#it’s frustrating and disappointing when your parents shove in your face the fact that they know nothing about you as a person

[tocourtdisaster]

My mom sent me this as part of my Christmas present, along with a foldable tarp (?), a 4Patriots branded power bank (??), and three Christmas ornaments of things I liked when I was eight years old.

Literally everything except the power bank went straight in the trash and that might too depending on how well something called 4Patriots actually works. I’m not holding my breath.

[jeanniebug623]

Can you write a snippet of Quaritch following through with his version of “an old school ass whipping”

Nothing too serious because I don’t think he’d abuse Spider but I do think he’d be the type of parent to resort to physical discipline if pushed enough.

In the exchange between him and Spider, Spider does not seemed alarmed with fear and is actually a little cheeky. I think he’s used to adults just letting him get away with things.

I think it’s be interesting to read Spider’s reaction to an adult/authority figure disciplining him (whether physical or some other punishment) for not following instructions rather than just checking to see if he has not been harmed.

It doesn’t have to relate to him running off which is where Quaritch uses the threat. It could be anything.

Oh dear...I can certainly try. SOOOO many times it came close in my Silent As Shadows fanfic but I intentionally diverted it because writing it makes me feel...off? Something like that...not to say I haven't touched on the subject in other stories because it can be a defining piece of a character's personality. For better or worse...

That said I DO NOT condone the actions I am about write...abuse is abuse; my mind will not be changed.

I agree with you, Quaritch does seem like the type who would resort to physical discipline. One of those people who would be like 'I went through it and I turned out fine' when they, in fact, did not turn out fine...

It's also hard for me to write when it's a recom and a human versus a human and a human like an AU scenario. Just really doesn't seem like a fair fight when it's like someone three times as big as the other person...

Please listen to My Heart's Grave by Faouzia if you'd like to know my mindset writing this because I had it on repeat. Now I will sip wine, feel bad about myself, and prepare to write the fluffiest chapter of Weaving the Web to recover... 🥺🥺🥺

TW: Physical Discipline of a Teenager; Corporal Punishment; Please DO NOT read if this is a triggering subject for you.

"Yea, I got him." Quaritch relayed into his comm as he pulled the struggling teenage translator back towards the recom's camp easily by one arm. Spider was a feisty one, the colonel had to give him that. Definitely the son of his genetic predecessor.

"Let me the fuck go!" Spider snarled, trying to pry the tight fingers off his bicep. It was sad the recom's hand could easily engulf his whole upper arm.

"Oh, boy, the mouth on you." Quaritch said with a disappointed shake of his head as he continued through the underbrush, "And don't forget the balls. You actually ran. Where'd you think you were gonna go, kid?"

"Don't fucking care! Anywhere away from you assholes!" Spider answered angrily, growing increasingly frustrated with being dragged like a toddler being taken to their room for a time out.

Quaritch let out some mix of a sigh and a growl, more of the latter, at the boy's foul language and continued resistance as he commented, "My old man would have my ass black and blue if I ever spoke to him like that."

"That's nice..." Spider huffed out with an angry smirk, "I don't have a dad. Because he was a genocidal, sociopath prick who picked a fight with the wrong people!"

Quaritch felt something deep inside burn angrily. Perhaps it was the recovered footage showing the human Miles Quaritch's demise or the deep loyalty to the RDA being insulted by a wild child raised by the enemy, he stopped abruptly and shoved Spider towards a fern with woody, reed-like stalks.

"Pick your switch." Quaritch commanded, crossing his arms and glaring at the boy like he was new recruit about to get a little taste of what offending the commanding officer was like.

"Pick my what?" Spider asked, utter confusion on his face as he looked at the plant he almost face planted in then back to Quaritch.

"My old man used to let me choose how I got it. I'll give you the same courtesy." Quaritch said as he appraised the boy. He wasn't going to let the boy's naivety of how royally he screwed up lessen the blow. The colonel made it very clear if he ran, he would get that old school ass whippin' and Quaritch was a man of his word.

"Ok, I'll do it." Quaritch said after about a minute of just blank stares from the boy and brushed passed the boy. He ripped a decently thick stalk from the ground and clenched it in one hand as he swept his hand back to tear off the leaves to leave onto what Spider could assume was now the 'switch'. He glowered at the boy and ordered quietly, "Turn around."

Spider wasn't familiar with being hit when he was in trouble but he also wasn't stupid. His eyes widened as he stared up at the monster of a man and said almost silently, "You can't be fucking serious..."

"I'll spare you the humiliation of bending you over and literally beating your backside." Quaritch explained like he wasn't about to administer some corporal punishment to someone more than half his size. He'd be careful. He had no intention of putting the kid in the hospital but a lesson needed to be learned. He repeated slowly, "Turn. Around."

"What if I don't?" Spider said with far more courage than he felt. It was clear he couldn't outrun the recoms with the tracker in his mask, clearly that hadn't been a bluff. And he sure as hell couldn't hold his own against a genetically manufactured meathead. He could feel the sweat making his palms slick as his throat dried out.

"Then I will throw you over my knee and, after you've literally been spanked like a brat throwing a tantrum, you go back to Bridgehead and you never see me again. As nice as that might seem, think about who's waitin' for you back at HQ." Quaritch answered, giving his head a little tilt as he narrowed his eyes when he referenced the general. Ardmore hadn't been a fan of Spider joining the recoms but Quaritch had enough loyalty points to be given the chance...he did literally die for the RDA.

Spider stared at Quaritch, knowing full well if he was willing to follow through with this threat then he would with the second option. His humiliation would only start a chain of events of even worse things to come when he was back in the RDA's clutches without Quaritch's protection. He hated to think of it that way. Like he OWED Quaritch anything for pulling strings and getting him out of Bridgehead in the first place.

"So you're gonna hit me...", the teen's eyes darted to the switch then back up to the colonel towering over him as he spoke with a shaky breath, "...how many times?"

Quaritch smirked in a way Spider didn't like, obvious by how he narrowed his eyes suspiciously on the recom. It's not that he wanted to hurt the boy. If anything, he wanted to spare him that type of suffering as evident by stopping the interrogation. But damn! The boy's stubbornness and disrespect was not going to be a liability for the mission if Quaritch could stop it.

"You're sixteen?" Quaritch said thoughtfully.

"...yea..." Spider reluctantly answer.

"One for each year then, tough guy." Quaritch said as he lowered the rod at his side, "Turn around. Might want to brace yourself against somethin'. No shame in it."

"No shame...bullshit..." Spider said as his system flooded with prickles of fear of how bad this was going to hurt. He'd gotten hurt PLENTY of times but it wasn't usually intentional. Maybe his bastard of his foster father had but Spider was too young to remember. And his friends were always overly apologetic if they ever seriously hurt Spider while playing.

The teen let out a slow sigh and turned around, not bothering to use a fallen tree to hold himself up. He clenched his fists at his sides when the colonel let out an impressed whistle. Spider wasn't about to give him the satisfaction of saying he could knock him down...no matter how much Quaritch or anyone else tried.

Spider managed not to physically shutter as a large hand brushed his locs aside to get full access to his back and broad shoulders. He was halfway through taking in a breath to brace for the first hit when the switch lashed across his back with a loud SNAP! It hit below his shoulder blades and caused his breath to hitch as he was not prepared for the hit.

"Fuck...!" Spider breathed out through tight teeth as he felt the quick impact start to burn.

"Yea, hurts...don't it?" Quaritch asked rhetorically as he listened to the boy hiss through his teeth as he breathed. He'd tempered his strength down significantly for the first lash, unsure how easy it would be to leave permanent damage. And that was NOT what he wanted. Spider wanted to paint himself with blue stripes? That was his business...but Quaritch was not going to leave him with stripes he couldn't be rid of.

SNAP!

The second lash had a little more power behind it, creating a thin welt across Spider's upper back without breaking the skin again. And here the colonel thought the boy's thick skin was just metaphorical. Quaritch wound his arm back to the side before striking the bare back of the kid for the third time. SNAP! He wasn't sure if he heard a muffled moan or Na'vi curse words escape the boy but the punishment wasn't over yet.

SNAP! SNAP! SNAP!

By the tenth lash, Spider couldn't hold back and let out a sharp cry of pain and panted in the suffocating heat of his mask. His eyes were glassy just from his body's natural response to the sharp and consistent pain, but he'd refused to let any tears fall from sheer willpower. He'd tried to stay silent, not even letting out the occasional swear to verbalize how pissed off he was for fear it would come out as pathetic whimper instead.

Spider hissed in through his teeth in pain when a hand gently landed on his shoulder. Was Quaritch taking pity on him...? He wasn't sure what was more humiliating: being punished or not being able to take.

"Lean against the tree." Quaritch said coolly. The boy had started to sway and wasn't able to knock the recom's hand away as he gently pushed him towards a fallen tree covered in brightly lit moss and fungi. Spider tripped on a root, completely unbalanced from the pain pulsating from the lashes through his body but caught himself by planting his hands against the fallen tree like he was told.

"Good boy." Quaritch said, eyes moving over the boy's form as he continued to keep the tears at bay and bear the consequences. He was impressed and proud the boy was taking it as well as he was. But something...else...

Something hidden beneath the admiration for the boy taking the hits felt a lot like guilt. That his actions were wrong...that the boy didn't deserve this. But Quaritch was a man of his word.

SNAP!

Spider had started biting his lower lip and, if he wasn't imaging it, the strikes from the switch felt harder now that they were in the latter half of the sixteen lashes. He couldn't see how red and agitated his back was but goddamn it, he could feel it! He couldn't see the tiny red droplets forming where the welts overlapped when the rod crossed over an already abused strip of skin. As the discipline carried on, it was becoming more and more difficult for the colonel to avoid already punished skin.

SNAP!!!

Spider let out a sharp cry then bit his tongue when he snapped his mouth back shut when the last hit finally came down. The motherfucker did that on purpose. The last lash was much stronger and hurt A LOT more than the others. He'd dropped down to his knees and panted against the stinging in his back and eerily cool feeling in certain spots of his back where enough blood had escaped at the horrendous crossroads of the switch's path.

He clenched tightly at the moss in his hands and rested his forehead against the spongy rotting bark of tree as he tried to slow his panting into something less noticeable. He felt like a nantang had used his back as a scratching post except without the courtesy of the nantang putting him out of his misery for a nice meal of human meat.

"Goddamn good boy." Quaritch said as he reached down to pull Spider's hair back from hiding his face. The boy turned his head away quickly. No surprise. The colonel had a hard time looking his old man in the eye after an old-fashioned whooping. But by supper time, it would be like nothing happened. The boy would get over it...

But something in his mind asked if he would? Quaritch was a man of his word but was it worth it to see Spider barely holding it together like this?

"Fuck you..." Spider spat out as his body trembled against his will. He heard Quaritch sigh, sounding disappointed.

CRACK!

Spider instantly regretted his choice of words as he let out a borderline shriek at the impact of the rod coming down hard on the bottoms of his feet that had become exposed when he dropped to his knees. The pain jolted up his whole body then back down the point of contact in the middles and insteps of his feet. By Eywa, that one was the worst!

"What the fuck was that for?!" Spider snapped as he whipped his head back to Quaritch. He was taken aback by the slightly raised brows and flat ears of the recom. What the hell was this? Why did he look like he felt bad? Like he was sorry...?!

"Either the cussin' or the runnin'...your choice, boy." he said. Clearly neither option was appealing by the glare he got in return.

Quaritch sighed as he stood and tossed the switch into the brush now that its purpose had been served. He stared at the angry, rebellious brown eyes the teenager had inherited from his mother. If he could read minds, Quaritch could only imagine what Spider was saying or thinking of doing to him. He tried to take a hold under the boy's arm to help him stand when he struggled at first.

"DON'T TOUCH ME!" Spider screamed as he knocked Quaritch's hand away and scrambled to stand on his own now that his poor feet were screaming in agony. Fuck, it hurt to stand. He took his first step away from the recom and stumbled with how badly his feet hurt. A large blue hand attempted to stabilize him, which Spider responded with a cracking voice as he screamed again, "DON'T TOUCH ME!!! DON'T FUCKING TOUCH ME EVER AGAIN!"

Quaritch stood back up straight and watched the boy take his first steps. It was clear the boy was in serious pain. He'd gone too far...

Spider felt aching in his ankles, like all the bones had been rattled loose from the strike. He breathed in through his nose and let it out slowly through his mouth as he took the first real step. He closed his eyes tightly, ignoring the trickle of tears that escaped the corners of his eyes and walked on. Spider wouldn't be running again any time soon...but he would get away from Quaritch if it was the last thing he did...

[romanarose]

For the Longest Time: Chapter 8 Part 2

William Miller x Fem!OC (Lorelei Giang)

Masterlist : Triple Frontier Masterlist :Playlist

Join my taglist!

Summary: Bickering and THEN FUCKING!

Warnings: Bickering, Lorelei's issues WIIIIIIITH: Body image, her body count, her daddy and mommy issues, racist white men, military men, generational trauma, implied horrors committed during the vietnam war, trust issues. Will issues wiiiiiiith horrific child abuse, OCD, Benny, his back! Benny's issues wiiiith bulimia, ALICE. FUCKING. PIV sex, blowjob, dick so big it kinda hurts, lil cock waming, smooching smooching smooching, aftercare.

A/N: Okay now chapter 8 is fucking done. I cannot fucking wait for chapter 9 bc it's gonna be SO FUCCCCCCCKING DRAMATIC. We fianlly will get the full scope of what Alice is doing to our dear Benny and why Benny isnt himself.

**************

Lorelei packed her things in the hotel room in a fury, hobbling around in bare feet but still wearing her dress. She wanted out, she wanted to go home. 

After she had cried out all her tears on Frankie’s chest, he guided her over the table, his arm fast around her still. For a moment she worried Jana would be suspicious of her, but Jana wasn’t a jealous woman. She took a napkin, dipping it in water and stood to wipe off the make-up that had smeared. 

“I think I’m gonna just go to my room…” Lorelei mutters with a sniffle. Jana stands up and puts her flats back on.

“I’ll come with.”

“No, thank you.” She shook her head, gathering her things but not looking at either of them. “I’m just gonna go home. Thank you, both of you.” And she meant it. Lorelei left, heading out of the ballroom and around the maze of the fancy hotel until she found her room again.

Lorelei wasn’t sure what she wanted, she wasn’t sure why she was so goddamn mad. Maybe it was the hormones, maybe it was the frustration of a long night, worry for Ben, anger at Alice for what she’s doing to him and things she’s said to Laci. Maybe she was just tired. Or maybe she was struggling with the fact that when she allowed herself to fall into him, the vulnerability was betrayed. She felt bad that she didn’t ask what Will saw, and that she didn’t follow him to confront Benjamin and Alice, but she was too wrapped up in her own thoughts to carry that much further.

“Lore? What are you doing?” Will’s voice was soft and cautious as he entered the room. Lorelei kept her back to him, shoving her clothes into her bag. 

“I’m going home, Will.”

There was a pause. “...To Philly?”

Lorelei stopped, hanging her head and sighing before she turned around to face him. “No, William. That’s not my home. I’m gonna call a taxi back to town, you stay here and sleep outside Ben’s door or something, I don’t care.” She turned back to her work, trying to keep her make-up and skin care organized still.

“Lorelei, I’m sorry for leaving you on the dance floor, I am, Fish already chewed me out.”

“I get it. It’s fine. Ben or more important to you than me, that makes sense.”

“Baby, what are you-”

She was practically shoving things in her bag now, anger making her less organized. “He’s family. Chloe’s family. I’m just here to help you fulfill your dreams of fatherhood, although you parent Ben enough I don’t how much time you’ll have for her.”

“Don’t say-”

Lorelei didn’t mean a word she said, but the words poured out of her uncontrollably. “He’s your brother, I’m just some bitch you came inside.”

“Lore!” Will strode over to where she was, gently turning her to take a look at him, finding tears in her eyes as she gazed up. “Don’t you ever talk about yourself like that. Ever. You understand me? Do you really think when we had sex, it meant nothing to me? Lorelei Giang, I have wanted you since the day I met you, you know how disappointed I was when Ben said you had a boyfriend? Every time, every fucking time I ran into you, I ran those scenes through my head for hours, trying to memorize all the details because that is all I thought I’d have.” His face is earnest, pleading, begging her to understand what she meant to him. “What we shared that night was something beautiful, Lorelei, and out of it came our daughter, out of it came our friendship. Our friendship is something I value, but Lore, you’re crazy if you think that’s all I want.”

She was unsure how to take his words, standing there with his hand on her shoulder still. She took a step back, letting his hand drop. “What do you want, William?”

He sighed, exasperated. “I want you, Lorelei, why is that so hard for you to understand?”

“I have no doubt you want me,” She emphasized, crossing her arms and putting that symbolic barrier up. “That’s not the point. You think I don’t want you? You think that I haven’t gotten myself off to the memory of that night 100 times? You think I could watch you take care of Rosie, watch how you love your friends, see you smile and laugh and protect me and look so goddamn tall doing it and NOT fall in love with you?”

Her words fell heavy in the air, tension and frustration and love and longing all swirling around, suffocating the room.

“You love me?” Will asked, quiet and hesitant.

Lorelei threw up her hands. “Of course I do, William! Have you any idea what it's like to live with you every day and see the kind of man you are and not fucking suck your dick about it?” 

Will blinked in confusion for a moment before his brain caught up. “They whyyyy aren’t we together?”

“I DON’T KNOW!”

Will watched her for a moment, as beautiful as ever in her red dress, even though most of her make up was off. Perfection. 

“Lore… I know you’ve been hurt real bad. I know your dads, Tyler, all the men in your life have failed you none fucking stop, but-”

“But what? You’re different? You’d be better? You’d never kick me out or hit me r call me a whore-”

“YES!”

“Do you have any idea the amount of men I’ve slept with, Will?”

“I don’t care, I really don’t.”

She threw up her hands. “I’m 34, only a few relationships in my life, several men  per year, several per month sometimes-”

Gentle, Will stepped up, gathering both of her hands into his. When she didn’t pull away, he brought them to his lips, kissing the knuckles as he looked down at her. After pause, he spoke quietly. “Why are you telling me this.”

The tears were hot down her face, streaming down heavily. Lorelei looked up at Will, his kind eyes willing and open. It all came out. “Because you don’t love me, men don’t love me. They want me. They want to fuck me, and that’s fine, I like to fuck but they always think they can change me. Men, and please don’t take this the wrong way, but especially white men and military men,” Will was both. “See asian women a certain way. They think we’re submissive, quiet, virginial. You ever watch 90-Day Fiance? The amount of men that seek out women from Asia, like the Philpines, they always say creepy as shit about what they want in a woman, and they are sorely fucking dissapointed when they realiz we are real fucking people not a fuck doll that cooks for you!”

Still holding her hands, bringing them to this chest, he made sure the grip wasn’t tight. He didn’t want her to feel trapped, like he’d hold her there. He’d never force her to do anything or stay anywhere she did not want. “Princess, do you think I think that way? Do you think I don’t see you as a person?” He tried not to sound offended, like it was a personal attack. While he knew he wasn’t the sort of man she was describing, and he hoped she didn’t see him that way, he knew that she lived an experience he would never fully understand. The best he could do was listen, and not be on the defense.

Lorelei shook her head, “No, I don’t think you are… it’s just… I’m Vietnamese, Will. Do you have any idea what happened to Vietnamese woman when American soldiers came?”

Will could feel his skin grow hot. He did know, he knows that sexual abuse of women in general by military men but especially the native women in foreign wars was a massive fucking problem, and he knew the Vietnam war was some of the worst out there. He knew that that sort of generational trauma would not just go away by him being nice.

“I’m not saying you’re like that-”

“I get it.” Will reassured. “I understand, I’ve heard and delt with men in my tropes that talked about wanting to get stationed in South Korea or other Asian bases. And for what it’s worth, which I know isn’t a lot, I’m really fucking sorry you have felt this way you’re whole life.” It all made sense. Her being sexualized her whole life, the push to be submissive, which is a word Will would never describe her as, nor would she want to. The abuse from her step-dad, abandonment from her bio dad… it was a miracle that she came out of it all as well adjusted as she was. Will was so fucking proud of her.

Lorelei sniffles, calming down more in Will’s firm touch. “It’s not just that. My mom and step-dad didn’t help, always making me feel like my worth was tied to my looks when I have so much more to offer.”

“You do, you are so fucking wonderful, Lorelei.” He let go of her hands and for a moment she lamented the loss, but was quickly comforted by a strong, bear hug, ever-careful of the swell of her stomach. “I understand why you’re hesitant to get back in a relationship. I understand if you don’t want to be with me, now or ever.” Will took her face in his hands, guiding her to look up at him. Her he loved her dark eyes, the way her face was full as she gained weight, he loved her thick, strong hair and those creases between her eyebrows and on her forehead from frowning. He loved her. “But I swear to you, Lorelei, I love you exactly as you are. I don’t need nor want whatever version other men have tried to force you into, I don’t love you because you are the mother of my children, I don’t want you to look or act any way other than yourself. I love you in all your badass, take-no-shit, sweet-as-pie, caretaking, punch-your-stupid-ex-until-he-lost-a-tooth” Lore giggled at that, making Will smile. “Pin-up model, strong-as-hell, James-Dean-loving, sexy-as-shit madness.”

He kissed her forehead. He kissed her nose.

Lorelei pulled on his tie and to her lips, kissing him hard, passionate and wet.

Their first kiss.

Will returned it with no hesitation, opening his mouth to her and wrapping her up in his strong grasp. He’s intoxicating, swallowing up her insecurities, her fears, her tongue, all in a desperate pursuit for Will to make her feel like she’s worthy, like she’s safe. Will explores every inch of her mouth, the chip in the the moller from her brother putting pebbles in her food, the snaggled canine and her uneven front teeth from her never wearing her retainer since the week she got her braces off. The faint taste of red lipstick.

He tries to pull away, but is still desperate to be close that Will keeps his lips pressed against hers.  “What does this mean?” He pants, “for us?”

“It’s means I wanna fuck you.” She pulls him close by his belt, feeling a hardening bulge against her swollen belly.

“Lorelei.”  His breath was hot against her skin, voice strained like it was taking everything in him not to fuck her into the mattress right then and there.

“It means…” She goes for his belt buckle, desparate and needy and so goddamn horny for him, having fuck no one but a vibrator in months, and that was getting more and more difficult. “That I want to be with you, Will, if you’ll be patient.”

“I will.” The belt slide off.

Next, she went for the maroon sports coat. “And you’ll call me out when I’m being a brat.”

She felt him smirk against her before going back to kissing, and undoing the corset top with a little tug. “I always do.”

Her touch slowed, just a bit as Lorelei’s voice dropped an octave. More gentle. “And will you let me take care of you, so you don’t gotta carry everything on your shoulders?”

His touch slowed in time with hers, the kisses less frantic, less consuming. Taking their time. “Y-” Will stops, almost like he’s hesitating in the promise. He swallows thickly. “yes…” He slowly unlaced the dress, fingers warm against her skin.

Lorelei begins unbuttoning his shirt, but stops when she remembers. Shirt stays on. “Sorry” She whispers, and begins to rebutton what she did, resting her forehead on the peak of his chest still exposed. “Sorry��”

Will’s hands stopped her fingers. She looked up at him. Will wanted her, he wanted her fully and she’d shown him so many harsh parts of herself… but this was something he needed time for. It had taken a long time before he was comfortable with Emily seeing this.

“Just… don’t touch my back, okay?” A compromise. A start.

“Okay.” Lorelei nodded and whispered, continuing to unbutton. “You can take off my dress.” She knew he’d want permission before making a move like that. Shaking fingers on her shoulders, sliding down her arms and over the floral tattoo on the upper half. He pushes the loose dress down gently. She takes on her black panties. Then, her body is exposed fully to him. Although they’d been nearly naked together before, this felt new/ Much more vulnerable. 

“Fucking beautiful.”

Looking in the mirror the last few months, she didn’t feel beautiful. She was growing accustomed with how her body was changing, she was bring a life into the world, for fucks sake. Still, she didn’t feel beautiful. Right now, with Will. She felt fucking sexy.

She went back to unbuttoning him, with every few inches of skin exposed, Lorelei planted kisses on his chest, never breaking contact with his baby blues. Lower, lower still she sunk down as she kissed him, down to the ever so slight swell of a belly. Hitting the gym couldn’t stop the fact he was nearly forty,, and they’d be snacking pretty heavily the last few months. She loved every inch. As she kissed down his happy trail, sinking to her knees and unbuttoning his pants, Will tried to insist she didn’t have too. Yeah, she knew that. But her mouth was fucking watering for it.

It happened slow, it HAD TOO, he was so fucking huge she had to take her time. And Frankie was supposed to be BIGGER? Jesus fucking Christ. As Lorelei swallowed him, lower and lower down his shaft each time, she felt him fully. The hair on his thighs as she licked the salt pre-cum off his tip. The scar, clearly a bullet wound, on his abdomen as she sucked on his balls. Her painted red nails digging into the meat of his ass as she gagged around him, attempting to bury her face in his blonde hairs, but not quite getting there.

It was only when she gagged hard that Will pulled Lorelei off him, slightly in awe as the strong of spit connected from her mouth to his cock. “C’mon, lemme feel you.”

“But I wanna take you all the-”

His large, pale hand found her golden brown face. “We’ll have plenty of time for that later, princess.”

Princess.

She kissed him, hard and passionate and all consuming as she pushed his naked, perfect body to the bed, making him sit. “Need you inside me.”

“Baby, let me open you up first-”

“William Miller.” She took the moment to be taller than him, admittedly still not by much. “I have wanted to fuck you so goddamn bad since the second your dick pulled out of me, and I opened myself up this morning on a massive pink fucking dildo because I am incomprehensibly horny every goddamn day.” Lorelei pinched his cheeks, dark eyes intense. “If you’re not inside me soon, I will literally cry so goddamn hard you have no idea.”

After a beat, Will burst out into bellowing laughter that Lorelei mirrored in giggles, squealing when he picked her up and placed her to straddle over his body. Loreilei knelt on the bed, excitement thrilling her, filling her with electricity that she couldn’t doubt for a second Will was feeling as he smiled up at her. “You know…” She spoke softly, cardingehr fingers through his blonde hair. “Our first time was special…”

“I know.” He matched her soft tone, caressing over her stomach. He loved Lorelei and Chloe with everything in him. “I know…”

“But this?” A kiss on the forehead, adoring the way his fingers squeezed her hips. “This feels like the first time. Our first real time…”

“I know exactly what you mean…” His voice was nothing short of wonder.

Eyes shut tight, Lorelei lined herself up with Will’s cock, gripping his shoulders and resisting the urge to hold onto his back. He was so much, was he always this much? She was definitely swollen, feeling much more sensitive as she slowly took him. Will didn’t pull her down like many men before, instead she realized he was holding her up with his hands under her ass, allowing her to go at her own pace. When she finally took all of him inside her, sighing in relief as she was spread across him.

“Let’s just stay like this for a minute.” William whispered in her ear, playing with her hair. He must have known how overwhelming it felt for her.

She nodded, eyes still closed tight, holding onto him. She felt full, so goddamn full it was unreel, her walls pulsing around him and struggling to adjust.

“I’m gonna touch you, beautiful girl, okay? Gonna make it easier.” While one hand never left her hair, Will’s right hand went between her legs, playing with her clit. Small circles, playing with the pressure until he heard her whimper. “Ah, just like that?” He continued at the pace she seemed to like, wet slick coking his fingertips. It didn’t take long for a small orgasm to take her over, just enough to allow her to relax and provide extra natural lubrication.

Still Will didn’t pressure her to move. Lorelei stayed like that, clinging to him like her rock in the ocean as her orgasm subsided. It was then she opened her eyes. In there frenzy, neither of them had taken note of the mirror right above their headboard. A well-placed mirror was nothing new to Lorelei, but this was not that scenario. She wasn’t admiring hers or a partner's body, she wasn’t using the scene as porn… she was looking at Will’s back.

All across it were lacerations. Broad or small, mangling his skin up and down his back. Whippings if she had to guess. And from his dad was her first guess. He said he was above, he said he hit them… she never could have imagined it was anything like this. She wondered how many of these lashings he’d taken for Benny. 

Slowly, she began moving, up and down on him, tears in her eyes. She couldn’t protect him as a child. She couldn’t protect him as a teen. She wasn’t there to hold him or nurse him back to health. But she’d be there from now on, taking care of him and his racing mind and their precious child.

With his hands on her waist, he aided her as she rode him. Up and down, he filled Lorelei up over and over again, turning her into a moaning mess as he gazed up at her in adoration. She was his everything. His two girls, in his arms at this moment.

“I love you, Will, I fucking love you.” She felt buried in him, just as he buried himself into her cunt, everything that surrounded her was William. Nothing mattered but William. She didn’t need to wonder why her dad left, because Will wouldn’t leave. She didn’t need to wonder why Tyler hit her, because Will would rather die. She didn’t need to wonder why she wasn’t enough for her family because she was enough for him.

“I love you, Lorelei, I love you so goddamn much and I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry this whole time I made you think I didn’t.” His eyes shone with tears, just as hers did. Their faces came crashing together, faces ever-so-slightly wet with a mix of soft tears.

Together, they orgasmed in unison. 

Together.

Will fell backwards on the bed, taking Lorelei with him in his arms. He pulled out carefully, so, so carefully, and even still she whimpered a bit. Will kissed her forehead with an apology, then went to get some things to clean her up. When he walked back, naked and broad, a sun god in all his glory, his stride stuttered a bit at he took note of the mirror.

He didn’t say anything at first. William cleaned between her legs, telling her how good she did, how pretty she was, how much he loved her. Then, after putting her in his sweats and t shirt and pulling pants on himself, Will nudged her exhausted body until her head rested on his lap. There, he did as much of her face routine as he could without a sink. He wiped up all her make-up, then used cotton pads to apply toner. Finally, he took out a serum she brought and her jade roller, dripping it on her face and carefully rolling it.

“So, I assume you saw my back then?”

“Yeah.” Lorelei whispered. “We don’t gotta talk about it.” She sounded sleepy, Will’s touch oh-so soothing. The jade roller felt nice. “I won’t touch your back or anything until you’re ready. Even if that’s never.”

William smiled at her, Lorelei’s loose curls falling all around his lap. “Thank you, princess. I’ll tell you about it, I swear. Just not now.”

“Okay.” Drifting off, she had enough energy to reach up and touch Williams face. “Baby?”

“Hm?” He asked, eyes steady on his work. He didn’t wanna miss any parts, but he didn't want it in her eyes or mouth.

“What happened with Ben?”

Will sighed, putting down the jade roller. He thought back to the moment he left Lorelei. It was stupid, he knew. Not a lot should be able to pull him away from dancing with the love of his life. But when he saw Ben, knuckles bright red and face puffy, he knew the signs. There was no denying it, and he knew it was Alice’s fault, with the comments she’d been making on his eating.

“He’s throwing up again.”

**********************

MAAAAAN THIS IS THE MOST LONGEST SMUT IVE WRITTEN IN A WHILE

I hope this all seemed to flow naturally. I was trying to hit all the points I wanted to ;-;

ANYWAY get ready to dread the next chapter lolololololol

Please let me know how you felt about them getting together <3

@pimosworld @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @whatthefishh @missdictatorme @milkymoon2483 @poeedameronn @itspdameronthings @miraclesabound @babymills16 @rayslittlekitten @kirsteng42

[luna-redamancy]

Sorry I'm late, but I just saw that requests were open, and I am in dire need of fluff.

So, either Sauron or Morgoth, your choice. Christmas/winter holiday fluff. Female reader takes some time off to go see her favorite person, and get some well deserved rest. One of her parents has been pestering her about getting her life together, but on their timeline instead of hers. This leads to a lot of tension and aggravation.

So, to help relieve some of that tension, and to put reader in a much better mood, the decision is made to make the holidays special for her.

Totally not based off the fact that my dad and I had a big fight/argument right before I left to see the rest of my family for Christmas.

Where is your dad located- I just want to talk- that's all, just a chat.

On a serious note, I am very sorry you had to deal with that, coming from a not so kind family myself I understand how horrible it feels. I hope this brings somewhat joy? I set it in a modern AU. Please let me know if you need anything- whether it's talking or another comfort fic!

“Why can’t you just be happy for me?” You cut off your mother, a disappointing frown on your face as you took in her annoyed expression. It was the holiday season and your employer was so kind to agree to your week-off request from the shop you worked at. 

You thought this year would be different- no, you yearned for this year to be different. To have what your coworkers did, where they discussed how kind their mother was to make their childhood favorites and their fathers weren’t too expressive but they were kind and gentle when it came down to it mattering. Why couldn’t you have that? 

“Why can’t you just say ‘(Y/n), I’m happy that you found happiness even if it’s not what I would’ve done,’ - Huh? Why?” You blinked back tears, angry ones, not the sad kind. 

“You need to be getting your life together, you can’t just waste it away staring at the wall!” Your father argued, never one to turn down an opportunity to be ‘right’ - and by ‘right’ he simply means to get the last word in or argue until you can’t deal with him anymore. 

“I’m not wasting it away, I’m doing perfectly well for myself!” 

“Other women your age are getting married, having kids for heaven's sake, and look at you. What’ve you achieved? Nothing.” 

Pausing, you looked up at your father. Instead of replying with a wicked tongue like how he thought you would, you simply shook your head. Taking the embroidered napkin out of your lap, you threw it over your dinner plate. Your chair screeched as it shoved backward whilst you stood. 

“Happy holidays, mother, and father,” You muttered as you exited the home, briefly pausing to grab your coat off the hook and slide your boots on your feet. You blocked out the sounds of shouting and cutlery slamming against the oak table as you exited into the winter night. You were so hopeful. 

-

“‘M home,” You softly announced, taking off your coat and placing it on your designated hook. You crouched down to take off your boots, your heart feeling heavy as you put them in line with Sauron’s. 

You could hear him humming to himself as he made a cup of hot chocolate, and the thought made you nearly grimace. Who were you to ruin his night? 

“(Y/n), is that you?” Sauron called, pausing in his steps back toward your shared bedroom. 

“Just me,” You called back, your voice sounding sadder than you wanted, making you wince. The last thing you wanted was to worry him. 

Standing back up, you brushed your leggings off, mentally giving yourself a pep-talk to keep it together until you got into the shower. There you could release all your frustrations without worry and it’ll be -

“You don’t look too good,” Sauron muttered, mostly to himself as he approached. You couldn’t deny the laugh that left your throat at his utterance, shaking your head in amusement.

“The visit didn’t go well, I’m guessing,” He spoke softly as he pulled your scarf from around your neck, hanging it right next to your coat. 

Sauron pulled you from the foyer, guiding you further into the warm home you two have created. 

Sitting you on the couch, he pressed a kiss to your temple. 

“Wait here,” He spoke against your flesh before disappearing back into the kitchen. Looking at the side table you realized he never made it to the bedroom with his hot chocolate, the whipped cream slowly melting and the cinnamon that was delicately sprinkled on top was now just brown blobs. 

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, I didn’t mean to-” You were cut off by a fresh mug of hot chocolate being thrust in your face. It was made similar to Sauron’s, although rather than cinnamon on top it was an extra bit of the hot chocolate mix- sprinkled on the fresh whipped cream. 

“No need to apologize, arimelda (Dearest),” Sauron would’ve scoffed if it was anyone else, but not you- never you. Instead his expression was soft, “Especially when it comes to expressing your feelings.” 

Sauron’s presence was like a warm blanket, wrapping round you and providing you with a serene feeling of safety and security.

Simply nodding, you accepted the warm beverage and out of the corner of your eye you could see him grin when you took a sip. 

“Now, how about we settle in and watch a movie?” Sauron grabbed a blanket off the blanket ladder, your favorite one, bringing it over to the couch and wrapping it around you before handing you the TV remote. 

“Or we could watch whatever you want, I have no preference” As long as I’m here with you. Catching onto his unsaid words, your heart fluttered in your chest. 

“You mean it?” 

“Of course, when would I lie to you?” He settled in next to you, his arm swinging over the backside of the couch, gently rubbing your shoulder as you began to search through the latest releases on your streaming account. 

Your holiday season may have gotten off to a bad start, but no way was Sauron going to let his beloved feel like dirt and not get to enjoy themselves. 

Forever Tag

@lady-of-lies @all-things-fandomstuck  @fizzyxcustard @izzydaelleth @aquaangel18 @raindancer2004 @love-colorfulglittercollection @ladylouoflothlorien @ten-tenya-iida @legolaslovely @bthtallmadge2 @abesottedlass @wilhelmyna @tigereyesf @aspookybunny @keijibum @moony-artnstuff @sirkekselord @guardianofrivendell @fluffymadamina @izbelross @fandomhoe101 @acahope311 @kitkatd7 @mooseetx @themerriweathermage @elvish-sky @bitter-sweet-farmgirl @laurfilijames @frequentlychangingfandoms @cameronsails @linasofia @starryeyedrogue  @shethereadinghobbit @beenovel @onlystarshere @fckmini @spidergirla5 @i-did-not-mean-to @lathalea @myselfandfantasy @strange-old-worlds @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore @broken-ghost @mbruben-stein @tschrist1 @hai-kbai

Sauron/Mairon- 

None Currently

[mickules]

Ok, but the way Taka’s eyes light up when he discovers flavors and is just like, “what have I been missing out on my whole life?!”

Imagine if Mondo just proceeds to take Taka around to try a bunch of different foods. The looks of wonder and innocence in his eyes is almost enough to cover the hole in Mondo’s wallet

[from this ask] It would absolutely be one of Mondo's favourite things, but soon the class find out, and they all want to get in on getting Taka to try their favourite food.

[one of the minicomics this ask dump] Some have been privy to seeing Taka eat a sub sandwich in 3 bites, and they would not like to repeat the experience.

---

Junko was incredibly disappointed when it was discovered Taka is a SPICE FIEND. She has yet to find a food he actively dislikes, and so far no amount of threats from Mondo has made her give up the search.

---

Taka doesn't like to dwell on his upbringing as part and parcel of his whole ethos of determination, so wouldn't bring it up voluntarily. Taka tends to unconsciously avoid eating around people so it's a long while before anyone notices his habits, and even longer for them to get him to recognise it as unhealthy and not 'efficient'

Eventually, in frustration, he points out that: "Akane eats like me, does that mean she has unhealthy eating habits too?" to a chorus of blank faces and the gentle explanation of: " . . . Taka . . . Akane's got the worst eating habits" From there it becomes a simple matter for his friends to join the dots between Akane's childhood poverty - Taka's family debt - and their shared defensive eating. When he finds out about Akane's background it does give Taka some piece of mind to know there's someone who understands some of his struggles and lost childhood - Akane and Taka don't always see eye to eye, but they do end up bonding tremendously over it and their efforts to get healthier.

[from this group of asks!] Whilst Byakuya almost definitely has employees to undertake such tasks, I can see a busybody like Taka, only intending to drop off some study notes for Byakuya, inadvertently insinuating himself onto the organisation committee. Taka, completely by accident, ends up with a paid position on Byakuya's staff (since you know Byakuya couldn't just ask for a favour like a normal person)

---

Byakuya has an eye for theatrics; imagine the optics! Fellow attendees scoffing at the young, clearly inexperienced heir, I mean look at his woeful choice of guest from that disgraced family! Only to discover that the elaborate evening they've been enjoying was completely organised by said guest, and then seeing that same guest yeet a man twice his size out of the convention hall. That'd definitely add to the notorious Togami reputation.

---

Business spokesmen aren't always strictly at business events; they're usually also patrons or donors to societies, charities and political parties, so there's a slew of different events it could be. In fact it'd be even more poignant if it was a political fundraiser, or something of that nature. Since Taka is an unwelcome reminder to his maternal family of their previous failed foray into gaining more political leverage; it's even funnier if Byakuya is actively trying to shove that in their faces.

--

Taka can't catch a break - both his grandfathers are pricks. Righteously indignant Taka is excellent, but I have to admit I have a soft spot for bitingly petty Taka, even if it's it's a little out of character for him: "I cannot imagine your embarrassment then Chairman; as it is an Ishimaru who had to remind you to behave in a manner befitting the dignity of your station."

Taka might have a resolve of steel when it comes to remaining civil in difficult negative situations; In positive situations however? He's not as well practiced. . . Or: Taka finds out he rather likes adrenaline really.

He was blinded by his morals and nothing else.

@starlightmedow It's got to be easy to catch some parental feels when it comes to Chihiro. You know Mondo and Taka wouldn't be down for the babying kind - but rather the nurturing, too loud cheering on in the crowd kind. Think the muscle improvement club from Mob Psycho 100

---

"One of these things is not like the others ~ one of these things just doesn't bel~ong!" (It's mothman; he's the only cryptid) In all honesty a rabbit works well for Chihiro. Adorable, but when faced off against a predator? Rabbits can be FIERCE!

I like the idea of all the programs interacting with each other! Alter ego as the more experienced and proactive learner helping the others, Chiaki being hesitant but smart and willing, whereas Usami is very enthusiastic but the least knowledgeable. Chihiro watching over all of 'em It's a fun dynamic! (I have to admit I do prefer Chiaki as a completely fabricated AI rather than based on an actual person, which I know is how it ends up shaking out in canon; her slow yet intelligent demeanour reminded me of an old desktop resolutely chugging along)

@starrygatorr aka: Taka is gaslit by a child That certainly sounds like an AU with a lot of juicy potential to it! Taka doesn't seem the sort to be well liked by children due to his strict nature and perma-scowl. He'd be delighted to be approached by any of the children - it's a shame it happened to be the emotionally-manipulative, mini-megalomaniac! That being said, flipping it on its head, Taka's sheer bullheadedness and obliviousness might act as a natural counter-agent to Monaca's stratagem of picking at insecurities, making him someone who doesn't get side-tracked by her normal tactics (but also making Mondo a much more attractive target for her schemes . . .) All in all, there's a lot you can play with there! Noice!

---

[from this comic] You know what; Junko pretty much canonically just goes around nicking other people's ideas and smushing them into her killing game anyway! Hell I don't think she even came up with monokuma on her own

"smoothie of ambiguous content" is a true Mukuro mood

---

[from this ask again] Mukuro's not one to mince her words after all XD

@spacepaprika The idea of the Ultimate Moral Compass just flat out admitting to a criminal record is unironically hilarious to me - especially given Makoto 'I pissed the bed' Naegi's "dark secret". However I think a criminal record would probably kill any chances he had of becoming Prime Minister. I do have my own idea of what that secret might be, and I plan to put it in a comic . . . 👀 without context - it involves him having been expelled from his middle school *sows seeds of intrigue*

---

@darkephantylight191 Mondo never pulled any pranks himself, but he certainly didn't stop anyone else from doing it. He was the most vocal and blatant about breaking the few rules Hope's Peak actually has and basically constantly found himself in Taka's crosshairs, and Taka wouldn't let even the smallest infraction go. Essentially they both riled the other up, sometimes completely intentionally as they'd both assumed the other was exactly the type of person they hated, without actually finding out if that was true or not.

(next set of asks [about daiya’s accident]) (previous set of asks [about the parent trap AU])

[huenjin]

and they were roommates.

summary — who would have thought that a very naked sight of your best friend and a torn shower curtain in the rainiest of weathers could start romance? or in which you start falling for your childhood best friend, lee minho, unaware that he’s always been in love with you.

pairing — lee minho x reader, ft. binsung.

genre — fluff, smut, crack | roommates!au, bff2l!au

rating — 18+

word count — 11k words.

note — smut warnings under the cut, ofc! i suck at making summary adagafga!! but but but, i promise this story is adorable, okay, minus all that smut, my lame humor and those bit of rushed parts? this took forever and i'm so sorry for all that had to wait, especially the one who requested this uwuwu. 

smut warnings — a lot of kissing, a lot of swearing, mentions of naked exposure, fingering, cunnilingus, riding/reader on top, penetration, unprotected sex (wrap it before you snap it), choking. there isn't a loooot of smut either, ah! so enjoy the fluff ride.

"You idiot," you scream, loud enough for your neighbours to hear. You pull out the keys that hang outside in the key hole and pull open the door. "How could you leave the keys outside, Minho?"

"I mean, what if someone stole it?" You throw your keys and Minho's into the small box on a ledge by the door. Removing your shoes, you put on the pair of your house shoes by the side and walk further into the apartment. "Or what if someone broke in? You could get killed, you dumb hoe! Or worse, our new television could get stolen."

You hear no response and just the loud sound of shower running in the bathroom hits the walls of your shared apartment. You walk to your room, passing by the common bathroom, after throwing your bag on the sofa. You talk on the way, yelling in hopes that he would hear.

"Did you walk back in the rain? There's no other reason as to why I did not see you after college. Jisung was searching for you too, Minho."

You change into a pair of shorts and black camisole, pulling your hair up and knotting it, all while your ears pick up the small humming from the bathroom. You shake your head at the fact that since it's Lee Minho in the shower, he is probably going to take his own time to come out. After all, he is the reason why your water bill is so high. 

"Yah, Lee Minho!" You walk outside and hit the door with your fists to bring at least a little of his attention towards you. "Do you want the leftovers or should I get food delivered?"

"Delivery!" he screams back, hearing the shower sounds lower and you yell back in response, "Okay," and walk back to the living room, falling back and plopping down on the comfortable rexine covered sofa. 

Your phone rings in the next minute and you are pulling it from your pocket quickly all because you are bored out of your mind. It is also because your stupid best friend from the god forbidden age of five to till this date, takes forever to get out from the shower.

It's Jisung. Not that you would have a doubt even if you had picked up without looking at the name on the screen — your friend circle is that small. It has just been you, Minho and Jisung majorly for almost three fourth of your life, the other one fourth of it with you having your parents as your best friends. Jisung had always been the annoying kid in the playground that pushed you off the swing because he wanted to play and Minho had always been the knight in shining armour in your local playground, the defender of all things right as he saved you from Jisung's frustrating taunts. 

And then your mother — oh dear, she is the reason why you are still stuck with Minho's rich arse (mostly because she thought too that this is the finest her very antisocial daughter would ever find in a man) — decides that since Lee Minho was so kind to save her poor damsel-like daughter, he might as well do it forever. Fast forward to present day, and you are still cleaning up after him. 

"Did Minho reach home?" Jisung asks as soon as you answer the call. You roll your eyes and shift your position to one that allows you to stretch your leg against the length of the sofa.

"Oh, hi, Y/N," you fake your tone, mocking Jisung's ignorance. "Did you reach home safely? Did you get caught in the rain? Oh no!" And then quickly changing it back to normalcy, "Yes, Jisung. I reached home safely. The rain did get heavy as I walked back home but nothing to worry. Did you reach home safely?"

Jisung is laughing loudly on the other end. "Sorry, Y/N," he makes a weird kissing sound and you pull your phone away from your ear. "I presume Minho's safe at home, else you would be the one to crash my phone with the endless calls in worry of his safety. Ha!"

"He got caught in the rain," you sigh. "I hope he's okay though. I would have mentioned how he was, had he just come out of that goddamn bathroom but no! It almost seems like he is rebuilding the whole bathroom." Jisung laughs so loud that you have to pull the phone away from your ear again. 

"Dude, dude, dude," Jisung calls out for you through the line.

"Yeah?" 

"You and Minho are totally like my parents fighting." 

"Do you want to get punched in your face, Han Jisung?" You sit up straight, folding your leg across each other and bending forward, your elbow digging into your thigh as your hand supports your head. 

"And my boyfriend would punch yours if you punched mine," he huffs and you know he is talking about Seo Changbin. At a good five feet and six inches, the shorter male befriended Jisung and then wooed him over in grade eleven with some weird shining universe experiment for a science project and the Han Jisung you had always known, fell for the gesture immediately. They began dating a week after, making Changbin the only other human being you willingly chose to become closer to.

"Like Minho would let that," you click your tongue and Jisung laughs again, mumbling, "How have you guys not slept with each other yet? You guys are roommates."

"I'll kill you, Han Jisung."

"Like you would." The minute Jisung taunts back, you hear a loud noise of something crashing down and the sound is from the bathroom. You jump upwards, quickly hanging up without even telling Jisung that you were leaving as you drop your phone and rush towards the bathroom, taking huge steps to reach before the door in less than a few seconds.

You slam your fist against the door, over and over again, yelling, "Yah," to draw his attention before asking, "Minho, are you okay? I'm coming in," and you pull open the door to the common bathroom. A decision you wish you had not chosen but one you had to take for his safety.

Before a very surprised you lay a very, very naked Lee Minho, groaning with his back against the cold white tiles of the bathroom, neck lifting his head above to instinctively avoid hitting the floor. His hand holds a huge piece of the shower curtain that he must have tried holding onto before falling and as the colour drains from your face, lips wide apart, staring at your naked best friend in shock who is staring back at you, it dawns upon you quickly.

You immediately slap your hand over your eyes and scream as loud as you could possibly, "Fuck, fuck. I just saw your schlong, oh my god!"

"Are you not going to look at me at all now that you saw my dick?"

Minho rolls his eyes at you as a soft groan leaves his lip while he tries to make himself more comfortable on his bed. This time, he is fully clothed, black shirt over his torso and navy blue shorts. You are sitting on a small chair by his side, Chinese herbal medicinal mix in a white ceramic bowl, a tub filled with warm water and a towel and long white bandages on the table by the bed. The Chinese herbal medicinal mix was something your mother specifically ordered you to prepare for the boy before you.

You hand him a cup of warm water first which he takes and is about to swallow it down when you look at the wooden bedpost behind him and mumble, "But I saw your womb raider." Minho chokes on the water before coughing and you quickly pat his back which leads him to cry softly in pain and you are left apologising over and over again for being reckless.

He places the cup on the table and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he narrows his eyes at you and questions, "Womb raider? What the fuck?"

"You know, your schlong," you look away, heat rising up to your cheek. "I saw your schlong, a womb raider."

"I can't believe you call a dick that," he groans, rolling his eyes as if he has completely given up on you, "After having your womb raided enough by many womb raiders."

You look away, taking the ceramic bowl in your hand and mumbling, "None of them were long and thick enough to be called a womb raider though."

"Did you say anything, Y/N?" 

"Nothing," you yell and glare at him, cheeks still hot with the image still vivid in your head. "You can't look disappointed in me," you frown at him, "I should be disappointed. You tore the shower curtain."

"It was a mistake!" Minho gasps and tries to sit up but quickly ditches the plan when he feels the spin surge through him. You place the bowl back on the table and push yourself forward to help Minho sit up, your arms wrapped around his waist, your chest against his as you slowly pull him up. Minho explains himself, "If I didn't hold onto that, I would have gotten injured worse. I'm almost perfect now. It's just the slight—" You press your palm against his back and he seethes in pain.

"Slight pain, indeed," you scoff and finally let him rest against the bedpost. "This should do the magic though." You lift the ceramic bowl again and wave it before him, shoving the weird smelling green substance right in front of his nose. "My mother totally said it would work. She also said that you would have to be on the bed resting the whole day."

"You'll be my maid the whole day," Minho lights up, face instantly shining and you sigh, "Do I have an option? After this day though, we are going to buy shower curtains and you are going to pay for it because you tore it." You accuse him and he clicks his tongue.

"Fine."

"Remove your shirt now," you order and he looks at you, a teasing glint glistening in his eyes and he smiles, moving slightly closer.

"Why? Are you going to call my abs washboard now? That you could do laundry on them?" He purses his lips and leans forward and you push him back, his aching back hitting the bedpost again and Minho is crying with pain on the soft impact, albeit this time, you worry if it is fake. "Y/N," he cries, clamping down against his lower teeth hard, "Can you go easy on me?"

"Then stop teasing me!"

"Fine!" He huffs and looks away, "Help me out of this shirt now."

"What? Why? You put the shirt on fine. Can't you remove it on your own?" You question him, the ceramic bowl securely on your lap. Minho stares at you for the longest time ever and you stare back.

Has his eyes always been this tender? Has his skin always been this soft? Was Lee Minho always this charming and pretty to look at?

This is all because you saw his stupidly good dick, argh!

Minho finally answers, "It's harder to remove a shirt than to wear it." You shake your head and your eyes narrow to crinkled slits as you watch your best friend for a second more before placing the crucible back on the table and bending yourself forward to hold tightly the ends of his black shirt. You lift the black material up and remove it from his torso, exposing his abdomen and chest to the warm breeze in the air. 

He stares at you and you stare at him back, only till you take the white ceramic bowl again and hopefully the last time and you raise an eyebrow at him, mocking him, "Aren't you going to give me the classic Wattpad naked white male line?"

"What line?" 

He looks confused and you laugh, holding the bowl tightly, "You know, the—" You try to lower the pitch of your voice and to sound as cocky as possible, smirking, "Like what you see, baby girl?"

Minho laughs with you till he calms himself down a little, tilts his head and in the most guttural voice you have ever heard your best friend ever go, he repeats, "Like what you see, my baby girl?"

Your heart should not have sped up. Your fingers should not have tightened against the cold white crucible. You should not have pressed your thighs against each other. You should not have had your throat dried up at his very words. But it did and you are staring at Lee Minho in an angle you had never seen him. 

When did that stupid five year old boy who thought he could save the whole world grow up into this man?

"Uh, Y/N," Minho waves his hand in front of you, trying to bring your attention back. "Are you going to apply the medicine or? I mean, it's cold."

"Oh yeah," you stutter. "Yeah, yeah, I was about to. Can you turn back so that I can apply it on your back?"

"Yeah," he nods and pressing his hands into the mattress, he shifts himself, turning a one hundred and eight degrees away from you so that his back is facing yours. "This okay?"

"Yeah," you agree. You bend your arm forward to take the cloth soaked in warm water and you press it against his back. Minho bites his tongue in pain, eyes watering before he can't take it anymore and he turns back to face you. 

"Minho?"

"Can I do that thing you allowed me to do whenever I was in pain and you had to take care of me?" He asks, unsure, "Am I allowed?"

You nod, softly, smiling warmly at the man before you and you lift the chair up slightly. Minho quickly wraps his arms around your waist, his face buried into your soft chest as he edges closer to you. You place the warm cloth again on his broad back and Minho does what he has always done to combat pain.

He bites into your flesh softly, hard enough to trigger something weird within you at this age but soft enough to not cause any pain. 

Your eyes widen and your thighs tighten a bit but Minho is unaware to all this as he snuggles into your warmth, head fuzzy with the pain that throbs through his entire back. After a few minutes, you place the cloth back on the table and hold the crucible tightly. You dig your forefinger and middle finger into the green mix before applying it on his back, soft circles to calm him down and Minho lets go of your flesh, although he still continues to snuggle into you, his thick arms tightening around your frame.

"You're comfortable to hug," he mumbles as you apply the medicine all over his back, his face occasionally pressing against your breast and you gulp, reminding yourself that this is your best friend, that this is the kid you've seen in all his embarrassments. 

"Of course, I am," you laugh. "It doesn't pain that much, does it?"

"Not anymore."

"Good," and you apply another layer over the existing one. "Because if you say anything else to my mother, I swear to God, Lee Minho, I will—"

You don't complete. Minho laughs — soft, precious laughter that fills the air and engages your ears. He tilts his head to look up at you from his lower angle. You look down only to come in direct vision of his bright, glistening eyes that hold the stars behind them and his oh-so-flawless skin that you are envious of. Your heart beat escalates and you are about one hundred percent sure that Minho is aware. After all, he did have his ear against your chest in this position. 

"Fine, fine," his voice is airy and you could listen to it the whole day. "I'll tell your mother that her daughter took care of me perfectly, alright?"

"Perfect," you smile. "Now sit up straight. I need to bandage you up, just in case." Minho begrudgingly pulls back, a soft whimper leaving his lips before he huffs, folding his arms and sitting straight, looking you in the eyes and you gulp. 

"I'll be fine in a day, Y/N," Minho whines and you shake your head, mumbling, "Just in case." You turn your body to grab hold of the white roll of bandage before you beckon for him to come a little closer as you wrap the bandage over his torso, covering the medicinal herbs sticking to his body now. 

"You, in fact," you chuckle as you tighten the bandage and Minho seethes in pain at having his muscles pressed. You rub his hair affectionately before continuing, "You, Lee Minho, should be ready enough to cash out money for the shower curtain."

"Fine, fine, fine," Minho huffs only to break out into a smile as he looks at you. "We'll go as soon as I don't think I'll die if I stand up and straighten my back, okay?"

"Perfect," you laugh and pull yourself away from your best friend, clipping the bandage in the exact manner. You help him lie back against the soft mattress. You pick up the crucible and the tub of water as you stand up. 

"Y/N," Minho calls out for you and you turn, your head gliding against the joint and your eyebrows rising up in question.

"Yeah?"

"Thanks," he smiles, eyes closed and face so soft that you do want to hold it.

"For what?"

"For taking care of me, doofus. What would I have done had you not been there? You are my knight in shining armour now."

You laugh but your heart is furiously beating against your chest, thrumming against it so loudly that you can hear the beats. Your cheeks flush with heat and you look away, mumbling, "It's nothing," and walk away. You close the door quickly and fall against the vast wooden door finally, away from his presence and you hold the bowls close to you.

Fuck. When did your heart start beating this hard for the same man that you once knew as the stupid five year old with elephant print trunks? When did your heart start thrumming so loudly against your chest for your only best friend?

Either ways, you are doomed. Inevitably.

Jisung: baby, i think it's about time Changbin: for what? Jisung: you know, how we always said those two should probably fuck Changbin: yeah? Jisung: the sexual tension is too high. can we get it over with already and have them date already? Changbin: you've been trying this forever and you failed. Jisung: don't remind me. you're my boyfriend, support me. Changbin: fine! go, sungie!! i love you either way though.

It is exactly three days after the I-exposed-my-cock incident that Lee Minho agrees to go with you to buy the shower curtains. 

"Can't we just buy it online?" He had whined, arms folding against each other as he scrolled through his phone. You stand by the sofa, head shaking in disappointment as you reason back, frustrated, "The material," and you hit his arm. Minho winces. "The material is important. I won't compromise on that. Plus, you promised that you would come with me to buy something that you tore. Isn't that only fair?"

Minho does so. After bargaining with him for one tub full of mint chocolate ice cream that you will never understand why he loves so much. 

That is exactly how you find yourself here in this shop, shopping cart in your hand and Minho by your side.

"We are only buying the shower curtain," you tell him, staring at the half full shopping cart. "So I don't understand why we need all these."

Minho smiles sheepishly at you. He then points at the two tubs of ice cream and says, "One for you, and one for me. I even chose your favorite flavor!" He continues to point at each article and tell why he needs them very articulately and you stand there in surprise before breaking his speech.

"Fine, fine!" You push the cart ahead. "Now let's just go and get what we came here for." Minho follows you, his one hand on the shopping cart handle to keep pace with you. The two of you stop right in front of the array of curtains in different colours, some on display and some packaged and you smile, whispering under your breath, "Tada." Minho looks at you softly, at the small voice of joy that escapes your lips and he just watches you light up in fascination at something as simple as shower curtains.

Fuck, he loves your domesticity.

"Let's take this," Minho announces as he stretches his arms out to hold onto a pretty blue shower curtain. You hold it in between your fingers feeling the texture before announcing, "No."

"But why?" Minho whines, following your footsteps as you hold onto another shower curtain. 

"Because it's polythene," you frown at your best friend. Minho looks at you, confused, his eyebrows furrowing as they look at you like you have grown another pair of hands and legs.

"And so?"

"You could tear it again!"

"It happened once," he sighs, frustrated. "Once. It's not like I'm waiting to fall in the shower, tear the curtain and have you see my dick all the time, babe."

Your cheeks flush at his announcement and the tag he calls you by, your eyes looking away from his pretty face for a split second. Minho shakes his hand, taking a step forward to check a few other shower curtains out when the two of you hear a very familiar voice from behind, in the most professional manner ever.

"Sir, the one you chose is perfect. It is very durable and doesn't stain on contact with water—"

"Han Jisung?" Minho turns, the words of shock leaving his mouth almost instantly. You turn impulsively, eyes wide.

"What the fuck are you guys doing here?"

"Hey," you narrow your eyes at the other male. "I could file a report for bad customer service about now, Sungie."

He folds his arms and looks at the two of you suspiciously, "What are you guys doing here?" He raises an eyebrow at you, scoffing at you, "Like you would."

"What does it look like we're doing here, Sungie?" You bite back jokingly and Jisung laughs, gaze shifting between the two of you.

"I don't know," he runs a hand through his hair before folding his arms again, his fluorescent yellow uniform crumbling with the shift in his arms. "Is this some sort of a new way to date?"

"We aren't—" You quickly start when Minho pulls a curtain forward and breaks your sentence before you can complete as he asks Jisung, "This isn't polythene, is it?"

"Are you stupid?" Jisung frowns before he laughs. "That's clearly polythene. Minho, dude, you're a chemical engineering student. You have got to be kidding me if you can't identify polythene."

Minho doesn't pay heed to Jisung's words. You, on the other hand, stare at your best friend who walks away from you to examine more shower curtains. Did Lee Minho really ask Jisung, a literature student, whether that was polythene — What in the world?

"Y/N? Earth to Y/N?" Jisung snaps your attention back to the present. "Are you going to buy shower curtains today?"

"Yeah?"

"But your shower curtains were fine the last time I came home." You understand Jisung's surprise because the last time he did come home was five days back and the shower curtain was in a perfect condition. "What happened?"

You stretch your arms and point at Minho. The very culprit rolls his eyes before raising his eyebrows and sighing, voicing in the most dramatic voice you have ever heard Minho take, "Yes, Y/N. Yes, Ji. It's me. I tore the shower curtain because I fell in the shower."

"Ouch," Jisung acknowledges Minho's injury before walking past the two of you and taking a shower curtain. "Here's one. You might like this, Y/N."

"It's not PVC, Sungie."

Jisung wants to hit your head, terribly. Perhaps it's your adamance that is the reason as to why your friendship is this tight and strong but in moments like these, he likes Minho more. Minho stands by the side, arms folded and back resting against the wall as he trusts your judgement.

"Are you not going to tell her anything?"

"She handles all this at home. Give her what she wants, Ji," he laughs, fiddling with a few more shower curtains by his side. Jisung shakes his head in disappointment before mumbling, a soft frustrated groan leaving his lips as he throws his head back, "Definitely a married couple," and takes a few polyvinyl chloride made shower curtains. 

"Here," he presses his lips. "Don't blame me if the designs aren't that great. You don't get that many good designs in PVC. People go for polythene because it's more available."

"PVC doesn't tear and it's easy to clean!"

"Seconding this as a chemical engineering student," Minho chirps in from behind. You and Jisung turn to look at the man who is on his phone currently and shake your head lightly. "What?"

"He remembers his major now!" Jisung clicks his tongue. "All say, praise the Lord."

"I'm agnostic." You frown.

"More reasons for you to say it easily!"

You find a plain one in the ones he showed you and you take it. Jisung smiles finally, mumbling, "You're a frustrating customer."

"Nah," you scoff. Minho pushes himself off the wall as soon as he sees you done with the selection. "I just know what I want exactly. You, on the other hand, sweetheart," you poke his chest and Jisung chuckles. "You're a pathetic salesperson."

"Of course," he laughs the insult away. "I'm a literature student. I should be working in a publishing company as a part timer."

Minho takes the shower curtain from your hand and puts it in the cart by the side. He comes back, throwing his arm over Jisung's shoulder and frowns, "Apparently publishing companies care a lot more about who your parents are than your resume."

"It's just that publishing company," the other male looks down. "I'll try applying for another one soon."

"Do you want to grab a drink at our place tonight?"

"Can I?"

"Sure," Minho agrees. He drops his arm from Jisung's shoulder and holds the cart handle back, pushing it forward slightly. You take big strides to stand by Minho's side, also holding the handle slightly. Jisung raises his eyebrows at the two of you and with a smile that you don't think twice about, Jisung laughs.

"I'm coming over tonight."

"Sure," you throw your thumbs up at him, stretching your arm. Minho smiles softly at you, his eyes lingering a little longer at your happy figure and he feels his heart beat a little quicker at your sight. Your hair strands framing your face so beautifully, eyes shining the minute you find the exact thing you've had in your mind and your lips curving upwards in joy. 

Lee Minho finds the calmness that spring brings him every year in him all over again with you by his side.

"Bring the soju. Beer is on us!"

Jisung: binnie, binnie!! Changbin: yes, baby? Jisung: i think i have a plan. Changbin: let them be, babe. Jisung: we let them be all these years! they pinned after each other without even knowing and we had to see that painfully! Changbin: i guess you make a valid point there Jisung: is it going to rain today? Changbin: it's been raining for the last few days, sungie. it could. just because i study geography as my minor doesn't mean i can forecast weather. hey! Jisung: fine~ i'm going to get them to confess tonight 👀 Changbin: don't mess up. istg Jisung: trust me 🥺 Changbin: i do. more than ever ❤️

Jisung reaches your doorstep at sharp nine. With two bottles of soju in his hands, you see the stains of the droplets of rain falling onto his shoulder. 

It is drizzling for now and you worry if it is to rain heavily in a few minutes as the forecast mentioned. You hate the thunder. You hate how the weather changes drastically and worsens to a point that it frightens you and makes you anxious. It's a phobia you have managed to hide from everyone for fears of being treated weaker.

Jisung makes himself at home. He always has. He places the soju bottles on the kitchen countertop and Minho smiles to himself as he walks towards the point where Jisung has happily seated himself. Minho and you are on the other end of the counter while Jisung sits on the adjustable chair, swirling in it before stopping and facing you, Minho and the bottles of soju before him.

"Did it finally hit him?"

"I think?" You whisper back.

"I'm right here!" Jisung yells and you smile. Minho pulls the chair from under the counter and sits himself opposite the other male, pressing his lips together and trying to not laugh. He opens the bottle of soju after shaking it and hitting it against his elbow for a while. It clinks open, the metal hitting the glass before falling onto the table and you watch the two, as Minho pours a drink for Jisung.

He downs it in one go, letting out a loud sigh before stretching his arms and demanding a second one.

"Go easy, Sungie. You have the whole night."

"I don't," he huffs. "Now, please."

Minho pours it again before looking at you and you shake your head to indicate that you wouldn't mind a few. You grab hold of one of the empty cups on the counter before stretching your arm too. Minho laughs – a soft chuckle, so airy and light that you find yourself holding your breath for a small second there – and he pours you your drink. 

You twirl your drink, watching the liquid glide against the surface of the cup. Your best friend gets up and walks a little into the kitchen to open the fridge and grab a box of leftovers of fried chicken that you bought a few days ago. He pulls open the microwave to heat it and as he waits, he turns to look back at Jisung and asks him finally.

"Do you want me to drop a word to my uncle?"

"About?"

"He heads the Cheongsam Publication," Minho reveelas, pulling out the chicken from the microwave. He places it before the two of you and almost like you and Jisung were zoomed in, in an American sitcom, both of you gasp dramatically.

"Am I really your best friend?" Jisung yells and you narrow your eyes at Minho. Faking tears in his eyes, he persists in questioning,  "Do I not matter to you, Minho?"

"Why are you rooming with me when you could possibly afford a whole room on your own?"

"Yes, Jisung," Minho sighs and sits back on his chair. You bend forward, arms folded against the table as you stare at your best friend in betrayal. "Also, Y/N, don't you love having me around?"

He laughs and rests his head on your shoulder suddenly, causing you to stiffen them in response. Your eyes drift to the left, trying to not make it overtly obvious that Minho's sudden reaction has taken you by surprise. Your eyes land forward on Jisung who looks at you as if he knew this all along, as if he wanted exactly this. The man has a goddamn smirk plastered on his face.

Jisung downs two more shots and you look at him with a raised eyebrow, mumbling, "Slow the fuck down. No one's chasing you."

"Yeah, my goddamn plan," he mumbles before coughing and taking another. Minho sits up straight, finally lifting his head from your shoulder. He stretches his arm to pat Jisung's shoulder in comfort.

"I'll drop a word."

"Now, don't you dare go and say that you want to earn it and all that bullshit," you sigh. "It's the fucking Republic Of Korea. Nepotism is the norm."

"Not planning on saying that," Jisung glares at you. Clearly, Jisung is slightly tipsy, having been the only person to keep drinking. You and Minho opt to just watch over Jisung for the night. Your best friend puckers his lips in Minho's direction and blowing kisses, he says, "I love you, Minho."

"Changbin wouldn't like you saying that to another man though," you scoff and Jisung flips you the middle finger before downing one more and standing up. The thunder rattles the three of you exactly then and you grip the table, face turning pale instantly. Minho's attention darts to you quickly in concern.

"You okay?" You hum in response, unconvincingly though to Minho whose gaze lingers on you in worry for just a while more. That is, till Jisung rips it away by dramatically placing the back of his hand on his forehead and playing the damsel in distress as he gasps so loudly, staring at the big window.

"It's raining heavily," he sighs and you shudder, afraid of another thunderstorm as you grip tightly on the side of the table.

"So?" Minho asks, both eyebrows raised at the man before him, looking at the two of you with doe eyes.

"I'm staying over, thanks," he rushes and runs to your bedroom, quickly shutting the door and latching it and you and Minho stare at each other. As soon as the realisation of what could happen dawns over you, you rush to your closed bedroom, fists banging against the wooden door.

"Yah, Han Jisung," you turn to look at Minho who watches you in amusement. "Open the fucking door."

"No. I don't want to go back home in the rain. You and Minho can share the bed. I am never opening the door. Good night."

"What the fuck? Yah, Sungie, stop acting like a child. Open the door now." You hear no response. "Sungie? Answer me. Open the door please." Minho walks over to you, and tries knocking too, in vain however because Jisung has no plans to open the door.

You look at Minho, the man slightly towering you as he stands by your side and you gasp. You had to share the bed with the same man you just realised you could, perhaps, have developed feelings for?

"Fuck."

Jisung: it finally seems to be working, binnie! luck's on my side this time. Changbin: oh baby. just please don't be disappointed if it doesn't work out this time either. Jisung: i won't be because it's definitely going to work out. eeeee! i'm so excited! 

Another thunderstorm ripples through the air.

Your heart beats quicker in anxiety, eyes squeezing shut as you grip tightly on the pillow, a light whimper leaving your lips. You feel the mattress shuffling underneath you and in the next minute, your ears are covered by Minho's hands. You stiffen as he edges closer to you, his chin resting on your shoulder as his palm pressed against your pinna, covering your ear completely to protect you from the loud sounds of the thunder.

"Minho, what—"

His hand on your right ear slightly shifts to the side as he bends forward to whisper into your ear, to amplify the sounds enough as a way to distract you.

"You never ever told me you were scared of thunderstorms."

Lee Minho is way too close to you to think straight. You feel his body pressed against your back, heat radiating from him to you through your oversized hoodie. His breath is harsh against your skin as he leans close to whisper into your ear. And all this in an attempt to forget the thunderstorm.

So far, it's working like magic. 

Your voice is almost small when you inform him, "We never happened to be in the same place during one," and Minho swears to God, he could lose it completely. All the self control to not confess and take you there is so ready to be shoved out of the window that all he can do is try and focus on worrying about your fears.

"I'll protect you," he mumbles so softly that you turn around to look at him. His eyes are bright in the soft lights in his room and as he lies by your side, so close that you can hear his heart that beats faster and his breath that is shallow, your lips part and you watch him.

You are fully justified for falling in love with this man. 

A man that tells you he'd protect you from your fears, god alone knows how, but the fact that they don't seem like empty words. A man that you know like the back of your hand and the same man that seems to have protected you all throughout your life, even if you have done the same. It was inevitable. Falling for Lee Minho is inevitable.

And that's why you kiss him. Because you're in love with him so badly that all you can zero in is him, him, him.

Your lips press against his, so softly for a split second. As if you are unsure. As if you know you could be ruining years of friendship over something the two of you could consider a mistake. 

You kiss him and suddenly it's the only thing that matters to you right now. Him, him, him. Your lips are slow and soft against him. It is almost as if you are reminding yourself that there has been nothing more morbidly right than this. To fall in love with your best friend. Minho's hand slowly lifts up to rest below your ear, his thumb caressing your cheek as your breath mingles only for a split second — one filled with hesitance and uncertainty — before you pull away, looking at your best friend.

It is just a second of a kiss and with Minho so stiff by your side, you panic, and ramble. "I'm sorry. I should have thought it could be unrequited. I like you and I should have asked—”

Minho crashes his lips on yours, so quickly that it takes your breath away and cuts your sentence in half, but you don't care. He pulls you towards him, hands cupping your face tightly and angling it to kiss you, encasing your lower lips in his as he moves against your pink ones. You let out a small gasp as you deepen the kiss, running your fingers down his spine, holding him as close as possible until there is no space left between the two of you. It is just you and him in this small room. Just you and him in focus. You can feel the beating of his heart against your chest. Loud, clear and unknown to you that it beats for you in this minute. That it has always been beating for you.

Minho presses his tongue to the seam of your lips and, the minute you let him in, he delves inside your mouth, tongue chasing after yours. Minho kisses you like he has finally achieved the greatest thing ever and he never wants to let it go. Minho kisses like he loves you and you feel it. You feel every ounce of it.

Your arms move up his back and tangle around his thick, strong neck. Playing with the ends of his roots, you suck on his lower lips before he pulls away and finally tells you, "I've always been in love with you, Y/N. Always."

Kissing you again, his thumb digs into the skin by your jaw as he delves deeper, as if he never wants to let you go. The air in the room heats up when your hand moves under his shirt, feeling his muscles under your skin and you moan against his lips. Minho lets go of your lips only to kiss the side of it and then your cheeks and then your jugular before he is littering kisses all over your neck. You moan explicitly, gripping on him and slightly grinding on his thigh. You feel your core heating up, arousal sticking to your panties and all you can think is,

“I want you.”

Minho swears to God that he has always loved confident women but when you shattered right before him and built your confidence right back up — that is the hottest thing he swears he has seen. That, and the fact that you had always been hot before his eyes.

“Really?” Minho lifts himself up and hovers on top of you.

“Really,” you decide to respond before you cup his face and pull his face closer to yours. You don't pull him in for a kiss just yet. Your eyes zero on him, trying to cancel out the loud thunderstorms in the background and just focus on the man before you that you love, that you've been in love unknowingly for a while. 

You just hold his face and learn. You try to remember every single detail of his face that you never focussed on before.

You realise over again that his eyes are your favourite thing. They are black as charcoal and yet still shimmer as if stars are trapped and enclosed beneath them. And when he narrows them to look at you with a daze, your heart throbs and you gulp. They make your heart hurt whenever they fix on you.

You know his skin is soft as you touch. As creamy and velvety as they are, you can't stop touching him. 

His mouth is a pretty shade of coral, plump and pouty and honestly so kissable it hurts to look at it for more than a few seconds. You wonder how you haven't driven yourself to kiss him yet. All these years.

Everything about his face is soft and delicate, that is till he turns a little to the side and angles it perfectly, his head backward and you can clearly see the sharpness of his jawline; the distinct manly cut that makes your mouth dry and your heart beat faster. 

“You are perfect,” you gulp, your eyes back on him and Minho smiles widely. His warm breath caresses your face and his forehead is pressed against yours immediately.

“You know what else is perfect, baby?”

“No,” your voice is airy, even though you already know what he is going to say. You know it and yet the thought causes your heart to skip a bit, and flutter a lot in your chest.

“You and everything you have to offer. You are not average. You are one of the most perfect women I've seen in my whole life, Y/N,” he says. As soon as the words spill from his mouth, your lips are on his, claiming his mouth, the same ones that whispered into your ear that there is nothing to be afraid when he's right there by your side.

He gasps loudly as your hands leave his face and move to his hair to pull him down towards you — you need him so close to you. Your fingers get lost in his thick locks as you tug on them, forcing him to bend a lot forward and gladly welcome the intrusion of your tongue.

His lips are as soft as feathers and they feel like what you think heaven feels like. The warmth you experience is so much more than the tingle of first kisses and those innocent butterflies have nothing on the wanting void of a pit in your nether regions and the slick in between your thighs. 

His hands slide down from your hips to reach behind your back and pull you upwards, only to tightly clasp around the curve of your bottom cheeks.

“Minho,” you groan against his lips after he pulls away from you. His lips are red and swollen, slick and shining with your saliva and so incredibly inviting you all over again and you fear that you may never want to stop kissing him for as long as you are breathing. You fear getting too addicted to this human – more than you already are – to a point where you need to be attached to him by the hip, to never let go of him.

Minho's lips move from your swollen lips to the curve of your jaw, down to the curved edges of your neck, sucking and kissing every exposed skin. 

His hand moves from your clothed arse to under your hoodie, hand pressed against your back as he pulls you closer and forwards, until your chests are pressed against one another. His mouth is everywhere and god, you feel infinite and powerful.

His lips hover on yours. He smiles widely and you think it's cute. He inches his chin forward, flicking your nose a little with his own, a shy smile on his lips as he silently asks the permission to claim your lips anew; all over again.

You nod your head to signal yes. You hold your breath and your eyes flutter shut, awaiting him and his warmth.

Minho's kiss is slow and delicate at first. It is drawn out in a way that makes you want more, so much more, that you want to pull him in and suck the life out of him and yet, at the same time, it is precious and laced with not only the passion of the moment but also the tenderness of a first time together.

It makes your insides twitch and your heart lunge and it fogs up all of your thoughts to the point you feel yourself drowning in the sensation of his lips, pressed tightly on your own. 

Your heart is beating quicker than ever in your chest, against your ribs, and you pull him even closer, so tight your chests have no choice but to heave against each other with every single breath you take. You don’t want to let him go, not now, not tomorrow, not ever.

Minho is something you desperately want to hold onto in your life. He knows your secrets, your everything. He knows what you like and how you like it. He seems to know everything and the thought of letting him go aches your heart and constraints your throat with a sob you wouldn't dare to let out. You want him to be completely yours.

And these thoughts turn you desperate. They force you to make the kiss deeper, to lick his lips and bite them down, to gulp down every sigh and whimper that comes out of him and make them your own. To make him yours.

Your eyes flutter shut, taking in the way his mouth moves over yours, arching further into him. You groan into his mouth and his grip on your back tightens instantly.

“I want you so much, Minho,” you whimper against him after your lips part from his. You lick your lips and gaze at him with your partially closed eyes. “So fucking much.”

“Then, have me. Take me,” Minho purrs against your exposed skin. In a minute, he pulls the oversized hoodie over you, leaving you in just your undergarments as he discards it to the side. His mouth moves over the skin above your breasts and his hand traces the bra you are wearing. He gazes at it and mumbles before latching his mouth back on your skin, “You are so fucking beautiful. Always have been.”

You gleam in pride and your body arches at the contact of his mouth on your skin. Your hands are on the side of his face as you pull him away.

“Can I?”

“Have me? Yes. Completely,” he smiles. He wonders if you are confident. That's all that he hopes when you look at him so unsure and so doubtingly. 

You wet your lips again quickly, your breath coming out in hot puffs of air. Your hands immediately rush to his top, roughly pushing it above. Minho helps you out and pulls it completely away. You are blinded by the passion burning inside of you, your hands eager to explore and touch every expanse of his glowing skin. You want to touch, feel, have a complete experience. You want Minho to remind you of everything you are missing out on.

Your lips attack his neck in a hurry, all rough and passionate on his tender, soft skin, blooming red roses that turn purple against it. You repeat your actions till he’s softly moaning out your name, almost purring them out that you feel yourself becoming slicker. His hands on your back pull you closer and into him so that you won’t stop tainting his flesh and slowly, his soul, in the best ways possible.

Minho whines and sighs and grunts for you. He doesn't hold himself back as his lips leave appreciation for who you are. He closes his eyes as he parts his lips to whimper out your name with every new thing you find that excites him and it drives you absolutely insane. 

You know you should not but you can’t stop wondering how he would sound like as you fuck him hard, rock on his cock to milk his orgasm, make him beg not to stop. You desperately want to break him and draw all these nice sounds out of him, but you know it would most probably be the other way round. Minho allows you to take control occasionally but you know he wants the lead. He wants to be the one to break you apart and pull you back together. 

He pulls back from you, his hands leaving your back and resting on either of your sides. Minho's dark hair brushes over his crescent lidded eyes and nearly shields the hungry, desperate gaze of them. His hand plays with the strap of your panties as his gaze flickers between affection and lust. He cocks his head to the side before asking, “You do want this, right?”

You nod, hoping it would be enough and that he would resume.

“I need to hear you say it out loud, baby,” he firmly says and you gulp.

“Yes, yes. Minho, fuck, I want this. I need this,” you whine, your eyes glassy, as you grip his forearm to lift yourself up and grate and move against the evident bulge on his jeans. 

Minho merely needs that verbal confirmation. He pulls away your panties, resting on your hips and you groan. Still hovering above you and his hands over your pubic mound, his fingers trail lower and you tug at your lower lip in anticipation. Easily, he finds your clit, and begins to rub in slow, languid, lazy motion, up and down, waiting for the moan he so loves to hear from you to spill from your mouth. He grins when he hears those little whimpers and you feel your legs lose mobility from the pleasure he brings you with just a flick of his finger. 

Your back slightly arches off the soft mattress upon the bed when his finger leaves your clit to draw a line up your wet slit, collecting as much of your arousal as he can before slipping his glistening fingers out to admire them in the light. Your cheeks taint pink in embarrassment.

“Fuck,” Minho moans, taking his coated finger into his mouth to suck your juices from it. His eyes flutter shut as if he’s tasting the sweetest aphrodisiac ever known and your lips part at this sight. Lee Minho looks irresistible and you want him, completely.

“God,” he groans. Minho slides himself down your body until he’s in level with your pussy. His eyes gazed at it in sheer adoration and your hand slapped against your mouth. He takes two fingers to spread your lips apart for a better view. “You’re dripping, baby girl.”

You wail as he drags a finger up and down your slit, playfully teasing your fold, making you whine his name out loud. The way you plead for him, beg for him, grind down on his teasing fingers, all set a fire inside you. This has been what you had been craving for so long. The ability of this man to cloud your thoughts and set your body on fire makes you yearn for him even more.

“Minho,” you cry out, whimpering underneath him. “Fingers. I need you. Please, Minho.”

You gasp, your voice airy, when the tip of his finger tentatively slips into you while your fingers dig at his shoulders between your thighs. “Minho, I want you. I just really want you. I need to feel you. Please.”

He drags his finger out of you before you clutch onto him, feeling the need to be overwhelmed. He presses his thumb on your clit and a whimper leaves your mouth. 

“Minho.” And he slides his digit in again almost as if on cue. He pumps his finger in and out of you as his thumb harshly rubs circles on your clit. Your hand leaves your mouth and grabs your hair as the other digs further into his shoulder. 

His mouth leaves hot air against the skin covering your acetabulum and you shudder. His lips graze from there till your thigh before biting on them, sucking them deliriously and leaving you as a whimpering mess.

“Minho, fuck!” You scream, your fingers grabbing your hair to hold control of your body. 

“That's it, baby,” he says against the skin of your thighs. “How I've wanted those beautiful lips to scream out my name from when I've felt them.”

Minho adds another finger and your eyes are screwed shut as he curls them within you and you gasp at the feeling of being widened. You are elated and you feel your arousal leaking down your thighs. He rubs your inside and your clitoris faster and you push your hips towards him, moving with his pace. Minho is also leaving beautiful purple marks in a trail on your thigh and you gape in awe.

You find it all too much. Your emotions are all over the place and your hormones rise up. The movement of his fingers inside you and around your clit, his lips attacking your erogenous spots, kissing, biting and licking short stripes on them. It finally gets to you and you scream his name out in pleasure. Your first orgasm comes crashing down upon you, blinding you. You release all over his fingers and Minho helps you ride out your high as he drags his finger repeatedly but this time, slower than what had been. 

Your head lifts up and hits the pillow slightly as it tilts away. Minho moves upwards, hovering over your face and smiles. You smile back. You are so happy and you do not know how to put it into words.

“Minho?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks?”

“For what?” He looks at you quizzically. 

“That was my first orgasm in months now that wasn't brought about by my own fingers,” you smile wearily and Minho leans forwards and kisses your forehead.

"Should have come to me," he laughs.

"Didn't know if I'd be ruining our friendship."

"Pfft," he scoffs, before kissing you again, his lips gliding against yours and piecing in as if they were always meant to be against yours. "I've been in love with you forever."

"Took me a while to know my own feelings," you mumbles. “Also,” you continue, hoping he listens to your request. “Can I . . . ride you?”

Minho is stunned. There are so many things about you that stuns him and maybe it's the way you try to take control that make you look so much hotter before his eyes. 

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” you plead. “If that is not a bother to you.”

“Why would it? Your wish is my command, but only for this night. Next time, my love, we do this my way,” he teases and winks and your core throbs at his words.

Minho pulls himself away from your body, pulling his shirt over his head and his denim down and away. As he flings his clothes aside and relaxes against the mattress, his cock springs free against his stomach, leaking with milky precum. You sit up beside the space Minho has taken over and watch him and his cock deliriously and lustfully.

You sit up, crawling over to straddle his lap, nervousness setting into your stomach. You’re really doing this. You gulp and swallow the saliva as you look at Minho, whose gaze gives you comfort and confidence. The muscles in your arm stiffens as you grip his shoulder for stability and Minho notices.

“It’s okay,” he reassures you, sensing your reluctance and worry. He pushes back the stray hair falling over your eyes. “You're doing wonderful, babygirl. You are finally all mine. What a pretty girl and all to myself now."

You nod, biting down on your lower lip, and tugging at it harshly, cheeks heating up at his words, arousal gushing out as you look down before aligning with his cock. You want this. You needed this release.

As your folds, dripping with thick, sticky arousal, brush the tip of his hardened cock, you feel a shudder run down your spine. You instinctively allow yourself to lower further, taking the rest of him in you swiftly with the help of your arousal. Sinking down around his dick and feeling him fully wrapped around your clutching walls has you moaning out his name, gasping and panting for air, “Fuck, Minho.”

You rock your hips into him, trying this as you picture it to be, already finding yourself tightening and clenching around his thick length. He fills you up so nicely, stuffing you perfectly full and you salivate. Your lips parts and you find your hips moving on their own accord.

As much as Minho wants to give you complete power over this, it isn't like him and he wishes he could be better. Minho takes your hips in his hands, taking control of your movements to raise you up, leaving you empty and whining. You clench around nothing but air and your own walls, desperate to sink back down. “Minho,” you whine, your lower lip puckers forwards and you feel sad.

As his hand grip around your hips to get a better hold, he slams you back down on his cock, hard, causing you to scream. “Minho, ah!”

He continuously guides you in a rhythmic movement, throwing his head back into his pillows and groaning. You are glad he is helping you out because you know you could not have done it on your own after having just ridden out your high.

The sheen of sweat glistening on his chest catches your eye as he pants. The way his eyes clenched shut and his mouth hangs open with pleasure only makes you move faster around his cock. The sight before you makes you want to see him fucked out further. You want him to crumble under you because of you. 

You ride him, bouncing on his dick and clenching when you feel yourself reaching your climax for the second time that night. Minho’s finger moves down and slips between your sweat soaked bodies to rub your clit, pushing you even further over the edge. Minho knows how to make a woman putty in his hands and you are a living witness of this.

“Are you going to come?” He asks, breathlessly, his voice airy and light, almost floating away. He pulls his head forward to kiss your collarbones, sucking harsh bruises against your skin, continuing further down the existing purple bruises.

“Y-Yes,” you sigh, lacing your fingers through his hair and tugging on the dark strands. “Mhm, fuck, you feel so good, Minho.” You lean forward and the motion causes Minho to whine. You quickly catch it as your lips fall on his. His lips enclose yours and he kisses you slowly and passionately as you move on his cock, lazily.

Words, unfiltered and raw, spill out from your mouth after your lips leave his as you feel the high that is creeping up slowly within you. “Minho, fuck. Oh fuck, you feel so good.”

“Then, come.”

Minho moans against your neck as he feels you, his finger rubbing your clit, “Babygirl, oh fuck. Come all over my cock.”

Minho’s other hand that is not occupied leaves your hip and moves upwards to find their place on your neck. His fingers gently wrap themselves around your neck and his eyes flicker a mischief that makes you wetter than you already are. He presses his fingers against your neck with pressure and you choke. Your mouth opens wide and your tongue falls out slightly resting on your lower lip. Your eyes roll back and your walls clench around Minho’s cock tightly.

Minho learns that your dirty liking for choking is incredibly hot. Seeing you like this is what he knows would get him to come when you are not around. Your fucked out expression as you gasp for air makes Minho plunge into you harder and you choke harder.

A final flick of his finger over your sensitive button and a bit more pressure over your neck are all it takes for your body to flood with pleasure and ecstasy. Your legs tighten around Minho's waist, curling in as you ride out your high for as long as possible, still moving your hips against him. His fingers let go of your neck and you breath loudly, taking in huge gulps of air.

Not long after your undoing, he comes inside you, coating your walls with his seed as you feel his length pulsate within you.

Once your body falls limp against his chest, equally fucked out and panting for air, you feel him going soft inside you. He lifts you up, slowly slipping out of you and gently laying you by his side. His fingers rub small circles on your hips after pulling you closer into him. 

“Hey,” you say and smile. 

Minho kisses your forehead and then, the peak of your nose, and finally, kisses your lips, softly. It isn't lustful or anything. Just plain passion seeping from him to you. You feel his admiration and an emotion you fear to mistake for love. He pulls away and smiles, “Hey, beautiful.”

He comes closer and licks the side of your neck, where he had wrapped his fingers out. The one fantasy that you are so in love with. He peppers soft kisses around it and mumbles an apology. 

“No,” you quickly stop him. “That was everything. I— I really like you." Pausing, the thought crashes your head, post your high and you mumble, "Fuck, I fell in love with my best friend." 

You nuzzle into his chest after he pulls back, your arms wrapping around his body as you calm yourself. Minho chuckles into your ear, "Yes, yes. You clearly did. What do we do now?"

"Take responsibility." You mumble as you slowly find yourself feeling sleepy. Your eyes are slowly drooping and your voice lowers in tone, words drifting away almost, “You better take responsibility for my feelings and take care of me.”

“It'd truly be my honour,” Minho mumbles, lifting you slowly to push his one arm beneath your neck. He uses the other hand to push your hair away from your face. Kissing your forehead, lips lingering for a while, he smiles to himself, laughing slightly as he asks you, "Was the schlong good?”

You laugh softly, snuggling into his chest, fist against it as you try to fall asleep, thunderstorms long forgotten. Kissing his chest, you giggle, "Best ever schlong I have ever had, baby. All mine to keep now."

Jisung: can you pick me up? Changbin: this late? Jisung: i just wanted them to confess. not fuck like bunnies. useless fact i learnt today: they are both loud in bed. Changbin: i'm laughing off the bed literally!!! also!!! Jisung: yeah? Changbin: and they were roommates! Jisung: god, they were roommates. 🙄❤️

[ah-ga-seven]

No More Pain | Jung Jaehyun

Pairing: Jung Jaehyun x Fem!reader 

Synopsis: The lingering wounds of your miscarriage have reopened. Now that you are broken up, an unforseen change in Jaehyun’s life has brought him back to your doorstep. Will he be able to fix you this time? Or will he fail just the same as before?

Genre: Angst, One Shot. 

Warnings: mentions of the reader having a miscarriage, depression, alcohol addiction and heartbreak.

Word Count: 2.8k

A/N: Probably one of the heaviest angsts I’ve written. I know the subject is rough but the idea came from a dream so I just had to write it down.

This was a different kind of pang to your heart.

You’ve had your fair share of tragedies, heartbreaks and disappointments, but this…

This feeling was nothing like anything you’ve ever felt before and quite frankly, you wouldn’t wish this upon your greatest enemy.  

It was a Thursday night, one like many where you decided to stay in and recharge from a busy day at your demanding job.

You were seated on your couch with a hot cup of tea as you mindlessly scrolled through your Instagram feed. Completely wrapped in the warmth of your favorite fleece blanket. But even the thick fluffy material couldn’t protect you from the cold shivers that ran down your spine.

You blankly stare at the post your best friend forwarded to you via dm and stiffened.  

Memories of the night you miscarried 4 months into your pregnancy flood back to you as you stare at his comment.

You remembered how broken he looked when the doctor couldn’t find the baby's heartbeat anymore.  

You remembered how he held you as you cried in his arms, promising that he’d love you just the same as he tried to console you to his best ability while suffering himself.

You remembered the pain and the relief of having Jaehyun by your side through it all. Glad that even though your life was about to change forever, he’d be the one constant thing you could rely on.

You remembered all of these moments like they happened yesterday, wishing future you could mentally prepare past you for what was going to be the hardest time in your life.  

The man who swore never to leave you did just that, and not even 6 months into his new relationship, your biggest insecurity was made into a reality.  

He had moved on for good, and even though you have no ill feelings towards him, you can’t help but feel anger over sadness right now.  

It was that easy to replace you. And that easy for him to find someone that could give him what you couldn’t.

Even though your miscarriage wasn’t the direct cause of why he left, the effects of the incidence on your mental health dragged him down with you. So both of you felt it’d be better to part ways for the sake of not wanting to hate or resent each other in the end.  

But God…you hated and resented him now more than ever.  

It didn’t matter to you that both of you started to date new people, because a part of you always held on to the fact that you’d somehow find your way back to each other, though the probability of that ever happening again turned to ash.

Your miscarriage broke you.  

No appetite for weeks, no motivation to get yourself out of bed and no cure for the monsters in your head who told you that Jaehyun was only sticking around out of pity for your broken state.

That same insecurity is what drove him into the arms of the women he told you not to worry about, and now they’re having a fucking child together.  

Knowing that that should’ve been you was a thought that was just too much to bear right now. You suddenly feel sick to your stomach, tears prickling your eyes as you rub the spot on your belly where the mini bump used to be 8 months ago.

You were finally doing better, thriving in your job and social life. Meeting new people and dating a few loose ends here and there, but you can already feel yourself spiraling back into old depressional habits as you stare at the picture once more.  

You pettily decide to like it, hoping it would spark interest from none other than your ex, and much to your surprise, it did.

Not even 20 minutes later your phone started to buzz on the counter as you poured yourself a glass of wine. You mindlessly retrieve it, expecting it to be your best friend but when you see his name as you take a sip you almost choke.

Is he serious?

You try to come up with what to say for the next 3 to 5 minutes but nothing in your head seems to translate your exact feelings to your fingertips.

You sigh in agony while leaning over on your kitchen counter with your phone still in your hands, reading his messages over and over again. You subconsciously start to bite your lip in deep thought, getting startled by your ringtone as your phone starts to ring in your grasp.

“Fuck,” you mumble to yourself, taking a big chug of the alcoholic beverage in front of you, putting on the bravest face and straightest posture to make yourself feel better before accepting the call.  

You knew you didn’t have to answer, but you were dying to hear what he had to say under these circumstances.  

“Y/N? Is that you?” His voice was unchanged. You didn’t know why, but you expected him to sound different, be different. Yet the same worry he’s always had for you was evident in his tone this time as well.

You clear your throat to avoid a voice crack and sigh. “Congratulations,” you tried to sound as genuine as you could, but you knew you sounded like shit.  

You start to play with the ends of your hair out of anxious anticipation, waiting for him to respond on the other end of the line.  

“I meant to tell you,” he starts. “I just…I didn’t know how and Chaeyoung suddenly uploaded the picture and-”

“Jae…please spare me the details,” you interrupt him. Saying his name like you used to felt like speaking a foreign language. He stayed quiet upon hearing your voice again and let out a frustrated sigh.

“Do you still live in the same apartment in Itaewon?” he suddenly asks, immediately alerting you to stand up straight because he could only be asking for one reason and one reason only.

“Y-yes.”

“Good, I’m on my way.”

Just like that, he hung up and just like that your heart rate starts to race uncontrollably.  

You down the remnants of your wine glass and hope he’s isn’t too close because your place looked far from neat. For the next 15 minutes, you run around, shoving things into random cabinets. Whether those items belonged there or not was the least of your concern and just as you fluff the last pillow on your couch, your doorbell rings.

You take a deep breath, calming your nerves as you walk up to your front door, taking it off the lock before you open it with a dramatic swing.

There he was. Jung Jaehyun.

As beautiful and put together as he always looked, no matter the circumstance. You forget how to breathe when you lay eyes on him and gulp. It’s actually him.

His big dark orbs widened as he laid eyes on you after months of not seeing you. His facial expression softened, slowly parting his lips to speak but you beat him to it when you broke out of your trance.  

“What are you doing here?” your shoulders fall as you look into his eyes for answers. The same eyes that once looked at you with so much love and adoration, but right now his pupils were stressfully darting back and forth, trying to read you like he used to be able to but he had no idea what you were feeling right now.

“Because I feel like shit y/n. Please let me in and let me explain,” he pleaded with a defeated tone.

You scoff, rolling your eyes. “What is there to explain? You knocked up your girlfriend and finally got what you wanted. Why bother coming here? To rub it into my face?”  

Your plan of staying calm and collected went completely out the window just now and you could tell by the shock on his face that he did not expect you to be angry with him.

He took a step forward, backing you into your own hallway. His height towered over you when you stepped back and without looking back he closed the door behind him.

“Y/n. I would never purposely do that to you. Ever.” You ignore his statement, narrowing your eyes at him.

“I don’t remember inviting you in Jaehyun. Does she even know you’re here?”

You hold your ground, crossing your arms over your chest as you wait for him to counter your attack, but he simply shook his head. Knowing damn well that you’re acting tough just so you won’t get emotional.  

As he’s scanning the premises, his eyes linger on the red wine bottle on your kitchen counter and with a look of utter disbelief, he averts his attention back on you.

“You’re drinking again?” he asks with an almost condescending tone.  

“Did you come here to practice your parenting skills because no thanks Jae, please leave,” you bite back as coldly as you could, but he wasn’t having it.

“That shit almost killed you and you’re just casually drinking again?” He runs his hand through his locks out of pure frustration, not knowing what to do with the misplaced feeling of still caring for you just the same, while also knowing he has no business to tell you how to live your life.

The truth is, Jaehyun had no idea what he was doing here. Everything about the situation felt wrong and he couldn’t lie to himself any longer. Ever since Chaeyoung told him she was pregnant; he couldn’t be fully happy about it. He couldn’t commit to fatherhood knowing how much it broke your relationship. How much it broke the women he loved most to this day.

“A little red wine didn’t hurt anyone,” you mumble under your breath and that comment alone send Jaehyun’s emotions into overdrive, unable to hide his disappointment and worry for you any longer.

“IT HURT YOU Y/N. DAMN IT!” He raised his voice at you as he roughly grabbed your arm to make you look at him, which is the last thing you expected. He wasn’t mad at you. He was mad at himself. Mad at the fact that he wasn’t there when you needed him most and mad at the fact that this is what your lives had come to.

You might have previously dealt with your pain by drinking, and you might have mindlessly mixed your anti-depressants with your drink once, which…just might have earned you a trip to the hospital, but that was your lowest low and you made sure it’d never happen again.

You beat your demons by yourself when he had already moved on, so he had no place to waltz back into your life when he felt like it, just to judge you.

You’re absolutely fuming by now because of that same reason and much to your dismay you feel new tears well up in your eyes.  

“NO, YOU HURT ME!” you yell back at him as you smack his chest, the salty droplets streaming down your face as you kept hitting his chest to make him feel your pain. “YOU LEFT ME.”

Your knees got weak and you knew you looked absolutely pathetic as you crouched down in front of him. Shock took over his features as he got down on his own knees just as quickly, pulling you into the comfort of his arms. The warmth that you used to call home and the warmth that always seemed to calm you down engulfed you completely, a feeling your favorite fleece blanket from before could hardly imitate.  

He patted your head with assuring strokes, whispering sweet nothings to you as he held you on the floor of your apartment. Letting you sob the pain away in his black shirt. “Shhh, it’s okay…” he kissed the top of your head, caressing your cheek as he wiped away your tears.

You calmed down slowly, ignoring the suffocating ache in your head and heart while he made you feel safe and sound like he always did. You sat there like that for God knows how long, letting your minds go into overdrive as silence comforted the both of you.  

Ironically enough, this scenery was the exact same as the one in the hospital 8 months ago. You cried in his arms just like this when you had lost your child, but now you were crying because you had lost him. For good now.  

“I would never purposely plan to have a baby this quickly y/n, you have to believe me. Chae was on birth control but it just…happened,” he whispers, finally breaking the agonizing silence.

You stay quiet, closing your eyes to the sound of his low voice, letting his words register. “I was going to tell you. I was planning to ask you out for a coffee but as soon as she passed her first trimester, she was just so excited and made the announcement…it was just bad timing.”

“All of this is bad timing,” you mumble, which made him nod in agreement. He sighed into your hair as he continued to explain. “Y/n, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t care for you anymore. I wish things were different, but they simply aren’t and I’m sorry.”

You sniff, dabbing your tears and your nose with the sleeves of your blouse before looking up at him through your lashes.

“You don’t have to apologize for moving on and being happy Jaehyun. It’s all I ever wanted for you.” You wipe the single tear that remained on the corner of his eye, not having realized that he shed a few tears himself too.

He leaned into your touch as he looked into your eyes before closing them, leaning his forehead onto yours while taking a deep breath.  

“I just want you to be ok.” He says suppressing a sob. “I can’t live this picture-perfect life knowing that you’re in pain y/n. It makes no sense; you deserve so much more it’s not fair.”  

Your lip starts to quiver as his words hit you, and you build up the courage to look at him again.  

He stared at you longingly and lovingly for the first time since forever and you knew a mistake was about to be made when he inched his face closer to you, but it was too late.

His lips made contact with yours and you completely gave in. Letting him lead you into a slow yet passionate kiss that took both of your breaths away.  Before things could get more heated, you realize what was happening and froze.

You take a hold of his wrists as you pull away, your eyes staring into his equally electrified ones as you recompose yourselves.

“I-I’m sorry,” he started. “I should’ve never confused you like that. Fuck. What the fuck am I doing.” He covers his mouth as he got up. Frustrated with his own behavior, he digs his fingernails into the palms of his hands to suppress the urge to swing at your door or any other object in sight for that matter.

You get up just as quickly as well. Straightening out your clothes before shaking off the nerves of what just happened.  

You take a deep breath followed by a shaky exhale as you opened your front door, turning around on your heels to look at an equally distressed Jaehyun.

He was about to speak; about to confess that he still loved you, but you stopped him by raising your hand, motioning for him to keep whatever he was about to say to himself.

Your eyes find his own and you take one last glance at the man that was supposed to be the pillar to your family. The man you used to call yours, and the man that you had hoped to still have a future with, despite everything.  

But you knew better.

You knew what was right and you knew what you had to do before things would start to spiral out of control again.

You stepped aside so he could pass by you, trying to avoid eye contact all while you could still feel his burning stare lingering on your fragile state.

You swallow harshly, licking your lips before you spoke as clearly and steadily as you could.

“For the sake of your family, please leave Jae…and never come back.”  

[wotanidiott]

maybe some draco angst with prompts 20, 17 & 15 (angst ones)? thank you 🤎

—————————————————

The Other Potter

summary - after a heated argument, draco finally confesses, or rather shows you, his hidden feelings

pairing - draco x fem reader, mentions of ron x fem reader

house - gryffindor

time period - 7th year

word count - 2.6k

warnings - very angsty, violence and a whole lot of swearing

a/n - ahhh this is my first official post skdjkssjskksjssk !!!! i hope it’s okay i made the reader harry’s sister? i just randomly came up with the storyline and thought it would fit well with your request ... anyways i hope yall like it <3

prompts

“are you going to cry now?”

“you’re scaring me”

“you’re nothing. you hear me? nothing”

"Y/N!" You heard the distant calling of your name amongst the chatter of the mass of students in the Great Hall. Cocking your head slightly forward from your seat at the Gryffindor table, you found the source of the noise as they barrelled into the entrance with a frantic look in their eyes.

"Neville, what's wrong?" You question him, as he flops onto Seamus Finnigan, seated adjacent from you. Seamus furrows his eyebrows at his friend's breathless state, then looking at you with the same confused expression on your face.

Neville audibly heaves for a good minute, catching his breath from the seemingly long run he underwent.

"Harry, he—" His sentence is interrupted by a lengthy inhale of oxygen.

You perk up at your brother's name. A plethora of questions surfacing in your mind. "Harry? What happened? What did he do now?" You stand up, placing both hands on the table as you peer over at the short-winded boy now laying flat on the floor, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

“He ... he—”

"He what?" You persist.

"Courtyard. He's— A-And Malfoy. "

That's all you needed to snatch your bag off the floor and bolt for the courtyard.

You realised you had developed some sort of attraction to the infamous Slytherin Prince around the start of 5th year. Although, you had assumed it was just a phase. In what world could you ever be attracted to the one guy that makes you and your brother's lives a living hell?

So that's what you had concluded it was. Just a phase. One that had seemingly fizzled out once you started dating Ron and now call a silly mishap.

But that wasn't true at all, was it?

A series of scenarios flickered through your head as you begun to wonder just exactly what had happened for poor Neville to nearly faint from shortness of breath to fetch you.

It must've been urgent.

As you reach the Courtyard, a crowd has formed around the oak tree, most likely watching the interaction between the two boys. Your hand finds the wand tucked in the pocket of your robes, gripping it tightly as you push through the cluster of people to get to the front.

He sees you before you see him.

"Ahhh, how nice of you to join us. Now the other Potter's here, we can really have some fun" Malfoy announces. Sniggers erupt from the group of Slytherins behind him as you finally reach the centre of the circle.

Your eyebrows knit together in perplexity. Malfoy is stood in the middle, surrounded by his goons but there's no sight of Harry.

"Where is he?" You snap at Malfoy, hostility lacing your words as you look around the gathered students agitated.

"Y/N, I'm here!" Harry's voice calls from above. At first your skeptic but as you look up, there he was. Floating in mid-air. Along with Hermione and Ron.

"You bloody git. I'll get you back for this Malfoy. I swear—" Ron is cut off by the single wave of Blaise Zabini's wand, effectively silencing him.

"They look rather comfy up there, Potter. Don't you think? Care to join them?" Malfoy pulls his signature smirk, eyeing you up and down.

The hold on your wand tightens as you whip it out and point it at him, stepping forward. "Oh, I wouldn't if I were you. Unless you want a repeat of fourth year? Don't think we all forgot about you running stark naked around the corridors after your little ferret incident."

The crowd bursts into laughter at your witty comeback. Even Theodore Nott couldn't contain his laughter and eventually gave in when he saw the humiliated look gracing Malfoy's face.

Malfoy's gaze on you hardens, his upper lip curling in contempt as he too takes a step forward. If looks could kill, this would be it. He flicks his wand upwards, still maintaining eye contact and you hear the thud of 3 bodies on your left, followed by grunts from the hard contact as he relinquished the golden trio from his spell.

"Yeah? No wonder Weasel left you for the Mudblood. I would too considering what a bitch you are." He hisses with no remorse.

Gasps emit from the crowd at his harsh riposte.

As much as you'd hate to admit it, the comment hit a nerve. You remained civil with Hermione and Ron after having found out he cheated on you with her but the pain was still there. A guilty expression flickered over the couple's faces as they shot you an apologetic look.

"Awww, are you going to cry now?"

Your wand lowers slightly from the impact of Malfoy's insult and he takes this as an opportunity to cast a leg-locking curse.

However, he underestimated you. You managed to block the spell with a simple protection charm before quickly shouting "Expelliarmus!" Malfoy's wand jumped into your open hand in a fleet of a moment and he was left defenceless.

"I may be a bitch but at least I'm not a disappointment. It's obvious that your Father would rather have anyone— hell, he'd even have Harry rather than you as a son" you scoff, narrowing your eyes at him.

You felt a surge of satisfaction when an emotion that resembled hurt flashed across his face. But it went as soon as it came.

Something in Draco snapped. It was one thing to ridicule him in front of his peers but to bring up his Father? Now that was a whole different ball game. Before he could even stop himself, a barrage of insults came pouring out.

"Are you even hearing yourself? At least I have a Father. And I have a Mother. You? You have no one. Your parents are fucking dead, Potter. You don't even have any recollection of them—"

"MALFOY—"

"Shut the fuck up, Potter" He snaps at Harry then instantly directs his attention to you again. "And as for your sorry brother, I don't even see you two together anymore. He'd rather be around the two people that betrayed you—"

"Draco, mate, I think that's enoug—" Theo tugs on Malfoy's sleeve to get him to stop but he's persistent on speaking his mind.

"Piss off, Nott. A-Around the two people that betrayed you than— than a pathetic excuse for a witch. No one likes nor cares about you. You're nothing, Potter. You hear me? Nothing."

Malfoy appeared deranged in the way he lashed out at you, chest heaving from his rant and wild eyes that looked as if he could kill you right at that moment.

But you didn't care.

You were past the point of caring. You knew all the things he said to you were true, you sometimes even thought it. But it felt like a whole new revelation when he stated it aloud. In front of everyone. Soon the whole school would be talking about this.

But you didn't care.

It was then, Draco knew. He knew he messed up. He took in the wide eyes and gaping mouths of his peers around him. Harry's enraged expression. His friends' guilty body language; despite the fact they played no part in the insult.

Then his eyes swept over to you. He had knocked the life right out of you. You looked ... numb. With your faintly quivering lip and glassy eyes, he realised he had overstepped. Usually, you'd retaliate and he would too until you were both separated by your friends or the professors.

Though, this was different. This was overdoing it.

"R-Right." You managed to say flatly but the distress was clear in your words. The tears in your eyes were threatening to spill and you felt sick. Sick to the stomach about the fact everyone had heard and were most likely going to realise that about you too if they hadn't already.

You had to leave. Bolt out of there before you became a weeping mess.

You turned on your heel and made a beeline for the closest abandoned corridor you knew by heart. You couldn't go to your dorm because Harry would find you there and you wanted to be alone for the time being.

You ignored your brother's calls to come back aswell as Hermione's and a few other fellow Gryffindors you had befriended over the years.

Tear after tear came rolling down your flushed cheeks. Each one representing a time you had bottled up those feelings and refused to give into the 'let it all go' mechanism.

The past 2-3 years had been a blur of pain and heartbreak. Ron and Hermione's betrayal had hit you worse than you thought, combined with Harry's absence and the pitiful treatment your friends had been giving you.

"Potter, wait!"

You whirled round so fast at the all so familiar voice. Out of all people, you hadn't expected him to be the one to follow you.

"Leave me alone, Malfoy. Please— Just .... just please leave me alone" Your plead came out in splutters, unable to fully form a sentence with the state your mind was in.

You swivel back round and begin to continue further down the hallway but you don't get far as Malfoy calls after you again.

"Potter, stop."

"WHAT? WHAT IS IT? YOU WANT TO HUMILIATE ME EVEN MORE? IS THAT IT? WHAT DO YOU FUCKING WANT, MALFOY?" You turn, snapping at him.

Through the swelling anger and haze of your tears, you couldn't make out his expression as he stared intently at your face.

"I— I just wanted to—" Malfoy pauses for a second, struggling to find the right words. After a moment, he simply sighs, eyes travelling to your hand. "My wand. You have my wand." He points at your clenched fists that have both his and your wand in it's tight grip.

At that, you feel immensely stupid for lashing out at him. Huffing, you shove it in his hands and collapse against the vacant corridor's wall out of frustration.

You bury your head in your hands and replay the scene that had just occurred. It was humiliating. Utterly humiliating ... but it was the truth.

"Potter."

You started slightly at the sound of Malfoy's voice. You had expected him to go running back to his goons to ridicule your breakdown yet here he was.

"Wh-What are y-you still doing here?" You managed to reply in between hiccups as you kept your eyes wired shut to cease the ever flowing stream of tears. "Would h-have thought you'd ran off and celebrated this v-victory of yours with the other Slytherins."

"Potter, I—"

"No, you know what, I don't even care anymore." You get to your feet and push yourself off the wall. This would only satisfy Malfoy even further; watching every piece of the facade you managed to maintain, crack and fracture. He didn't deserve to see you like this.

As you swivel round, about to make a run to your dorm, you're pulled back by a harsh grip on your wrist. Cold rings digging into your skin as he spins you back round.

"Well, I do." Malfoy says in almost a whisper.

You shoot him a bemused look at his vague and random words.

He takes in your confused expression and further elaborates. "...Care. I mean." He says, flatly whilst looking around you as if he were avoiding your eyes.

You can't help the scoff that passes through your mouth as you yank your wrist free of his grasp. "You? Care? Yeah, right."

You go to turn again but he stops you once more. "Look, Potter—"

"Malfoy—"

"If you would just—"

"No—"

"Listen to me—"

"Why would—"

In a fleet of a moment, Malfoy shoves you against the wall. His large hand wrapped around the back of your head to mitigate the impact. And the other squeezing your hip to hold you in place.

"FOR FUCK'S SAKE, STOP INTERRUPTING ME. IS IT SO HARD TO SHUT YOUR MOUTH AND FUCKING LISTEN TO WHAT I HAVE TO SAY?"

You open your mouth to protest but you're quickly cut off by his hand leaving your head as it drives into the stone wall right next to your face.

"STOP IT. DO YOU NOT UNDERSTAND WHAT LISTEN MEANS, POTTER?"

You jump at the abrupt act of violence combined with the volume and harshness of his words.

"LISTEN."

His fist rams into the wall again.

"TO."

And again.

"ME."

And again.

Your eyes screw shut as you let out a small whimper from the proximity of his punches between the wall and your face. Tears escaping and falling rapidly from the fear he had elicited out of you combined with the occurrence that had put you in this mess in the first place.

Malfoy is pulled out of his momentary ballistic rage at the sound of your small and helpless sounding whimper. He had yet again let his temper get the better of him. Culpability overcame him as he took in your cowering state and he instantly regretted spinning out of control.

"Potter." His voice, eyes and grip had softened drastically, completely contrasting his aura just seconds ago.

"Y-You're scaring me." You murmur.

Malfoy instantaneously takes a step back, releasing you from his hold.

Your eyes fly open and immediately register the immense shame etched on his face.

"I'm sorry. I didn't—" He pauses momentarily, sighing to himself before continuing. "I didn't mean to scare you. Or hurt you. I didn't mean the things I said earlier."

It was an understatement to say you were taken aback by Malfoy apologising. You didn't think he even knew how to.

"You're sorry?" You reply, dubiously.

"Yes. I am."

You squint your eyes at him in suspicion, "No, you're not. Why would you be sorry? You don't even care—"

"Fuck's sake, not again." He cuts you off, shaking his head as he pinches the bridge of his nose out of irritation.

You don't understand. What's his angle? Surely, he doesn't really care. Right?

"What? You don't. Or else you wouldn't have—" You attempt to explain your point of view but he interrupts you once more.

"FUCKING HELL, POTTER. I AM SORRY, OKAY? IS IT SO HARD FOR YOU TO BELIEVE THAT I'M APOLOGISING FOR HURTING YOUR FEELINGS?"

A moment of silence passes between the two of you as you stare at each other.

"Yes." You breathe. "I-I just don't understand why you would—"

Before you could even process what was happening, Malfoy has you pinned to the wall anew but this time with his lips pressed against yours.

You undergo a mixture of all sorts of emotions in the time span of a second. Shock, confusion, disbelief and most of all a tiny spark of exuberance.

He gives you little time to melt into the kiss before he's pulling away already and holding your face in his hands.

You've never been this close to Malfoy before, so needless to say you wouldn't have believed anyone if they said Malfoy actually had the most entrancing eyes. Like a storm brewing behind grey clouds, you thought.

"Does that answer your question?" He asks, a smirk creeping up his face.

You can't help the little smile tugging at the corner of your lips as you attempt to mirror his smirk. "Partly, yes."

Without a second thought, you smash your lips against his, hands travelling to his hair as you lightly tug on the ends.

He slightly moans at this and mumbles in between kisses, "You don't know how long I've been wanting to do this."

"WHAT THE FUCK?!"

You both suddenly pull away from each other as you meet Harry's eyes from the end of the hallway.

Shit.

———————————————————————

masterlist

if you wanna go check out more of my work

taglist

add yourself :))

[scandalsavagefanfic]

Hello! I am a huge fan of ur writing. I've loved everything I've read of yours. I've read alot of what you've posted, except for a couple of the tags that are squicky for me (so I'm very thankful you tag very thoroughly). No judgement for the squick, it's just not for me. & when I'm having a bad day, I usually just go thru ur ao3 and find something to reread. I think about Therapy's Bruce & Jason every damn day. While I obvs appreciate ur darker more "problematic" content (I really vibe with some of the themes you write about bc of my own trauma, & so it's very cathartic to read about in a fictional setting), I am truly a sucker for ur more happy content. The Happily Ever After verse also lives in my head rent free. Idk more wholesome stuff just seems more special when you write it. Anyways. I would die for you. But the point of this ask is cause I'm curious as to why you don't like Urban Legends? I'm sorry if you already talked about it here or on twitter and I missed it. I was just wondering because I really enjoy your take on things and would love to hear why you dislike it. I've been enjoying it so far personally, but I am always open to DC comics criticism.

Aw thank you so much! I'm so flattered by everything you just said. You're so sweet ❤❤❤❤❤

I haven't talked about Urban Legends here or twitter (I haven't been very active in either place lately. Just a lot going on and no energy 😔) but I'm happy to do it here.

Before I start though, I just want to add a standard disclaimer and make it clear that if you like it, there's nothing wrong with that and you don't have to let me ruin it for you lol. Like what you like.

That said, since you asked...

I said this when I was talking about it on discord, that there is a difference between hope and expectation. I always hope that a new story centered on Jason (or anyone really, but things have been especially egregious for Jay for 15 years) will be good or at least treat the character with a minimal level of respect (to be honest, the bar is super fucking low). But my expectations always temper my hope, to keep it from getting unrealistic. Because my expectations are based on experience.

The long history of Jason Todd, since even before his resurrection, has been one of retroactively trying to make him "a bad seed" in order to absolve Bruce of any responsibility in his death.

I don't even expect DC or their writers to start honoring the fact that Jason was not an angry, reckless Robin (and less of the later than Dick or Tim and definitely Damian). There plenty of ways that retcon can be folded into his history and be compelling and sympathetic. And if they're going to stick with that retcon, I'm only asking that they do it in one of those compelling and sympathetic ways because Jason was 15 when he died, heroically, in one of the most selfless acts in comics, to save a woman who literally handed him over to be brutally murdered. He was 12 when Bruce plucked him off the streets, he'd been homeless and fending for himself for at least two years. I personally think that Jason's story hits harder for him and Bruce if their original, canon relationship, of Jason as starry-eyed and eager to learn and absolutely devoted to Bruce and Bruce to Jason, is preserved. But Jason's origins does leave room for a meaningful interpretation of him as angry and frustrated at the lack of meaningful results of Bruce's methods.

And that's really where my irritation at stories like Batman: Urban Legends, Cheer and Batman The Adventure Continues has it's roots.

Every time one of these stories comes out, I think (or hope, rather) that this will be the one that remembers and respects the origins of the Jason and the Red Hood, that takes into account the changed sensibilities of comics readers in the 30 years since Jason's death and the subtle, 20 year, retroactive campaign to make him the "bad Robin". The "born bad" trope is played out and literally no one likes the message it implies. That some kids are just bad eggs and there's nothing parents or the adults around them can do. Especially when it's played as the kid's fault. If Jason's time as Robin is going to be characterized by anger, then it should be rooted in anger at the social injustices he witnessed as he grew up in an impoverished, crime-ridden, area and the horrors he faced raising himself when every day was a battle for survival. There are topical, meaningful, stories to tell with that backdrop.

But those are never the stories we get.

⚠⚠ Spoilers for Batman: Urban Legends, Cheer ⚠⚠

I'm particularly disappointed in Urban Legends because for the first issue, it looked like that was the kind of story we were going to get. I was put off by the first flashback of Jason being mesmerized by Bruce's guns, and I got that feeling in my gut that it was a bad sign. Jason depicted as impatient and overconfident and the scene with the guns is heavy-handed foreshadowing that got my spidey-sense tingling. I had a inkling then (in the first three pages) of how this story was going to play out, but it was early and I could still see many narrative paths that could lead to a satisfying story. My concerns were soothed somewhat and the little flame of my hope fanned, with the flashback of Alfred scolding Bruce, with Barbara's concern for Jason. A bit of worry returned with the way Jason ruthlessly pursued an addict who didn't appear to be a dealer and with the ending of the issue. The stuff with the addict sat wrong with me but the ending was tempered some by how despicable Tyler's dad was written. The scene was clearly set so that the reader could sympathize with Jason's decision and the scene with the addict could be brushed aside as a side-effect of comics over-the-top need for constant action, so I still held hope.

Issue 2 made me uncomfortable and it's where my hope starts to take a backseat to my expectations. I can dismiss Jason's self-deprecating internal monologue as unreliable narration, except that the flashback reinforces his thought process to explicitly show that it's not unreliable narration, and should be taken at face value. Jason faces physical abuse at the hands of his mother's drug dealer and when the flashback continues later, Jason kills the drug dealer. To be clear, this is a pre-Bruce Jason. His mom is still alive. He's like... 10. He kills this guy for shoving his head into a wall and implying Jason's mother paid for her drugs with sex. This is a scene that serves a single purpose. To show that Jason has always been prone to violence.

In the spirit of full disclosure, there is the small chance the drug dealer might not be dead. But the story obviously wants the reader to think he is, and it hasn't done anything to change that yet.

Starlin already did this story with The Diplomat’s Son in 1988 and he did it infinitely better. AND that’s still technically canon. So now I’m supposed to believe that Jason lost his cool bad enough to kill two douche bags before his sweet 16? Like it’s totally normal for abused kids raised in poverty, who’ve led hard and heartbreaking lives to just... haul off and kill people? That’s bullshit, and when taken with the Jason in the third issue, who is little more than an idiot thug, this story is really doubling down on some fucked up stereotypes.

Which brings us to the most recent issue. I went into this installment with very low expectations. I thought this story was going to be about Jason, through this experience with Tyler, a young boy with a similar background to Jason's, coming to the realization that Bruce's way is the best way and that Bruce did his best by Jason.

That would be annoying (in no small part because it takes increasingly absurd levels of plot armor to keep Bruce's no kill rule relevant, let alone irrefutably right). But I can probably live with that, if only because maybe if Jason officially falls back into line with the Bats crusade, maybe I'll get stories that treat him with respect, stories that don't relegate him to comic relief, dumb brute, or a background body with no lines in a story about the Joker burning Gotham (like Jason would just fucking stand there quietly for that).

And that may still be where the story is going, Jason realizing Bruce is right.

But holy shit do I not have the right words to describe how fucking insulting and gross issue three is.

From start to finish--including the flashback--Jason is written as cruel and fucking stupid. Like straight up dumb.

The entire issue is Bruce explaining the fucking basics to Jason like it's his first day. And Jason flies off the fucking handle and terrorizes a doctor he knows isn't a part of making the Cheerdrops, beats the shit out of some random addicts, and finally, when he can't accomplish anything on his own because he's a dumb brute he calls Barbara for help and rushes in with no information where he's promptly incapacitated and must now wait to be rescued by Batman.

This panel is the least of the issues sins but I can’t screenshot the entire story but it’s representative of the tone for the whole issue (and retroactively tainted the prior two issues).

This is beyond insulting. The only conclusions Jason comes to in this issue are the ones Bruce leads him to by talking to him like he can’t make the simplest connections. And like... in this story Jason can’t make the simplest connections.

This (and the Jason throughout the entirety of this issue) is a far cry from the Jason we fell in love with in Under the Red Hood, who was competent and strategic and intelligent enough to seize control of Gotham’s underworld from Black Mask (who’s no fucking slouch, he’s the first and only person to unify organized crime in Gotham) AND elude and manipulate Bruce until the time and place of his choosing.

This is a far cry from even the Red Hood and the Outlaws Jason who is competent enough to fight the League of Shadows and Ra’s al Ghul (among very dangerous and skilled others) and smart enough to create antidotes for mind control nanotech viruses.

As he should be, by the way. Jason Todd is one of the best, most comprehensively trained fighters in DC’s stable of non powered vigilantes. He’s not irrational or hot headed. He’s pragmatic, tactically minded, and patient. He’s a detective. Right now. Has been since he was 12. Bruce doesn’t have to make him one because he already is. 

Jason is not a stupid thug who uses his fists because his brain doesn’t work. And I can’t tell you how so very exhausted I am by this narrative. 

This is actually the most egregious example of Jason’s skills and intelligence being not just undermined but dismissed entirely. Even Morrison’s Jason had some degree of competency. 

The one, single redeeming factor of this story is the art. It’s beautiful. And Marcus To is a godsend he seems to be one of only a couple of artists who remember that Jason was a child when he was Robin and I’m literally only buying this book because of him. 

Anyway, I’m sorry. I didn’t want that to come out so... um... passionately lol. I’m just very very tired. My intention with this isn’t to ruin it for you, if you like it, that’s fine. 

But this issue shot this story to the top of my "Vehemently Despise” list. 1) Batman: Urban Legends (Cheer), 2) Battle for the Cowl/Morrison’s Batman and Robin, 3) Batman The Adventure Continues.

I hope the next issues somehow salvage this dumpster fire. But I’m not expecting it.

(Damnit. That sounded harsh again. To reiterate, I’m not trying to judge anyone who enjoys it, I just personally hate it and you asked me why lol 😅)

[seriouslysnape]

Home for the Holidays

__

Draco Malfoy x Hufflepuff! Reader

Warnings: None.

(Edit - A/N: Now why tf did I post this in February...)

Word Count: 1,840

“I’m just a Hufflepuff.”

__

“Draco, I’ve got to go to class!” You shrieked through giggles as the blonde headed boy peppered your neck with kisses.

“Just five more minutes.” He protested, continuing to attack you with tickles and kisses.

Another round of laughter bubbled out of your chest, a sound that made his heart flutter. Draco had a knee placed on either side of your hips, keeping you secured down to his mattress. 

“You said that last time and I missed the entire class. I’ve got to go.” You persisted with another giggle, trying to wiggle out of his hold, but to no avail.

“Are you saying that you would rather spend your Friday in class rather than with me?” He questioned, knowing you’d prefer to stay in bed all day.

“Well, I’d clearly love to stay here all day, but I have an Herbology exam that I can’t miss,” You announced, your chuckles dying off as Draco stopped tickling you; “Professor Sprout is already on to me for missing class last time.”

“As if Professor Sprout would actually punish one of her Hufflepuffs.” Draco sneered down at you.

“You’re just upset because she doesn’t hesitate to take House points away when it's you.” You fired back. 

Draco looked off out the window with a laugh, because you definitely weren’t wrong. While he was distracted, you got out from under him and pinned him down on his bed. He fell back onto his pillows with a surprised grunt, smirking as you straddled his hips. He grinned up at you.

“I quite like this view...” He purred, his hands trailing up your waist.

You playfully smacked his shoulder, rolling off of him and his bed. He watched as you threw on your robes and grabbed your books. Draco had Potions first, but he never really cared about being late. You were scuttling around the room so quickly that you didn’t even catch Draco’s sudden shift in demeanor. He sat up, leaning on his elbows.

“[Y/N], we need to talk about Christmas break.” Draco said, causing you to completely freeze. 

You gave him a look, really wishing he hadn’t brought it up. You sighed heavily.

“Not this again.” You warned.

He got off of the bed, following you as you continued to gather all of your stuff. 

“I want you to come spend Christmas break with me and my family.” He stated as you had previously talked about before.

“I already told you no.” You argued, shoving your quill into your bag. 

Draco had mentioned in passing a few days ago that he was making arrangements for you to spend Christmas break with him at the Malfoy Manor. He thought you would be on board with it, which was why he didn’t bother asking you first. Christmas break was only three or four days away, and time was of the essence. He was surprised, though, when you had such a negative reaction to the idea. 

“I don’t want you to spend Christmas alone here.” Draco admitted.

It was true, you had spent all five of your Christmases at Hogwarts. Your family situation was...complicated. Needless to say, you’d much rather stay at school during the break. If only you could stay during the summer too.

You had multiple reasons for being weary of spending Christmas with the Malfoy family. You’d love nothing more than to spend Christmas cuddled up with Draco by a cozy fire, but it was his parents that you were more afraid of. You had never formally met either of them, but had heard stories that made you shudder in intimidation. 

Lucius was a powerful man. Draco was a spitting image of him, and acted like him at times as well. Lucius Malfoy was known for being refined, formal, and serious at every possible moment. He absolutely terrified you inside and out.

Of the two, Narcissa was the one you were less afraid of. According to Draco and other sources, she wasn’t always an unpleasant human being. However, she was proud to have married into the Malfoy name. She took pride in her wealth, and her pureblood family. She believed in having pristine manners, and being your best all the time. She sounded like a crazy possible future mother-in-law.

Fortunately, you had the fact that you were a pureblood on your side. Realistically, Draco never ever would’ve even given you a second thought if you hadn’t been. You knew that his family would be pleased with your blood status, but that fact that you were a Hufflepuff was concerning.

They were all proud Slytherins. They donated impressive brooms to Slytherin’s Quidditch team every year, and money to wherever else they felt it was necessary. You were petrified of what they would say to their Slytherin son dating a Hufflepuff girl. 

“I don’t understand. Why don’t you want to meet my parents? We’ve been together since last January, almost a full bloody year!” He screeched, the tips of his ears turning red with frustration.

“I know that, D. It’s not that I don’t want to, I just-” You stopped off, almost letting it slip.

But Draco was observant. He caught your quick pause, seeing the way you stopped short because you were afraid to tell him something. That was one thing Draco never ever wanted. He never wanted you to be fearful to tell him something, but he was still irritated.

“You’re being selfish. I just want you to have a nice holiday and you won’t even accept it.” He snarled.

You didn’t want to tell him. You were more afraid of what he would say about how his parents would react to you being a Hufflepuff. Him acting this way wasn’t helping. You slung your bag over your shoulder, ducking out of his room before he could stop you.

“I have to go.” You said, rushing out of the Slytherin tower.

Draco went to chase after you, but decided to let you go. He’d get to the bottom of this. One way or another. He knew if you didn’t come home with him for Christmas, then you’d be stuck at school by yourself, because all of your friends would be home. He hated the thought of you spending Christmas alone. If you wouldn’t come with him, then he was going to stay with you. However, he still wanted to know why you were so apprehensive about meeting his parents.

You couldn’t focus on Herbology for the life of you. You kept thinking about how disappointed Draco looked when you told him no. You didn’t want to ever hurt his feelings, but the thought of spending two weeks with his parents was far too frightening. 

You avoided Draco for the rest of the day, thinking about how you were going to respond when you did finally have to have that conversation. You were quiet during dinner at The Great Hall, refusing to meet Draco’s stare that you could feel from a few tables away. He had been itching to talk to you since you had left him that morning, and he was afraid you were going to make official plans to stay at school over the break. Then you really wouldn’t be coming back home with him. 

You booked it out of The Great Hall once you were dismissed from dinner, hoping to sneak back to your dorm undetected. You sighed in relief when you made it to the Hufflepuff common room, continuing your commute to your room. You had originally planned on spending the night in your room alone to figure this all out, but your plans changed when you saw a familiar face sitting on your bed, like a puppy waiting for its owner to come back.

Draco was sitting with his legs folded, and his head perking up when you walked in. You had left dinner in such a hurry that you were quite shocked that he had gotten here before you. You weren’t sure if he was still angry with you, so you approached lightly.

“Hey. How’d you beat me here?” You questioned.

He gave a proud smirk.

“I’m quick like that.” He bragged.

You gave a soft laugh, comforted that he didn’t seem to be angry anymore. You knew he had come to talk. You supposed that now was as good as any other time. He extended his hand to you, requesting that you sit with him. You shrugged off your robes, before taking his hand and joining him on your small bed. Your room was quiet, his hand cupping the side of your face and stroking your cheek with his thumb.

He leaned forward a little, looking into your bright eyes that he loved so much. He could see the anticipation behind them.

“Kiss me.” He whispered.

You met him halfway, kissing him gently. You had missed him today, in all honesty.

“I didn’t see you all day...how was your Herbology test?” He asked after he pulled away.

“It was fine,” You said, getting right to the point; “I’m guessing you didn’t race me back here to talk about Herbology.”

His fingertips danced over the material of your skirt. You knew him so well.

“No, I didn’t,” He admitted; “Darling, why won’t you come back home with me?”

You averted your eyes to everywhere but him.

“You come from wealth and prosperity...your parents are very well known.” You began.

Draco nodded, but didn’t say anything yet.

“You’re all pureblood Slytherins and I...well...” You paused; “I’m just a Hufflepuff.”

Draco’s eyebrows furrowed in puzzlement. He shifted closer to you.

“’Just a Hufflepuff’? You’re not just a Hufflepuff,” He corrected; “Do you think that my parents won’t accept you because you’re not a Slytherin?”

“Are you saying that they will?” You asked, suddenly looking at him.

Draco sighed heavily. He wouldn’t lie, the thought had crossed his mind. He was curious to see their reaction, because they always assumed he’d bring home a Slytherin, or maybe a Ravenclaw. He didn’t want you to be ashamed of your House.

“If they don’t, then they’re going to have to learn to,” He said, kissing your hand; “Because I’m not giving you up for them.”

You gave a short, but rather unamused laugh. You were still worried. 

“Do you think they’ll like me? Aside from being a Hufflepuff?” You asked.

Draco smiled proudly, leaning in again so his lips were close to yours.

“Darling, they’re going to love you,” He said honestly; “If nothing else, I want to spend the whole holiday snuggled up with my favorite girl.” 

You sheepishly laughed, a smile appearing on your face. You loved the sound of that.

“There’s that stunning smile,” He added; “So, what do you say? Will you come home with me for Christmas?”

You pondered for a moment. While you were still nervous, you realized that the important part would be spending Christmas with Draco, regardless of what his parents thought. You had to admit, it’d be nice to actually have someone to spend the holiday with. 

“Yes. I will.”

[bubblegumbeech]

My first Phic Phight fic!

For @ecto-american’s prompt

His name was Danny.

That was the first thing he knew for sure was true, when he had first woken up it was what everyone called him, and it fit just fine, wasn’t something off or uncomfortable so he let it settle over him before he tried to speak.

His voice didn’t come at first, and it hurt to try so the nurses made him promise to take it easy for now, to sit back and listen. So he did.

He listened as the people around him spoke at length about how much they missed him, about how they couldn’t wait to get him home again, about how glad they were he’d survived.

The loudest and most talkative of the people that visited him and called him Danny, was a large man in an orange jumpsuit that went on long enthusiastic tangents that Danny had long stopped paying attention to. He was almost always with a smaller, authoritative woman named Maddie, who insisted He call her Mom. They told him they were his parents.

They told him they loved him.

And then they told him everything else.

The first time Danny remembered something it was with excitement, he was still in the hospital room and between the visits from the men in the starched white suits, his parents, and the doctor, he had been wrestling with the feeling that something was missing.

It had only been when Maddie had finally taken off the hood and goggles of her jumpsuit had Danny gotten a flash of familiar red hair and asked, “where’s Jazz?”

His heart buzzed at the question, sure, so sure that it would get answered, that he had remembered something.

But both Jack and Maddie had just looked at him, disappointed, and he couldn’t bring himself to ask again.

Eventually, once the doctor declared him competent and unlikely to slip back into his coma, his parents had taken him home.

There were streamers all over the house and a giant party banner that read “Welcome Back” in thick black lettering and Danny forced out a small smile as he looked around at the unfamiliar surroundings. Maddie walked up behind him and he flinched, his body acting before his brain could catch up.

She had frowned at his reaction, and when Danny, stuttering, tried to apologize she said it was okay, and with a tightlipped smile, she pulled him into a hug.

He forced himself to relax, frustrated with himself. This was his mother, there was no reason for his instincts to be so afraid. Jack had joined the hug and eventually Danny found himself relaxing for real, sure maybe getting his memories back was a slow uphill climb, but at least he wouldn’t do it alone.

Eventually his parents let him go and told him he was free to walk around the house and reacquaint himself with it. His room was the first door on the left upstairs, the bathroom was down the hall and the basement, apparently, was off limits.

So Danny went upstairs into his room. It looked something like a teenager’s room he supposed. There were the posters hung haphazardly on the walls and they were torn at the corners as if someone had ripped them all off the walls before hastily taping them back up. The bed was made too, and there was a lot less dust than he was expecting after being gone for a whole month.

In fact, it looked like he’d cleaned and organized the whole room before he’d fallen into his coma and Danny didn’t know why, but that thought set him on edge. Maybe he was just an organized person?

It was just… he didn’t feel very organized.

He kept looking around. There was that feeling that something was missing, something important to him, and he walked over to the nightstand by his bed. Placing a hand on the polished wood Danny fought the flash of a model spaceship that appeared in his memories. It wasn’t here though and Danny frowned. Was that something else he’d thrown away and simply forgotten?

Shaking his head Danny headed back downstairs, maybe he should just ask Jack, er, his dad? He should really get used to calling them mom and dad. But before he headed down he went to the room across from his and knocked.

Maybe he was being foolish, but he had expected someone to answer, had a name even come to mind. When no answer came he opened the door himself only to find a storage room, nothing but shelves and boxes and Danny scolded himself for the painful ache he felt in his heart.

It was another week before Danny had another memory, and just like the last two, it didn’t fit quite right. Like a piece from another puzzle jammed where it shouldn’t fit. So he’d asked Maddie.

“Sam?” she’d said, a carefully blank look on her face, “Oh! I remember Sam, she was an old friend of yours you used to talk about her all the time. Shame she moved away.”

And just like that, he’d had his answer as ill fitting as it was. Sam was a girl he knew that moved away, the memory he’d had, of her crying face screaming at him to stay awake just stay awake damnit, was probably from a long time ago. The pain he felt in his chest -just to the right of his heart- at the thought of her not being near and that he’d probably never see her again? That was nothing important.

It was another couple of weeks of sleeping in that house, waking up and going downstairs to eat with his parents, to chat about memories he didn’t have and tell stories he never resonated with, before he woke up screaming for the first time.

Maddie had instantly run into his room, Jack not far behind and Danny scrambled away from them both. His mind filled with images of painful green light and the ominous glint of red goggles twisting his reflection in their lenses as they looked down on him.

His parents had pushed past the barrier of pillows and blankets he’d made and pulled him into their arms, rocking him and shushing him until eventually he’d tired himself out from crying and fallen asleep again. The nightmares returned.

Eventually Danny stopped asking questions about his memories.

Either they were incomplete, fragments of something real that had been twisted in time, or they were wrong entirely, figments of his own active imagination. He’d never had a sister, they insisted. It was his mother, Maddie that had stayed up late some nights to help him with his homework and bake him safe, edible cookies as a reward. Tucker was a kid he knew at school, yes, but he’d moved away years ago and they hadn’t spoken in person since.

He had blue eyes, when he looked in the mirror, not green.

It was frustrating, being unable to trust himself- his own memories. If it was anything more than broken, incomplete fragments he’d have argued, insisted they were real.

But then again, he also had memories of Maddie leaning over him, scalpel in hand to cut away at his flesh. And he knew that couldn’t be true; the woman that smiled every time he came downstairs, called him sweetie and kissed him on his forehead every night, wasn’t the monster in his dreams. She couldn’t be.

So he ignored them.

He ignored the moments of instinct when Maddie or Jack went for a hug or a kiss and he flinched, ready for an attack. He ignored how he never seemed able to give a straight answer when they asked about his day, even if he hadn’t done anything interesting at all. And he ignored his nightmares, stuffing towels under his doorframe to muffle the sounds of his screams. There was no reason to keep waking up his parents like that.

But no matter how much he ignored, he compartmentalized, or he forced himself to smile, to hug back, and to spend time bonding with his parents, he never felt safe. Maddie insisted that he was, of course she did, this was his home. But even as he smiled and agreed and let her hug him again, he wanted to leave.

This time his dream wasn’t a nightmare. No scary, well lit labs with beakers and glowing buttons, or disgusting, painful flowers shoved into his mouth. Instead there was the ticking of clocks, rhythmic and constant. A gloved hand gently soothed his hair back, and Danny’s fear seemed so far away.

It was the first full night of sleep he’d had since he’d gotten “home”.

That morning he’d asked for an analogue clock. His parents had been confused, but they acquiesced easily and took him to the store to pick one out. The one he’d ended up choosing was a large ornate antique with little clockwork gears and a loud tick. He was excited to put it up in his room, right above his bed.

He slept better after that, and some of the tension that had been building in the house eased.

His dreams were still mostly nightmares, attacks by inhuman ghostly figures were the most prominent. But they didn’t leave the same bitter aftertaste, fear and uncertainty as the ones with the table, the scalpel, and the round, red goggles.

But now they were interspersed with better ones, fuzzy hugs and fields of blinding white, sitting in a garden pruning flowers as a soft, familiar voice gave him instructions, playing video games as the player character, confident and excited with a familiar presence at his back. And his favorite ones, the ones in the clock tower with the hooded figure and his soft smiles. The ones where he felt safest.

The ones that couldn’t be real, not if what his parents told him was true.

The next time they went out as a family after that Danny had wanted to go to a garden, and while at first Maddie was hesitant, Jack had insisted the great outdoors were perfect for helping him recover properly. Danny had been thrilled and hugged both of them in thanks, their answering smiles were soft and Danny had the thought that it had been some time since he’d seen those smiles reach their eyes.

Danny had a video game he apparently liked to play called Doom, and he was pretty good at it, judging by the level of his character. When he tried to message either of the two friends he had on his contact list though, the game glitched and his info got deleted. Frustrated he tried to reboot the system but the game itself had somehow gotten corrupted and there was no hope in recovery.

Just another thing that was apparently important to him that he’d destroyed or couldn’t find.

The worst was the time he woke with Maddie sitting next to him in his bed, she had a troubled look on her face and he didn’t know what it was he’d done wrong. Had he screamed in his sleep without knowing it?

“Danny honey,” she had said, looking over to him but not meeting his eyes, “do you remember what you dreamed about?”

He’d answered no, he hadn’t, which was mostly true. The only thing he really remembered about his dream was the feeling of safety and the ticking of a clock.

It took a month for Danny’s parents to feel comfortable leaving him alone in the house in order to go to work. He watched them walk out the door, fending off forehead kisses and muttered reassurances that they’d be home soon to check on him and that he should call if he needed anything, anything at all.

Once the door clicked shut however, the smile dropped off of Danny’s face and he set his eyes on the one thing he’d wanted… no, needed to do since he had that first nightmare.

He went to the basement.

The feeling of going down the stairs stumbled over a vague, blurry memory and Danny felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand. This was just to be sure, just to prove to himself that all those dreams, all those nightmares he’d been having since his parents brought him home, were just that, nightmares.

He opened the door at the bottom of the stairs, confused when there was no lock, no resistance at all. Hadn’t they said he was banned from being down here? Why wouldn’t they lock it? Even Bluebeard locked the door his wife wasn’t supposed to enter.

The basement was…

A basement.

There were no spooky ominous beakers of strange and unrecognizable fluids, no haphazard lab equipment lying around without safety devices, nothing sterile or blinking and there was certainly no large metal table to strap someone down on.

It was just a normal basement with boxes and a desk, some chairs, a couple of old pieces of random furniture and Danny let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. This meant that Maddie was right, they really were just nightmares, probably some subconscious latent fear of going home with strangers that he couldn’t remember. That was all.

So why did he feel disappointed?

The next week was full of Danny waiting for his parents to leave before exploring the house more thoroughly. More than once he’d gotten caught in a half remembered routine that didn’t actually fit with his surroundings. Like bracing for a fight every time he opened the fridge, or expecting another flight of stairs after the second floor. Once he’d even risked going outside for a walk, trying to find his school based on half remembered directions that only served to get him lost.

It was a new routine that Danny found himself thankful for.

Not that he didn’t love his parents, he did! But for some reason, when they were gone, and it was just him with his space posters and his ornate ticking clock, and the piles of modified schoolwork that was supposed to help him when it was time to reintegrate into school, he felt a lot more relaxed. More carefree.

That was why, when he’d found the picture, it had felt like his world had crashed around him.

His parents had come home to find him sitting in the middle of the basement, tears long dried, and with the picture clutched tight in his hands, crumpled now with how long it had been.

“You lied to me.” he accused once they were within earshot. He didn’t have the energy to speak much louder than a whisper, but it seemed to echo in the silence nonetheless.

“Danny-boy we can explain-”

“No!” Danny shouted, getting to his feet, “You lied to me .”

Jack flinched back and Maddie stepped in front of him, protective, as if somehow, out of the three of them Danny might be the threat. He growled.

“I trusted you to tell me the truth, I trusted you with my memories, memories that were lost to me . I had a sister! You had a daughter . She existed, she was real, she’s in this photo! Smiling! ” Danny couldn’t hold back the tears anymore, it was all too much. To know that the girl in his shattered memories, the one with the soft hugs and the floral scents, that baked him cookies and held him when he cried at night, was real. And that she was gone, erased by the people he was supposed to be able to trust.

He moved to storm past them, to go upstairs or maybe even outside and look up at the sky and try to make something of the twisting, knotted mess that was his emotions, his mind, his everything right now. But Maddie grabbed his arm before he could, tears spilling from her eyes.

“We didn’t want to hurt you Danny.” she said, voice soft and broken, “we didn’t want to give and then take away.”

She pulled him into a hug and Danny didn’t bother to struggle or try and break out of it, just let her cry into his shoulder as he stood there, waiting for his own tears to dry.

The next day Jack and Maddie left for work with more reluctance, neither one willing to leave Danny on his own again. But worry didn’t pay the bills and whatever it was they were doing at their job, it was clearly important. That was something Danny was starting to remember, all the things that were more important than him.

Danny went to the library this time, determined to start figuring things out on his own. His parents had said that his sister, Jazz, had died in the accident that had put him in a coma. They said they didn’t want to hurt him, or risk him not wanting to recover his memories if they were painful and that grief was difficult to deal with even without the head trauma and emotional conflict.

His parents said a lot of things, Danny was starting to realize. And almost none of it could be trusted to be true.

The first thing he did was look for a death certificate for his sister, Jazz Fenton. After hours of searching, reading every single name that existed in every obituary for this town in the entire month when his parents claimed the accident had happened.

But there was nothing. Nothing at all.

So next he looked up phone records. Any Tuckers or Samanthas he could find, but he couldn’t remember their last names at all, just what they looked like.

How they had been crying over him.

He didn’t know if he believed that they’d just moved away. Then again, it was becoming increasingly clear that he didn’t know what to believe, if he believed anything at all. By the time he’d gotten home it was late, and his parents were already there.

At first they didn’t believe he was just at the library “trying to catch up on stuff” but they calmed back down once he’d shown them his library card and snapped that if he couldn’t even do that much why did they bother bringing him back from the hospital at all.

Dinner had been a quiet affair.

It took another week of library visits and recurring nightmares of dissection tables and glowing ghostly figures that attacked him before Danny gave up on finding out anything about Sam or Tucker. But he still didn’t stop searching for Jazz.

There was something almost obsessive about his search for her, he just couldn’t let it go. He had to know where she was, and if his parents, against all odds, hadn’t lied to him about that ... Well that was something he’d have to come to terms with when he came to it, not before.

He started scouring the Internet for her name desperate to find something, anything on her. And eventually he did.

There was an old article, from at least half a decade ago, that had her picture under the title “Four Teens go Missing in wake of Fenton Investigation”.

Next to her were two equally familiar pictures. Sam and Tucker… and then Danny himself.

Scrolling, desperate to find something, anything to add up the memories he was getting into a clear picture, he began to read the article.

In wake of the Investigation into the Fenton‘s possible abuse, Danny Fenton (15), his sister Jazz Fenton (17), and two friends Sam Manson and Tucker Foley (15), have seemingly disappeared.

The discovery came shortly after Jack and Madeline Fenton were released on parol and allowed to return home to spend time with their children since no physical proof could be found of any alleged wrongdoings.

What could have caused their disappearances remains a mystery. The prevailing theory is that they were involved in a cult that may have demonized the Fenton parents due to their controversial occupation as “ghost hunters”. Another popular theory is that the children fled the results of the case, afraid of the alleged illegal experimentation. Other theories include kidnapping, witness protection, the possibility of murder, and tying up loose ends.

Will we ever discover the truth? It remains to be seen.

Ghost hunters …

Danny felt his stomach drop, a wave of nausea rolled through him and he had to fight off the urge to relive his lunch.

Experimentation?

Nightmares and half remembered memories started clicking into place, finally , and Danny couldn’t stand it. Why were the only answers that made sense the ones that hurt the worst?

Would it have been better if he’d just let it go? If his memories never returned at all? If he just kept living, eating homemade cookies and flinching from hugs until eventually the itch underneath his skin dulled and he could just be happy as he was.

He closed the tab.

There was no one home when he got there, and it gave him the chance to pack what little belongings he had that held any meaning to him at all. The motions were familiar and he had the faintest feeling he had done exactly this before.

Maybe he had.

He’d made it out the front door by the time his parents pulled into the drive.

There was the urge to run, to go back inside and hide and pretend he hadn’t been doing exactly what they caught him doing. But he was tired. He was so tired of feeling wrong and scared and uncertain and never knowing why.

So he held his head up as they got into the car and approached them with their hands raised, cautiously, like he was a wild animal they were afraid of spooking.

Was that what they thought he was?

“Danny, we can talk about this,” Maddie said, beseeching.

He met her eyes with his own. “Will you promise not to lie anymore? I don’t even know how old I am-”

“You’re fifteen son-” Jack interrupted, lying again.

“I was fifteen five years ago!” Danny yelled, his hand tightening into a fist, “I found the article! I read about the case! Five years ago.”

“Danno…”

Oh, he was crying. It was novel almost, Danny had thought he was too tired to cry, that there wasn’t anything more that could hurt him enough to create such a response and he didn’t quite know how to react to it.

He raised his hands awkwardly to scrub the tears away and stepped back, frightened, when Maddie tried to move closer to comfort him.

“Stay back! Stay back…” he looked at his hands, they were young hands, his reflection too, hadn’t changed from the picture in the article at all. Experiments. “What did you do to me?”

“It was an accident.” Jack said, before Maddie stopped him with a gentle hand on his arm.

“We didn’t know Danny. How could we have?” She said, keeping her distance, cautious. “We tried to fix it-”

“Fix what? ” He hissed, “you haven’t told me what happened! You haven’t told me anything!”

“You!” Maddie finally snapped, tears falling heavy down her cheeks. “We were trying to fix you… but it wasn’t working and you just kept getting sicker… weaker… we had to stop.”

It was too much for her, and she turned away, leaning into Jack’s large frame as he comforted her. “We didn’t want to lose you, Danny.” He said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“You already did.”

Danny left his parents there, crying on the driveway of a house that could never have been a home. He had a clock tower to find.

[bokugaos]

Perfection

pairing: Bokuto x f!reader

length: 4.3k

summary: You are taken away and kept as the yakuza head’s trophy toy in exchange for clearing your father’s debt.

tags — traditional yakuza AU, dubcon, breeding, spanking, overstimulation, cum bulge.

a/n: (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡ this is a secret santa gift for @kuroos-babygirl​! it’s also my first fic of 2021 and we’re starting the year right!!~ HAPPY NEW YEAR <33

You look so petulant and angry in your defeat and sink down on your knees as soon as you are dropped off to your own feet inside the walls of the estate. Still you press your clamped hands against your lips, and murmur encouragement for yourself.

“It’s okay. Everything is going to be okay.”

Your mouth is trembling in frustration—it makes Bokuto’s victory all the sweeter. He can tell that you haven’t heard him approach because you flinch back when his shadow suddenly falls across you.

Your pupils become little pinpricks of fear, then dilate again when the first confusion settles as you stare up at the yakuza boss, remembering why he is standing there now, tapping his foot impatiently.

He is slightly hunched over, yet still towering so high above you. A menacing grin slowly stretches his mouth. He looks a lot less tired when he smiles—and a lot less creepy. It doesn’t keep your heart from throbbing. You stare up at him quietly, your thoughts running across your face clear as day—so when you try to flee, he already knows about it long before you even move the first muscle. His arm shoots out to grab your hair and keep you right where you are.

“A deal’s a deal.” he murmurs into your grimacing face. You reach up and curl your hands around his wrist, but… it appears that he doesn’t even feel your fingers around him.

Bokuto doesn’t do deals with just any commoners, but your father is in too much debt, one that he wouldn’t even be able to pay back in an entire lifetime. Your father knows that, and the yakuza lord does too. Hence why he very kindly offered to clear the debt in exchange for, well, you. And of course, your parents agreed in a heartbeat. If there was even a slight hesitation or remorse of the fact that you were practically being sold to the city’s lord, your parents didn’t show any of it. You clench your thighs together, belly tight and prickly, tears ready to spill from your eyes.

Bokuto’s smile widens. The fist he has in your hair tightens and as you wince and whine, he pulls you closer to push your face against the growing bulge beneath his hakama.

He moves his hips, fucking against your face while you make choked little sounds and half-heartedly try to turn yourself away despite you becoming stupidly excited at the heat and smell of his dick through the fabric. You could use your hands to push him off of you, but you don’t.

“Take all your clothes off. The maids will take care of them.”

You pause at that. You’ve forgotten that you’re not alone.

You start to glance around as much as possible while he distractingly keeps smearing his bulge against your face. There are shadows slinking around the edges of the buildings.

You know that none of them would be able to help you.

—

It is rather embarrassing to admit this, but Bokuto takes care of you better than your parents ever did. He makes sure the servants make you good food, drapes you in lavish clothes, have you bathed in the finest of flowers; practically everything you’ve ever dreamed of about being in the higher class in the society.

And yet, you still spend your time as if you’re counting down the days to your release from a place so godforsaken. At this rate, and with the way you are behaving, you are quickly becoming more of an embarrassment to him than something he can show off.

Hurriedly spreading out the futon and sitting on the edge of it, he pulls you into his lap, only slightly sated by hearing your small yelp of surprise. He quickly locates the hem of your kimono and pushes it up to bunch at your waist, not even bothering to untie your obi. You try to get a word out at the same time his open palm comes down hard against the flesh of your exposed ass, and any would-be protests die in your throat.

Silently fuming, Bokuto holds you in place with a firm hand on the small of your back. Holding you close like this while also getting to take out his disappointment on you satisfied several needs at once, save for a particular need he only becomes aware of when the feeling of your belly against his crotch becomes too good to ignore.

However, his conscience sternly urges him to hold back. You are not perfect yet. This is not the right time.

If you are not responding to his graciousness, maybe you are the type who learns from being punished.

Once that thought crosses his mind, Bokuto feels like a man possessed as he hoists you off of his lap and onto the futon. You fall on your front with little more than a muted sound of surprise, and he pins you down with his own body before you can even attempt to find your bearings. In his haste to fulfill the desire that has finally been fully recognized, he begins tearing away your intricately wrapped kimono. You are in no position to refuse his grabbing hands, though you do become bolder in your soft cries of protest. You are becoming confident enough to use your words.

So Bokuto holds you in such a way to force you further against the sheets, quite literally taking your breath away. He is much, much bigger and stronger than you, holding all of your struggling limbs at once with ease.

He pins your arms behind your back and moves on to your legs and seizes you specifically by your ankles to spread them open in a humiliating pose. The position left your pussy open and vulnerable to him, and he can’t rid himself of his hakama fast enough. He catches sight of you glancing over your shoulder just in time to see his hard, leaking cock, and the look of fear on your face practically has him throbbing. When he grabs your thighs and aligns the tip with your distinctly unaroused entrance, he shoves in as deep as your body will allow.

You can no longer keep your pain silent, the pathetic cries bubbling out over your quivering lips as he holds you tight and prepares to spear in further. Your walls are beginning to grow slick from what he suspects is not desire but necessity, as the experience would have been much more painful than it needs to be if you were not at least a little wet. Every thrust slowly becomes easier, but the delicious resistance of your tight body remains dominant.

Bokuto buries himself within you and only moves his hips slightly at first, before starting a pace that wrings out the volume you are still holding back. You are crying out like a bitch in heat and it only encourages him to fuck you harder.

Bokuto hoists you back up just enough to arch your back towards him. This way he is able to look into your eyes, brimming with emotion and the primal fear of prey that felt its flesh being torn apart by a predator. He groans as his hand moves to your throat, holding you tight so he can feel you tremble and gasp for breath.

“I’ve been very patient. I gave everything you needed to adjust to living here with me. Yet you still refuse to fulfill your purpose,” he murmurs harshly, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear with every word. “If you continue to refuse me, you’ll be sorry.”

With little more than a grunt of exertion, he spills himself directly into your abused womb. His hand slowly lets up its grip on your throat and you are able to breathe, though each breath comes out ragged and pitiful. Your body falls slack against the futon as soon as he lets you go, and he moves in to catch your legs and lift them up. Then he shifts to move closer to you, pulling you close and slipping a hand downwards to scoop up his release and push it back inside of you.

He feels you shiver against him when he presses his lips to the back of your shoulder. The hand that is not between your thighs is idly rubbing your belly, and his voice came out smooth as silk. “Don’t disappoint me again, you hear me?”

You are quiet, but Bokuto knows better than to read this as hesitation. It is more like you are tired and trying to catch your breath, or to find the proper words to say.

You are not yet in love with the idea, but rather, it’s as if you are at peace. Like you are finally coming to terms with what your life is now. The thought brings a bright grim to Bokuto’s face. Acceptance constitutes progress too, and it brings you one step closer to perfection.

—

There are many days where he is rough with you. Bokuto has taken over leadership at a very young age, and oftentimes, he takes his aggravation with him and takes it out on you. Part of him is dimly aware of this, but not aware enough to make him stop. Today is one of those days, and he is in a sour mood, desperately in need of both an outlet to pour his anger out and consolation.

You are shivering when Bokuto returns to the room, his steps heavy even on the carpeted floor. It is not exactly cold but you are naked, without even a single strand of hair out of place and your slender neck is on display just as the rest of you, and so nothing gets caught within any straps and hinges.

It is more the trepidation—and anticipation—that has you nervously dancing in place despite the thing he has carefully strapped you into a few minutes earlier. The wood is polished within an inch of its life, cinched around your neck and wrists, keeping you forced to bend over, ass to the door—just another little twist to his games that will keep you nervous and whiny because the thought of someone else stumbling in and getting an eyeful of your cunt is getting you tingly all over.

His little slut.

For the first time, Bokuto stays quiet. He is known as loud and boisterous young yakuza boss across the land, so to experience this silence is extremely unnerving for you. He does not even address you as he makes his way over with slow, heavy steps, but the thick air in the room makes his labored breathing all the louder.

It’s as if your cunt is glowing like a stop sign between your thighs, beckoning him closer. He wants to drag his fingers through the soft gape of your lips and pay some attention to your plump clit; torture it with some mean pinching like he knows you’ll go crazy for, but first, he slowly rounds to the front to have a look at your expression.

Your eyebrows are furrowed, anticipating his every move. You try to look up at him but his height and your position makes it impossible. He reaches for your chin, and you try to turn away from it but he grabs you anyway and slowly leans down, bringing his face very close to yours. You jerk away and abruptly avert your gaze elsewhere when you remember that you’re not supposed to look at him—not yet, not until he gives you the permission to—but he can see your face: bright and every bit scared as is excited.

He breathes slowly and measured, staring at you a bit longer just to unsettle you—then he lets go of your face and carefully tucks a lock of your hair back behind your ear. Some of the nervous fear seems to vanish from your expression after that.

Satisfied that everything is back in order, Bokuto stands back up and rounds you, watching the sway of your tits hanging down, and how your nipples are already swollen and needy. He pinches one—hard—and you cry out in surprise, your hips jerk as you automatically try to get away from the pain and realize you can’t go anywhere.

“No!” You whine, but it sounds weak. Your voice is trembling. He ignores you and pinches again, slower this time; increasing the pressure bit by bit until you start whining louder and louder, your knees bending then stretching again as you try to somehow mitigate the pain radiating off the tip of your breast.

He pulls down slowly, stretching the tissue until your whining becomes a short, rough cry of real pain, then he lets abruptly go.

When he leans over, he can see your cunt clench and relax desperately, slick already starting to glisten at the opening. You’ve always been a slut for pain.

He rounds you slowly, making a show out of letting his belt jingle loudly so you know he’s getting his cock out. You start whining again but a sharp two-fingered slap to your cunt has you shut up quickly.

Bokuto presses down with one big hand on the small of your back until you bend for him to have a comfortable grip on your hips as he drags the wide head of his cock through the valley of your ass.

Finally, it catches at the pouty rim of your pussy, pressing against it and forcing it to start spreading for the massive intrusion. He can hear you gasp for breath and he smirks in triumph.

“Squeal for me,” he murmurs, deep and ominous, then presses forward in earnest.

You do, because there’s no way you can keep quiet when Bokuto is fucking you open on his dick. You spread your toes against the carpet and curl them, trying to twitch out of the way but being held in place by his huge hands and his heavy weight on your back.

You are pinned in place, made to take his cock—basically letting him use you anyway he wants—and you couldn’t be more happy that he’s not hurting you too much, even though it is so very scary. You trust him, deep down. Of course you do.

But when you are like this, deep in your head space and reduced to a breeding sow gagging for dick, it is difficult to remember that you are nothing else but a trophy for him.

Bokuto tells you to squeal—and you obey. Simple as that.

His cock digs into your hole, spreading you so wide you are sure you are going to tear right through the middle. You don’t know when he stops existing as Bokuto in your mind and becomes your owner; domineering, possessive and belittling.

“Gonna put some little babies in you, yeah? Get your belly so swollen you can only waddle around.”

The words settle like hot coals in your belly, burning through you and sparking electric and delicious at the tips of your nipples. Bokuto can be really mean to you when he is angry. And while you are scared of his wrath, his words only serve as the fuel for your slippery slide down the slope. “Have to piss standing up because you’d not be able to get back up by yourself.”

You groan low—more a gurgle, really—and helplessly clench down on the big fat dick fucking into you. With everything compounded, you feel hot and suffocated. He’s fucking destroying you from the inside out, starting at your poor womb that will get massively dilated by the time he is done with what he is going to put into you.

Because that’s what you’re meant to be. He wants you to be waddling around with your holes sloppy and gaping from that massive dick of his you regularly get. Think about the others seeing you like that and knowing exactly that you’re nothing more than a disgusting breeding sow, made to be pumped full of his cum.

He fucks you like a beast and you grunt with every filling of his dick you receive. You can feel his balls swinging between your thighs; full and ripe, ready to fill you up until your belly is distending and your guts are gurgling with the cum he’s filling you with.

He increases his pace and you’ve never felt more animalistic; he groans deep and drawn-out, his hands cupping your belly to feel it starting to bulge with the sheer amount of cum he’s flooding your with while your eyes roll up into your head and your tongue is lolling out, drooling onto your chin, undignified and animalistic.

When he pulls out, it is not smooth. Even the head of his cock is big, and despite the massive spread of your pussy lips, it gets caught behind it anyway and needs to be dragged out with a humiliating wet pop like a plug getting pulled.

His cum immediately starts flowing as you can’t help but bear down, knees bending and clit pulsating needy and ripe between your thighs when the warm mess slides down your thighs as if you had pissed yourself in your excitement.

You don’t notice much of what is going on around you, not when he unclasps the thing from your neck and wrists, until big hands carefully touch you and turn you around into his big arms.

He carefully pats your cheek with a wide fingertip until you blearily blink open your eyes that feel glued-shut from the tears.

His anger should have dissipated by now, because there is a spark of affection in his bright, gold eyes and he nods before cradling you closer to his wide chest with one arm as the hand of the other descends between your thighs.

He’s gentle as his massive fingers slide into your cunt, fucking you slow and gentle while his thumb presses just this side of pleasurable against your swollen clit, dragging painfully tight circles into it until your body is strung tight as a bow string again, your teeth clenched together, sharp little nails digging into his huge forearm.

He keeps at it until you come, messy and loud, crying out as you jerk in his secure hold and gets everything wet as you squirt and he fucks you through it all.

Afterwards he holds you close, warming you with his massive body as he gently rocks you and leans his cheek against your forehead.

Bokuto can be awfully affectionate like that.

And that’s the only sign you need to see that he adores you just as much as you trust him… so far. But trust and security is different from love, and you’re not sure if you will ever be able to. He’s your owner and nothing more, and you’d be naive to think otherwise.

—

Even though you’ve grown accustomed to his presence as well as your new life in the estate, you still tense at the sound of his footsteps as they draw closer and closer over the floor.

You are still not sure about just how much you are allowed to see—your every question in that regard is easily ignored.

By now, you are more eager—as much as that makes you loathe yourself to admit it. You begin to anticipate his visits, lying on your back on the lush mattress he equips your room with and fucking your hole with your fingers as fast as you can without getting a cramp in his arm.

Your loud whimpers suffuse the air and bring an indulgent, broad grin onto Bokuto’s face as soon as he finally emerges in the doorjamb.

“So eager, my feather,” he purrs, slowly collapsing the stick in itself. He strolls casually to where you are wriggling on the sheets, and you turn your face away from him, subsequently baring your throat. Predictably, a large hand finds it without problem as if that’s the only thing his eyes are focused on.

“Are you ready this time?” he rumbles, the deep voice making you shiver and your nipples tighten into sensitive, little nubs. You wet your lips with a quick tongue, legs spreading wide for the hand stroking down his throat, between the valley of your breasts and down your abdomen, in order to vanish between your legs. A soft whine escapes you as he circles your hole, sensitive from getting fucked so often, before one of his fingers dips inside alongside your own fingers, making you strain and gasp.

“Is this… is this going to be the last time?” It is your standard question—almost like a ritual by now. It’s familiar to you like the broad length of Bokuto’s cock was, spreading you open and fucking you breathless. “Are you going to let me go after this?”

His lips stretch into another smile, his free hand stroking over your hair like a parent consoling their child.

“I told you I will breed you full,” he coos—just like always, seems like he’s in a good mood today. “Can’t let anyone see my little toy if she’s not well-bred now, can I?” He seems to take amusement in your predicament, setting you on edge, the humiliation driving ever deeper because you know you could do nothing against it.

You huff, ready to turn around and present your ass on all fours, but…

“Not this time. Stay just like that, beautiful.” Bokuto leans down, his voice—impossibly—dropping even lower as he slides onto the bed and between your thighs; still clothed.

He huffs a laugh, his tactile fingers sliding along your inner thighs, gently rubbing on the lips of your puffy, stretched hole, then curling two fingers inside you.

Your body is moving on its own—hips curling up into his stroking hand. You hate it. You love it.

“Have you been waiting long?” Bokuto asks in amusement, opening his own pants and drawing out that length that makes your mouth water and your hole clench in anticipation. Endorphins rush through your body, making you tingly and needy to be filled with nothing but his cock and cum.

You’ve already been trained so well by now… and from Bokuto’s triumphant grin, he is obnoxiously proud about it. Can’t wait to show you off and brag to his friends about his sweet little plaything; his trophy toy.

He leans down, his deep breaths ghosting along your collarbone. The fact that Bokuto likes your scent the most—he told you himself—and he likes to breathe you in while sucing on your neck, the artery there, feeling the pump of your blood there—is just as arousing as it is intimidating.

“You are... exquisite,” he whispers against your bare neck, dripping the words onto you like they were poetry even as the head of his cock slowly breaches you. You gasp—every time surprised at the fact that you could prepare yourself as much as you liked… Bokuto’s cock will still split you open and make you feel so fucking vulnerable.

“I will groom you to perfection.”

You whimper, eyes squeezing shut as his hips snap forward, driving himself in deep with the first thrust. He could feel tears prickling in the corners of your eyes, but whether from how much it burns (it still does, and you love it) or from the fact that he so casually tells you about his plans to corrupt you… you cannot tell. You don’t even want to tell.

You whimper, arms and legs curling around him, drawing him closer as he leisurely fucks you, his tongue and teeth scraping over your throat and collarbone.

“You are going to be the best there is.” Bokuto raises his head, mouthing along the line of your jaw. “Everyone else is going to wish that you’re theirs,” he sounded entirely too smug for that sentence, “but you’re mine. I own you. ”

You can feel Bokuto’s muscles flexing where your calves lay on his sides. He is so broad, so huge that you can barely wrap your whole body on him and yet… and yet…

Fuck, your whole body is primed to him. To this man brimming with strength and vitality and intellect.

Bokuto is the perfect owner to breed anyone… and your body welcomes him greedily—needy hole opening up despite the burn of the entry; just swallowing that cock again and again, clinging sweetly as if it loathes to let him out on every second stroke.

He laughs—low and painfully happy as if he has read your thoughts. The sound rumbles through his chest and directly into you, your toes curling and feet scrabbling at the backs of his thighs, fingernails scratching along his back as your lust spirals higher, soft sounds of satisfaction spilling out of your throat, no matter how hard you try to hold them back.

“Open up for me,” Bokuto whispers right into your ear—his voice sweet and deadly like poison. “Open up, sweet thing. Take it… take me.”

The last word is rasped in a low rumble—more carnal than human as he thrusts more harshly, grinding deep into you and making you cry with your head thrown back. You hear the breathy, rasping chuckle of him filling you up good and proper.

You love how satisfied you feel at being a good bitch for him.

—

Afterwards, when Bokuto is gone, you realize your face is wet. You think you must have been sweating more than you thought.

Yes. That’s it.

[mehbzz]

Soft Whitney. Nothing in my head but soft Whitney. So a little Degrees of Lewdity fanfic drabble, no smut. abusive relationships, abusive parents and mc suffering from trauma and probably more than a little Stockholm syndrome. mentions previous sexual assault. I guess a more ooc Whitney.

not proofread just rambled.

You’re not sure why Whitney had wanted you along. He’d grabbed you as you were leaving school and dragged you into town with his friends but they’d all been pretty much ignoring you for the past half an hour as they smoked and joked and harassed the people passing by.

Not that you minded being ignored, you had been nervous and on edge around Whitney for the past week and you wondered if he’d finally noticed. Every movement and gesture he made towards you had been making you anxious. You were still not sure what you had done to deserve the punishment of being tied up and left to be gangraped by the sailors, but every since you’d been making yourself almost ill in effort to be as well behaved and as submissive as you could be. You didn’t want to go through that again. You didn’t think you could survive going through that again. You didn’t realise you’d zoned out completely until you notice Whitney in front of you, saying your name as he reaches for you, and you flinch violently backwards.

He pauses, surprise, anger and something else flicking across his face before he loops his arm around your shoulders and turns back to his friends.

“Got my slut to entertain me today, don't need you guys.” He leads you away, the mixed jeers and cheers from his friends fading as he walks you in silence towards to the beach. The panic reignites in your gut, the feeling of the rope around your wrists and the jeers of the sailors springing painfully to the front of your mind at the sounds of the waves. Before the panic can ignite into a full blown attack Whitney steers you to the left, disappearing into the very edge of the park, through a brambled mess of branches and into a well hidden secluded little glade. He lets you look around for a second. It’s a tiny clearing, a large tree in the middle, its branches causing shafts of sunlight to ripple across the ground. It’s quiet too; the distant sound of the sea and the gentle sound of birdsong is all you can really hear. He shoves you forward, ending your appraisal of the area and you stumble, only just catching yourself from going face first into the trunk of tree.

He winces as he sits down, and you feel flair of sympathy but know better than to mention it. You've only ever seen Whitney’s father from a distance but you know he shares Bailey's fondness for physical reprimands. The one time you'd tried to talk to Whitney about it he'd lashed out immediately, shoving his cock so roughly down your throat, you’d been in pain for days and you'd ended up going to see Dr Harper worried he'd actually injured you.

Whitney sits still, head tilted back to rest against the tree and his eyes closed. He looks handsome, blonde hair a scruffy mess and you stand there awkwardly still a little shaky from the panicked adrenaline, torn between sitting with him and trying to run. You're not sure which would earn you the bigger punishment.

"Sit."

He opens one eye as you cautiously sit down next to him, shoulders not quite touching, and smirks at you. "good puppy." It's patronising, teasing, but the paltry praise still sends a warm little frisson through you that you try to ignore.

Whitney closes his eyes again, an unlit cigarette rolling between his long slender fingers. It’s beauiful here, peaceful, but you're still anxious. Why did he bring you here? You had been expecting to get fucked in all honesty, but this area felt way too secluded for Whitney’s exhibitionist streak.

The click of his tongue piercing against his teeth let's you know he's getting frustrated, probably annoyed, and you tense, bracing yourself for whatever pain was going to come your way.

“Just fucking relax,” he sounds angry, and more than a little uncertain, the click of the silver ball increasing in frequency. "I usually come here when I need a break from all the bullshit."

You are glad he's not looking at you, as the shock written across your face at his vulnerable admission would have undoubtedly earned you a rough punishment. In fact you think he's doing his hardest not to look at you, face tilted to the side and eyes tightly closed. You don’t know how to respond. This is his safe place? And he’s sharing it with you? “It's nice here.” It’s a pathetic response but you don’t know what else to say. He doesn't acknowledge you and you shift a little closer until your shoulders are touching. You feel him relax at the small touch and he finally places the cigarette in his mouth, shifting till he finds his lighter and lights it with a small satisfied hum. If he is closer to you after his shifting around, his leg and thigh touching yours, you don't mention it. The pair of you sit silently for a few minutes, the warm sunshine starting to make you feel drowsy.

"Don't leave. I won't do it again." It's mumbled quietly under his breath, he even stutters slightly and for the second time in the space of 10 minutes you feel stunned by his behaviour. Whitney’s moods often gave you whiplash but this was something new.

"OK." You practically whisper back but again you're not sure what else to say. "Thank you." You probably shouldn’t have to be thanking your boyfriend for not selling you off to a bunch of sailors, but he sounds so vulnerable, so unsure, so unlike himself that your mind is too shocked to offer you any other response.

The clicking of his tongue stud continues. It's the biggest giveaway to his real mood that you'll ever have. Running it along his teeth is something he does when he's genuinely stressed or frustrated. You don't think he's aware he does it and you've never brought it up in case it takes away the only indicator you have to his true feelings.

You’re hit with the desperate need to reassure him, but you know any words you offer will immediately be thrown back in your face, so you opt for a more subtle approach. You let your hands relax on your thighs and rest your head on his shoulder. He freezes for a split second at the contact but soon relaxes again, and thankfully he doesn't shove you off. The clicking sound stops as well.

"Tell anyone and I'll think of something worse than a gang of lonely sailors."

It’s a cruel but half hearted threat, a instinctive reaction to protect himself against appearing weak or soft so you don't reply and just nod, not wanting to ruin the fragile moment. You have no doubt insecurity and embarrassment will change his mood in a while, probably forcing you into some public sexual act in an attempt to reassure himself of his dominance over you and you want to enjoy the peace while you can. He switches the cigarette to his other hand and hesitantly wraps his pinky loosely around yours. You desperately want to link your fingers together but you know when you’re pushing your luck, so you sit quiet, content to let him push himself outside of his comfort zone without fear of reprimand or acknowledgement. It’s an odd talent you’d found yourself developing, the ability to comfort and encourage him without him realising you are doing either of those things. At least not yet.

He finishes his cigarette slowly, giving you the chance to doze off on his shoulder. "You better not have drooled on me." The confidence is back in his voice and you feel an odd mix of disappointed and content as he shoves you off him, still surprisingly gentle.

He dusts his hands off on your jeans and you pretend to ignore the pained noise he makes as he rises, looking away as he presses a hand to his ribs. “Get up then,” There's a pink tinge to his cheeks as you look up at him, and he's definitely avoiding eye contact with you as he holds out a hand to help you up. You take his hand but push yourself up, you don’t want to cause him anymore discomfort. You stand there holding his hand and you think for a split second that he’s going to kiss you, but you realise that’s too much gentleness for Whitney in too little amount of time as he smirks, and flicks your forehead hard instead. "c’mon slut, let's go to the pub."

[diary-of-deadweight]

Masterlist.

Fic Idea by @leximills666

“Anything new?” You asked, sitting yourself in the spare chair between Darcy and Jimmy, who handed you your cup of caffeine. “If you consider Pietro teaching the twins how to stream snacks from the kitchen then no.” Jimmy spoke up, his eyes glued intently to the television for any missable details that could play in your favour. “But Jimmy did almost spill coffee onto Director Hayward.” Darcy shoots the mortified male a amused look as you slapped a hand onto his shoulder, trying so hard not to burst out laughing at the mental image that gave you an good amount of serotonin, “I’d pay good money to see you actually do it, serves him right for calling my friend a terroist.”

It was common knowledge that you and the Maximoff twins were close friends after their introduction to the Avengers as you were gaining some semblance of understanding of your teleportation powers and it’s limitations before trauma bonding with the pair over being Hydras successful lab rats. So when Hayward slagged off Wanda it took Darcy, Monica and Jimmy to hold you back from ending his whole career John Wick style. The bastard got real lucky but you couldn’t promise that the next time was going to have him leave a briefing room without a few bruises and even bruised ego. Fuelled by the frustration of recent events that left you feeling helpless as you were forced to watch the sitcom shenanigans Wanda and her dead yet somehow not dead husband and her adorable twins get into that only made it feel like a horror after they end, leaving you with more questions then answers that weighed on your darkening eyebags and breaking every last ounce of paitience you once thought you had along with the sleepless nights of theorising that went nowhere without someone bringing up a flaw made keeping your powers in check a little more difficult that you’d scare Jimmy, Darcy and Monica on a plethora of occasions.

You just wanted to get them out and be done with Hayward’s suspicious ass. I mean it was clear as fuck that vision was in bits and pieces in the video servalence footage. What was he doing with him? Why did he wait this long to show everyone something that would’ve benefited the opertation from the beginning? THAT was suspicious behaviour and yet no one was gonna question it?! Gotta love corruption I guess. “Anything new Dr Lewis?” Speaking of corruption, here it was in human form standing behind you there with his ‘stick up his ass’ attitude; it really pissed you off that you’d love nothing more then to slam your fist into him punchable bitch face until it’s unreagnisable. Sensing your hatred and thirst for violence, Jimmy places a hand on your shoulder and gave you a stern look that read ‘no...not yet at least.’ Sighing you gave him a passable smile before talking a long sip of coffee, making sure to slurp annoyingly loud as possible when Hayward looked at you unamused that you couldn’t help retaliating with a tight lipped smile and the middle finger. Darcy had to cover her mouth from bursting out in hysterics while Jimmy sighed like a disappointed parent but you knew he was trying to hold it together internally as Darcy was. “Nothing worth reporting back on sir.”

Hayward didn’t say anything other then let out a grunt then making his way out of the room not without a snarky comment from you of course, “don’t let the door hit you on the way out directior” to which he replied with as swiftly “appreciate the concern (l/n).” Making sure he was out of sight Darcy burst out laughing so hard she had to lean against you for support while Jimmy allowed himself to chuckle a little had your chest warming up, erasing any forms of pent up frustration like magic. Spending time with these beautiful bastards were what made the sleepless nights worth it in your opinion, knowing that you weren’t alone in wanting to help Wanda instead of harm. “What’re they laughing at?” Monica asked, a dazzling smile adorned her face as she nursed her own coffee between her hands; You shrugged nonchalantly looking back at her with fake innocence that told her more then she needed to know. “The sleep deprivation must’ve caught up to them.”

“Shut up!” The dark haired woman nudged you in the side, almost spilling your coffee in the process, “(y/n) threw some serious sass at Hayward earlier, should’ve been there Monica it was hysterical.” Monica only laughed in response as she patted you on the back, proud that she wasn’t the only one sick of Hayward’s shit, “I guess I should’ve. Would make a great memeory to share in the future” she sat in the chair next to Darcy turning her attention to the screen where Pietro was attempting to be slick and nab a snack while Wanda was cutting onions unflinchingly, only to slip and land flat on his back scaring Wanda as the unseen audicene laughed. Stupid and as cheesy as it was it didn’t fail to make you crack a smile while reminiscing of a similar memory that stuck out like a sore thumb. You and Pietro thought it be a great idea to compete against one another in order to see who’d get to the kitchen first, spoiler: he won by a narrow margin, that still had you calling him a cheat to this day, and decided to hide from you behind the counter like the little shit that he was. Long story short you entered the kitchen thinking you won, he jumps out scaring you so badly that you end up teleporting ontop of him.

“Hey (y/n).” Darcy’s voice brought you back from your thoughts and to reality. The thought of teleporting in there and getting your friends out has been a recurring one though your required to feel someone’s energy signature and with how well getting inside visuals went the likelihood of you sensing Pietro or Wanda for that case wasn’t going to be a piece of cake if it was you’d already have done it by now. “Yes Dr Lewis?” “Think you could-“ teleport inside? Trust me I’ve thought the same thing but the barrier is a major issue standing in my way of actually getting inside and out without trouble.” Despite all odds that didn’t stop you from wanting to give it a try if it meant trapping yourself also you wouldn’t hesitate to do it in a heartbeat. So it took your friends aback when you abruptly stood up from your chair, shoving your coffee into Jimmy’s hands and made a mad dash out of the room and down the corridor unapologetically shoving everyone aside with Monica and Darcy in hot pursuit while poor Jimmy placed your coffee down by your chair and bolted in hopes of catching up but when he did you were already teleported into the barrier that was dragging you into Westview before their eyes.

“(Y/n)!!!!” Monica yelled as she ran towards you, hand outstretched to pull you back but only grasped air when you disappeared form sight, she was so close to saving you but was too late non the less. Darcy and Jimmy shared a look as they came to her side as the feeling of helplessness became more evident within them. “Come on Monica, we can probably catch them on the television.” She said solemnly as they walked back to base.

-meanwhile in Westview-

Scared and confused you found yourself wandering aimlessly down the streets in your new attire of plaid shirt, leather jacket, high waisted trousers, converse and a locket that help a picture of you, Pietro and Wanda inside before finding yourself on your ass looking up at a silver haired male in a black leather jacket, Hawaiian shirt, jeans and worn down sneakers.

“What the-,” his chocolate eyes widened as they landed on your face, “(y/n)?! Is that you?!” His voice was just as you remembered it you smirked, outstreching a hand in a silent jesture to be helped up, “you think I’d let you wander too far?” He chuckled, hauling you off the floor and into his arms, face buried into his neck savouring the brunt sugar smell you’ve missed so much. “I should’ve guessed you’d be several steps behind.” He whispered into your hair, placing a kiss there, immediately comforting you before pulling away to drag you down the street without explanation towards a familiar house that belonged to the auburn haired female who was currently cleaning up after her kids when she saw Pietro, giving him that parental stare. “You’re a bad influence on my kids Pietro, you’re lucky to be my brother or I would’ve blasted across town by now.”

‘Well that ain’t foreboding at all.’ You thought to yourself as you took in the fact that you were finally reunited with the people who meant the most to you, you couldn’t remember when you got here nor how other then the fact that you wanted to visit Pietro and Wanda and that you could teleport. “If it’s any constellation, look who finally decided to pay us a visit.” The silver haired male stepped aside to reveal you in all your unsure glory as Wanda’s eyes widened like they did with Pietro but she didn’t any waste time in running towards you and holding your face in her hands, tears lining her eyes and you couldn’t help but lean into her warmth. “(Y/n)?” She whispered softly. “Hi Wanda, sorry I’m late.” You said as Pietro held both of you close to his chest protectively while Wanda laughed weakly her hand dropping you grasp yours tightly, “all is forgiven now that we’re together...as we should be.” Her eyes flashed red for a split second.

“Yeah, together at last.”

[spideyspeaches]

Vibrations per minute ↬ P.P

AN: Based on this post ehehe. (Also 223 followers?! I’m not crying you are ಥ‿ಥ Beta read by my baby sis @parkerpeter24​ <3<3

➳ Pairing: Peter Parker x Stark!Reader

➳ Warnings: smut (semi public), vibrator, minors dni

➳ WC: 1.8k +

➳ Masterlist || Taglist

Peter Parker was not who he looked to be. He was the kind of guy who impressed parents with his bambi eyes and A+ academic performances, but at the same time, he could be a little shit and tease the fuck out of you. For example-

Bets were a naturally occurring event in the Avengers compound, whether it was between Sam and Bucky about who could eat the most number of marshmallows in one go or between Tony and Peter on who could digest more amount of coffee in the least amount of time (both of which landed them in the medbay). 

So maybe placing a bet with your boyfriend may not have been your most intelligent choice. You were a smart woman, you should have known better than to place a bet with Spider-Man, especially if the bet included cardio. 

And now you were facing the consequences. 

You were sitting in the post mission debriefing room, thighs clenched as you saw your boyfriend trying (and failing) to hide his shit eating smirk. You felt the vibrations inside you once again, a little faster than before. Suppressing a moan, you tried to glare murder at him without letting the others know. 

Puffing your cheeks, you slid down the chair, hands folded on your chest. You were pretty sure your cheeks were blood red with the amount of heat you felt.

"Y/N are you sure you're alright? You look a little flushed." Steve asked, shifting to look at you from where he was besides You. He looked concerned.

"Uh- yeah- yeah I'm good. Just exhausted." You stuttered a response. Huffing, you tried to discreetly rub your stomach from clenching. A little whimper escaped your throat, which you quickly suppressed by picking up the glass of water and chugging down some.

Sam looked at you weirdly, the others not paying attention as Nick Fury asked them questions. 

"Miss Stark if you think you're going to get out of debriefing because your little boyfriend and father are sitting here, you're wrong. Please pay attention" Fury said, looking at you with his pirate eye, before turning around and muttering, "I swear sometimes they behave like school children."

You gave Bucky and Sam a glare as they snickered. 

"I'm sorry, I'll- uhh- I'll pay more attention. I'm just, my tummy hurts." You whimpered, flushing when you realised you had said "tummy" in front of the Avengers. 

"Well you better take care of the tummy ache. Don't want you to poo all over here." Peter smirked, your jaw dropping at how rude the little shit was. How unfortunate would it be when he finds out someone had burnt his Kylo Ren special edition figurine? 

"Fuck you asshat." You seethe, your glare intensifying when he increased the rate of vibrations using the phone app he was holding under the desk.

"Y/N, Peter, enough of this, now listen to what Pirate here has to say before he asks you to skedaddle back to your nursery." Your dad says, rolling his eyes at your childish banter.

You wanted to get out of there. Right away, because you couldn't take the shudders in between your legs anymore, or you would orgasm right there, in front of everyone. 

So to get back at them, you raised your hand like you were in elementary school, asking the teacher for permission, "May I go to the washroom? I wanna poo." You ask innocently, smirking when Fury widened his eyes.

Averting your eyes to your boyfriend, you silently conveyed your message, hoping that he got what you were up to. 

Ignoring the laughter of the babies in the Avengers' bodies, you stood up abruptly before he could change the settings anymore, walking stiffly to the bathroom.

"That was kind of mean of me." Peter finally said when you were out of his vision. 

"Yeah kid, I would've kicked your ass if I didn't know that she would do it before me." Tony snarked, curling his lips and shaking his head before going back to the dossier in front of him.

"You should go and apologise to her Pete. She looked upset." Steve piped in, his disappointed eyebrowsTM showing their way.

"She's in the toilet and he's a horny teenager, you really want him to go right now?" Sam said.

"Ew Sam, get your gutter brain out of here!" Peter defended, not meaning what he said.

In fact he was going to do just that. The entire time during the mission, you had been teasing him one way or another, whether it was landing in certain poses or just touching him every chance you get.

The bet was just an opportunity for him to get back at you for leaving him hot and bothered, dreaming about you all night in that tiny lingerie with spider prints on them.

“Yeah Sam, get out of here.” Natasha joked. Before he could witness the counter arguments though, he left the room, leaving a very noisy meeting room and a very frustrated Nick Fury. 

He found you in the bathroom stalls near the cafeteria. It was the women's bathroom but no one was around this time of the night, so he entered it. 

He could hear your moans and pants, your arousal hitting his nostrils as he tried to hyperfixate on you. His jeans suddenly felt strained at his… web shooter area. 

Opening the bathroom door, he clenched his fists. You were standing there, vibrator out of you and your finger inside, eyes scrunched as you threw your head back, not even noticing him enter.

"Why are you touching yourself?" He growled, smirking innocently when you jerked up, eyes taking a lustful look that sent his blood rushing south. 

"It's your fault. You were the one who made me horny in the middle of those boomers." You gritted. 

Your hand was poised on your waist now, legs still spread apart, your pussy on display. 

Grabbing you by your ass, he picked you up and slammed you against the wall, kissing your jaw, "Just seeking revenge." He mumbled  

"Oh oh Petey- revenge for what?" You moaned, arching your back as he undressed you, grabbing your now unclothed boob and sucking on one nipple, twisting the other with his fingers.

Moaning at the sensation of the cool tiles, you dug your fingers at his back, your wet pussy throbbing for a feel of his dick.

"You did it on purpose didn't you? Showing off during missions?" He sucked at your skin, leaving it tender and brushed, "you know how hot you look while you kick ass?" 

He unbuttoned his pants, letting his dick slip out with his boxers. His length never ceased to amaze you, the thick organ making your mouth water. You imagined it slipping into you, your thighs slipping wider on instinct.

He saw the look you were giving him, his lustful eyes full of mirth and desperation. Without waiting any further, he slipped out a condom from his discarded jeans' pocket, sliding his dick into your wet entrance, your ass hitting the wall as he pushed into your walls. 

Throwing your head back, you hissed as your walls clenched around him.

"You get, you get turned on when I kick ass?" You panted, grabbing his hair in desperation to the coiling in your gut, "Fuck I'm gonna cum. I'm gonna come Pete." 

"Well what are you waiting for princess?" He nibs your ear, squeezing your breasts to his now naked chest. You shuddered at the coolness of his body, he's always been cold to touch. 

"Fuck princess, feel so good." His mouth was slack, his thrusts getting harder as he shoved into you, "so tight for me. Enjoying my cock in your pussy eh?"

"Yes! Oh- I love it Pete I love it!" Hitting your head on his chest, you pinched his nipple, making him groan and hit your stomach, the slapping sound echoing in the bathroom.

"Say it louder pretty girl" 

"Why?" You whined, "I should get back to you for using the vibrator but I'm having too much fun." 

You groaned, Your eyes scrunched when his thrusts started to slow down, his senses too overloaded to work together with his stamina.

"Yeah you're needy aren't you?" He said, out of breath from your little meet. He set you down, wiping off your cum using the tissue paper, flushing it off in the toilet. 

He took a minute to just admire you. Your body was shining from sweat, your breath coming out in short pants. You were completely naked, breasts out to the display. He flushed when you smirked at him, you had caught him staring. Not that you minded.

"My beautiful girl." He said, voice husky from strain as he closed the distance between you both, holding you in his arms. 

You laid your head on his chest, rubbing your cheeks against his pectorals. You could hear his racing heart, chuckling when you saw heat rising up his chest to his neck and then face. 

"Why are you blushing? We literally just fucked." You laughed, tracing circles on his collarbones. He looked ethereal from where you were standing, perfectly sculpted by a skillful sculptor. 

"Because you're amazing and I can't believe you're my girl." He said. 

"Mmhm,” You nodded against him, “Also, do you always keep a condom in your pocket?" 

        __________••☆••__________

There were many reasons as to why you keep around Peter, and one of them is that he's an amazing chef. Living with his aunt and uncle, he and Ben had been the main source of home cooked meals, because Aunt May was never good at cooking. 

You saw him standing in the kitchen, flipping pancakes while he hummed to some melody. You didn't mind, you could stare at him all day. Thankfully, none of the Avengers were awake yet (but they would be. They're huge fans of his food) 

"Morning." You smile, wrapping your hands around his waist, placing your head on his back.

"Did you sleep well?" He asked, moving around as you clung to him like a koala. Giggling, you wrapped your legs around his waist, jumping on his back like a potato sack. 

"Mmhm, the best sleep I've had in a long while." You mumble, words muffled by his back.

"Is that so?" He asked. 

"Yup." 

Hearing shuffling noises, you quickly jumped off of him, fixing your t-shirt and sitting on the dining table.

You saw as Steve and Sam entered the kitchen, Natasha soon following suit. Clint had left for his home early that morning, wanting to meet Laura and his kids as soon as he could. 

You smiled at each of them, nodding a good morning and helping them sort a plate. 

You were arranging the plates when you heard a choked gasp. Alarmed at the sound, you looked up at Steve's horrified expression, looking at where he was pointing a finger.

"What?" You asked, biting your lips.

"That- is that a hickey?!?" 

Slapping your neck, you let the plate clatter on the table, ignoring Peter's scrambled replies. You saw Bucky entering from the corner of your eye, unable to formulate a coherent answer.

"Oh my god, Bucky they totally fucked yesterday!" 

Page dividers by @cicicantblog​

[violet-knox]

Lost Joy

Year 7 - Chapter 78

Summary: You wake up in the middle of the night to find Severus awake, the pressures of life finally breaking him.

Word count: 3438

Warnings: Light shoving, no violence

A/N: Hope everyone enjoyed the holidays. I'm slowly getting back into a writing routine. Things may be touch and go for a little as I try to adjust to balance everything in my life.

Previous Chapter - Chapter 1

~

He woke up to yet another disappointing morning. Another day sure to pass him by without bringing him a single step towards the promise he’d made two weeks ago. He hadn’t heard back from his last resort, and if they wouldn’t work with him, how could he possibly hope to gain employment? It was a lost cause, he was a lost cause. He’d let you down, his frustration boiling up as you still continued to be supportive. You constantly spoke of staying positive, of his hard work, his potential eventually being rewarded with some patience, but you’d never understand. He’d locked away his mother’s ring back in her nightstand and hadn’t looked at it since then. But he thought about it every single day. That ring had become a symbol of his failures, his past and his destiny. It was a constant reminder of his mother’s marriage, her shunning from the Prince family, his poor childhood, her negligence, his own failure to become someone worthy of you and his assured destiny to fail just like his parents.

Things had been going well for a few days, his passion, his ambition driving him every day. Your evenings together had even returned to a pleasant aroma, but with his loss of patience came his terrible habit of pushing you away. He’d become distant again, waking up and starting his day before you, joining you in bed only when you were fast asleep. He could never bring himself to stay awake with you beside him, the peaceful look on your face reminding him of just how much he owed you. Even now, waking at five in the morning, the darkness surrounding him, he found himself needing to jump out of bed. He dreading the moment you woke up, his guilt settling into his chest the moment you smiled at him and that wasn’t a feeling he could live with for very long.

Slowly, he removed himself from the bed, careful not to wake you as he’d done every morning. He picked up his wand and made his way out of the bedroom, closing the door behind him before making his way downstairs, skipping the fourth step. Heading to the kitchen first, he made himself a cup of coffee, no longer able to function without one every morning considering the little amount of sleep he got each night. He contemplated his next move as he poured himself a cup, wondering if it would be wise if he sought out Malfoy, Avory or one of his other old friends. He made his way to the sitting room, closing the door behind him as he plopped himself onto the couch in front of the fireplace. Putting down his cup, he ran his hands over his face, sighing in frustration. It was a bad idea, and maybe the fact they didn’t reply back was a blessing. Maybe this was to be his second chance at turning away from the evil surrounding that group and find a way to offer his talents for the good of the world.

There was only one thing left to do now, only one way to regain favour with the Potions community that had rejected him. With the last of his dignity, Severus picked up some parchment and his quill and began to write another letter. Three words in and he already hated himself, his pride screaming for him to stop. Not this, anything but this. But he had to push aside his feelings and think of you, of what would happen if he failed you, his life stuck in this miserable limbo. No, this was his only option now, the only thing left to do besides pray Merlin would have mercy on him.

With great displeasure, he wrote to his toad of a supervisor, lying about how he’d seen the errors of his ways, how it was wrong for him to hide his discoveries and asking for a chance to prove himself to him. He felt absolutely humiliated writing this letter, as if he was signing away his own soul, everything that made him good, everything he felt proud of and he was offering it all away. Was it really worth it? Even if he accepted and he managed to find what he could only assume to be the worst job a Potions Master could have under that toad, would there be enough of himself left to feel happy, to feel worthy of you again? Would you really continue to be proud to call him your boyfriend if he’d given away himself like this? He couldn’t know, and he definitely couldn’t talk to you about it. You were too optimistic about the way the world worked, always talking about hard work and second chances. In your perfect world, you couldn’t see there were no second chances for people like him, for the poor scum of the earth, not without a hand from those who didn’t deserve the fortunate life they found themselves in.

“Severus?” He looked up from his letter, startled at the sound of your sleepy voice. He saw your silhouette, outlined by the light of the fire standing at the doorway as you rubbed your eyes open. “What are you doing?”

Severus looked down at the letter he was writing, now destroyed by the spilled ink he’d accidentally knocked over when you’d walked in. The ink completely covered the last portion of his letter where he spoke of a second chance, where he asked for forgiveness and offered up his soul. And yet it somehow left his lies about taking accountability for his actions completely untouched for the world to read. His self betrayal lay in front of him, protected from any damage, proudly displaying his shame. His grip on his quill tightened as he felt himself snap in half, his anger and frustration with the universe boiling over. What could he have possibly done to deserve such treatment? Why must the world punish him in such a way?

“I was writing a letter,” he said through gritted teeth, trying so hard to contain himself. This wasn’t your fault, he had no one to blame but himself and he couldn’t let his anger pounce at you again. He wasn’t sure if your relationship could take anymore tension but he could never understand why it was always your relationship that suffered when he himself was struggling. It was never like this when you found yourself stressed or upset. Then again, you’d never felt yourself as big a failure as he did now.

“At five in the morning?” You asked as you walked towards him, looking down at his half destroyed letter, reading the bits that weren’t covered in ink. You were absolutely mortified at the words he’d written. This didn’t sound like him at all, this wasn’t him. Something else had taken hold of Severus and made him write those horrible words. You knew he’d been struggling, especially during the last few days. You could feel his patience and resolve sizzling away and nearing its end, you just never thought he’d go to such extremes. “Severus, why are you writing to him? You don’t need him.”

“Don’t I?!” He felt himself snap, his eyes wide as he shouted, his mind pulsing with rage, pushing through his need to keep from projecting his failures onto you. But it was too late, the small bit of power his love for you held over his temper fell to the ground, pummelled by the anger he felt at the world for doing this to him. That feeling overtook him, it consumed him fully as he finally let go. “I have no one else to turn to! No one will hire me.”

“Severus, calm down please-”

“Calm down? Why? This is my house is it not? Do I not have the right to act as I please in my own house?! I can’t even stay in my own bed because you’re always in it, always reminding me how big a failure I am.” Severus rubbed his face with his hands, annoyed at the words that came out of his own mouth. How could he say those things? He shouldn’t have taken that tone, he shouldn’t have worded it in such a hurtful and blunt way. He loved you, he still loved you, even through all this anger and grievance, you were still the centre of his world, so why couldn’t he remember that now in the heat of the moment?

You paused at his words, stunned by what he had just said. He’d never stooped so low before, he’d never said anything like this before. It was always angry comments and remarks more so directed towards himself than you, but he was focusing his anger onto you this time, like you were the one causing him the misery he felt now. “Is that truly how you feel? Do you hate me that much?”

“No! I-I just-” Severus didn’t know how he felt. He didn’t know how to process anything that had happened over the last few months. It all seemed like such a blur now, so many varying emotions flashing by him: Stress, joy, grief, content, anger, comfort. It felt like decades had passed since you’d returned home, since you were happy together. How did he get here?

“I thought this was our house, that we were trying to build a happy life together, Severus. Is that not what you want anymore? Do you hate me so much that you feel I’m a burden on your life? Is that why you’ve been avoiding me this past week?!” Your eyes burned with betrayal as you pushed to hold your tears back. It took every ounce of your strength not to break down, your heart racing with fear of what he was saying. You didn’t want this to destroy the love between you. He meant everything to you, everything. Nothing else in your life mattered as much as him and you couldn’t bear to hear him speak to you as if you were some sort of disease in his life.

“I’ve been avoiding you because I know you think I’m a failure! You hide what you truly feel beneath those supportive words of yours, acting like you haven’t accomplished your own goals, pitying me,” he responded as he tried to tone down his voice. He couldn’t help what he was saying anymore, everything he’d been internally projecting onto you these past few months pouring out of him like lava about to swallow you both whole. His own misery and disgust with himself consumed him, he couldn’t help but think back to all the horrible moments you shared, forgetting the happy memories you’d both worked so hard to build. Instead, he thought about your fights, about how you left him in this house alone to follow your Quidditch career, how you took Connor’s side over his during your school days, how you happily played Quidditch with Potter with no consideration of how that made him feel, how much grief you’d caused him with his old Slytherin friends. The more memories his mind played back, the more he felt his resentment towards you growing.

He stood up and turned towards the door, unable to look at you anymore. He didn’t know what to do. The last thing he wanted was to see the end of this relationship, but he was tired of feeling alone with you here, of being left behind, of feeling crowded in this house. You were his support system and he knew you were supposed to make him feel supported, but all you did was make him feel like a failure. Even now, he could tell you didn’t understand him, that you weren’t grasping what he was saying to you.

“Well, I don’t need your pity!” Severus brushed off the slim possibility that talking to you would do more good than harm. Needing some air and time to think, he began to make his way to the door and grabbed his coat from the coat rack, hoping some time alone would help him sort through everything he was feeling, everything he’d said and done. But before he could grab hold of the doorknob, you’d ran in front of him, pushing him back a step as you shielded the door. You looked so angry, so upset. He could tell he’d hurt you. His heart was screaming at him to apologise, fall to his knees and beg for forgiveness, but the damage was done and he didn’t have the patience anymore to deal with this on top of his own issues.

“You don’t know what I’m thinking and I know you don’t mean any of that. You’re frustrated, I understand, but that’s no reason to act this way!” You spoke desperately, your heart skipping a beat when you saw him bolting for the door. You couldn’t let him leave, not like this. He needed to talk, to let things out, you could see that now. You didn’t know he was struggling so much and you kicked yourself for it. Had you really been living in your own world that you hadn’t noticed he was struggling like this? You had to make things right, you could still salvage this so long as he wanted the same thing.

“No, you don’t! You don’t understand, you can never understand!” Severus argued, his frustration hitting an all-time high. He couldn’t take it anymore. He was trying so hard not to scream, not to shout at you about everything. He wanted to tell you about the ring, about the letter he’d sent two weeks ago, about everything that led him to this moment, but he knew he couldn’t because he knew you wouldn’t understand any of it. You’d scold him, tell him what a mistake it was to keep any of this from you, to even reach out to people he knew would bring nothing good and he didn’t want to hear any of it.

“Then help me understand!” Please Severus, please don’t leave like this, please just talk to me! Your thoughts ran in panic as your eyes begged him to stay. Your heart was pounding so hard, you thought it might shatter into a million pieces if he spoke another word or took another step. You’d tried so hard to make everything okay for him, you’d done everything you could to help him, but the more you did, the more you felt him slipping away and it tore at you. This was it, the point in time that would determine that path you’d take as a couple. If you couldn’t find a way to help bring him back from this darkness, what hope would you have of building a strong and lasting relationship together?

“Why? So you can undermine me? Tell me it’s all in my head?” He didn’t want to hear it, he didn’t want to hear it! Your voice was already in his head, speaking his mother’s words; you’re reckless, inconsiderate and selfish! It wasn’t true, that wasn’t him, it never was. You’d always told him he was good, but you were very much aware of all his flaws, lived through them, even during your days at Hogwarts.

“Because I love you, Severus! Why can’t you see that! Why have you forgotten that!”

“Don’t pretend like your feelings for me haven’t changed, that these last two years haven’t made you reconsider the choices you made after graduating Hogwarts.” Every time you left for a game or a tournament, packing a bag and taking so much of your belongings with you, he wondered if you’d come back. Was this the time you’d finally decide to leave him? Was this the last time he’d ever get to see you again? He couldn’t stand it. He couldn’t stand the thought of you with someone else, someone better, someone who would hesitate to propose to you as he did. It didn’t make sense for you to be together anymore and he wasn’t sure if it ever did.

“No, you don’t get to do that! You don’t get to project your issues onto me! I don’t regret a single thing in my life when it comes to you. I don’t regret moving in with you, I don’t regret promising to build a life with you, I don’t regret loving you!” You shouted back at him, deflecting those feelings of hate and self doubt he tossed your way. Things had never been this bad before. You’d fought over the years of course, what couple didn’t. But he’d never spoken to you like this, as if he’d been holding back these emotions, those awful thoughts for years, finally unleashing them now.

Severus squinted at you, pausing as he pressed his lips together. You’d laid it all out before him, confessed your true emotions and still he found himself unable to let go of the toxic thoughts in his head. Darkness was swimming in his mind, taking over every ounce of him until he could barely feel himself there anymore. He couldn’t even recognize the thoughts in his head, the negativity, the toxicity. He hadn’t felt like this in years, he hadn’t been this person since his days with his father, so why was he suddenly reverting back all because his mother died and his inability to find a job?

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” he said as though talking to himself more so than he was talking to you. He began to walk around you, trying to get to the door, but you kept yourself in his way, as if he was your prisoner.

“Then talk to me about what’s bothering you. Please Severus just talk to me about something,” you spoke softly, your eyes watering when he tried to leave again. You’d hoped showing your willingness to talk would help show him he didn’t have to leave, that you cared, that you could work this out, but you were wrong. He didn’t want to work things out, at least not now. He didn’t want to take back anything he said. He meant them all.

“Get out of my way.” Severus balled his hands into fists, frustrated at your position. He felt trapped, emotionally, mentally and now, here you were, physically trapping him in the home you forced him to live in.

“So long as I love you, I will never get out of your way!”

“Get out of my way (Y/N).” Severus spoke through gritted teeth, doing his best to be patient, hoping you would just do as he asked. Things were getting out of hand, they’d gotten too far, much farther than he could have ever imagined and he neededyour relationship to be salvageable after this. He needed to step away before he completely destroyed what little there was left of your love for him.

“No!”

He had no choice, if he wanted out, he would have to make his own way out. He grabbed you roughly by your shoulder and pushed you enough to make you stumble out of the way. He quickly made his way to the door before you found your footing and opened it, leaving swiftly with a loud thud as he slammed the door behind him.

It all happened so fast. He’d pushed you and you thought you were about to fall to the floor, instead, the sound of the door slamming shut weakened your knees enough to have you stumble to the ground, tears streaming down your face as you let go of the frustration and heartbreak you felt. He was gone, he’d left you like this and you weren’t sure if he would come back. You missed him. You missed the boy you fell in love with, the man you’d grown to care for. Where had he gone? What signs did you miss? How had everything suddenly been dialled to eleven without you noticing?

You brought your knees to your chest, hanging your head low as you crawled up into a ball, crying so hard you knew you would lose your voice by the end of the day. Everything had gone so wrong. It was so perfect for so long, at least, you thought it was. Were you both cursed? Was this to be your destiny? False happiness shattered by the relenting truth of the horror you lived in now? This couldn’t be your life, you didn’t deserve this, neither of you did and you had to find a way to break out of this endless torturous nightmare. You had to find a way to regain that happiness you once shared together.

~

Next Chapter

~