#u are ALWAYS welcome to throw things at me more often. in fact i would love it if u sent more

[tutoriel12]

in response to your beautiful “fraud Stan” art (again, beautiful btw)

i think stanFORD was one of those dudes who hated nickname and was very serious about his full name being use at all times. the only one who were allowed to give him nicknames was his brother (who did it out of honest love) and bill (who capitalized on “love” to control him).

versus stanLEY was the sibling/brother/friend who had a million nicknames are responded to them all; stan, stan-the-man, s-man, stanny, stan lee not the comic man. other horrible name examples. he was used to changing his name several times that anything that remotely SOUNDS like a name, he’d answer to it; the only word that felt like a nickname he EARNED was “grunkle”.

again, your art is beautiful and i hope you don’t mind me throwing this at you. smooches <3

oh my goodness thank u so much!! <33 im both flattered and a bit overwhelmed by the reception that piece has gotten. ohh man im so glad you sent because i have so so many thoughts on both of them!!

anyway. ur so very real. stanford pines is someone that had a very established identity from the beginning. he was a genius brainiac that didn't fit in with other kids, singled out from the beginning both by personality and by body. his six fingers serve as a constant reminder that he can't be anyone else but him. of course he'd search for acceptance through the thing he ties his self worth to: his intelligence. of course he'd fall victim to the first person who told him his existence was something to be celebrated!! he looks at his name, once with distaste, nowadays with neutral acceptance. he's stanford pines, he has six fingers, and he does not do well with people.

on the contrary, stanley pines…didn't have any of that. he was overlooked by his father, wishing he could get the same recognition as ford. he didn't have any merits of his own. barely passing highschool, on the verge of losing ford, and seemingly destined to stay in glass beach forever, his teenage years were marked by a desperation to hold onto whatever connections he had. after getting kicked out, he still lives in the shadow of his brother - trying constantly to achieve a success that would compare to ford's brilliance. his name didn't mean shit; it was his brother who mattered. stanley pines can turn into whoever and whatever he needs because he never had an identity worth holding onto in the first place.

in an ironic twist of fate, stanley ends up living with his brother's name, borrowing off of his achievements in order to both survive and save him. the mystery shack is now a lively place for random kids he managed to sort of adopt in spite of himself. ford isolated himself from everyone that cared about him; stan took his life and made it into a home. he was never brilliant like his brother, but the love he has for his family transformed ford's path of destruction into one of renewal. he saved his brother by destroying his life.

it's the nature of twins have their existence intertwined beyond seperation. stanley and stanford's lives align to save each other.

[jazlynriddle]

Welcome to your life - Pt 2:

Acting On Your Best Behaviour Ch 9:

Summary:

They'd seen it in their fellow orphans often enough to recognise the pattern and were now forced to admit, despite their hopes to the contrary, that Isidora had likely suffered similar side effects.

No… they'd always known she had. The Keeper had just wanted the power that Ranrok had, enough to convince themselves that they would be able to handle it better than that naive woman.

With the start of the Keeper’s sixth-year in Hogwarts, comes a whole slew of headache-inducing challenges from the most unexpected of places. Between insignificant pests throwing wrenches into their plans and tedious teenage drama, that the Keeper is entirely unprepared for, they wonder if they'll make it to their NEWTs without losing their sanity.

Or worse, Ominis or Sebastian.

Warnings: Sebastian x MC x Ominis! Drug Addiction! Spoilers! Slow-burn corruption! Dark content! Fucked up 1800s orphanages! MC has no love for Anne or Solomon! Dubious happy ending (it's happy for MC, Seb and Ominis at least).

You can also read on AO3! (chapter specific warnings below)

Notes:

Warning: More fluff and more character study! I feel like so many chapters have been sweet that you guys might be wondering when this fic is actually going to be as dark as I warned.

Just, trust me. It's going to be really really dark but I just need to lay groundwork before we get there! There's slow burn romance fics, and then there's this fic, which is slow burn descent into hell instead.

I just go where the story naturally leads, and I think the fucked-up-ness has a greater impact when you can see how things got fucked up, like in Sebastian and Ominis' canon story honestly.

This sixth-year is a lot of preparation for the story to start taking an escalator down into the depths of madness where I can unleash my full horror visual novel descriptive potential xD

Sebastian sighed as he placed his hand on the Keeper’s forehead, their head resting against his leg while they slept on their side on the couch beside him. He was relieved that after a little over four hours their fever had finally broken. He and Ominis had spent the entire time taking turns to maintain and stabilise their lover's temperature.

While it hadn't been the most fun way to spend an entire Saturday afternoon, it had actually felt good to be able to care for the Keeper in a more tangible way. Hearing the Keeper attribute their victory over their addiction to Ominis and himself had been… well, he wasn't sure how to describe it.

Honestly, it had surprised even himself how affected he'd been by their murmured words.

Sebastian would never admit it aloud, but his many failures wore on him. He'd failed to save his sister with the relic, he'd failed to convince his uncle that he could save her, hell he hadn't even managed to convince Ominis of that. The last two months had felt like yet more failure, failing to outsmart the bullies, failing to find a way to help his partner with their addiction, failing to find a way into the Undercroft.

It had stung when the Keeper came to them with a plan, cooked up by Onai and her group of 'better friends'. The fact that, in the end, it was neither him nor Ominis who managed to contribute substantially to an actual solution, had hurt his pride.

A part of him understood that it was technically the Keeper themselves who'd figured out a solution to their own problem. That they'd simply used Onai and her friends. Still, it felt wrong, that wasn't what was supposed to happen. After the Keeper finally opened up, and actually asked him and Ominis for help, it was supposed to be the two of them who saved the day.

So, while Sebastian wasn't sure what he and Ominis had done to earn those words, he knew that hearing the Keeper say them, had really gotten to him. It made him feel a lot of feelings, and this time, he wanted to understand them, rather than simply feel them.

He'd learnt that much at least.

"Here." Sebastian glanced up at the sound of Ominis' voice, and was greeted by his gentle smile along with a steaming cup of tea. "You're only ever this quiet when you're tired. Would you like me to take over for a bit?"

Sebastian chuckled, accepting the tea but shaking his head. "Nah, it's fine, I was just thinking."

"You were? Now there's a surprise." Ominis teased, lowering himself to sit on the floor in front of the couch.

"Har har, very funny, Ominis." Sebastian rolled his eyes and took a sip from his cup.

"How do they look?" Ominis asked, reaching up and loosely grasping the Keeper's hand with his own.

"Better, I think they're out of the woods." Sebastian sighed at the tea's relaxing warmth, before setting his cup down on the table. "Hopefully they'll wake up naturally before our housemates start returning after dinner."

"Think they'll remember what they said?" Ominis asked with a dreamy smile and Sebastian felt his chest warm again.

"Knowing them, probably." Sebastian grinned, glad to see Ominis wear that expression again, it felt like forever since he'd seen that calm and peaceful smile.

Deciding that it was fine since the common room was empty, Sebastian gave in to the urge to run his fingers across Ominis cheek and lean down to press their lips together gently.

Ominis made a soft sound in surprise but easily relaxed into the kiss, moving his lips gently against Sebastian’s, and Sebastian happily gave him control of the pace. It had been ages since they'd had a few minutes of peace and just enjoyed each other. The warmth and comfort of each other's presence.

"...why are you guys always starting without me?"

At the Keeper’s voice, Sebastian felt the corners of Ominis' mouth curl upwards against his lips and felt his own follow. With a last lingering touch against his lips, Ominis leaned back to speak.

"I thought you liked a good show." Ominis grinned teasingly as he stood, listening to the Keeper groggily push themselves up into a sitting position.

"I do, but I think I'd rather be a participa-" The Keeper's words were interrupted by a yawn and they shook their head for a moment, before frowning. "Did I say something weird before I passed out?"

Sebastian grinned and Ominis chuckled, which seemed to be all the confirmation the Keeper needed, and they covered their face with a muffled groan. "Ugh, yeah no, I remember, let's just-"

The Keeper made a cutting motion with their open palm while clearing their throat, and Sebastian snickered under his breath at the rare sight of the Keeper flustered.

Shooting Sebastian a glare, the Keeper asked. "What time is it?"

"Tempus." Sebastian flicked his wand. "A little past five."

"Hm." The Keeper frowned. "The bullies still haven't found us?"

"They're probably searching the other side of the castle or even yet searching for each other." Ominis suggested thoughtfully.

"In that case, we might as well take advantage of their incompetence. We can make a quick trip to Feldcroft for some privacy." The Keeper smirked, making to stand, and immediately losing their balance.

"Gah-" Sebastian quickly slipped his arms under the Keeper's to keep their knees from hitting the floor. Breathing a sigh of relief, Sebastian peered down at them. "That was close, you alright there?"

"Yes…" The Keeper grimaced, they were weaker than expected. Well, at least Sebastian still had the reflexes that saved them a detention back in the library.

"Merlin’s beard, I know you want to get going quickly but you literally just passed out from a fever a few hours ago. Can you please be more careful?" Ominis pinched the bridge of his nose with an exasperated sigh.

The Keeper grumbled under their breath, but understood that he was right, they shouldn't let their urge to taste the Pain energy once more overwhelm them. They sighed, letting Sebastian move their arm to his shoulders so he could support them.

As the Keeper stumbled by with Sebastian, Ominis took their other arm, supporting them from the other side so that they could move even faster. The gesture, despite his chiding, warmed their heart and together, the three of them quickly made their way over to the floo.

"I'll go first, then." Sebastian carefully removed the Keeper's arm and stepped forward.

The Keeper's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "I can floo just fine."

"Sure you can!" Sebastian grinned as he disappeared in a puff of green smoke.

"Are you sure you-"

"Yes, Ominis, I'll be fine. I can floo just fine on my own!" The Keeper insisted, stepping out of Ominis grip and into the floo powder.

The moment they emerged from the ash on the other side however, the Keeper lost their footing on the uneven flooring and gravity began to drag them towards the rocky ground. They braced themselves but to their surprise, felt themselves slam into something comparatively soft instead.

"Oof-" Sebastian released a lungful of air from the impact as he caught the Keeper against his chest. "And that's why I went first."

The Keeper's grumbling was muffled in his shirt and Sebastian laughed breathlessly. "You know, when I wanted you to fall for me, this wasn't what I meant."

The Keeper felt their face warm at Sebastian's words as Ominis stepped out from the floo in a cloud of ash.

"Are they alright?" The sound of Ominis' feet hitting the ground came accompanied by his worried voice.

"Yeah, just a bit winded I imagine." Sebastian quipped as he cradled the Keeper in his arms proudly.

"Hey, I can at least talk for myself." The Keeper sighed with a resigned smile as Sebastian loosened his embrace to support them again.

"I'd save my breath if I were you, we still have a bit of a walk." Sebastian grinned as Ominis moved around him to take the Keeper's other arm again.

The Keeper huffed lightly, shaking their head. "I must be going soft."

Fortunately, the short walk wasn't too bad with Sebastian and Ominis' help, and the Keeper sighed in relief as Sebastian lowered them onto their bed while Ominis got a cup of water for them.

Admittedly, it was nice being cared for this way, if a little unsettling. How quickly they had gotten comfortable with receiving help and showing weakness around their partners. How quickly they'd lost their barriers and ego with these two. Yet, it didn't feel like a bad thing.

These were the contradictory thoughts and conflicting feelings in the Keeper's mind as they reached into their satchel and withdrew a jar of pain energy. Before, they wouldn't have even considered taking it in front of anyone. How things had changed…

"Hard to believe that human pain can be both addictive and a source of strength…" Sebastian frowned, gazing at the jar contemplatively as he sat on the bed beside them.

"Really?" The Keeper hummed. "I think it makes perfect sense. It's hard to let go of one's pain, even when it's poisoning you. Both you and I have used our pain and suffering as driving force and motivation. If you think of it that way, this is exactly how pain behaves."

"And if you let yourself drown in it, you become a monster that only wants to hurt others." Ominis added, taking a seat on the other side of the Keeper, offering them the glass of water.

The Keeper nodded in thanks and accepted the glass, draining its contents in a few swallows. Sighing in relief, they passed the empty glass to Sebastian for him to set down on the bedside table.

"Yes, pain is a strange thing. It is at once a barrier of protection and a dividing wall. It separates people, making it hard for those who have suffered to connect with others unlike them. Yet it also brings people together, together in shared suffering." The Keeper smiled, taking a deep breath, and placing the jar on their lap.

They'd once thought their suffering had been worth it to meet Sebastian and Ominis. They were glad they still felt the same way.

"I won't let pain control me." The Keeper took Sebastian's hand in one and Ominis' in the other. "I will be its master and become stronger for it. I will use it to protect both of you."

"Excuse me, but who are you calling a damsel in distress?" Sebastian grinned broadly. "I'll have you know that it'll be me protecting the two of you."

"Great, I guess I'll let both of you do all the work then, best of luck." Ominis waved his free hand in a flippant gesture.

"Hey!" Sebastian protested, unable to hide his smile while the Keeper laughed, their heart lighter than it had ever been in their life.

This must be what happiness feels like.

Ominis took a moment to enjoy the pleasant sound of the Keeper's laughter, waiting for them to calm before tightening his grip on the Keeper's hand. "In all seriousness, however, we'll be holding you to your word."

The Keeper nodded resolutely. "I won't let either of you down."

With that, the Keeper released their hands and picked up the jar again. Twisting off the cover and drawing their wand, feeling the desperation surge once more. Their hand shook again, causing their wand to clack against the side of the jar loudly as they tried to stabilise their grip.

To their surprise, the Keeper felt Sebastian's hand over their own, supporting them as they drew out the energy and raised it before themselves.

They closed their eyes and allowed the sweet burning energy to flow into their body. Almost instantly, the Keeper felt the ever-present stress of the last two months ease. Their body still felt awful, aching from the accumulated stress, but their soul basked in relief and the tightly wound muscles under their skin loosened steadily.

It felt like being able to take a full breath of air after living on a mountaintop for days.

The urge to draw out another jar immediately began gnawing at them, but they quashed it, pushing down the itch with a vengeance.

Releasing a breath, the Keeper opened their eyes, and flicked their wand. "Lumos."

The Keeper grinned in triumph at the steady glow of light. It flickered slightly from time to time but was already far more stable than it had been when they'd last attempted the spell. No doubt their magical control would gradually return to its usual state as their body readjusted.

"How do you feel?" Sebastian asked, uncertain if he was unsettled by the red glow in the Keeper's eyes or if he was aroused by it instead.

"Better." The Keeper smiled reassuringly, relieved to feel more like their usual self again.

Ominis smiled, hearing strength return to the Keeper's voice, and he held out a hand. "Good. Now, give me the extra jars I know you collected."

The Keeper blinked twice, before huffing lightly and pulling out two jars from the satchel with a resigned chuckle. "No getting around you, I see."

"Two is one and one is none. Don't think I've forgotten what you said." Ominis gave a small smirk as the Keeper placed the jars in his hands.

"You're too sharp for your own good." The Keeper shook their head with a helpless smile. "I guess you'll be hiding them here somewhere."

"Actually, I'll be placing them, right here."

To the Keeper's surprise, Ominis leaned past them, groping for their satchel, to place the jars back into the Keeper's bag.

"Wait. What?" Sebastian's eyes were wide with confusion.

Ominis shrugged. "If you end up in a sticky situation, you might need the extra jars and we may not always be able to get back to Feldcroft to collect them."

The Keeper stared at him as Ominis continued. "Besides, I trust you. None of this works if we don't trust you. So, I choose to trust you. With everything."

It took a few seconds for the words to sink in, and the Keeper felt their tear ducts burn, they laughed quietly. "You are… unbelievable. Thank you, Ominis."

Sebastian felt his heart swell with affection, as the Keeper covered their face with a hand, their voice trembling on the last words.

Ominis really is amazing, being able to choose to trust, rather than just feeling it. Sebastian smiled, feeling proud of his lovers. He knew he wasn't the brightest when it came to feelings, so he was grateful to have two partners who could do what he couldn’t.

He would catch up to them.

One day.

The Keeper glanced around as they stepped into the Three Broomsticks, easily spotting the bullies hovering on the upper floor like the last time they'd met Natty's group here.

They had been mildly amused when they'd gone through the diaries yesterday at Feldcroft and found that the bullies thought that the Keeper’s poor magical performance last week might have been a trap. Explaining why they hadn't tried to duel the Keeper directly despite having seen their weakness.

The two idiots had congratulated themselves on their wit and intelligence when they came to that conclusion. It had been enough to make the Keeper laugh for an entire ten minutes. Just when they thought the bullies couldn't get any more daft.

To the idiots' credit however, they'd shown up in Feldcroft just an hour after the Keeper and their partners did. Having correctly guessed their location, preventing the Keeper from getting a report from Tynx during the visit, but that was fine since they'd managed to finish going through the diaries at least.

Seeing that the rest of the Natty group had gotten here first, the Keeper made their way over to the table with a small smile.

"There you are, how'd it go then?" Garreth greeted with a wide and excited grin.

"Smoothly enough, here." The Keeper placed the two journals on the table as they took a seat. "I changed the appearance of the covers with a charm, so the bullies won't be able to recognise them."

"Brilliant! Good thinking there." Garreth grinned excitedly as he picked up a diary and immediately began thumbing through it.

"How are you feeling?" Poppy asked as she eyed the Keeper’s eyebags with concern.

"Perfectly fine, you needn't worry, Poppy." The Keeper gave her a reassuring smile, they were certainly feeling better than they had all week, thanks to everyone's help.

It was curious. Even though the Keeper felt the most gratitude towards Sebastian and Ominis, they could also feel a small amount for this group. Without the unknowing cooperation of their friends, they wouldn't have been able to achieve this outcome so easily and painlessly.

"Did you guys manage to transform back without being seen?" The Keeper asked with a small frown. Honestly, they'd rather the bullies not realise that this group were helping them against the two of them.

After all, as the famous philosopher Machiavelli once said. 'No enterprise is more likely to succeed than one concealed from the enemy until it is ripe for execution.'

"Yeah, it was pretty funny watching Selwyn run around in confusion for an hour." Poppy giggled with a mischievous glint in her eyes and the Keeper snorted lightly, at least someone was having fun.

"What in Merlin's name is this!?" Amit exclaimed and the Keeper looked over to see him staring at an open diary.

The Keeper chuckled, they could guess what had garnered that reaction from the Ravenclaw. "Those bullies’ best attempt at English apparently."

Amit looked appalled. "Ugh, even Gobbledegook was easier to read."

"I've seen worse." Garreth shrugged as he flipped through his, somehow seemingly capable of understanding the garbled mess of squiggles on the pages. "Blast! There's missing pages in here!"

The Keeper's eyes widened as though they were surprised, inwardly however, they were relieved that they'd removed and burned any incriminating pages yesterday. They hadn't been expecting any of their friends to be able to read the bullies' handwriting, but they were nothing if not cautious and fortunately, that had paid off.

The Keeper frowned, leaning over Garreth's shoulder to peer at the torn strips of paper along the journal's spine. "Perhaps they hid any incriminating evidence elsewhere. They are Slytherins after all, I suppose there must be some level of cunning in their skulls."

"Where could they have hidden those pages though?" Natty frowned, her tone wrought with frustration and the Keeper felt the slightest pinch of guilt for their part in that.

Natty would be feeling a lot more of that frustration if the Keeper had their way. The last thing they needed was more attention on the bullies and by extension, themselves. While Natty was a friend, the Keeper didn't like her enough to risk themselves or what they were protecting for her.

"I'm not sure." The Keeper shook their head. "I suppose we could try searching, but I wouldn't know where to start."

Poppy sighed despondently. "After all that effort… I guess we'll have to try something else."

"Well, I'll still give these a read, there's still some excellent material in here that we can use to make things unpleasant for those bullies." Garreth grinned as he shoved the diary he was holding into his bag, before plucking the other out of Amit's hands.

"I suppose while Garreth is going through them, we'll just take turns escorting our friend around." Natty suggested and the Keeper had to withhold their grimace. Great.

Poppy nodded vehemently. "That's right, we can't let those bullies have another chance to hurt them."

Amit also nodded. "Agreed, we can meet up again next weekend and see if we can think of another plan."

With that settled, after finishing their butterbeers, the group gradually dispersed to run the errands they'd set aside for their operation yesterday and the meeting today. The Keeper sighed internally, while they were grateful for the effort, keeping up appearances for this whole thing was immensely tedious.

As Poppy disappeared through the door, leaving Natty alone with the Keeper, she hesitantly spoke up. "I noticed yesterday that Selwyn was following Gaunt."

"Was he?" The Keeper asked, feigning nonchalance.

Natty nodded, her eyes narrowing suspiciously. "He was, I don't suppose you'd know why."

The Keeper gave her a tight wry smile. "Do you really think I'm the only person they're bullying?"

Natty's eyes widened, and she flinched at the Keeper's suggestion. She hadn't considered that possibility at all and found herself deeply troubled by it. If Gaunt was also being bullied by Selwyn…

"If you want to believe that you're the only one who doesn't have the option of tattling to an authority figure, so be it."

Then she had essentially condemned a bully victim for not defending another bully victim. Natty felt guilt gnawing at her insides. Had she prematurely judged Gaunt and shamelessly victim-blamed him without realising?

Uncertainty welled within her chest.

Seeing that their words had disturbed Natty, the Keeper stood. They would let her come to her own conclusions. "I'll see you tomorrow, Natty."

With that, the Keeper left the pub, with the bullies trailing them out as always, leaving Natty to her thoughts.

Notes:

Hogwarts Legacy's story honestly has some of the most unexpectedly well-weaved layers of symbolism in a fictional story that I've seen since the 2018 movie, Annihilation. With the way they address Pain as a concept being so potent, elegant and most importantly of all, blunt and easy to understand with a thematic reading.

I do hope I've been doing it justice with this fic x'D I also feel like most "righteous-minded" assholes start out actually trying to do a good thing, but simply didn't realise that they need to consider that they might be wrong, while they were young enough to learn it, and thus also never learn to apologise when they're wrong.

As an opinionated person myself, I am constantly trying to learn as many perspectives as I can, to try my best to support an opinion that is comprehensive, rational, objective and understanding. There is no argument that I won't consider, and I don't discard any of them as invalid without justification.

Thus, I can say with confidence that Sebastian doesn't deserve to be sent to Azkaban. An objective overview of his story, the way it was told and supporting evidence point to the Developers wanting us to spare him.

The parallel with San Bakar killing Isidora and Player killing Rookwood. The fact that Solomon is literally the final boss of his story. The sheer amount of literary effort that went into showing his reasoning and circumstances.

The fact that Ominis literally says "I don't want to lose Sebastian, but I don't think we have a choice." and that the game will give you a chance to back out from the option of turning him in. The fact that Sebastian learns from his mistakes if you show him mercy, and in contrast, he gets worse if you turn him in.

All these point to the Devs trying to teach the players understanding and compassion. To look beyond the crime and instead to what caused the misguided actions of a naive, inexperienced and earnest child.

To support attempts to improve orphan care legislation, mental health care for both veterans like Solomon and traumatised kids like Sebastian, and of course education, to prevent tragedies like this from happening.

Sebastian is the way he is because he is full of love. Love messes with the head, even for adults. For a kid who watched his parents die at his feet and is watching his twin die slowly in agony, that love becomes twisted with pain and fear. No child can handle that without adult guidance. Any that do are the 1% that grow up to change the world together as activists.

For people who don't see this… honestly, I don't know how to help them.

[sanzos]

HI I'M BACK FOR MORE. is there a timeline of nel's story? when does she join the straw hats and where's she sent to during 3D2Y?? also how the heck does she travel on land! curious minds wish to know.

HI WELCOME BACK!!!!! there is in fact a timeline bc i like to daydream and also i like having those details ya know?

MEETING THE STRAW HATS

so! the straw hats first meet nel just before alabasta. aka they fish her out of the ocean a la bon-chan bc i think its funny if luffy fishes up two whole people at different times in the day like? guess the fish in this part of the grand line are shaped like people huh.... neat! nel isn't particularly pleased with any of this and is planning to immediately book it like "ha ha thanks for this bye" but then she gets dragged into the alabasta stuff bc bon-chan copies her face and is now under the impression she's a part of the straw hats! she would like to say: SHE'S NOT!!!!! PLS!!!! and considering she's currently (and has been) running from another animal themed weirdo and she doesn't want a second one on her ass she decides ok fine i'll stick around. get the lay of the land. she's 100% planning to throw them to the wolves if she thinks they'll lose. unfortunately she got bit by the friendship bug :/ damn girl sucks to be you so she sticks around for alabasta, kicks some weird birthday clown's ass, and forgets for a moment what she's running from. the usual Thing that happens with the straw hats. but watch out! the other animal themed weirdo kidnaps her off the merry after alabasta. robin manages to nick an eternal pose from one of the goons though and the straw hats go off to rescue their grumpy friend!

3D2Y

alright im prefacing this by saying: idk how observatories work... or astronomy really (research will be the death of me) so like rly suspend some disbelief here! but also its one piece so nel gets sent to a world government funded astronomy tower in the calm belt called vega tower! its the tallest man made structure in the world (like... red line levels of tall) and no one rly knows... how it was built? did giants do it? something else? whatever it was before its an astronomy tower now and has a whole thriving population and culture within it. its an astronomers dream to be able to study there, but once u do its almost impossible to leave. its basically like selling ur soul to the wg. top secret shit yada yada. as such most of the scientist in the tower have a bad relationship with the wg. they're rly only there for the science of it all tbh the head astronomer/astrophysicist is a man called folio! he's a trans man and was born on amazon lily but left to pursue his dream of the STARS!!!! he's extremely logical, to the point where it comes off as wildly eccentric, and when he heard nel's dream of going to the moon he was wildly inspired and agreed to take her on as a protege.

as for traveling on land, nel has been able to split her tail for as long as she can remember? this was one of the factors that led to her childhood isolation and her eventual interest / obsession in the stars and the moon! since those were always there for her :)

she actually doesn't travel on land often! staying within the ocean is safer (since her pursuer cant reach her there). the smart thing to do would be to stay underwater forever but she cant fight the pull of the night sky and always ends up surfacing in the end.

[weasleylangs]

secrets i have held in my heart - f.w

Pairing: Fred x Fem!Reader Summary: Everyone in the twins’ lives mix them up once in a while, except for Y/N. Fred is dying to know how.  Warnings: Some angst with a happy ending, yes I wrote oblivious Fred again with miscommunication issues, what about it, some swearing, brief mention of the war but obviously this is a FredLives!AU :D, mentions of sex but nothing descriptive it’s like one line, - everyone is 18+ by the way!  Word Count: 4k

A/N: For the anon who requested super secret mutual pining with some angst where the reader is the only person who can tell the twins apart! Thank you so much for requesting. This has also been cross-posted on AO3 (frederickweasleys) as per the anon’s request! 

Also, I didn’t want to write about a 17 and 15 year old pining after each other, so I made everyone older and it’s postwar, however I was like 2000 words into the fic when I remembered George got his mf ear blasted off in DH so…. U do not see that it’s not canon in this fic thank you

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The sun is blaring down on The Burrow and everyone is starting to wonder the likelihood of getting heatstroke. They’re in the south-west of England and the weather doesn’t usually get above the early 20s in the middle of August, however, mother nature has decided to wreak havoc and today is almost 30°. 

Y/N is looking at the pages in her book but she’s not processing anything on the pages. She’s so appreciative of the relaxing life she and all her loved ones finally have. The war ended last year, and while Y/N isn’t family, Molly and Arthur are always insistent she’s welcomed at The Burrow for their Sunday roast dinners. 

So she sits under a tree, the muggle fantasy novel in hand as Molly is busy prepping dinner and her friends all play quidditch. Hermione’s been refereeing them despite having no actual knowledge of the rules, and right now, she’s waving Harry’s copy of ‘Quidditch Through The Ages’ at one of the twins trying to prove a point, fully aware she’s going to get nowhere with him. He’s laughing at her and he raises the hand holding the beater’s bat as he threatens to (softly) hit her with it when he looks over her shoulder and spots his favourite girl perched under the tree with his mum’s homemade lemonade. 

Before Y/N knows it, the bat’s been thrown in her direction, barely missing her and hitting the tree behind her, and when she looks up, she immediately recognises the twin as Fred. Fred and Y/N are almost two sides of the same coin and their friendship has always been considered unlikely. Fred loves mischief and pranks and he’s extremely exuberant where Y/N is a ‘stickler for the rules’ (Fred’s words, not hers) and she’d much rather spend her day reading than playing quidditch. But their friendship blossomed and eventually for Y/N her feelings evolved into more. 

But Y/N is one of Ron’s best friends, and having a crush on her best friend’s older brother is weird, even if they are 19 and 21. 

“Hi Freddie,” she says, dog-earing the page and closing her novel, accepting now that Fred’s in her presence, the book isn't getting read again until tonight, “no more quidditch?” 

The ginger gives her a shit-eating grin and completely ignores her question, “Darling, I’m George.” 

Y/N squints at him for a brief moment, second-guessing herself but the longer she looks at him the more she’s sure it’s Fred, not George in front of her. “No, you’re Fred. I’ve known you for how long? Just accept I can tell you apart.” 

Fred mutters a ‘fuck’ under his breath as he sits down. He’s always loved that Y/N is the only person who can tell them apart, his own family struggling sometimes and especially when they’re apart. But no matter what, she somehow gets it right every single time and he’s dying to know how.

“You’re never going to tell me how you do it, are you?” He questions and she replies how she always does when he asks, blaming it on intuition and that she doesn’t know how she does it. As always, he doesn’t believe her. Y/N secretly does have a way of easily telling the twins apart, not rooted in intuition in the slightest but she doesn’t want to tell him. 

The truth is, the way her heart races when Fred looks or speaks to her is her way of telling them apart. Fred always has a mischievous glint in his brown eyes and the way he looks at Y/N makes her feel like she’s the only girl in the world. George is sweet, loving and exceptionally kind- he was there as a source of comfort and calmness for Y/N when the trio disappeared during their 7th year to hunt Horcruxes, when she and her family went into hiding. She loves George like she would love a brother, like how she loves Ron and Harry, but the love Y/N has for Fred is different and the catalyst for her ability to tell them apart.

“I’m going to get you one day. One day George and I will swap and you’ll get it wrong and as a reward for finally tricking the oh so wonderful Miss Y/N Y/L/N, you’ll tell me how you tell us apart.” 

-

It’s not even an hour later when Fred and George come down wearing each other’s clothing. Y/N’s well aware Fred prefers to wear warm and bright colours while George likes to wear the dark colours in their coordinated clothing, so seeing Fred walk down the stairs in George’s purple shirt and vice versa is funny, despite the fact they’re identical twins, Y/N thinks they look ridiculous and unfamiliar.

“George put the purple back on. You look weird in orange,” she says, as she goes back to help Molly with the vegetables for dinner and soon after she speaks, she hears someone angrily kick the table. She looks up from her potatoes she’s been peeling to see an entertained George and Fred who looks like he’s going to throw a child-size tantrum. 

“How!” He exclaims again, pulling the shirt up over his head, shoving it in George’s hands and stomping back upstairs to change. Y/N is about to follow him, genuine concern for Fred in tow. She knows he’s most likely just being dramatic to cause a ruckus but there’s a small part of her that considers he might be serious. 

“He’s fine, Y/N,” George states, changing his shirts and throwing Fred’s orange one over the back of the chair as he sits down, “I think he’s trying to rile you up into telling him how you do it.” 

She laughs at this, knowing that while she might not have told him, the look in George’s eye hints that he’s picked up on her feelings for his twin brother. But before she can say anything, Ron comes bounding down the stairs and right into the kitchen, Harry in tow. They’re both looking for food and when Ron’s hand makes his way towards the ham, Y/N smacks him.

“Don’t spoil your dinner,” she scolds which causes Harry to laugh. 

“But, mum,” Ron mockingly replies, “All the quidditch got me hungry!” He might be 19 but he’s sulking like a 10-year-old boy and Y/N thinks temper tantrums might run in the Weasley family. 

When Molly isn’t looking, however, Y/N sneaks him a piece of ham and Ron jumps up quickly, smacking a kiss to her cheek, “You’re the best!” he whispers as he quickly shoves the piece of ham in his mouth to not be caught by his mother. 

Soon enough, everyone’s crammed into the small kitchen and Molly waves them all out except Y/N, who she insists stays. She thinks it’s because she was already helping with the vegetables but when she’s about to ask for her next task, Molly has a rare mischievous glint in her eye.

“How do you tell my sons apart?” She enquires and Y/N groans. She hasn’t been asked how she tells the twins apart this often since she was at Hogwarts and before she can speak, Molly continues, “it’s just no one can besides us, and even then, sometimes I catch myself calling George, Fred sometimes.” 

Y/N sighs. She loves Molly like her own mother, but she loves to meddle like every mother. 

“I just know, I wish I had some excuse like a mother’s instinct, but I just know,” Y/N pauses and thinks how to word her next statement without spilling too much for potential eavesdroppers and Extendable Ears to hear, “They have different energies. I think I pick up on it easily.” 

Y/N hopes that’s enough for Molly to drop the conversation at hand and while Molly hums in agreement, she reads between the lines. She’s known for a while that Y/N carries a flame for the oldest twin, after all the way Y/N looks at Fred is the same way she looks at Arthur, so she’s hoping for the day they both stop dancing around their feelings. 

She already loves Y/N like a daughter, and she’d like it to be official one day. 

-

After dinner, the girls are all holed up in Ginny’s room. She loves staying at The Burrow. Y/N never grew up with sisters and her friendship with Hermione and Ginny are the closest she gets to them. They usually gossip, who’s dating who, who’s already getting married, sometimes it gets juicy and someone’s pregnant. 

When Ginny and Harry, and Hermione and Ron finally got together, they gushed for hours about how it finally happened and how excited they all were.

Tonight, unfortunately, the topic at hand is Y/N and Fred.

“When are you going to tell him?” Ginny enquires as she smooths out her face mask. Hermione’s braiding Y/N’s hair and when she doesn’t reply, Hermione grasps some hair and gives a hard tug. Y/N yelps and while Hermione mutters an apology, she doesn’t miss the wink she gives Ginny in the mirror.

“Tell Fred what exactly?” 

“About your feelings for him,” Ginny replies like it’s the most obvious thing in the world that everyone should have known. Y/N starts to stutter, trying to find words to deny her feelings but these are her two best girl friends, her sisters and she can’t lie to them no matter how much she wants to. 

“Okay fine, they exist but he’s never knowing,” she states, a matter of factly as if it’s something to be proud of, “and he’s never finding out. I’m looking at you, Ginevra.” Ginny inherited her love to meddle from her mother, and if Y/N is positive about anything it’s that Ginny is going to meddle to get her best friend and brother together. 

“I’m pretty sure he likes you back,” Hermione says. She prides herself on being observant but even she didn’t notice Ron’s feelings for her until he quite literally put his lips on hers. 

“I’m just his little siblings’ best friend, Hermione, I doubt it,” she says as she grabs the tiny elastics to secure her hair. “Besides, I think he has a thing with one of the girls from his year at school.”

“You’re choosing now of all days to get the wrong twin? George is dating Angelina. Fred hasn’t even been seen with a girl since he slept with one of Fleur’s cousins at the wedding.” Ginny says and something about this makes Y/N blush, almost happy that Fred’s been single for as long as she has, but the jealousy is in the back of her mind.

“... Shut up,” Y/N laughs as she grabs the nearest pillow and smacks Ginny over the head with it. This causes chaos in Ginny’s tiny bedroom and soon enough all three girls are defending themselves with pillows and jumping around the bedroom.

What none of the girls knew, however, was Fred standing outside of the bedroom, eavesdropping. He’s always been curious about what the girls talk about when the boys aren’t around and Fred reckons if he doesn’t have to hear about his little siblings’ sex life, it doesn’t hurt anybody. 

Except it does, and he hurts himself. He arrived just in time for Ginny to question why Y/N doesn’t admit her feelings to someone. At first, Fred was hopeful, especially when the conversation steers in the direction of her liking one of the twins. After all, Bill’s married, Percy’s… Well, he’s Percy and Charlie isn’t in England enough for him to believe Y/N was able to develop feelings for him. 

So that leaves himself and George from context clues. He’s always had a crush on her ever since they were in school, but he was always worried about coming off as creepy, pining after someone two years below him. 

But then Y/N says ‘I think he has a thing with one of the girls from his year at school’ and he walks off before he even hears the rest of the conversation, hearing the apparent confirmation of Y/N’s feelings for George. 

-

The summer is still sweltering hot when she decides to visit Diagon Alley three days later. She’s shopping for her nephew when she ends up in Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. Fred was unusually quiet when she said goodbye to him on Monday morning before she floo’d away to her job at the Ministry and she’s hoping to catch him at the shop during quiet hour. 

When she walks in, she’s met with a bell ringing and the voice that calls out ‘Hi, how are you today!’ doesn’t make her heart race so she immediately knows she’s caught the wrong twin at the counter.

“Hey, Georgie!” She makes her way over to the counter. It’s a Wednesday morning, so the shop has a lull in customers and he’s doing what Y/N assumes is a stock take of whizbangs. He gives her a nice smile as she potters her way over to him. She stops in front of the love potions, smelling the familiar scent of cinnamon, fireworks and something that can only be described as happiness in the small bottles. She’s so entranced for a moment that she doesn’t even notice George make his way up next to her.

“You don’t need one of these, by the way,” He whispers as he winks, looking behind him and seeing Fred standing on top of the spiral staircase not looking the happiest. 

“You’re the second person to tell me that this week,” she mutters, quickly putting the love potion vial down, “I don’t know what any of you mean.”

George chuckles at her obliviousness. It’s been obvious since they were teenagers about the feelings both Fred and Y/N harbour for each other but he can’t help but admit it’s just the tiniest bit funny. Like it’s a joke they’re all in on except the oblivious couple themselves.

“It’s because we’re more observant than you, darling,” George says, absent-mindedly fixing the display so it looks presentable. Y/N’s about to question him when someone clears their throat behind them- an elderly gentleman shopping for some grandkids when George excuses himself with the promise ‘this isn’t over’. 

Fred watched the interaction from the staircase and while he didn’t hear anything, he feels like he’s gotten punched in the stomach. He knows he’s never directly told George about his feelings for Y/N, and George is dating Angelina anyway and he’d never betray her, but he can’t ignore the slight feeling of upset he feels when he sees them interact.

-

“I think Y/N likes you,” Fred says nonchalantly and George almost chokes on his tea. It takes him a moment to fix his breathing before he looks at Fred like he’s got three heads.

“No, she doesn’t?” George questions, like it’s the most obvious thing in the entire world and that upsets Fred slightly. He’s not upset at George, he never has and he never will be upset with George, but it seems like his comment was brushed off without any deeper consideration.

“No, I think she does,” Fred says, twiddling his quill between his fingers as he stares at the tax invoice in front of him. Wednesday night is budget night and Fred knows he’s not going to get any work done if his mind is stuck on Y/N and her feelings for George.

“No, mate, she doesn’t,” George huffs and Fred notices the eye roll George gives him. George only ever gives him eye rolls when he’s being oblivious. Like when Fred spent 20 minutes looking for his wand last week only to find it in his pocket.

Fred’s convinced George is just being oblivious, blinded by his new relationship with Angelina that he hasn’t noticed Y/N’s feelings for him. “Do you wonder how she can tell us apart?” 

George huffs in annoyance as a reply and Fred pouts as he attempts to go back to his taxes. He’s reread the same line three times when George finally speaks.

“I think it’s got something to do with her feelings for us. She feels differently about one twin.” George is intentionally being coy, hoping to Godric that Fred caught the pointed stare and the emphasis but Fred wasn’t looking and the longer he dwells on what George has said the more he’s convinced he doesn’t have a chance with Y/N at all.

- 

It’s the weekly Sunday roast again and Fred isn’t expecting to floo into The Burrow and be met almost face to face with Y/N. He’s planned on ignoring her today, purposely volunteering to do any work needed at the shop while George floo’s to The Burrow early in the afternoon. 

It teeters on 5 pm when Fred finally arrives and he’s quickly engulfed in a hug by his mother with his father behind him telling him to stop working on Sundays as ‘Sundays are for family’. With a kiss to his mum’s forehead and a promise to his dad that he’ll force George into doing the Sunday work next week, who throws a piece of stale bread at Fred’s head while exclaiming ‘you offered!’ he quickly makes his way away from Y/N.

Molly’s quick to serve up dinner now Fred’s here, complaining he’s starving already. He quickly steals the seat next to Ron and pulls George down next to him- not wanting to allow Y/N to sit either side of him. Usually, she sits between Ron and Fred and when she turns the corner and the only available seat is the furthest from Fred, her heat sinks a little.

Dinner is pleasant, it always is at The Burrow. Hermione and Y/N talk about the ministry while Ginny tells stories of her Holyhead Harpies tryouts she had during the week. Y/N might let slip she works with the coach’s sister-in-law and overheard some high praise for a certain Miss. Weasley and Ginny’s eyes fill with tears when she hears this. 

There’s a quick lull in conversation as Molly waves her wand and the now empty plates make their way into the kitchen, children following behind them ready to help wash up but Fred makes his way outside. He likes to watch the sunset, the sun slowly dipping behind the hills where he learnt how to play quidditch as a kid as the sun becomes shades of orange. 

He’s sitting under the tree when Y/N follows him out. She’s shouting his name trying to find him. He slipped out without anyone noticing and that’s unusual for Fred so something is wrong. When she spots him, she starts jogging over and she can’t tell if he’s ignoring her or can’t hear her calling his name, so she tries something.

“George?” 

Fred turns, a smirk subconsciously forming on his lips and Y/N finally feels seen by him in a week. “It took me calling you your brother’s name to get your attention?” She asks, kicking sticks out of the way before she takes a seat next to him. 

“No, love. Just shocked you finally got us mixed up,” he replies, shoving her a little with his elbow. He knows she only did it to get his attention, but he’s Fred Weasley and he’s going to use this to his advantage. “I believe I told you when you get us mixed up, you’re legally required to tell me how you do it. I’m all ears.” He wiggles his eyebrows but deep down, he’s scared George’s assumption is right.

She rolls her eyes, but the love she has for this boy in her heart can’t be kept a secret anymore. This week she’s felt like he’s been ignoring her and while she and Fred are no means ‘best friends’, not like she is with the others, she’s felt a little piece of her universe missing knowing he’s been upset.

“You and George, I… I feel different about you to how I feel about George,” she starts and Fred’s breath hitches. He doesn’t know if he’s going to storm off or throw up so he just sits and stares at a rock. “George makes me feel comfortable. He’s always willing to talk to me about anything, feeds into the fact I can speak for hours on end about any topic if you let me,” she laughs and her nervousness is in her throat. She notices Fred isn’t looking at her and it’s making her want to run away.

“But you, you feel like home, Freddie. The way my heart races when I hear you speak or when you look at me. It’s the biggest indicator of how I tell you guys apart. George and you may be identical but the way you both make me feel is so different.” She’s whispering now and she’s realised Fred is looking at her so intently that the Earth might open up and swallow her whole. 

“Like, home?” 

She smiles softly and takes his big hand that’s been messing with rocks into her small ones. “Like I can tell you anything and you’ll never judge me. I could be having the worst day of my life and one joke from you can make me smile even if I’ve been crying for hours.” Her thumb starts to rub along the top of his hand and the way he shivers doesn’t miss her. 

“I’m trying to say, in a round-about kind of way, that I’m in love with you, Freddie,” her voice is shaky but there’s no backing out now. “I’m in love with you and this past week where it’s felt like you’re mad at me has me so confused because I don’t know what I did.” 

Fred feels incredibly guilty now, he was so caught up in his own feelings that he didn’t stop to think how his actions would affect Y/N. “I thought you liked George,” he whispers, and he feels his cheeks heat up in embarrassment. “I thought you liked George and not me and I didn’t want to be near you knowing that.” 

She giggles and drops his hands to run her fingers through his hair. It’s still short but she thinks she can convince him to grow it out again. “Me? George? Not even for a second.” 

“Why not?” The joking in Fred’s voice is there but so is the genuine curiosity. 

“I don’t know. It’s just always been you, ever since I was 11 and you were bullying Ron into performing a spell to turn Scabbers yellow.” She laughs at the memory, watching scrawny Fred bully his small brother on the train platform. 

Fred looks down at her, her hands now playing at the hair at the back of his neck and he feels goosebumps rise across his skin. He wants nothing more to lean down and press a kiss to her lips and when he realises he never actually admitted his feelings to Y/N back, he starts to lean down, hoping to convey everything he feels for her through a kiss.

She’s quick to catch on and she leans up so quickly they almost bump noses. It’s messy, like most first kisses are, especially in an awkward sitting down position but the love they have for each other is there and obvious. They pull away when they’re barely kissing anymore, just smiling and laughing into each other’s mouths. 

“Does this mean we’re dating now?” Fred asks. It’s a dumb question, they both know it but when Y/N pretends to think he stands up and hauls her over his shoulders and starts swinging her around. The giggles that erupt from her make Fred’s heart swell and he’s about to put her down just to get down on one knee himself and propose right then and there.

“Yes, Freddie, if you want me to be your girlfriend then I’m yours.” Y/N replies and Fred smiles, he loves that. Not Y/N being his, he could never believe she’s an object, but she loves him and he loves her and now he understands why George was rolling his eyes at him.

“As long as you don’t get George and I mixed up in bed, I’m all yours.” He says it jokingly, but the smack he receives from Y/N is no joke and when he starts swinging her around again, he’ll forever make dumb jokes like this if he gets to hear her laugh like that for the rest of his days.

[1kook]

espn & bdsm

this is part 6 of my netflix & chill collection !

summary; You would like to personally thank every loud-mouthed, ESPN commentator out there for saving you from Jungkook’s dangerous seduction skills.  warnings; smut (18+) in the forms of brief femdom, handcuffs, nipple clamps, blindfolding, flogging/use of a riding crop, soft dom kook, cunnilingus, spitting, unprotected but passionate, degradation, as always it starts horny n then turns into I love u kink miscellaneous; kook has a swollen ankle so idk how he did all this, jk abuses the fuck outta pet names part 7, revenge gone wrong tbh, this was honestly a beginner’s intro to vanilla bdsm word count; 12.7k

notes; this is like… a healing fic… for the part before lol. also i did not know what was going to happen next as I was writing. anyway entire smut scene was based off THIS bad boy ur welcome fellas and the Jungkook described here is from in the soop episode 2... cutie... yes every single 1 of those words is a link

lmk what you think! a simple ask goes a long way <3

You're at the nail salon with Doyeon when she first mentions it.

“Have you ever, like,” she pauses, making a vague, swivel gesture with her head. You furrow your brows and she sighs. “Topped him. Have you ever been the one to take control?”

Your nail artist blushes, furiously filing away at your nails until the most perfect stiletto shape stares you back in the face. “Oh. Not really,” you admit, wiggling your wet toe nails around in the styrofoam flip flops issued by the salon. “I mean, sometimes I talk him through it.”

Doyeon snorts. “Babe, talking him through it and being the boss are two completely different things,” she says rather dryly, seemingly unbothered by the fact your two nail techs are being subjected to this more than intimate conversation. But you’ve had weirder talks with Doyeon in public; this doesn’t phase you. “Listen,” she says suddenly, dropping her voice down to a whisper that has you leaning closer to hear her. “You know how I’m a member of that site, right?”

You nod. “Oh yeah— Sexuality Unleashed: The Best Toys Worldwide!, right?” She kicks your shin, but the jab is muted by the bottom of her own styrofoam flip flop.

“Yeah, just tell everyone here my credit card number while you’re at it,” she hisses. Her anger fades soon enough. “Well, they’re always sending me all sorts of freebies for my devoted patronage,” she explains. She quirks her lips to the side, throwing one brief glance at the blushing nail artists in front of you. Eventually she seems to come to a conclusion. “Long story short they sent me some cuffs and I’m gonna give you them.”

Your jaw drops. “Woah, really? I don’t know… Don’t those usually run kinda pricey?” you ask tentatively. You’re trying to play it off, act like this isn’t something you want, but the reality is so much worse.

The minute the word cuffs had slipped through her lips it’s like a door opened before your eyes. A big, wooden door with chains strapped across it and a padlock you swore you’d never open.

Somewhere in your mind, you had always convinced yourself handcuffs in bed was something you’d like to have done to you. But, because she was your best friend and by extension a personified version of all your freakiest, often filtered, thoughts, it was like Doyeon had reached straight into your cranium and extracted your most secret fantasy— and that was Jungkook in handcuffs.

Your nail artist pats your hand, motioning you to head over to the drying station. Before you can be separated from Doyeon, you whip around to throw her one desperate look. “I have never wanted anything so bad in my life.”

She cackles loudly, easily garnering the attention of every employee and nail enthusiast in the salon with the evil witch vibes she exudes.

Truth be told, your argument with Jungkook had brought upon a newfound appreciation for him. Weird to say, considering you had wanted to kill the dude when it had originally happened. But the great thing about you and Jungkook was that you were flexible people— both in bed and out. A few long conversations later and you had reached the root of the problem.

And that root was your apparent lack of communicating when something was wrong. It was weird to think that anything could ever be wrong when Jungkook was involved. He was your honeybun, sugar plum, pumpy-umpy-umpkin. Your sweetie pie, for lack of better wording, and he could do no wrong—

—is what you’d like to say. But if there’s anything you’ve learned in the past year of dating Jungkook, it’s that perfection was a made up belief that revolved around the idea that someone’s flaws couldn’t possibly be a good thing. And as you’ve come to realize, Jungkook wasn’t the perfect gentleman you’d initially chalked him up to be. He was human, just like you, with his own list of worries and thoughts, and sometimes those thoughts manifested into flaws. They could be ugly or they could be beautiful, but at the end of the day, they all made Jungkook into the person he was— and you loved that person. Disgustingly so.

You had your moments, and he had his. Everything would not always be sunshine and rainbows for the two of you, but it was fine so long as you learned to play in the rain and stomp in the puddles.

Still.

You were you.

A slightly mean, slightly conniving, petty ass human who had been plotting his revenge since the day the two of you made up. I mean, you weren’t actually just going to let him get off the hook like that, were you? He had saved himself last time with a gooey, heartfelt apology and confession, followed by some extraordinary dicking down that had left you Naked and Afraid for three days after.

But you weren’t that easy! No, ma’am. You had to let him know that some gorgeous demon dick was not enough to satisfy you after a fight like that.

Jungkook was in for a desperately needed reality check, one that jingles in your purse when you step out of the Uber that drops you off at his place. You know he’s home because his front light is on, and also because he’d texted you that he was watching some soccer match on tv tonight. He’s a pretty big fan, especially of the club playing tonight, so you decide it’s a perfect night to strike.

Your copy of his key slips right into the keyhole. Your slippers are in the same place they always are, neatly set off to the side right by the stairs. He’s not in his living room, undoubtedly the most perfect place to watch any type of sporting event with that huge Jumbotron of his. The damn thing made it feel like you were in the stadium itself.

There’s a quiet hum coming from upstairs. You creep up the steps, carefully rounding the corner at the landing until you’re staring right into his dimly lit bedroom.

The way Jungkook’s got his bedroom set up is so that you can look directly at his door from the bed, terribly inconvenient for when that sleep paralysis demon hits in the middle of the night and you’re left staring into the dark hallway. He’s snuggled comfortably over his sheets, about three pillows supporting his back. The light of the tinier, more acceptable television he keeps in his room is dancing across his features in bright shades of green. You almost throw yourself onto his mattress like a starfish until you spot the carefully placed foot on the bed.

“What the hell did you do?” you blurt. A wrong move, considering he hadn’t seen you yet and your sudden appearance makes him jump nearly ten feet into the air, almost knocking down the bag of ice that sits on his ankle. “Oh my god, it was that damned Pilates class, wasn’t it?” you fret, rounding the bed until you’re on his side.

“Oh hey,” he says as if you’re not currently pulling the first eight seasons of Grey’s Anatomy to the forefront of your head to treat him. “When’d you get here?”

“Cut the crap, who did this to you?” you ask, sitting beside him with the utmost care. You drop your bag off to the side, the loud clatter of the inside contents vaguely registering in your head. The ice pack comes off easily, revealing a relatively okay looking ankle save for the slight swell towards the more medial aspect of it.

Jungkook takes the moment to sit up, joining you in your inspection of his injury. “No one,” he answers, using his new position to drop a kiss against the side of your head. “I fell off the ladder helping Mrs. Jung across the street.”

You choke. “You fell off a ladder?” you squawk, eyes wide as your gaze shifts from his ankle to his entire body.

He places a hand on your shoulder, “babe, I was on like the third step. It was one of those old wooden ones,” he explains with a nonchalant shrug. “The step just happened to snap on my way down.”

You scoff. “That old lady is out to get you,” you warn him. “Remember the time she almost had you plug in those burnt out Christmas lights for her? The ones that would have electrocuted you to death.”

Jungkook laughs, settling back into his stack of pillows. “In her defense, she’s old,” he offers. He’s wrapped up in a black hoodie, fluffy bangs parted down the middle. He’s got on some blue shorts, a huge difference from his usual dark-toned clothing. He looks so good and warm, and you’re suddenly hit with the fact you can’t possibly handcuff this poor, injured angel to his bedpost and ride his cock into the sunset. “You didn’t tell me you were coming over.”

You deflate, wild fantasies thrown out the window. “Yeah, well,” you sigh, ditching your pants and climbing over him until you’re snuggled into his side. “Wanted to show you my nails.”

It’s a lame excuse. But he buys it, so.

“They’re cute,” he says, taking your hand in his. He turns your hand over, inspects your pretty new acrylics like he actually has any idea how much they cost or how sexy they look. He raises your hand to his face, pressing a smooch against your knuckles that has you heart thumping embarrassingly loud in your chest. God, you hated this fool.

You turn your nose up at him, like you’re some snooty rich girl who couldn’t give him the time of day. Except it’s not like that, and Jungkook knows.

“What’re you watching?” you ask instead.

He’s got that stupid dopey smile on you, the one that takes one nudge against his side to snap him out of. “Ah, just the game.”

You squint at the screen. “Is this Fox Sports?” you ask in disgust.

He pinches your side. “This is ESPN,” he corrects. “And you don’t know shit about sports channels,” he points out. “So sit this one out.” You give in with a huff, cuddling closer into his side while trying to jostle him as little as possible. Jungkook seems to have no deeply rooted concerns about his injured ankle if the way he hauls you into his arms is any indicator. “How did nails with Doyeon go?”

“You know, the usual,” you respond, idly toying with one of the strings on his hoodie as your eyes focus on the little figures running across the screen. He hums, gesturing for you to elaborate. “Talked about sex, how much better than you at life she is, some more sex.”

He scoffs at that. “Doyeon is not better than me, and I have a whole trophy case to prove it.”

“Okay, but have you singlehandedly Twitter beefed with an entire sorority in your freshman year of university and won?”

He frowns. “No.”

You give him a look, one that says stand down now unless you want to lose to my best friend and get your feelings hurt. Jungkook understands. “Anyway,” he announces, turning his attention back to the screen with you. You think his team might be winning—you vaguely remember seeing him wear a similar jersey once—so he’s pretty relaxed for now. “They’re doing pretty good considering they just lost their main striker.”

You have no idea what that means. “Who? Messi?”

Jungkook knows you don’t know. “He doesn’t even play in this league,” he explains anyway.

“Oh, I saw him trending on Twitter last week. Thought he died or something. Whole time it was just a bunch of soccer nerds crying about him leaving his team.”

He laughs. “You should be a sportscaster,” Jungkook decides after your ever-so-eloquent recap, tucking his head cutely against your shoulder. There was a study once that claimed the incessant need to squeeze a baby’s cheeks or hug puppies tightly was actually the innate human response to kill something they felt threatened by. Oddly enough, you find yourself thinking of that as Jungkook’s citrusy shampoo floods your nostrils.

“Oh, speaking of Doyeon,” he says suddenly. “Did you give her my address? I got a weird package from that store she likes that I genuinely don’t remember ever ordering.” You frown, sitting up slightly until you can look at the side of his face, the cute mole on his cheek calling your name.

“What?” you ask. “Was it in her name?” Jungkook nods. You’re about to tear the roof off his house and go hunt that evil wench down when realization dawns on you. “Oh, no, yeah I gave her your address. My mom stayed over last weekend and Doyeon needed to order something nasty. Guess it got delayed until now.”

Jungkook nods and then doesn’t say much else, which is weird considering the circumstances. You expected him to gently scold you for carelessly giving the psycho that was Kim Doyeon his address, but she’s been here a few times to pick you up, even came over for beer night once. She probably knew it anyway, but you still expected some type of reaction of disapproval from him.

Something’s off, and you know better than to leave it at that. You poke his cheek, right where that mole you’d been eyeing was. “Did you open her package?” you ask, grin slowly consuming your features at the fact Jungkook was apparently a mail snooper.

He looks away. You laugh. “Oh my god, you did,” you cackle, sitting up beside him to get a good look at the blush growing on his cheeks. “What did you see?”

“Nothing,” he huffs, pretending to be overly invested in his soccer match again, but that ship died the moment you stepped into his room. “Babe, I can't see the match.”

You roll your eyes, purposefully shifting in front of him so he’s forced to look at the maniac look in your eyes. “What did you see, Jeon Jungkook, and are we going to steal it from her again?”

His cheeks bloom impossibly darker at that. “No!” he coughs, pointedly avoiding your gaze.

But your curiosity is at its peak now, his reactions only exacerbating it. You grab him by the shoulders, hands balling the material of his hoodie as you give him one firm shake. “What did you see,” you demand.

“Oh my god,” he gives in. You release him and he flops back onto his pillow mountain. “They were things,” he explains slowly, cheeks rosy. “For your, y’know,” a vague gesture over his chest.

You frown. “A bra?” you guess. “I’m not gonna lie, Kook, think I just lost a little respect for you.”

“No!” he huffs. “They were… little clamps. For your nipples.”

If this was a cartoon, you’re almost certain you’d be that character with the object in question in their eyes, heart fluttering in your chest at the words that leave his mouth.

Immediately, two things become obvious to you.

One, Kim Doyeon was a bigger freak than you’d expected who obviously dabbled in an assortment of trades. Clamps, your brain screams, overwhelmed with the image that appears in your head, the one that has a shiver running straight to your core. You would have to thank her for this gracious, unintentional gift she’s bestowed upon you.

Two, you’re gonna have to write her the best, most plausible apology letter tomorrow when you inform her those clamps have been lost in the mail, never to be seen again. Or you could just straight up tell her you snatched them up the moment you found out what they were, but you doubt that’ll go over well.

Jungkook groans. “You have that look in your eye,” he points out. You snap your attention back to him. “And I just wanna say in advance that I don’t think i can give you the fun night you deserve, baby,” he apologizes, motioning towards his still swollen ankle.

Something distinctly mean switches on inside of you.

You flash him a sweet smile that has him letting down his guard. You lean forward, pressing a soft peck to his cheek as you climb down the bed towards your forgotten purse that’d been resting on the floor until that point. “Who said I needed you to have fun?” you throw over your shoulder, carefully slipping Doyeon’s first gift close to your body so he won’t see.

Jungkook levels you with an unimpressed look. “Really,” he says dryly, “you think you can have fun without me?” He almost sounds cocky, as if the idea of you even enjoying yourself the teensiest bit without his help seems unfathomable.

You grin, padding over to his bedside, where you carefully pick up his hand. You mirror his actions from before, pressing a sweet kiss against his knuckles that makes that conceited look slip off his features for a second, eyes soft.

Click.

Jungkook frowns. “What the—“ before the sentence can leave his mouth you’re lunging forward, wrestling his hands above his head, until they’re both secured at his headboard by the soft cuffs Doyeon had given you that afternoon at the salon. Jungkook’s wide eyes stare back at you, briefly leaving to glance up at the silver chain that wraps behind one of the rungs of his headboard. “Babe,” he says slowly. “What the fuck.”

You beam at him, leaning down to snatch a pillow from beneath him so he’s better positioned, leaning back more. “So cute,” you gush, taking in the way his raised arms have the hem of his hoodie lifting at the waist. There’s a faint trail of hairs around his belly button that disappear beneath the elastic of his shorts. “Do you like them?”

Jungkook blinks. “Baby,” he says a second time, much slower and a little too calm for your liking. It almost gets swallowed by the roar of the fans on TV. “What is this?”

You ignore him, scampering around his room until you find the hot pink Sexuality Unleashed packaging peeking out from beneath his bed. Sure enough, it’s in Doyeon’s name but his address. A whole complicated mess just for some nipple clamps she’ll never see again. It’s what’s inside anyway, not that you thought Jungkook was lying, but there’s something about the actual, carefully wrapped packaging that makes your heart and pussy flutter.

“Oh! Aren’t these the prettiest things?” you exclaim, whirling around to where Jungkook is shaking up a storm with his cuffs, pout growing on his features the longer you leave him there. The ice pack slips off his ankle, falling onto the comforter beside him from all his movement.

Jungkook doesn’t seem the least bit interested in the silver nipple clamps in your hands, too busy trying to free himself from the sudden trap you sprung on him. “Sweetheart, we can play with those tomorrow, alright?” he tries, relaxing his arms and finally looking your way. There’s a frustrated furrow to his brows, one you rarely see but adore very much. “Just undo these cuffs for me, yeah?”

You tilt your head to the side, placing a hand on the inside of his calf that you trail all the way up as you move to stand beside his hip. His thighs flinch at your touch, tensing when you stop just before the crotch of his pants. “Mmm, don’t think so,” you smile, dropping the thin chain beside him.

Your shirt goes first, peeled over your body until you’re left standing in your bra. It’s nothing too special this time, just your average run of the mill comfort bra hugging your chest. But that doesn’t really matter, especially not with the way you’re hoping things play out tonight. You’d discarded your jeans a few moments prior, so the shirt joins them on a pile on his floor.

As much as he tries to act irritated by your refusal to release him, there’s a slow stirring beneath his shorts. It’s emphasized by that bright blue material, cock swelling as he watches you take off your clothes. “Baby,” he warns, possibly for the last time. But you won’t know unless you push some more, you tell yourself, placing one knee on the edge of the bed, the other thrown across his lap.

“Wow,” you marvel, picking the chain up once more. Jungkook shifts beneath you, half hard cock brushing against the cleft of your cheeks. “Don’t you wanna see what it’s like, Jungkookie?”

He says nothing, watching you with solemn eyes that leave no room for reading him. Behind you, the game commentator is chattering up a storm.

Doesn’t matter, especially not when this flimsy metal had you so completely hypnotized. You reach behind yourself, unsnapping your bra with one fluid motion that has the cups falling onto your lap, soft chest on display for the man before you. Your breasts spill out slowly from their cage, pretty hardened buds slowly coming into his view. They make him pause his fussing, half-lidded gaze falling to the swell of your chest hungrily. His hands jerk, the cuffs doing their job of keeping them there.

You grin, placing a hand on his chest, over his hammering heart. “Do you wanna see me wear them?” you croon, tugging the material of his hoodie up his stomach, until your thighs are sitting directly on his tiny waist, thin thong just over his belly button. You trail your hand up, letting it brush up the side of his neck and bury into his scalp. You give an experimental tug that has his eyes squeezing shut. “Yes or no, Jungkookie?”

He’s being a huge brat for you, eyes scrunched up together like the sight of you enjoying yourself sans his touch is unimaginable. Another tug of his hair and he’s exhaling shakily, a quiet, “yes,” slipping past his lips.

The chain drops onto his chest with a quiet thud, shocking him enough to blink his eyes back open. Releasing your hold on his hair, you sit back on his lap, towering over his fidgety body like a goddess at a temple, him the lowly worshipper beneath you.

Your hands crawl over your body, starting somewhere around your waist. The glide up over your tummy, caress the underside of your breasts teasingly. Sure Jungkook knew your body well, but you knew your body best. One hand rubs teasingly over your breast, palm pressing down slightly against where your nipple lies, while the other drops down between your thighs, slowly grinding against your mound.

“Look, Jungkookie,” you gasp, body twitching at your own hands. You take a hardened nub between your fingers, rolling it back and forth until it’s standing at its peak. “I can do it without you,” you tease, rolling your hips against him slowly. The thin material of your thong does nothing to save you from the delicious swell of his cock against you. “F-Fuck,” you whimper, circling a finger over your clit. “It’s, it’s even better.”

His restraints jiggle against the bed frame, an obvious look of distress crossing his features. “No,” he huffs out a whine, tugging at the cuffs as you slowly unravel on his lap. They don’t give, no matter how much he pulls. You know he’s holding back, afraid of damaging his headboard, and you take advantage of the fact as you move to roll both nipples between your fingers. He groans harshly, jaw tight. “Hate you,” he hisses, hips wiggling beneath you. “Hate you, hate you.”

You breathe out an airy chuckle. “R-Really?” you ask, trembling hands finally reaching back for that second gift of the day. Your breath is shallow, so thoroughly wound up from your own playful hands, and you tremble at the mere brush of the cool metal. “Oh fuck,” you whimper, bringing them up to your chest, “I’ve never done this before,” you confess.

There’s a sense of amazement that consumes you at the thin chain you hold in your hands, the pretty gold painted clamps on each end. It makes you shiver, body unconsciously grinding down against Jungkook’s lap where his engorged cock was fighting against the material of his shorts.

“Then let me help you,” he tries, the childish tone from before melting into his usual silky smooth baritone. Jungkook even softens his gaze at you, let’s his tongue peek out to wet his lips as you almost seriously consider his request.

Had it not been for the sudden loud shout from the sports commentator behind you, a long obnoxious gooooooaaal, you probably would have fallen victim to that honey-eyed gaze. You would like to personally thank every loud-mouthed, ESPN commentator out there for saving you from Jungkook’s dangerous seduction skills.

Without a second thought, you bring one of the little camps close to your chest, giving it a few experimental squeezes until the nerves are replaced with an overwhelming wave of horniness that even Jungkook can sense. “Fuck,” he groans, shaking his restraints back and forth like a wild animal as you slowly get to clamping your left nipple.

You’re not sure what you expected; part of you had thought it was going to be an excruciating pain, one that would make you want to scream and shout in sheer agony. The other part had reduced it to a barely there pinch that would never live up to your fantasies. As it stands, the sensation of the clamp around your swollen nipple sits right in between, drawing in a choked gasp that makes your eyes roll into the back of your head.

“Baby, sweetheart,” Jungkook gasps alongside you, eyes zeroed in on the pinched off bundle of nerves. There’s a sudden grinding sound that fills the air, like the sawing off of wood that definitely doesn’t sound good, and it’s a direct result of the fight he puts up against his headboard. “Please, please,” he begs, muscled arms tugging back and forth. “I have to touch—“

The second clamp goes on, making your entire back arch as if you were possessed. You're not, just extremely overwhelmed by the prickle of pain on your tits that makes you grind down against his cock, hands fisting the front of his hoodie like it’s the only thing grounding you right now. “Oh,” you shudder, thighs quivering at the heightened stimulation you receive from the clamps sitting on your nipples. “Kook, I-I can’t.”

He growls, hips bucking beneath you in a crazed effort to better situate you on his lap. “You gotta take these off me,” he rasps out. The next buck of his hips makes the chain dangling between your breast brush dangerously close to his face. He’s unintentionally goaded on by the TV in the room, the annoying drone of the commentator shouting something about never giving up. “Can make you feel so much better, sweet girl,” he cooes, jutting his head out like he needs a kiss.

Your head feels woozy, pussy throbbing at the sensations being channeled down into your core. Your eyes flutter shut, and before you can think it through, you're blindly reaching for the chain, giving it one light tug that has you mewling like a kitten. “O-oh, fuck,” you sob, looping your finger around the thin chain carefully. Another tug that pulls against your nipples sends a gush of wetness down between your thighs. “Cock,” you slur dazedly, “need your cock.”

Jungkook shudders out a long breath. “Le-Let me go then, sweetheart,” he chokes out, “let me fuck that pretty little pussy for you.”

“Uh uh,” you disagree, bringing another angry buck out of him, metal cuffs rattling loudly. “Want you to watch,” you pant, reaching behind you for his shorts. “Watch me, Jungkookie.” It takes three tries for you to get a grip, the elastic material slipping from your fingers before you finally gain some semblance of control and paw them down . The shorts and the boxers came off together, his engorged cock springing up to tap against your ass. “W-Watch,” you repeat dazedly, leaning forward with one hand on his shoulder to line him up with your dripping hole. Behind you, the commentator is droning on about core balance or something of the sort. It takes two tries as you blindly have to tug your panties to the side as well, and just as you have his fiery red tip against your entrance, something else happens.

He catches you, pearly teeth biting down on the chain that connects your clamps in a motion you can only liken to a bloodthirsty shark jumping out of the water, jaws snapping to catch its prey. It dangles in his face, the same way his own necklaces have done to you so many times before. But the difference between you and Jungkook was that while you let his assortment of necklaces hypnotize you, drag across your face painfully, he doesn’t. He snaps forward, catches it between his teeth.

You mewl loudly, foggy vision turning onto him. Jungkook’s got this unreadable look on his face, likes he’s pissed off and turned on all at once. “You’re not in charge,” he murmurs around the chain, the s and c sounds all slurred together. “You will never be in charge, silly girl, you got that?” he spits, yanking his head back like an animal, pulling your upper body with him by the two golden clamps on your nipples.

There’s tears in your eyes, lining your waterline and threatening to fall with each tug his mouth gives against the chain of your nipple clamps. He’s got his neck craned back as far as he possibly can with a pillow beneath him, chain links digging into his bottom lip. “Y-Yes,” you sob, your entire body quivering at the way he so easily manages to overthrow you, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he says, solemn eyes flickering across your twisted features once more. He gives another purposeful tug, head snapping back just the tiniest bit, but it’s enough to tug you forward again, a loud whimper torn from your throat. “Undo these cuffs for me, sweet girl,” he commands softly, jiggling the same restraints he’d spent the better part of fifteen minutes fighting against.

“Y-Yes,” you whimper, hands wildly slapping down on his bedside table. You had had half the mind to leave the key there when you had retrieved the cuffs, telling yourself it would be easy access afterwards. It’s not, apparently, the silver pick falling just out of reach. For some reason— it’s probably the sensitivity and horninesss, the pinpricks of pain that originate from your nipples —this fact frustrates you to the point of tears.

“Easy, doll,” Jungkook talks you through, voice low and soft beneath you, “relax and grab it for me, okay?” You nod, angrily blinking away a tear that drips down your face. It splatters on Jungkook’s cheek, bringing a soft huff of amusement from him.

Finally the key brushes your hand, and you sigh in relief, shakily leaning forward to undo the lock above his head. He releases his killer chomp/grip on your chain just as you release his cuffs. “I-I’m sorry,” you sniffle, a sudden need to apologize as you watch him rub at the raw skin around his wrists. “I didn’t—“

“Shhh,” he says, cuddling you into his chest. “It’s alright,” he says simply and you believe him.

Which ends up being a terrible mistake exactly ten seconds later when he’s shoving your face into the sheets, your cries and whimpers muffled by the sounds of the game on TV as he winds your arms behind your back. You struggle for all of five seconds before a soft click resounds from behind you.

“Did you think I’d just let that slide, sweet girl?” he growls against your ear, hot breath fanning across your skin. “I'm not your dog, __,” he spits, suddenly yanking you up by your cuffed wrists. Your chest is heaving, arms aching from the way he’s got you on your knees, blind to whatever he’s doing behind you. “Don’t lock me up, because I’ll always come back to bite.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you stammer, flinching when a hand snakes around your waist, an experimental tug to the chain of your clamps. It sends a shudder down your spine, amplified by the hot press of his body behind you. “I won’t do it again!”

“I know you fucking won’t,” he laughs meanly, trailing his hand down over your mound. One finger circles your clit through your underwear, a shaky sigh exiting your lips at the jarringly light touch. “Because I’m gonna fuck you until you’ve learned your lesson, silly girl.”

“I said sorry,” you whimper, thighs quivering. His cock brushes up against you, the same cock you were about to ride until the sunset. Oh how the tables have turned.

A hand slips beneath your underwear, pad of a finger rubbing against your swollen clit. “Oh,” you exhale, surprised with the suddenly gentle touch following his words. “Th-That’s nice,” you murmur, head lolling forward at the slow rhythm he sets, playing with you like you were a toy that needed warming up.

“Yeah?” he husks out. There’s a yank to your clamps that makes you gasp, chest following the motion as if it’ll reduce the shock. “You think this is about making you feel nice?” he murmurs. Another tug, followed by another, until he’s raining down a series of rhythmic shocks onto your tits that make you shiver and twitch, tongue heavy in your mouth to the point you feel like you’re drooling.

“Wait,” you whimper, arms twisting behind you. “Hurts, hurts” you cry, arching your back like it’ll save you from the steady stimulation against your rock-hard nipples.

“Does it?” Jungkook hums, one hand working away at your clit. He swirls it around his finger, pressing down on the nub in an attempt to distract you. But it only heightens the sting coming from your breasts, the blossom of pain that grows over each mound the longer he plays with you. “Good. Want your pretty little body to hurt for me, baby.”

Right after saying that he releases the grip on your chain, letting it swing back and forth until it eventually rests on your stomach, throbbing nipples spared for now. A breath of relief washes over you now that you only have to worry about the hand playing along your folds. The TV is still flickering to your right, but the commentator's voice sounds fuzzy and so far away, like he’s in a whole different dimension while you and Jungkook are here.

Your reprieve lasts shorter than you expected, as his free hand slowly begins creeping up your waist, fluttering over the little gold clamps pinching your nipples. “Pretty girl,” he compliments, nudging one tender nub with a playful finger. “Pretty, pretty baby,” Jungkook murmurs as he begins massaging the scorching hot skin around your nipples gently. There’s a warm kiss pressed to your shoulder, followed by a trail up the side of your neck. You shudder, trying to focus on the hand that creeps down your folds, teases itself against your entrance.

“Jungkook,” you whine softly, rolling your head to the side so he can suck bruise after bruise onto your skin. You’re definitely drooling, the saliva thick and heavy in your mouth. “T-Too much.”

“Thought you wanted that,” he mumbles, kissing up and up until he’s at your jaw and then he’s at your mouth, languidly kissing you. He’s doing that thing again where he’s hellbent on drowning you in his spit, and if you didn’t know better you’d think he was preparing you for something. “Wanted me to watch you bounce that tight little cunt on me while your tits were like this,” he says, punctuating his statement with a light slap against the side of one breast. It makes you jump, a moan catching in your throat.

The finger that had been playing meanly along your wet folds eases itself past your lips, plunges head first into the aching heat inside of you. He works it against your walls, thumb over your clit as he curls his finger inside of you. You moan loudly, shaking in your restraints. The hand over your chest squeezes, pushes the clamp deeper against your breast until your entire body is short-circuiting.

Your first orgasm comes over you with all the grace of a lightning bolt; it’s sudden and jerky, has every nerve ending wildly spasming as you whimper his name. “No more, no more,” you beg, head lolling back against his shoulder. He shows you no mercy, simply rubs furiously over your clit, until you’re jerking into his maniac hand.

When it’s over, he places a kiss against your jaw, curling his finger inside once more “Play with yourself,” he whispers.

“H-Huh?” you stutter, the rattle of your cuffs loud in both your ears, but not as loud as the breath you were trying to catch post-orgasm. You wonder if maybe he got ahead of himself again—he occasionally did that, thinking ahead to a point you hadn’t reached in your normal progression of sex —but suddenly he’s shoving you back down again, the finger that was slowly driving you insane rudely exiting your cunt.

You flop down against the mattress with a squeal, wiggling around like you actually had a chance of doing anything with him watching you like he is. You struggle for a few beats, every shift against the mattress rubbing harshly against your breasts until you nearly want to cry.

Just as you reach that point, he’s rolling you into your back, hands uncomfortably bent beneath you. It leaves you unwillingly arching to accommodate them, tits practically presented for him to see. “Pretty girl,” Jungkook groans, reaching down for the first time that day to touch himself.

His self restraint was truly unmatched, you realize, watching him squeeze the base of his cock. He runs a palm over his abdomen, up his chest. He drags the material of his hoodie along with it, eventually shucking it off somewhere to the side. His hair, so fluffy and soft, flops over his forehead, a few defined strands tickling his eyebrow.

The mere sight of him alone made you shiver, pussy clenching at the wet dream before you. He’s not an idiot either, obviously aware of what the sight of his body does to you, the tattoos littering his entire right arm that hypnotize you. The faint glow of the TV screen against his side makes him look like the cover star of every middle-aged wife’s erotic romance novel. He reaches said arm down, runs a hand along your thigh until you’re spreading them wide for him.

He doesn’t touch you like you want, only slides over your body until he’s toying with the chain of the nipple clamps that were slowly becoming the bane of your existence. “Open,” he says suddenly, and you do. Your mouth drops open, tongue stuck out slightly even if you don’t know why. He’s ingrained the response into you by now, made you into a desperate slut always ready for anything in your mouth.

This time it’s the stupid, stupid chain connecting your nipple clamps. He tugs it until it’s pulled up, the pull against your nipples making you whimper and writhe. The metal is cool when it touches your lips, but his fingertips are warm. “Good girl,” he praises once you bite down; even this sends a shock of nerves down your spine and to your pussy. “Just like that.”  

A muffled whimper escapes your lips, tears clouding your vision at the stimulation that was quickly overwhelming you again. Part of you thinks no more, please, I can’t. But the other has you spreading your legs for him, quivering pussy desperate to be filled.

The distress must be obvious in your face if the way Jungkook kisses your neck is any indication. He’s got one hand massaging against the underside of one breast, like he’s soothing the striking pain of your pinched nipples for you. If anything, it only strings you along more. “Stupid baby,” he chuckles meanly, a soft puff of laughter against your jaw, “thinking she could push me down.”

He leans back onto his knees, that same careful brush against the inside of your thigh bringing about an embarrassing whimper as he peels your thong away. “But you didn’t really want that, did you?” he eggs on, slowly shifting down against the bed, until his mouth is hovering over your exposed lower lips. His breath is warm, makes you yearn for him to be closer. “You like when I shove my cock into your little pussy, right? Like how it feels when I turn you into my little slut like this,” he sighs, pressing one chaste kiss against your thigh that makes you pull at the cuffs behind your back.

Soon, his mouth is on your clit, the same clit he had previously pampered with his hands but chooses to play with again. He licks an obscenely wet stripe from your throbbing hole to your clit, tongue curling devilishly towards the end. You whimper, though the sound is distorted around the chain in your mouth. Jungkook groans, dives mouth first into your cunt until he’s suffocating himself. His cute nose is pressed against your clit, and he takes advantage of the fact by taking one, dramatic sniff with his eyes rolled back. A soft moan escapes him.

“Fuck,” he shudders, “smell like heaven for me.” You moan at his sweet words, eyes squeezed shut as if that’ll stop the buckets of overwhelmed tears that you’ve been fighting off since the moment the clamps came on. “Wanna give you the world, angel,” he breathes, licking languidly against your folds, tongue occasionally peeking inside.

You mewl and writhe, every movement sending a tug of pain over your nipples. You want that gorgeous cock deep in your cunt, want to feel him in your womb, but you can’t voice any of this with the chain of the clamps between your lips.

Jungkook sits up suddenly, and you’re thinking yes, finally, before the look on his face has you screeching to a halt. There’s something distinctly different about him, a look you don’t think you’ve ever seen in bed before. Your thoughts are only confirmed when his foot slides onto the floor, as if he’s about to leave.

The panic must be evident on your face, because Jungkook is quick to swoop in and reassure you he’s not done with you yet. “Wanna fuck your little pussy,” he admits, carding a hand through your hair. “But the truth is I don’t think you deserve that just yet.”

With that he slinks off the bed, leaving you writhing in confusion as he heads off for the closet behind you. You can’t see what he’s doing, can only hear the shuffling of something back and forth. The TV is still on, the loud cheering of the fans muffling his clattering. You’re suddenly reminded of his swollen ankle, craning your neck to tell him to not overdo it, when something dark covers your eyes.

He’s standing just beside the edge of the bed, his signature teddy bear heat emanating off in waves so thick you could touch them. “Do you trust me?” he murmurs, voice close but not close to your ear.

Something swells in your chest, an emotion so intense your entire pelvis tightens up at the realization that Jungkook was asking for permission to blindfold you. You’re almost certain it’s one of his ties, a silky black thing that covers your vision for the most part, save for a little crack by where your nose juts out. A shuffle to your side, and then he’s gently prying the chain he had pushed past your lips earlier out. “Need an answer, ___,” he says quietly, almost nervously.

“Yes,” you gasp, your entire body set aflame at the sudden turn of events.

If you were being honest you would have never predicted your night would end like this. Maybe you came in a little too cocky, a little too optimistic for the night. It was supposed to be Jungkook handcuffed and powerless, you remind yourself— how on earth did you get here?

“Good girl,” he praises, giving you a little encouraging nudge to raise your head for him to actually tie the knot behind your head. It’s definitely one of his suit ties, you realize, because there’s a distinct cross-stitch pattern that you can feel only when it’s tightened against your skin, pressing against your fluttering eyelids. When he releases you, you’re suddenly all too aware of the sense he’s deprived you of.

“K-Kook?” you call out with a tremble in your voice. The rhythmic pattern of his footsteps rounds the bed again, and then there’s a soft touch against your leg.

“Right here, sweet girl,” he reassures you. The bed dips by your legs as he closes in on you, still tied up and on the verge of a second orgasm that he snatched away before your very eyes; not that you can see it anymore. His hand slides over your stomach, tugs playfully at the clamps. You moan, the sensation magnified tenfold by the fact you can’t see nor anticipate his actions now.

His hands glide like two sailing boats over the broad expanse of sea that is your body, molding against your curves like waves as they go. He hums appreciatively, and you find yourself glad you can’t see him. You can’t possibly imagine with what eyes he’s looking at you now.

You bask in the glory of his attention for another beat before he retracts his touch.

And then, suddenly, something distinctly not hand-like, and weirdly soft traces over the inside of your thighs. “Kook?” you ask tentatively.

No response.

It runs over your skin in the same way his hands just did, a unique shape your brain scrambles to put a name too. It’s soft, so soft. But cold to the touch. Inanimate for sure. It’s a toy, your brain supplies belatedly, but that much you already know.

It’s heart-shaped, you realize, just as it thwacks down against your pussy.

You shriek at the suddenness of it all, thighs clamping shut. Your heart is thundering at a pace of a rabbit’s, chest rising and falling as you blindly piece together what just happened.  “Kook?” you whimper a second time, head craning back and forth in a desperate attempt to track his next move.

He’s not touching you anymore, but the bed is still dipping by your feet, so you deduce he must be there. You test your theory by sliding your foot against the sheets, lower lip trembling at the idea of him not being there.

Jungkook catches your ankle with one warm palm, slightly calloused from years of weightlifting. He raises it up, the cold air of his room hitting your exposed pussy. “You liked it,” he says, not a question but an observation. Your pussy throbs, the phantom strike against it lingering. A kiss to your ankle.

“Wh-What is it?” you cry, unconsciously pressing your leg closer to him now that you have his location. (You don’t see the soft smile on his face at your action.) Ever so slowly you let your thighs open again, now anticipating the next touch of that thing— that riding crop, you realize.

Jungkook confirms. “It’s a riding crop,” he explains, excitement curling around his words. Suddenly, it returns, this time against your stomach. He doesn’t strike you like he did before, simply lets it run across your tummy. “Heart-shaped. It’s so pretty,” he sighs dreamily. “Reminds me of you.”

You nod anxiously, stomach muscles tensed the longer it stays there. Jungkook obviously sees this, lifting it to give you the lightest of taps that still manages to make you gasp. “Cute,” he laughs, trailing it back to where it first touched down.

“Oh,” you tremble, thighs twitching as it pats tenderly over your clit. “Wai-Wait,” you warn, body arching as he runs it down, down your swollen folds. “No,” you weep, going to close your legs. But Jungkook predicts your moves, pressing your thigh down harshly against the bed.

“Shh,” he soothes, tracing the heart down your folds, pressing it flat against you. There’s a distinct lining over it that makes your hips jump, a faux-velvet covering the tip that tickles your skin. “Sit still for me.”

“No!” you gasp. Your back arches, body betraying you as it pushes your pussy against the toy. “I can’t, I can’t, Kook,” you sob, lips contracting around the gaping nothingness in your hole.

He condemns your attitude with a harsh swat of the riding crop against your cunt, tearing another high-pitched squeal from your lips. It’s followed by another against your clit that makes your body spasm. “Bad,” he chides. “Supposed to be my perfect girl.”

“I c-can’t,” you whine, the darkness over your eyes making the sensations ten times more intense. You don’t know where he or the riding crop are if they’re not directly touching you. Even then, the image is fuzzy in your head. “Need you,” you pant.

You try to reach for him, try to pull him into your arms. But you’re reminded of the cuffs holding you back, the metal digging into your skin behind you. You sob at the realization, angrily shaking your hands back and forth like maybe acting like a tantrum-throwing child will save you. It doesn’t.

Instead there’s a tug at the chain resting on your stomach, one that makes you cry out in pain when it pulls at your terribly sensitive nipples again. Jungkook uses it to pull you close, just a small inch off the bed that has you gasping for breath nonetheless.

“N-No,” you wail, nipples throbbing from all the sensations you’ve put them through tonight.

A chaste peck against your trembling lips. “Tell me how it feels,” he purrs, nose brushing against yours. Even with the tie obstructing your vision, the latest version of your boyfriend burns itself into your eyelids, force feeding you his sweaty skin and damp hair until even his breath against your face is enough to bring you to the edge.

“I-It’s scary, Kook,” you sniffle, listening for any signs of a reaction. But even if he did show one, your breathing is too loud and the ESPN channel is still blaring on screen. “Scary,” you whimper, lunging forward in a desperate move to feel the familiar brush of his tongue against yours. You miss.

“Do you want to stop?” he asks carefully, like he’s afraid he’s pushed too far.

He has. But fuck, do you love it.

“No,” you wail, lips smushed somewhere along his cheek, near his jaw and not his mouth like you wanted to. “Feels good, feels so fucking amazing,” you babble, cut off halfway through by a hiccup from your sad cries. “Wanna cum, wanna cum for you like this.”

Jungkook chuckles in relief, tilting his head until you can catch his lips with yours. It’s probably an awkward angle you assume, him adjusting for your vision-less whims, but it feels so good. It sends a shock to your pussy, his plush lips against yours. Without him telling you, you’re opening your mouth for him. “Spit on me,” you beg pitifully.

Jungkook groans, and you can almost visualize the look on his face perfectly— the tensing of his jaw, the push of his Adam’s apple, the pucker of his lips. “God, you’re disgusting,” he sighs, a fat glob of spit hitting the back of your tongue. Without your vision, you don’t see it coming, recoiling with a whiny mewl. The thin trail of saliva that follows trails across your chin when he finally reels back. You swallow greedily, wondering how soon is too soon to ask him to do it again.

With your full permission to move forward, Jungkook wastes no time trailing the riding crop over your wet folds, collecting your oozing pre-cum on the tiny heart as he roves it over your cunt. “Fuck, you can probably cum like this too, can’t you?”

You can’t answer, too caught up in the featherlight brushes. Even if you wanted to say something, one sudden strike against your pussy renders you speechless. “Mmh!” you hiss, biting down on your lip.

“Come on,” Jungkook encourages, resting a hand on your thigh. He presses the crop against you again, pushes down until the flat apex of the heart where it meets the flexible stem of the toy is pressing against your cunt hotly. He grinds it down against you, takes a sick pleasure in the pathetic way you arch up into it, rut against the little heart like it can provide even half the pleasure his hands usually would. “Talk to me, sweetheart,” he murmurs.

Your body is on fire, every nerve, every sensation shooting straight to your most erogenous areas— your cunt and your nipples. Talking seems like the farthest thing from your mind right now, too caught up in the way he roughly pushes the crop against your clit. A whimper rips itself from your throat, shuddering at the sensation. Unconsciously you jerk away from him, only to be scolded with another thwack against your quivering pussy lips. “A-Ahh,” you wail, squirming beneath him like a worm that can’t sit still. “Good— it feels good, Jungkookie,” you weep.

The soft mushy pet name has him raining down two snacks against you in quick succession. “No baby names,” he warns, frown evident in his voice.

Even with you completely under him like this, shackled and blinded with your love, something unmistakably childish and obnoxious curls around your throat, has you biting down on a grin as the coil in your stomach tightens. “D-Don’t like that, Jungkookie,” you choke out hoarsely, wildly bold for someone in your position. “D-Don't like being m-my baby?”

The crop loses its position over your folds, and for a minute you’re left anxiously anticipating its next touch. 

It’s on the side of your breast, harder than the rest, combining with the already powerful pinch of the clamps. It makes you cry out painfully, stomach tightening at what is probably the most unexpected orgasm you’ve ever had. It isn’t like your usual ones that overpower you and make cum trickle out between your folds.

No, it comes in waves— literally. Your pussy spasms, pushes one splurt of cum out between your thighs, almost likes your lower lips are spitting it out. And then again, more the second time, against his mattress. He pushes your legs up to your chest to marvel at the cum coating your lips and thighs. “You’re my baby, stupid,” he hisses. He grabs at your clamps then, twisting the little chain in his hand harshly. You sob at the yank, at the way your nipples feel two seconds away from being ripped off. But you can’t even complain, because the sudden touch has your pussy clenching, before a final trickle of cum oozes out of you.

Even still, your mind babbles on. “N-No,” you choke, shaking back and forth. Despite the tie covering your eyes, they flicker like a mad man beneath it, like you’ll somehow get lucky and develop Seeing Through Fabric Ability if you try hard enough. “My, my baby,” you fight weakly, pelvis trembling from aftershocks of that orgasm. “My idiot b-boy,” you smile dazedly, eyes rolling into the back of your head at the sting you’ve become familiar with by now. “T-Tell me, Jungkookie,” you croon, biting down on your lip to keep a moan from spilling out mid-syllable. “Still the same, r-right?” you stutter, “still think you’re better than me, don’t you?”

He scoffs. “No,” he vehemently denies, brashly landing an unexpected smack against your hip, no warning in sight. “That’s not true,” he defends. You can hear his pout, the little push of his lips when he grows defensive. 

You laugh, every bit the insane lunatic, fueled by your two orgasms and slipping sense of reality. “Ffffuck,” you whimper, rolling your hips up into nothing. “S-Say it again, baby,” you plead, tongue licking across your lips. “Tell me, tell me you don’t care about my problems, Kook-ah,” you whimper.

There’s a hesitant pause on his end, an unexpected lull in your play as he’s torn apart between doing what you want or playing it safe.

You know you’re confusing him, because you’re certainly confusing yourself. You don’t even bother trying to dissect your emotions— you’ve long since accepted your mind was a dangerous place when horny and presented with Jungkook’s sole attention. Well, you knew you were into the whole degradation bit, but this whole having-your-boyfriend-throw-the-words-that-made-you-question-your-entire-worth bit was certainly new and unexpected.

But there’s something in your heart (and in your libido) that needs this, needs him to fix this memory for you that maybe, kinda sorta, has haunted you for days, weeks now, as much as you hate to admit it. Needed him to fix the booboo he gave you with a bandaid, only leave a scar you could look back at and laugh off, not a gaping wound that opened at the slightest mention of it. Because while you forgave, you certainly never forgot*.

(*Unless forgetting meant having your boyfriend overwrite said memory that couldn’t be forgotten with the sheer power of his monster demon cock and wicked tongue. Only then could you forget.)

“Don’t be a fucking pussy, Jungkook,” you spit, feeling the hesitancy in the riding crop that brushes against your skin. It fades away quickly. “S-Say I’ve a dead-end office job; just holding you back,” you beg, trying to pretend the entirety of his little outburst hasn’t been ingrained into your mind for the last couple of weeks. Something flashes in your chest, throat closing off when the toy finally leaves your skin. “Tell me, tell me—“

He looms over you, teddy bear warmth covering the entirety of your body. “Is this what you want?” he asks seriously, lowly, breath fanning across your lips. Your makeshift blindfold feels distinctly damp over your eyes, chest heaving with an exertion that can only be emotional when he speaks so softly to you after routinely raining down brutal thwacks on you for the past half hour. “__,” he says sternly, “is this what you want?”

You gasp on a sob, unsure when these emotions had time to manifest outside your heart like this. You nod your head like a bobble head doll sitting on someone’s dashboard, lower lip trembling on a shameful cry that is not sex-induced like all the other ones until now. “I-I need this, Jungkook,” you admit, voice so tiny and soft, it almost gets drowned out by your shaky exhales and the crowd roaring on screen. “Need to overwrite it.”

He presses a soft kiss to your quivering lips, slow and so devastatingly loving. It’s nothing like the one from before where he’d spit down your throat per your request, and the unbridled adoration he packs into one simple kiss makes you crumble in his arms, sniffles piling on by the dozens.

He leans back after a moment, pulls your thigh over his forearm and finally lets you feel the hard ridges of his cock against your folds. “Stupid girl,” he huffs, trying to sound angry and annoyed, but there’s a lilting tone to his words, a love and trust you wouldn’t have been able to see with or without your blindfold, but can feel nonetheless. He pulls it off you anyway, the warm glow of the TV illuminating his face for you for the first time in about half an hour. Eyes soft, sweat trailing down his body. His body lines up against yours, but so does his heart. You feel it in the way he holds you in his arms, the way he’s careful about sinking into your folds. He slips an arm beneath your waist, uses it to hold you up so you’re not uncomfortably squishing your arms anymore. But if you ask, he’ll pretend he’s doing this for convenience sake only.

“T-Terrible fucking job,” he starts out, the stammer eluding the obvious discomfort he has saying those words, but he does it for you anyway. “Big fucking baby,” he tries again, slowly pushing past your tight walls with a shudder. “C-Can’t look away from you for two seconds because you’re such a fucking kid.”

“Worse,” you choke out. “Meaner. Please, Kook.”

He nods, holds your waist carefully when he finally bottoms out inside of you. “Dead-end office job,” he says, repeating the words that had made you want to crawl into a whole and never come out from. “Got some stupid fucking problems,” he tacks on, slowly withdrawing his hips from your heat. “Always complaining about the stupidest shit,” he hisses, fingers digging into your waist when it’s only the tip of his cock inside of you. “I don’t fucking care about it,” he seethes, forcefully snapping his hips into you.

They’re scrambled fragments of what he’d really said to you that night. Line after line that don’t carry a quarter of hurt or even make coherent sense for that matter. And still. 

You whimper, mind fuzzy from the thrusting pace he picks up, body fluttering at the glide of his cock against your walls. But your heart is thundering in your throat, his willingness to help fix this memory for you tightening around your every being until you can’t breathe. “I-I love you,” you cry, clenching down around him.

Jungkook groans, pulls you flush against his cock until the thin hairs around the base of his cock are tickling your skin. “Stupid, fucking child,” he groans, “immature ass nobody,” he grunts, bucking into you like your words don’t mean a thing.

“I am, I am,” you wail, suddenly hit with the cold hard truth that your body was desperately on edge. From the stimulation your nipples had gotten all night, to the ghost of the riding crop that lingered across your skin; your body was tired, so ready for a final orgasm that you’re certain Jungkook will provide. “T-Tell me y-you—“

“Shut up,” he barks, sweaty skin gliding against yours. “D-Don't tell me what to do,” he huffs, nailing you into the bed. He’s pushing you hard into the mattress, like he wants to brand you into it. “Need to fix this— alone.”

You nod numbly, the crowd behind him cheering loudly. It’s like they’re rooting for him— for the two of you —as silly as it sounds, and as bothersome as it would be any other day, today the obnoxious sounds of the ESPN soccer match only serve to fix a bad memory from before. It’s loud and cringey as all hell, but you’ll look back to this moment and laugh.

And that’s what you want most of all. You want that memory from before, that nasty fight, to go away, to disappear forever and be replaced with this one. Of him, pounding you into the sheets as his TV blares beside you, just another day, another round of sex filled with your usual kinks. Nothing more, nothing less.

“Ffffuck,” you whine when the tip of his hard cock prods against your cervix. He’s going deep, he’s going all out, because he wants to fix this too. Wants to do anything to make it right, and he’ll never know how much you appreciate him for it. “S-So deep,” you whimper, hips jumping when he rams back inside.

“Stupid slut,” Jungkook snarls, tucking his head against your neck the same way he always does. “Making me do stupid shit like this,” he bites, but you know he doesn’t mean it, know he never will again. He rocks his hips into you, no longer concerned with holding you up from uncomfortably laying on your cuffed arms anymore as he pistons into your squelching heat. He’s pressed so close over you, lips brushing against your collarbone with each snap of his hips.

All the pushing and jostling about has the chain of your clamps wildly jumping about, sprawling across the planes of your chest, above your breasts, where he snatches it up between his lips again. “Stupid, fucking—“ he slurs, jutting his head to the side like a wild stallion. You sob at the tenderness of your nipples, at the way he pays them no mercy as he continues rutting into you like a mad dog in heat. “Slut,” he spits. “S-So fuckin’ pretty.”

Your mind is in another universe, and when that last word, that devastatingly familiar term, slips from his lips mindlessly, something inside you snaps. “N-No,” you sob, legs fidgeting around his waist at the orgasm that wracks through your body against your will. “No,” you cry in frustration, “didn’t, didn’t want—“

“Stupid, stupid angel,” he babbles, seemingly unaware of your orgasm as he continues fucking into your leaking cunt, ignorant of the cum that dribbles out, creams his cock as he carries on. “Fuck,” he pants, gnaws against the chain of the stupid clamps like he can’t bare this any longer. “Love you,” he says, though he’s still stuck in that mindset from before and his sweet confession sounds more like a threat. “L-Love that childish side of you,” he confesses, finally dropping the chain— much to your relief —and surging forward to kiss you on the mouth. He tastes weirdly metallic, a thought you can’t ponder too long as he continues ramming himself past your clenched lips and into your pussy. “Your fffucking dr-drive to succeed,” he grunts, mouth smushed uncomfortably against your cheek.

“Kook, sweetheart,” you shudder, sensitive pussy spent as he drills on. His cock is still so achingly hard, and he doesn’t seem anywhere near completion. “Take it easy,” you gently remind him, can’t brush your fingers through his hair like you usually would, so you settle for pressing your lips to his cheek.

“Fuck, fuck,” he heaves, pushing so deep you practically feel him in your womb, swollen mushroom head begging for entry. “Give me it all,” he stammers, “want you—want this forever.”

“I know you do, baby,” you coo, nuzzling your nose against his when he sloppily surges forward, panting and gasping over you like a crazed caveman. “I’m yours,” you gently remind him.

“No,” he chokes out hoarsely, eyes screwed shut. “Need more, all of it,” he mumbles. “Give me yourself, ___, need you for the rest of my life—“ he cuts himself off with a shuddered whine, so airy and wispy it makes you shiver. “Ffffuck, shit,” he howls, each thrust into your walls only unraveling him more and more. “Give me, give me—“

“Anything,” you whimper, body trembling from his excessivity. “What do you want, Kook-ah?”

He says nothing, losing himself in the warmth of your pussy as his orgasm rounds the corner. He’s in the final stretch, the final straight until achieving nirvana alongside you at the finish line. And, as you’ve long since come to understand, a true Jungkook Danger Zone. He loses all sense of self, random syllables and phrases slipping through his lips.

“Fuck, fuck, marry me— marry me,” he moans, snapping his hips into you with a ferocious speed that has you bouncing against the sheets, and that’s despite the tight grip his has on you. “Let me— fuck— let me fuck a baby into you, sweetheart,” he purrs, eyes shining like an absolute psycho, but you’re apparently into that because the idea squeezes around your chest and burrows it’s way in. “A baby,” he marvels like an idiot, eyes big and sparkly, “f-fuck.”

“Wh-What?” you choke, flinching when he bites down against your lower lip. He’s got you trapped beneath him, stuffing your brain with these ideas that make your heart enter cardiac arrest, body tingling like in Mario Kart when you’ve got the star power up. “Kook—“

“Sh,” he groans, digging his fingers into your sides as he rolls his hips against you. “Almost,” he informs you, but the blood rushes to your ears. “Oh, fuck,” he pants, jaw clenching, “oh, baby.”

Jungkook cums with a shivered cry, body hunching over you like some entity has just exited out of his spine. Maybe something did, because afterwards he manages to hold himself above you for exactly three seconds before dropping the entirety of his hefty muscles onto you. “Ouch,” you whine, wrists twisted uncomfortably beneath you.

“Sorry,” he huffs, completely out of breath and dazed as he rolls away from you. He ends up spread out like a starfish beside you, completely fucked out and definitely zooming through the fifth, sixth, and seventh dimensions.

He doesn’t say anything for a hot minute, chest rising and falling like he’s just run a marathon, until you butt in. “Kook. Undo me,” you remind him.

He looks over at you, dark hair falling over his eyes and sprawling around his head like a halo. Oh, he was going to be the death of you. “Oh,” he says, like his brain has just processed the information. “Right.” He sits up, tucking himself back into the shorts he never fully took off. That was his character flaw; never bothers to get completely naked during sex. Anyway, his straight male-equivalent of booty shorts come up around his thighs again, stretching sinfully across the thick muscles.

The five sonnet poem that was gearing up in your head comes to a halt when he touches your breast. “No, no more,” you cry, instinctively withering away.

Jungkook snorts. “I’m just taking them off, baby,” he says, reaching forward again with the same practiced ease you’d use on an animal. The clamps come off, all the nerves suddenly coming back to life. It’s a weird sensation, not having your tits subject to that prickling pain anymore, and it makes you moan softly. Jungkook soothes you with his wannabe masseuse hands, but you think it’s just an excuse for him to fondle your breasts.

“How’re you feeling?” he asks gently, hovering over you like a damned surgeon or something. His voice is so silky and smooth, hands soft against your chest. He’s so careful in the way he turns you over, somehow magically producing the tiny key pick you swore was lost between the sheets after its first use.

Being on your chest makes you tremble like a leaf, the faintest brush of the cotton against your tits enough to make your pussy clench weakly. “ I’ve got you, sweetheart,” he murmurs, carefully detailing his actions like you’re not watching him with your very own eyes. But it’s oddly comforting, having him walk you through the process of rolling your sore wrists. The inside of the cuffs had a plush lining, but it was a pretty cheap thing. After he’s done massaging the skin, he pads over to his dresser and returns with a shirt and undies for you. “Shirt,” he says, helping you into the clothing.

When you’re all snuggled under the sheets again, the television still loud as hell, he mumbles, “wanna talk about it?”

You exhale against his chest, feeling so light and fluttery from your orgasms and the way he runs his fingers through your scalp and the way his heart thunders by your ear. “Hm,” you hum pensively. “Nah. Think I’m fine now,” you admit.

Jungkook chuckles. “A full miracle recovery?” he teases. You nod, taking in the comforting scent of his fabric softener and just him in his entirety.

“Yep.” A beat of silence, the commentator is back to filling the space between you two. He talks about a mile minute, spewing stats and plays you could never understand in a thousand years. But you know Jungkook will get sucked in soon enough, so you strike while the pot is hot. “Do you wanna talk?”

He cranes his neck a little to look at you. “What do you mean?”

You roll your eyes, pushing yourself up to look at him straight on. “Oh, my mistake,” you drawl. “I seem to have missed the part where we were going to act like you didn’t just ask for my hand in marriage and then offered to get me pregnant—,” you pause, the realization suddenly hitting you like a trash can whipping down a hill on a rainy day at a thousand miles per hour. “Pregnant!” you exclaim, cheeks warm at the fact he really just said that to you.

Jungkook’s cheeks fare no better, a Flaming Hot Cheeto shade dusting his skin. “I, it was just…” he tries, poor tiny monkey brain working overtime to offer an excuse. “It-it doesn’t have to be a thing,” he blushes, big Bambi eyes flickering from you to the television to the heart-tipped riding crop by the foot of the bed. “I was just…”

You raise your brows. “Consumed by the spirit of King Henry IV to have fourteen kids?”

He blinks. “Wait, you actually paid attention to that film?”

“That’s not the point!” you exclaim, shifting onto your knees in front of him. “What,” you inhale sharply, heart beating wildly in your chest, “what was that?”

Jungkook can only play the shocked angel card for so long before he’s sinking back into his pillow stack with the sigh of a man who’s worked in construction for the last sixty-four years. “I just,” he mumbles, “I think about it sometimes.” His admission makes your heart lodge itself into your throat, wide eyes watching him spill out his heart to you.

He misreads the expression on your face. “I-Not now!” he hurries to explain. “Like,” he stammers, rosy hue slowly crawling down his neck, over his ears. “Maybe, y’know? In the future…”

You blink, brain reduced to a series of beeps and clicks like that of an old computer trying to compute information that is simply not processing. “Yeah…” you murmur, unsure of what to do with the film reel that suddenly flashes before your eyes, a look into a doorway you had never considered before. “I— me too.”

Jungkook chokes on his own saliva. “Really?” he yelps, has those sparkly anime girl eyes you always tease him about.

The gulp you do sounds loud in your ears. “Yeah,” you breathe, throat drier than the desert, but more confident than the first peabrain response. “I-I’d like that.”

There’s a bright beam of light that shines right in your face, so vibrant and dazzling it makes you flinch and by the time you’ve recovered you realize it’s his smile. “Yeah?” Jungkook mumbles back, pearly teeth framed by his pretty smile, brows raised at your stuttery confirmation. You nod. His lips twist into a smaller grin, a condensed version of the superstar one he gave you just moments before. Before you can brush it off with a joke, he’s snatching your hand up in his, a soft smooch pressed to your knuckles. “Okay,” he says quietly, dark eyes meeting yours. “One day?”

Your heart constricts in your chest, and all you can do is nod. “One da—“

“Goooooaaaaallllll!” the announcer on screen shrieks, the loud sounds of the TV killing your mood instantly.

Any dumbstruck, love struck, idiotic, ditzy expression on your face is wiped clean, replaced with an unimpressed glare you narrow on him. His nose is scrunched up like he wants to laugh, lips pressed into a thin line at your annoyance. He swipes the TV remote off the side table, arms spread open for you to crawl back into. You do so with a huff, pout smushed against the front of his hoodie.

“That’s enough ESPN for today,” he chuckles, switching the channel about a thousand times until Rick and Morty is playing on screen. “I’ll just watch the highlights later.”

“ESPN,” you scoff like an evil villain in a movie who’s just been presented with their mortal enemy, fisting the front of his hoodie.

Jungkook nods. “ESPN,” he repeats. A beat passes. “Kinda like BDS—“

“Go get your ice pack.”

epilogue

Because Jungkook couldn’t sit still for that one eventful night following his ladder injury, he ends up in a medical boot for one week, loudly clunking around the place like a reverse pirate. You snap a picture of him that you post on Twitter for your twelve followers to see, just him pouting at the doctor’s office with his new boot and club jersey on to celebrate last night’s victory.

It’s just a cute pic for you and your friends to laugh at.

Until it’s not, and his handsome face is circulating around the entire internet.

He’s being called the Face of FC Seoul, with desperate women messaging you left and right for his information. Other fans are bragging about the beauty that is an FC Seoul fanboy. It gets to the point where his face appears on the next night’s ESPN Nightly Recap, a special on social media stars posting about the game. Except Jungkook is neither a social media star nor did he even post about the game— you did.

But there he is, all five feet and ten inches of him smiling brightly at you from the ESPN Sports channel, wearing the boot he got from hand cuffing and whipping you to completion. 

Copyright © 2020, 1kook on tumblr. absolutely NO reposts allowed.

[lasquadrasfuckhouse]

Hi!

What do you think about la squadra(separately) with s/o that is very childlish? Like, not a little child ofc, they can get serius when it has to be, and they talk ,like, normally (without "owo uwu" shit). They just loooove some cute things, animals etc. They also love watching cartoons, play games, and many other things likke that.

If you don't want to write it that's okay :)))

Bye bye <3

awwww i love it!!!!!

la squadra with a cutesy and playful partner 😚

risotto ✂️

he loves cute things too, he gets it. he adores how excitable and sweet you are and you absolutely count as cute things that he loves

the two of you will fawn over the neighbourhood cats together and every time you run into his office with fun shaped snacks to share cause u both love them (like gummies or cookies or chocolates) his heart goes ❤️❤️❤️❤️💕❤️💕❤️❤️💕💕💕

he appreciates that you're not afraid to get serious when the time calls for it too but seeing you without your normal attitude is so jarring and sad for him, he'll work twice as hard to fix what's wrong to see you smiling again. you're so full of love and wonder despite everything and that's so precious to him, he's protective (he knows and respects that you can handle yourself he just loves u) and would never want you to change for the wrong reasons ya kno

you absolutely balance each other out very well and you're fucking adorable to see because he's so stoic and scary and then ur this energetic sweetheart

he's not really one for cartoons or video games but he'll indulge ur interests!!! if he has the time to watch a cute movie with u (like disney) he will pay attention and give u his honest opinion

prosciutto 🚬

OPPOSITES ATTRACT HUH

honestly when you first joined the team he was an ass about it, thought it was unbecoming of an assassin to behave so childishly (the others already give him a headache) but the fact that you stood your ground actually really impressed him. you're still an adult and you're not unreasonable, you know when to take things seriously, you just have your eccentricities like everyone else in this circus and he came to appreciate your point of view and your seemingly boundless enthusiasm for nice things in life. he later expressed as much to you during his apology for being an ass.

you temper each other. he'll be your grounding force and you'll help him loosen up

he does like how ur sweet and open with your affection. if he grumbles about sharing the bed with plushies that's code for 'cuddle me instead'

he also loves bringing you to cafés that do those fancy or fun shapes in the lattes cause he loves to see your eyes light up and fawn over how 'its almost too pretty to drink!!!' it's really quite adorable how excitable u are and prosciutto is not immune to it

pesci 🎣

he very very much loves and appreciates it, you're a big comfort to him. the instant you chugged milk with him and gave him a silly grin with a milk moustache, he was in love

your sweetness and energy picks him up and when you've dropped your attitude he will take on the WHOLE WORLD to hear you laugh again. he's very protective and he's the first to jump to your defense if the others tease you or otherwise give you a hard time

he could listen to you gush for hours. he will absolutely sit and watch cartoons with u. he's not the greatest at video games but he'll try his best for u

because of his name you'll often lovingly make that cute fishy face at him with the kissy lips and ur eyes crossed and his heart explodes every time

he has somewhat of a sweet tooth, he likes things that have a light sweetness to them rather than anything super sugary. you'll share desserts and it's very cute

formaggio 🧀

he LOVES IT. he's just as fun-loving, there's never a dull moment with you two whether you're playing a dumb game you made up out of boredom, you're dancing and he's twirling you around, or ur in a pillow/tickle fight and play wrestling. you tend to get each other into trouble but you both snicker about it. two peas in a pod.

cats like you more than they like him but he can often get his pets in if the kitty is curled in ur lap and u both get giddy about it

you definitely game together. he's not as into the cartoons but he'll still watch em with you, he thinks they're cute and you're cute, but he may fall asleep during movies

he's a very grounding support when things require you to be serious, you work together hand in hand to solve the issue so u can get back to laughing

and he will do anything to hear u giggle, doesn't matter if he makes a damn fool of himself, he doesn't care. as far as he's concerned your laugh is the best sound in the world

illuso ✨

oh, he will tease you about it. probably in a way that's kind of mean when you first join, but you aren't bothered by him or concerned with his opinion. if you point out that he's the childish one for trying to get a rise out of you when you're just minding your own business, that has EVERYONE appreciating you because it's unbearably fun to see illuso taken down a notch. that has him huffing and retreating for a bit and having a think. when he comes back, he's less of an ass. as you grow closer, he apologizes.

now the only way he teases is gentle and loving and fond, because you really are quite adorable and he wouldn't have it any other way. it honestly kind of freaks him out when you get serious but he doesn't show it, he'll just place a gentle hand on your arm or your waist and work with you to resolve the issue. he's relieved when you smile again

he warms up to your plushies because they're nice cozy additions to his piles of pillows for lounging around on and they make u happy

he may keep up his aloof air when he picks up a controller with u or watches over ur shoulder like he has nothing better to do but he gets REALLY into it and competitive, or intensely supportive and backseat gaming if ur going solo

he honestly loves how sweet u are because that sort of thing doesn't really come easy to him

melone 🍈

he thinks ur absolutely adorable and makes sure u know it. he's playful too in a more relaxed sort of way so he mellows you out while still having fun

he loves to hear you gush and wants to get involved in ur passions. he's pretty good at gaming but he'll get more into admiring/analyzing the design aspect of it and same w/ cartoons, he's concerned for all the babies out there because they deserve good stories that make them think and benefit their growth and he will think out loud about how a show/movie fares in that regard after you've watched it together

he can talk a lot about animals with u too!!!! every time u grin or coo at a cute creature or Stay Very Still so a butterfly will land on u and giggle cause it tickles, his heart is doing backflips and he can't believe someone as wonderful as u exists and loves him as much as he loves you

ADULT COLOURING BOOKS!!!!! he absolutely loves to fill in the pages with u and add onto the designs outside the lines in all sorts of colours

he admires that ur not afraid to get serious when it's called for but still so sweet, he's so drawn to you and you make everyone's day better and just light up the room

ghiaccio ❄️

he also loves cute things. that includes u. but it will take him a while to admit out loud how adorable you are because he's flustered about it

forget normie relationship milestones like moving in together, the moment u both started slowly familiarizing your plushie collections to each other, swapping or gifting ones u saw and HAD to get for them or keeping two of them together because they're friends now Do Not Seperate!!!!, he knew this was Real

one of his favorite pastimes is sharing a big big cozy sweater with u, it doesn't matter if it's a bit tight with two people in it or that ur faces are squished together, he'll wrap his arms around u (if u haven't already put ur hands in the sleeves too) and cuddle u against him like a fluffy, snuggly, grumpy cat. welcome to sweater town, population u and ghiaccio

ur both very into pokemon too. you'll spend hours with ur heads bent together over ur gameboys with each other's companion games for that generation and help each other with trading and version exclusives

he's the first to yell at anyone for teasing you and he honestly gets a little freaked out when you go serious but he won't show it. he'll want to address the problem as quickly as possible tho and discreetly hug u when ur giggling again

sorbet and gelato 🔪🍦

THEY LOVE IT UR ADORABLE. they're both playful in their own ways (sorbet is more chill and dry wit sort of playful, gelato is no impulse control and hyena cackling sort of playful) and they love to have fun with u

it's also like.... the world is fucked up and they're both kinda fucked up (more than kinda), and they know you're not like an innocent baby or at all incompetent (hell, you may be kinda fucked up too, who isn't when ur an assassin) but it's just. nice to see someone else having fun and being sweet and enjoying things about life. so they are very protective of you when things get serious, they never EVER want to see you become embittered and will do absolutely anything to get you laughing again as soon as possible. which, guaranteed, they do

gelato has always had a short attention span so he knows what to do for entertainment and sorbet knows how to entertain, he may be the more patient one but they both like to mix things up and keep the surroundings interesting. they will play all sorts of games with u, video games or card games or stupid shit like beer pong or making a game of how many marshmallows u can each fit in ur mouths. you'll all go for a nice walk in the park and nothing is more relaxing for sorbet than kickin back on a bench while his rowdy babes end up tussling in the dirt. be free

of course, u and gelato also drag him into the dirt and put flowers in his hair and he would want nothing less

they'll both squish ur cheeks and lovingly tease u about how cute u are. blow a raspberry at them and they'll give u a kiss

sorbet will throw u over his shoulder and carry u around (no matter ur body type, he's strong!!!) + gelato will smatter ur face in kisses, just to hear u squeal and giggle

[hizashiiis]

Bakusquad + “Why are you awake” Part Two

PART ONE HERE

So here’s part two! Fun fact, the song Jirou plays you in her part is actually a song I wrote! I didn’t include any of the lyrics though because its lowkey really cheesy :/

I hope you like this! This one is for Sero, Mina, and Jirou.

Warnings: insomnia, depression kinda

Sero Hanta

- Sero is very much a hypocrite when it comes to getting enough sleep

- He’s constantly up at all hours, even sending you random texts if he can’t sleep

- But when you aren’t going to bed at a normal time?

- He’s so sad

- He looks like you kicked his puppy and then him in rapid succession. 

- It’s crazy because he seems to just instinctively know when you’re awake

- Like he bolts up in his bed all, “they ain’t in bed. I’m abt to beat some ass.”

- He’s never sure if he’s right though, so he texts you a meme he made specifically for you being up too late

- It’s probably really cheesy and outdated, but the effort is there

- If you respond to it (because you will) he knocks on the wall between your dorms and talks to you 

- Often, you both just stay up like that

Sero’s body is awake before his mind, moving him to sit up in bed before he can think. He was having a really intense dream; something about talking mice. He didn’t mind it, but he woke up as if he’d had a nightmare. 

Faintly, from the wall beside him, he can hear low music playing, but he can’t make out what song it is. It’s coming from your room, though, so he’s concerned. 

The sky outside is dark, clouds drifting across his windowed view of the moon. It must be pretty late; all the noise is gone, leaving nothing but static air, and the music. He leans over his bed to look at the time on his phone. It’s around 2 am. The song you’re playing ends, and he recognizes the next one. It’s on your sad playlist. 

He sends you the meme, as well as an invitation for a hug as soon as it’s morning. You respond almost instantly, assuring him that you’re fine, you just couldn’t sleep. But he knows you better than that. 

Knocking on the wall between you, he hears the music stop suddenly. He calls out to your wall. 

“Mi amor? What’s keeping you awake?” He’s met with silence for a moment before your shaky voice responds.

“I’m okay. I just kinda got hit with some sad, y’know?” He does know. He knows that this happens sometimes. It happens to him, too. But he hates hearing your voice sound so lost. You almost sound hopeless, and he can’t bear it. 

“I understand.” He places his hand up to the wall, wishing he could hold you. Unfortunately, you had both been told off by Iida for sleeping in each other’s rooms more than enough times lately, so he couldn’t just go see you. He opts instead for hugging a stuffed giraffe you had gotten him after the Sports Festival. 

“Do you want me to distract you, or do you want to talk about it?” He asks, stroking the giraffe’s head as if it’s your hair, not knowing that on the other side of the wall, you’re holding a stuffed lion the same way. 

“Distract me?” Your voice comes out only just loud enough for him to hear you, but he understands. He begins to tell you a story. He’s told it before. It’s about a great hero, one who fights crime valiantly, and his partner, also a fantastic hero. He ad-libs parts of it, making pretend villains say silly slogans, and recounting how the heroes save the day. 

As he reaches the end, he hears you giggle a bit. “Oh? Did it work? Are you smiling over there, my sweet?” He calls to you, a teasing lilt to his voice. 

“A little bit.” You respond, playing with your stuffed animal. “If you keep talking, maybe I’ll even smile more.”

He laughs, eyes bleary with sleep, but happy to talk to you the whole night.

Mina Ashido

- Honestly, she’s no better than you about staying awake

- She tries to sleep, but her thoughts are always racing

- Sometimes it’s thoughts of you, sometimes of new things she wants to try in training, or things she wants to see if she can convince her friends to do

- But she wants you to get adequate rest, even if it’s hard for her to do the same

- She used to get told off for sneaking to your room every night, but then Momo and Iida saw how much better you were performing in school on the days after she’d been there, and they started letting it slide

- It’s nicer for her, too, because she has someone to ramble to as the two of you fall asleep

Mina skipped down the hallway toward your room. It was a bit past midnight, and usually, you would be asleep by this time. It was well past lights out, and classes had run long that day, not to mention the endless exams that were happening at UA right now. So when she reached your door, she was surprised to find you watching a movie on your phone instead of snoring. 

“Hey bug! Why are you still up, don’t you know what time it is?” She says, throwing a grin your way as she puts her blanket down next to you. 

You shrug, yawning. “I could ask you the same thing, love.” She pouts at that, tossing her arm around your shoulder and pressing a kiss to your temple.

She watches you watching your show for a few minutes before saying anything. It looks good, she supposes, but she has a better idea of what to watch. “Scoot over.” She pushes you lightly, giggling as you scrunch to the side to give her more room. “Do you wanna watch something with me?” She asks, holding up her phone. 

You look at her for a moment. “That is what we are currently doing, is it not?” You hold up your phone in return, showing her the paused screen. 

“But I have a better movie!” She insists, unlocking her screen and shoving it above yours so that you can see her pick. She’s right, it is a better movie. You guys have watched the entire Studio Ghibli filmography, but even you know that her favorite, “When Marnie was There,” is the better option at this particular moment. 

You toss your phone to the side, pulling her in to lay next to you. “Fair enough, bubs, I guess yours is better.” You feign reluctance, watching her excitedly press play and tuck the blanket in around the both of you. Her arm curls tighter around your shoulders, and she giggles as the opening credits start. 

“Hey Minari?” You use her favorite nickname, looking at her through hooded, sleepy eyes. She hums in response. “Why is this one your favorite?”

Hearing the question, she pauses the movie, turning to look right at you. She’s quiet for a moment, thinking about her answer. “I guess because they remind me of us! Like I’m Marnie, and you’re Anna, and we’re having this great adventure together!” You feel your face heat at her words, thinking about the movie more critically now. Mina continues, “It’s like…” she pauses, finding the right words. “Like Anna is learning how her friendship with Marnie can make her feel more right, as a person. And I feel like that about you!” 

You’re tearing up now, unsure how to respond. Mina is so many things, and being with you is that important to her? It’s a new feeling, but certainly a welcome one. You pull her down, giving her a kiss. And then another kiss. And one on her nose. 

“Press play, Mina.”

Kyoka Jirou

- Lol u think she sleeps?

- She does, but not at night

- Were it not for classes, Jirou would be essentially nocturnal

- So you try to remind her to go to sleep

- Sometimes you’ll walk past her dorm at night, and you hear her guitar, softly playing her favorite songs

- Before you got together, sometimes you would sit outside her door and listen to her play

- Not in a creepy way, there’s just a little common area right outside her room and you like took a book there, you weren’t like ooh it’s late i think i’ll sit outside someone’s room and listen to them

- You aren’t Mineta. 

- But anyway

- Now that you are together, Jirou thinks it’s really sweet that you listen to her play

- Sometimes she leaves her door cracked open so you can come in

It’s 4 o’clock in the morning, and the light is on in Jirou’s room. You had come out to go to the bathroom, but you noticed her guitar, and decided to stay. The soft strumming is pretty, and you’re glad to be one of the few people allowed to hear it. 

Opening Jirou’s door just a bit more, you nod toward her desk chair in a silent question. She nods, so you go sit down. 

She’s playing a song you don’t recognize, and the lyrics are sad. Even still, it’s beautiful, and your eyes seem to naturally close, taking in the melody of her voice. She used to tell you her voice wasn’t anything special, but she seems content now to let you listen. 

The guitar resonates with the last few chords, and the ending note is held for three beats. When she’s finished, Jirou opens her eyes and looks at you, waiting for your thoughts.

“It was beautiful. Did you write that?” You ask her, your hands fidgeting with the urge to hold her own. She nods, but doesn’t say anything. 

You don’t acknowledge the sad theme of the song. She’s told you before that sometimes sad songs are easier than happy ones. That the melody is clearer. You don’t mind. All her songs are beautiful, and they reflect her in them, and isn’t that what makes a piece of art?

“I have another one, if you’d like to hear it?” She looks nervous; something you never see on her.

“I’d love to!” Your exclamation seems to snap her out of the anxiety in her eyes, which narrow a little. 

“Just…” She starts, looking away from you to adjust the capo on her instrument. “Don’t freak out, okay?”

Confused, you nod, and she starts playing. 

The song starts out with a few chords repeating in a loop, and then she begins to sing. The lyrics are confusing to you at first, and you still aren’t sure why she’s told you not to freak out. But then she gets to the chorus, and it begins to make more sense. 

Lyrics, in essence, are a poem, and this one is a love poem. Her thoughts, written out, are so sweet and loving, that you’re sure you don’t know what to think. She sings elegantly, like someone who’s never known how to dance, and yet is waltzing perfectly across a shining floor. 

She finishes the song with a declaration of loyalty, and you realize your eyes are watering. She looks at you, waiting for your thoughts. 

You say nothing. You don’t know how to say anything, so you stand, cross to her, and pull her into a hug. She’s not usually one for physical touch, but she holds you tightly. 

“It’s about me, right?” You laugh, leaving a kiss on her calloused fingers. She rolls her eyes. 

“Obviously.”

She smiles at you, pulling you to lay on her bed as she puts her guitar in its case, taking the capo off the strings. “You should sleep. It’s like, morning now.”

“You should too.” You retort, still holding her hand. 

“No.”

[lumosandnoxwriting]

Call Me When You’re Sober - George Weasley

Title: Call Me When You’re Sober Pairing: George x Fem!Reader, George x Angelina Johnson (kinda, sorta, not really) Warning: mentions of drug use!! Also some mentions of sexual things like sexting/sending nudes and one mention of a boner. I also use the word tits a few times. Summary: George only seems to have the time for Y/N when he’s high, and that’s just not enough for her anymore. (This is also a modern au where they have cell phones and social media bc why not) A/N: this is for an anon that wanted a fic based off of a tiktok POV they saw and funnily enough that POV ended up on my fyp last week so you can find that here if you want. The only part I was inspired by was Angelina being present, but that part was specifically mentioned in the request everything else is purely from my own brain!! This also includes a bit of Angelina Johnson slander but it does not represent my actual views. Angelina slander is not welcome in this house. Feedback is always welcome and requests are open! Tags: @feltondarling​ @pandaxnienke​ @raerae27​

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

The first time it happens Y/N answers the phone right away.

“George? What’s wrong?” she asks frantically, already getting out of bed. It’s three am and George never calls even at a decent hour, so she assumes that something has gone wrong and he needs help.

“Hey, Y/N,” George drawls slowly, like his mouth is moving in slow motion.

Y/N pauses in the middle of her bedroom, her hand hovering above her car keys. “What the hell’s wrong with you?” George certainly sounds off, but he doesn’t necessarily sound like he’s in need of her rescuing. When all George does is giggle in response, Y/N groans. “Are you high?”

“High on life!” George responds, prompting Y/N to roll her eyes. She shuffles back over to her bed and climbs back in, snuggling under the covers. “And maybe a little bit of weed,” he adds with a laugh.

Y/N rolls her eyes, but there’s a small smile on her face. George is one of her favorite people in the world, and it’s hard for her to stay mad at him. “A little bit?” she teases. “You sound baked out of your mind.”

George lets out a throaty laugh, and Y/N closes her eyes, making it seem like he’s there in the room with her. They don’t get to see each other often now that they’re both out of school and busy with their lives, and George’s aversion to phone calls means all she has to get her through their periods of time apart are short text messages and stupid memes. Hearing his voice sends shivers down her spine, and if it wasn’t so late she’d be driving to wherever he is to climb into his arms.

“What can I say? Freddie got the good stuff now that we can afford it.” Y/N can hear some rustling, and she figures that he’s laying back onto his bed. “Not like back when we were at Hoggywarts. Remember those days?”

Y/N hums as she lets her mind wander back to their school days. It didn’t happen often, but every once in a while Fred or George would sneak out of the castle down to Hogsmeade to buy off of a guy that works at the Hogshead Inn. They would settle into their dorm along with Lee and after placing some spells on the room and throwing the windows open they’d light up and pass the joint around until nothing was left. The weed was cheap and burned their lungs, but none of them cared. It left them all feeling like they were floating, and they would talk for hours about nothing in particular.

George always got handsy when he was high, and Y/N supposes this is where her feelings for him started. Once the joint burned out George would pull her body close and let his hands roam all over it as he talked with the boys idly. Y/N would run her hands through his hair and scratch at his scalp, her face pressed tightly to his neck. They often ended up falling asleep together wherever they had landed, sometimes it was George’s bed, but it was usually the floor, swaddled in some random blankets and pillows from the common room. Y/N was always the first to wake up, and she’d hug George tightly for one more fleeting moment before sneaking out and back into her own dorm.

“You roll the best joints, Y/N,” George continues when Y/N doesn’t say anything. “Fred is so shit at it. No matter how many times you showed him how to do it.”

“Very sweet of you to say, Georgie,” Y/N laughs. She yawns a moment later, desperately trying to fight off sleep. “Though you were always more fond of smoking from a bowl if I remember correctly.

George yawns too and Y/N can hear him climbing under the covers of his bed. “I am. But smoking joints reminds me of you.”

“George,” Y/N says softly, sitting up in bed. She waits for him to say something, but all she’s met with are his light snores. She rolls her eyes, settling back down into her pillows. “Goodnight, George.” Y/N hangs up her phone and places it on her nightstand before letting memories of George lull her back to sleep.

-

The next time it happens Y/N doesn’t hear her phone the first time. She’s out of town for work, and after a long day she’d collapsed right onto the bed in her hotel room, formal clothes still on and everything. Y/N had ignored her phone the first time, hoping to fall back asleep. But when it started to ring again only seconds after it stopped she picks up her phone and answers the call without bothering to see who it is.

“Hullo?” she answers sleepily, her eyes barely open. She glances at the clock, noting that it’s only 10 pm and figures that it’s one of her coworkers inviting her to go out with them.

“You sound sleepy,” George responds softly, his voice deep and languid. “Did I wake you up?”

Y/N sits up in bed, rubbing some of the sleep from her eyes. “George?”

George laughs. “Who else would it be?”

“Considering the fact that this is literally the second time you’ve ever called me I figured it would be anyone else besides you,” Y/N teases, shrugging out of her suit jacket.

“Hey,” George whines, and Y/N can practically hear the pout on his face. “I called you on your birthday.”

Y/N rolls her eyes. “Oh, you’re right, my mistake.” She pauses as she walks over to the dresser in the room, starting to take off her jewelry. “How baked are you this time?” she asks playfully.

“What makes you think I’m high?” George laughs.

“For one the sound of your voice,” Y/N explains as she kicks off her heels. “And you only call me when you’re high. Oh, and on my birthday,” she adds when George makes a noise of disapproval.

Y/N hears George shuffle around, and she takes the opportunity to put him on speaker so she can put her phone down and start getting rid of the rest of her clothes. “You can tell by my voice?”

“Mhm,” Y/N hums, fumbling with the buttons of her shirt. “It gets deeper and slower.”

“Really?” George asks, sounding surprised. “Does it sound sexy?”

Y/N laughs as she heads over towards her suitcase, taking off her bra as she goes. She starts to dig through the mess, trying to find her pajamas. “Super sexy,” she responds, hoping George is too high to notice how serious she is.

“What are you doing? You sound too far away.”

Y/N chuckles at George’s dramatics as her hands finally land on her sleep shirt. It’s an old t-shirt of George’s that she stole sometime during their last year and never gave back. Whenever Y/N travels for work she brings it with her as a reminder of home. “I’m putting my pajamas on.”

“So, you’re naked right now?” George’s voice is rough, and it sends a shiver right down her spine.

“Practically,” Y/N responds, pulling the shirt over her head. It’s far too large for her so the hem barely brushes the tops of her thighs, but it reminds her of George, and that’s what matters.

George groans, and Y/N can feel her cheeks heating up as she crawls back into bed. “Wish I was there to see.” Y/N can feel butterflies erupt in her stomach and she has to clamp a hand over her mouth to conceal the noise that bubbles out of her throat. “Send me a pic of your tits,” he continues bluntly when Y/N doesn’t say anything.

“George!” Y/N says, the surprise in her tone evident. The butterflies in her stomach are going wild, and Y/N has to remind herself that it’s the weed talking, not George. “I’m not going to do that George.” Although Y/N would be lying if she said she wasn’t tempted to. “Besides I’m already dressed and in bed.”

“What a party pooper,” George grumbles. “Got me all hard for nothing.” Y/N’s heart feels like it’s going to beat out of her chest. George has never been this lewd with her in all the times they’ve been high together, and she wonders if it’s because of whatever he smoked or because this is one of the only times they’ve been alone while one of them was baked. “What are you wearing then? A sexy little nighty?”

Y/N has to take a few deep breaths, hardly able to believe what she’s hearing. Part of her wants to tell George to knock it off and hang up on him. But the other part has wanted to hear George talk to her like this since their Hogwarts days and she doesn’t know which part should win.

“One of your old t-shirts, actually,” Y/N responds quietly, giving in to her desires.

George groans, and it takes everything in Y/N’s power not to shove a hand down her panties. “That red one? That I let you borrow and never saw again?”

“You remember that?” Y/N asks softly.

“Of course,” George answers. His voice is slower now and Y/N can tell he’s going to fall asleep any second. Smoking always makes him tired and he was often the target of a few pranks since he would be the first to nod off. “That’s like a guys wet dream. Seeing a girl that’s as pretty and sexy as you are in his clothes.”

Y/N bites her tongue as to not say anything, just listening to George through the phone. His breathing starts to slow down, and within a few seconds Y/N can tell he’s fallen into a deep sleep. She listens to him breathe for a moment, before hanging up and tossing her phone down. She cuddles up in the unfamiliar bed, desperately trying to fall asleep.

-

Every few weeks George’s name pops up on Y/N’s phone usually late at night and he’s always baked out of his mind. Y/N finds it nice the first half dozen times, George’s voice is always calming to her and she basks in the opportunity to get to speak with him. They haven’t seen each other in months, despite the fact that Y/N has tried to catch up with him several times. But he’s always got an excuse ready. At first Y/N understood, the joke shop is his number one priority, but after a while it gets insulting. When George is sober he can barely be bothered to send her a text message but the second he lights up he’s dialing her phone number.

One night when he calls she asks him why he doesn’t just invite her over to smoke. Her flat is only 30 minutes outside of London and he knows that she’d drive to the ends of the earth to see him. But of course he has an excuse. He says that it’s something just for him and Fred, a way to wind down together after a hectic workday. Which makes sense to Y/N, and as much as she wants to push it she doesn’t. If it were any other person she would have given up on their friendship by now. But George isn’t just any average person. He’s the person she cares most about in this world, and Y/N doesn’t want to live without him. So as shitty as it makes her feel to just be someone he calls when he’s too baked to care who he talks to, she puts up with it.

That is until she reaches her breaking point.

-

The last time it happens Y/N doesn’t answer her phone the first time it rings. Or the second time. She’s just gotten home from having a few drinks with friends and the alcohol has made her brave. She puts her phone on vibrate mode and leaves it on her bed as she gets ready to go to sleep. It takes her 20 minutes to get ready and once she’s finally in bed under the covers she picks up her phone to assess the damage.

“What the fuck George?” she whispers to herself, scrolling through the notifications on her phone. She has 15 missed calls from him and a litany of text messages.

Answer ur phone Y/N Y/N I called again Pls Answer me Y R u ignoring me Need to hear your voice Baby Y/N Im gonna call until u pick up Ill keep txtin 2 Baby please Y/N I need to talk to you I miss u Pls

When George’s name and the stupid photo of him Y/N set as his contact picture pop again Y/N sighs and she reluctantly answers. “What?”

“Oh my god finally,” George groans in his usual slow voice. “Why didn’t you answer me?”

Y/N rolls her eyes. “Because, George. I was busy. I have a life outside of you and your stupid little phone calls.” Her tone is harsh, and George is so quiet for a moment that Y/N has to check to make sure that he hasn’t hung up on her.

“Why are you so angry?” he asks a second later, and Y/N can tell he’s upset. Normally she would just drop the subject, but there’s alcohol thrumming through her veins and she’s tired of keeping it all in.

“Because, George,” Y/N sneers. “You only call me when you’re high. You dodge every attempt I make at seeing you and you barely even text me anymore. I thought we were friends George. But in reality you treat me like dirt. You use me whenever you want and then you cast me aside without another thought until you’re high again.”

“Y/N,” George starts, but he gets distracted when someone in the background starts to giggle wildly.

Y/N’s blood runs cold, immediately recognizing that laugh. “I thought smoking was something for only you and Fred, George?” Y/N asks accusatorily, sadness and hurt starting to mix with her anger. “I can’t believe you. Not only did you lie to me, but you can find the time to hang out with Angelina Johnson and not your best friend?”

“I-I’m here all alone, Y/N. I don’t know what you’re talking about,” George stutters. But before Y/N can say anything, the same voice says something.

“Georgie,” Angelina whines. “You’re too far away, get back over here.”

“Y/N, I can explain,” George starts, but she cuts him off.

“Fuck you, George Weasley.” Y/N spits, before hanging up on him. She turns her phone off and slams it down, before burying her head in her pillow and crying herself to sleep.

-

When Y/N wakes up the next morning her head is pounding and her throat is dry, and it’s not just from the alcohol she drank. George broke her heart last night, and she has the dry tear tracks on her cheeks to prove it. Y/N avoids her phone, deciding she’s not quite ready for whatever is going to pop up when she turns it back on.

She gets ready for the day slowly, thankful that it’s still the weekend. Y/N stands in the shower for nearly an hour, just letting the hot water sting her skin. When she gets out she brushes her hair slowly, just looking at herself in the mirror. She can’t help but be as mad at herself as she is at George. George may have treated her like shit, but Y/N let him. She let herself become so desperate for his attention that she played right into his stupid game. And as much as Y/N hates to admit it, she doesn’t regret it for a second. All she’s ever craved was George’s undivided attention, and finally getting it felt so good, even if George was higher than a kite each time. Seeing his name pop up on her phone gave Y/N a thrill each time, even though she wanted more – deserved more. Y/N has always been there for George and all she wanted was for him to be there for her too.

Y/N picks out her comfiest lounging outfit, forcing herself not to automatically reach for the old shirt of George’s hanging in her closet. She’s been wearing it more often these days, craving the comfort of his embrace but settling for the cloth of his shirt instead. But now the sight of it makes her want to throw up.

She’s been up for nearly two hours when she settles back into bed, a hot cup of tea in her hands. Y/N’s not sure if she’s actually ready to face whatever mess George put them in last night, but sooner is better than later. She places her mug on her bedside table, reaching over to flip the framed photo she has of her and George over so she can’t see their smiling faces. When her phone finally boots up the screen shows just her background for a moment, before a barrage of texts, missed calls and voicemails show up. George has called nearly 100 times, with almost as many voicemails accompanying them and he’s texted over 200 times to boot.

Y/N scrolls through them, surprised to find that the most recent call and voicemail are from Fred. She can’t remember the last time Fred initiated a phone call with her, since he’s just as hard to get on the phone as George. Fred prefers to communicate through snapchats and tweets, so Y/N knows something big has gone on if Fred bothered to pick up his phone and make a call.

“Uh hey, Y/N. It’s me. Fred. But you probably already know that. Or maybe you don’t. Whatever, not important. I know this is probably the last thing you wanna hear since he’s left you like a thousand messages, but will you please call George? Or text him. Hell send him an email. He’s sorry for whatever it is he did. I’m not really sure what, he was crying a lot when he barged into my room and I was zooted as hell. But what matters is he’s sorry and he really wants to talk to you. So call him, please. Do it for me, at least even if you don’t do it for him. Okay anyway. Bye.”

Y/N sighs, running a hand through her hair. As pissed as she is, she hates to hear that George is upset. She chooses to ignore George’s voicemails for now, since they’re probably a mishmash of words and sobs considering how messy Fred said he was. She clicks on her text message app, scrolling through the messages George had sent, stopping every once and a while to read a few.

Y/N please Im srry Its sending me to voicemail Did u turn ur phone off Talk 2 me Pls y/n pls baby baby baby im sorry I need you to talk to me I need to hear ur voice Pls Let me explain I dnt care abt angie Not like how I care abt u Y/N please. Don’t do this I fucked up I knw I fucked up Let me make it right Please I love you, please

The last text message shocks Y/N, and she rereads it over and over again until its image is imprinted in her brain. George has only ever told her he loves her one other time. It was the last time they got high together, the night before he and Fred left to start the joke shop. Fred, George, Lee and her were all fairly baked, and after Fred and Lee left to sneak down to the kitchens for snacks, George had turned to Y/N and pulled her right into his lap. He had grabbed her face with both of his hands and looked deep into her eyes. I love you, you know that right? His tone was firm and when Y/N nodded he used his grip on her face to pull her into a kiss. It was uncoordinated and messy, but she didn’t care. He had mumbled the word ‘good’ when he pulled away and in a blink of an eye he’d drifted off to sleep. Y/N had snuck back into her own bed, figuring it was best to ignore it, since George surely wouldn’t remember it in the morning anyway.

A knock at her door brings Y/N out of her thoughts and she tosses her phone on the bed to go and answer it. She’s been expecting a package, so when Y/N reaches the door she doesn’t bother to check to see who it is, and just throws it open.

“You look like hell,” Y/N says when her eyes land on George. She certainly wasn’t expecting it to be him, but she’s truly not surprised. His text messages had sounded desperate and it’s very like George to just show up at her doorstep when she doesn’t want him to after he refused to come over for months. Y/N looks him over as he fidgets, taking in his disheveled appearance. His eyes are sullen and dull, his hair is sticking out in a million directions and his skin is ever paler than normal.

“Suppose I deserve that,” George responds, his voice raspy. He lets his eyes rake over Y/N, dumbfounded by how beautiful she looks even in her lounge wear. It’s the first time he’s seen her in person in over half a year and even though he’s spent much of his free time staring at her Instagram photos, she still takes his breath away. “You look good though.”

Y/N rolls her eyes and goes to slam the door, but George puts his hand up to stop it. “What do you want, George?”

“Just let me explain,” he pleads. “Just let me explain everything and then if you want I’ll go. I’ll leave and you’ll never have to talk to me or see me again. You can delete me from your life. But I can’t let you go without explaining myself.”

“Fine,” Y/N resolves, stepping aside and opening the door so George can come in. She leads him over to her couch and motions for him to sit down. Y/N resists her urge to sit next to him, instead choosing to stand in front of him, her arms crossed over her chest and her eyes narrowed. “Talk.”

George clears his throat and starts to fiddle with his thumbs. “I like calling you when I’m high because I say whatever comes to my mind. When I’m sober I think too much about what I’m going to say, and I never end up saying what I want. But when I’m high the words just fly out of my mouth without me thinking about the consequences and I like that. Because there’s so many things I want to say to you that I don’t have the balls to say when I’m sober.”

“Like asking me for tit pics?” Y/N asks with a curt laugh.

“Honestly, yes,” he answers, a blush forming on his cheeks. “But it’s more than that. Like telling you I smoke joints even though I despise them, and Fred can’t roll to save his life because it reminds me of you. Or that just the thought of you not wearing any clothes drives me wild. Or that I find you so ungodly beautiful and so damn sexy, Y/N. And that I love you.” George pauses for a moment so he can just watch Y/N. “Because I do love you, Y/N. So much more and in so many different ways than a best friend should.”

Y/N bites her lip to keep herself from sharing the same sentiment as George. Because holy hell does she love him with every fiber of her being, but he’s fucked up and hurt her in more ways than just his inability to admit his feelings. “Then why keep me at arm’s length, George? You avoid all my attempts to see you, you only ever bother talking to me when you’re baked out of your mind and you lie to me. Out of all the people in the world you had to smoke with it had to be her. You know how I feel about Angelina.”

Despite being roommates and pretty similar personality wise, Y/N and Angelina never really got along. They were always competing with each other, for the best grades in their year, for prefect and head girl, and Y/N is ashamed to admit that they’d fought over a boy or two in their early years at Hogwarts. But by far their biggest competition was for George’s attention. George couldn’t care less about girls during his time at Hogwarts, Fred didn’t either but at least he would sleep with some of the girls that threw themselves at him. George on the other hand didn’t seem to care. The only girl he ever bothered to spend meaningful time with was Y/N, and it drove Angelina up the wall. Angelina did everything she could to vie for George’s attention, including spreading a nasty rumor about Y/N during their 5th year. Much to Angelina’s disappointment it failed miserably, and they pretty much ignored each other from that day on.

“The Angelina thing is not my fault,” George insists. “She came into the shop just before we closed, and Fred invited her up and she accepted. What was I supposed to do?”

“Not let her in your room!” Y/N answers as if it’s obvious. “But this isn’t just about Angelina, I don’t want to talk about her. It’s about the fact that you’ve been treating me like shit, George. I’ve been trying so hard to get through to you and you stop me every time.”

“Because being around you and having to pretend that I don’t have feelings for you is too painful,” George admits honestly. “The only time I’m brave enough to be with you the way I want to is when I’m high. Why do you think I was always grabbing your ass after we smoked? Why I always made you cuddle me? Why I kissed you that night?”

“You remember that?” Y/N asks, clearly shocked. George had never mentioned it again and Y/N figured he was too high to remember what he said and did. It had upset her to no end that George returning her feelings was only a side effect of the weed, but she never brought it up to him in fear of ruining their relationship.

George scoffs. “Of course I do. When I woke up the next morning and you weren’t there I figured you didn’t feel the same way. So, I just never mentioned it, and when you didn’t either I figured you thought I was just being a high idiot like always and brushed it off. I never invited you to smoke after that because I knew I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off of you. And kissing you once is easy to explain away but kissing you every time we get high pretty obviously means something more. So, I would call you instead. And I’d lay in my bed high as hell pretending that you were there next to me until I fell asleep with you on the phone.”

“Oh, for fucks sake,” Y/N mutters. Before she has a chance to regret her actions, Y/N is throwing herself at George. She straddles his waist and kisses him hard, moaning when his hands land on her bum and give it a squeeze. “You’re such a fucking idiot,” she pants, starting to trail kisses across George’s jaw and down his neck. “But you’re my idiot.”

George chuckles before he grabs Y/N’s face so that he can kiss her again. Their lips move together slowly, and George starts to rub Y/N’s back lightly. “I love you,” he murmurs as their kiss breaks.

“I love you too,” Y/N responds, her head dizzy.

“Does this mean I get tit pics whenever I want?” George asks cheekily, laughing when Y/N slaps his chest.

“Only if you promise to only call me when you’re sober from now on,” Y/N bargains.

George grins at Y/N before leaning in to kiss her briefly. “Deal.”

[hrina]

In The Ring, Pt. IV - Uppercut

PAIRING: Harry x Reader RATING: M WORD COUNT: 10.6k REQUESTED: yes! 

well lads................this is it 🥺🥺🥺 thank u guys so much for all the love you’ve given this series. i would’ve never expected to receive such a positive response, but u guys rly went above and beyond. i adore u all so much 

warning: parts of this fic will contain mentions of blood, violence, mild stalking, and sexual content. if any of that makes you uncomfortable, please take care of yourself and keep scrolling <3

as always, my masterlist and my inbox are both linked in my bio! i worked really hard on this last part! i wanted to make sure it was all perfect, so i hope everyone enjoys it. gentle reminder to reblog the fics you like! it’s a great way to show appreciation as well as give authors more exposure. ok that’s all hehe can’t wait to hear your thoughts! take care 💙💙💙

PART I: Jab

PART II: Cross

PART III: Hook

~*~

    March 20, 2021

Harry keeps his promise, and Artie brings your car back around to your place the next day. You sit up straight at the table when you hear the familiar honking of a horn sound from outside. Your feet suddenly seem to have a mind of their own, carrying you out of the kitchen quickly with your father’s confused inquiries ringing in your ears. You open the front door before Artie even has the chance to knock.

“Thanks, Jason,” you tell him, breathless.

He hands you your keys and accepts the quick hug that you bestow upon him. “No problem, little girl. Is everything alright?”

Harry didn’t tell him.

“Yeah,” you lie, nodding. “I just—I had a bit too much to drink last night, that’s all.” Your voice drops an octave. “Don’t tell my dad, okay?”

Artie presses two of his fingertips together and drags them over the seam of his mouth, metaphorically sealing his lips. You smile, your heartbeat returning to its regular pace beneath the confines of your ribs.

You step back, extending an arm and gesturing for him to enter.

“Are you hungry? We were in the middle of eating lunch.”

“Sure,” he says, kicking off his shoes and arranging them against the wall. “Thank you.”

He and your father talk about anything and everything during the meal—boxing, the economy, the basketball game that had aired late last night. You just sit there and eat your food, not wanting to attract any unnecessary attention.

They include you in the conversation for a bit—Artie asks how classes are going, and you tell him that you’re waiting for medical school acceptance (or rejection) letters to start rolling in. Other than that, they don’t bat an eye when you rinse your plate in the sink and politely excuse yourself from the table. You hide behind the fact that you have to work on an assignment that’s due in a week—the paper is worth a third of your grade and it’s crucial that you ace it.

But once you hobble back into your room, you’re crawling into bed and pulling the covers up over your head. You reach around blindly for your phone, snatching it up from where it’s charging on your nightstand. You unlock the device, scrolling through all of the grey messages that pop up right away—sent last night, one after the other, each of them unanswered, growing more and more desperate as the hours pass.

Can we please talk about this?

I’m sorry, please let me explain.

Are you ignoring me?

I know you’re seeing these. Please respond.

And then a final one, dejected and crestfallen, laced with palpable weakness even through the pixels of your screen.

Goodnight.

    April 6, 2021

Harry’s on a losing streak.

A five-match losing streak, to be precise.

He’s never been bested this many times in a row. Your father is baffled by it, unsure of why he’s been so distracted in the ring. It’s even more confusing, he thinks, considering the fact that he’s at the gym every single day, lifting weights, practicing his technique, throwing himself into the sport. But once the actual fights roll around, things change. You’re not there, and you’re his lucky charm, and because of that, he finds himself meeting the ground far more often than he’d like to admit.

Your father said that the end of the semester was approaching—as a consequence, you were buckling down with school. Harry supposes that the timing is right, so the pretext must be true. But his opponents don’t know that (nor would they care). Your absence doesn’t stop them from knocking him down with snarling faces and heavy fists. The crowds holler loudly, goading him to get back up, but Harry doesn’t. He refuses to give them the satisfaction of watching him get beaten to a bloody pulp.

He stopped trying to reach out to you a week after the night of the kiss. He composed several texts a day, but each message had been met with silence. He remembers staring down at his phone one time, watching as three grey dots wiggled on the screen for a minute or two before disappearing entirely.

That’s when he gave up. If you didn’t want to talk, fine.

It hurt like hell, though.

And it’s still hurting like hell, even a week and a half later.

You told your father about James. He had mentioned it in passing to Harry, having to end practice earlier than usual because he had to set a court date to deal with some bastard who wouldn’t leave you alone. And that’s comforting, Harry thinks, because at least he knows that you’ll be safe, now.

He just wishes that he could’ve been the one to bring you that bit of solace.

That’s why, when your father invites him over for dinner one night after a particularly strenuous evening of training, he jumps at the opportunity. You’re making lasagna, your father says, having taken a break from studying for exams. Harry agrees to come over, because it’s been a while since he’s had a real, curated, love-infused, home-cooked meal.

And because you’ll be there, too, obviously. But he refrains from letting that incentive slip loose.

His heart is racing nervously when he parks his truck in front of your house. Memories flood his brain, reminding him of what had happened the last time he’d been here—the glint of your necklace under his fingers, the alluring twinkle in your eyes. The softness of your lips against his, the sensation of your nails carding through his hair—

Your father taps on the window of the driver’s seat.

“H?” he says, muffled through the glass. “You coming?”

“Yeah,” Harry chokes out, unbuckling his seatbelt and sliding out of the vehicle. “Yeah, sorry.”

He follows your father up the porch steps, waiting anxiously as the other man unlocks the front door. It swings open; they both step inside. Harry’s eyes widen when your father calls out, “Gioia? I’m home!”

“Hi!” comes your reply.

He freezes when the sound reaches his ears, because he hasn’t heard your voice—much less seen you—in over two weeks. He shuts the door discreetly, removing his shoes and trailing after your father as he pads down the hall. The closer he draws to the kitchen, the more he can smell it—meat, spices, cheese. His stomach rumbles in anticipation.

“Hope you made enough for three,” your father says, entering the room.

Harry lingers behind you, leaning against the wide threshold with his arms crossed protectively over his chest. He’s still a bit sweaty, but he hopes that the lasagna in the oven will mask the musky scent of the perspiration gleaming on his skin.

“Three?” you ask. You’re standing at the sink, your back to them. “Hi, Jason.”

A beat of silence passes, and then—

“Er, not exactly,” Harry grunts.

You stiffen immediately before spinning around. He doesn’t miss the quiet little gasp that leaves your mouth.

Your gaze locks with his, lips parted in surprise, and he can’t help but wonder if coming here was the smartest or the most foolish decision he’s ever made.

~*~

He and your father set the table.

After a few minutes, three plates and three collections of cutlery are laid out over a pristine white cloth. Harry eases into his chair as you carry over a hot tray of lasagna, your hands sheathed in a pair of red oven mittens. You put the pasta down in front of your father, who is sat at the head of the table. He inhales deeply, a small smile forming on his face.

“Smells amazing, sweetheart,” he tells you, nodding in approval. “Even better than your mother’s.”

“That’s a lie,” you tease, chuckling quietly and removing the crimson gloves from your fingers. You cut a large piece from the platter and deposit it onto his dish. “There you go.”

“Thank you,” he says.

He waits patiently as you separate another chunk of pasta for Harry, setting it down on his plate without a word.

“Thank you,” Harry tells you, his voice hoarse.

“You’re welcome,” you say. The response is short, painfully clipped—it makes him wince.

As soon as everyone has food in front of them, you sit down in your chair, reaching for the fork and the knife resting a few inches away from your dish. Before you can dig in, however, you pause, lifting your chin and squeezing your eyes shut.

“Shit,” you murmur. “Forgot the drinks.”

“There’s juice in the fridge, I think,” your father says through a mouthful of pasta.

“No.” You wave his suggestion away. “How about some wine? I’ll grab a bottle from the cellar.”

“Alright.” He nods, but then speaks again as you stand. “Wait—I think the treadmill in the basement is blocking the door. Harry—,” Harry’s head snaps up, nostrils flaring at the mention of his name, “—would you mind going with her? She won’t be able to move it by herself.”

“Uh,” he says stupidly. “Yeah, sure.”

He quickly excuses himself from the table, glancing over at you to register your reaction. Your expression is stony, betraying nothing. You swallow heavily, looking away and marching quickly out of the kitchen. He follows you without another word, hot on your heels.

The basement is dimly-lit, stocked with a few shelves of non-perishable foods and household supplies. Harry remains silent as you make your way over to the far wall, approaching the dark grey treadmill pressed against the door of the cellar. You place both hands on the side of the machine, giving it a firm push and grunting when it budges only an inch.

“You going to help me, or what?” you ask, casting an expectant glance at Harry from over your arm.

He blinks. “Right.”

Together, the two of you manage to ease the treadmill a few feet to the left. It’s enough space for you to open the door of the wine cellar and slip inside. Darkness envelopes your bodies, dissolving only when a small click! echoes through the still air. A moment later, the alcove is illuminated in a dull glow, compliments of the scrawny yellow bulb hanging from the ceiling.

You release the thin string attached to the light, turning around and gasping when you find Harry perched directly behind you. Your chests brush together—the contact sends sparks whizzing down his spine. You spin back around quickly, clearing your throat and scanning all of the different bottles balanced on the shelves.

“Thanks for your help,” you say dryly. “You can go back upstairs, now.”

“I’m good,” Harry mutters.

He clasps his hands behind his back as you trail your index finger along dozens of cream-coloured labels. Your hair is gathered in a low ponytail; a few shorter, wispier strands peek out from behind your ears. You’re not wearing makeup, today—and why would you, Harry thinks, when you’re the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen?

“So,” he starts, itching to break the silence, “your dad told me that you’re filing a restraining order against James.”

“Yeah,” you reply curtly. He waits for you to continue, but you say nothing else.

“Feel better now that you’ve come clean?” he questions. Immediately, he knows that it’s the wrong thing to ask. But it’s out there, now, and he can’t exactly take it back.

A hollow laugh tumbles off of your tongue. Behind you, Harry notices the way you shake your head in disdain.

“You’re ridiculous,” you say under your breath.

“What was that?” He cocks an eyebrow challengingly, frowning at your tone.

“I said that you’re ridiculous,” you gripe, whipping around and fixing him with a fiery glare. “Need me to repeat it again?”

“If that means you’ll finally be speaking to me, then yeah, go for it,” he snaps, folding his arms over his chest.

“I—,” you break off, surprised by the bite in his rebuttal. Harry clenches his jaw when you turn back around. Your hand quivers as you reach for a random bottle of red wine. “I’m not doing this with you right now.”

“When, then?” he demands, taking a step closer. His front skims along your shoulder blades, and when you face him once more, your eyes widen in shock at the close proximity of your bodies. The little room suddenly feels much smaller, walls looming forward and closing you in. Your chest swells as you suck in a deep breath.

“When are we finally going to fucking talk about this?” Harry presses, meeting your gaze. Desperation drips from every syllable of his query.

You purse your lips, exhaling raggedly.

“Soon.”

A feeble assent.

An insipid shake of your head.

You angle your torso to the side, easily slipping past him and out of the cellar.

“But not today.”

    April 10, 2021

Your nose is buried in a textbook when the message comes through.

Cell biology. So much information to remember, so many reactions to list, so many molecules to name. And weeks of studying, just for a two-hour-long final that’ll take place three days from now. If you weren’t so stressed out, the sheer nonsensicality of the situation would have made you laugh.

So when your phone chimes with the alert, you figure that it’s time for a break. A quick conversation with one of your friends, maybe. Something to take your mind off of the looming exam, even if it is just for a few minutes at a time. After that, you’ll get back to revising.

Sadly, nothing is ever that simple.

We need to talk. Come to the gym.

Your eyes widen when the words sink in. As you rub your clammy palms against the grey material of your sweatpants, another text pops up below the first.

Please.

You shouldn’t. You need to study. But even as you warn yourself against it, your brain is already coming up with a multitude of reasons to meet with him. It’s just one night. Your exam isn’t for another few days. You have time. You deserve to take a break.

Your keys jingle cheerfully as you toss them into your bag.

~*~

Harry is going to town when you walk into the gym.

You’re not quite sure how that poor punching bag has managed to stay balanced on its hook. Harry’s coming at it from every angle, pummeling the leather with hard, heavy fists. He’s wearing a black tank top today; deep armholes cut into the sides of the fabric and expose most of his torso. The dark tattoos on his skin glisten under a thin sheen of sweat; a small, stupid part of you expects the ink to run and smudge before you remember that the designs are permanent.

What’s even worse? Dangerous Woman by Ariana Grande is playing on his phone. The soft, feathery croons of her voice mix with the low grunts that escape Harry’s throat—sounds that claw their way out of him with each blow delivered to the bag. Under normal circumstances, the juxtaposition would have made you snort.

Now though, it just reminds you of that night all those months ago, when you’d asked him to teach you how to box. This entire train wreck could have been avoided if you’d simply kept your mouth shut.

Harry still hasn’t noticed you. How could he, when you’re standing behind him?

You clear your throat. He freezes mid-strike.

His grassy eyes are wide when he turns around.

“Hi,” he says, surprised. “I—I didn’t think you would come.”

“I was halfway here when I realised that I didn’t text you back,” you reply, scratching awkwardly at the nape of your neck. “But, like…no handheld devices behind the wheel, and all that jazz.”

His lips twitch. “Yeah. Good.”

You cross your arms over your chest, scanning your surroundings. You don’t know why you do that—nothing in the gym has changed. You’re just trying to avoid Harry’s gaze, which is a lot easier said than done.

“You, um…you wanted to talk?”

“Yeah.” He nods, walking over to the ring and pausing the music streaming from his phone.

He then reaches for two pairs of boxing gloves, nestling one in the crook of his elbow and tossing the other at you. The strap of your purse slides from your shoulder as you catch the leather in your arms. You peer down at the gloves, eyes narrowing in confusion before you train them back on him.

“I don’t get it,” you deadpan.

“Really?” Harry asks. He hoists himself onto the raised platform of the ring and slips through the gaps in the ropes. “Because you’ve been begging to go up against me since January. Are you seriously gonna back out now?”

“Go up against—” The rest of your sentence fizzles out. “I…I thought you wanted to have a conversation, not a competition.”

He shrugs, regarding you evenly as he pulls his gloves on and tightens the straps around his wrists. He then bumps his enclosed fists together, tilting his head to the side.

“Why can’t we do both?”

~*~

You look pretty, Harry thinks.

Standing on the far side of the ring, wearing a black tank top, grey sweatpants, and bright pink sneakers—yeah, you look pretty. You’ve cuffed your bottoms so that they’re rolled up to the spot just below your knees, and your hair has been pulled back into a low bun. There’s no emotion on your face as you stare him down, taking a few steps closer and assuming a fighting stance.

You’ve gotten better—he’ll be the first to admit it. But he’s going to beat you, and you both know it. It’s just a matter of when.

He decides that, for the time being, he’ll go easy on you. The two of you will talk things out, and afterward, he might let you win. Maybe. He’s still on the fence about that.

You both begin to move in a circle. After a long moment of silence, Harry says, “You go first.”

“No, you,” you grit out. He just shrugs.

Fine. Have it your way.

You block the straight, pointed jab that he throws, and pride swells up in his chest. It’s a simple punch to deflect, but nevertheless, it tells him that you’ve learned something over these past few months. And that means that he’s done a good job as your teacher.

As your friend…not so much.

Do friends kiss other friends the same way you’d kissed him in front of your house?

He really doesn’t know.

“Right, then,” Harry starts, nodding. “Let’s talk.”

“About what?” you ask. Your nose wrinkles in concentration as you direct a blow toward his stomach. He blocks it easily. “About how you kissed me back and then told me you didn’t have feelings for me?”

“I—,” he’s stunned, because okay, you’re coming right on out with it. “I’m sorry.”

He’s sorry for lying, but you don’t seem to realise that.

“I was so fucking embarrassed,” you say, lunging forward and throwing a cross at his nose. He bats your fist away like it’s nothing more than a pesky fly. “But I guess that I’m mad at myself, too. Here I am, starting to like you, meanwhile I barely know anything about you.”

“What do you want to know?” he asks, keeping his arms in front of his face.

(Deep down, beneath his stoic exterior, he can’t believe what he’s hearing. You had been ‘starting to like’ him? He’s scared, then, because that means he ruined everything that night in his truck. Do you still feel the same way?)

Harry blinks—shakes his head free of those thoughts and continues. “Ask me, and I’ll tell you.”

“Really,” you reply, though it isn’t exactly a question.

You drop your hands, taken aback by his offer. He’s not usually this open—you should seize the opportunity to probe while it’s still available. You will, he thinks. Over these past few months, he’s learned how you operate. You’re not predictable, by any means, but he knows that you can’t resist inquiring about his personal life when given the chance.

You want to know him. If he thinks about it for too long, his affections become exceedingly difficult to bear.

“Really,” he says.

He steps forward and curves his right arm in a powerful hook. You yelp jarringly when the rough leather of his glove makes contact with your left shoulder. He just shrugs, pulling back.

“Remember: don’t let your guard down.”

You clench your jaw and raise your fists once more.

“Fine, then,” you say, sidestepping another one of his jabs. “Where were you born?”

“Redditch, England,” he answers simply. “Moved to Holmes Chapel when I was a kid, though.”

You nod. The two of you continue to circle each other.

“Got any siblings?” you ask, charging him and attempting to deliver a series of punches to his torso. He deflects each of them with his forearms, never faltering.

“A sister,” he says, unbothered. “She lives back home.”

“And what about your parents?” you press, retreating and watching him with careful eyes.

He swallows roughly, shaking his head. “Dad left when I was seven. Mum died when I was fourteen.”

At that, you pause. You heed his earlier advice and keep your hands in front of your face, but it’s clear that his confession has caught you by surprise. Your gaze softens, and he watches as your lips curl down into a sympathetic frown.

“I’m sorry,” you tell him quietly, your shoulders slouching. “That’s terrible.”

He shrugs. “It’s in the past—can’t change it, now.”

He takes advantage of your pitying nature, springing toward you and aiming a punch for your hip. You barely manage to avoid the blow, jumping back at the last second. His glove scrapes swiftly against your side. The attack seems to snap you out of your emotions, because you scowl deeply and return to your original stance.

“What happened after that?” you ask, breathing erratically.

“They put me in foster care,” Harry says, shaking his head. “It was shit, though. I ran away after a couple of years. Went off on my own—that’s when I met your dad.”

“And he started training you?”

“And he started training me,” he confirms with a curt nod. “Couldn’t actually fight until I turned eighteen, but after that…I was taking up as many matches as I could.” He chuckles warmly at the memory. “Your dad said that he’d never seen anything like it. Told me I had to slow down.”

You smile a bit at his words. Your fondness quickly melts into shock, however, when Harry aims a hit for your face. You block the punch, retaliating quickly and throwing one of your own. Your fist makes contact with the barrier of his chest, and he stumbles backward, his eyes widening in disbelief. You got him.

Only once, but still.

You got him.

“Not bad,” he grunts, squaring his shoulders. “Maybe I should actually start trying, now.”

You grit your teeth, glowering at him. “God, you’re such a dick.”

He flashes you a contemptuous grin before lunging forward. You dodge two of his punches, but the third one catches you right in the stomach, making you double over and cough. Harry retreats, a mischievous smirk on his face.

“Done getting to know me?” he simpers.

You shake your head, straightening back up. “Not yet.”

You make a valiant effort, Harry thinks. Your dedication is commendable. But he’s had a decade of training, whereas you’ve only had a few months. Your technique—though improved—is still sloppy. And that’s what allows him to sidestep all of your strikes and react quickly, enough so that he’s got you pinned to the ground in just under two minutes.

You’re panting heavily; one of his forearms holds your crossed wrists down over your head. His other hand is planted on the floor just above your shoulder, the flat front of his boxing glove providing a stable surface to keep him balanced. His knees are next to your waist as he hovers over your stomach, giving you no room to worm out of his grip. You flail your legs in frustration, but he’s perched too high up on your body for the action to do any real damage.

“I win,” he says simply, arrogance dancing in his eyes. He leans down so that your noses are only inches apart. “Any more questions, baby?”

“Just one,” you bite, panting heavily.

He cocks an eyebrow, waiting for the inquiry to leave your lips. Once it does, however, it knocks every molecule of air from his lungs.

“Have you…,” you inhale deeply, “…ever been in love?”

The expression on your face tells him that you know exactly what you’re doing. Your chest heaves with exertion, and when his gaze flickers down to your breasts for only a fraction of a second, your eyes illumine with realisation.

“You want me,” you tell him, breathless. A thin, reflective layer of perspiration has gathered at your hairline. Your arms twitch from where they’re pinned beneath his. Despite the gloves still covering your hands, you grasp at his slippery skin, hoping that the contact will somehow make his already-weak resolve crack and crumble into nothing.

“No,” he says, his voice hard.

His green irises burn into your face. Who is he trying to convince?

“You’re lying,” you wheeze, shaking your head. “You want me.”

Your skin is hot. He can feel you radiating warmth like a fireplace. Heated, cozy, welcoming—it’s everything he loves about you, everything he’s been craving since he first became conscious of how badly he desired you. And, to top it all off, you’re looking at him like that—with eyes that could persuade him to jump from a skyscraper, if you so much as asked.

Just like that.

“Fuck,” Harry spits. He pulls back sharply and stamps his own eyes shut. His nose screws up in frustration. “Fuck.”

And then he’s kissing you.

The elated moan that slips from your lips has his cock twitching fitfully in his shorts. You arch your back to get closer to him, because with his hand still pinning you down, it’s not like you can throw your arms around his neck and bring him to you. The kiss is messy and frenzied and hot and carnal. Harry licks into your mouth, savouring the squeak that echoes in your throat.

You’re vocal—he’s going to fucking die.

When the two of you pull back, no words are exchanged. Harry stares down at you, taking note of how your pupils have dilated immensely. Your chest is still heaving, but this time, it’s for a completely different reason. He releases your wrists from where they’re pinned beneath his forearm, watching you carefully as he sits up.

He lifts his fist to his face and takes the strap of the glove between his teeth. The sharp riiip! that ensues may as well be a starter gunshot.

You both dive back into a sea of teeth and lips and tongue. Harry throws off his gloves easily. You struggle with yours, but he wastes no time, helping you discard them in a matter of seconds. With your hands finally free, you bury them in his hair, pulling at the soft, damp tendrils as he presses several hard kisses to your mouth.

“Fuck,” he mutters, slanting his body downward so that his crotch is level with yours. “You—you have no idea—”

The rest of his sentence fades into a groan when you suck harshly on his jaw. He shudders at the sensation.

Gradually, you bring your legs out from beneath his own, lifting your knees up to your chest and then wrapping your thighs around his waist. It’s an impressive feat, if he’s being honest. And it gives him more room to lean over you, to grind his cock against your centre through the layers of fabric separating your skin.

“Off—,” you choke, tugging at the bottom of his black shirt. “Get this off!”

He complies, sitting back up on his knees and ridding himself of the fabric. You take advantage of his instability, wrapping one hand around his bicep and giving it a hard shove. He topples to the side and you scramble up to straddle him, a small, smug smile ghosting across your face.

“What are you—?” he starts, but you place one finger against his lips, cutting him off.

You start to roll your hips gently into his—he groans, wishing more than anything that there were no clothes in the way. Goosebumps erupt on his arms when you lightly scrape your nails down his bare chest. You settle at the butterfly inked into his abdomen, tracing the insect’s wings with a wondrous look in your eyes. His palms sweep up your thighs.

“Why did you lie to me?” you murmur, keeping your gaze trained on his torso. “You feel the same, don’t you?”

He nods wordlessly.

“Why, then?” you press, frowning gently. “I—we could’ve avoided this whole thing if you’d just told me the truth.”

“Your dad,” Harry says weakly. “I can’t—you’re his—”

“My dad has no control over who I date or who I fuck,” you say. He’s stunned by the crudeness of your claim. “And if I want to fuck you right here, right now, then that’s what I’m going to do.”

“You—Christ,” he swallows heavily, squeezing his eyes shut. “You can’t just say shit like that.”

“Why not?” you smirk, grinding against him harshly and feeling the stiff outline of his cock in his shorts. “You seem to be enjoying it.”

“Fuck,” he grunts. You shriek when he flips the two of you over so that he’s back on top. His nose brushes against yours as he speaks.

“If we do this,” he warns, hot breath fanning out over your chin, “I won’t be gentle. In every single one of my fantasies, I’ve ruined you—made you drool, made you cry. You name it, I’ve done it. You sure you can handle that?”

“Yes,” you breathe, utterly enthralled. “I’m sure.”

Harry tucks a loose piece of your hair behind your ear, peering down at you tenderly.

“Look so pretty,” he coos, fingers skimming down the side of your throat. “Can’t wait to wreck your cute, little—” He sucks in a deep breath, weakened by the shamelessness of his own thoughts. “Gonna make sure your knees knock together once I’m through with you.”

And maybe it’s not smart to get you naked in the middle of the gym, where anyone walking by could easily peer inside and witness him fucking you into oblivion. But he can’t find it in himself to care—he’s been waiting for this moment for years, and damn him if he doesn’t seize it while you’re like this: open, inviting, presented to him like gourmet food on a silver platter.

And speaking of food…

“I’m gonna stretch you out,” Harry states. “You’ve got to cum first if you wanna take my cock, understand?”

You nod rapidly.

He shakes his head. “Need to hear you say it, baby. You want it, too, right?”

“I want it,” you confirm, breathless. “I want it, I understand.”

He smiles. His fingers ruck up the material of your tank top, and you lift your back from the ground to help him remove it. Your bra is next, pale pink with a simple bow resting between the cups. He swears when you unclip it quickly, letting the straps fall down your shoulders before tossing it away.

“Christ,” he says, blinking. “Can’t believe you’re real.”

He lays you back down onto the floor of the ring, ducking his head and enveloping one of your nipples in his mouth. You moan. The bud hardens between his teeth, sensitive to his touch. He sucks harshly before pulling off, littering kisses along the skin of your breasts. His head swims with lust, transforming him into someone nearly unrecognizable. You seem to like it, though, so how bad could it really be?

“Next time,” Harry murmurs into your flesh, “I’m gonna get a proper taste. Eat you out ’til you go blind. But for now—,” he dips his hand past the waistband of your sweatpants, “—my fingers will just have to do.”

You shimmy your bottoms down, kicking them off unceremoniously and spreading your legs. And fuck, he nearly loses it right there, because this is what he’s been picturing for months, if not years. Having you laid out in front of him, exposed and ready and willing. Your thighs stretched wide, miles of soft skin leading inward and morphing into sticky, wet folds. He closes his eyes for a brief moment and inhales deeply—the scent of your arousal floods his nose, rendering him utterly helpless. Something akin to a man unhinged.

He rubs you over your panties, first. They’re nothing special—simple black cotton covering your mound and your hipbones. But fuck him, he wasn’t expecting the ocean of excitement that seems to have pooled and soaked through the fabric. His fingertips are damp when he pulls them away.

“You’re drenched,” he groans, shaking his head in disbelief. He hooks one digit into the elastic of your underwear, looking up at you with inquisitive eyes. “Can I take these off?”

“Yes, please.”

He tears the material down your legs, and then you’re naked beneath him, save for the rose-gold pendant resting on your sternum. He sits back on his heels as you spread your thighs wider, chewing on the inside of your cheek. His index finger taps the skin just below your navel, tracing a path down to where you need him most. You whine when he bypasses your clit completely, dropping instead to gather some of your wetness before trailing back up. He smears your arousal over the nub—just to get a steady, slippery rhythm going—and then leans down, pressing his forehead against yours.

“Don’t wanna be too far,” he says sheepishly, sweetly kissing the tip of your nose. “Missed you.”

You seal your lips to his.

He makes you cum after a few minutes, slipping one finger into your channel, and then another. The entire time, his thumb stays perched on your clit, drawing expert circles and pulling wanton moans from your mouth. And when you cum—oh.

Oh.

You’re glorious, with lidded eyes and warm cheeks and teeth bared in pleasure. You ride out your high, spasming gently. Harry lays a firm hand on your stomach, feeling the muscles of your abdomen twitch beneath his palm. He continues to stimulate your clit, basking in the little aftershocks that zip up your spine and make your legs tremble.

If you were aroused before…good fucking God. He didn’t know it was possible for a woman to be this wet.

You kiss him as you come down from your orgasm, nipping softly at his bottom lip and sighing in relief. Both of his hands find your face—you seem unbothered by the fact that his fingers are coated in your juices, smearing messily against your cheek. He melts into you like he’s dying of thirst and you’re an oasis, lush and green and good. So, so good.

“Do you—,” he exhales raggedly, “—do you still want to?”

You nod, a soft smile forming on your face. It’s crazy, Harry thinks, how quickly you can oscillate between actual human sunshine and the devil personified. One minute, you’re asking him to fuck you, and the next, you’re giving him those eyes that make him feel as though every cell in his body has been liquefied.

“What were you saying about not being gentle?” you tease.

He chuckles quietly, shaking his head. You gasp when he hooks a finger into the chain around your neck. He takes your pretty pink pendant between two fingers, lifting it up and dragging the cool metal along the seam of your lips. You inhale sharply.

“I don’t have a condom,” he murmurs, sighing mournfully.

“I have an IUD,” you whisper, playing with the curls at the back of his head. “We’re good.”

He groans, dropping his face into the column of your throat. “You’re fuckin’ marvelous.”

You giggle.

He shudders when you begin to push his shorts down. You look up at him with raised brows when his cock slaps against his stomach, completely unrestrained.

“No underwear?”

“Always sticks to my balls when I get sweaty,” he whines, squeezing his eyes shut. “Need to let the boys breathe.”

A loud laugh flops out of your mouth. Harry snickers, too, trailing his nose up over your jawline so that he can catch your lips in a quick kiss. He moans as you wrap your fingers around his length, giving a few experimental pumps. Instinctively, his hips buck into your grip.

“You’re big,” you murmur. “Are you sure that it’s going to fit?”

“It’ll fit,” he promises.

He guides your legs up so that they’re wrapped around his waist, allowing him to slot himself closer to you. You gasp when his hand finds your cunt again, dipping two fingers inside before sweeping his palm over the length of your folds. He then smears your wetness along the shaft of his cock, makeshift lubrication to facilitate the first breach of your channel.

“You ready?” he says, positioning the tip of his dick at your entrance. “Deep breath for me, yeah?”

“Yeah.” You inhale, and he nudges his hips forward. You gasp as he slips into you, inch by thick inch, stretching you out in a way that you’ve never felt before. Harry reaches for your hands, tangling your fingers together and lifting them above your head. You arch your back with the new position, and he’s unsure of whether you’re trying to wiggle away or bring him in closer.

When the heels of your feet press against his ass, guiding him deeper, he assumes that it’s the latter.

“Fuck,” he stammers as your tight heat surrounds his cock. “How—how do you feel this good?”

A wheezing laugh punches its way out of your throat.

“Feel that,” Harry says hoarsely. “So fuckin’ hot and—and wet. Not gonna take any time at all, is it?”

“For me, or for you?” you taunt. He grumbles quietly, and you snicker.

After a brief moment of silence, you squeeze his knuckles reassuringly. “You can move.”

“Thank you,” he moans, capturing your mouth with his. Your breathing hitches as he pulls out before slowly sliding back in. When you sigh in response, he takes it as encouragement to pick up the pace.

Soon, he’s fucking into you quickly, your skin slapping together in a series of brutal thrusts. With each drive of his hips into yours, soft whimpers escape your lips, floating up into the hot air and melting like ice cream under the sun. Harry growls, sinking his teeth into the junction between your neck and your shoulder. The pain makes you writhe—in a good way.

“You don’t know how many times I’ve imagined this,” he grunts, laving his tongue over the indents on your skin. Your necklaces clink together—silver and rose-gold tangled in a mess of thin, delicate chains. “My—my hand could never—”

“Neither could mine,” you tell him, breathless.

His spine stiffens at your words, brain overcome with the thought of you lying in bed, your fingers buried between your legs and low whines pouring from your mouth. He groans; his next thrust is hard, keen, unforgiving.

He keeps you close, your bodies never separating. Your skin is slick with sweat, chests gliding together. Adrenaline rushes through Harry’s veins—he drives ahead, plunging inside of you with each fierce snap of his hips. You can’t do anything but lie there and take it, take it, take it.

“I want you,” he gasps, warm air washing out onto your collarbones. His hands are clammy, still locked with yours; he wouldn’t have it any other way. “I want you, I want you, I—” He gulps. “I’ve wanted you for so long.”

“Harry,” you murmur, grazing your nose against his temple. “Harry, look at me.”

Reluctantly, he pulls his face away from your throat. Your eyes are soft when they land on his, forehead shining with sweat, lips swollen and raw. The bun holding most of your hair back has come loose (Harry is certain that it’s due to the way your bodies shift along the ground with every thrust.)

You swallow roughly and shake your head, staring past his features and searching for something deeper.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you say, nearly crushing his fingers in your grip. “I’m here.”

Your walls pulsate around him, and his rhythm falters. He swears softly, releasing one of your hands so that he can bring his thumb down to rub haphazard shapes against your clit. You moan, surprised.

“Cum for me,” he orders, nodding rapidly. “Cum for me, and then I’ll do the same. Where do you want it, hm? Tell me.”

“Inside,” you pant, your nose screwing up in pleasure. “Cum inside me.”

“Shit, you’re serious?” he asks, awestruck. His stomach twists hotly at your invitation. “Want me to claim your pretty cunt? Is that it?”

“God,” you say. You squirm beneath him, nodding frantically. “Please!”

“Fuck!” he cries, and when you clamp down on his cock, he’s gone.

The two of you ride out your highs together, quivering and grunting in unison. Harry wraps his arms around your waist, holding you close to his chest. You dig your nails into his back, clinging to him like a piece of wood drifting through the stormy sea. Colourful spots dance in his vision—he tries his best to blink them away. Your thighs tremble around his hips, caught in an endless cycle of vibrations.

“Holy shit,” you whimper, exhaling shakily. “That was…”

Harry braces himself over your face, keeping you shielded from everything outside of your little bubble.

“Yeah,” he agrees.

A low laugh falls from your lips, but it quickly morphs into a moan when he pulls out of you. He pauses for a moment, watching as white liquid trickles from your abused entrance. The erotic sight nearly has him ready to go again.

“Fuck,” he mutters. He scoops his release up with two fingers and plugs them back inside of you. “That’s hot.”

You gasp at the slight overstimulation, wrapping a hand around his wrist reflexively. He just shoots you a wicked grin, which has you giggling girlishly in response.

“I want a kiss,” you say, craning your neck.

Harry hums, crawling up your body to fulfill your request. You smile against his lips, tossing your arms over his shoulders. The two of you exchange soft pecks for the next few minutes, basking in the aftereffects of your orgasms. Warmth unfurls in Harry’s chest, potent and contagious. It spreads through his veins, dousing his senses in a golden glow.

“You’re fucking incredible,” he tells you, nuzzling his nose against your cheek. “And I like you. So much.”

“I like you, too,” you reply, tracing your fingertips over the muscles in his back. “But if you ever lie to me again—” Your expression grows serious. “—let’s just say that you won’t have to worry anymore about your boxers sticking to your balls, okay?”

It’s an earnest threat—he knows that you mean every word—but nevertheless, it makes him laugh. You giggle along with him; he rolls off of you, his spine meeting the floor of the ring, and you cuddle into his side. Your nails tap languidly against his sternum as he wraps an arm around your shoulders. The two of you lie there for a few long moments, enjoying the peaceful silence.

“They’re taking my case against James to trial,” you say at last.

Harry stiffens, lifting his head so that he can look down at you properly.

“That’s a good thing, isn’t it?” he asks.

“Yeah.” You nod, refusing to meet his gaze. “But, um…my lawyer said that it might be a good idea to bring a witness to the stand. Just to seal the deal and stuff.”

You peek up at him shyly, and it clicks.

“Oh,” he says softly. “You want me?”

“Only if you’re comfortable with it,” you say hurriedly, resting your chin on his chest. “Please don’t think that I’m forcing you—”

“Hey, no,” he cuts you off, sweeping his fingers through your hair. The action soothes you, makes your eyelids flutter shut and your lips tremble with a nervous exhale. “’Course I’ll testify. I don’t want that piece of shit coming anywhere near you.”

“Thank you,” you murmur, pressing your mouth to his skin. You litter a few grateful kisses along his pectorals, and he smiles. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

“Don’t have to keep saying that,” Harry mumbles, chuckling tenderly. He takes your face between his hands, thumbs trailing idly over your temples. “I wanna keep you safe. Or—or make you feel safe, at least.”

Your eyes glisten.

“I do feel safe around you,” you say. Your lips twitch. “Except for when you’re trying to punch me in the gut.”

He snickers, shaking his head. “If you want to start tussling with me more often, you’re gonna have to get used to that.”

“Duly noted.” You smirk.

Harry sighs, letting his head fall back against the ground.

“Speaking of keeping you safe…,” he mutters, staring up at the ceiling. His fingers resume their previous ministrations, stroking languidly through your hair. “You should go pee, yeah? Heard it’s important for girls to do that after sex.”

You laugh, surprised by his words. “How—how do you know that?”

“Sister,” he reminds you. His cheeks dimple as he grins.

You nod, mouth curling into a fond smile. “Right.”

    April 26, 2021

The crowd is deafening, encasing him in a cloud of noise. He refuses to let it distract him, zeroing in on his opponent with the intensity of a thousand suns. An experimental jab comes his way, gauging the distance between them, but Harry sidesteps it easily. He retaliates with a right hook, catching the side of the man’s head. It’s not a powerful blow, but it succeeds in disorienting him for a few milliseconds.

He charges forward, then, sensing an opportunity and seizing it before it can fade away. In a flurry of fists (and the odd kick here and there), he backs his opponent up until the ropes around the ring are digging into the man’s waist. He’s ruthless, giving him no chance to react, delivering blow after blow until his rival can barely stand on his own two feet. At that point, he retreats, stepping back and letting his victory come to him.

He needs this win. He needs this win. He needs this—

His challenger falls into the trap, stumbling forward with double vision and throwing a sloppy hook. Harry bats his hand away effortlessly, lunging forward and curving his arm up. Pride flares in his chest when his fist makes contact with his opponent’s jaw, making the man’s head snap back on his neck. He drops to the floor in an unconscious, muscular heap.

The seconds pass by like molasses, but at last, the referee is climbing into the ring and lifting Harry’s hand high above his head. The crowd roars. He closes his eyes for a moment, basking in the praise. When they flutter open again, they’re trailing upward, searching for one particular face in a sea of strangers.

And there you are.

You’re beaming, clapping frantically and pausing every so often to cup your hands around your mouth and amplify your cheers. Harry smiles, tilting his chin upward and letting his head fall back in relief. He doesn’t tear his gaze away from you, even as the referee releases his wrist and crouches to rouse his opponent from the ground.

He hears someone call his name and turns to the side. He finds your father peeking at him through the ropes circling the ring, a wide grin on his face. He beckons him over, a water bottle clutched tightly in his outstretched hand. Harry complies, breathing out a heavy sigh.

Meanwhile, you’re pushing through the throng of people that have now started moving toward the exit. Going against the current is difficult—you murmur quick apologies as you nudge past countless shoulders and elbows—but finally, you emerge from the crowd, unscathed. You see Harry chatting with a few people approximately thirty feet away, but before you can take another step, a big, burly security guard blocks your path.

“No spectators beyond this point,” he tells you gruffly.

“But, I—,” your mouth opens and closes, though no words come out. Instinctively, you point over the guard’s shoulder, your finger pinned on a very sweaty, very shirtless Harry. “That’s my boyfriend.”

You only have a moment to feel shocked by your claim. Boyfriend?

It’s been weeks since that night at the gym, and yeah, you suppose that the two of you are a thing, now. You’re going out. You’re exclusive. Whatever the hell you want to call it.

But you’ve never referred to him as your boyfriend, and he’s never referred to you as his girlfriend. You haven’t talked about potentially putting a label on your relationship, despite the fact that you’re both clearly interested in seeing each other and no one else.

Is it time to have that conversation?

Harry jumps in surprise when he hears you call his name. He turns toward the sound and then grunts when you barrel into him a moment later, wrapping your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist. One of his hands reflexively falls to your bottom before quickly moving away. The feeling of his calloused palm on your ass sends a shiver down your spine.

You bury your face in his shoulder. He’s sweating all over, skin wet and muscles bulging from exertion. You know that you’ve caught him off-guard, because he whispers your name incredulously into your ear and presses a gentle kiss to your jaw. When he finally sets you down, you peer up at him with bright eyes and a large grin.

“That was incredible,” you gush, your hands falling to his biceps. “You obliterated him!”

“Thanks,” he chuckles. His cheeks are pink—you don’t think it’s because of the match.

In the periphery of your vision, you catch sight of your father. He’s standing there with raised brows and parted lips, and you suddenly remember that he hasn’t yet been made aware of your…situation. You gasp, stepping away from Harry quickly and draping your arms around your own torso. He seems to recognize your blunder as well, because his shoulders tense and his eyes nearly pop out of his head.

The two of you speak at the same time.

“Coach—”

“Dad—”

“I don’t want to know,” your father announces, holding up one hand and cutting you both off swiftly. His eyes bounce back and forth between you, features betraying no emotion whatsoever. Finally, his shoulders slump.

“I’m gonna call it a night, gioia,” he tells you. He then looks to the left, directing his next words at Harry. “Congratulations on your win, H. Have her home by midnight.”

“Dad, I’m a grown woman—,” you begin to scoff, but he gives you a pointed glare.

“Midnight,” he repeats.

You shrink away and nod.

~*~

Before leaving, Harry decides to take a quick shower in the men’s locker room. You sit on one of the benches, tapping your foot against the tiles as you watch him get undressed. It doesn’t take him long—he’s only wearing a pair of shorts, after all—but you savour every moment, your eyes raking over his muscular back as he bends down to pick his bottoms up off of the ground. He tosses the fabric into his drawstring bag before peering over his shoulder at you.

“Sure you don’t wanna join me?” he asks, a coy smirk playing on his lips when he catches you staring.

You look away quickly, picking at your nails and feigning indifference. “Where anyone could walk in? I’m good.”

He shrugs, snickering quietly. “Suit yourself.”

You ogle his plump ass as he walks away.

A moment later, one of the showers turns on. You can hear Harry humming softly as he steps under the spray. You sigh, leaning back against the wall and fishing your phone out from your pocket. For the next few minutes, you scroll distractedly through social media, bored out of your mind.

You grunt softly and set your phone down, tiptoeing over to the door of the locker room and fastening it shut. The lock above the handle slides into place with a low click!

“Fuck it,” you mutter.

You flick open the button of your jeans, shoving the material down your thighs. Eventually, you’re naked, goosebumps pebbling on your arms. You set your clothes back down onto the bench and grab a spare towel, fiddling with the necklace hanging from your throat. A thought occurs to you; you unclasp the chain, pulling it off and letting it pool in the palm of your hand.

Harry’s idle singing grows louder as you approach the row of showers. It’s not hard to find his cubicle—it’s the only one with the curtain drawn over the entrance. You pad toward it, hanging your towel next to his and calling out, “Harry?”

“Yeah?” His hums stop.

You grasp the fabric of the curtain, pulling it back and peering inside. Immediately, Harry’s gaze locks with yours. He’s completely bare, standing beneath the water with hooded eyes and shampoo foaming in his hair. You slip into the cubicle, not missing the way he gawks at your naked body.

“I changed my mind,” you murmur, peering up at him shyly.

He presses his lips together to fight back a smile. “Yeah. You sure did.”

“Shut up and let me rinse your hair.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Before you can bury your hands into the wet strands, however, you remember the jewellery clutched between your fingers.

“Actually—,” you say, hesitating. “I, um—I wanted to give this to you.”

You scoop the necklace up from your palm, holding it out nervously. Harry recognizes it immediately, and his eyes widen in surprise.

“What for?” he asks, not unkindly.

“It’s my lucky charm,” you tell him, shrugging your shoulders. “I just figured…maybe it’ll work for you, too.”

He kisses you, then, grabbing your face in his hands and crushing his lips to yours. You whimper into his mouth, finding his wrists and encasing them in a tight grip. The kiss is passionate, bruising, fiery—you’ve never felt so wanted.

Harry pulls back once the two of you run out of air. Even then, he keeps his forehead pressed snugly against yours, staying close. He’s breathing heavily, and you’re starting to sweat, the humidity of the stall seeping into every last pore on your body. Harry shakes his head, gazing into your eyes.

“You’re my lucky charm,” he says.

Your heartbeat stutters in your chest.

“But,” he continues, smiling softly, “I’ll take the necklace. It’ll be good to have for when you’re not there.”

You nod wordlessly, and he steps back. His hands find his throat, fumbling with the chain dangling over his collarbones. He reaches over his shoulders, unclasping his own necklace and presenting it to you.

“Here,” he says. “I’ll take yours, and you take mine.”

You nod again.

You turn around slowly, electricity thrumming through your body as Harry guides the silver chain around your neck. The shiny cross pendant rests against your sternum; the warmth of the metal seeps into your skin. When you face him again, Harry whistles lowly, his lips twitching.

“Looks good on you,” he says, nodding proudly. “My girl.”

“Is that what I am?” you ask, peeking up at him through your lashes. “Your girl?”

He pauses. He really does look ridiculous with the white, frothing shampoo slicked through his hair.

“Is that what you want to be?”

A moment of silence ensues.

“Yeah,” you finally say, biting your bottom lip. “It is.”

Harry smiles. He leans forward and kisses you again, softer this time. You nudge his shoulder with the hand that’s still holding your necklace, prompting him to spin around.

“Come on,” you murmur, delivering one last affectionate peck to his mouth. “Your turn.”

~*~

Harry pulls up to your house fifteen minutes before midnight. You unbuckle your seatbelt, modifying your position in the front seat so that you can look at him properly. Your hair is still slightly damp from your shared shower, and your skin is fresh and clean. You smell like him—like the body wash you had both used to scrub yourselves down in the small cubicle. A silver necklace—his necklace—peeks out from beneath the collar of your denim jacket.

The jewellery suits you. He doesn’t ever want you to take it off.

The two of you stare at each other for a moment until you eventually crack a smile.

“You look like you want to eat me,” you say, laughing.

“C’mere, then,” he chuckles, already leaning forward. “Lemme have a taste.”

“Gross.” You stick your tongue out playfully but obey him nonetheless, your lips meeting over the middle console of the vehicle. Harry cups your face in one hand, keeping you close. You sigh into his mouth, and he swallows the sound down—it’s the prettiest fucking thing he’s ever heard.

You carry on like that for the next few minutes, exchanging soft kisses that don’t go beyond him placing a calloused palm on your thigh. When you finally pull away, a breathless giggle bubbles up in your throat.

“Have I ever told you that you’re a great kisser?” you ask.

“Only a dozen times a day,” he replies, smirking gently.

You laugh, carding your fingers through his hair and tilting your head to the side as you stare at him. Your eyes are far away, getting lost in your own thoughts, it seems.

“What is it?” he whispers, even though there’s no one else in the car aside from you and him.

“I love you,” you murmur absentmindedly.

Harry freezes; your confession knocks the air from his lungs.

“What?” he says, his brows knitting together.

At last, you snap out of your trance. Your admission sinks in, and you recoil, shocked at your own boldness.

“I—,” you start, your eyes growing impossibly wide. “I just meant—we’ve known each other for years, now, but I feel like I really got to know you these past few months. These past few weeks, especially.”

You shrug, playing nervously with the silver cross hanging around your neck. Harry’s heart somersaults at the sight.

“I’m sorry if it’s bad timing,” you continue; you’re rambling, now. “And I understand that it might be weird considering the fact that we just put a label on this, but—,” you break off, taking a deep breath, “—I love you. I do.”

He reaches out, trailing his fingers over the faint curve of your jaw. You gasp softly when his thumb ghosts over your bottom lip.

“Did you just apologise for telling me that you love me?” he says. Crinkles appear at the corners of his eyes.

You squeeze your own eyes shut, cringing at his words and shaking your head.

“Don’t repeat it,” you plead. “I’m already embarrassed enough.”

“Oh, so loving me is embarrassing?” he asks, smirking slyly.

You frown, batting his hand away and shifting your body so that you’re no longer facing him. You place your elbow against the ledge of the passenger door, resting your chin on your fist and staring pointedly out the window.

“Hey,” Harry coos, though he can’t stop the inkling of laughter that seeps into his voice. “Don’t be like that.”

“I take it back,” you say flatly, refusing to turn around. “I hate you, actually.”

“Really,” he says, but it’s not a question. He unbuckles his own seatbelt so that he can lean over the middle console and nuzzle at your cheek.

“My girlfriend hates me?” he asks; he knows that he’s being insufferable, but he can’t help it. Messing with you is so much fun.

“Yes.” Your response is curt. “She does.”

“That’s not nice,” he says, curling his lips down into a dramatic pout. He presses a gentle kiss to the side of your neck—right against a particular spot that makes you melt every single time. He knows it, and so do you.

“That’s not nice at all,” Harry continues, littering sloppy pecks down the column of your throat. “This how you treat the man who loves you?”

You pause when his words register in your brain.

“Stop lying,” you mutter, keeping your gaze glued to the scenery outside your window.

“’M not lying,” he tells you, squeezing your thigh gently. “Said you’d cut my balls off if I did it again, remember?”

And despite your initial sense of humiliation, you laugh. Harry smiles, placing his free hand on your cheek and guiding you to look over at him. You submit to his wishes, gazing at him through pretty, wispy lashes. He tilts forward ever-so-slightly, nudging your noses together and fastening his lips to yours. When he pulls back after a moment, he pinches your chin between two fingers.

“I love you,” he says earnestly.

“I love you, too,” you whisper.

Your eyelids flutter shut as he slides his palm up your leg; he stops only once it’s resting in the crease between your hip and your thigh, dangerously close to your groin.

“We have—,” he cranes his neck, peering over at the digital clock on the truck’s dashboard, “—five minutes until you have to be inside. Think I can make you cum between now and then?”

You scoff, pushing him away and laughing at his crudeness.

“You’re insane,” you giggle, shooting him a faux-stern glare. “Behave.”

“Fine,” he grumbles, frowning childishly. You just grin, slipping your hand around his neck and pulling him in for a doting kiss. You press a series of rapid pecks along the seam of his mouth, nipping playfully at his bottom lip before retreating. Instinctively, he follows you, but you dig your fingers into his shoulder, stopping him before he can get too far.

“Goodnight,” you whisper, reaching for the handle on the door.

Harry watches with wide, awestruck eyes as you exit the car. You clutch your purse closer to your side, looking back at him expectantly and waiting for his response.

He clears his throat, blinking out of his reverie.

“Yeah,” he nods, nostrils flaring slightly. “Goodnight.”

He peels away from your house only once you disappear through the front door. Subconsciously, his hand finds the rose-gold chain hanging around his throat. He fiddles with the necklace, running his thumb over the smooth surface of your shiny pendant. There’s something unreal—almost dreamlike—about having it between his fingers. He’s spent so long watching you fumble and toy with it—watching it bring you comfort when you’re nervous, or bored, or afraid.

Now, it’s his.

And so are you.

Faint music plays from the truck’s stereo; Harry reaches forward, twisting a knob and turning the volume up to its full capacity. Ariana Grande’s familiar vocal riffs pour through the speakers.

He sings along at the top of his lungs, hollering triumphantly the entire ride home.

~*~

Extra: Knockout [READ IT NOW ON PATREON]

if you enjoyed this series, please consider donating to my ko-fi! thank you bunches <3

[animeyanderelover]

Yandere Juuzou and promp 105 plz

More Juuzou Suzuya coming your way😉.

Warnings: Yandere themes, creepy behavior, stalking, delusional thinking

Prompt 105: “I watched you sleeping the whole night ‘til morning and I’m still not tired of it.”

Many still questioned how Juuzou had been able to get himself such a lovely human like you. You were everything he wasn’t. You were more quiet, reserved, polite and shy, being always pretty nervous when it came to talking to other persons. The first time you had been introduced to his co-workers, they all had looked at you as if you were some sort of alien. You guessed it must have looked quite ridiculous to them, having a wide-grinning Juuzou holding your hand and you trying to hide behind him. Shinohara had been the first one who had snapped out of his shock and had welcomed you friendly. If you remembered right he was what other persons would call a friend of Juuzou. Juuzou liked him, often telling you that Shinohara was the only person he had ever gotten along with and who hadn’t treated him strangely, next to you of course. And it had been obvious that Shinohara had been glad that Juuzou had you, treating you with other respect and also asking you some polite questions. The first question had been the one everyone who had seen the two of you together had asked you so far. It was always the same. How had you two met each other? And when had you two become a couple? It was the question you had never found an answer to yourself. It...It had just happened. One day that guy had just started hanging out with you, holding your hands, kissing you and inviting himself over in your house.

Protesting wasn’t useful against him and you guessed at one point you had come to accept that you and him were together. You didn’t hate him after all, if you were completely honest you probably even liked him. You didn’t know, it was probably because his personality was always so energetic and peculiar, something like opposite attract. And he had never really harmed you before. The only thing you had to deal with was his more creepy behavior, his lovesickness. If you could manage to live with that, you would be able to live a normal life. But that was the point where Juuzou gave you a hard time. Because he never intended to be this way, but he was nearly 99% of the time too much to handle and didn’t even apologize. He didn’t saw the problem and you doubted he would ever be able to see it.

That made moments like this hard for you, especially that early. Because the first thing you had seen as soon as you had opened your eyes had been Juuzou, laying with a lovingly look in his eyes at you. “Morning sugar!” “Morning.”, you mumbled tiredly burying yourself deeper into your pillow to save the warmth surrounding you. You were still with one foot in your dreamland, that was probably the reason why you didn’t realize it at first. “...!” You hadn’t let Juuzou inside your house yesterday, let alone even known he had come over! How long exactly had he been here? And how? Oh god, hopefully he didn’t break the door again! Or had he used the keys? And why had he even come over in the first place? You slowly sat up, not feeling very good knowing that he had been laying next to you this whole time without you knowing. Juuzou was touchy and you dearly hoped he hadn’t overstepped personal boundaries. “U-umm...Juuzou?” “Yes? What is it (y/n)?”, he instantly beamed, clearly excited that you were now awake and paying attention to him. “H-how did you get inside? You didn’t break the door again, right?” Shouldn’t you have heard it if he should have broken the door? Or were you that deep of a sleeper? “Oh, don’t worry your little head over that. You seemed upset the last time I broke it. I used these.” He quickly pulled keys, your extra keys, out of his pocket, twirling them around on his index finger. You decided to not ask how he had gotten them in the first place, knowing he wouldn’t give you a clear answer. You suspected he had stolen them one time before given the fact that he was talented when it came to this.

“Can I...have them back?”, you asked carefully, extending your hands in fruitless hope that he would give you the keys back. But of course you shouldn’t have expected anything, Juuzou tilting his head slightly before quickly putting the keys back into his pocket. “No. I need them. I need to check after all that you’re fine. If I would give them back I would have to resort to breaking the lock again.” You pulled your hand back, feeling stupid for even asking. Of course he wouldn’t return them. You guessed if it came down to it, letting him keep the keys was still better than having him break into your house by force even after he had so far always fixed what he had broken. But you still had one question left and you did notice that he had dark rings under his eyes, making you suspect the worst. Juuzou had never been a heavy sleeper in the first place, often staying up until the sun was already about to rise again. At least he had enough respect to let you get your needed dose of sleep and both of you had surprisingly discovered that by cuddling with you, he seemed to get a few hours of sleep. There were a few tricks that led him to dozing away from time to time which you often used against him, simply to get him to calm down since he was always very hyper and bouncy. You had figured out that by stroking his hair, he seemed to come down from his high emotions, getting more and more drowsy. And you could do it quite often since Juuzou loved when you have him affection. He seemed rather fine that you often didn’t express your love like he did with a heavy amount of affection and cuddles, but if you actually gave him some, he clinged onto it like it was the last piece of candy on earth.

“Juuzou, just how long have you been here?” You found yourself sounding genuinely upset, not only because he had once again busted your private bubble. By now you felt sad that you felt used to it. But also because you didn’t like it, seeing him abiding his well-being like this without even caring about it at all. Why did his grin seemed to only grow wider after hearing your question? “I watched you sleeping the whole night ‘til morning and I’m still not tired of it.” You stared completely flabbergasted at him. The whole night? It was 9 am in the morning and you had went yesterday early into bed due to a tiring day of work. How long had you slept? About 12 hours? And when exactly had he gotten his last deserved break and slept for a bit? As you knew him it had probably be a few days. Should you perhaps..? You guessed you could throw a tantrum right now about his stalkerish tendencies, you could complain and yell all you wanted. But two things were holding you back. First of all, you weren’t this type of person who expressed their feelings in a very violent way, being more of a soft spoken person. The second reason was because you knew too well that it wouldn’t get through his head at all. You knew Juuzou was more “special” than most others, but he was also only human and needed his sleep as well. At least a bit, you didn’t want him to sleep 12 hours, but just a few hours a day. That’s all you wanted.

And you knew that if you would ask, he wouldn’t reject. He could never. “Juuzou...” He shuffled closer to you, showing you that he was listening. “...Do you want to cuddle with me?” You sounded incredibly sheepish right now, feeling blood rushing to your face and leading to your cheeks heating up. Juuzou on the other hand looked for a split second taken back, it was rare that you were the one asking for such a thing. But very quickly to his cheeks rose a blush as well, his face quite literally beaming happiness. Without a waste he quickly moved closer to you, placing himself so that his head was placed against your chest and his arms around your hip. He liked this position because then you always caressed his hair which was what he wanted in this moment. “Did you know that you snore slightly every 55 seconds?”, he almost purred into your chest, enjoying the feeling of your fingers through his strands of hair. “I what?...No, I didn’t.” He seemed to have watched you very intensely if he even knew the exact amount of seconds, causing you to gulp slightly, starting to feel a bit creeped out. “And did you also know that you-“ Before he could ruin the atmosphere you were currently trying to maintain, you quickly interrupted him. “Juuzou!”

[threecrowsinatrenchcoat]

Plant Your Hope With Good Seeds

Dukeceit Week Day 3: Snakes/Bugs

Remus and Janus break up. But literally everyone knows that's not what they want. Everyone, including their plants.

AO3 Link: [here]

Word Count: 4337

Warnings: n/a

@dukeceitweek <3

-

Unknown Number

hey so i kno i said i wouldnt text u but rupert isnt doin good. can i bring him back? he misses u

Janus stared at the text for several minutes. Rupert was, of course, the Monstera Variegata that he and Remus had raised together all the way from propagation. It had been one of the pride and joys of their plant collection. Losing Rupert in the split had hurt almost as much as losing Remus.

...Almost. 

Janus

Is it getting enough light? Remember it needed the grow light even next to the window. 

Janus texted back against his better judgement. He and Remus were broken up. They’d agreed not to text for a while. They’d agreed to give each other space, get used to being apart. 

It sucked, though. The apartment felt empty without Remus and half their plant collection.

Unknown Number

ya i kno. but i don’t have any south facign windows here. our place is better

Unknown Number

i mean ur place

Janus sighed morosely. Well, if it was for Rupert…

Janus

Fine. Rupert can come back.

Unknown Number

yay! ill be in town this weekend. ill bring him ok?

Janus

Ok.

And then Janus promptly threw his phone across the room.

Because here’s the thing. Janus and Remus were broken up. Remus had moved eight hours away and everything. He’d been accepted into the Nuclear Engineering graduate program a state away, and they had both heard too many horror stories about long-distance relationships to brother trying. So they’d had a very civil and mutual split. Janus kept the apartment. Remus took the TV. And they’d divided their plant family between them: they each kept their favorites, and Remus had taken the hardier plants, while Janus kept the ones that were likely not to survive an interstate move.

And then… Remus left.

And Janus had not immediately wanted him back. Not at all.

(And, of course, Janus was lying to himself.)

Remus texted him Saturday morning that he was on his way, and Janus spent the first few hours of the wait stress-cleaning. He then checked on every single plant in the apartment. Watered the ones that needed it. Rotated some of the more vivacious growers so that they wouldn’t lean full-body toward their light source. Moved his small army of Sansevierias out to the apartment balcony for some extra sun.   

Then, when all that still failed to fill up the entire eight hours of waiting, he started stress-cooking. So by the time Remus texted that he’d just gotten off the highway, Janus had himself a pot of minestrone soup simmering on the stove, a tray of made-from-scratch lasagna in the oven, and was mixing up a batch of double chocolate chip cookies. 

There was no way he was going to eat all this food himself, he realized. He was so used to booking big meals like this, because Remus ate like he was three people. And lasagna was his favorite.

“Oh, Jake, what am I doing?” he groaned to the N’Joy Pothos that cascaded down the side of the refrigerator. And then his doorbell rang. 

Janus opened the door to find Remus, dancing awkwardly from foot to foot, with his face half-hidden behind the green-and-white leaves of Rupert. 

“...Hey,” Remus said, sounding sheepish. Janus’ heart clenched.

“Hi,” he said. They stood there in the doorway for a full minute before Janus stepped back and motioned for Remus to follow. Remus hesitated, but obeyed. 

“Uh… I’ll just…” Remus looked around. Janus hated how uncomfortable he looked. Until about two weeks ago, this had been Remus’ apartment, too. “Can I put him in his old spot?”

“Sure,” Janus replied with a nod. Rupert’s old spot had been in the bedroom, where the big, beautiful south-facing window let in a ton of light. He’d moved Venus de Milos, his Marble Queen Pothos, and La Hoya Jackson, the finicky Hoya Carnosa that Remus had wanted but didn’t expect to make the 8-hour drive without going into shock, to free up Rupert’s spot. Remus hesitated again, before he nodded awkwardly and wandered off to the bedroom, all three feet of plant and two gallons of soil in tow. Janus went to the oven and took out the lasagna. 

“Howl looks good,” Remus said when he came back into the kitchen. Janus glanced up from where he was laying balls of cookie dough out onto baking sheets. 

“Thank you,” he replied. Howl was their dramatic fiddle leaf fig tree, which had decided to throw a fit just before Remus left. “I switched it to a terracotta pot with peat moss and pearlite, and doubled its water intake. It seems to be tolerating it well.”

“Good.” There was a long pause. Then,” How are you?”

Janus looked back to the cookies. “I’m doing well,” he lied. “And you? Do you start class soon?”

“Next week,” Remus answered. “And, uh. Yeah, I’m doin’ good.” Another long pause. “Uh… I’ll just. Head out, I guess.”

“You could stay,” Janus blurted out. Shit. “For dinner, I mean.” He gestured to the tray of lasagna, fresh from the oven. “If you want.”

Remus gave him an uncharacteristically shy smile, then nodded slowly. He didn’t say anything, though, so Janus just gestured for him to take a seat at the table. And then he joined him, a plate of lasagna for each of them.

“So tell me, how’s living with Roman again?” Janus asked, a few bites into the meal, because he could not take the awkward silence a moment longer.

“It’s ok,” Remus answered. He shoveled another forkful of lasagna into his mouth. “This is really good, Jan.”

Janus smiled softly. “Thank you.” A pause. “Roman doesn’t mind all the plants?”

“Nah, he’s dating this guy Patton who apparently loves plants, so the apartment being full of houseplants is a huge plus to him now.”

“Good for him.” The oven timer went off, startling him slightly. He started to get up, but Remus waved him off.

“I got ‘em, you did all the cooking.”

Janus didn’t protest. Remus got up and took the cookies out of the oven. And he even moved them to a cooling rack like Janus had taught him to do. He came back to the table. 

“How’s work?”

Janus sighed. “Oh, terrible as always,” he answered. “I really must start looking for a new job.”

“Finally getting fed up?” Remus teased. Janus rolled his eyes. More seriously, Remus continued, “You deserve better, Jan. You gotta find some place that treats you right and pays you what you’re worth.”

“Thank you, Remus.”

“And hey, just sayin’, I still think you’d make an excellent stripper.”

Janus snorted at that. “I haven’t fully ruled out that particular career change.”

They fell easily back into their usual banter, lingering late into the night over a dessert of milk and cookies. It was pushing 10pm when Remus glanced at his phone and cursed softly. Janus glanced at his phone as well.

“Ah, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you so late,” he said. Remus shrugged.

“Nah, it’s cool. Thanks for dinner, Jan. It was real good, as always.”

“Where are you staying?”

“Uh… well, the plan was to stay with Logan, but I guess he had some kind of family emergency, so I don’t wanna trouble him. I’ll probably see if I can find a hotel room.”

Janus’ brow furrowed at that. “Why don’t you just stay here?”

“Oh, uh. I don’t wanna trouble you. I kinda feel like I already overstayed my welcome a bit?”

“Nonsense. A hotel room will cost you at least $100 for the night, and that’s simply ridiculous,” Janus insisted. “You should just stay here.”

Remus worried at his lip, which Janus knew meant he was mulling over his options. Then, he nodded. “If it’s not a bother?”

“Of course not. You’re not a bother, Remus.”

Remus’ eyes softened, and he smiled. “Ok. Thank you. Oh… lemmie go get my overnight back outta my truck.”

When Remus came back inside, Janus had just about finished making up the couch. 

“Hey, you don’t gotta get all fancy,” Remus teased. “You know I can sleep basically anywhere.”

“This is for me,” Janus replied. He fluffed up one of the pillows a bit more. “You take the bed.”

An odd look flashed across Remus’ face. “No way, Jan. I’m good on the couch.”

“Remus, you just drove eight hours, and you’re doing it again tomorrow. I am not letting you fuck up your back.”

‘I don’t-”

“Yes you do, no matter how often you say you can sleep anywhere,” Janus scoffed. “You can’t lie to me.”

Remus’ eyes softened, and after a moment, he sighed. “Ok, Jan. But what about you?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“You hate sleeping on couches.”

“It’s only one night-”

“And don’t you work tomorrow?”

“Yes, but-”

“You’re going to be so grumpy at work without a proper night’s sleep.”

“I’m usually grumpy at work anyway,” Janus pointed out. Remus snorted.

“Ok, that’s true. But I don’t want you to be even grumpier,” he said. “Let’s just share the bed.”

Janus eyed him for a moment. This was a terrible idea. They should not do this.

“Ok,” Janus said anyway.

They got ready for bed in awkward silence, which just made Janus miss Remus’ long, rambling chatter that much more. When Janus finished in the bathroom, he found Remus sitting gingerly on what used to be his side of the bed. Janus came over and sat down on the other side.

“Hey, uh… thanks,” Remus said. “For lettin’ me stay.”

“Of course,” Janus answered. “I… I still think of you as a friend, Remus.”

At that. Remus grimaced slightly. He didn’t say anything, seeming unable to find the right words. Before he could, Janus pulled back the top blankets on the bed and laid down. After a moment, Remus did the same.

“Good night, Remus,” Janus said quietly.

“...Good night, Janus,” Remus answered. Then he reached over and shut off the light.

-

Remus played that night over and over in his head in the days after he got home, and each and every time, he was just as stumped. 

He knew, in his brain, why he and Janus had broken up. It had been the only thing that made sense at the time, when the facts were just that Remus was moving away to pursue a lifelong dream, and Janus would never ever try to stop him from doing so. So they broke up. It made sense… right? 

But… That morning, he’d woken up to Janus curled up in his arms, face smushed against Remus’ neck, and… Remus had completely forgotten why they had even broken up in the first place.

Remus was back at Roman’s apartment, now. Eight hours away in his own cold bed, arms empty of the man he loved, just staring at the ceiling. A sharp knock on his door snapped him out of his daze.

“Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty,” Roman called. “Don’t you have class in like an hour?”

“Fuck!” Remus scrambled to get up, but succeeded only in rolling out of the bed.

“Don’t forget to lock the door when you leave,” Roman added. Clearly he was unconcerned by the loud “thump” of a body hitting the floor. 

“Yup, got it,” Remus groaned in reply. He staggered, successfully this time, to his feet. 

Getting dressed was a rushed affair of ‘grab whatever’s closest,’ and soon he emerged from the bedroom with one shoe on, the other in his hand, and his backpack slung over one shoulder. He rushed into the kitchen to grab the travel mug of coffee Janus always set out for him in the mornings. And then the realization hit: Janus didn’t live here.

Remus dropped his shoe. 

The rest of the day went about as well as it could have gone without any coffee- that is to say, terribly. He got lost trying to get to campus, then he got lost again trying to get to class. Then he got stuck in traffic on the way back to Roman’s apartment. And then, to top it all off, the grocery store had been out of his favorite chips. 

So here he was, mopey and chip-less, and fucking exhausted. He dumped his backpack and collapsed face-first onto the couch. Roman, who happened to be sitting on said couch, made a noise of protest.

“Move, I need to sulk,” Remus mumbled, though his voice was thoroughly muffled by Roman’s thigh, since that was where his face had landed. 

“What on earth do you need to sulk for?” Roman asked incredulously. He moved to shove Remus off of him, but Remus went full ragdoll, and Roman couldn’t do a damn thing. “You are a grown man, you know.”

Remus turned his head just enough to stick his tongue out at Roman. Roman stuck his tongue out back.

“I had a terrible day, I earned a good sulk.”

“Didn’t like your classes?”

“Nah, they were great.”

“Professors?”

“Great.”

“Classmates?”

“Great.”

“Then Zeus Almighty, what are you so mopey-dopey about?” Roman remanded.

Remus squirmed around so he was laying on his back, head still in Roman’s lap, to look up at his brother. “So… uh… you promise not to get all, like. I told you so and shit?” 

“You miss Janus!”

“No! I-”

“You do!” Roman crowed triumphantly. Remus rolled onto his side so he didn’t have to look at his brother’s dumb gloaty face.

“...Maybe,” he groaned. Abruptly, he clamored to his feet and started for the stairs. “I gotta go build a chair.”

“Carpentry won’t solve your relationship problems,” Roman called after him.

“I know,” Remus called back. “Wrong type of wood.” If Roman had a response to that, Remus was already out the door and didn’t have to hear it. 

Patton found him out in front of the apartment building some time later, a jigsaw in hand, and a pile of cut wooden dowels at his feet.

“Hey, kiddo, what are you up to?”

Remus looked up from where he was balancing a plank of wood precariously across a milk crate, because his work table was one of the things he’d had to leave behind at Janus’ place.

“Oh, hey. Ro-bro’s upstairs.”

Patton gave him the sort of smile teachers gave to the kid they caught eating glue for the fourth time. “That doesn’t look super safe. Do you want any help?”

Remus took in Patton’s soft blue sweater and the dad-jeans from the nicer end of his closet, as well as the reusable grocery store bag that smelled suspiciously like some kind of lovely home-cooked meal; he shook his head. “You look dressed for a date night,” he said. “I don’t wanna fuck up two relationships this week.”

Patton’s eyes, impossibly, got even bigger and softer than they normally were, which honestly was quite the feat. He walked over to the stairs but, instead of making his way up to Roman’s apartment, he plopped down on the third step, facing Remus. Remus stared, bewildered.

“Uh, what’chu doin’ there, pops?”

“Well, it just sounded like you needed to talk,” Patton replied cheerfully. “So here I am.”

Remus stared a moment longer, somehow even more bewildered than before. “Uh…”

“I know I haven’t known you very long,” Patton continued. “But something tells me you’re the type of person who busts out the power tools when you’re upset.”

“How the hell can you tell that?”

Patton glanced over his shoulder, then leaned forward slightly. “Because,” he said, voice lowered conspiratorially. “I’m like that too.”

Remus blinked. “You?”

“Yup! I replaced all the tables and chairs in my house with ones I made myself after my last breakup,” Patton giggled. “Only two of them collapsed when I sat in them, too!”

Remus glanced down at the jigsaw in his hands, and then he sighed. He set it down, and went to sit next to Patton on the steps. 

“Ok, well. Yeah, maybe I’m kinda upset.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Yeah? No? Maybe?”

“Yup, those are your three options!” Patton teased. Remus rolled his eyes.

“Ok, fine. You win, daddy-o. I’m upset because I miss my boyfriend. Or, well, my ex-boyfriend. I want him to be my boyfriend again.”

“Have you told him that?”

“Of course not,” Remus whined.

“Why not?”

“Because… I mean. It wouldn’t change anything. I still moved away. And I don’t even know if he’d want to be my boyfriend again either. Maybe he’s happier now.”

“You don’t know that,” Patton said gently. “Sure, maybe the circumstances aren’t the best right now, but if you both want it, things have a funny way of working out. But you have to talk to him.”

“I…” Remus paused. And then he sighed deeply. “I guess you’re right. Hey thanks, that did actually sorta help.”

Patton offered him a gentle smile. “Of course, Remus! Any time!”

“Hey!”

They both turned to see Roman standing at the top of the stairs, arms crossed.

“My own brother, hogging my boyfriend like this! The betrayal-”

“Relax, Ro, he’s not my type,” Remus shot back. “I prefer sarcastic little menaces.”

Patton giggled at that. He stood up and patted Remus on the shoulder. “I hope things work out,” he said. Remus smiled back.

“Yeah, I hope so too.”

Really, he just wanted Janus to be happy. Ideally with him, but if Janus was happier without him, well… so be it. 

- - -

Janus was miserable. 

“Dude, c’mon,” Virgil grumbled, immediately upon seeing the state of the apartment. “You’ve been watering your plants and filling the humidifiers, but you can’t be bothered to throw out your gross pizza boxes?” A pause. “Wait, you don’t even like pizza, what the hell.”

Janus just shrugged. After letting Virgil and Logan into the apartment, he’d gone straight back into blanket-burrito-on-the-couch mode. And really, he’d only bothered to get up and let them inside in the first place because Virgil had threatened to axe down the door- and Janus knew for a fact that Virgil owned multiple axes. 

“I believe he is engaging in what is described as ‘emotional eating,’ or using food as a coping mechanism in a time of stress and emotional turmoil,” Logan said helpfully. Virgil just huffed.

“That’s fine and all, but Jesus Christ, dude.” He gestured around the livingroom where… ok, yeah, it was a mess.

“Did you two come here just to insult me?” Janus grumbled. His face was half-mashed into a pillow, though, so who knows how much of that was actually discernible.

“We came to make sure you were still alive,” Virgil snapped, indicating that at least most of what Janus had said was discernible. “You weren’t answering any texts.”

“Yes, and you called out of work three days in a row,” Logan added. “We are concerned for you, Janus.”

“I’m perfectly fine,” Janus lied from the comfort of his depression blanket burrito. He was not particularly surprised when neither Virgil or Logan looked even remotely convinced.

“Alright, drastic measure time,” Virgil growled. He walked over to the window, and picked up the young Burgundy Rubber Tree Janus had yet to name. Janus sat bolt upright. 

“Virgil? Don’t you dare-”

Virgil walked past him and vanished down the hall. When he came back, his hands were empty, and he had a smirk on his face.

“Oh, fuck you,” Janus hissed. He dragged himself up off the couch to go rescue the poor thing, finding it stashed in the dark, windowless bathroom. When he came back to the livingroom, Virgil and Logan were sprawled across the couch.

“Ha ha, very funny.” Janus set the rubber tree back on the windowsill alongside the Snake Plant Army. “Ok, I’m up. Are you heathens happy now?”

“I take offense to that,” Logan muttered, while Virgil just crossed his arms and said, curtly, “Spill it.”

“Spill what?”

“Why are you so upset?”

“I’m not upset-”

“Falsehood,” Logan interrupted. “I have known you since high school, Janus, and I have never seen you like this before. It is highly alarming.”

“Is this about Remus?” Virgil asked.

“No,” Janus said immediately. “Of course not.”

Virgil and Logan exchanged a Look. Janus groaned.

“Fuck. Ok, fine. Maybe it is.”

“Was that so hard?” Virgil asked. 

“Yes.”

“You-”

“Janus,” Logan interrupted Virgil’s retort. “It is my understanding that emotional distress is often alleviated through, as they say, ‘talking it out.’ It is clear you are not handling the break-up as well as you initially believed-”

“Of course I’m not!” Janus snapped. He took a deep breath, and turned back to the plants on his windowsill. Kaa, the Sansevieria Moonshine Remus had gotten for Janus as an anniversary present last year, was already leaning slightly toward the window again. He rotated it, and a few of the other snake plants on the sill. And then he realized the others had been quiet for far too long. He turned to find them both watching him with sympathetic expressions. “What?”

“Keep going,” Virgil prompted. Janus sighed. He felt exhausted.

“Of course I’m not,” he said again. “Because I love Remus.”

“And?” Virgil prompted.

“...And I didn’t want us to break up,” he finished, feeling glum. Wordlessly, Virgil stood up, and approached Janus, arms out. Janus stepped into the embrace. Nobody said anything; Janus didn’t cry, but he stood there for a long time. Then, he stepped back.

“Thank you,” he said, and he meant it. Virgil gave him a small smile. Logan cocked his head, seeming confused.

“I don’t understand. You just… needed a hug?”

“Hugs are great, Logan,” Virgil replied. “You should try them sometime- hey, where are you going?”

Janus strode past them both, beelining for his bedroom to find his laptop. Over his shoulder, he answered, “To fill out some job applications.”

- - -

Remus was outside building a new bookshelf- because Patton was moving in, and Roman's teenie-tiny sad little excuse for a bookshelf, which held only Disney DVDs and no actual books, wouldn’t suffice for all of Patton’s cookbooks- when his phone rang. Which was weird, because nobody ever called him, because he never fucking answered.

“Not interested, Mr. Spam Man,” he crooned over the sound of the generic iPhone ringtone. He was learning how to do kerf bending for this bookcase, and goddamn it he wasn’t going to be distracted by-

His phone started ringing again. He swore and ripped off his gloves to silence his phone. But as he did so, he realized the number flashing across his screen was a familiar one. 

“Janus? Are you ok?” he answered the call, half panicked, because Janus hated phone calls almost as much as he did.

“Hi. Yes, everything’s fine.” Janus sounded slightly hysterical, which made Remus feel even more frantic. “Where are you?”

“I’m at Roman’s. Are you sure you’re ok-”

“Great, don’t leave. I’ll be right there.”

“What does that mean-” Remus demanded, but the line was already dead. Remus swore again. He briefly considered calling him back, because what the actual fuck was that all about, but he was only about 30 seconds into that brief consideration before a familiar car tearing through the apartment complex parking lot caught his attention. He quickly brushed as much of the sawdust off his clothes as he could because holy shit Janus had just parked right there in front of Roman’s apartment.

Remus watched, dumbfounded, as Janus scrambled out of his car- dressed in his very nice black suit and pale yellow button-up- and came running across the lawn toward where Remus was working. He had a tiny plant clutched to his chest.

“Uh, Jan, you good?” Remus asked. Janus stopped in front of him and doubled over, breathless, for a few moments. Then, he straightened up, and fixed Remus with a look of sheer determination.

“Remus. I want to get back together.”

Remus’ heart, the traitorous bastard, leaped up into his throat and blocked all his words from coming out. 

“It’s… it’s ok if you don’t want that,” Janus continued. His look of determination faltered slightly. “It’s ok. But I needed to tell you. Because I love you, so much. And I… I didn’t want you to think I didn’t, even if you don't-”

Remus found his words abruptly. “Jan, fuck! I do! I do love you. I never stopped loving you. All I want is to be with you.”

Janus’ eyes softened. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Good, because I’ve just been offered a job here.”

Remus choked. Janus was eyeing him smugly. “You. Just like that, you got a job here?”

“Just like that,” Janus grinned. “I just came from the interview. They offered me a position on the spot.”

Remus couldn't help himself any longer. He lurched forward and pulled Janus tightly into his arms.

“Hey, be careful,” Janus said, though he made absolutely no effort to get out of Remus’ embrace. “You’ll crush our new son.”

Remus pulled back just enough to look at the small plant Janus held in his hands, and only then did his brain register what it was. 

“Is! Is that-”

“Yes,” Janus replied, holding up the tiny Drosera Capensis seedling. Remus had wanted one of these for ages.

“For me?”

“Well, for us, ideally,” Janus answered, with a shy smile. “But, mostly for you, yes.”

Remus gently plucked the baby octopus plant- their new son!- from Janus’ hands, and placed it carefully on top of the milk crate that was serving as his carpentry workbench. Then, he hoisted Janus up off the ground and spun him around.

“Oh- Re-” Janus exclaimed, though he was laughing. “Put me down!”

“No!” Remus trilled. He spun Janus around once more. Then he just stood there, holding Janus, gazing up at him. Janus’ eyes grew soft. Slowly, he carded his fingers through Remus’ hair.

“Hey,” Janus said.

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

Remus set Janus down, but kept his arms still wrapped tightly around him. His heart felt warm.

“Hey.”

Janus looked up at him. “Yeah?”

“I love you, too.” 

[winterscaptain]

rings.

Aaron Hotchner x Fem Reader

a/n: remember how i said aaron gives the girls haley’s rings? yep. here it is. it’s AU!2042 and i’ve included the kids’ ages and what they’ve been up to (which you may have seen earlier this week!) this is quite short, but i am hoping to tide y’all over until the weekend. love u

words: 1.5k warnings: none

summary: two rings, two daughters. 

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | requests closed!

Jonathan “Jack” Brooks Hotchner, 37, Department of Defense Civilian Contractor, holds a BS in Civil Engineering and an MS in Systems Engineering from George Washington University. Married, and has a son, aged 4. 

Isaac Spencer Hotchner, 26, PhD (3rd year) in Applied Behavioral Psychology at The Chicago School of Professional Psychology, holds a BA in Cognitive Science and an MS in Psychology from the University of California, Los Angeles. 

Caroline Emily Hotchner, 24, DPhil in Law (2nd year) at Trinity College Oxford, holds a BA in English from Brown University and an MSc in Conflict Studies at the London School of Economics

Sophia Haley Hotchner, 24, MS in Sports Management (1st year) at the University of Massachusetts Amherst, holds a BS in Kinesiology from the University of Southern California

Elliot David Hotchner, 20, BA in Linguistics (Junior/3rd Year) and D1 Pitcher for the University of California, Los Angeles

 +++

“I think it’s time.” 

You reach out for Aaron’s forearm and squeeze once. “I think so, too.” He stands with a sigh and your hand trails down his arm to his hand. “Hey.” He looks down at you. “I love you.” You offer him the smallest of smiles and he returns it.

“I love you.” 

Aaron crosses the house, climbs the stairs, and pops his head into the girls’ room with a little smile. “Girls, when you have a minute, can you come see me in my office?”

Caro, reading through a few affidavits against her headboard with her ankles crossed, nods without looking up. Soph shoots him a thumbs-up from her place on the floor, crouched like a gargoyle over her laptop, working on a project for her Master’s. 

The not-so-little ones are home for the winter holiday, and the house feels just a touch more alive with four-fifths of his children back in it. Elliot’s out back working on his curveball with Isaac, and Aaron can hear their crows of triumph every time the ball gives a satisfying thwack into Isaac’s mitt at about seventy miles per hour. There are mutterings about Minor League drafts, about grad school, etc. 

Aaron can’t help but be proud of his kids - they’ve never given him any reason not to be so. 

Jack and his family will join them next week, and the house will become that much fuller and louder. The addition of a toddler is always a welcome one, and Caroline is especially excited to see her nephew - this is the first winter she’s been home from Oxford since she started her doctorate. 

Aaron returns to his office and settles in, working out some lesson plans for the younger instructors at the academy. A few minutes later, two pairs of light footsteps track across the foyer (one pair even and the other pair just a bit favoring the left), and he moves to his chair, across from a little couch he put there just for the girls. His hands hide their gifts - closed into fists in his lap as they sit down. 

“I have something for each one of you. They are yours to keep from now on.” 

He addresses Caroline first. 

“Caroline Emily Hotchner, most days I feel like you were built special to be my daughter. Other days, I’m sure of it.” 

“Dad -”

He taps her knee with his knuckle, and she falls silent with a little smile. “I cannot tell you how proud I am of you and all you have accomplished. You, much like this,” he rolls his hand, and Haley’s engagement ring rests between his thumb and forefinger, “were custom-made for this family. You are one of a kind, very expensive, and cherished.” The adoration in his gaze undercuts his jab. 

She is, in fact, very expensive. 

But so worth it. 

Caroline is in tears, her face crumpled and breath shaky. The massive diamond casts rainbows on the wall, hit by the setting sun through the huge window behind Aaron’s desk. 

“This is the ring I gave to Haley when I asked her to marry me.  It’s yours. I had it re-sized, and if I’m right,” he takes her hand and slips the ring onto the middle finger of her left hand, “it should fit just perfectly.” 

It does. 

“Dad, I…” She’s overcome, and throws herself into Aaron’s arms. Sophia, leaning against the arm of the sofa, looks on with quiet, fond eyes. Caroline tucks her head into her father’s shoulder and he holds her close. “Thank you.” 

“I know you will appreciate its obvious beauty. Much like you, it’s eye catching.” He leans back, and bops the tip of her nose with his finger. 

He focuses on Sophia, who leans forward, her elbows resting on her knees and her hands laced together. She always sits that way when she’s really listening - confident and sturdy. 

“Sophia Haley Hotchner, I see so much of your namesake in you.” She smiles, wide and bright, making his point for him. “Your mother always says that if you didn’t come out of her body with your sister, looking exactly the same, she would be concerned.” 

Soph giggles, and her eyes get a little misty. 

“Haley’s heart was so big. She was tenacious, powerful, surprising. I see her in the love you have for Jack - the special bond you two share.” His brown eyes bore into hers, and she meets his gaze with her signature steadfastness. “I am so proud to be your father. You blow me away.” He flips his left hand, and Haley’s wedding band shines in the low light. It’s simple, a thin band with a tiny channel of diamonds arcing over the top. “I made a commitment to Haley with this ring - one that she fought for, bravely and without reservation. Now, it is yours.” 

Sophia holds her hand out, and he slips the ring on her middle finger. Another perfect fit.

“I know you will appreciate its simplicity. Much like you, it is representative of a great many things, all of which are often difficult to explain.” 

Soph takes a shaky breath, and admires the ring in the light. “Thank you, Dad. I love it.” 

He opens his hands, and the girls place one of theirs in each of his palms. “I consider the end of my marriage to Haley and my role in her death my biggest failure.” He makes no attempt to stifle the tears that fall from his eyes as he speaks, taking the occasional deep breath in an effort to keep going. “Haley died wearing those rings. They were part of her.” He pauses for a moment, collecting himself. “I kept them. And for a long time, I wasn’t sure why. I could have given them to Jessica, to Haley’s mother, to any number of people who would have loved and cherished them as I do.” 

Caroline drops to the floor like she did when she was little, popping up on her heels. She releases Aaron’s hand and brings her hands to his face. She wipes at his tears with her thumbs, and he smiles into her touch. When she’s satisfied, she drops her arms to his knee and rests her chin on them, listening. 

“But I kept them. Two rings, two daughters. I knew the moment you were born that they belonged to you. For nearly thirty years, they only ever belonged to you.” Sophia squeezes his hand, and he squeezes back. “Without my greatest failure, I would not know you. I would not be your father. I would have missed my greatest triumph.” 

Sophia watches him, pensive and gentle. She wraps her other hand around his, holding him tight. Looking at him, she realizes how much older he looks - his once-dark hair is more silver than black, the lines between his eyebrows and around his eyes and mouth are nearly canyons - but his eyes are the same. 

They’re always the same. Brown, deep, and warm. She’s heard stories of when the brown turned flinty in anger or frustration, but she’d never seen it herself. To her, they’ve always been cozy. Safe. Familiar. 

Her father always seemed outside of time when she was little. Maybe he still is, but she’s not so sure anymore...

She swiftly pushes the thought away. The prospect of adulthood without him is far too much to bear. 

“My girls, I would miss you even if we’d never met.” 

Between her father’s words and her train of thought, Soph breaks. She drops to the ground like her sister, but wraps herself around Aaron’s torso, her hands clasped together behind his back. He brings one arm around her, while his other hand rests on Caro’s head. 

“I love you, Soph.” 

She burrows deeper into his shirt, surely staining it with her tears. “I love you, Dad.” 

He looks down at Caroline and offers her a small smile. The one she gives him in return is one he recognizes from his reflection in the mirror. 

They don’t have to say a word. 

+++

tagging: @arganfics @quillvine @stxrryspencer @agenthotchner @wandaswitxh @hurricanejjareau @ange-must-die @ughitsbaby @rousethemouse @criminalsmarts @shrimpyblog @genevievedarcygranger @ssaic-jareau @good-heavens-chris-evans @angelsbabey @gublergirls @writefasttalkevenfaster @venusbarnes @hotchsflower @micaiahmoonheart @ogmilkis @marvels-agents100 @hotchslatte @risenfox @mrs-dr-reid @captain-christopher-pike @joemazzello-imagines @pinkdiamond1016 @pan-pride-12 @lee-rin-ah @sunshine-em @word-scribbless @jdougl-love @sageellsworth05 @nohalohoseok @giveusbackourbucky @bauslut @sparklingkeylimepie @aili28 @dreila03 @forgottenword @aaronhotchnerr @ssa-morgan @hotchnersgoddess @buckybau @sana-li @tegggeeee @abschaffer2 @ssacandice-ray @dontkissthewriter @ellyhotchner @lotties-journey-abroad @mrs-joel-pimentel-23-25 @laneygthememequeen @ahopelessromantic @violentvulgarvolatile @andreasworlsboring101 @mooneylupinblack @ssareidbby @violet-amxthyst @zizzlekwum @lcvischmitt @qvid-pro-qvo @mandylove1000 @simsiddy @slickdickwitchbitch @jeor @synonymforlame @roses-and-grasses @bwbatta @capricorngf  @missdowntonabbey @averyhotchner @garcia-reid-lovechild @cevanswhre @joanofarkansass @infinity1321 @zizzlekwum @katiejuliana @popped-weasels @evee87 @nuvoleincielo @spencerelds @ssahotchnerr @this-broken-band-girl @reidtomestyles @hotch-meeeeeuppppp

[h2bakugou]

Hiii could u do hc for Baku and todo w/ a gf who wants to be at there house all the time like sleepover’s and after school because her family is really toxic and bully’s her and treats her like shit ( but never physically hurt her ) she acts like everything’s ok if you don’t want to do this plz say no💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟💟

a/n: hi!! of course love

headcanon: them with a s/o who hates being at their own house

key: (y/n) - your name / (f/n) - first name / (l/n) - last name / (e/c) - eye color / (h/c) - hair color / (y/q) - your quirk

warnings: fluff, swearing, angst

»»————-　★　————-««

katsuki bakugou

»»————-　★　————-««

Dorms weren’t a thing just yet. So you were currently staying at home. 

You hated home.

It was nothing but a pit of hatred, boiling over with your parents’ distaste for your future. They hated that you wanted to become a hero. They hated that you wanted to throw your life away on some whim.

“You’re wasting your time. You don’t have any talent.”

“You’re pathetic, and that quirk is useless in the hero world.”

“Drop out already, you’re being a real pain in the ass.”

But you didn’t listen. In fact, you did the opposite. You tried even harder.

But that was hard in it of itself.

When you and Bakugou got together, you made every excuse to go over. You felt like you were being clingy but you just didn’t want to be home. You didn’t want to hear your parents tease and bully you for chasing your dreams.

It was often you found yourself hanging out after school, staying for dinner, hanging out on the weekends, studying together, and eventually, after enough persuading from Bakugou, you could spend the night.

“We’re just gonna watch movies!”

“You better leave the door open!” 

“Shut up!” Bakugou yelled back to his mom, bringing you upstairs toward his room. You giggled and walked into his room, now accustomed to his house’s layout.

You opened your book bag to pull out some school work. As you opened your binder, a bunch of ripped papers were staring back at you.

This can’t be happening.

Your parents had taken their frustration with you out on your homework.

You’d stopped by to pick up some spare clothes, and in the meantime, they’d ripped and torn your important homework to shreds.

You sat on Bakugou’s bed, staring at the tattered fragments of what was supposed to be your math and reading homework.

“Hey what happened?” Bakugou asked, looking at the mess of paper.

“I-I don’t know.” You lied. Of course, you knew. But you didn’t want to tell him.

“Don’t give me that shit.” Bakugou turned to look at you. You looked back at him, your eyes brimming with tears. 

“Nothing is wrong, I promise.” You lied again. Bakugou frowned and glanced back at your homework.

“You expect me to believe that you just tore that up yourself?” Bakugou asked. You shook your head.

“It’s just-”

“It’s what? You can tell me.” Bakugou wasn’t the one for comforting, but he could tell when things were bothering you. And if something was making you upset, he was going to beat the shit out of whoever or whatever it was.

“My parents. They don’t like the idea of me being a hero. They must’ve done this while I was getting spare clothes.” You explained, leaning into Bakugou.

“I’ll have my mom make copies on the printer.” Bakugou looked down at his homework. He hadn’t started, so you’d be able to get a nice clean copy.

And then everything clicked. 

“Is this why you always want to come over?” Bakugou asked, not even giving his question a second thought.

“Yeah.” You whispered. As a few tears rolled down your cheek, you felt strong arms embrace you.

“Don’t ever ask me again if you can come over. You come over whenever you want, okay?” Bakugou rubbed your back. You nodded and lifted your head to look at Bakugou.

You smiled at him and poked his nose.

“You’re such a softie.” You said quietly, watching as Bakugou rolled his eyes.

“Only for you, dumbass.”

»»————-　★　————-««

shoto todoroki

»»————-　★　————-««

Shoto is sort of oblivious. But he knows what it’s like when parents pressure you.

At first, it was mostly just verbal taunts. Your parents would tease you for wanting to be a hero, and tell you that your quirk was pathetic.

But then things got worse.

They wouldn’t physically hurt you, but you wondered if they would.

The yelling and bullying got worse.

It became a daily thing. You’d be trying to make dinner and they’d mess with your things, crumping up your homework, your mom even hid your hero costume one time.

You found it a few days later but you had to make up an excuse as to where it went.

And then you and Todoroki started dating.

You started staying at your house less.

Todoroki was convinced you just liked being with him, and he soon had a full dresser drawer of your stuff, shirts, pants, jackets, you name it, it was in that drawer.

But then Todoroki noticed while you were using the bathroom, a note on your binder.

‘Just give up already, you should be supporting this family not chasing some stupid dream.’

When you got back from the bathroom, you froze, watching as Todoroki read through several notes you had from your parents.

“What are these?” Todoroki asked, looking over at you. You quickly scurried over and took them from him.

“It’s nothing.” You lied, shoving them back into your bookbag.

“They don’t look like nothing.” Todoroki replied. You just shook your head.

“Really it’s-”

“Is something happening at your house?” Todoroki didn’t have much restraint. He cared for you a lot, so he was willing to get to the bottom of things. And if something was happening like what was happening with his dad and him, he didn’t want you experiencing it.

“I-” You paused. You looked down at your lap and sighed.

“My parents don’t think I’d make a good hero. They think I’m just chasing some silly dream.” You explain, not wanting to look up at Todoroki.

Todoroki pulled you into a hug. You rested your head on his shoulder, snuggling into his warmth.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Todoroki questioned. You didn’t know what to say. You just didn’t want him feeling bad for you.

“I don’t know.” Was all you could say. Todoroki hugged you tighter, understanding your pain. How long had you been going through this?

“You’re more than welcome to come over whenever you’d like.” Todoroki pulled away looking at you. You nodded and smiled.

“Thank you.” You thanked him. Todoroki was your escape.

“Do you want some soba?” Todoroki asked, his eyes lighting up.

“I would love some soba.”

»»————-　★　————-««

masterlist

[serendipityunho]

Lick

× genre: smut, everyone is filthy rich × pairing: San x Reader (fem.) × word count: 4.7k × warnings: explicit language, mentions of alcohol, smoking, fingering, oral, clit play, dirty talk, explicit sex, marijuana use

× synopsis:The only excitement at this boring extravagant party was the taste of a random kid’s lips on yours mixed with the devil’s lettuce, who happens to be the son of the CEO your parents partnered with. It couldn’t get any better than that. 

☁️: i don’t smoke weed, but that shit is lowkey hot, especially when you end up shot-gunning with a slicked-back-blonde-hair san.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You never knew what the point of holding such extravagant parties was. Did they really donate proceeds to charity, or was that another cold lie your parents fed the guests apart from the disgusting over-priced cheese and caviar? 

It was nights like these where you wanted nothing but to go home and empty the fridge or possibly passed out face flat onto a lawn at some random frat party you found yourself in. Anything would be better than standing in feet-aching heels at a party with no one to talk to. 

If you earnt a dollar for every time you welcomed guests and greeted them with your million dollar realistic fake smile, you’d become a billionaire, rich enough to buy your parent’s company and probably two others. Your cheeks were aching just as much as your feet with the number of times you had to smile through the pain of talking to business people about their stupid taxes and so on. 

“You might want to slow down on the tarts, dear, there are guests you know” It wasn’t like anybody bothered to get their hands crumby with the tarts, so why not do it for them?

“That’s your fault for inviting so many people, mother” You didn’t even need to take a glance at her to know she rolled her eyes into another dimension at your snarky comment. 

“Behave” To be completely honest, it was quite satisfying seeing your mother fed up with you. It could possibly teach her a thing or two. It was honestly the least you could do after living a life many wished for. If only they knew the consequences of actually living it. 

It felt like the walls were closing in with every passing second you stayed inside, surrounded by countless bodies that wanted nothing to talk about money and other materialistic desires. You felt disgusted with every fibre of your body as you take a swift glance at your parents, putting on a show with the same plastic smiles as their snake tongues lure the interests of tycoons.

The longer you stayed here, the more you wanted to throw up from basking in overly expensive perfume and cologne. Your cheeks were on the verge of seizing from the smiles, it was exhausting.

It felt even more suffocating, literally, as you squeeze passed guests and avoiding the urge to knock over the sparkling champagne glass in their hands. The balcony seemed to be the only place of refuge. Sliding the glass door, you stepped outside into the midst of breezy night with slight shivers travelling up your body.

You felt like you can breathe again after escaping out into the open. The chatters and laughs muffled as you slide the glass door closed again, turning your back on the faces to bask in the chilly air with nothing but a loose satin dress short enough to hide the case of cigarettes strapped to your thigh. 

The balcony was long, it wrapped around one entire side and halfway around the other. It got colder as you dipped around the corner, perfect and away from prying eyes. You hiked up your dress slightly, taking the case of cigarettes strapped to your thigh before holding it between your lips. 

If your parents ever found out you were one of those tobacco users, they’d blame you for tarnishing their reputation with ridiculously absurd malicious headlines, ‘Heiress of Multimillion-Dollar Company or a Tobacco Addict?’ ‘The Irony of a Smoker Running A Biomedical Company’.  It was as if it were the apocalypse if they’d ever catch you, not that you would let them.

“Those things kill you fast, you know?” You were in the middle of a drag of your cigarette before a voice jolted you up from your spot, making you spin around to a man leaning against the wall.

“I’m counting on it” You were only joking of course.

“So what’s a pretty girl like you doing out here smoking?” The man kicked himself off the wall before stepping into the more lit area of the balcony.

“You can’t call me pretty if you don’t know me” Your lips kissed the cigarette again, blowing smoke between your lips as you stared out into the city from the rails of your penthouse balcony. 

“What if I do know you?” His features were sharp under the dim lighting, cheekbones stood out very prominently as his feline eyes left your jaw dropped. He was truly astonishing.

“I don’t seem to know who you are” You turned to face him, getting a better observation at his god-like features as you held the cigarette over the railing.

“I’m Choi San” Now that was a name that had rung a few rusty bells in your head.

“Don’t tell me you’re the Choi San of-” 

“Choi Biomedical Technologies? Yes, I’m that Choi San”

Almost half of all hospitals had the equipment and resources produced by San’s father in use day and night. Fortunately enough, the company had decided to pair with your parent’s medical research and company. 

“Funny enough, I don’t see your face around often” 

“It’s pointless to just show my face at a party where I don’t have fun” San shoved his hands in the pockets of his pants, shuffling a bit in his spot before finally turning his face towards you. 

Now you could clearly see everything, and my, he was indeed a masterpiece. You were amazed at how he managed to slick back his hair without the look of heavy hair products glistening under the light. 

“So what made you show up to this one?” If there was any way possible that excused you from attending these parties, you’d take it in a heartbeat. 

“To see what the hype was all about, my father’s tried setting me up with many girls when I don’t go. So I figured if I showed up just once, he’d finally leave me alone” 

“And did he?”

“Why do you think I’m out here?” San smirked as he ran his hand through his hair, staring down at your cigarette.

“Sounds pitiful” You bring your hand up, holding the slow killer against your lips before puffing one out into the air.

“May I?” San nodded towards the cigarette, eyes drooping at the sight of it between your lips.

“You don’t spike me as a smoker” You handed the stick over to him, watching him take a drag before smoke escapes pass his lips. 

“You’d be surprised about other things” San grimaced at the cigarette before handing it back to you and looking out into the city.

“Like what?” Now you were genuinely curious.

A smirk crawled up San’s face as he faced you again, eyeing you with curious eyes before licking his teeth. You could tell he was trying to avoid your question, but it just worked your curiosity even more.

“What are you doing out here?” You scoffed at San’s diversion, turning around to rest your forearms against the rails. 

“For a smoke obviously, and my feet hurt from walking around” You shook off the ash from the cigarette, hesitantly bringing the nearly finished stick up to your lips once again.

“You always smoke at parties?”  

“Only when I have to”

“What made you tonight?” 

“Look at that and tell me you don’t want to get out of there” San didn’t have to look to know what you were referring to. In fact, he felt exactly the same.

“You know, I have something better than this,” San plucked the cigarette out from your lips and threw it off the balcony before reaching in his jacket, pulling out a small clear bag of what seemed to look like chopped up parsley “, that would relax you”.

“What the fuck?” Your eyes widen as you finally realise what was in front of you. This guy really just stored weed in his jacket like it was nothing. 

“What? Have you never tried?” You shook your head, eyeing the green flakes sitting in its little ziplock bag. 

“I never knew where to get it-”

“Wow, look at that!” You could’ve sworn your head was about to rip right off your neck from how fast you swerved behind.

Silhouettes of guests fill the floor as a few flooded out into the balcony, making your heart race as you assured San to put the bag back in his jacket. Thankfully, the two of you were around the corner which let you dodge a bullet from noisy guests.

“Shit” As much as you wanted to smoke whatever San offered, it was too risky out here even behind the unlit corner of your balcony.

“I know a place where we can-”

“No, I can’t leave the building, they won’t let me” Your parents have had enough of you to strict you from leaving the party, mainly to keep a close eye on you and prevent anything that would blacken their name.

“Does your bathroom have a big window?” San fixed his jacket before stepping aside, walking around the corner with you following behind.

“Yeah, but it’ll look suspicious if we go upstairs together” You immediately spot your parents the moment you stepped back inside, no surprise they were buttering up more guests.

“The more you think about it, the more it’ll look suspicious” Technically, it wasn’t that hard staying out of your parent’s vision as they chattered away with more people and sipping on their champagne. 

San stayed behind you as you quickly trod up the stairs to the second level, quietness flushing over you as the party stayed below. San appeared not long after, inspecting the new surrounding as you opened the door to your bathroom. 

The marble glistened the moment you flicked on the lights, most of which doesn’t seem to phase San one bit. The door locked behind you as you unlatched the window, letting the cold air in as well as making it an escape for your smoke.

“What kind of shower is that?” San snickered. You honestly have no clue either.

“I don’t know, we don’t use this bathroom” You always questioned why your mother had such a desire for homes with more than enough rooms, it was pointless really.

“So your family’s like that too huh?” San pulled out the little bag again, placing it on to the marble counter before reaching for something else. 

“Like what?” You stared at yourself in the mirror, fixing your hair as you patted smudged mascara underneath your eyes.

“Money this, money that?” Your eyes turned down to San, packing the green flakes into a thin piece of paper. 

“It’s sickening” You were just glad you managed to escape the trap of falling into the mindset of materialistic wealth and whatnot.

“It’s surprising to finally find someone like me” 

“Like you? So you’re telling me all those campaigns and charities are bullshit too?” San’s father always loved taking every chance he got to host events beneficial to his company.

“Blatant lie, every single one of them” San sounded embarrassed, ashamed of his family’s immoral choices.

You almost feel sorry for him, but yet again, your family was exactly like that too. You couldn’t judge him one bit, not that you would anyways. Nowadays, you were always met with rich privileged dickheads boasting about which Rolex they bought with their ‘daddy’s’ black card.

“Lick” San brought the rolled stick up to your lips as you sat on the counter, waiting for you to the seal it up for him.

His eyes locked onto yours as he stood in front of you. Without taking yours off his, you stick your tongue out, swiping across the thin paper before letting San close off the stick.

“Where’d you buy it?” If you didn’t have eyes watching you 24/7, you’d be at some random back alley buying as much devil lettuce as you want and possibly smoking it at some random back alley. 

San, without a doubt, would have security with him all the time. The fact that he managed to obtain weed was questioning.

“A friend of mine sells it from his gym” San tapped your lip with the stick before flicking the lid off of his Zippo lighter, letting the flame spark as it flickered close to the end of the stick.

“Smart” The paper burnt black as it shrivelled from the flame. San set the lighter down onto the counter, packing away the contents of your little construction before taking off his suit jacket. You could’ve sworn his shirt was about to unbutton, not that you were complaining.

“If you ever need, look for Jongho down at the gym besides the 7/11 parking lot, call for Wooyoung if he isn’t there” 

“There’s a lot of 7/11′s” You took a hit of the stick, head instantly feeling lighter as your eyes drooped a bit.

“There’s only one 7/11 with a parking lot downtown with a gym next to it” 

Your feet dangled off the ground, heels clanking against the counter as you let your sore feet take a break from walking on tiptoes all night. San hung his jacket on the hook by the door, rolling up his sleeves up to his forearms as he nodded towards the stick. Boy, those arms were nice.

The hit did a lot more than expected, it was worth the wait, and the risk. You take the stick from your lips, pressing it against San’s as you take the strap on your thigh off with the cigarette case on it.

“You should quit while you can” San muffled, blowing the smoke towards the window as he leaned against the counter with his hands either side of you, still keeping a distance between his body and yours. You honestly wish he was closer though.

“I already know it’s going to be hard” You almost instantly regretted buying your first pack of cigarettes, if you knew what withdrawals were at the time, you would’ve never had pressed that toxic stick against your lips.

“It’s better than ending up black lungs” San raised his brows, letting you take the stick from his lips for another hit.

“I’m gonna need more of these if I start quitting” 

“You can keep the ones I brought tonight” You gulped at the closing distance between you and San, the dangling chain around his neck hitting against his chest every time he moved wasn’t making it any easier to stay reserved.

“I’ll pay you back”

“Don’t bother. Consider it a gift” 

“A gift for what?”

“Being decent I guess” You were so tempted to blow this smoke into his face.

“You’re decent too I guess” More than decent actually, but you were too scared to say that. After all, you only met him ten minutes ago. 

Your head felt lighter than the clouds, it was everything better than your average smoke. Now you were definitely going to attempt quitting.

“How is it?” San smiled softly, droopy-eyed as he slumped forward towards you with arms caging you in.

“This shit is amazing” You almost choke while pulling the stick from your lips, making San chuckle in such a deep but mesmerising voice, faintly showing off his dimple you didn’t know he had.

“This is probably the most fun I’ve had at these parties” San chuckled, tilting his head to the side as you press the stick back onto his soft lips once again.

“I have you to thank for that” Your heart was on the verge of jumping out of your chest as you stared at San’s devilish smirk. There was that hint of cockiness in him that had attracted you to grown to like him.

“I guess you could call it fate” San flickered back and forth between your eyes, blowing smoke out from the side of his mouth before giving the stick back to you.

“You know what would be more fun?” You couldn’t really stop yourself from saying anything further. But, you really wanted to just pop that button on his shirt that’s been on the brink of slipping out of its hold.

“Don’t say you have more drugs up your dress”

“Kiss me” You said nice and slowly enough for San to comprehend, you couldn’t help but bite down on your lip at your sudden boost of confidence, giggling at San’s bewildered face.

“You know, that would be fun” San smirked, grabbing a quick hit before locking his lips onto yours, smoke plummeting into your mouth as your fingers tangle in his hair with his body pushing between your legs.

“Oh yeah, this is so much better” Your arms slung around his neck as you inched yourself closer to the edge of the counter, pressing your cunt against the bulge in his pants as your legs cage him against you with his arms doing the same to you.

“I’ve wanted to do this since I saw you outside” San moaned against your lips as he subconsciously pushed his hips forward, grinding against your sopping wet cunt.

“Then why didn’t you?” Your forehead rests against San’s with a hand tangled his hair as the other slides down his chest, hooking your finger onto his chain.

“I thought you were one of those bimbos who say ‘daddy’ too much” It was quite insulting to know you’d given off those vibes, but who could blame you for wanting to look your best?

“I would’ve figured those were your type of girls” Your lips brush over San’s once again before softly biting it.

“Guess we’re both wrong” San’s hands cupped the bottom of your thighs, smoothing over your skin as he plants a wet kiss on your lips before trailing them down your jaw, making you throw your head back as his lips graze over your sensitive skin, plastering rough kisses all over as you squirmed in pleasure against his hold.

You pushed your hips further, almost falling off the counter if it wasn’t for San’s body pushing against you and his hard crotch grinding against your soaked pussy. San’s hand slid up and down your leg before hiking under your dress, scrunching the satin material up to your waist as you squeezed his forearm.

You could feel your arousal soaking every inch of your panties as San’s hand runs across the skin of your waist, thumb rubbing the bottom of your bralette as you pushed his head closer to yours for another sopping kiss. A low groan from the back of his throat only made your head lighter in lust as you slowly pop the buttons off his shirt.

Looking back, you never thought you’d end up in the bathroom making out high with a semi-stranger. But, it was better than floating in a pool of rich narcissistic fucks. 

San’s chest frees as you rip open his shirt, letting him drop it to the ground as your fingers trace over the lining of his defined abs. Your nipples harden as San’s fingers slip under your bralette, cupping your breast in one hand as your nipple rolls between his fingers.

A wet stain was probably evident against San’s crotch area from your subconscious grinding. It was nothing a blow dryer couldn’t fix.

You could feel his cock throbbing under his pants against your pussy. A hand glides down from his abs and down to the belt of his pants, fumbling with it before scrunching his pants down to his thighs along with his boxers, freeing his pulsating cock against your thigh. 

San’s tongue swiped across your bottom lip as he drove his hand down your thigh, inching his thumb towards your clothed clit and rubbing it slowly as your wetness soaked through your panties. Your fingers remain tangled in his hair as the other hand grasped his cock firmly, thumb swiping over his slit before pumping slowly.

“Fuck” San groaned against your lips, cock twitching in your hold as you smear his precum over his reddened tip. 

You clenched around nothing as San dragged your panties down to the ground, letting your bare ass sit on the cold marble counter as his thumb circled at your clit. Your legs ache from staying in the air with nowhere to rest upon other than San’s waist. 

“Oh my god” A breathy moan escapes from your lips as San presses his fingers against your folds, coating them in your juices as he slides them up and down before pushing them into your hole.

“I want you so bad- fuck” San pumped two fingers in and out of you with your juices glistening on his fingers. 

“Nothing’s stopping you” You cupped his face, shooting an assuring look before planting a sloppy wet kiss on his lips before he kissed down your neck again, moving much faster down to your collarbone and just the top of your breasts before lowering his body.

San’s fingers were still buried deep in you, pumping steadily as his face reached down to your thighs, smothering the inside with his soft kisses before moving over to your clit. It throbbed intensely as San let his tongue press flat against it before circling it around.

You gripped San’s hair tightly, legs quivering on San’s shoulders as he lapped at your pussy, dragging his fingers in and out of your tight hole. Thankfully, the chatter down below was loud enough for your sinful doings to be covered up. 

“Right there- oh fuck” San’s tongue flicked rapidly against your clit before sliding it up and down your slit with his thumb now circling around your clit and hands flat against your stomach, holding your dress up.

“Mhm” It was a soft moan against your core that got you going crazy. You needed more than just his tongue, you needed him.

You cupped the side of San’s head with both hands before pulling him back up to your lips, letting the tip of his cock twitch at your entrance, slipping with your juices and his precum. San hooked an arm around your back, hugging your close as he kissed you hungrily, tongue lapping everywhere with yours.

“Look in that drawer” San pulled back, tilting his head to see which one you were talking about before gripping the knob and pulling it out.

“I thought you said no one uses this bathroom” A pack of condoms appeared from below as San rips the box open, pulling one out and ripping it with his teeth before spitting the foil to the side. 

“That’s exactly why I stored them there” You grabbed latex, rolling it down his cock as he threw his head back with a groan.

“Mhmmfuck” Your mouth hanged wide at the stretch of San’s dick sliding into you, taking a few breaths before letting him move. 

“Fucking christ, so tight” San groaned against your neck before pecking it, slowly thrusting his hips into you as your legs lazily wrap around his waist.

You weren’t sure if you were able to keep your moans to a minimum when San was breathing down your neck like this and hips rolling into you smoothly. God hope the commotion below was loud enough to save you.

San rolled his hips, burying his cock deep in you as he moved slowly. Your head pounded like crazy his hands roamed every inch of your body, squeezing everywhere he could, literally, get his hands on.

The pleasure immediately flooded your head as San quickened his pace, pumping waves of pleasure throughout your body with each thrust. Your forehead rests against his as your lips hover over San’s, brushing ever so lightly as they part.

“Ohmygod yesyes” The sound of skin slapping against skin bounced off the walls as San grunted loudly, tensing his abs with each hard thrust.

Your moans were almost high-pitched as San knocked the air out of your lungs, gripping on to your thighs for dear life as your hands travelled up and down from his chest to his toned abs.

“You like that? Hm?” A smirk crawled its way onto his face as he gazed at you with hooded eyes, still fucking the daylights out of you as your breasts bounced in their place.

“Yes, oh my god- fuck yesnnghaa” You absolutely love the way San’s hips rolled against yours, it was like riding a rollercoaster to heaven and you weren’t even riding anything.

“You like the way I fuck this perfect little cunt of yours?” San grunted through a clenched jaw, slamming his hips against yours, making you gasp wildly for air.

“Fuckfuckyes- yes!” Your hand slapped behind San’s neck as he rutted into you like no tomorrow, sending your head to a cloud of nothingness except lust and pleasure. 

“Mhmffuck you’re so perfect” San’s lips attacked yours once again, you could care less about the slobbering mess, it was actually kind of hot. 

San held hugged you close as your legs gave him no chance of withdrawal as his dick continuously hits the spot of limitless pleasure, sending your breath straight out the window. A whine falls from your parted lips as your face scrunches in pleasure with brows furrowed deeply as your foreheads touch.

“S-So close- mmphh” Your legs quivered with every passing second, skin becoming sensitive with every touch as San cherished your body against his.

San quicked his thrusts, literally knocking you back further as he plunges his hips harder against yours. A bundle of pleasure in the pit of your stomach starts to go wild, seizing with every thrust made to reach the spot inside you that you could never reach. 

Your walls clench tightly around his cock like you were holding on for dear life, slamming your lips against San’s to muffle your sickly moans as he rammed into you. It was like floating in a utopia filled with nothing but euphoric bliss as your vision went blurry with San’s grunting against your ear.

“Oh fuck! Yes ohmygodddnngghh yesyes-” You gasped sharply, legs starting to quiver as your abdomen tensed from the sudden burst of pleasure ricocheting all around your body to flooding your brain. You could’ve sworn you went cross-eyed for a bit. 

“A little bit moremmph fuckk” It was only a matter of seconds before San rutted hard into you one last time before spewing his release into the latex, moaning wildly against your lips as he hugged you closer than before.

Your body subconsciously spazzed subtly as San slowly slid himself out from your hole, letting his cock twitch against your thigh as his forehead rests against yours. It was a comfortable silence that washed over the two of you, there was nothing but the sound of your desperate pants of deprived breath. 

It felt like everything had frozen at that moment when San’s eyes met yours, it was like you had just seen a thousand stars pooling in his eyes when he pecked your lip. 

You pulled back to get a better look, still accumulating your clear vision as San rolled off the latex without looking down, discarding it in the trash can beside you. A small bead of sweat lined the side of his face, making you pat it away with a tissue you pulled from the box behind you. 

“Your makeup’s ruined” San pulled up his boxers along with his pants, letting it hang at his hips as he leaned forward with his hands rested against the edge of the counter. 

“Not like I’m going anywhere afterwards” You gently dabbed San’s sweat away before throwing the tissue into the trash, leaning back on your arms with San still inches away from your face.

“I can try to sneak you out” San whispered, gazing deeply into your eyes as you did the same.

“Now why would you want to do that?” 

“To have proper fun” San pushed himself off the counter, reaching down for your panties that had been plastered onto the floor just ages ago before carefully sliding them back up your leg and holding your ass in the process, caressing it gently.

“We just had our fun” You wrap your arms around his neck, pressing your chest against his naked one as you hopped off the counter.

“I have a feeling we’ll be seeing each other quite often” 

“I’m actually counting on it” You traced your finger along the outline of his pecks before landing a soft kiss on his lips one last time.

“Music to my ears”

“Hm?”

“Party’s over, sweetheart”

_

Copyright © 2020 by serendipityunho      All Rights Reserved

[shutupaboutandraste]

“  you  keep  using  that  word.  i  do  not  think  it  means  what  you  think  it  means.  ” for Adaar x Dorian? Welcome!

Excellent choice let’s goooo! I mention another Adaar Inquisitor in this little drabble and that’s because my Inquisitor is brother to my friends’ Inquisitor so I usually try to include them both ^u^

Words: 1565

Pairing: Dorian/Inquisitor Adaar

For @dadrunkwriting​ 

Tramping around Ferelden was hardly Asaara Adaar’s favorite activity. In fact, he would consider it one of his least favorite. The entire country seemed to be made of mud and mountains with nary a plain or decent stretch of flatland to be found. Weather in the Free Marches was far more predictable, more comfortable, far better than anything Ferelden had to offer. Yet, his distaste didn’t have anything on Dorian’s. ​

“Inconceivable!” Dorian hissed, for probably the fifth time since they had started their trek through the Hinterlands. Asaara rubbed his palm around The Mark, reminding himself that at least Dorian was easy to look at.  

Varric laughed, “Sparkler, believe you me, it’s conceivable.” 

“The King of Ferelden can’t be chosen by single combat,” argued Dorian, “That’s horrible politics. Hilarious, but horrible.” 

“It’s how they do it here, I swear!” promised the rogue, adjusting Bianca over his shoulder with a winning smile, “Hell, I think Hawke would have preferred that too. Not that they ever got the chance to become Viscount.” 

“Didn’t they kind of prove that by beating the Arishok?” asked Asaara, turning his head slightly to ask. It was always a way to check if their last companion was still around. Or, at least, if it was visible. When his teeth grit at noticing the very obvious lack of Cole, the spirit hybrid appeared at the side of his eye. Good. He was getting better at reminding them that he was there. 

Another deep rumble came from Varric, “I guess you’re right!” 

Dorian scoffed, but said nothing. Clearly, the ways of the South were too much for his delicate sensibilities. Asaara didn’t mind it--his mind wandered to his elder brother Arug, who would have reveled in such simplicity. In another life, the two might have been Arvaraad and Sarebaas, but Asaara liked to think their own style of mage and protector worked out just fine. Fine enough that Arug had felt comfortable staying back at Skyhold at any rate. 

Besides, it was hard to actually talk to Dorian when Arug hovered. Magic unsettled Arug on a good day, but Dorian seemed to do so in particular. And, whether Asaara liked to admit it or not there was something undeniably charming about the Tevinter altus. (Not magister, he had to remind himself, just the son of one.) 

To be fair, it could be hard to talk to Dorian in general. The man was proud, charismatic, and bold like a pristine sunset that reflected itself back in a lake. He talked quickly, usually in circles around other people, but not Asaara. He could hang on every word like gospel. It had begun with inquiries into the time magic that Dorian had studied. Devouring the information had been thrilling, but Asaara came out with plenty of notions. Notions such as the obvious understanding within Dorian’s eyes, but that his speech could twist the truth to get even the best to believe in his work. Or, perhaps, more worryingly, that Dorian’s eyes sparkled when he was excited. That his smile made Asaara’s heart twist ever so slightly. Asaara was rarely tongue-tied, but he had to focus on his words more when Dorian was around.

Still, it didn’t mean Asaara had endless patience. Dorian could be a vain, proud braggart who thought that he was the Maker’s gift to magic. Once one knew him better, that shed slightly, but he could still be pretentious. And, Asaara reminded himself constantly, Dorian was still of Tevinter while Asaara was a Vashoth Qunari. 

 The conversation moved, Cole whispering to himself. Asaara was glad of it-- Cole was muttering his thoughts again. His fingers gently tapped Cole’s wrist which got the other to stop, apologizing quietly. There were many people Asaara found easy to be angry at, but Cole wasn’t one of them. Where he could argue with Vivienne until they were both blue in the face or ignore Cassandra until she looked ready to hit him, Cole was just trying to help. Not berate him with opinions or Chantry nonsense. That didn’t always make what Cole had to say easy to hear. 

So, when Dorian exclaimed, “Inconceivable!” again over something very conceivable-- something about Ferelden fashion and shield maidens-- it was Cole who said Asaara’s thoughts out. 

“You keep using that word,” hummed Cole, “I do not think it means what you think it means.” 

“...Pardon me, Cole?” 

“The word,” Cole continued, “Not believable. It blocks the idea of possibility. An unending wall for the dream of something strange. You use it for things that have already happened that you simply don’t understand. But Adaar understands the difference.” 

“...So are these thoughts your’s or his?” asked Dorian, directing the question toward Cole but looking at Asaara. He grimaced. 

“They were his…” admitted Cole, “But I began to wonder, too.” 

Asaara shrugged, trying to offer Dorian a charismatic smirk, “He’s not wrong. You aren’t using that word correctly.” 

“Yes, I am. Varric--” Dorian’s face dropped as Varric gave him a sheepish smile. He huffed, “Alright then, I’ve been made a fool of. Let’s move along through this horrendously massive forest before a bear decides to go after The Inquisitor again.” 

His face twisted into a mockery of a pout. After knowing Dorian for some time now, it was easy to pick out expressions. This one was embarrassed, his eyes darting toward the trees to avoid looking at any of them, but with his chest puffed out like a peacock. Perhaps, Dorian was too easy to look at. Most people couldn’t watch someone as if they were an exotic animal, learn their habits, learn which lines of their face crinkled certain ways to show their feelings.

Two mages and two rogues were also probably not the best equipped to fight Ferelden wildlife, which made Dorian very right in that regard. Asaara admitted that after a long morning-- Cassandra bleating at him, Iron Bull’s hearty laughter starting to grate his ears mixed with Blackwall's preference for traveling with Sera who was her own jar of bees-- he had probably made a mistake in a hasty party. Not that he minded. Each of the three were the most pleasant of his company. Still, he didn’t want to have to fight more bears. 

They pressed on, hoping to reach one of the camps before nightfall while they looked for herbs for the healers. Once that was all collected and the farms checked on, they could be on their way. Still, a gentle silence hung over them. Fennecs raced by them as the headed upward through a mountain. What Asaara hadn’t expected was for Dorian to softly break the silence between them while Varric animatedly began discussing something with Cole. 

“You’re quite intelligent, Inquisitor,” he remarked. 

Asaara’s lips twitched as he forced himself not to scowl, “For a qunari, I know.” Bastard. It was always the pretty ones who ended up being bastards. 

“No, I mean.. Yes, but no!” Dorian realized his fumble as he began to search for words, “Kaffas. I mean in general. Most people aren’t as smart as you are.” 

Asaara rolled his eyes, “I think the members of the Inquisition each have a plethora of intelligence.”

“Do not bullshit me, Inquisitor,” huffed Dorian, “It doesn’t become you.” 

Asaara whipped his head to look at him, surprised, “Doesn’t… Then what does become me?” A curl of suggestiveness pulled at the side of his mouth turning into a bit of smugness. 

For a moment, he watched Dorian’s eyes soften. Edges rounded as a smile ticked up softly. Those two perfect lips pursed before a twisted, pleased smile of his own graced Dorian’s face. If the wind felt knocked out of Asaara by that soft sudden change of face, he did not let it show. He had become quite good at that over the years. It came with pretending not to be bothered that everyone thought you were just another stupid Qunari-- or that you were just another violent Vashoth. 

“That smile for one,” said Dorian, “I should like to see it more often. Perhaps over tea in the library once we get back.” 

Had he heard that right? Koslun’s balls, Maker’s ass, Andraste’s shitty mabari, and Fen’harel fucking take him he had. Perhaps his own eyes brightened. Perhaps, he gave a little too much away as his cheeks darkened up, unused to the kind of attention Dorian had just bestowed upon him. Perhaps, it was just enough to keep Dorian interested since his expression didn’t change. Asaara let out a breathy chuckle, keeping his voice even as he nodded at Dorian. 

“I look forward to it,” he said, “So long as you’re not throwing books around in a huff again.” 

Much to his delight, he saw Dorian’s eyes sparkle.

Earlier today, if someone asked him if he thought Dorian would ever look his way, he might have replied ‘Inconceivable’ without hesitation. Now, that prefix has been dropped entirely. Dorian flirting with him was entirely and completely conceivable and right in front of him. And, maybe, just maybe the Hinterlands looked a little more beautiful, a little less muddy. 

He paused, adding, “And, so long as you call me by my name. Inquisitor is so dreadful on the ears after a while.” 

“Asaara, then,” agreed Dorain, giving him a polite nod, “An almost musical name, really. You will have to tell me what it means.”

Inconceivable, indeed.

[arigatouiris]

perhaps... // sanemi x reader

Author’s Note: Another vvvvv self-indulgent one shot for my soft babie Sanemi! Idk I just can’t see him as anything but a softie after that episode with Nezuko~ Obviously, this has Kimetsu manga spoilers, so please be warned! Sanemi deserves the world, honestly. I love him SO MUCH.

Word count: 5662 words

Pairing: Shinazugawa Sanemi x Reader

Warnings: angst, pining, somewhat of a crackhead reader?, fluff, spoilers for the manga, mentions of blood and sex

A lot of people were grateful to the Hashira for finally defeating Muzan. However, the fact of the matter remained—after the war was done, they had no place to go if they already didn’t have a home. Most demon slayers sought shelter within the butterfly estate and the wisteria estates till they could get back on their feet, but Sanemi wasn’t the sort to do that at all.

It wasn’t pride or ego, he simply wanted to get away from it all. To learn of troubles that weren’t demons, to go see sights he hadn’t before—live so that his brother and the family he had lost could see life through his eyes.

The sudden optimism flushed into his system upon seeing Nezuko, after all. The child reminded him nothing of Genya, yet there were instances that he’d wanted to cherish. Perhaps, every little sibling had that in common, the aura that makes you want to protect them. 

It’s not that he suddenly wanted to explore the world, it’s just that Sanemi wanted to feel excluded in inclusivity. He wanted to live a life that resembled a normalcy he had only dared to dream about in the distant future; but now was the distant future, and the suddenness of it all threw him off guard. He wanted to go a place and feel disliked because he was a man who didn’t look like he could be trusted; he wanted to go to a place and meet kids who would give him weird nicknames and maybe one day find out that he’s actually not the monster that they thought he was.

No part of Sanemi dreamed he would one day find love, but perhaps, the universe wished that for him by sending him you.

Upon moving to a tiny village near what used to be his old home, he met you—a farmer who worked on a land that did not belong to you, offering people smiles and sometimes, cashew fruits to the kids (when your landlord wasn’t looking). People generally liked you, you seemed the sort of person one couldn’t dislike because you radiated warmth with every action. Sanemi tried to stay away from you, but his arrival to the village brought attention—which was unavoidable considering people knew he was a Hashira. How they knew, he would not know, he considered himself to be a rather secretive person; but the mere mention that he once slayed demons alerted you.

You approached him the second day he settled down and handed him a basket full of produce—some rice, persimmons, cashew fruits (of course, one needn’t know you to know you liked these), adzuki beans, and pickled plums. 

     “I don’t need it—”

     “Oh, come on!” You pushed it forward onto his hand, causing him to pop a vein in annoyance, “Don’t be closed off, Hashira-san! You saved our lives, after all!”

He didn’t like to think of it that way, but that was what he had done. Not directly, but he had assisted to bring down one of the biggest menaces the world had seen. It wasn’t that he was incredibly proud of the fact; this accomplishment had taken from him more than it had given, and if Sanemi was ever given a choice, if he was ever given a choice...

He didn’t thank you, though you didn’t leave too easily. You started talking to him about some gibberish that he obviously wasn’t paying attention to, after which he simply headed back inside his hut, sitting against the wall, trying to catch a bit of sleep. He liked that he could sleep without the worry or fear hanging over his mind—he was free at last to be lazy, and what a privilege this seemed before.

     “I’ll bring you more things later!”

Sanemi scoffed, “Listen, I don’t need you to bother. Buzz off, and leave me alone.”

     “Ooh, you’re the strong and rude type, aren’t you?” You folded your arms in front of your chest, shooting him an idiotic smile, “I’m willing to bet your heart’s soft.”

It didn’t take him long to throw a stone to your side in a way to say ‘fuck off’. You giggled before waving at him and leaving, but something told him you would only return again; what kind of idiot you were, he did not know, but no part of him was grateful for your smiles knocking on his door when all he clearly needed was some peace and quiet.

Sanemi had money; the demon slaying profession had given him enough of money that he carried around. People would often consider it stupid to carry a large amount of money around, but it was Sanemi, and most people did not bother him—and no thief dared attempt stealing from him. He might not have a reason to rage at anyone, but Sanemi’s life was pent-up rage, nestled in his heart in the form of yearning and sorrow that he could not, for the life of him, unravel.

A few days later, Sanemi ran out of the rice you had given him, which meant he had to go to the village to buy things. It wasn’t that the village was overtly welcoming to him, but they left him alone and that was perhaps what he wanted. In his spare time, he trained, he didn’t know for what, and he would hunt. Sanemi learned how to cook better than he ever had before, and thought of his brother, thought of Masachika, and sometimes, if he dared, he thought of his mother.

     “Shinazugawa-san!”

He clicked his tongue when he noticed your head pop into the entrance of his house, a wicked smile plastered on your face. 

     “What is it now, woman?”

It wasn’t that he disliked you. He didn’t want anything to disrupt what was left of his life; he wanted to stay here till he got bored, and leave when the time was right. Getting to know you would only complicate things. But, why was it that you were hellbent on constantly checking up on him and speaking to him? Despite the fact that he looked so scary and intimidating all the time, despite the fact that he was rude to you almost always, you always trod on.

     “Would you like some ohagi?”

His eyes twitch at your words, cursing at himself for revealing to you that he liked the sweet the other day. It wasn’t that he explicitly told you, but it was simply that he was eating it the day before and you saw him—trodding on and making a big deal out of him liking a sweet that you apparently knew how to make really well.

     “Stop bothering me.”

     “Eh? You don’t look busy to me.”

     “But I am, woman. Leave me alone!” He barked, only to have you giggle.

     “I’ll leave it here. Have them, okay? You saved our lives, after all.”

There you go again, bringing it up like it was something to be proud of. Sanemi clicked his tongue before lying down, showing you his back. He was done with dealing with you for the day, and somehow, you understood that what you had said did not resonate well with him right then. You blinked a couple of times before pressing your lips together and leaving him to himself.

It wasn’t that you intentionally wanted to bother him. You were clearly aware that he did not grasp the affections of your fellow villagers, but you did not see a bad man in Shinazugawa Sanemi. You did not have any family to compare him to, but there was something strikingly similar to Sanemi and a particular demon slayer that had saved your life a few years ago. The boy was definitely younger than you, but scars adorned his face as well, and he did not use swords like most demon slayers that you had heard of.

Looking up to the sky, you walked to your special spot—a spot that you had reserved for yourself and your ‘little friends’. You hoped to tell Shinazugawa about this someday, because some part of you believed he would understand it better than the villagers did.

Maybe I should invite him? You thought, pressing your lips together into a line. What’s the harm? 

You made a U-turn and headed to Sanemi’s, to find him asleep. Your eyes wandered on his scarred face, his scarred chest, his well-toned muscles. You noticed that his right hand was missing its index and middle fingers, and you believed it was something the profession he had chosen had taken from him. Maybe, I should stop reminding him he saved our lives, you thought, before absentmindedly reaching forward to touch the man’s face.

You almost yelled when he suddenly caught your arm mid-air, and his eyes shot open at your blushing form. 

     “What the hell are you trying to do?”

You gulped, “T-There was something I wanted to show you.”

     “Not interested, woman. Leave me alone—”

     “Please, no one in the village understands. I think,” You frowned a bit, which was unusual because this was perhaps the first time he had seen you frown. “I think you’ll understand.”

Maybe, it was the way you said it. Sanemi noticed how hesitant you looked, but when he thought of it, you were perhaps the only one who was even bringing up his demon slaying in conversation. He sighed before sitting up, ignoring your sudden happy expression and waving his hand at you, telling you by action to lead the way.

You lead him into the forest behind the farm, and in a small clearing, Sanemi saw a bunch of rocks embedded on the ground, facing the sky. Upon one glance, he could tell that they were makeshift graves, but he wondered what the hell you were trying to show him. 

Why was he the only one who would understand?

     “What the—”

     “I met this boy a few years ago,” You said, turning to him, kneeling down by the graves. “He had scars on his face just like you.”

There were many boys with facial scars. But, for some reason, Sanemi kept listening, his heart pounding at your every word.

     “He told me about this kind brother he had. The one he wanted to meet and rekindle his relationship with. He told me that his kind brother made him want to get very strong, and from the looks of it, he really was strong. He saved my life, after all.”

He didn’t want to believe it, at first. He didn’t want to believe that you had somehow met Genya. And that Genya had saved your life. He did not want to believe that it was Genya you were talking about, but why did this seem so familiar?

     “These graves are of kids with no family. Like me. I didn’t know these children, but my heart breaks when I think of them being left behind like that. This demon slayer boy helped me put up these graves. He told me he lost his family to a demon too,”

Sanemi’s breath was stuck in his throat as he watched you carefully.

     “His mother was turned. And his kind brother saved his life by killing her. It must have been a nightmare.” 

You weren’t saying that out of pity, Sanemi saw the dead look in your eyes—the lack of understand was present, but there was no pity, no sympathy, just... plainness. Somehow, he appreciated that.

     “I don’t know what losing a family feels like because I’ve never had one,” You said, looking at the graves now. “But, that boy carried so much pain in his heart and so much love for his brother that it made me want to know.”

His lips quivered but he swallowed any emotion that threatened to spill out. You turn to spot him staring at you, expressionless, hardened, and you smiled. 

     “I’m sorry I keep troubling you,” You put your hands behind your back, “You just remind me of that boy, that’s all. He had kind eyes, like you.”

*

It was a few days after that did Sanemi notice that you were being treated harshly by your fellow villagers. He was getting ready to move, but he didn’t know what to tell you. After that night near the graves, he had grown to tolerate your company, but your visits were fewer than before, you gave him a lot less produce whenever you dropped by (not that he wanted you to give him any, at all).

That night, he told you he was leaving. What he expected was a muffled reaction asking him to stay or beg him not to leave.

But your eyes were wide, a growing smile formed on your lips and you looked at him and only him, the gaze almost weakened his knees.

     “I’ll come with you.”

It was a simple sentence but for some reason, Sanemi thought this one sentence could destroy every bit of strength that was left in his bones. He had assisted in ending the reign of demons, but there you were, giving him a determined expression, your hair disheveled, your kimono old from having been washed too many times, and your hands behind your back.

Your determination could end him.

And for some reason, Sanemi wouldn’t mind letting that happen.

     “You’re a fucking idiot.” He snapped, eyes glaring at her face. 

     “Shinazugawa-san,” You said, sweetly, “There’s no need for you to be harsh anymore,”

His eyes widened.

     “There are no demons left,” You were twirling on the ground you were standing on, “There’s nothing that should cause you to hide your softness.”

     “Who the fuck do you think you are?”

You approached him, looking directly into his eyes, capturing his breath in a way he never thought possible. Sanemi’s eyes widened but you remained put.

     “During times like this, Shinazugawa-san,” You smiled softly, “Being soft is a much harder task.”

In an instant, you took his right hand in yours, which he surprisingly doesn’t push away. His heart was beating rapidly and there wasn’t much he could do. Did he want you with him? Did he like your company? What would it be? What could he do?

The way you were looking at him... Damn it, there was no use pushing you away.

He took you to the wisteria estate, which was the closest to the village; Sanemi wanted some relief before heading to a place he had never been to. A hot bath, some good food, and a good night’s sleep on a futon—things he had missed. However, these were things you never had access to, and seeing you try them for the first time warmed his heart.

He found himself talking to you, sitting by the engawa, now that he had learned Genya saved your life. A life that his brother had saved, it was something special whether he would like to admit it or not. He told you about Genya and your eyes widen instantly, recognizing the story, the name attached to the boy, and tears fill your eyes when you learned of what happened.

You couldn’t say anything, you almost couldn’t breathe—and it was Sanemi’s first time seeing you cry. 

For some reason, the sight warmed his heart because there was another person feeling sorrow over the loss of his brother. Genya really was kind, Genya was perhaps everything that Sanemi one day wished he was. And here you were, crying for the boy because he was all those things. 

Without a second thought, Sanemi’s hand rushed to the side of your cheek, a soft smile sat on his lips as he watched you—the woman whose life his brother had saved—cry because Genya had died. You automatically leaned into his touch, almost as if this wasn’t new, you liked the warmth his hand presented against your cheek and it felt oddly like home. 

Huh? You thought, opening your eyes to see Sanemi smile at you. What is home, anyway?

     “Shinazugawa-san,” You sniffed, “You really are so kind.”

*

Sanemi had just given up trying to make you go away. In fact, he had come to accept it, in fact, he was slowly getting used to her being around him. A few days later, you and Sanemi set off in another little journey; where you began to wonder what it was that Sanemi was looking for, and why it was that you followed him so.

Perhaps, you wanted to feel that feeling of home again.

You two were walking across rice fields, the path was rocky yet it was as straight as it could be—and you were attempting to walk along a straight line, just for the heck of it. Sanemi grunted at what you were trying to do, but kept his nose out of it. If you fell down, it would be on you; however, when you did trip, you felt a strong grip grab you by your elbow, preventing your fall. Your eyes were wide at the sudden contact, but you felt grateful nonetheless. 

     “Careful, idiot.” 

You smiled at him, before snaking your arm around his, ignoring the growing redness against Sanemi’s cheeks. You cushioned yourself against him and hummed, suddenly liking the feeling of his warm yet toned stature against your soft and fragile form.

     “Sanemi-san,” He had no idea when you started calling him by his first name, but he didn’t mind, “I’ll follow you anywhere if you help me out like that!”

He pushed you away roughly before grunting at you, angered by the sound of your giggling—but ignoring the butterflies swarming in his chest at how happy you looked. Suddenly, all Sanemi could feel was a gnawing sense of fear cascade in his heart, his eyes wide at your laughing face, before he looked away, masking his emotions behind a veil of annoyance.

The fear was familiar; it was the very same feeling he had felt just before losing someone. This fear was the reason he kept pushing Genya away, before it was too late. It was this fear that had turned him into someone he could not even recognize, he was not the Sanemi he was born as. It was this fear that had turned good old kind ‘Nemi into Hashira Shinazugawa Sanemi, brutal, arrogant, brash and ruthless.

     “What’s wrong?”

Yet, there you were; figuring him out as if he was meant to be read so easily. As if all the walls he put up were no good. You were like a rabbit that bounced into areas it was not supposed to, yet Sanemi’s wolf-like stature did little to intimidate you. 

     “None of your business.”

You pressed your lips together before pouting once, pulling away and staring at his face. 

     “Come on, tell me!”

He gave you a good, long look before understanding something for himself. The woman his brother had saved, it was fate that had brought you to him, and he blamed fate for making you an idiot that he was falling in love with.

It was not hard for Sanemi to accept his feelings; which was what made it so easy for him to accept death, accept the death of his family, accept the death of his comrades. Sanemi might come across as someone who would do anything to run away from his emotions, but he was not the sort. It was because his emotions were so well sought after, because he knew the damage his emotions could cause him, did he put up walls so high.

Yet, how in the world were you getting through?

The two of you reached a tiny village clearing, where its people were more than happy to welcome the both of you. The elders mistook you for a couple, causing you to turn beet red, and earning no response from Sanemi whatsoever. Your eyes widened at his seemingly nonchalant demeanor, but you half expected him to deny that you were anything to him at all.

A small smile sat at your lips before trying very hard to calm your heart.

Sanemi and you were given a regular sized hut, three or four villagers pouring in to give you gifts in the form of provisions and leather. You were thrilled, thinking that this was perhaps the home the two of you needed, however, something didn’t sit right in Sanemi’s mind. Whenever a demon was nearby, he’d get the sense of dread spreading all over the air around him; it would be hard to breathe.

Sanemi slowly felt a tad bit suffocated at the ‘kindness’ the villagers were showing the both of you. 

Once inside your hut, Sanemi notices you were watching him as he unpacked—confusing him and shutting him up. He knew that if you had something to say, then you’d say it, but if you were just going to watch him, then he’d let you.

     “You didn’t correct them when they called me your wife.”

It was a statement; Sanemi could hear the happiness behind it, and didn’t understand why you were so peppy about the entire ordeal. Something seemed off, weren’t you suspicious? Why were you so ready to accept kindness, even from strangers?

Ah, Sanemi chuckled, it’s because you were like that.

     “What’s the use explaining anything to them anyway?”

     “Who am I to you then, Sanemi-san?”

Sanemi looked at you now with the wildness of a wolf, his gaze penetrating your very soul. Yet, you didn’t look away; you may have been the most timid creature in the world, but with Sanemi you were fierce, you were everything that he wasn’t, in a world that knew only how to kill. He felt the strange feeling bubble in his chest, before forcing himself to look anywhere else. But, your gaze was fixed on him and even if his eyes were to roam every single inch of his room away from you, he was still being burned by your intensity.

     “Do you like boar?”

You gasped, clapping your hands together, “I love boar! Are you going to hunt for me, Sanemi-san?”

He sighed, scratching the back of his head, “Yeah, sure. Beats sitting here being stared at.”

You pouted at his words, “Your skills at turning the conversation away are top-notch!”

All you could hear was his chuckle.

*

The fear continued to bubble in Sanemi’s heart.

He understood well enough more than anyone else that it wasn’t the fear of the demons that was the most terrifying. Nothing was more frightening than a fear you cannot name, and right then, Sanemi felt scared and couldn’t for the life of him understand why.

Was it because of you? Was it because he could lose you in an instant? And he would feel the same—empty, regret and sorrow that he felt when his brother died in his arms? He couldn’t compare the same pain with the hypothetical one, but the mere thought of losing you left him breathless. It was not blind anxiety, here it was possibility; because Sanemi had always lost everything.

In his entire life, keeping something for himself was a dream he knew he couldn’t achieve. This was perhaps why he kept roaming from one village to another; until he met you. You tagged along, making things all the more complicated. Yet, he liked the sound of your voice in the morning, he enjoyed your company and the sound of your laughter rang in his mind even when you were not conscious. And perhaps, the fact that he was in love with you did losing you become more of a possibility, and perhaps, this was what the fear was addressing. That despite not wanting to get close to anyone, you’d managed to crawl into what was left of his sanity, and make yourself feel at home.

Despite everything he had done to ensure he doesn’t lose anyone again, he was back in the most vulnerable state of affairs. This left him weak, ready to be pounced at—but, like you said, there were no more demons. 

But, the mistake people often make is associate an evil with an evident form of it. Most often, evil lurks in corners that one would not notice.

Sanemi’s growing dread only made sense once he returned to you. He believed you’d either be making rice or sleeping because you slept more than you spoke sometimes. He liked the sight of your light snores, but what he came home to knocked the wind out of him.

There you lay, wincing, crying, four mean huddled around you—a knife was lodged in your left thigh, and it was clear from the smell of it that you had lost a lot of blood. This is why the village was welcoming, his mind told him. The second he was away, they pounced on you—because you were the weaker link. 

     “Nemi... Nemi....” You cried, turning to his form at the entrance, clutching your leg because your life did depend on it.

All his faces were designed to express rage or loathing. Now that something had happened which really deserved a face, he had none to celebrate it with. He quietly unsheathed his sword before killing everyone inside the hut, grabbing the one bag of money that they had come for, and picking you up like you were made of feathers, Sanemi rushed away from the village. He didn’t know where to go, but he was certain of the outcome.

As he was running, his eyes leaking tears either from the harshness of the wind or... or because his insides were turbulent, he could not hear your soft whimpers. Only when your shaking hand touched his chin did he pause, look at you—your lower lip trembling, your face deathly pale, your forehead sweaty, and your eyes were struggling to see.

     “I won’t...” What were you trying to say? “I won’t die... Nemi... I won’t...”

His eyes widened at your words. That’s it. That was what he was most afraid of. And here you were, addressing it as you were dying.

No.

Taking a deep breath, Sanemi held on to you tighter before rushing to the butterfly estate. It would take him almost an hour to get there, especially if he used his ability, but he was willing to take that chance. The knife was still in your leg, he was unsure if you would hold out till then, but he wanted to trust you.

     “I promise... I won’t die, Nemi...” You breathed, your hand clutching the side of his collar. 

On reaching the estate, Sanemi quickly walked inside, ignoring the fact that his entire torso was drenched with your blood, you were barely conscious, your hands limp at your side. Aoi, the blue haired girl who was in charge of healing people in there, immediately rushed to his side, asking the others to take you inside.

Sanemi wanted to follow, but the girl stopped him. It was then he took a long hard look at himself, your blood having turned him red entirely. He felt sobs knock at the base of his throat but he wasn’t going to cry. You weren’t dying, you had made a promise, you were not going to die.

But, what if you did?

What if he lost you too?

Sanemi was so sure he would just follow you. There was nothing for him to live for. There was nothing left if not for you.

He never realized he was praying; he never realized that he could. He sat by the engawa after changing into regular extra clothes, and waited for Aoi to come say anything regarding your status. 

I won’t die, Nemi.

You had called him Nemi. The last time someone had called him that, they died. He couldn’t help but correlate.

     “Shinazugawa-san,” Aoi’s voice sounded softly from the side, “You can go see her. She’s asking for you.”

That was fast. Sanemi’s eyes widened.

     “She’s so strong, I... I don’t understand how she can be awake after losing all that blood. We’ve closed the wound on her thigh, she just needs bedrest now. She’ll be fine in a few days. We’re lucky that the knife didn’t hit the bone.”

Were we lucky? Or were you?

Why was it that Sanemi felt the luckiest?

He rushed to where you were, noticing you lying down, eyes were fixed at the door. Were you waiting for him? Idiot, he thought before going to you, leaning over you by the bed. There was no one else in the room apart from the both of you, and all Sanemi could think of was how you had kept your promise.

Maybe...

His eyes were wet with tears now.

Maybe you could stay, after all...

Aoi closed the door behind her, wanting to give the two some space. What she didn’t tell Sanemi was that you refused to take any anaesthesia just so that you could stay awake for him.

You were crazy. And maybe he was too. She could never say.

     “I told you I won’t die.”

Sanemi’s hand strokes your cheek before leaning down and kissing you, squarely. You kissed back as if you expected it, your soft hand covering the side of his face. You couldn’t tell if he had done this with other women, but the kiss felt so strong—it reflected who Sanemi was, as a person. It was the kind of kiss that would inspire stars to climb into the sky and light up the world.

Upon pulling back, Sanemi’s gaze weakened you, but made your heart stronger.

     “I love you, Nemi. My Nemi. My kind Nemi.”

He wanted to break something, but this was his reaction to most things soft. However, instead of breaking something, Sanemi instead chose to kiss you again. You were darkness and he was darkness and there was never anything like this before; only darkness and his lips upon yours. You didn’t even want to speak, his mouth was over yours again. Suddenly, you felt a wild thrill, a thrill you’ve never known. Perhaps it was joy, fear, madness, excitement, surrender to arms that were too strong, lips too bruising, fate that moved too fast. You could sense his care when he practically refused to weigh on you, your leg untouched, your injury ignored yet strictly taken care of. When Sanemi made love to you, it was his way of saying he loved you.

He assumed you’d fall asleep after something that intense. He lay next to you, bare chested, the blanket covering only your tiny frame; you were laying on his left hand, with him cradling you from the right. You nuzzled into him more, liking the warmth, and also because you were practically naked under the sheets. He knew you were inches away from falling asleep, which was perhaps what motivated him to speak.

     “I love you,” His voice was a whisper, “But I... I can’t lose you.”

A second later, he heard you groan.

     “Don’t be stupid.”

Sanemi lay still, vision blurring, and in that moment, he heard his heart break. It was a small, clean sound, like the snapping of a flower's stem.

Whoever said that heartbreak was only supposed to be sad? Sanemi’s heart broke at how easily you accepted him, and it was every reason worth breaking. 

*

The next time Sanemi had a nightmare of losing you, he felt a mild slap on his cheek, causing his eyes to open, his lips separate in a gasp. Staring into tiny purple eyes, glaring at him, Sanemi realized he had angered his four-year old girl.

     “You were groaning again, ‘tou-chan!”

     “Sorry, chibi-chan.”

     “Don’t call me chibi-chan!”

His daughter was sitting on his chest as he slept; he turned and noticed it was already mid-day, and he wondered why you hadn’t woken him up yet. Getting up, Sanemi held the back of his chid’s form so as to not have her fall off, and he sat up straight.

     “Where’s your mother?”

     “Scolding nii-chan.”

Sanemi groaned, “What did he do now?”

Your little girl shrugged, so as to say she doesn’t know, which only made the father all the more curious. Sanemi put the girl down before walking toward the entrance of the house that you two shared. He noticed how you were yelling at your eldest boy, who looked glum with a large frown on his face. That’s why you didn’t wake me, he thought, scratching the back of his head.

     “How many times should I tell you that picking on people isn’t how you tell them you like them?”

Your son scoffed, “Whatever.”

     “Don’t be stupid!”

Sanemi felt his daughter tug at his left hand, which caused him to turn to her with a questioning gaze.

     “Pick me up, ‘tou-chan!”

He instantly picked her up, with her weighing as much as a flower did. Immediately, the child’s fingers traced the outline of his scars, bringing a soft smile to his face when he saw the same smile being reflected back in his daughter’s features. She leaned in and kissed his scar, forcing him to still his movements.

     “Aren��t my scars scary?”

The girl shook her head as if it was the most preposterous thing she had ever heard. Perhaps, it was. He’d never know.

     “They’re so awesome!”

Sanemi raised his eyebrows. A moment later, your son who was being scolded came over to stand beside his father.

     “Nii-chan, aren’t 'tou-chan’s scars awesome?”

As if the boy was suddenly taken out of his stupor, his dark eyes widened, and a large grin plastered on his face.

     “Yeah! ‘kaa-chan told us the story behind them!”

Sanemi narrowed his eyes.

     “Did she now... What was the story?”

     “You saved the world!”

Sanemi’s eyes widened when he spotted you, leaning against the entrance of the door, a wicked grin on your face. Sanemi scoffed before looking away from you, you and your idiotic tease of a personality. A hand rested on his son’s head and he cradled his daughter by his left waist. 

But for a second, he swore he heard a voice whisper behind him,

‘My Nemi is the kindest’