#I'm still riding from the high from finding like half of these books like

[capslocked]

KINKVEMBER DAY: 4

[prompt: roleplay] male reader x kang hyewon 8k words

“I need you,” Hyewon says in the uneasy dark of a hotel room, with two urgent fistfuls of your shirt, “need you to do to me all the things my husband never will.” “Yeah, I know,” you tell her, “you said that,” and her eyebrows move in all the wrong directions, “I’m just wondering if, you know, maybe we should give him a little more credit.”

-

Here’s the truth:

Hyewon doesn’t believe in leaving evidence behind and you don't find it particularly productive to doubt her; you’ve been talking in code for years. Parts and pieces of yourselves reduced down and bottled into set phrases that, to anyone else, would be totally incomprehensible.

"i've been thinking," she texts you, which you've come to understand means she's already made up her mind, "maybe we should do that thing we were talking about. tonight."

(You're not always so fast on the uptake.)

You send two back two texts, both of which ask "which thing?" because the hallway from the breakroom to your desk has poor reception and it never lets you send just one.

Then, right after you cross the threshold between signal-drowning-concrete and the glitzy glass-walled arboretum they've built to make you feel like you're not a total cog in their corporate machine, your phone pings the receipt of Hyewon's reply: a picture - her laptop, propped up on your coffee table with its screen angled for perusal, of a booking site that's filtered to show results for their 'king bed & view' room at a midrange hotel a forty-five-minute ride from your apartment.

"not really doing much narrowing down here hyewon."

She replies to you - her text bubble appearing over another couple still images, of herself in the vanity mirror as she curls her hair around her finger and holds this little black slip of a dress over her shoulder, black lacy lingerie in tow, the whole nine - with:

"i'm feeling kinda adventurous."

-

Five o’clock rolls around but you never really do figure it out. You spend the last three hours at work deciding which kink of hers (oh, does she have a few) this is all in service to.

There's nothing overtly sexual about her pics in the first place - not more than usual anyway, more showing off her curves and cut jaw than showcasing anything for her 'adventurous' intent. So that can't be the tell - you'd seen her in a corset once (you can't unsee it) and the angle of her hips to the mirror makes you think that if she was planning on pulling on a  pair of crotchless panties then she probably would've found her thigh high stockings, too.

You try and think of what the two of you had even talked about when discussing these little scenes - how many times you'd ended up 'in the mood' during or after such a meeting of the minds, how it'd snowballed from there, a whole list of filthy what-ifs that she'd probably put more thought into than you ever have - but you draw a total blank. It could be any of a number of things.

Until,

"i left you instructions on the kitchen island," reads a text on your phone which you definitely don’t check while you’re driving -

And then it hits you.

"ah."

"yeah, 'ah'," she replies.

-

A quarter past seven at the hotel bar is way too early for any real promiscuous activity, but then again, you're here playing at pretend and half the fun of games like this is in the setup.

Meet me at the bar, your instructions read, introduce yourself, and play it by ear.

There's some couples at the other end, some friends downing shots by the round, people musing over their aperitifs, and a woman sipping alone at the bar - Hyewon, appearing to you from the back first:

The pointed edges of her shoulders narrow out over this tiny cocktail dress that somehow covers less of her than if it weren't there at all, skin tight, accentuating even her softest curves. She has her hair fixed a particular way - teased enough to flip at the ends but still a single sweep down her shoulders, pulled together softly by a ribbon in the back, tied like a fantasy, allowing a wispy strand to fall to her face - glossy and dark and glowing to this rich, deep mahogany where it's cast in the lamplight.

The line of her throat, of her chest. Where her hips meet her waist in a rounding flare. The effort and beauty she's gone to, for you - that she puts in every day just because she knows it gets your attention, can do more than turn a head or two; Hyewon's appearance is almost indifferent of you, only coincidental, but she puts on a damn good act.

(You look a lot more worn in comparison: jacket thrown over dress shirt and khakis, tie loose at the neck. Standard office attire with just a step-outside-regulation. Disheveled.)

A drink, you suppose - approaching the bar to try and catch the bartender's attention to order a single malt.

But if Hyewon's been waiting long, she doesn't complain when you pull into the stool beside her and sit for a long moment.

"Do you mind if I join you?" you say over a pair of politely folded hands - and that's generally where her 'instructions' end.

The look she fixes you with is just this unashamed smoldering, her body language this contradictory kind of lazy - cool, like her night was going exactly the way she planned but she still had places to be.

"It depends," she replies, one slender finger curled around the stem of her martini glass - which historically, is a drink she hates. "Who's asking?"

"Just me," you offer, letting the gesture and your tone leave it up to her. And then slowly, perhaps awkwardly: "ostensibly a complete and utter stranger who knows a gorgeous woman when he sees one - and who could never pass up a chance to see how the rest of her is."

"Smooth."

"I guess it is, considering you didn't immediately run for the exit."

Hyewon nearly snorts.

"Hard not to." She tilts her head back at you, assessing. Her cheeks are rosy pink. "A handsome thing like you doesn't usually buy themself a girl's time with flattery -"

"Buy your time or your drinks?" you tease, and you can tell she wants to roll her eyes - but she keeps them carefully lowered. Eyelashes dipping down like blackened fans.

Hyewon shifts slightly, resting her chin onto the heel of her wrist like she's leaning against an imaginary windowpane and tipping her face a little sideways. It makes you smile. "One gets the other, if you catch my meaning."

Maybe it takes you a little too long to lift your gaze off her lips to find her eyes, or off the sweeping curve of the hemline sitting high across her long legs, but she watches you for just a breath. It's a more telling moment that she pretends she doesn't know you.

"You can look at me if you like," and then without further preamble, she introduces herself with a slight tilt of the head and an expectant expression: "call me Hyewon."

You figure that if you've gotta say one word to get the ball rolling you want to say her name, and as a little revenge for forcing you to think on this scene and think on what to say, what your character would say, how exactly she wanted you to go about 'meeting' her in a hotel bar, how her fucking scenario's been building up in her head for god-knows-how-long (even though, in the scheme of the two of you and your relationship, it’s nowhere close to being the most demanding sex you've had), you reply simply with:

"Pretty."

It's satisfying, how she hesitates - pausing a little longer on your face to gauge exactly what you meant. Studying. But the next beat of your heart - or hers - is effortless, easy.

"I know. That's what my husband calls me."

"Husband?" You keep yourself from raising an eyebrow. "And I don't suppose I'm also... married?"

"Different day, different you."

"Meaning I have a wife or a mistress of my own," and you flick your wrist at the barkeep for a top-up of what's in front of Hyewon. "You're telling me I'm the kind of man who'd only settle for two."

It doesn't sound quite right, though Hyewon picks up on it. Doesn't let on. "Aren't men like you always? Charming to a fault, but always voracious - insatiable, especially with women like me."

"Women like you."

"Married women. Unavailable," she simpers, and in a practiced little motion, draws her hand out to where you can see it properly, this sparkle on her fourth finger that catches the lowlight of the bar. The diamond looks real - not that you'd actually know - and your stomach flexes up mid-somersault thinking about the financial impropriety for what amounts to a gag. A practical joke. Hyewon the comedian.

Still, you go with it and take her hand in yours, admiring. "What a pity." The glint off its faceted surface - Hyewon's watchful as she allows it.

"Isn't it," she agrees.

The more unnerving thing - besides how composed Hyewon can make herself be - is how the narrative quickly becomes a whole hell of a lot clearer with the context of marriage in play. She's mentioned it before: the infidelity thing, the way it leads to the raunchiest, filthiest bits she'll dare to explore. In some ways, her desire for the untouchable makes a lot more sense -

And maybe that's what had been nagging at your mind since she brought up the idea of playing the part: you always end up kissing in that stupid 'caught up' sort of way. With an intensity that's hard to beat. Even though you wouldn't ever cheat on her. Not in a million years. You'd watch her leave before doing anything like that.

But it's thrilling, almost, and even more thrilling that this isn't entirely improvisation: how well the two of you might actually play this off, as two total strangers to this illusory little roleplay that you'd normally say was your very last interest.

"But you know there's something I've come to appreciate about married men," Hyewon continues, her voice in this conspiratorial sort of hushed.

You blink, drawing her out.

"They know how to tie a knot."

There's the flirty wink, an upward flick of the chin that draws your eye to the span of her chest. To her body in that skin-hugging dress and your fingers entangled in hers - the gentle bump and shift of the bodies behind her, moving between the tables - Hyewon a queen of circumstance, playing to the moment as it bends; as her lips part in a pleased smile, red and smooth, almost innocent, and you can't help but imagine tasting her on your tongue, the force that'd take for her to yield when you finally got your hands in her hair.

(What a character, honestly.)

"Tell me something," you say, "why would a married woman, this pretty little thing like you, be all alone in a place like this - without her charming husband."

Hyewon's smile curls at the edges like smoke. "I never said he was charming."

You raise an eyebrow. "Good-looking, then."

"Never said as much either."

“Why are you with someone you find neither attractive nor charming?”

Hyewon makes a face, slightly pitied. “If that Isn’t what I’m asking myself everyday.”

"Hm." You narrow your eyes into something more quizzical than suggestive. It works on her anyway. "That doesn't feel too much like it's in character, Hyewon."

She shrugs, but it's that coy kind of shrug. She thinks you'll let her off easy - you usually do. All considered, she's the type who thrives off the chase and, as of today, so do you.

"But he is cute." Her expression is just this side of sweet, as she takes a dainty sip of her drink. Like the taste doesn’t bother her, like she isn't pretending she doesn't hate it with every fiber of her being. Like this is easy. "And maybe -" she quirks an eyebrow at you, withholding a smirk. "-you're right. Maybe, I was looking for someone cuter to fill the bill. And luck would have it, here he is."

So - apparently - her character doesn’t mind a little light infidelity.

Hyewon takes in the vague sense that the message wasn’t as clear as she might have liked, her forehead scrunching as she tries to convey - in a way that would communicate even to an airhead - some realization to play your part.

"Maybe it's the wrong question,” you start over, taking it from somewhere near the top, “what are you doing here, with me?"

That's when Hyewon graces you with one of the soft, slow kind of smiles: the kind that manages both an air of 'you dimwit' and 'good question'. Her fingertips barely graze yours but it's noticeably electric. Just enough to feel your pulse fluttering.

(You don't care that none of it’s real - Hyewon looks to you through thick eyelashes like a goddess of temptation and sin - and it makes something wicked coil up warm at the pit of your gut. A curious thrill and a recklessness that you have to admit feels a little nice - being the man trying to talk this woman into bed. The challenge and the buildup, the want to work for it. It's new. It's fresh. Lo-and-behold, it's kinda hot.)

When you catch her stare, she fidgets. So slightly, so briefly, your chest is on fire and you're barely into the pages of her plans, of this night ahead.

"Wish fulfillment, let's say," and that is no less true. "See it’s my husband."

"Mhmm."

"He respects me too much to do the things I'm going to ask you to do."

"Like?" you continue to prod.

Hyewon lets out the tiniest shiver of a sigh, like a trickle of cold water down the length of her spine. "Take a good guess."

You finish the rest of Hyewon's martini, slow. Savoring the warmth and bitterness sliding down the back of your throat. The night's young, sure - and if you're supposed to be spending it all wrapped around Hyewon's finger. This means you can take your time.

"Show me your room?" you propose, gesturing to the empty glass.

"I thought you'd never ask."

At your offering, she stands up and throws on her coat - long, double-breasted, chic - but only really just off her shoulders to have the hem hit her legs mid-thigh. One of her many personal quirks. Hyewon knows how to move like there aren't two eyes staring at her wherever she goes: not the awkward side-to-side of a girl who wasn't made to wear heels - a loping gait - nor the assured click, click of the taller kind that totter like it's all they've got going for them.

Something totally different: a little careless and a little haughty and an assurance of the highest confidence.

She winds an arm round yours like they do in movies, this parody of a leading lady - Hyewon not a seductress as much as she is someone who'll look the part just to convince you otherwise. There is a pretty big discrepancy, you find, between her bravado and her smile, her figure and her artistry - you couldn't act if you wanted to; meanwhile, she does whatever she damn well pleases. And somehow that doesn't even begin to cover the things that turn her on.

The two of you make for the stairs, winding up floor after floor until it's perfectly quiet, perfectly out of sight - hidden away from prying eyes and ears.

The silence of an empty hotel stairwell is thick - Hyewon's hand comes off the railing, as she takes to the wall and turns to face you. It's a gentle tug at the tie loose around your neck, barely any give before you're already there, holding her by the hips.

"Might've gotten us lost there," you whisper, as her finger plays at your chest and finds its way round the collar of your shirt. Your top button is already undone by the time you notice she's not fond of it. "The elevators would've gotten us where we're headed faster."

"Don't worry." She hums, leaning in close - like a magnet, like gravity. "You're getting the scenic route."

"Anything to stall the inevitable," you tease, but it isn't a thread she seems interested in developing.

"Something like that."

Hyewon shifts her weight back onto her right foot, her skirt riding up just barely. The dip between her inner thighs and the smooth curve of her leg is open and bare to your sight, her dark stockings like an unspoken challenge: the panties, lacy, loose, no crotch.

And it gets... indecent, the way your lips connect, how you realize half-way into that kiss, she's still smiling. It isn't any one way that does it; maybe it's the clever use of her tongue, or that particular position you've coaxed her up against the stairwell wall that makes it seem like Hyewon can't be any more in danger - it's too much to handle and your mouth goes slack on the reflex of an apology; her hand has a hold on you by the jaw and it won't budge.

"My husband," she murmurs into you, the trace of the words ghosting into the breath between the both of you. "Never lets me."

"What," you rasp, barely recognizing your own voice, your hand heavy on her side - the very real fear that you might tip over a banister because Hyewon's got her heel half-way into the back of your calf and any less bracing would bring you down. Your thoughts are a fog, with her cheek in one hand and your knee already up between her thighs.

"His wife," she almost swallows down, kisses turning chaste because maybe it's just easier to gently peck out her intentions, how she looks to you with dark eyes, heavy-lidded and wanting, a thumb trailing down the plane of your cheek. It'd feel like pity if you weren't thinking exactly the same.

You try to finish it for her:

"She likes it rough."

"No." Her nose traces yours before she connects you again - gentle and slow, and a shudder rolls all down the expanse of her shoulders; you think you have it about right. Until she makes the slightest adjustment and her grip in your hair turns agonizing, perfect and burning on the edge of too tight - too much. You are straining against the wall of a hotel hallway and she's saying, "not rough."

She kisses you. Hard. Until you gasp for the stolen air in her lungs.

"Filthy," she manages against the heat and sting at the side of her cheek.

(Damn.)

Your voice has gone and lodged itself firmly somewhere between her lungs - but there's something that says she knows. That you've got it in you, the brimming potential that might just say everything you ever wanted but couldn't figure the right way to put it.

It's the tone of her voice or the spark in her eyes, but one moment into the next - you're caught in this pull - like gravity's increasing tenfold at her will; her heartbeat's so strong you swear you feel it against your ribs as she's demanding:

"Messy. Dirty. A little uninhibited," and the obvious thrill of that must flare up like lightning under her skin - the way it makes her moan, soft and breathless: "fuck me like my husband doesn't."

She’s not even waiting for the comfort of the room yet, which in hindsight is probably checking more of Hyewon's many boxes - it's the sex in public thing, the fear of discovery thing, the desire to have you ravish her out where anyone can come upon you sort of thing - the thought of which has your jaw go a little slack too. Her leg up is coiled up around your hip, your fingers tangled in her hair and sliding up the length of her thigh, until you're fucking kneading up her ass and drawing out that desperate whine in her.

"Fuck," she exhales into your shoulder - a hand on the metal bannister to brace against those little circles you start to rub inside her, pushing - slowly - one, two, three knuckles deep, testing - before drawing back, and plunging forward again. This ache, slow and purposeful, pressing just enough into her until there's a wet sort of friction that has your hand slick all down your wrist.

It never takes long, with your fingers on her clit, fingers inside her, a palm covering the moans out of her mouth -

She cums just like that.

Whining and broken and bent under you, and with an elbow hard against her ribcage to make the breaths come shallow.

"Stay quiet for me, sweetheart," you find yourself murmuring, as your teeth graze the shell of her ear - the short burst of hair and silky strands across the back of her neck; you're undoing the neat ribbon tied round the length of her hair and letting her waves settle on her shoulder in time for you to swallow down the sound of her sighs, the tension in her lips, and the frantic jolt when your fingers push through the wet, heat of her pussy again, merciless and quick. You have to be careful; she nearly bites your fucking tongue out.

"Can't." Her jaw's tight on it, the slight staccato to her breathing, murmuring and slightly dazed: "if we get caught, someone will see. Someone will notice."

Her next exhale is more shaky. "Anyone could see us like this," with just her toes curling and her stomach tensing on every second beat. Your grip leaves a bruise. "Please-"

"We're not supposed to be doing this at all, are we? If you've got a husband waiting somewhere?"

You hear yourself, and it sounds sorta degenerate, though in all the right ways, you figure, like something straight out of one of Hyewon's romance novels, the dirty, smutty ones that she swears up and down she simply reads for the plot, but the dazed, hazy kind of mood they get her worked up into suggest otherwise.

You trace the rough pad of your thumb over her pussy, this delicate, ghost of a touch. One you'd have to strain to even tell if it was there or not until she whines - eyes screwed shut like she doesn't mean to, just does. The sound of it bouncing around the stairwell.

And then, all this wet: her skirt's ridden all the way up to her stomach, damp and near-transparent with slick, and you can just imagine the puffy pink between her legs - between her stockings in the afterglow of an orgasm, spent and sensitive and sore and wanting for more. Your eyes linger a little too long -

"I shouldn't let you," she manages, half a moan on it - one of her heels comes up the stair you're standing on and the way Hyewon clings onto you for balance says enough, but still, she demands, with all the strength her throat allows: "make it fast. You're lucky I let you see me like this at all -"

And she cuts off abruptly, looking at you.

(She'll play coy for a while longer. Which, Hyewon being Hyewon, will look like as much an effort as her sprawl out on the bed for you is.)

"The room," you say to her, harshly, "where is it."

"Four more floors."

-

Room 1014 as it turns out is like every other room you've ever been in, each one perhaps a little more identical than the last - except this one has Hyewon sitting in your lap while you get comfortable on the bed, and there's also the way she looks in the mirror above the headboard, the desperation in her stare, right back into the reflection.

"What all," she says, "do you want to do to me?"

This time - no explicit instructions - just an implication. You have to figure it out.

See, the image of her is like every fantasy rolled into one, wearing this thin black bra that has her breasts just about spilling over. They're amazing - the color and shape of her skin. Soft. Cradled between the cups like a godsend, and maybe that's why it drives her a little crazy how good you look biting down the ridge of her breast and flicking your eyes back up to catch her expression.

It has you feeling, if nothing else, a little ‘adventurous,’ too.

Her belly tenses on a heavy sigh and it's one hell of a thing to have Hyewon staring you down, like you're an animal or an idiot, with her eyes flashing and a thinly veiled anger in the purse of her lips. There's a thousand things she'd like to do to you - for you to do to her - but it's about the predicament: the silk necktie she'd pulled off you as you both stumbled through the door has ended up around her wrists, pinning her arms behind her back in a way that suggests a loss of control. Just the mere suggestion of a little playacting, but she's almost keening.

You feel the touch of her right calf keep rising - curving down your waist, hooked behind the small of your back - her thighs smooth, and a hot line along your sides.

"I should fuck that pretty mouth of yours," you say against the shell of her ear, because you know better than anyone, the very concept gets her wet. Uncomfortably so.

And she leans her head against your temple like she'd love it. You could be imagining the little whimper as she clenches up round nothing - until a growl escapes the back of her throat and she's saying -

"Is that how you're going to cum? With me on my knees and nothing else? Cover my pretty face? How you’ll completely ruin me?. You’re more creative than that."

“I don’t know that I am.”

Her hips move to find some friction where there isn't any until you give her some, pulling your cock out through your pants and feeling it brush, once, twice against the seam of her. Hot, and hard. Ready. And if she only tried a little, the angle was made perfectly to slot your head in, but neither of you move. She doesn't yield.

"Let me fuck myself on you," she suggests, strained, almost pleading. "Then perhaps I will."

You could take her like she is. Any which way. But this is about getting a particular reaction - one that'll leave her spent and trembling - and nothing like that will happen without a little bit of preparation and prelude. You want to watch her writhe for hours. Until she forgets she's playing a character at all, until she's panting your name and whimpering for release, her cheeks burning.

But at least it gets her writhing on you, the heat and press of her body as she leans in close, your eyes locking:

"Get your cock inside me-" the urgency in her voice. "-fuck me right now, this second-"

"Say it again."

"Fill me with your perfect cock." The words land right on your lips, frayed at the edges as the tether to her control slips another notch. "Push my thighs apart until you break me," Hyewon tells you - and then with her legs twisted up in the comforter, the creaking mattress and the sweat on the sheets: she rolls her hips like they're pleading for it.

"Pushy."

"Gentle's got no appeal for us."

"Apparently not," you reply - but then it's suddenly a lot easier, to slide one hand in Hyewon's hair, and grip at the knotted silk wrapped tight 'round her wrists to hold her. There's no hiding the subtle arching of her spine, how the pressure off her arms pulls her chest in or makes it all the more comfortable, she doesn't let on, she'll probably keep pretending she doesn't like this, that she hasn't always wanted -

You run your tongue over her collarbone and thrust up inside her, once - a warning that you're not giving in to her quite yet.

The smile that runs her lips is brittle. Like her patience isn't what it used to be - she makes a quiet little noise, pained. A flash of discomfort. But there's a moan and a curse out of her:

"Like that. Harder."

"What does harder mean?" you ask, with a deliberate repetition in motion, thrusting upward, forcing her hips to shift a few degrees further back - her knees clenching around the sheets as you're met with no give - Hyewon's resistance through a dark smile, and her grip slackened in her hands, despite you keeping a fist wound tight in the hair on the back of her head, tightening the other around her restraint.

Her throat flinches: this shudder.

She takes a couple heaving, open-mouthed breaths, before she has it in her to glare at you again.

"Harder-" The way her mouth shapes around the word gets the better of you - cute little cupid's bow in pink, full and swollen and pursed up as if in pain. Or desire. Or both, the way her head is tipped back, hair half undone - an idea is already coiling at the back of your mind. "-until I can't stand."

"Or talk?"

And when your hand loosens on her wrists, her posture slumps like it's relief, that you're finally going to move along in a direction she's getting some satisfaction from -

Hyewon shakes her head in a moment that's almost blissed.

"You," her voice breaks on the tail end, "fucking wish you could shut me up that easily -"

In a motion almost gentle, you twist the length of hair down around her, from her scalp to her jaw, and wrap it around a hand. "Let's see if you'll change your mind, shall we."

There's a sharp draw of air in past her lips, just one sound, not a word. No proper rebuttal. She bites down, teeth clicking.

So you pull.

And this isn't some revelation, that Hyewon's cunt is heaven. Slick and tight, the fit around your cock and the gasp escaping the base of her throat - that isn't new. You've been here countless times, fucked her past her breaking point, beyond what should reasonably satisfy her or satisfy you, but that still doesn't take away from this incredible, heady rush that pulses through your entire body. It never stops getting better, not inch-after-fucking-inch the way you're bottoming out inside Hyewon's body and feel how hard the rest of her muscles tense up in the contact, how her pussy tightens and quivers, and grips around the entirety of your cock, the briefest taste of pleasure and release before it's pulled back just out of her reach - overstimulated, until Hyewon cries out.

You expect, predict the fight, the whimpers that spill out of her mouth with every slap of your skin and the breathless way she begs, pleads, like she'd rather her pride take it from her than have your fingers tug her hair up, right out of her scalp, with your arm locked around her lower waist. With your cock pumping faster, faster and a pressure, hot and inescapable, right there - the friction building - the slippery-wet heat sliding along your shaft with every stroke until you bottom out and her next exhale is a sob.

A goddamn fucking sob and the warm gush of liquid down her thighs - all on you. You fingers are pressed into her ass, pulling onto you, steading her bounce - and Hyewon finds her breathing uneven, as you smear wet across the curve of her backside, rubbing circles into her lower back as you catch up on the rhythm she'd lost.

"This tight little cunt, huh," you tease, and she nods so desperately it seems like she might snap. Like she might cry again and this time for real, a drop of her eye color past the blush, streaking down her cheek. You have the wherewithal to remember your character, your blocking, your lines: "this is what your husband won't do? Won't fuck you on every piece of furniture until you're a ruined fucked-out mess? Doesn't have the decency to work over his little slutty-wife until she's passed out, dripping with cum?"

Hyewon's fingers curl up into two balls of white knuckles and she chokes on her reply. "He won't."

"Tell him. He has a hot and dirty little piece of ass right under his own roof-"

"You think," and the string of words trails off when you manage to grind in, at this angle that has her reeling, trembling at every shift and jerk in momentum. Your knuckles drag against her soft and giving curves, almost gripping at her in the attempt to hold her down on you. "-my husband isn't enough."

"Well you wanted me to fuck the domestic housewife out of you," you murmur, taking two greedy handfuls of the ass bouncing in your lap, rubbing your palms along her hips, up and around the shape of her abdomen and her ribcage like you'd map it, memorize it. She wants this, you know this: your palms come around and over and brush your thumbs against her rising gooseflesh - she's putty in your hands. "No strings attached, remember, a one night kind of thing-"

"My husband loves me."

"Then it seems-"

"He makes me cum with his hands alone."

Your jaw works tight - Hyewon's cunt feels as good wrapped around you as she says your cock feels making a mess of it.

"Tells me he'd die happy hearing me moan his name."

"Oh, because no matter where he goes," you say, fingers wrapping under and around the back of her neck, forcing her to look you in the eye, "no matter what, your sweet cunt's the only one his mouth is ever watering for, isn't that right-"

A blink, lashes thick and feathering down and over the pools of her pupils as you have a hold of her tight. 

You're having a hard time with this, and you want to give it to her, the toe-curling-crescendo that would see her cumming at your will, or worse, losing the plot completely and your entire setup falling away from the charade of characters you'd both conjured. But she looks at you like she's never loved anyone like she loves you, the naked, barefaced devotion, the tenderness - a quick breath, a second - and the game is suddenly something far more personal, a truth. It isn't exactly fair: how your heart stutters. How much her heartbeat makes your pulse flutter, the electrifying rush you get when you fuck roughly up into her tight, wet cunt and make her bite down on nothing in the throes another orgasm.

You barely have a second to think of something coherent, let alone an out before she kisses you. If that isn’t totally disarming. So you move her into the next, flipping her onto her stomach, and she does nothing to fight back: Hyewon just lies there - the side of her face plastered to the comforter - exhausted, and gives a willing, malleable moan at the contact where your hand digs into the shape of her upper thighs, spreading them out as her elbows struggle behind her back.

"Here, baby," you say, finally unwinding the silk knot between her wrists, "I'll have you like the little desperate fucktoy you really are."

There's the bite to her bottom lip, the whole five seconds it takes for her hands to spread out and twist her fingers tight in the bedspread, before she whines - full-throated - and rocks back onto her toes to arch her back.

(See, the thing: Hyewon likes being fucked within an inch of her life. On all fours and pleading for more.)

With your free hand, you reach around her to run over her inner thighs.

Hyewon brings her grip to the bottom of the bed frame, for purchase, or leverage, you don't know, and in one simple motion, you slip your cock back deep inside her pussy.

You curse under your breath.

Hyewon fucking collapses.

It's a dangerous combination, having her begging and you nearly fully clothed while she's wearing barely more than this thin strip of black silk around her waist and a stocking on one leg, but you can't help it - she looks good this way.

"Fuck," she spits out, voice lost when your hips find hers in this wet, sloppy crash of skin that gets louder, faster and more punishing on each beat. "Like that, oh my God-"

Her whimpering only gets worse - when you start only pulling out halfway, until she's gasping like she can't breathe. You think there isn't a more wonderful, more obscene, more gorgeous thing than Hyewon spread out in front of you - the curve of her spine defining each and every one of the lines, dips, and rises of her body - and you would thank God or some higher deity right about now.

It’s fuck and please and every other little pliant utterance of “fuck my brains out, use me, make me beg, I'm so turned on right now I'll let you fuck me anyway you want - harder, faster, I can do whatever, just show me how, make me, push and fuck me hard until I'm raw and aching - god - like this, let me cum, please, let me - keep fucking going, oh my god, please, like this, fuck, just like this-"

You do thank God, actually - there's mirrors everywhere in this room, and you can catch the circular swing of her tits every time you force a curse and a sigh out of her: the bared teeth and the effort to push herself back on her arms, bracing for every thrust, fighting and fumbling to keep her balance and to make sure you have to pound her into the mattress until her cries reach a pitch.

Then, the thing you'd learned she'd never ask for but oh-so-dearly-wanted - you open your palm and bring it down hard on her backside. The impact of your flesh to hers, a crack, a moan and her whole body flexes - and it's then you do it again: matching the hit to the visible red outline of your handprint. The third time, she hisses, biting into the bed sheets so as not to cry out.

"Right? This is what you want? To be fucked and used?"

She doesn't reply with words, because she may in fact be biting her teeth into the cotton threadcount at the end of the bed, but she lifts her ass higher, angles her hips like she's waiting for more. Her brow is creased in a smile, even though a frustrated groan escapes her lips - so you give her that again, and again, until the back of her thighs are turning red and she's clawing one hand back along the length of your legs - pushing and pulling.

"You want me to fuck you senseless, sweetheart?"

And then, so needy and desperate she's just saying the first word that come to mind:

"More-"

"-when I've been railing into you so hard and your husband probably knows already, has to have seen, maybe he's listening at the door- oh," and your whole train of thought comes to a sudden halt upon seeing Hyewon's hand land on the perfect round of her ass, fingers pulling her soft, reddening skin taut, up and away from where your cock is disappearing between her cheeks - to allow more of your shaft into her hot, wet cunt - allow you to fuck her and fuck her up - allow the length of your shaft to slide deeper and hit all the spots that will send her reeling into this orgasm and the next.

Your gaze is stuck however, not to her curves rippling in excess, the damage of your thrusts pounding her body to ruin, or the look of flawless pleasure twisting up the pretty features of Hyewon's reflection, but instead it's the fucking flash and catch of the diamond that adorns her fourth finger. Even when you have her completely helpless, bent on your mercy, she's still wearing that promise, that intention to have and to hold, and you think, for at least a second, this whole roleplay thing isn't the worst idea: being a surrogate to fulfill someone's wildest fantasies. It might even be enough to make you hard all over again - the thrill and the debasement of your girl, lines quickly blurring between the Hyewon you'll take home and put back together and the Hyewon you're fucking pouding into a mattress - the here and now.

"Fuck, Hyewon," you find yourself swearing - steadying the hips rolling back in your palms, bending down until the flat of your chest meets her back, until your nose is in her hair, the long strands sticking to her lips and the back of her ears. Until you feel her shaking as you suckle against her skin, at her neck, hot kisses between the shoulder blades, finding a grip in her hands. Her grip in yours - as she's muffling these exquisite, needy sounds; she is perfect. Hyewon is perfect.

The first time you cum, it's this hot splatter of white: smeared across her ass and the crease of her lower back. It feels almost dirty to think that's just how you feel about it; your heart is stuttering in its erratic pace, but your eyes are drawn and enraptured, the sight of it all.

Then second, maybe your favorite: when she slips her hand to your aching shaft and simply takes you back inside her. This soft, wet, inviting heat that pulls you back to her.

"God- please," her head tips back, you feel the arch of her back through her ribs and stomach, the way her breath catches as you slide your cock through her creamed-out-cunt so much harder and smoother. "It feels so fucking good, baby," and there are tears now, welling in the corner of her eyes, "don't stop, God don't ever stop-"

She can barely finish her sentence before she's cut off, a moan ripped from the bottom of her lungs and a gasp straight from the pain-pleasure that has your balls slapping against her pussy every other stroke. And suddenly she's sitting, or rather, squirming into your arms, her face buried in your shoulders as she starts riding you, and not-quite crying and saying again - again, the whole filthy lot of things: about her wanting you to fill her, to plug her up with your cock. Every thrust she whines in your ears, clutching onto the fabric of your shirt and making a mess of herself in you.

It's this wild and reckless thing that makes its way around the room, on every surface and bit of furniture. You fuck her over the counter, let her ride you on the sofa, the chair, the two of you managing to find some sort of assistance in the wall even, the door frame, her legs up your sides and the slippery-sticky-heat of your mouths connecting and everything that isn't exactly meant to support that kind of strain buckling and nearly giving way - once when the wooden joints in the door-frame shift, once when she begs for release in that frantic voice that doesn't sound a thing like her. And the way she comes apart under you after, on top of you - is even sweeter; you imagine there's this endless possibility for love, for pleasure, a whole world in bundled in the notion that you could do it for her again, that it was always a question of Hyewon letting you have her that way, and the rest was mere foreplay - a stretch.

Only, on the bed again, Hyewon shivers beneath you, this full-body response, and you've got her stretched as she opens up - that the slightest of movements has her already whimpering out "fuck," and "please," and "right there," and "fuck you're going to make me come like this. You're so good, just fucking," and "more, harder, please, you feel so fucking good-"

The desperation for release is so palpable in her that it's curling into your stomach as your press Hyewon's knees into the points and edges of her shoulders and fold in her half - this perfect angle of leverage. Fucking her like she's yours and no one else's - the absolute delight of her cunt, wet, hot, and desperate to milk you empty - her body quaking at the force of each thrust, and the hungry grind of your hips into hers. Her fingers digging and knotting in the sheets around you until her knuckles pale, and your own grasp on her skin threatens to bruise.

"Inside me," she gasps out, because she can feel that edge just as well as you, "I want you to fill me, just cum inside, God, you always feel so amazing, fuck, like that, cum inside me, cum in me-"

"How could I say no, especially when you ask so sweetly," you tell her, kissing into her smile, "can you take another? Baby, look at me, look into my eyes, yeah? Look right back at me."

Her eyes blink and roll back a bit, almost losing focus and her eyelashes flutter - the creases in her brow, the elegant lines of her face locking up in the overwhelming tension, then, a peak.

And a demand, meekly asking you to fill her up. Until there's nothing left. "Cum," Hyewon moans, "for the love of fuck-"

You push her past her climax until she's practically weeping, sobbing through a litany of nonsense and slurred, unfinished sentences and almost howls, struggling beneath your weight and coaxing her fingers over the surge at the base of your spine. Before a hot liquid mess bursts out of you, into the deepest reach of Hyewon's throbbing cunt - cumming inside her, while you hold her down, not allowing her to move as your hips lock and you're both left groaning in utter agony.

(This was the thing you'd told her once - cumming inside her was almost always worth the effort it took to clean it all back out. You like the possessive aspect of it, maybe the slight humiliation, and more than anything, she'll just melt: once she's gone past the immediate discomfort. If anyone could really learn to get off on feeling a little filthy, it's the two of you. And she knows that too, Hyewon's eager little pout intimates, as she blinks down to watch where the two of you connect.)

You don't say much for the next while. If there's a line where this particular escapade blends back into your normal life, where the Hyewon curled up in the sheets is your own girl and not some half-conceived entity that didn't fit the reality of the rest of the evening, or how you see Hyewon everyday, even then, it’s not clear.

She's utterly boneless - this fragile, dazed thing that runs her palms all the way around her breasts and pulls up her stockings a little further up the line of her hips, as if you weren't going to peel them back and slip them all the way off when you had the wherewithal to handle it. But the strength in her isn't entirely lost either, she looks ready to burst: this air of pride and smugness - victory, right in her grin, which isn't totally surprising. Hyewon usually gets an odd satisfaction out of your participation in whatever hedonistic or obscene thing it is she wants to try.

This was her fantasy - maybe not a deeply rooted or unattainable one, but she'd worked out some kinks of hers and has walked away a far better woman for it, knowing what a sight she is to you. Like this.

"That was... fun," Hyewon eventually says, collecting articles of clothing strewn about the room.

Her shoes are one of two sets in the shoe-rack, but she'll have to look around and under the bed to find her dress. It would probably be some strange level of easy to play dumb and wait until she comes to the conclusion on her own that she should bend down and check down there, but she looks a little too worn out to really be interested in her clothes, more like, ready for the next part.

"We should do it again," her gaze lands, intent, and serious, back to you.

"Which part?" you have to ask, because you're probably still, a little slow on the uptake.

A small laugh, the sly smirk to herself; she knows she has you wrapped so perfectly around her finger, ready to bend to whatever game she can come up with: "whichever part you like."

#hyewon smut #izone smut #izone hyewon smut #kpop smut #male reader #capslocked kinkvember

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA if I start giving some very *very* Christian family members religious pamphlets from non-Christian religions as gifts?

To be clear, I am writing this while firmly believing I'm NTA but I am angry and don't trust my own judgment too much right now.

Background and Players: My Son (19) was adopted out as a baby by his incubator behind (my husband, 40) his father's back. He was abandoned at 4 by his adopted family because of behavioral issues related to what his incubator was putting into her body while she was pregnant with him, and went into foster care with people I will call Amom and Adad. Adad is a pastor in his 90s and Amom is a pastor's wife in her 80s. When Son was 13 and I had been with Husband for 5ish years, we had been told (by someone from his incubator's family but we didn't know that at the time) he was non-verbal and "mentally an infant" and that trying to pull him out of the routine he had would just be incredibly harmful to him, so we had given up hope of finding him and having a relationship with him. We got a phone call one day, a worker who was looking for a medical history for Son. Husband spent close to 3 hours on the phone with her, answering questions and asking anything he could squeeze in. Turns out, we had been lied to about his mental health just... completely. He's impossible to shut up and he graduated high school last year despite, you know, *gestures vaguely at everything* and I am incredibly proud of him. Half an hour after that call ended, she called back and told us Son might be interested in meeting us, was it okay for her to pass on our contact info. A month later, Son, Amom, Adad, Husband and I were sitting in a restaurant together and a month after that we went to their place for a week to spend Christmas with them. This is when they informed us that they had finalized his legal adoption a couple of weeks earlier. 2 years after that, my QPP moved in with us, and another year later 16 year old Son asked if he could move in with us. He still does.

The Issue: Son wants a continuing relationship with Amom and Adad, but due to the previously mentioned substances used by his incubator, he has memory and time management issues so I have to regularly remind him to contact them. I have no problem doing this, but the contact we have had with them over the last few years has soured me on their company. I've got no problem reminding Son to contact them and organizing rides for him to visit (usually QPP and I driving him, the trip is a couple of hours each way) but I'd rather never speak to them myself if it can be avoided. It didn't start out this way, but over the years they have made it very clear that they don't respect anyone else's beliefs. Not just us, like there was one night where they were going off about some Danish surgeon saying publicly that he was Muslim first, Danish second, and they were trying to convince us to be terrified by that. The conversation ended awkwardly when Husband asked if Adad was Nationality or Christian first (because that's different you see). We have found books on the bookshelves in the guest room about how any kind of queerness at all is demonic possession, one of which they wrote. They talk about things like being sent on a mission by their god to save as many (and I hate that these are quotes) "brown heathen children" by making them Christians as possible (Son and his adopted siblings are all First Nations, Amom and Adad are as white as I am), or how Jewish people are evil for stopping Christians from claiming their suffering because "Jesus was a Jew so aren't all Christians also Jews?". Amom once spent a week trying to convince me to go to church with her and share the details of my childhood sexual abuse with the entire congregation because "it will show God you are ready to be forgiven". QPP is a shintoist and after they found that out, we started seeing more literature about the Japanese, specifically during WWII, around their house when we visited.

We have politely made it clear that we are not interested in Christianity, especially not their version. Multiple times. We thought it was finally over after Son had a meltdown at them at his graduation ceremony because he wanted JUST ONE conversation with them that wasn't about Jesus. He was in tears trying to explain that to them, and their response was to tell him he needed to come back to church so they could lay on hands and chase all the demons making him say these horrible disrespectful things to them out of him. He was supposed to stay with them for a few days to visit after that, but by the time I tracked him down and got him calm, he didn't want to go anymore. They seemed to stop after that, like they actually backed off and I think I got maybe 2 emails that didn't mention God or Jesus, not even a "God bless" in the sign off. We were optimistic. Son was late organizing it but we dropped him off (at his request, he's worried that Adad won't make it to next Christmas and wanted to see him) at their place on Boxing Day. We did not hang around, we did not send gifts, we didn't even reply to the Family Christmas Email (it had a video of a Jordan B Peterson rant embedded in it and I've told them before that we are not interested in anything that sack of hateful arrogance has to say please stop putting him in my inbox). We have done everything we can to make it clear that we do not want a relationship with them for ourselves, including outright directly telling them politely to their faces that we will not stop Son from seeing them but we don't feel comfortable around them and don't want a relationship with them for ourselves. Son came back with "gifts" from them - a study guide for a specific Bible book (I got John, Husband got Michael, QPP set his on fire before we saw who it was) and a bag of candy that looked like it came out of a thrift store (I got the same one they always get me, which I laughed off the first and second and third time and explained I couldn't stand them because my abuser used to give me one when he was done. Husband is diabetic and got York Patties. QPP actually got something decent though, $20 for gas).

I have managed to keep my "I'd rather you hadn't bothered actually" rantingvto Tumblr, which i don't think they even know exists, but I'm still pissed about the Bible crap as "gifts". I am considering changing tactics completely and being super friendly, mirroring their energy, and giving them the same treatment they've given us. I want to make excuses to visit so I can explain the finer points of shintoism and Celtic paganism in every single conversation. I want to give them books for gifts, books like The Tao of Pooh and The Gospel of The Flying Spaghetti Monster. I want to wrap cash in pamphlets about The Invisible Pink Unicorn and leave it on their fridge.

QPP and husband think I should give myself more time to calm down and just keep ignoring it and playing nice when I'm forced to play at all but like, IT'S BEEN 6 YEARS.

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

[hellfirecvnt]

It's Personal

Billy Hargrove x Fem!Reader

TW: Violence against Y/N (not via Billy), farfetched for the plot, Billy is mean, angst, possible cringe idk. We're all friends here. THE VIOLENCE IS DESCRIBED IN DETAIL FOR THE MOST PART. A little bit non-canon Billy, but if you're reading his dialogue as sassily and as dry as I'm writing it, it's not quite as jarring to his personality.

Notes: I literally just learned about the "Who did this to you?" Trope and now I'm giving it an angsty go. This is not smut, womp, womp. Also, I did the gifs like a picture book so you can kinda see the expression or energy I was going for. Summary: Billy's been an ongoing bully/ nuisance in your life since you met. He's acting a little different after finding out you've been hurt.

"Can you try not to take up half the lecture dick-riding the professor?" Billy catches you as you're making your way across campus. He's always been an issue for you, ever since he moved here your junior year in high school. Now you're both freshmen in college. He'd taken a year off to pursue other outlets, but sometimes you're convinced he did it just to be able to torment you in college, seeing as he was always a grade above.

"What are you talking about, Billy?" You ask with an exasperated sigh. Already too exhausted from studying late the night before to deal with his endless harassment.

"I'm saying every time we have this course, you ask a million fucking questions the whole time," his voice is low, but filled with a palpable hate. Why does he dislike you so much? You've never known. You've never asked. "Try to save your desperation for after class, cool? It's hard to watch," He jabs, speed-walking ahead of you.

Most days, you'd say something back. A quip just as hateful, if not worse. You were his rival in every sense of the word. The two of you even shared the same genre of fashion sense. You stole his spotlight, and he doesn't like it, so he notices when your venom is running low. You're silent the entire lecture, not because of what Billy said to you, but because you're tired.

Your study session only ran so late because you and your boyfriend spent most of the day arguing. The gaslighting is constant, and his moods have become more and more unstable and harder to navigate. You tell yourself over and over that you love him. You've loved him since you were young. He's your high school sweetheart. Andy was on the basketball team in high school and while that type usually didn't take to a hair-metal gal like you, he seemed so smitten when you met.

The room is dismissed and you try to file out long before Billy can make it to the door. He laughs at your desperate attempt to get away. Like a cockroach scurrying away from a suddenly illuminated bulb. You're not fast enough and as he passes you before you reach the exit to the building, he leans over and taunts you in your ear.

"It's about time you listened," he hisses and walks away laughing. You're indifferent. Nothing he says could hurt the way Andy's words do. You tune everything out to make room for your insecure thoughts to take over. You blame yourself for Andy's rapid change in personality. What could you have done to make him feel like this toward you? Your mind is far too occupied by these untrue concerns, that you barely feel the anxiety settle in until you get back to your dorm. It was a bit more pricey on your tuition, but your scholarship allowed you to have a dorm room for yourself. Instead of another bed, it has a small "living room" area.

With a deep, grounding sigh, you reach for the door handle and step inside. Things are fine. Andy greets you with a smile and kisses you sweetly as you set your things down by the door. You're pleasantly surprised, allowing all the toxic thoughts circling your mind to melt away under his gentle touch.

"How was class?" He asks.

"It was fine. Nothing spectacular," you giggle, smiling warmly, overtly relieved that he's not still upset with you. You can barely recall what he was angry about, to begin with. You snuggle into him as you both relax on the couch. He stares straight ahead as he opens his mouth to speak.

"One of my buddies said he saw you talking to that Steve guy," Andy's voice becomes colder, and you realize it was all a trap. You're wrapped in his arms, feeling his body go rigid as you hesitate to answer. "Y/N." He finally looks down at you, meeting your anxious gaze.

"Oh, uh," your throat goes dry. "I did talk to him. He was a little late and just needed the notes from the first section. I charged him five bucks." You begin to ramble, hoping to defuse the situation before he explodes. "He's still going steady with that Debra girl, too. She's in my journalism class. I bet those cookie-cutter losers end up married, honestly."

"You know I don't like you talking to other guys without me." Andy clenches his jaw.

"I know! I completely understand, too. You know I love how possessive you are, babe. It's hot," you're desperate and hopeful that stroking his ego will put this anger to bed. "There were so many people around, so I was thinking nothing could happen." You furrow your brow at your own words. "Your friend was even there to make sure!"

Andy's grip around you tightens, nearly cutting off your ability to fill your lungs just using one arm.

"I don't ask you for a lot, Y/N." His free hand reaches up to your face, gripping your jaw and forcing you to look into his eyes, though you weren't looking away to begin with. "Don't make me look like a fool." When he loosens his grip, your lungs inflate with a loud gasp and his shift in position slides you off the couch, into the floor with a small thud. Now you're angry. The two of you have screamed at each other plenty of times, but how dare he act so bold?

"Andy," you stand, hovering over him where he remains on the couch. His arched brows frame his bright eyes with anger. "Get out." He smirks, and it fills you with unease. Standing from the couch, he takes one step forward, nearly chest to chest with you, if it weren't for the dramatic height difference. He towers over you, stealing the feeling of power you thought you were cultivating.

"What'd you just say to me?" He asks with a sociopathic smile.

"I said," You swallow hard. "Get. The fuck. Out." You barely get a chance to speak the last word of your sentence before a fast, hard open hand meets your cheek, knocking you to the ground, and almost sending you across the room, it felt like.

"Do not ever talk to me like that just because you got caught," Andy's words are full of anger. You stare at him with wide eyes, arching your brow in an expression that asks him who the fuck he thinks he is. He storms out of the dorm, but you know he'll be back. And after these events, you're scared to try and stop him. His college teammates are at every corner, it seems. It's as if ever since Jason went out of state for college, they all bend to Andy's will. Losers. Andy doesn't come home until after you've fallen asleep. You stayed up as late as your body could take, but he wasn't back in bed until 5 AM. You have no idea where he's been.

The next day, it's your misfortune that you and Billy share yet another class. This one was early in the morning rather than yesterday's afternoon lecture. You're running on very little sleep, and the trauma of Andy snapping and putting his hands on you. It's just something you could never even fathom. The way he would kiss the ground you walked on when you first met, how could he? You're more than distracted, staring directly at the floor as you walk until you run flat into someone else in the hall.

"I stood here, completely still, to see if you'd notice. I guess other people don't exist to you, huh, princess?" He mocks you. It's not long before he notices the dark bags under your lifeless eyes and the speckles of red that have risen in the hazy shape on the side of your face. Assuming it's an allergic reaction like you had back in high school, he didn't hold back. "Jesus Christ, Y/N. You look like shit."

"Still look better than you could pull, pussy," you sneer, shoving past him. "Don't fucking make me late." He steps in front of you again, knowing neither of you is late because he's on the same schedule.

"What happened to your face? It looks like your boyfriend had to tell you twice," he bursts out laughing at his distasteful joke. You can feel your blood begin to boil. You no longer wish to exchange hateful comments. Now you want to hurt him. You want to hurt Billy the way Andy hurts you. You can't swing on him, so you take your next best shot.

"Yeah? How many times did your mom have to tell you before she just gave up and left?" You boldly stare Billy in the eyes, hoping so badly that none of Andy's henchmen see the two of you going at it. Billy's jaw is rigid, and you can see it tighten as he grinds his teeth, subduing his emotions. You've never come at him like that, it wasn't expected. His taunting smirk is long gone.

"Are you trying to get your fucking ass kicked, Y/L/N?" Billy's disgusted with himself the minute he says it. Of course, he doesn't mean that. He'll drive you into an early grave, but it's never been in his moral compass to hurt a woman the way his father hurt his mom. He wants to rescind the rhetorical threat, but his ego just clamps his lips shut. Your eye twitches as you wonder what else you've got to lose. Or would Andy hit you again for letting another man kick your ass? Your thoughts are exaggerated and full to the brim with frustration. You finally explode.

"Fucking do it then, Billy! Swing! Hit me, motherfucker!" You drop your belongings and stomp toward him and he's unsure how to react now that you've called him on his bluff/ intrusive thought.

"Calm the fuck down. You look ridiculous," Billy takes a cautious step back.

"No, let's go outside. Let's see how hard you can hit someone half your fucking height, pussy!" You're nearly causing a scene, but the building is empty for the hour. Tears well in your eyes and you refuse to let up, demanding he act on his "big, scary" threat. He won't. He stares at your watery, red eyes. Your face is flushed and only your cheeks, nose, and around your eyes hold any pigment. He essentially waits until you tire yourself out.

"You've gotta do something about that shit, Y/N. You're fucking losing it," he shakes his head.

"I'm not losing any-fucking-thing, Hargrove. Don't ever mistake me for a bitch you can scare off with an empty fucking threat," you spit, grabbing your things and taking off, leaving Billy standing confused in the empty hallway.

"What the fuck was that?" He questions aloud. He has no idea you've been drained with no way to recharge. You've been hurt with no way to heal. To him, you're losing your goddamn mind. After that, he's not even angry at your comment anymore. He's just, concerned? Maybe just curious, really. After all, he's supposed to be your burden. Anything else takes the attention off of him.

The class is long and just like yesterday, you're quiet when you usually never stop engaging. Even the professor notices, and she asks you to linger behind after the lecture is over.

"Hey, Y/N. What's up? You were so quiet today," the professor's soft voice is sweet to your ears.

"I've just been, um, tired." You shake your head, barely convincing yourself.

"Is that a bruise on your cheek, honey?" The kind, older woman asks with two hands resting on her coffee mug. Just outside the open door, Billy waits for you to pass by before he realizes you're staying behind. He scoots as close to the door as he can, flat along the wall, listening.

"A bruise," he whispers to himself, recalling what he thought was a rash. His stomach almost attempts to simulate the feeling of guilt as he remembers the joke he made at you. The one that set you off.

"Oh, no. It's a reaction. New laundry detergent fucked me up," you stop yourself. "Messed me up, sorry."

"Y/N, you're an adult. I can't make you do anything you don't want to do, but it's very clearly not hives," the professor sighs, her eyes full of concern as she stares at the ever-developing bruise as it slowly takes the shape of a hand. "Is it another student at the University?"

"Ma'am, with all due respect, I'm dealing with a lot right now. I will see you on Wednesday. Goodbye." You snatch your things up and zip toward the door, holding your breath. The wind from your speed walking blows your hair back, giving Billy a perfect view of the hand-shaped bruise yellowing on the side of your face. You're too determined to get out of there to react to his eavesdropping, so the two of you just share a look, and you keep going.

Billy furrows his brow. He's unsure you even have a boyfriend, so who exactly is leaving bruises like that right, front and center on your face? After his last course of the day, Billy congregates with his friends at a nearby frat house belonging to a different college.

"Hey, Tommy," Billy calls his friend's attention. Tommy pulls himself away from the group of guys he was laughing with and sits across from Billy. "You know that Y/N girl? Lots of denim, nice ass?" It's not until the last two descriptors that Tommy recalls who you are. Figures.

"Yeah, what about her?"

"What's her deal? She dating anybody?" Billy asks, innocently enough.

"I don't know, man. Why do you always ask me about shit like that?" Tommy laughs.

"Because you gossip like a woman," Billy smirks, standing from his slouched position on the couch and grabbing a beer from the large, ice-filled cooler in the kitchen. "She's some annoying broad in a couple of classes with me. I thought I'd ask around and see if there's a reason she never shuts her goddamn mouth." Both of them laugh at his hateful remark, but it's true to him. You get on his nerves, but it's less what you say, and more so the fact that you do "him" better than him. The men drink irresponsibly and cause a ruckus until late, late at night where they then wander back to their campus/ dorms on foot.

You wake up in the morning finally feeling well-rested for the first time in a while, despite the sudden changes in your relationship. You look over to see Andy's side of the bed is empty. You assume he slept over at the frat house after getting too fucked up. You know he likes to party.

Sitting comfortably on your couch, watching an episode of your favorite show, though it's a rerun, you involuntarily flinch when you hear the door open. Andy slightly stumbles through, laughing with messy hair. His clothes seem disheveled, but you chalk it up to drunken hijinks.

"Hey, babe! Did you have fun?" You ask, smiling, beaming, really. Hoping the sound of his laughter is a sign he's in a good mood this morning.

"Huh?" He looks over at you as if he didn't notice your existence until you spoke.

"I was just asking if you had a good time. Sorry I couldn't go with you, I was just too tired," you laugh.

"Oh, no. It's cool. I like it when it's just me and the guys, actually." His confession makes you a little sad, but you try to understand.

"Got any plans for today?" You grin, letting your guard down.

"For the love of God, dude. Can I get in the door first?" He snaps.

"Okay... Sorry," you quieted yourself down at first, but then quickly realized that's not who your daddy raised. You're getting ready to confront him again despite the smack until you notice something that makes your stomach drop, a small trail of three faint hickeys along your long-term boyfriend's neck. "Babe. Where did those come from?"

"What are you talking about?" He groans, throwing himself on the couch next to you, gripping your thigh possessively.

"I'm talking about the hickeys on your neck, Andy. Where did they come from?" Your voice is low and shaky. "Just you and the guys, huh?"

"Don't start with this shit again, Y/N. I'm too hungover." He dismisses you entirely, and all the rage you'd been holding back to be the "cool girlfriend" comes pouring out.

"You knocked me to the floor for looking at Steve Harrington! You put your hands on me for some made-up story you formulated in your own head and now you're coming home with hickyes?!" The longer you scold him, the darker his expression becomes.

"I'm giving you one fucking chance to get on your fucking knees right now and apologize," Andy's unsettlingly calm. You're frozen. Too scared to be openly defiant, but too angry to fold at his command. "One... Two..." He stands, softly placing a hand on your cheek and sliding it up into your hair, gracefully scraping the tips of his fingers behind your ear. It's so soft and soothing, that the sensation causes goosebumps to rise on your skin. Your eyes flutter shut and just as they're about to open again, he closes his fist around a large portion of your hair and forces you to the ground.

"Andy!" You scream, both terrified and in pain.

"I'm so sick of this, Y/N. I'm sick of you," he growls through gritted teeth, holding you painfully at his side like a heeling dog.

"God damn it, stop! It's fucking over! Fuck whoever you want!" You cry, shifting your position against him in hopes of loosening the pull against your scalp.

"And let you whore yourself out to every other guy on campus? Fuck off. You're mine." He finally releases your hair, tossing you forward in front of him. He kneels down to get closer to your face, speaking lowly. "I heard Hargrove's been asking about you. Think you're safe with your playboy side-piece?"

"He's not my side-piece! Please, Andy. Why are you being like this?" You hold a hand up to defend yourself.

"You think I don't see you two whispering to each other? You think you're smart enough to hide anything from me?" Andy's voice is slowly rising in volume. You worry the other students will hear the commotion. You don't want to lose your solo dorm rights seeing as men aren't supposed to "live" with women in the dorms.

"He's a dick, dude! I fucking hate the guy, please stop!" Your makeup is trailing down your face as you continue to cry for mercy. He shakes his head at the scene.

"I tried warning you. I tried getting my point across to you, but you won't hear me," he sighs as he snatches your hair back into his fist in one, quick, snake-like action. You wail at the aching tug, squeezing your eyes shut from the pain. Just as you go to open them, you see his hand flying toward you. It starts with open-handed smacks, knocking the wind out of you from how bad they hurt, but he progresses until he's landing blow after blow, all over you. Anywhere he can reach as you try to block him.

Eventually, you're badly roughed up, and Andy stands to look at what he's done. The remaining alcohol seems to clear from his system as the reality of his actions sets in.

"Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck," he mumbles, tearing his shirt off as it's stained with your blood. He shoves it deep into the trashcan and disappears to wash the evidence of the horrors against you off of his hands. He returns to where you lie in the living room. He's wearing a fresh shirt and his breath heaves as he stares at your seemingly unconscious body. You're awake though, barely. Holding your breath as long as possible, only allowing the shallowest of breaths, basking in the stillness after the abhorrent beating.

Andy bolts out the door and after a few moments of silence, loud sobs of relief and pain emit from your sore chest. You roll over into a ball, holding yourself close as you process everything. You mourn who you were before the person you trusted most betrayed you. You mourn your relationship, regardless of the last few days. You mourn your own face as you imagine the recovery process will be long and draining. You lie there for a while until night falls.

Once it's dark out, you sneak to the old gym building to use the showers there, hoping to avoid running into anyone and having to answer any questions about your battered appearance. No one uses the old gym because it's full of spiders and has a terrible draft, but it's still open to the students 24/7. It's your run-of-the-mill college basketball court with a weight room and showers.

You get inside the building and listen to the silence of the empty halls. Peace. You're numb now. You've cried all you can, and the pain has become a dull hum. Now you just want to shower and try to find yourself beneath all the blood. You scale the walls of the dark hallway, searching for a light switch. You nearly jump out of your skin when you feel what you can only imagine is human flesh.

"Oh fuck!" You and the mystery person exclaim in unison, startled by each other's presence. Still on edge, you duck down, covering your face. The light flips on and you recognize the sweaty figure who stands before you. Billy. He comes to this gym for privacy in the weight room and always has. Not as confident as his demeanor would lead you to believe.

"Had to be you, didn't it?" He rolls his eyes. "Did you come here to- Oh fuck, Y/N." His uncreative insult is cut short when you lower your arms, revealing the massacre of swollen features and bloody skin that used to be your face. His mouth hangs open for a moment. "What happened to you?"

"Oh, shut the fuck up. Like you fucking care, Hargrove. Get out of my way," you're angry, and it feels like you'll be angry forever.

"Hey," he stops you from walking past him by stepping in your path. "I said what happened?" His voice sounds different. Like you've never heard before. Uncharacteristically concerned, but don't let that fool you. It's still not a lot of concern and it's quite monotoned. His eyes search yours for any kind of answer and it's the least arched his brow has ever been. He's being so... Quiet. You're silent too, stunned by his behavior.

"Thought you were gonna kick my ass too, Billy. You scared now?" Your remark is meant to be a bold taunt, but your voice cracks as you fight for your life to hold back tears.

"Y/N, I'm serious. Who did this to you?" He asks sternly, losing patience by the minute. You still can't seem to trust him enough to open up, so you look down at the ground in silence. "Fuck it. Come on." Billy's long legs float him swiftly down the hall and you hesitate to follow, ultimately deciding all these years arguing with Billy have at least felt better than the last three days with Andy. He leads you to the empty men's locker room where he retrieves an old first-aid kit and a bottle of water from the coach's office, then he makes his way to a locker and retrieves a clean shirt. It's soft and worn in and has the name of your university written across the front.

"Thanks," you mumble, taking the box and other supplies from him. You douse the shirt in water and begin to try to wipe your face clean. There's no mirror, so you can't quite tell what you're doing, causing you to scrape over your open wounds and flinch.

"Just fucking," Billy snatches the damp shirt from you. "Let me do it." He's careful and thorough as he gently works the soft, wet fabric across the new and old blood covering your identity. You can't help but stare at his eyes as they focus so intently on each section of your face that he wipes clean. Just as he's finishing up, his eyes meet yours for a moment. It's a short, little second, but it felt so drawn out. Billy breaks the eye contact when he sets the shirt to the side.

"That should be okay, for now." He reaches for the kit in your hands.

"I can do it, Billy," you remind him, yanking the box away, rejecting any more gentle touch. It doesn't feel like you deserve it right now.

"Let me help," he demands softly, popping the little tin box open and rummaging around for bandaids and antibiotic ointment. He patches you up and while he's working, you're watching his intense face. His brows are arched and his lips every so slightly pursed. You can't clock what emotion he's feeling. Obviously, he's expressing some sort of sympathy, but he hates you. He always has. So maybe he's just having a human moment.

"What's the matter with you, man? Are you fucking with me?" Your guard begins to rise again. You don't trust your own intuition anymore. You tighten your grip around a plastic pair of scissors from the first-aid kit. Billy notices and releases a laughing sigh.

"No, I'm not fucking with you." He places one final bandage. "You're insufferable as fuck, but I don't think you had this coming." He looks you up and down. That's as close as Billy can get to "comforting" anyone. "Don't stab me with those." He points to your hand and you blush, a little embarrassed by your overly-cautious behavior.

"Why do you hate me, Billy?" You ask, point blank as you release the scissors, catching him off guard.

"Because you're the worst. You're loud, you're egotistical, you're an ugly crier," he chuckles, all too quickly, being put on the spot.

"You're just describing yourself," you knit your brows, quickly wiping the tears from your eyes after his ugly cry comment. "I'm serious. You'd think we'd have so much in common. You hated me the second we met. Why?"

"I don't hate you, Y/N. I'm putting bandaids on your split fucking eyebrow. You're just fun to get a rise out of." Billy closes the kit and tosses it aside with the bloody shirt. It's not news to him that he torments you because of a mix of annoyance and attraction, but you have no idea. What started as his catty attempts to pick you up turned into an all-out rivalry when you were the first girl to tell him to shut the fuck up instead of batting your eyelashes at him. To you, he's just a mean dude. But right now, it's like he's someone else entirely. When he's acting like this, you're finally able to see what makes him so irresistible to every girl on campus. Your rivalry kept you blind to it, but now, you can see his brilliant teeth in his wide, warm smile. You can see his sunflower eyes, framed by long, thick, dark lashes. His jawline, his shoulders, everything about him seems so beautiful to you now.

"Thank you, Billy," you smile weakly. He scans your swollen features and something in him awakens. A possessiveness. Rage ensues. Every opinion of you he's ever had melts away except for his attraction to you. Your voice, your mannerisms, everything he's ever absolutely torn you to shreds for, suddenly he admits to himself that it never bothered him. In his eyes, you're his, even if you're just a target for his teasing, a bit of banter around the school, you're still his.

"You never said who did it," Billy chews his inner lip, trying to keep calm until he gets the information he needs from you.

"It doesn't matter-"

"It matters. Who was it?" His voice is stern and sharp. He's still knelt close to you even though he's done tending to your wounds.

"It just... Happened so fast..." You flinch as you recall opening your eyes to his incoming hand.

"Start from the beginning," the sternness in his voice softens. You give him the full run down. Billy's face remains stone, motionless, but his eyes twitch and flutter with each gruesome new detail dragging him further down to the point of no return.

"We've been together so long. I never thought..." You hold your hands up in confusion, dropping them hopelessly in your lap.

"A name. Now." Billy stares deep into your eyes as he makes his demands. You can almost feel a heat coming off his gaze as it bores into you. It's clear he will not relent until he gets the answer he's asking for.

"His name is Andy." That's all Billy needs before he's standing up and exiting the locker room without another word. "Billy?" You call after him, still sitting on the bench. You finally stand to follow when you don't hear a response from him. "Why do you care?" This stops him in his tracks. He turns around for a second as if he's going to explain, but he never does. He tilts his head with a small shrug and disappears. "Wait!" You call, but the exit door is already closing behind him and he stalks off into the dimly lit campus. He sparks up a cigarette on the way, exhaling a large cloud behind him. Andy better have life insurance.

Billy ponders your question as he makes his way across the courtyard. Regardless of any flirtatious feelings he has for you, this comes down to wishing he could've defended his mother in this same way. He was too small then, he's not now, and Andy's about to face the full extent of that rage extending all the way back to his childhood. For now, it's personal.

You take the time alone to have a quick shower to wash away the blood in your hair and hopefully make yourself feel a little better. You're careful not to get your face wet and ruin Billy's careful doctoring. Once your shower is finished, you grab your bag and head back to your dorm. It's still dark, so you keep close to the dim, yellow street lamps that lead to the student housing. There's a dull hum that vibrates from each light post, it's all you can hear, all you can focus on to make yourself stop thinking about Billy.

Back at your place, you lock the door as many times as possible before shakily taking a seat on the small couch. You flip the TV on, just to have something to fill the silence. Every time someone passes by your door, your heart rate leaps and you lose control of your breathing. After the third or fourth time it happens, you seem to desensitize. Billy's new demeanor he has toward you is all you can think about. The softness of his words, his touch. You didn't think he was capable of it. You curl up, pulling your legs to your chest as you snuggle into the plush cushions, nearly dozing off, trying to remember the way his shirt smelled when he was using it to clean you up.

Billy's hell-bent on getting his hands on Andy, tonight. Crossing the lot, he reaches his car and slides inside. His face is blank as he stares ahead, with only one objective in mind. He follows the sound of blaring house music to a nearby frat house and angrily tears the door open. Wasting no time, he walks right up to the first person he sees.

"Where's Andy?" He asks, yelling over the music. The first few people have no idea who he's looking for until he comes to Tommy. "Where's Andy?"

"Andy from Econ? He's upstairs. Dude's super stressed about something and took a bottle up there. Finals, man." Tommy laughs, but Billy's already walking away before he's even finished his sentence. The entire party becomes muffled beats in his ears as he climbs the stairs in pursuit of the man who made you look like a bad Halloween decoration.

First door, nothing. Second door, nothing. Third door, Billy slings it open and a stressed out, curly-haired brunette man jumps out of his skin.

"Fuck, dude! You fucking scared me!" He exclaims.

"You Andy?" Billy asks, already breathless with anticipation.

"I- yeah? Why?" Billy answers his question by crossing the room in the blink of an eye and scooping him up by his shirt. He slams Andy against the wall, eyes wide with unbound rage. "What the fuck are you doing, man?!" The commotion can't be heard over the party below. It's just the two of them.

"You know how much of a pussy you gotta be to beat up on someone half your height?" Billy strains through gritted teeth. This is a thin reference to what you said to him when he let his emotions cloud his judgment and threatened to kick your ass.

"Wait... Y/N? She's alive? Jesus Christ..." Andy's eyes nearly roll back with relief and Billy looks at him disgusted.

"What? You thought you beat her to death? Then, you just left her there and went to a party?" Billy raises his eyebrows, almost seeming to smile. "That's fucked up, man." He slams Andy against the wall again, harder, to accentuate his point.

"Come on, dude. Whatever she told you-"

"I'm not here to talk about her." Billy silences your cruel, long-time partner. "Right now, we're not gonna talk at all."

"Dude-" Billy tosses the guy to the floor, cutting off his futile begs.

"I think right now, I'm gonna beat the living shit out of you," Billy kneels at Andy's side. "And then I'm gonna go fuck your girlfriend."

Billy lands punch after punch, unintentionally mirroring the way Andy laid into you. The only difference is that Billy's got a lot more size, muscle, and strength training than Andy. He lays into him, pummeling in any way he can figure out to mimic all the bruises and blood he could see on you. Billy grips Andy's shirt by the shoulders and forcefully pulls him to his feet just to uppercut him in the stomach, over and over. Blood and saliva fly from Andy's mouth as Billy hooks his fist up against his stomach.

When he's finally done, Andy's no more than a gargling mess on the floor. Properly bloodied just like he left you. Once again, Billy kneels down to Andy, establishing dominance and reminding him who he's fucking with now.

"If you come near her again," Billy inhales and exhales a shuddering breath as adrenaline continues to surge through him. "I will hurt you. I will hurt your family. There is no hiding, I will fucking kill you." His threat is no more than a low whisper before he stands and leaves Andy to wallow in his filth.

Billy's drive back is short and sweet, but he doesn't trust Andy or his entourage of prissy jock boys, so he rolls his eyes and pulls into the lot in front of the women's dorms, and makes his way to yours. He's always known which one you stay in, though finding out was an accident while he was being snuck in by one of his one-night-stands. It was common practice, hence why Andy pretty much lived with you since he had a shared dorm on the men's side.

He raises his hand to bang on the door, but hesitates, knocking softly and even calling your name through the door so you'd know it was him.

"Y/N, it's Billy." You smile with relief, still steadying your anxiety from his initial knock.

"Billy? How did you know which dorm was mine?" You question as you pull the door open.

"I knocked on every single one. And asked for you by name. At 11 PM." He looks at you, straight-faced, annoyed that you think so little of him.

"Are you fucking serious? They'll crucify me," you sigh, unsure if you can even feel any more stress at this point.

"I'm fucking with you. I know where your dorm is because I pay attention."

"And here I thought I was so annoying," you chuckle. There's a short silence between you, something unheard of for you two. "Do you, um, wanna come in?" You step to the side, inviting him in. Nervous, but not sure why. He's never had that effect on you before.

"No, you're coming with me."

"I am?" You raise an eyebrow.

"Yeah. I just stirred up a lot of shit, probably. I don't like the idea of you sleeping here alone." His words are compassionate, but the delivery is so blank, that you'd think he didn't actually care at all.

"Oh, alright. Let me grab some stuff." You gather your things and follow Billy to his light blue Camaro. He opens the door for you, but even he's wearing an expression that says this is a foreign act of kindness for him. He closes the door and takes his spot in the driver's seat. Billy glances over at you, but you're peering out the car window, searching the shadows for movement. The copper-colored light shining from the street lamp illuminates the high points of your face, exposing your expression as he watches the anxiety dissolve into comfort. Something about being the cause of it strokes his already inflated ego.

"You know what?" You break the silence, turning to meet Billy's gaze.

"What?"

"Contrary to the way my face and body look right now, he really can't hit that hard." You raise your eyebrows and nod, reassuring him that you mean that with your whole chest.

"I wouldn't know. I didn't give him a chance to swing." His grip around the steering wheel tightens, but he grins proudly.

"Don't worry, I took enough for the both of us," you joke, earning a shocked laugh from the curly-haired man you positively loathed just a day or so ago.

"I dunno. I think you could've taken him if the circumstances were different," he smirks at you, chin up.

"Oh, absolutely. If the emotional ties weren't there, we'd at least have gone a round or two," you mimic boxing the dashboard. It's obvious to both of you that this is not the case, but making a joke of a bad situation is a lot easier than crying. Billy's relieved, as he would have zero idea how to even approach you if you were crying. He's the "tell you you're not a pretty crier and then wonder why you cry harder" type of guy.

"Matter of fact, put me back in coach," you chuckle, accidentally reopening the split on your lip. "Oh, fuck," you mumble, pressing a finger to the wound, worsening the mess.

"Shit," Billy grabs a napkin from his glove box. "Don't touch it," he snaps. You quickly pull your hand away from your face and for just a moment, your breath hitches in your chest. You don't mean to react this way, you're not scared of him, you hope he knows that. He gives a small smile and a nod, almost like a silent apology for scaring you. He holds the napkin to your lip for you as he pulls into the Men's dorm parking lot. His family, much like yours, paid the extra fees to have a large dorm room all to himself. It was sort of a necessity for Billy considering his short temper and inability to compromise.

"How's your lip?" He asks as you set your overnight bag on his small futon in the tiny living area the solo dorms come with.

"It's fine. I think the bleeding stopped and everything," you smile, keeping it small so as not to pop open another split.

"You can take my bed. I got the futon," once again, his words are so kind and generous, but his tone is flat and bare.

"Don't be stupid. I'm your guest. You've..." You sneer at yourself in disgust as you prepare your next sentence. "You've done a lot for me already."

"God," he stares at you with wide eyes.

"What?"

"It looked like you were gonna be sick from saying that out loud."

"Came pretty close, bud." You squint your eyes. It's clear to both of you that this is weird. It's awkward and even a little uncomfortable. He's done so much for you, yes, and you do feel it outweighs all the innocent hell you gave each other, but where do you go from here?

"So, now what? I sleep here. We go to tomorrow's lectures. Then, I just go back to normal?" You don't want to insinuate that you expect him to play bodyguard forever, but it would be kind of nice. You lie the futon into its flat, bed position as you ask.

"We'll cross that bridge when we get there. 'Night." Billy climbs into his bed.

"Goodnight, Billy," you say, lowering the tough-gal front you attempt to keep up, usually when you aren't dealing with shit like this. Your voice sounds different when you let your walls down. It's sweeter. And the sound of it makes Billy's chest light.

In the safety of Billy's dorm, sleep finds you swiftly. You're out like a light, but Billy can't say the same. He lies with his eyes plastered to the ceiling. His mind is incoherent, bouncing all over from the possibility of the entire college sports program jumping him to the thought of you and him going back to "normal." It all started when he saw you, thought you were hot, but learned pretty quickly how self-assured you are. You would never be the easy catch he was used to and it pissed him off, igniting a multi-year feud between you. What if that feud were to end?

Billy lies on his back, his two muscular arms propped beneath the back of his head. He glances diagonally in the direction where you sleep. You're peacefully out, features slowly healing from the damage. He could stare at you all night, and that pisses him off too. He rolls his eyes and expels an exasperated sigh before rolling over, hoping that keeping his back faced in your direction will help shield him from the ambiguous thoughts invading his mind.

The next day, you're awake long before him, and to avoid overstepping, you rush through your morning hygiene routine and begin to reset the futon. You're as quiet as possible, but the second your fingertips graze the doorknob, Billy stirs.

"No," he says, wiping a hand over his face to rub the sleep away. "Just give me a minute. We'll go together." He sounds annoyed. You shake your head, dropping yourself down onto the futon while you wait for him to wake up.

"It's really no rush. I gotta get back across campus to get ready anyways." You call to him as he brushes his teeth in the small bathroom.

"I know you do. I'll drive you, just give me a minute," he waves away your excuses to leave without him, his voice becoming a little harsh as he repeats his request for more time. You know walking across campus isn't a treacherous walk. It's long, sure, but not unmanageable. What's really at stake is you running into anyone from the basketball team. And while that's your main concern, Billy has his own selfish reasons for wanting to keep you around. She's nice to look at, he tells himself, but it's more than that.

He walks from one end of the dorm to the other, wearing nothing but a dark grey pair of boxers. He's so lean and huge with well-toned muscles. He must spend a lot of time in the old weight room. You begin to wonder if Andy's in the hospital or not. Your eyes travel from his broad shoulders down to the V shape at his waist. You're unsure if it's your newfound ability to see him as a person, or maybe a trauma bond, but this man has you feeling out of character.

"Alright, car." He points out the door, using his primitive two-word command to instruct you to get into his car. He's still waking up.

"Billy, you know I could've just come back by myself, right? You didn't have to get up so early." You're the first to break the sleepy morning silence in the car. He looks at you like you've suggested possibly the most ridiculous thing he's ever heard.

"I know that. That's stupid. You're too trusting." Billy stares straight ahead through his black sunglasses.

"I guess," you shrug, not taking anything he says too seriously. How could you after all these years? He pulls into the Women's dorm lot and the two of you approach your personally decorated dorm room door. To your horror, the doorknob opens with ease. You forgot to lock it. A wary breath falls down your chest as you squeeze your eyes shut, grounding yourself before opening the door. Billy's confused until he finally sees inside. It's just as you suspected. The entire room, top to bottom, is trashed- thoroughly.

"What the fuck?" Billy inserts himself in front of you, taking a few steps inside to further assess the damage. His eyes narrow in anger as he catalogs every broken picture frame and demolished knick-knack. You seemed to have had a lot of curiosities and oddities, all of which were destroyed on your equally ruined floor.

"Oh, Jesus fucking Christ, I'm gonna lose it," you whisper, exasperated. You place your fingers on your temples and apply gentle pressure in hopes that it'll do any fucking thing for the way you're about to break the fuck down right now. "They want me to fuckin' lose it." Your voice is nearly inaudible.

"Hey, okay. Don't... Lose it. Let's go find 'em and beat the fuck out of 'em." Billy grins, still bloodthirsty. It's as if defending you almost feels like having you.

"I'm gonna get dressed. I'm gonna fix my fucking hair and makeup. And we're gonna go to our goddamn morning classes. This afternoon, we will figure out which one of them is getting their mom's severed middle finger in the mail."

"Sure thing, Killer Klown. That's not at all an overreaction." Billy shakes his head, laughing at your misfortune, though he does feel for you. You disappear into your restroom. It's miraculously, for the most part, untouched. You do a quick version of your usual big, glamour hair and slap on your makeup. It feels good to look like you again, even with the scabs and colorful bruises threatening to peek through the foundation. When you return to the common area, looking and feeling more like yourself, you radiate a type of glow. Billy catches himself in the very initial stage of staring but quickly nips that in the bud. You hardly notice.

"I guess I'm ready. You walking me to class, big guy?" You ask, teasingly.

"I am."

"Listen, I really appreciate everything you've done for me, but this isn't nes-"

"Y/N, have you looked at your dorm? Do you see how every single thing you own is destroyed? Stop being an idiot." His harsh words carry an air of motivation with them as he scolds you.

"Fine. But you're gonna have to pick up the pace or something," you snap your fingers repeatedly, in a circle to show him it's time to leave, now. He sighs, standing and leading the way out the door.

He walks you to your first lecture and waits outside for the entire hour. You don't know, but he actually doesn't have any classes today. He just knew you'd make a big deal out of it if you knew he was going any more out of his way than he already is. All 60 minutes drag by painfully slow, but all the while, Billy notices a few familiar faces casting passing glances into the building, only to suddenly change direction when their eyes meet his. He huffs out a satisfied sigh.

"Don't even think about it," he whispers, staring out the small door window. He glances at the clock, and just a moment before the lecture hall dismisses, he steps outside and waits for the crowd. After a handful of peers pass by, he then walks inside, keeping up his ruse.

"Oh, just in time, I guess," you say, meeting him in the middle of the breezeway as if he'd come from the other end of the college.

"As always," Billy sighs, unbothered, indifferent. You don't mind. It's a peaceful shift from his usual behavior before everything went down. The two of you step out the door and immediately, your eyes meet Andy's. He is standing around his car with his goons. They're all staring, not at Billy, at you. An intimidation tactic that might've worked before, had you not been walking next to a brick wall of a man. As the two of you strut past the bitter sportsmen, you hear Andy decide to pipe up.

"Told you she was a slut. It's already happening," he laughs and his teammates join in. You are unfazed by this sort of insult. Before the trauma at the hands of Andy that you'll now have to work through, you've always been a confident, self-assured person. At least that's all you'd allow anyone to believe. You shake your head at the insult, but when you look beside you, Billy's nowhere to be seen.

"That's pretty bold Andy. How're you healing? Doctor already tell you it's safe to get your shit rocked again?" Billy smiles sadistically as he stalks up to Andy. His crew of bench warmers seems to tighten up, taking a few steps closer, surrounding Andy. Billy can't hold back his laughter.

"Are you guys gonna jump me?" He asks, taunting, grinning as he does. "You think it's gonna be easy because there are so many of you?" Billy's only getting closer by the second, and the confidence of most of the players begins to waver. "Do you think I'll stop if I get my hands on you a second time?" Billy's icy blue eyes are dark with rage, almost black in the right lighting. They bore into Andy's and the two men fall silent.

Eventually, Andy's the one to back down. As expected, of course. And from the look on his face, you'd think he'd just been mugged and told his mom died. Billy smiles, tongue between his teeth as he watches the team climb into their cars. They have a visitors game, so you won't have to deal with them for the next 48 hours at least. As Billy returns to where you wait for him on the sidewalk, he wraps a protective arm around your shoulder. You're visibly jarred by this action, but Billy just stares straight ahead, leading you back to your dorm. He's wearing a self-satisfied grin as each and every busybody on campus whispers when they see the two of you.

Billy's a known bachelor and you're a known bitch. Even his more reoccurring hookups never got the public treatment. And you, fuck you're mean sometimes. Andy liked that about you. You'd be mean to anyone but him, but you guess it just stopped being enough. Even you and Andy weren't exactly "public" with your opposing schedules. You'd only ever been seen together at parties.

You finally reach your room and Billy leans against your counter, silently smiling at you as if he expects you to say something.

"What?" You ask, already starting the clean-up process.

"Just thought a 'thank you' would be in order." He shrugs.

"Thank you, Billy. Please hand me the broom," you groan, pointing to the tiny closet in the kitchen area. He rolls his eyes and carries the broom over to you. You're picking up the larger pieces of shattered glass and placing them into a small trashcan, hoping to make sweeping easier.

"Careful," Billy says as he notices a crack in the shard you're holding. His warning didn't reach you in time though, and the piece snapped, catching the upper part of your palm, slicing it open. "Jesus fucking-" Billy drops the broom and you follow him to the counter where he tears a wad of paper towels off the roll and shoves them into your hand. He stares at you with a straight face, almost like a disappointed parent. You stare back, blinking.

"What?" You ask, daring him to give you a hard time or risk being kicked out of your domicile.

"Nothing. Just getting tired of having to play doctor for you all the time." You release a huff and he smiles, a little sweeter than before.

(Do we want a part 2? Do we still read angst or are we all into smut rn? Maybe sex next chapter. idk.)

#stranger things 4 #stranger things fanfiction #billy hargrove #billy hargrove fanfiction #billy hargrove imagine #billy hargove #billy hargrove angst #who did this to you #angst #stranger things #revenge #who did this to you trope #billy is mean #but also not #billy hargrove x reader #tw violence #tw domestic violence #tw dv #graphic violence #billy hargrove x y/n #stranger things angst

[baby-jaguar]

Meeting Johnny

Western AU; Mail Order Spouse Trope

WC: 2,726 CW: None

AN: I'm alive! Sorry this is so short, this was a good stopping point and I need to work on my world-building for Soap before getting to the next part. Just know- I haven't given up on this AU (It's literally my firstborn, blood, and soul, but I will be a bit slow until my brain juices stay flowing. I hope ye enjoy <3

Please see the Introduction for the explanation and precursors to the scene.

Introduction, Biography

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Johnny’s proposal to you was quick in terms of a few letters exchanged; three letters in, he invited you to come out and sent you enough money to figure out accommodations to get to him. As soon as you read those words at the post office, you ran home high on endorphins and adrenaline began packing your bags without grandiose care in the world. The fire inside you licked at the bottom of your heart, anger at staying in this shithole for far too long and feeling a sense of belonging- the sense of feeling wanted to make you have an ulterior purpose in life as if a phoenix reborn and spreading its wings while nose-diving into the unknown. When your parents came home as you zipped your bags, you sincerely couldn’t give a flying fuck as you shoved past them and began berating your parents with a grand show of a public yelling match for the neighbors to hear. 

Good for you! 

You had already planned how to get to him after receiving his first letter back; First step, buying a train ticket that led you to Santa Fe, New Mexico. From there, you had to embark on the Gila Trail, before having to buy your horse and head out on the San Diego Crossings wagon road by yourself. 

This trip was a long haul, and you prayed that Johnny would trust in your quickly established faith to wait out for you. The promise of a strong and loving man is all you could think about...

While in your adrenaline-filled escape, you hadn’t plucked the book in your room that hid his photo as a bookmark, but thankfully had grabbed the letter that gave you his directions. While you scavenge your mind to have a solid image of him, you think over his features and re-read the letters countless times.

Johnny has a background of all sorts, having grown up in a family that held their bond strong, especially after his father had passed in a mining cave-in, which rendered him the man of the house from a young age. Even in his brief telling of these events, you could tell he’s moved out to California to find a deeper meaning of himself, create the line in concrete for it to harden as he ages. 

That isn’t to say that he has lost his sense of boyishness, not at all in fact. His stories that he wrote even contained small doodles along the borders to better depict what he was writing about, and it was half your mind to cut them out and keep them as little bookmarks or place them in your wallet as a keepsake. He was playful, writing jokes about the smallest things, even letting you in on some secrets about the people in his town before you got there.

While the sense of his flame burned hot in multiple directions, deep in his hearth was a passionate man. Just as he seemed so sweet, with a flick of his wrist the writing would turn into something hot enough to make you blush, averting your eyes as your mind ran wild with his thoughts. He seems to enjoy a bubble bath… but maybe only when you’re in it with him. Even writing about the future and him stating he wants a family by any means, you could only imagine a deep possessiveness inside of him to claim you as such. Even if you were able to have his biological children or not, he’d still make sure you felt like you did.

But back to your journey. 

The course of the trains provided you an oversight of the new lands you had yet to ever see, as it was the beginning stages of territories turning into states. The rides were long, and adjusting to the set time zones was a large throw-off to your circadian rhythm. Having already traveled two states west, it was difficult to decide on which line would grant you the fastest access to Johnny. Luckily enough, a kind person in the Denver station helped point out that taking the route from northern Nevadah into California would grant you the fastest time, and ease your solo traveling. 

The kind person stated that they were in a similar situation and now waiting for the train, having a bit of time to offer some advice while making it toward their end goal. Thanking them with bountiful wishes and good luck’s in their journey, you were on your way.

It took four more days to find yourself in Temecula, California. An astonishing change from the desert lands that reflected the sun so brightly now showed the capabilities of a plush environment of greenery and clouds. The train station was reached as the sunlight began pouring in over the mountains; being quick on your feet, and from the other settlers being far too tired, you found a deal on the last remaining horse available. 

Traveling by horseback prompted challenges with reading Johnny's directions, and you did not want to admit that you were lost. The lack of directory and signage left you getting flustered already by noon and being left alone in such a rural area in between towns felt far more daunting than any part of this trip. Passing by stagecoaches who all seemed to know their way around, you filed in line through a secondary road filled with houses in the valley of the small mountains.

Three hours later and a small urge to cry while having given up on re-reading the letter, you accepted defeat when you saw someone sitting on their porch down a dirt road with his house being the only one there.

“Hi! Excuse me, sir?” The sound of your voice breaks through the stillness of the settling valley, enough to make the man look up from the table he is currently hunched over.

“Would you mind helping me out by giving me directions?” Willing yourself to not blush or shrink into your large coat, embarrassment running through your chest while in the new environment.

For a moment, the man doesn't seem to acknowledge you, having to do a double take before his eyes widen in surprise. The toothpick that was delicately hanging on his lip falls to the ground, less he even notices before he sits up straight readjusting his hat, and clears his throat.

“‘Course, my dear. How can I be of service.” His accent is rich, leading you to believe that he’s been raised in the West, and has a perfectly smooth twang to his speech as it leaves his side smile.

“I’m looking for the country store… There’s supposed to be an old Coke sign on it.” The words leave you in a higher pitch than you’d normally speak, having a handsome stranger stare at you with a wide-eyed stare as he watches your lips move. “And to be honest- I wouldn’t know if I’m in the right place to begin with.” 

As if snapped back to reality again, eye contact cut short as he blinks before looking down the road and then back to you. “Ah, store’ way down yonder with a crossing sign. If yer’ headed west then a left will take you to the interstate,” A nod confirms his sense of confidence in his directions, explaining it plain and simple as the roads that his house lies on.

The smile that crosses your face lights your eyes, and it's the most relief you’ve gotten ever since getting on horseback. “Thank you, I really do appreciate it.” Your hands pull on the reigns of the horse, already turning around to try and beat sunset before it's too dark to ride alone.

Before you’re out of earshot, “When you’re in, you gotta stop and ask Ms. Bell for somma’ her sweet tea. But remember, take a right, and you’ll end up right back here to me.” The wink that leaves him makes you question if you’re seeing things in the late light of the day, but you’re sure he can see the blush that burns your cheeks.

A laugh leaves you before nodding in response, now clicking your horse into a quick trot while you’re high on the adrenaline from the interaction. Well… at least you have a backup plan in case your bachelor doesn't work out.

Arriving far too quickly than you’d expect, the store was only a few minutes down the road and concealed by a line of trees. Hitching your horse and walking into the store on stiff legs, you plan on following the stranger's advice to get some sweet tea.

The bell above the door jingles as you walk in, catching the attention of the older woman behind the counter. Here eyes take in your form, surprised such a fresh-faced person has arrived this late into the day. “How can I help you, sweetheart?” Her voice rings out a bit rough, someone who knows how to pull her weight if trouble would arrive.

“I’m actually looking to get to someone's home near town, but I was told to make my way from this store to not get lost.” A pause as your eyes take in the scenery of the rustic store; A layer of dust settled onto the wooden floors as shelves are stocked with an assortment of canned goods, spices, and a few refrigerators labeled as eggs and milk. “Met a stranger on the way and was told I should get some sweet tea here, too.”

Her eyes, still studying you as you speak and noting your accent, or lack thereof, bring a small quirk to her face. “Well, lemme get you some of my tea while you get yourself found.” Leaving her seat she makes her way to a wall in the back, pulling out two large mason jars with a light brown liquid. 

“That stranger you met- was he small ways up north fr’mere?” The smile on her face grows as she walks back to her seat at the register as you walk forward to meet her.

“Yes… A lone house down a single road. Blue eyes, brown hair, and some stubble.” The answer is pulled from you automatically, reciting the mental image of him.

“Toothpick in his mouth?”

The question is almost absurd in how spot-on she is, but then again this is a very small town. “Yes.”

The answer makes her laugh, somewhat un-ladylike when compared to the women from your home, and the noise makes you startle in place for a second.

“That damn Johnny makes me work my ass off to keep this tea in stock. He’s been so stressed waiting for his person to come ‘nd has been drinking me straight out of this stuff.” She levels when calming down for a moment, now placing the jars in bags.

She has yet to look back up at you and fails to notice your limbs seemingly frozen in place as the air leaves your lungs. That was Johnny?

“I’m so sorry ma’am. Did you say that was Johnny? As in MacTavish?”

The rustle of the brown paper bags stops, her eyes darting up to find yours. “Well, I’ll be damned.” She murmurs lowly before a sly smile takes over her face. “You’re here, and you’re damned too good from what you made yourself out to be, sweetheart.” 

Still frozen with your mind reeling, adrenaline begins to pump back into your bloodstream while a jolt alights your muscles. “Oh- I’m so sorry ma’am, I must get going its getting late and-”

The sliding of the jars on her counter interrupts your rambling, “Ah ah, its Ms. Bell dear, and you best be taking this with you to him. Don’t worry bout nothin’ but I’m happy to welcome you to the town.” 

If you looked now, you could notice the tremor in your hands. Nodding and taking the bag, a rush of endless ‘thank you’s’ and an elated smile seats itself permanently before loading the bags on the saddle and turning back around to start galloping forward back towards where you once were.

—

The sound of horses and wagons isn’t a constant to Santa Ysabel during the night hours, usually only occurring after the dayshift ends. As Johnny sits on his porch, his mind muddled with confusion as he stews over his soon-to-be partner arrives, thoughts of the stranger asking for directions makes him confused.

Fresh toothpick in his mouth as he widdles away at a bar of tallow, working to pull off glycerine for work. Surely that wasn’t a coincidence, right? The picture you sent was muddled down with water stains, and he blamed it on the damn train that sent your envelopes out this way. It was beginning sunset, and though he couldn't make out most of your features because of the coat you concealed yourself in- 

The bar of soap drops to the ground and he curses, now jumping out of his mind and into the present. 

The sound of hooves beating and approaching make him look up.

There, Here, you’re back again and the whites of your teeth are illuminated by the fading sun to show your smile.

Slowing down your horse to a stop, breathing in a slight pant as compared to your horses, the smile never leaves you.

“Figure you need some more directions, sweetheart?” His drawl leaves him, standing to make his way towards you. 

“Take off your hat.” The response is curt, and demanding in a way, but that glimmer of excitement makes it sound so sweet.

Johnny himself is befuddled for a moment, eyebrow cocked but complies anyway. Now raising the hat off of his head and holding it to his chest, his eyes answer for him. This what you wanted?

A small sound of excitement leaves you, nodding before your leg swings over your saddle, dismounting with a small jump and walking forward.

“Johnny, it's me.”

A swear leaves his mouth, accompanied by a rush of air before he drops his hat to the side and plucks hit toothpick out with it. The smile that coats his face makes him appear so young and boyish at heart as he moves forward with arms open to wrap around your hips with a low growl, “C’mere you,”

You could be embarrassed by the small squeal that leaves you, but you couldn’t give a rat's ass on anything right now. He spins you around for a quick moment, arms around your body as he lifts you easily with his strength.

Staring down into his eyes, you grab a shoulder while the other hand cups his jaw. “Didn’t know it was you until Ms. Bell said something.”

He laughs, head tilting back in bewilderment at the situation and excitement. “Talkin bout her sweet tea?” He asks while setting you down on your feet, hands never straying as he pulls you against him and traverses over your body.

“Yes, gave me some to bring home.”

The use of home sparks his heart with a bright thrum, butterflies encasing his stomach while he rumbles out a laugh. The texture of his hands is both soft and ruff, his thumbs rubbing over your cheekbones before one hand moves to brush over your hair, cupping the back of your neck.

“Well, in that case, welcome home, sweety.” The rumble sends a shiver down your spine, eyes darting over his face before settling on his lips. A breath settles before you look back into his sharp blue eyes, as he looks at you seemingly waiting for permission.

A small nod of your head and gently pulling him towards you, the band on the back of your head pulls you forward as he brings your lips together. The taste of him has a spice to it, the favor of cinnamon cotes his lips and brings a slow burn over yours while his body’s warmth brings another wave.

The stubble of his beard rubs your face- and it's a welcome feeling as compared to the winds of the valleys whipping past you. Something you’d gladly leave your skin bright red and raw from hours of the feeling.

Before growing too heated, you part with a small gasp and trail him slightly before blinking to find his smirk growing as a low rumble vibrates against you. “Let's get you settled in, then we can celebrate s’more.”

--------

[Who do you all think the reader met at the train station? If you get the song reference for their meeting you get two gold stars! I hope yall enjoy.]

#cod mw2 #task force 141 #call of duty #tf141 #call of duty modern warfare #captain john mactavish #john soap mctavish x reader #john soap mactavish #johnny soap mactavish #soap mactavish #soap mw2 #soap cod #tf141 x reader #john mactavish

[miss-celestial-being]

Tutor

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request | masterlist

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𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: eddie munson x gn!reader

𝑠𝑦𝑛𝑜𝑝𝑠𝑖𝑠: my life atm + my dreams :')

𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: self-indulgent, probably really bad, not edited, honestly didnt know how to end it, talks about self-worth, fluff

𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 2.5k

𝑎𝑢𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑟’𝑠 𝑛𝑜𝑡𝑒𝑠:

this is fully, 100% self-indulgent i was gonna stop writing this hallway through but decided to finish it enjoy my emotional baggage <3

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The sun is far too hot for spring. The clouds are few and sparse. You look up at the sky and huff at the light shining brightly inhy6jm7u your eyes. You look down at your book again, cursing the giant star for turning your pages a bright white, and silently suffer as you wish you had remembered your sunglasses. You sigh and close your book defeatedly, the corner of the page snagging and folding slightly. Just as you feel this day couldn't get any worse, you look up to find your friend and her boyfriend walking toward you from the cafeteria.

"Hey," Your friend says as she sits across from you. You remember a time when she'd sit beside you as you laughed at something your shared English teacher did, but now your seat is taken by the person forced into your circle. You smile back, squinting through the blinding rays. You pick up your headphones from their spot resting on your shoulders and place them over your ears, pressing play on your walkman as your friend's boyfriend begins droning on about his awesome life and awesome spots game and whatnot, holding your friend far too close to be appropriate for school.

You shield your book with your body, hoping to block the words enough to read them. Every day has been like this since the school year started; like an insufferable cycle that started with your lack of contact with your only friend over the summer. Whilst you were wasting away in your room, barely holding yourself together, your friend started dating the boy she hated the year prior. And on top of that, she only told you when you all went to the campus before school started to pick up your schedules; they had been dating for over a month already.

You look at the ground, your book still open to the same page it had been on thirty minutes ago and your mind wanders. You know this is your fault; if you had made more friends, if you were more likable, if you had kept in touch, if, if, if. The bell rings and you stand robotically. It's become a habit, leaving the moment that deafening sound echoes throughout the school. The sweet relief of leaving the bleachers, of leaving the space that makes you feel like you're worthless or unimportant.

When you pass people you know from class, they wave politely and you put on that same fake smile you've mastered. You stop at your locker and that smile falls, the vandalized metal acting as a shield for your pain. You open your backpack and switch out your textbooks as you do every day before heading to your next and final class. Head down, feet moving rhythmically; left, right, left, right. You stop at your math classroom and close your eyes as you fall into your seat at the back of the class.

The bell rings again a few minutes later and your eyes snap open as your teacher begins class. The seats around you are mostly empty with half the class deciding they'd rather fail than come to this mental health death sentence. You don't blame them, really, but your grades are already bad as it is, and your mom has been riding your ass on fixing them, and if you fail this semester, you won't get the credits you need to leave this heaping pile of shit that is high school, that is your life, that is everything you are in this place.

Your mind goes numb as you put your pencil to your paper and begin copying the equations the teacher wrote. "Shit, sorry," You head from the front of the class and your eyes flick up to find a mess of curls flying through the doorway, "Sorry I'm late. I was all the way across the school when the bell rang." The teacher looks down his nose at the person and sighs as he takes the late slip from their hand, "Go to your seat, Mr. Munson. And watch your language in my class, or that'll be another detention." The boy nods with an apologetic crooked grin and you watch as he walks to the back of the class. He glances at you and you quickly look back to the board, ignoring the shuffling sounds beside you as he sits in the empty seat next to you.

"I'm Eddie," The boy whispers loudly as he leans closer, his eyes trained on you. You look away from the board and turn your head, eyes nearly crossing as you find his face inches from yours. He pulls back with that intoxicating smile and he looks to the front of the class, twirling his pen absentmindedly. You mumble your name and he hums as he looks back at you, "Didn't catch that," He says and you clear your throat as you spot the teacher eyeing you. You look down at your notes and wait a few seconds before repeating, a little louder this time. He--Eddie--repeats it, as though testing it out on his lips, and you watch as his mouth moves to shape each letter, your stomach doing flips with every syllable.

He leans over to glance at your notes, copying them down messily as he attempts to catch up with whatever he missed in the minutes he was late. "Mr. Munson, I suggest you keep your eyes on the board. You've already failed this class once, would you like a repeat of last year?" You frown and will yourself to speak up, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath before saying, "I was just lending him my notes since he was late." The teacher hums, "Well, then, I would prefer if you'd do so on your own time." He continues with the lesson and you continue writing your notes, now adding as much detail and instruction as you can possibly manage, trying your best to ignore the looks you receive from the class, as well as the boy beside you.

The bell rings again an hour later and you jump slightly as your papers fall out of your folder; the cardstock has nearly disintegrated after years of putting it through the works. "Shit," You mumble as you bend down to pick them up, praying to whatever deity will listen that you don't start crying in front of everybody. You find yourself accompanied on the floor and you look up through your unshed tears. "Here," Eddie says as he hands you a stack of crumpled papers. You thank him quietly and take the worksheets from his calloused hands, your fingers brushing his, sending a chill down your spine.

"If you need those notes," You say after shoving your things into your backpack, "I would lend them to you." He smiles, "I don't think notes are gonna help me much at this point, but thanks for the offer." Silence falls over you as you walk through the halls toward the exit of the school until you finally break it, "I could help you," You mumble, "If you're struggling. I don't have the best grades to prove it, but I understand the concepts." "That'd be great," His grin reaches his eyes and it lights up the room, and, deep down, you wonder what it feels like to smile for real, despite having felt it at some point. He continues, "I have my club on Tuesday nights, but I'm free every other day after school. Or if you want, we could work in the library at lunch?" You nod almost too quickly at the opportunity to spend lunches anywhere but the bleachers. "I can do lunch," You reply and his grin widens, "Great, do you wanna start tomorrow?" You nod in response as you look down at the ground, watching as your feet move left, right, left, right, left, right.

"I'll see you tomorrow, then," Eddie waves as he walks in the direction of his van; the brown vehicle sticks out like a sore thumb amongst the slew of Mustangs and BMWs. You wave back just as he turns and your hand drops in time with your faint smile as you begin your walk home.

-

"Hey," Eddie calls out, gaining a dirty look from the librarian. You're cheeks grow hot as you wave and sit beside him. You look down at the stacked textbooks and notebooks and you frown, "I'm sorry," You say, "I didn't mean to keep you waiting." He shakes his head, "No, no, no, I got here early. Figured I could catch up on some work for other classes while I waited. So far I've finished half of one assignment in the last hour, but progress is progress." You exhale through your nose amusedly as you take a seat beside him. "Did you skip class?" "Nah," He replies, "I have a free period. They only make you retake Gym so many times," He leans in close, "I'm not exactly the most athletic person if you hadn't noticed." "I hadn't," You say under your breath, gaze glued to his lips before you turn your head away just as his lips twitch with a small smile.

You talk him through a few formulas and help him work through some problems before the bell cuts you off with a deafening shriek. "Whelp," Eddie sighs, "That's time. This was fun-- which is something I never thought I'd say about math," He snickers at his own words and you smile fondly at his expression. "I had fun too," You smile at your shoes as you walk side-by-side to the door. "I'll see you tomorrow? We have a test, right? Maybe you could tutor me again during lunch so I'm prepared." You agree before you part ways, your smile finally reaching your eyes in a way that feels foreign yet so, so right.

-

"Hey," Eddie calls out just like yesterday, and, just like yesterday, the librarian sends him a dirty look, although it has softened just a smidge. "How was your day?" The boy asks and you reply with a simple 'good'. He groans, "That's not an answer, sweetheart." "It was, though," You reply, shrugging. "Tell me about it," He prompts, "Did you do anything fun? Did everyone absolutely suck like they always do in this prison?" You laugh, "It was just kinda boring." "'Was', So it's not anymore?" Your eyes lock with his and your smile remains as you shake your head, "Not in the slightest." "You flatter me, really."

With your chairs scooted just barely closer than yesterday, you try to ignore the butterflies in your stomach at the feeling of his arm brushing yours.

"That's just about as much as I know," You finally say with another thirty minutes before the bell, "If you fail, we both fail." "Maybe it'll be more fun with you." You smile bashfully as you close your textbook. "You should hang out at my table at lunch. It's usually just for club members, but we could make an exception." You freeze. Your body immediately goes to decline, your head shaking involuntarily. "I don't want to intrude," You sputter as you watch his face fall in disappointment.

You do this to every good thing; ruin it. You wash away any good, wipe away the smiles of those around you with your presence. You're a hazard, a threat to any joy in a person. You don't deserve this happiness if all you do is ruin it for others, if all you do is ruin everything.

Eddie shakes his head in protest, "You wouldn't be intruding. I want you there. I'm sure the others would like you." His breathtaking smile graces your soul once again and your thoughts fade into nothing but giddiness as your gaze locks onto his lips. "Okay," You hear yourself whisper before you can register what that means for you, for Eddie and his friends, for your friend--if she could still be called that. Eddie's smile grows again and your worries disappear as a twin smile forms on your own face.

The bell cuts off the force that seemed to be pulling you closer to the boy before you and you clear your throat as you pack up your things. Your hand brushes his as you walk to Math class, the two of you are both immensely unprepared for the test, but none of that matters.

After you turn in the test to the front, you sit down next to Eddie and he quickly scribbles something down on a torn piece of paper.

'want to go a ride home after school?'

You look up at his anxious smile and nod as you hand the paper back, the word 'yes' written beneath his own sloppy writing. He takes it back before the teacher yells at the class, "There will be no passing of notes during a test." You and Eddie share a look, hiding your laugh behind your hand as you await the bell.

-

"I know it's a little unconventional, but she gets the job done," Eddie says as he taps on the dented metal on the side of his van after helping you into the passenger seat. "Thanks for driving me," You say as you pull the seatbelt across your body. "No problem, sweetheart," You want to kiss him senseless whenever he calls you that. Your heart races and your palms go sweaty, and if you weren't in high school, you'd fear it were a heart attack with the way your heart skips a beat.

You tell him your address and lean against your hand with your arm resting on the center console. "Do you wanna make a small detour?" Eddie asks after a quiet moment. You shrug, "Sure, where to?" "I thought we could stop at this one place near Lover's Lake." Your eyebrows furrow, "You mean the town hookup spot?" You ask and he nearly chokes as he finds his words, "No, I--" He clears his throat, "It's a small beach just outside the trailer park." You hum, "Never been." "I found it when I was younger. Never seen anyone there when I go, so I don't think many people know about it."

He stops at the next stop sign and turns to you, awaiting your answer before he continues. You look into his eyes, nodding as you smile softly, and he skips the turn to your neighborhood as he keeps straight. He drives for a few minutes more before turning into a narrow path that was definitely not made for cars. You now understand the scratches in the paint.

"We're here," He says as he stops the car and you look at the water run over the pebble-filled sand through the windshield. You smile at the peaceful view and look to your left to speak when you're cut off with lips pressing to yours, a hand resting on your cheek. You close your eyes and lean into the kiss, smiling softly and you silently reassure yourself that you won't ruin this; not when you have him to distract you from your faults with one lopsided smile.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x plus size reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x gender neutral reader #eddie munson x gn!reader #eddie munson fluff #boredbeeswrite

[chimivx]

that january morning. // myg.

pairing: Idol!Yoongi x Female!Reader, and ot7 { couple from vegas, baby }

summary: This wasn't in the life plan. This wasn't anywhere near the life plan, but that night you got hooked, both of you, and stupidly have paid the price. Yoongi, still healing from his surgery, is about to make it his life's mission to get you through this.

words: 9k

warnings: THIS IS A MATURE FIC. 18+. SEXUAL CONTENT BELOW. theyre a little kinky. yanno, they make a baby. smut right under the cut. then after that it's just a little angst not really and straight love for one another.

a/n: HI! I have so many scribbles of this couple, I want to post them all, I'm obsessed with them. This thought came to me and I needed to write it, and I'm now deciding to post it because I've been sitting on it for too long. :)

{ read vegas, baby here to get to know this couple some more }

~ december 2020 ~

The beat from a song by a rapper Yoongi had just discovered was playing at a low volume, just high enough to be heard over the sound of both of your heavy breaths and soft sounds.  He had been at his desk working, putting some things together for the future plans he had to help keep himself occupied.  To say he was going stir crazy was an understatement.  Yoongi had gone from living the most hectic life, to being told he couldn't do a thing.  He was grateful for his procedure and the break, but he was addicted to his job and couldn’t ever find the willpower to stay still.

After eleven o’clock when he wasn’t in bed you wandered into his office and found him in the dark in front of his computer, eyes squinting at the bright screen illuminating his tired expression.  On the desk beside his books sat his brace that he’d taken off, mentioning before how it was uncomfortable to have it on for too long.  He was finally at the point where he was allowed to sleep without it.

Leaning against the doorframe you turned on the lights, but only a little bit.  They had the ability to dim, and you didn’t want to startle him, so you opted for the gentle glow of the soft yellow light.

“You’ve been in here a long time,” You said as he looked up to you coming over to his side.  Slipping a hand down the back of his black t-shirt you give him a gentle scratch and lean over to kiss his cheek.  He closed his eyes at the feeling of your lips on his skin, sighing with comfort.

“I keep reviewing the same thing over and over,” He grumbles, “Butter concept’s done. There’s nothing left to do.” Rubbing your hand on his back carefully, you examine his screen of emails and tilt your head side to side.

“Hmmm,” You hummed, getting him to look up at you, “You could do me?” You whisper, turning your chin to meet his eyes that had gone from tired to full of life. A small smile was starting to grow on his lips, having you silently celebrating this victory because you finally got him.  

The two of you have had sex three times since his surgery, which was impressive considering it’d only been about a month, but much like the change in Yoongi’s lifestyle, this was a huge change in your sex life.  The three times in the month since his surgery was like a normal Saturday night in the past.  The concern for your relationship didn’t bother either of you, you were practically married with how you lived your lives.  You knew that a couple months of holding yourselves back from ripping open another couch cushion was not going to break your relationship.  

Offering this to him now, knowing it was fully up to him, and seeing his eyes light up, you knew that was the green light.  That’s how you ended up here in his lap, in his office, straddling his hips, riding him half naked where he sat in the large leather chair.

Holding onto the sides of his neck, fingers slipping into his hair occasionally, your parted lips met each time you bounced, keeping your pace slow, listening to him and how he responded.  Both of your pants were on the floor, strewn somewhere when your lips were hot on each other.  Neither of you needed much prep, that’s why you came looking for him in the first place, too horny laying in bed alone to think about anything else but his dick inside of you that you’ve been missing for a week.

“I’m not gonna last very long,” He whispers, catching your bottom lip between his teeth as he moans at the way you grind your hips in a circle against his.  Chuckling under your breath, you dance your tongue between his lips and return the sound.

“Baby, I was halfway there when I walked in this door,” You raise an eyebrow and he laughs between breaths.

“Miss this,” He says, “Miss you…” Trailing off into a whisper, you pause for a moment to hold his cheeks to kiss him, for a long time.

“You don’t have to miss me,” You tell him, pressing your forehead to his, “I’m here, I’m not going anywhere.” Yoongi takes a deep breath, then catches your lips once again.  He snakes his functioning arm around your waist, holding you tight, and lifts you as he stands up to your surprise.  Doctors said no strenuous activity, and you were sure that sex was included, at least this kind was.

“Yoongi!” You giggle as he places you onto his desk, “You can’t do that.” You slide your hands around his waist, and up his shirt, dragging your nails gently down his skin, loving how it made his eyes flutter shut.

“I know, sorry, I just… Need to do this,” He holds you around your back as tight as he just was, and before you could question him you’re tossing your head back with a filthy moan as he starts to buck his hips into yours mercilessly.  His body is flushed against you, his arm around your back keeping you in place while your fingers dig into his skin, clawing gently, but hard enough to leave scratches behind.

“Oh m’go…” You groan, unable to finish a word, “Yoon… Y…” He grins wickedly, watching you finally fall apart beneath him.  Having you on top was godly, and he loved everything about it, but knowing that he was the one responsible for splitting you in two was his thing… this was what he preferred, and after you being on top the past three times, he was determined to make you cum this way instead.  A reminder that he still had it.

“You’ve been such a good girl,” He praises, lips grazing your cheek, “So patient while I recover,” Lifting your head you look up at him with big, full eyes that drove him absolutely nuts.  He was seconds away from bursting, but not before you.

“Miss the way I fucked you?” He asks, keeping his eyes on you.  Somehow, his thrusts got faster.  Yoongi lifts his knee to the desk to press your thighs open even farther, exposing you more to him, and with the new angle being able to thrust deeper within you if that was even possible.

“Yes,” You whine, “Fuck, yes, yes, yes…” You answer to the rhythm of his hips, your voice getting higher and louder, feeling the coil tighten and start to burn in your center.

“I love you so much,” He whispers, lips traveling to the valley of skin beneath your ear, sucking harshly before swirling his tongue over the mark he so proudly made.

“Fuck, I love you,” You say breathlessly, moaning aloud for him again, “Yoongi, I love you, so much.” His hips were pistoling into you relentlessly, the shrewd sound of your skin slapping now overpowering the music that had been playing.  Each thrust was getting sloppier, his high catching up to him to his disappointment.  For once he was comfortable having sex with you, and his body wanted it to end already.

“Y-your gon’ cum,” You whimper, eyes locked on his.  He nods shamelessly making you smile.

“Where?” He asks fast, eyes going wide as you hook a leg around his waist and hold him tighter with your hands.

“Cum inside me,” You whisper, nipping his bottom lip, moaning as you kiss him.  He could’ve fallen over if you weren’t holding him so tight, cumming inside you was rarely a request he received, and with the state he was in now it sent him straight over the edge.  Hips pushing into yours with force, he toppled over you, hands catching himself on the desk behind your back as pleasure ripped through his entire being.

“Need you to cum,” His voice is raspy as he pulses tiny thrusts into you, sucking air in harshly through his teeth.  Trembling beneath him, you were right there, admiring him as he lost himself.

“Please,” He pleads, bringing a hand between you to rub circles on your swollen clit, “Baby, cum.“ His fingers send you into a frenzy, clenching around his cock that had him sucking in another forceful breath.

“So… Close,” Your voice was barely audible, your lungs were taking in air and not letting any out, “Yoongi, fuck!”

“Need you to cum on my dick,” He says, his tone serious and deep, “Please,” Comes out of him as a plead again, borderline whining, “Baby, please,” Writing in euphoria, one last whinier plea snapped the coil, your head falling back as you finally exhaled, moaning louder than you had all night.  Squeezing the life out of him, he winces, the overstimulation something he wasn’t used to anymore, and after riding your high with you he has to slip out.

Placing a hand to his cheek, breathing between your lips, you smile, exhausted.  Yoongi smiles back, giving you a lazy kiss.

“Bed?” He asks quietly.  Nodding, you rub your thumb on the apple of his cheek, and kiss him one more time.

“Shower first,” You answer, “Are you okay?” The hand on his cheek slid down to his neck, eyes following it, then to the top of his shoulder with the gentlest touch.  Taking a slow, deep breath, he exhales and bobs his head.

“I’m fine,” He gives you a lopsided smile before glancing between you, “Are you okay?  You never tell me to do that.” Heat rises to your cheeks, turning them pink, and you want to shy away from him.  Nervously looking away, Yoongi places a finger beneath your chin to turn you to face him, kissing your cheek to comfort you.

“I like feeling close to you,” You whisper, and he listens intently, “We used to have each other all the time, whenever we wanted… I guess I just… miss that.” Yoongi’s eyes are narrow, watching you, concerned, but listening full heartedly.

“I’m sor-“

“Don’t apologize, D,” You laugh shaking your head, drawing light circles with the pads of your fingers over his shoulder, “It’s not your fault, you needed this, you know that,” He averts his eyes for a moment, continuing his head bob, “I do have to admit…” You regain his attention, “It’s kinda hot.” He furrows his brows, and pouts his lips, questioning you.  Slipping your hands around his back where they had once been, you hold him tight and bring your lips to his ear. 

“Sitting here in front of you, full of your cum,” Your tone made every muscle in his body tense, you could feel it, “You’re not fucking me but you’re still inside of me.” 

“Fuck,” He mutters, lifting a hand to grip your arm as he shut his eyes.

“I know we never do it, but I really fucking love it,” You breath heavily against his neck, licking a stripe on his skin before yanking his shirt down to place open mouthed kisses down to his exposed collarbone, “Thinking about it gets me so wet, imagining you cumming inside of me everytime we fuck… Knowing you wouldn’t hesitate to fill me up if I asked you to…” Keeping your kisses going, Yoongi was hanging on by a thread.  Eyes shut tight, breathing through pursed lips, eyebrows scrunched together- the man was gone.

“We can… we can talk about… this,” His voice was shaky, “I love it… too, fuck… but we should be careful ab-bout it…” Lifting your head to look up at him, you pouted your bottom lip and made sure he saw you.  Meeting your eyes he cursed under his breath and bit down on his own lip.  Sneaking a hand between your bodies, you wrapped your hand around his length that was eagerly throbbing, ready to go again just by your words and minor ministrations.

“Do it again?” You ask politely, “Please?” You could take him again.  You could take him all the time.  Breaking your role for a second, you reassure him of something knowing that you both felt the same way.

“I can get a pill tomorrow,” You say strictly, and his hesitance is no longer an issue.  Yoongi pops you off of the desk and takes you by the wrist, nearly dragging you to your shared bedroom.  A wicked smile grew on your face, content that you’ve gotten what you wanted, and also because you knew that he was into this way more than you ever would be.

“Where are you comfortable?” You ask him quickly, as he lets go of you and you stumble toward the bed.

“Lay down,” He demands, brushing away the subtle mention of his injury, and you follow through, crawling toward the headboard, ass on full display for your man who was right behind you.  He slips off his shirt as he gets comfortable between your thighs that he noticed were starting to be covered in your shared arousals as you transitioned positions.  

Using his hands he spread your knees apart, lifting them toward your chest, then he took a single finger and drug it slowly over your leaking center, gathering the mess he was responsible for.  Moaning softly while he touched you, you try to grind your hips against his digits, seeking any kind of friction.  His eyes flickered up to yours, the devil laced in his pupils making you moan again.  You watched in awe as he lifted his finger to his lips, and placed it on his tongue, pulling it out from between his lips slowly.

“D,” You whine impatiently, wiggling your hips around against nothing.

“What? You want a taste?” He smirks, slipping that same finger inside of you, maneuvering it around in a circle before sliding it out covered in cum, his and hers.  Leaning over top of you, he uses his other hand beneath your chin, holding your jaw. “Open,” He groans, and you think he’s going to give you the finger, but instead drops a thick wad of saliva from his lips, letting it fall onto your tongue you so willingly held out for him.  A whine escaped from your throat that made him groan in return, prompting him to dip his finger between your teeth.  “Suck,” He whispers, and you obey, hollowing out your cheeks, enjoying the mix of sweet and salty that danced on your tongue.  Pulling his long, narrow finger out with a pop he wastes no time, pushing his cock into you without warning.

“Fuck!” You cry out, hands latching onto his bare back, for sure leaving behind scratches now.

“Goddamn,” Yoongi grunts, letting his head lull onto your chest, “Who would’ve thought you’d be such a slut for my cum.” His words have you clenching around him already, each thrust sending you further and further into nirvana.

“I am,” Your voice is wrecked, moaning between every word, “I’m.. a slut-ahh… for y-your cum.” Yoongi snickers and pounds into you even harder, his teeth biting at the skin on your neck spurring you on to be even louder for him.

“Gonna give it all to you, baby,” He says, “Gonna fill you up so good, cum inside you so hard you’ll be feeling me for days.” Your body trembled, shaking as your high built up incredibly fast.  Yoongi felt this, bringing his agile fingers to your clit to get you there faster because there wasn’t any way he was making it through without it.

“Need you to cum like a good girl if you want it,” His tone teases you, “Only good girls get my cum inside of them.”

“Please,” You whisper, panting beneath him, moving your hips in time with his own, “Gonna cum… Need you in me… Fill me up…” As you babbled mindlessly, your orgasm ripped through your body, your hands gripping him tight as your back arched and your chest pressed against his.

“Fuck, yes,” He whispers, planting a kiss sloppily to your lips, “Good girl, you feel so good,” He pressed his forehead to yours, and thrust three more times before he was pushed over the edge, spurting his warm cum right into you.  

Moaning happily, you smile, nibbling on your bottom lip, ecstasy lingering around the two of you.  Your parted lips touched once, swirling your tongues dirtily before he pulled away and sighed.

“Don’t leave,” You whisper, and he half smiles.

“I love you, but I have to, or you’re going to be under me all night,” He jokes, but you know he’s right.  Sitting himself up, he lays down beside you, reaching a hand over to tangle his fingers with yours.  Turning your head to look at him, you found him already gazing your way, admiring you where you laid.  You offer him a smile that he takes with joy.

“You’re feeling better,” You say quietly.  He thinks to himself for a moment, smiling softly again.

“I think so,” He sighs.

And after hours of sleep, by morning, the precaution you both spoke of and said you’d take was long forgotten, and the new, exciting kink you refused to admit you both shared was established as a regular practice.

~ january 8th, 2021 ~

A long, whiney groan comes from beneath your bed covers- from you.  You had been buried beneath them all weekend with Yoongi taking care of you as well as he could now that he was back to work full time.  He was sitting on the edge of the mattress right now, half dressed, rubbing his hand over your back that was covered with the blankets.

“Baby,” You mumble into the pillows, “You shouldn’t be in here, I don’t wan’ get you sick before you have to go.” Yoongi chuckles, then sighs, stilling his hand.

“I’ve worked with worse things than a stomach bug,” He says, keeping his tone light.

“Is that what this is?” You ask, pulling the covers off of your face to try to peek at him.  He angles his chin to see you eye to eye and he smiles gently.

“It’s not Covid,” He shakes his head once.  Taking a deep breath that disrupts your stomach like they had been for the past few hours, you groan again and roll onto your back, placing your palms over your abdomen.  Eyes squeezed shut, you start to hum through the pain, hoping it would subside soon.  Yoongi watches with worry, afraid to touch you anywhere in case he disturbed you, or inflicted more discomfort.

“It’s like,” You start to speak slowly, “I need to get… sick… I feel it coming, but I don’t know… why it won’t just happen…” Opening your eyes, you reach a hand toward him and he takes it, holding onto it like you were breakable.

“Go get ready,” You say quietly to him, taking in his half naked appearance, him sitting beside you in dress pants and nothing else.  He narrows his eyes, disappointed you’d even tell him to do that.

“I’m not leaving you like this,” He says.

“You are not missing this show, D,” You try to toughen up your tone as best as you could, “You are too excited for it, and so are the guys… Army misses you, baby, you need to go.” He drags his thumb over your palm, watching it for a second before looking back up.

“Not without you,” He whispers, “I need you. I need you to be there. I want you to be there, this is… this is everything,” You smile a bit as his face lit up as he spoke, “I need to share this with you, it’s too huge to not have you there with me, I love you too much to go without you.”  Another rumble of your stomach wipes your smile away, making you sit up to lean forward on his arm.  Yoongi sighs, placing a hand to your head, losing his fingers in your hair.  He gives your scalp a light scratch and nods a couple of times, knowing you couldn’t see him.

“What did we eat?” He asks himself quietly, rewinding the past few days in his head.

“Fuck, don’t talk about eating,” You spat with a groan, feeling your insides flip at the thought of ingesting anything.

“Sorry,” Yoongi whispers.  You felt bad, guilty almost.  Tonight was going to be legendary, and you’d been looking forward to it since the day he was cleared and approved to go. There had been a video call meeting, something on Zoom or one of those networks, and all seven of the guys were there. The doctors who performed the surgery were there, and every person of importance from Hybe was there. Squeezing in the tiny frame on screen with him, sitting on his lap, you broke out into a cry as the guys broke out into cheers at the first hearing of the news.

 Neither of you expected you’d be sick for the past couple of days, your brand new dress had been hanging in the doorway of your bathroom for over a week.

“Can I have my phone, please?” You ask politely, lifting your head, feeling cold and shaky.  Yoongi leaps to his feet obeying his orders, grabbing your phone off the charger from the dresser across from your bed, and hurrying back to your side with persistence.

“Thank you,” You attempt to smile, taking it from his own shaking hands that you gave a weak squeeze to before swiping open to your home screen.

“What’re you doing?” Yoongi leans over your screen with you like a child, nosey per usual.  Hesitating, you turn your chin and give him a smile that tells him to take two steps back- nicely.

“Would you just, please, go get dressed,” You say, pressing your lips together firmly.  Yoongi looks from your eyes, to your phone, back to your eyes, then to your lips where he places the smallest, quickest kiss he can catch before he makes his exit into the bathroom.  Part of you was praying to something, anything, that the thought bouncing around your mind for the last five hours while you laid in bed wasn’t true.  Not now.

Tapping on your calendar, you scroll to today’s date and release a breath, screwing your eyes shut, tossing your phone to the carpeted floor with a loud thud, as if you mustered up all the energy you possibly could have in your current nutrition deficient state to try to rewind the weeks. Rewind the weeks to tell your past self to not be stupid, to think about what you were doing before you did, and to remind yourself to get to the store the following mornings- or to just not do it at all.

“Y’okay?” Yoongi speaks up, peeking out of the lit up bathroom now wearing the sweetest sweater.  His eyebrows were nestled together in the center of his forehead above his worried eyes, watching as you rubbed your own, dragging your hands down your face and neck.  He looked so adorable, the joy he’d been radiating for days but keeping on the low was seeping through his exterior, melting your heart while simultaneously stomping it into your gut with vigor.

“Yoongi,” You begin cautiously, making his face twist in confusion at the use of his full name.

“What’s wrong?” He steps into the bedroom suspiciously, each foot planting into the fuzzy carpet heavily.

“Do you think I’m pregnant?” You blurt out, unsure of how to start the following conversation, figuring bluntness was the way to go.  Yoongi doesn’t move.  The confused look is frozen on his face as he stares at you, speechless.  There’s an actual minute of silence, neither of you stirring, just occupying space in the cozy room watching each other.

You imagined this scene to go one of two ways- either Yoongi panicking, and fleeing the premises, or you panicking, and digging the grave for your life… while also fleeing the premises.  However, it was calm, and nothing like a dramatized soap opera.  Were you nervous? Of course.  Did the thought of having a baby terrify you? Absolutely, but those nightmares seemed to be chased away with how Yoongi’s face softened within these sixty seconds.  There was no guttural gasp, or fainting, nor was there going to be an overactive argument where things got thrown and broken.  He folded his hands together in front of him, and tilted his head a smidge.

“What if you are?” He asks quietly, observing you and your energy much like you were doing to him.  You shrug your shoulders.

“What if I am?” You return the tone, eyes studying him for a quiver of unsanctified emotion.  He takes two timid steps toward the bed before swallowing, hard, a quiver of… something.  Tears began to well in your eyes, a sudden sharp shaky breath ripping through you sending Yoongi rushing to your side.

“Hey,” He whispers, pulling your body into his where he sat himself down beside you.  Crawling into his lap, you snake your arms around his back and bury your face into his chest, letting the tears come out.  His hands hold you close, slipping under your shirt to rub circles on your bare back to soothe you.

“It’s okay,” He mumbles, pressing a kiss into your bedhead, “We can check.” Sucking in another deep breath, you huff out a laugh.

“How, I don’t exactly buy fucking pregnancy tests when we grocery shop, D,” You say, just a tad harshly, “Fuck,” You mutter, “I’m sorry.” Yoongi simply smiles.

“S’okay,” He whispers.  He knew.

“We’ve never really talked about what would happen if this ever… What do we do?” You opt for a nicer tone, turning to look up at Yoongi who gazed down at you.

“I mean… we’re not eighteen years old…” He pauses after a short laugh, choosing his following words carefully with the time-bomb that is you on his lap in front of him, “We’ve been in a, in my opinion, a very secure relationship for the last seven years… I always saw you having my babies one day.” You could’ve turned to putty in his arms right then and there.  Pouting your bottom lip, he chuckles.

“You did?” 

“I did, and I do,” He nods, “But that’s your choice, baby.” You both react subtly to the pet name that suddenly felt different.

“You’d do it right now?” You ask, and he nods, “In the middle of your career?” He nods again.

“What if it’s our only shot?” His voice is quiet, his words and persistence sending a chill down your spine.  There is another minute of silence.  Sixty seconds full of a trillion thoughts, but none that needed to be spoken.  You could see right through one another.

Yoongi loosens his grip on you as you shift on his legs, sitting up to hook both arms around his neck before pressing a long, loving, overdue kiss to his lips.  The hands that touched you gently on your back wanted so badly to pull you in, roll backward onto the sheets and just kiss you into oblivion, but you both had somewhere to be in about an hour.

“Let me make a call,” Yoongi says between shared air, “You’re coming with me tonight, I don’t care what you say.  I’m not leaving you here, not now.  Wasn’t even planning on it.”

“Yeah, you’re not good at planning things,” You find the heart to tease him, earning a small tickle to your side as he shifts you off of him, pressing a kiss to your forehead before padding away to collect his phone.

On the bathroom floor in front of the closed toilet sat Yoongi, while you stood in the mirror putting on your makeup, fighting how vaguely dizzy you were feeling.  Every couple seconds, or every fifth flick of your brush, you were glancing over to him to watch him stare at the skinny plastic stick on the lid.  

A member of his team who was always close by had run to get you guys three different kinds of tests, but you decided together to only take one now for peace of mind, then save the others in case anything were to happen again.  The woman was sworn to secrecy, of course, half jokingly, but you didn’t need anyone else finding out that this was happening.  Neither of you wanted the guys to find out, if it was negative and they knew you took one, they’d never let you or Yoongi live it down.

“You look beautiful,” Yoongi finally breaks the silence, gazing up at you and your undone hair, to which you frown.

“I don’t feel beautiful,” You mutter to your reflection, layering on some mascara.  He shifts on the floor, then huffs a small laugh, turning toward you holding something in the air.

“You’re having my baby, I get to say you look beautiful,” He smiles.  You drop your mascara in the sink, the brush getting globs of thick black product all over the ceramic.  Looking down to him, he was holding the test out for you to take.  Snatching it from him, you sigh as you take in the two, thick, dark lines that were showing in the little box.  Clear as day.

“It’s not even… like... blurry? So… like… that has to mean… mean that…” 

“You’re pregnant,” Yoongi says quietly, watching you in awe, this look much different than the one he was giving you five minutes ago as he held your hand while you did what you had to do to take the test.  Dropping your hands to your side, your heart racing like crazy, you can’t help but smile.

“I’m pregnant,” You whisper, falling to your knees to catch him in a tight squeeze, pressing a kiss to his neck.  Yoongi takes a deep breath, nuzzling his cheek against yours before pulling away to touch your noses together.  You admire his loving eyes that were very obviously concerned about you.

“What are you feeling?” He asks, swirling a hand on the small of your back.  It was like he could feel your heart pumping away between your stagnant lungs.

“Nervous,” You barely speak, and he nods in tiny, beckoning you to keep talking to him, “Scared… a lot… We’d be raising a kid… In this insane life we live… You're an Idol for god's sake, D,” You both laugh, “But it's kind of amazing, and you’re making me feel less nervous about it… Please say something.”

“It’s amazing,” He agrees, kissing your cheek lightly, “It’s nothing like how a traditional life is supposed to go, or how we were expected to live our lives… but I can’t help but feel like this was supposed to happen.” 

A future between the two of you was rarely discussed, but in the way that you both knew you were endgame, no matter what. There wasn’t any need to talk things through, be prepared, or stress about what the future could possibly hold. You had Yoongi, and he had you, that’s what was important. Throughout the seven years you’ve been together, you and Yoongi knew it was forever.

“Are we going to do this?” He looks hopeful, and you cannot help but feel completely enamored by him.  Your hesitance makes his hope falter, but giving him a few quick nods you grin, pulling him into another hug where you sat on the floor.  Letting out a sappy cry on his shoulder, he soothes you by running a hand over your hair.

“Gonna need all your help,” You whisper, “Can’t do it alone…”

“I know,” He sighs, “I’m here, I’ll be here.  I will drag you everywhere with me if I have to, I don’t care what anyone says.  I’ll shrink you down and keep you in my pocket… I can’t believe this is happening.” You laugh at his rant, pulling back to smile at him before sharing a long kiss.

“I love you,” You say, and he smiles back.

“I love you.”

Less than an hour later, dressed in your brand new get-up bought just for tonight, you and your boyfriend were whisked away to the 35th Golden Disk Awards where he’d be making his very own comeback to his own band.  Yoongi had been away for a little over two months, so it was shaking him to his core that he was going to be able to join his brothers on the red carpet and in the performance, though it devastated him that he wasn’t allowed to partake in the choreography.

“You’ll be living up to that little lie you tell,” You had teased him while he gave you a rundown of how the show was going to go, “Suga doesn’t like to dance.” A laugh was shared, as well as a playful shove to your shoulder that turned into a little wrestling match, ending with you pinned underneath him smothered in his kisses- a week before today.  

With how carefully Yoongi escorted you out of the house and into the car, there wasn’t a chance in hell he’d be wrestling with you if he knew what he knew now.  Maybe it was his nerves from coming back… or it was his nerves from just learning that he was going to be a father a couple of hours before he had to perform in front of an audience with his best friends he wasn’t even sure he could tell this news to.

Every single tiny little thing would have him running to Jin, asking for his advice, or begging for his help, but now?  How was he supposed to ask his brother what he would do if he were in his place?  Yoongi meant every word he said, it came straight from his heart.  What didn’t cross his mind was- anything.  He needed words to come from his brain, not his heart.  Logical thinking never happened in front of you, or whenever something involved you, it was always deliciously thick, sweet and sappy thoughts from his heart, his heart that was constantly saturated in you.

In the backseat of the car you sit in the center, laying your head on Yoongi’s shoulder to rest your eyes for the drive.  You may be dressed to the nines, but how you felt inside didn’t quite equate.  The headache you’ve had for days was drumming away, the aching shooting from in front of your eyes to the back of your head.  With each bump the driver of the car hit, your stomach had a nauseating response, and of course mixed with a headache it made everything worse.

“Almost there,” Yoongi whispers with his arm around your body, “You can lay down when we get inside.” He presses a tender kiss to your head, looking down to you with his eyebrows knit.  

When you didn’t feel good, Yoongi didn’t feel good.  He always wished for the ability to take away your pain or sickness whenever something occurred, it broke his heart knowing you were suffering.  

Though most moments like these you’d reassure him that you were fine, that you could handle this, that you and so many other people were warriors once or twice a month… You didn’t have a baby growing inside of you.  Now he felt a responsibility, a need to take care of you because half of this was his fault.

“Yeah,” Yoongi sighs, standing with the guys in the hallway outside of the dressing room you were laying down in, “She’s not feeling too good.” Jimin picks his head up and looks amongst the group.

“Did she take a test?” He asks quietly, and Yoongi’s heart plummets to his knees.  Hiding his shock, he clears his throat, shakes his head and narrows his eyes.  Jin’s expression falters as he glances down at his shoes.

“A covid test?” Jimin restates his question.

“Fuck,” Yoongi whispers, taking a deep breath, “Yes, she did, it’s not covid.” Jin snakes a hand around Yoongi’s back, pulling him away from the guys, waving them away when they asked where they were heading.

Jin takes his brother down the hall and to a secluded spot where their conversation could stay discreet.  He can tell something way bigger is eating away at Yoongi.

“What’s going on?” He asks him, planting a hand to his good shoulder, looking him directly in the eyes.  Yoongi sucks in another breath, releasing it shakily.  He glances anxiously down the hall, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

“No one followed us,” Jin says softly, “Talk to-”

“She’s pregnant,” Yoongi says.  Jin’s jaw is stuck open.  Nodding his head within the silence, Yoongi chuckles.

“I know,” He acknowledges his brother's shock.

“Preg… Pregnant?” Jin speaks under his breath, taking a step toward Yoongi, closing the space between them.

“With a capital P,” Yoongi presses his lips together.

“Wha- When? What?” Jin sputters, not realizing how tight his hand was holding onto Yoongi’s shoulder now.  It was like he was absorbing all of his anxiety and doubt, releasing him of it.

“We just…” Yoongi trails off, glancing down the hall again before sighing and turning back to Jin, “We’ve had a lot of down time recently.”

“My brother, you’re still in recovery,” Jin starts to laugh, gesturing toward the brace Yoongi was instructed to wear between appearances, “And trust me when I say we know having, or not having, ‘free-time’ was never an issue for either of you,” Yoongi smirks.

“Would love to know how it happened, though,” His eyes pointed down, and Jin shifted his position so he could fold his arms across his chest, curious.  Glancing up to his concerned brows, Yoongi relieves him by telling him that this child was absolutely his.  He hesitates for a moment wondering if he should spill the details of how he knows it happened, but then ponders if those details are entirely too personal.  At the beginning of this relationship Yoongi needed all of Jin’s help, and no detail was ever TMI, however, with a guess of how this baby was made, there was a possibility of crossing a line.

“You’re babbling like an idiot, can you just say what you need to say?” Jin spoke with his hands then crossed them again, waiting for his brother to tell him what he wanted to hear.

“It’s too much,” Yoongi whispers, and Jin slaps his hands to his thighs with a quiet groan.

“I get it, she’s a good friend,” Jin nods, understanding why he was keeping quiet, “But you’re my friend first, my brother.”

“Fine,” Yoongi says, and Jin claps his hands together once with a smile, rubbing them together like he was about to get some delicious tea, and he was.

“You can be pretty kinky,” Yoongi begins quietly, Jin nodding without remorse to his statement, “But you’re like… passionately kinky.”

“I appreciate that,” Jin agrees, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Yoongi laughs at his serious tone, “When it comes to us, it’s, ugh…” His eyes start to deflect, “She’s unpredictable, I’m unpredictable, we’re both…”

“Impulsive?” Jin offers, making Yoongi nod.

“Yeah, impulsive,” He repeats, then sighs, “So it makes sense.  She tells me at the absolute last second to cum inside of her as I’m about to pull out, and… that was it.”

“Daaamn, Yoongi,” Jin slowly rocks his head side to side, “I’ve never had a woman tell me to do that,” Yoongi pops his brows once, laughing again, “What are the chances that’d be it though, who would’ve thought that?”

“Oh,” Yoongi huffs, eyeing Jin carefully, “It wasn’t only one time.” Stepping back, eyes going wide, Jin cocks his chin.

“You made a baby voluntarily!” He shouts.  It seemed almost accusational.  Yoongi lunges forward to grab Jin by the chest and pull him back, speaking to him quietly nearly nose to nose.

“As much as I, think, I love this… This was not voluntary,” His tone is flat, “She’s obviously not ready to do this, and I hate that she’s going to feel obligated to carry this through.” Jin’s total shock had subsided, now all that was left was subtle worry for his friends.

“Why would she feel obligated? She knows she has a choice right?” Jin asks.  Yoongi then goes on to tell him what he had said to you, how it could possibly be your only chance, which he only said out of his own anxiety for getting older.  He’s known you were the one a long time ago, otherwise he never would’ve roped you into the rollercoaster that is his life.

He wanted to be married to you before this happened.  He wanted to give you his last name before he gave you his children.  Maybe what you said wasn’t too far off, he was bad at planning things.  The marriage idea had been living in his mind since the start of this year, but the world had other plans that put him on hold.  When things started to look up he thought he could try again, putting together something special for you with Jungkook in hopes that you’d say yes when he got down on one knee, but then he got news of his procedure.  

Nothing would go to plan even if he tried his absolute hardest to have it go right, and though you were content right where you were in this relationship, Yoongi felt like he couldn’t grasp control.  The only thing to reassure him, the only thing to remind him that he was nothing but incredible, was you.  And here you are, mustering up courage to carry your shared DNA Yoongi wasn’t even positive you were ready to handle, just because he wanted it.

“Neither of you have… talked about it,” Jin narrows his eyes, “When did you find this out?” 

“Probably two hours ago,” Yoongi bobs his head, then chuckles.

“Jesus,” Jin groans, rolling his head backward, “Yoongi, you both need to sit down and have a conversation about it.  Voice all of your doubts, voice all of your opinions, and hear hers out,” He advises.  Yoongi takes in his words with care, nodding quickly as Jin dished out the wisdom he desperately needed.

Back in dressing room six, you were curled up on the end of the comfiest couch you’ve ever laid on.  Maybe it was because you weren’t feeling well, but the way the cushions were hugging you perfectly made you want to ask Yoongi if you could get this furniture for your living room.  It was like resting on piles of cotton made from angel’s hair, or better yet, the curve that Jimin’s tiny frame had been blessed with on his backside.

A gentle knock at the door made you pop open your eyes.  Yoongi shut the lights off before he kissed you on the cheek and left you in the position you were still in.  You’d only been resting for what felt like five minutes, he had an entire red carpet to do, how was he allowed back in here already.

“Go, D, please,” You force a hefty tone in your voice, and the laugh that follows it was not Yoongi’s.  The only light that came in was that of the hallway, and whoever entered the room was quick to shut it so as to not disturb you.

“Guess he didn’t want to come today?” It was Jungkook.  Lifting your head off of the dark green pillow, he clicks his tongue and insists you lay back down as he sits beside you.

“It’s not that he didn’t want to be here,” You begin, following orders, letting your eyes close, “He won’t leave me alone.” Jungkook laughs, keeping himself at a tolerable volume for your sake.

“He seems worried about you,” The younger boy smiles at you even though you couldn’t see him, “Jin just pulled him away to calm him down, I think.”

“Good,” You sigh, “Take him away, I’m fine.  He needs to be with you guys, that’s why he’s here.” Jungkook takes his bottom lip between his teeth and nods.  All six of them were ecstatic when they found out that Yoongi would be here with them tonight.  It’d been too long, and with the way life had been this entire year… they needed this moment.

“Why didn’t you stay home?” He asks tentatively.

“Don’t want me here, Kookie?” You tease, tapping him in the chest with your bare foot.  The shoes had come off before you were even in this room.  Jungkook grasps his heart and laughs with you, then quiets after you groan, proving his point.

“He wanted me here… If I didn’t come, he wasn’t going to come… And if I’m being totally honest, I feel way too scared to be sitting home alone right now,” Your voice fell to a whisper.  Concerned, Jungkook shifts in his seat to face you completely.

“What’s happening at home?” He asks, instantly switching into defense mode like any of them did when you told them something was wrong.  

Like Yoongi, you weren’t sure if you should be sharing this news with anyone yet, let alone tell the men who were performing in front of an audience in, like, an hour.  

Typically you’d call Sunny.  She would know what to do, or know what to say to get you through whatever you were feeling, but she’d been away for a couple months.  At this point you couldn’t separate simple reality from the anxiety looming inside of you.  It was obvious Yoongi wanted to have this baby, he didn’t show an ounce of regret back at home- although, he could be hiding it purposely, you didn’t share too much worry or deny wanting this, so what if he thinks you want this.  You weren’t even totally sure, but a piece of you already felt attached.  There was a little… something inside you that you made with the man you love entirely too much.

“I’m pregnant, Kook,” You whisper, gazing over at him now that your eyes have adjusted.  Jungkooks went wide, but not with complete shock, they were almost bright.  The corners of his lips prick up a bit, and comfort washes over you, warming your chilled skin.  You were blushing.

“Holy shit?” He half questions, breaking into a full smile, “That’s why you don’t feel good, right?” You nod, “I’m sor- I don’t mean to smi- You’re sick, and I’m smiling, I don’t even know how you feel about this.  I just- It’s kinda- You- Wow.” Your jaw had dropped amongst his stutters humorously, the two of you breaking out into laughter after he had finally stopped himself.

“Ahh, shit,” You groan, resting a hand on your clammy forehead to calm down.  Jungkook places a hand on one of your ankles and gives it a little squeeze before leaving it.  He was waiting for an answer to his comment, about how he doesn’t know how you feel about this.  All emotion had been wiped from his babyface and starry eyes.  Now he watched you with anticipation, eager to know more.  The youngest had always been endearing, charming you was incredibly easy, always.  Most days it wasn’t even his goal, it just happened.

“Kookie,” You were back at the whisper, and Jungkook’s posture adjusted, “Am I really gonna do this?” His eyes widened again, silently praying to himself that he didn’t need to give you an answer, and then you spoke again to his relief, “Have a baby? Raise a child when my life is, basically, on the road?” The blonde haired boy listens patiently, “Forget… the living on the road part, how am I, personally, supposed to have a child?  I’d be an entire mother, responsible for another life.  I can barely keep Yoongi on track, let alone myself, let alone a third life to worry about, and fuck, we know how my parents were growing up.  I didn’t exactly have the best role models to look up to-”

“No,” Jungkook says, not letting you finish your breath before he decides to speak up, “I think you’re very, very wrong,” His brows were resting just above his eyes, nestled in with frustration, “First of all, screw your parents,” The one thing all of you could collectively agree on, you pointed a finger at him playfully, “Second of all… I’m not trying to talk you into it, but I think you’d be an amazing mother.  I see you when we’re at these events, you’re just as observant as I am.  You’re mindful, you’re respected and you’re respectful.  That’s huge.”

Sighing, you try to smile, “Thanks, Kook.”

“I’m not done,” He deadpans, then smiles goofily, “The way you treat Yoongi, the way you love him, is something the rest of us dream about finding.  You both have something so real, and so genuine.  Even the way you look after us, the group.  Some things you do we could never repay you for.  So, what?  Life can get crazy?  You aren’t always on your game everyday?  That’s everyone.  I’ve known you for seven years, and for seven years you’ve been the most thoughtful, most selfless, most loyal person I’ve known in my entire life- and I’m friends with Jimin!” Giggling, you suck in a shaky breath, not realizing you had started to cry as he spoke this ocean of words to you.

“Screw your parents.  Screw the world that will tell you that you can’t do it, and screw the anxiety you’re feeling,” Jungkook reaches over for one of your hands to hold, “You are a good person, and I know for damn sure, you’ll be a good fucking mother.  If… you choose to be one.”

“Thank you,” Your voice cracks as you squeeze his fingers tight.  Jungkook nods, smiling.

“Oh, and I know nothing,” He smizes, “Until you say something, both of you that is.  I’m assuming this is still really fresh.”

“Yeah, you could say that,” You chuckle, wiping away your tears with the back of your free hand.  Jungkook was about to say more, but the dressing room door creaking open slowly had shut him up.

“Hey,” Yoongi said softly, giving Jungkook a confused look after his eyes trailed from your hands to his face, “Just checking in, we’re heading out in five.” The youngest nodded, then said his goodbyes to you.  As he stood up to leave, the way he looked at Yoongi had changed.  His typically playful, mischievous eyes had been exchanged for something sweeter, more loving than anything else. Yoongi’s narrow, watching him with suspicion for a second.

“See you out there,” Jungkook whispers, then touches his brother's shoulder gently. You both watch him leave, then Yoongi sits down next to you, closer than Jungkook had been. Holding onto one of your hands, he brushes his thumb along the back, then you both speak at the same time.

“You told Jin?”

“You told him?”

And you both break out into laughter, Yoongi leaning over to fall onto your legs where you laid.

“Yeah,” You both say and laugh again.

“Oh god, D,” You take a deep breath, calming yourself down for the sake of your head. Sitting up, he reaches to your cheek and tucks your hair behind your ear for you.

“I know,” He whispers, lowering his eyebrows, “I know.” Looking over to him with wide eyes, the sight of him is comforting. The way he’s looking at you warms your heart.

“We have to talk about this,” You whisper. He hesitates for a moment, taking you in before he nods.

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” He says with vigor, pushing away his own doubts, “We’ll talk, I promise, for as long as you need, baby.” 

The dressing room door opens, Namjoon popping his head inside. Yoongi looks over to him and bobs his head, knowing he has to go do what he doesn’t want to right now. Right now he’d much rather stay on this couch with you.

“Go,” You say, smiling at him, “I’ll come watch the show, promise.” He smiles back at you, happy to see yours.

“I love you,” He whispers, kissing your hand three times before he leaves you in the peace and quiet of the dressing room. Shifting in your spot, you nestle back into the pillows and groan in satisfaction. If you were going to be like this for nine months, you wanted this damn couch.

thank you for reading, I hope you’ve enjoyed this piece! 

feedback is always greatly appreciated & helps artists immensely. we also all love messages & the audience’s input, opinions, and ideas.

leave me some here! <3

#yoongi fic #dad yoongi #yoongs #bts #bts fanfic #bts x reader #yoongi #nervous #min yoongi #yoongi smut #yoongi x reader #suga fic #suga #min suga #bts smut #vegas baby vegas #yoongi x you #yoongi fluff #yoongi angst

[contentment-of-cats]

Part I

I cannot think of anyone I would rather have at my side, as we walk our measured miles down the winding road of life (yours being FAR more tenuous than mine) Nonetheless, here we are with you lighting the way as we navigate illness, cats, and fandom. Since you’re so old - ancient even (not so inside joke😆) I have the pleasure of accessing your - WHUT?!- 30 years of fandom activity.

Holy guacamole 🥑!

Welcome, my friend, as this is the first time I have had the pleasure of inviting you to my imaginary easy chairs over here at the Asker’s Studio™️ (cats are extra welcome here)

This is probably going to be in two parts. In this first installment, I would like you to give us your history:

How did you enter fan fiction?

What was the medium? Did you participate in Zines?

Please list the fandoms. What were your experiences/favorites?

Did you have anywhere like A03 to post your fics?

Do you still have any connections from back in the early days?

Included in your history, I would be curious to know if you attended any comic-cons, gatherings, etc.

Bonus: Is it true that in the early days, people used their real names?

***

We will end the first half with the overview. The second half of the interview will deal with the growing pains of Fandom: Censorship, Fandom lifecycles, Media transitions, pitfalls (Dark Fandom), and lessons learned.

This has been a long time coming. I’m thrilled to see it come to fruition.

Ahhh! It's great to find this in my inbox this morning. Thank you so much for asking me.

I'm so happy you're feeling better. The measured miles are thoughtful ones, and good for clearing out the crap, but also for finding out who is willing to walk them with you. I'm blessed to have you and other ride or die folks with me. Man, I am Old, not just Fandom Old, but within hailing distance of sixty! No sin in Old, there are a lot of folks who don't make it. I'm blessed there, too, to have the extra time that I do. Let me get comfy in that easy chair, sip my coffee and cuddle a cat.

How did you enter fan fiction?

I became aware of fan fiction and fan works when I was in middle school. My hometown had a great record store, and I'd go in on Fridays with my allowance and whatever kid-work money I had. My Walkman was a constant companion, and I'd buy cassettes and records, then go down the street to the newsstand for comics. One day, I went in and there was a Star Trek mimeographed 'zine - someone cut a mimeograph stencil and inked it. I picked it up, it was the same price as a comic book, but it had stories - some that I should not have been reading in middle school, but I did!

Side note. I remembered reading Spock: Messiah in a zine before it came out as a book. Everyone tells me that no zine would publish something that godawful

It's weird, but now I look back and think that it was someone working in a school. Could have even been one of my teachers. Photo copiers were huge and expensive back then, most schools didn't have them. Those zines were something I anticipated as a kid - and my mother trashed the lot when she found them. Of course, some never put out more than one issue, but the record store soon became the zine store.

I'd always told stories in my head as a kid, but I didn't start writing until I took a creative writing class as an extracurricular in high school. Fan fiction writing for me didn't enter the picture until the start of the internet (at $2.50 a minute on a dialup modem and pre-Windows 95) and I fell into fandom as an activity on Usenet. I think my first fanfic was a Skinner/Scully from X-Files about 1994. I wrote pretty regularly in that pairing, but the fics, the archives, and the e-Groups/Yahoo Groups are long gone.

What was the medium? Did you participate in Zines?

My first fics went to a Usenet group, and then after that to a Skinner/Scully e-Group. I submitted to a couple of archives, too.

I didn't participate in zines, but I did read whenever I could get my hands on one. I stashed them in the attic under one of the floorboards with my comic books and the bodice-ripper romances.

Please list the fandoms. What were your experiences/favorites?

Nancy Drew books were my first fandom. Little House on the Prairie books, too, but I really loved Nancy. Comics - Archie, Wonder Woman, Dr. Strange, and I casually read about a half dozen others. Of course I loved my Saturday morning shows. The after-school specials were too preachy and I hated them. I wished for a magic box to record all my shows so I didn't have to pick and choose - the betamax was out and OMG so expensive. Mom was not going to cough up that kind of money just to record cartoons and kids shows.

My first visual media fandom was Star Trek which I started watching when it was in syndication. I think I was seven or eight? I bought the books long into the early 80s. Space:1999 was next, Star Wars was after that. I know I picked up the zine before the movie came out. Battlestar: Galactica was a favorite and had its own zine.

Then there was a long lull where I was just too jammed with messy family stuff, school, and extracurriculars that kept me out of the house. At fifteen, I started a paycheck job. I didn't really get into being a fan again until ST:TNG, X-Files, and Heir to the Empire. I was in the Harry Potter and Black Butler fandoms, and also wrote in Doctor Who, Sherlock, and Star Trek's reset movie. Fandoms after that were Stargate (movie and SG1), ST:TNG, Babylon 5, Star Trek: Voyager, Sliders, Farscape, Firefly, all of the Star Wars original trilogies (do not talk to me about the sequels), some of the books, and naturally the two latest Thrawn trilogies. I've enjoyed The Mandalorian, Andor, the Bad Batch, and have idly been watching Rebels and The Clone Wars.

Did you have anywhere like A03 to post your fics?

Back in the Ancient Times, there was only Usenet. Then people started posting to e-Groups, Yahoo Groups, and Listserv. Public fanfic didn't really take off until people could make their own sites - think Geocities, Angelfire and so on. People made sites for their own fic, or started archives. Fanfiction.net came along in 1998 and was a HUGE development - anyone could post whatever they wanted, whenever they wanted to do it! You didn't have to submit to an archive, didn't have to format the html. You just uploaded it!

There were a lot of copycats, especially after FF.net went after the porn, but Live Journal gave the authors a place to post fic themselves, and have a social media interaction. It was heaven - until it wasn't. Archive of Our Own grew out of Live Journal and the repeated crackdowns on smut and slash and launched in 2008. I've been there ever since.

Do you still have any connections from back in the early days?

I still have one friend and collaborator that I've known since early 2000's. We talk most nights and have been through a lot together.

Included in your history, I would be curious to know if you attended any comic-cons, gatherings, etc.

Cons and gatherings always required resources that I never had at the same time. If I ever had the time or the money at the same time, I'd go. I used to go to Comic-Con in Pasadena back when it was just a comic and collector's show.

Bonus: Is it true that in the early days, people used their real names?

It depended on the circumstances. Almost everyone online used a pseudonym. In the 'zine days, the circles were smaller and many people used their real names, unless it was smutty.

#asker's studio #aaaaaaaaaaaa #fandom old #i forgot so much shit until you asked me about it

[spectres-fulcrum]

Now I have to jump from 1777 to ca. 333 BC cause apparently Netflix has an Alexander The Great half seriously acted/half docu series coming out Wednesday and Alexander the Great was my Thing sophomore year of high school(The trailer is EVERYTHING). They better do his relationship with Hephaestion right(queerly)

They were VERY in love and very obviously. Idk why it's a debate after anyone reads how Alexander reacted to Hephaestion's death(There's more but I can't remember atm)

We had an unit on ATG in World History and I wanted to google something in whatever documentary we were watching(I think it was Alexander and Hephaestion making an offering to Achilles and Patroclus) and it led me to finding out there was speculations Alex and Phai were queer and a thing and me just recently realizing I liked girls along with boys was really like. Obsessed.

That's me though. I find out things are queer and I get obsessed. I love non queer stuff too and get obsessed but. It's just like my new AmRev phase was ignited by the Hamilton-Laurens letters that are sus as fuck. Sus as fuck as I'm like yet to find a reasonable het explanation as to why Laurens was encouraging Hammie to find a wife as a cure for his devotion to Laurens.

Under the cut is more me unlocking more memories

Of course, I watched the 2004 Alexander, with Colin Farrell and Jared Leto. They are still my celebrity conspiracy theory of they fell in love during filming and had an on and off thing for a few years and it crashed and burned(That's a very very very long essay spanning several albums because Jared Leto is still clearly extremely fucked up by it see: Never Not Love You but also Love These Days). The Babylon balcony scene was gorgeous! And I loved the flashback to Aristotle teaching all the boys. And we at least got Princess Barsine-Stateira even if we didn't get the rest of the family. For books I think The Conqueror's Wife was my favorite as I loved writing from Drypetis' pov(Hephaestion's wife, Darius' daughter. I headcanoned Bagoas as her best friend though and they were all very poly and friends besides Roxana. I was probably too mean to Roxana looking back) and she was a narrator for that book. I remember reading it on a trip down to the German Christmas market. My teacher always splurged for coach buses so it was an extra nice bus ride read. That was senior year though, when it came out. I still had nook back then, not kindle.

I think our ATG unit coincided with state testing week which is part of why we watched a documentary because my history teacher knew we'd be frazzled and classes were all messed up with that week. not that it matters but it's also is like. Placing things.

Looking at the character list on IMDB(assuming it's legit) I'm like some of these people I need reminders but I'm also like Memnon! (There was an AlexPhai fic where Memnon kidnapped Phai and they grew fond of each other) Ptolemy! Queen Stateira! Hephaestion! And once I gave it some thought I was like X and Y were Phillip's generation and didn't Z kill Darius?

Yep. I need to do some review tomorrow though. God it's gonna feel good. Honestly the trailer was so exciting I was like Alexander! Phillip's death! Darius! Darius with Stateira! IS THAT SISYGAMBIS!?!?!?!?!? (IDK but I'm gonna freak if we get Sisygambis. What if we get precious little Ochus? Drypetis? Bagoas? Please at least give us the canon queer kiss with Bagoas)

#alexander the great #one of my many alexander loves #unlocking some bre lore #alexander the great netflix #I could still make a list of characters I want #I will go to the grave defending bisexual Alexander the great #It is a fact

[samieree]

Silver Princess || House of the Dragon

OC x Daemon Targaryen x Aemond Targaryen

-> Introduction + Chapter I

Chapter II "Dragon Princess"

Almost half a year had passed since her mother's death, but Valaerya was still experiencing it and it was obvious how this situation affected the young Targaryen. Early on, she could often be found in the gardens, with her hair down, or perhaps in some uncomplicated bun, reading books in a light dress.

Now it was hard to find her in the castle at all. Usually from morning to evening she was outside the castle walls, in the Dragonpit. She didn't read as often anymore, although she could be find sitting on her dragon's paw, her back against it's side, reading something. However, she spent a lot more time in the sky now or on walks anywhere outside of the city at all, not caring that her father would disapprove of it.

Her dressing style has also changed significantly. She hasn't worn a dress since the day her mother died. She ordered to sew other, more... Practical clothes, something like those in which she flew on a dragon. Anyway, it were just two sets for riding these beasts that she wore, until more were made for her.

High boots, trousers and a long-sleeved shirt over which she put on a coat that, when buttoned up, resembled a dress and ended at the knee. The way she put her hair up also changed — and since the maid could never suit her taste, she took care of it herself. Every morning she would sit in front of the mirror and first separate two thin strands that would be on the sides of her face. Then she would make braids around her head, which she then tied into a ponytail, connecting the braids with the rest of her unbraided hair.

This is how she dealt with the loss, completely changing her appearance, as if she cut herself off from what was, as if she was a completely different person.

It seemed that this day would be no different from any other. Already dressed, she was sitting in front of the mirror, finishing braiding her hair, when suddenly the door to her chamber opened. She sighed, quickly finishing her ponytail and getting up from the chair. She was ready to rebuke her guard for letting people in without knocking, but as soon as she walked into the main part of the chamber, she noticed that it was her father who had come to her.

"Father?" She said, drawing attention to herself.

"You didn't come to your mother's funeral." She didn't like the beginning of this conversation.

She frowned, not really knowing whyt he was saying this. That had been almost six months ago, why was he reminding her of that? Didn't he know she wouldn't make it there after what she'd seen? Stand by and watch them burn both her mother's and her brother's bodies?

"You just remembered about it now?" She asked in a slightly harsher tone than she had originally intended.

"And you weren't there when I declared your sister as an heir to the Iron Throne." He added, not taking his eyes off her. He looked... Worried, concerned about her behavior.

"Yes, so what?" She controlled her tone this time, bluntly saying she didn't want to have this conversation.

She didn't need anyone's sympathy, not after what she had seen and how she had come to terms with it. Besides, she guessed that her father had ordered Aemma's womb cut open to take out the baby, who died soon after anyway... If anyone was to blame for this whole tragedy, it was her father.

What was all this for, if Rhaenyra was named heir anyway? Why all this mania of having a son for? If it weren't for him, her mother would be here right now... And father wouldn't have to start thinking that it's time to remarry.

"You can't spend your days in the Dragonpit or in the sky." He said, stepping closer to her. He frowned, which only added to the concern on his face.

"I'm a Targaryen, so I'm close to dragons, what's strange about that?"

"Before Aemma's death, you visited the Dragonpit no more than twice a week, not every day." He replied, stopping right in front of his daughter. "You rarely come to eat with me and Rhaenyra at all, and when you do, you seem absent. My beloved daughter, I'm only worried about you." He even ignored the tone she used before. He placed his hands gently on her forearms, as if to inspire confidence in her. He is her father after all, she can tell him anything.

"There's no need, you've got other things on your mind..." She looked away as she said this, trying to push the painful memories away.

"I miss her too." He nodded softly, leaning closer to her. "And I will miss her for the rest of my life. But we can't close ourselves off to everyone, you can't."

She nodded, even though she didn't know if she'd ever be able to be as outgoing as — for example — her sister. After all, she'd never cared too much about having lots of friends, and now... It's going to be even harder for her.

"Just... I need a little more time." She said, returning her gaze to him. "But at your next wedding — once you choose your new wife — I'll be there. I promise."

He nodded, his expression now more serious. He removed his hands from her forearms and straightened up. It won't bode well...

"You have all the time you want to grieve, but you must not forget that as Princess of the Seven Kingdoms you have responsibilities. Enough of ignoring them, I turned a blind eye because I know how close you were with your mother. But that's the end of Valaerya." She looked at him with her already slightly terrified look, afraid of what she was about to hear. "You are forbidden to go to the Dragonpit until you will participate again in the life of the court as befits a princess. And dress like one, sometimes you are not mistaken for a common lord just because of your hair."

"What?! No, you can't... Father!" She started shouting after him as he headed for the door. "You can't take that away from me, it's all I live for!"

"That's it! You are a princess, not just another dragon in the Dragonpit! Your home is here, not there!"

"Just one more time, please! Last day!" He stopped after this words. He seemed to be too soft-hearted again and considered her request.

Finally, after a few hellish moments of silence, she heard her father's heavy sigh, and then he turned to her.

"Last time. I'll pass it on to the Lord Commander right away."

* * *

There was no time to waste, she had to enjoy her last day of freedom. However, before she left her chamber, she began to think that she would wear it from tomorrow until her father let her off again.

She pulled from the closet the snow-white gown she had worn on the day of that tournament, which Uncle Daemon had given her. She stared at it for a long moment, running the fabric between her fingers before making a decision.

"Evylin!" She called her maid, who was bustling about the room, changing the sheets.

"Yes, princess?" She asked what was the matter as soon as she got within two paces of Valaerya.

"Have it dyed black. And... Sew on the border of the 'scales' with silver thread." Val commanded, turning to the red-haired woman and holding out her dress.

"But princess, it's so beautiful just the way it is..."

"I don't like this color anymore. And the silver thread will only add charm to it." She replied in a tone that made it clear that she didn't wish to continue this discussion. Evylin no longer objected, taking the gown from Valaerya, curtsying, and left the chamber to do her bidding immediately.

Soon after, Val came out to the courtyard, where the Lord Commander was waiting for her, who was supposed to watch her on her way to the Dragonpit. Usually it was some ordinary guard, but as you can see today it was on him, most likely at the behest of her father.

She didn't speak on the way to her destination. Once there, she dismounted her horse efficiently, greeting the Dragonkeepers and went inside, not waiting for someone to lead her dragon out.

"Skorkydoso glaesā, Kaerax?" (How are you, Kaerax?)" She asked as soon as the dark gray, almost black dragon stuck it head out to be petted.

"Issi ao jāre naejot kipagon tubī, dārilaros? (Are you going to ride today, princess?)" One of the  dragonkeepers asked her, not knowing what the young princess was up to today.

"Kessa. (Yes.)" She replied shortly. "Kostan gaomagon ziry nykēla. (I can do it myself.)" She added seeing that they weren't going to leave her alone.

When they finally were gone, she sighed softly and began to tell Kaerax how sorry she was that she didn't know when they will see each other again, because her father had forbidden her to come here. Saying this, she snuggled against her side, though the saddle straps hindered her a bit.

Ugh, if only I could... Take it off.

All in all... Why not? You can ride a horse without a saddle, so why not ride a dragon like that? Kaerax will also feel freer then, without the belts fastened around her body.

Even when Valaerya spent a lot of time reading, she liked stories where the main character was riding a dragon, but there was never mention of them getting on the saddle. They would just find a place on dragon's back and grab onto one of the spikes, and fly like that. So why couldn't she do that?

Besides... She was a Targaryen. If dragons were made to be ridden by the Targaryens, then Targaryens were made to ride them as they are. There is nothing to be afraid of.

By the way, before saddles were invented, someone was already riding dragons, right?

Right?

After such a long thought, she began to look for the place where all the straps holding the saddle were fastened. She found the first clasp quickly, the second was harder as Kaerax lay down on it.

Overall the whole process was... Let's just say complicated. And it took quite a while. And the worst thing was to take it all off the dragon's back...

But once she had dealt with it, she faced another challenge. She still had to get to the back somehow before she could fulfill her fantasies.

She was about to speak, but the dragon had to understand what her lady wanted. Lying on it's stomach, it leaned on the side far enough for Valaerya to directly reach the spikes on it's back.

 Val wasn't prepared for the fact that as soon as she caught spikes, Kaerax would straighten up. She nearly fell off at once or flew over to the other side instead of stopping on dragon's back. It was different than in the saddle, at first she had no idea how to position herself. She tried several different positions before pulling herself a little closer to her head, finally finding a position that had potential. She took a deep breath, clutching hard at the spikes on her dragon's back before daring to speak.

"Sōvegon. (Fly.)" She said with her heart beating hard. She immediately felt Kaerax begin to walk towards the exit of the Dragonpit. Maybe it was only Valaerya's imagination, but the dragon was moving more freely than usual...

No, there was no time for such thoughts. As soon as the open world was right in front of them, the dragon kicked off the ground with it's hind legs and began flapping it's wings, taking to the air. At first Val thought she was about to fall before she found a good footing under her feet in the form of more spikes.

For the first few minutes, she had her head resting on the dragon's back, instantly regretting her decision and praying to the Seven Gods that she would make it out alive. However... As time passed, she felt better and better. Her body had become accustomed to the dragon's movements and no longer tried to resist them.

Valaerya finally looked up, looking around. The wind was beating at her the same way it always did, well, maybe a little less. From this height, the city always looked beautiful. At first she was a bit uncertain looking around, but as soon as she gained the feeling that she had a good foothold and would not fall down, she relaxed and a smile spread across her face.

She had never felt such a bond with her dragon in flight, ever. It was... Something else, when she was pressed directly against Kaerax's body, there was nothing but her, her dragon, and the cloudless sky. She felt free like never before. She could forget for a moment that she was a princess with responsibilities waiting for her, in that moment she was free, she could do what she wanted, go wherever she wanted.

After all, if she suddenly went to Essos, who would find her there?

But here was her world... Her life she had to live and her problems she had to deal with. The only thing she has is an illusory sense of freedom, which she grasps like a drowning man grasps razor.

Gods, her father will probably ban her flying to the end of her life as soon as he found out, but it was worth it. Damn, it was worth it.

~

-> Chapter III -> general masterlist -> Game of Thrones/House of the Dragon masterlist

#rhaenyra targaryen #house of the dragon #hotd #hotd fanfic #daemon targaryen #aemond targaryen

[tobiasdrake]

Amazing how, despite the absence of Peacekeepers in our face right this second, this is nonetheless the worst its ever been.

I'm not saying Makoto fucked us all. ...but I'm not not saying that. If things continue down this path, Makoto will have killed Huesca and destroyed the Nocturnal Detective Agency, something Yomi's been trying and failing to do for weeks, all in one fell swoop. Yomi will get to ride the high of killing us all and Makoto gets to go home secure in the knowledge that he made this checkmate happen.

Assuming this is the outcome that he intended to happen, of course. But I've watched Makoto work Yomi over. Man's playing 4-D chess while we're all playing checkers. It is highly possible that he meant all of this to happen.

So this is our motive. To escape the base, we have to find Fink and prove his existence to Yomi - Which will likely involve some retaliatory soul-reaping to avenge Yakou.

Probably not. Like I said earlier, if all of these security measures are stopping us from leaving then they may be stopping Fink from leaving too. It's possible he's still in the building. If he didn't get out before they turned off the elevator, he may even still be on this floor.

Right now, Yomi's licking his wounds and figuring out what to do with us. We have breathing room. This is the perfect time to act.

Desuhiko's not wrong and this is a common complaint I have with Yuma's behavior. But it's better than sitting around with our thumbs up our asses, wondering how long until Yakou draws his final breath.

If Halara's with us then we must be on the right path! Let's do this!

Astral projection. Which means if we hold his hand, we can astral project too.

Hold up, condition? You gonna tell me what that means, big guy?

I will tear you in half little man.

I mean, I won't. But if you swing on Vivia, I will offer Halara a fiver to snap you in two. I don't even care that Vivia could outfight you in his sleep. They can both kick your ass together.

It's astral projection. I knew it. This spiritual ability is probably also why he can see Shinigami. He has one foot in the plane that she exists on.

This is going to be fun. I can't wait to Coalesce with it! Vivia, you and I are going to be the best of partners.

CHOKE ON YOUR TONGUE. I wanna be a gho~ost! T_T

He is looking right at Shinigami as he says this. He knows exactly what's going to happen if he helps us.

No, we won't. Yomi's a fascist prick. Before Halara showed up, he was kicking Yakou's body to help him die faster. We're supposed to trust that guy with Yakou's medical care?

You and me both, my guy. I feel you. I'd love to live in that world too. But it isn't what we have. It's important to always keep moving forward, to keep striving to build a better world to live in. But to always keep one eye on the world that presently exists.

I wish I could believe that Yomi is a good-hearted well-meaning guy who will engage with us in good faith and offer Yakou the care that he deserves. I wish I could have faith that our situation is such.

But I don't. His behavior has given me zero confidence in his willingness or ability to treat us fairly.

Too harsh, Halara. While I agree that Vivia should help me commit long-range remote-murder, I can't fault him for his reluctance to do so. He's got a good heart.

Yes to that first one; He does seem violently concerned about the presence of the Book of Death among us, and its involvement in our activities. Rightly so. It's killing people.

Vivia once again cutting to the thematic heart of these investigations. Through the Mystery Labyrinth, the price we pay for the answers we find far outweighs the value of those answers. We trade lives in exchange for secrets that weren't worth those lives.

Should he truly help us do it? Take the blood upon his hands, the same as ours? Desuhiko and Halara can't fathom what he's talking about because they don't know. They don't understand what's at stake here. But Vivia knows. He sees the monster that lurks over Yuma's shoulder and feeds on souls unjustly condemned.

I hope he sticks to his guns. I know he won't, 'cause we have a case to crack and game mechanics won't let us just call it here. But this is a strong moment for him.

Oh, we're going to trick him. Wow. That's dangerous. We don't even know if we'll be able to get our soul back in its body without his help.

Never mind, he knew exactly what we were on about.

Yeah, he rolled over fast. "I won't do the thing because I'm morally opposed to it. I have no qualms with helping you do the thing, though. It's not the doing of the thing that I'm against; I just don't want to do it myself."

SPOOKY GHOST. This is awesome. I'm going to investigate so many things and they won't be able to stop me. And maybe finally take my chance to rub my butt on Yomi's desk like I promised.

Gotta keep my word, y'know. It's called integrity.

#master detective archives: rain code #drake plays rain code

[magicalyaku]

I had vacation and tooth surgery and thus a lot of time to be lazy! <3 A chunk of it I spent listening to the narrations of some creepypasta series. Though, honestly, I'm not sure they can be called that? They're more episodic paranormal stories. Yes, there's monsters running around and dangerous, maybe scary stuff going on, but they're also incredibly wholesome and soo sweet and very queer! So if you're into that, go look for the stories written by @02321 on r/nosleep and Youtube! My Name's Skyler, I'm a Freelance P.I. narrated by Baron Landred (the title on r/nosleep is I Work as a P.I and a Government Agent approached me to help with a case) and I Deliver Mail to Cryptids narrated by Animas. (And also a bunch of stories more set in the same universe of the Silver King.)

Now back to our regular books! We have 4 princes, 2 kings and 1 queen this month!

Banshee Blues (Nina Blazon): I'm in the editing process of my latest novel, which I'm writing in German, so I felt I should read a German, non-translated book for once. This was the only one in my pile but it is from my favourite German author, so all was well. I have a lot to thank her for. The first novel read from her was Der Dunkle Kuss der Sterne (The Stars' Dark Kiss) and that was the first time I liked first-person viewpoint! Her next book had split POV and different tenses and I had to admit it was done well. Banshee Blues was not quite up to par with her previous works but it went a few new directions than usual which was nice as well. It tried very hard to lead you astray with what's going on and who is evil and who isn't. And while I liked how things turned out between the two leads it would have been monumental to have them stay platonic.

The Fallen King's Penitent Soldier (Tales of the High Court 5) (Megan Derr): Sigh, it's been a ride. I had a good time with the whole series. I love the worldbuilding, really. But it is alright to end it here, while it's still good, you know. In a way, these five stories are all built very similar: Being kidnapped by bad guys, running from the bad guys or running after the bad guys for the first half and afterwards waiting to let other people sort it out. There's probably a limited amount of iterations you can go through while still be interesting. But for these five volumes it was fun! As for book 5 by itself, I think it's a good thing it comes so late in the series. Because it really takes its time. There's a lot introspection going on for the two protagonists which is okay because they go through a lot but it's also very long and sometimes not much else happens. I liked the two of them, I liked how religion was handled, I liked how it went full circle back to Allen's story. I liked the series. Good times. :)

Prince & Knight (Daniel Haack & Stevie Lewis): I wanted this for the pretty pictures. But apparently the universe didn't want me to? I ordered this last year already, but the package went on an odyssee through several cities without ever arriving at my home. I ordered it again this year and … the same thing happened?! 8D The odyssee was shorter this time, mind you, but … why again?! I tried a third time and ordered it for pick up at a local bookstore and that finally worked. Geez! It's a children's picture book so the story is as basic as it goes. Is it goo for children? I wouldn't know. The dragon doesn't die and it's very sweet and very pretty.

In all seinen Farben (Boy Queen) (George Lester): I had some exhausting weeks at work and thought I could use something inspirational. Something about finding your own way and shine. Which happens in this book but there's also a lot of drama going on and I was not prepared for the rock-bottom-hit in the beginning. xD I mean, it was written in the blurb but I've owned the book for a year why should I reread the blurb … I know nothing about drag or make-up or anything in that direction (I did watch like 15 minutes of the drag show at Comic Con Stuttgart last year but that hardly counts), so it was charming and interesting to read about.

We Could Be so Good (Cat Sebastian): I have to apologise to everyone on the waitlist for this at my library because I could have read it faster but … once I realised what sort of direction the 70% drama might take I had a tough time reading on. They were so happy and it was nice and I just did not want to suffer! I did assume, since the book goes out of its way to address how all queer books published during the mid of the last century would have to end badly (and the protagonist outright refusing to read them therefore), it would probably take a turn for a happy ending. That was the only hope that kept me going. If I had known any of the author's other work I maybe wouldn't have worried so much, because it's written in her bio already that she'll only write happy endings?! Well … So for anyone else fearing the drama of a book set in 1959: No queer person was harmed in this book! (Nothing major anyway.) I like the book, though! Enjoyed reading it. Nick and Andy are both sweet. But that fear did something to me, took me a while to recover. :'D

Prince & Assasssin (Perilous Courts 1) (Tavia Lark): I needed something simple for my fragile heart and it seems gay fantasy is my comfort read now in the same way my mom reads stuff named like "The Little Bakery at XYZ Street". And what should I tell you, yeah, there're men who are tenderly and not so tenderly intimate with each other, yeah yeah, but there's also giant talking cats! Giant talking cats! Also, I really like the author's writing style. It's so smooth! I started reading and didn't want to put it down anymore because it read so smoothly! The book itself was so much better than I had expected (which was basically nothing). It won't blow you off your feet but it's pretty enjoyable and surprisingly wholesome. Also the worldbuilding felt just right. I'm looking forward to reading the next volumes soon!

King of Immortal Tithe (Darkmourn 2) (Ben Alderson): Did I buy the expensive hardcover just because I like the illustration more than the one of the paperback? Why hello, that's me. So this is the second fae book I read this year. It's apparently a universal truth now that fae men are the most beautiful and well endowed beings on earth and beyond. Not that I mind, you do you, but why does fae anatomy work the same as humans' actually? Anyway, this is a stand-alone in a series of stories all set within the same universe. I like that concept. Hunting for pieces of lore is fun. Arlo is a feisty character so following him was enjoyable. The switch from enemy to lovers was kinda sudden like … I can see why but personally it still felt sudden. Also Faenir calling Arlo constantly Darling was not my taste but you know, if it's just that, I can overlook it. The twist at the end had me barking out evil laughter (which means approval). I did hold back reading the final chapter until I read the first volume as not to spoil any more! (While they are stand-alones the previous story is referenced in this one.)

Lord of Eternal Night (Darkmourn 1) (Ben Alderson): "He was so tall and his hands were so large and his length was so great and so thick my fingers couldn't touch reaching around it. He was not just a man, he was a god!" I laughed. That's not a literal quote, but a good summary. Yeah. I laughed. And while praising one guy he was also dissing his former lover, the baker's son, for not being as large. Not the poor lad's fault, no need to get mean! Should have known at that point already who was the true evil mastermind. :'P. But in all fairness, there is a little more going on in the story. And well, these books know very well what kind of fantasy they're catering. There's a short guy, a little crafty and feisty, not too weak, and the very tall, very beautiful guy who everyone says is evil, but turns out he isn't so evil, he just has a tragic past, he also falls very hard for the protagonist and oops, maybe he does have some capacity for evil. I did like how the story subverted who's good and who's bad like three times. Otherwise, it's not really complex. But I'm kinda into the ending.

Alpha of Mortal Flesh (Darkmourn 3) (Ben Alderson): The third installment in the series, they've been getting more elaborate with each volume. So instead of the 2 and 3 half characters we had in the first one, there's actually a whole cast in here with motivations and backstories. That was nice. The writing style, however, is still as … trying as hard as in the beginning. It's not bad, mind you, I commend it for trying to use the full range of the English language, but there's a lot of words, making everything longer than needed, and sometimes their choice is really weird. Example: "My tongue broke free. It slithered from the confines of my mouth." But it's just a normal human tongue licking something eagerly yet still very normally! And, they're indie books, yeah, but I do wish all three books would have gone through another round of editing. The unnecessary repetitions and errors made me suffer a little. And while I got a little bored and impatient at the end I do like the story and what it's trying to do. Just that it was trying too hard in some aspects of the writing and not hard enough in others.

That's it for July! Apparently, August will be library month again. My TBR bookshelf disapproves but duh. Let's go and have fun. :P

#yaku reads #books #queer books #lgbtq books #queer lit #bookblr #creepypasta #i deliver mail to cryptids #nick & skyler #we could be so good #darkmourn #lord of eternal night #prince & knight #banshee blues #tales of the high court #perilous courts #prince & assassin #boy queen

[vostok3-ka]

15 Questions for 15 Friends

Thank you so much for tagging me @vivelarevolution13. So lovely of you!!!!!

Are you named after anyone? >>> Yeah! I'm named after one of the most loved and strong historical women in Arab and Muslim history, the wife of the Prophet peace be upon him, Aisha. She was known to be very lively and lovely, and was incredibly clever and loved to have fun. In my culture we believe that naming a baby gives them some of the characteristics of the person or thing they are named after, and I really hope that's true, because she was an awesome woman.

When was the last time you cried? >>> Last time I cried was when praying for Gaza. Half of my family are either Jordanian-Palestinian, or Palestinian and when I see pictures of little children being hungry and frightened I can very easily image my siblings or little cousins in their place. It is only a border-line that separates us, and I could easily have been from Gaza. So yeah, I was quite upset.

Do you have kids? >>> No, but would love to someday, really would.

What sports do you play/have you played? >>> The first sport I ever did was Taekwondo as a little kid, I loved it but stopped when I got the blue belt due to life circumstances, before starting riding lessons. That went on for a few months and I was so happy. I loved it so much, but the prices became higher so I had to stop and was very sad about it. Then I did Brazilian Jiu Jitsu for a few years, and stopped when I got my grey and black belt. Then I did swimming, and stopped after around a year and a half, then I started archery about nearly two years ago, which I am still doing, and I absolutely adore it. I compete amateurly, and it is super fun. I also do kickboxing, have been doing so for a year, and it's such a good sport and I enjoy it so much!

Do you use sarcasm? >>> I don't really. Got told off by my mother too many times for using it that I only do sometimes, and lightly now.

What’s the first thing you notice about people? >>> Their eyes. And their cheeks, if they dimple. I just find both really pretty!

What’s your eye color? >>> Amber/Golden-lightish brown? Not really sure but between light brown and amber.

Scary movies or happy endings? >>> Happy endings! I prefer tragic endings that leave me nearly gasping in emotion, but I do NOT like horror unless it's gothic/existential without any jump scares.

Any talents? >>> I am not sure honestly? Writing I suppose? I am a little uncomfortable with calling what I can do talent, I think I'm quite your average Joe or however the phrase goes ;) I do think I sometimes write some alright poetry though!

Where were you born? >>> In the Gulf of the Middle East. My family are expats so I wasn't born in the Levant!

What are your hobbies? >>> Archery, Kickboxing, Writing both poetry and prose, reading, and occasionally playing video games. My favourite book by far is Catch-22 and my favourite video games would have to be either S.T.A.L.K.E.R. or Metro 2033

Do you have any pets? >>> I used to have a dog when I was really little, then some fish, then some cats, then a hamster, and then a bunny, then a parrot and then a cat, and now I currently have none!

How tall are you? >>> 172cm

Favorite subject in school? >>> Literature, WWII History and Psychology

Dream job? >>> Humanitarian or Army medic. I would love to be able to help people in warzones, and I get bored really easily so a high stress job would be perfect for me. I would also really like to be a firefighter or a detective.

I had so much fun answering these, and would like to no-pressure tag @writethewolvesaway @bbyboybucket @sadeyedlady-writes and @catcoffeeenjoyer !!

#tag game

[docpiplup]

Tyrion Lannister Appreciation Month 2022

Day 12: Intelligence  -> Bookworm &

Day 26: Favourite fancasts -> Warwick Davis & Peter Dinklage

Tyrion Lannister looked up from his books and shivered, though the library was snug and warm. Something about the howling of a wolf took a man right out of his here and now and left him in a dark forest of the mind, running naked before the pack.

When the direwolf howled again, Tyrion shut the heavy leather-bound cover on the book he was reading, a hundred-year-old discourse on the changing of the seasons by a long-dead maester. He covered a yawn with the back of his hand. His reading lamp was flickering, its oil all but gone, as dawn light leaked through the high windows. He had been at it all night, but that was nothing new. Tyrion Lannister was not much a one for sleeping.

His legs were stiff and sore as he eased down off the bench. He massaged some life back into them and limped heavily to the table where the septon was snoring softly, his head pillowed on an open book in front of him. Tyrion glanced at the title. A life of the Grand Maester Aethelmure, no wonder. "Chayle," he said softly. The young man jerked up, blinking, confused, the crystal of his order swinging wildly on its silver chain. "I'm off to break my fast. See that you return the books to the shelves. Be gentle with the Valyrian scrolls, the parchment is very dry. Ayrmidon's Engines of War is quite rare, and yours is the only complete copy I've ever seen." Chayle gaped at him, still half-asleep. Patiently, Tyrion repeated his instructions, then clapped the septon on the shoulder and left him to his tasks.

Tyrion I, AGOT

On the eighteenth night of their journey, the wine was a rare sweet amber from the Summer Isles that he had brought all the way north from Casterly Rock, and the book a rumination on the history and properties of dragons. With Lord Eddard Stark's permission, Tyrion had borrowed a few rare volumes from the Winterfell library and packed them for the ride north.

He found a comfortable spot just beyond the noise of the camp, beside a swift-running stream with waters clear and cold as ice. A grotesquely ancient oak provided shelter from the biting wind. Tyrion curled up in his fur with his back against the trunk, took a sip of the wine, and began to read about the properties of dragonbone. Dragonbone is black because of its high iron content, the book told him. It is strong as steel, yet lighter and far more flexible, and of course utterly impervious to fire. Dragonbone bows are greatly prized by the Dothraki, and small wonder. An archer so armed can outrange any wooden bow.

He had expected to find them impressive, perhaps even frightening. He had not thought to find them beautiful. Yet they were. As black as onyx, polished smooth, so the bone seemed to shimmer in the light of his torch. They liked the fire, he sensed. He'd thrust the torch into the mouth of one of the larger skulls and made the shadows leap and dance on the wall behind him. The teeth were long, curving knives of black diamond. The flame of the torch was nothing to them; they had bathed in the heat of far greater fires. When he had moved away, Tyrion could have sworn that the beast's empty eye sockets had watched him go.

There were nineteen skulls. The oldest was more than three thousand years old; the youngest a mere century and a half. The most recent were also the smallest; a matched pair no bigger than mastiff's skulls, and oddly misshapen, all that remained of the last two hatchlings born on Dragonstone. They were the last of the Targaryen dragons, perhaps the last dragons anywhere, and they had not lived very long.

From there the skulls ranged upward in size the three great monsters of song and story, the dragons that Aegon Targaryen and his sisters had unleashed on the Seven Kingdoms of old. The singers had given them the names of gods: Balerion, Meraxes, Vhaghar. Tyrion had stood between their gaping jaws, wordless and awed. You could have ridden a horse down Vhaghar's gullet, although you would not have ridden it out again. Meraxes was even bigger. And the greatest of them, Balerion, the Black Dread, could have swallowed an aurochs whole, or even one of the hairy mammoths said to roam the cold wastes beyond the Port of Ibben.

Tyrion stood in that dank cellar for a long time, staring at Balerion's huge, empty-eyed skull until his torch burned low, trying to grasp the size of the living animal, to imagine how it must have looked when it spread its great black wings and swept across the skies, breathing fire.

His own remote ancestor, King Loren of the Rock, had tried to stand against the fire when he joined with King Mern of the Reach to oppose the Targaryen conquest. That was close on three hundred years ago, when the Seven Kingdoms were kingdoms, and not mere provinces of a greater realm. Between them, the Two Kings had six hundred banners flying, five thousand mounted knights, and ten times as many freeriders and men-at-arms. Aegon Dragonlord had perhaps a fifth that number, the chroniclers said, and most of those were conscripts from the ranks of the last king he had slain, their loyalties uncertain.

The hosts met on the broad plains of the Reach, amidst golden fields of wheat ripe for harvest. When the Two Kings charged, the Targaryen army shivered and shattered and began to run. For a few moments, the chroniclers wrote, the conquest was at an end … but only for those few moments, before Aegon Targaryen and his sisters joined the battle.

It was the only time that Vhaghar, Meraxes, and Balerion were all unleashed at once. The singers called it the Field of Fire.

Near four thousand men had burned that day, among them King Mern of the Reach. King Loren had escaped, and lived long enough to surrender, pledge his fealty to the Targaryens, and beget a son, for which Tyrion was duly grateful.

"Why do you read so much?"

Tyrion looked up at the sound of the voice. Jon Snow was standing a few feet away, regarding him curiously. He closed the book on a finger and said, "Look at me and tell me what you see."

The boy absorbed that all in silence. He had the Stark face if not the name: long, solemn, guarded, a face that gave nothing away. Whoever his mother had been, she had left little of herself in her son. "What are you reading about?" he asked.

"Dragons," Tyrion told him.

"What good is that? There are no more dragons," the boy said with the easy certainty of youth.

"So they say," Tyrion replied. "Sad, isn't it? When I was your age, I used to dream of having a dragon of my own."

"You did?" the boy said suspiciously. Perhaps he thought Tyrion was making fun of him.

Oh, yes. Even a stunted, twisted, ugly little boy can look down over the world when he's seated on a dragon's back." Tyrion pushed the bearskin aside and climbed to his feet. "I used to start fires in the bowels of Casterly Rock and stare at the flames for hours, pretending they were dragonfire. Sometimes I'd imagine my father burning. At other times, my sister." Jon Snow was staring at him, a look equal parts horror and fascination. Tyrion guffawed. "Don't look at me that way, bastard. I know your secret. You've dreamt the same kind of dreams."

Tyrion II, AGOT

"I once had the great good fortune to see the Citadel's copy of Lives of Four Kings," Prince Oberyn was telling her lord husband. "The illuminations were wondrous to behold, but Kaeth was too kind by half to King Viserys."

Tyrion gave him a sharp look. "Too kind? He scants Viserys shamefully, in my view. It should have been Lives of Five Kings.""He reigned more than a year," said Tyrion.

Oberyn gave a shrug. "A year or a fortnight, what does it matter? He poisoned his own nephew to gain the throne and then did nothing once he had it."

"Baelor starved himself to death, fasting," said Tyrion. "His uncle served him loyally as Hand, as he had served the Young Dragon before him. Viserys might only have reigned a year, but he ruled for fifteen, while Daeron warred and Baelor prayed." He made a sour face. "And if he did remove his nephew, can you blame him? Someone had to save the realm from Baelor's follies."

Sansa was shocked. "But Baelor the Blessed was a great king. He walked the Boneway barefoot to make peace with Dorne, and rescued the Dragonknight from a snakepit. The vipers refused to strike him because he was so pure and holy."

Prince Oberyn smiled. "If you were a viper, my lady, would you want to bite a bloodless stick like Baelor the Blessed? I'd sooner save my fangs for someone juicier . . ."

"My prince is playing with you, Lady Sansa," said the woman Ellaria Sand. "The septons and singers like to say that the snakes did not bite Baelor, but the truth is very different. He was bitten half a hundred times, and should have died from it."

Sansa IV, ASOS

The galley was also where the ship's books were kept. Her captain being an especially bookish man, she carried three—a collection of nautical poetry that went from bad to worse, a well-thumbed tome about the erotic adventures of a young slave girl in a Lysene pillow house, and the fourth and final volume of The Life of the Triarch Belicho, a famous Volantene patriot whose unbroken succession of conquests and triumphs ended rather abruptly when he was eaten by giants. Tyrion had finished them all by their third day at sea. Then, for lack of any other books, he started reading them again. The slave girl's story was the worst written but the most engrossing, and that was the one he took down this evening to see him through a supper of buttered beets, cold fish stew, and biscuits that could have been used to drive nails.

He was reading the girl's account of the day she and her sister were taken by slavers when Penny entered the galley.

Tyrion VIII, ADWD

#tyrion lannister #tyrionmonth2022 #canontyrion #agot #adwd #asos #asoiaf quotes #fancasts #favourite fancast #warwick davis #peter dinklage #thimothee chalamet #aitor luna #canonjon #day 26 #day 12 #intelligence #jon snow #oberyn martell

[monstrousfemale]

55 for the spotify ficlet!!

Thanks for sending this! ❤️ This song I'd almost forgotten about and then it turned up in the Wrapped list and I'm reminded I looove it.

It was 1991 when they managed to scrounge up the funds. Eddie’s van was in good shape, his job had been to make sure the thing could drive far enough that they could see the coast. Nancy and Robin had graduated from college, and they moved back home for a bit, which was when this idea finally managed to spring into reality. Steve had been saving up for a moment such as this very one since he graduated from high school, really. 

They piled up into the van, Steve riding shotgun for the first leg of their trip, down seemingly endless stretches of road, headed South. Nancy and Robin were in the back, not in their seats with the seatbelts on, but sprawled on the floor, chatting in what sounded like riddles to the guys up front, in a language all of their own. They held hands, because that felt more like home than Hawkins ever could. 

There was music flooding the air, crashing and rolling over them, something Eddie had picked. It was all heavy instrumentals, angry vocals, but it was low enough that their laughter still could be heard over it. Nancy started going over what they’d do once they reached New Orleans, then drove along the southern coast for beaches. She wanted to relax and start on a book as soon as she could sink her feet in warm sand. Robin suggested the very first thing would be to mourn Eddie, since vampires were supposed to burn up in the sun. Eddie interjected with a “ha-ha, hilarious Buckley”, but he shot her a smile over his shoulder. Nancy kissed her when Eddie wasn’t looking anymore, whispered about their shared room, about staying up late drinking and kissing.

Up front, Eddie had his left hand leaning on the headrest of Steve’s seat, fingers tangling and untangling in his hair as he drove. Steve was leaning into the touch, his own hands busy with a Rubik’s cube, courtesy of Dustin. It has been his farewell gift. The kids had mastered the thing a few years back, most of them able to complete them in a minute or two when they set their minds to it. But Steve never had finished one, and this was his resolution for this trip. 

Eddie spent the whole time he was driving stealing glances at Steve’s face, appreciating the focus that put a crease between his brows, appreciating the glimpse of his tongue that poked between his lips when he wasn’t singing along to Eddie’s music. When he switched with Nancy as designated driver, he dragged a sleepy Steve from the passenger seat, half carried him into the back with him. They sat close together, Eddie’s back to the side of the van, Steve’s back pressed to his front, sitting between his legs. Eddie’s chin kept poking his shoulder when he would lean forward to speak into Steve’s ear, but Steve didn’t mind one bit. 

Driving all the way down South was a pain, but it was also grand. They were tired, and they spent way more money in gas than they had first thought they would (Nancy kept telling Eddie “I told you so” after the second unplanned gas station stop). But they did zigzag to every major city they could, from Louisville to Nashville, then going out of their way to see Atlanta for the first time. There was freedom in having their own itinerary, in having no rush, no timelines. They’d figure things out as they went, and they slept in the van when they couldn’t be bothered to find a cheap enough hotel along the way. They had the safety of each other, and in the Summer the days were long, the light staying with them seemingly as long as they needed it. 

The 15-hour trip turned into a three-day event, and none of them were too bothered by it. They were just enjoying each other’s company, singing along to the radio, making fun of the local station hosts as they passed by tiny towns, tinier even than their own. 

Reaching New Orleans would be great, of course. It was what the main destination they had planned for, of course. But also it wasn’t even as important as just doing this. Steve and Robin were already in talks of a full on cross-country road trip after this, while Nancy and Eddie sat up front and discussed lodging options. Nancy had this thick travel guide which promised “1000 different stays down south!”, and Eddie kept dismissing options for increasingly silly reasons. It was driving her crazy, and he loved her for it. 

The weather was beautiful as they got to the city center, but they wanted to keep driving until they hit the ocean, so they headed to Grand Isle. And then, just as they could see the blue in the horizon, clouds started marring the sky. They were hit with a massive summer storm, complete with loud thunder and lightning that struck closer and closer. They parked their van close to the beach, went outside anyway. The heavy downpour soaked them in no time, but they laughed and screamed and ran towards the ocean. 

It didn’t matter that the car would get wet, it didn’t matter that they’d drag wet sand and clothes into the hotel later. Home had felt claustrophobic, too much and too little for any of them. But here in the pouring rain, watching the waves, leaning on each other, this felt like they were finally really living. It felt like being cleansed of the shadows of the past. From here, they couldn’t feel cursed anymore. From here, monsters were the stuff of movies, not their reality. As the rain halted and the sun peeked at them through the clouds, they felt new. 

#steddie #ronance #fruity four #monstrous writing #monstrous lesbian #monstrous bigboy #idk where this came from #i just hope it doesn't suck lol

[sissytobitch10seconds]

Our Love Died

Fandom: The Umbrella Academy Summary: Dumped into a strange yet familiar world, Viktor falls back into some old habits- including losing contact with his siblings. Eventually, some years pass and they start finding him again. At that point he's not quite sure he wants them to, though. Warnings: Domestic abuse, abusive relationships, trans male pregnancy, childbirth, depression/anxiety, and transphobia Word Count: TBD (Chapter 1: 3,535) Chapter(s): TBD Ship(s): Viktor Hargreeves/Five Hargreeves

Archive link!

A/N: (fic notes) So I actually created an entirely different story and character off of labour and King by their respective artists and then I realized that it would fit really well into this kind of a fic as well. I decided I was just going to write it so I had another nice chaptered fic for TUA before the last season comes out. I'm going to leave a little disclaimer here: I have never been pregnant and I am not a trans man (I'm genderfluid, so still trans) so some things may not be entirely accurate. I'm also writing and uploading this at the same time so there might be some awkward plot holes or something throughout. I'm going to try my best to prevent that but please honor me with some grace if I don't manage it! I hope that you all enjoy this, I know I'm loving writing it so far. Make sure that you heed the tags, though, things do get pretty dark. Stay sissy and bitchy everyone <;3 (chapter notes) Here's chapter one! This is basically a complete rewrite of the last scene of the last episode of season 3. I tried to write every bit of dialogue directly from the show, so if things sound a little awkward it was probably a typo I didn't correct because I didn't want to go rewatch that scene again. Rewriting directly from a script is exhausting, after all, lol. I hope that you guys are enticed by this first chapter but if you're not, try sticking around to the second when the plot is gonna actually get started! Things are moving pretty slow for now but they'll pick up soon. Stay sissy and bitchy everyone <3

The first thing that Viktor saw when the elevator doors opened was a garden.

He hadn’t been in a lot of gardens when he was younger because it wasn’t something that Reginald put a lot of his time and energy into and then he had never sought them out as an adult around the monotony of his everyday life. He had to admit that it was an improvement to the accommodations that they had been staying in for the past week while they tried to sort out the third end-of-the-world.

It was dark, just as he thought it would have been when he was traveling in the hazy, half-asleep state during the ride up the elevator. The dimness wasn’t caused by the dark colored walls and lack of windows, however, but rather because at some point the sky had turned into night. The moon was hanging high in the sky, glinting pale silver-blue light down onto the earth with the help of the blinking stars. The sky was clear and bright, devoid of the heavy rain clouds that so often plagued The City. The color of the light reminded Viktor of the heavy power that slept inside of him, waiting to come forth and create another apocalypse like it had three lifetimes ago.

He tilted his head down so that he could take in what the garden actually looked like while his legs slowly carried him out of the elevator and into the cool night air. There was a gray cement path that led to a bust and plaque in the center of the main part of the garden. From it were several more paths, though it was hard to see where exactly they went because of the trees and shrubs that were obscuring the already dark view. He could just barely make out the vibrant green of the grass clashing with the darker shade of the neatly trimmed bushes along the paths. He thought that it was strange that there were no flowers, all of the books that Viktor had ever read as a child that contained gardens had them described as overflowing with different colors of petals.

Next to him, Lila giggled, “Cool.” It made sense that she would be able to process the weirdness that they had all just endured better than all of them. Viktor was probably handling it with the least amount of grace since he had never been a hero when the Umbrella Academy was active and thus hadn’t seen any of the weird powers or abilities that the villains the others fought possessed. The closest that he had gotten was just seeing his siblings train and listening to their exploits through the radio that Grace kept on when missions were underway. Lila, conversely, had grown up surrounded by time traveling assassins and flipped through many different periods in time with her mother. This was just another thing to add to her list of adventures instead of something that was emotionally shattering as it was to Viktor.

The sound of a police siren wailing in the distance was comforting and terrifying at the same time. The images of the police towering around the car that he had been trying to get his girlfriend and her son to safety in flashed through his mind, quickly followed by his nerves fraying just a little bit more at the memory of his electro-shock torture session. He flexed his hands at his side to try and get rid of the anxiety, something close to what he had used to do. His violin was nowhere in sight now, though, so it meant that he couldn’t pick it up and use that to get rid of the adrenaline-summoned energy.

All of those thoughts were pushed from his mind as soon as he turned properly and saw the towering figure of his brother. He short-circuited for a moment as the only thing that he could really process was the overwhelming joy about seeing the man he thought he had lost, just as he had lost Ben. Viktor was so used to mourning, to grief, that the joy surging through his body was foreign and addictive. 

“Luther?” he asked, breathless and awed. Viktor was barely even aware that his legs were moving as he made his way closer to the other. He was moving a little sluggishly, as if he was scared that if he made even a single wrong move then his brother would disappear again forever, just as he had done when Klaus summoned him during their fight. “Luther?” he asked again, which got the blond’s attention.

“Oh, shit,” Luther swore as a smile blossomed over his face. “You can see me?” he asked, pointing towards some of the others.

“Yes! Yes!” Viktor almost screamed as he threw his arms around his brother’s neck and shoulders to trap him there in a hug. 

“I’m alive?” Luther asked, his body almost vibrating with the shock of his realization.

Viktor and Luther had shared two hugs in their entire lives. They had never been terribly close as children since Reginald kept Viktor as far away from him as possible, both physically and mentally, while Luther had basically been on his coattails all the way up until the last year of his life. 

The first hug that they had ever shared was one of Viktor’s least favorite memories. He had been under the impression that he had just killed his sister with no reassurance from his then-boyfriend. It had felt so wonderful to be wrapped up in the arms of someone he had known and loved without anything in return. Then he had felt the air slowly being forced from his lungs, his body compressing in on itself while black spots danced in his vision. Then he had woken up in the soundproof room where the only thing he had for company was his own quickening heartbeat, watching as his siblings all abandoned him one by one again.

The second hug that the duo had shared was the one that they were having now. Luther’s arms stretched all the way around Viktor and he was so tall that he had to bend over at the waist to be able to loop around Viktor’s chest. He could tell that the other was holding back his strength significantly because this time it felt nothing like it had before. Luther was hugging him and holding him tightly enough that he could know for certain that the taller was there, but there was no pain, even as he got lifted into the air.

“Luther’s alive!” Klaus crowed in the background.

“Oh my God,” Lila breathed. It was odd how quickly she had been assimilated into the family and how deeply she cared for them all already, but they were the Hargreeves. Nothing about their family had ever been normal and nothing about it ever would, not that they would want it any other way.

“And that’s not all, big guy,” Viktor felt like he was going to explode with how many emotions were flowing through his system. Luther had since put him down on the ground and he was able to get a proper look at his brother, though it was already confirmed when he had been up in the air. He was staring at Luther’s chest and arms as he tried to come up with a way to phrase what was racing through his mind.

“Huh?” Luther asked before he gasped when he noticed it as well. “Holy shit, my body!” he brushed his hands over his chest and then looked down at his arms again. Where there had once been copious amounts of thick, wiry hair stretched out over grotesque, engorged muscles was nothing but pale skin with blond hair and lean muscle. “Wait, I look amazing!” he beamed as he realized what it really meant.

Jealousy and happiness mixed inside of Viktor until all he felt was nauseous. He knew that Luther had struggled with how he looked after the experiment that their father had performed on him to save the life Reginald himself had endangered. That much was evident from the way that Luther had hidden himself away in layers and layers of clothing when they had all first reunited. Viktor was very familiar with what it was like to feel uncomfortable in one’s body as that feeling had been magnified for him since he realized what his gender was. He wished that the transport to the new universe had given him a body that he felt more comfortable in, one that didn’t make him want to crawl out of his own skin when he caught himself in a reflective surface at just the wrong angle. At the same time, he couldn’t help but be happy for the gift that Luther had been given after everything he had been through.

Klaus wandered over to them in that stumble-walk that he had perfected when they were teenagers. Viktor had always been amazed he wasn’t tripping over himself more often, the same way that he would be if he tried that. “Luther’s all svelte now,” he commented as he touched his brother’s arm as well.

“Wait. I gotta show Sloane!” Luther beamed. It was heart warming to see him being so affectionate towards someone other than Allison. When they were younger, it was very disheartening to Viktor to try and pour so much love into his relationship with his brother only to be pushed to the side. Of course, back then, he hadn’t realized that Luther and Allison were romantically involved so the relationship he wanted was actually very different. Given everything that had happened with Allison in the last couple days, up to and including Luther’s death, it was a good thing that he had someone who adored him just as much as he did her.

The mention of the Sparrow hero was enough to make Viktor take attendance for everyone standing around in the garden. Lila and Diego were standing next to each other, so close that their shoulders were brushing against each other. Ben and Five were hanging around the bust in the center of the little garden path. Klaus was near Luther, who was standing in front the elevator still.

Five raised up his arm, fussing with his watch. “I got my arm back,” he informed them plainly like it wasn’t the best thing that had happened to him in decades.

“This is so cool. W-wait where’s Sloane?” Luther asked as he reached out towards Klaus for the information.

Surprisingly enough, the most chaotic member of the family actually did have an answer for him. “Oh, she was, uh… she was right behind me-”

“When Allison hit the bloody button,” Lila finished for him, gritting her teeth in anger.

“She’s gone too,” Diego groused.

Five began to walk towards one of the dark paths surrounding the small place of respite that they were in. His brows were furrowed and his face was pinched in that way that it always got when he was upset about something. “You know, I don’t know about you guys, but I haven’t felt this good in years,” Klaus said as he also turned his gaze towards the peaking city that they could see between the trees.

“Does anyone know where the Hell we are?” Ben asked.

Viktor felt his heart sink down into his stomach as he realized that it was the version of Ben that had come from the Sparrows despite none of the other Sparrows being with them. He had been hoping, after Luther had risen from the grave and stepped out of the elevator with them, that his long-dead brother would also return so that Viktor could apologize for using up the rest of his unlife energy. He figured that it made sense it would be that version of Ben, since he was the one that fought the final battle with them after they fucked up the timeline so that he existed in the first place.

“The hotel,” Lila quickly supplied before he could get in a fight with anyone. “Or at least, this is where it used to be.”

Five let out a breath, which really emphasized just how tired he was. “I think the old man did it. I think he reset the universe.”

Diego walked over so that he was standing in front of Lila with his hand up in front of her. She gasped as she held it in both of her own and said, “You got your fingers back!”

“Sloane? Sloane!” Luther called through the garden in a desperate attempt to find his wife.

Viktor could only stand there and watch his siblings interacting with each other as he tried to process everything that had happened. Something inside of him felt like it was missing, something that left him hollow and slightly damaged. He didn’t have time to unpack it now as tensions were already rising between the other family members.

Moving around the bust, Luther grabbed onto one of the lapels of Five’s suit jacket. “I don’t care about any resets, all right? I want my wife back. Where is she, Five?”

“I’m glad you’re alive, but please take your hand off me,” Five snarked. He was using that voice that he always did when he was upset about something or close to getting in a fight with someone. Viktor had heard it often when they were all going through the beginnings of puberty.

Anxiety began to rise inside of him as he realized that this could all go very badly very quickly if someone didn’t step in to stop them before they did something stupid. “Not until you give me an answer,” Luther threatened as he grabbed the other side of Five’s jacket so that he had no chance of escaping.

“Okay, screw this!” Five sassed back. He jerked to the side like he always did when he was getting ready to teleport, but this time he just fell limply back to where he had been before. A look of confusion took over his face and he glanced out around the garden as if that would somehow give him an answer. “Something’s wrong.”

“That’s right, something’s wrong, you’re about to get your ass kicked,” Luther snarled as he jerked his brother around again.

“Yeah, kick his ass,” Diego goaded.

“No, you moron,” Five seethed. The panic was beginning to make him mean, Viktor knew exactly how that felt. “My power. I can’t blink.”

“Yeah, right,” Diego said sarcastically as he got one of his knives out from the vest that he always wore. It was nice to see him in something other than black leather, even if the knives were probably going to exist with him throughout his entire life. Diego flipped the silver blade around his fingers once before it toppled down into the dirt below them. “That’s not good.”

Suddenly everything fell into place. Viktor glanced down at his hand as he raised it. He focused for a moment to try and pick up on the minute noises that existed everywhere in the world. It was only then that he realized that everything had been muffled since he had stepped out of the elevator. Hearing every tiny thing that was happening around him, even if it was accentuated only when he was off of his medication, had just been how he lived his life. He didn’t realize that the world was so quiet for everyone else until his power had been stolen from him. It explained the heavy emptiness that rested in his chest, right where the supernova of noise had been only an hour prior.

A few feet away, Klaus was waving his hand out in front of him as he said, “Okay… come on… Alakazam… ghosties.” Nothing happened. Ben strained with his hands clenched in fists out to the sides, but again there was nothing. “This means I’m mortal again? Aw, man,” Klaus whined as it became more and more obvious that they were ordinary.

“Wait, wait, wait. How do we get them back, you idiots?” Ben asked before anyone had the chance to do anything else.

“Shit,” Klaus groaned when no one was able to come up with any ideas. Reginald had told them so little about their powers that none of them knew where they came from, much less how they were supposed to get anything back.

“I gotta… I gotta go find my wife,” Luther said hoarsely. Viktor had enough breakdowns in his life to recognize that the other man was clinging to something that felt like it could still be tangible. They had all been through something deeply traumatic and painful on top of arriving in a strange world that they didn’t know well enough to tell if it was safe. Learning that their powers, which had been a constant for everyone other than Viktor, were gone had to be enough to make some of them deeply rattled.

Luther turned and began to walk down one of the paths to do as he said he was going to. Klaus turned after him and said, “No! Luther, you can’t go. You were dead ten minutes ago, you’re fragile.” He whirled back around to the rest of the family and said, “I gotta go after him.”

“No, wait, Klaus!” Diego tried to argue with his brother but at that point Klaus had already begun down the path after Luther. Despite what a lot of the public had thought when they were younger and actively acting as the Umbrella Academy, Klaus was the most stubborn out of all of the siblings. If he got an idea that he decided he just had to do, then he was going to do it come Hell or high water.

Ben was the next to leave, already stalking towards the other side of the park, “I’m out, bitches!”

A flare of panic unlike he had felt in a long time rang out in Viktor’s chest. Memories that were hazy with sedative and time flashed through his mind. All the times that they had left him for their training, all the times that they had been ushered into a car together while he had been left watching them out of a stained glass window, all the times that they had snuck out together and left him behind, played over the top of each other. “Guys, come on,” Viktor said desperately. “We should stick together and figure this out-”

“Well what are we supposed to do?” Diego asked, interrupting Viktor before he even had the chance to say what he was planning to. Too much of it felt like what it had been before Viktor had gotten his powers and had become too dangerous to ignore. 

They were all quiet for a second as Diego and Lila turned slightly towards each other. “Live our lives?” she suggested. Diego remained quiet as he obviously rolled the idea around his head. He then took her hand, weaving their fingers together, before he disappeared down another one of the paths.

Then it was just Five and Viktor, as it had been so often when they were children. The conversation that they had about other people being ants, which had given them some common ground now that they had shifted so much in their adult lives, rolled over in Viktor’s head again. He knew that it wasn’t true anymore since neither of them had the massive powers that they did when it took place, but he was still hoping that it would mean something.

He supposed that hope was his greatest flaw. Just like last time, Five turned on his heel and marched away from Viktor without saying anything. He disappeared into the dark foliage so that not even a glimpse of his back could be seen.

That morning at the dining room table, when Five had lurched away and thrown himself outside to try time traveling for the first time was a moment that replayed over and over again in Viktor’s mind. He always wondered, both now and when he had been a child, what would have happened if he had just had the balls to pull his brother back into his seat instead of just letting him go.

What was happening now felt so similar to that, that Viktor almost felt himself shrinking down into the demure version of himself that he hadn’t been in so long. Being off of the medication had let him feel free in a way that he had never before, and the idea of having to go back to that now that his powers were gone brought the panic that had been resting dormant in the back of his mind to the forefront of all his thoughts.

He paused for a moment to try and pick up on the sounds of footsteps and rustling leaves from where his siblings and Ben were now lost in the park, but there was nothing. He tilted his head down towards the bust of Reginald and gave his head a small shake. “Asshole,” he muttered.

Viktor turned and walked down the last remaining path so that he could get out of the park.

#fanfiction #fanfic #writing #ao3 #archive of our own #tua #the umbrella academy #viktor hargreeves #five hargreeves #fiktor #five x viktor #viktor x five #luther hargreeves #diego hargreeves #allison hargreeves #klaus hargreeves #ben hargreeves #lila pitts #sloane hargreeves #our love died fic #labour paris paloma #king florence + the machine #pregnant viktor #pregnant trans character #tw #trigger warning

[put-me-in-a-movie-mp3]

Hi there!! Could I have a male Stranger Things ship & a male HP ship (either Marauders Era or Golden Trio Era) ship please? 🙋🏽‍♀️

I’m a fiery & compassionate INFP who always tries to be friendly & understanding bc I know what it’s like to be misjudged. I'm a double Capricorn + a Libra Rising so I come off as bubbly & social but I'm actually super introverted & usually end up retreating eventually to recharge.🫠

I'm a half-blood Slytherdor, an INFP, enneagram 6w5, & my Patronus is a swan bc although ppl seem to highly value my appearance, the depth of my love for my partner is what I'm most proud of & I can become fearsome if the ones I love are threatened. 🦢 I was probably a flower child in my past life lol ✌🏼

I have a very curvy hourglass figure & I love dressing to accentuate it, but people always underestimate me because of it. Friends say that I'm like the personification of the Subversive Bimbo trope (like Cher from “Clueless”, Elle from Legally Blonde, Daphne from Scooby Doo, Rachel from Animorphs etc) bc people see me & assume I'm a ditz but I'm actually very capable & use their underestimation to my advantage.

I'm warm & kind until given a reason not to be– then I’m a complete hellcat. My Fight Or Flight Response is always Fight lol so I can go from 0 to 100 real quick if it's on behalf of someone or smth I care about, but I also know when it’s smartest to just let it go & get them back for it later.

I’m a major caffeine addict & I pretty much live on iced coffee. I'm also a complete night owl w/ a very snarky sense of humor as my primary defense mechanism. I love animals, singing, listening to music of all kinds, watching psychology/true crime documentaries, musical theatre, astrology, sex (I'm kind of a nymphomaniac 💀), literature (especially Shakespeare’s Romeo & Juliet. I'm a hopeless romantic 🥰), PDA, pretty aesthetics, getting my nails done, cuddles, iced coffee, & romance.

I’m sweet but known to have a bit of a wild streak: I desperately want a break from the monotony of everyday life & I crave adventure, romance, & new experiences. I want that Bonnie & Clyde, Romeo & Juliet, ride or die love. 🥰 I'm generally a very intense/sensitive person, very all or nothing lol. Life isn't worth living without passion imo. I daydream about getting married & having a family w/ the love of my life, a house full of pets, a life full of romantic adventures, the whole 9 yards.

I’ve survived several abusive relationships– which unfortunately left me with severe PTSD– but despite being more guarded, I still look for the good in people, no matter what. A lot of guys have superficial interest in me for the way I look but I want a true, fairytale love. When I love smth or someone, I let it consume me. I am wholly dedicated to that person & would go to the end of the Earth & back for them.

I’ve been told I have a gentle, healing aura & a very intuitive, even empathic nature. Because of this, animals of all kinds just seem to gravitate towards me; my friends call it "the Disney Princess Effect" 🙈 People seem to just open up to me for some reason, & I to them– I'm pretty much an open book. I find it's easier to be upfront than to bother with secrets. I can sometimes be too honest but I try my best to remain at least somewhat tactful lol; easier to catch flies with honey, after all.

My personal style is best described as very feminine pastel grunge (tank tops w/ pastel flannels; ripped high-waisted shorts & skinny jeans; floral prints; lots of pinks & blues; figure-hugging dresses & tops; natural, sparkly eyeshadow w/ winged eyeliner; Converse, boots, or heels).

Sorry for writing you a book! 🙈

Thank you so much in advance!! 💖

Here you go! :)

Stranger Things

Billy Hargrove

I automatically knew you would be the best for Billy when you said you wanted that "Bonnie and Clyde" love! I feel like he is extremely misunderstood and he as a lot of trauma that he has gone through, but I feel like you would help him get through it. I think that you would be able to help him and make him a better person. You would bring out the good in him that no one else sees. You would first meet Billy when he is driving around. It was late at night and you were walking home from a party. You saw Billy coming down the road in his blue camaro and he started slowing down when he saw you. He picked you up and you guys just started talking. You were hesitant to take a ride from him but Billy looked really bad. You ended up finding out about his abusive father and that's when you started to understand and see the real Billy and what was underneath his fake facade.

Harry Potter

Golden Trio

Tom Riddle

I ship you with Tom because I feel like he would give that ride or die love that you want. He is has a really troublesome past and he isn't the best person, but I think you would see how he is just lost and needs someone to love him. He had been so deprived of love that he has none and I think you could give him that. You knew Tom when you had classes together and you found him quite interesting. He was always in the library and stayed later after class to talk to his professors about more questions he'd have after the lessons. You became friends when you saw him in the library when he was looking in the restricted book section. You started talking then and it became very intimate. You would stay up late at night out of the corridors ad common room to talk to each other. You ended up finding a lot about him that nobody else knew. Then you guys started secretly dating!

#harry potter #love #imagine #x reader #ship requests #ships #steve harrington #stranger things #strangerthingsimagine #harry james potter #harry potter imagine