Ben he falls on the opposite spectrum. Pool table guy has such a pale color of skin he kinda looks like a ghost in the soft lighting hanging above the table. The light casts shadows on his face making him seem sharp and cold, while his electric blue eyes set off a vibe of mysteriousness making him that much more intriguing to Eddie. 

As he finishes off his beer he watches as the handsome stranger takes the final shot landing him the victory that was obvious as soon as Eddie walked over to the table. He watches in something close to amusement as he celebrates around the table before bringing the other player closer and clapping him on the back. The only response he gets from the drunk player is a couple grunts in disdain with the occasional mutter that the game was unfair and he demanded a rematch. Handsome stranger only chuckled in response before letting him go. And suddenly driven by who knows what force Eddie spoke up, “I’ll do the rematch for him, considering it wasn’t a fair match between a drunk man and a sober one.”

Both men turn to look at him but he focuses on the blue eyes of the handsome man. They seem to stare at each other for eternity before the other man breaks the silence by breaking into a smirk, “It wasn’t my idea to play the match. It might actually be an unfair match to me considering I had to drag it out way more due to consideration of this poor drunk man, isn’t that right, Zach?”

The drunk fool- Zach, didn’t let out a reply instead opting to slump further into the chair he had let himself fall into. It seemed to Eddie that he was getting ready to fall asleep in the chair. The host surely must care about the random people falling asleep in his property. He turned his attention back to the other man before cocking an eyebrow. With a small jerk he silently questioned if he would take him up on his offer. Said stranger only seems to smirk even more before heading to one side of the table.

As Eddie grabs his pool stick the stranger talks to him again, “So, cutie what’s the name to the face?”

“Don’t call me that and it's Eddie. And you would be?”

“Richie Tozier at your service. Seriously though, anything you want,” he finishes with a wink. A fucking wink, how cheesy could this guy get? God could only do so much for someone Eddie supposed, good looks, bad personality. 

Eddie scoffed instead of deeming him a response. Setting the balls into place he felt as Richie watched him. Looking up at him he met his gaze allowing only the smallest bit of discomfort set into him before he spoke again, “So, do you not drink?”

If Eddie hadn’t been watching his reaction closely he wouldn’t have noticed how Richie’s smirk faltered for a second before righting itself quickly. Only faint curiosity crossed his mind soon fading away because even though he was intrigued in Richie he didn’t want to actually get involved in anything with him where he would care about him in any way. Richie seemed to ponder the question for a second before answering, “I do drink, just didn’t feel like drinking yet, plus weed is sufficient enough to last until I decide I want a drink,” he shrugs.

Only raising his eyebrows slightly he gestures for Richie to begin the game. He watches as the other walks around the table before setting the white ball down. Just as he’s about to lean down to perfect his shot he looks at Eddie, “What about you Ed’s? I saw you put the beer bottle away but I doubt that you’re drunk.”

He observes as Richie lines up his shot before deciding to respond, “Again, my name is Eddie, if you already forgot. E-d-d-i-e. And secondly, I don’t really enjoy the idea of me passing out on an uncomfortable wooden chair next to a pool table surrounded by people I don’t know,” he pointedly looked at Zach quickly passed out on the chair already.

“Mmm, we’ll have to see about that, won’t we.”

Lining up his shot, Eddie hums low in his throat right before the balls fall into the pocket. The game continues as the silence covers them like a fog. The small clinking of balls against each other along with the loud music playing from the living room do nothing to hide the hot gaze of both men as they move around each other. Brief touches of hands, shoulders and hips go throughout the game with the occasional smirk thrown at each other. Eddie though usually not one to find interest in a random stranger that quickly can’t help but feel curious toward the curly haired man. As the game comes to a close, Eddie sinks the final shot winning but only allowing himself a small humpf of victory before looking at Richie. 

Even though they’ve basically been eye fucking each other the whole entire game Richie places his hand on the small of Eddie’s back steering him towards the drinks, “I think i need a drink,” Richie offers offhandedly. 

Eddie silently watches as Richie makes up a concoction of tequila with orange juice stirring it slightly before tipping it back. Slightly covered in sweat Richie’s neck shines faintly under the faint light filtering from the small light on top of the stovetop. Watching as his Adam's apple bobs as he swallows, Eddie also swallows along with him suddenly hit with a dry throat. He reaches for the whiskey Bill had been drinking earlier before pouring up a shot. Taking it straight, he tries to clear his thoughts so he won’t end up in bed with the man that’s staring at him currently. That’s not how it works dumbass, you should definitely not be drinking alcohol. 

He swallows.

“Holy shit, Ed’s didn’t know you had it in you. I would’ve thought you would go for another weak beer,” Richie smirks.

“Shut up prick, you don’t know shit about me.”

“Maybe so, but by tonight I’m hoping I’ll know a couple more things about you,” and once again he winks but instead of making Eddie's eyes roll it makes his stomach turn in excitement. 

“Sure pal, whatever you say,” he deflects.

Richie only laughs in reply before pouring up four more shots and gestures to two of them looking at Eddie pointedly. Eddie lets out a scoff before stepping closer and taking one into his hand. He makes eye contact as he tips it back and if the eyes aren’t deceiving him Richie’s eyes darken a shade. He smirks before bringing the shot glass back to the countertop, “So?”

Richie lets out a dark chuckle before taking both shots one after another. The only reaction of the burn is a slight twitch in the corner of his eye before he stares at Eddie in amusement. Eddie takes the remaining shot before heading over to the group of bodies grinding against each other. He briefly glances behind his shoulder making sure the other man still has his attention directed towards him.

And that’s it. Thanks.

[rocorambles]

The Beginning

Pairing: Nekomata x Kuroo

Genre/Warnings: NSFW, Yandere, Grooming, Extremely Dubious Consent, Manipulation, Slight Feminization, Virgin Kuroo, Slight Degradation, Undertones of a Corruption Kink, Bottom Kuroo

Summary: Nekomata has always been Kuroo’s favorite mentor and now that Kuroo’s officially entered adulthood, the older man has new lessons for his favorite protégé. 

Author’s Note: LMAO I CANNOT BELIEVE THIS IS A REAL THING, BUT HERE WE GO. The first installation of my Yandere Nekomata x Kuroo monthly series. I can’t even defend this other than to say I promise there will be a not as degenerate, perfectly normal (at least by Roco standards) Sakusa NSFW fic also coming out sometime this weekend to help you wash this cursed thing down. 

@terushimooo I BLAME YOU FOR THIS

Next Chapter

He hadn’t thought much about the quiet young boy who showed up to his training camp all those years ago and yet, maybe Kuroo had left more of a mark on him than he had thought because he instantly recognizes the tall lanky messy-haired high schooler who steps inside of Nekoma’s gym on the first day of the school year. He certainly left an impression on Kuroo and something flutters inside of him when Kuroo shyly asks to speak to him alone after practice one day, bowing deeply and thanking the older man for his wise words about “experiencing the joy of playing”. 

Looks aside, Kuroo isn’t anything like that scared little boy he had met so long ago and Nekomata watches in interest and maybe a little bit of pride at how confidently he carries himself, easily making friends and conversing with the rest of the team, a beautiful smile and glint in hazel eyes. Or so Nekomata had thought. But it seems like you can’t truly change your inherent nature all that much and he sees the little cracks in Kuroo’s act, and as much as he appreciates the man Kuroo is evolving into, he thinks he’s more fond of the introverted little boy he still sees hiding inside. 

For someone so mischievous and cunning, Kuroo is ridiculously easy to manipulate and something dark thrums inside of Nekomata as he sees how Kuroo instantly picks up on all his subtle cues, putting all his faith and hope in this father figure he’s never really had. Sure, he has an actual father, one who barely has time for his son, and two grandparents who’re too tired to care for the boy as they should, but it’s not enough, never enough and Nekomata takes full advantage of the empty hole that Kuroo craves to have filled, practically taking the boy under his own tail so to speak. 

He’s not thrilled when he sees hazel eyes begin to look at his female classmates in interest, but he’s prepared for the question he knows he’ll get soon and when, as expected, Kuroo quietly asks him why he’s still single, what love is like, what girls are like, Nekomata is harsh, but firm, planting the seeds of doubt in Kuroo’s head as he goes on and on about how girls are just distractions, problematic, how they’ll do nothing but cause pain and heartbreak. And just to drive it home, he cruelly reminds Kuroo of the heartache his own mother had caused him and his family and he hides his satisfied smile when teary hazel eyes bawl into his chest, lanky arms wrapping around his larger figure and rigorously nodding a messy head of hair as he takes all his wise words to heart. 

And so Kuroo never dates, never even bats an eye towards the females in his school, ignoring the curious whispers as everyone wonders why such an eligible bachelor is still single, only focusing on volleyball, his team, and his coach. 

Nekomata thought that it would be enough to know that he has the boy all to himself for three years, that his selfish greed would be sated, but as Kuroo’s 18th birthday approaches, as his third-year threatens to come to an end, as his departure from Nekoma draws ever nearer, he realizes it’s not enough, it’ll never be enough and wise cat-eyes scheme. 

Kuroo hates birthdays, hates the reminder that his family could care less about him and there’s an even bigger pang than normal as his 18th birthday approaches. He should be elated and excited about the prospect of finally being an official adult, a man, but all he feels is indifference and neglect as his grandparents completely forget that it’s his birthday in their old age, as his dad sends a cold two word text, not even an exclamation mark at the end to convey any feelings about the matter. He just wants this day to be over, to forget it ever happened, feeling no different than before even though he’s now an “adult”. 

But when Nekomata asks him to stay after practice long after everyone has left and the gym is clean, he can’t help the happy tears that trail down his face when the older man brings out a small cake from behind his back and urges the messy-haired captain to blow out the single lit candle illuminating the empty locker room, blissfully ignorant and naive of just how close Nekomata is to him, their thighs pressed against each other, wrinkled eyes attentively watching Kuroo’s lips as he happily eats a slice of the cake, tongue flicking out to lick the extra cream that hasn’t quite made it into his mouth. 

However, Kuroo is all too aware of a rough finger that brushes against his mouth, scooping up some extra cream that he had missed before gently nudging his fingertip past his lips and Nekomata groans at how the athlete instinctively sucks his finger clean even while staring wide-eyed and confused at him. 

“Coach?”

“Call me Yasufumi.”

He chuckles at how flustered and adorable the man beside him looks as he tentatively tests out the new name, and he can feel his cock begin to twitch with interest at the way it sounds in that ridiculously attractive drawl Kuroo has. 

“Tetsurou, you’re an adult now and when you’re an adult, you can start doing certain things.” 

“Coach! I don’t need a sex talk. Plus, weren’t you the one who said girls are a waste of time-”

Kuroo instantly hushes as a weathered hand grasps him by his chin and forces him to lock eyes. 

“I said to call me Yasufumi and yes, I did say that, but you don’t need to have sex with just girls. I think sex between men is better anyway. I could show you, teach you. Only if you want though.”

Sex between men? Of course Kuroo knows it’s possible, knows it’s a thing. But for him? Him and another man? How would that-

His rambling thoughts are cut off and he squeaks when lips press against his, too surprised to break away as a tongue slips into his mouth, playfully entangling with his own wet muscle and he moans as he’s pulled into straddling Nekomata’s thighs, his lean body pressed tight against a thicker chest and stomach. He tries to form thoughts, question what’s happening, but he gasps when hands grope his ass, a tiny moan escaping him as his hips and groin grind down on something hard protruding from Nekomata’s sweatpants. 

“Come on, Tetsurou. Don’t you trust me? Haven’t I always taught you well?” 

And Kuroo hesitates. 

It’s true. For as long as Kuroo can remember, Nekomata is the only person he’s considered family, who’s guided him, cared for him, shown him what love, even if it's just familial love, feels like. He’s never led him astray, always treated him like his own son, brought him to his full potential as a volleyball player and team captain. 

He cries out as Nekomata gently thrusts up, rubbing their erections against each other. 

It feels so good, so different, so much better than when he awkwardly wraps his own hand around his cock late at night. Surely it can’t be wrong if it feels so right, if it’s Nekomata who’s doing this. It’s just another life lesson, right? 

So he seals his fate with a shy kiss as he relaxes, helping the man underneath him rid him of all his clothes, bashfully looking away as eyes hungrily roam all over his body. But his eyes are snapping back to attention, wide in shock as a strange pleasure lances through him when a mouth greedily suckles on one of his nipples, his other nipple tweaked and pulled. 

“I-I’m not a girl! Stop it! Don’t play with my nipples like that!” 

But his complaints are lost between desperate moans and he loses himself in the strange overwhelming pleasure, flushing at the lewd slick sounds of Nekomata’s sucking. 

“But doesn’t it feel good, Tetsurou? You have such pretty tits.”

“They’re not tits- AH!” 

He whimpers as Nekomata punishes his outburst with a slight nip to his aroused buds. 

“Come on. Be a good boy and cum from having your tits played with.”

“I- I don’t think- I can’t-”

But all it takes is a few more rolls of his hips and a few more tugs and bites before Kuroo is wailing, thick white spurts coating both of their stomachs as the raven haired man exhaustedly collapses and curls up in Nekomata’s lap, humming contently as a hand strokes his messy tangled locks. 

“Good boy, but we’re not done yet. Don’t you think I deserve to feel good too? I think you need to give sensei a thank you gift for such a good lesson.” 

Bleary hazel eyes peer at him before slowly nodding and Nekomata laughs as Kuroo attempts to shimmy to his knees in between Nekomata’s legs, hands eagerly pawing at the hem of his sweatpants only to startle when he’s teasingly slapped away. 

“We’ll use your mouth another day. I have something else to show you.”

Kuroo’s an adult now, but there’s a childlike innocence in the way he curiously looks on as Nekomata pulls out a translucent bottle, craning his neck to see what the older man is doing even when he’s coaxed into laying on his back on one of the benches, his legs spread out on either side of the metal apparatus. And Nekomata coos at the confused nervous sound Kuroo makes as he generously coats Kuroo’s pretty puckered rim and his fingers with the clear liquid. 

“I need you to relax and take deep breaths, okay?” 

That’s all the warning he gets before a finger is pushing at his tight hole and he keens as one knuckle breaches his unused hole, taking in desperate panicked breaths as it becomes two knuckles, and borderline hyperventilating when he’s taken the digit all the way to its hilt. But he desperately listens to the familiar voice as it orders him to keep on relaxing, keep on breathing. 

Relax. Breathe. Relax. Breathe. Relax. Breathe. 

One finger becomes two. Two fingers become three. The stretch is uncomfortable, but not painful, yet Kuroo still just feels strangely full, can’t comprehend what the appeal of this is- 

He screams. Back arching and body twitching when Nekomata’s fingers move inside of him, brushing against a spot that has him seeing stars and his cock hardening once again. He scrambles to sit up, find purchase, register what’s happening, but then those fingers are bushing against that spot over and over again and all he can do is sob, cock pathetically splurting thick drops of pre-cum all over his stomach as his mind breaks under the new delirious pleasure he’s being drowned in. 

If he thought he had already been overwhelmed, it’s absolutely painful and agonizing when the stimulation abruptly stops and he’s howling, clawing like an animal to keep Nekomata’s fingers inside of him, sobbing even harder when Nekomata gently shakes him off and leaves him gaping open, cold, and alone like he’s always been his entire life. But he tries to stifle his sobs, gasping for breath when Nekomata is right there with him again, softly kissing his forehead and urging him to continue being his good patient boy and he sighs in relief when something larger begins to refill him, whimpering and moaning at the larger stretch, but ultimately finding peace in the connection, the fullness. 

And he relaxes back down on the bench, mewling as Nekomata’s cock drags against his insides, reaching further and further inside of him until the head is pressing against that same spot that has him writhing wantonly underneath the older body on top of him. Words are spilling past his lips, incoherent babbling he can’t even make out himself, but as if Nekomata understands the indecipherable pleas for more, he offers the younger man a weathered smile before beginning to rock back and forth and Kuroo’s head shakes back and forth, eyes rolling back in his head as his prostate is continuously brushed against. 

Kuroo has always been attractive, but like this? Vulnerable, lust and arousal clearly painted all over his face and body, pretty noises and tears, a shaky hand wrapping around his own leaking cock? He’s breathtaking and Nekomata feels like a young man all over again as he increases his pace, ignoring the irritating pang in his old hips as he desperately chases his own end, balls feeling full and ready to explode in a way they haven’t for decades. And he sputters and chokes as he empties himself inside of the lithe body underneath him, nearly crushing the younger man as he exhaustedly collapses on top of Kuroo and catches his breath. 

But he grumbles when he feels the body underneath him continue to wriggle, something uncomfortable digging into his stomach and he lifts up just enough to see how Kuroo desperately continues to stroke his cock, tears in his eyes from being so close to release and yet unable to find it by himself and he takes pity on him, nudging Kuroo’s hands away and wrapping his own hand around the cock, sloppily kissing the pretty captain. And he smiles when wiry arms wrap around him and hold him tight, swallowing Kuroo’s endearing moans as the raven haired athlete falls apart underneath him once again, coating his hand with his creamy essence. 

He holds his cum covered hand to Kuroo’s mouth, fondly smiling as he immediately begins lapping and licking him clean, only a slight wrinkle of his nose indicating his dislike of the salty bitter taste. That’s okay, he’ll let the birthday boy get away with it for now. After all, he has plenty of time to fully train him to be the perfect cum slut, his perfect cum slut.  

[all-the-love-harold]

Fine Line

Chapter 2 - I don’t want to be alone

December 20th 2019

“Hey Bowie?” Clara said in her high pitched dog voice and watched as Bowie titled his head to listen to her “Do you want to wake up uncle Harry?”

Bowie jumped down off the bed and ran straight to Clara’s bedroom door waiting for her to open it.

“Ok let’s go big dog, go jump on uncle Harry!” she opened the door and let Bowie out to the living room where a very hungover Harry was snoring on the couch. Now the thing that Clara had learnt best about Bowie over the last few days was that he had absolutely no understanding of personal space so as soon as he saw Harry on the couch, he jumped up and Harry groaned as he landed on his belly.

“Noooo” he moaned “Too early”

“It’s 8am Harold” Clara chimed “Time to drive home for christmas”

Christmas was Clara's favorite time of year and as a result she unusually started preparing in october and she had a ready made playlist of christmas songs to play at any given moment. So she pulled her phone from the pocket of her hoodie and pressed play on “I’ll be home for Christmas” and turned it up as loud as she possibly could.

Harry rolled over and squeezed his eyes shut, “ 5 more minutes”

“Big night then?” she said, sitting herself down at the end of the couch where Harry’s legs were tucked up and Bowie crawled over to snuggle up to his new mum.

“Mmmhmm” he sighed “got back at 4 am”

`

“So I guess I’m driving then?”

“You’re amazing” he smiled, without opening his eyes again.

The morning was slow, Clara made Harry some eggs on toast and then found the biggest travel mug she could for his coffee and one that was only slightly smaller for her own. She packed Bowie's bag of toys and training treats and by the time they packed the car, double and triple checked that they had everything including the presents and the ingredients for the pudding that Clara was going to make, it was 10am and Harry was starting to feel a little more alive albeit a little tired.

“There are shops in holmes chapel Ra” Harry said as he shut the boot to the car “if it turns out that we’ve forgotten the custard I will go out and get it”

“Right let’s go then” clara smiled “and you can face Anne when there’s no custard because they’re sold out”

“I’ll make the fucking custard” he laughed as he pulled the door open and hopped in the car.

"Hi Bowie" he chimed as the dog who was sitting on the back seat of the car rested his head on the shoulder of the passenger seat "you're pretty cute little dude"

Clara's heart swelled, she had grown to love Bowie more than anything else and it was nice to see that she wasn't alone.

The journey was slow. Traffic was almost at a standstill on the highway that would take them out of London and into the countryside, but that was to be expected this close to christmas. Clara imagined what it would be like christmas eve and became very thankful that herself and Harry had the kinds of jobs they could take extra time off from.

“I’m dreaming of a white christmas” Harry sang, turning the stereo up as they came to a stand still once again

“Just like the ones I used to know” Clara sang, horribly out of tune

“Where the treetops glisten '' Harry giggled his way through the next few lines as Clara continued to sing out of time and tune.

“It’s a good thing you’re a lawyer” He said when the song ended

“You’re saying I couldn’t make it as a singer?” Clara said, pretending to sound offended

“On no, I think you’d be great” Harry laughed “With a lot of autotune and lip sync”

“I’ve learnt to lip sync your entire album, so I’ll take your next tour off your hands”

“Yeah great” Harry nodded “You do that, I’ll write the next album and you can tour that”

“We make a great team” Clara laughed “Too bad you look like a troll and you can’t tour for yourself”

Harry shrugged “Hey, I’m just keeping you in a job”

Clara laughed “Alright” she said steering the conversation in a more serious direction “Tell me about Shelly”

Harry shrugged and sighed at the same time, running his hands through his hair “there’s not much to say really, unless you want details about all the sex we’ve had”

“Nope” Clara said definitely “There’s got to be more to it than that H, she was at the show last night, I know you, you don’t invite your fuck buddies to things like that”

“She didn’t stay long though, did she?” Harry was blushing mostly because Clara was right, there was more to it than that, he just wasn’t ready to admit it to himself yet.

“No, I think she was gone before the end of the first song”

“Exactly” Harry nodded

“And you’re not just downplaying this because I’m sad and single now?”

“No” he shook his head “you never downplayed your happiness when I was sad and single”

“Fair pont” she said keep her eyes fixed on the road “Just be careful H, I only spoke to her for a minute so take what I say as a grain of salt, but she seemed like the type to collect trophies”

“What do you mean?” he asked

“Well you’re not exactly some unknown, undiscovered musician, gigging around London, sleeping with you gains serious bragging rights, she seems like the type to want them”

“I actually thought the opposite” he pondered, looking out the window and playing with his lips. A habit that he’s picked up over years

Clara’s heart sank, she hated that he couldn’t see what she and Gemma had thought was so obvious “Like I said, grain of salt, and if you’re happy, I’m happy, just be careful”

He smiled “Don’t tell Mum? Yeah”

“I’m not making any promises, Anne knows how to get me talking”

“Well I might just tell Jenny about …… “

“About what Styles? Jenny and I have no secrets”

He sighed “Maybe you should”

“So what kept you out until 4am if Shelly left the show so early?”Clara decided to turn the subject back around to Shelly so that he wouldn’t ask how she was feeling about the break up, because if she was honest, she didn’t know how she was feeling.

“Mostly stupidity” he rubbed his eyes “But I also went back to her place at about midnight”

“So you’re saying you slept on my couch right after you had sex with her?”

“Yep” he nodded

“Did you shower first?”

“Kinda” he smirked

“How do you “kinda”” Clara said using her hands to make air quotes “have a shower”

“Well we had sex in the shower”

Clara laughed “Of course. Oh God” she sighed dropping her head a little without taking her eyes off the road “I miss having a sex life”

“You’ve only been single for like a week” Harry said, trying to make her feel better without saying too much about Will

“Yeah but I haven’t had sex in months, I knew the break up was coming” she said honestly

“Well you certainly weren’t” Harry giggled tentatively

Claral laughed and playfully slapped his knee “Fuck you Styles”

He shrugged “You can if you want”

“Excuse me” Clara had to fight the urge to slam her foot on the breaks and avoid a collision the the motorway

“I’m joking Ra” Harry laughed, although he wasn’t entirely sure that he was. Somewhere in the back of his mind he’d always had the idea that he and Clara would end up together.

“Good” Clara giggled nervously “Because I know where that’s been” she gestured towards his crotch

“And I know where that’s been,” he said, doing the same movements towards her, a smile etched on his face so that she knew he was joking “and it’s looking a bit dusty”

Clara laughed “I won’t take this abuse” she said jokingly “Keep going and I’ll pull over right here and you can walk back to holmes chapel”

Harry reached out and turned the music back up to almost full volume

“It’s beginning to look a lot like christmas” he sang along with michael buble

“Everywhere you go” Clara joined in and that was that for the rest of the trip. They sang as loud as they could and laughed at each other singing out of tune. They made up stories about the cars passing by and spoke about just about anything, relishing in the time they got to spend together, enjoying each other's company because they knew that in just a few weeks, Harry would be off again, and they would be a part for most of the new year. Or so they thought.

***

December 25th, 2019.

It was 6am. It was still dark outside but Clara and Bowie were wide awake. Like little kids on christmas morning, they were excited. Well at least Clara was. Bowie just knew that he’d get some kibble as soon as Clara got out of bed. But Clara had so much to do this morning, she was responsible for christmas lunch this year and she hadn’t even made so much as a dessert. But christmas was here and there was no way that she was going to allow the day to be anything less than festive.

“Right then Bowie,” she yawned “let’s get this show on the road”

The dog lifted his head, looked at Clara as she spoke and flopped back down again when she was done, as if to tell her that it was far too early for an adult to be getting up on Christmas morning. And it was clearly too early for him to be having any breakfast.

Clara laughed and swung her legs out of the bed, “You can stay in bed if you then, but I will be cooking a chicken later, you might want to get up for that”

Bowie groaned and Clara laughed as she put on her dressing gown and walked out of the room. It was a cold morning, but the house was so well heated she would never have guessed that there was frost outside.

The thing about Christmas in Holmes Chapel was that it was full of chosen family. Clara and Harry’s parents had both split up when they were really little, Clara’s when she was four and Harry’s when he was seven and ever since then, their mums had banded together to make sure that christmas was as festive and magical as possible. And Harry and Clara had always wanted to carry on the tradition now that they were all grown up and usually only home for christmas.

Clara walked into the kitchen and switched the kettle on, still feeling a little sleepy, she didn’t turn the light on and walked straight into Harry, who was standing in front of the pantry.

“Morning” he said sounding as if he was still half asleep

“What are you doing up so early?” Clara questioned “And why are you just standing there”

“I just got off the phone with Shelly”

“Oh gross” Clara sighed “well could you move so I can get to the tea”

Harry took an over exaggerated step to the left “It wasn’t that kind of phone call”

“Why else would she be calling you before 6am on christmas day - you want one?” She held up a tea bag.

He nodded “To wish me a Merry Christmas” all of a sudden all of the colour drained from his face and he gulped before he could finish his sentence “and to tell me that she’s pregnant”

Clara paused as she reached for the kettle and looked up at Harry “She’s what now?”

“She’s having my baby” he huffed and threw his hands up in the air

“And how are we feeling about that? Clara stepped lightly, she didn’t want to say anything that might offend him right at this moment in time.

“Confused” he shrugged “I was so careful, I used condoms every time and she told me she was on the pill, I can’t be a dad right now, I’ll be on tour when it’s born”

“Did you tell her that?”

“Yeah” he nodded “she told me to cancel, she wants to keep it” he ran his hands through his hair “I don’t know what to do Ra? Tell me what to do?”

She gestured towards the bar stool that sat at the kitchen bench and put his cup of tea down next to him “do you want a baby?”

He sighed “I mean, yeah, one day, but fuck not right now”

“And more importantly” Clara looked at him sternly “Do you want one with Shelly?”

He took a sip of his tea “No” he said plainly

“Well there’s your answer”

“But she wants to keep it Ra, I can’t just ghost her now and it’s not like I’m not going to love the kid, but it’s just horrible timing”

“I think you need to talk to shelly in person”

“Yeah” he nodded “I do….” he paused “Can you come with me? Might be handy to have a family lawyer right there”

“Might be a bit intimidating right at the beginning H” Clara admitted “I’ll get you through the custody and child support battles if that’s what you want, but you need to sit down with her and get all your feelings out on the table first - and then if she doesn’t cooperate, call me and I’ll go full lawyer on her”

“Lawyer on who?” Anne said, walking into the kitchen wrapping her dressing gown tight around her to keep her body heat in.

“Oh no one” Harry smiled his charming smile “Merry Christmas Mum”

“Oh Merry Christmas my boy” she wrapped her arms around him “It’s so nice to have you home”

His head sank into Anne’s shoulder and suddenly everything didn’t seem so urgent or stressful

“Good to be here mum” he sighed happily

“Now Clara” she said pulling away from Harry “Merry Christmas Dear”

“Merry Christmas Anne” she smiled “Thanks for having us all in your house”

“Oh it’s no trouble, you’re doing most of the work love, I’ve just got spare rooms. Now,” she clapped her hands “How can I help?”

Clara smiled “You can’t, make yourself a cup of tea and relax Anne, you deserve it”

“Relax this year before you have a grandchild to dote on next year” Harry thought to himself before smiling at his mother and handing her a teabag, butterflies filling his stomach, the thought of being a father still sinking in.

“If you insist” Anne shrugged, “I’ll be in the living room if you need anything”

Harry waited until Anne was as far away as possible and then whispered “I think I have to go back to London tomorrow, talk to shelly”

Clara shook her head “No” she said “you need a few days to get your head around it all. Work out what you want and have a clear head when you talk to her”

“Breaking up with someone are we H?” Ben, Clara's brother said walking into the kitchen.

“No” he laughed nervously “One of the PR managers at my label is trying to get me to get caught by the paparazzi while I’m home” This wasn’t a lie. They’d been bugging him about that for a while now, but right now it was the least of his worries.

“Maybe your job isn’t as great as it looks” Ben shrugged “anyway, Merry Christmas” he smiled “What kind of feast are we having Ra?”

“Well you’re having a roast chicken and Harry and Gemma are having a nut roast”

“Sounds delicious, what can I do?”

“Nothing yet” Clara smiled wishing he would go away so she could finish her conversation with Harry “Go sit down and get warm by the fire, I can see the goosebumps on your arms”

Ben nodded and left the room, feeling a little awkward for not helping and Clara turned to Harry.

“You need to get your head around this pretty fast H, because if she’s already saying she’s going to keep it, I can almost guarantee you she won’t be changing her mind. And I know you, you won’t just be a child support dad, so when we get a chance after lunch has happened, we’re going for a walk, and were going to talk this through until you know what you really want from this”

Harry’s face had turned a ghostly white “Ok” he nodded

“And until then” clara smiled “I’m going to distract you, see those carrots over there?”

He nodded again

“Peel them” Clara said “and the boil them in that pot”

“I can do that” he sighed “But then what”

“Well then you can chop the nuts” Clara took a sip of her tea and tried to empty her head of the idea that Harry was going to be a father and work out where the hell she needed to start for this christmas lunch, which she had refused help with.

***

Holmes Chapel was really beautiful in winter. The trees glistened with frost that had never melted from that morning and paths looked like something straight out of a fairy tale. Harry and Clara had managed to escape their families for a little while, using Bowie as the perfect excuse to go for a walk in the cold. It had been almost eight hours since Shelly had told Harry that she’s pregnant but the information had barely sunken in.

“What are your thoughts H?” Clara asked after five minutes of walking in silence

“I don't have any” Harry admitted “I don’t want a baby right now Ra, but I’ve got one and I don’t know what to do”

Clara nodded, “I think the first thing you need to think about is what you want your relationship with Shelly to look like.”

“I don’t know” he said firmly “I really like her but this makes it very serious very fast”

“It does” Clara nodded “But I’m not sure you’re in a position to be picky about that right”

“I guess we’re better off working out that we don’t work together before the baby arrives”

“That’s one way to look at it…” Bowie spotted something and launched himself forward “Bowie” Clara said firmly “with me”

“Or it could work and I’d have a ready made happy family before I thought I would”

“Yeah” Clara sighed, little apprehensively, “This could be great for you”

“What do I do if it’s a disaster”

“You call me” Clara said “and we do everything we legally can to get the custody agreement that suits you”

“I’d want all of it” He admitted

“I know” Clara smiled “But I wanted you to say that, so that you’d realise that this is not such a disaster”

“I hate it when you do that” Harry smiled down at clara

“Do what?” she smirked

“Know what I’m thinking before I’m thinking it”

“Oh that” Clara blushed “I’ve been doing that since we were 5”

He nodded and sighed “I guess I’m going to be a dad next year then”

[oftenderweapons]

The Studio - Min Yoongi

Pairing: Yoongi x reader (nicknamed Kitten)

Wordcount: 9.8k words

Genre: fluff, smut, mild angst

Rating: 18+

Hello my little raspberries! Here we go with Yoongi’s studio one shot. I’ll try and explain as briefly as I can for those new to this: Kitten is the nickname Yoongi has given to the reader (read more about the nicknames here), so basically this is a readerxYoongi.

To sum up the context of the fic quickly without reading all the rest (including some stuff which hasn’t been published yet [if you wanna read it vote for Illicit Affairs *wink wonk*]), Yoongi and Kitten have been dating for months but Yoongi kept postponing stuff with her (much to Kitten’s dismay — more like utter desperation) until their schedule in Japan was done. When they do reunite, they basically live joined at the hip — pun intended — but unfortunately, since tour is approaching, Yoongi has to take a week to focus on his job, promising Kitten the weekend. As Friday nights falls, Kitten decides to come claim her prize, and she comes carrying a lethal weapon.

Description and trigger warnings: Lots of swearing. As usual there is unprotected sex (these two got tested before going bare, please be like Yoongi: be smart, get tested). Female masturbation (with bullet vibrator), Kitten acts up since Yoongi acts oblivious and indifferent (surprise: He. Is. Not.), Trauma from past relationship (Kitten has had a pretty shitty ex who ignored her needs and made her very uncomfortable about having someone go down on her), Male masturbation, Oral sex both male and female receiving, Sensation play and slight foot fetishism, cum play and cum eating (it was necessary), lowkey spanking, multiple orgasms, hinted squirting.

Word count: 9.8k

Here is my updated Masterlist!

The receptionist led you through a daedalus of rooms and glass doors. After a few turns you spotted the sign of the Rkive, nothing but darkness coming from behind the glass door. He was probably already at home, maybe with his girl. From what Yoongi had told you, Namjoon had been working from home for the last few days, only coming in for rehearsals, leaving shortly before dinner. You had crossed her on the lift once as she carried a weekender, smiling at you, before you both headed for the same corridor, stopping at neighbouring doors, both ringing the doorbells and waiting.

"You must be Kitten, uh?" She said, using Yoongi's nickname. You asked yourself how she knew that.

"Vixen?" You replied, guessing that she was the woman that Namjoon told Yoongi about.

She laughed and nodded. "Yes, I guess you can call me that too. Pleased to meet you." She said, introducing herself with her full name. Just as you shook her hand, introducing yourself, Namjoon came to the door in a pair of loose grey sweats and a white t-shirt, greeting her with a "hey babe" before he spotted you, waving cutely at your form before Yoongi opened the door for you, with a way less appropriate "fuck, I'm starving, come here" which had the couple next door secretly giggling as your needy partner dragged you past his threshold and smashed the door closed.

That was just two weeks ago. You went from a week of daily sex — with multiple rounds — to a complete caresty. You were almost ready to hump a streetlight like a stripper pole, however you thought you'd much rather surprise your man and knock at his door like a discreetly civilised young woman.

Lost in your thoughts you didn't even realise you had reached his door.

"Here we are, shall I ring?" The receptionist asked.

"Yes, please." You said with a polite smile.

"I think I've already seen you."

You nodded. "My firm works for yours. I have come here before." You confirmed.

"Oh, that makes sense."

Yoongi opened the door, his mouth composing a surprised expression, and then his signature gummy smile, which you mirrored. "You're here."

You nodded, mirroring his expression.

"Thank you, Mr. Kang." He said, holding his hand out for you. You caught it immediately as he led you through the door.

"That's okay, boy." The older man, quite surely a member of security greeted both goodnight and headed back for his spot.

"He's my favourite. Sometimes when his shift ends we eat dinner together. He's amazing." He said with a soft smile. He brought your joined hands to his lips, kissing your knuckles. "How's the weather outside?"

"Not too cold, but the air is pretty damp, I just hope it rains. It's very foggy tonight." You said, taking off your coat.

He grabbed your face as both your hands were still caught in your sleeves, planting his lips on yours. "Lemme finish a couple things on this one then we're all set and we can head home."

"Are you the only one left?" You asked.

Yoongi nodded. "Normally it's me and Joon working late and heading back home together, but lately he's been going back home to Vixen. I've heard he's trying to get her to move in."

"Haven't they been dating for a couple months?" You questioned.

"So what. We've also been dating for a couple months but would you say no if I asked you to move in with me?"

You thought about it.

"Seriously?" He asked, scandalised at your hesitation as he headed back to his chair.

"I mean…!" You complained, trying to win him back. "It's just a couple months. I would take it easy, maybe first I’d start with staying for the weekend and then see if I can handle it during weekdays too, gradually. A bit at a time."

He acted as if he weren't listening.

"Yoongi!"

"Busy." He replied.

"You cannot not listen to what you don't like." You said, with a curious giggle.

"Call me when you're ready to say 'If you asked me to, I would move in tomorrow'". He typed, but it sounded more like a dramatic gesture than some actual typing. "Plus, I will unlisten to whatever you say that doesn't respect the I-love-you-I'm-a-sucker-for-you-Yoongi agenda."

You moved closer to his chair, standing behind him, bending down to his ear. "What if I put my lips, right here." You teased, "would you listen to me?"

He shivered and you snickered like a vicious predator.

"Uh?" You urged him.

"You won't distract me like this." He said.

"Not even if I said 'I love you, I'm a sucker for you, Yoongi'," you moaned in his ear, "not even then?"

He shifted in his seat, his lips parting. "No." He said, but his voice was extremely unsure, not even a glimpse of firmness in it.

"Don't lie to me." You murmured. Your hands spreading over his pectorals. He might not be as buff as some of the other guys, but he was secretly well built, especially on the chest area. You had personally tested that out.

He withheld a moan. "I'm not distracted."

"You're getting hard, Yoongi." You commented, noticing his bulge. You let your hands crawl lower, down his stomach, where his sweater met the waist of his slacks. "I missed you so much these past few days." You whined, trying to find the button of his trousers.

He slapped your hand. "Let me finish and we can head home. There you can tell me how much you missed me." He said, his voice almost sounding like a warning. "In detail."

"But I want you now."

"Stay put and wait."

You tutted and stood up. "Cockblocker." You snarled under your breath, sitting on the sofa.

"How can I cockblock you if you don't even have a cock?" He argued back.

You chuckled. "Shut up." You rummaged in your bag, smirking when you found your little personal pouch. "Plus, why would I need a cock when you can share yours with me?"

It was his turn to chuckle. "You, shut up." He said back at you. "If you were smart enough, you would keep quiet and be good, so I can finish my job and take you home."

The fact that you immediately thought of his place scared you a little. You absolutely understood Vixen and Namjoon's position at this point. With the guys' schedule, which includes working hours, trips, shootings, TV and radio appearances, then briefings and their own meetings and the oncoming tour, you started fearing how it would end up with you and Yoongi: your relationship had blossomed in fits and starts through Yoongi's determination and commitment, and your curiosity towards him. It had kept going because of the incredible attraction, the sense of balance and the sacred quiet and respect that you could reach in each others' company.

"Home where?" You asked, shutting up your mind.

He turned with his chair. "This should be enough to show you that Namjoon is right about having her move in. And that I would be right too if I wanted you to."

He wanted to. After he'd come back home from Japan, you had spent the rest of the week going back to his place after dark, having dinner, taking care of each other, sleeping together. The week after that you basically went back home only to grab a few things before going back to his. Then on Sunday he told you he had rehearsals at BigHit, and usually those go on till late, so he would be staying at the dorms, promising you he'd spend whatever free time he had with you and that he would see you in the weekend, when the rehearsals finish earlier and they have less disturbing timetables.

That's how you found yourself in his studio, on Friday night at 10pm.

"How long do you have left there?" You asked.

"Mh, maybe twenty minutes. I was just doing a little bit of fact checking and research for some references. Almost done."

"No listening?" You asked, testing for any catch in your plan.

"No, i don't think so, why?" He kept scrolling on his screen.

As you quietly took off your trousers, you chirped out a "nothing" shedding your jacket too in the process. You sat on his sofa in nothing but a formal shirt, an undershirt and your bra, your lacy panties doing little to protect your skin from the cold bite of the leather. You grabbed your disinfectant gel from your pouch and poured a dollop on your palm. After that you passed a wet wipe on your hands, carefully inspecting the underside of each nail. Once you were satisfied, you neared the bin by the door and got rid of the used wipe.

You sat back on the sofa and bit your lip, hesitating before moving to the next step. You still forced yourself to ignore your pouch, focusing on cupping your crotch and staring at the back of Yoongi's head. His place smelled amazing, something like patchouli and lavender and amber and pine. It was very male. Sometimes you could even catch a whiff of scotch.

You were wet.

It felt uncomfortable and somehow disappointing that he was there but he hadn't yet looked for you. Uncertainty made you desperate and eager for confirmation on his side. Maybe that's why you were here, acting like this.

The moment your finger slipped against your clit you huffed out a heavy breath, trying to keep quiet and making sure that Yoongi couldn't hear you quite right yet.

You did it again, trying to arouse yourself fully, until the wetness became unbearable. Not only it needed to feel wet, but to sound like it too. It took little, especially considering that you had accidentally deprived yourself because of a combination of work and stress and waiting for Yoongi. On the brink of sanity, you slipped your panties to the side, the sound of typing stopping for a second, which had you stopping your finger with the tip hovering at your entrance.

Yoongi started typing again, slow but completely absorbed in his work. You pushed your finger in, your mouth opening in a breathy sob, which Yoongi didn't hear — or that maybe he ignored.

Crooking your finger, you teased your g-spot, immediately flinching as you realised how it felt almost too good. The sofa creaked underneath you.

At his desk, Yoongi was going on with his work, completely oblivious of the misbehaving happening on his couch, however he almost started thinking of working from home.

Oh, so you'll be in the same house as Kitten, with a bed, a sofa and a bathtub, and you're gonna lock yourself in the studio and ignore her. Yeah, right. He thought.

Therefore, on with his work.

In the meantime you had surreptitiously taken off your panties, your legs still open just barely enough to fit your wrist. The process had been an exercise in control, since the leather seemed to have glued to your naked backside, which made it creak at every single inch of skin trying to part from the surface. Your hand was now free to roam on your pubis, cupping the skin and parting the labia, dragging two fingers along the slit, wetting them properly before inserting them. This time you did moan a short staccato sound, it lasted maybe half a second before you regained control of your vocal cords.

Yoongi's ears immediately picked that up, however he deemed the sound a sign of impatience or tiredness and dismissed it altogether.

Licking your lower lip, almost expecting him to turn around, you waited a couple more seconds before moving your fingers inside, crooking them. You bent forward at the precision with which you managed to find your sweet spot, the seated position simplifying the operation. Your mouth parted in a silent cry and your hips buckled, once more making the sofa crackle underneath you.

Yoongi started getting suspicious: he knew you had something going on, but he decided against asking. Ignorance is bliss.

He went on with his work.

You started getting seriously upset at his lack of recognition. With insufference and discontent coursing through your veins, you fished out a smaller pouch from your bag, quickly undoing the strings with your clean fingers. You extracted one of your favourite gifts to yourself, a small vibrator, a rather practical one you had taken from your bedside before you came to see him. You were almost sorry it was a pretty quiet one. You switched it on, enjoying the light buzzing it emitted. It was like listening to a mosquito fly around your ears. You seriously doubted Yoongi could hear it.

You placed it on your mound, without even letting it close to your folds or your clit. You teased the outline of your intimate parts, gently drawing the lines of your labia. You were very careful when you reached your clit, still a whimper escaped your lips.

Yoongi placed it immediately. He could recognise that sound instinctively. Usually it was connected to his tongue curling around your clit when he started eating you out. It was the first-lick whimper. The other circumstance was when he slid inside you particularly good, with that smooth, all-in-in-one-go kind of thrust. You were probably touching yourself.

He didn't know what to do with that information. He wanted to turn around and look at you, of course, but he thought that if he ignored you, you would probably get louder, needier and messier, and he was all in for that.

In the meantime you had started drawing circles on your clit, your breathing erratic and your spare hand going up to cup your breast. Your eyes were still glued to the dark mass of hair emerging from the chair right before you. "Yoongi." You called.

"Almost done, baby." He replied. He wanted to smash his head against the table. No man in his right state of mind would do this. He wasn't a genius. He was a masochistic fool and the worst part of it all was how disgustingly lucid he was in his reasoning. How he was trying to get you so desperate that you would scream and beg for his attention.

You were fuming: you turned the power of the toy to the loudest setting you had, the buzz now propagating in the room, your cunt so slick it was almost too loud for your taste.

"Yoongi, please." You cried out, your juices dripping on his sofa. And then you snapped, your whole body bending forward as you moaned "so good, Yoongi", your body too weak to remove the vibrator from your overstimulated nerve endings, your orgasm too sudden and overwhelming.

Still, no sign from Yoongi. The back of his chair was the first thing you noticed as soon as you recovered from your small black-out.

You switched off the toy, laying it on your thigh as you laid back against the back of the couch. "Yoongi." You called again, upset by his indifference.

"Mh." He acknowledged. That was suspicious. Quietly you parted from the sofa, kneeling down and starting to crawl towards him, not entirely trusting your legs to not give out beneath you; however your crawling had a limping pattern, your soaked hand close to your chest, clutching the toy in your palm.

You were perfectly quiet as you closed up on him, hiding behind the back of his chair as you listened. He was making a noise similar to a low purr, groaning under his breath. Your eyes closed as you listened to him carefully. You knew that purring moan, the rushed pattern of breaths. You moved to the side of his chair, peeking at his lap.

He was touching himself, his other hand combing his hair back and moving down the side of his neck, lingering on his chest. His eyes were closed, his lips parted, his hips jerking up just a fraction of an inch with the tiniest thrusts. His hand looked glossy with spit and precum as he dragged it roughly from base to tip, where he gave two rolls of his wrist before heading down again.

It was his technique, milking upwards, double roll the palm around the tip and back downwards. It was the way he used to do it before you came around. Since then he had slowly grown accustomed to finishing by thrusting up into his fist, usually laying on his belly before cumming on your navel or kneeling, straddling your waist and spilling on your chest. He loved pressing his face between your boobs when he touched himself hovering over you, but he also enjoyed the view when kneeling over you.

Thinking of you like that had his lips parting in a slow, heavy breath that got you even wetter.

"Yoongi." You whispered delicately.

He didn't even get scared, he just opened his eyes and smirked. "You done with your little scene on my sofa?"

Cocking an eyebrow you sat on the balls of your feet, observing him. "Maybe I should go back home, where I can comfortably make myself cum on my plush bed without judgy, undeserving people around." You said with a petty tone.

He looked taken aback by your comment. "I had told you to stay put, still and quiet."

"Buy yourself a doll and she can do that for you. I've been staying put, still and quiet all week. I can assure you it's pretty boring." You reprimanded him, a bit upset.

"Are you horny?" He asked, slowing down his motion.

"I was." You clicked your tongue, catching his hand mid-stroke. "You lost your chance."

He chuckled mischievously. "You've had just one. You need minimum another." He ripped his hand from your grasp and started moving again.

"You were busy. How come you're jerking off instead of doing your fact check?" You asked, snarling a little.

"I finished my fact check but I didn't want to interrupt you. I reckoned I could use your little solo for selfish purposes." He said, groaning a bit as his slowed down movement reached a sensitive spot.

You wanted your mouth on him. You were ready to make him pay for it.

He stopped touching himself and moved his hand to your mouth to draw the line of your lips. You immediately opened up, slipping your tongue out to lick at his finger.

"Kitten." He breathed out.

You ignored his plea and sucked at his finger. His strong, slender, beautiful finger. He was enraptured by your expression: eyes closed, lips puckered around his knuckle. You looked peaceful. And beautiful. And well, erotic.

"Kitten, love." He murmured, turning his chair slightly, enough so that you could be more comfortable in your position.

You were finally facing his lap, his cock laying in front of you, covered in slick, so thick and delicious. He wasn't that long, but it balanced his body beautifully, the thickness and modest length making it the best dick you had ever taken in your mouth, which obviously made you twice as willing to suck him. All the time — not like frequency mattered.

With a bit of resistance on your behalf, he pushed his finger out of your mouth. "Are you that in love with my hands, Kitten?"

You pouted. "Tell me one good reason to take it away from me."

"I thought you'd like my cock better." He said, honest.

You frowned. "As if you deserved to get some after making me cum all alone, while you took advantage of my loudness."

“Are you angry at me, Kitten?” He asked. He knew it was a bastard move when he started it, but he hadn't thought it would affect you this much.

“A bit.” You admitted.

It was sort of hilarious to have this conversation while you were naked from your waist down, a bullet vibrator in hand and his erection laying out of his pants.

“Why are you angry at me?” He asked, being absolutely neutral about his state of undress. Unfortunately you weren’t an ounce as neutral as him.

You dragged the back of your hand up his calf, your knuckles grazing the soft stubble of his legs.

“I have been unfair to you, haven’t I?” He asked, caressing your head with his clean hand, tipping your chin upward. “I’m sorry, Kitten.” He said, holding your gaze. “I’ve missed you too, love.” He traced your lips. “I’ve missed making love to you.”

“I’ve missed you so much.” Your hand reached his crotch, scratching his thighs through the fabric of his trousers. “I’ve been wanting you all week, but i didn’t want to bother you. I kept reminding myself that you were busy, that I just needed to last a few days until it was the weekend and you could be all mine.” You bent down and kissed his knee. “But it took a toll on me, not hearing from you. Not having you near.” You pressed your face to his lower inner thigh. “You didn’t even say you love me.” You mumbled under your breath, feeling a knot in your throat.

“Oh, ____, love.” He bent down, trying to drag your face away from his knee, keeping you from hiding yourself. “I love you, ____. I love you, Kitten.” He kissed your forehead. “I’m sorry I didn’t call you, baby. I’m sorry I didn’t tell remind you.” He cupped your jaw and pressed your mouth to his. “I love you, Kitten. I’ll tell you as many times as you need it, baby.”

“I love you too, Yoongi.” You murmured against his lips. “I’m sorry for being like this.” You said. It was a flashback to all the times you had to beg your ex to declare his feelings to you, to all the times you had had to ask him to love you.

“Nothing to be sorry about, Kitten. Absolutely nothing, my love.” He whispered close to you face. “I’m not your ex, baby. I’m here for you.” He kept stroking your cheek. “If we keep going here we’re gonna make a mess, Kitten.”

“Is there any reason why we shouldn’t?” You asked, quiet and mischievous.

“I usually meet the guys here to record demos.” He objected.

You frowned. "It's not like I'm going to cause irreversible damage."

He pouted and nodded. Fair enough. “So…"

"Yoongi, please, I need to feel you in my mouth." You whined, biting your lower lip.

He chuckled, sitting upright. "You sure, Kitten?"

"Yeah, I'm sure, now stand up and take off your trousers please." You said, tugging at the fabric.

He snickered and pushed his chair back enough to stand in front of you and roll down his slacks. He sat closer to the edge of the chair and you tugged at the hem, finally removing his trousers completely. Now you were free to make him open wide and kneel between his legs.

You suckled the skin of his inner thigh, your hands skimming his calves. At the moment, your toy was laying between your thighs, switched off as you waited for the best moment to bring it into the picture. "Do you want me?" You asked, looking at him from under your eyelashes, batting them slowly, your lips curled up in a cute pout.

"Of course I do, Kitten. I'm so hard for you baby." He moaned, stroking himself. He lowered the tip so that it was closer to your lips.

"Can I?" You murmured, almost desperate.

"Yes, Kitten. It's yours, love, you know it." He said gently, longing for you so ardently and so composedly.

You licked his slit with delicate manners. You looked like the elegant cat you had reminded him from day one. And then your lips wrapped up around him, sucking his bulbous head into your mouth, your cheeks wrapping so tight around him with the pressure of your sucking.

"Fuuuuck, Kitten, that's amazing, love. ____, you're gonna make me cum."

Grinning like the devil, you took the chance to swallow him almost entirely, leaving only an inch out, and making him roar with pleasure. "Yes, yes. That's one hell of a mouth, Kitten. That's so fucking perfect, ____. I fucking love you so fucking much, babe." You loved when he started to swear during sex, it turned you on in a manner you couldn't quite understand.

When you felt him start to pulsate in your mouth you pressed two fingers at the base and pulled him out.

"You good, Kitten?" He asked, panting, trying not to cry at the vulnerable situation you'd left him in. He was on the very edge, one more second and he could have cum. But he didn't press you, you just came up for air.

Little did he know it was absolutely intentional. And you intended to do it again. You played a poker face. "Yes, I'm good, why?"

"Just checking on you." He explained, stroking himself at the base.

This couldn't do. You caught his wrist gently, blocking it. "Lemme take care of it all, babe." You licked his tip seducingly. "You know I won't leave you hanging."

He smiled and threw his head back. "I am at your mercy, ____."

He had all the power in the world when he spoke your name. You eagerly returned to your ministration, this time blocking his palm on his tight, underneath yours, while his other hand kept toying with his neck and chest. Not that you noticed: you were too eager bobbing your head on his length, focusing on the lewd moans he emitted, on the swear words he growled against the headrest of his chair, where he was currently pressing the side of his face.

"Kitten." He whined, almost endearing in the delicate inflection of his voice.

He was going to cum. You pulled him out as fast as you could, quickly heading to his underside to lay the softest kisses of affection.

"Kitten." He growled, but this time it was no joke. He was getting worked up. A bit angry.

"What?"

"Stop teasing."

"Me! Teasing! How could I? My priority is my boyfriend, Yoongi, and his well-being”. You grinned, delivering a long lick from the base to his tip. “I’m going to make you feel so good.”

“Kitten, I swear, if you’re edging me I’m going to make you pay for it.” He growled, fighting your grip on his hand.

You gripped his wrist harder. “This can go two ways, Yoongi. You let me do my thing on my terms, or I’m going to leave right in this second and go back home by myself tonight. Pick.” You used a tone so calm it sounded like the most sensual of threats.

He twisted his wrist gently, looking into your eyes, and lacing his fingers with yours, moving your joined hands to the armrest. With the other hand he gripped the edge of the chair behind his head. “Do your thing, Kitty cat.”

Smiling lasciviously, you placed open mouthed kisses to his inner thigh, moving from the left to the right side. You lifted your hand, previously on his lap, letting the edge of your nail draw a thin line from his hip to his knee to his ankle, where it met his sock. You were almost tempted to take it off and tease him there. Why not? You had the wipes to clean it afterward… Fuck it.

You caressed his ankle, teasing it with your nails.

“Kitten, that feels very good, love.” He moaned, squeezing your hand in his. “Want me to let go of your hand?” He asked.

“Maybe later.” You whispered, leaving sucking kisses at the base of his shaft. You blindly took off his sock. “Are you cold, baby?” You murmured softly.

“No, I’m shivering because it’s so good, love.” He praised you. “You are amazing, Kitten. Thank you so much for this, babe.”

You parted from his skin. “No need to thank me, Yoongles.” You licked his length. “I do it because I like it. Because it’s so good.” With your spare hand you tickled the underside of his foot, which had him tensing the muscles there, his whole leg jumping, trying to escape your sweet torture. “Too much?”

“Just… unexpected. Sensitive.” He hissed.

You removed your teasing fingernails.

“It’s– No, I liked it.” He clarified, his pretty face scrunched in a confused expression.

You smiled darkly. “I was thinking of this…” You placed your toy under his foot, switching it on on the lowest setting.

“Kitten. Fuck. Shit.” He growled. “What the hell!” He pressed his head against the back of the seat.

“Too much?” You asked, distancing it from his skin.

"No, good. God, Kitten. Just, please, your mouth." He begged.

You kissed his tip and swallowed him.

His back arched and his lips parted in a gasp. "Yes, love. Oh god."

The slight buzzing moved up towards his calf as you absentmindedly followed the outline of his leg. You were completely absorbed in pleasuring him with your mouth, squeezing him with your lips and tongue and stroking him with the tender skin of your cheeks.

"Please." He moaned, struggling under your assault. "Love you." He whined. "Let me." He was so hopeless, his broken thoughts exiting his mouth unfiltered.

You pulled him out, taking a deep breath, opening your eyes to look at him. "You look so pretty, Yoongi. You look so fucking high, babe.”

“Please,” he breathed, trying to grind up into your mouth.

“Come on, wait for me, Yoongi. I’m not done with you yet, baby.” You cooed, bringing the vibrator up to the inside of his knee, which made his leg start bouncing. Ever so gently, you brought the head of the bullet even closer to his inner thigh, making him swear under his breath. “I feel so good making you look like this,” you groaned, kissing his navel. “I know right now your head is so empty you’re only thinking about me. No drama going on inside your pretty head when I’m giving you head this good. ”

“Kitten, for the love of God.”

Just when you had reached his crotch with your toy-accidentally-turned-instrument-of-torture, you started again on the other side, from his knee. His hand was gripping yours viciously, his strong fingers constricting your knuckles with so much pressure you worried about him getting cramps right when you wanted him to feel only pleasure coursing through his body.

“I am begging you, Kitten. I ain’t too proud, please.” He howled, as you saw a glistening pearl of precum blossom on his slit. You immediately caught it with your tongue, using the occasion to suck his tip.

“Such a good boy. Lemme take care of you.” Your head lowered on him once more, this time not sparing an inch of him. Just as he quieted down from the deep moan he had just released, you moved the vibrator to the tender skin of his testicles, placing it there without pressure, which made the stimulation even more intense.

He growled your name. It was the most virile thing you had ever heard. You were ready to commit murder to hear him say it like that everyday for the rest of your life. The hand once tightly gripping the back of his chair was now hanging midair, as if ready to touch you. He caressed his sweaty fringe, combing his hair back and deciding on gripping the armrest instead of the back. You slipped him out once more and removed the vibrator.

He opened his eyes with the most pitiful expression he had ever made. “Kitten.”

“I know, baby, I just need to know if you want to cum in my mouth or if you have anything else in mind.” You said, tracing small circles with your thumb on the back of his hand.

He noticed that you were still wearing your nice shirt from work. “Chest.” He murmured.

You grinned. You had never allowed any man to do that to you. You hated the idea of it, but when you did it with Yoongi for the first time you just saw him lose his mind at it, stare at you in admiration, like you were the most beautiful thing in the world, and you just decided that the look on his face was a great prize for a relatively small sacrifice. Little did you know you would come to like it, the warm, sudden feeling of his semen sprinkling your naked skin, rolling down gently in the most erotic sort of massage you could ever dream of. Quickly, you let go of Yoongi’s hand, offering him the vibrator. “Hold it for me, baby?”

He simply nodded with a confused pout, his brain so fucked out that you giggled at how cute he looked. You undid a few buttons of your shirt to your stomach, then you stood up and took off your undershirt, slipping the thin straps off your arms through the hem of each sleeve and dragging the lower hem down from your waist, until you stepped out of it like a skirt. Yoongi looked a bit more lucid as you undid the clasps of your bra and removed the straps just like those of your undershirt, gripping the front of the bra and pulling it off from the opening of your shirt. Covered only in your white work shirt, you regained your vibrator from Yoongi’s obedient hand and joined your hand with his once more.

“Open it nice, I don’t wanna mess up the shirt.” He said, ever the caring, attentive one.

You slipped the shoulders off, the fabric slipping under your breasts and supporting them like some sort of a corset.

“Like this?” You asked.

He nodded. “Will you let me this time, please?” He said, his voice so fragile and broken that if you hadn’t already decided, he would have convinced you to offer him relief.

You let your actions speak. You started working the first few inches of his shaft, gently toying with the vibrator at the base, where his cock met his balls. His moaning soon became desperate, so incoherent that you doubted having one of the most talented rappers and songwriters in front of you. He looked like he didn’t know a word, like the best he could do were baby gurgles.

When you felt him begin to pulsate, you let him take the lead a little, choosing how deep he needed to go and how long he could keep going. You started teasing the underside of his cock with the side of the vibrator, running up and down the thick tendon there. “Kitten, I’m close.” He warned with a timbre so husky it almost scared you

You started going a bit faster with the up and down pattern of the toy. Your eyes were fixed on him when he started slowly moving his hips toward the edge of the chair with weak thrusts. He started opening and closing his mouth, gaping. His short groans became more frequent, getting higher and higher, his knuckles going white with how hard he was gripping his armrest.

“Now.” He said, letting go of the armrest, using his hand to pull out of your mouth while you scooted closer, offering him the skin of you bosom. Your inner walls began pulsating as he pushed his tip against the skin of your nipple, rubbing it while at the same time he gently pushed your hand and the toy aside to stroke the base. He kept licking his lips, delivering those small thrusts into his fist just as you moved the tip of the vibrator to the head of his cock, teasing the frenulum. He groaned and began moving faster, his grunts getting quicker until he finally screamed your name.

The first shot was usually the messiest, the pressure so high it often reached your neck and chin, but this time it stayed on your breast, probably because Yoongi was pressing up into you and the toy. You moaned yourself when the vibrator touched your nipple, Yoongi laughing gently and calling your name when he realised you were paying for this too, that you too were vulnerable, and that probably you were turned on enough to let him eat you out and possibly cum inside you before you both headed to his place for a hot meal and a shower. Not necessarily in that order.

He spilled twice more on your breastbone and your other breast before he calmed down, reaching for the toy and switching it off. “Kitten. I swear to God, I’m gonna die because of you.” He panted, heavily gasping for air.

Still no trace of the mighty rapper, just one very normal, very lovely young man.

With a fingertip you collected a drop that was dangerously rolling down towards your shirt. “A good way to go.”

“It would be sort of embarrassing to explain.” He blushed, looking at you sucking at his cum on your fingertip. “Come here.” He murmured, patting his thighs. “Can you straddle me?” He asked.

“Why don’t we move to the sofa?” You asked.

He nodded, using your still joined hands to help you up on your feet. As you both stood up, you found yourself face to face, however his eyes moved downwards, to the wetness on your boobs. Bending his head, he cupped both with his palms, cradling the underside in his hands before pushing his lips to your nipple, his tongue lashing out to lick away at his release. Still needy, he moved to the other side, cleaning the other stain too.

Your knees wobbled. He smirked. “Sofa.” However when he reached the black leather piece he noticed the mess you had left behind. “You’d better fix it. Immediately.” He reprimanded.

You hang your head low between your shoulders, hiding from his scolding. You put your toy on top of its pouch, fishing a couple wet wipes to clean the cushion properly, as you bent at the waist to check for the results, you felt his hand smack your ass heavily. “You’re lucky it’s not suede or you’d be fucked by now.” He stood behind you and bent over your spine, adhering to your backside. “And not in the nice way.” He stood up again. “Stay like this, Kitten, don’t you dare move.”

You heard the sound of the lid of your wipes coming off, then the sound of fabric. You didn’t dare move. Yoongi was very likely to look for revenge now, and you already had a high price to pay. In your peripherals you noticed him rubbing the wet wipe all over your vibrator, cleaning it up.

You knew it was your turn now. You just had to hope he was feeling merciful. He bent over you. “Stay put and it’ll be okay, love.” He said with lethal kindness. You heard a gentle thud to the floor, shorty followed by another. “I am kneeling behind you, Kitten. Are you okay with me eating you out like this?”

He was so attentive: it felt like he had a list of all your triggers memorised in his mind; he was always so careful when it came to your potential traumas and insecurities. You weren’t new to receiving oral sex, however to you sometimes it felt very intimate and your worries kept you from freeing your mind and enjoying the experience fully.

“It’s okay.” You mewled.

“You can stop me anytime, love.” He said softly, kissing the back of your thighs, licking the thin stretch marks there. He loved all those small signs, the way they showed the tide of your skin, the way it made sense, the way you looked realer than anything he’s ever dreamed. He was in love with all your freckles and moles, wrinkles, the squishy part of your belly and waist and hips, the little hairs on your navel. He felt real when with you. He felt a little bit less surrounded by that artificial, polished world that looked like a simulation. He felt like he was allowed some small chance of normality, of reality with you. No skinny models with made-up personality, no fame or ego, just being two people facing each other, telling each other how it feels to be human.

Throughout all of his meditation he delivered small bites and kisses on the skin of your thighs and ass, tracing the outline of your labia, enjoying the plush softness.

You moaned out his name, pressing into him. “I know I’ve been bad, just… Please.”

“You’ve got nothing to apologise for.” He murmured, kissing your slit. “I deserved it.” He licked you slowly, from your mound to your entrance, the tip of his tongue digging in and collecting the wetness oozing out of you. “I neglected you.” He licked you again, nuzzling the raw skin of your inner labia with his lips. He kept his lips there, breathing softly through his mouth. “I love you, Kitten.” He kissed you there. “Love you so much, baby.” He murmured before you heard the buzz of the vibrator. He wasn’t toying around with you: he wrapped his arm around your leg, nuzzling the toy against your folds until he heard you whine. "Found it?" He asked, referring to your clit.

"Right there." You moaned.

He flattened his tongue against your folds, rolling it until they were spread wide, exposing your most tender nerves to the violent vibrations.

"Yoongi, I'm gonna cum." You whimpered, pressing yourself into him.

He wanted you to. He didn't care, couldn't care less of the amount of times you edged him earlier: he wanted to see you undone. He wished he could tell you, however he felt like it was more important for his mouth to stay on your cunt. He wanted you to know that you were allowed, that he wasn't going to deny you. He simply reached for your hand, placing his on top of yours on the cushion. Suddenly you started grinding your hips, riding his tongue, your free hand wrapping around his wrist, helping him place the bullet where you needed it. The fact that you were almost silent, holding your breath and gasping every time he spread your slick to the apex of your labia, so that the vibrator could slide more comfortably.

Your high hit you like a tide, your knees buckling underneath you, Yoongi's hand leaving yours so he could use his arm to stabilise you. Your hand on his wrist invited him to remove the toy, your position not safe and steady enough to allow any type of overstimulation, meanwhile his tongue battled with the contractions of your inner wall as he slipped it in just enough to stimulate the small muscle at the back, where you were always most responsive. He felt proud at knowing these small tricks, these little details that he had discovered with keen exploration and observation. Every body has their shortcuts to pleasure, though not all people are the same. He had learnt that some things that set his exes on fire to you were completely indifferent, meanwhile stuff that his exes refused could turn you into putty in his hands.

"Yoongi, that's okay.” You moaned, slipping away from him. He parted from your skin, gently pressing a kiss to your labia.

"Are you okay, Kitten?" He asked before running his hand to your breasts, cupping one softly, secretly searching for your heartbeat.

"I think I'm a little shook." You giggled. "It was… Very intense." You exhaled and laughed.

He kept kissing your thighs. You knew that that meant something. "I wanna try something but if it's too much we can stop here." He spoke delicately, his lips tickling your skin.

"Now I'm curious." You said, tired but mischievous still.

"Lemme show you." You heard him shuffle around a bit as he removed his sweater and placed it on the floor. He just hoped he wouldn't make a mess. From his kneeling position he shifted and sat on the oversized garment, thanking God that it wasn't as cold as he expected. He reclined his head on the seat of the sofa as your gaze met his.

"Am I going to ride your face?" You asked with a knowing smirk.

"Smart kitty." He said, mirroring your expression. "Knees on the cushion. Come on babe."

Shaking your head and smiling, you followed his order, your hands looking for support on the back of the sofa. "I'm afraid I'm gonna crush you." You said, even though you loved looking at him like this. His hair was a mess around him, his eyes so dark and intense that it felt like he was ready to drag you to hell and back with himself.

“It’s okay, you’re small. I can help you.” He said, placing his hands on your butt, squeezing. “I’m happy to help.” He grinned and you grinned back at him. You loved that both your brains shared the same perverted paths following the same dirty cues. “I wanna suck your clit, but I don’t know if it’ll work for you since you had the vibrator there.” He said, spreading small bites on your thighs.

“It’s okay. No need to make me cum.” You reasoned, openly refusing that a sexual experience can be successful only if culminating in an orgasm.

“I hate how you’re always ready to give up on your pleasure.” He said, getting argumentative. “I’m doing this to please you.”

“You can please me without making me cum.” You argued back. “It’s not like— Holy fuck!” You screamed, your shoulders giving out. His arm holding your ass up while his other hand held the tip of the vibrator against the underside of his tongue. “You’re fucking wicked.” You swore as your clit disappeared between his upper lip and his pink, filthy tongue. “Fuck Yoongi, you’re the best.”

He exhaled through his nose in some sort of a snicker, pushing on the small button to increase the vibration.

“Oh God. Yoongi— Fuck, like that.” You squealed as you felt him suck you in with wet, slurping noises. “Love.” You said, worry veining your voice. “I’m gonna make a mess.” You warned before raising your hips, parting from his mouth. “Wait.”

He removed the vibrator, opening and closing his mouth quickly before speaking to retrain his tongue muscles. “It’s okay.” He breathed, brushing his cheek against your thigh.

“You’re gonna get wet and smell like sex on the way back home.” You reminded him.

“I can rinse in the bathroom quickly, plus we’re driving by ourselves in the car.” He murmured. “We can if you want to.” He said, reassuringly.

“Get back in place then.” You teased, gently pressing yourself down on his pout and grinding coquettishly. He laughed with his mouth close, digging his fingers into your ass, which made you raise your hips with a small jump.

“I love you so fucking much, Kitten.” He murmured. “Don’t you dare forget that, ____.” He switched the vibrator on, all the way up. “Ready, kitty cat?”

“Bring it on, mister.”

He laughed and got to work. You were pretty sure that the moans you were emitting, joined with the wet, sucking sound that came from Yoongi’s tongue on your drenched clit would probably expose the two of you to the whole floor, and possibly more.

If you had been any more lucid you would have thought of poor mr. Kang guarding the building from the reception, but probably — hopefully — he was far enough not to hear a thing.

Yoongi sped up his game, willing and ready to bring you to the edge once more. He reduced the pressure on your clit, allowing the vibration to travel faster, with less resistance and more power. He shifted his grip from his plush upper lip to the edge of his front teeth, simply grazing your nub as he caressed it with his tongue.

“Yoongi. So sensitive.” You gasped through a muffled moan, your hand pressing against your mouth as you lowered your gaze. He was there, eyes closed, enjoying the feel of you, focusing on each movement, on the taste of you, on your sounds, your heat. Opening his eyes, he winked, realising that he had one last trick up his sleeve. He started brushing the vibrator up and down the underside of his tongue, the act mildly resembling a thrusting motion that had your hips undulating, your breath stopping in your throat.

The high built and built so that when it snapped, you didn’t even realise it, submerging you like a tide, like a small boat in a maelstrom: you felt each roll of your hips, each movement of the vibrator in that straight line underneath Yoongi’s tongue. The high was there, but you still hadn’t felt the peak. You were ready to give up when he slid the bullet off his tongue and into your entrance, pressing it against the tender spot of your vagina, rubbing it as his lips latched to your clit.

“Fuck. Cumming.” You whined before biting your palm. His hand smacked your ass, repeatedly, delivering four or five slaps as if spurring you into riding his face. When he felt your release spill, he stretched his tongue, trying to collect as much wetness as he could, using the bridge of his nose to tease your clit while his mouth was busy. You gushed two, maybe three times before you removed your hand from your mouth, squealing his name and a string of swear words, your hand reaching down, trying to slap his toy-holding hand from between your legs. He understood your gesture and parted from your cunt entirely, letting you recover from the experience while he shut the buzzing device.

“I need in, sweet thing.” He murmured, climbing up clumsily and a little bit helplessly. You rose to your knees, letting him sit on the cushion, helping him fit against your body. “I’m gonna slide in, Kitten. I just need in. Promise.” He kept his sentences short, both for his urgency and your almost shut down brain. Gripping himself steady, he slipped in flawlessly, your drenched walls welcoming his shape, clinging to it and making him swear with how tight you felt right after an orgasm.

“Kitten, so tight.” He groaned, his face falling forward, hiding in the crook of your shoulder. His hips thrusted up while his hands toyed with your breasts, sliding into the shirt you were still wearing. His whole face felt damp against your neck, and you didn’t know if it was sweat or your juices or his saliva as he began drawing a pattern of hickeys on the top swell of your boob. “I can’t hold on.”

“Cum inside, please.” You murmured into his ear, licking the shell and biting the lobe, your hand gently cradling his skull as you enjoyed his grunts and pants against your throat.

As he hammered into you from below, you felt him reaching your cervix, your inner contractions making him come undone, his hands gripping your waist and angrily pushing you onto his lap. The squelching, crude sound, mixed up with his deep groans and the smacking of skin made you close your eyes as you registered every detail. You would come back to this night, when he would be gone, and you would relive it entirely, from start to finish, from the loneliness and coldness of being alone on the sofa, to the anger and revenge of the armchair, to the selfless, devoted attentions you had received twice on the sofa again, and finally this boy-man, hiding against your chest as he vulnerably withered before you.

“God, Kitten.” He breathed out chuckling. “Thank you so much, love. You’re perfect.” He murmured, caressing your back.

“Thanks to you too.” You spoke softly.

“I’m sorry for the last one. I got carried away, I didn’t make you—”

“If you say the verb ‘cum’ I am going to slap your pretty cheeks.” You threatened weakly. “You can do that in a few hours. Wake me up at three am and make sweet love to me.” You propositioned. “Though if I fall asleep, I might sleep for the next ten hours with no chances of being woken up.”

“We need sleep. Both of us.” He hugged you, searching for your hand, twining your fingers together. “But first we need a shower. And we need to rinse before we leave.”

“Closest toilet?” You asked, groaning a little at the idea of getting up, cleaning yourself and all the rest.

“Two rooms away.” He mumbled, his eyes droopy, his head leaning into your shoulder. “Are you feeling okay about everything? I know I pushed it when I left you alone and when I went down on you.” He commented.

“I think we cleared up the air about you ignoring me. It reminded me of when I was with my ex, which is exactly the reason why I bought the toy. He wasn’t happy I used it, but he never said anything or kept me from searching for my own pleasure. Sure though, this was my first time using it with someone. I’ve had a few people before as I said, but it was never… this.” You said, referring to your whole situation with Yoongi.

“How did you feel about how I went down on you?” He asked, always sympathetic.

“I loved it. But that vibrating tongue thingie was sooo kinky. How the hell did you come up with that?” You complimented him.

He chuckled. “I wanted to suck you and I wanted it to be a bit hardcore. It tickled like hell though.” He kissed your cheek. “I didn’t know it would work for you. I had never tried it before.”

“The vibrator was a big ally tonight.”

“Definitely the highlight of the night.” He conceded.

You leaned down and sucked his lower lip in your mouth, releasing it with a snap. “I love tasting myself on your mouth.”

He cupped your cheek. “You were amazing on that chair, love.” He praised you, making sure that he gratified you for something that your previous significant other had awfully taken for granted. “I’ll never forget these two covered in me.” He said, bending down to kiss each of your breasts.

“Is your neck okay?” You asked, worried about the way he had reclined his neck before while you sat on his face. “Are you cold?”

“My neck is a bit sore, but some hot water and stretching will solve it. And yeah, I’m a bit cold but it’s okay. Let's fix this place, get dressed and head home, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

"Then get up, lazy cat." He teased, poking your sides.

"I'm sleeping on the couch tonight." You murmured, teasing him as you raised your hips, getting off him.

“You’re sleeping in my bed and we both know it.” He helped you on your feet.

Your lips bent downward as you nodded. “I hate it when you’re right.”

As you turned and bent to gather your wipes he stared at his cum dripping out of your hole, staining your thighs. “Such a shame you’re in love with me,” he replied. His hands gripped your hips, blocking you while his tongue moved between your folds, delivering tiny licks with the tip of his tongue before covering your labia in soft kisses. "All clean, Kitten." He murmured, caressing your naked legs.

"You're the worst." You teased, before his short nails caused goosebumps on your skin.

He stood up behind you. "Fuck, look at this mess." He said, looking at the sofa. "Do we have enough wipes?"

"Oh God."

"No one's gotta know." He commented, and once more you were partners in crime, hiding your thousandth mischief.

You headed for the chair, throwing him his underwear and trousers.

He caught them.

"Bottle of water?" You asked.

"Fridge." He pointed as he slid his boxers on.

You picked up your undershirt, glad that it was a cheap deal, and headed to the small fridge, where you found the water, opening the bottle and pressing your balled up garment against the rim, wetting the fabric.

Next you knelt by the sofa, getting to work.

Yoongi lit a scented candle on the low table, spraying some perfume with a certain desperate motion. "Jeongguk will know. He can smell anything."

You shook your head while you poured some more water on your improvised rag. "Dammit we fucked up."

"Shut up, it was your idea." He taunted you while he found his sweater on the floor, checking it quickly before putting it on with a shiver. "Freezing. Shit."

Once you deemed the damage mostly solved, you grabbed your wipes and used one to eliminate the traces of the water. Checking that no stain remained, you moved on to dressing yourself.

"Have you seen my bra?" You asked.

"No." He murmured, offended, just as you noticed a familiar frill coming out of his bag.

"Why is my bra in your bag?"

"Your bra is not in my bag."

You raised an eyebrow, hooking said frill with your finger and fishing the garment out of his personal tote. "What is this?"

"A fancy hat." He said, barely holding back a laugh.

"Oh, so you're gonna wear that later when we head home?" You asked as you pressed one cup onto his head, the other hanging from the side while you clasped it around his face.

He simply shook it off, bending to kiss your lips. "Don't wear it." He whispered on your mouth.

"I won't." You replied, kissing it once more before placing it back in his bag.

Wearing your panties and buttoning your shirt, you left a couple buttons undone for his viewing pleasure.

He fixed the last few things, opening your coat and helping you wear it.

He fixed his own jacket and caught hold of your waist, placing you in front of him and wrapping his scarf around your neck and face. He kissed your forehead sweetly.

"Get your shoes, I'll do a quick checkup."

While you exited the room, he noticed a small glimmering coming from the crevice between the two cushions. Pushing his fingers in, he managed to pinch the object and pull it out.

He snickered, placing his small treasure before his eyes. "You served well, soldier. You deserve a night of rest. I'll recharge you and keep you safe until next time."

"Who you talking to?" You asked from the corridor.

"Nothing." He placed the vibrator in his pocket. "Coming." He blew on the candle and closed the door.

———————————————

"Hyung, you look well-rested." Jimin greeted him the following morning as he entered the training room.

"I bet he does." Namjoon quipped.

"HE FUCKED KITTEN IN THE STUDIO!" Hoseok announced. "Sorry, couldn't hold it in, you know I can't handle secrets." He said with a sad face, looking at Namjoon.

"Good for him." Taehyung replied.

Jimin looked amused while Jin shook his head, “Is that a good reason to be late, Yoongi? We've been waiting fifteen minutes–"

"Hyung, you arrived two minutes ago." Taehyung replied quietly while Jin shouted, "Shame on you! The disrespect!"

Jeongguk neared Yoongi, patting his shoulder. "I'm sorry I rat you out. I came in last night because you weren't at the dorms. I didn't know. I accidentally said it to Namjoon, Hoseok heard, everyone knows." Guk shrinked in his shoulders. "Sorry." He chirped.

However it was still too early and Yoongi was still too fucked out to care. "Let's just kill this choreo. We better finish soon 'cause I've got Kitten home in my bed to go back to."

Namjoon smirked. "Let's get it."