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headkiss · 2 years ago

Text

not just on christmas

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: steve’s parents are coming home for the holidays and he’s in need of a fake date. who better than you, his best friend?

word count: 8.2k

warnings: steve’s parents (derogatory), negative comments about his job, fake dating, friends to lovers, christmas themes, fluff, first kiss!

a/n: i had lots of fun with this one and i hope u guys like it!!! merry christmas and happy holidays i hope they treat u all well <33 consider this my gift to you :D

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The phone ringing forces Steve out of bed. Floors cool on his feet, the air a chill on his bare chest, he rubs his eyes lazily and picks it up.

“Hello?” He clears his throat to get rid of the sleep in his voice.

“Steve, why do you sound tired, it’s nearly noon!”

It’s no surprise that the first words aren’t asking him how he is. He’s shocked she cared enough to pick up on the tone of his voice at all. “Hi, mom.”

He doesn’t even know where she’s calling from, doesn’t know what business trip they're on. He can’t remember the last time he got a phone call that wasn’t you, or Robin, or Dustin, or anyone else other than his parents.

Steve’s not even excited to be hearing from them, because it’s a reminder that they’re not around, that they haven’t forgotten about him, they just don’t care.

He wishes you were the one that called.

“Listen, sweetie, your dad and I are coming home for Christmas this year, isn’t that great?”

He deflates, “yeah. Super.”

“There’s a business event he wants to take you to. And we’ll find you a date,” there’s the catch. There’s always a catch. “You can make some connections, maybe get out of your job at that video store soon.”

The thing is, he actually likes working at Family Video, but he knows that doesn’t matter. Then there’s the topic of the girlfriend, or lack thereof. His parents are always nagging him about when he’ll settle down, grow roots, or something.

Maybe that’s why he says, “I can get my own date. I have a girlfriend.”

“Oh! That’s fantastic! She’ll have dinner with us, won’t she? What’s her name?”

Like an idiot, he says your name. The first one that came to his mind.

You’re his best friend, and it’s easy to let his thoughts drift to you. The problem is, he has no idea how he’s going to explain this to you, how he can ask you to fake date him just to satisfy his parents for once.

If he wasn’t still on the phone, Steve would be groaning into a pillow right now.

“Okay, sweetie, your dad has a brunch we have to get to. We’ll see you soon!”

“Bye, mom. See you.”

He hangs up and sighs in relief. That feeling is quick to fade when he remembers that he had just named you his girlfriend in the midst of his phone call. He drops his face into his hands, runs them through his hair, and tries to figure out how the hell to bring up the subject with you.

To go along with that, he has to worry about his parents coming home. Though, can they really call it ‘home’ when they’ve been gone for so long? When they’ll leave again after a few days, a week at most?

Most people would be happy, excited, about their parents being around for the holidays. Steve’s not. He’d rather spend it how he has since the two of you became friends. Breakfast at your house with your family—who have become family for Steve, too—presents opened with scented candles burning and Christmas albums spun on the record player.

You went out of your way to include him, and he’s never felt so welcome in his life as he does when he’s with you.

At least, if you agree, you’ll be with him this year, too.

It’s the next day when Steve decides to bring it up. You’re at his house for movie night, which has become a weekly ritual for the two of you. He’s been trying to figure out what exactly to say since he hung up the damn phone. He’s given up and instead hopes it’ll come to him in the moment.

Today, Steve’s quiet, which is unlike him. You know something’s on his mind and you try to avoid asking him about it, trying to let him talk about it on his own time. It’s about halfway through the movie that you change your mind.

He didn’t complain when you showed up with your cheesy Christmas movie choice, he didn’t light-heartedly tease you about your outfit of choice (some festive patterned pajama pants and a sweater that’s so worn there are holes in the neckline), and the most unusual, he didn’t make a single joke or comment as the movie played.

He’s really, really quiet.

You pick up the remote and pause it, “what’s going on with you, Steve?”

He looks at you, catches your eye and sees nothing but genuine concern. Sometimes he hates the way you know him so well. He can never hide anything from you.

“What? Nothing.”

You blink at him, “come on.”

“Fine, okay. Just, don’t say anything until I’m done, please.”

“Okay,” you pretend to zip your mouth shut, ready to listen.

“My mom called yesterday and told me they’re coming home for Christmas, and that there’s this business thing they want me to go to, and that I need a date for it,” he scrubs a hand down his face, trying to hide his embarrassment. “And you know how they’re always on my ass about me being single and stuff so I kind of told her I already had a girlfriend, and maybe I told her that girlfriend is you.”

What?

There’s a lot to process there. Mostly the fact that out of all of the names he could have chosen, he said yours. You wait for him to explain some more, but he’s looking at you like he’s waiting for a reply, so, your mouth is now unzipped.

“So, what exactly does that mean?”

He mutters a curse under his breath. “Um, so, I need you to pretend to be my actual girlfriend while they’re here.”

His use of the word ‘need’ is telling. Steve’s not one to ask for help, not even when he needs it the most but here he is, nervous and a little pink-cheeked, asking for your help.

You let the thought sit in your head for a bit. It’s not hard for you to want to agree. Steve’s your best friend, and you’d do pretty much anything for him. Though, that might also have to do with the fact that you’ve been in love with him for years.

You know more about his relationship with his parents then most do, so if you can make their visit more bearable for him in any way, why wouldn’t you?

“Okay,” you say.

“Okay? Like, you’ll do it?”

“Yeah, sure. I’m happy to help.”

That was a lot easier than Steve thought it’d be. You barely even questioned him before agreeing, and that’s not lost on him.

“Thank you so much, seriously,” he throws his arm over your shoulders, squeezes you to him in a side hug. “It’s only a few days, then we can go back to normal.”

“Easy peasy,” you say, reaching for the remote and hitting play.

Aside from your wanting to help him, to be there for him like you know he would for you, you’re also curious to see what it’s like to be with Steve that way, even if it’s fake. It’s hopeless, the way you love him, like the moon orbiting the earth around and around. Constant.

Sure, those feelings will probably only swell because of the fake relationship, but you’ve been housing them for long enough anyway.

What could go wrong?

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Robin says from the other side of a clothing rack, sifting through the pieces.

She’s the first, and only, person you told about the fake dating thing. Naturally, she decided she’d help you shop for a dress to wear to this business thing and talk about it at the same time.

The mall is decorated, garlands and lights strung, a big Christmas tree lit up in the middle of it all.

“It’s only a couple of days. It’ll be fine.”

“I’m talking about you being in love with him,” she deadpans.

“Robin, not so loud.”

“I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

You know she’s being honest, and though the thought has been at the back of your mind, a whisper, you’d like to believe that you can handle a fake relationship without ruining things because of your big, big feelings.

“I spend time with him alone a bunch. It’s not that much different, okay?”

“Besides the fact that you’ll be calling him boyfriend and acting like it, too, you mean.”

Actually, you’ve been trying not to think about what exactly pretending to be his girlfriend entails. You don’t know if he’ll hold your hand, if he’ll hold you closer than he has before, if he’ll kiss you. You think it might be better to wait and see, to not let the possibilities eat at you.

“I know it sounds bad, but it’s Steve. Nothing major will happen. We’re friends and I’m helping him out.”

Robin’s in a tricky spot. She knows how you feel about Steve, obviously, and though he doesn’t see it yet himself, she knows that Steve feels the same, too. It’s taken a lot to hold herself back from speeding things along, and as much as she wishes this fake relationship plan might be a good push, things usually aren’t so easy.

She can also tell that there’s a lot you’re thinking but not saying, but instead of pushing it, she returns to looking at the dresses. It’s not long before she gasps, pulling one of the rack to show you.

“This one,” she says.

“I don’t know. That won’t look good on me.”

It’s pretty, though. You’ll give her that.

“Shut up, everything looks good on you. Will you at least try it on?” She wiggles the hanger in her hand, “for me?”

“Fine.”

You take it from her, walking back towards the fitting rooms with a grinning Robin in tow. She waits outside the door while you change into the dress.

Once it’s on, looking in the mirror, you don’t even know what to think. You’re not one to feel all that confident in what you wear, or in how you look, but this dress makes you feel pretty. Maybe you should make Robin pick out all of your clothes.

“Let me see!” Robin calls.

You step out of the changeroom, doing a shy little spin when she asks. She’s smiling proudly, like she knows she chose well (which she did). She can’t help but think of how Steve will react, because she knows he feels something for you, she can see it on his face everytime he talks about you. He’s just a dork and he doesn’t realize it. Not yet, at least.

“What do you think?” You ask.

“If Steve’s not already in love with you…”

“Don’t finish that sentence.”

If she does, your brain will conjure up way too many ideas of what could possibly happen. If Steve could really feel the same. If maybe he’ll feel those same butterflies in his stomach that you do, if his heart feels bigger when you’re around. In your dreams, he does.

“I’m trying to tell you you look hot!”

December twenty-third is the day that Steve’s parents come home as well as the night of the business event. You and Steve have tried to figure out how to act like a couple, quizzing each other on things you already know, setting loose boundaries, but you figure after knowing each other for so long, being so close, it won’t feel much different than now. Besides the extra touching, the possibility of kissing.

You’re already at his house when his parents get home, your makeup and outfit for tonight sitting in Steve’s room. The two of you linger near the front door waiting for their arrival, a nervous and jittery welcoming committee.

The sound of a car pulling into the driveway grabs your attention. It’s a clapperboard snapping shut, marking the scene. Action.

“You ready, babe?” He holds out his arm for you to grab, and you do.

“Time to be the best couple ever,” you reply.

Steve grins at you. He has no idea how to thank you for agreeing to do this, how to even explain to you the relief you’re sure to bring. It’s one less thing for his parents to pick and pry at.

The door opens, and you can already feel a change in Steve’s demeanor. He’s standing straighter, stiffer. You squeeze his arm, a reminder that you’re there.

“Steve, sweetie!” His mother barely greets him before moving onto you, “and this is your girlfriend?”

“Hi, Mrs. Harrington.”

If it were someone else’s mother, you’d be hit with the usual ‘oh please, call me (insert name here).’ However, where the Harringtons are concerned, formality is a must. Besides Steve, of course. From what you know, the apple had fallen very, very far from the tree and you mean that as a compliment.

Even after being friends for so many years, this is the first time you’re actually meeting Steve’s parents. It’s clear that he’s never jumped at the opportunity to have his friends around when they’re home. He’s told you about them, and that’s enough for you.

“Steve! Come help me with the bags, would you?” His dad calls from outside, though he says it as a demand rather than a question.

“Yep, coming,” he replies. He kisses the side of your head before going outside, quick and sure, like he’s done it hundreds of times.

“How was your trip, Mrs. Harrington?” You fill the silence.

“Oh, just lovely, thank you,” she moves to the kitchen, expecting you to follow. “The house looks clean. Do you have something to do with that?”

Despite her trying to sound like she’s joking, you know that she truly doesn’t believe that Steve could be the one keeping the place going. As if he hasn’t been doing just that for ages.

“No, no. It’s really Steve.”

Her eyebrows raise, surprised.

Steve and his father walk in before anything else is said—thank God. You shake hands with Mr. Harrington, saying hello and wearing a tight smile. Steve’s quick to come to your side, an arm over your shoulders like a shield. Your hand moves to hold the one resting on your shoulder.

He’s even more tense when his father’s in the room, you’ve noticed. You hold his hand a bit tighter. You wish you could do something to make him feel better, and you hope that this fake relationship will do that at least a little bit.

Meanwhile Steve’s wondering how your presence could make him feel much better than he usually does with his parents around. You’re a comfort beside him, and when he gets the chance, he kisses your head again, whispering a ‘thank you’ into your hair.

The first few hours with Steve’s parents go by dreadfully slow, even with his touch on you most of the time. You’re quickly learning that as a boyfriend—even fake—Steve’s love language is easily physical touch. He has an arm around you, a hand in yours, on your leg, anything.

You’re also learning just how strained his relationship with his parents is. He’d trusted you enough to tell you most of it, but seeing them interact in front of you was different. The backhanded comments, the faces whenever he mentions his job, it makes your heart ache for him.

It’s bad enough that his parents are hardly ever around, but having them act like this when they are? You’re amazed at how good Steve has remained through it all.

When it’s time to get ready for the business party, you’re thankful for the reprieve.

“Think we’re doing a good job?” You ask Steve as he shuts the door to his room.

“They seem to be buying it. Thanks again for doing this.”

“You’ve thanked me like a hundred times, Steve. It’s okay, really.”

You want to tell him that you’re sorry these are the people he has to call family. That he shouldn’t listen to any of the shit they give him about his job or his lack of post-secondary education. That he’s the best boy you’ve ever known.

The problem is, you don’t know how to say all of that without making your feelings for him painfully obvious.

“Just gotta keep it up ‘til Christmas. That’s when they leave.”

“They’re only here for two days?” You knew the trip was going to be short, but forty-eight hours?

“Yeah, something about getting a deal on a cruise. I don’t know.”

He says it so casually, like it’s normal. You guess that for him, it is, but it doesn’t make it any less upsetting.

“Does that mean you’ll come to mine for Christmas day? Like usual?” You ask, hopefully lightening the mood.

“If you’ll have me.”

“Shut up, you’re always welcome. Think my mom likes you more than me anyway,” you nudge his shoulder with yours, then move to bring your stuff into his bathroom to start getting ready.

He leans on the doorframe, watching you set your makeup out on the counter, “she does not.”

“Steve, you have your own stocking hanging on our fireplace. And it’s bigger than mine.”

He smiles genuinely then, the first one since his parents have arrived.

He leaves you to get ready, shutting the bathroom door for when you change. You can still hear him through the door. The opening and closing of his drawers, a curse when he stubs his toe.

So far, pretending to be with Steve has been easy. You’ve acted the same save for the touches or small pecks he’s decided to keep placing on your head or your cheeks. The story you settled on was simple: you met him picking up a movie at Family Video, he asked if you needed company to watch it, the rest is history, blah blah blah.

Steve knocks on the bathroom door when you’re pretty much ready, you glance at yourself one more time in the mirror before opening it.

He stands with his tie in hand, wearing a button up and dress pants. You assume there’s a suit jacket to go along with it, and you think it might kill you. He’s so pretty, and he looks it all of the time but seeing him dressed up is really something.

“You look good, Steve,” you say. Good doesn’t even begin to cover it.

“Thanks. You look- you too.”

Steve’s stunned. He realizes he’s never seen you in anything formal and it’s making him feel all fluttery in his stomach and he doesn’t know what to think of it. He’s always known you’re gorgeous, in an obvious way like how the sky is blue. Now, though, it’s like he can feel it.

He clears his throat quietly and remembers the reason he knocked in the first place, “you don’t happen to know how to tie a tie, do you?”

You’re thankful for the time you decided to learn how when you were bored one day. You take the fabric from his hands, “it’s your lucky day, Steve.”

“Thank you. Didn’t wanna have to go ask my dad.”

He’s almost shy about wanting your help over something so small, his cheeks a little pink, his head bent. You give him a reassuring smile—or what you hope is one—and place the tie around his neck.

His eyes are on you as your hands fiddle with the fabric, doing it up for him. Your eyebrows are slightly scrunched, and he wants to reach out and smooth it out with his thumb. He’s not used to having that urge.

You finish up successfully after having fumbled a little bit, adjusting the tie so it isn’t crooked.

“There you go,” you pat his chest and he hopes you can’t feel his heartbeat, the way it’s quicker than normal.

He has no idea what that’s about.

“Thanks.”

“‘Course.”

He’s still standing close to you, enough that he has to keep his head tilted downwards just a little to be able to look at your face. Your eyes lock onto his, and time seems to slow. You’re so gone for him and you know it, but it almost seems like maybe he’s feeling something too. Just for a moment.

His father calling out that it’s time to go snaps you out of it.

Steve grabs his jacket, shrugging it on then offering you his hand to hold, “let’s do this, girlfriend.”

The hall is oozing Christmas when you walk in, Steve’s hand in yours. Ornaments hang down from the ceiling, warm white string lights line the top of the walls, Christmas music hums through the speakers, and an extravagant Christmas tree sits in the middle of the room.

You’ve never been to an event like it, and you have a hard time keeping your nerves at bay.

Pretending in front of Steve’s parents alone was one thing. Now, the stakes are higher. You have to be convincing and though it’s not difficult for you to pretend to be in love with Steve (you don’t have to fake that at all), you worry that you’ll slip up somehow and give yourself away. Both in the sense that the relationship is fake, and that your feelings are anything but.

It’s not long before Steve’s father gets pulled into a conversation, and his mother goes along with him. You’re left standing near the doorway with Steve, biting at the inside of your cheek.

“Relax,” he leans his head close to yours and whispers.

“Sorry. I’m just nervous.”

“We’re fine. You’re fine,” he squeezes your hand, something that’s quickly become a wordless reassurance between you. “We’ve done good so far, right?”

“I guess so.”

“Okay, so there’s nothing to worry about.”

Except for the fact that I love you and that you being a really good fake boyfriend isn’t helping.

“Okay.”

He smiles and leads you further into the room. The smile he gives you is different from the one he gives the people that say hi to him, the people that stop him for a chat. For you, it’s honest. For them, it doesn’t reach his eyes, it doesn’t mean anything.

“About time you tied someone down, Steve,” a man says to him. A coworker of his father’s, just like most men in the room.

“Think she’s the one who got me, but yeah.”

“That’s sweet. Next step is to get you a stable job, huh?”

It seems like all anyone here is concerned about is what people do, who they know. It’s no fun for you and they aren’t even speaking to you directly most of the time.

“Sure. Good to see you,” Steve excuses the both of you from the conversation.

“These people suck,” you say to him, leading him to the bar set up in a corner.

“Tell me about it.”

You order water for the both of you, something to get rid of the dryness in your throat and occupy you for a bit. You drink quietly before Steve speaks up.

“You look beautiful, by the way.”

He doesn’t know why it slips out now, but it does. The thought has been on his mind since he saw you standing there in his bathroom, and it’s getting harder and harder to ignore.

“You don’t have to say that, Steve. Nobody’s listening.”

“I mean it, seriously.”

“Oh,” you look down at your glass, at the condensation running down the side. The corners of your mouth lift, “thank you.”

“I know this isn’t the most fun, but I’m glad you’re here with me,” he admits. He’s always been sweet to you, but this feels different. You don’t know how or why, but it does.

“I am too.”

Steve’s dad interrupts your moment, pulling Steve off to meet some people. Already, there’s a guard being put up by him, a shield he saves for his father.

For those few minutes, where it was just you and Steve, you realized that he’s probably the best date you’ve ever had. He pays attention to you, he’s comforting without even trying, and he compliments you with so much honesty you could melt.

He’s the best date you’ve ever had and it’s fake. It’s becoming a mantra repeated in your head; it’s not real, it’s not real.

Lost in thought, you don’t notice the boy who’s sat next to you now.

“I’ve never seen you before,” he says.

“I’m not usually at these things. I came with my boyfriend,” you tell him, unsettled by his stare.

“And where is this boyfriend now?”

“He’s out there. I just needed some water but he’ll come back soon.”

You’re trying to get him to go away, to take the hint. He won’t.

“Why don’t I keep you company in the meantime?”

You’re about to reply when someone else does it for you, “not necessary. She’s my girl.”

My girl. Steve. He stands behind you, wraps his arms around your waist. It’s like he knew you needed him then, showing up as soon as you felt like you wanted to search for him. He runs his hands over your sides, a possessive touch that has your skin tingling.

“My bad, man. Thought she was lying about the boyfriend,” the guy says.

“She wasn’t. Even if she was, maybe you should learn to tell when someone isn’t interested, yeah?”

The stranger nods and walks off.

You spin in Steve’s hold, facing him. “My hero.”

“You know me,” he shrugs.

What he doesn’t say is that seeing another guy talk to you made his gut churn, bringing something that he didn’t want to admit was jealousy. He also saw the look on your face, the discomfort, and felt his feet carry him over before his mind could think it first.

His hands are still on your waist, even with the stranger gone.

It’s not until Steve’s parents are ready that you leave. They’ve taken advantage of the champagne that sat on trays, free for the taking, as well as the opportunity to talk up their son to many, many people. It seems they’re only proud of him when there’s other people around, and even then, the praise doesn’t hold much weight.

He’s trying his best. At least he’s working. He’s got a girlfriend now. No, he doesn’t host backyard parties while we’re gone anymore.

You wish you could speak up, but you know, with this many people around, it’d cause more harm than good. It’s hard to listen to the people that raised Steve talk about him the way they do. You want so badly to shout in their faces how brilliant he is, no thanks to them. How he has the kindest soul and a sort of midas touch that makes everything shine.

At least, you think he does. You promise yourself to love him better than they ever did, even if it’s in secret.

One memory from the night overpowers the rest, luckily. ‘Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas’ played, a slower rendition, and a slow dance ensued. You watched couples split off, and when you looked at Steve, he was already looking at you, a question on his face and a hand outstretched.

You fell into step with him quickly. It wasn’t awkward for a second. One of your hands in his, the other on his shoulder, his on your waist. You swayed together, unknowingly moving closer until you were close enough to rest your head on his chest. And you did.

He rested his head atop of yours and hummed the song softly. You’ll dream about that dance, probably.

Now, you sit in the car with Steve, who’s become the driver. He drops his parents off at his house first, leaving the two of you alone for the drive to yours. He sneaks glances at you at stop signs and red lights, turning back to the road when he thinks he’s been caught.

His mind is full because he’s looking at you in a way he hasn’t before. He sees parts of you that he was blind to before. The shape of your lips, for example. The dip of your spine and the way it feels to hold you. It’s dizzying and warm, confusing and sparkling all at once.

Once he’s pulled up to your house, he offers to walk you to the door. Ever the gentleman. A romantic no matter how much he denies it, you think. He gets misty-eyed when you watch rom-coms, opens doors for you, has bought flowers for nearly all of his dates, as far as you know.

What must it be like to receive flowers from Steve Harrington?

He faces you on your front porch, hands in his pockets, “thank you again for doing this.”

“How many times do I have to tell you it’s okay. I’m happy to help you, Steve. You’re my best friend.” Who I love more than anyone.

“You’re mine, too, honey.”

It’s not the first time he’s called you that. Turns out, it was his default to use in your fake relationship. It is, however, the first time he’s said it when it’s just the two of you. It sounds sweet coming from his lips, sticky. Just like honey itself.

“What time should I be over for dinner tomorrow?” You ask. It’s the last hurdle of the fake dating.

“How ‘bout I come pick you up after I finish work?”

“Yeah, okay, that’d be great, thanks.”

You wrap your arms around yourself, the cold of December biting your skin.

“Here,” Steve notices, of course he does, and he reaches out with his hands, rubbing them up and down your arms to warm you.

“How’re your hands still warm?” You ask.

“I'm magic.”

You smile at that. He has no idea.

He reaches up with one hand to cup your cool cheek, and you nudge your face into his touch. For the warmth, you tell yourself. That’s it. His thumb runs over your skin, once, twice.

“Did I ever tell you that you have a pretty smile?” He says it so quietly you almost miss it. You don’t, though, and there’s a swarm of butterflies in your gut because of it.

“Shut up,” you try to mask your bashfulness.

Then, just like that, his face is close to yours. So close that it looks like he might kiss you. His eyes flick from your mouth up to yours, like he’s unsure of what’s happening while he’s doing it.

You can feel his breath tickling your lips, the ghost of his mouth on yours. Before that can happen, he’s swerving away quickly, planting a kiss on your cheek instead. The one he isn’t holding. His mouth lingers for a second.

“Goodnight,” he whispers against your skin.

“Night,” you say, dazed. And he’s walking away.

Steve’s not at all sure what’s come over him. He wanted to kiss you just then, to tangle his fingers in your hair and kiss you stupid. What the fuck was happening to him?

When you let your eyes flutter shut, your mouth parted slightly, like you’d let him kiss you, like you wanted it, too, he panicked. Couldn't do it.

No, he doesn’t know what just happened, why it did, or why he’s resisting the urge to go back and knock on your door and actually kiss you when you open it. What he does know is that his heart seems to be doing something funny when you’re around, and that your fake relationship has been better than any of his real ones.

He knows he needs to talk to Robin about this.

Steve had to work the next morning—Christmas Eve—which he was actually thankful for. Thankful to get away from his parents, though the comments about his job followed him out the door this morning. Especially thankful because he needs to talk to Robin and sort out the mess of his feelings that has occurred in the last twenty four hours.

He couldn’t stop thinking about how much he wanted to kiss you. About how his stomach was all twisty when you slow danced with him. There are so many moments playing over in his memory. Not just from yesterday, either.

He remembers the way his stomach would sink when you’d tell him about a date you had or how he’d often reach out a hand to tuck your hair behind your ear, or to wipe something away from the corner of your mouth.

So many things over your friendship that he never thought about are coming back to him and he’s realized he doesn’t act that way with any of his other friends. Only you.

He also realizes that he hasn’t really been pretending with you at all.

“I think I love her,” Steve blurts out while he and Robin are organizing returns, the store luckily empty.

Robin reaches into her pocket, barely fazed, and tosses a handful of confetti at Steve. Some pieces stick to his hair, some to his clothes, most of it at his feet.

“What the hell?” He shakes the flecks out of his hair, “we have to clean that now.”

“I’ve been carrying around confetti for like a year waiting for this to happen!”

“Wait, what?”

“Steve, you’ve been loving her for a long time, hate to break it to you.”

“And you didn’t tell me?” He’s no longer preoccupied with the confetti.

“I was letting you do it on your own time. You’re welcome.”

Steve had only just deduced that he’s in love with you and yet, when he thinks about you, he feels the same way he has for years. He finds it hard to believe that he’s been blind to it for that long, but he has been called an idiot enough in his lifetime for it to make sense.

Then, there’s the fact that you’re not done fake dating yet, that there’s still dinner today to get through and he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to keep himself together.

“What am I gonna do, Robin?”

“You’re gonna tell her how you feel and I will finally know peace.”

“What if she doesn’t feel the same? What if I freak her out?”

“Steve, she looks at you like sun shines from your pores,” she places a hand on his shoulder. “You’ll be fine.”

He picks you up after work as promised, his hands holding the wheel a little tighter, his greeting a little louder than normal. You figure he’s just nervous about dinner.

Nobody brings up the almost kiss, and you don’t plan to. Maybe you read things wrong. Maybe he was aiming for your cheek all along. Maybe he’s been thinking about it as much as you have.

It seems that your feelings for Steve are present now more than ever. Impossible to ignore. It might have something to do with the Christmas spirit floating around, the lightness of the holidays. It definitely has something to do with you being Steve’s fake girlfriend.

Because it turns out, he’s an excellent boyfriend, real or not.

He opens doors for you, even if he has to jog ahead of you to do it. He’s always got at least one hand on you, warm and sure. He looks at you with so much care, his brown eyes stuck on you.

It’s all adding up and you feel like your love for him is overflowing, pouring out of you before you can reel it in. You just hope he doesn’t notice that you’re not acting, that you never were.

Walking into Steve’s kitchen, you pause in the doorway, him behind you, “this smells great, Mrs. Harrington.”

Though Steve knows she probably bought most of the stuff and then put it in pots and pans to make it look like she cooked, he agrees, “so great, mom.”

She turns to look at you both from her spot by the stove, “thank you. Oh!” She cuts herself off with a gasp, her gaze drifting above your heads.

Oh no.

“Mistletoe,” she says, pointing.

“Look at that,” you laugh, short and awkward.

“Steve, sweetie, kiss your girlfriend for tradition's sake, won’t you.”

He kisses you on the cheek.

“A real one, son,” his father pipes up from his seat at the table.

Steve finds your gaze, his eyes wide and questioning. Are you okay with this? He’s asking without saying it. You nod, barely there, but you nod and he sees it.

He cups your cheek in his hand, flashes of last night on your porch come to you. He leans in slowly, like he’s waiting for you to stop him. Instead of doing that, you hold his wrist in your hand, squeeze it. Your silent communication.

In a blink, his lips are on yours. Pillowy and almost shy, but he’s kissing you and you feel like you’re floating, your feet off the ground and everything. He pulls away before you can even register the fact that it happened.

Your heartbeat is loud in your ears, your lips still burning with the memory of his.

Steve can't believe he hasn’t kissed you before. You’re soft and you fit together so well, like the final piece of a jigsaw puzzle clicking into place. He’s kicking himself for not doing it last night, when you were alone, when it was real. Next time he kisses you, he thinks, it will be real.

He clears his throat, tearing his eyes away from you, “so, let’s eat.”

Just like that, he’s moving to the table, pulling out a chair for you and kissing the top of your head once you’ve sat down. Already, the extra affection he’s been giving you has been dizzying. Now, it’s dialed way up.

He helps his mom serve the food before he sits down, though all he gets as a thank you is a pat on the cheek. Next to you, you can see Steve’s leg bouncing up and down. You reach out and place a hand above his knee, stilling him and drawing his gaze to yours.

You smile, and you hope it’s enough to say it’s okay, it’s all gonna be fine. He rests his hand on top of yours, fingers laced together.

“So, Steve, have you been looking for jobs?” His father speaks up. The never-ending topic.

“No, dad. I have a job,” Steve doesn’t look up from his plate, pushing mashed potatoes around with his fork.

“Well, a real job, I mean.”

At Steve’s silence, his mom adds, “we just think, especially now that you have a girlfriend to support, you should look for something… better.”

You look up when she says it, eyes wide and hand tensing on Steve’s leg. You don’t understand how they care so much about what he does and so little about how he feels. He likes his job, you know that, and he’s tried to tell them multiple times over the past couple of days.

And still.

It’s impossible for you to sit by and listen to them talk to him the way they do, like he isn’t good enough. Like the only defining thing is his job, which isn’t even a bad one. What defines him is who he is as a person and he’s the best one in your life.

“Why does it matter so much?” You ask.

His parents look at you, surprised to be questioned, it seems. Steve looks at you, too, with something more like astonishment, appreciation.

“I’m sorry,” you continue, “it’s just, you haven’t seen your son in how long? And all you guys keep bringing up is his job, which he’s told you he actually enjoys. Shouldn’t that be enough for you?”

Steve’s world is tinting pink, heart-shaped lenses over his eyes hearing you defend him. Nobody’s ever tried to go against his parents for him, and here you are. Fuck, he loves you.

They’re quiet, and you’re not finished. “Steve is the greatest person I’ve ever met, and that’s no thanks to you. I’ve known him for a long time and not once have I seen you guys around. How can you judge him so much when you don’t even take the time to know him anymore?”

The room is dead quiet. Nothing but the clinking of forks against plates for the rest of the meal. You feel lighter, after saying what you did. Though you’re also terrified that you’ve overstepped, that Steve will be upset with you for causing a scene.

As if sensing your worry, he holds your hand just a bit tighter.

It’s not until after dinner, hidden away in his room, that you talk about what happened. Not the kiss; your outburst.

He shuts his door and you’re already apologizing, “listen, Steve. I'm so sorry if I made things worse, but I couldn’t just let them shit on your job anymore. I couldn’t. You’re my best friend, you know that, and-”

His arms are around you in a blink.

“Thank you,” he breathes into your hair. “Nobody’s ever done anything like that for me. Thank you, honey.”

“Oh,” you blink away your surprise and wrap your arms around his shoulders. “Anytime.”

“You’re really special.”

Your smile spreads, spilling before you can do anything about it. You hide your face in his neck and stay that way until he lets go, a flush in his cheeks and stars in his eyes.

Steve wanted to tell you he loves you right then, but the words seem stuck in his throat. They won’t come up. He wants to be with you for real, and though it happened in a rush, it also didn’t. His brain just needed to catch up to his heart.

He doesn’t say it, but he will. As soon as he can.

“Wanna go watch a movie?” You ask.

“Yeah, okay.”

Movie night. You and him. That’s real.

Steve’s parents seem to have gone out somewhere, the car missing from the driveway. They haven’t left, though. You and Steve checked for the suitcases (they’re sitting, already packed, in their room).

Playing the movie, yet another Christmas pick that Steve couldn’t say no to, you share a blanket. There’s plenty of room on the couch, you’re the only people there, and yet, Steve still tosses an arm over your shoulders and pulls you to lean against his side.

Maybe he’s just doing it in case his parents come home while you’re downstairs. That’s gotta be it.

“Is it bad that I’m sort of relieved they aren’t here right now?” Steve says to you, quiet.

“Not at all. You deserve better than what they give you, Steve.”

“You think so?”

“Are you kidding? I know so.”

He lets his head lean atop of yours, and that’s that.

You want to bring up the kiss, but then again, why would you? It’s not real. It’s not real no matter how much you wish it was, no matter how much it feels that way. You knew going into this that you might end up kissing Steve, you just didn’t know it’d fuck you up so much.

Part of you hopes that mistletoe will appear above your heads yet again, just to be able to feel the way you did when he kissed you. Heart fluttering, stomach twisting, warm all over.

Though Steve’s head feels relaxed, resting on yours, it’s overflowing with thoughts. You, his parents, the way you defended him, how it felt to kiss you, how much he wants to do it again. You. The entire length of the movie, he’s trying to think of a way to tell you he loves you. The best he comes up with is to wing it.

When the screen fades, and the film ends, you remember the gift you’d left in Steve’s room, buried at the bottom of your overnight bag (you decided to sleep over, something you’ve done too many times to count, and head to your place in the morning with Steve). You sit up, only to face him.

“I have something for you. C’mon,” you tug on his hand, leading him all the way to his own bedroom.

“What?”

“Just,” you make him sit down on his bed when you’re in the room, digging through your bag and finding the present you’d wrapped last night. “Here.”

He takes it from your hand slowly, like it’s the most precious thing in the world. He doesn’t open it right away, staring at the red and green patterned wrapping paper and the gold stick-on bow sitting in the middle of it.

“Open it,” you urge, shuffling nervously on your feet.

He shoots you a shy smile before tearing at the paper, revealing a scrapbook of sorts. Flipping through the pages, he finds memories upon memories. Pictures of you and him, of him and Robin, all three of you. Some with the kids or with Eddie. Most of them he doesn’t even remember taking.

And it’s more than just pictures. There’s movie tickets and receipts from random fast food dinners, confetti from a surprise party for Dustin and a piece of a plate Steve broke once.

It’s the most thoughtful thing anyone’s ever given him. It reminds him that he does have a family, no blood relation needed.

“Honey,” he says it quietly, his eyes watering ever so slightly. “This is- I don’t even know what to say.”

“I know it’s not much, but I thought you’d like it.”

“No. I love it. It’s perfect, seriously,” he runs his finger over a picture of the two of you, your faces squished together and your smiles absolutely ridiculous. “Best gift ever.”

He means it.

“I had some help with the pictures. Everyone in that book loves you, Steve.”

Everyone in that book. That means you love him, too. He knows that you could mean it platonically, but something about the way you look at him when you say it makes him think that he has to tell you. He has to try.

He’s suddenly very glad he bought you a locket for Christmas, and that he left it unwrapped because of his lack of skills in that department.

“Close your eyes,” he says.

“Steve-”

“Please,” he trades spots with you, sitting you on the edge of his bed, “close your eyes for a minute, ‘kay?”

“Okay,” you shut them tight, placing a hand over them as well, “double closed.”

He rushes to grab the locket from the bottom of one of his drawers, then grabs the tiniest bit of paper and manages to write as small as he can on it, placing the message in the necklace and closing it with a small click.

Steve reaches for the hand that isn’t covering your eyes, opening it up and placing the delicate piece of jewelry in it. “Okay, open.”

You do, glancing down to what rests in your palm. It’s gorgeous, dainty, and the corners of your mouth lift at the sight of it.

“It’s beautiful, Steve. You didn’t have to.”

“It’s a locket,” he says. His head is bent, shy and visibly nervous. “Open it, too.”

Your heartbeat picks up, like you know, subconsciously, that something big is hiding inside despite the small size of the necklace itself. You wedge your fingernail into the gap, pushing the locket open. The note inside makes your stomach drop.

In his messy, rushed writing, the words ‘I love you.’

You look at him, mouth agape and hopes way up. “Steve?”

“I mean it.”

“How-”

“I mean I’m in love with you, and I think I have been for a really, really long time. I guess it took you being my fake girlfriend for me to realize it.”

“You’re not pranking me, are you?”

You’ve spent so long loving him, and convincing yourself that he could never love you the same, that it feels unreal. Hazy, like a dream.

He sits beside you, cupping your face in his hands softly to make you look at him, “I’m not pranking you. I love you.”

“Holy shit. I love you, too. For so long. I never thought I had a chance with you.”

“I think you’re the only person who’s had a real chance with me since I met you, honey.”

Right there, discarded wrapping paper on the floor, the glow of Christmas lights shining through the window, you doubt you’ll ever take that locket off once it’s on.

You can’t stop yourself from rushing forward and kissing him. A small press of your mouth against his at first, then, it’s more. It’s slow and every single thing you’ve ever wanted. His lips move with yours like they’re the only ones that know you.

This time, when you kiss, there’s no question. It’s real and it’s thawing every single worry you ever had about this. This is real, you get to think now.

Steve pulls away only when your breathing gets heavier, only when he absolutely has to. His thumb trails over your cheek, a lover’s touch. He takes the necklace from your hand, puts it on for you and kisses you again when he’s done.

“Do you think this was a Christmas miracle?” You say, teasing.

“I think this was just me being too stupid to notice how I feel about you. I know now, though.”

“Because you needed a fake girlfriend.”

“Because I needed a fake girlfriend,” he confirms. “But, I’d like a real one now.”

“I think I can manage that,” you nod, a lovesick smile on your face.

For once, Steve’s glad his parents came home. He never would have asked you to fake date him if they hadn’t, and he wouldn’t have realized his very real feelings for you, either. So, maybe it is a Christmas miracle, after all.

༄

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readychilledwine · 10 days ago

Text

Happy Birthday, Baby

Summary - You being a busy little bee won't stop your husband from celebrating your birthday

Warnings - None

A/N - Backtracking through my masterlists I had planned and this little drabble ended up happening. I promise, my dear friends, I will post everything I've promised. I have a 5 day weekend coming so I can get all my edits done ❤️

🎂2024 Birthday Masterlist🎂

✨️Azriel Masterlist✨️Master Masterlist✨️

Peep @firefly-graphics for some ultra cute Dividers! So many options and fandoms.

Azriel stood in darkness, a single candle on a single cupcake. He was waiting in anticipation as the clock ticked slowly. You would be home soon after accomplishing a life goal.

Opening day had taken over your life, but you were officially the proud owner of the only bookstore in Velaris that had a coffee shop and bakery inside of it. You had a variety of seating and plenty of space, allowing a quiet place for others to read, work, and enjoy your favorite things, books and coffee.

Azriel was happy for you. Watching his mate, his wife, live her dreams was a reward he never felt he deserved. The only thing that hurt him was how little you had cared for yourself at this point.

Your nights were occupied with contacting authors, setting contracts with vendors, negotiating with Rhysand as he helped you pay for your dreams to come true. Your older brother had been beyond supportive, but was constantly checking your decisions to ensure they promised profit.

Not that money mattered.

This was about joy. Nothing else.

You had been so into this project that you had forgotten today was your birthday. To you, your birthday was nothing more than just another sunrise and sunset. To Azriel, it should have been a holiday within the Night Court. All of the courts, actually.

His most perfect little fae, the one he was made and destined for, the one who made him want to be better for himself and her deserved to be worshiped, and the fact that you had forgotten your birthday was killing him.

He perked up when the door opened. You walked in and froze when you saw him. Azriel stared at you as he lit the candle, his smile beginning to grow as you walked over.

He passed it to you before leaning on the counter, his eyes almost shining like hearts. Azriel watched as you blew out the candle, hoping your wish was for more time with him before moving to grab two little plates to split the cupcake with him.

His hands were on you instantly, arms wrapping around your waist pulling your back against his firm chest. “Love you so much,” he whispered into your hair. “You were supposed to come home hours ago.”

“I love you, too,” you giggled as he pouted, face buried in your neck, “I was so busy after you left. I'm sorry.”

“How busy,” he murmured. “Who stopped you from being with me?”

“I completely sold out of blind date books," there was an air of pride in your tone that hadn't been heard in years.

Azriel paused, “Really? You wrapped over 100?”

She nodded, cutting the cupcake for them, “Like I said, very busy.”

The two of you sat at the table, the dying fireplace the only glow lighting up the room. It wasn't how he wanted to spend the day, but the satisfied, tired smile on your face said it all. For you, today was perfect and that was all that mattered.

Azriel laced your fingers together, breaking the silence with his soft, deep voice, “Happy birthday, baby.”

General Taglist:

@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanagers @bloodicka @starsinyourseyes @the-sweet-psycho @mariahoedt @rinalouu @sarawritestories @starryhiraeth @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @cumuluscranium @loneliestluvr @eternallyelvish @azrielsmate3 @daughterofthemoons-stuff @meritxellao @aria-chikage @hungryforbatboys @lilah-asteria @fandomrejects @sleepybesson @tayswhp @itsswritten @milswrites

#elizabeths.updates #acotar #acotar x reader #acotar x you #acotar x y/n #acotar drabble #azriel fanfic #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel x y/n #azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster

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jiminrings · 9 months ago

Text

fail-safe

pairing: yoongi x reader

wordcount: 8k

glimpse: growing up, your brother's best friend always berated you for not having a passion in life outside of loving him from afar. when yoongi leaves everything he's ever known for everything he's ever wanted, trying to move on from him becomes your biggest aspiration.

alternatively, yoongi left when you needed him the most, and comes back home at a time when you love him the least.

[ part one, intermission, part two, intermission 02, finale ]

[ a Lot of angst, eventual fluff, brother's best friend AND single dad au, So Much Yearning, unrequited love (initial), jealousy, self-deprecation, a lot of talk abt passion in an empty n hurtful way that most impassioned youngest children feel (it's a specific feeling idk!!!), eventual redemption in the next parts ]

notes: finally got to writing a new series!!! i'm beyond excited for this + this whole new concept and flow i haven't touched on before <3 i hope u love fail-safe as much as i do :-)

as always, lmk what you think <3 send in feedback n love to my askbox anytime!! | series masterlist

Yoongi buys atleast one scratch ticket a week.

The accessibility of buying one is top-notch considering that all he has to do is cross the street, shoot one look to the cashier, and he can either already go hunch in the corner of the road or in the comfort of his room. The moment his coin takes its first dig and he realizes that he’s won yet again, he’s satisfied enough not to buy another ticket.

He doesn’t want to risk losing the win he’s just gained, the odds of him throwing out money besting his chances in adding to his earnings. He thinks everyone’s a little greedy one way or another, but it’s the righteous part of him that thinks he’s different.

You do think that he is for all the right reasons, your vision only tunneling for him alone. He’s this fixed older figure in your life and you can’t figure out how to shrug him off — he’s this generous leech that sucks all of the rationality from your mind but returns it to you twofold, whether in the form of him saying something unintentionally endearing that it makes your chest hurt, or through him having to lightly smack the back of your head.

Yoongi’s your older brother’s best friend and there’s a novelty tag that comes with him, one that can’t be topped by any material possession to your name. He’s there for you, not in the exact way you want him to be, but nonetheless there. He’s special and unattainable at the same time, the finiteness of his love barely extending to you.

He’s there when you want him to burn the latest songs onto a CD you’ve spent all your allowance in, and he’s there when you get annoyed that he sneaked some of his own recommendations in there. You’re there when you later admit that his suggestions aren’t half-bad, and you also happen to be there when he grins at the praise.

He’s there when Namjoon won’t cough up the last slice of his cutlet, not because he’ll actually give you his, but because he’ll help your brother guard his plate. You’d only have to mope for a solid of three seconds before the two of them give up both of their last slices, and you’re there when Yoongi insists for you to try the sauce in the spirit of going out of your routine.

You don’t need Yoongi every single time but in the event that you do, he hangs back. He contemplates and hesitates and doesn’t give in to every single whim that you have, but he’ll be there. He lingers like the last holiday ornament you don’t want to remove until it’s February, his presence being oddly similar to your favorite festivities.

Yoongi’s the equivalent of a holiday you look forward to with each passing month and day; he comes around to and for you in instances, but never even in your most sincere wishes.

“I buy one scratch ticket a week — three if I’m really feeling lucky. When my palms itch, that’s when I know that I really need to buy them.”

He’s calm and collected even when you’re scrunching your nose up at him in combined worry and disbelief, humming mindlessly as you collect your thoughts. He randomly told you about his lottery routine and you’re still trying to wrap your head around how he blows his money off just easily. Yoongi has the mind to put scrap cardboard under you because sitting on the hot concrete with your uniform on can’t possible be a good idea, but you try to play off your fluster into stubbornness.

He’s just playing with his two ever-present coins (lucky charms as he calls them)— one that’s shiny and minted in the present year, the other being the oldest coin he’s ever had that happens to be older than he is — while you mutter about.

“I don’t know, Yoongs. That might be a gambling problem,” you squint, your side comment being heard clearly as day. “Might be the symptoms for hand, foot, and mouth disease too.”

“What— I do not have a gambling problem! My skin’s perfectly fine too, thanks,” he defends, the light shove he gives you doing nothing to tone down your teasing.

“That’s what people with gambling problems say.”

“Give me that-…” he mutters, trying to wrestle you for the sundae he bought you using the money he won from his scratch ticket just awhile ago. You don’t give in easily, even if your laughs that come straight from your chest suggest otherwise. “You don’t get it. It’s just this nice, fun little thing I can look forward to every week. I always buy the cheapest version anyway so when I lose, it’s not a big deal.”

You relent (like you always do when it comes to Yoongi) in understanding, waving him off after regaining your breath. “Nah. I get it. We all have to do things so we wouldn’t lose our shit,” you trail, racking your head to find the right words.“Yours is buying scratch tickets, and mine is-…”

“Yours is what?” Yoongi raises an eyebrow, lips quirked in eagerness to know where you’re going with this. He can’t pinpoint a single thing he can attach to you and neither can you, your actual interests merely reflecting those of the people whom you love.

You love cross-stitching because your mom loves doing it, the tolerance you have for accidentally being pricked by the needle growing over time.

You enjoy playing badminton because Namjoon’s obsessed with the sport, no matter how ratty your rackets and shuttlecocks have become, and no matter how much he pushes you to ring the doorbell to your neighbor’s when he’s sent it flying to their backyard.

You’re probably an imposter yet you don’t feel like it. You don’t feel bad that your life most probably and will only revolve around your mom and Namjoon (maybe even Yoongi); you don’t feel dissatisfied that your life’s mundane.

You go where your love goes.

“Mine is watching you buy scratch tickets,” you shrug easily as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world, making him laugh heartily. You’ve probably done something right because he hauls you up to your feet immediately.

“Get up. I’m buying you your first ticket,” he nudges you, grabbing you by the arm in excitement.

“But I’m not even legal!” you half-heartedly argue, internally excited that you’re finally getting to try your hand at the lottery because you’ve spent a few hundred minutes of your life tuned to the channel to pass the time, awaiting the results for something you haven’t even betted for.

“Right. Like I haven’t seen you trying to squeeze out a drop of beer from our empty cans whenever Namjoon and I drink.”

“Rude,” you roll your eyes playfully, gathering your things from the ground.

“It’s okay. I’ll give you your first sip of beer too if you want,” Yoongi offers sincerely; easily as if you’ve just asked him about the weather.

He’s here to buy you your first scratch ticket, and he’s still here to offer giving you your first sip of liquor in the future.

Your family friend for a cashier vehemently ignores the fact that you’re still underage to participate in the lottery, and instead only chuckles to herself in amusement. She’s an aunt that knows when to step in and not to, and she knows you won’t be harmed by a mere bet. In fact, she knows you won’t be harmed by anything with Yoongi in tow.

“I already used up all my change,” your frown in realization, holding the ticket in your hands in despair despite having scoured your wallet repeatedly.

“Rub it against the pavement. That’s what I do,” Yoongi lies fluidly, a scoff being caught in his throat when you actually attempt to do it. “I was only kidding, Y/N. Jeez,” he groans, pulling out his wallet. “Ugh. Here. You can have one of my lucky coins.”

It’s the old one, tarnished beyond relief that you can barely recognize what it’s actual value is supposed to be.

“Ew. I’m giving it back. It looks prehistoric,” you narrow your eyes, knowing that you don’t even have to put your fingers nears your nose to know that it’s already left a faint stench on them.

Yoongi rolls his eyes, a habit he can’t tell he’s formed himself or got from you. “If you use your brain for one second, you’d realize that it’s actually worth more because it’s older. Collectors would go crazy for that in the future.”

“That sounds like a hoarding problem.”

He’s just had about enough of your whining so he attempts to trade in the old coin for his lucky new one, but you stop him at the last minute with a meek smile.

“Kidding. Thank you. I’ll keep it safe, Yoongi. I promise,” you rush out before he changes his mind, scratching your ticket in silence.

He waits for you because you’re scratching so politely and neatly, a stark opposite to his experienced skill of scratching the paint off in ten strokes or less.

Your face is too close to the ticket that Yoongi can’t tell what’s happening, making him part your hair like a curtain to peek.

“Did you win?”

“Nope.”

“Let me throw that out for you.”

“No!” you squeak, keeping the ticket close to your chest. It’s a bummer that your first time is a loss, but it didn’t mean that you wanted to forget the sentiment behind it. “I-I mean no, I’ll keep it. It’s memorable now that I think about it.”

“Alright,” he shrugs carelessly, a smile breaking out in retaliation. “Hoarder.”

“Gambler,” you spit, tucking the ticket into your pencil case. “Next week again?”

Yoongi agrees, wrapping his head around the fact that he doesn’t have to be alone in his little routine every Friday.

“Sure.”

( ♡ )

You don’t mind getting hand-me-downs.

As a matter of fact, you love receiving them. The wear and tear of the things that came before you is only proof that it’s been loved enough to be passed on to you.

You adore your mother’s dainty vintage watch that she wore throughout college, the hardware and sentiment behind it being pretty enough that you don’t mind constantly getting the battery replaced. You like Namjoon’s shirts that he’s outgrown, even through the numerous phases he’s had wherein only denim and tie-dye filled his closet.

You don’t mind the history behind the numerous things you have in your home, unbothered that you’re probably the only house in the block with the oldest possible rice cooker. The chips in the staircase aren’t covered up with marker ink and neither are the loose stitches in the couch quilt snipped off. It’s home to your mother and Namjoon — if it’s good enough for them, then it’s already the best for you.

Even on top of everything, you don’t mind your family almost always getting you shirts and shoes that have an allowance in them. Your mom would go to Seoul and pick out the exact pair of sneakers you wanted that are atleast three sizes bigger than your actual feet, and you’d barely bat an eye.

You don’t mind the coziness of things that are brought to you, because even if they weren’t offered, you’d seek them yourself.

So when Yoongi mentioned that he’s decluttering his room and needed someone (read: you) to vacuum it up for him, you jump at the chance. You take a grocery bag with you, wear the nearest pair of slippers within your vicinity, and book it to his house as soon as he finished talking.

“Go crazy, kid. Almost everything in that pile is garbage so you can take anything.”

“I feel like I should be more offended than how I feel right now,” you hum, furrowing your eyebrows at the pile in front of you. It’s a mound of Yoongi, or atleast everything he’s ever wanted up until he decided to do a general cleaning of his bedroom.

Yoongi chuckles, going through his pile of clean laundry for him to fold on the side while you scavenge for his things. “It’s either I have you take them or I get ripped off at the thrift store, then I see somebody’s uncle wearing my shirt as an added insult.”

You huff, rummaging through his heap of belongings while conveniently trying to ignore that you may look like somebody’s uncle the moment you wear his clothes. Everything is him; every distressed cap, every unfinished embroidered shirt, and every item of old significance with his initials branded on it.

The thick gray hoodie you’ve been eyeing (along with its owner) for the better part of the last few years surfaces into your field of vision, your gasp audible enough to make him jolt because he thought you’d gotten hurt.

“No way, this too? But this is your favorite,” you half-complain and half-rejoice, turning the hoodie inside-out eagerly in the fear that there’s a catch to it belonging in the pile.

“Eh. I know it looked good on me but I don’t think it’s my favorite. Besides, I’ve bulked up! Wanna feel?” Yoongi grins, his segue eerily similar to your brother’s at every given chance. A neighbor from down the block recently opened a small-time gym, and the both of them have not been able to shut their mouths about it since. From their gossiping alone, Yoongi and Namjoon have generated enough advertising already.

“You and Namjoon really have to stop asking random people to feel your biceps.”

There’s random knick-knacks throughout the clump in the middle of his bed, some being too good and actually useful that you snag them. Yoongi lets you do what you want anyways (most of the time), not having to turn his head to berate you on what you’re only allowed to grab from his stuff.

You’re not greedy — you already have his hoodie and that should be enough on its own. But there’s that handkerchief with his initials embroidered on it, then that Rubik’s cube he swore his relative got for him from New York, and even the little butterfly knife he got from a souvenir shop when his family when to the beach.

There were those and there is this, looking up at you in all of its glory.

“Yoongi.”

“What now?” he sighs at your dramatic gasp, looking up from his folded laundry to see what you were going on about. It takes a second for him to fully realize why exactly were you so pumped.

“Are you serious? Your helmet?” you squeal, already hugging the shiny red mass close to you. “Does this mean you’re passing your motorcycle to me?!”

“Are you crazy? Fuck no,” Yoongi rolls his eyes, snatching his helmet back from you. He doesn’t miss the bratty frown that fills up your entire face; he’s not exactly the biggest fan whenever you were upset or angry; maybe even both. “Obviously I forgot I even put my helmet there when I made that pile.”

You whine, stomping your feet in exasperation. You would dramatically plop down on his bed if only it wasn’t full of his shit. “Come on! You told me you were teaching me as soon as you finish teaching Joon.”

“Teaching you how to ride my scooter is not the same as giving you it. Why would I just hand you what I bought with my hard-earned money?” Yoongi scrunches his nose, tone sharper than what he intended.

“But you still haven’t taught me,” you murmur to placate yourself and dissuade yourself from the delusion that Yoongi would even exert such an effort for you because of course — why would he do that for you?

You have an inkling that you’re being irrational for all the wrong reasons, perhaps even projecting your need to be looked after… by him.

Yoongi notices your mood that turned sour quickly, the silence between you becoming loaded. He didn’t mean to be that blunt. “I don’t think you’re even old enough to have your driving permit,” he adds in consolation, voice considerably softer.

You snicker lowly, still looking at your feet with your arms crossed. “But I’m old enough to backpack whenever you need me to carry shit that can’t fit in your carrier.”

He immediately groans at your comeback, his furrowed eyebrows mirroring yours. “You’re so stubborn.”

“You’re a hypocrite,” you retort, knowing for a fact he’s known how to drive even before he was eligible for permits and licenses and whatnot.

Yoongi takes one, two seconds to himself to regain his composure, clearing his head in the process. You’re still not looking at him and you’re pouting and you don’t even notice the latter, making him crack a small smile.

“I will teach you next week.”

“Oh my-…”

He cuts you off, raising his hand in emphasis. “Provided that you listen to everything I say and wear full gear at all times. You clearly don’t have a job yet-…”

“Ouch.”

“And I don’t have the extra money to buy full gear for myself, so what you’ll do is bundle up with your padded coat and the thickest jeans you have,” Yoongi enunciates every word, eyes keenly on you. They’re too wide and alert, you actually feel like listening to him.

“You go on rides wearing your pajamas.”

“Just say ‘thank you, Yoongi’.”

“You haven’t done anything yet,” you trail off, head tilting in confusion.

You’ve had a million conversations like this with Yoongi before but of different fonts; worn, familiar, and warm.

“Thank you, Yoongi,” he mouths, nodding at you to do the same. He won’t stop until you utter them back to him, and you know you won’t go home either without giving him your gratitude as you always do.

“Thank you, Yoongi,” you relent, the grin that breaks through your lips being infectious enough that he laughs lowly to himself.

He exhales all the worries he has and could possibly ever have seeing you ride the motorcycle (or for you yearning to do everything that he does), grasping at whatever sanity he has left from looking after you.

“You can have the helmet.”

( ♡ )

Yoongi knows the ins and outs of your home.

He’s been at your house too much to the point that your mom already gave him a spare key and nobody batted an eye about it. He has his own designated slippers at the entryway too, something you would only use in a hurry if you needed to sign off on a package.

Yoongi, for some reason unfathomable (not really; you can tell exactly why because your mom is an extremely warm and inviting person), also has the power of dibs on the food in your fridge. He’d put strips of masking tape with his name on food that’s neither brought in nor made for him in the first place.

It should be off-putting — the way that for too many yet too little reason, Yoongi has become a prominent figure in your life even if you didn’t ask him to. You should be peeved that you have to set up four plates more often that you set up only three; you should be annoyed at some point that when you wake up at random times through the night, you’re not totally alone to begin with.

You shouldbe angry at Yoongi to a degree because he’s in your life and you don’t get to have a say on how he stays in it. The only problem is that you’re not, and probably never will.

“Can’t sleep?” you mutter as you look up from your strikingly clear paper, seeing Yoongi strut across the floor with a casualness that only real occupants of the house should supposedly possess. He has his brows furrowed at you as if he didn’t expect to see you in your living room, scratching his head in wonder.

“Why are you up?”

“Stressed,” you sigh, giving up altogether in attempting to make yourself look busy. Yoongi drives by your fridge to get himself a can of beer, finally seating himself beside you on the floor.

“Stressed about what? I’m sure it’s not about studying,” he snorts, unsurprised at your paper and the clear lack of motivation behind it. You only roll your eyes at him and he has half a mind to not remind you to not do it so much, the frown in your face reminding him that you really were frustrated.

It is you to throw the occasional tantrum, but he remembers that it was only when you were young; when Namjoon would whisper gibberish to his ear and purposely not whisper to yours just so he could tease you, or when nobody would believe that you taught yourself how to ride a bike with no training wheels. You didn’t know how to do the latter at all, but what had made you throw a tantrum was that nobody believed you.

You notice Yoongi’s digs, of course. You notice each one of his more than unsubtle nods to your intelligence and whatnot, the shots at your intellect not flying over your head like he expected them to. You admit that you’ve never been that scholastic; you weren’t born a genius and you don’t try exactly hard either.

Yoongi’s only joking but you can’t help but to think that he’s pertaining to something deeper, his constant digs at your lack of a passion making you sluggish.

“We have to write this essay,” you answer simply, your tone straightforward and unwilling for banter but Yoongi bites anyway.

“But essays are the easiest,” he trails, looking at you the whole time as he takes a sip of his beer.

You exhale heavily because no matter what, he just can’t seem to get it. Yoongi knows where you’re coming from but he doesn’t know where you’re headed. As a matter of fact, you don’t know where you’re headed either. “We have to write an essay about where we see ourselves ten years from now.”

“But that’s still easy.”

“If it’s so easy, then go write it for me,” you snicker, leaning back with a huff. He constantly undermines you and although you own up to your striking mundaneness from time to time, it didn’t mean that you liked being looked down on. Yoongi’s too used to you being yourself, he gets taken aback when you grow sick of your own.

He gathers all his willpower, far from being sleepy unlike you who would’ve been lulled to sleep if only you weren’t dead-set on arguing with him. “You know what? I actually will,” he claps, handing you his beer. “Go hold this for me.”

Yoongi grips your pen for dear life like you hold his beer, his hand warm as he works from sheer determination alone (he’s not competing with anyone except for whatever expectation you have for him and your paper), while yours was cold just holding his drink.

You’ve been so quiet that he actually gets curious, turning his head to check to see if you’ve dozed off when actually, it’s just you eyeing the can.

“No one’s watching,” Yoongi breaks you out of your thoughts, carelessly shrugging. He cares and he’s far too concerned for you, but he figures that nothing would hurt you so long as he can grasp you. “It’s okay. You can have your first sip.”

You blink owlishly at him and when he jokes about taking it back, you take your first swig of beer in a panic. Yoongi only shakes his head in amusement, pausing his writing just to see the look on your face.

“One more?” he asks right after he sees you wince, the unbearable sweetness yet bitter, stinging aftertaste of the beer making you shudder.

You have the urge to wash off the taste with ice cold water (you’ll even drink from the tap because you’re so desperate), but you resist it just so you wouldn’t look like a weakling in front of him. You wave him off with a bitterness, upset that beer doesn’t taste like what you’ve always imagined it to be. “Just write my essay for me,” you mull over the taste in your tongue, in deep thought while you stare at Yoongi’s back ahead of you. “Do all beers taste that way?”

“Eh. Most of them do. You develop a taste for it later on,” he answers, taking the can back from you before drinking it himself. He looks too dedicated in writing your essay, only goading the curiosity in you to peek over his shoulder.

He knows you, both in heart and memory, because he shields your own paper from you when he sees your shadow hovering above him.

“Yoongi?”

“Hm.”

“I told you why I’m up. Why are you up?”

He’s silent entirely, the only indication that he heard your question being his hand pausing abruptly. Yoongi doesn’t answer, and you don’t ask again. “Don’t worry about it.”

You take his answer to heart, dozing off on the couch before you know it. You don’t remember a blanket being placed on you, nor can you remember preparing your backpack for school the next day.

Your paper’s neatly tucked into your portfolio bearing handwriting that’s clearly not yours, but with a sentiment that’s similar nonetheless. You read through everything quickly before even stepping towards your teacher, the tips of your fingers just as cold as Yoongi’s beer last night.

You’ve committed the paper into your memory, even until the last part with an excerpt you can’t forget despite having passed the paper already. You don’t know what to feel because it’s Yoongi who’s speaking for you, detailing that ten years from now, you will still be your mother’s daughter and your brother’s sister.

He wrote your essay either for you or in behalf of you, and you can’t tell which one is better.

Yoongi, who knows the ins and outs of your home and the peaks and troughs of your heart, writes in clear handwriting — Ten years from now, I will still be Yoongi’s rock.

( ♡ )

Surprisingly, Yoongi hasn’t been around that much lately.

Even Namjoon (who you consider as his Siamese twin) is clueless to why his friend hasn’t been hanging out with him lately to do either everything or nothing, confused because they’re enrolled to the same classes all the way to the same part-time jobs, yet Yoongi’s been mostly unavailable.

When Yoongi is, however, he doesn’t speak at all about his previous absences. He comes as if he’s never disappeared a few times before that, his evasion to talk about his presence being apparent even if you’ve asked him directly.

You’re getting used to his new routine of hanging out with you only when the both of you are free, no longer moving mountains for both of your schedules to line up. He’s more present this month than he was at the last, the criteria for it being how many times you bump into him in your own home.

Despite all odds and evens though, Yoongi can’t get used to your silence. He knows you hold grudges longer than your brother, and the last time that he checked, he knows you’ve already let go of your annoyance for him suddenly being unavailable without any explanation.

It’s late, only the two of you are awake in the living room, there’s ten scratch tickets on the table for you to share, and he’s even gotten you your own glass to which he’ll put a controlled amount (a grand total of two long sips) of his own beer in. You’re not stressing about an essay this time, but the unconscious pout on your face is still the same.

“You’re awfully quiet.”

The frown on your face only goes deeper at being found out, the scratch of your lucky coin being the only clear thing that Yoongi hears.

“My best friends want to have this slumber party,” you sigh, more upset about what you’ve just uttered than you are happy about the cash prize you’ve just won.

Yoongi takes what you say at face-value, groaning at his third straight loss for the night. “That’s great. Wear cute pajamas, snap a couple of polaroids, don’t be the first to fall asleep and last to wake up, and just keep a pocket knife with you when you’re going out by yourself.”

The awe (and slight concern) over what he said should roll in any time now.

You should be comforted at Yoongi’s words because they’re supposed to ease the swirl of your stomach, even if what he just said is a repackaged version of what your family said before. You should let go of your worries because Yoongi, of all people, says that it’s supposed to be great.

Instead, you feel neither of what you think Yoongi wants you to.

“Was it something I said?” he mumbles after some time, turning his nose up at you as he tries to retrace his words. “I have an extra pocket knife you can borrow if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“We’re gonna be talking about boys, Yoongi,” you screw your eyes shut, sighing into the palms of your hands with a heaviness. “We’re gonna talk about crushes and experiences and all that.”

He shudders at that, his reaction mirroring Namjoon’s when you tried opening up to him. You get your brother’s reaction to a degree, of course, because you feel as if you’d be disgusted too if the roles were reversed. You want to talk about it with your mom too, but at the end of the day, she’s your parent and you just can’t talk about anything and everything with her.

Yoongi’s your next plausible option.

“Do you want some ice cream right now? You know what, I’ll buy you-…” Yoongi tries to evade the topic altogether, his attempt of escaping feeble as you drag him down by his hoodie.

“I haven’t had my first kiss yet.”

“Heh.”

Yoongi shrugs at that, regaining his words when you deadpan at him. “So? What about it?”

You starfish on the floor at that out of frustration, the whine you’ve been bottling up coming out in the open because as usual, Yoongi doesn’t get it. “I-I’m probably the only one in my grade who hasn’t kissed someone yet! I can’t just lie carelessly because obviously, they’ll ask around.”

“So?” Yoongi chuckles, his breeze towards your state shocking you. “What’s it to them if you haven’t had your first kiss?”

“You don’t get it,” you grit through your teeth, crossing your arms so hard that it feels hard to inhale.

“I’m pretty sure I do,” he sing-songs, drinking the last of his beer. When you’re not looking though, he plans to either drink or chuck the remainder of your share because he doesn’t want you to develop a taste for it.

The anger you have for Yoongi bubbles up once again, the itch in your throat unbearable. You’re presented with the age gap between you once more, along with the raging emptiness in you that Yoongi’s reached so far and you’ve reached so little.

“You don’t get it because you’ve had all of these experiences when you were younger than my age right now,” you snap, although you don’t look at him when you do. If you do look at him though, you’ll only be reminded of how a face like his could have everything in this world — even a first kiss you’ve never had.

“Yeah, and so?” he knits his brows, growing defensive. You weren’t lying at all, but he still feels a little offended at the dig. He’s not not proud of it, but with the way you say it, it’s like you want him to burn in shame,

“Stop saying so,” you angrily mumble in frustration, a little breathless because you still don’t ease up on crossing your arms.

Yoongi straightens his posture, staring you down with his jaw set. He’s stern as he is, nostrils flaring in irritation. “No, Y/N. I’m genuinely asking — so what? What’s it to you if I had my first kiss at a younger age? What about it if everyone else in your grade has kissed someone and you haven’t? It’s not the end of the world.”

“I-I don’t know! It’s just unfair!” you let up, yielding to both the facts that Yoongi’s right with it not being the end of the world, and that you’re still entitled to feeling upset.

“Instead of spending time obsessing over your first kiss, maybe I don’t know, try being productive? You’re heading to college soon and you haven’t even thought of a career,” Yoongi goes off on you, making you roll your eyes automatically. There he goes again with the great big push of trying to push you into your supposed passions in life. “Someone else’s luck doesn’t mean it’s already your misfortune.”

“But it is.”

You say it so definitively, you almost convince him. You have your principles and so does Yoongi, but not everyone else. You have your principles yet you don’t have the luck. You’re not getting anywhere in life just like Yoongi or anyone else who was remotely born into wealth, no matter how quiet or obvious.

You can’t pursue something that interests you in the slightest without thinking what would come out of it. You can’t think of a degree and a course you’ll stick with, enough to do for the rest of your life because the only other option is to fail completely if you don’t. You have no plan and no passion and you don’t know if you’ll ever amount to anything to anyone at all.

By all means, you don’t agree with Yoongi this time. Someone else’s luck is your misfortune, in the same way that his first kiss doesn’t mean that it’s yours.

The sidetrack to your argument is a closed case already, judging by your downcast gaze. “I just have to put myself out there, that’s all. My first kiss doesn’t even have to mean anything. I just want to have it,” you admit, shoulders relaxing.

“Don’t,” Yoongi groans, the opposite of you as his whole body tenses.

He thinks that you don’t get him at all.

“What do you meandon’t?”

Your argument’s long-over (atleast you thought it was) but Yoongi’s getting more agitated by the minute, the disbelief on his face throwing you off. “Don’t do things just because you feel like you have to! Are you even hearing yourself right now?”

“I don’t want to be left behind, Yoongi! That’s all I’m trying to get at,” you raise your hands in surrender, shrugging thoughtlessly — it makes him want yell into a paper bag in exasperation. “I don’t want to be picked last. I don’t want to not be wanted.”

Yoongi exhales, screwing his eyes shut. It stays silent like that for a little while; him calming himself down, and you scratching your tickets. The calm doesn’t stay for long because you open your mouth carelessly, again.

“Can you be my first kiss?”

“Are you insane?”

“Ugh.”

You go back to your fourth scratch ticket, pouting in disappointment. You’re unfazed about the win that’s probably the largest sum you’ve had ever since you started doing the lottery.

You’re upset and you’re sick in the stomach but you stay silent like you never asked Yoongi to be your first kiss; it’s like you haven’t indirectly admitted to him that you love him enough, more than so, to want him to be your first.

You’re about to scratch the final ticket when Yoongi juts his hand out, fingers barely brushing yours to stop you.

“On second thought, don’t scratch that. Just keep it.”

“Because you want to turn me into a hoarder too?” you snicker, heeding his suggestion regardless.

“Because I’m not going to be right about everything,” Yoongi mumbles, looking at you with a solemnness you can’t decipher.

You try until the solemnness turns into pity.

“Still don’t want to be my first kiss?”

Yoongi softly laughs to your face, smiling as he lets you down — whether easily or harshly, you can’t tell.

“You already know what I’m going to say.”

( ♡ )

You’d like to think that you’re not kept in the dark about most things.

You already know that although your mom hasn’t had any relationships since your dad left, she still has plenty of suitors. Some of them are the reason why you have random food deliveries in the middle of the dinner that she’s already cooked, some have sucked up to her by getting you and Namjoon gifts.

You know about Namjoon’s growing love for football, even with the lessons he takes in secret because he didn’t want to trouble your mom for the money. It’s why he does his part-time job and why you’re looking for one anyways. You don’t want nor need much, so you almost always give him the remainder of your allowance by the end of each week.

Yoongi, on the other hand, you don’t know much about. You know that he’s an only child with a doting mom who works overseas and a rich but emotionally unavailable dad at home, and that’s about it. His home life is synonymous with yours, considering that your four walls have become an extension of his.

Maybe you’ve become too lenient on him — either that, or he’s become too disrespectful. It’s at times like these where your house is not his home, sickeningly so that you don’t want it to be yours either.

Yoongi is a sight to behold as he makes out with a half-naked girl on your bed, in your room. Your room has never been the neatest but with everything going on, it feels that it’s become the dirtiest that it’s ever been. Your house slippers are on the floor even if you always leave them by the entryway, and your sheets are a mess despite being one of the only things you try to keep folded in the room.

You’re angry, too much to the point that the words get caught in your throat. They catch onto bile and venom and everything at once, the strain in your voice heard when you yell.

“What the fuck?!”

Yoongi and the girl, whom you figure out to be Hyewon that he’s shared his first kiss with, jolt in unison. Hyewon’s scared shitless while Yoongi’s annoyed to death, the grunt he lets out pricking your ears further. “Sorry, sorry. She’s my best friend’s sister. She’s so annoying,” he drags you out of your room before he even gives you the entitlement to storm out of there in a fit of rage, seeing red the longer that he seems upset at you.

“What the fuck was that, Yoongi?” you grit through your teeth, the moment of you seeing red turn into white because you’re so frustrated that you could actually cry. Your chest’s heavy, not only out of rage, but out of everything that’s built up in the course of years.

“Can you keep it down?” Yoongi seethes, pursing his lips. “What, would you rather see us do it in the living room?”

“In the — what? Who do you think you are? This isn’t even your house, why are you bringing these girls here?” you point an accusing finger at him yet he doesn’t back away, his annoyance for you only growing tenfold.

He’s in the wrong no matter which way you look at it yet he doesn’t realize it, the epiphany that Yoongi genuinely thinks he’s in the right for doing this to you making your skin burn in fire.

“This is literally the first time I’ve ever done this! I can’t bring her back to my place, my dad has guests over!”

“So your smartest idea is to fuck someone in my bed?”

“Oh, you’re welcome. It’s the most action your four walls have ever seen,” he spits sarcastically, eyes narrowing at you. It takes little effort for him to dig up what you came to him for in worry and it terrifies you. The facet of Yoongi who had sternly told you that it was okay to be left behind if it means getting what you deserve, resembling nothing like him at the moment.

“I can’t believe you!” you whisper as you tremble, the tears pricking at the corner of your eyes. “I told you that in confidence.”

“In confidence? It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that you’re not exactly a catch, Y/N.”

You clench your jaw so hard that it hurts, you ball your fists so tightly that it stings.

You leave your home without saying another word.

Namjoon’s panicked.

He came home a little later than usual because he had maximized the life out of his soccer lessons, only getting the signal to leave when the lights were turned off. He was only slightly worried at the first place because he was supposed to cook dinner for the both of you, but he placated himself by realizing that you’re not the baby that he still thinks you are — you could cook dinner for yourself if you were hungry already.

He thinks nothing of it. In fact, he just makes a quick stop at the convenience store so the both of you could indulge in a liter of ice cream without your mom urging to leave some for another night. You could think of a recipe from scratch (and it almost always works out at the end), so Namjoon walked in fully thinking he’ll get to sniff whatever concoction you have.

Except, he walks into a completely dark house, and that’s when he panics.

He can’t find your slippers by the entryway and you’re not in your room either. You’re not at the other convenience store hunched over taking your chances on scratch tickets, and you’re not out on the street either going people-watching.

The panic rises in him the more that Namjoon grasps this is the first time that this has ever happened and he doesn’t know why. He’s always made an effort to be absorbed into both your personal and academic affairs, and as far as he knows, you’re neither in a sleepover nor on a field trip somewhere.

Namjoon thinks it’s his fault someway somehow, and the guilt can’t fully dissipate from him until he sees you.

“Hey, Yoongi,” he breathlessly gasps the moment his friend answers, the latter being surprised because he thought it was you who was calling him after what happened awhile ago.

It’s his fault and he’s realized that hours too late, and the selfish part of him thinks that it’s you calling at ten in the evening begging for forgiveness.

“What’s up, man? It’s late,” he wonders out loud, thinking for a second if they were too much of the Siamese twins that you tease them to be because he can’t think of a rational reason why Namjoon would call him at this time of night.

Namjoon raggedly exhales, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, sorry about that. I’m just wondering if you’ve seen Y/N by any chance?”

Yoongi’s heart drops so loudly that Namjoon thought for second that his friend had hung up on him, his urgency being shared the moment that he asked.

“What? Y/N isn’t home?” Yoongi asks in disbelief, immediately being filled with anxiety and disbelief. Just awhile ago, the two of you were arguing outside of your room. He did hear you leave, but he had fully expected for you to be back hours ago. He’s wracked with guilt all over, the drop in his chest amplified by the pit in his stomach.

“She’s not. Practice ran late and I-I know she’s responsible so I didn’t hurry home,” Namjoon recalls, being more and more frazzled by the second. “She left her phone here, and mom isn’t here either because she’s visiting my grandparents, a-and I don’t want to call her because I know she’ll be worried, a-and-…”

Yoongi interrupts him, the tremble in his fingers only enabling him to dig his nails into his palm deeper. “I’m coming over. Let’s look for her together.”

It barely takes a minute for the both of them to come together, not even exchanging any pleasantries with each other before Yoongi steps on the gas.

Namjoon’s filled with guilt, the type that only a sibling could carry as a burden. He thinks he was too selfish — too accustomed to pulling your own weight that it must have given you the impression that you had no other choice but to. Whatever it was that made you leave out of the blue, Namjoon thinks he could’ve done more. He should’ve came home and made you dinner as promised, for starters. He’s guilty over the fact that he’s the only close familial male figure in your life and he let this happen, as he makes Yoongi put his headlights on high-beam, scanning for anyone that looks remotely like you.

Yoongi, on the other hand, is filled with a guilt he can’t even begin to explain. It corrodes him from the inside-out in realization that he’s to blame for your sudden disappearance, the fact that Namjoon comes to him first to help find you not helping at all. If only your brother knew what he had done to you, he’s positive that he’ll be on the receiving end of a punch — what gets him more is that Yoongi wouldn’t blame him at all.

They see you in the bus stop two cities away, dressed in the same clothes you ran out with.

Namjoon’s relieved beyond compare while Yoongi’s fuming, his hands tucked inside his jacket to prevent himself from squeezing you into an embrace; neither of you deserve it.

There’s an underlying anger within Namjoon, one that lies behind the back of his throat as he checks you over for any injuries. The two of you walk ahead to Yoongi’s car while he himself trails behind, his heart significantly calmer than it was the past hour, yet nowhere near normal.

“Wanna tell me what you did?” your brother hums, trying to exhale the worry that’s embedded into him with each squeeze he gives around your shoulders.

“Went to the convenience store, bumped into my friends, then we took this impromptu roadtrip to go to the night market, then we all had our first actual shot of liquor and not just beer, my friend who owns the car turned out to be a lightweight, and now everyone just has to commute home,” you narrate in recollection, squeezing Namjoon back to try and ground him.

“Okay,” he answers simply, nodding. “Wanna tell me what happened before you did all those things?”

The breathless chuckle that leaves you is empty, void of any amusement at all. You smile nonetheless, unable to placate both yourself and Namjoon. “Nope.”

You arrive in silence to Yoongi’s car, the words unsaid between the three of you generating more tension than your brief disappearance itself.

Yoongi opens the front door for you, but you settle for sitting in the backseat.

#HOW R WE FEELING TARGET AUDIENCE!!! :O #yoongi imagine #yoongi oneshot #yoongi oneshots #yoongi series #yoongi angst #yoongi angst imagine #yoongi fluff #yoongi x reader #yoongi x y/n #yoongi au #min yoongi imagine #min yoongi scenario #yoongi fanfic #yoongi x you #bts yoongi imagine #bts yoongi x reader

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psychedelic-ink · 11 months ago

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ㅤㅤㅤ✦ 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐒𝐓, 𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐒

ㅤㅤmodern!oberyn martell x f!reader

genre: smut, minors dni, modern au

word count: 2k

summary: when you accidentally blurt out one of the fantasies that you kept locked up in your head, oberyn is more than eager to oblige to your request.

warnings: piv, anal sex, first time anal, rimming, fingering, lots of lube and praise

a/n: we did a secret santa for our server space sisters and my giftee was @iamasaddie! Happy holidays love! I hope you enjoy this little smutty fic, I definitely enjoyed writing it 🎄🎄🎄

can you guys believe i couldn't find one decent image of a peach being fingered???? a shame really

**stunning divider by the amazing @saradika <333

Everything about Oberyn drives you crazy.

The way he dresses, the way he smells, the melodic lilt of his voice—every part of him you adore and cherish. You’re undeniably lucky to have this man in your life and not only that but to have him as a partner is something you’re in awe of every single day. He satisfies you like no man ever could. He gives you every bit of himself. His tongue, his fingers. . . it’s almost as if the man was solely created to bring pleasure to you.

But, despite all of that, you’re still not as open as you wish to be. You can never be as blunt with him as he is with you. He needs to drag your desires out of you. Tease you until you snap and practically shout at him to make you come. Oberyn doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, he’d said on multiple occasions how much he enjoyed it.

“Look at you so wet around my cock,” he purrs, the back of his tongue hitting the roof of his mouth roughly on the word cock. Oberyn’s right. You are wet. Soaked even. Every time he rocks you forward you feel the wet fabric of the bedding scraping your outer knee. You moan loudly into the pillows, fluttering around him as he fucks, fucks, and fucks himself deeper into you.

You’re not sure where you end and he begins. Sex with him is always like this. Mind numbingly beautiful. Satisfying. You feel the warmth of the Christmas lights framing your window kissing your sweaty skin. Your clit throbs. You don’t think you can hold on much longer.

But just as you’re nearing the edge, Oberyn’s thumb traces the tight rim of your other hole. He slowly pushes in, only a bit, the stretch adds enough pressure for another moan to come tumbling out your lips, your upper body fully falling. Oberyn hums, his hips slowing into a sensual grind. “Does my sweet girl want me to fuck this hole next?” This is something that he teases you about more often than not. He’s never acted on it though. “So fucking tight.”

He pushes his thumb till the first knuckle and it’s like electricity shooting down your spine. Your entire body jolts, the words leaving your throat before you even realize what you’re saying.

“Yes,” you breathe. “Yes yes yes—please fuck me there—”

Oberyn stops.

So does your heart.

Fuck fuck fuck. That was meant to be a secret.

“What did you just say?”

“Nothing!” you answer quickly and high-pitched. “I—I didn’t mean anything by it.”

Oberyn dips until his lean chest is firmly pressed against the curve of your spine. His lips touch your ear, his breath warm and inviting. The hand that was teasing your hole slips to the side to cup your ass. He kneads the muscle tenderly.

“Are you sure?” he hums. “Why would you hide this from me?”

“I. . . wasn’t. . .”

“Ah, so you admit it is something that you want.”

You let out an airy chuckle, “I hate when you do that.”

“Do what?”

“Just trick me into admitting things.”

“I just asked a question,” he says innocently. It’s a bit hard to focus on his words when he’s cock deep inside of you. “Now, tell me why this is the first time I’m hearing about this.”

Oberyn drags his lips down to the base of your neck and kisses you, your body melting into the sheets instantly. You’re glad he can’t see your face right now. You don’t think you can admit this while those observant eyes are looking down at you.

“I’ve never tried it before. And. . . I was nervous to ask about it,” you take a sharp inhale. “I did want to tell you. I just—You’re already so much better at this than I am, I didn’t want to look even more inexperienced.”

Before you know it Obeyn has you by the shoulders, twisting your body enough so that you’re facing him instead of keeping your head buried in the pillows. You chew on the inside of your cheek. He looks serious. Did you say something wrong?

“Better at what?” he asks even though he knows the answer.

“At sex.”

“Sex is not a competition, and for what it’s worth you are good at it. And I love being your first when it comes to intimacy. You have nothing to be ashamed of,” he starts moving again, the heavy drag of his cock between your legs making your eyes roll. “But, if you are still feeling anxious let me prove to you how much I love being your first—and last.”

Your lips curl into a small smile, “Last?”

His smile is sinister. Teeth showing as he dips to your neck, taking a slow, yet sharp, bite. A whimper rattles your throat. “Is it wrong for me to want to humor the idea that I’ll be fucking you somewhere no one has before and that no one else will ever touch you beside me?” Oberyn pulls out, your body immediately aching to be filled again. “Get on all fours.”

You oblige eagerly. Your arms are shaking as you prop yourself up, the inside of your thighs slick. Oberyn reaches for the nightstand and pulls out the bottle of lube. When he disappears behind you again you expect the cool feel of jel, but instead, you receive his mouth—and tongue.

“Oh fuck—”

“Be still,” he growls, gripping your hips. “Let me feast.”

He swirls his tongue around your asshole, hot saliva dripping right against it. You shudder as he pushes it through, teeth grazing the flesh gingerly. Oberyn parts your cheeks with both hands and pushes the wet muscle deeper. Pleasure rakes your body, your core throbbing with need. You’re close. Just a couple swipes of his tongue and you’re already there, ready to burst.

He mouths against you and when he deems you wet enough, he slips a finger inside. Your body tenses around him, the sensation foreign but not unwanted. Oberyn’s one hand cups your sex, fingers starting to draw patterns around your throbbing clit while he thrusts the fingers in and out. Moan after moan rips from your throat. The stimulation against your clit loosens you further. He slips another finger. Both knuckle deep as he fucks you with them.

“That’s it. You’re stunning like this. Beautiful.”

You fist the sheets, hips sloppily grinding back to meet the fast movement of his fingers. “O–Oberyn please. . .”

“Oh you think you’re ready?” he chuckles and for some reason, the sound urges a fresh gush of wetness to roll out of you. “Tell me how badly you want me to fuck this sweet ass and maybe. . .” he groans. “Maybe I’ll give you what you want.”

Your breath catches in your throat, “Please fuck me with your big cock Oberyn—I need it—Need you—”

He hums and something about the way he moves makes you think he’s not satisfied with your begging. And here you thought you’ve been doing a good job. He pulls away both hands and drags them up your back, cupping your shoulders. You’re in near tears when his cock spreads your folds and grazes against your clit. “You want me to fuck you here?”

Oberyn’s a cruel, cruel man.

“N—No,” you whimper, shaking your head. “Not. . . not there.”

“Where then?”

“My. . .” Damn it, your voice is trembling. “My ass.”

You say it silently, barely above a whisper. He hisses through clenched teeth, pulls back his hips, and snaps forward, fucking your thighs instead of where you really need him. “Louder,” he commands.

“Fuck me in the ass—” you practically shout. “Please please please fuck me in the ass—I want to feel you—Been wanting it for so long.”

You sigh happily at the feeling of a generous amount of lube being poured down from the bottle and directly onto your hole. Oberyn pours some into his palm, jerking himself until he’s fully coated in lube. The bulbous head of his cock teases your hole, your back arches for him, urging him to go on.

He fills you inch by glorious inch. The sounds he’s making behind you are downright sinful—your body reacts to his sweet moans, your name falling from his lips. You feel so full. Once again your upper body falls to the sheets, your poor arms too weak to support yourself any longer. Oberyn keeps your ass up in the air, still pushing his cock deeper.

“So big,” you slur, your body feeling aflame.

“Just a little more. You’re taking me so well, such a good girl.”

Your body jerks as he buries himself a bit deeper, has he always been this thick? “Say that again. Tell me how good I am, please.”

Oberyn blankets your shuddering body, holding himself still, he begins to whisper in your ear, “So good. You’re always my good girl, even when you do keep secrets from me. You’re the perfect glove for my cock. I am going to fuck you so good that your inside will be the shape of me.”

Just as you get wetter and wetter at his words, Oberyn fills you to the brim. You choke around nothing, every nerve thrumming with pleasure. Your body squeezes him tight and when you finally loosen a bit, Oberyn groans.

“Can I move?”

“Please.”

He squeezes your hips as he pulls out, the heavy press of his cock making you see stars. Then before you can gather yourself he’s pounding into you, stretching you to your limits. There’s a hum in your ears and vaguely you can hear him moaning your name. Your mouth floods with saliva, his teeth sinking into where your neck connects with your shoulder.

Desperately you reach back and take a hold of his wrist. Your touch only spurs him on, hips deliciously moving in and out. The sound of skin slapping against skin becomes louder and louder.

“Oh god,” you moan, your fingers tightening around his wrist. “I’m gonna come.”

“Can you come like this?” He asks genuinely. “With my cock in your ass?”

You don’t think you can actually. Your close. So very close that you can taste your orgasm on your tongue, but you just need a bit more, just a little touch—

“Do not—“ Your hand stills, you weren’t even aware that you’d begun to move your arm to stroke your clit. “Tell me. Tell me why you want and I’ll give you fucking everything.”

“I—I need you to touch me.”

Oberyn doesn’t make you say it twice. He’s stroking your clit with fast strokes, his hips in perfect rhythm with his thrusts. Hear licks you from the inside out and the pressure between your legs builds, builds and builds until you can’t take it anymore.

It happens all at once, your body shatters into a million pieces as you shudder around him, his cock splitting you open over and over. Between your moans you can hear him groaning your name, telling you how good you are, how perfect.

You feel the rush of wetness running down your thighs and Oberyn’s fingers that were so deftly circling your clit moves to your hip, squeezing the flesh.

“That’s my sweet girl, coming so pretty with my cock in her ass—I’m going to come, fill you until you’re dripping—“

He doesn’t get a chance to finish his sentence. Your entire body clenches, hugging his cock tight. Oberyn comes with a shattered breath and shallow thrusts, he pushes forward, balls deep. Another orgasm washes over you, your body thrumming with pleasure.

“Fuck—“ he rasps, slowly easing himself out. A shiver crawls up your spine as come slips down between your cheeks and down your thighs. He kisses the skin between your shoulders. “You look so good like this. So full of come.”

“Wish I could see,” you hum.

“Next time I will bring a camera.” He collects himself on his fingers and slips them inside of you, a moan deserts your lips. “Or perhaps I should fuck you again.”

There’s a beat of silence before he speaks again.

“Do not ever hide anything from me again. Promise me.”

“I promise.”

#oberyn martell x reader #oberyn martell x f!reader #oberyn martell x fem!reader #oberyn martell smut #modern oberyn martell #game of thrones fanfic #got fic #oberyn martell fanfic #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfic #space sisters secret santa 2023

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tonixe · 11 months ago

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—santa baby

A/N: Another Coriolanus Fic, I know, im obsessed. But I'm still in love with him. Christmas special, and the votes were counted, and the winning side was smut, not surprised though. I wanted smut too!

WARNING: fingering, creampies, virginity loss, p in v, teasing, groping, breeding kink, oral sex (male receiving), cum eating.

PAIRING: Young! Coriolanus x virgin!reader

WORD COUNTER: 2.1k

You enjoyed the holidays, the festive decorations, and the lovely atmosphere of the holiday, it filled you with much peace and joy throughout the month. But this month was your favorite, Christmas is a day that you get to gift people, and though people coup up in the Capitol, you were spoiled with many gifts from your parents and others, but you especially liked to gift people with your own expensive, spoiling others made you feel happy, enthralled even. Surprising from someone of your caliber to say.

You especially liked to gift your loved ones, your mother, father, siblings, and especially your beloved, Coriolanus Snow. You were in distress about what to gift him for this especially holiday, though you knew he always got something to satisfy your craving for luxury. You didn't know at all, even trying to talk to Tigris about what Coriolanus always wanted, she, herself didn't have an answer for this difficult question. A thought bloomed in your mind, though of the four years of marriage you shared with Coriolanus, you never ever had a sexual encounter with him. Was gifting him your virginity too scandalous, but you didn't know anything else that would do it for him, he did have everything a man wished for,

What would a president of Panem want for Christmas, you sat down and read through catalogs and catalogs of magazines to get you an idea of what to do. You knew Coriolanus adored having you wearing lingerie, especially the lacy ones that showed skin, you felt queasy at the idea, your cheek getting hotter by the second, pursing your lips together, but there wasn't any other way...right?

Your idea was to make a special set of lingerie for you to wear for Coriolanus, you wanted something that would match his signature red suit. Something lacy, with ribbons and cute little bows. You manage to get a tailor that would set up the special lingerie collection. Attending the fitting was hard, especially with Coriolanus wanting to know where you are every second, can't have Panem's prized jewel going missing?

You had a bunch of peacekeepers guarding your every move, walking into the tailor shop and out, even going inside. It was hard to keep this secret hidden from Coriolanus, especially with the loyal guards who reported your every move. But you manage to keep the secret, even making the tailor meet you in a secluded area of the shop to get the measurements.

But in the end, it was able to be complete, the dainty luxurious fabric into a piece of lingerie fitted for your delicate curves, it was a babydoll delicate, with stockings with matching bows on the top of the seams. It was perfect, you hoped that would enjoy that gift, but some part of you doubted. Days after days passed, and it was the prized day, the day you were ready for.

You snuck out of your shared chambers, your plan was to surprise him, writing down a little note and leaving it by his side. Taking out the box with the special garments inside the parcel, sliding on the red delicate lingerie, and mesh tights. Wrapping yourself with a red ribbon, tying your hands together, tightening it with your teeth. Carefully getting into the medium-sized box, you were almost done until you heard footsteps through the hallways, and quickly put the box top on. Your heart rate increases, and you feel your palm getting sweaty...

Hearing Coriolanus's voices through the box, closing your mouth shut. You didn't want to spoil his precious gift, hoping he would at least be satisfied with the surprising gift, crossing your fingers in hope.

Coriolanus called out for you, realizing that you were beside him when he woke up. He knew you enjoy the holidays and this one in general, as he stepped out into the living, there was already a gift he planned to present to you, but looking at the strange box, it was red with a silver ribbon, and was slightly moving. He cocked his eyebrows at the scene, cautiously walking towards the present.

His hands reach for the box and open it, your frame being revealed to him, your eyes making contact with his. "So, this is where you were, my dove," He said, chuckling at your struggling form, "Merry Christmas, Corio" You gave him a shy smile, but you should have seen how you looked in Coriolanus' perspective, the red ribbon wrapping around your body, and near your chest area squeezing against your breast, awaiting to spill out of their confinements. Flickering your eyes away from him, feeling Coriolanus grabbing you out the box shocking you. The red ribbons still confine to your body, as he bridal carried you, "So, this why you were so distinct from me, trying to make this little gift" he smirked, your eyes hestitiately looking away from his bright blue eyes.

His footsteps carry you to your shared chambers, your heart beating in your chest. As he delicately put you on the edge of the bed, your body still confined with the ribbon, he took out some embroidery scissors, slowly cutting through the ribbon except the ones on your hand, as he placed it down on the delicate wooden desk.

His eyes wandered on your half-naked body. Your body looked smooth, doll-like. Your perky chest with hard peaks, his hands touching your confined ones, and he put them over your head. "You did so good for me, dove" he whispered, his fingers touching you, tracing the line of your stomach to your collarbone making you shiver. He outlined your stomach down to your pelvis, gradually dragging off the lacy red panties, making you anxious as your eyes followed his fingers dragging off the delicate panties. Extending your legs, looking at the panties fully being extracted, and throwing them to the other side of the bedroom. The cold air ghosted against your cunt, as your legs trembled.

"Corio.." You whined, you were embarrassed, the feeling of butterflies fluttering around your stomach, "I'm just enjoying my Christmas present, darling" He inched his face, whispering to your ear, as his fingers danced to your delicate petals inching to the bud. His fingers gradually inserted his digits into you, a strife of moans coming out of your lips, as you curved your back up in pleasure. His fingers pulling out of you unbearably slow and plunging back in making you tense up. The brutal pace made you break, your chest heaving as you tensed up at his fingers before his fingers picked up in pace, and it turned into a reckless frenzy. His fingers fucking you harshly, flickering your pearl.

A wanton of moans ripping out of your throat, your eyes rolling back in pleasure, his lips connecting to yours, his tongue exploring your cavern, leaning into the intense kiss. His fingers are still at work, fucking you harsily. You lifted your hips up for him to thrusting deeper into your pussy, withdrawing from the kiss, as you stared at Coriolanus with droopy eyes, your lips parting apart.

Turning your head away from him in embarrassment, "Don't look away from me, dove" He gently turns your head to him, pushing a strand of hair away from your face. Your body felt hot, sweat dripping off of your body. His fingers drove into your cunt, the sloshing sound of your slick, your body getting hotter. Feeling a hot wave of pleasure crashing onto you, curving your back up as your juices mixed with your slick, tensing up your hands against the sheets. Feeling his fingers leaving your cunt, covered in clear fluids. Your cheeks reddened in embarrassment, "You made a mess" Coriolanus said, flickering your eyes at his frame, your hands taking his arm, surprising him. Placing his cum-coated fingers in your mouth, your tongue swirling against his fingertips, staring at him with doe eyes.

His eyes lit up with amusement, as you cleaned his fingers, pulling out his hands from your mouth, saliva coating his fingers. "Are you sure this is your first time, dove" He whispers with delight, you nod, "I want..to satisfy you, Corio" you mumble from your lips, "You are" he cups your cheek, "No..I want to pleasure you, please" your doe eyes looking at his cold eyes. His lips parted at your innocent appearance. Before you sat up, leading him down onto the large bed, your knee digging into the sheet as you pulled off his pants along with his boxers.

Feeling yourself swallowing at the size of his cock, as it strung up. The tip with an angry tip and is covered in colored veins.

Your hand slowly strokes it, your ears hearing groans slipping out of his mouth. Your fingers rub the tip. "Fuck, Y/N" he groans, "Is everything okay?" you questioned, feeling anxious that you're hurting him, "Yes, fuck" he muttered before you took his cock whole into your mouth, your tongue swirling the tip, hearing moans. Your head bobbing up and down his shaft, his moans getting louder, feeling his hands tangled in your hair, as you looked up at his trembling form.

His hand forced you down, making you gag. Tears pricking up on your waterline, forcing yourself to breathe through your nose. As he face fucked you, salvia drooling down your chin, moaning against his touch. Feeling yourself getting wetter, your doe eyes look up.

His hands never leaving your hair as he forced you down before he released his load down your throat, the bitter-salty taste hitting your tongue. Feeling his cock soften in your mouth, withdrawing from him. "Did I do good" you cocked your head to the side, as he examined at you, making note of your half-naked form. His hands making contact with your cheek, as he caressed gently.

He just nodded as you looked at his member harden, as you crawled on top of his body. His hand makes its way on the top of your lingerie, taking it off, and discarding it. Placing your hands on his shoulder, feel his hand on your waist, as you lowered yourself down on his cock. Feeling searing pain in your lower abdomen, stifling a groan from your lips. You felt his hands on your hips dragging you down, bottoming himself, "it's too big... corio" you quivered, "Your doing so well, dove" he gently lift your chin up slightly, as you stared at him.

His hips gently thrust up into your cunt, making you shiver in delight, biting your lip down. Your nails dig deeper into his shoulder making him groan, resting your head on his shoulder, adjusting to the pain. "I'm going to move, okay... Dove" he whispered, you nodded your head at the statement, before feeling his hands on the plush of your bottom, the slow-motion as he gripped your hips feeling his cock leaving you and his then lowering your hips down.

Tears prick on your waterline, biting your lips at the discomfort, his hands rubbing your waist. His hands picking up speed, picking and dropping you down on his cock, the gradually simmering moment of pain, turning into pleasure in your core, moans coming from your lips, throwing your head back in thrill. "Corio" you whined, his pelvis thrusting up. His cock rubbing at your cervix. Your body riding him, feeling addicted to his touch. "Corio–corio" your mouth chanting his name like a prayer, "I'm close..please" You were breathless, his cock slipping out of you and in. Feeling a wave of satisfaction crashing down on you, moans ripping out of you. The lewd sounds of your body mixing with his, your high-pitched moans ripping out your throat.

Feeling his cock leaving you, making you whine, "Lay down" he whispered, pecking your lips as you obey, laying down as he line up with you, pushing his cock into you, thrusting in and out of you, your this bouncing on impact, his hands pressing your legs down on your chest. "Fuck" he groans, his hands pressing your legs closer to you, into a missionary position. Feeling him deep inside you, "Corio–I'm close" you cried out, adjusting your arms around his neck.

His mouth connects to your neck, sucking the vulnerable flesh, you whined out on impact. "I'm close too" he grunted, his pace getting faster, the melody of slapping skin echoing through the room. "Inside please" you whispered, pulling Coriolanus closer to you, feeling your orgasm crashing down on you, moaning out.

Feeling his hot load filling you, his mouth crashing into you, moaning against him. The sensation of his cock dragging out of you, makes you whine. Sweat covers your body, cringing at the feeling of his cum dripping out of you. Your eyes hesitantly looking down, staring at the mess between your legs, light pink liquid dripping out of you.

"Merry Christmas, Corio" you exclaimed, your tired form not letting you stand up, discomfort ringing through your body. Your eyes flicker at the colored stained window, snow falling decorating the scene. Feeling the bed bending at his weight and leaning onto you, leaving a kiss on your lips, "Merry Christmas, my love"

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sansaorgana · 3 months ago

Note

hello!! i’ve been reading you’re gale fics and i stumbled across the one where they meet once he goes back to school! i loved it so much and was wondering if you could do a part 2 kind of on their relationship once they officially become a couple?

hi, darling! thank you for your request! 🎀 I really like this story because it's different than usual Gale fics 😊 in this part they are apart for the summer holidays and they miss each other meanwhile her mum wants her to meet her son's friend who is closer to Reader's age and all that and then Gale shows up to visit because he's been missing his girl 😌

[ PART ONE ]

my requests are currently closed 🙅🏻‍♀️

Your relationship with Gale was going steady and everyone seemed to be interested in it, which was giving you both more attention than usual. You weren’t a very social couple and yet everyone wanted to talk to you all of a sudden as they hoped you would answer some questions that they had about him. Who he was, where had he come from, why did he have those scars on his face… You were only smiling gently at those people and trying to avoid answering such questions.

Your roommate Kathy and her boyfriend Jack were the only two people you talked to about such things – although you were still quite angry at Jack for looking into Gale’s personal documents to find out about his past. But since he had already known it anyway, there was no point of lying in front of him or avoiding the subject anyway.

With time people eventually gave up and let you go, disappointed about not getting many answers to their nosy questions. Thankfully, everything went back to the old ways and you were quite invisible again and so was Gale because everyone just had gotten used to him being around and remaining a little mystery. Also, someone had spread a rumour already about him being a pilot from the war. You had a nasty feeling it was Jack but you didn’t want to ask him because you didn’t want to fight with him and Kathy. Gale had assured you it was fine – after all, the new rumour was believable enough for the other, less pleasant rumours to stop. And most people were satisfied with this information about him without asking any further questions.

The semester was slowly coming to an end and you were sitting under a tree in the park, enjoying the warm weather with your head on Gale’s shoulder. Both of you were reading books for your upcoming exams and you were chewing on a pen but your thoughts were getting distracted.

“How will you spend your summer holidays?” You asked him, all of the sudden.

Gale looked down at you with a furrowed brow as he chuckled.

“I’m gonna visit my family for some time but then I’m gonna come back here, I think,” he answered. “And you? Going back to your family, I assume?” He asked and you nodded, anxiously.

“I’m gonna be out for the whole summer,” you explained. “But now… Now I’m thinking I should perhaps only go there for a month and spend the second one here with you?”

“I don’t want to keep you away from your family, love,” Gale smiled gently and caressed your cheek with his fingertip.

“And what are you gonna do here without me around?” You crossed your arms after closing your book loudly.

“Same as always,” Gale shrugged his arms. “Same as I was doing before we started seeing each other,” he explained.

“But you’re going to miss me, right?” You bit on your lower lip.

“Of course,” Gale shook his head and kissed the top of your head. “I’m going to call you and send you letters,” he assured you as he squeezed your arm. “You’re going to miss me, too, right?”

“Right,” you nodded with a shy smile but you looked away.

You couldn’t help an awful feeling that you would miss him more than he would miss you. Gale was a mystery to everyone but to you as well sometimes – he was a stoic and demure man, which was understandable because of his past and his age but… Sometimes you wished he would be more open with his feelings.

Gale took you to the train station on the day of your departure back home and he was standing on the platform and waving his hand after you as you were staring through the window and waving back. It was like in that song Love In Vain and for some reason you couldn’t help but feel sad and nostalgic about this farewell even though you would be back in two months.

But would everything be the same between you two then? It was hard to believe.

It didn’t help that at home everyone seemed to question your relationship. You expected everyone to be excited about you finally finding a partner and about him being a mature man who was a war hero but apparently everyone had some problem with that.

“What does he look like?” Your sister wanted to know. You sighed at her shallowness but you tried not to get angry because she was only a teenager. You took out the picture that Kathy had taken of you and Gale inside the library. “Why does he look like this?” Your sister asked.

“What are you talking about? He’s handsome!” You protested and she took the picture from your hands to take a closer look.

“The scars on his cheeks…”

“Well, he was in the war,” you reminded her with an eye roll, getting annoyed already at her comment.

“I don’t know… He looks stiff and sad,” she handed you the picture back.

“War does terrible things to men. Are you sure he’s, you know, right in the head?” Your father squinted his eyes at you as he lowered his newspaper. He only took a brief look at the picture and cleared his throat.

“Gale is perfectly fine in the head,” you clenched your jaw and looked at your mother, hoping she would back you up on that but she sighed instead.

“Why couldn’t you find yourself a boy your age, darling? And what is he even doing right now? Are you sure he is not flirting with other girls? Women his age, I mean?” She put her hands on her hips.

“Gale is not like that…” You started but you knew how pathetic that sounded like. Every woman who had been cheated on had probably used the same words. Your mother shook her head and muttered something to herself before walking out of the room to check on the pie in the oven.

You were growing insecure because of their words and comments. You sent Gale a letter in which you assured him of your love and you also added how much you missed him. You hoped to remind him about your devotion.

Not long after, your mother came up with a great plan of setting up a date for you with her friend’s son. You had been refusing that many times because how could you worry about Gale cheating on you while going out on a date yourself? Your mother’s friend and her son were invited to dinner at your place once and you even said it to his face that you had a boyfriend but he didn’t seem to be discouraged.

He was quite handsome, that boy. His name was Bobby and he was only slightly older. He had just finished his education and he was going to settle down in your hometown and start his own business. He had a bright future ahead of him due to his confidence and his father’s money.

Everyone kept insisting on you going out with him to the point you just had to agree but you kept repeating over and over that it was definitely not a date – just a meeting with a friend.

Bobby took you to the restaurant and ordered meals for you both without even letting you take a look at the menu.

“I just know what you’re going to love. Everyone loves it. My father knows the owner and it’s their best meal,” he assured you sweetly but you did not like his behaviour anyway. You decided not to comment on that, though.

“Thank you,” you only answered as your mother would expect you to.

“So, when are you graduating?” He asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Well, I still have two years to get a Bachelor degree,” you explained. “And so does Gale.”

“Why are you so pressed about getting that degree, hm? You have that… Gale already,” he winced a little at the mention of the name. “Most girls only go to college to meet their husband.”

“Gale is not my husband yet,” you straightened yourself but you felt your heart pounding at the mention of such possibility. It filled your whole body with butterflies. “And even if he was, I would still want that degree and I know that Gale would support me in that. He knows how important it is for me. I haven’t worked so hard to get to college just to resign because of a man,” you explained and Bobby rolled his eyes.

“And what is he even doing there?” Bobby asked. “How old is he?”

“He’s going to be thirty in two years,” you answered and Bobby whistled.

“And he’s wasting time on getting degrees instead of starting something for himself?” He looked genuinely surprised.

“He is not wasting time, he is getting a degree! And I know already he will want more than just a Bachelor. All the professors praise him, too,” you answered. “I’m sure he’s gonna get a Masters or even a PhD.”

“Degrees are not for everyone. I mean, not everyone has to have one. We need simple workers, too. And if I was his age, I would try to catch up on the time I lost and go to work. He should accept the fact that his chance to get properly educated is already–” Bobby started and you widened your eyes at his rudeness.

“He was in the war, for God’s sake, Bobby! He was fighting in Europe so you could be safe here and study yourself… How can you not be grateful for that?” You shook your head.

“Was he? Your mother told my mother that your Gale had spent over a year in the camp for the prisoners of war,” Bobby scoffed. “That’s hardly fighting.”

“You have no idea what he’s been through,” you snapped back and then the waiter brought the food to your table so you smiled at him and took your plate.

Just like you had been expecting, the food was awful. You only ate a little bit and watched Bobby devour his whole plate.

“You know, our mothers would like us to get married. For you to drop out of college and become my wife,” he told you between one bite and another. You felt your guts turning inside out at that.

“Thankfully, we don’t agree with that, do we?” You looked him up and down and Bobby shrugged his arms.

“Thought you would do, but your brain’s already filled with… ideas. That’s why I’m against women going to colleges,” he explained.

“What ideas?” You wondered out loud. “I don't mind becoming a wife and a mother one day. I just want a degree first,” you explained.

“Yeah… All that talk. Sorry, I don’t buy it,” he chuckled.

The rest of the meal went pretty quiet. Bobby paid for it and he walked you home as the sun was slowly setting down. He insisted on walking you up to the front door of your house, so you knocked upon them and waited there awkwardly in silence.

When your mother opened the door, she looked pretty uncomfortable and… scared? You wondered what had happened. You expected her to be overjoyed and ask a million questions about your “date”.

Then, your heart skipped a beat when you spotted a familiar person standing behind her… It was Gale.

“Your boyfriend paid you a visit,” she whispered at you and you met his gaze.

Gale approached you and you nearly gasped to have him so close again. You nearly forgot how handsome he was in real life. His baby blue eyes were even sadder than usual, though, and you knew why. He turned to extend his hand towards Bobby.

“Nice to meet you. Gale,” he introduced himself, classy as always.

“N-nice to meet you, sir. Bobby. I mean, Robert,” Bobby shook his hand and you would laugh at that if you weren’t so scared of Gale witnessing that boy walking you home in the evening. Your dress, your makeup, your hair… It was obvious there had been some sort of a date going on between you two.

“Thank you for entertaining my girl and being such a gentleman to walk her back home,” Gale told him and Bobby looked away anxiously.

“No problem… We just had dinner together, that’s it…” He explained.

“Yeah!” Your mother added. “Told you, Mr. Cleven, they’re just friends,” she nodded eagerly and you furrowed your brows at her.

“Well, thank you for tonight, Bobby. It was nice,” you smiled fakely at the boy and you took Gale by his hand to walk inside the house with him.

Your mother said goodnight to Bobby and closed the door behind him as you and Gale were standing awkwardly together in the hall.

“We are all in the living room, getting to know your boyfriend better,” your mother explained to you as she put her hand on your shoulder and smiled nervously at Gale. “Mr. Cleven wanted to surprise you because he was missing you so much. You’re going to sleep with your sister tonight, I prepared her bedroom for Mr. Cleven to sleep in.”

You only nodded at that. Your father walked out of the living room and hurried Gale to come back to them because he was very interested in some story from the war. You let go of Gale’s hand and watched him walk away before you followed your mother inside the kitchen.

She was slicing a pie when she looked up at you with guilt in her eyes.

“I’m sorry…” She whispered. “I didn’t know he would come… Obviously, I wouldn’t make you go on that date with Bobby if–”

“It was not a date,” you interrupted her. “And it was awful. Bobby is not a good man. Why did you change your mind about Gale, though?” You furrowed your brow at her.

“Seeing him in real life, I mean… He is a very kind man and you can just… You can just feel that he’s good,” she sighed. “And much more handsome than in the picture,” she smiled nervously at you. “I’m glad that you have him and–”

“It’s too late for that,” you interrupted her again. “And God only knows if I still have him,” your lower lip trembled but you moved away when she approached you to give you a hug. Shaking your head, you walked out of the kitchen and you sniffled your tears back before joining the rest in the living room.

You sat next to Gale on the sofa with a soft smile. Your father was occupying an armchair and listening to Gale’s story with nothing but pure interest on his face. Your sister was sitting on the armrest of his armchair and listening as well even though girls like her were usually not into war stories.

You watched your family fall for Gale for the rest of the evening while you kept sitting there and worrying if you weren’t losing him in the meantime. Knowing how awkward the situation currently was, your father didn’t even ask him any serious questions about the nature of your relationship.

When the clock struck midnight, everyone decided to go to bed. Gale was especially tired after his train ride. You went to the bathroom first and took a quick shower before getting into your nightgown. Gale was a gentleman and he allowed your sister to take a shower before him but when they were talking about it in the corridor, you hid inside your bedroom. You sat on the bed, remembering to make space for your sister, too.

A slight knock upon your door made you look up anxiously. You knew it was Gale and your heart became a lump in your throat.

“C-come in,” you whispered.

He opened the door shyly and walked inside, looking around with a soft smile at the sight of your room.

“I finally have you for myself for a short while,” he said and approached your bed. You noticed that he left the door to your room ajar – such a gentleman, always.

“You don’t know my sister, Gale. It won’t be a short while. Her quick shower is at least half an hour long,” you chuckled and he smiled at that.

“Can I sit next to you?” He asked and blushed a little.

“You don’t have to ask me such things,” you moved slightly to make more space.

“Don’t I?” He took a seat next to you and looked deep into your eyes. You opened your mouth to answer but he continued. “Listen, I understand. I am older than you and I am not exactly… I am not exactly the happiest person, I have a past… I understand, I really do. And I am not angry, I would never be angry at you but… You could have written that to me. I just don’t understand the lies. At that, I am a little angry but I’m trying not to be, I assume you were scared of hurting or rejecting me,” Gale’s voice broke a little and so did your heart because he had misunderstood everything so awfully and yet… He was so kind and gentle about it. So understanding. “You sounded so sad in your letter; that you missed me and that you… That you… That you loved me,” his jaw clenched and his eyes filled with tears. “I wanted to come here and make sure you were alright. I’ve been missing you like crazy… And… Yeah, you could have just written to me that you met someone else.”

“Gale…” His name was all you managed to let out in a broken whisper. You caught his trembling hands into yours and squeezed them, trying to pour all of your love into him in this small gesture. “Gale, it’s not like this… Please, believe me,” you started. “Bobby is the son of my mum’s friend and they wanted us to date despite me telling them I have you already. They were very pushy and I agreed to have dinner with him. It was not a date, though, and it was awful,” you cracked a smile through your own tears. “I don’t want to ever see him again, in fact. He was rude and we don’t share the same beliefs or ideology. But even if we did and if he was kind, he would only become my friend and nothing else. Because I already have a boyfriend and I am happy with him and proud of him and…” You shook your head and gasped, trying to find the right words. “And if you don’t believe me, I don’t know what I’m going to do…”

Short silence occurred. Gale blinked away all of his tears and his lips finally curled up in a soft smile. You loved that genuine, loving smile on his face. You let go of his hands to cup his cheeks and caress his scars with your thumbs.

“I believe you, my love, why wouldn’t I?” He asked quietly. “It didn’t make sense to me why would you lie in your letters anyway. It didn’t seem like my girl at all,” he admitted.

“I am. I am your girl,” you nodded to assure him and you pulled his face down to join your foreheads together. “And I would never lie to you like that. I would never break your heart. I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he pecked your lips.

“Ugh,” your sister’s sigh made you both move away from each other and look up at her. “I can go to my room. Mom will not notice,” she told you.

“No, no,” Gale shook his head and stood up. “I am leaving for the night now.”

Sometimes, you hated what a gentleman he was.

“Goodnight, girls,” he winked at you and squeezed your sister’s arm before leaving the room.

“Do you share a room together in college?” Your sister asked when she laid on the other side of your bed.

“No!” You felt your cheeks heating up. “Girls have their own dormitories and boys have their own,” you explained and laid down next to her before turning the small lamp by your bed off.

“I didn’t know… But that makes sense,” she admitted and moved closer to you. “Do you think I will go to college, too? Is it fun?”

“It’s very fun. And I hope you will go,” you kissed her forehead. “You just have to keep getting good grades,” you assured her.

“And do you think I’m going to meet a nice man like Gale there?”

“Oh, dear,” you laughed softly. “I hope so. But a man like him is one in a million.”

“You must miss him terribly when you’re here and he’s there,” she sighed.

“I am. And you know what? Tomorrow, I might go back with him,” you told her as you made this decision inside your head this very moment. You didn’t have to see her face to know that she was sad about it. “You can go with me if mom and dad agree. My roommate is with her family so I have space in my room,” you assured her and rubbed her arm. “And now go to sleep, little one.”

You tried to fall asleep, too, but you could only think of Gale being in the room next to yours, in your little sister’s pink bedroom. You chuckled at the thought.

When her breath was steady and you were sure that she had fallen asleep, you carefully slid out of the covers and you tip-toed to her bedroom where Gale was. He was tossing and turning when you entered and you thought that he couldn’t fall asleep either but no, you quickly realised that he was having a nightmare. He had told you about them before but you had never witnessed them yourself.

“Gale…” You touched him gently, scared of what he might do when he suddenly wakes up. However, you didn’t want him to be tormented in his sleep anymore. “Gale…”

He opened his eyes and sat up, breathing heavily. You turned the small lamp on your sister’s bedside table and you sat on the edge of the bed to cup his sweaty face. His eyes were widened and he looked like he couldn’t recognise you or the place – but the second part was quite understandable.

“Baby, it’s me,” you cooed sweetly. “You’re at my place, in my sister’s bedroom,” you told him. “You’re safe,” you added to assure him and you felt his muscles relaxing.

“Was I… Was I loud?” He asked and rubbed his face with his hand.

“No, darling, I just sneaked out of my room to lay with you for a while but I saw you were having a nightmare,” you admitted and Buck looked at you in a funny way – nearly as if he was scolding you. You giggled a bit at that and fixed his ruffled hair. “Well, I don’t have to lay here if you don’t want to.”

“I want to,” he pulled you closer by your waist and you ended up laying on his chest. He hugged you tightly and you hugged him back as his fingers played with your hair. “I just didn’t expect you to be such a little rebel.”

“There’s still a lot about me for you to learn, Mr. Cleven,” you teased.

“I can’t wait,” he whispered in all seriousness before placing a kiss on the top of your head.

MASTERLIST || BUCK MASTERLIST

#sansaorgana: Answered #lovely anons #*buck #gale cleven x reader #austin butler x reader #lilysfiction

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jjungkookislife · 10 months ago

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Quarterly Fic Rec List 2023 #4

Hello! This is the last list of 2023! These are the wonderful fics I ended my year with! I hope you enjoy them! If anyone would like to be removed from this list; please let me know! As always each of these fics has its own content warnings, and most, if not all are 18+ so Minors Do Not Interact!

Seokjin

daydream @joonie-beanie

summary: Your literature professor has a bit of a…gift. A gift that let’s him see other peoples thoughts when he wants to. And despite the fact that he warns his class openly about this gift, one day you forget, and find yourself in a bit of pickle when Kim Seokjin reads your mind, and finds you imagining some not so school appropriate scenarios…involving him.

pink panther @gimmesumsuga

summary: The one where your boss, Kim Seokjin, tries to show you how beautiful you are

9 months to fall in love @floralseokjin

summary: It seems like everyone around you is either already in love, or in the process of falling, and while normally you couldn’t give a damn, finding out the co-worker you’ve had a teensy crush on is dating someone else at the office seems to sucker punch you right in the gut. It’s stupid, and you’re irritated at yourself, but you can’t seem to shake out of the funk you’ve fallen face first in. Feeling lonely and heartsore, and mad for no reason, during drinks with your best friend you spot a man at the bar. Tequila confident, you make your way over to the stranger, and successfully one thing leads to another. The next morning you leave before he’s woken up, feeling satisfied in one way, but still as discontented as ever. Telling yourself it was an inebriated mistake, you quickly try to forget about it. Only, three weeks later that night comes back to haunt you – in a very unescapable way…

dream come true @sugaurora

summary: Since your brother had warned you years ago that his best friend Seokjin was off limits, you’d only allowed yourself to safely fantasize about him in your dreams. You’re not sure why tonight his lips feel so much softer and his hands so much warmer than usual, but you’re also not about to complain.

whole @yoongiphoria

Yoongi

can't afford love @dollfaceksj

summary: Your childhood dream of having 2 children in a big house with a blooming marriage by this point in time has been eliminated the moment divorce came knocking at your door. With only one child and finding yourself back at square one, you ask your ex-husband—Min Yoongi—if he’d be down to fulfill 1 of these 3 things on your childhood’s bucket-list. And no, it’s not giving you a big house.

u suck !! @kithtaehyung

summary: Jimin’s cul-de-sac is filled to the brim with autumn leaves, trick-or-treaters, and halloween spirits. but the scariest part of the night? yoongi himself. and the way he looks downright sinful in his costume.

three tangerines ^

summary: throughout high school, you sometimes caught glimpses of your brother’s older friends: some of them were sweet, some of them were smart. but the one closest to him? that guy was a total f*ckboy from day one. after a foray of horrid relationships spanning years - ending with one that broke up with you for an alarming reason - you needed advice on what the hell you were doing wrong… and this wasn’t a conversation for anyone sweet or smart.

broken pt. 1 ^

summary: chilling conversations prolong things even further… until everything goes to hell.

ghostface killers @gimmethatagustd

summary: You’ve had your eyes set on Yoongi for as long as you can remember. What you didn’t know is that he’s had his eyes on you, too.

red & white @sweetestofchaos 💜

summary: you and yoongi have something to share this holiday

Hoseok

spookie coochie @gimmethatagustd

summary: The only monster Hoseok wishes you were interested in finding this Halloween season is his monster c–

drink champagne in my airplane @bangtanintotheroom

summary: Your friend Hoseok decided to use his excessive wealth for good and take the both of you on a much-needed vacation. The flight was meant to be relaxing until he broke out one of his most expensive bottles of champagne.

a holly, jolly crisis @kpopfanfictrash

summary: At this time last year, you thought you had it all. A kick-ass screenwriting job for the hottest TV show in LA, an actor boyfriend whose career was taking off and an affordable apartment with not one, but two bathrooms. Fast-forward to now and you’re single, soon-to-be jobless and searching for a way to scrape together January rent. Everything seems to be falling apart, which was why you told your family you weren’t coming home for the holidays. Enter your little sister, Sara, who recently became engaged to her boyfriend, Yoongi and needs you home to celebrate. The biggest problem? Returning home means you’ll be forced to face everything and everyone you left behind, including Yoongi’s best man – and your ex-best friend, Hoseok.

12 lays of christmas @minisugakoobies

summary: Your brother’s best friend Hoseok really likes your cookies

it's a promise @sahmfanficbts

arranged marriage au

Namjoon

close, closer, closest @augustbutwinter

summary: you know your soulmate is close, but you haven’t met them yet. every day your counter goes up when you pass that one station. until one day it doesn’t.

make an effort @7ndipity

summary: When you ask Joon to be your fake boyfriend, he ends up finding out about your very real crush on him. Luckily for you, the feeling’s mutual.

a word from our sponsors @ugh-yoongi

summary: you’ve co-hosted a podcast with namjoon for three years; have known him even longer. the two of you have always been the picture of platonic, but that hasn’t stopped the internet from doing what the internet does. the shipping? a little weird at first, but you can understand it: two attractive twenty-somethings always in close proximity to one another, obvious (platonic!) chemistry—people have created ships for less. the fanfiction, though? also pretty funny… until you can’t stop thinking about it.

Jimin

cloud nine @suga-kookiemonster

summary: “he’s here again,” viv whispers. “you know who. the hot guy who’s totally into you.” and he is hot--devastatingly hot enough that you know he can’t actually be into you, because the universe simply doesn’t work that way. that still doesn’t stop your heart from pounding when he smiles at you from across the room.

menace @eoieopda

summary: Far and away the worst of your brother’s friends, you added Park Jimin’s presence in your life to the long list of grievances you held against Seokjin. Too bad you can’t keep your hands off him.

crescent bound @parkhabits

summary: One night you’re having the best hookup of your life and the next you’re being told that the little mark on your neck is more than just a hickey and that Park Jimin was more than you expected too.

the dark side of the moon @dovechim

summary: falling in love at first sight is cliche, not until it happens to you on a dark night in a lonely alley. but you’re only human, while Park Jimin is Alpha of his pack; it could never work out. so you resort to pining for him like a wolf howling at the moon, but when Jimin goes feral, that’s when everything changes.

a remedy for mondays ^

summary: all you wanted was just one day off work. but for that to happen, you need to invent a plausible reason. and then somehow, somewhere along the way, things get out of hand, and now people think you’re having a baby with your co-worker Park Jimin after a one-night stand. confused? join the club.

heavy petting @kittae

summary: Your boyfriend is not just a cat hybrid, he’s also very needy! When you come home from work and you expect him to be all over you, you’re fairly disappointed to find he prefers a nap over some well-deserved quality time. You’ll make sure to pay him back for that.

the devil in his details @johobi

summary: Evil comes in many forms. In this instance, it’s a 5′8″ pretty-boy with an even prettier dick. And you’re the form you want him to come in.

me, you, and this thing we have between us @boymeetsweevil

summary: You’re pregnant and jimin is…happy about it

devil's advocate @7cypher

summary: You had met the devil on a hot summer day. He had shown up in a red polo, red cap, and white sneakers on his feet. That day, you had invited your devil into your home and he hasn’t left since.

no strings @kpopfanfictrash

summary: It started off as such a simple question. How to know if you’re bad in bed? Of course when you asked, you didn’t imagine Jimin would actually answer.

the ten days of ex-mas @kpopfanfictrash

summary: Three months following the worst break-up of your life, you finally feel ready to start moving on. The world, it seems, has other ideas when you pick up the phone and find your ex-boyfriend calling. Jimin Park, star right winger of the NHL and (until recently), the love of your life, has a very large problem. Despite the courage he regularly shows on the ice, in his personal life, Jimin is kind of a coward. When you broke up this fall, he could barely admit it. Not to his neighbors. Not to his friends. Not even to his family, who are expecting him home for Christmas. In a desperate plea for more time, Jimin begs you to pretend you’re still dating – and to his surprise, you agree. Faced with a second chance, Jimin is determined not to squander it. If only fixing a relationship were as easy as falling in love.

Taehyung

midnight @sailoryooons

summary: Taehyung loves being your prince charming, even if it means trying to find where you’ve wandered off to in the middle of a Halloween party without your shoes.

the holi-date @kpopfanfictrash

summary: When your ex-boyfriend becomes engaged to his new girlfriend at your annual Holiday party, you admittedly are not in the best place. Which explains why you down six shots of alcohol, enthusiastically drop it low on the dance floor and – oh, yeah – tell everyone you are also dating someone. The only problem? You are obviously not. Good thing your neighbor happens to be cute and in need of a ride to work every morning.

of lace and lust @hobidreams

summary: friendship rule number one: don’t imagine how amazing your best friend’s cock would feel inside you. except that’s all you can think about after accidentally discovering taehyung’s kink for panties. specifically, the lacy ones you’re so fond of wearing.

hush @suga-kookiemonster

summary: four seats, five bodies. “careful, sweetheart,” he breathes into the shell of your ear, hands tightening over your waist in warning. you lick your lips, pausing just long enough to ponder: what if you don’t want to be careful?

rotten angelcake @inkedtae

summary: she’s as sweet as angelcake; he likes her honeyed rotten. this is a series following the complicated relationship between a sugar baby, sugar daddy and his corruption kink.

sausade @kimvvantae

summary: no one is born to be alone and no one can be complete in oneself - that’s why, in this world, every person has a pair, someone that complements their soul in every aspect. you, however, are an exception to the rule, for the mark on your wrist indicates that your pair has passed away way before you were born.

kinda hot @kimnjss

summary: you’ve always been cute, soft, tiny in taehyung’s eyes. but that’s changing one night when you’re accidentally sending him a naughty picture. forcing him to realize, maybe his best friend is kinda… hot?

Jungkook

jungkook drabble @euphoricfilter

summary: obsessed gf m/c and equally as obsessed boyfriend jungkook. he’s the light of her life, and she’s the reason he smiles

blessed with a curse @sweetestofchaos

summary: When your company throws a mandatory Halloween party, you aren’t thrilled. You’re even less thrilled when a delusional coworker ruins the party and places a curse on everyone because her crush, the resident werewolf, Jeon Jungkook, rejected them.

seasons don't fear the reaper @augustbutwinter

summary: life is short, they say. one day everyone meets their death, they say. how often can you meet yours before he takes you with him?

because i love you ch. 13 @readyplayerhobi

summary: According to society, Jeon Jungkook should not be with you. He should be with a younger, hotter and thinner girl instead of wasting his time on you. It’s a good thing Jungkook doesn’t care what society thinks then.

a holiday snowdown @kpopfanfictrash

summary: The Inn on the Hill is in trouble. Or that's what your boss, Namjoon, says during the last-minute All Staff holiday meeting he calls. You need money, and you need money fast, or his parents are planning to sell the resort. When no one can think of an easy solution, Namjoon proposes his parents' idea: a weeklong social media blitz with a celebrity guest. The celebrity? None other than Jungkook Jeon himself: two-time Olympic gold medalist, world-class snowboarder and the nation's sweetheart. What's the problem? You happen to have met Jungkook Jeon before, and sincerely hoped you'd never see him again.

all grown up @btsgotjams27

summary: A family reunion brings back the young boy you grew up with. Though he wasn’t the doe-eyed boy you once knew, he stood in front of you all grown up.

this is us ^

summary: you start to fall hard for jungkook.

OT7/Multiple Members

carnival of terror ch. 2 @theharrowing

summary: The carnival is in town, and it is unlike anything you have ever experienced. Will you make it out alive?

the gentlemen @honeymoonjin

summary: Sick of unsatisfying hookups, boring relationships or the company of your own hand? Apply today for the chance to be on bangasm.com’s very first reality show! Seven attractive young gentlemen will be vying for your choice of who is best in bed. All from different backgrounds, these men claim they’ll be able to rock your world, so don’t hesitate! Apply now!

of storms and vampires @wishesunderthestars

summary: During the worst storm you have witnessed in your life, a bat crashes on your window. When you bring it inside your cottage to take care of it, you realize it isn’t simply a bat but a baby vampire. Your past has come back to haunt you because Jungkook’s sire is no one else but Min Yoongi, who you had left behind when you disappeared five years ago.

oh, little red @jincherie

summary: You knew they warned you about that path for a reason, you knew you shouldn’t take it as a shortcut. You knew, but you were running late, and you did it anyway. Oh, little red, just what have you gotten yourself into?

Ateez

Seonghwa

let me keep you warm @sweetestofchaos 💜

summary: “Are you cold?” “A little bit but I’ll be okay.” “Come here, let’s get you all warmed up.”

#jjungkookislife fic rec list #jjungkookislife fic rec masterlist #jjungkookislife fic recs

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writing-intheundercroft · 9 months ago

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when you know, you know

Read on AO3

Word Count: 7,169

Rating: T (just some smooches)

Summary: You and Garreth Weasley aren't on speaking terms, not since you were caught stealing billywig stings for him and subsequently banned from Honeydukes.

But the dawn of your sixth year brings a potion brewing contest, and you might finally have a chance to put him in his place.

A/N: Happy first birthday, Hogwarts Legacy! The HL discord server I'm in came up with the theme of One Year Later, and this is my submission. Thankful for all the lovely people I've met through this fandom, who encourage me to write every day <3

“Welcome to your sixth year of potions,” Professor Sharp says gruffly, leaning against his desk. “I hope you’re all prepared to start exploring the theories of potion composition, and have read the first five chapters of your textbook over the summer holidays as instructed.”

Sebastian groans next to you, flipping open his book. You snort, craning your neck around the room to assess your classmates.

Everett, Sacharissa, Andrew, Nastai, Poppy, and Grace–all of them still have the post-summer slump, faces glum as they wished to be free of the potions dungeon. At the station next to you, Leander looks ready to fall asleep. He was practically using his fingers to keep his eyeballs open during the double potions period.

Next to Leander, you can’t help noticing Garreth Weasley. It's unusual to see him so engaged; Garreth is normally the class clown, always trying to figure out a way to disrupt the lesson. Instead, he’s sitting stick straight, scribbling every word Sharp had to say. His notes were neatly organized, ingredients for the day’s brew already portioned out and chopped.

“What’s gotten into Weasley?” you whisper to Sebastian.

Sebastian scoffs. “Oh, he’s probably trying to get on Sharp’s good side, with the potion making contest coming up.”

“What contest?” You ask, albeit a bit too loud.

“I was just getting to that point,” Sharp says your name; the entire class had turned their attention to the two of you. Even Garreth was staring, despite the iciness between the two of you. It’s been months since you last spoke, exchanging choice words in a shouting match after he’d gotten you banned from Honeydukes. After all, he was the one who’d assured you Mr. Flume wouldn’t be home, and that it wouldn’t be too difficult to steal the billywig stings.

Nevermind that, you think, turning your attention back to Sharp’s lecture.

“Every year, I challenge the sixth year class to create a new potion,” Sharp drawls. “Many of the students who’ve won in the past have gone on to become some of the Hogwarts’s most successful potioneers. The winner of the contest will receive after hours access to the potions classroom, unlimited usage of the ingredient cupboard, and their name included on the plaque in the trophy room.” he explains.

Sharp continues droning on about the rules; you feel Sebastian’s breath tickle your ear “Garreth’s been assuming he’ll win since we were second years,” he whispers. “I’d love to see you put him in his place.”

You swat at the freckled brunette, who lets out another audible chuckle. Scanning the room again, your eyes briefly make contact with Garreth’s. He looks at you with something fierce in his eyes; it’s almost threatening, you think. He also looks a tad bit deflated, but considering the two of you aren’t friends anymore, you don’t really care to know why.

“Sure, I’ll enter.” You say loudly enough for Garreth to hear. “I’m sure it’ll be a clean sweep.”

Garreth’s eyes turn to slits before he refocuses on his notes. His face is turning red as he scribbles on the parchment, and you can’t help feeling a bit satisfied at his reaction. Suits him right, you think, for being such a coward. You’re going to kick his ass and get back for the ten detentions he bought you last year.

Sharp’s NEWT level class is just as painful as you’d imagined it would be. Sacharissa nearly slices her own finger off trying to cut open a sopophorous bean, and Everett faints from the blood. Andrew sends his own bean flying across the room, thwacking Natty in the forehead; it incites a verbal altercation that has the two nearly come to blows before Sharp can separate them. You and Sebastian can’t help but laugh watching them, falling dreadfully behind in your own quest to brew a draught of living death.

“Look at those prats,” Sebastian nudges you.

You look over at the two redheads adjacent to you–they’re working diligently, ignoring the dramatics of the classroom. Garreth is clearly guiding the process, Leander eagerly observing him as he chops and stirs. They’re the only two students in the classroom even remotely close to brewing the potion correctly, and it’s a little surprising to you that Garreth would be so tame.

He tilts his head, copper colored hair falling in front of his eyes. His hair is longer, shaggier than last year. You also can’t ignore how much larger his forearms are, probably from detentions spent lifting the cauldrons to and from the storage room. They’re thick and freckled, a dusting of hair—

Garreth turns his head, glaring at you. You’ve been blatantly staring at him for a whole minute now.

“Oi, get it together, woman.” Sebastian chides, snapping his fingers in front of your eyes. “I don’t think your cauldron is supposed to be purple—“

“Dammit!” You curse, turning back to your own brew. . Sebastian laughs as you thwack him on the shoulder, stirring your potion. It’s no good–the brew has turned the wrong color, and now resembles a fudgy texture.

“So much for winning the competition,” Sebastian teases you. Your face heats up with embarrassment as Sharp walks over to your cauldron, assessing your work.

“Better luck next time, I suppose.” Sharp says gruffly, raising his eyebrows at the thick goop.

As expected, Garreth and Leander win the day’s best brew. It takes twice as long as usual for you to scrub your cauldron, cheeks red from both embarrassment and the extra elbow grease you have to put in. Sebastian, despite his promises to stay as long as he can, has already abandoned you to get to lunch ahead of the rush. At this rate, you’ll miss lunch entirely.

“You should really throw some ashwinder eggshells in there.”

Looking up, you see Garreth standing a few feet away, his hands shoved into his pockets. In lieu of the traditional blazer, he’s gone a bit casual with a crimson and gold Gryffindor sweater. It looks a tad tight on him, and well worn. Likely a hand-me-down from one of his many older brothers, you think.

“Mixed with water, they’re quite abrasive. It’ll help with the cleaning.” Garreth suggests, shrugging his bag onto his shoulder.

“So, we’re talking again.” your tone is flippant; you scrub even harder at the baked in potion caking your cauldron.

Garreth rolls his eyes, dropping his bag to the ground. “Let me help,” he says gruffly, elbowing you out of the way. He takes a handful of ashwinder eggshells, sprinkling it into your cauldron. You peer over the edge as he dribbles water inside.

“Now put on your dragonhide gloves,” Garreth advises. “Don’t want to get burned, do you?”

You do as instructed, slipping the gloves on. Garreth hands you the wire brush again, and this time the sludge slides off the edges of the cauldron with ease.

“See? Not so bad.”

You open your mouth to thank him, but Garreth has stepped away from your station. Bag in hand, he gives you a wary look.

“Earlier, when you were staring,” Garreth trails off.

“I wasn’t staring.” you scoff. In reality, you were , but that’s not the point.

“You were,” Garreth countered. “You weren’t trying any funny mind tricks, were you? I’d heard a rumor that you and Sallow were trying to study legilimency–”

Eyebrow raised, you cross your gloved arms. “Why on earth would I need to read your mind, Weasley?”

“To steal my potion recipe.” Garreth blurted, eyes narrowed. “For the contest. You’re trying to win, I overheard you and Sallow talking about entering.”

You scoff in his face. “Why would I need to steal a recipe from you ?”

Garreth straightened, pushing his copper hair out of his eyes. “Because everyone knows that I,” jerking his thumb towards himself, “am going to win. I’ve been planning my submission since I was a first year, and I’m not about to lose to you.”

Whatever warmth you thought Garreth Weasley was going to give you is long gone. You lean back over your pewter cauldron, scrubbing aggressively.

“I can’t believe you’d think I’d stoop so low, Garreth.” You seeth. “You know what? Just for that, I am going to enter Sharp’s contest now–and I’m going to kick your ass.”

“Like hell you are,” Garreth huffs, leering down at you. You hadn’t noticed just how tall he’d gotten over the summer–

Focus, you remind yourself, eyes flitting away from his form.

“What are you two still doing in my classroom?”

You and Garreth spin around, almost knocking your cauldron over in the process. An exhausted looking Sharp stands in the doorway, his palm on his head.

“Not you two,” he mutters. “I had a feeling the two of you would be battling it out for best brew.”

“We were just comparing notes, sir.” Garreth says easily, backing away from you. “She needed help cleaning her cauldron.”

“Not your best work today,” Sharp reminds you, peering into your now sparkling clean cauldron. “The two of you should be off to lunch, or else you’ll miss the meal.”

“Yes sir,” the two of you chirp in unison. Garreth takes his leave while you’re stowing your cauldron away, and he’s nowhere to be seen once you get to the Great Hall for lunch. You want to fight, defend yourself against his accusations, but it doesn’t look like he’ll give you the chance.

His loss , you think, meandering over to your house table.

The first month of classes has been hell. While you’d pictured your sixth year to be quite leisurely with the extra free periods, you’ve spent every study hall cooped up in the library, buried in your books. Despite passing last term with flying colors, it feels like you’re going to spend your entire life catching up to your classmates. You might be the hero of Hogwarts, but you still feel stupid in History of Magic, stumbling over your words.

You’re cursing to yourself as you run through the streets of Hogsmeade, trying to make it to J Pippin’s before closing. Sharp’s potions contest has fallen to the bottom of your priorities, but the events of lunch earlier in the day have pushed you to work on your submission. You’d been sitting at the table with Sebastian and Ominis, lamenting over your shared arithmancy assignment when Garreth and Leander walked into the Great Hall, loud cheers and whoops coming from the Gryffindor table. They were sopping wet, hair windswept, having just tested Garreth’s potion submission.

“No one will be able to beat him,” Leander had declared loudly, rustling Garreth’s long red hair. Garreth was grinning broadly, a gaggle of fifth year girls surrounding him in awe. That alone was irksome; as if they really knew Garreth Weasley.

“Since when did Garreth Weasley become the hottest commodity?” Ominis asked, tilting his chin in his palm.

Sebastian took a sip of his pumpkin juice, snorting. “Probably because he grew five inches over the holidays,” he joked. “Lost the pudge too.”

“Sebastian,” you warned, flicking him in the head. “Don’t be so cruel.”

Sebastian rolled his eyes, shrugging. “It’s true,” he argued. “Anyways, I can’t wait to watch you put him in his place during the potions competition. Do you have your brew ready?”

“Of course I do,” You lied, turning back to your parchment. “Don’t be silly.”

In actuality, you didn’t have your brew ready whatsoever–you’d spent the last month tinkering with several recipes, but nothing seemed good enough for submission. With potions due tomorrow, you’ll have to spend the rest of your day working on the brew. The rest of your classes for the day go unattended, spending the afternoon cooped up in the Room of Requirement to draft a recipe. Nothing seems to be working, and you’re out of focus potions. You could brew them up yourself, but perhaps some fresh air and a walk will do you good–therein, a trip to J Pippin’s was necessary.

The bell rings as you push the door in, Parry Pippin smiling at you from the register. You entertain his small talk, questions about your summer holidays, all while anxiously checking your pocket watch for the time. You still had your arithmancy homework, as well as a four foot scroll due in Transfiguration next week to work on–

“You haven’t run into Mr. Weasley, have you?”

Snapping out of your thoughts, you look up at Parry. “No, I haven’t.” you say sharply, taking the carefully wrapped package full of focus potions that he’s packed into your arms. “Why would I?”

Pippin clicks his tongue. “I’m fresh out of the stench of the dead, that’s all. Mr. Weasley was trying to purchase some more for his potions project. Nasty business, procurement. It’s hard to find a supplier that’ll face up to the inferi in the first place.” The register opens, and he begins counting your change. “I recommended he reach out to you for assistance.”

You blink at the shopkeeper. “Me?”

“Well of course,” Pippin snorts. “You’re rather fearless, aren’t you? Not that it matters, of course, he was quite put off by the suggestion. Asked me where he could find them, and I pointed out an old abandoned treasure cave a few miles north, up in the valley. Can always find them lurking around there.”

“I’m sorry , you directed a student to an inferi den?” You gape.

Pippin looks at you, eyebrows raised. “Don’t they teach you how to fight them and what not? Isn’t that what Defense Against the Dark Arts is for? Anywho, Mr. Weasley seemed rather confident in his abilities. Think he was a bit embarrassed that I recommended he ask a girl for help.”

You block out whatever Pippin is saying, tucking the package under your arm as you leave the shop. While it’s not your responsibility to look after Garreth (considering recent events and his rather frosty attitude towards you) you can’t help feeling a bit worried. Most students don’t have much experience with the undead; you only have a basic grasp on battling them due to Sebastian’s shenanigans the year prior. Inferi are tough, even for most grown adults to deal with; any wound inflicted by one can render even the strongest wizard ill.

The sun is beginning to set, and while you know you should head straight back to the Room of Requirement to work on your contest brew, you turn towards the path north. You’re certain you’ve visited the treasure den Pippin is talking about before, and it won’t hurt to check. If the clearing is empty, you’ve just gotten extra exercise for the day. If not–well, you don’t want to think about that quite yet.

You’ve forgotten how long the trek to the Hogsmeade Valley is, feet aching as you stumble over the rocky terrain. You bet that even if Garreth has gone to hunt the inferi, he’s likely given up by now, gone back to the castle already. You doubt Garreth wants to battle the inferi–he’s always had a distaste for dueling, preferring to watch everyone battle it out during Crossed Wands rather than participate.

You swallow thickly, trying to push the image of Garreth fighting the undead out of your mind. Despite your anger towards him, you really don’t want him to go up against something he’s not ready for just to win a stupid class contest.

The sky is dark by the time you round out the hill. From a distance, you can see the wooden arch to the old treasure den, and to your relief, nothing is disturbed. You’re about to turn on your heel to go back to the floo Upper Hogsfield when you sniff the familiar putrid stench of inferi. Your blood runs cold when you hear a familiar groan, and then anxious yelps.

“ Diffindo ! Ah, shit!”

You drop your parcel in the long grass, disappearing into a blue wisp as you close the distance between yourself and the voice. Of course, it’s Garreth, looking panicked and battered as he tries to slice through the inferi. They’re not fast, but his leg is bleeding, and he doesn’t know that severing charm will do no damage to the undead.

“Garreth!” you yell, sliding through the rocks towards him.

Garreth’s eyes widen, crying out your name. Despite his injury, he’s holding his arm out as if to shield you. That bloody Gryffindor bravery, you think, swatting his arm away.

“Get back,” Garreth yells. “Get to Upper Hogsfield, I can hold them off–”

“Get out of the way, you idiot,” you shriek, waving your wand towards him. Depulso might be a bit extreme, but all you can think about is getting the wounded boy out of the way. As soon as you hear Garreth yelp, landing on the soft grass, you turn your attention back to the inferi, who are closing in.

“Confringo!” you pant, unleashing fiery flames from the tip of your wand towards them. The heat of the fire has them shrieking and turning away. Several of them disintegrate, leaving behind the precious bounty Garreth had sought them out for in the first place.

It’s quiet, except for your heavy breathing and the screeches of inferi, all turning into piles of ash as you defeat them. Once you’re sure the last one has been slaughtered, you turn back to Garreth, a few feet away in the grass. He’s staring at you, dumbfounded, as he clutches the gash on his leg. He’s looking rather pale, the blood seeping from his cut a strange dark color.

“Garreth,” you breathe, falling to your knees next to him.

“It must be infected,” he says slowly. “From the inferi.”

There’s no time to waste. You dig through your hip pouch, pulling out one of your spare wiggenwelds. Garreth will surely need a blood renewing potion and some more itensive healing potions when you get back to Hogwarts, but this will do for now. Pulling out the stopper, you push the vial into his hands.

“I can’t believe Pippin would direct you to an inferi den,” you snarl, tearing a piece of your cloak to make a makeshift bandage. Garreth is quietly sipping on the wiggenweld, trying not to look at the damage. “I have half a mind to report him to your aunt–”

“Don’t,” Garreth begs. “Please, don’t. It’s embarrassing enough.”

“Garreth, you could’ve been killed.” You argue.

“It’s my own fault.” he says miserably. “Fire is what destroys inferi. I can’t believe I fucking forgot.”

You give him a wry look. “Well, potions is your better subject.” you joke.

Garreth ignores your quip, downing the rest of the healing potion. “You came up to find me.” he points out, pushing the empty vial back into your hands. “Why?”

You shrug. “Pippin told me you didn’t want my help, and I assumed you’d go off trying to get the ingredients for yourself. You shouldn’t go up against them alone, Garreth.”

“You fought them alone,” Garreth points out. “You could handle them.”

“Well, either I fought them, or else you’d be turning into an inferi yourself right now.”

“Probably best to not waste my good looks on being a zombie.” Garreth jokes. Taking note of your stern face and unwillingness to laugh, he winces. “Should we get back to school now? Perhaps we can make it to Upper Hogsfield; take the floo from there. But make sure to get some of that stench of the dead before we leave.”

Garreth carefully supervises you as you scoop up the murky essence into your vials; he eyes you as you tuck them in your bag. Garreth tries to get up on his own, groaning as he balances on his good leg, swatting away your helping hand.

“Let me help you, you twat.” you urge him, slinging his arm around your shoulder. It doesn’t do much–he really has grown, and you need to stand on your tiptoes to even support him.

The two of you stumble through the grass and you pass your sad little package on the way down. Oh well, you think. Your potion is the least of your worries, considering Garreth is still dripping blood next to you. Despite his protestations that he’s doing fine, you know from the way he’s clutching your shoulder that he’s not.

“You’re not going to take me to the hospital wing, are you?” Garreth groans as you support him to the flickering green flame outside of Upper Hogsfield. “If you take me there, Blainey will tell Aunt Tilly, and I’m not sure I’m ready for that lecture yet.”

“I have somewhere else you can go.” you offer, biting down on your lower lip. You’ve never invited anyone into the Room of Requirement before–Professor Weasley strictly forbade you from sharing the room, and you’ve kept it a secret from Sebastian, Ominis, and Natty for almost a year now. But you’re sure you can’t get into too much trouble, especially if you’re healing another student.

“Do you trust me?” You ask Garreth, slipping your arm around his.

The redhead looks down at you, perhaps a bit skeptical. “I trust you.”

“Good. Not like you have a choice anyways,” You remind him, turning back towards the flame.

“Okay, now this is truly unfair,” Garreth complains, splayed across your settee. “Aunt Tilly is officially my least favorite family member.”

You snort as you sprinkle mallowsweet into your bubbling cauldron. “Because she didn’t show you the Room of Requirement?”

“Yes,” Garreth barks. “You’re telling me I’ve been sneaking into Sharp’s office after hours just to trial potions, meanwhile there’s a perfectly good potions lab in the astronomy tower? Rubbish,” he mutters. He picks at the piece of your cloak that you’ve tied around his thigh; it’s still bloody, and he looks peakish.

“The blood renewing potion is nearly done,” You assure him, walking away from the cauldron to assess his wound again. “Why do you need the stench of the dead so badly?” you ask, wrinkling your nose as you take off the bloody fabric. “Is it for your potion contest submission?”

Garreth swallows thickly. “Yes,” his voice is careful, trying not to give anything away. He inhales sharply once the fabric has come off; his wound, despite the wiggenweld, still looks worse for wear.

“Oh, come off it,” you roll your eyes, waving your wand to summon a fresh roll of linen. “Just tell me what it is. I guarantee you’re going to win anyways.”

Garreth gives you a funny look before bowling his shoulders over, letting out a loud sigh. “I’ve created a bottled tornado,” he admits, wincing as you bandage him up. “Bit of a play on the thunderbrew; you take the potion before entering battle, and you have full control of a windstorm against your enemies.”

“Is that why your hair was so fucked at lunch?” you muse.

Garreth rolls his eyes. “It looked good, okay?”

The two of you glare into each other’s eyes for the first time in quite a while; after a terse twenty seconds, both of you burst into laughter.

“Was it that bad?” Garreth wheezes.

You laugh, visibly shuddering. “Not that bad, actually. Those fifth years rather enjoyed it.”

Garreth rolls his eyes. “The most attention I’ve received from any of those girls, ever. Leander has been trying to talk me up to them, find us a double date.”

You’re quiet for a moment, stomach twisting with unfamiliar anxiety at the idea of Garreth and Leander sharing butter beers with those girls. Not that you care, really, but you miss hanging out around the Three Broomsticks every Saturday with Garreth. He’d been one of your closest friends until the incident at Honeydukes, and then nothing .

“Is that why you want to win the contest so badly?” You blurt. “For notoriety? Or just attention from the girls?” You joke.

Garreth shakes his head, shaking out his ginger mane like a lion. Sometimes, you think it’s too fitting that he’s a Gryffindor. “Nah, not for that.”

“What for, then?”

Garreth chews on his lower lip. “Have I ever told you about my family?”

“Uh, no. Just that there’s a lot of them.” You admit, resting your palms on your knees.

“I’m one of seven siblings.” Garreth says, head falling back against a pillow. “There’s Arthur, Benedict, Cornelia, Deirdre, Edwin, Frederick, and myself.” he counts out his siblings on his thick fingers.

“Alphabetical order?” you asked, slightly amused.

Garreth rolled his eyes. “Unfortunately, yes.” Your eyes flit down to his torso; the hem of his shirt has risen, exposing a freckled stomach. You think back to what Sebastian had said–how Garreth had lost his baby fat over the summer, his once soft stomach turning muscled and strong. You try not to linger on the thatch of red hair trailing down to his waist.

“Artie, Deirdre, and Freddie played Quidditch for the house team. Cornelia and Edwin were both prefects, and Benedict was head boy.” Garreth explains.

“A successful bunch,” you offer.

“Successful besides me.” Garreth grumbled. “Mum wouldn’t let me hear the end of it when I didn’t get prefect our fifth year. I’ve always been middling at Quidditch too, so no hopes for the house team.” he says moodily. “Just plain, untalented Garreth. The only thing I'm even remotely good at is brewing a potion, so I've been hoping to win ever since I was a first year. All my siblings tried, but none have won. Thought I might get my own name out there, instead of just being the youngest Weasley.” His eyes are glued to the ceiling, but you can tell from the furrow in his brow and hardened jaw that he's frustrated.

You tilt your head, giving him a disapproving look. “I think you’re talented, Garreth.”

“I think you’re talented too,” Garreth points out. “Which is why you’re probably going to win the potion making contest. Sharp hates me, after all.”

“I think you have a fair shot,” you argue. “You’ve spent all summer working on your potions.”

“Yes, but you’re you.” Garreth fights back. “You’ve had magic for what, a year? And you’re the most powerful witch I know.”

“It’s not that easy,” you mumbled under your breath, smoothing down the front of your trousers as you stand. You step back over to the station; the blood renewing potion has finished, a thick purple sludge that leaves a metallic smell in its wake. You pull out a clean vial, trying to ladle the necessary amount.

“Everything seems to come easy to you.” Garreth pointed out. “You defeated a troll, took town the goblin rebellion–”

“At what cost, Garreth?” you shout, closing your hand into a tight fist. “Ow!”

Garreth shoots up, propping up on his hands to peer over at you. You open your hand, shaking it out–you’ve shattered the vial. Cursing under your breath, you walk over the wash basin, muttering a quick charm to get the tiny shards of glass out of your hand.

“Let me help,” Garreth pleads, hobbling over towards you.

“Get back on the couch, Gar.” You seethe, pointing across the room.

Garreth puts his hands up, still shuffling your way. You wag your hand; it’s still stinging, but it’s just a surface wound. A wiggenweld and a bandage will do just fine.

“Let me,” Garreth says quietly, his tone soft towards you for the first time in ages. “It’s my fault, after all.”

“It’s not your fault,” You sigh. “It’s me, being stupid.”

“You’re not stupid. You’re the furthest thing from stupid.” Garreth assures you. “I meant to say that it was my fault you got caught last year.”

You pause. Is he really apologizing now?

Garreth takes the roll of linen, wrapping it around your palm. “You were looking for the billywig stings for me,” he says, tearing the linen with his teeth. He sets down the roll, tying a knot around the bandage in your palm. “I’m the reason you got caught, and you covered for me. Flume could’ve called the aurors for burglary, and I let you take the fall.”

All you’ve wanted for the past six months is for Garreth to own up to his part in you getting all those detentions and losing fifty house points. You feel a little satisfied, but at the same time sad–you could’ve been friends all this time, instead of strangers. Losing him made the other Gryffindors go icy against you, and it drove you further into Sebastian’s arms. While you love your other freckled friend to death, you can’t help but wonder what trouble you could’ve avoided had you not felt so isolated.

The thought overwhelms you, and you burst into a loud sob.

“What’s wrong?” Garreth panics.

You wipe a tear from your eyes. “It’s nothing, it’s nothing at all.” you blubber.

“It’s clearly not,” Garreth says gently.

“It’s just we’ve been avoiding each other for months,” you take in a shaky breath. “And I’ve missed being your friend.”

Garreth lets out a loud sigh, his hand trailing down to touch your forearm. It’s hard not to melt into his warm touch.

“I’m sorry,” he admits. “I was being stubborn. I should’ve apologized ages ago, I’ve missed you too. I was just so intimidated by you, I forgot how to be your friend.”

“Intimidated, by me?” You gape.

Garreth gives you a look, raising his thick eyebrows. “You’re the Hero of Hogwarts,” he waves his free hand. “You only just discovered magic a year ago, and yet you’re at the top of the class. You’re the best duelist I know; you bloody saved my life tonight.”

“I’m not a hero,” your voice falters. You’re not. Garreth would be horrified to know what you’ve done–dabbled in dark magic, taken life (even if not by choice).

“You’re a hero to me,” Garreth murmurs.

You look into his deep green eyes. They’re warm and honest; the Garreth you’ve gotten used to has a cold stare, eyes flitting away from yours as fast as possible. This Garreth makes your stomach flip, but not in an uncomfortable way. He’d always elicited that reaction from you, from the day you’d met. Garreth had always been cheerful and cuddly, an arm always tossed around your shoulder as you sat together or fiddling with the hem of your robe. It had gotten to the point where you might actually believe the rumors that he'd had a crush on you, considering the way his hugs lingered or the way his eyes caught you across the classroom.

For a second, you wonder if he ever actually did have a crush on you. You also wonder if he still might.

“You should take the potion,” you change the subject, shaking off his grasp.

Garreth obediently sits back down on the settee while you scoop the thick potion into a clean vial. He looks up at you with a smile as you settle down next to him, as if his leg still isn’t shaking and bloody.

“Bottoms up,” you press the vial into his hand.

Garreth takes the blood renewing potion, shuddering as the thick sludge passes through his throat. He shakes out his hair, setting the empty vessel down on the side table.

“How do you feel?”

“Feeling better already,” Garreth assures you, and you know he’s telling the truth. His cheeks are reddening, the color flooding back into his face. You look down at the gauze wrapped around his leg; thanks to the potion, the other healing potions you’d forced him to take are now kicking in.

“You’re brilliant, you know?” Garreth murmurs. “You’re beautiful, brilliant, and so damn brave. That’s why you’ll win Sharp’s contest.”

“Will you stop saying that?” You snip at him.

Garreth gives you an incredulous look. “It’s a compliment.”

“You don’t realize how much work it is,” you say, fidgeting with your hands in your lap. “To catch up to all of you. Having this magic, not being able to control it–it doesn’t make any of the day to day any easier. It seems like there’s always something I have to learn, things I should know by now that I don’t. I feel like a fraud most of the time.” you admit, tears welling in your eyes.

“Hey, none of that,” Garreth tuts, wiping at your face. “You’re no fraud. You, my dear, are the real deal. I’m the one bumbling around, getting scratched up by inferi–”

You shut your eyes, clutching at the hand he’s resting on your face. “I won’t let you talk about yourself like that,” you argue. The thought of Garreth, one of the most clever wizards you know, feeling inferior to his siblings is still fresh in your mind. “You’re marvelous, Garreth. You’re one of the best potioneers here at school, and you’re going to win.”

“But what about your submission?” His eyebrows are knitted together in confusion.

You shrug. “You need it more than I do–I already have my own space here, and you deserve the recognition.”

Garreth purses his lips together. “I can’t finish mine, unfortunately. Not without the ingredients–”

“Trust me, we have plenty now.” You assure him. “I probably have the rest of what you need here,” you say, scrambling to your feet. You rush back over to the potions stand, conjuring a clean cauldron. “I’m assuming you’re using the same base as a thunderbrew–”

Garreth is over to the potions station in three quick strides, closing the distance between you. He grabs your wrist, but his touch is soft.

“You’ll really help me?” he asks, his voice hopeful. “Even if I’ve been an absolute prat towards you for the last six months–”

“I think if last year proves anything, I’d do anything for you, Garreth.” You want to look into his eyes, but the moment feels too charged. "You were one of my first friends here, and I care about you."

Garreth’s eyes flit down to your lips. “As a friend?” The question hangs heavy between the two of you.

You shake your head. “Yes...but also, no. Not just as a friend.” you say slowly, hoping he'll understand.

Garreth doesn’t release his grip; his fingers move down, tangling with yours. He takes a step closer and you can feel his hot breath on your cheek. You look up at him, opening your mouth to say anything , but you don’t get the chance. Garreth’s lips crash against yours in a tender kiss, the pad of his thumb running over the back of your hand. You tilt your head up a bit too eagerly, your teeth clacking against his.

Garreth pulls away, and you’re momentarily mortified until he descends back upon you, this time wrapping his arms around your waist tugging you close. Your hands are in his hair, grasping at the copper locks you’ve spent the last six months eyeing. It’s just as soft as you thought it would be. Sighing into his touch, you can tell the freckled boy is smiling against your mouth from the curve of his chin. His tongue glides against your bottom lip and you grant him access, warmth pooling in the pit of your stomach as the kiss deepens. You want more, even if you're being greedy. You don’t want any distance between the two of you whatsoever anymore.

Garreth pulls away and you whine at the loss of him. He presses his forehead against yours, looking quite bashful. The look in his eyes says everything you need to know for now.

I’m sorry.

I’ve missed you.

I have feelings for you.

“Should we get to brewing?” you ask breathlessly, gesturing down to the empty cauldron.

“Let’s. I want to get it out of the way–I think the two of us have some more catching up to do.” Garreth teases, his hands hovering over your waist.

You grin, turning your attention down to the cauldron. Garreth’s warm body encases yours from behind, listing off all the ingredients and their exact ratios. His chin lands against your shoulder, breath tickling your ear as he whispers the instructions. It's only after he presses his lips against the nape of your neck that you slam the chopping knife down, hands shaking.

“If you keep this up, we’ll never finish.” You warn him.

Garreth’s chuckle sends a shiver up your spine. “Fine, fine.” he sighs, pressing a kiss against your cheek as he steps away. “I’ll observe some personal space for now, but the moment we’re done…” his voice trails off. “I’d like to kiss you again.”

You swat at him, rolling your eyes as he starts chopping mandrake leaves. The air in the Room of Requirement feels thick, charged with the tension between the two of you as you take turns stirring the altered thunderbrew. Before long, the cauldron is emitting sparks of lightning and gusts of wind, indicating your success.

“Back to catching up?” Garreth asks, chewing on his bottom lip as he bottles the brew. As soon as the potion is stowed away safely, you nod, and the redhead wastes no time taking you back to the settee.

You never did manage to have the time to come up with your own potion. Garreth had insisted on working through the night to help you come up with your own submission, just so he could win fair and square, but you'd shrugged him off. You'd only entertained the idea of entering to compete with him in the first place. Besides, you would rather save the precious time in the Room of Requirement for other activities.

Professor Sharp had just announced the winner of the potion brewing contest before the bell rang. In a tired, yet unsurprised tone, Sharp announces that Garreth has won by a landslide. The class is roaring and chanting for him; Sharp is perturbed that he’ll have to grant the budding potioneer access to his classroom and store cabinet after hours. Nevertheless, Garreth’s name is quickly etched into a little silver tag that will be added to the plaque in the trophy room, and class is dismissed.

“I can’t believe you bungled up your potion.” Sebastian shakes his head, slipping the strap of his bag over his shoulder.

You shrug, clutching your books against your chest. “Just wasn’t meant to be.”

“I was really hoping you’d put Weasley in his place,” Sebastian mumbles.

You turn your head over your shoulder, eyes immediately locking with Garreth’s. He’s standing over his cauldron, sprinkling ashwinder egg shells into the vessel as he smiles at you. His cheeks are a bit flushed–you’re not sure if it's from the heat of the cauldron, or from the memory of the kisses you’d shared in the Room of Requirement after finishing his contest submission.

“I wouldn’t worry too much, Seb.” You assure him. “I think I’ll be putting him in his place much more often now.”

Sebastian doesn’t catch on to your innuendo, shrugging as you pass through the door. “Fancy meeting Ominis for lunch?”

“I’m fine,” you lie. “I”ll catch you both later. I think I left my quill behind.”

Once Sebastian is past the corner and out of view, you turn back around, slipping into the potions classroom. You were hoping for a moment alone with Garreth, but Leander’s whinging cuts the silence.

“The two of you couldn’t stop staring at each other all period,” Leander shakes his head. “What’s going on?”

Casting a quick disillusionment charm, you slip into the store room, leaving the wooden door slightly ajar to watch the boys interact.

“Don’t worry about it, Lee.” Garreth assures him, waving his wand to rinse out his cauldron.

“Are the two of you friends again?” Leander asks. “Sallow must be pissed.”

You shuffle forward, trying to get a better look at the two of them.

“He’ll get over it,” Garreth laughs, picking up his cauldron to stack it against the rest. His shirt is rolled up above his elbows, and you bite down on your lower lip as you watch the muscles in his forearms flex.

“I knew you’d win,” Leander snorts. “You’re the best in class, everyone knows it. You deserved it. But honestly, I’m surprised she didn’t even enter.”

“I know,” Garreth shrugs. “But she’s smart too. Quick as a whip, hell of a duelist. I don’t think we ever thank her enough for what she’s done.”

Leander scoffs. “Why are you kissing her arse? Oh no, don’t tell me you have a crush on her again.” he complains, rolling his eyes.

Garreth chuckles, walking back over to the station to pick up his book bag. “Crush on her? Mate, I’m going to marry that girl someday.”

Your heart stops for a moment, cheeks aflame. Garreth had confessed his feelings to you in the Room of Requirement, after the two of you had to drag yourselves apart at the risk of taking things too far. Now that you were back in his life, he assured you that there was little chance of him ever letting you get too far away again. You’d agreed wholeheartedly then, but your mind hadn’t even gotten to the idea of life post-school.

Marriage . Marriage to Garreth Weasley. The thought of it is comfortable, like a worn in sweater or a cup of tea. You can imagine waking up every morning to his lips pressed against your neck, encased in his warm embrace.

Yes, you might like that.

Even though you have a disillusionment charm on, you swear Garreth is looking straight at you through the crack in the doorway. He has a dreamy, faraway look on his face, one that makes you want to barrel out the door and tackle him to the ground right now.

“Now you really sound like you’ve been confunded,” Leander laughs. “You’re sixteen, Gar.”

“It’s more than that.” Garreth says fondly. “I know it is.”

“Whatever you say,” Leander snorts, heading towards the door. “Coming to lunch?”

“I’ll meet you there,” Garreth echoes.

You hear Leander grumbling to himself, his footsteps becoming quieter as he gets further away from the classroom. Finally, you hear nothing at all except the familiar hum of the boisterous Gryffindor boy you’ve been itching to spend time with all day.

The door flies open and Garreth reaches out, tapping your shoulder. It disarms your disillusionment charm, and you blink up at him in shock. He’s still beaming, a toothy grin accompanied by freckled rosy cheeks. Before you know it, the door is shutting behind you, and he’s backed you into the shelf. The taller boy has you pinned against it, muttering a quick locking charm before he slips his wand into his back pocket.

“I hope you heard me,” Garreth murmurs, brushing hair out of your face.

“I did,” you stammer. “You’re mad, Garreth Weasley.”

Garreth grins broadly, his hair falling against your forehead as he presses his body into yours.

“Maybe,” he sings. “But you heard me. When you know, you know.”

You have no complaints. With Garreth wrapped around you, sixth year might not be so daunting.

#garreth weasley #garreth weasley x reader #garreth weasley x you #garreth weasley x mc #writing-intheundercroft #you can't tell me garreth isn't the dream boyfriend #i don't write enough for him WAHHHH

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inner-viper · 11 months ago

Text

Christmas with your FS

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Pile 1 Sexual Tarot Deck: 6 of Swords, 3 of Wands, 2 of Swords, and 4 of Wands

“Under the mistletoe, we kiss tonight. This marks our eternal love for each other..” “I want to keep you away from everyone, to hold you, kiss you, fuck you.. Ugh too bad we can’t escape them”

It seems like your first Christmas is at a family gathering of theirs. I feel like you both wanted to collaborate on the Christmas events from each side of the family. Either one of you could have a lot of extended family members! Anyways, this starts off as being very uncertain and not knowing where to look. It’s like you both had plans for this time around to be alone but ultimately it was not a viable option. I am getting a vision of your FS answering a call from their family, their family wants to hang around and have a cute holiday party. It seems like you will be slightly disappointed because you may have been planning a holiday getaway in secret but now you have to cancel your vacation. Regardless the chemistry between the two of you is still there! You both decided to lay off having sex. I feel like this pile has these moments in the relationship where they get infatuated with each other. It is like you both want to consume each other's souls. There is a strong sexual energy here. I am picking up that you like to tease a lot! You seem to enjoy wanting to make your FS dripping/leaking. It’s almost like you are taking out your anger on them haha. It seems like you like to transmute energy with your FS. I am sensing that you enjoy having the freedom to tease them all you want. During the Christmas holiday week, you will be touching them and edging them. It's not enough for them to cum though. They will be SO frustrated with you, they may at times snap at you during this week because they want you to satisfy them. I am getting a vision of you smiling at them and rubbing circles into their ass, really touching all their erogenous zones. You will even be taking lewd pictures to send to them while they are out. When it comes to Christmas day, you both will be riled up. You both can no longer take it anymore, you must unleash all this lust. This sex is going to have you both passing out but there will be challenges to get away from family! I am sensing that this party event is at your FS parent’s house. During the party, you both will be giving flirtatious stares, discreetly touching each other, and doing gestures that no one else understands. I am getting a vision of someone lifting up their skirt/dress and not wearing anything underneath it! You both will find ways to sneak off and share a kiss or two. I am sensing that every 30 minutes you both find somewhere hidden to be to make out. There is a lot of tongue energy here, my lips feel wet. So I am sensing that this kiss is quite erotic. I feel like this is the pile that is really into making out. You both will explore each other's tongue and mouth. You may enjoy the feeling of their tongue against yours and vice versa with your FS. Now for the sex.. On Patreon

Pile 2 Sexual Tarot Deck: 10 of Swords, Death, The Stars, and The Hierophant

“Hold my hand, take care of me while I go through this despair” “Take away my pains, I no longer wish to cry but I can’t help it”

This pile has some dark energy to their reading. I feel like there will be an event with your FS that will leave you sad, and almost depressed. I am not sure but some people that choose this pile may struggle with depression and dark thoughts. I hope that you can find some peace at times though. Anyways, there seems to be a death in the family or this is around the time that a family member has passed away and you no longer wish to grieve over it but you can’t help it when it comes to their anniversary. You seem to struggle with keeping it together, there will be moments where you want to scream and cry for help just so you don’t hold it in anymore. The collective of this pile may be people who struggle to ask for help when in need. It’s almost like you have this hyper-independence mindset. There is a vision that I am seeing of you being alone and crying alone in the dark. For some reason, you may hide what you are going through from your FS. I can sense that they will mention how you seem to have changed, and that they are always there for when you need to talk but you are trying to put this brave front. Now, the next vision that I am seeing is them catching you crying. I am seeing a vision of someone finding you outside crying to yourself, knees held against your face, and the sounds of weeping distraught. They are going to surround you with love and care at this time. They don’t want you to feel like you are alone because you aren’t. I am sensing that they were really festive and into the holiday spirit. They were excited to have spent time with you and their family. You didn’t want to ruin that for them so this is one of the reasons that you convinced yourself to hide it. You did not ruin their holiday spirit but they are upset that you didn’t talk to them sooner. During the Christmas holiday week, they will be attending to your needs. They will be around more often, taking care of house chores, bringing soup, and creating a comfortable safe space. They want you to be able to express your emotions fully. They don’t want you to bottle it up, they want to see you feel more comfortable around them. There is also this desire from them, they desire to be the one to see you vulnerable. A raw authentic version of you, a desire to see who you really are. They want to see you drop the high walls that you may have put up to keep others out. In a way, this will build a stronger relationship between the two of you. Now during Christmas day, I see that you two will be more comfortable and relaxed with each other. I feel like your FS didn’t want to spend time with their family because you were still grieving for some you both attended Christmas Day for a brief period of time. Either way, you end up at your house/apartment. I feel like this starts off very slow and passionate. It feels like this starts off with sweet compliments from them. They will be caressing you, rubbing circles into your skin, and trailing sweet kisses all over your body. They will be very gentle and ask if you want to continue because they really just want you to feel relaxed. Now for the sex.. On Patreon

Pile 3 Sexual Tarot Deck: 2 of Wands, Knave of Swords, 8 of Wands, and 4 of Swords

“Come I know you want more..” “Let’s have multiple back-to-back orgasms”

This pile is very passionate and fiery with their FS. I feel like you both are looking forward to spending the holidays alone. You both may have wanted to go on a trip by yourselves. I feel like you both spent a lot of time with family a week before so they wouldn’t feel saddened that you guys aren’t there with them. For some people who selected this pile, I feel like you may not have a good relationship with family so it is natural for you to just spend this holiday at home all cozy. Although because of that they want to bring an abundance of love to you. There is a general sense of wanting to make Christmas Day special, I feel like either one of you did not have the best holiday. Perhaps it is because either one of you did not grow up with celebrating this holiday but you or your FS could have grown up with it. It’s almost like they want to introduce you to a special occasion. You or they could put a lot of effort into making things perfect, so you’ll find it to be shocking that they are stressing over minor details. I see them asking your opinions on which country you want to be in, what activities, and what you want from each unique location that you may have selected. Your FS is wealthy, this is the pile that could have millionaire spouses. For some people, they are amazing at budgeting, so they make a good income to support both of you. Throughout the week, you both will be busy with a lot of fun spontaneous activities. I feel like there is so much teasing energy here. You could be wearing more revealing clothes, tighter fits, and showing off more of your collarbones than usual. They will be really into it, I see you both like to do some color coordination. You both are such a cute couple because I am seeing you both planning what to wear together. Whenever you both go out to dine, I feel like this is where the teasing is more prominent. You both have the correct words to say, there is a lot of dirty talk. Whispering sweet nothings into each other’s ear. Ok, so I am hearing a deep sexy masculine voice and a sweet seductive woman’s voice. Whoever you are into, they have a sweet deep voice. I feel like you may even have a voice kink because you will be squirming just from their voice alone. There may be times when you think you are seducing them and they will match your energy and do the most. It’s like you both are competitive with each other. I feel like this pile's energy enjoys switching and exchanging power dynamics. There is a sense of trying to overly dominate each other and I feel like some days on this trip you give up and vice versa. There is so much fun energy here, they may be into worshiping you. I feel like you’ll have so much because they make you feel good about yourself.

Now for the sex.. On Patreon

Thank you for reading!

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akunya · 2 years ago

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eiiiiii the idea of getting private meeting with camboy vox HELLO. you make me suffer for good stuffs every single day 😭💦 can you spoil me a little bittttt. - 🐱

“private session.”

pairings: camboy!vox akuma x male!reader

summary: congrats, lucky winner! because of your generous donations, vox reached out wanting to thank you in person. things, however, take a turn.

tw: DRUGGING, yandere, manipulation, voice fetish. camshows, drinking, implied noncon. age gap, etc.

notes: last fic of 2022! im posting this mere minutes from midnight, so please pardon any mistakes. ill go back and edit this a bit later.

and yes, i can write a part 2 if you truly wish. sorry for cucking you guys, again..

happy new year everyone, thank you for such an amazing 2022. i hope to write much more in the future!

“im at the right place, aren’t i..?” you mumbled to yourself, frigid, clammy hands swiping your phone to make sure the location was right. the restaurant looked a bit trendy and sophisticated, somewhere you wouldn't dare step inside on your own. you and vox both agreed on a restaurant to meet at around eight o'clock. to be truly honest with yourself, you never thought you’d have the guts to do something like this — but when vox, the streamer who you’ve been watching for months daily and donating to everyday reached out to you personally, how could you say no?

nonetheless, sitting across from him at the table really made you wish you had refused.

for one, he was much too ethereal to be in your lowly presence. the camera didn’t do him justice at all — his pale skin was a nice contrast to his black hair, adorned by his signature red highlights. he even wore the red eye makeup that you loved to look at, except now, you could see his mouth and bottom half of his face, uncovered by the black mask he would usually wear. his lips looked so soft, and when his tongue darted out to lick them you were nearly going to faint. we’re those.. fangs? his canines were sharp, and you felt like a pervert for staring so intensely.

you quickly paid your respects to the other fans who would never know that vox, a niche but popular adult streamer, was a truly beautiful man in person.

you didn't even notice how silent it had gotten between the two of you. “no need to be so quiet. i don’t bite, i promise.” vox’s sweet voice snapped you out of your thoughts, apologizing profusely for zoning out so much. “you’re right! im sorry, ive just never done anything like this before..” you chuckled awkwardly, shifting in your chair while vox just smiled. he found your skittishness adorable. you reminded him of a scared little bunny — and he was the big bad wolf, ready to eat you up whole.

"what a shame. and here i was thinking you do this quite often, with how you accepted my request and all." the demon smirked at how your face flushed, becoming a stuttering mess. you should've expected it, but he was just as snarky in person as he was on his live shows. as your little meeting continued, vox realized he enjoyed your presence much more than he thought. the night was filled with friendly but interesting conversation, and for once, the demon didn’t feel forced to keep speaking.

at first, he debated on meeting with you in person. what if the person who donated nearly thousands to him each month turned out to be not as pleasant as he hoped? while the demon wouldn't be surprised, he would be a tad disappointed with all of the free shoutouts he's given to you. still, with you being his top donator for a while now, he felt compelled to show some form of graciousness. a little present, just in time for the holidays.

vox enjoyed streaming more than he thought he would. even though he could use his voice and other demonic powers for much grander, sinister things - for some reason, using them to tease and drain the wallets of his viewers was surprisingly just as satisfying. doing this, he never had to worry about getting a silly job like most humans did, letting the demon truly relax when he wasnt tampering with cameras and himself.

but, you, however - vox liked how shy and nervous you were. it awakened a sick monster inside of him, that wanted to see you cry and beg for mercy at his fingertips. he thought his days of toying with mortals was over, but unfortunately (or fortunately?) for you, you seemed to rekindle that fire in his heart. if he didn't know any better, he would've never expected you to be someone that watches adult streams online, let alone spend money on them.

taking advantage of how anxious you were, vox continued to ask questions about yourself, forcing you to blurt out answers in hopes of not screwing up. "so, what do you like about my streams, y/n?" the male swiveled the wine in his glass nonchalantly, golden eyes looking into yours, awaiting an answer. you gulped, shakily drinking yours as well.

"um, well, you're the first streamer i've ever really watched for.. that sort of stuff. i initially liked how your voice sounded, and wanted to hear more, but i ended up staying for your little stories and when you'd talk about yourself. you just seemed really nice." it was a bit embarrassing when you had said it aloud, but it was the truth. you enjoyed the moments where the demon would just ramble the most. of course, given the content of his streams, most of the things he'd speak about were so dirty it made your ears feel hot - however, there were moments where he'd just talk about his day, and you seemed to enjoy those the most.

it was vox's turn to blush, his grip tightening on the wine glass ever so slightly. how could a mere mortal make him feel so... flustered? hes had his fair share of affairs over many decades, however, never has he felt so vulnerable. the demon was expecting you to talk about his cock or something, but of course your innocent little head wouldnt do that. you should be thankful vox isn't a cannibalistic demon, or he seriously would've eaten your heart out by now.

therefore, the man didnt feel any remorse when you went to the bathroom and he slipped a drug into your drink while you were away.

it wasnt his fault - how was he supposed to let you go after today? someone as sinless and pure as yourself needed to be his. vox wouldnt be content with letting you go back to being another viewer behind the screen, not after your little meeting. the demon knew truly that you probably wouldn't refuse going home with him, but that also didnt guarantee you'd accept his offer. he considered the drug just a bit of a push in the right direction, if you will.

"sorry for taking so long. there was a line outside, so.." your voice trailed off, going back to your seat as the older man simply chuckled. why did you feel the need to explain yourself? it didn't matter how long you took, even if you tried to run now, vox would surely find you. pouring some more wine for himself, he filled his glass a bit more to match yours. you tried to tell him you weren't too keen or interested in alcohol at the beginning of your little date, but the demon wouldn't take no for an answer. "y/n, lets have a toast, shall we?" his held up his glass expectantly towards you, waiting for you to clink the rim with your own.

you hesitated for a moment. the smell of wine never enticed you, but seeing vox wait earnestly made your heart flutter. one glass shouldn't hurt, right?

you simply nodded, the familiar clank of glass against glass being shared between you two before drinking. you drank a majority of the wine, only leaving a small amount left. "good boy. its good, isnt it?" you nearly sputtered the drink back up from the praise, nodding again and drinking the rest in one gulp. it was much different hearing his words of affirmation in person. it felt addicting, unreal.

"thats it. a toast for the new year, my boy. im excited for the memories we shall make together. aren't you?" oh, did vox mean his streams? of course you looked forward to those, how could you not! he was the highlight of your day, making you smile and laugh. "mhm! im excited. im looking forward to your streams, vox." the demon felt a shiver roll down his spine, suppressing a groan. he could get used to you saying his name. he wanted to hear you say it in other ways, too.

"i hope we can get more.. personal, as well, y/n. it was truly delightful being here with you." the man had such a way with words, making you swoon. was he this nice with everyone? no wonder he had so many followers! while you didnt know the true extent to what he had implied, you agreed, telling him that you were happy you came out today.

of course you were. you were his little rabbit, frail and gullible, unknowing of the big bad wolf sitting across from your very table. he truly wondered just how oblivious you could be, but much to his delight, he'd find out soon enough. your eyes started to feel heavy, zoning out while he talked about random things to keep you occupied.

"goodness, y/n, are you alright? you look a bit pale. here, let me take you back to my place. i don't live far at all." his voice was sickeningly sweet, how could you deny his offer? you nodded drowsily, letting the man hold you to steady your balance.

the cold air of the outdoors didnt phase you, and neither did it bother vox. peering at your sleeping face, he smiled, leaning in to kiss the top of your forehead.

"happy new years, y/n. lets have fun together." vox whispered in your ear, turning the corner towards his apartment.

#my askbox..#male reader #mlm blog #male reader blog #nijisanji x reader #nijisanji en x reader #my fics..#🐱 anon #luxiem x reader #vox akuma x m!reader #vox akuma x male reader #yandere vox akuma #vox akuma #vox akuma x reader #luxiem x y/n #luxiem x m!reader #luxiem x male reader

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barleyo · 5 months ago

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Hii! Merry Christmas<3 Can I request some nsfw for sir nighteye please? He works late and doesn’t get home until really late at night and the reader is kinda sad because they’re lonely without him. Ty :))

All I Want For Christmas.

Sir Nighteye x F! Reader (smut)

A/N: As you can probably tell, I got the request last year during Christmas. Shame on me for taking so long, I truly apologize. You can beat me up if you wish, anon, I wouldn't blame you </3 (also if you noticed re-used writing of mine from other fics in this... mind your business)

Word Count: 1.4k

Tags: Nighteye's real name used, smut, p, handjobs, oral (f receiving), established relationship

The holidays were always hard. Mirai was dedicated to his job, being Sir Nighteye and all, even as the winter months approached. He never forgot about them, per se, but he never made much room for them. He tried to get off of work earlier when he met you, making sure that he would at least see you before you went to bed every night. A call, a text, anything. He did his best, but no matter how hard he tried, work was his driving force in life.

You tried to not let it bother you, you knew the hardships that came with being with a pro hero. You kept that thought in your head as you stood near the oven, bending down to shove your last batch of cookies in.

You had been baking the whole day in preparation for Christmas. Hoping that Mirai would join you, you had an apron sitting on the dining room table for him, but that hope had faded out at around 9:30 P.M. when you realized it would be another late night of work for him. Your hands trembled a bit, the heat of the pans seeping through your old, worn oven mitts as you transferred a hot tray to your makeshift cookie decoration station.

You slapped icing on the warm cookies, blowing on them as the sweet frosting melted off of the tops. Your table had become cluttered and messy, with icing, sprinkles, flour, and crumbs dusting the tablecloth.

“Damn it,” you mumbled, slipping your thumb into your mouth after catching a scoop of icing on it. You took a whole cookie, hands fidgeting at its warmth as you struggled to hold it, and took a bite, trying to enjoy yourself as much as you could, despite your husband's absence.

“They look nice.”

“Hmph?" You spun around quickly, hand wiping quickly at the crumbs on your lips. Your eyes relaxed when you noticed the familiar green tufts of hair and golden eyes before you. “Yeah, I’ve been making them all day.” She held back from adding 'no thanks to you' at the end of her sentence.

“Do you need any help? I don’t have to go into the office tomorrow. I can help out for as long as you need me to tonight.” Mirai offered his hand out to you, but let it fall down to his side when you coldly turned away from him.

“Most of the work is done already, I don’t think I need your help.” You winced at her own words, feeling the venom they were laced with. “I think you should just head to bed. I can handle this."

His stoney face didn’t budge, he clearly wasn’t satisfied with your answer. “I’m sure you can, but I’d like to help you. I enjoy spending time with you, doing things that you enjoy.” Rolling up his sleeves, he began clearing the table of the cookie cutters and mixing bowls, placing them softly in the sink. “I will wash those later, do not worry.”

You ignored his words and tried to urge him away again. “Aren’t you tired from work? I really think you should go to sleep. Working for so long just to come home and do more work can't be healthy.”

“Is that what this is about then? Me working so long?”

“No, it’s not. And there is no ‘this,’ nothing is going on,” you scoffed, dripping more red icing onto a stray cookie.

There was silence for a moment before you felt arms wrap around your waist, firm but gentle. You placed the icing bag down on the table and tried to look, but your neck couldn’t crane far enough to see him. He slouched down, resting his head on your shoulder.

“I have been neglecting you, haven’t I?”

“Mirai, no, it’s not like that, I know your job is Important. I can’t imagine how hard it is to be a hero, but I just wish…” your voice fizzled out a bit when his large hands started to travel up and down your body, stopping at your chest momentarily.

“That I’d make more time for you? I hear you, dear. I’m not being fair, am I? Here you are, doing all of this alone, and during the holidays. Leaving you alone at a time like this isn’t considerate. Leaving you alone at all isn’t right on my part.”

He licked a stripe over your neck, sucking on the spot softly. His teeth edged the skin, leaving a small purple mark on it. After examining it once more, he let go of you and spun your body around to face him.

“I know you’ve missed me,” Mirai said softly, “I’ve missed you too. Being with you, feeling you, all of it. Can I show you how much I’ve missed you?”

You nodded, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Please.”

He used his long, thin fingers to untie the knot at the back of your apron, shooting it down to the floor. He made quick work of your pants too, leaving only your shirt on.

Before he touched you, you quickly made your move and unbuckled his belt, slipping his cock out swiftly.

Giving a few, testing strokes, you held as much of his cock that she could manage in your fist. You went fast, tip to base, knowing he would want to stop to please you instead. He shuttered a bit, hips threatening to snap into your hand.

“You spoil me," he said softly into your ear, jaw tensing with each stroke, "but right now is not about me. I want to apologize to you, to make you feel good. Let me.”

You didn't let go, instead you focused on the head of his cock, rolling it in your hands. “Not until you cum. I've waited too long for this."

Mirai took a breath through his nose and huffed at you. "Fine."

He stopped holding his composure and let himself sink into the pleasure that your hand provided. He could cum quite quick if he let himself go, but his tense nature let him last quite a while in other circumstances.

His breathing went ragged and sharp. He brought his hips back and forth, fucking into your hand desperately. He pulled your hand off of his dick before he could cum, not honoring your little agreement.

"Hey, you promised," you whined, frustration crossing your face while you looked up at him.

"I know. I am such a liar, aren't I?" His breathy laugh fanned your face, and the small smile he flashed was enough to erase any anger you had in that moment.

He placed his hand gently on your face, tipping your head to look up at him. "Do you want my mouth, or do you want me to fuck you?"

"Your mouth." You felt his hands manhandle you upwards, placing your body on the table behind you.

"Good. I always like when you choose that option."

His mouth made quick work, tongue already gliding small circles around your clit.

"Stop moving," he said, pressing his tongue flatly on your mound. Your legs kept pressing together, as if you were trying to push him away. He slipped one hand between your thighs and forcefully held them apart.

His large tongue slid through your wet folds, slowly teasing through, from your entrance to her pulsing clit. He stopped at your clit again and clasped his lips around it, sucking on the tender bud. He let dribbles of spit fall from his mouth onto your cunt, only slurp it back up again to keep you wet and messy.

Not hesitating, you reached your hand down and gripped his hair, holding him in place, and rolled your hips onto his face.

He didn't mind, simply letting a soft laugh escape his lips. It was cute, the way you took what you wanted from him.

Your legs stuttered as you moved, twitching while moans caught in your throat. Your hands still pushed his face into your cunt. The feeling of his nose nudging your clit sent you over the edge. A sweet wave crashed over you, making you practically vibrate with pleasure.

After your grip on his hair loosened, your husband stood up and looked down at you, eyes peeking past his fogged up glasses.

"So, do you think you can forgive me now?"

You rolled your eyes at the smirk that played on his lips and shook your head. Rolling over, you pushed your ass up against the tent in his boxers.

"Not yet."

#barleyxnighteye #smutfic #x reader #bnha x reader #sir nighteye x reader #sir nighteye #Mirai Sasaki x reader #smut fanfiction #x y/n #mha #my hero academia

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19ndonboy · 1 year ago

Text

do something, babe - mason mount

words: 2.7k

A/N: i’m back with a new imagine, i got inspired by you’re losing me and hits different (surprising ik). i hope y’all will like this one and leave feedback pls :’)

you and mason were it for each other. visiting london, you randomly met in a restaurant on a night out. as cliché as it sounds, you two ran into each other as a result of not looking in front of you, too absorbed in your conversation to give it a thought. and just like in the movies, it immediately clicked between you and your next days in london were spent getting to know each other.

his favorite movie, his favorite artist, his favorite holiday destination, his favorite food but also what makes him happy, what matters the most to him in his life… it was fair to say you knew almost everything about him in such a short period of time.

your favorite chocolate, your favorite artist, your favorite series, your safe place but also what scares you the most and what keeps you up at night… he knew everything he needed to know to affirm he wanted you by his side for a long time.

days went by and you had to go back to your hectic life in the city you call home. you stayed in touch with mason for months. both of you being way too busy to see each other, evenings would be spent on facetime talking about your days. updating him on the dramas going on in your friend’s love life and him telling you how ben and him had a lot of fun scaring their teammates today. you would have killed for that smile as he told you all about it, to this day still.

you ended up meeting those said teammates a few weeks later, visiting him for two weeks. all loved up, this trip couldn’t have been any better even if you tried to. and it went on like this for a year and a half, satisfied with this relationship you two had until it wasn’t enough anymore.

the three words you two were longing for to hear had slipped on the last night you spent together before you had to go home again. your head laying on his chest, his hand tangled in your hair as you were tracing invisible patterns on his skin, the first “i love you” slipped out of his mouth. with sparks in your eyes and a big smile plastered on your face, he wish he had said them before if the price was to see you happy like a kid on christmas day. it felt like a weight was lifted off your shoulders when you said it back, but he swore he didn’t even need to hear it when your eyes said it all. lord, you had never looked at him like this and something happened in his stomach that night.

lots of kisses, lingering touches and words were shared that night, and the words which changed it all for you were his, “stay here”.

what followed after was you going home to sort everything with your work, the place you lived at and say your goodbyes with your family and friends as you promised to come back and to also invite them to what would be your new home. and two weeks later, you were back in cobham ready for a new chapter.

you could’ve not asked for anything better for what followed during the next three years. happiness, love, communication and trust. sure there were downs but you had gotten through them and always ended up stronger as a duo.

well that was what you thought until four months ago when the black hole was too deep to get out of it. what was at first just a rough patch happening at chelsea ended up being the cause of your relationship going downhill.

how did it go from nights spent at home cuddled on the sofa in front of a movie when he could, days spent in bed when he was exempt from training to him being locked in his game room all day and out with god knows who all night.

you had accepted it all, his sudden mood changes, him taking you as his punching bag after another loss, forgetting to show up at an event for your job. until you couldn’t hold it anymore. you were slipping through his fingers, he was losing you and he did nothing. the fake smiles, the tears at bay you were keeping every time he was kissing you on your forehead as he was leaving for another night out in a club. your heart couldn’t handle this pain anymore. it became too heavy, you felt like you could explode at any minute.

you gave him so many signs, he was blind not to see them. you two were too far gone, you didn’t recognise him anymore and moreover you couldn’t recall what you had created as it all vanished in front of you so fast. so four months ago, you decided to leave. as he was walking down the stairs, you following him, you said the dreaded words, “i’m leaving.”

of course he was too stuck in his own world, not to realize what he was doing was wrong and an argument followed. you wish he didn’t go out when you threatened him not to be here when he would come back at 3:00 am sharp. was it childish of you to say so? yes but you didn’t know what to do anymore and you were too exhausted to think twice before speaking. but the sad truth was that you meant them.

he didn’t take those words seriously and he wished he had. you know what they all say when you don’t know what you got until it’s gone. it stings. he lost you and it hurt. he tried to contact you all night after he got home to an empty house. fresh flowers you had bought the day before and all your decorating pieces left were all here to remind him that until a few hours ago, there were two people living here.

that was four months ago. time went by so fast since. you found yourself a place to live at in central london. your days were spent at work and your nights were spent in your bed in a blanket. what you wouldn’t admit to your friends is the t-shirt you have buried in your arms every night. mason’s.

his past four months were similar. his days were spent at training, trying to somehow find his will to be back to his best level. and nights were spent at home, wandering in the empty rooms, hating how quiet it was in all of them. what he wouldn’t admit to his friends is the times he found himself blaring your favorite taylor swift’s songs in his kitchen. he would always complain after hearing the same ones playing over and over again but deep down he loved to see that smile on your face as you were singing them. he even ended up knowing the lyrics to back to december, you are in love and who knows how many more.

too lost in his thoughts to notice the looks his teammates and therefore friends were giving him at training, he didn’t notice them approaching him. they wanted to put an end at this misery, they couldn’t handle seeing their friend like that. they hated to think about him going home to your once shared home which only reminded him of you and what he lost. and they did what seemed right to them in this moment. mason couldn’t even bare to argue, and to be honest, he hadn’t even heard them talking but he said yes to their proposition anyway. and this is how he ended up in a nightclub.

to his friends’ ignorance, your friends had the same idea. and with london being one of the biggest cities in the world, you two still ended up in the same place for the first time since you left. lucky you, you didn’t see him for the night. and you had a lot of fun for the first time in months. feeling free, you danced for hours on the dance floor with your closest friends and a drink in your hand. but time was ticking and you couldn’t handle standing in those heels after 2:00 am and you called it quit for the night.

waiting outside for the taxi you ordered, you wish you didn’t go out when you saw him outside. with a girl standing next to him, her hand on his arms, too close for your liking. you pictured him with other girls in love and it hurt every time, but not close to how it did now. who was she, was she the reason he faded away and only became a memory, did she make him happy. you threw up on the street and that was when he saw you. he had seen you in every state for you to be ashamed of that, but it didn’t mean you wanted him to approach you. as he walked closer, your taxi finally arrived and while one of your friend helped you, the other one was pushing him away much to his complaints.

it physically hurt. he felt his heart dropping to his stomach as you obviously didn’t want to have anything to do with him anymore. god, he didn’t even know the name of the girl who was talking to him. he just wanted to talk to you. the truth was he couldn’t bear to live anymore time alone because everything at home reminded him of you and how he had lost the best thing he ever had in his life.

as you hopped into the taxi, tears started flowing and you couldn’t do anything to stop them. one of your friends, ava, stayed at yours for the night helping you to clean yourself up, to get you a big needed glass of water and to wipe away the tears on your cheek as you rambled about how much you missed mason. you’re trying really hard to move on from him and what you had but at this point you don’t think you could get peace.

miles away, mason was no good too. he couldn’t stay with his friends and went back home. too exhausted, he slept on the sofa. he swore he felt your touch on his cheek as he was falling asleep. but again that was the ghost of you dancing around his – your – house, playing tricks with him. as he woke up five hours later after what felt like one of the worst nights of his life, he dragged his feet to his kitchen. medicine well needed, he opened a cupboard and the first thing he was met with was your hot chocolate cup with the lipstick stain almost faded.

you were everywhere. not too long ago, two weeks maybe, he found himself crying on the floor of the dressing room as he put his hand on a taylor swift t-shirt you thought you had lost. nothing had ever felt so wrong in this moment. why did he find it if you weren’t here to jump around, happy like a kid who found his cuddle toy.

you are the one he loves and he was going to make sure you knew that. had you ever doubted he loved you, you did and the thought of it made him feel sick to his stomach. if there was one thing he would always be sure of is his love for you and if he had to scream it on a rooftop for everyone and you to hear, he would.

jumping in his shower, he quickly got ready before he hopped into his car with one thing in mind, to mend your – and his – broken heart and get you back in what once was your shared home. on the way to your place, he thought about everything he could tell you when he finally sees you. too engrossed in his thoughts, he didn’t even notice when he arrived at his destination. and that’s when the nerves hit him. what if you slam the door in his face, what if you let him in your flat but not in life again. he almost lost it but he was here now and he couldn’t chicken out.

silence was haunting you, ava had left a few minutes ago and you were now alone with your thoughts. until you heard a car in the parking lots of your building. not thinking too much of it, you didn’t pay attention to it until someone knocked on your door. weird, you thought as you made your way to the door, your brows furrowed.

you opened it and you felt your heart stop as you saw who was behind the door. was it real or did you lose your mind? you couldn’t wrap your head around what was happening until he whispered your name in a desperate tone. rather daring of him to pretend he was the one hurting when he got you there in the first place, you thought.

“i just wanna talk, please… i’ll be gone after if you want me to”. you got nothing to lose and you wanted to hear what he had to say, so you let him in with a sigh. he felt his head spinning when he inhaled your scent in the room. oh he missed it and you so much. making your way to the sofa, you both seated at the end of it, too far away for his liking but it was his own fault.

“i’m sorry. for making you go through this, for making you feel like you didn’t matter to me when you’re my first thought when i wake up and my last one when i go to bed, for making you think i don’t love you anymore when there isn’t even a word to verbalize how much i do. i’m sorry for not fighting for us and giving up on us so easily.”

your breath hitched in your throat the more he spoke. you wanted to stop him and speak but he nodded and continued.

“i was too stupid to realize what i was doing to you and to us. i know a sorry will never be enough but this is all i can do until you let me in again. i know better now. and what i mostly know is that i miss you, i miss waking up to you by my side, i miss you being in charge of the music in the car, i miss you complaining when i eat the last piece of chocolate.”

your mind went empty and you had no idea what to add as he was looking desperately at you, waiting for something to come out of your mouth. but as seconds that felt like hours passed by, every tiny hope he had was fading. “please say something y/n.” and you really wanted to but you couldn’t find the words.

if you listened to your brain, you would tell him to go away and that you had moved on from him already. but as you watched stand up from the couch and making his way to your door, you followed your heart and finally spoke.

“stay.” you said so quietly, you almost wondered if he heard you but he did as he stopped in his tracks and turned around to look at you. “a part of me wants you to walk away but the bigger part of me wants you back in my life, and forever.” you said with tears in your eyes. “i tried really hard to move on from you and what we had but it’s almost impossible.” you told him as he looked at the floor.

“i don’t know what the future brings me, i’m actually scared.” you chuckle. “but i wanna give us another try. i don’t want to live with the regret of not giving it another chance and wonder what it would have been like if we had tried.” the more you speak and the more he felt like he didn’t deserve you. how did he get so lucky to find you years ago.

“we will be okay. i know we have a lot to work on but you won’t regret this and this part will soon be long gone.” he said as he stared at you, his eyes trying to tell you everything his words couldn’t express. you will be okay. and with both of your hearts being full, on the verge of exploding, you walked to each other and as he held you tight in his safe arms for the first time in months, your heart started again.

tag: @pulisichavertz @mountymase @fallinforerling

#mason mount #mason mount imagine #mason mount fanfic #mason mount x reader #mason mount concept

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