#thoughts and prayers aren’t enough anymore. we need fucking action
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it’s barely been a day after the allen shooting like 20 minutes away from my house and my school district is getting terrorist threats to a middle school
#the same thing is being applied to high school too so im not going tmrw#this is the only fucking country this shit happens in#im so fucking tired#people i knew were at allen people i knew were at stonebriar when someone called in a false fucking threat that started a lockdown#i don’t want to worry about dying each time i walk into school or a mall or anywhere ever#and these republican lawmakers won’t do anything they’re too busy padding their fucking overpadded pockets#while 5 year olds die in cold blood#the shooter was apparently a fucking neo-nazi#they will never put gun regulations in place never fucking ever#and more and more people will die and be wounded and lose loved ones and communities will keep on mourning#thoughts and prayers aren’t enough anymore. we need fucking action#im sorry for the rant but these past few days have been terrible for north dallas#tw gun violence#🐋.txt
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Interpersonal Chapter 20
Here we are at the finale. Enjoy.
Despite your resolve to actually work something out with him, it was much easier said than done. It had been ten years of not seeing each other. What the hell were you even supposed to say?
And it wasn’t like this had just been a casual fling like any of your other past relationships. You’d been ready to marry him. That wasn’t something you’d taken lightly. He’d completely ruined any chance of you ever forming a romantic connection with anyone else, because you knew no one had a prayer of igniting your heart the way he did.
You glance at him out of the corner of your eye and he seems just as reluctant to actually start the conversation as you are. It was terribly reminiscent of when you were still working for him and had developed a crush you knew you shouldn’t have but for the life of you couldn’t get rid of. You’d driven yourself mad trying to figure out where his head was at in those days.
“Oh, for the love of all that’s holy, one of us needs to start talking,” you finally blurt out, unable to stand the silence any longer. “We’re both adults for God’s sake, not idiot teenagers. Having a conversation should not be this fucking difficult.” Try as you might, you were more trying to convince yourself than him.
He just gives you a sardonic smile. “And yet here we are,” he points out.
“Here we are,” you repeat. “We really are hopeless, aren’t we? We haven’t learned a damn thing.”
“Should I get a guitar and stand outside? Would that help? Seemed to work last time.” He’s clearly joking, but his attempts at humor work. You laugh and some of the tension in the air seems to evaporate. It’s not gone entirely, but it’s not nearly as suffocating anymore.
“If you play Jesse McCartney again, I’m kicking you out,” you threaten, but there’s no heat behind your words. He chuckles at your comment before you both sober up, finally able to look in each other’s eyes.
“I thought you hated me for ten years,” he whispers.
“I thought the same thing,” you admit. “I saw how much I hurt you when I turned you down. And it killed me to do that to you. I never wanted to hurt you.”
“But I hurt you first,” he sighs. “You did nothing that my own actions didn’t deserve. You were absolutely right. I wasn’t honest with you. I can give you all the reasons in the world, but in the end, it comes down to the fact that I chose to do it, and you were right to leave me for it.”
Slowly, you reach up and touch his face. He immediately, and almost subconsciously, leans into your hand. “I never hated you,” you tell him, just because he needs to hear you say it. “I was angry, but I never hated you.”
“I’m genuinely surprised,” he says. “I would’ve hated me if I were you.”
“That’s because you haven’t forgiven yourself yet,” you murmur. “And I forgave you a long time ago. You’ve owned up to it and apologized for it, which is literally all anyone could ask for at this point. We just have to work on getting you to forgive yourself. Hopefully planting the tree will help. By the way,” you add before you can forget, “Why didn’t you replant when you were still making the thneeds?”
“We were,” he winces. “Trufulla trees grow tufts before they seed. I ended up taking the tufts from trees that weren’t fully grown and eventually they weren’t able to stand up to the machines that were cutting everything down. There just weren’t enough seeds to keep replanting. It was idiocy.”
“And why did you never plant that last seed?” That question has been burning your mind since Jack had brought it home.
“One, I didn’t trust myself not to screw things up again,” he frowns. “And second, how could I? I was the one who destroyed everything. I don’t deserve to be the one to start bringing the trees back. I always knew that wasn’t my role to play.”
“No. Instead your son is going to do it,” you remind him with a small smile. “He’s completely determined. He doesn’t want to wait until the weekend, but I want him to have the whole day in case someone tries to stop him.”
“That, I have no problem getting involved in. I won’t let anyone stop him,” he promises with a hint of a growl behind his words. He needed to not do that because that growl made you want to make bad decisions. You shake your head a little to clear your mind.
“Don’t worry, Aurora and I are in complete agreement with you there,” you hear yourself say. You suppose that’s one thing that will have to be part of your relationship discussion: how you want to move forward with co-parenting Jack. That’s an easier topic than feelings, so you latch onto it.
“What do you want to do about our co-parenting situation?” you ask. “I know you don’t have a place here or anything, unless you were thinking about moving back to your old house, but once you do have somewhere we’ll have to decide how we want to go about raising Jack from this point forward because obviously it’s going to be a different dynamic–”
He says your name loudly, cutting you off. “You’re deflecting,” he accuses. He’s right, but that doesn’t mean you’re going to admit it, so you just stay silent. He takes a deep breath. “I don’t want to only see Jack on weekends or every other week or something like that. I’ve missed so much time already. I don’t want to miss another day. I don’t know what you want to do about us, but I do know what I want to do as far as Jack’s concerned.”
Your breath catches in your throat before you bury your face in your hands with a groan. “Don’t do this to me,” you whimper, all sense of dignity lost. “You can’t be doing this to me. You can’t just walk back into my life and expect me to have all the answers. I don’t. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do here.”
He takes your wrists in his hands and gently pries them apart so he can look in your eyes. “You know I don’t want to hurt you anymore,” he soothes. “But I’m also not going to give up my chance to be a dad. We need to work something out, because I can’t be at war inside everyday–”
“Oh, you’re at war?” you screech, standing up. “You think I’m not? Do you think I got any sleep last night because I was so nervous about seeing you again? Do you know how many nights I sobbed, alone, wishing you were there with me? I didn’t just break your heart the day I left, alright? I broke my own heart too, and I don’t think I’ve ever really recovered. I wanted to say yes. And now you’re back and that’s literally all I’ve wanted for ten years… God, and it’s agonizing. How am I supposed to sit here and pretend everything is fine and see you everyday when I’m still so desperately in love with you?”
There’s silence after you’re done screaming, no sound at all except for your heavy pants as you try and catch your breath. Onceler looks like he’s just been hit over the head with a sledgehammer; eyes wide, head tilted, mouth agape. “You’re… you’re…” he stammers, but never quite manages to force the words out completely.
You sit back down next to him, the hysteria fleeing your body. “You know I love you,” you whisper. “I never stopped. Not for a single second.”
He looks at you with nothing less than sheer wonder in his expression. “I never dreamed I’d ever hear you say that,” he murmurs as he finds his voice again. “And I’m still so in love with you too. Always have been, always will be.”
“That doesn’t make this any easier,” you say quickly before he can move his face towards yours. You don’t like saying it, but you know you have to. “What do you want me to do, just take you back like nothing ever happened? You shattered me. I might have forgiven you, but that doesn’t mean I’ve ever forgotten just how much you hurt me…” Your voice cuts off into a sob, and before you know it, just like your son and his father before you, now it’s your turn to cry uncontrollably. All of the pain of the last ten years, as well as the unbridled joy of seeing him again, all comes bubbling to the surface as the emotions you tried so hard to suppress now turn the full force of their wrath upon you, and you’re reduced to this.
He’s ready for you as you dive into his chest. You clutch at him, terrified he’ll disappear if you let go. Somehow, he seems to understand this; he threads his fingers through your hair and whispers reassurances into your ear. “It’s alright darling. I’m never leaving you again.”
He never complains, giving you all the time that you need to fully cry yourself out. It’s not until you have it back that you realize just how much you missed what a pillar of strength he was for you when you were at your most vulnerable.
Eventually, after the sky grows dark, you extricate yourself from his arms, wiping the last vestiges of your tears from your eyes. “Don’t you dare say sorry,” he quickly warns. You close your mouth; that was the exact word that had been about to fall from your lips. Sometimes it was almost unsettling how well he knew you.
“I don’t know where to go from here,” you say instead, voice hoarse after all your crying. “I agree with you that I don’t want you to miss any more time with Jack; too much time has been stolen from you two already. And I know that realistically, the easiest way to make that happen would be to live together. And that’s going to be a hell that I’m not sure how to navigate. I’ll do it for Jack, I can get through anything for Jack, but it’s going to be really hard. I won’t sugarcoat that.”
His expression is unreadable as his eyes shut. “So is the door closed on us getting back together then?” His tone is mostly neutral, sounding more resigned than anything else, but you can detect the pain beneath it. It stabs another icy knife right through the center of your chest, making it hard to breathe.
Before you can say anything, he offers you a smile that looks more like a grimace than anything else. “It’s okay,” he says. “I don’t want to stand in the way of you finding happiness with someone else. You can move on from me.”
You’re completely taken aback by his words. Whatever you had been expecting him to say, it wasn’t that. “I don’t want to move on with anyone else,” you state bluntly. “Look, I know I said Jack was the reason I haven’t dated, but that was only part of the reason. I know nothing will ever be able to measure up to what we had. I don’t want to settle for mediocrity when I’ve already had something that was nothing short of magical.”
Onceler quirks an eyebrow. “Okay, you’re giving me mixed signals here,” he accuses, causing you to wince. Once again, he’s far from wrong. “I don’t want to do the wrong thing here or fuck this up, so do I have a chance or not?”
“Look, I know I’m not making sense, and I’m sorry,” you sigh. “You’re suffering the whiplash of what my emotions are going through. One second I want nothing more than to try this again, and then the next I second guess myself because I’m so scared of getting hurt again. I barely survived that once. I don’t think I can handle it a second time.”
His brow furrows like he’s deep in thought for a moment. “Do you want my input on this or is this something you want to work through with as few distractions as possible?” he asks with a glint in his eyes that’s making you feel things.
“Yeah, please, tell me what you’re thinking. The fewer decisions I have to make, the better,” you murmur.
He reaches out for a moment, pauses, then finishes his journey to cup your face in his hand. The electricity of his touch is almost too much for you to bear. “I can’t promise I’ll be perfect,” he says, looking straight into your eyes. “But I can promise that I won’t leave. And I’m never going to hurt you in that same way. I learned my lesson. From now on, I won’t hide anything from you, no matter how ugly the truth is.” Your breathing is totally erratic now, but he presses on, not granting you a reprieve. “And in the spirit of full transparency, yes, I do want to be with you. I love you so much, darling. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, if you’ll let me.”
For the umpteenth time that night, your breath catches as he manages to steal it away. “How the hell am I supposed to say no to that?” you say.
He grins cheekily at you. “I’m hoping you won’t,” he smiles, causing you to roll your eyes at him. God, he was such a dork sometimes.
But as much as you might have tried to deny it, he also held your heart in the palm of his hand, and he always would. Technically, you could live without him. But you absolutely didn’t want to anymore, and you were tired of fighting with yourself. You trusted him when he said he wouldn’t hurt you in the same way. And now that he’d repaired the trust he’d once broken, there was only one answer that you could ever give him.
“Yes,” you whisper, and before you can even process the enormity of that decision, his arms are around you, one hand on your back and one of the back of your head, and he’s pressing his lips to yours like a desperate man dying of thirst. The electricity that all of his previous touches had been building now explodes, and before you’re aware of it you’re kissing him back, hands grabbing at his hair, needing to drink in the fact that he’s here, he still loves you, and whatever transgressions might have been committed are now firmly in the past where they belong.
“I love you, I love you so much,” he whispers huskily into your ear before his lips return to yours, his tongue impatiently swiping along your lower lip. You open your mouth for him, and he slides his tongue along yours and pulls sounds from the back of your throat that you didn’t know you were still capable of making.
He gently pushes you down on your back as he hovers over you, his lips never leaving yours. Even after all this time, it’s only too easy to find your rhythm again; your body melds into his just as easily as before.
Maybe because it’s been ten years coming, maybe it’s just recency bias, but this might be your favorite kiss with him. Your hands can’t find a permanent place; they travel from weaving through his hair, to framing his face, to running up and down his back. Similarly, his own hands dance over you, rediscovering you.
It’s only when one of his hands slips under your shirt and starts to slide the material up do you reluctantly pull back and push his hand away. “Ah, sorry. Too far, I know,” he winces.
“Oh, no, it’s not that,” you assure. “I wanted to too, trust me. It’s just that Jack and Aurora will be back soon, and I don’t have any condoms on me, and I doubt you do either.”
“Since when have we used those?” he scoffs.
“That fact that we didn’t is what resulted in a very unplanned pregnancy in the first place,” you remind him with an eye roll. “I don’t regret having Jack, obviously, but I’m not even on any sort of birth control at all right now. Are you trying to knock me up again?”
You mean for your words to be a joke. As soon as they leave your mouth, you can tell that he’s not taking them that way. “I wouldn’t be opposed to it,” he says as he sits upright, tugging your arm so you follow him. “I don’t want to call it a do-over, and I don’t want Jack to feel like we’re only having another because I messed up the first time, but I wouldn’t mind having one or two more, and actually being there from the beginning this time around.”
“We’ll talk about it someday,” you murmur. “I’m not ruling it out, but I am saying not yet. This is going to be a lot of change for Jack. I don’t want to add a sibling on top of that.” You look at Onceler and offer him a shy smile. “We should probably take some time for ourselves too before adding another kid into the mix,” you say lowly, your tone laden with meaning.
He pulls you into his chest, resting his chin on the top of your head. “How is it after all these years you still manage to drive me absolutely fucking insane?” he teases before leaning down to kiss you again. You indulge him for a moment before pulling back.
“Can I make a request?” you ask. He raises an eyebrow, prompting you to continue. You wave your hand over the direction of his facial hair. “Not a fan of that. At least not a fan of how much there is. You’re not opposed to shaving, are you?”
He looks at you, blinks once, then starts to laugh. “I thought you were going to drive a much harder bargain,” he snickers. “Yeah, I can get rid of it if you hate it that much. I might miss it though, I've had it for years now,” he teases, and you know he's getting an absolute thrill out of vexing you. His demeanor is so much different than it was from this morning; he's like a totally changed man. All the life has returned to him.
“You can keep the stubble? Maybe? I'll see how it looks,” you attempt to compromise. “Look, I tried to stay neutral about it, but I couldn't. I'm sorry.”
“You wouldn't be you if you didn't have an opinion about everything,” he grins. “Who knows, maybe I'll get rid of it and I'll decide I like being clean-shaven better again. Although if you can make a request, I think it's only fair that I be able to ask you a question as well.” His face and tone have both gotten much more serious, though you can't fathom why.
“Sure,” you agree easily, and he digs into his pocket for a moment before he pulls out a simple black box, one that's strangely familiar to you. Wait. No, that can't be…
But he's flicking it open and yes, your guess was correct. There in the case sits the same ring that he'd offered to you ten years ago. “You kept that this whole time?” you ask. You have no idea why that's the first thing that comes into your head, but he's making you short-circuit again, and you haven't found your ground yet.
“It wasn't mine to get rid of,” he explains. “It's never been mine. It was always meant for you. So… how about it? You think you want to do a round two?”
The words stick in your throat, and you can see the fear just behind those blue eyes you love so much. But your lack of an answer isn't coming from indecision this time. You just can't believe this is actually happening.
“That's the best proposal you can do?” you hear yourself say. “No getting down on one knee? No popping the actual question? I have to say, I expected something bigger.”
“You never liked it when I went big,” he counters. “If you want me to get down on one knee and do this properly, I can. I just thought you'd prefer something more casual. But if you want–” he starts to get off the couch, but you quickly stop him.
“You don't have to do this if you don't want to,” you try and assure, mostly because you're not sure if you want him to do it “right” or not. It's very on brand for the two of you to do things your own way, and yet…
“I don't mind. Do you want me to?” he asks gently.
“Yes,” you decide before you can think yourself out of it.
He gets off the couch, and this time you don't stop him. He slowly sinks to one knee in front of you, and this is insane, it's surreal, it's too good to be true. But no, it's real, he's actually here, and this is happening. He holds the ring up to you again. “Will you marry me?” he asks, words you never thought you'd hear, but had dreamed about ever since you fell in love with him.
“You really want to spend the rest of your life with me?” you choke out, just to get one last little bit of confirmation.
“Yeah. I do,” he says, not one bit of hesitation in his voice. He gives you his signature cheeky grin. “I mean, how bad could it be?”
You can't help but giggle, and that triggers your tears again, but they're happy, so happy this time. “Yes,” you tell him, because he deserves to hear it. You extend your hand, and he slips the ring onto your finger before grabbing your face in his hands and kissing you again.
And with his lips on yours, you finally feel complete and whole again, the misery inside you being swept away by light and love. The moment is pure bliss, and you allow yourself to fully indulge in the perfect beginning of your forever.
I hope you liked it. Thank you so much for sticking with me through this journey. Every heart and comment made me so unbelievably happy, you have no idea. And I do want to say, even though this story isn't over, I'm not done writing about these guys just yet. I'm going to be posting a series of one-shots, moments that didn't quite make it into this story. They might be into the future, they might be from the ten year gap, or whatever else I happen to think of (my best beloved and I brainstormed A LOT for this story because I have a Too Much Gene). And if there's anything you want me to write for one of these one-shots, let me know and I'll make it happen. So look for those soon (but I'm taking at least a week off because it's been twenty straight weeks of writing a chapter per week... I need a break). Again, thank you so much for the support, and I hope the ending was worth it for sticking out through the angst of the past few chapters.
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What about levihan actor au where there is kiss scene between them but we don't know what's going on, but the director seems not satisfy and they have to do that scene multiple times lol
*sorry for my extreme fluffy mode*
Thank you for opening prompt request 😊
Hi Anon! First of all, never ever EVER come to MY blog and apologize for fluff. It is very illegal.
Second, here it is!!! Hope you enjoy <3 Thank you for the prompt.
“CUT!” Erwin’s booming voice cut through the silence of the moment.
Hange and Levi were wrapped up in each other’s embraces, passionately kissing.
For the 7th take.
They were exhausted and despite the makeup department’s best efforts, it was starting to show. Both of their lips were red and puffy from all the making out. Their costumes were disheveled, and their hair was coated with so much hairspray, it might not ever move again.
“RESET! WE’LL DO IT AGAIN!” The command came from the director’s chair. The set was filled with the sounds of groaning and grumbling from all departments, as they scrambled to reset the scene. Hair and makeup were frantically touching up the actors, the special effects were resetting the lighting, and the crew were putting the cameras back into position.
Hange quietly whispered “oh my gosh, I’m so tired”. She rubbed her own shoulder and rotated her arm. Levi returned a silent shrug as if to say, “what can you do?”
The script called for “a reassuring hand squeeze between two friends”. Then Erwin fought for “a chaste kiss with trepidation”, but the director kept adding and changing things so now the scene was turning into one that would surely get them an M rating. The first few takes were nice. Very nice. But the two of them were growing tired, as was the rest of the crew.
Levi turned and walked off the set, towards Erwin’s chair, where Mike, the assistant director was already saying what was on Levi’s mind.
“... aren’t going to be happy with you going this far off-script, Erwin,” Levi heard as he came within range of their conversation.
“I agree,” Levi called out, startling the two. He continued once he reached them. “I’m not here to argue your “creative liberties” or whatever, I’m just tired, Erwin. We all are. Let us go home and we’ll restart tomorrow.”
“As soon as we get this take, we will stop for today. It’s yours and Hange’s lack of chemistry that’s keeping us all here so late.”
Mike’s eyes widened and he covered his mouth to stifle a laugh.
Levi grit his teeth. “No one would have any chemistry after doing that 7 times in a row, while sleep deprived,” he spat. Besides, this scene is too off-script and will likely get cut. Levi and Hange are just friends, and people like it that way.”
Erwin put his hands together in front of his face, as if in prayer. After a deep breath of aggravation, he explained, “I did not kill off my character in season 3 to become a director only for me to constrained by script”
Ervin leaned forward in his chair, his voice low and dangerous, “Get it right this time,” he ordered.
Levi whirled around with a “tch” and stomped back to Hange’s side.
Mike leaned over and whispered, “what exactly do you want from them? I thought they did well.”
“Oh, they nailed it on the first take,” Erwin admitted.
Mike giggled. “Then why are you torturing them?”
“Listen, I’ve been watching these two awkwardly flirt for the past 4 years. I’m the one being tortured. They need to realize their feelings for one another because they are just so dense, I can’t handle it anymore.” Erwin explained in a hushed whisper.
“You know this scene will inevitably get cut, right? The audience sees them as friends and the studio isn’t brave enough to confirm anything.”
Erwin sighs, “I know, I just need these two to get married in real life so I can sleep at night again,” he pinched the bridge of his nose.
Mike rolled his eyes and said, “your meddling will get you in trouble one of these days.”
Erwin just grunted and returned his attention to the set. “ACTION!”
“Be careful out there, four-eyes. I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to you” Levi started his line, over-acting and full of sarcasm.
Hange met his tone with equal facetiousness. “Oh Levi, of course! But I shall miss you dearly. Here, let me tenderly bandage you with my trembling feminine fingers.”
“Here, babe, this will make it easier,” Levi dramatically ripped his shirt off, exposing his toned muscles which he promptly flexed directly into the camera.
Hange tried to mimic a breathy sigh, but that’s when she lost it. She started out giggling but it then turned into maniacal laughter. Others on set were also trying to stifle their laughs.
Erwin stood up, yelling, “cut, cut, CUT! Go home, the whole lot of you!”
The lights went out and the room was filled with relieved sighs and mutterings of “thank fuck” and “finally”. The shuffles of feet and equipment grew louder as the crew hurried to leave.
Levi grabbed Hange’s hand and led her to the back door where their limo was waiting for them. They didn’t bother to change out of their costumes. Exhaustion creeped over them again as the rain softly spattered on the windows, reflecting the lights of the city in a mesmerizing way.
Hange yawned and put her head on Levi’s shoulder. “Should we tell him we’re already together?”
“Eventually,” Levi murmured into her hair. “But getting paid to make out with you is kind of a dream come true,” he kissed the top of her hair.
Hange snickered and curled up closer to him, the gentle hum of the engine lulling them both to sleep.
#levihan actor au#levihan#i kinda wanted to draw this but i'm not skilled enough#yet#levihan fanfiction#levihan fluff
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everything stays (but it still changes)
part 1 || part 2 || PART 3
pairing: tsukishima kei x photographer!reader
summary: so the same man (that broke your heart 3 years ago) accidentally gets drunk with you at a work event. how bad could it be?
word count: 2.5k
note: includes cursing, drunken actions. this whole thing reads a bit like a rom-com, if u haven’t gotten that by now lol
The only thing left to do after it all is to push it all into the back of your mind because you have a job to do tomorrow and you need to be well rested, so you pull the covers over yourself and hope to every deity out there that he isn’t in your dreams, too.
And funnily enough, he isn’t. You stop by for tea before the photoshoot - it’s the Thursday afterwards and Tsukishima isn’t there but you don’t have the time to question it, so you stuff your phone into your back pocket and head off. It’s in a big studio building, and the set is gorgeous, based in off-white and decked with pale yellows and citrus colors. The models seem to have been there for a while, already in makeup, but the stylist is still hanging around so maybe they haven’t been there for very long after all. They straighten a little when you greet them, easy smiles coloring their faces.
Off to business, then.
The work distracts from your wandering thoughts - the flex of Tsukishima’s hands across the table, eyes like swirling honey. It’s easy to lose yourself in the routine of it all, the ridges of a camera lens under your fingertips and the gentle click of the shutter.
Sometime after lunch and before wrapping up, you’re talking with one of the models, Mika, about how her brother is a photography major. She’s been his guinea pig for about two weeks now - you laugh gently as she jokes about how refreshing it is to be in a set that isn’t the corner of a college dorm. Incidentally, you manage not to hear the heavy click of the door behind you.
Mika’s gaze drifts behind you and you don’t think much of it until you notice it drift back to you. That’s when you hear the rest of the production crew and glance over at them, confused. They’re all standing in a little huddle.
“They’re looking for the photographer,” Mika explains, having heard a bit of the conversation.
You get up quickly and stand a little straighter. “I’m the photographer,” you announce, and immediately regret it.
Their heads all turn at once to look at you and it’s only a little unnerving but one of the heads turns out to be Kei Tsukishima and you think your jaw might have decided to glue itself to the floor in response. You realize, now, that perhaps you should have asked him to elaborate about his career. You allow yourself a split second of shock before wiping the expression and walking up to them.
You ask, very politely and not at all like you have weird tension with one of these men, what the issue is. It’s Tsukishima that addresses you, in a short, clipped tone.
“They want the color scheme changed.”
And you gape. “What, why?” you ask, completely forgetting your resolve to ignore him. “We’re finished shooting, they would have told us this beforehand - the whole thing?”
Tsukishima looks unbothered, mostly. “Didn’t reach in time, I guess.”
Part of you wants to strangle him, another part wants to strangle the client, but it’s all fine and well. The photographer’s assistant (who you haven’t talked with, in favor of doing most of the work yourself - you aren’t even sure why he was hired) cracks a joke about checking your schedule and it only serves to piss you off even more. It seems to show on your face though, and - Jun, you think - looks a little sheepish at having joked about it in the first place.
He comes up to you a moment later, after you’ve wandered back towards the set.
“I haven’t done much,” he starts in a low, nervous tone, “I feel sorta bad.” You’re unsure about where the hell he’s going with this but he only grows more nervous and it looks like it’s taking physical exertion from him:
“We could go out for drinks after. On me.”
A little voice in you wants to ask, shamelessly, if he means a date. You’re co-workers, though, and that would cross the line of professionalism, just a bit, but he keeps talking and you realize your chance to ask has probably passed.
The models, besides Mika, have long gone - and it’ll only be four or five people including yourself. It doesn’t sound so bad. And he’s offering to pay. The messenger bag is barely over your shoulder before you reply, “Okay.”
-
The bar is about as well lit as an 8pm bar should be, lights in pale yellows that, for a moment, remind you of the set. You drink, bitterly.
Everyone is loose with the alcohol and atmosphere, movements and dialogue easy. Jun, funnily enough, is the first to go - absolutely plastered and claiming otherwise. One of the production managers calls him an Uber and excuses himself as well.
Mika leaves after accidentally oversharing. The most your brain could comprehend from that spiel, drunken or not, came in the form of ‘oh’s and ‘ah’s. She makes an excuse for herself too, clearly not having expected to divulge so much.
You’re tipsy at most, having been careful with your drinks and generally reserved to keeping polite conversation. That, or it hasn’t hit you yet. (At least your tolerance is higher than Jun’s.)
Eventually, it dawns on you that you and Tsukishima are the only ones left. You haven’t noticed how much he’d drank, having spent half the night trying not to look at him. You talk to him with a warbled sort of exhaustion. Conversation seems filmy and vague and you’re not bothered by that weird date-thing anymore. You’re sure it’ll come back to you at some point, just not now.
“God, starlight,” he says, and it isn’t as much of a slur as it is a slant, because as soon as it leaves his mouth he seems to realize it. “Out of all the people who could’ve been working that set….”
He chuckles mirthlessly, but you’re frozen in your seat because the nickname falls from his lips with such ease. It is, at once, unerring and much more sobering than it has any right to be.
The rest of the bar is suddenly oceans away. “What gives you any right to call me that again?” you ask, except it comes out in a mangled, jarring breath. The familiarity of it all hits you again just thinking about it, like constellations traced across your shoulder and the warmth of a bed that isn’t yours. “M’not taking any of this starlight bullshit after the stunt you pulled.”
Tsukishima furrows his eyebrows in a semblance of anger. It comes off more like dazed confusion, but it gets the point across. “That I pulled? That was a mutual… pulling. You left me on a bench after giving me mixed signals for two hours.”
“You’re hot, okay? What the hell was I supposed to do?” You’re not thinking very hard about these responses - you’re mostly on autopilot, watching the way his fist tightens and loosens, the way he crosses his arms. Arms that spent hours snaked around you, swaying along to music so low it made it seem like you were the only two in the world who could hear.
“Thanks,” he replies bluntly.
You think about replying for a second, think about the way he’d flick your forehead, enough to calm your skin but never your heart. And then, eloquently: “Fuck off.”
You sit in silence.
It’s in the instant that you’re coming up with an excuse to leave that you hear him, quiet and somber as if you weren’t supposed to hear it at all. “I still…” Tsukishima glances at the table in front of him, fingertips gliding over glossy wood.
“Loved you,” he finishes, lamely. “Love you. Past tense. I don’t know.”
You’re watching him unravel like this, face flushed and pointedly avoiding your gaze. Except suddenly it’s like the crack of lightning, breakneck and furious and long overdue. “Fucking what?”
“Huh?” Tsukishima raises his head.
“The hell did you dump me for, then?” Your voice comes out a little more shrill than you’d meant, a little louder and a little more brash. So be it. He looks lost for words, foggy with drink and unresolved emotion, probably.
He isn’t answering, so you prod again. “Why did you dump me if you still fucking loved me? Why is this coming out now? Motherfucker, I still loved you!”
He stares numbly, hazily. “I didn’t want to deal with it.”
You want to smack the glasses off his face.
“So what, you dealt with me for 3 years and got tired of it?”
“You know that’s not what happened.”
“You could’ve fucking talked to me. Could’ve lied to my face instead of just walking out that fucking door without an explanation. Kei.”
The look on his face is desperate, disdainful. He doesn’t want to have this conversation but goddamn are you going to force it out of him.
He glances at the other bar patrons. “Can we talk about this? Outside?”
Which is how you find yourself in Kei Tsukishima’s passenger seat at 11pm on a weekday, screaming enough profanities to scare your grandmother into an early grave.
When it’s all out of your system, the only dredges left are of simmering regret. There is no anger left to give and only the hollow, mournful feeling that you’d spent so long trying to internalize. You remember contentedness and routine being ripped out from under your feet, kicking and thrashing as it was overtaken by shame. Shame and distress and the sharpest edges of remorse - of thinking that maybe - maybe Tsuki wouldn’t have left if you had been a little more careful. That somehow, despite everything, maybe you could have convinced him to stay.
His eyes are a miserable amber under parking lot lights and maybe yours are a little watery, but he takes the silence as a cue to talk.
And god, does he talk - staring holes into his hands as he does, never once meeting your eyes - about his fears, about letting you slip through his fingers and watching you go. “Because I saw forever with you,” he says, quiet and prayerful. “I thought I saw forever and I wanted it so badly, I ran when I thought it wouldn’t come.”
Like sand in an hourglass, watching grain by grain slip past the point of return and thinking that maybe there wasn’t going to be a forever - and if it ended, it would be on his own terms, running to put effort into everything that wasn’t you, shameful and laden with guilt. His hand is barely shaking in his lap and against it all, you want to take it in yours. It takes a special, sobering kind of talking down to restrain the urge.
And then, wonder of wonders, he apologizes.
Tsuki apologizes, only just managing to meet your eyes, nervous and different and new. For the misunderstandings and the endless fear and the regret of not having realized it sooner. You laugh, a wet and broken thing, and apologize too. It’s barely midnight and you’re still in the parking lot but the buoyant, hopeful feeling in your chest tells you that there are only two people in the world right now; only two that matter.
-
You wake up in a hotel bed.
It takes you about two seconds to absolutely lose your shit before realizing you’re still dressed and by that fact, nothing eventful happened. Kei sits next to you, scrolling idly on his phone and it hits you all at once - how content you feel, sitting quietly with him - keeping watch as the sun kisses his hair into shining ivory, glasses glinting in the light.
You feel as if heavy wires of tension have been removed from your limbs. They aren’t so leaden anymore but lighter and easier. Kei glances at you.
“Morning.”
You blink at him. “How the fuck did we get here?” and then, belatedly, “G’morning.”
He chuckles lightly and you consider, momentarily, that this is all a dream. Much too idyllic for your taste, but he explains that it was the most convenient option after a long crying session because you were in no state to drive and it was right there, anyway, and he had the money. He sounds a little sheepish by the end, but it’s all the more endearing. None of this makes sense, anyway.
You order room service - not breakfast, he has a habit of saying ‘good morning’ during odd hours of the afternoon. (A part of you wants to ask where he picked it up, and the other already knows the answer.) And talk all the while, same as before. You feel very grown up sitting with him like this, talking over bagels and tea having hashed everything out in a half-drunken therapy session the night before.
Part of it is so, so familiar. The way he doesn’t quite grin when he’s trying to hide it - the corners of his mouth turn up in an almost-smile and his eyes light with mirth. Another is new - two adults who happen to know each other, talking about everything and nothing at all. It feels a bit like a first date and it fills you with something rare and electric.
He has to drop you off at the bar again, walking you to your car and cracking a joke about the absurdity of it all. It’s about as awkward as it sounds on paper, but it’s perfect and good and you look up at him with new eyes. You’re opening the car door when Kei calls for you in a rushed, harried tone.
“Go out with me,” he says, halfway across the parking lot. “It doesn’t have to be with forever in mind but I’d like a second chance. If you’re willing to take a second chance.”
“Not forever?” you ask, and it’s supposed to come out joking. You take a few steps closer and watch as he does, too.
“Focus on what’s happening now. No running away from what I think the future holds.”
“Sounds good. Sounds solid.”
“Yeah. Good.”
A beat of silence. You’re closer than you were a second ago; you can see the smudge on the edge of his lens where you jokingly smacked him earlier. Your heart does a funny, acrobatic sort of thing.
His mouth opens, a sentence starts and ends. He tries again.
“Can I kiss you?”
“What? Ye- mmph.”
He tastes like 2pm breakfast food and black tea with too much lemon in and you melt like sugar in the rain. He kisses like home, warm and comfortable and easy. It makes you think that no matter how much has changed - how much you’ve grown - there’s a distinctness in Kei Tsukishima that will always feel familiar. Home after a lifetime away, coming up for air after hours underwater. Maybe it’ll always be like that with him, no matter how much time goes by.
You can’t wait to find out.
#thank u for sticking all the way thru if u did!#big smooches#tsukishima kei#tsukishima imagine#tsukki#tsukishima x y/n#tsukishima x reader#tsukishima x you#tsukishima kei x reader#tsukishima kei x you#haikyuu imagines#haikyuu scenarios#haikyuu one shot#tsukishima fic#emu writes#my writing
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Forever in my heart, forever in my prayers.
10:26 PM EST.
I don’t know what I should feel, and I’ve said all I’ve couldve said. I don’t know how to move forward, but I know I miss the body heat next to me in bed.
Everything in one person that was all I’ve ever known. But as of lately, my emotions and mind have been blown.
I truly do not know or understand why things had to check me the way that they did, but I know I ain’t deserve this heart ache, even if god forbid. I knew, she knew, they knew, we all knew. But how did the one person I ever REALLY loved left my heart to have no choice to turn blue? Na, take that back, cause I know love is love. But love isn’t harmful, deceitful, and evil.
I can never make you be who you aren’t meant to be, and as I said before, you just enjoy the thought of me.
Clean pussy, clean house, good food good sex, but even through and through, I was still never at my best. But was what my best wasnt yours? Because you should’ve known you was supposed to love yours.
Enough of that rhyming shit, here it is.
I dedicated majority of five years worth of love, hate, happiness, anger & transparency to one person. Cannot state or say that others didn’t distract me at times. But home, was where my heart was. I’m not sure what to say in a blog I’ve nelgected for years. And whoever still reads these things can’t possibly be fulfilled from me constantly talking the same person day in and day out. I fucked up on my end because as a woman, you have to know your worth, you have to stand on your word, and you have no other choice but to be “strong” but being such things will never guarantee you your happy ending. No matter if I eleminated the memories, the flash backs, and the voice of you that plays over in my head, I cannot see beyond the measure of danger, damage, and betrayal he embedded in me.
I stayed for many reasons. Security, stability, and even though no single human being saw it or felt it, the love. It was a broken love, a hurting love, a addicting love. But it was never the RIGHT love. Love doesn’t have you coming to a woman as a woman, love doesn’t make you look like a fool beyond measure, love doesn’t make you forget who you are.
I can’t say what we had was actually love. This love was struggling, draining, and hurting.
I can say..... these five years gave me endless lessons. Endless laughs, a endless bond that I have never felt in my life ever. These five years gave me what no other person could. Even the pain and suffering.
I’ve contemplated deadly thoughts, I contemplated running away, I contemplated that maybe... you never even wanted a forever with me. I was just filling the void, of whatever you never got fulfillment from. All I know is. When I hurt, I hurt others. When I hurt, I don’t wanna be here anymore. When I hurt, I’m not happy.
I wanted what seemed so impossible because I’m one to fall so hard. And honestly in this generation it just seems like falling is for the weak. And there’s room for the weak these days. But another year, I’m left to pick up my own pieces and head the I told you so speech from the outsiders watching. I knew better, and thought you did too.. but our versions of knowing better and doing better just weren’t aligned.
I thought a man who admired my business ethic, my ambition and dedications was good enough. But it can’t be when outside desires control your actions. I thought I was the one you would switch up for but it just never happened. I fell nothing short of foolish to the actions that were just covering up wrong doings over time. I fell foolish to your lies that just seemed so believable. I felt for everything, every single time.
My trust is gone, my heart is fading and my mind is shook. My emotional traumas have been triggered almost every day. I still say your name I still see your face, I still see it as if nothing happened. I want it to be over because a record of heartbreak just seems to be the only song in rotation. Needed to put my pain into words even if this blog spiraled out of emotional control. But this is my mind, daily.
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But her emails...
I aim to be a woman of integrity. I’ve sat on the content I’m about to share for almost 6 years in part because it originally was a private conversation between me and a friend. A friend who happens to be a lead singer of a band, but a friend none the less. However the way people have been speaking about him and what’s been going on in the world lately, I couldn’t let this stay hidden anymore.
I’m tired of people claiming that because Patrick no longer uses social media (and hasn’t for damn near five years at this point) that somehow he doesn’t “care” or isn’t doing anything right now to help the Black Lives Matter movement. I’m also incredibly tired of people ignoring/belittling the fact that Pete Wentz is a biracial/black man in America. You really do not want the social media person in charge of Patrick’s account tweeting things out. It would be hollow and fake.
Below is both a transcript of the conversation I had with Patrick on 12/06/2014, a follow up message he sent to me 08/25/2015, and the accompanying screenshots. Unfortunately I do not have the tweet(s) that prompted me to contact him in the first place nor can I find screenshots of them to provide that context. An image of me and my younger brother Jacob when we met the band at Boys of Zummer will also be attached to demonstrate one of the people I was concerned about in my original email.
The only redactions made were my personal email address and the name of a friend I referenced. Patrick deleted his email account at some point between late 2016 and early 2017. It’s only left in these screenshots as proof for those who knew the address before to see these were legitimate messages. I hope the content reveals not only where his heart lies not only then but where it is now.
Allison White: So I caught the insanity way late, but it's a tricky spot to be in with what's going on. For most of my life, I didn't even identify with half of my race. I was raised with my mom's side of the family and it just didn't click for me. It really hasn't been until teen years and onward that I've opened my eyes to it all. And with that, I began to grow wary of authority in a way. Like I still believe that people go into law enforcement for the right reasons. The few times I have dealt with police officers personally I haven't been concerned, but I have noticed in the past few years that when I spot a police car on the road or an officer just out in public somewhere is if I look "white enough" or do I actually look like an adult who belongs in whatever space I am in.
I know Trayvon Martin was murdered by a vigilante and not an actual officer of the law, but that was when I first started to fear for my little brothers. I knew both of them were the sort of young men that could get targeted and most likely justice would not be found for them. And then there comes this summer. With both the Mike Brown and Eric Garner cases coming back with no indictment, it makes it feel as if it's just open season for black people to be hunted by cops. Which is hurtful for the cops who are actually in it to protect and serve, and every citizen who now has to wonder if they are next.
I hope that your cousin is doing alright. I hope that people aren't making his job harder right now. Just I know for me right now with all that's going on I am definitely on the side of the protesters.
Patrick Stump: Brief for now;
I'm sorry in all that you didn't notice that I'm squarely on the side of the protestors too. That's a failure of my wording
PS: The problem is that I so poorly expressed myself, people thought I was balancing the empathy to be spread across the black community and cops. That's a mistake on my part. I'm angry.
I'm angry that Mike Brown's case didn't yield enough evidence to indict. But that case was a very complicated one...Brown had just (allegedly) committed a violent crime and information was murky. As sure as I was that Wilson straight up murdered the Brown, I understood the limitations of the american Justice system given how little evidence there was. That's the unfortunate reality of justice is that it needs to be just. It needs to be 100%. We can't go in with "I know in my heart." And so that case pissed me off, but I understood it.
With Eric Garner however, this just feels so flagrant. By no accounts was he violent, wasn't he doing anything that could even be misconstrued as life-threatening enough to even imagine defending the usage of deadly force. He was cooperating and they choked him to death on camera. That's fucked up. I'm pissed. I tried to be polite and sit back and not say anything, but I'm pissed.
However, my reason for discussing the side of the police as well is that human beings are complicated. When we boil people down to simplistic stereotypes, when we create a narrative of "Us VS them," we lose sight of the humanity of it all. You can't reason with a "Them." You can only reason with a person and it works better when you remember they're people.
I don't believe in enemies. I'm not religious but I love the way Jesus preached "Love thy enemy." That's hugely influential to me. Hugely important. That's the empathy I mean.
The other night I was holding my son and I thought to myself about a black girl I used to date. And how, we could have had a kid together. Maybe a little boy. And how, that boy could (by no action of his own) be killed just for the color of his skin. Like, I've heard and read words like that before, but to actually connect with it (on as small a scale as that) was horrifying. Gutting. For a little moment I thought, all this joy and all this beauty and somewhere, someone's having a black baby boy, loving him and feeling all the same things I feel for my son. But I wondered if in between their tired diaper changes and their burpings, if they were saying a silent prayer "I hope you don't get killed by a cop." If they say it constantly because they know how possible it is. Or even if he lives to be a 100, what black man won't have an unjust run in with the law? Not to make it exclusively a male issue but seriously, how many black men are in prison right now in America? That's a disgusting thing. The young parent of a young black boy probably considers that and that's maybe the most depressing thing I've ever tried to understood. That's a horrifying thing. There really still is a racial divide in this country, and to not be black is to not say those little prayers. We live in a supposedly free country. What about the pursuit of happiness? Who's defending the right of that little black baby boy born somewhere in America to just be an adorable little baby without any pretense? And when that baby grows up, who's defending his right to walk down a residential sidewalk and not expect to get pulled over and frisked? Maybe worse?
So I'm angry. Just plain angry. But I didn't want to offend anyone so I expressed my anger in the lightest way I could think of.
I'm not sorry for having an opinion, I'm sorry I explained it so poorly that you didn't know what it was.
AW: All of this is hard, and there is so much anger. You shouldn't ever be sorry for your opinions, and I am pretty sure you yourself have told people only be sorry for how you express your opinions. I wasn't upset with you or what you said, I just felt compelled to share that for me there's a knee jerk reaction to the image/idea of police and why. This whole situation has been tough and it's been inspiring watching people across this country let their anger show and demonstrate in the streets against it. It makes me wish I was brave enough to take part in it out in the streets and not just online.
I hope this collective anger and protest leads to real change. That in 2014 we are able to do the things they were aiming for in 1964. I mean recently the full letter the FBI sent to MLK to urge him into suicide was released and it just highlights the divide between how much has and has not changed.
There's a lot of value in what religion is supposed to teach. Love thy enemy, love thy neighbor. True love and care for those around you is a great thing and certainly something I'd hope people identified with.
The past nearly seven years there has been this push for hope and change. Maybe the country is finally reaching a point to make it happen?
PS: I have a funny feeling this is civil rights part 2. I'm proud of the protests. I'm so grateful our generation is angry about something it should be angry about for a change.
AW: An argument can be made that our generation (or just post baby boomer generations in general) have been taught and fed nonsense to keep us compliant, but that veers into a territory that I am not completely sure or comfortable with. Overall I do think that this is heading a direction that the powers that be are not ready for in the slightest.
PS: Where did I go wrong? What do people think I said? They're so mad at me, and none of the people have said anything I didn't mean. I'm not getting angry right-wing stuff, people are just calling me a racist. What did I say that was racist? What do I think that's racist?
AW: There's a strong immediate reaction right now of if you sound slightly in favor of the officers that did wrong that you are racist. The swift reaction and need to dogpile on is kind of crazy. I think people took the initial comment to mean "not all cops!!!!" In the same vein as "not all men!!!" and that's where the rage is coming from.
AW: Just to be clear, those who matter know you're not racist. You have shown both in your words and actions where your beliefs lie. I don't know how to calm the masses right now because at least for the time being its not going to get through :(
AW: You could try a blog entry on tumblr?
PS: Nah, I think I've done enough damage for one lifetime. I think I'll keep it to myself but I appreciate your talking it through with me.
AW: No problem. I am always willing to be a sounding board for that stuff if you need it.
PS: I re-read my stuff; "I support our police," is the worst things said. I meant "I support the idea of police and the need for a police force we can trust on a national level," not "I support the police in NYC who are killing people and attacking protestors." That sucks.
AW: If you wanna try to clarify now you can. At least in your Google alert it only had one mention of he mess and it was a tumblr user supporting/defending you.
PS: There's no fixing it. The Internet is unforgiving I think and the reality is, I said that. I didn't mean it in the way that it so obviously sounds, but I said that. So I deserve everything I get.
AW: It will most likely go easier if you let it ride out instead of trying to go out and fight it. That just gives the "he doth protest too much" air about it. Hopefully the energy behind letting you know you said something like that will dissipate sooner rather than later. And that it won't get big enough for someone to write a story about it.
PS: Yeah. It'll sound like back-pedaling and glad-handing.
Anyway, thanks for talking it through!
AW: You're very welcome! Thank you for hearing out my side of it this morning.
PS: I never would've ignored your side.
AW: Which is very much appreciated
AW: I say that because in the past two weeks I have lost a handful of friends because of all of what's going on and them being unable to understand how and why their words hurt me.
PS: Well that's awful and unfair
AW: It was but they were all from the "when I look at you I don't see black, I just see Ally" camp and then would go on to say things about stereotypes and "thugs"
PS: Yeah. Thug. "Oh that's so ghetto." Bullshit.
AW: When someone says "thug" it's always clear they wanna say the n word
PS: Or even if they're the kind of "Well meaning," person who knows enough not to say that word, they mean the same thing
PS: "Not like you. You're good"
PS: White America just needs to know what it doesn't know
PS: Or rather, understand that there are things they (we) will never understand. Not from a first person perspective.
AW: It always makes me want to scream. The erasure of identity so then the people known to them stay safe. It reminds me of something I witnessed the other day. My friend [REDACTED] from junior high is now an established lawyer. Needless to say he has been keeping up very much with the recent events. He made a post about it and one of his friends commented with "I wish you would go back to being my friend [REDACTED] and not my black friend [REDACTED]." Mind you there's no denying [REDACTED] is a black man. He can't pass in the slightest so the comment shocked and saddened me. Thankfully [REDACTED] handled it with poise and grace.
PS: If you have to say you have a "black friend," then you probably don't.
That's fucked. I guess I just genuinely didn't imagine how pervasive this stuff really is. Like, Pete and Joe and I have been talking a lot today. I was under the misapprehension that we grew up in a decently inclusive area. Just come to find out, nobody used those words around me. The whole time they were heckling kids like Joe and Pete. I thought racism was this thing that doesn't happen here.
It's scary how much it's come out post Obama's election. Elected officials sending out mass e-mails of pictures of watermelons. I just didn't get it. Ignorance is bliss.
AW: It knows how to hide in plain sight, which is a lot of the problem. People are taught "don't be racist!!!!" Without being told exactly what racism is. People (myself included at times) aren't aware of words/phrases/ideas have nefarious ties until too late.
PS: I think we get too caught up on words and not enough on what they imply. "Thug," means a prepackaged idea of a black male. It instantly limits his perceived intelligence, his perceived trustworthiness, his perceived value to society, and his perceived prospects in life. That's so fucked. We expect black men to go to prison. Not be doctors and lawyers. When a black man is a doctor or lawyer, we treat him like such a cool novelty. When a black woman asserts herself, she's so "Sassy." "You go girl."
These little words and phrases feel harmless. They never were
AW: Those are the positives. Usually assertive black women are angry, mean. It's so fucked all around.
AW: I really owe Pete for helping me be informed on Ferguson. He tweeted the hashtag the night the protests started in August and it helped me dive in. I am sure tumblr would have got me to it eventually, but seeing it from day one was a definite help.
PS: You know part of my problem? I'm just not brave enough to say what I think. I'm just scared of offending people. Pete's not. He doesn't care. That's powerful
AW: It takes a lot to just put it out there. I am not sure if I had the amount of eyes on me that you do that I would be so "fuck you I will do/say what I want" as I am. Hell I become such a shadow of myself when at work with how quiet and polite I am. I mean I am still pierced and tatted with short hair so visually I say a lot, but then I watch my speech to make us for it.
(Follow up on 8/25/2015)
Patrick Stump: That is amazing and I'm very flattered.
By the way; Been thinking about our conversation from a year ago a lot. The takeaway is this: Saying "All lives matter," and "Not all cops," while literally true are contextually horrendous. Really awful. In retrospect I feel pretty awful about saying both. Specifically because "All lives matter," can carry a lot of implications. Who's lives? I meant by it that Latinos and Muslims are also unreasonably targeted/mistreated/murdered by cops. But is it as systematic or blatant as it is with darker skinned Americans? Not remotely. Furthermore, as a white man, I just need to remember how fucking easy I have it. It's easy for me to preach peace and unflinching patience when I've NEVER been a victim of the War On Drugs or the aftermath of straight up slavery.
So there's a lot to think about in terms of what I, a white guy, have to say and do about the situation. But not a lot I have to say about the way it feels to be oppressed to the point of feeling like less than a citizen of this country. I shouldn't have spoken about it because I don't/can't know. Well-meaning white folks get to talk about policy changes and do everything we can to help, otherwise we should get the fuck out of the way.
I'm sorry, really REALLY sorry to the world that I ever said either of those things. It's more than "Fuck the police." It's "Fuck this whole system." And as aware as I'd been, I hadn't realized how complacent in it I was.
Anyway, disgusted I said what I said. Sorry to the whole world for being part of the problem
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iridescent
summary: it’s denki’s birthday and you take your favorite boy out on a picnic date to celebrate.
pairings: kaminari denki x reader
crossed off: head in their lap
genre: fluff
warnings: denki swears one time
word count: 1,577
notes: happy late birthday to my number one thunder boy! i’ve been neck deep in my kami feels lately (i have 4 wips just for my boy that aren’t entries for the event so pls help me) here’s a birthday special and my first entry for @bnhabookclub’s bingo event!
“You look like an extension of this picnic blanket, you know?” Kaminari Denki comments offhandedly, mouth full with the sandwich you made last minute before dragging him here.
You frown at your boyfriend, looking down at your black gingham dress and the red gingham pattern of the picnic blanket you carefully laid out earlier. You flick his forehead and he cries out, pouting at you.
“That’s not nice.”
You cross your arms, glaring at him. “Saying I look like a picnic blanket isn’t nice either, Denki.”
He giggles, setting his half-eaten sandwich on the lid of the basket resting near your foot. When he nuzzles against your neck as a form of apology, whispering a delicate “I love you,” you feel red.
Bright, bright, blinding red － enough to color yourself from head to toe. You love this side of Denki. No matter what situation you’re in, Kami always finds a way to make you feel loved, makes sure you are aware that all the love he holds and all the love he can give is all for you.
You reach up to caress his head, fingers gliding up the back of his neck, raising goosebumps on your way. If Denki was a cat, you’re sure he’d be purring right now, his content sigh hovering over the skin of your jugular.
He stays there for a few seconds before slowly sliding his face down your chest, and soon he’s lying face down on your thighs. “Denki!” Your laugh rings on the open space of the grassy field. He groans against the fabric of your dress before turning around, readjusting himself to comfortably lay his head on your lap. He smiles at you once he’s settled.
Denki’s smiles makes and breaks you. You know your boyfriend isn’t the smartest tool in the shed, he’s not that strong either in terms of his combat skills, at least not yet. But your boy has been through so much. You were there during the times he was holed up in his room, absent in movie nights and missing late night board games with the gang. You were there when he looked at you, the usual light and twinkle in his eyes nowhere to be seen, unshed tears brimming at his eyes in place.
Denki is strong and there’s no denying that. In every footstep he leaves behind him and in front of you is an orange hue, a symbol for his strength and determination, his enthusiasm and success. There’s no denying the smile you always wear when looking at Kaminari, overflowing with pride. The rest of your class and Aizawa were witnesses of that.
“Dork,” you chide and you swear his smile brightens.
“You love me though.”
You shake your head, a smile mirroring his own. “That I do,” you sigh. “Unfortunately.”
“Hey!”
“What?” You laugh, bringing one hand to sift through his hair and the other one to rest on his chest, his own hand immediately laying over yours and intertwining.
He huffs. “Are you implying you’re disappointed that you love me?”
You look up as if you’re thinking just to tease him more. “Hm,” you tilt your head, “what do you think?”
Kaminari raises his free hand to flick you this time, aiming for your forehead. You laugh again, soft and airy, focusing on running your hands through his hair. Denki closes his eyes as you do, breathing out heavily before relaxing on your thighs.
This kind of serenity you only have with Denki? This is everything for you. You’ve never felt as happy as you do with him around. Kaminari Denki with his yellow hair and yellow eyes, the same color as his energy. It’s the same feeling you felt when you greeted him this morning in the dorms, too early for anybody else to be awake, sneaking in his room and silently joining him on his bed to kiss him happy birthday. When he smiled, it was like sunlight poured over you.
Though there were times when Denki was all lightning and thunders, blood boiling green, the same shade as the hair color of the boy he’d been jealous of. You’ve been paired up with Midoriya for a project due four days after it was given, along with a million other things and your hectic trainings. The interactions you had with Denki then were tired greetings and mumbled replies from how tired you were. You never imagined your boyfriend would ever think of it as a way of you slowly trying to break up with him.
“What? You like Midoriya now?” He seethed, stinging eyes hidden by the shadows casted by his thick curtains. “If you want to break up with me, Y/N, say it to my face. Don’t－ don’t leave me hanging.”
You tried to hug him as a way of comfort but when your hands came in contact with his arms, he pushed you away with a scoff, hard eyes trained on the floor.
“Denki,” you whispered his name so softly, almost like a prayer that it shook his soul. “I love you. Okay? You. There’s no Midoriya here or anybody else. It’s you and me.”
He looked at you, eyes hard. “Why have you been avoiding me then?”
You sighed, trying to reach for him once more. When he didn’t protest, you slinked your arms around him. “We’ve been finishing the project and papers due tomorrow, Denki,” you mumbled against his hair. Upon the mention of papers, he went stiff.
“What?”
“The proje－”
He pushed you away from him, diving to get ahold of his laptop. “We have papers due tomorrow!? Why didn’t anybody tell me, fuck, I haven’t started anything!”
And just like that, you got your Denki back. You helped him with the seven-page assignment for Present Mic’s class. It’s a little past midnight when you two finished and, cuddling on his bed, it was like Denki glowed blue when he tightened his hold on you as he apologized.
“Y/N.”
You hummed as a reply, eyes closed and basking in the warmth from his body.
“I’m－” You never heard the rest of it, only inaudible mumblings.
You turned in his arms to face him, eyebrows furrowed. “What? I didn’t get that.”
“I’m sorry, you know, for. . . thinking of you like that,” he whispered. Reaching up to caress his cheeks, you kissed him softly. “It’s all cool, babe,” you assured, tapping his cheeks lightly. “I’m sorry, too. I was so focused on getting school works done I kinda forgot I have a boyfriend.”
Denki’s hands that were resting on your back moved up to pinch your arms and you yelped, quickly followed by a laugh. “Hey!”
He nuzzled closer to you, nose sliding up against yours. “I love you,” he whispered.
“Hey.”
Denki’s voice brings you back to the present, his hand waving in front of your face as you came into focus once again. “Huh?”
He readjusts himself on your lap again, the sunlight reflecting on his hair, winking at you. “Penny for your thoughts?”
You hum, tightening your hold on his hand resting on his chest. “Nothing. Just love you is all.”
Denki breaks into another blinding smile, chest lightly vibrating under your hand. “God, you’re so whipped for me, man. Who would have thought?”
You gasp incredulously at his statement, shaking his hand off yours but he holds on tightly. His laughter intensifies at your action. “You aren’t denying it!”
Who are you to deny, though? You don’t even know how you came to love him this much, but you do. Something like the color violet; warm, safe and. . . full of love － the kind that you only know blooms for Kaminari Denki. There is something magical in it that you can’t explain. Like maybe the color of unicorn dust, if it even exists; the same shade as the sky when you greeted Denki happy birthday for the eighth time this morning; as soft as the color of the handful lavenders he got you on your first date and as eye-catching as the barrette he gave you just for the hell of it.
You lean down to kiss his forehead quickly, not missing the way he hummed contentedly when you did. “And what if I am whipped?” You whisper, face still inches away from his. Your hair casts a shadow over both of your faces, casting out the outside world and creating your own inside the cascade of your tresses. “You’re one to talk for someone who bought me a barrette just because it reminded me of you.”
Denki rolls his eyes at you. “And what if I am whipped,” he mocks you, shaking his head side to side on your lap. “Whatever. Come kiss me.”
And you do. You kiss him like you did the first time, full of all the things you were too scared to tell. You kiss him like you did when he cried to you that one night, full of love and pride and faith. You kiss him like you did when he thought you don’t love him anymore, brimming with all the assurances he would ever need.
Loving Denki is floating on iridescent clouds; an array of colors spread out before you. You can’t pick what color you want nor you can decide when you want it. It’s always there and will always be a part of your relationship and it’s all good because you wouldn’t love him any other way.
#kaminari denki#kaminari x reader#denki x reader#kaminari denki x reader#bnhabookclub#kaminari denki fluff#kaminari denki angst#kaminari headcanon#kaminari imagine#boku no hero academia#boku no hero#bnha#bnha fluff#bnha angst#bnha headcanon#bnha imagine#bnha fanfiction#chargebolt#kiellewrites#bnha bingo#hero camp bingo#bnha hero camp bingo event
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In Sorrow and In Joy- Part 8: To Be Grounded
Luke learns the hard way what it means to be a dad and how to keep his family safe and together. Dad!Luke with a South Asian Reader. This is a collaborative experience with A Family of Five.
CW: Over the course of this series, themes of racism and prejudice on the basis of religion are present. Please read or skip as necessary.
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Luke’s sure prayer is still going on, so he moves about the kitchen as quietly as he can. But that assumption is proven wrong when he hears Zahra’s cry from upstairs. “I have nothing to wear!” He knows for a fact her closet is packed to the hilt with clothes. But that’s not what she wants to hear. So he pauses in the kitchen, waiting for another huff to come. He knows it will. There’s some thuds from above him, sounds like stomping. Please, he begs silently, please just let today go well. Gripping the counter, Luke inhales for three seconds and exhales for five. That’s what his therapist warned him to do when he feels overwhelmed again.
He passed overwhelmed a couple weeks. Right now he’s hanging on by threads. Though he’s positive those threads are gone too now, especially after last night. Last night, he fucked up. He knows he did. He slipped out of bed, snuck into the kitchen, grabbed whatever bottle he got his hands on and sat in the backyard, drinking right from the bottle. It felt good. He felt guilty too, but there was just an ounce of relief behind the guilt. Just enough for him to go for one more swig, when he knew he should’ve stopped. He feels terrible now, thinking about it agan. He feels even more like garbage because he keeps eying the stash.
The stash only exists under the pretense that it’s there for company and company only. And for a while, that’s exactly what it was. Just for company. But now, it’s becoming his solace again. The thing that screws his head, or even unscrews it, when he’s overwhelmed so he doesn’t have to feel again. He has no clue how Calum does it, with three kids. Granted, Calum was always more level headed than he. But still Luke just can’t some days. He tries hard to be there for everything, he tries to understand the nuisance by being a teenager. He remembers what it feels like to have no control over your life. He knows, all too intimately, what it feels like to be someone else’s puppet.
Luke slowly opens his eyes as he hears the soft click of dress shoes on the floor. Zeek rounds the corner, flashing a small smile to his father. “Upstairs is a warzone,” he laughs. “Shoes are flying.”
“It sounds like it,” Luke agrees. He pushes away from the counter, necklace hitting his chest and he waves Zeek over to the stove. “This look right?” he asks, waving over to the dish now simmering.
Zeek nods. “Dad, you’re actually getting better at the whole cooking then.”
Luke’s chest bubbles with laughter. He was not the greatest cook, still isn’t the greatest. But he’s definitely gotten better. “Alright, smart alec,” he teases, ruffling the close crop of Zeek’s hair. Zeek huffs at his father’s antics.
Noor’s the next one to survive the storm, covering the back of her head with her arms. “It’s dangerous up there,” she grins, finally standing to her full height. She pulls at the sleeves of her kurta. It’s similar to the grey one with a green pattern in your possession. Her’s is a light pink with gold accents around the neck and buttons. Noor took once glance to the one in your possession and fell in love with in it. So she begged her grandmother on the next adventure overseas to grab her one.
Luke nods at her comment. He can only imagine the chaos happening up there. He doesn’t mean to leave all the messes to you. But he just can’t handle it right at this moment. He’s barely holding on anymore. He’s probably not holding onto anything anymore. But he can’t give up just yet. So he grabs the oven mitts and moves all the food to the table and kitchen island buffet style.
After a few more minutes, the periodic stomps stop and the rhythmic sound of feet on stairs echoes. He knows it’s Zahra gate. She’s forgone anything too fancy, but still fancy enough in a blouse and billowy pant combination. “She’s arrived,” Luke teases. Ra huffs a little at Luke’s comment. She knows it’s just the band coming over, it’s nothing. But it’s one of the few things that Zahra does that makes her feel wholly herself. The day is hers. Well not really hers, but it puts her in the center. She has no one teasing her, no one prodding her about it. She can exist with no push back.
You follow close behind Zahra, praying that the rest of the day goes without any more issues. With the kids focused on the food, you duck into the back room and grab the gifts. They’re all settled down, eager to receive what they know is behind your back in bags and envelopes. You hands the kids their gifts first, “Eid Mubarak,” falling off in rushed mumbles from their lips. You and Luke return the phrase. Zahra grins, peeping at the green in her hands.
Luke hands his them his gifts. It’s always something extra. Noor immediately places the teardrop earrings on after cracking opening the box. Luke helps Zahra with the necklace and Zeek hugs you over the engraved pen. He’s always wanted a fancier pen to write and sign things his prints with, tired of using his drawing pens. The kids smile at you and Luke before all three rush back up stairs.
“Do you know what’s happening?” You ask Luke.
He shakes his head, asking you with his eyes if you know. You shake your head no, but grin as you hand over the gift for him. He always gives the same reaction, a head shake no, and a half step back. “You didn’t have.” You would think after nearly 15 years of marriage, he’d be used to this. But every year, it’s the same deal.
You roll your eyes. “You are family.”
Luke’s never sure how to handle that. He knows he’s family. But he’s not family like this, this isn’t his holiday. He wasn’t raised on this. He doesn’t want to intrude. “Sweetheart, I’m being serious. Every year you do this.”
You huff a laugh. “And yet, every year you still refuse me.” Shaking the bag at him, you urge him to take the gift. He’s not sure what’s inside, the bag’s big, but not heavy. Cracking it open, he notices the record. He looks to you, eyes widened, jaw dropped.
“How did you--What in the word?”
You just grin. The Rolling Stones record was not easy to come by. But you don’t let on to that. There’s no need. He pulls the record completely from the bag, the neon orange, yellow and red finally exposed. He grins, clutching it to his chest for a second, before flipping over to the back. “God, how long did this take to get?”
“Don’t worry about that. But you like it, right?”
“Babe, I love it,” he says softly, stepping into you. He places the record onto the counter before wrapping you up into a hug. Soft kisses line up around your forehead. The action reiterates his happiness with the gift. But you notice the hug’s not as tight as it usually is. You’re losing him. But you should you bring it up right now. You squeeze him just a little tighter for a beat and then pull away.
The kids return. Noor holding a box and Zeek with a bag. He hands you the bag, watching your reaction. It’s just a book, one you mentioned in passing a couple weeks ago. The note is signed by all three kids. Luke feels his chest constrict as the sight of the necklace in his box. It’s a simple silver chain with a small pendant. On it there’s a circular design that just looks like an amalgamation of swirls. But Zeek talks about how there’s two different Z’s and an N inside the design to stand for the three of them, with your initial made up in the middle. “Guys, I love it. You three at the best thing to ever happen to me,” he says quietly hugging them.
“Besides the band right?” Zeek teases.
“He means before the band,” Noor corrects, lightly slapping at Zeek’s arm.
Zeek rolls his eyes, but laughs. “Forgive me.”
There’s a twinge of disappointment when you realize Luke hasn’t given you anything. He’s always had something at this time. You woke in the morning and expected Luke to shove it into your hands almost immediately. But it didn’t happen, never one to try to make too big a scene you figured to wait. But here you are, waiting, still.
“We waited to get you something else, Mum. But we were stomped,” Zahra confesses, hugging your side briefly.
You shake your head, ridding yourself of the dreading feeling of disappointment from Luke’s lack of a gift. A smile lifts your lips. “I love it. I don’t need much.”
She nods. “But still, sometimes we want to spoil you.” You kiss the top of her head, wrapping an arm around her. As the kids settle down in the living until the rest of the boys and their families arrive, Luke pulls you into the kitchen. “I didn’t forget about you,” he whispers, tucking some of your hair behind your ear.
You only nod. He’s saying that but you notice how his eyes keep leaving your face. What’s catching his attention so much? “You okay?” you ask, forcing his attention back to you.
He’s not okay. He’s not. Luke pushes the glasses up on his face. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. I just wanted to let you know Michael’s bringing your gift. I didn’t forget. I swear to it.”
You nod. Why Michael has your gift is beyond you. But Luke’s not looking you directly in the eye, he keeps fidgeting with fingers. He’s slipping. The album’s taking longer than they originally thought, also they’re slowing down. Now with two of the four of them will fully established families. Michael’s on the verge of a family. He and his wife talk about having kids, but aren’t sure. Ashton’s settled down. But they’re antsy, they need an edge. They feel like they’ve lost it. But it can’t just be the record that’s getting to him.
“You’re a terrible liar, you know,” you state. “Whatever’s going on, tell me.”
He shakes his head. Was he that bad already? “I’m okay.”
“Find me when you feel like telling the truth.” You exit the kitchen. Normally, you aren’t this direct, this confrontational. But you refuse to watch Luke spiral again. Whatever the reason doesn’t matter, you just want him to be honest, to stop bottling things up.
Luke watches the spot you were occupying for a beat too long. His body freezes and his chest squeezes. He’s all too reminded of the day you actually moved out of the house. Harlowe had helped you move your things. She carried Zahra on her hip and you and Luke stood on the porch. He couldn’t beg you not to leave. He begged you instead to remember that promise of a second chance. To let him get himself together. But it still hurt, still made him feel like someone had replaced his air with fire watching you walk down those steps and to your car. It still made him cry for an hour on his front porch when your car backed out first, Harlowe in the U-haul behind you.
Oh he is not going through that again. But he can’t spill his guts right now. He clears his throat and steps out of the kitchen, knowing your gaze is locked dead on him. The doorbell sounds and Luke walks over to answer it. Michael grins at him, the small holding cage in his hands. “Babe,” Luke calls, waving Michael inside.
You immediately notice the small kitten, clawing at the cage. A black persian cat. You know the breed all to well. Luke unlatches the door. He reaches inside and carefully collects the cat into his arms. “You’re not even a cat person,” you whisper.
He crosses the hallway to you. “But you are.” Silently, he offers to small ball of fur to you. “He doesn’t have a name yet.”
Noor walks over, gently petting the cat in your arms on the head. “So we might’ve known about the cat. Do you know how hard it was to keep that a secret?”
“He’s very sweet. He climbed up my arm. I have video,” Michael laughs, pulling out his phone. You’re too busy with the kitten in your arms. His smoked gray almost black fur. The melancholy gaze behind bright blue eyes. For a moment, you are a kid again. You have no worries, no traveling from country to country. There’s no harm, no death, no pain. His fur is soft and thick between your fingers. He studies you intently for a moment, before bringing his gaze around the room.
“He’s absolutely the cutest thing.” The awe is evident in your voice, your voice thick and vision blurring just a hair.
“I told you, I didn’t forget.” Luke scratches the top of the kitten’s head. As you gaze up at him, he thinks for a moment, he’s back on track. It took him weeks to pick out the right cat. He even brought the kids to the shelter several times. It did not take much to get Michael in on housing the kitten until the holiday. Michael, after fostering his first kitten, started undertaking some furry friends into his care more often.
“You don’t like cats,” you huff. You want to keep it together. But the tears are already rolling.
Luke shrugs. “He’s cute. I miss having a furry friend in the house.” You two had Petunia until her end. Which was a hard hit. But sometimes the only way out is through. “It’s not a dog, but he’s still company.”
The kitten peers over your arms, a clear indication that they want to get down, so you gently lower to the ground and watch him inspect the foyer and kitchen. “What are you gonna name him?”
“Oh shit,�� you huff. “I-I don’t know.”
Noor gently taps your arm, a warning glare for the curse word. But she grins. “I say Floyd. Because you like Pinky Floyd. But Zeek said Smoke. It sounded dumb to me. But I didn’t say it.”
“I can hear you!” Zeek shouts.
“Love you!” she returns, ducking behind Luke. Zeek peers around the corner and rolls his eyes. She always uses Luke as a shield. But it’s okay, he’s going to get her back. Luke places a hand on her back, laughing. This is what he missed. He misses his kids needing him. Zahra spends most of her time in her room or with her friends. Zeek has always been reserved. He’s close, but he’s not affectionate all the time. Noor at first and to this day is still very close to Luke, but lately instead of running to him for help she calls you more often. If she’s out shopping and can’t choose between a top, she turns to you now. Luke feels like he’s not needed anymore. His whole recovery hinged on his family needing him.
Luke recognizes that he had to get better for himself too. He couldn’t keep down that path, but it was much easier to tell himself it was for the benefit of someone else too. It felt more urgent that way. And now that urgency was leaving him. He had been feeling it for weeks. Just lacked the right way to bring it up to anyone. As the house fills up with Ashton and his partner, followed by Calum and Harlowe and their crew, Luke finds himself able to forget the urge in the pit of his stomach. He’s able to gaze at the stash and not long for it.
“You cannot bring Floyd to the table,” Luke smiles, watching Noor with the cat in her lap.
“Please?” she pouts.
A sigh escapes his lips but he nods. He can’t say no to her. She beams up at him, collecting the kitten and rushing to the table. She throws her free arm around Luke’s waist. “Love you, Dad.”
A few tears prick behind Luke’s eyes. He rubs her back for a moment. “Love you too. Now c’mon, let’s eat.”
__
Luke’s been on the deck for a while. After the boys left and the kitchen was scrubbed down, Luke slipped out of the house. You had only noticed as the backdoor slipped close. You wanted to walk out after him, but you know better. If he’s not willing to talk, you can’t force him. The kids settle down for a movie after a twenty minute argument of who gets to decide. Floyd’s already asleep in your lap. Another reason for your lack of escape to the backyard. But as the backdoor cracks open and Luke leans into the house, you know you’ll have to move now.
You slide Floyd into Noor’s lap, the closest one to you. Normally this sight would make Luke feel at peace. Normally he’s slide in next to you and tussle Zeek’s hair. He’d do something, but all he can muster right now is the slight nod to the outdoors. You slip through the small crack in the door, brushing up against Luke’s chest in the process. He closes the door behind you. The sky is clear and still. You’d normally ask, pry into what’s going on. But you don’t have to, as soon as the glass shuts, Luke grabs your hand.
“I’m not okay,” he starts. “I feel useless again. I know I was doing so well. The whole point of me getting better was to be here for my family. And I feel like I’m fading.”
“Why? Why do you feel like your fading”
“The kids don’t need me like before.”
“They grow up. Things change. It’s an unfortunate truth.”
“I just--I’m not equipped for it. It feels like it came without a warning.”
“Just like you weren’t equipped for fatherhood. No one can really fix that. I can’t snap my fingers and make things better.”
He sighs, looking out to the night. “I know.”
“Tell me what I can do. What do you need?”
Luke runs a hand over his face. He needs help, he needs to be grounded again. “Come with me to my next appointment. I-I don’t know what I need. I just know I need help.”
Wrapping an arm around his waist, you tuck your head to his chest. “I can do that.”
When shouts start up from the inside of the house, the all too distinct sound of the kids shouting at each other, Luke tenses. It’s too much, his feet are planted to the ground. He needs to be grounded. He has to keep it together. He can’t bare the thought of be separated again from his family. You rub his back. You know you’ll have to do some more heavy lifting in the house. “We’re getting rid of the alcohol too.”
He nods, face buried in your hair. He’s fine with that. He’d prefer it actually. He just doesn’t trust himself to do it. No one said being a parent would be easy, but Luke never thought it’d be this hard for him. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m sorry I don’t have it together.”
“No one does. It’s okay to not have it together.”
“I’m sorry to do this on Eid. I really couldn’t have picked a worst time even if I tried.”
You laugh, softly, shoulders shaking just a tad. “Just as long as the kids got their gifts, we’re fine.”
“I’ll try to keep it together for the next two days.”
“If you need a breather, just let me know.” They’re kids aren’t particularly known for being the quietest bunch. It’s nothing but love, but it’s a well known fact.
Luke lifts his head after kissing the crown of your head. “Thank you.”
You could say, ‘You’re welcome.’ You could tell him it’s your responsibility to care about his mental health. You could tell him a lot things. But the truth of the matter is that you will always care, you will always be there. “I love you,” you return. The truth of the matter is that even though it’s rocky you’re still by his side. That even though your heart breaks to see the man you love in such anguish, you are not going to give up on him.
#luke hemmings#luke hemmings fanfic#luke hemmings fic#luke hemmings imagine#luke hemmings series#dad!luke#dad!luke series#5sos#5 seconds of summer#h writes#luke hemmings x south asian reader#luke hemmings x reader#5sos fanfic#5sos fic#5 seconds of summer fanfic#5 seconds of summer fic
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You & Me - Part Nineteen
Thanks to @for-fucks-sake-h for being an amazing beta and to @niall-talk for her advice.
catch up on previous parts below
https://niall-is-my-dream.tumblr.com/post/182679258488/you-me-masterlist
2550 words
Callie's POV
Coming to the end of tour had been sad. Once the Jingle Bell balls were over to, you'd all headed back to the UK to spend the holidays with your families. You had got two months off before rehearsals for the world tour began towards the end of February.
You dumped your stuff at your flat, before packing up a new bag and going straight over to Niall's. That is where you had stayed tucked up in his bed with him for the last twelve hours, trying to shift the jet lag.
His warm naked body was cosy and you were determined not move for at least two days. Niall had wrapped himself around you, feet tangled together beneath the quilt. You were thoroughly enjoying the gentle half asleep kisses he was placing on your neck, the warmth of his breath giving you goosebumps on your body. A low hum of contentment coming from you both.
That daydream was broken by Bex bursting into his room.
"Holy fucking shit kids! Our prayers have been answered!" She screamed out.
"Fuck!" You said sitting up, the cover pooling at your waist.
"Nice tits!" She laughed.
"Crap!" You said covering yourself up.
Niall had sat up to, but had refrained from unnecessarily exposing himself to Bex.
"What the fuck are you doing Bex?! Don't you understand jet lag?!" He said, running his hand over his face but smiling.
"Told her to tell you guys later." Willie said, appearing behind Bex.
"Tell us what? That she's a crazy person who wakes up jet lagged naked people?!" Niall said.
"Told her you'd most likely be naked!" He laughed.
"I came to show you this." She said handing Niall her phone.
********
Victoria Secret Model Saskia Jones, moves on from singer Niall Horan with TV presenter Jasper Littlewood.
Victoria Secret Model Saskia Jones 22, and well know TV presenter Jasper Littlewood 25, were seen all over each other at a bar in West Hollywood last night, settling the rumours of her breakup with singer Niall Horan, 24.
"They were all over each other, kissing and whispering all night. They didn't seem to care who saw."
The news comes after it was confirmed that Saskia and Niall Horan had parted ways a few months ago after eight months of dating. The pair were first pictured leaving an L.A. restaurant in January but haven't been spotted together since his first solo tour date in Dublin in August.
Niall has since been pictured with his guitar technician Callie Brown, the pair seeming to confirm their romance via Instagram recently. Callie has appeared numerous times on the social media of the former One Direction star.
Jasper Littlewood, who is part of the presenting team on E news, apparently slid into Saskia's dm's when he found out she was single again. According to a source close to Saskia, she had become tired of Niall's failure to commit to her and ended things with him a few months ago.
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You didn't bother to read anymore.
"Wow, she fails to tell the story of stalking and harassing you!" You said.
"Not sure who the 'source' could be but it's bound to be someone close to her. Something done discreetly so we can't take any legal action against them. The legal documents said she wasn't allowed to discuss anything about us in the press, but that doesn't mean one of her friends didn't say something." He replied.
"Doesn't matter what the article says mate." Willie added. "No one will believe that crap any way."
"And it does mean that hopefully now she has another hobby she won't be a worry for either of you anymore." Bex said.
"Fingers crossed." You said.
It really felt like a massive weight had lifted from your shoulders, you weren't convinced it was all over just yet though. But with the news that she had been spotted with Jasper Littlewood gave you some hope that she wouldn't hassle you anymore.
"I should probably give Kim a call. You go back to sleep Petal."
"No, I'm awake now. And anyway Bex is making me coffee and breakfast aren't you love?!" You replied, staring straight at Bex.
"I suppose I should, since I woke you both up."
"Better leave quick, I'm getting out of bed now and I'm naked!" Niall said laughing.
Bex screamed and jumped up from her seat at the end of the bed, covering her eyes as she walked to the door. Willie was laughing as he closed the bedroom door behind them and you turned to get out of bed. But before you could swing your legs over the side of the bed, Niall had tackled you and pulled you back down. Your head hit the soft pillow as he moved to settle himself above you and between your legs.
"Thought you were going to make a call?!" You giggled pathetically.
"I am, but I need a kiss first." He replied.
The next couple of weeks was spent with Niall whenever possible. He had gone out with the lads dressed in his Christmas jumper to Winter Wonderland in Hyde Park, while you and Bex had ordered take out and binge watched Netflix.
You'd spent the day Christmas shopping with your Mum in central London, choosing gifts for Niall and your family. Over lunch with your Mum, you discussed what the plans were for Christmas. Tom would be with Claire at her grandparents house for the day, so it would be you, your parents and your auntie, uncle and cousins at your childhood home.
"Maura and I were chatting about maybe getting together for New Years." Your Mum said.
"Oh, were you!" You replied smiling. "And when did you discuss this?!"
"Oh, we chat every week." She said casually.
"You do?!"
"Yes, we swapped phone numbers the night we met. Do you remember?"
"I do, I just didn't know you'd been talking regularly."
"She's such a nice lady, we have so much in common. Not just our youngest children being in love."
"Mum......."
"What?! She said she's never seen him so happy. She absolutely adores you!"
"She does?"
"Yes, very much so. I know I'm biased but you are a wonderful person Callie. Your Dad and I are very proud of you."
You were a bit taken back by your Mums words. She had always been one to praise you all of your life, and your parents had always been the type to tell you they loved you all the time. But hearing her say how proud she was of you brought a lump to your throat. Sensing the impact of her words, your Mum carried on rambling away about her chats with Niall's Mum while you ate.
It later transpired that Maura had invited your parents to Mullingar for New Year's. They would spend three days with her and her husband Chris. She had even invited Niall's Dad and his partner Aoife to join them for a meal so that your parents could meet them to.
When you went to Niall's that night, you found out that he had been chatting with his Mum about the same thing.
"So apparently our Mums are now best friends!" He said laughing.
"I know, is that weird?!"
"Why would it be weird?!" He replied smiling a you. "Isn't it a good thing that they're getting on?!"
"Yeah, it is. I'm pleased they like each other." You answered. It was important to you that they approved of your relationship with Niall.
"So, I was planning on coming home on the 27th December, but since Mum has invited everyone to hers it looks like I'll be staying till the 2nd January. I said to my Mum I'll sort out flights for your parents, Tom and Claire. Do you want to fly with them on the 30th or so you want to come over earlier?"
"Well, when do you want me to come?"
"I always want you to come babe!" He replied, with a shit eating grin on his face.
"Niall!" You said punching his arm.
"Ouch! What was that for?!"
"Stop being dirty and answer the question."
"If I'm being honest, I don't think I'll cope being away from you for a whole week. The four days is going to be bad enough." He replied, wrapping you up in his arms and placing a kiss on your temple.
"I'll miss you to. I'll get a flight for early on the 27th then."
"No, I'll get you a flight."
"No, I will sort out the flight. I don't expect you to pay for me."
"I know you don't expect me to. But I want to pay for you."
"Ni..."
"No arguing Cal." He replied, placing a finger under your chin and placed a gentle kiss on your lips.
It was the evening of the 22nd of December and Niall had decided to hold a pre Christmas get together at his and Willie's flat. He had invited Tara, his cousin Deo, Mully who had flown over for the holidays. Your brother Tom, his wife Claire, his photographer friend Conor who had been on tour and obviously Bex would be there to.
His plan had included going to Tesco and buying loads of beer and wine, he had also ordered Chinese. Everyone started arriving not long after Niall had placed the order. Since you were going to be apart from Niall for Christmas and also your brother, you had decided to exchange gifts with everyone tonight. When everyone started to arrive, the pile of presents under the tree got bigger.
You had tried to have a sneaky look under the tree but couldn't find anything that said it was from Niall. He had caught you looking on numerous occasions.
When the Chinese arrived, everyone gathered around the massive dining table and started opening all the boxes of food. Tara helped you fill up everyone's wine glasses and grab beers from the fridge. When everyone was seated, Niall started tapping his beer bottle to get everyone's attention.
"Right everyone, some quiet please!" He called out. "Welcome to our fake Christmas dinner."
Everyone smiled and cheered.
"I've had a really fucking amazing year, bit bumpy in parts." He said, and everyone knew was talking about Saskia. "But overall it couldn't have gone any better both professionally and personally."
He looked over to you and smiled, a look passed between you both. A look of contentment, happiness and love.
"Ok, break that eye contact now you two!" Tom joked from down the end of table.
"Tom." Claire said swatting his arm.
"Sorry Tom!" Niall replied. "Anyway as I was saying, it's been a great year and I couldn't have done it without any of you. So if you could raise your glasses for a toast to old friends, new friends, family and to finding the love of my life."
You paused and watched him as he clinked glasses with Willie who was sitting next to him before he turned to you. As he leant in to clink your glass, he kissed you whispering I love yous against your lips.
"Right enough of that soppy crap! Let's tuck in!" Deo announced.
The group started to dish up the Chinese food, passing down dishes to each other until the plates were full. Niall's hand had found its way to your knee, and he ate one handed so he didn't have to break contact. You did the same, entwining your fingers together, your thumb caressing his.
Conversation over dinner was light hearted, stories from tour were shared from Niall, Conor and yourself. Everyone had made your brother Tom and his wife Claire feel welcome, including them in the conversations. They had got married in June so discussed the day with Conor and Tara at the end of the table.
When everyone was well and truly stuffed you all went and sat down on Niall's massive sofa to relax. Drinks were refilled again and the topic of opening Christmas presents came up. Deo, who had popped to the loo appeared dressed as Santa and declared himself in charge of giving out the presents, no one bothered to argue with him.
Bex was first to open her present, a large box gifted from you. Every year you would fill a box full of make up, bath bombs, face masks and little cans of cocktails. It had become sort of a tradition, and Bex would gift you something similar to. You were busy showing Claire what Bex had given you in your box as Deo was opening his gift from Niall, a beer pump and a keg.
Tom was surprised when Niall handed him an envelope. Inside was a gift certificate for a spa day for Claire and a round of golf with a professional golfer at Wentworth golf course for him. He stood up and hugged Niall thanking him for the amazing gift.
Tara laughed at the luxury bathrobe you got her, everyone was staring wondering what the joke was. So she told everyone the story about being in Japan back in September when you had to stop her from stealing the hotel spa one.
Niall appeared in the doorway half way through opening the presents with a large rectangular box with a bow attached to it. Placing it in front you, you sat there open mouthed.
"Is this for me?!" You managed to blurt out.
"Yep, Merry Christmas Callie."
Everyone's eyes were on you, all desperate to know what was in the box. You began to open it, carefully peeling back the packaging and that's when you saw what it was.
A guitar case. Niall had brought you a guitar for Christmas.
Moving the cardboard box out of the way, and placing the guitar box to your lap, you stared at it for a few moments.
"Open it before we all die of suspense!" Bex yelled out.
Carefully and slowly opening the box you took one look at the guitar inside, quickly closing it and looking at Niall.
"Niall.....are.....are you fucking kidding me?!" You mumbled. "Is this what I think it is?!"
You heart was beating fast, the realisation at what was in the box becoming clear.
It wasn't just any old guitar, it was your dream guitar.
"A Gibson Johnny Smith 1978 acoustic. Is it the one you wanted?" He asked you, and you could see he was nervous. "You said you loved it when we were at Gruhns in Nashville."
"It is, and I do but........it was really expensive." You whispered, although you were sure everyone could hear, all eyes were on you.
"Babe, it doesn't matter, I wanted to get it for you. The look on your face when you saw it last month. I knew straight away I needed to get for you." He whispered back.
"Thank you so much. I love it, it's the best present I've ever got."
You both smiled at each other, you couldn't believe how lucky you were to have him in your life.
Taking the guitar out of the case, there were lots of oooohhhhhs and aaaaahhhhsss followed by laughter.
Deo carried on giving out the gifts as you and Niall sat and looked over the guitar.
"I love you." You said giving him a kiss.
"I love you to." He replied.
Part Twenty - final part
https://niall-is-my-dream.tumblr.com/post/183955405793/you-me-part-twenty-last-part
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#Niall#Niall Horan#Niall fan fic#Niall fan fiction#niall.horan fan fiction#Niall Horan fan fiction#Niall Horan fan fic#solo Niall#one direction#flicker sessions#Niall fluff#Niall smut
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Daybreak Excerpt - Retired WIP
“Here’s the plan: we break into this building, fuck shit up, and get the fuck out before anyone can stop us.” Alec didn’t wait for a response and instead headed towards the dilapidated skyscraper looming over them like a giant monster from the sand. He knew the others well enough to know that even though that was the best plan anyone had come up with, or rather the only plan anyone had come up with, someone would stop him. Likely, anyway. It wasn’t like anyone had enjoyed his other plans, even though they were all just as amazing.
“And how do you plan on us not getting caught?” Alec stopped, sighing. Of course it was Piper. He turned to look at her, watching her as she flipped her bubblegum pink hair over her shoulder and narrowed her grey eyes at him. She was gorgeous, tall and model-esque, and it pissed him off to no end that she couldn’t be just another pretty face. Then she would just go along with it instead of being uptight and ruining all his fun. “We’re trying to steal supplies from an enemy stronghold and you think you can just race in, hit a couple people, and leave without dealing with any repercussions?”
“Of course not.” He glared back at her, placing his hands on his hips as he tried to ignore the sweat beading on his brow. Dammit, why’d he have to insist on still wearing the leather jacket he had shown up to this world in? They were in the middle of a god forsaken desert and he’d have no one but himself to blame if he got heat stroke. “But I do think this is the best way to get out of dealing with the worst of it.”
“All in favor of Alec never makin’ any plans again raise your hand,” Remi said. Alec couldn’t see them, but he already knew what the result was going to be. “That’s a definite majority. Alec ain’t allowed in our strategy meetings anymore.”
“There has to be a better way.” It was Rowan who spoke up this time, mirroring Piper’s glare and crossed arms. He was as tall and broad as a tree, and if Alec had been anyone else, he’d likely be intimidated. However, as he was who he was, he found it more hilarious that a literal tree was trying to threaten him. “As much as I hate to agree with Piper-”
“As much as you hate to agree with anyone,” Alec interrupted, earning a look that would have him six feet under if looks could kill.
“Running in there and bashing heads in can’t be the only plan we have.” Rowan finished.
Alec couldn’t help his smirk. “So as long as it’s not the only plan, it’s fine?”
He responded to the groans from Rowan and Martin with another smirk, wider this time as he shoved his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. It was always fun to mess with them.
“Come on, Alec,” Martin sighed, “you know there has to be another way. Some way to get in without getting noticed.”
“Like what?” He glared at the group of them, making the other seven avert their eyes. It was always a nice feeling, he thought, to actually be able to intimidate with nothing but a glance. “Magically find the schematics for the building? Crawl in through the airducts and use a grappling hook down like this is some damn spy movie?” Martin glanced up for just a moment before staring back down at his shuffling feet. He obviously hadn’t thought that far ahead. None of them had. None of them except for Alec. Which is why he had the only viable plan. “Because last I checked, we have none of that. All we have are our own bodies and a couple of knives.”
The chain-link fence in front of them rattled as Rowan punched it. Not that Alec could really blame him. Honestly, he kind of wanted to also. It was frustrating. It was frustrating that no one would listen to him. It was frustrating that they had no idea where they were or what they were doing. Everything was just a giant ball of frustration and stress and it made him want to hit something. Which, to be fair, was probably part of the reason his plan was what it was. It would be the easiest way to get a good fight in.
“It’s the only plan we have.”
But still, he could hear someone, he thought it was Luca, faintly, muttering terrified prayers under his breath. He could see Kieran out of the corner of his eye, icy eyes wide and chest silently heaving. It was a harsh reminder that they were all kids, that he was a kid. What else could they do? What could he do?
“Seren seemed desperate to get us to the capital.” His voice sounded foreign to his own ears. It was too tight, too strained, too much like–. He shook his head, staring forward into the ruins of the city before them. “So I doubt she would have sent us into this without a way to defend ourselves.”
“The Modifiers.” It was the first time Kieran had spoken besides offering his name when he had fist woken up, which startled Alec so much he nearly jumped. Everyone stopped, staring at him. When he noticed the attention, he shied away, staring at the sand under his feet as he lifted his arm, pointing at the tanned piece of leather circling his wrist. “The bracelets. She said that they would help us.”
“Help us how?”
Kieran shrugged, backing away and wrapping his arms tightly around himself.
Fat lot of good that was.
“We need a strategy, Alec.” He turned to look at Piper, who was staring him down as she spoke.
He glanced behind him, at all the others. Luca was crouched on the ground, staring up through teary eyes. Kieran was clutching his chest, eyes tightly closed and Remi and Rowan stood nearby, looking surprisingly numb to the situation. Once again, a flood of recognition washed through him. Children. They were children, not fighters, not soldiers.
“Here’s our strategy. Try your best to survive.”
He thought he heard Rowan cursing behind him, but he ignored it and walked back to the gate. Right as he was about to step past the threshold, a hand grabbed onto his shoulder.
“Don’t be a moron about this, Alec.” It was obviously Martin who was speaking, grasping onto Alec’s shoulder as if that would actually make him stop and consider his actions.
“Then tell me what other choice we have.” He shrugged off the hand, ignored the comment of ‘you’re going to get us all killed,’ and stepped through the gate. Part of him figured that the others weren’t going to follow his lead, but when he glanced back, they were filing in behind him, one or two at a time, all looking a mix of terrified and apprehensive, even the usually pissed off Rowan.
The skyscraper stretched on forever above them, ruined and decaying as Martin’s words echoed in his head. Don’t be a moron about this. As if he hadn’t been a moron about every single decision he had ever made in his life. But now was different, wasn’t it? Now he had seven other lives on his back. Seven kids he had to protect. But if he was going, it was going to be on his own terms, dammit.
He had only made it two steps closer before he stopped again, watching with narrowed eyes as a tall man dressed in little more than rags appeared from the shadows of the skyscraper. He was more than intimidating, standing at over six feet tall and built like a body builder. Even if they had been on Alec’s turf, he still would have felt apprehensive about fighting him. All he could do was pray to the god he didn’t believe in that the damn bracelets really were magic.
“You’re from North Star, aren’t you?” The man’s voice was dripping with bitterness and anger.
“Not technically.” Alec motioned for the others to step back as he cocked his head to the side and smirked at the large man. Shit, what the hell was he doing, asking for a punch to the face? He guessed so as he stuck his hands in his pockets again. “Just helping them out a bit. But I don’t really prefer to swing one way or the other.”
The man eyed him, raising a brow. “Such a shame you were sent here. You might’ve lived if they sent you somewhere else.”
Something dark was building inside Alec. Pride, anger, desperation – he couldn’t tell which. All he knew was that he was going to survive. Not just this battle, but the entire war. He was determined to. He lifted his head, tilting his chin up.
“I suppose we’ll see about that, won’t we, Jackass?”
Somewhere to his right, Luca choked. But all Alec cared about was the man smirking in front of him. That was going to be his prey. His alone. And hopefully the others would be smart enough to live, somehow. There were obviously more people around, hidden in the crumbling walls, waiting for the big guy to give them to go-ahead to fight.
“Then let’s get started,” Big Guy said.
Big Guy came flying at him. Alec hadn’t expected him to be so fast, but he managed to dodge his punch in the nick of time. He had wanted to try and keep an eye on the others, but it took all his focus trying to dodge and counter Big Guy’s punches. Even then there were still some that landed, knocking Alec slightly off balance, throwing him off his game.
If they had been back home, if this had just been another of his career fights, if he hadn’t been so distracted – none of that mattered. All that mattered was here. Now. The screams in the background. The heat he could feel where one of Big Guy’s punches connected with his jaw. The anger. The fear. The desperation. Big guy reached out, grabbing him by the neck. He shouldn’t have let that happen. He was better. He was a survivor. He wouldn’t die.
He wouldn’t die.
He wouldn’t die.
At first, he thought the light meant he had died. As if suddenly all the air had been pushed from his lungs. But that was wrong. He could still breathe. He could still breathe and Big Guy was screaming. Screaming as if he were dying. And that light was coming from Alec, and the damn bracelets had to be magic because fire was licking at his skin but he couldn’t feel it. Like it was a part of him.
Big Guy had stopped screaming, stopped moving, stopped breathing, reduced to nothing but a pile of burnt clothes and charred skin and this was his fault. He’d killed someone.
But wasn’t it necessary? Wasn’t it a life for a life? He had to survive, had to make sure the others survived, had to get home some day and become the kind of man his parents could be proud of. That was what he had promised himself. If no one else would keep their promises to him, he had to keep his own.
He took a moment to breathe, to calm down, before glancing around himself. He hadn’t known how long he had been fighting with Big Guy, but apparently it was long enough for damage to be done.
Rowan was a few feet away, standing over a body and holding a bloodied piece of wood shaped almost like a baseball bat. From where he was standing, Alec couldn’t tell if the man lying on the ground was dead or just unconscious. He hoped for the latter. Luca stood a bit behind Rowan. He was pale and looked like he was about to hurl, but otherwise seemed uninjured. Remi was nearby, scratched up and holding her side. Martin and Addy were huddled together nearby, another man lying near them. Kieran was forced up against the building by another man, his chest heaving as his hands scratched at the ones pressing into his neck. His eyes were wide, but distant, like he was seeing something completely else.
Shit.
Shit fuck shit.
It was the only thing crossing Alec’s mind as he watched, his body moving before he could even command it to. He raced to Rowan, who had also seemed to notice but froze, and grabbed the wood from his hands. It would only take one swing. Just one swing and the kid would be okay. So he swung.
#dbu#my writing#writing#writeblr#amwriting#reposted so that it's shorter. it's only about half the length of the original
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MacLeod’s Tailoring, Edinburgh (betaed)
An older fic, betaed by @whovianlord Thank you so much!
Edinburgh, Scotland. 1686.
You made your way back from the marketplace, feeling a brief glimpse of the Spring sunlight on your face. Your husband had died during the previous winter after weeks of being sick. There was nothing you could have done to save him. He was a good man and you missed him, but you needed to feed your three children. You needed to think about the future – you had no time to mourn the past.
You were born only twenty-four summers before so your chances of marrying again were good but, if you could, you would have chosen Fergus MacLeod. He was handsome, friendly, extremely obliging, and, most importantly, not married. Never had been, either. You knew that Mrs. Otway gossiped about Mr. MacLeod being – although you didn’t know how it would work – in love with men, but you did your best to ignore her. No time to mourn, no time to gossip. In any case, you really liked him and often dreamt that he would kiss the inside of your…
No. You shook your head and sighed as his tailoring store came into sight. You worked up your courage and entered Mr. MacLeod’s premises.
“Good morning, Mr. MacLeod,” you greeted as he looked up, smiling at you.
“Good morning, Mrs. Bain,” he answered, and your heart stopped for a second.
He knew who you were. You smiled and tried to hide your blush.
“How can I help you?” he asked, putting aside a roll of dark green velvet.
“My son, Jacob, needs a new shirt and I was wondering whether you…”
“I see,” he answered, silencing you. “Aren’t you able to sew it yourself?”
“I’m not good at sewing,” you whispered.
You paused and tried to focus on anything other than Mr. MacLeod’s handsome face. You chastised yourself for not having the skill to simply fix your son’s shirt and started to wonder why you came at all. Mr. MacLeod broke the silence.
“I think you just need some practice to build your confidence, Mrs. Bain.” He moved around his counter and placed a hand on your arm. “I know you’re widowed and I know how easily men would prey on what little money you have to call your own. In which case, I think it would be wiser to spend your money on food and Jacob wore a shirt that you had mended yourself.”
He was so caring and fair. Anyone else would have just taken your money, sewn your son a shirt, and forgotten about you in seconds.
“Mr. MacLeod, I don’t wish to be impertinent, but could you teach me? To sew, I mean.”
Your head hung low as your request was met with silence.
“How about we make a deal?” he said after a minute or so.
A small ray of hope started to blossom in your chest and you finally glanced at his face.
“Yes!” you answered hastily.
“I would prefer to obtain your consent after you know what you’re agreeing to, Mrs. Bain.”
“Begging your pardon, Mr. MacLeod.”
He nodded and gave you a small smile.
“So, here’s the deal: I’ll teach you to sew, if you agree to clean my rooms here twice a week.”
You beamed. For a second, all your worries disappeared as you jumped into his arms and gave him the biggest hug you could. It lasted for only a second before, remembering your place, you quickly broke from the embrace and dashed towards the door.
“Thank you so much, Mr. MacLeod. Shall I start tomorrow?”
“Whatever you wish Mrs. Bain. And you’re welcome.”
Mr. MacLeod walked back around his counter and sighed. He ignored the feeling that he might have wanted to hold you for a little longer, before spying the discarded green velvet and returned to work.
—
Edinburgh, Scotland. 1688.
You’d been Mr. MacLeod’s cleaning lady for more than two years and were able to sew nearly perfectly. With every lesson that had passed, you’d fallen deeper in love with him, but he clearly didn’t want you. Now, you were married to a widowed baker who you never loved.
Every night, when your husband would consummate the marriage, you’d lie still, just as you were taught to do. Your thoughts would always drift to Fergus, dreaming about how gentle and loving he would be. When your husband finally fell asleep, you’d fight tears and press a hand against your stomach, praying that you’d never conceive another child. Eventually, however, your prayers failed as you noticed you had missed your monthly bleeding and felt your body begin to swell. You fought the morning sickness as much as you could but knew you would have to tell Mr. MacLeod about your condition and with it, the news that you would be quitting your job. It broke your heart to say goodbye to the man you had fallen so hard for.
Many years later when you heard that Mr. MacLeod had died, you couldn’t fight the tears any more. You’d always loved him – you would never stop loving him. You had been married twice to men you never truly loved and had given birth to seven children. Dying as your first husband had done in the depths of winter, your last thoughts were only of Fergus, and the fact that you would never see the man you loved ever again.
—
Saint Paul, Minnesota. Present day.
You loved the sound of your sewing machine almost as much as you loved the morning sun shining in through the windows of your little tailoring shop. You’d opened a year ago and used your skills to slowly build a regular customer base. You loved the fact that you were your own boss and earned enough money to live happily.
The little bell above the store door let you know that a customer had entered and you looked up, smiling at a man you had never seen before. You assumed he was Mrs. Pearson’s husband who had come to pay for the robe she had ordered.
“Good morning,” you said. “Mr. Pearson, I assume?”
“No.” he answered, smiling. “Crowley.”
You furrowed your brow in confusion. You’d never heard the name before, so he wasn’t one of your regular customers.
“My apologies. How can I help you, sir?” you asked.
“You’re still so beautiful,” he whispered, taking a couple of steps towards the counter.
You stood and reached to grab your phone. Something about this stranger didn’t feel right.
“I’m sorry, sir,” you answer. “I think you’re confusing me with someone else. I don’t think we’ve ever met.”
“Oh,” he grins. “My apologies, love. We have met, you just don’t remember. You are, or were, Mrs. Catherine Bain, later married to James MacTavish - a baker. He died, if I remember correctly, in 1726. Let’s just say, someone took care of him when he reached the eternal flames. He was never good enough for you. You always deserved better.”
You subtly tried to unlock your phone to dial 911.
“Sir,” you pleaded. “I’m sorry, but I really think you should leave.”
Suddenly, you felt yourself being pushed against a wall and Crowley pressing the entirety of his body against yours. His face was just inches from yours.
“I’m Crowley, King of Hell.”
“What do you want?” you asked breathlessly.
You were sure he could feel your erratic heartbeat where his chest was pressed against yours. You struggled to keep your breathing even.
“I just want you to remember,” he whispered, lifting his hand to your forehead.
You felt his warm fingers on your skin. The building panic inside you instantly faded and you felt warm and safe. Your mind was filled with images of fog in the early morning and you suddenly remembered everything.
“Fergus,” you whispered. You opened your eyes and saw the man you had spent a previous lifetime in love with. Remembering you had never called him by his first name, you blushed. “Mr. MacLeod.”
“Catherine,” he sighed. “No more Mr. MacLeod, please. I was always Fergus to you.”
You nodded. It’s all you could do.
“Am I allowed to kiss you, Catherine?”
“You always were,” you answered.
His lips were unexpectedly soft and his stubble caught on your skin in the best way possible. Your thoughts immediately went to that same stubble tugging on more sensitive skin further down your body.
“I always wanted you, but you were so damn respectable. I never could have married you, but I dreamt about fucking you through the walls of my shop. I wanted to bend you over my work bench and ravish your perfectly respectable exterior.”
Crowley chuckled against your neck and you felt his hands sliding under your shirt, thumbs tracing the underwire of your bra.
“Fergus,” you sighed, feeling all the things you felt during your past life as Catherine Bain for Fergus MacLeod.
“Close the shop,” he murmured. “Let’s go upstairs.”
You did as you were told. It was Fergus, after all. The man you had loved more than three hundred years ago. It wasn’t his body anymore, though. That belonged to whoever this Crowley was, but you could still see something in his eyes that told you the man you once knew was there.
After hurriedly writing a note faking sickness and sticking it on your door, you ran up your stairs and raced into your bedroom. Crowley was casually leaning against your dresser and smirked at your obvious rush to get to him.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispered. “So damn beautiful. Your soul’s been searching for mine all these years, Catherine.”
You blushed like the first time you went into his store.
“Come here, love.”
You slowly walked towards him and placed your hands on the lapels of his overcoat. Pushing the item from his shoulders, Crowley moved to remove his jacket as you unbuttoned his shirt. With each button you popped open, you placed a light kiss on his chest, slowly trailing down his stomach. You felt warmth radiating from his hands as he ran them up and down your spine through your top. The action was reminiscent of when you thought your daughter, Margaret, was going to die of fever and Fergus, unlike your deadbeat husband, was there to support you. It was the only time he ever touched you, and you shivered from the memory.
“My children,” you whispered. “Do you know what happened…?”
“I never met any of them in hell,” he answered quietly. “They could only have gone to heaven, just like their beautiful mother.”
He helped you up from your kneeling position, where you had suddenly hesitated in playing with the belt of his pants. He kissed your forehead and held you against his body, waiting for the memories of your children to fade. You sighed and started kissing him, needy for him to move so much faster than he was.
“Catherine,” Crowley moaned as you grabbed him tighter.
“Please,” you begged. “I’m not some china doll that’s going to shatter beneath you. I’ve wanted you for an entire lifetime. Seeing you again, I only want you more. Please.”
Crowley smirked and with a click of his fingers, you were both naked. You gasped as you suddenly felt soft skin and hard muscles where you once felt material. A certain hardness prodding against your hip felt particularly urgent.
“Perks of being the King of Hell,” he murmured against your neck.
You giggled but then gasped as he suddenly lifted you off the floor and dropped you onto the dresser. He pulled you to the edge and spread your legs as far as they would go, running his hands up and down your inner thighs. He kneeled in front of you and made eye contact just as he licked the folds of your sex.
You cried out in pleasure and threw your head back, groaning as he begun to repeat the action in a frenzy. You heard him chuckle and you bit down on your lip to stop yourself from screaming when his tongue found your clit. Grabbing the back of his head, you pulled him away from you and slid down off the dresser. He stood, and you claimed his mouth in a passionate kiss.
“As incredible as that was, I haven’t waited three hundred years for your tongue,” you growled.
You walked forward, forcing Crowley backwards, until the back of his knees hit the end of your bed. You pushed him so he fell back and quickly straddled his hips. You wanted him, now. There was no time for mourning, no time for gossip, no time for questions. You suspected this would be your only chance to have him, and you were going to enjoy every second. Three hundred years of waiting meant you were more than ready for the impressive length that rubbed against your ass.
Crowley growled as you reached behind you and started to stroke him. He felt amazing in your hand and your sex was dripping in anticipation. Not wanting to wait any longer, you lifted yourself up, lined Crowley up beneath you, and slowly sank down onto his length. You sighed, shutting your eyes as your body adjusted to the size.
Crowley reached down to skilfully rub your clit as you slowly started to ride him. This was everything you could have wished for and better than any fantasy you could have dreamt of. As you rode him faster and faster, you quickly built to a peak that you wanted him to follow you down. One final intense pinch of your clit was all it took for you to be screaming in pleasure and came as Crowley took over thrusting into you. At the feeling of you fluttering around him, he roared and quickly followed you.
You collapsed against his chest, panting heavily. You felt Crowley’s arms wrap around you, almost protectively.
“Why did you go to hell?” you whispered.
Crowley sighed and, removing himself from you, rolled over so you were lying next to each other.
“I made a deal with the devil,” he admitted. “Long after you fell pregnant with your second husband. If I had known I had even a small chance with such an incredible woman, I would have wished to love you until the end of time. To be the man you deserved.”
Tears threatened to spill from your eyes as you took this confession in.
“Thank you,” you sobbed.
Glancing up into his eyes, you could see Fergus smiling at you as if you were his whole world.
“I wish I could stay,” Crowley said, finally. “But I have to go.”
You nodded, somehow able to understand the plight of the King of Hell. He lifted his hand to your forehead and you suddenly felt like you hadn’t slept in a year. As you drifted off, you felt him roll you onto your back and kiss your forehead.
“Goodbye, Mrs, Catherine Bain.”
—
When you woke up that night, you felt an immediate sense of loss, but blamed it all on being some weird dream. As you stumbled out of bed and flicked the light switch, you were greeted with the sight of a painting leaning against your dresser. Looking closer at it, you were shocked at your discovery.
The painting depicted a man – a tailor – sitting at a work bench watching a beautiful woman in a green dress clean the floor. You knelt down to flip the painting over and read the description on the back.
MacLeod’s Tailoring, Edinburgh. Unknown master. About 1687.
“Fergus!” you gasped.
Your dream came back to you in an instant and you broke down in tears, hugging the painting as you sobbed. You had loved him in a previous life and you loved him now. You would never stop loving Fergus MacLeod.
#Supernatural#crowley#crowley/reader#smut#rebirth#king of hell#fergus macleod#whovianlord#submission
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Captain Hook & Rapunzel
Part 3 of 3 —> Part 1 Part 2
Description: Reader insert; multi part oneshot. The reader has been a member of Team Free Will for a year now. During an unexpected lull in jobs recently, you, Sam, Dean and Cas decide to attend Jo’s themed birthday party. During the events of the night, cards are shown and things definitely take an unexpected turn.
Author’s Note: This fic was written for @eyes-of-a-disney-princess and her Rapunzel’s Tangled Up With Supernatural Challenge, and it is my first ever reader insert, as well as SPN fanfic. I’ve tried so hard to authentically portray the beautiful characters of the series, but I’m only human so please bear with me! I hope you enjoy!
Pairing: Dean x Reader
Contains: angst, some language, fluff, potential bad decisions, physical fighting/violence
Warnings: physical violence, taking advantage of a drunk female (the reader) is mentioned but never acted on thanks to a big muscular hunk ;)
If you find any other triggers that may affect readers please let me know and I’ll add them here
Word Count: 7,106...sorry, it’s so long :D
*This pic isn’t mine, credit to the owners and Google Images
Dean left the two of you at the car while he ran in to grab a couple rooms, but when he came out, he did not look happy. “Well, they only had the one room so it looks like we’re sharing tonight.” He threw a pointed look at you and Cas as you walked into the dilapidated room.
There was a single bed with a nightstand on either side and a dingy comforter adorning the mattress. The sun-faded floral window curtains floated in the breeze of the window A/C unit. You sat down in a worn chair by the small kitchen table and rested your head in your hands. The alcohol had almost released its hold on you, leaving your stomach in knots and your head pounding. All that, combined with the craziness of the bar fight, left you reeling. Dean dumped the bags on the floor at the foot of the bed and sat down, absentmindedly rubbing his knuckles which were still angry looking from making contact with Derek’s face.
“Look, (y/n),” he began, “I’m...sorry...for what happened back there.”
“Dean.” You looked at him without your usual mask, allowing him to see all the emotions you were struggling with cross your face. “Just stop.”
“Stop what?” He asked, a confused look on his face.
You waited a minute and looked over to Cas, who thankfully got the hint. “I’m going to go check on Kevin,” he said awkwardly. “See what progress he has made with the demon tablet.” And with a flutter of wings, he was gone.
“Stop what,” Dean repeated, a soul crushing look hidden in the depths of his eyes.
“Stop whatever this is.” Your voice sounded tired, broken, even to your own ears, as you made a vague all encompassing gesture. “I’m so sick of you dancing along the lines, and not picking a side. You can’t have your cake and eat it too.”
“I don’t know—“
“Yes you do!” You shouted cutting him off, tears forming in your eyes. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. Ever since the night you and Sam saved me, you have been hiding or denying your feelings. Months, Dean, it has been months. Either make a fucking move or let me go! I can’t take this limbo hell anymore.” You were sobbing now.
He sat there quietly for a moment, your sniffling and gasping the only sounds in the room. “(Y/n), I care about you, you’re right. But this is not a life you need to live permanently. As soon as we figure out why Crowley wants you—,” he tried but you spoke over him.
“‘As soon as.’ Who the hell knows how long that will actually be. It could be years before we find out why I’m significant to Crowley. And if you expect me to remain with you guys as we figure all this out, something's gotta give.”
“Is this about that douchebag at the bar?” He asked in a dangerous tone, there was a steely edge to it you hadn’t heard often, but it was booming nonetheless.
“No,” you shouted indignantly, but his glare cut through your thin layer of bullshit. “Yes…” you acquiesced. “I don’t see the problem there.”
“Don’t…’don’t see the problem’?” He was aghast. “Really? Because I see major problems. The dude was shitfaced, you were drunk enough to slur your words; there’s no telling what could have happened!” He was standing now, shouting and pacing a path into the carpet. “He could have taken advantage of you.” His voice was deadly quiet, now.
You glared a hole into his soul—figuratively at least. “How is that any different than what you do,” you asked in a small voice, the accusation hanging in the air.
He stopped dead in his tracks and sat down heavily on the edge of the bed, resting his face in his hands. After a moment he spoke. “I’m not saying I’m the best dude out there, but I do treat women better than that guy was treating you.” Tears were glistening in his eyes. “I’ve never forced myself on anyone, and I don’t keep buying them drinks so I may take advantage of them.” His voice was gruff, almost breaking.
“Dean, you don’t know he was going to take advantage of me.” You tried, but even your defense sounded thin to your own ears. The truth of the matter is, Dean was right—even if you didn’t want to admit it. More than likely Derek would have taken you back to his place, or maybe just to the parking lot, for a quick hook up. Discarding you and never calling. The idea of being a one night stand made your stomach roil.
“Really, (y/n)? If he wasn’t going to take advantage of your impaired state then I’m the Pope.” Sarcasm tended to be his defense mechanism.
“Dean, you can’t be upset and keep me from moving on with my life, keep me from trying to find love—,”
“‘Keep you from trying to find love.’ Is that what you think I’m doing?” He said angrily. “Because I think I’m trying to protect your ass.”
“Oh, so you’re protecting me, is that it?” You were yelling now. “Being territorial about who I talk to, while you’re out galavanting with any skirt who looks your way, is ‘protecting me’.” You crossed your arms across your chest, trying to hold in your emotions and keep yourself from falling apart. “Flirting with me incessantly and building all this sexual tension between us is ‘protecting me.’ I’m tired of all this bullshit, Dean!” Your emotions had busted loose and taken over now, anger, hurt, and betrayal all coursed through your veins.
You took a deep steadying breath. “It’s not fair for you to constantly put me through all this while you may do what you please,” you tried to explain patiently, fed up with his petulant attitude. “So please, truly look at yourself and decide what it is you want. When you figure it out, let me know.”
With that you grabbed your bag and entered the bathroom shutting the door behind you a bit harder than necessary. Turning on the shower, you stripped out of your costume and slid down the shower wall. The water hid your tears and muffled the sound of your quiet sobs. You sat there crying yourself out until nothing was left deep inside you, until everything that had happened to you in the last year swirled down the drain. Until the water coming out of the shower head turned cold and bracing.
You toweled off and got dressed in your pajamas, a loose pair of sweats and an oversized Bon Jovi t-shirt you stole from Dean soon after they took you in. No matter how many times you washed it, it still inexplicably smelled like him, which was a soothing balm to your aching nerves. I’m not going to force my feelings on him; if he wants to be with me he can damn well tell me, you thought in a silent prayer to whatever god was listening.
As you entered the room you saw Dean still sitting where you left him, eyes red-rimmed like your own. He must have gotten up to change into his night clothes as well because the kohl and Captain Hook costume were long gone, a worn pair of sweats and a t-shirt replaced them. Silently you walked to the other side of the bed to turn down the covers, determined to leave everything where right where you left it until he deigned to speak to you.
“You’re right, (y/n).” He said.
“Oh?”
“I do care for you. And much deeper than as a friend.” He shifted to look at you while you went about your pre-sleep ritual.
You didn’t say anything, hoping the silence would cause him to keep speaking. You looked at him with pursed lips and raised eyebrows.
“The thing is I don’t have much experience in this department. Relationships aren’t really my thing.” He glanced up at you. “I’ve had feelings for you since nearly the first day we met. I’ve just been scared to act on them because—“ his voice caught, and he cleared his throat. “Because what happens if we try this and it doesn’t work or you get taken away from me? Because everything I’ve ever cared about gets taken or destroyed.”
You stilled your actions and thought over his words. Turning each over in your mind, searching for any hidden meaning. Finally, you looked at him, “but what if it works?”
A tear escaped his eye as he bowed his head. After a moment he grinned, “ever the optimist, aren’t you?”
You gave him a half smile, “someone around here has to be.” You shrugged a shoulder, “and besides, I’m not worried about getting taken or dying. Between you, Sam, Cas, Jo, and Ellen, I’d say I’m safer than the Declaration of Independence.”
He returned the grin. “Yeah, I suppose you’re right. Although Nicholas Cage was able to get past all that government security to get the Declaration.”
You chuckled, “I don’t think we have to worry about Nic getting to me.”
After a moment he added, “so...where do we go from here?”
You thought for a moment. “How about we start with one day at a time,” you said a little shyly. “Besides, it’s almost morning and we should turn in. It’s been a long day and Sam will be herein a few hours,” you said as you crawled under the faded comforter.
He cleared his throat, “Right. I’ll just sleep on the floor.” When he reached for the second pillow, you grabbed his hand causing him to freeze. Your gaze traced over his muscled arm, from his wrist up to his face.
When the two of you finally made eye contact you gave him a soft smile. “You can sleep in the bed. You know, if you want to…” you trailed off shyly, waiting for his reply.
As you settled down on the mattress, you watched him war with himself; one hand rubbing the back of his neck as he blew out a deep breath. When his more tired side won the internal battle, he drew the covers back to settle into the bed beside you, careful to leave space between the two of you.
After a few tense moments you heard him clear his throat in the dark. “Well...uh...goodnight, then,” he said clasping his hands across his middle.
Geez, this man has bedded countless women, but in the face of a possible relationship he becomes a junior high boy, you thought as you chuckled to yourself. Fed up with the silence and the space between the two of you after all these months of hidden feelings, you grabbed his hand and lifted up his arm so you could curl up against his side. Your head rested on the point of his chest where is arm met his torso, your hand laid over his beating heart where you could feel it thumping hard against his chest. Your leg draping over his as if you had done this a million times. “Goodnight, Dean Winchester,” you sighed as you inhaled his scent and began to drift off into unconsciousness.
You weren’t sure if you dreamt it or not, but you could have sworn right before the tide of sleep pulled you under, Dean pulled you tighter against his body as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head.
Fin.
Tag-list: @captainsherlockwinchester110283
#eyes-of-a-disney-princess#Rapunzel’s Tangled Up With Supernatural Challenge#deanxreader#dean winchester#insert#sam winchester#castiel#motel#birthday#theme#angst#hidden feelings#supernatural#spn#fan fiction#fanfic#oneshot#multipart
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⇁ nudes, not flowers | 02
⇁Hoseok x female reader x Jungkook
⇁ smut || fuckboi!au
⇁ voyeurism + exhibitionism, dom!junghope, power play?, dirty talk!!!, jealousy, demeaning names during sex, the threesome, & probably other warnings byE
⇁ 10.4k
. . .
You’re not supposed to fall for Jung Hoseok and his repertoire of awful pick-up lines—but you do. The problem is: he’s afraid of commitment, and bolts at the idea of settling down. After that, you decide to stay far away from fuckboys, but his friend decides to test your new found resolutions.
↳ or : Jungkook wants to see how far he can push Hoseok until he snaps
⇁ 01 | 02 (final) ; sequel
a/n; okay…so… this is just porn, but if you squint, there’s kind of a plot. you should probably start with pt 1 if you haven’t already!!
+ shout out to the mutuals who encouraged the filth fest in this part esp @gxtsmxt @itsrainingmin !! we can have a prayer circle later to cleanse our souls
+ also tomorrow is my one month anniversary on tumblr :’)) thank you so much for all the love i’ve received this past month ♡
.
.
It takes a few moments to return to your senses.
You feel sluggish; all you want is to crawl into your bed, wrap yourself in your blanket and let sleep claim you. Keeping your eyes open is hard enough, and it makes you wonder how the hell you’re going to manage to make it back home.
“Hey,” Jungkook keeps a hand on your waist, helping you stand up. “Are you okay?”
“What?” you blink at him, still dazed from your glorious orgasm. “I’m—I… I need to go.”
You have only one thought running through your mind: find your roommate and get back home. Breaking away from him, you try to find the bar, hoping to find your friend. Now that you’ve distanced yourself from Jungkook, the rest of the world comes back into sharp focus. The blaring techno remix pounds in your ears unpleasantly, only making your headache worse. You push your way through the mass of sweaty bodies, trying not to collide into anyone; the boiling atmosphere only reminding you what a bad idea wearing your favorite sweater was.
“___!”
You automatically freeze, pausing mid-step. You’re debating whether you should flee or stay, stuck between wanting to see his face and not wanting to deal with the consequences of your actions.
The moment of hesitation costs you.
He repeats your name, louder this time, turning you around to face him.
It’s unfair how good he looks; even in the dark, with red streaks of light dancing over his golden skin, you can tell how beautiful he is. You’ve missed him. It’s unfair how much you’ve missed him, when you know he’s been partying with other girls these past few days. Not that you’ve stalked his facebook account. You just… happen to know.
“What the fuck was that?” he asks with narrowed eyes.
“Was what?” With your headache and cramping feet, you realize you’re in no mood to deal with him right now. But there’s no fooling him—you both know exactly what he’s referring to.
Hoseok scoffs. Your eyes fall to the side of his neck. There are smudges of hot pink lipstick and the sight makes your blood boil despite being aware you have no right to be jealous.
“Guys who fuck around aren’t good enough for you, but here you are with Jungkook, of all people,” he grits out, jaw set.
“I don’t see how this is any of your business. You aren’t my boyfriend, right? So fuck off,” you hiss.
For several seconds, Hoseok can only gape at you. You’ve never talked to him this way, and there’s a part of you that wants to see how far you can go just to get a reaction out of him. You think you can get drunk off the power you have over him, because even if you’re more of the submissive type in bed, you both know how much your actions and words affect him. In less than an hour, you’ve managed to make the usually cheerful Hoseok angry and jealous. And for someone who can usually control his own desires pretty well, you turned him on so much that he came in his pants in a room full of people.
“Do you want me to say it then? If I say I’m yours, can we stop this?”
You search his eyes, not quite believing the words that are coming out of his mouth. It’s hard to believe he actually means what he’s saying. He’s probably had one too many drinks, you think. It disappoints you, because there’s nothing more you want than his words to ring true.
“You don’t mean that… Don’t say things like that if you don’t mean them,” you mutter, not even certain he can hear you over the music.
You shake your head.
“Baby, I miss you,” he confesses, reaching for your hand and stroking the sensitive skin of your wrist with his thumb. He used to do that when you were stressed out during exam week, and it had never failed to calm you.
Of course you want to believe him; you’ve been waiting to hear those words since you two broke things off. But the rational part of you stops you from giving in because you know it’ll hurt more tomorrow if you do.
You’re certain it’s the alcohol talking, or perhaps, jealousy from seeing you with Jungkook earlier. If he truly misses you like he says, wouldn’t he have called? Every day you foolishly check your phone, only to see he hasn’t even contacted you once.
“I miss you, too,” you admit.
There’s no point in pretending you don’t want him. You’re not good at lying, and you don’t like games. That’s part of the reason why Hoseok charms you so much, because he has always been straightforward with his own attraction towards you.
“I just, I don’t think you mean what you’re saying,” you finally manage, looking up at him. “I don’t want to go back to what we had. If you’re just saying this to get me back into bed—then don’t.”
You wait for him to say something, anything. But he just stares hard at you with an unreadable expression, and you sigh, pulling your hand away.
“I’m going to go back now,” you say, disappointment clear on your features. “Don’t try to talk to me again.”
When you turn around, you see your roommate staring at you wide-eyed. She’s seen the exchange, but she doesn’t ask you about it right away. You know that tomorrow once she’s sober enough to remember everything, she’ll start the question game, but for now she goes and gets your purses while you call a taxi.
You’re not sure what to tell her anyway. Hoseok and you—well, you aren’t a thing anymore. And Jungkook? Fuck, you’re not sure if you should tell her about him at all.
You groan, trying to forget everything that happened tonight. If you’re lucky, tomorrow you’ll wake up with no recollection of the past 24 hours.
.
.
You wish you could say you spent the entire morning in bed, but, as fate would have it, your alarm clock goes off at precisely 7 am. You jolt awake, conditioned to wake up and get ready to go to class.
The entire morning is a blur; it’s as if your limbs are intoxicated and your body refuses to cooperate with you. You barely understand what your professor is saying; your notes are a mess, fingers hitting the wrong keys. All you want to do is go back to your apartment, shrivel up on your bed, and die in peace.
You’re downing your third cup of coffee when reality finally sinks in.
You let Jeon Jungkook give you one of the best orgasms of your life. Nevermind that he was hotter than the inside of a coal furnace—he was someone you barely knew! You can’t believe you were so horny you humped his hand until he made you cum. You’re ashamed of your actions… Maybe if he had done it in a normal setting, like your bed or even inside a dirty bathroom stall in the club, you wouldn’t feel like you did something terrible. Running through the events of last night in your head, you can only groan in embarrassment. What if someone had seen you? The club had been full of college students… Oh god, you think, panicking, what if someone you knew had seen you? What if they had filmed you and uploaded it on Snapchat or something? Something like, Hey, I just saw a girl cum in her pants #CollegeLife.
When you walk through the hallway to get to your second lecture, you feel super self-conscious, as if everyone is judging you.
“Hey ___!” You halt, wincing when several nearby students turn to look your way.
“Jungkook?” you mumble, not bothering to hide your shock.
You glance down at your watch. It’s not even 9 am yet. How does he manage to look like that? It’s impressive how you can’t spot any dark circles or traces of fatigue. It’s also annoying because you’re sure you look like a mess in comparison.
He sees the look on your face and laughs.
“If I missed classes every time I stayed out…” He smiles, the thought amusing him. “Well, I probably wouldn’t be the top student in our year. Annnd you wouldn’t be able to see my pretty face at all, right?”
You’re not really in the mood for his jokes, “We don’t share a class, so there’s no reason for me to see you at all.”
“We share classes,” he frowns. “You’ve seriously never noticed me? I sit in the back of modern art 101.”
“Mondays?” He nods. “Well, that’s nice and all, but I don’t think we should be talking.”
“Why not? I thought the orgasm I gave you was a nice ice breaker.”
You try not to choke on air.
“You can’t just—you can’t just say that,” you hush imploringly, eyes darting around in case someone overhears. “You can’t just go around and talk about it, like it’s nothing.”
“Look,” you insist after making sure no one caught what he said. “I think I drank too much last night. As far as we’re both concerned, it never happened, okay?”
Jungkook tilts his head, mulling over your request. He leans in, close enough for you to smell the residual smoke of his cigarette.
“I think we both know you liked what happened, baby girl.” You gulp, trying to look away. “I didn’t even take off your clothes, but you were so into it I could smell you—and I bet everyone else could, too.”
“Jungkook,” you warn, cheeks flushing with the memories of last night.
“Fine,” he sighs, taking a step back, giving you room to clear your head. “Give me your number and I’ll leave you alone.”
“Smooth, but no thanks,” you push past him, but he follows you.
“I’m really serious, I’ll leave you alone.”
“I’m nursing a bad hangover right now. I’m honestly not in the mood,” you complain, exasperated.
“Ah, if you say so,” he relents, retreating, hands raised in surrender.
You don’t really understand why or how, but he ends up getting your number from someone else. He texts you over the next couple of days, and no matter how uninterested you try to seem, he keeps pushing.
And it’s not that you don’t find him attractive—because you do. There’s no denying how handsome Jungkook is. But being with him is wrong on so many levels; firstly being he’s Hoseok’s friend. Secondly? He’s probably exactly like Hoseok, and you don’t want to get involved with someone who isn’t up for something more serious than casual fucking. Most importantly, though, is that being with Jungkook means admitting that you liked what happened during the club. And that—that’s something that you’re not ready to do, no matter how much you know, deep down, you enjoyed every second of it.
That’s why you’re more than nervous when you arrive at Jungkook’s place the following Tuesday.
He and his friend Park Jimin rent a room in the big house Kim Taehyung lives in. Most students work part-time jobs to try and cover their tuition fees, but then there are people like Kim Taehyung, who hit the jackpot during the birth lottery.
Some are just born with everything—popularity, riches, and a handsome face. Kim Taehyung falls into that category. His parents bought him a house not far from campus, simply because they wanted him to be able to work in peace, away from the influence of frat houses and troublemakers. They probably aren’t aware that Taehyung is part of The Pussy Terminator Squad (and yes, that actually is a thing).
You’re not sure if it’s something rich people do, but Kim Taehyung greets you in his bathrobe. At least you think it’s his bathrobe, but it could be high fashion for all you know.
You’ve never met Kim Taehyung personally, but you’ve seen him around campus before. You think back to something your roommate said, something about how all the hot guys travel in packs. You suppose it’s true, as you look him over subtly. His face literally does all the work; it looks straight out of a magazine.
“Who’s the pretty lady?” he smiles at you.
“Hey hyung,” Jungkook says, wrapping an arm around your shoulder. “This is ___.”
“___?” the guy glances at you, his interest piqued.
When you nod back shyly, he almost drops his bottle of beer in shock.
“Wait, you brought Hobi’s girl?” he guffaws. Before you can cut in to rectify—you weren’t anyone’s anything—Taehyung reaches over and flicks Jungkook on the forehead. “Yah, you’re really pushing your limits, kid.”
“Hm? What do you mean?”
For someone who barely knows Jungkook, even you can tell he’s lying. His lips are curled up into a smirk; eyes dark with poorly concealed mischief.
It’s dangerous, the way he manages to turn you on and feel uneasy simultaneously, and you’re not sure you like it.
“Tch. I can’t wait to see him kick your ass.”
“He wouldn’t,” grins Jungkook, unbothered. “I’m his favorite.”
“You’re a menace,” corrects Taehyung, taking a swig of beer. “It’s about time he puts you in your place.”
Jungkook responds by rolling his eyes. You watch them interact curiously. Jungkook has a reckless confidence that will get him in trouble, you’re sure of it. You just hope he won’t drag you down with him.
“Let’s go get drinks, __.”
“What was that about?” you ask, following him into the spacious kitchen.
“Just ignore him. He was just playing around.” He opens the fridge and grabs two beers, handing you one. The can is cool against your fingertips.
“Wait… Jungkook, is Hoseok here?” you question, not bothering to hide your anxiousness. It’s not that you don’t want to see him. In fact, what worries you is how much you want him to be here and see you with Jungkook. Your mind goes back to the night his eyes hadn’t left yours, right before you had been pushed off the edge. You’ve lost track of how many times you’ve thought about that night, how many times you masturbated to the memory of Hoseok looking at you getting off on Jungkook’s palm.
“Hey,” he takes your hand in his, misinterpreting the look on your face. “Don’t worry about that. He’s not going to bother you, okay?”
He sounds so sure of himself, like he usually does, that you can’t help but believe him. You don’t tell him how much you want him to be wrong.
You’re not sure what to think or how to act when you follow him into the living room. You recognize Park Jimin, even though he probably doesn’t know who you are. Your eyes drop down to check out his ass that your roommate always talks about, and damn. You finally understand why she worships it.
Your eyes snap to his face and you flush when you catch his gaze. He smirks at you, amused, before turning back to talk to another guy, who is also really ridiculously good looking.
You’ve never seen so many handsome guys in one place, you think, in wonder. You have a sudden urge to text your friend that all the handsome guys are hiding out at Kim Taehyung’s place. You’re sure she’ll appreciate the heads up.
“That’s Jimin and Namjoon,” Jungkook introduces. “That’s Hobi hyung… But I guess you already knew that.”
Hoseok ignores him, eyes fixed on the television in front of him. It’s a re-run of some reality TV show; and you know he’s not actually paying attention, because Hoseok isn’t the type to be into cupcake competitions.
Jungkook leads you to the big over-stuffed armchair in the corner of the room. He sits and looks at you expectantly.
“Sit on my lap.” He motions for you to sit down with a tilt of his head.
Swallowing, you look down at his lap, his legs spread open invitingly. This is a bad idea, you think, but if the past few weeks have taught you anything, it’s that you really like bad ideas.
You sit gingerly on one of his thick thighs, tucking your legs between his own. From the corner of your eyes you can see Hoseok eyeing the pair of you. You feel like you’re doing something you’re not supposed to, even though, logically, you’re free to do as you please. Maybe you’re trying on shoes too big for your own feet; wandering in waters too deep for you to swim in. This is a bad idea, you repeat, even though you know you want to see where it leads you.
However, you quickly start to wonder why you’re here. The members of the so called Pussy Terminator Squad are actually quite boring, and you try to entertain yourself by drinking your beer. Jungkook’s hand rubs circles on your thighs and you let him, hoping he’ll provide some much needed entertainment.
“Want to see you fall apart because of my hand again.” His tone is absolutely wicked, and the low notes make your heart speed up in anticipation.
“We can’t,” you whisper, gaze sweeping across the room.
“No one is paying attention,” he grins, one of his hands running up your thigh. “If you’re good, I’ll give you my fingers this time.”
The idea has you shifting in his lap, unconsciously seeking friction to alleviate the building tension between your thighs. You close your eyes, trying to overlook the hot streak of lust that zaps through your body.
“Relax, baby; I’ll take good care of you,” he soothes.
He peppers kisses behind your ear, biting and nibbling on your lobe. Jungkook’s hot breath hits your skin, and you find yourself melting into his embrace. You’re glad to be sitting down, because you’re not sure if you would have been able to stay standing up, not when he’s sucking on the soft skin of your neck with the intention of making you weak and pliant.
You don’t notice that his right hand is up your skirt until his fingers graze the soaking lace covering you. It’s embarrassing how wet you are, but he doesn’t say anything, just lightly skims the fabric; teasing you. He smiles against your neck between kisses, lips dragging against your skin with such practiced ease that you’re sure he’s done the exact same thing to many other girls before you.
Your breathing gets ragged, the anticipation and thrill of doing such indecent acts in front of his friends—in front of Hoseok—excites you a lot more than you are willing to admit.
Jungkook doesn’t touch you though, not where you need him, and it takes a moment to realize you’re moving your hips wantonly over his growing bulge, already desperate for him to quell your ache.
You freeze, not daring to look around, afraid you’ll catch someone’s knowing eyes. What were you thinking? Were you really this kind of person? You remember crinkling your nose at couples that got carried away during parties, yet here you are, on Jungkook’s lap, ready to do anything he asks of you.
“Keep moving, baby girl,” Jungkook rasps out against your skin. “If you’re good…”
If you’re good, I’ll give you my fingers this time.
The unspoken promise echoes in your head and urges you to circle your hips against him, rocking, searching for something to relieve the fire inside of you.
It’s when you swivel downwards particularly hard, that you feel his member twitch under you. Jungkook bites your neck in response, soothing the sting with swipes of his tongue.
“Hm, you’re being such a good slut for me,” he praises, watching how you arch your back at his words. “You like that? You like being my slut?”
You can’t do anything but nod, your hips picking up rhythm. You don’t understand why the names have you gush out even more wetness, but you love the way he says it like it’s the best compliment you could ever receive from him. You think you’ll come just like this, untouched, the inside of your thighs damp, your clit hard and swollen with arousal.
Jungkook’s hands move from your ass to the curve of your waist. He forces you to slow down, until you physically feel your orgasm slipping away from you.
“Jungkook,” you whine, annoyed. You hate being denied of your orgasms—it’s something you can’t stand. In the past, Hoseok had only used that method to punish you whenever you misbehaved, but you don’t feel like you deserve to be teased that way this time.
“Shhh,” he kisses you but pulls back before you can cling onto him and bring him closer. “I told you I’d give you my fingers if you were good. I just need you to do something for me, and then I’ll give you what you want.”
“Anything,” you promise hastily, greedily; not fully understanding the implications of that word until Jungkook smirks.
“Turn around,” he orders, and your eyes widen. He tilts your head to the side so he can whisper filth into your ear. “I want them to see your face when you fuck yourself on my fingers.”
Fuck.
“Ah, Jungkook, I’m,” you blubber, feeling your inner walls clench down on nothing, only increasing your growing frustration.
Jungkook takes one good look at your face—cheeks flushed, pupils blown wide and desperate—and looks positively smug.
“I can see you want it, baby girl. So turn around and give yourself what you want.”
He leans back on the chair, and watches you expectantly with hooded eyes. You raise yourself to your knees; the back of your skirt inches up your bare skin scandalously.
Nervously, you turn yourself around and hesitantly look up, surveying the room.
Like a magnet, your gaze instantly finds Hoseok’s. How long has he been watching you? Since the beginning? The thought only electrifies your nerve endings, accelerates your heartbeat.
He doesn’t look as angry as he did in the night club, you notice. He’s just watching you, calmly, collected, like you’re just another interesting show on television. That aggravates you, slightly. That you don’t affect him as much as you did before. It makes you want to do things, ridiculous things, dangerous things, just so you can get a rise out of him.
Jungkook’s hands slide up the sides of your legs. Slowly, giving you all the time in the world to stop him, he tugs the hem of your skirt up high, until you feel the cool air hit your damp thighs.
There’s a halt in Jimin and Namjoon’s conversation when the latter notices your precarious position. You see Jimin’s eyes follow the older’s gaze, and when his hot stare finally lands on you—disheveled hair, dark pink bruises on the side of your neck, lips swollen—he licks his bottom lip instinctively. Your eyes follow the movement, and it’s in that exact moment you realize what Jungkook wants you to do.
It’s like the nightclub all over again, except this time you’re not facing a room full of faceless bodies; your body is exposed to the knowing eyes of his friends and Hoseok. There’s no blaring music to muffle your sounds of pleasure, no dim lighting to mask the flush on your cheeks as it travels down your neck. Everything about this situation leaves you terribly exposed, so why does it turn you on so much?
Jungkook runs two fingers over your soaking entrance, pulling you from your thoughts. Your chest rises and falls, and when you glance down you can see your hardened nipples jut through the soft material of your blouse.
Everything feels like too much. You feel so much more exposed like this. You’re confused as to why you’re allowing this to happen, but there’s no denying how much this turns you on.
Without warning, Jungkook’s fingers squeeze your lower folds together. It’s as if the thin, wet lace is inexistent; you can feel the pinch go straight to your clit. He squeezes the thick, swollen lips together again and again, until you start moving back and forth, helplessly trying to grind down with every pinch so as to get more friction on your engorged clit. And it’s fucking ruining you. He’s not even directly touching your skin, but he’s ruining you, and everyone is watching you losing yourself. It’s shameful how much you want this, how much you love it. You’re getting off to him grabbing your pussy in front of his best friends—in front of Hoseok.
“Good,” Jungkook praises, shifting under you to get a better angle of your body writhing, hips careening wantonly into the air. “You’ve more than deserved this.”
He pushes aside the useless white lace, and slides two fingers in. You gasp out, sinking your hips down instinctively, clenching down on his fingers that are now buried knuckle deep.
“Ah, fuuuck.” He twirls his fingers inside, spreading them out cautiously. “You’re so fucking wet and tight. I can barely move my fingers.”
“Hear that?” he fingers you roughly, so you can clearly hear the lewd smacks, even over the rap music that comes out of the speakers. Your body jostles with every thrust. Scared that you’ll topple over face first onto the floor, you place your hands on his thighs behind you, and shift your weight to give yourself more balance. You’re aware this position exposes you further, presents your body to your audience, breasts thrust forward, legs spread out; Jungkook fucking your pussy, your juices dripping down his hand, your thighs.
When you dare to focus on your surroundings, you see that everyone has their attention on the way you greedily suck Jungkook’s fingers with every thrust of his hand.
It almost hurts—he’s just giving it to you so hard, rubbing your walls—but the constant pressure is everything you’ve been yearning for the past twenty minutes. And, somehow, it feels infinitely better to know that some of the hottest men you’ve seen in your life are watching you, arousal evident in their eyes.
“Ah that’s it, that’s a good slut. Fuuuck,” he groans out the word, his thrusts slightly speeding up. It’s embarrassing how much slick is running down your thighs, down his arm. “You love this, look at you.”
Jungkook sounds in awe, his eyes never leaving the blurring movements of his hand as it disappears inside your pussy.
Suddenly his movements come to a halt. The abrupt change in pace makes you dizzy. You want to scream at him for denying your release a second time, especially since it had been so close you could taste it. You bite down on your lip so hard you taste iron.
“Why don’t you show him how much you want to cum,” he goads, fingers still buried deep inside of you. You clench around them, trying to get them to move again, but he stays still.
“Fuck yourself on my fingers…” he murmurs into the shell of your ear, and you glance over at Hoseok for the first time in a while. Your vision is hazy and it’s hard to focus on him. Once you do, the sight of him palming his cock over his jeans has you clamp down on Jungkook’s fingers in frantic need.
“I think he’ll lose it if you bounce on my hand like the little slut you are.”
You’re broken. Jungkook’s broken you. It doesn’t matter if there are two other people watching, the only ones that matter are Hoseok and Jungkook. You’re trapped between Jungkook’s hard body and Hoseok’s intense stare, and if you’re being honest with yourself, there’s nowhere else you would rather be.
You lift yourself up only to drop back down, feeling his fingers plunge back in, right where you wanted them, needed them. The sensation is addicting, and you can’t control the desperate roll of your hips on his hand.
You must look like a mess, you think distantly, rocking forcefully onto Jungkook’s hand.
Everything around you turns into static as you concentrate on reaching your peak. You can feel the wave build and build; your hips working a frenzied rhythm, your lace bra not doing much to stop your breasts from bouncing with every downward shove. The end is so fucking close; you’re gasping in frustration because you’re ready for but it just won’t come.
You don’t realize you’re shouting frantically, until the door swings open and Kim Taehyung barges in.
“Jungkook!!”
Jungkook quickly pulls out of you, and you look up, alarmed. Your orgasm is painfully ripped away from you once more. You’re this close to crying in front of everyone. Even when Hoseok had felt like pushing your limits, he had never been this cruel with you.
You take deep breaths, trying to take your mind off how empty you feel, how much it physically hurts you.
“You little shit! What the fuck are you doing?!” yells Taehyung, fuming. “How many fucking times… No fucking on the antique furniture! That’s my great-grandfather’s armchair, you fucker.”
“Ah Tae…” Jungkook sighs, but his strong grip helps you to your wobbly feet.
“You have the worst timing,” complains Jimin. With a start, you glance at him, remembering he had seen everything. “She was gonna cum right before you interrupted.”
“I don’t care if she’s the hottest piece of ass I’ve seen all week. I’d make her clean it all up”
“Oh? That sounds kind of hot.”
“Not in the sexy way, you asshat,” Taehyung says, visibly ticked off. “You ruffians will never understand. This is why I don’t host house parties. Jungkook, this is the last fucking time. Go fuck in your room if you’re that horny, not on the antiques!”
“M'yeah. I think I will…” he smoothes over your skirt so that you look half-decent. You still don’t know how to process everything that’s happened, but you let him take your hand.
Still—you can’t help yourself from shooting a glance in Hoseok’s direction. His expression has gone back to calm indifference, and it disappoints you. You want him to be wound up or jealous or something.
You follow Jungkook out the room but it feels a bit wrong, somehow, to be leaving with him like this. Before, Hoseok had seen everything, almost as if you were getting off with him; for him. In many ways, Jungkook was like the third party, the spectator; while Hoseok had been the one actually controlling your pleasure.
You want him to stand up and stop you, but he only stares at you and lets Jungkook take you away. Even though you choose to follow Jungkook, your mind still wanders back to Hoseok—to what he’s thinking, to how he’s feeling.
Jungkook leads you into his room. You expect to see half-eaten bags of chips and piles of dirty clothes, but his bedroom is relatively clean. You thought he had been joking around when he had told you his passion in life was art, but scanning the room, you finally start to believe him. He has an obvious preference for expressionism, and even if that isn’t really your thing, you can tell how much time he’s spent on the works.
“These are yours?” You eye the biggest painting by the window; the deep, blue shades emphasizing the brooding seascape. The paintbrush strokes are bold, reckless; much like Jungkook himself. You can tell they’re his.
He nods, shrugging, trying to play off how much they mean to him. But as an artist yourself, you know how he feels.
“I like them a lot,” you beam. “They’re a lot like you.”
Jungkook smiles back, his strong hand moving to cup your jaw. He looks almost affectionate; for a second, it reminds you of the way Hoseok stares at you whenever he’s thinking of kissing you.
“You’re really cute.” Jungkook leans in closer, and that’s when you notice how much more dangerous he is. The spoken words are not unfamiliar to you, but there’s a dark edge to his voice that makes you exhale sharply.
“You know… when you’re about to cum, your cheeks turn pink,” his index finger ghosts over your cheekbone. “You blush so prettily.”
The finger traces down your cheek, the side of your neck. His fingernail scrapes your sensitive skin lightly, making its way down to your chest, between your breasts. You try to even out your breathing, but you’re so high-strung and sensitive from all the foreplay that it’s getting hard to think straight.
“You flush all the way down to here,” he purrs, silkily. “It makes me wonder… is that how far it goes?”
You know your body flushes really easily; you remember how fascinated Hoseok had been with the pink splotches that bloomed against your smooth skin whenever you were particularly aroused.
“Why don’t I show you,” you undo the buttons of your blouse, surprising yourself and Jungkook by your sudden forwardness.
The light material falls off your shoulders with a shrug; Jungkook follows the movement, eyeing the slope of your delicate neck, the curve of your breasts that are barely concealed behind your light pink sheer bra.
“You’re so pretty,” he awes before pulling you and slanting his lips over yours.
He sucks on your bottom lip; and you whimper, parting your lips, so he can sweep his tongue against yours.
“Pretty eyes, pretty nose, pretty lips,” he kisses down your forehead, your nose, your neck. “Hmm, why don’t you show me what that pretty mouth can do?”
It’s embarrassing how fast you sink to your knees. You peer up and see Jungkook’s smug expression, eyebrows raised expectantly. Just when you slowly rub the palm of your hands up his denim covered thighs, his bedroom door bursts open, stopping you.
“Hyung! You were about to miss the fun.”
You dig your nails into Jungkook’s thighs in warning. You don’t care if he gets off poking sleeping tigers with short sticks, but you certainly don’t.
Hoseok assesses the situation in front of him. You watch with wide eyes as his expression darkens. You’ve never seen him look so pissed off.
“Jungkook… what part of off limits do you not understand? Just what are you playing at…”
“Oh, you were perfectly clear… But what if she begs me to touch her? What if she wants me to fuck her?” taunts Jungkook, wearing a shit-eating grin. “I think she wants me pretty bad… You saw her.”
“Can you two shut up and stop acting like I’m not here?” you grumble, reaching for your discarded blouse, trying to ignore the way their words have done nothing to quash the desire in your core.
Hoseok bends down and grabs your wrist. “Don’t think I haven’t forgotten about you,” he tsks, displeasure etched on his features. “Tell me… are you being bad because you want daddy to pay attention to you?”
You shiver, the words going straight to your pulsing heat, reminding you of everything he’s capable of. Hoseok had always liked trying new things in the bedroom. Even though he had things he liked before you two had started fucking—hair pulling, really drawn out oral sex, doing it in front of a mirror—the daddy kink had been something he had tried for the first time with you. He’s your daddy, and that thought, that you are the only one he uses that word with, amps up your arousal like nothing else can. It’s not like he carelessly uses the word either: he plays his part. You feel safe and secure with him, even when he pushes your limits, because you trust him to know when to stop.
“You make her call you daddy?” interjects Jungkook, surprised, a slight whine in his voice. “Fuck, that’s hot.”
“You, Jeon, can go sit back against the headboard. Now.” Hoseok’s tone leaves no room for discussion.
It shocks you to see Jungkook, of all people, comply that quickly, but Hoseok grabs onto your chin, forcing you to look back up at him.
“After this, we’re going to have a nice, long talk about everything, okay?”
You nod, but he shakes his head. You’ve been with him long enough to know that he wants a verbal response, “Okay.”
“Right now I want you to show Jungkook how much you missed me. Is that okay, sweetheart?”
Fuck, it’s crazy how much you’ve missed hearing him call you that. It still sounds so sweet coming from his lips, but you know that he can make it sounds filthy in a matter of seconds.
“Yes,” you say breathily, but he holds your chin firmly, keeping his stare locked with yours.
“You have to tell me you want this if this is going to work,” he articulates, watching your face closely for any signs of protest.
“I want you, daddy,” you admit in a small voice. It’s difficult to voice the words in a normal situation, even if you like hearing it coming from Hoseok. But with Jungkook sitting right there, you feel even more embarrassed than usual.
Hoseok smiles at you, proud, his other hand moving up to pet your hair, nails slightly running across your scalp.
Suddenly, he digs his fingers into the underside of your jaw and you have to bite your tongue to suppress a whimper of pain.
“You say you want me, yet I find you on your knees, ready to take a cock that isn’t mine,” Hoseok growls, features twisting.
You’re reminded then, of Jungkook, and turn your head to face him. He’s leaning back against the headboard, slowly palming his erection through his black jeans, staring at the scene in front of him with obvious excitement.
Hoseok seems annoyed that your sole focus isn’t on him, and he makes a noise of displeasure.
“Why don’t you crawl up the bed and show me what your dirty mouth was planning on doing,” he orders you, glancing at Jungkook with an unreadable expression.
Automatically, as if your body isn’t your own, you edge towards Jungkook, who waits for you with a ravenous look in his eyes.
You’re a bit nervous, but you also know you’ve never been this aroused. The flimsy lace—beyond useless at this point—sticks and rubs against your folds, providing some much needed friction.
You run your hands slowly up his thighs, before reaching to unbuckle his belt. When you draw down his zipper, the sound rings loudly in your ears, and you lick your dry lips, frowning in concentration at the task at hand. You can see the outline of his bulge straining against his cotton briefs, and it looks thick.
“Mmh,” Jungkook moans approvingly, eyes never leaving your face as you pull his throbbing length out.
It’s so fucking hard and warm, and every bit as thick as you imagined it would be. He’s almost as big as Hoseok, which is impressive and makes you briefly wonder if the Pussy Terminator Squad was actually named that way for a reason. You flick your hair to the side, leaning in to flick your tongue tentatively. You look up, gauging his reactions; hoping for some verbal encouragement.
You’re unsure of what he likes, so you decide to just go for it, sticking to what Hoseok had taught you. Men are simple creatures, your roommate had said once; you suppose there’s truth to her words as you fist the base of his cock, running your tongue up against the most prominent vein. He’s hot and heavy on your tongue; looking up, you can tell how much he likes it. His mouth hangs open, fists turning white, watching the way you wrap your lips around him. You bob your head down, remembering how Hoseok likes to be blown. Except Jungkook’s girth is a bit thicker than Hoseok, and you mess up, teeth making contact with his skin. Jungkook bucks into your throat, hissing. One of his hands comes up to tangle in your hair, easing you off him. Your look of apology morphs into determination, and you try again, steadily building a rhythm; tongue dragging up the underside of his erect length.
“Jesus, are you hungry for dick. Look at you take it all in,” his voice is low and raspy, and fuck, it sounds so good all you can do is suck harder. The groan you pull out of him comes from the back of his throat. “You’ve been waiting for my cock since I made you cum in your pants, isn’t that right? That’s—fuck!”
Hoseok cuts him off by delivering a sharp slap on your ass, causing you to jerk forward, Jungkook’s member hitting the back of your throat. The choking noise makes Jungkook’s hips stutter, only making his thick cock sink deeper in your throat; your eyes inadvertently start to tear up.
Hoseok rubs your skin, soothing away the initial sting. He isn’t usually the type to spank you, not unless you’ve really stepped out of line. You’re not the type to misbehave on purpose, not until recently anyway, so his actions surprise you.
You wonder if he’s punishing you for everything that’s happened so far, or if he’s actually trying to punish Jungkook and his mouthy tendencies. Either way, the pain only makes your skin burn, and distracts you from the way Jungkook is slightly thrusting his hips up into your throat. You’re keenly aware the position you’re in makes your skirt hike up. The thin, sodden lace covering you is probably so ruined that Hoseok can see through it.
You take a loud breath, stroking his shaft, slick with your spit.
“Why don’t you show Jungkook what I taught you,” you hear him instruct, his large hands massaging the globes of your ass.
“I- I’m not sure I can,” you whisper feebly, already way too fucked out.
“You will.” He scratches his nails against your cheeks, and you whimper.
You hate how well Hoseok knows exactly which buttons to push to throw you into a mess. There’s honestly nothing that gets you more frustrated and aroused than having him use your throat like he would your pussy. Before Hoseok, you hadn’t had much experience with giving blowjobs. With the few guys you went down on, they had ejaculated pretty quickly, ending things before you could really get into it. Hoseok had been different; guiding you, praising you, telling you exactly what he wanted you to do, taking you again and again until you could do it properly. Maybe it’s because his confidence matches his skills, or because he’s older with more experience; but being with someone who knows what they’re doing makes it easy for you to follow their lead.
He slides your skirt and underwear off, motioning for you to take off your bra. The lacy pieces that did not do much to cover anyway, are quickly discarded. Your nipples are hard and hurt; your back is slightly damp with sweat. Hoseok rearranges your position, so that you’re now sitting back on your knees, legs spread for balance, hands folded underneath you just how Hoseok likes it.
Jungkook pumps his length several times, and you follow the movement; the thought of it filling you anywhere consuming you. Your mouth parts open with desire. Jungkook leans over to grab the headboard with one hand, the veins on his arms protruding, muscles flexing.
“Wider,” he orders softly, his eyes hooded, stroking his cock in your face with his other hand.
You comply eagerly, your tongue darting out to lick his head, but he pulls back and makes a sound of disapproval.
“I want you to stay still while I use you.”
Fuck. A strangled sound escapes you. Even Hoseok doesn’t seem unaffected by his words; you see him pull out his length from his pants from the corner of your eyes.
He rubs the head of his shaft around your lips, smearing them with sticky wetness. Without warning he slides his length in your mouth, and all you can do is focus on keeping your jaw slack as he pumps in and out. He gives a few short, slow thrusts to see if you’re okay with it, and then gradually sinks deeper into your mouth, until he fucks the back of your throat.
You’ve practiced enough with Hoseok so that you start to adjust after a while, relaxing your throat. He slides against your tongue; the slick, wet, slurping sounds are the only thing you hear but soon, he starts to grunt and moan above you. The noises he makes have you shifting your hips, even though you know you aren’t supposed to press your legs together. Jungkook reaches down to pinch your nipples and you yelp, moaning loudly around his girth, spit dripping down the sides of your mouth.
“Fuck,” he pulls out of your mouth with a wet smack, a trail of saliva hanging between your mouth and his member obscenely. He fists the bottom of his cock, eyes wild. “Please let me fuck her. I’ve wanted to fill her pussy up, but I’ve been holding back because I know you didn’t want me to. It’s really taking me everything not to pound into her from behind.”
“You’ve done a lot of shit I didn’t want you to do,” Hoseok raises his eyebrows, amusement flashing across his features at the desperate picture in front of him.
“Oh, cut the crap,” snaps Jungkook, losing it. Hoseok’s jaw tenses. “You got off on it—I saw you. Admit it; you like it when I play around with her for you. You like knowing she’ll do anything to please you.”
Both their gazes slide back over to you. You don’t realize it, but you’re dripping on the bed.
“Look at her. I think she’s really pretty, hyung. All wet and desperate for my cock.” You bite your lip, holding back a moan. His words only ignite you further, but you know he’s really testing Hoseok’s limits.
You jump slightly when Hoseok reaches over and grabs the back of Jungkook’s neck, squeezing until Jungkook can’t help but wince in pain.
“Say that again,” he says steadily, digging his fingers so that he can watch Jungkook squirm beneath his hold.
“I—” Jungkook bites his lower lip, and holy fuck, his pupils are blown so wide, you can’t tell if his eyes are any other color than black.
“She’s pretty, hyung,” he finally concedes.
“That’s right,” Hoseok releases his grip on Jungkook’s neck, leaving behind red imprints. “___ is pretty, and dripping wet, because all she wants is to please her daddy.”
The words have an immediate effect on you and Jungkook.
“Fuck, hyung, you have to let me fuck her,” he pumps his cock, thrusting into his hand, abandoning any semblance of composure.
“I have to?” Hoseok repeats in a way that tells Jungkook he’s messed up.
“Please, hyung,” he tries, but knowing Hoseok, he’s going to make Jungkook beg explicitly until he’s satisfied.
“I’m not convinced you want this enough.”
“Are you fucking with me? My cock is leaking and my balls are ready to burst,” he protests, tugging on his cock for emphasis.
Hoseok snorts and rolls his eyes. “You always ruin the mood.”
“Please let me fuck her pussy. Don’t you want to see me fuck her? Fuck, I bet she’ll look amazing coming on my cock, milking me dry,” Jungkook pleads, rambling; eyes screwed shut. “I wanted to cum all over her face, but it’ll look better dripping down her pussy, won’t it?”
Hoseok considers his proposal. It seems to please him; the visuals Jungkook’s words conjure make him palm his own erection. He turns to you, eyes dark and promising.
“How much do you want it, sweetheart? How much do you want Jungkook to slide into your wet cunt?”
You bite your lip, unsure of how honest you should be. Listening to them, watching them; all of it is insanely hot, but it’s also taught you things. You had thought Jungkook was the more dangerous one; he’s rough with his words, his language crude and unfiltered. You’ve been too immersed by the flashiness of his dirty talk to realize that everything he’s been doing has been to please Hoseok—or, at the very least, to get a reaction out of him.
You might have completely different personalities, but the both of you like getting Hoseok to crack his façade. It’s funny how Hoseok is either cheerful or deadly serious; but both sides of his personality easily mask his personal frustrations. You’re not quite sure what game he’s playing, but you know that Jungkook is using you to get to Hoseok. Back at the club, and even earlier in the living room, he had ensured that your body was fully on display for Hoseok. It would be so simple for Jungkook to ease his throbbing member into your heat from behind, your face twisting in pleasure, body sheen with sweat—all of it for Hoseok.
Hoseok pets your head, taking in your glazed eyes; the familiar gesture centering you. You blink, battering away images of Jungkook making you fall apart in front of him. You struggle to remember his question.
“Tell me,” he commands harshly, the hand running through your hair tenderly contrasting with his hard tone. "Daddy wants to know how much of a slut you want to be tonight.“
His words have a visceral effect on you; you shudder violently, trying to rub your legs together; your core throbbing.
“So much,” you confess, eyes shutting close. “Want so much, I- I’m—”
You stop to take a shaky breath, your entire body buzzing with want.
“How do you want it?” asks Jungkook.
At first you think the question is directed at you, but Jungkook is looking over at Hoseok, waiting for his answer. Once again, you’re reminded that the both of you want to please Hoseok. That’s the only reason why Jungkook, who is undoubtedly a dominant, obeys Hoseok.
“I want __ facing me,” he directs, unbuckling his belt.
“Mmh good,” agrees Jungkook, taking off his clothes. “I want to see her ass clench when she tries to take me in.”
Hoseok rolls his eyes, but helps position you over Jungkook’s body. Jungkook sits behind you, back against the headboard. The realization that you’re actually going to do this—that you want to do this—sets in.
It scares you a bit, how you’re doing something so outrageous. It’s not like you believe sex has to be exclusively between two people who love each other, but you’ve also never, ever imagined that the guy you have feelings for would watch you have sex with someone else. You’re not sure what that says about you—about the relationship binding the three of you—and you don’t know if you want to find out.
Hoseok cradles your jaw, brushing damp strands of hair away from your face before leaning in to kiss you for the first time.
You sigh into his mouth, arms wrapping around his neck, trying to bring him closer. Your hard nipples brush against his naked chest, the sweet friction causing you to moan. You’ve missed this—you’ve missed him. Everything with Jungkook feels amazing, but there’s nothing more you want than for Hoseok to do all those things to you, too. He knows your body so well; a simple kiss is enough to short-circuit your brain, rendering you speechless.
But this kiss is different than usual. You can’t place exactly what is different, but the feeling is not the same. Maybe it’s because it’s the first time you’ve touched him since you two separated, maybe it’s because you can feel Jungkook’s hands gripping your waist tightly from behind you…
“You’re doing well, sweetheart,” he praises, pecking your lips one last time. “You have to tell me if this is too much, okay?”
“Yes,” you breathe, wishing you could kiss him again.
His lips curve and he pulls away, going to sit down on the chair by the desk across the bed. You swallow hard, realizing he’ll have a front seat view of the action; his eyes free to roam your body as he pleases.
You brace yourself on the hard muscles of Jungkook’s thighs, and lift yourself up, teeth biting down on your bottom lip. You’re so slippery; the red tip of his shaft slips a couple of times against you, brushing over your clit. Right before you sink down, you make eye contact with Hoseok, who is looking at you like he’s never seen anyone so amazing in his life.
Jungkook’s thick and hot. The stretch you feel when he enters you is only secondary to the white hot flash of relief that washes over you; finally, you are filled.
There’s nothing hotter than this, you think. Nothing hotter than seeing Hoseok sitting in front of you, fist sliding over his erection, eyes trained on the spot where you lower yourself on his friend.
Everything feels so good—so, so good—that you feel something inside you snap, walls contracting. You arch your back, mouth open in a silent scream; your nails raking down Jungkook’s thighs. Maybe if you hadn’t been teased past your limits you would be embarrassed with how fast you’ve come, but any of your remaining decency seems to have been thrown out the window a long time ago.
”Fuck!“ Jungkook grunts, hips bucking up in response.
His hand comes down on the right side of your ass so hard you feel the skin rippling. You’ve never been spanked so hard, and the initial shock has you faltering, eyes blown wide.
Hoseok catches your eye, reaching down to play with his balls. The sight has you inhaling sharply, stomach clenching.
“Faster,” Jungkook growls, hand coming down and spanking you even harder. You cry out, forcing yourself to move again; the pain quickly fading into searing pleasure. “Faster. Ride my cock like a bitch in heat.”
You sob out his name, head thrown back in unrestrained pleasure. You’re moving so fast, your breasts are bouncing, thighs burning. It shouldn’t feel so good, but you’re building yourself up to a second orgasm. You can feel your walls tightening, making it hard for you to go as fast, even though you’re so slick, Jungkook’s skin is covered in your juices.
“Fuck! Fuck, fuck—,”Jungkook pants in your ear, bites down on your neck. “Our slut is so fucking tight.”
You moan brokenly, walls clamping even tighter. He snaps his hips into yours furiously, the fleshy smacks so loud you feel them ring in your ears. One of his hands gathers your hair into a ponytail and he tugs hard, baring your throat. You’re begging, shouting; all you know is that you need to come, you need it. You’re too far gone to understand what you’re saying, but whatever it is, it has Hoseok pump his cock to the sound of Jungkook’s slamming into you, rough and hard.
All of your muscles tense up and you go still; slack-jawed. You explode—white, opaque liquid gushes out, soaking your skin, Jungkook’s thighs and stomach, the sheets. You vibrate; shockwaves of white, hot pleasure rippling through your entire body. You’re not able to speak, not able to think. You don’t hear Jungkook shout your name, pulling your hair, fingers grabbing at your waist; hips stuttering into yours as he releases spurts of white.
You nearly fall forward, but Jungkook wraps an arm around your middle and pulls you down, so you lean on his sticky chest.
Hoseok clambers onto the bed, and through your daze you can make out the starved look in his eyes. The sight arouses you, and you whimper audibly because you don’t know if your body can take any more, still reeling from the shattering orgasm.
“Can you take more?” he asks you, hands stroking up the expanse of your legs, pulling them further apart. His member visibly twitches as he watches the creamy mixture of both Jungkook and your releases dripping down onto the sheets.
You don’t know if you can; you’re still so sensitive from before. But you want him so bad—have been dreaming about this for weeks now—so you nod, feebly.
“You have to tell me, sweetheart. Otherwise, I don’t know what you want.” His eyes never leave yours, hands rubbing your thighs.
“I want you,” you manage, after swallowing hard.
You’re not sure what kind of expression you’re making, but he suddenly leans down, kissing you so hard you have to break away to take a breath. Really, you could kiss him all day and never get tired of it, of him. You’re not sure if it’s love. For many obvious reasons, you hope it’s not. But when his soft lips press into yours again, you can feel your heart stop for a second.
“You’ve been a good girl,” he softens, leaving soft kisses on your face. “Daddy’s going to take care of you now.”
He lines up his length with your entrance, eyes fixed on the spot as he pushes in.
He’s clearly past the point of being composed, because he immediately settles for a rapid pace. Yet even in this state of arousal, his movements are fluid and powerful like a dancer’s. One of his hands squeezes your breast, thumb flicking over the hard nub. He’s going so hard that with every pump of his shaft inside your wet heat, he pushes your body into Jungkook’s, who is still sitting behind you.
Having Hoseok like this again—forehead beaded with sweat, eyes narrowed in concentration—you’re reminded why he never fails to make you a needy puddle of mush.
When Hoseok smiles and plays around he’s already devastatingly charming. But when he’s serious, collected, almost to the point of being indifferent, there’s something about him that makes your knees weak. He’s always in control in the bedroom; and it delights you, thrills you, knowing you’re at the mercy of someone with so much self-control and power.
“You like that, sweetheart?” His thrusts are merciless, and you’re helpless to the onslaught of pleasure that racks through your entire body. “It feels good, doesn’t it? Daddy fucking another man’s come out of your dirty pussy.”
You splutter, sounds coming out of your mouth, not making any sense. Behind you, Jungkook grunts; the hands that keep you in place dig into your flesh, bruising, only adding to your pleasure.
“Use your words,” he commands, punctuating every word with a roll of his hips.
“P- please,” you beg, barely able to say it properly.
“Tell me what you want!” Hoseok pushes into you harder, deeper, holding your legs open with both hands.
“I w- want to come,” you manage after a couple of tries, your eyes fluttering close.
It’s hard to breathe, hard to think; you’re surprised the words came out coherently. With every hard thrust, you collide with Jungkook’s hard body, reminding you exactly of everything that’s happened so far. Flashes of Jungkook and Hoseok dance behind your eyelids, and you feel yourself slip away, helpless, towards your third orgasm.
You cum so hard that you think you actually black out for two or three seconds. You’re not exactly sure what happens, but when you blink the spots away, Hoseok’s softening member is sliding out of you, his cum dribbling down your soaked thighs. Your oversensitive walls spasm as you unknowingly try to keep him inside you. Everything feels wet, sticky with sweat and cum; the air heavy with the distinct smell of sex.
You’re completely wiped dry; and you hope they’ve had their fill, because you think you might cry if they try to push you further. You think you might never recover from this night; your limbs already start to feel sore, and you’re certain you’ll have trouble walking tomorrow. But worse, you’re afraid they’ve completely ruined you—that any pleasure you get in the future will pale in comparison to this.
Hoseok’s arm wrap around your waist, pulling you close to his chest so he can kiss the crown of your head tenderly. Your limbs detangle themselves from Jungkook’s as you find yourself in Hoseok’s embrace. You should be happy about it—this is what you’ve wanted since the start of it all.
“I’ll let you guys have your moment.” Jungkook gets up from the bed, gathering his clothes.
You watch him leave his room with a weird sinking feeling. You want to tell him he can stay, but you’re not sure where you stand with him now that Hoseok’s back in the picture. You’re not sure if you can tell him to stay, if it’s appropriate to ask of him. Maybe all of you don’t care about being appropriate during sex, but now that you aren’t having sex, you’re confused about everything.
You don’t have feelings for Jungkook, it’s just—it feels wrong to make him leave after all of this. You miss feeling his warmth for some reason; you miss feeling his hard, toned chest pressed up behind you, his pants hot against your skin. You blame these thoughts on the post-bliss daze, because there’s no way you feel anything more than sexual attraction towards Jungkook, right?
“___” Hoseok murmurs against your hair, fingers tracing your sides languidly. “You know I’m never letting you go now.”
You tilt your head to look up at him. His chocolate eyes are staring at you with a fondness you’ve only seen glimpses of in the past.
“Does that mean…?”
“Mmh,” he nods, leaning down to kiss you once. “I should have asked you earlier, I’m sorry. When we talked in the club, I wanted to tell you but I got scared again.”
Your heart beats fast, your ears not quite believing. There are hundreds of questions running through your mind but before you can voice any of them Hoseok continues.
“I really like you. You’re more than just a good fuck,” he winces at his words. He shakes his head, taking a deep breath. “You mean a lot more than that. I want to be that guy you want me to be. I want to give us a try. So… If I haven’t messed things up too much, would you be my girlfriend?”
He says everything you want to hear; your heart leaps in your throat. Before you can even think twice about it, you’re saying yes. You don’t tell him that right as he leans in to kiss you, Jungkook is the only thing on your mind.
.
.
a/n : lmao if you’ve somehow made it all the way down here, i’m gonna take a second and promote safe sex !!! condoms are great !!! please use them
➵ sequel
#this may be sin but#i am a child of gOD#bts smut#bts scenarios#jungkook smut#jungkook scenario#hoseok smut#hoseok scenario#junghope#hoseok#jungkook#bts fanfic#iM SWEATING on my way to hell
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Christchurch, I’m so sorry.
When I sit down and really think about it, I seemingly grew up surrounded by terrorism and gun violence in America.
From 911 to Virginia Tech to Columbine to the Boston marathon and then Sandy Hook, I kept waiting for the rhetoric to change and for people to wake up and realize we deserve to live in a world where WE ALL feel safe, and that human lives matter more than a right to own a semi-automatic rifle.
Even growing up in the deep South, I could never EVER understand my home country’s obsession with guns and their perceived right to bear arms. After all, we don’t use bayonets anymore and we are no longer a standing militia fighting on the frontier. Surely after hundreds and hundreds of mass shootings we should have woke the fuck up and realized that guns = mass shootings. All you have to do is look at gun statistics of the US compared with the rest of the rest of the world to understand how flawed our system is.
But the power of ignorance and the NRA reign supreme in the good old US of A.
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im so sorry, i am here for anyone who needs anything. i love you all 💛
A post shared by Ruby Jones (@rubyalicerose) on Mar 14, 2019 at 10:00pm PDT
So I was drawn overseas, where violence is rarer and the standard of living is higher, pretty goddamn ironic considering my fellow Americans love to preach the belief that the rest of the world is super dangerous.
TBH I’m not surprised I ended up settling in New Zealand, a place (while far from perfect) does have very little violence compared to what I was used to. Here I felt safer than anywhere else in the world, the few people I knew who used guns were hunters and people who work in conservation. It’s a different world here. We truly embodied the sleepy nation at the bottom of the world where everyone knows each other’s name and crime usually sticks to people stealing things from corner stores.
And I’ll never forget how many death threats and horrible messages I received from my countrymen after I appeared on NBC Dateline about what it’s like to be an American expat in New Zealand.
The terrorist attack in Christchurch a few days ago was nothing sort of catastrophic. I mean, if someone dies in car accident here it’s all over the news; something of this scale is unprecedented. New Zealand really is a tight knit community of people, and this tragedy has sent shockwaves blasting through Aotearoa and to their whanau around the world.
My heart broke for those Muslim communities who thought they were safe in one of the world’s most sheltered countries. I’m so sorry.
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Over the last few years, the world has waited for a courageous, empathetic and bold leader. Someone who steps forward, takes risks, challenges archaic systems and rallies for peace. With this photo, and her actions over the past twelve months, I believe PM @JacindaArdern is such a leader. She is leading with love and courage by being an undeniable source of comfort for the Muslim community, New Zealand and the rest of the world. Within the last twenty four hours, she has chosen language based on inclusion, compassion and belonging. She has challenged world leaders that incite fear and called them out. She has chosen to wear the Hijab in a mark of respect. This photo is even more powerful given the fact that she is the youngest female head of government, a woman, a mother, a leader who is presenting herself in such a manner that the world has not seen in years. She is challenging the stereotype that women are incapable and too emotional to handle national emergencies. More so, she is challenging the bias towards young people in politics. Prime Minister Ardern is paving the way for a new style of courageous leadership. I only hope that through her example, more will follow. Thank you for being a beacon of hope 💛💛 [Image: Christchurch City Council – Kirk Hargreaves]
A post shared by Caitlin Figueiredo (@caitlinfigueiredo) on Mar 16, 2019 at 4:51am PDT
We should have done more and been better. We failed. New Zealand failed.
We should have done so much more to stop this hateful and vile rhetoric, and we didn’t. We pretended everything was ok while white supremacy festered here. The chants of “they are us” warm my heart but it needs to be like that all the time; there is blatant and loud racism here that in some ways is worse than what I’ve experienced in the US.
I’m sure that every single Muslim or POC here has experienced racism in one form or another, and that is only the beginning. I’ve seen it firsthand and I’ve been part of it before. I can also say that I have never had to deal with any racial discrimination, and it’s taken me a long time to truly recognize my privelage and my inherent racism.
Us white folks sit on our thrones of privilege, with no real understanding of inequality because it’s much easier to ignore than to change. We need to do so much better to protect POC, to create safe spaces, become universally and unequivocally inclusive and stop tolerating any hatefulness that spark these horrors.
It starts with indifference to racism and to dismissing it. White supremacy cannot be allowed to linger.
The outpouring of love and support from New Zealand and beyond has been tremendous. The powerful words spoken by our PM Jacinda Ardern have inspired love and unity, and her commitment to changing the gun laws and finding solutions is strong and admirable. She is a leader of kindness and compassion, like Obama, someone you really want on your side when times are bleak and dark.
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Students and staff at Orewa College in north Auckland show their support for victims of the Christchurch terror attack. 🖤 “Kia kaha and aroha from Orewa College, stand strong New Zealand.” To follow live updates of the shooting, click the link in our bio. 📷: @ocmediasquad #theyareus #christchurch #nzstuff #newzealand
A post shared by Stuff (@nzstuff) on Mar 17, 2019 at 5:33pm PDT
We need more sympathy, love, unity and kindness.
But it’s not enough. Words are only the beginning. What we need is collective change and become truly inclusive. Like many have said before in the US, thoughts and prayers aren’t enough.
We need to acknowledge our collective responsibility that systematically ignores racism (if not enables it) and allows this xenophobia to thrive, because thrive it does. It’s easy for us to whitewash this experience and pretend to be full of compassion and love, but it’s another matter to change fundamentally and to do the hard work in stamping out racism from the get go, to truly feel compassion for someone different and do our part in trying to change our mentalities.
Many of those who will have been directly affected by this shooting may be migrants to New Zealand, they may even be refugees here. They have chosen to make New Zealand their home, and it is their home….They are us. The person who has perpetuated this violence against us is not. They have no place in New Zealand. There is no place in New Zealand for such acts of extreme and unprecedented violence, which it is clear this act was. – Jacinda Ardern
It starts with not tolerating any more racism here, and that also means not turning a blind eye to it.
I have so much to say and I’m gathering my thoughts but I want to share now while this wound is raw, that I am committed to acknowledging my ignorance, my privelage and my racism, and I want to do all I can to make this world better. Everyone deserves to feel equal and safe, not just me.
The post Christchurch, I’m so sorry. appeared first on Young Adventuress.
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The Beauty Behind the Struggle: Drugs and Hijabs
Young Muslims open up about their life struggles and discuss how it changed them
Drugs and alcohol is such a taboo topic in Islam. Islam teaches Muslims to stay away from alcohol because when you are intoxicated, a person cannot control his or her actions, leading them to possibly make a very big mistake. Although it is haram, or not permissible, many young Muslims seem to turn to alcohol when faced with difficulties, rather than lay out a prayer mat and ask Allah for guidance. 21-year-old Aisha from Leicester tells her story of her struggle with alcohol and drugs.
“In early 2015 I became very depressed and I was on a lot of medication. It was my 19th birthday my friends convinced me to go out to the club and it didn’t seem like a big deal but from that night on things just started getting worse. I drank a lot that night and when I got home my mum was pissed. The first thing she said to me was ‘what the fuck is wrong with you?’ but she didn’t realise, she just thought I was getting up to other stupid shit. After that, it was once in a while. I stopped speaking to the friend who took me out a lot and I was fine, but when we started talking a while later, that’s when it got worse.
“In the Summer of 2015, it got to a point where it became an everyday thing. My depression got worse and it was my way of temporarily forgetting everything that was going on in my life, but it just made everything a whole lot worse. I would even go to work drunk. My grandparents came back from Pakistan one day and I was quite drunk. We were on our way home and it was such a bad experience, we nearly got into a really bad car crash! Then I realised there’s no point in keeping people around like that, that aren’t good for me and that’s when I decided I wasn’t going to drink anymore.
“I stopped for a while but in Summer 2016 I was going through a really bad phase again. Not with friends or anything, I had stopped going out but I would just be drinking alone in my room and it had got back to the point where I was doing it every single day and it made me think to myself, ‘what the hell am I doing?’
“Now I’ m trying to be good and help myself, I haven’t touched it in a while. I’m trying really hard to be careful because it is something that can get addicting, you just need to get through it. I just used to go out to the corner shop and grab a bottle of vodka then finish it in one night and it’s just such a big waste of money too! It doesn’t even help; it was like a temporary fix for five minutes then I’d call up my friends and just cry to them. It’s just a pattern of moods, you think it would help but it really doesn’t. I used to keep drinking for two to three months straight when things got really bad but since New Year’s, I haven’t gotten completely wasted.
“I remember one night in Summer, it was around 5am and I got really bad chest pains, I fell asleep and when I woke up again they just got worse and I just ended up collapsing. My mum took me to A&E and the doctors started asking me really personal questions and their questions were just directing towards drinking alcohol and I just thought ‘oh my God, I’m never doing this again.’
“My sister came into A&E with me and I was afraid to say anything in front of her but once she was sent out the room, the doctors sat me down and told me I had to tell them what was really going on. They concluded that I had alcohol poisoning because I was just puking up everywhere. After that I’ve been very careful with the amount I take and it’s not an everyday thing anymore. You just think it will make things better but it always just makes things a lot worse. The last time I drank was two weeks ago when I was out with my friends but I made sure I wasn’t drinking too much. I don’t use it as a coping mechanism anymore I just casually drink.
“When I was 19, my circle of friends at university used to smoke weed a lot, too. It was just a casual thing and I didn’t do it to distract myself from what was happening in my life, it doesn’t really help but it just makes you feel funny for a while. Everything around you is just so funny! But it’s not something that helps with depression. It actually makes you so hungry, at 3 or 4am I used to just get the munchies and raid my kitchen for random snacks. When you have lots of alcohol and weed it trips you out so much, you just feel like you’re going to die.
“Weed made me so paranoid. When I used to smoke it a lot I would always think ‘oh my God, can you smell it on me?’ and just silly things like that. I would never do hard drugs like cocaine and I’m definitely not planning to. I have family members who have struggled with addiction and have ended up in jail, but weed is just a minor thing. One thing I hate is when people pretend they’re high to just fit in! Weed is just a once in a while thing, I only do it when I’m stressed with university because it relaxes me.
“I live in a family of 6, my dad passed away when I was 15 years old. It wasn’t really a reason to start drinking, I could have easily started drinking then but I was using other ways like self-harm to cope and I eventually stopped because nothing was helping. Everything I tried, I had all these bad coping mechanisms and none of them helped, I just thought to myself ‘I really need to grow out of everything.’
“You go through rough things and you realise not everything you do is right and sometimes you have to let things be. I grew up with 4 sisters and a brother and after my dad passed away, my brother wasn’t very helpful. I didn’t have a father figure in my life and I just felt like I could do whatever I wanted and no one was going to say anything to me. I became really rebellious especially when I was 19 and I felt like my mum couldn’t control me. I knew there was going to be a time when I was going to get the biggest slap on my face and from that, I knew I was going to have to stop what I was doing.
“I keep myself to myself. I don’t open up to people easily and during college, I made a friend in sixth form who actually wasn’t that much of a good friend to me. My mum knew from the beginning that she was a snake but I didn’t believe her which caused arguments at home. When I left school, I left with a lot of friends but now I only have one really good friend who I go to university with. I didn’t gel with the people at university, I spend most of my time in the library just working. I have just become closed off and I’m trying to better myself and stay on the right track.”
Whether you are going through depression or a traumatising event in your life, please remember you have so many people around you to talk to you and help you through things. Alcohol and drugs are never the answer; they only seem to make things worse. For more information on drug and alcohol abuse, call your local drug and alcohol helpline to get the help you need.
“WEAR YOUR HIJAB PROPERLY”
A hijab may seem like ‘just a scarf on your head’ to some, but for some Muslim women, it is a sign of independence, freedom and the ability to be totally themselves. Thousands of Muslim girls and women all around the world wear their hijabs proudly but some struggle more than others. I sat down with 20-year-old Ghayda Javed from South London to discuss her experience and she revealed why wearing the hijab was a struggle for her.
Ghayda was born and raised in London, England in a middle-class family of five. She started wearing her hijab in secondary school because she went to an Islamic school, so it became a uniform requirement. “My mum wears it and so does everyone around me it so I thought okay, I’d better start wearing it too” she says. Because it was a requirement to wear it every day at school, it didn’t make a lot of difference between her school life and her home life. She then carried on wearing it in sixth form and university. “I never saw it as a sort of ‘oh men can see my hair’ thing, I never understood that sort of aspect of it but I just wore it because everyone around me was wearing it. It was like a symbol of my independence, I’m in control of my actions now and I can do what I want, at least that’s what I thought at the time. It came to point where I did like wearing it, I’d think to myself ‘I’ll wear my scarf to weddings, I don’t feel ugly wearing it, it’s just nice. I think it came to summer 2015 when I went to Canada and I remember my dad specifically telling me ‘wear your hijab properly’ and this led me to think ‘hold on, I’m not wearing my hijab for someone else, I’m wearing it for myself, not for someone else’s opinions.”
This interaction with her dad caused Ghayda to rethink why she was wearing her hijab in the first place. “I realised I wasn’t wearing it for myself, I was wearing it for the people around me. I thought to myself, I will wear it the way I want to.” Slowly, she started taking off her hijab and it became less of a priority to her. “I started seeing the hijab as just a part of my religion. When you’re out in public, the first thing people think when they see a girl in hijab is ‘she’s a Muslim and probably a very strict one.’ As a Muslim, you do need to act a certain way because that’s your job to represent it in ‘the right way’. I didn’t like being outside and wearing a hijab and suppose, doing shisha because I just don’t think that’s right in my opinion, which is why when I’m out and about having fun I just take it off. I don’t want to send the wrong message about Islam.”
Ghayda struggled with keeping her hijab on, mainly because she was afraid of what people in the community would think of her. “I was scared to fully stop wearing it because I thought everyone in the community is going to think ‘she’s going to turn into a hoe’ so I only took it off after leaving the house or when I was far enough from home.”
Wearing her hijab to university and to work put things into perspective for her. “I thought to myself I’m here to get my money, I’m here to get my education. I’m not here to mess about. I’m here to make something of myself and that goes back to why I started wearing it in the first place, it was a sign of independence for me.”
Reflecting on her journey, Ghayda discusses why she took it off. “There is something so beautiful about wearing the hijab and I want to learn it rather than putting it on because I want to wear it and that’s what I realised overtime when I took it off, that it’s a process of learning it again and the actual reasons for wearing it. It takes time and you can’t really expect someone to take this big step, just like that. But I did it in the wrong way and it took me a long time to realise that.
Even after wearing it for the last 9 years, Ghayda still struggles with her hijab and wants to take the time to learn about the reasoning behind it, rather than wearing it for the sake of her family. “Even now I still struggle with it. It’s difficult, it’s really difficult.”
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