#I am TRYING. I AM TRYING SO HARD. I WANT TO GET THE CHAPTER DONE THE REST OF THE FIC IS FERMENTING MY BRAIN. MY AMYGDALA IS BEING PICKLED

[mooningningg]

𝐒𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐒𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐬 — chapter 01 : task - start a family

PAIRING. assassin!sukuna x spy!reader — spyxfamily AU!

about. when a notorious assassin is forced to abandon his identity, the last thing he expects is to be ordered to build a new one—by faking a marriage and raising a child. but with a psychic kid, a mysterious wife who’s hiding something darker than him, and enemies closing in on all sides… sukuna’s new “normal life” might just be the most dangerous mission of all.

word count. 4.03k

warnings. angst, violence, blood, cursing, adult content in some chapters, slowburn.

notes. I really hope ya'll will like this as i am having so much fun writing this and bringing it to life.

chapters. Prologue - Chapter 02

They call you Crimson.

Not because it’s dramatic. Not because it sounds pretty.

But because when the agency first tested your skillset, your report card came back bathed in red — not failure. Blood. Precision. Silence.

You never missed. You never flinched.

You still don’t.

Tonight, you’re tailing a weapons broker — someone who’s sold more illegal ammunition in the past year than most black-market dealers see in a lifetime. The agency doesn’t care about the weapons. Not really. They care about who they’re being sold to.

That’s your job.

The ballroom is loud — all glass chandeliers and high-profile laughter, a layer of music masking the stench of politics and crime. You glide through it all like smoke.

Your dress is backless, wine-red, fitted to perfection. The wig you wear is sleek and blonde, cut just above your shoulders — nothing like the way you usually wear your hair. Your real face is hidden under layers of lashes, shimmer, and subtle deception. You smile when you're spoken to, laugh once or twice. You're forgettable, just enough to get close.

And close is all you need.

“Crimson,” your earpiece crackles, your handler’s voice a buzz of static hidden behind the violin quartet in the room. “Visual confirmed. Target’s on the west wing stairs. You’re twenty feet behind. Keep him talking, but do not intercept. He’s transferring the intel to his buyer in the next ten minutes. We want the name. Not the blood.”

You tap the bracelet on your wrist twice. Signal received.

You’re on the move.

The target’s tall, ex-military by the way he carries himself. Graying at the temples. Two phones, one encrypted. You note the shoes — polished but scuffed at the heel. He’s not careful. Not enough.

But you are.

You follow him out of the main ballroom with a drink in hand, your purse light but dangerous against your hip. You catch his reflection in the mirror-lined hall as he stops to check his watch. The moment his eyes leave the mirror, you step into the side corridor. He doesn’t see you. He’s not supposed to.

Another voice comes through your earpiece. “Buyer’s approaching. Five seconds. Crimson, stay out of view.”

You press yourself to the wall, shifting into the narrow column beside the statue, eyes trained through the reflection in the glass.

The buyer steps forward.

You can’t see his face — just the back. Broad shoulders. Black suit. No security.

Interesting.

He doesn’t speak at first. Just takes the briefcase. Your target talks — low, anxious, clearly pushing too hard for a quick deal. But the buyer doesn’t rush.

Your fingers move fast, silently removing the bug from your ring and pressing it to the wall near the vent. It sticks.

They speak in fragments.

“…weaponized by Tuesday…”

“…Kyoto drop point…”

“…confirm the kill, then payment…”

You close your eyes, memorizing. You’ve done this a thousand times. In and out. Quiet. Cold.

But something about the man’s voice makes you pause.

It’s low. Unhurried. Confident in a way that isn’t showy — dangerous without trying to be.

It makes the hairs at the back of your neck lift.

Not because you recognize it. But because something in you does.

You leave before the conversation ends. You already got what you needed. You walk calmly back into the ballroom, rejoining the flow of meaningless chatter and polished champagne flutes. You smile again. You play your part.

Nobody notices you.

Because Crimson isn’t meant to be noticed. She’s a ghost. A shadow. A whisper.

When you get home that night, your hands still smell like expensive perfume and cheap sin.

You strip the wig off first. Your scalp breathes.

The dress is next — peeled off like skin you don’t need. You fold it carefully. That version of you doesn’t belong in this apartment.

You are not Crimson in this space. Not in this quiet.

Here, you’re just you. A little tired. A little soft.

You pull your hair back, warm a leftover bowl of curry in the microwave, and curl up on the couch under your worn blanket — the one with the frayed edges and too many washes. A cat meows outside your window. You feed it twice a week. You talk to it, too.

You like things like that. Soft things. Things that don’t have expectations or file reports or bleed if you love them too much.

The alarm on your burner phone goes off. One short buzz.

That means a live briefing.

You don’t groan. Don’t sigh. You just get up and read it. Cold again.

CRIMSON: Drop your current cover. You’re being reassigned. Priority red. Mission codename: RED VEIL.

You blink once.

Only one other time in your life have you been given a red-priority mission without a debrief.

Attached is a single message, unsigned.

“Start a family.”

You don’t like children.

Not in a cold-blooded assassin way, no — you don’t hate them, you just… prefer them quiet. Far away. Not sticky. Not unpredictable. Definitely not someone you should be legally responsible for.

Which is why this part of the cover — the adoption — makes your skin itch.

The agency gave you no flexibility. The fake marriage, sure. The new home, fine. You’ve worked deep cover before. But this?

“You’ll pose as a mother,” they said. “It completes the story. Husband, wife, child. A stable foundation. A family.”

“It’ll help you disappear.”

You didn’t argue out loud, but your silence was enough.

Now here you are — in a soft beige room that smells like glue sticks and old wood, surrounded by pastel posters and broken crayons. The orphanage matron has a voice like she’s constantly trying not to cry. There’s a paper cup of tea on the table in front of you. You’re not touching it.

Your posture is perfect. Your expression polite.

You are doing what needs to be done.

You glance at the file they handed you. A name circled in red ink:

Itadori, Yuuji. Age: 6. Unadopted. Needs minimal medical attention. Cheerful disposition. Excellent physical health. High emotional intelligence.

You frown.

Sounds… too good to be true.

The door creaks.

Then comes the sound of thunder feet running down the hall.

And then — suddenly — he’s there.

A blur of salmon-pink hair, bright brown eyes, and oversized socks sliding dangerously on the tile. He skids to a stop in the doorway, stands there panting like he just ran from the apocalypse, and then—

“MAMA?”

You blink.

He gasps like he just solved a murder, “YOU’RE MY MAMA!!”

He runs full speed at you.

You stiffen — not out of fear, but pure tactical reflex. You’ve dodged knives. Bullets. Flame. But you barely dodge a six-year-old missile of joy.

He doesn’t care. He hugs your waist like he already belongs there.

“Hi! I’m Yuuji! I’m really fast, I can run super far, and I only pee my pants once a year now, so I’m a good choice!”

You’re speechless.

The matron makes a helpless gesture, like this is normal behavior. You shoot her a look that could freeze soup.

Yuuji lets go and looks up at you with a gap-toothed grin.

You are not normal, he thinks casually, staring directly into your soul.

Your heartbeat is controlled, like a soldier. You’re lying when you say you’re here to adopt.

But… your eyes are tired. And your mind is quieter than most adults.

You’re not scary. You smell like metal. But also lavender. That’s kinda nice.

He decides instantly: He likes you. A lot.

You, meanwhile, are having a full existential crisis.

“...Why did you call me Mama?” you finally ask, stiffly.

Yuuji shrugs. “You just have Mama energy. Like, super tired and powerful. Also your brain said ‘ugh’ when you saw me, but your heart said ‘okay, maybe just this once.’”

You stare at him, your brain runs diagnostics.

There’s no way he should know that.

Not unless he’s… Psychic? No. Not possible.

You slowly sit down on the small loveseat. Yuuji plops beside you like a puppy, legs swinging, hands fiddling with the hem of his too-big shirt. He’s smiling up at you like this is the best day of his life.

You clear your throat.

“So. Yuuji. Do you know why I’m here?”

“Yup!” he says instantly.

You pause. “...Why?”

“To lie about wanting a kid so you can go be sneaky somewhere with a scary man.”

You inhale a little too fast. Your fingers twitch.

The matron doesn’t react. She clearly didn’t hear it. You glance sideways. Yuuji’s still grinning.

“Don’t worry,” he thinks cheerfully, like it’s perfectly normal to narrate his inner monologue to a stranger. “I won’t tell. I like you. You’re warm. Not like fire. Like blankets-from-the-dryer warm.”

Your mouth opens. Closes. You’ve tortured people for less confusion than this.

But then he leans his head on your arm — and it’s like something in you short-circuits. Not in a weakness way. In a what the hell is this kind of way.

He’s so small. And weird. And way too trusting.

You shouldn’t feel anything.

But… You sigh.

You hate yourself a little as you look down at him, eyes softening against your will.

He’s already named you Mama. And you haven’t corrected him.

The bar is loud, but Sukuna hears nothing.

Not the music, not the static chatter, not even the clink of his own glass. He’s been in this dive for hours, melting into shadows like they might forgive him if he just sinks far enough. The light here’s dim and angry — red neon flickering across cheap wood and bad decisions. The air reeks of sweat and spilled whiskey. He likes it that way. It’s a place built to be forgotten in.

He downs another shot. Doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t taste it.

He’s not drunk, but he’s trying to be.

The stool beside him is empty until it isn’t.

The presence is immediate — cold, quiet, coiled like a spring under silk. He doesn’t look. Doesn’t need to.

“I told you not to find me,” he mutters.

“You told me a lot of things,” Uraume replies smoothly, placing a thin, unmarked folder on the bar top between them. “Most of them were lies.”

Sukuna clicks his tongue, jaw flexing. “That why you’re here? To cry about it?”

Uraume ignores the bait. They always do.

Their fingers tap once on the folder.

“You’ve been compromised,” they say, soft like a threat. “Again.”

He grits his teeth. He can already feel it — the noose tightening, the leash shortening. He’s been playing house in this nowhere part of town for seven months, working in a mechanic’s shop during the day, killing flies and memories at night. No traces. No trails.

But ghosts don’t stay buried, and the syndicate he once bled for doesn’t like their weapons going rogue.

He knew they’d come. He just didn’t think it’d be so soon.

“Who sold me out?” he asks, eyes still on the drink in front of him.

“Does it matter?” Uraume lifts a brow. “You’ve got half the underworld looking to collect your head like it’s some sort of rare bounty.”

“I’m not that special.”

“You are,” they say flatly. “That’s the problem.”

Sukuna finally turns to face them. His eyes are sharp, that muted red glowing like a warning light. But he looks tired. Hollow in the edges.

They used to call him unstoppable. Untouchable. The King of Curses, even before he walked away from the blade. Now, he looks more like a man than a myth.

But that’s part of the illusion.

“You think this is sustainable?” Uraume asks, almost amused. “Drinking in roach motels, fixing broken engines, hiding behind your own name like it doesn’t carry weight?”

Sukuna scoffs. “I didn’t ask for the sermon.”

“You didn’t ask at all. That’s why I’m here.”

They tap the file again. The motion is deliberate.

“New identity,” they say, eyes never leaving his. “You want to live? Play nice. Blend in.”

He doesn’t move.

Uraume’s voice cools another degree. “Or we let them find you. Maybe they don’t kill you right away. Maybe they use you as bait. Maybe they make you watch.”

The silence stretches.

Then — with a growl low in his throat — Sukuna grabs the file.

He flips it open. Just one page.

“You’ve made enemies,” Uraume continues, crossing one leg over the other. “Your face isn’t safe. Your name’s expired. Your ghost routine might fool the locals, but it won’t hold much longer.”

Sukuna’s eyes slide down to the folder.

“New identity?” His eyebrows furrowed as his gaze threatened to burn the paper.

“Something deeper."

He grunts. “That sounds stupid.”

“It’s above your pay grade.”

“I don’t have a pay grade.”

Uraume doesn’t smile, but they look like they want to.

“This time you disappear clean,” they say. “No more trail. No more bodies. You want to live? You do it right.”

He opens the folder. Slowly.

Blank forms. Basic stats. A cover name. Occupation. Address fields. All empty.

He flips to the second page. It's the role template — the structure they’re going to use to sell him as someone else. And there, in plain black ink, next to the “Occupation” field:

Occupation: Married.

His eyes freeze.

“…the fuck is this?” he says flatly.

Uraume doesn’t even blink.

“You need a stable civilian identity. Solo men raise flags. Married men disappear.”

“You want me to fake a marriage now?”

“It’s better than faking your own death. Again.”

He slams the folder shut.

“Don’t tell me you’ve already picked someone.”

Uraume lifts a shoulder. “Find a partner,” they say simply.

Then — slowly, like it’s a joke only they understand — “We’ll do the rest.”

Sukuna glares at them like he might actually throw the folder at their face.

“I kill people for a living, Uraume.”

“You used to.”

“I’m not playing house.”

“You will,” they say, rising to their feet. “Or you’ll be dead before the month ends.”

He watches them go, fists tight at his sides, blood thrumming in his jaw. The folder still sits in front of him like a trap.

Married. A partner. A cover life.

It’s almost funny.

Except it’s not.

It’s cruel.

He downs the rest of his drink in one shot, lets the burn cut his throat raw, and glares at the folder like it’s personally responsible for his ruin.

The apartment smells like gun oil and smoke.

There’s a single bulb hanging above the living room — no lampshade, no warmth. Just that cold, jaundiced light humming above two men who’ve survived too many things to talk about them. A folding table in the corner is stacked with passports, licenses, old burner phones, and a revolver that looks like it’s been cleaned a thousand times but never fired.

Sukuna's standing.

Choso’s sprawled across the couch like a man with nowhere to be and no reason to move. A half-lit cigarette dangles from his lips. His eyes are barely open — red, dull, watching the ceiling fan spin as if it holds the answers to all his questions.

“Married,” Sukuna spits, holding up the folder like it insulted his bloodline. “They want me to get married.”

Choso blinks. Doesn’t move.

“Like—on paper. Signed. Joint fucking taxes. Wife. House. Possibly a child. The whole fucking story. They want me to disappear so hard I look normal.”

Choso finally exhales. “So do it.”

“I don’t even know anyone,” Sukuna snarls. “I don’t like anyone. Who the hell am I supposed to convince to marry me?”

“You don’t have to convince them,” Choso says, like it’s obvious. “Just find someone who needs a lie as badly as you do. There’s always someone.”

Sukuna drops the folder on the floor.

He’s still wearing yesterday’s shirt. His knuckles are bruised from a job two nights ago. He hasn’t slept in over 30 hours — running on nicotine, adrenaline, and contempt. His jaw clenches. His fists twitch.

He hates this.

The pretending. The erasure of everything that made him who he was. He gave years of his life to men who worshipped money and silence — and now that he’s no longer useful, they want him to vanish into suburbia like a ghost with a mortgage.

“You could’ve told me this was coming,” he mutters, staring at Choso.

Choso shrugs. “Would you have listened?”

“…No.”

“Exactly.”

Silence.

Outside, sirens echo somewhere deep in the city.

Inside, the only sound is the soft buzz of electricity and the occasional creak of Choso shifting his weight.

Then—

“You know,” Choso says slowly, “I could put some names out there. See who’s looking. There are people who’d take the deal. You’re not ugly.”

Sukuna glares.

“Don’t.”

Choso continues anyway, ignoring the warning tone completely. “Might take a cut, though. Some weird ones in that world. Last girl I heard about was on the run from five different prefectures and collects teeth.”

Sukuna pinches the bridge of his nose. “I said no.”

“Just putting it out there.”

Sukuna sighs and sits. The folder sits on the coffee table between them like it’s watching.

He opens it again, flipping to the page with the occupation field. “Married.” The word stares back at him like a threat. He doesn’t know what’s worse — the fact that they expect him to go through with it, or the fact that he might actually have to.

“Find a partner,” the line had said, scrawled in pen.

“We’ll do the rest.”

It doesn’t scare him, but it pisses him off.

Choso shifts again. “You gonna keep sulking or start looking?”

Sukuna stares straight ahead, jaw tight. Eyes cold.

“Doesn’t matter,” he mutters. “Whoever it is, they’ll regret it.”

You didn’t want to be here.

Not tonight. Not at this hour. Not when there’s a six-year-old at home who refuses to fall asleep unless he knows you’re safe.

But duty doesn’t care about bedtime stories or fake smiles.

So you leave your door half-open for air. You kiss Yuuji’s forehead before you go. You tell him, gently, “Just paperwork tonight. I’ll be home before ten.”

He nods, too fast. He’s already read your schedule in your head.

He knows it’s a lie.

Still — he smiles anyway. “Be safe, Mama.”

That word always hits weird. You haven’t decided if you like it or not.

The hotel bar is colder than it looks.

Everything here is expensive in the cheap kind of way — furniture that looks plush but creaks, chandeliers that sparkle but are dusty up close. It’s the kind of place you’re supposed to let your guard down in, and that’s exactly why you don’t.

Your target tonight is small-time — ex-intel turned data thief. You’ve been tracking him for weeks through burner emails and silent meetups. This is supposed to be the confirmation. One audio recording. One glance at the buyer. And you’re out.

No interference. No dead bodies. Just a clean “yes,” and the higher-ups take care of the rest.

You keep to the corner. Blend in.

Your dress is navy, simple. Hair pinned up. You look like someone’s tired assistant at a corporate conference, not a spy with a wire tucked under your ribs.

You’ve done this before.

But something feels… off.

There’s a pressure in the room. The kind that comes from too many people pretending to be normal. A little too much eye contact. A little too much silence between clinks of ice and laughter that sounds wrong.

And then there’s him.

You noticed him the second you walked in — not because he was loud, but because he wasn’t.

One booth in the shadows. Man alone. Dark eyes, unmoving. He hasn’t looked at anyone but his table.

But the air around him is dense. Coiled.

You can’t explain why, but you know: he’s not here by accident.

Your instincts twitch. Your grip tightens around your wine glass. You whisper into your wire, coded and low.

“Package is seated. Table Four. I have audio. Unknown third party at the south wall.”

The earpiece crackles.

“Copy that. No action unless provoked. Keep distance.”

You nod once.

But even as your lips smile and your shoulders relax — the muscles behind your eyes don’t.

Because your target? He’s getting jumpy.

Too jumpy.

He keeps glancing at the man across the room. Fingers twitching. Posture off.

You’re halfway through pretending to sip when you notice it —

His right hand. Dipping under the tablecloth.

Not for a drink.

For something metal.

Something hidden.

Something dangerous.

Your breath stills.

And in that same instant — across the room — the man in the booth leans forward, slow. Deliberate.

Like he’s seen it too.

Like he’s ready for it.

Like he’s done this before.

You see the gun before he can pull it.

Your target — twitchy, small-time, sweating under the collar — slides his hand under the table, fingers twitching toward the bulge in his jacket.

Your first instinct is to stay seated. Let the wire catch it. Let surveillance do the job.

But then he moves faster.

He flips the table.

Gun drawn.

You move faster.

Your chair skids back hard enough to screech. Your heel kicks forward — catches the edge of the table, shoving it between you and the barrel. The gun fires. The shot punches into the ceiling.

Screams erupt.

Someone ducks behind the bar. Someone else drops a champagne bottle. Glass explodes across the floor.

You don’t flinch.

The man lunges. You stumble backward — on purpose — arms raised, panicked expression. Playing it up.

“I—I don’t—!”

The gun presses to your side.

You gasp. Loud. Convincing.

Until your hand slams into his wrist, twists it sharp. You pivot, knock his legs out, and slam his head into the marble tile with a sickening crack.

And just like that —

The panic leaves your face.

The calm returns.

Across the room, you hear it.

Another shot. Then a thud.

You glance up.

He’s already standing.

The man in the dark booth.

Blood on his sleeve. A table cracked in half at his feet.

He’s not hiding it like you are.

He looks thrilled.

The others rush in then — men you didn’t clock, new threats from all angles. Not just one target anymore. This was a setup. Someone tipped them off.

Six bodies. All armed. Too close.

You ready your stance.

But Sukuna?

He laughs.

A short, cruel sound in the throat — and then he moves like he’s been waiting for this.

His elbow slams into the first man’s jaw. A second rushes him — gets flipped into a glass cabinet. Shards scatter. Liquor spills. Sukuna doesn't miss a step.

You duck a fist, grab a wine bottle, smash it over someone’s head. He staggers. You knee his ribs. His breath leaves in a bark of pain.

“You sure scream loud for someone holding a knife,” you mutter.

“Nice form,” a voice says behind you.

You twist — Sukuna’s there, mid-swing. He shoves a guy into your line of sight. You finish him with a clean jab to the throat.

“What the hell are you?” you snap, panting.

He grins, sweat at his temple. “Freelance yoga instructor.”

You blink.

“Seriously?”

He shrugs. “They fired me.”

You dodge another punch, shove your attacker into a table, and choke-laugh. “I’m a dental rep.”

“Really?” he says, ducking low to avoid a bottle.

“Mhm.”

He tackles a man into a mirror. It shatters like a scream.

“Tough.”

By the time the last man groans and goes still —

The room is a disaster.

Tables overturned. Glass and blood and broken chairs everywhere. No witnesses left standing.

You and Sukuna are panting in the middle of it all, arms bruised, clothes torn, heartbeat still in your ears.

You glance at him.

He’s looking at you.

There’s something… unspoken. Something not quite admiration, not quite suspicion.

A shared truth.

A quiet knowing.

He steps over a body. Close enough now that you can see the nick on his cheekbone.

Then, calm as anything, he reaches down. Picks up a napkin. Wipes his hands.

And looks at you like he’s ordering coffee.

“What do you think about marriage?”

— Prologue — Chapter 02 —

[neesu]

The white fox

Contains: violence, blood, weapons, power dynamics, manipulation, threats, possessiveness, emotional coercion, mentions of death and injury, suggestive undertones, unresolved sexual tension

The white fox masterlist

(long chapter)

Part 5

The silence stretched — heavy, suffocating. The kind of silence neither of you were built for. Not in this world. Not between men like you.

But neither of you broke it.

Not yet.

Your fingers stayed tangled in his hair, thumb grazing the back of his neck, slow… deliberate. Just enough pressure to remind him who he belonged to now. Just enough softness to confuse the hell out of him.

You felt him exhale. Shaky. Shallow. He shifted, like maybe he was thinking about getting up — about putting the mask back on, snapping out some reckless, cocky line just to claw back the scraps of control he’d willingly handed over.

But he didn’t move.

Didn’t dare.

“You’re dangerous,” Gojo finally muttered, voice barely above a whisper, lips ghosting the skin just beneath your jaw. “Worse than anyone said.”

You huffed, amused but cold. “And you’re slow to learn.”

His fingers twitched against your thigh, a nervous tic — or maybe frustration at himself for being here. For needing this. Needing you.

“Is this how you treat all your enemies?” he asked, trying for flippant, but his voice cracked halfway through it. “Or am I just lucky?”

You dragged his head back by the hair again, forcing him to look up at you — neck exposed, pupils blown wide, lips parted and breathless.

“You think this is luck?”

Gojo swallowed. Hard. And for the first time, the grin faltered.

“No.” His voice dropped, lower now. Almost hoarse. “Not luck.”

A pause. Long enough for the tension to crawl down both your spines.

“Fate, maybe.”

Your grip tightened. “Careful.”

A breathless chuckle left him, ragged and thin. “Wouldn’t dream of pissing you off, boss.”

He was lying. You both knew it.

His hands curled into the fabric of your jacket again — tight, desperate, like he hated himself for it but couldn’t stop. Couldn’t let go.

“Look at you,” you muttered, tilting his chin up further, fingers framing his jaw. “You walked in here thinking you’d shake my world. And now you’re the one falling apart.”

His eyelids fluttered, breath hitching at the edge of a groan. “Yeah. So? Maybe I like falling.”

You stared him down, something cold and hot twisting deep in your gut. “Good,” you murmured, leaning in until your lips brushed the corner of his mouth but didn’t quite give him what he wanted. “Because I’m not done breaking you yet.”

Gojo’s hands trembled where they clutched you, but the grin fought its way back to his lips. “...Didn’t think you were.”

Then — a knock.

Sharp. Precise. Followed by a voice through the door, muffled but tense. “Boss. We’ve got a problem. Urgent.”

You didn’t move at first. Neither did he. Both frozen in the static charge between this — whatever the hell this was — and the reality clawing its way back in.

“Of course,” you muttered. Fingers loosened in his hair, but you didn’t push him away.

“Duty calls,” Gojo sighed against your skin, teasing, but softer now. “Bet you’re real fun at meetings.”

You shoved his head lightly, enough to make him stumble back onto his knees, staring up at you with flushed cheeks and wrecked hair — dangerous, arrogant, and completely ruined.

“Get up,” you ordered, already fixing your jacket, cold professionalism settling back over your shoulders like armor. “You’re coming with me.”

“Am I?” His grin curved sharp again. “What am I? Your hostage? Your plaything?”

You turned toward the door but glanced back, gaze sharp, cold, like the barrel of a gun pressed between his ribs. Voice low, final.

“No,” you said. “You’re not my hostage. Not my plaything.”

You stepped in close, grip curling in the collar of his jacket, yanking him forward just enough that your lips hovered by his ear.

“You’re mine, Satoru. Property. And I don’t share what’s mine.”

You let go — sudden, sharp. He stumbled slightly, breath hitching, hands flexing like he didn’t know whether to fight, grab you, or fall back on his knees again.

But he said nothing. For once, Gojo Satoru — the man who always had something reckless to throw, always knew how to tip the balance back — was speechless.

Not broken. Not yet. But close. Too close.

And he hated how much he liked it.

The knock came again — louder this time, more impatient. “Boss. Situation’s escalating. They’re waiting on you downstairs.”

Your eyes didn’t leave him. “Get up,” you ordered. “You’re coming with me.”

A breath. Then his grin pulled back into place — cocky, strained, but there. “Tch… guess I don’t get a safe word, huh?”

“Keep pushing me, and you’ll learn you don’t get a choice either.”

He stood, straightened his jacket, ran a hand through his hair like it could fix the wreck you left him in. “Dangerous,” he muttered. “So damn dangerous.” He tilted his head, smirk curving sharp. “...Kinda hot.”

You ignored him — mostly. Threw the door open, stalked into the hallway, boots heavy against marble floors. Your men waited there, stiff-backed, eyes flickering between you and the man trailing behind you like a shadow — or maybe a captured wolf pretending he wasn’t wearing a collar.

“Boss,” one nodded. “The convoy’s ready. East docks. Same deal — ambush on arrival. Intel says they’re armed heavy.” His gaze flicked to Gojo, uncertain. “...And him?”

“He’s with me,” you said, simple, final.

No one questioned it. They knew better.

As you made your way toward the blacked-out SUV waiting by the curb, Gojo kept pace at your side, hands shoved in his pockets, shoulders loose — but his eyes were scanning everything. Calculating. Watching.

“You always ride into shootouts with your enemies in tow?” he asked, leaning just enough to brush against your shoulder. “Or am I just special?”

You didn’t look at him. “You should pray you are.”

A low chuckle rumbled out of him. “Trust me, sweetheart — if I’m gonna die today, it sure as hell won’t be by anyone else’s hands but yours.”

The way he said it — like a promise, not a threat — had your fingers twitching for the gun at your hip. Or maybe for his throat.

Either would do.

The car doors slammed. Engines roared to life.

The car pulled away from the curb, tires screeching against asphalt, engines snarling through the choking neon-lit streets.

And as the city blurred past in streaks of rain and steel, the line between enemy and obsession didn’t just blur — it shattered. Completely. Irreversibly.

Inside the SUV, silence pressed thick. Except for the low chatter of comms, the occasional crackle of gunfire already sounding distant from the east docks.

Gojo leaned back against the leather seat, legs spread like he owned the space — like he hadn’t just knelt at your feet not ten minutes ago. But his hands told the truth — fingers restless, flexing against his thighs, betraying nerves he’d never admit out loud.

“Still time to back out,” he muttered, head tilted toward the window but eyes flicking to you in the reflection. “If you’re scared of what happens when we’re out there... together.”

You scoffed. Low. Dangerous. “If anyone should be scared, it’s the poor bastards waiting at the docks.”

A crooked grin pulled at his lips. “That’s what I like about you. No fear. No hesitation.” His eyes dragged over you, slow, deliberate. “No mercy.”

The convoy hit a sharp turn. Ahead, the docks came into view — rusted cranes, stacks of containers, shadows moving where shadows shouldn’t be. Armed men. Dozens. Waiting.

The comms crackled. “Boss, eyes on the target. Six cars. Two mounted guns. Snipers posted north side.”

“Good.” You adjusted your gloves, checked the safety on your pistol. Then glanced at Gojo, voice like ice. “Stay close. Don’t get clever.”

“Oh, sweetheart…” He rolled his neck, cracking it side to side, smile sharpening like broken glass. “I’m nothing but clever.”

The SUV skidded to a halt. Doors flew open. Boots hit concrete. Your men scattered, taking positions, weapons drawn.

Chaos broke like a gunshot.

Bullets screamed. Metal sparked. Someone yelled — distant, already drowned by gunfire. You moved fast, cutting through cover, returning fire with surgical precision. And right behind you — a flash of white hair, a grin too sharp, Gojo moving like smoke and lightning, dropping men without breaking stride.

“Left side — two incoming!” he barked, voice low but clipped. You pivoted, fired twice. One dropped. The other never got the chance.

“You’re useful,” you muttered, ducking behind a crate.

“Careful,” Gojo laughed, sliding into cover beside you, breathless but high off adrenaline. “Talk to me like that, I might start thinking you like me.”

Another burst of gunfire rained over the container. Close. Too close. Gojo flinched, pressed shoulder to shoulder with you, tension rolling off him in waves. “...Y’know, this is kinda romantic,” he grinned, panting. ��Our first real date.”

“Shut up.”

“You love it.”

You grabbed him by the collar, yanked him closer — teeth bared, faces barely an inch apart. “Focus, Satoru.”

But your grip lingered. Too long. His grin faltered. Not gone — but softer now. Tighter. Like it suddenly wasn’t a game anymore.

“...You keep grabbing me like that,” he murmured, breath hitching, “and you’re gonna have to follow through.”

“After,” you growled. “If you survive.”

His gaze burned. “If?”

“Move.” You shoved him toward the left flank, covering his sprint with three clean shots. “We’re not done yet.”

⸻

The docks were almost quiet now. The gunfire had thinned to stray pops in the distance, and the last bodies hit the pavement with a wet, final thud. Smoke curled off burning crates. Blood smeared concrete.

Gojo stood there, breathing hard, knuckles split, a lazy grin spread across his face like he hadn’t just torn through half a dozen men with nothing but borrowed firepower and bad intentions.

And for a second — just a second — it almost felt natural. Easy. Like maybe he wasn’t the white-haired devil from a rival syndicate. Like maybe he belonged at your side.

Until one of your men stumbled over, panting, blood streaked across his jacket. “Boss... we ID’d one of the bodies.” He glanced at Gojo, then back to you, jaw tense. “Yakuza. Clan under Gojo’s family.”

Silence. Heavy. Immediate.

The weight of it hit like a brick to the chest.

Your grip on your gun tightened. “...You brought your own men into my city?”

Gojo didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. “Not mine.” His voice went cool, smooth as glass. “I don’t run that crew. You know how fractured it is over there.” He tilted his head. “Rogue cells. Happens.”

“Convenient,” you muttered, stepping in. Close. Close enough your shadows merged in the firelight. “Or maybe you planned it this way. Cozy up to me. Use me to wipe out your competition.”

Gojo’s grin flickered — not gone, but sharper. “If I was using you... would you really be this angry?” His fingers twitched at his sides. “Or is it because you liked having me under you more than you’re ready to admit?”

Your hand shot out, grabbed him by the collar again, yanked him so close your noses brushed. “Careful, Satoru. I don’t need a reason to put you on your knees again. And this time, it won’t be pretty.”

His breath hitched. But his hands came up — not in surrender. Just pressing to your chest, fingers curling in your jacket. Tense. Controlled. Fake-casual.

“You think I don’t know how dangerous this is?” he murmured, voice low but cracking at the edges. “You think I don’t wake up knowing exactly how stupid it is to be here? To be... this close to you?”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

Because it was stupid.

Because tomorrow, your organizations would be right back at each other’s throats. You’d be fielding hits. Dodging bullets. Trying not to think about the way his voice had sounded in your ear, or the weight of him when he let himself fall against you like he belonged there.

“...This doesn’t change anything,” you finally said. Jaw tight. “You’re still my enemy.”

Gojo tilted his head, smiled — but softer now. Meaner. “Then why does it feel like you’re about to kiss me or kill me... and even you can’t decide which?”

You shoved him back. Hard. “Get out of my city.”

He stumbled. Caught himself. Straightened his jacket. But he didn’t stop smiling.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “You keep saying that...” His eyes dragged over you one last time, hot, electric. “But we both know... I’m coming back.”

The tension in the air didn’t break. It only stretched, thin and dangerous, like a wire pulled taut between two ticking bombs.

Your jaw clenched as you watched him—watched that infuriating, cocky grin like he hadn’t just played you. Like he hadn’t just manipulated your entire crew into doing his dirty work.

“Don’t push your luck, Gojo.” Your voice came low, lethal. “You already walked out of here breathing. Don’t expect it twice.”

But the bastard just chuckled, running a hand through blood-slicked white hair, smearing the mess like it didn’t matter. “Oh, come on,” he drawled, stepping backwards, slow, deliberate, never once breaking eye contact. “You don’t want me dead.” His gaze darkened, cutting. “Not really.”

“You sure about that?” you bit back, stepping forward once, matching his retreat with something heavier. Meaner.

For a second—just a second—his grin faltered. His breath hitched. And that stupid bravado cracked right at the edges. He felt it too. That pull. That thick, magnetic force between violence and something far worse.

“...Yeah,” he breathed, quieter now. “I’m sure.”

Then he turned. Hands in his pockets. Shoulders loose like none of this mattered, like none of it had sunk claws into the marrow. But his steps were heavier than before. Slower.

And he didn’t look back. Not this time.

The second his silhouette disappeared around the corner, the burn in your lungs finally registered. You hadn’t realized you’d been holding your breath.

One of your men shifted behind you. “Boss… you want us to follow him?”

Your fists curled. Loosened. Curled again. Your instincts screamed yes. Hunt him down. Drag him back. End it before it gets worse. Before it gets complicated.

But it was already complicated.

“...No,” you muttered, shoving your gun back into the holster. “Let him run.” A pause. “For now.”

But your men weren’t stupid. They’d seen the way he looked at you. The way you didn’t pull the trigger. And they knew better than to ask questions you weren’t ready to answer.

Not yet.

Not while your head was still replaying every second of that fight. Of him. The way he moved beside you like it was second nature. The way his voice scraped at the inside of your ribs. The way even now, he felt closer than he should.

You spit blood to the side. Wiped your mouth with the back of your glove.

“Clean this up,” you ordered, voice cold as steel. “No loose ends. No witnesses.”

But as you turned toward the waiting car, your hand hovered at your collar. Right where his fingers had been. Where his breath had ghosted against your skin.

And no matter how deep you buried it—how clean the crew left the docks—there was no scrubbing the fact that the bastard had gotten under your skin.

Worse.

He knew it.

And whether it was next week, next month, or next damn hour—Satoru Gojo was coming back.

And you weren’t sure if you were going to kill him.

Or drag him under you until he forgot who he worked for.

Maybe both.

[spidermans-l-o-v-e-r]

Burn Baby Burn

Pairing: Buddie x Reader

Word count: 10 freaking K

This is the second half to Disco Inferno

Notes: When I tell you I am FIGHTING to write this month. Man, I’m just fighting to stay awake. Chronic fatigue has not hit this hard since I was a teenager. I have literally been asleep for most of 2025

P.S I feel kinda bad I couldn’t get my goal of 5 fics and a strawberry chapter done this month….. but this is 10k so hopefully it makes up for that 😂😂😂

You lug your bag to the front steps and drop it before ringing the doorbell. The fact that Buck and Eddie had planned this entire thing was literally crazy. Okay well, not really you’re not surprised but it’s still annoying.

You were an adult; you didn’t have to be watched like some baby, but Buck needed the peace of mind that you were okay and that no freak spontaneous fires were going to break out that he wasn’t around to put out.

So you reluctantly agreed to this because Eddie offered (bribed) to make you his Tía Josephina’s famous enchiladas and elote on his day off this week. And how are you gonna turn that kind of offer down?

“Coming!”

The door swings open and immediately you know this was a mistake. He’s standing there in a freaking towel. Water droplets cascade down his hard chest and through the dips and curves of his body.

You let your jaw drop as you stare completely and honestly disrespectfully because Buck talked Eddie up so much and you just thought it was him hyping his best friend as he should but none of that did this Adonis any justice.

Eddie leans against the doorway, legitimately the front door in a whole ass towel, and just watches you back. Because the way you’re short-circuiting is about to cause a whole new problem in a few seconds.

One he and Buck absolutely want you to see.

That’s what all of this was for actually… was it a little sneaky? Yeah definitely but god who cared if it paid off in the end? Buck was into Eddie, Eddie was into Buck which was plain as day but then Buck ended up with you…and apparently their mutual attraction didn’t just end at occasionally finding the same superhero hot. One day at work Buck cornered Eddie and very openly asked him if he had a thing for you and in the effort of being honest with himself for once in his life, Eddie told Buck the truth.

He was very into you.

He promised him he wouldn’t try anything and he was just happy being your friend… but he could just see the damn hamster wheel spinning on all cylinders and a week later Buck came to him with a (and he did the rainbow hands) grand master plan to get all three of you together and Eddie was on board in a heartbeat.

“You good? You got enough or would you like me to remove the towel too?”

That breaks you out of your embarrassing stupor and you shove his chest out of the way and leave your bag on the step for him to bring in. He stumbles backward and laughs, holding the doorframe as you storm inside and wait for you to come in to grab your bag.

Oh, Elle Woods would be proud. He’s not doing the snap part, although Buck made him practice it because his pecs were glorious but you know what the bending part was just fine in his opinion and he waits a second until he knows you’re looking and bends over to grab your bag.

He shuts the door behind him and you’re concentrating very intently on everything but him. He winks when he walks by and you roll your eyes, feeling the flush creeping up your neck and begging it to just freaking go away.

“I’ll go put some clothes on and leave your bag on the bed. I made space in my dresser and closet if you want to unpack.”

“Uh- th-thank you. Thanks that’s nice.. thank you.”

“You’re welcome”

Eddie leaves you with a “Make yourself comfortable” and goes to get changed and you’re… left to be comfortable.

You snatch your phone from your back pocket and immediately text Buck, your fingers hover over the keyboard trying to decide just what to freaking say… hey bro Eddie totally answered the door in a towel! He’s got the fattest ass I’ve ever seen! and it turned me into the biggest puddle ever haha!!

Passenger Princess: Hey I made it to Eddie’s

Smokey The Bear: Okay ❤️ how’s it going?

Passenger Princess: Fine…

Smokey the Bear: Wow that sounds fine! 😀😀 I believe the words you have texted me!!

Passenger Princess: Die.

Passenger Princess: So like. Does your best friend just always like answer the door in a towel

Smokey The Bear: Literally genuinely actually yes. This is just something he freaking does. Did you see that man’s b o d y?

You stare at the text for a second, and you know Buck is waiting for those stupid little bubbles to stop bubbling but like- Yeah. Yeah, you did see it. And like-

Passenger Princess: Yeah

Now you’re watching those three dots and suddenly your phone starts ringing and fuck why is he calling??

“Hey, Buckykins” You hold your phone out and smile at him. He’s on his bed, buried in his squishmallows with a plate of nachos.

“Hey, bunny. So honestly you did not have the reaction I thought you would and I realized that cornering you like this is definitely the answer.”

You roll your eyes and crumple into the fluffy throw pillows behind you, slapping a hand over your face.

“Evan…”

“Eddie is the hottest guy I know and for you to be having zero reaction is wild”

“How do you know I was having zero reactions?”

“Because the last time we saw a hot guy together we literally had to calm each other down in the car and you had to stop me from going to get his number for us. So. Make with the reactions.”

“Okay fine!” You hiss under your breath, flapping your hands. “Okay!! Okay yeah, he’s- he’s???”

“Drop dead gorgeous.”

“That’s an understatement!! That’s the under-iest understatement! He bent over Buck, He bent over and I nearly had a heart attack. A heart attack!!”

He knows when you start repeating yourself you’re flustered. Like beyond flustered and suddenly his fingers are flying across the keyboard now as he listens to you ranting about how you could bounce a quarter off that ass or take a big ole bite out of it.

You’re just getting into detail about the exact way you’d convince him to let you peg him when your head snaps up to the sound of the bedroom door opening.

“I gotta go!” You whisper and Buck also scrambles to hang up. He blows you a kiss and promises to call you later and you giggle and hang up.

“Hey was that Buck?”

Eddie looks like a slut. Okay, that wasn’t nice but god did he look like a slut. You firmly believed men should never have stopped wearing crop tops. Like, ever.

His shirt stops mid-torso and you’re practically drooling. His sweatpants hang low on his waist, his slutty slutty little waist.

“Do you wanna take a picture?” He flexes his arms playfully and you hold your camera up, just spamming the button.

His head tips back when he laughs at the sound of the shutter and you keep going. Buck is going to eat these up.

“Anyway. Jesus, how many did you even take?” He comes over and takes your phone, scrolling through the camera roll to like 50 pictures of him standing there. He rolls his eyes, typing a couple of things, and then hands it back.

“You’re ridiculous” He tilts your chin up, kissing your forehead before letting you go and walking into the kitchen.

“Are you hungry? I was gonna make myself like a sandwich or something”

“A sandwich sounds fine!”

You fall back on the couch, kicking your legs and starting a new album to share with Buck, who immediately starts blowing up your phone and adding his own pictures to your new Eddie album.

Eddie smirks at your badly concealed squeal and tosses some cheese down. He’s squeezing chipotle sauce on the top bread when a loud bang startles him and he turns toward the living room.

“Uhhh Y/N?”

“….Yeah?”

“You uh- you good there?” He sets the bottle down and puts on the top pieces of bread.

“Yeahhh…”

“Okay…” his voice trails off and he grabs two sodas from the fridge “You want some chips?”

“Sure sounds great!”

“Uh-huh. Are you off the floor yet so I can come in? Or do you need a minute?”

“….I need a minute.”

Eddie is relentless with roasting your ass for rolling off the couch. He can’t help himself when he comes into the living room with the food and sees you sitting nicely on the couch with your hands in your lap. You have to get up and snatch the plates from his hands before he drops them.

He falls onto the couch still snickering and you slap at his thighs trying to get him to just shut up it wasn’t that freaking funny! Your cheeks are so pink with the embarrassment seeping through your pores and he tries his best to reign it in but you’re so cute when you’re like this and he eventually reaches out and pulls you into him.

“Awww I’m sorry okay okay I’ll stop I swear I’m done”

His chest is hard against your cheek, you can hear his heart beating under your ear, and his shallow pants from laughing so hard.

His bare skin is hot against yours, it’s smooth and even and sends shivers up your spine. He purposely arranges you so you’re pressed flat against him. He spreads his legs like the slut he is and you’re the one settling between them.

“Comfy?”

Oh, you just wanna slap that stupid grin off his face. Especially when his hands slide down over your side and splay flat across your back. He not so freaking subtly pushes you down against him, and you gasp, feeling the outline of his cock pressed into you.

“You ready to eat?” His hands slide further down your hips and rest on your ass, he ruts you against him and you shoot up from the couch and scramble off of him.

“Yup! Yeah! Uh huh sure.” You opt to sit on the floor and hand him his plate. You pop open the bag of Doritos and position them in the middle of the two of you and Eddie opens your sodas.

“Anything you wanna watch?” He’s still smiling when you look back to grab the remote from him and quickly turn back around.

“Uhhh sure I can look around…”

You turn on Jennifer’s body and in an almost hilarious turn of events Eddie doesn’t know whether to look at Megan Fox or you and you seem to be having the exact same problem, occasionally catching his eye and quickly turning away.

He convinced you to sit on the couch with him again and the one seat cushion between you two feels like seven thousand.

He’s been periodically texting Buck, who has been using this time to help come up with a ✨Super Secret Seduction✨ plan. Which starts with Eddie getting your ass back over to him.

He casually stretches out across the couch a bit, his leg draped on the couch next to you. He notices you take a peek before turning back to the movie and he grins.

He toys with the edge of the throw blanket slung over the couch and gets up.

“Hey, do you want a drink? Maybe some popcorn?”

“Uh- I’ll take a water if you have it. I don’t think I’ve drunk any today.”

He frowns because of course you freaking haven’t and shakes his head.

“Seventy-five waters coming up”

“Oh teehee,” you flick him off.

He goes into the kitchen, grabs a couple of waters from the fridge, and comes back in, but not before making a cute little stop at the thermostat.

He flops down on the couch and tosses you your bottle before turning his attention back to the movie.

“Can I use this?” Twenty minutes later you’re curled up tight in the corner of the couch. Eddie looks up at you for a second, just making out the dangerous silhouette of your body in the dark.

“Yeah… wait, here.” He pulls the blanket off the back of the couch and finally gets you to close the freaking gap between the two of you. He opens his arms and you easily come into them, settling into his side and he puts the blanket over the two of you. You’re too cold to think about the precarious position and he quickly plays the movie to distract from it even more.

Eddie's fingers trace over your arm, enjoying the soft skin. He draws little shapes and you snuggle deeper into him while watching the movie. You’re not sure when you take his other hand but suddenly it’s in yours and you’re cuddling and he’s so hard and warm and you’re so soft and cold and you fit together so nicely.

You can feel your heart racing in your chest as you start to pull away and sit up. He pauses the movie and the blanket falls from your shoulders. He looks at you, the movie screen highlighting the shadows on your face. He reaches out, cupping your cheek and rubbing his thumb over your cheekbone.

“You’re so pretty, you know that?”

Your cheeks immediately flush and suddenly he’s sitting closer to you. You can feel the heat from his body, and smell the minty scent of his toothpaste.

When did he brush his freaking teeth?

He smirks, coming so close to you that you start to lean back slowly away from him. He looks like a predator stalking his prey and it sends your pulse into orbit.

“I have a boyfriend…” You mutter, your breath catching in your throat and Eddie smirks, his eyes lazily trailing from your lips to your eyes.

“Yeah so do I”

“Oh!”

“Mhmm… But something tells me we’re talking about the same man…”

He leans in, his breath ghosting across your lips. He’s giving you a moment to pull away, a minute to maybe gather your thoughts. But he’s doing that thing he does, where he’s just so effortlessly Eddie and there’s not a single thought running through your brain.

When he sees you’re not moving away from him he finally leans in all the way. It’s a simple kiss, just kind of a test really. He slots his lips against yours, tangling his fingers in the back of your hair and pushing you just the littlest bit closer to him. He counts the seconds between him guiding you and when you actually finally get around to kissing him back, the shock finally wearing off.

Your arms wrap around his neck and he lays you back on the couch. Your hands are all over his chest, feeling him and his hands are feeling over your sides and you’re both just trying to feel as much of each other as possible.

He can’t get enough of you, he doesn’t want to stop, but he knows he has to. He and Buck made a plan and it’s going way faster than they expected it to. You taste so good, so sinfully good and he’s starting to wonder what else he could get away with tasting.

Eddie finally pulls away from you, panting harshly and trying to catch his breath before diving right back in when you finally break.

“O-oh, my god. I shouldn’t have just done that- no no no fuck. Shit.” You slide off the couch from under him trying to run from the living room and Eddie chases after you, grabbing your wrist.

“Wait wait wait” He pins you to the wall and you’re struggling against him, he can feel the panic flowing through you like it’s starting to transfer over to him.

“No! hell no!”

“Where are you even going?” He pins both your hands above your head and pulls his phone out. He holds it up to his ear, watching you trying to yank your wrists away and it crushes him.

“Hey! So- ow! Quit it!” Eddie uses his body to block your legs while you try to kick at him.

“Fuck just talk to your girlfriend! Please!” Eddie puts Buck on speaker and you stop.

“Buck?! I’m- I’m so sorry I-“

“Did you kiss Eddie?”

You swallow thickly and nod, unable to say anything and Eddie sighs into your shoulder as you start to melt against the wall in tears.

“Baby no- no it’s okay- fuck. Here.” He FaceTimes Eddie who passes you the phone. Buck’s face immediately crumples and he shakes his head, This was so not what they had planned and he’s starting to feel like this might have been a mistake.

“No please don’t cry no- this is not what we wanted! We just-“

“We?? Buck, what are you talking about?” You sniffle and wipe at your eyes and he sighs loudly. Eddie sits on the floor next to you, hesitantly scooting closer to you, your knees touch and the electric jolt that runs up your spine nearly makes you sick, sick from the way he makes you feel, from the way his cologne floods your senses the closer he gets.

It’s still sticking to your clothes.

“Y-you weren’t supposed to kiss him…yet” Buck admits shyly and you glare at the camera and Eddie sighs and leans back on his hands.

“So…we kinda planned this…” Eddie bites his lip “We thought that maybe… we could kinda convince you that uhhh… it might be you know a little fun if-“

“If you know the three of us kinda had a teeny tiny thing?” Buck finishes sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“You weren’t supposed to kiss him this soon, actually, in all honesty, we were really hoping you would anyway. Kinda make things a little smoother.”

“We just uh- didn’t anticipate the whole freak-out thing,” Eddie adds and now you’re left with their confession and deciding what the hell to do with it.

“You mean the entire reason Eddie has been being a total slut today-“

“Hey!”

“Is because you wanted me to fall for him so that way the three of us could be a thing??”

“Well, when you put it like that” Buck scoffs and Eddie rolls his eyes.

“You guys realized you could have just asked me right?? Buck, you do realize you could have just asked me? Instead of trying to seduce me?!”

“Well?! Are you??” He gestures and your jaw drops

“Now you decide to ask?! Now?!!”

“We wanted to romance you! Honestly, Y/N we wanted to romance you and seduce you and get you into a little stupefied ball and then fuck you together.” Eddie just spills the entire plan now because there’s no point in holding it back anymore especially since you’re already upset with them.

“Only you know it was gonna have way more finesse! Plus I was supposed to be home… we had an entire plan and then I got sent here. This was supposed to take a couple of months where I would then bring it up” Buck explains further and you’re absolutely reeling. You give the phone to Eddie and get up from the floor, brushing your legs off.

“I think I need some time to… process”

“Y/N?” Buck and Eddie say, but you walk into the bedroom quietly and shut the door behind you

“So I think she’s mad at us” Buck sighs and Eddie’s head smacks against the wall behind him.

“Yeah. I think she’s mad at us.”

Two and a half hours later there’s a soft knock at the door. You sigh and roll over on your side, facing the door.

“Go away, Eddie”

It’s quiet for a second before he knocks again.

“Eddie please N-not. Not now” You sit up, looking at the door. It was nice that he didn’t just come in anyway considering it was his home and his bedroom.

He knocks again and you roll your eyes and slide off the bed.

“You know you’re almost as freaking pushy as-“

Your breath catches in your throat, Buck is standing in the doorway. He looks exhausted nervous and fidgety.

“Evan?” Your voice cracks and he rushes into the room, his hands cupping your face and pressing his lips to yours. He kisses you messily, desperately shoving all his feelings and emotions into it. You stumble backward and your back hits the wall. He’s got your shirt off so fast it gives you whiplash and eventually you’re working on the button on his jeans.

He kicks them to the side, the sound of his belt buckle sliding against the floor not breaking the spell that seems to have a hold on you now. He yanks your skirt down your hips and it joins his clothes in a heap in the corner of Eddie’s room.

He picks you up and brings you over to the bed. The way he drops you on the bed finally knocks some sense into you and your hands slam into his shoulders as he climbs onto you. His weight settles, comfortable and warm between your legs and you can feel the heaviness of his cock pressing into your thin panties.

“You could have just asked me.”

“Please don’t break up with me.” Buck whimpers and your elbows bend. His chest falls against yours and you let out a little “oof”

“Please, please, please don’t break up with me. I should have just come to you, but- but it was supposed to be over a long period of time! We wanted to take it easy with you and give you time to even consider it! But I know it was wrong”

“You wanted to romance me?” You raise an eyebrow with a little smirk and the deep pit of dread in Buck’s stomach lightens just a little bit.

“Our whole plan was for Eddie to start hitting on you, it would just be soft and subtle… and when he’d come over for you know dinners and movie nights he was supposed to sit close to you and put his arm around you…”

“Until eventually I caught feelings?” You scoffed lightly and he nodded

“Y-yeah? I knew you would. I know you better than you know yourself… I just- didn’t think you already had them? I’m not mad you do! Cause… clearly so do I…”

“So what? You want to date Eddie and me??”

“It doesn’t need to be like that if that’s not what you want… Eddie is perfectly content just being our friend and I’m okay with that too… is that what you want? For it to just be me and you?”

“This was a very very sneaky plan, Evan Buckley.” You scold him and he whines and literally just crushes you with his body.

“Please don’t break up with me.”

“And don’t hate me?” Eddie stands in the doorway and you sigh with a little smile and hold out your hand, inviting him in.

“You drove two hours to come see if I was okay?”

Eddie settles on his side on the bed, his fingers coming up to write lazy shapes against your skin.

“Uh- n-not exactly” Buck Stammers “See- I didn’t… drive here”

“You should see the mountain of sweets he brought home with him,” Eddie mumbles and you look up at Buck again.

“How did you get here?”

“I uhhh… called in a favor from my ex-boyfriend? I baked like a madman and then made him come get me real quick.”

“How many times is he going to steal that helicopter” Eddie mutters and you stare at Buck with wide eyes, your mouth pops open and he smirks, closing it with one finger.

“He wants to meet you sometime, and if you’re gonna be hanging with the team while I’m gone you probably will at some point…”

“We don’t like him anymore” Eddie whispers and you nod along, Buck rolls his eyes.

“Thank you both for your support… anyway. Yeah, things didn’t… really go as planned but they also kind of did? Because this was the outcome we wanted but you know in a good way not in the accidental shitty way we created”

Buck finally stops squishing you and lies to your side, mirroring Eddie’s relaxed stance and Eddie.

“Please don’t hate us”

“I don’t hate you… I just. This was stupid and admittedly I feel really guilty for kissing Eddie and-“

Buck reaches out and grabs Eddie’s shirt, yanking him almost against his chest while they both hover over you. He kisses Eddie, letting their tongues tangle for a moment before pulling away from him and pushing him back across the bed.

You stare between the two of them, not even attached to your body anymore and just floating around in the empty space in the room.

“Now we’re even” Buck shrugs. Oh boy if that’s all it took to take your guilt away…

“We’re even?” You repeat and he takes your hand, his lips ghosting over the back of it.

“Yup. Like I said-“

Eddie kisses the back of your other palm and your head bounces over to him now.

“It was our plan.”

Suddenly the fact that you and Buck are both very much almost fully naked comes back to mind.

Suddenly Eddie is wearing too many clothes.

You look over at him, your eyes softly lidded and he gets up from the bed, removing his shirt and letting it drop to the floor. Two pairs of eyes are glued to him as he hooks his thumbs in his waistband, running his thumbs along it before turning around and sliding them over his ass.

He turns back and he’s left in those stupid boxers that do absolutely nothing to hide the raging hard-on in his pants. God, he’s big, so, so big, and you and Buck are left drooling over him.

He turns around again and stares you in the eyes, giving you both the perfect view of his ass, and slowly slides his boxers down with a little wiggle of his hips.

“I’m like 90% sure I just came” Buck gulps and you nod along with him.

“Same.”

Eddie grins and slowly turns around for you, revealing his aching cock. It stands so thick and hard at attention, dripping precum onto the floor.

“Like what you see?”

Eddie climbs on the bed, slowly crawling toward you and you scramble backward, crashing into Buck’s chest. He laughs and wraps his arms around you, locking you in place.

“Let me go!” You squeak and Buck manhandles you into his lap properly, sticking you between his thick thighs.

“Why? When I could watch you be tortured?”

“You are such a cuck” You hiss as Eddie approaches and he snickers.

“Damn straight”

He holds you with one arm and takes your bra off, grinning wolfishly at the way your tits bounce. He lifts your hips enough for Eddie to slide off your panties, he looks at them, admiring the damp spot left there, and inhales deeply.

“Fuck you smell so good” He groans deeply and holds them up for Buck who sniffs them too.

“Good enough to eat”

“You’re both perverts!” You huff and Eddie rolls his eyes.

“And you talk too much”

He stuffs the panties in your mouth and you thrash in Buck’s arms again, tasting yourself with every shake of your head.

“Would you settle down already!” Buck shakes you lightly and you whimper and push yourself against his chest.

“There you go baby girl that’s it, just relax. Daddy’s gonna make you feel so good, I promise.”

Buck twitches against your back and you look up at him with your eyes narrowed.

“What?! You liked it too…” He mutters and you giggle around the panties in your mouth.

“Don’t worry, Daddy will make you feel good too” He pats Buck’s cheek and you snicker when you feel him melt against you.

Eddie instructs Buck to spread your legs over his and he does eagerly. Your heart pounds in your chest, your entire body open and on display for Eddie. He stares down at your pussy hungrily, his mouth-watering.

He leans forward on his hands and knees, settling down on his elbows, and nuzzles his nose between your lips. He brushes your clit and your hips jerk against his face involuntarily. He chuckles deeply at the blush on your cheeks and Buck’s hands slide over your torso and cup your breasts. He kneads the soft skin in his hands, bouncing them in your face and tugging at your nipples.

You’re so overwhelmed by the pain that turns into pleasure that you don’t notice the hitch in Buck’s breath. You don’t notice him tensing until suddenly he’s inside you, your head falls weakly back against his shoulder and Eddie grins, sliding Buck’s cock deeper inside you.

“Don’t you look so pretty with Buck’s cock inside you? Oh, you’re such a pretty little thing.”

You wriggle in Buck’s lap, your clit throbbing as you whine and grind your hips down on his cock. He gasps and thrusts his hips and you shudder, Eddie is a mess watching the two of you trying to be on your best behavior for him.

“Fuck this is better than I thought it would be”

He’s done talking and teasing now. He kisses your pussy with an open mouth kiss. He hums deeply against your clit, letting it vibrate through your hot core.

Eddie enjoys every noise he pulls from you. Your sweet little moans and whimpers, he could feel the way your fingers tangle almost desperately in his hair, holding him closer as he eats you out like his favorite meal.

He was so different from Buck, not that that was an issue in the least, but he just was. He was slow and methodical, categorizing each stroke of his tongue and what kinds of sounds he could get out of you. His favorite was the sound you and Buck made together when he sucked on the point where the two of you met with him buried deep inside you.

“W-what about you?” Buck whimpers and Eddie looks up into your eyes, watching them roll back in your head.

“You think you could handle a different position, pretty girl?”

He pulls the panties from your mouth and tosses them to the floor and reaches up for you. Buck helps maneuver you down so you’re lying across Eddie’s torso. He gets on his knees, sinking further inside you and you shudder, grinding your hips down.

You squeak, coming into contact with Eddie’s waiting mouth. He moans and grabs your hips, yanking you down harder.

“Come on baby girl, use me. Use my face for your pleasure.”

You roll your hips again, a little harder this time, and moan, letting your head fall forward. Your cheek brushes against his cock and you look at it, hard and glistening with precum. You reach out and slowly stroke it, just feeling him, hot and heavy in your hand.

“Go on” Buck encourages you “Fuck I wanna see you swallow his cock. Please, Bunny? Please?”

How could you say no to him begging like that?

You blow on the tip gently, the cool air making Eddie’s hips twitch. You smirk and lick a long, slow stripe up the center of his cock, softly kissing right before the tip and moan, rolling your hips more.

He lets out a low moan and you make out with the tip, kissing it sloppily and sucking it. The feel of your little pink tongue teasing his slit is almost too much and his hips jerk into your mouth.

You make a garbled-choking noise and struggle for a second, swallowing around his cock and he melts into your mouth. Now he’s rolling his hips with yours mimicking your moves and fucking your mouth.

You’re not sure who you’re more distracted by, Buck or Eddie but your eyes roll back in your head and Eddie holds you down harder and you’re sure you’re suffocating him and he does not fucking care, he would happily die between your legs.

Your body shudders and your hips start to lose their rhythm and Buck slams into you, shoving his cock in as far as he can and cums in you, he starts to fuck you faster chasing his high, and pulls away quickly.

You choke around Eddie’s cock again and dig your nails into his thighs, your entire body grinds against him as you cum on his lips. He lets out a guttural moan, licking up every last drop and messily kissing your pussy. Your thighs shake from the overstimulation and he smirks, grabbing your hips and suddenly rolling you over so he’s laying on top of you now, he fucks your face, shoving his cock down your throat as far as he can, and his balls cover your nose while your claws hook into his ass.

He keeps cleaning you up, licking all of your and Buck’s combined juices while he uses your face now. The sound of you choking and struggling to take him all sends him over the edge and he’s coming down your throat. He gasps raggedly, swearing and saying your name over and over like a prayer until he’s empty.

He falls over onto the bed, kissing your thigh and Buck leans over and tilts your head up, kissing your sore neck and cooing sweet praises before you pass out.

When you wake up, Buck is gone. Eddie has his arms wrapped tightly around your waist, his face nuzzled into your neck.

You blink sleepily, stretching out your arms and legs like a dog on its side, and relax. There’s a pink note on the pillow next to you and you reach for it, unfolding the heart origami with a giggle.

You hold the note to your chest and turn over in Eddie’s arms to lie on your back. He whines and buries his face deeper in your neck, throwing his arm over your torso.

“I’m not ready to wake up” His voice is so deep and gravelly in your ear it sends a shiver up your spine. You reach out and wrap your arms around his neck and he buries his face in your chest. His hand feels your side, gently kneading it. He places soft kisses across your chest and you smile, running your fingers through his hair.

“Good evening” You purr and he looks up at you, resting his chin on your chest.

Fuck he’s pretty like this.

“Good evening…How’re you feeling?” He rests his head on one of your breasts and your cheeks flush a bit.

“Fine…kinda sore not gonna lie. Geez you two put me through the wringer. What time is it anyway?”

“Like one or something. I wanted to be gentle… I wanted to take my time with you, show you how pretty I think you are.”

“Even if you weren’t treating me like a precious flower, I still felt really pretty and really really good”

Eddie listens to you, his eyes softly closing again with a contented little smile on his face. He reminds you a lot of a cat, especially when he’s practically purring while you’re massaging his scalp.

His soft moans are so freaking cute you don’t want to stop. You continue to rake your fingers through his hair and he sighs dreamily.

“You wanna go take a bath?” You ask quietly and he opens one eye

“A bath?”

“We have to clean up anyway… and I can shampoo your hair for you. I’ll even condition it afterward.”

“A bath it is”

It’s when he’s in the tub, lounging in your lap while you run the shampoo through his hair, Eddie realizes he’s embarrassingly touch-starved. And you realize that all the product he puts in his hair hides the soft waves that he has.

He leans back into you, enjoying your plush body up against his, and the relaxing warmth of the water surrounding him. It’s moments like these he could just float away when he can’t hear his head telling him he’s stupid to get involved with you and Buck and that it’ll just end in heartbreak.

It’s so easy to ignore those thoughts and listen to what his heart wants… what did his heart want? For sure for you to never stop touching him, to never take your magic hands away and leave him feeling cold and ill at ease.

But what about Buck? They’d made this entire plan sure, but what did he want from him? Maybe the same thing? Maybe this bath didn’t exactly feel quite complete with a third of his heart missing.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

You break the silence with your soft voice and Eddie is transported back to the bathroom. You’re washing his chest with a loofah and he realizes he has no idea when you rinsed his hair and moved on.

“I think I really like you and Buck. I think I want this” He admits, and something in him, deep down and buried away seems to just- leave. Suddenly he feels lighter and safer? Maybe? He doesn’t know but for the first time in a long time he’s being honest with himself and he’s okay.

“Wasn’t it supposed to be my decision? If I wanted this too? I thought you two had already worked this out.”

Your tone is lighthearted and so he decides that you’re being playful and he doesn’t allow that deep-seated panic to rear its ugly head.

“Okay well-“ He starts “Technically we did decide but… You know when you said you felt guilty? And Buck kissed me to make it even?”

You pour water over his chest “Yeah?”

“That was our first kiss”

You flinch and accidentally pour the water on his face and he splutters and sits up, running his hand down his face and flicking the water away.

“Jesus-“

“That was your first kiss?!”

“Uh yeah? We knew we wanted to be together too but we needed to know how you felt first… like I said. I was perfectly okay with us all still just being friends if you weren’t.”

“You mean to tell me-“ You put your hands out “that you and Buck had your first kiss right in front of my salad and you didn’t think, “Hey let’s tell Y/N so she can get the camera ready”?!”

Eddie stares at you for a minute before he bursts out laughing.

“Seriously?! After all of this, that’s your issue??”

“The two hottest men I know, who are my official boyfriend’s kiss for the first time and you think I didn’t want to savor that?!”

“Oh I’m so sorry, would you like me to make sure our next make-out session is on camera?” Eddie sasses you and you splash him

“With mood lighting!”

He reaches out and grabs your waist, pulling you into his lap.

“I promise next time I’ll film it for you, and we’ll make it extra hot just for you.” He nuzzles his nose against yours and you giggle, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Okay cool, I trust you”

“Good girl” He growls, cupping your face and kissing you and you lean into him, nipping at his bottom lip and getting him to open his mouth. He stares at you, his eyes wide open and you blink, your heart racing in your chest as you stare into his eyes.

He keeps his tongue tangled with yours, lapping at your mouth and your face heats up so quickly that you yank away from him and squeak.

“Eddie!!”

“Awwww you don’t like eye contact? Poor thing”

He doesn’t sound very apologetic and it makes you crinkle your nose at him and flick him off. He grins wickedly and captures your lips again, this time cupping the back of your head and keeping you right where he wants you.

“Oh, I’m going to enjoy you sleeping over so often.”

It’s been another month, and having to live two hours away from your brand-new boyfriend and sort of brand-new girlfriend is just about the worst form of torture there is probably.

Especially when they’ve taken to sending you videos.

All.

Day.

Long.

They were cute at first, adorable even! Eddie sent him videos of you doing a little happy dance over your enchiladas, one where you’re curled up tight and hiding behind a pillow when he made you watch a horror movie. His favorite is when you’ve got your head in his lap, and he’s gently stroking your hair while you sleep.

That’s where the cuteness ended.

Because this morning he woke up to three videos from Eddie, and he didn’t have time to open them before work so he just oh so innocently, opened them during his lunch break.

You’re splayed out on the bed, your back arched while Eddie slowly thrusts in and out of you. The sounds of his cock sliding in and out of your soaked pussy nearly has him cumming at the table.

Your soft moans break him out of the absolute trance your cunt has him in and he shrieks, his phone bouncing from hand to hand before clattering to the floor.

“Uhhh, you good Buckley?”

Jeremiah looks at him as he walks into the dining area, salad in hand.

“I’m fine!! Fine-fine-fine!” His voice cracks and he falls to his knees, reaching for his phone under the table. You’re moaning louder now, and he can just hear Eddie praising you, calling you a good little girl, and teasing your clit.

“Are- are you watching-“

“No!! No, it’s not! Fuck shit f-“ He smacks the phone with his hand, willing it to just shut up, and eventually gets the video turned off.

He shoots up straight as an arrow and puts his hands on his hips.

“I’m good”

You and Eddie receive a very long, very embarrassed text from him later that evening.

Buck walks into his stupid, cold, lonely apartment and throws his bag down. He sighs and crashes onto the fluffy couch with all the squishmallows he’d been moving around and slaps his hands onto his face.

Just a few more weeks and he’d be back home.

He didn’t like being alone like this, it gave him way too much time to think, and lowkey he didn’t mean for his mind to wander to the things it did but what could he do?

Because as much as he loved himself now and his friends and you, he was worried that like… maybe you guys would forget about him. Maybe you’d think hey we’re not really lacking anything in our lives with ole Buck gone!

And even if he knew that wasn’t true and that this was definitely just his insecurities screaming at him… it still really sucked.

“You’re such a baby? You really can’t be alone for more than a week huh?” Eddie scoffs and Bucks' eyes shoot open. Eddie is leaning against the wall, watching his little pity party on the couch.

“Eddie? Oh god. Oh my god, am I seeing you? Did I lose my mind?!” He whispers, his hands feeling his face.

“OOoOooOo I’m gonna haunt youuuu”

He deadpans and you pop out from behind Eddie.

“It’s me!! Y/N! As a human, not a ghost!!”

He throws his arms open and you tackle him backward onto the couch. He laughs loudly and squeezes you tightly, Eddie comes over and tilts his head up, kissing his nose and he smiles at him.

“How did you two even get in?!” He presses his lips to yours and you moan, attacking him back and running your fingers through his curls.

“You didn’t know your girlfriend could pick locks?” Eddie grabs you by the waist and tosses you onto the couch and you scream.

He pushes your head back when you try and tackle him and straddles Buck’s lap, that stops you cold for a minute and he smirks at you before cupping his cheeks and kissing him.

They hadn’t had much time together after that night and he was going to make up for it as much as he could in that moment. You fall back on your butt on the couch and Eddie winks at you.

“Might wanna get that camera out sweet girl”

“Wait why would she-“

Eddie cuts him off, pressing his lips against Buck’s. The sexual tension between them escalates to an overwhelming extent as their tongues clash. Eddie tilts his head, lifting his body a bit higher, and grinds down on Buck’s cock.

Buck whimpers into his mouth and grabs his hips, pulling him down against him harder as Eddie rolls his hips.

Your jaw drops and you fumble for your phone, leaning back on the couch armrest and filming your boys with wide eyes.

Eddie is a passionate man, because he’s also Hispanic and that doesn’t surprise you in the least. The way he holds Buck close to him, moaning into his mouth and occasionally muttering about how gorgeous he is… You can feel yourself dripping just watching them.

“I love you” Eddie blurts out, and Buck freezes for a second, smirking.

“I know”

Buck tugs at the hem of Eddie’s shirt and he smiles, easily pulling it over his head Buck gasps quietly, biting his lip as he takes in the soft expanse of his beautifully tan skin.

“Fuck you’re the second prettiest person I know” Buck mumbles and Eddie snorts.

“Who’s the first?”

“Genuinely hurt you’d ask him that” You scoff and Buck blows you a little kiss making Eddie laugh.

“You should take your shirt off” Eddie smirks at you resting his head against Bucks.

“Why would you tell her to do that?” Buck whines and you giggle and set your phone down

“I’ll do you one better” You take off your shirt, letting your bra come with it, and settle back in.

“Now let’s see how long he lasts” You purr, grabbing your phone again and Eddie turns back to a distressed-looking Buck.

“You gonna be our good boy baby? You gonna be able to control yourself?”

“When I thought about being with the two of you, none of that involved me being tortured like this!”

You look up from the camera “Wait really? Not one of those fantasies were Eddie and I working against you and admitting he loved you??”

“I’m pretty sure they were all of us working against him” Eddie mutters against the shell of his ear before kissing his neck. Buck melts into the couch with a pretty sigh and his grip on Eddie’s hips tightens.

“Yeah okay 73% of them was definitely this” He admits and you kick at his thigh with a laugh.

“We should take this to the bedroom” Eddie drags his tongue along the vein in his neck and Buck ruts against him.

“O-okay”

You shriek in delight as Buck stands up with Eddie in his arms and carries him toward the bedroom, they both laugh at you while you do a little shimmy because Jesus Christ you could just stare at them all day.

“You’re a mess” Buck laughs and tosses Eddie onto the bed and you shut the door, leaning against it.

“When I give you this video? You’re gonna be doing the exact same thing”

Buck watches you walk across the room and over to a tripod. You click on the ring light and he splutters, his mouth falling open.

“When?!”

“When we broke in” Eddie shrugs like it’s freaking nothing.

“We thought it would help ease those lonely nights” You giggle and turn on the first camera, positioning it toward the bed.

“We’ve already filmed the first part for you” You wink and Buck melts into the bed dramatically.

“And now we’re here to finish the movie” Eddie reaches out for him.

“If you’re comfortable with this. If not we can just get rid of this entire thing” You turn on the second freaking camera on the other side of the room and Buck is spinning.

“No-no! It’s okay! I’m sooo okay with this oh god. You two are serious about this.” Buck settles on top of Eddie, kissing his neck and Eddie slides his hands down his hard back, feeling his muscles and gripping his round ass.

“Of course we are… this is just a little something to help you get through being here without us… we can make a new one every time we come visit if you’re up for it.”

“And when you come back-“ You let your skirt drop and Bucks eyes go wide as saucers. The tiny thong you’re wearing doesn’t even fully cover you, he can see your slick glistening on your thighs.

“We can use my studio to make better quality videos”

“That okay with you?” Eddie reaches down and starts to unbutton Buck's jeans. You help him out of them before crawling onto the bed behind him. Your arms wrap around his torso, your hands splaying over his pecs.

“We just want you to be comfortable” You kiss his shoulder blades and he whimpers, grinding down on Eddie.

“J-just- Jesus fuck just tell me what to do. I’ll do anything”

“That’s my good boy, my sweet Evan.” Eddie praises him and you giggle and slide your hands down, and take his cock in your hands. You stroke him slowly, running your other hand over his balls and squeezing them lightly.

“I told you he gives in easily when you’re pushing the right buttons.”

He can’t even be mad at that because you’re so painfully right he can’t even be embarrassed about it. He tilts his head back, letting out a low moan when Eddie circles his cock around Buck’s puckered hole, just teasing him while you work his cock in your hands.

He leans over, planting his hands on Eddie’s chest and panting. He ruts into your hands and you bite your lip and take one hand away and grab Eddie’s cock now, stroking the impressive length in time with Buck’s.

“You think you can take him?” You ask quietly and Buck nods eagerly

“I can do it, I’ve- I’ve been uh-“

“Oh we know” You whisper “You still have it stuck to your shower wall you know”

His cheeks flush a deep pink and he buries his face in Eddie’s neck with a shy whimper.

“Oh come on!”

“I swear I’d only gone in there to pee!!” You laugh and take Eddie’s cock, stroking it again before patting Buck’s ass.

“Turn around baby, I want you inside me at the same time.”

A shiver goes through his body and he shudders, turning around like you asked him and looking up at you for a second. You smirk and pull him closer to you, rubbing your tits against his face.

“Fuck you’re such a little bitch” Eddie pants, running his hands over his hard ass and smacking it. Buck yelps and he does it again, enjoying the way it jiggles.

“Good boy Evan… now go on, show Y/N how hard you are for her.”

“I’m so glad you didn’t just say mommy” Buck snickers and it makes you snort with him.

“I would have busted before we even got started.”

He helps you lie down, dipping his head down to lap at the mess between your thighs, cleaning you up sloppily and leaving your legs shaking.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Buck kisses up your body, enjoying the salty taste of your skin, and the heady scent of your perfume. Eddie positions himself behind Buck and drags his cock between his cheeks one last time before lining up with his hole.

“You ready?” He asks both of you and Buck copies Eddie, dragging his cock between your folds and coating it in your juices before lining himself up with your dripping pussy.

“I’m so ready” He purrs and you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him flush against your chest.

“Ready,” you say and suddenly Eddie is slamming into Buck which makes him slam into you even harder and you all moan loudly together.

“Jesus Christ you’re so tight” Eddie stumbles forward a little, pushing deeper into Buck who pushes deeper into you and your legs come up, locking around his waist with a soft keening noise.

Eddie grabs Buck’s hips, gripping them tightly and pulling him back onto his cock. Buck whimpers in your ear, placing wet kisses along your jaw and down your neck and you lift your hips meeting each of their thrusts.

There’s almost too much going on for you to really focus on so you’re left in a dazed little heap with both men over you and they can practically see the little heart’s radiating in your eyes.

“Fuck you look so pretty” Buck coos, kissing the valley between your breasts “Look at you pretty baby, you like it when we fuck you stupid? You want me to cum in you? Would that make you happy?”

Your blatant incoherence drives Eddie wild, nothing but soft moans and little mewls come from you and the more condescending Buck sounds the harder Eddie thrusts into him and soon you’re all moaning and he doesn’t know how much longer he’s going to last.

How much longer any of you are going to last.

“Such a pretty little cocksleeve” They sloppily make out and it sends Eddie over the edge. He groans loudly, pounding into Buck and shoving his cock in as deep as he can go. You shriek under them both, your back arching high into Buck’s body and now you’re cumming with Eddie.

Buck loses all sanity the second he feels Eddie shooting his cum deep inside his tight ass and your pussy gripping him like a vice, milking him for all he’s worth. He knows he’s gonna get a noise complaint from his neighbors, these walls aren’t too terribly thick.

Eddie kisses the scratches you’ve left on Buck’s shoulder blades before pulling out.

“Ohh my god” you whimper breathlessly feeling Eddie’s cum sliding from Buck’s hole and dripping down to your pussy. You feel it mixing with Buck’s cum sliding down onto the bed and you cum again, your body writhing against Buck’s.

Eddie falls onto the bed next to the both of you, panting and reaching out for you. Buck falls away and you drag yourself into Eddie’s arms.

“I feel like I say this too much. But I don’t think I can feel my dick.”

You giggle into Eddie’s shoulder and Buck wraps his arms around your waist, snuggling with you.

“He’s not wrong” Eddie runs a hand over his face “Fuck I need an ice cream cone”

“I thought it was supposed to be a cigarette?” Buck snickers

“Literally none of us smoke” You flick his hand and he takes yours, kissing the back of it dramatically.

“But…yeah I could go for ice cream.”

“So we’re getting ice cream? That’s the plan?” Buck takes his phone from the bedside table and starts looking for places and you turn around toward Eddie now, pushing your ass back against him and he smirks and holds your hips

“I’m kinda hungry too”

“Okay, so burgers?” He taps on his phone screen and Eddie nods

“Burgers. Did you want to go out or should we go get it and bring it home?”

“Bring it home” You pout “There’s no way I’m getting out of bed for at least three hours”

“I’ll keep that in mind too” Eddie smirks and kisses your nose “Love you pretty girl” He mumurs against your lips and your eyes widen.

“I love you too” You whisper back, You reach for Buck’s hand, pulling it to your lips.

Buck fake sniffles, wiping little crocodile tears.

“I love you too bros”

“I can’t believe you’re making me watch this”

Once they come back with the food Buck brings you into the living room wrapped up in a blanket. He sets you up with a little tray of your food and surrounds you with another fluffy blanket and three of his squishmallows.

They’d gone to your favorite diner and Eddie had to fight you not to ruin your appetite and have dinner before dessert. If the burgers weren’t so good you would have crawled over to the freezer yourself and gotten it out anyways.

Buck was very much for watching you crawl on your hands and knees.

Eddie sits next to you, getting comfy and handing you the remote and you scroll through Hulu while you wait for Buck to get his stuff together.

“You know what you should put on?” He comes into the living room with his food and plops down next to you.

“Already looking”

You wriggle excitedly and press play and Buck pops a fry in his mouth.

“Are you shitting me” Eddie watches the opening to Dirty Dancing playing and you and Buck both laugh at him.

“It’s our favorite!!” You squeal and Buck reaches over and gives him a fry for payment.

“She carries a watermelon!”

Eddie pretends for all of 20 minutes that he can’t stand that you’re both making him watch this movie. He acts like his feet aren’t tapping to the beat and like he doesn’t enjoy you and Buck mouthing almost every single freaking line.

Eventually, he’s got a pillow in his lap and he’s studying the screen intently.

“Oh god she cannot dance” Eddie cringes and you and Buck give each other a look. He’s totally hooked.

“Does Penny die?”

“We’re not telling you” Buck sips his drink.

“Wait- so?? Robbie’s an asshole?”

“Oh definitely!” You lay your head on his shoulder.

“….Does Penny die?”

“We’re not telling you! Quit asking!” Buck reaches over and shoves him away and Eddie shoves him back.

Eddie won’t admit his favorite part was when they’re dancing together and how their relationship changes during it, how he bites his lip thinking about having you pressed into his body like that because lord knows you dance better… How it reminds him of how much your relationship has changed.

By the end of the movie, Buck has spilled the beans on Eddie’s dancing background and now he and Buck are preparing to do the lift.

“If you don’t catch me I will actually kill you” Buck warns him, his back against the front door.

Eddie looks around at the space they’ve cleared and shrugs.

“If I don’t catch you you’ll be dead. Now shut up and run.”

Buck has to fight the urge to Naruto run, and jumps into Eddie’s arms.

You’re screaming, Buck is screaming and Eddie is spinning him around.

“Tell me you’re getting all of this” He yells, his arms out like he’s flying and you’re absolutely losing it while holding up the camera.

“This is the coolest thing ever!!!”

Eddie sets Buck down and he immediately collapses to the floor.

“That was the single greatest experience of my entire life.”

You go to sit on him and Eddie grabs your hand, spinning you away from him and pointing you toward the front door.

“Your turn Baby”

After both Buck and Eddie finally coax you into doing the freaking lift and Buck was right it was the greatest experience of your life Eddie forces you all into bed. Because it’s almost two in the morning and you two planned a surprise day with Buck.

Buck crawls into bed and lies out like a starfish, waiting for you and Eddie to come into the bedroom.

He couldn’t have dreamed of a better way to come home from work, than getting his brains fucked out. He can’t wait for this kind of thing to happen on the regular.

Sometimes Buck thought about the beginning of the three of you being together. He should have just asked you outright, he still apologized whenever he thought about it…. But now you three were here and in this moment together and he knew it was love.

The best part was knowing you two felt the same way.

Just as soon as he’s home he’s forcing you to move in with him so he can pin you to the bed and take you whenever he wants. Come to think of it… Eddie’s house place had more space…

“Penny for your thoughts?” Eddie’s got you on his back, he carries you over to the bed and dumps you onto the bed in a little pile. You giggle and set your stuff up on the nightstand while he walks around to the other side.

“Only a few more weeks” He smiles brightly, looking at you and then at Eddie and you smile softly, The love and adoration pouring from his soul makes your heart skip a beat.  

Eddie hits the lights and you snuggle into his side putting your head on one half of his chest and draping your arm across his torso. Eddie gets into the same position and you reach out, tangling your fingers in his hair.

Buck sighs softly, looking at the two people he loves the most in this world… if you guys were so dead set on visiting every chance you got maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

“I promise.” 

[pomegranate-fawn]

Weekly Update: ?!

Hiiiiii. Not a lot happened this week but I’m slowly becoming more emotionally stable so that’s like awesome! I was worried I’d only get worse and I am by no means in a great place, but just doing my best is all that I can. And I’m managing to keep my head above water so I should be a bit kinder to myself!

This is your only sneak peak at my super awesome and totally original story, Dear Nightingale. I left my bedroom to make some tea and when I returned I saw my cat sitting at my tablet like she was the one writing! I was really endeared by this and had to get a photo! I am on chapter 11 of this silly story and I’ve written over 36k words so far…It’s not even halfway done. I’m structuring it in books so this is just book one then I’ll move onto book two. I guess the reason I’m a bit shy about sharing it isn’t even the fact that I was inspired by Black Butler, it’s more so that in the past I knew a lot of people who claimed to be my friends and then would legit just take my OCS and stories from me. I’m not talking like oh I made a egl oc and then they did, it was like I made an egl oc named Chloe who had blue hair and a pet crow and then one of my friends would just draw her and be like “guys look at my new egl oc named Chole, she has blue hair and a pet crow”. And I wasn’t a great artist so often times I’d get harassment despite me being the original creator and it pushed me to give up on art, even now I’m still fearful that someone cooler or more popular than me will see my ideas and take them and I’ll somehow be called the copycat. But I promiseeeee I’ll try sharing my original works more!!!

I stated last week that I may stop my playthrough of Crimson Flower and I did. When I first got FE3H I was playing the game with two ex friends, one of them insisted to do Black Eagles, the other swooped in and declared herself the ultimate Blue Lions fan (she’s not she literally doesn’t even get Dimitri but whatever) and I was left with Claude. These two people were always so weird about claiming things as theirs and only theirs, it’s so strange looking back on it cause like even at my most defensive I’ve never been that way. Anyways jokes on them cause I ended up loving Claude and more over, Verdant Wind with my heart. I’m replaying it then I plan to do Crimson Flower then finally Azure Moon. A fire emblem compliment sandwich as I call it. I’m sorry I’m just not the biggest Edelgard fan but I may revoke that opinion after playing Crimson flower! But for now I want something I’m familiar with. SPEAKING OF FAMILIAR!

So I do plan to make a video (maybe just a dedicated post) to my mugs but I wanted to share one of my prized possessions! So I rlly love Rilakkuma and his little friend Korilakkuma. But finding merch of them I like it a bit tricky. While I love cute things I’m not a big fan of the “make something pink now it’s cute!” aesthetic that a lot of Sanrio and San-X characters usually have in merch. If a design is cute then it’s cute! It was hard to find a mug that wasn’t just that vibe until I found this. This mug wasn’t sold but was rather part of a lottery done at Lawson, a convince store in Japan. The lottery was held in 2011 and offered a few different merch offerings. Finding these mugs in good condition and for cheap was not easy. Listen unless a mug is really special I’m not paying a lot for it, like would I love to have the offical Funtom company tea cup and saucer? Oh absolutely. Am I paying over 200 for it from a scalper on eBay? No, not even a consideration. But I managed to snag both the Rilakkuma and Korilakkuma mugs for 20 bucks! Considering their age, quality, and relatively rare production, I consider it a good deal. Fun fact, just like how Korilakkuma is a little bit smaller than Rilakkuma in official art and merch, the Korilakkuma mug is a bit smaller than the Rilakkuma mug, I nearly sobbed at that!

This week I watched The Last Unicorn since I had only seen the first ten minutes one time in a doctor’s office. I don’t really know what to say about it. It’s such a strange film, I really loved it but it was just…like I said, it’s hard to articulate my feelings. It felt like a dream, not a fever dream but rather a dream that brings you joy and yet when it’s over, you wake up in a cold sweat, your heart isn’t racing but you still feel like you lost something as your dream slowly fades from you. It’s given me some ideas for my current writing which makes me happy. Now going onto a different topic, I wanted to talk briefly about fanfiction.

I studied English literature and got my B.A. in it and a minor in Queer studies. I believe fanfiction is important and is literature, but with that being said I think it’s limiting. I find that so many people just write fanfiction not because they like to but because they’re afraid to branch out and attempt to tell their own story. It’s bad in the fire emblem and twst fandoms, where people just write fanfiction and completely misinterpret a character to the point where they’re bastardized or repetitive. I think more people need to not only read literature outside of fanfiction but also just write what they want. It’s scary to write and not know if anyone will like it let alone read it, when writing for fandom you have a built in audience and it can provide a bit of a safety net, but sometimes it’s best to just branch out! Idk just my thoughts…I think so many people are deeply creative and I love seeing their oc’s so it makes me sad whenever someone who tries to do oc art eventually stops and either stops posting all together or only draws fanart…anyways music and video time!

I need to inject this song into my veins I need all of the Fullmetal alchemist cd’s so badly I may die!!! I love fma and fmab and the music is a big reason! It’s always so perfect, like I don’t know any other word for the ost other than perfect! I wish FMA wasn’t forgotten about except for when people wanna bring up female mangaka, I think it’s incredible that one of my favorite and first animes was made by a woman but FMA is so much more than a manga made by a woman. It’s a story about tragedy, war, violence, humanity, it’s beautiful. Though pls start with FMA if you plan to watch then watch fmab, just trust me…

I still start my morning with music videos and I also play them when I’m doing my daily yoga, it makes me feel like I’m at a fancy yoga studio and not in the front room of my house! I wanted to highlight a video from Duran Duran’s golden era! When I came out as lesbian to my mother (rather when I came out AGAIN to her at 20) she told me to watch this music video. I think this was her way of being like “I support lesbians” and recently she even told me she wants me to be the best lesbian to ever exist so even though she can still be weird with my sexuality she tried to find a way to connect with me. But I wanted to highlight this music video cause Duran Duran made a whole music video using ai not too long ago. It broke my heart when I saw it, I was already sad when my fav new wave band, Tears for Fears, used ai for an album cover, but seeing Duran Duran do a whole music video in ai was so upsetting! They haven’t done one since in AI like why did they make a single bad ai music video before returning to decent non ai music videos?! I’ll never know…

Now…I will not spoil Karma, I am not cruel. But if anyone wants to talk about it in dm’s or the comment section I’d love to! This is both a song recommendation and my video of the week! Alien stage is now over with Karma, the story that Vivinos and Qmeng wove was beautiful, heartbreaking, and hopeful. I could have not asked for a better ending for alien stage. If you haven’t checked it out yet, now is the best time to do so as the story is over. Karma was everything I could have ever wanted from alien stage and though it is a bit sad to see it end, I wouldn’t ask for any other ending.

[illusion-of-sea-axes]

Writing chapter 7 of Lazarus be like

[keeps-ache]

ggghhg i hate vehiclessssssss ghghghhghhhhh [dies dies dies forever]

[orcelito]

Still hoping to get the chapter done today

Maybe I should get smth to eat to encourage myself...

[jobean12-blog]

Midnight Confessions

Light SPOILERS ahead!!!

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Word Count: 2.5K

Summary: A late night gives you the opportunity to flirt with Bucky and the next night he comes right back for more.

Author's Note: There are some Thunderbolts spoilers here- none really story related so much but more character driven. So reader BEWARE :D I had fun writing all the ridiculous dialogue in the beginning and it's a bit chaotic but I hope it makes you smile! Thank you so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy! 🥰

Warnings: fun and fluff, flirtiness, tension, sweetness

You set the timer and place it on the counter, leaning back with a sigh. While it seems everyone else in the tower is asleep, you’re as wide awake as the bustling city below. This is the second batch of cookies you’ve made this week, but no one seems to be complaining.

After contemplating something on the TV you decide instead to read, hoping it will make you sleepy.

No such luck and just as you’re starting the next chapter you see a dark shadow at the entrance of the kitchen, you’re body stiffening.

“It’s just me doll.”

At the sound of Bucky’s voice, you instantly relax.

“Jeez you’re quiet,” you whisper.

He chuckles lightly and steps into the kitchen. His hair is slightly mussed as if he’s been running a hand through it and his tee shirt clings to the broad lines of his chest and toned biceps. With a hard swallow you let your eyes drop lower, to the way his pants sit low on his waist but still hug his thighs.

“Can’t sleep?” you squeak out, dragging your gaze back to his face.

He shakes his head no and moves closer, revealing a surprise. The guinea pig Yelena rescued from the lab sits atop his left shoulder, tucked close to his neck and partially hidden by his hair.

You sit up with a gasp and rush over to him, cooing quietly and without a word plucking the piglet from his shoulder.

“What are you doing up?” you ask the guinea pig in a sweet voice.

“I probably should have let him sleep but as soon as I made noise he started squeakin’.”

You look up at Bucky and notice his soft expression as he watches you with the guinea pig.

“It’s a boy?” you ask.

“Actually, I don’t know,” he replies.

“Hmm,” you say as you pet it’s soft fur. “I bet it’s a girl.”

“That works too,” he smiles. “Are you making cookies?”

“I am…they should be out…,” and you walk over to the timer, “in three minutes.”

“Great doll. I could use a snack!” He slowly rubs his stomach as he stretches, revealing the dark trail of hair that disappears enticingly into his sweats.

The guinea pig squeaks and draws your attention away before he catches you staring.

“She needs a name,” you state as you cradle her in your arm.

Bucky is silent for a moment before he blurts out, “Cookie.”

“That’s cute,” you giggle, “but I think you’re just hungry.”

He doesn’t disagree and keeps thinking.

“She’s brown and white so…BACON!”

You stop petting the piglet and narrow your eyes at Bucky.

He holds his hands up in surrender, but you can see the way his eyes crinkle at the corners as he tries to hold back a smile.

“Are you going to wash the dishes?”

Bob’s voice is so low you almost don’t hear it but Bucky spins around at the sound.

“Bob!” both you and Bucky exclaim.

“What’s going on in here?” Bob asks as he looks between you and Bucky.

“We can’t sleep, and I made cookies,” you explain.

“And we’re trying to give the guinea pig a name,” Bucky adds.

“Ok,” Bob says. “I’m going to wash the dishes.”

“Do you want help?” you ask him. “I can dry the bowls.”

“Sure,” Bob says.

You hand the guinea pig back to Bucky. “Don’t get comfy. I want her back when I’m done.”

“Anything you want doll,” he says with a wink.

“How about Piglet?” Bob chimes from the sink.

“Like in Winnie the Pooh?” you ask as you slide up next to him and take the first bowl to dry it.

“Yeah…she’s kinda tiny…,” Bob says.

“So, you think she’s a girl too!” you say happily. “Bucky was calling it a he.”

“Not because I don’t think it could be a girl…I just…said he first.”

“It’s a girl,” Yelena says as she walks in.

“See! I knew it!” you sing song.

“What is going on here?” Yelena asks.

“None of us could sleep,” Bob answers. “So, we’re making cookies, washing dishes and naming the guinea pig.”

“Are the cookies ready yet?” Yelena asks, eyeing the oven.

“Just about,” you answer.

“Bob suggested Piglet…but I like Bacon,” Bucky says to fill Yelena in.

“Of course you would say Bacon,” she tsks. “I like Piglet.”

“Do I smell cookies?”

Walker strides in and heads straight for the oven.

“HEY Walker,” you whisper shout. “They’ll be out in a minute.”

He stops and plops himself down on a stool at the island with a huff.

“Why didn’t anyone invite me to the party?” he says.

“Because you’re an asshole,” but you and Yelena chime simultaneously but not without a smile pulling at each of your mouths.

“Can I least have some cookies,” Walker asks.

“Of course,” you tell him.

“Why don’t you name the pig, Hamlet,” Walker adds.

Everyone is quiet for a minute and tries to hide their smiles. “Actually, that’s cute,” you say, “but we’ve decided it’s a girl so maybe something…more…girly.”

Walker rests his chin in his hands but remains silent.

“What the hell is going on in here?” Ava says, appearing from the other side of the wall.

Bob startles at the sink and Walker rolls his eyes.

“No one can sleep, we are about to eat cookies, and we need a name for our girl guinea pig,” Yelena sums up quickly before opening the oven just as the timer dings.

“Pipsqueak,” Ava says flatly.

Yelena smiles. “I like that. She does squeak…a lot.”

“But she’s brave,” Bob says. “She survived the lab. I wouldn’t call her a pipsqueak.”

“But Piglet is scared of everything isn’t he?” Bucky muses. “So that wouldn’t work either.”

“Oh,” Bob sighs. “Yeah, he is.”

“Still like Bacon,” Bucky mumbles to himself.

“WHO SAID BACON?” Alexei booms when he walks in. “We eat?”

Yelena hangs her head with a sigh and Ava rolls her eyes.

“No bacon,” Bucky says sadly. “But we have cookies.”

“Hm, that will do,” Alexei says as he walks over to Yelena and pulls out the hot tray with his hand.

“You should let them cool,” you say to Alexei as he goes to grab for one.

“No, no…I like them all gooey and melted and messy…” He pops half the cookie in his mouth and hums happily.

Bucky slides over; the guinea pig nestled in the crook of his metal arm as he grabs for a cookie.

Walker reaches over the island to grab his own.

“They’re still hot guys!” you scold but give up with a sigh when half the tray is gone in under a minute. “You better grab one,” you whisper to Bob.

He turns from the sink and wipes his hand, reaching for a cookie and placing it on a napkin near him. “I’ll let mine cool,” he says with a small smile.

After a few minutes of comfortable silence and lots of mumbled praises over the cookies, you ask, “so what are we naming the guinea pig?”

Alexei yells out, “ALEXEI!”

Everyone answers with a determined, “NO!”

Alexei deflates and takes another cookie.

“So far we ruled out all the suggestions,” you say, leaning back on the counter next to Bucky.

Without prompting he hands you the guinea pig. You gently hold her up and look her over.

“I have so many ideas but none of them seem to fit,” you huff.

“All mine are related to food,” Bucky shrugs.

“I still like Alexei,” Alexei grumbles.

“Hamlet isn’t girly enough,” Walker says.

“Piglet and Pipsqueak make her sound too timid,” Ava adds.

Finally, Yelena says, “what about Nat?”

All eyes turn to her, soft with unspoken words.

“That’s perfect,” you say quietly and everyone agrees.

Once the few remaining cookies are packed away and the kitchen is clean you walk over to Bucky who’s leaning against the wall, Nat once again cradled against his chest in the crook of his metal arm.

“She likes that spot,” you say quietly as you gently stroke her back.

“Yeah, maybe because it’s cool,” he says and then softly touches her nose as it twitches.

You watch him for a moment, so sweet and gentle with the little furball.

“You’re so cute,” you say softly.

“She is right,” Bucky agrees.

“She meant you super soldier,” Alexei chuckles from behind you. “Not pig.”

“She’s a guinea pig Dad,” Yelena dead pans.

Alexei waves his had dismissively. “All same.”

Your eyes meet Bucky’s, and you see the tops of his cheeks, just above all the dark stubble lining them, turn light pink.

“You meant little Nat right?” he asks.

“She definitely meant the guinea pig,” Walker says with a yawn as he walks by. “I’m goin’ to bed.”

Ava follows close behind him. “Me too. And she meant you Barnes.”

Alexei slaps Bucky hard on the back, jostling Nat in his arms and Bucky glares.

“Oh. Right, sorry,” Alexei mumbles then smiles wide. “She thinks you are cute.”

He walks away rubbing his stomach.

Only Yelena and Bob remain, Yelena with a smirk lifting her lips and Bob with wide eyes.

Your eyes stay on Bucky, and you lean in closer, still petting Nat. “No. I meant you. You’re really cute. Especially with her. It’s sweet.”

“She said he’s cute,” Bob whispers to Yelena who’s full on smiling now.

“Da,” Yelena nods, grabbing Bob’s arm to pull him down the hall.

“Does she like him?” Bob asks as he passes by you and Bucky.

Yelena laughs but doesn’t answer and keeps tugging him away.

The two of you are now alone and you watch Bucky’s gaze quickly drop to your lips before he says a quiet, “thanks.”

“Hope you can get some sleep,” you tell him then kiss his cheek. “Night.”

“Night, doll,” he whispers as he watches you walk to your room.

The next night when you’re still awake after midnight you head to the common room but when you don’t see a sign of anyone else you decide to go watch a movie until you fall asleep. The light knock on your door an hour later surprises you and when you open it to find Bucky on the other side you’re even more surprised.

“I didn’t wake you did I doll?” he asks in a rush.

“No, don’t worry. I was watching a movie.”

“I thought I saw light under the door so I figured you might still be up.”

“Did you want more cookies? The leftovers are in the cabinet.”

“Actually…Alexei ate them all. I checked…”

You snort laugh and grab Bucky’s hand, pulling him through the doorway.

“Of course he did,” you say as you plop down on the small couch.

Bucky follows and then stands there as if he’s unsure what to do next.

“You can sit,” you tell him.

He does.

“Are you watching The Goonies?”

“I am!” you say excitedly. “I’m so glad you’ve seen it.”

“Classic 80s.”

“Exactly,” you agree.

You settle back into the cushions and let your shoulder brush his. As the movie continues your body relaxes against him and he lifts his arm to rest it along the back of the couch. His fingers brush your shoulder and when he feels your skin pebble beneath his touch he does it again. Your breath catches in your throat and you audibly swallow.

The movie ends and you’re still pressed against him, his arm now circling your shoulders as his fingertips ghost over your skin.

“That’s one of my favorites,” you say and turn to meet his eyes.

“Mine too,” he whispers, curling his fingers around your arm so you turn your body into his.

His eyes wander over your face, their soft reverence only sharpened when they stop on your lips.

“Doll…I…”

Whatever he wants to say is lost in the moment and he presses his mouth to yours, softly at first, but when you slide your fingers into his hair and tug him closer, he hums low in his chest and deepens it, parting your lips.

His knuckles skim down your arm before splaying at your back and pulling you into his lap. His hand slips under your shirt, every caress of his fingertips slow and teasing as if he’s savoring every moment and committing it to memory. His kisses are sweet and languid and the hair lining his face scratches the soft column of your neck as his lips trail downward to your hammering pulse.

A deep and satisfied hum rumbles through his chest and you press yourself closer, feeling the hard lines of his muscle beneath his shirt.

“Bucky,” you whimper.

He lifts his head to stare at you, his breathing fast. His metal thumb lifts to trace your swollen bottom lip before he slides it behind your neck and brings your lips back to his, nibbling the same spot then soothing it with his tongue.

You moan into his mouth and the sound snaps what little control he’s holding on to and suddenly you’re flipped to your back, your wrists in his metal hand and pinned above your head. His eyes teasingly trail over your body, and you go pliant in his hold, your legs falling open as he settles between them.

He leans down, dipping his head to run his nose along your neck, breathing you in before his lips are on yours again.

“You’re so soft,” he murmurs, his hand releasing your wrists and sliding lower to stroke your curves. “I knew you would be.”

“You’ve thought about it?” you ask as you tuck a strand of hair behind his ear.

“Yeah,” he breathes out, licking his lips. “I came over here with the intention to ask you out on a date…”

“Is this not…?”

He cuts you off. “This is exactly what I want…you’re what I want. I’m just…trying to be a gentleman.”

Your lips form an O shape, and he kisses you again.

“I’ll go on a date with you Bucky,” you murmur between kisses.

“Good, that’s good,” he says, his warm hands continuing their exploration of your body while his lips trail down your neck.

You arch into him and slide your hands from his hair down his back, scraping lightly with your nails.

“Fuck,” he hisses.

When his eyes lift to yours he wears a pained expression.

“A gentleman,” he repeats.

“Right. A date,” you say.

“Fuck,” he mutters again but doesn’t move an inch.

You stare at each other, the tension building in the small space between you before he dips his head and kisses you again. His lips find the spot just below your ear and he whispers, “if you don’t tell me to go now…”

“I don’t want you to go Bucky. I want you to stay. I want you.”

[soaps-mohawk]

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 49: Reforming Bonds

Summary: Your pack tries to figure out what comes next after John's announcement.

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Word Count: 10,527 words

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, smut, explicit sexual content, p in v sex, oral sex, handjobs, shower sex, slight dom/sub dynamics, spanking (lots of asses get slapped), alpha/beta/omega dynamics, alternate universe, language, slight angst, emotions

A/N: I'm ovulating so you're welcome

MASTERLIST | <- Previous | Next ->

“Cap, what do ye mean?”

Chaos has erupted since John’s surprise announcement. Johnny is on his feet almost instantly in disbelief, trying to process the words his captain and alpha have just said. So they didn’t know either, judging by the surprised looks on their faces. They had no idea, and they weren’t expecting it.

“I’m retiring.” John says, repeating what he had just said. “It’s time I settled down.”

Johnny stammers for a moment, still trying to wrap his head around this sudden change in their lives.

“If you’re going, so am I.” Kyle says, rising to his feet as well.

“Kyle, you don’t have to-” John starts but Kyle holds his hand out.

“No, I want to.” The room goes still as Kyle addresses his alpha. “You’re right. It’s not fair for us to do this. Our omega deserves a normal pack and a good life.” He shakes his head. “It wouldn’t be the same without you.”

John stares long and hard at him for a moment before nodding. “It’s your decision in the end, what you want to do.”

“This is what I want to do.” Kyle says softly.

John nods, still staring at him. He reaches out, taking Kyle’s hand. “Okay.”

There’s a sudden tension in the air as Simon stands from the couch, heading towards the back door. All four of you watch him go, the glass sliding open before closing softly. You chew on your lip, leaning forward to set John’s paperwork on the table. Part of you wants to look through it, read every small detail about your alpha as you can, but another part of you knows even some parts of him will remain secret to you. The less you know the better. That was how your place in this pack started.

Maybe it should stay that way.

You go to rise, but Johnny puts out a hand, stopping you. “Let him go, kitten.”

You glance at him for a moment before looking back at the door. You want to know what’s going through his head, what he’s feeling but he won’t let you in like that. Not right now. Even Johnny doesn’t go after him. He needs his space and you have to be okay with that.

John’s hand runs over your head, brushing your hair back from your face. You’re still staring at the door, staring out where Simon has disappeared. He squats down next to you again, his knees cracking. You fight the urge to make a joke, to tease him about his creaky joints in his retirement age.

“How are you?” He asks softly, slipping his hand around the back of your neck. It’s a comforting weight, a reminder of just how long it’s been since you presented for him. There’s a tingle beneath your skin at the touch of his hand.

“You’re really doing this? For me?” You ask, staring into those bright blue eyes of his.

“Yes.” He nods, a small smile tugging at his lips. “You’re still young. You deserve to live a happy life with me in it.”

A smile forms on your face, relief starting to flood through you as the shock wears off. He’s voiced one of your deepest worries, that fear that he’d come back in a body bag someday too soon. You’d have to live the rest of your life without your alpha. Your mother was proof it could happen, but your situation is different. Your relationship with John is different than that of your parents. John’s a good alpha, a good man. He’s done horrible things, things you don’t want to think about, but you know he’d never raise a hand towards you.

The fact you feel so comfortable with his hand on the back of your neck proves that.

You lean into him, nuzzling your face into his shoulder. His arms wrap around you, lifting you up so he can sit on the couch in your place.

You settle into his lap, resting against his chest. It’s been a long time since you’ve been held by him. There’s been such a distance between the two of you, even after his return from disposing of Shepherd. You haven’t truly had a vulnerable, intimate moment with him in weeks.

Johnny lets out a sigh before heading for the back door. Kyle slips into his spot on the couch, leaning up against John. His head rests against yours, one of John’s arms slipping from around you to curl around Kyle. The three of you sit there in silence, soaking in the moment.

John’s really going to retire for you. Kyle is going to retire for you.

You never thought you’d see the day.

You press your nose into John’s neck, his beard tickling your skin. He’d shaved it when he went after Shepherd, cutting it back to its normal length. You almost miss his scruffy face. Maybe you can convince him to grow it out more once he’s officially retired. The mental image of him all scruffy-faced and soft has you shifting in his lap. You doubt he’d let himself lose his physicality, but you can dream. He’s lost more than he’d like to, no doubt. They all have.

Maybe it is a good thing he’s retiring. It would be rough to go back now after this.

Simon’s going to have a hell of a time.

You slide the door closed behind you, wrapping your arms around yourself as you step out onto the deck. He’s leaning against the railing, smoke puffing up from his lips and dispersing into the air. You stand there for a moment, waiting for him to acknowledge you, but he doesn’t. He just stands there, staring off in the distance. You wonder if this is what they saw in those times you did the same.

You take slow steps forward, keeping yourself in his peripheral. He knows you’re there. You’d be shocked if you surprised him of all people.

That could also be dangerous for you.

You step up next to him, leaning against the railing, staring out at the grey sea in the distance. He’s smoking, a cigarette held between his fingers. You wonder how many he’s smoked since he came out here. You know they all do it occasionally, Price most of all, but you haven’t seen them smoke in a long time. You wonder when he bought the pack, or if he’s been keeping it for a moment like this.

You don’t blame him one bit for needing something to clear his head.

You hesitate before you speak, wondering if you should say anything at all, or if you should just wait for him to speak his mind. You might be out here all night if you waited. Instead you take the plunge, jumping right into the swirling black pool that is Simon’s emotions.

“I won’t ask you to retire.” You bite the bullet, coming right out and saying what you know he’s stressed about. He shifts on his feet just slightly as he brings the cigarette up to his lips. “That wouldn’t be fair.” You continue. “I’d want it to be your decision. Just like I left it up to John. I honestly didn’t know he was going to do it. I didn’t think he would ever. This whole time I was thinking we’d go back to living on base, things would return to the way they were before. I wouldn’t have liked it, but it wasn’t my place to say what you all could and couldn’t do. That’s why I wouldn’t ask you to do the same. It should be your choice what you decide to do and I’m okay with it if you decide you don’t want to retire. Honestly I can’t picture you retiring like I can John…”

You trail off as he lets out a sigh, taking another drag of his cigarette before stubbing it out on the railing. There’s a tense moment of silence, his gaze still off in the distance.

“You talk a lot when you’re nervous.” He finally says.

“I-I’m not nervous.” You say, shaking your head.

He huffs, leaning his arms on the railing. “Can smell it on you.” He shakes his head, dropping his gaze to the yard below. “I knew he’d do it.” He starts, speaking softly. “He’s been stressing for weeks about going back, putting you through that again. I never thought he’d actually do it…”

Simon trails off, fiddling with the lighter in his hand. You watch the dexterous way he moves it, fluidly slipping it between his fingers. You can imagine a knife in its place, spinning and flipping expertly. He’s good with his hands. You know personally what those long, rough, thick fingers are capable of.

“It certainly wasn’t what I was expecting he’d say.” You shake your head, clearing it of the thoughts rapidly taking over. “But I mean it.” You sink your teeth into your lip. “I won’t be upset if you decide to stay. You and Johnny.”

Simon slowly turns to face you, staring down at you. He’s silent for a moment, staring long and hard at your face. If you didn’t know him better, you might have shrunk under that gaze, wishing you could crawl under the deck. Instead you stand there strong, squaring up to that intense stare.

“You’ve come a long way from the scared pup that was forced into your pack.” He finally says, his gaze softening just a bit. “I’m proud of you. You’ve survived more than most omegas would, and you’re still standing.” He reaches out, running a hand over your head. “I think Laswell was right in her choice.”

“I am glad she chose me.” You smile, leaning into his touch as his hand drops to cup your cheek. “Despite everything, I still think it could have been worse.” You make a face. “Phil could have gotten his way.”

Simon growls lowly, the sound rumbling in his chest. “I will pay you to never think about that shit stain again.”

“How much?” You smirk, letting out a shriek as you attempt to slip out of his grip. He’s too fast, though, his arm wrapping around you and pulling you back.

His hand slaps your ass, stinging even through your jeans. “Little shit.” He grunts, wiggling you around until you’re pressed up against his chest. “You’re a pain in my ass.”

“But you love it.” You grin up at him, knowing you’re right. He’s loved it for a long time, longer than he’s admitted.

He hums, leaning his forehead against yours. “Thank you.”

“For what?” You breathe, brows pulling slightly in a frown.

“For allowing me the chance to do this. For proving my thoughts and beliefs wrong.” He says. “For being so goddamn understanding.”

Your lips pull into a smile, your head tilting so you can kiss him. “I’m glad you’ve gotten this opportunity to learn to be vulnerable. Who knows where you’d be if you didn’t.”

“Still a miserable cunt with nothing to live for.” He says.

You snort, pressing another kiss to his lips. “You’ve had Johnny to live for.”

He hums in agreement. “I do quite like him.”

“It’s hard not to.” You say, wrapping your arms around Simon’s neck. “He’s just so...cute.”

“Don’t let him hear that. He’ll never let you forget you said it.” Simon mumbles against your lips.

“Nah, I’ll just tell him you said it.” You grin.

Simon growls, sinking his teeth into your lip. “You little shit.” His hand slips down, palming your ass. “Should line you all up, bend you over and spank you till you’ve got welts. See how much shit you wanna talk after.”

“Nothing can stop me.” You grin, biting his lip back.

He growls, smacking his hand against your ass again. It stings, but you can’t stop the moan from slipping through your lips.

“Fucking hell,” he grunts, squeezing your ass.

“Bit cold to be fucking on the porch.” A voice cuts through the tension, drawing you and Simon apart.

“Fuck off, Garrick.” Simon growls, his hand still on your ass.

He holds his hands up. “Wouldn’t want you to catch a cold.” He grins. “Make it quick, we’re going to town for dinner.”

Simon’s hand lifts from your ass and you can imagine the gesture he made to Kyle. There’s a laugh before the door slides closed again. It makes you smile, seeing everyone back to their normal, playful selves again.

Simon leans down, pressing his face into your neck. He inhales deeply before sighing, his warm breath fanning across your cool skin. Goosebumps raise on your arms, the change in temperature making you shiver. Simon’s lips brush your neck, sliding down to your mark where he presses a soft kiss before he stands up straight once more.

“He’s right, we should get back inside.” You say, going to turn but a hand closes around your wrist.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Simon grins. It has another shiver running down your back.

“To go get ready for dinner…” You say, frowning slightly at him.

His grin twists into a smirk. “He said make it quick.”

Your mouth falls open as you stare at him, the meaning of his words hitting you instantly. “Oh fuck…”

The house is quiet, the light slowly fading beneath your door as the lamps get shut off in the living room. You’re standing there, hand around the doorknob. You twist it slowly, watching the light beneath the door fade entirely to darkness.

That darkness is broken as you crack your door open, casting a stream of light from the disgusting overhead bulb. You’ve turned it on out of necessity despite how badly it burns your retinas in the otherwise dark world around you.

“Where do you think you’re going?” You ask into the darkness, the shape that would be otherwise hidden on the moonless night pausing by the stairs.

“To bed.” He rumbles, turning around to face you, hand on the banister. You can picture him, leg lifted ready to lift himself onto that first step.

“You’ve been avoiding me.” You say quietly, leaning against the door frame.

“No,” He says, releasing the banister so he can turn to fully face you. “Just figured you might want some space.”

“Why would I want that?” You ask, curious as to what he’s going to come up with.

He tilts his head. “I know I haven’t been the best alpha to you lately. Retiring won’t make up for what I’ve put you through, the promises I broke. I figured I’d be the last person you’d want to see right now.”

Emotions rise in your throat, threatening to choke you. He’s not wrong. He’s hurt you in more ways than one. Retirement won’t fix everything, all of the heartbreak he’s caused you. That will take time.

But he is wrong about you wanting distance.

“Yeah, well, you’re wrong.” You say, swallowing thickly. “Kyle will survive a night without you.”

He stares at you for a moment before he nods, a smile tugging at his lips. “Okay.”

You step back from the door, hand on the light switch as you wait for him to cross the small living room. Despite the absence of one person, the cottage has started feeling smaller to you. You long for space and breathing room. It almost makes you miss the barracks.

Almost.

You turn off the light as soon as John steps through the door, breathing a sigh of relief. You close the door behind him, letting it click as it seals the two of you inside. You brush past him, heading towards the bed.

Hands dart out, wrapping around your waist before you can get too far. You’re pulled backwards and spun around so you’re facing John. It happens so fast you have barely any time to react, just managing to get your hands on his chest before you slam into his body. His arms wrap around you, keeping you pinned there as he stares down at you. His gaze is intense, burning a hole straight through you. A shudder runs through your body, your skin starting to tingle under the warmth of his hands.

“I’ve been neglecting you.” He murmurs, leaning down close to your face. His breath is warm as it fans across your skin. You try to lean up to kiss him but he pulls back just out of reach. “I’m sorry.”

“Why don’t you prove how sorry you really are?” You say, your fingers bunching the fabric of his shirt.

He chuckles, the sound vibrating against your hands. “I think I can do that.”

He finally leans down, pressing his lips against yours. They’re slightly chapped but you don’t care, leaning up as far as you can to push against him. He kisses you hard, scraping his teeth against your bottom lip. You moan against his lips, sliding your hands up to his shoulders.

“Missed you.” He murmurs against your lips.

“You were the one neglecting me.” You say, pulling back.

He hums, sliding his hands down to your ass and squeezing. “Neglecting myself too. I’m not wasting any more time.” He says, leaning down to kiss you. “Get on the bed.” He growls.

“No.” You say, pulling away. “I’m in charge.”

The growl rumbling in his chest lowers in pitch, his eyes darkening but you don’t move, standing there strong despite your omega’s desire to do as you’re told. You’re not going to give him the satisfaction. He chose to neglect you, so you’re going to make sure he pays for it.

His growl softens as the tension in his shoulders relaxes. He toes off his slippers before passing you to head towards the bed. You rear back, slapping his ass on the way. He grunts, jumping slightly at the impact. He glances at you over his shoulder with a playful look before he climbs onto the bed, settling himself in the middle.

You take a moment to stare at him, taking in the sight of him on your bed, the place that’s been your safe haven for months. It’s not a nest, but it’s the closest you can get.

The sight of your alpha in it makes your pussy tingle.

You make your way to the bed, climbing onto the edge. You crawl over to him, sitting yourself up on his thighs. He stares up at you, his hands sliding up your legs.

You push them back onto the bed, shaking your head. “No touching.”

He grunts, but keeps his hands flat on the bed.

You lean forward, trailing your fingers across his cheek, feeling the prickle of his beard across your fingers as you trail them down his jaw. You continue your path down his throat, sliding over his Adam’s apple before dipping into the space between his collar bones. He swallows thickly, and you watch the way his throat bobs. You sit up on your knees, bending over him to sink your teeth into his throat. He growls, his hands closing around the backs of your knees.

His grip is tight, warning.

You don’t let up though, trailing bites across his throat to his neck. You sink your teeth into the skin below his ear drawing another growl. Your teeth leave red marks down his neck to his shoulder, where you sink your teeth in as hard as you can. He lets out a deep growl, his hand slapping your ass hard.

“Fuck.” He grunts as you let up, leaning over him.

You put your hands on either side of his head, staring down at him. “I thought I said no touching.”

“Almost took a chunk out.” He says, trailing his hands up the backs of your thighs.

“Good.” You say, sitting up on his stomach. “You bit me, it’s only fair I bite you.”

“You’ve bitten me lots of times.” He says, laying back.

“Yeah but mine won’t leave a scar.” You say, trailing your fingers down his chest.

You push your hips back, your clothed pussy pushing against the bulge in his sweatpants. You lean down, dragging your tongue across his chest before you reach his nipple, closing your lips around it. A breathy moan leaves his lips as you suck on the bud, tracing circles around it with your tongue. He sucks in a breath as your teeth scrape across his nipple, your lips curling around it to suck hard.

His hand lifts to the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair. You pull away from his nipple with a pop, sitting yourself up over him again.

“I said no touching.” You say, pushing his arm down. “For a military man, you don’t listen very well.”

“I never was good at following orders.” He smirks. “Only giving them out.”

You huff, forcing his hands under your knees. “Gonna have to tie you up.”

“How are you going to do that?” He lifts a brow at you.

“I’ll figure it out.” You smirk, pushing yourself back so you’re seated over his hips.

You run your fingers across his soft stomach, trailing them through the soft hair that makes a line directly where you’re headed. He’s hard under you, his bulge prominent through his sweatpants. You’re equally as aroused, panties so wet you’re probably leaving a spot on his pants.

You slip your fingers under the band of his sweatpants, finding nothing but skin. Oh, he’s gone commando underneath. You never took him for the type. You know Johnny freeballs a lot, and so does Simon, but you never thought John would as well. Maybe he hoped to get his dick wet tonight. If not by you, then someone else.

Lucky for him it did turn out to be you.

You push yourself up onto your knees as you slide his sweatpants down, revealing his cock. It’s hard and red, the tip already leaking. He’s this turned on by you and you haven’t even touched him yet. He really has been neglecting himself. You push his pants down as far as you can, his legs lifting to kick them the rest of the way off.

You sit yourself on his strong thighs, resting one hand on his hip as you drag a finger up the length of his cock. He shivers, hands clenching the sheets as you tease his head, running your finger over his weeping slit.

“So hard already.” You muse, smearing his precum down the length of his cock. “Barely touched you.”

“Told you I’ve been neglecting myself.” He grunts as you spit into your hand before finally gripping his cock.

You hum, squeezing the base before slowly dragging your hand to the top. He twitches in your hold, more precum spilling out of his tip. “If you were better behaved I might let you cum right now.” You lean down, your breath fanning his cock. “But you just couldn’t keep your hands to yourself.”

He twitches in your hand again as you drag your tongue from base to tip, flicking it along his slit. He groans, hands pulling at the sheets. The scent of him is heavy in the air, the muskiness of his arousal mingling with your own sweet scent. You’re dripping on his thigh, leaving a wet patch where you’re seated.

“You gonna cum? Make a mess all over yourself?” You hum, slowly stroking his throbbing cock.

“Yes,” he breathes, his hips pushing up against your hand.

“I don’t think so.” You say, dropping his cock from your hand.

He lets out a growl, his head lifting to stare down at you. “You little minx.”

You shrug. “Should have been good for me and kept your hands to yourself.” You sit yourself back between his legs, pulling your panties off and tossing them onto the floor. “If you can last until I cum, then maybe I’ll be nice to you.”

You climb up over his hips again, your hand wrapping around his cock. You don’t even need to prep yourself before you line him up, sinking down onto him. Your baggy shirt blocks out his view of his thick cock spreading you open. He groans, his head tilting back as you squeeze around him, sinking down until you’re seated on his hips.

Oh god how you’ve missed his cock.

It fills you just right, spreading you open and pushing against all those lovely little spots inside of you. It might just be the perfect cock, but then again, you’re likely to think that about all of them in the moment. Four perfect cocks attached to four perfect men.

How truly lucky you are.

And how lucky they are to have you.

You start to move your hips, rocking back and forth on John’s cock. His hands are still gripping the sheets so tight you’re worried he might rip them. Oh well, that would be a problem for later.

John bucks his hips as you lift yourself, spearing his cock back into you. You force your weight down, pinning his hips to the bed. “Be good.” You warn him, despite the pleasure reeling in your brain. The desire to give in and let him pound you into the mattress is strong, but you’re in too deep and have to keep control for now.

You continue to rock your hips, rising up and down along the length of his cock. His head is lifted, neck straining as he stares at you, watching your body move. His lips are parted, his chest rising and falling heavily with his breaths. He’s holding himself back, trying to keep control on himself. He could easily take over, force you to submit, but he lets you play this game.

For now.

You press your hands against John’s stomach, feeling the muscles contract as he breathes. Even after so much time he still has kept some of his strength. You can imagine him doing his pushups and situps in the morning, keeping himself agile and strong just in case.

You wonder if he’ll continue that even after retirement.

You can imagine he will. He’ll always have that need to be ready just in case.

That protective edge will never leave the back of his mind, no matter how relaxed he gets.

That almost makes you sad.

Your hands push into his stomach, using him as leverage to bounce on his cock. You’re quickly growing tired, and the press of his cock inside you has you rapidly approaching an orgasm. He’s pulsing and twitching inside of you, and you’re shocked he’s lasted this long. A true testament to his inner resolve.

He was being bad on purpose.

You don’t doubt that one bit.

It’s all a game to him, indulging this desire to be dominant for a moment. It’s a game you’ll gladly play, though, even if for just a moment.

“Fuck,” You breathe, reaching under your shirt to rub your clit.

John groans as you squeeze around him, his head falling back as he gets closer and closer to his own orgasm. Eventually he won’t be able to hold it. Eventually he’s going to lose control and cum without your permission. You’re tempted to push him that far, but at the same time you’re desperate to cum on your alpha’s cock.

High-pitched whines leave your lips as you desperately grind against his hips, fingers rubbing rapid circles around your clit. “Gonna cum!” You gasp, body shuddering as pleasure ripples through you.

“Cum on my cock.” He grunts, hands leaving the sheets to grip your thighs.

You don’t care, too close to the edge to pay much attention to him. You’re too busy chasing your own high.

Your orgasm slams into you, your hips jerking as you spasm around him. He lets out a deep moan, fingers indenting your thighs as he holds on for dear life. He won’t cum yet. He’ll be good and hold off for you despite the way you’re gripping him like a vice, your body trying to milk his own orgasm.

You pull yourself off of him, sitting back on his thighs as you take his cock in your hand. It’s slick and shiny with your juices, your hand slipping along him easily as you pump him. “Cum for me.” You breathe, squeezing your hand around his cock.

He cums with a deep groan, hips lifting as he finally gets relief, painting his stomach with his seed. You jerk him through his orgasm, seeking every last drop he can give you until he’s going soft in your hand. He’s breathing heavily, chest heaving as he slowly releases your thighs, dropping his hands back to the bed.

You crawl your way back up to his face, leaning over him as he tries to catch his breath. “So good for me.” You breathe, still damp and slick between your thighs. You know he’s getting hard again. You can smell the thickening of his scent in the air.

You press your lips against his, leaning down to rest your body against his chest. His arms come up, wrapping around you, pinning you there. You pull back just slightly, staring down into his eyes. “Fuck me like you missed me.” You breathe against his lips.

“Yes ma’am.” He says, his hands bunching your shirt around your waist. You sit yourself up just enough that he can pull it over your head and drop it on the floor.

You lean yourself back down, pressing your breasts against his chest as you kiss him again. He groans against your lips, trailing his hands across your skin.

“So fucking soft.” He grunts, squeezing your hips. His hands are rough against your back, still calloused despite his lack of handling weapons regularly. Maybe it’s just part of him, something he’ll never lose.

You don’t mind it one bit.

He wraps his arms around you, pushing up as he rolls you over onto your back. He hovers above you, elbows pressed into the mattress on either side of you. He stares down at you for a long moment, eyes tracing your face.

“What?” You ask, worrying there might be something wrong.

“Forgot what you looked like under me.” He grins playfully.

“Well, take a picture. You can share it to the group chat.” You smirk.

He chuckles. “No. This is just for me.”

He leans back down, pressing another kiss to your lips. He does kiss you like he missed you, soft and tender yet passionate and devouring. It has your toes curling and he hasn’t even touched you.

His lips leave yours to trail down your neck, sucking and nipping at the skin to leave marks just as you did to him. You shiver as he presses a kiss to your mark, the skin tingling from his touch. Your entire body is tingling as you give over control to him, submitting to him and what he’s going to do to your body to prove he really did miss you.

He kisses his way down your body, pausing for a moment to suck one of your nipples into his mouth, giving them the same attention you did to him. Your lips part in a breathy moan as he sucks on the sensitive bud, scraping his teeth along the skin before releasing it with a pop. He gives you a smirk as he continues down your body, licking a circle around your belly button before sliding even lower.

He trails kisses down your pelvis, ending with a kiss just above your clit. You lift your head up, watching him as he stares at your pussy, still slick and sensitive from your first orgasm. He hums, his thumbs spreading you open.

“Just as pretty as I remember.” He says.

A snarky remark dies on the tip of your tongue as he drags his tongue through your folds. You flop back onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling as he finally reaches your clit, pressing a soft kiss against it.

Your lips part as he flicks the tip of his tongue against your clit, toes already curling again as he circles the still sensitive bud. His fingers keep you spread open as he licks another stripe through your folds before his lips wrap around your clit. He sucks hard, a sound almost like a mewl leaving your lips as pleasure shoots through you like an electric shock.

Your fingers curl into the sheets as John continues his relentless assault on your clit, slurping at your folds like a parched man. His tongue draws shapes across your clit, swirling and flicking, his lips closing around it and suckling hard. Your legs are shaking already, toes curled as he feasts on you like he really did miss you.

“Fuck…” You whine, pushing your hips up against his face, your thighs trying to close around his head. You don’t care that you might suffocate him. You doubt he’d complain about dying between your thighs. Out of all the ways he could go…

“Feel good, sweetheart?” He murmurs against your clit, sucking on it again.

“Yes!” You moan, your hand reaching down to slide through his hair. He cut it recently, back to the normal short length he wore on base. They’ve all cleaned up a bit, likely due to their belief they were all headed back to their old lives.

Now things have changed.

Your back arches off the bed as John continues to eat you out, pushing you closer and closer to another orgasm. You were already sensitive from the first, and the mix of his tongue and the burn of his beard on your inner thighs has you rapidly approaching a second.

“Cum for me.” He growls, scraping your clit with his teeth before wrapping his lips around it.

Your orgasm hits you like a truck, your entire body shaking as waves of pleasure course through you. You can barely handle it, colors erupting behind your eyes as you writhe on the bed. John continues to suckle at your clit, working you through your orgasm.

He finally relents once you’re shaking with overstimulation, pulling his face back from your pussy. His beard is damp with your juices, lips shining. You hold your arms out for him, inviting him to crawl back up so he’s wrapped in your arms.

“Good girl.” He murmurs.

You can taste yourself on his tongue as he kisses you, his knee hooking beneath your leg and pushing it up. You wrap it around his waist, pulling his body as close as you can. His hand slides beneath your back, coming to rest between your shoulder blades. He cradles you as he slips a hand between your bodies, still kissing you as his cock brushes against your damp pussy. You’re still wet despite two orgasms, worked up by the touch and smell of your alpha.

You whimper against his lips as he pushes into you, your body welcoming him in gladly. A sigh leaves his lips as you squeeze around him, still feeling the aftershocks of your orgasm. John leans his forehead against yours as he sinks completely into you, his hips pressing flush against yours.

“Fucking feel so good wrapped around me.” He breathes, pausing there for a moment as he presses soft pecks across your face.

“Missed you.” You whisper, wrapping yourself around him as tightly as you can.

“I’m sorry.” He mumbles, pressing his cheek against yours. “Shouldn’t have been neglecting you.”

“Make it up to me.” You say, pressing a kiss to his shoulder before nipping it gently.

He hums before he starts moving, rocking his hips against yours. You feel so full, his cock pressing as far as it can into you with each thrust of his hips forward. It’s slow and soft, John taking his time to try and prove to you just how much he missed you, trying to make up for just how much he’s neglected you over these last couple weeks by keeping his distance.

You would have accepted him back with open arms immediately. You have missed him, despite your tumultuous emotions surrounding your alpha. You love him, you always have, even in those moments when he hurt you. You know they weren’t intentional, done out of malice in a desire to hurt you as much as he can. You know he loves you too. You can tell just by the way he handles you so delicately, how he’s tried to make up for his mistakes in the best ways he knows how.

He keeps his arms wrapped around you tightly, holding you close as he rocks against you. You moan softly in his ear, clinging to him like he might slip away, like this might be a dream you could wake up from any moment. Deep down you know it’s not, but at the same time that fear that this is all in your head runs rampant.

John presses soft kisses across your face as he makes love to you, almost as if he can sense your fears, your doubts and he’s trying to brush them away. Your nails dig into his back as he shifts his hips, his cock brushing against that spot inside of you with every thrust. It has warmth spreading through your entire body, electricity coursing through your veins, sparking every inch where his skin touches yours.

“Alpha,” You whimper, clinging onto him for dear life.

“I’ve got you.” He whispers in your ear, tightening his hold around you, lifting your body to meet his.

He moans softly, the sound rumbling in his chest as you squeeze around him. You can feel the warmth starting to pool in your stomach, heat blossoming between your thighs where his cock is sliding in and out of you slowly and steadily. You’re going to cum just like this, in the tenderness of this moment, a reuniting of your bodies after so long apart.

You can tell he’s getting close too, the occasional falter in his thrusts, the way his cock seems to pulse inside of you. He’s grunting and moaning in your ear, your own moans soft in the quiet of the room. Only the harmony of your bodies mingling together in pleasure can break the quiet that’s settled over the house in the darkness of night. Not even the rain dare fall and break this moment between you.

“John,” You breathe his name with a sigh as your back arches, pressing into him as you cum.

He’s not far behind, moaning your name into your ear as he spills into you, rocking his hips as he fills you.

He stills, resting some of his weight on you as you both lay there in bliss. It’s not uncomfortable. It’s grounding in the best way possible, his body pinning you to the bed, pussy still stuffed full of his cock. The doubts of this being real slowly float away, melting into the abyss as you breathe in his woody scent. It shoots back into the very primal parts of your brain, soothing your omega until she turns on her back in submission.

You’re crying before you realize it, tears leaking out the sides of your eyes. John shifts his weight, pushing up on his elbows so he’s staring down at you. “What is it? I didn’t hurt you did I?”

You shake your head, a quiet sob leaving your lips. You can’t put into words what you’re feeling. Bliss? Relief? That quiet ease of lingering grief you’ve been holding onto for so long finally dissipating?

John shushes you gently, cupping your face in his hands as you cry. You lean into his touch, nuzzling your face against his palm. “I’m so sorry.” He breathes, tears shining in his own eyes.

“Don’t hide from me again.” You breathe, a sob stuttering in your chest.

“I won’t.” He says, pouring nothing but conviction and truth into his voice. “I promise I won’t, and I’ll keep that promise.”

“You better.” You sniffle, pulling him down against you once more.

You lay there, the tears slowing as you hold him. There’s something so raw and intimate about this moment, sweat-slick bodies locked together in such a total way as you both allow such vulnerability. It speaks volumes of your trust in him to carry you and his trust in you to hold him. That is what you’re made for at the core of your instincts. To comfort, to care, to be the warm, open place for your alpha to retreat to. The safe space he can be vulnerable in.

Your tears slow to a stop, your breathing evening out as you lay there under the weight of him. Something has transpired in this moment, some hurdle the two of you have jumped over together in your relationship you hadn’t even realized was there. Some empty space has been filled, a hole patched.

John lifts his head, staring down at you for a moment before he leans down, pressing his lips to yours. You kiss him softly, smiling at the tickle of his beard on your skin. You wouldn’t trade this moment for anything.

He finally releases you after a moment, sitting himself up on his knees. You wince as his softened cock slips out of you, your body feeling deliciously sore. “Come on,” he says, trailing a hand down your leg. You feel sticky as the sweat starts to dry. “Let’s shower.”

You take his hand as he climbs off the bed, welcoming his aid in standing. Your legs are still trembling a bit, feeling unsteady as he leads you to the bathroom. You sit on the closed toilet lid as he starts the shower, waiting until the temperature is perfect.

“Come on,” He says, slipping his arms under you to carry you under the warm spray.

You laugh, wrapping your arms around his neck to hold on as the warm water pelts against your skin. He stands there for a moment, holding you as he stares down at your face.

“What?” You ask, smiling at him.

“Nothing.” He says, smiling back. “Just can’t get over how beautiful you are.”

Your face warms at his compliment, your arms wrapping tighter around his neck. “Stop it.”

“Never.” He says, leaning down to kiss you again.

You kiss him back, keeping your lips locked together as he slowly lowers you to your feet. You stand on your toes, back to the spray as you kiss him. Warmth is blooming beneath your skin again as his hands slide over your hips.

He turns you around, letting you get wet in the spray before he grabs the soap, lathering his hands. He drags them across your skin, cleaning the dried fluids from your body. He takes his time with your breasts, cupping them in his hands as he drags his thumbs over your nipples. There’s a stirring beginning in your stomach again, warmth starting to sink down from your stomach to your pelvis.

His hands abandon your breasts to slide lower, trailing over your stomach before slipping even lower. He presses against your back as his hands scrub at your inner thighs, wiping the juices that have begun to dry against your skin.

Your teeth sink into your lip as his hands travel upward, one of them slipping between your legs. His fingers are gentle as they rub through your folds, still sensitive from three orgasms. His middle finger drags over your clit, making your hips jerk. You can feel him growing hard against your back, your ass pushing back against him as he continues to tease your clit.

“Fuck,” You breathe, starting to dampen between your thighs and not from the water spraying you both.

You push yourself forward, bending so your hands press against the tile wall. You push back against his ass, grinding against him.

He gets the message, pulling back just slightly before the tip of his cock drags through your folds. You’re still sensitive as he pushes into you, your pussy fluttering around him. He groans, the sound echoing around the tile walls of the shower as he presses in until he’s flush with your ass. Your hands push against the wall, pressing you back against him to take him as deep as you can.

“Fucking irresistible.” He groans, his hands gripping your hips as he starts to thrust into you.

His thrusts are quick and sharp, the antithesis of what they were just a few minutes before. Gone is the intimacy and the vulnerability, instead desperate need taking its place. It’s not about making love anymore, instead it’s feeding into that primal need taking over.

The sound of flesh hitting flesh fills the bathroom as he fucks into you hard, using his grip on your hips to pull you back against him as he thrusts into you. You can do nothing but stand there as he uses you, fighting to keep from slipping in the water still spraying both of you from overhead.

Your moans are short and sharp, nails scratching at the tiles as you get closer and closer to the edge, forced onward by the drag of his cock against that spot inside of you. It has your legs shaking, body pushing back against his as your back arches.

“Come on,” He grunts, his thrusts starting to get sloppy. He has to be sensitive still too.

Your legs do nearly give out as his fingers find your clit, rubbing tight circles against the overly sensitive bud. You brace yourself against the wall, John’s arm wrapping around your stomach to keep you upright as he continues his assault on your clit.

“Cum for me.” He grunts, his hips snapping against your ass.

“Fuck…” You whine, legs nearly spasming as you gush around his cock, another orgasm slamming into you.

He curses as his thrusts get sloppy, his hips pushing hard against your ass as he grinds into you. His fingers don’t let up on your clit as he continues to chase his own high, pushing you close to the point of overstimulation. You can feel another orgasm rapidly approaching, your entire body trembling.

“That’s it,” he grunts, pushing against your clit.

Your arms nearly give out as another orgasm washes through you, just barely keeping yourself from face-planting into the wall as he thrusts hard against your ass twice more before he stills. His warm cum spurts into you as he orgasms, his head falling back as he groans low and deep.

“Bloody fucking hell.” He grunts, hands holding your hips up as you shake from the intensity of your second orgasm.

He pulls himself out of your overstimulated pussy, still spasming as his cum starts to drip out of you. He wraps his arms around you, lifting you up so you’re pressed against his chest.

“So fucking good for me, you know that?” He hums in your ear, pressing a kiss to the lobe.

You whine at his praise, a shiver running down your spine as your omega beams with pride.

He washes you clean again, taking his time washing your hair for you. You do the same to him, running the soap over his skin. You pause around his scars, gently caressing each one. It’s easy to ignore them sometimes, forget about them and their meanings. Sometimes you can’t help but stare, worry knotting in your stomach as you stare at the ones too close to vital organs. Close calls and the possibilities had those wounds just been slightly lower, slightly to the side.

Tonight you try to ignore the meanings of them, cleaning his skin until he nearly shines and the water starts to go cold.

He reaches around you to turn it off, a shiver running through you as the cool air in the bathroom hits your skin. He’s quick to wrap a towel around you, drying you off as much as he can before drying himself.

You head back into your room, forgoing clothes as you climb into the bed naked. The sheets are slightly damp and smell like sex but you don’t care. John joins you just a moment later, forgoing clothes as well. He lays down on his back, opening an arm to you. You saddle in close to his side, tossing an arm around him as he pulls the sheets up around you. You press your nose into his chest, breathing in the clean scent of soap and the natural scent of him beneath. It calms your mind, slowing down your thoughts.

“Get some sleep.” He murmurs into your damp hair, kissing the top of your head.

You hum, already halfway there as your eyes slip closed.

It’s already light outside when you wake.

The light is shining through the gap in the curtain, pulling you from the sweet arms of sleep. It’s warm under the sheets, your back pressed up against something solid. You let out a groan as you stretch, joints popping. You’ve been in this position for a while.

“Morning.” A soft voice says, making you turn your head. John is still with you, reclined up against the headboard.

“What time is it?” You murmur, rubbing your eyes.

“Just past seven.” He says, his face illuminated by the glow of his phone.

“What’re you doing?” You ask, turning around to face him.

“Looking at houses.” He says, swiping across his screen.

“Houses?” Your sleep-addled brain can’t quite comprehend what he’s saying.

“For us to move into.” He says, glancing down at you.

It takes you a moment before the tears start to gather in your eyes. “Huh?” You push yourself up onto your elbow.

“We’ll have to go back to base for a short time while my retirement paperwork gets processed, but then we’ll have to have somewhere to go after that goes through.” He explains. “I’ve been looking at some places for a while.”

“A while?” You blink at him, trying to hold back the tears.

He nods. “Since before I left to go after Shepherd.” A tear falls at the implications of his words. “So...you’ve been planning this for a while?”

He nods again. “It’s been playing around in my head. Just took some time to finally settle.”

You scoot yourself closer, leaning your head on his shoulder. You take a couple breaths to compose yourself, to not let the emotions overflow again like they did last night. He’s been considering retiring for a while, he’s even been looking at places to move to. He’s been planning this a lot longer than you knew, than you thought.

“I like this place.” He says, showing you a listing of a nice looking modern house.

“Where is it?” You ask, looking at the photos as he swipes through them. It is nice, new and clean looking.

“Scotland.” He says.

“Scotland?” You frown. You always thought he’d want to stay in England.

“It’s a good place to retire.” He says, pausing on a photo of the backyard. “Been looking at places on the coast.”

You can’t stop the tears now, frantically wiping at them as they fall. “The coast?”

He nods. “Just for you.”

You wrap your arm around him, curling in close to his side. He wraps his arm around your shoulders, leaning his head on yours. He really has been paying attention. He really has been putting a lot of thought into you and what you’d like, where you’d be happiest and the most comfortable.

“Thank you.” You breathe, trying to hold in your sobs.

“Of course.” He says, squeezing you tightly against his chest. “I want you to be happy. You’ve gone through so much shit already, you deserve to live out the rest of your life where you’ll be at peace.”

It’s a strange jump from the no-nonsense alpha you’d met when you arrived in his life. The alpha dedicated to his job, his team, saving the world. The alpha that willingly put you second because that’s what was expected of him, because that’s what he needed to do. The alpha that broke promises to you because of the good of the world mattered more to him than you.

You sniffle, hugging him even tighter, so much it probably hurts. He doesn’t complain though, letting you cling to him as you need to.

You wonder what changed, what happened to cause this sudden shift in his priorities. Maybe it was almost losing you, maybe it was those times you got angry with him, screamed at him because he wasn’t listening, because he was neglecting you emotionally, mentally, physically. Because he wouldn’t give you what you needed and expected you to be fine. Maybe it was simply your existence here in this cottage where nothing mattered but healing and living a normal life. Maybe he finally realized just how much life on base affected you and he was able to look past the blinders the military put on him from an early age.

“I’ll never be able to thank you enough for this.” You murmur.

“Just be happy. That’s all that I need.” He says, kissing the top of your head.

You smile softly, releasing your tight hold on him. “This means so much to me.”

“I know.” He smiles. “That’s why I’m doing it.”

“You’re so good to me. It’s a nice change.” You tease.

He chuckles, his hand sliding down to your hip. “I’m going to ignore that.”

You giggle, sliding your hand down to rest on his stomach. “What other places are you looking at?” You ask.

“A few places.” He says. “Ones with enough space for a big bed.”

“Oh?” You raise a brow at him. “How big are we talking?”

“Big enough for at least three.” He says, his scent starting to thicken in the air. “Maybe enough for five.”

You bite your lip, images of tangled bodies, lips and hands all over filling your head. The four of them gathered around you as you lay there, open and ready for them. Heat starts to pool in your stomach, your thighs rubbing together.

John’s chest rumbles with a growl as your scent starts to project into the air. “What’s on your mind.”

You smirk, sliding your hand under the sheets. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“Screamin’ fucking Jesus again?”

“They’ve got a lot of time to make up for.” Kyle shrugs, pulling the tea bag out of his mug and dropping it into the trash.

“It’s like they’re tryin’ tae torture me.” Johnny whines, dropping into a seat at the table.

Kyle pours some milk into his mug before joining him. “You can always go outside.”

“Might have tae.” He grunts, putting his head in his hand. “I cannae take it.”

“You’re hard right now, aren’t you?” Kyle asks, taking a sip of his tea.

“Like a fuckin’ rock.” Johnny says, leaning back in his chair as he runs a hand across his groin. “Cannae take listenin’ to those sweet noises. I just want tae stick my face between her legs and make them shake. Tha’s all.”

“You’ll get your chance.” Kyle says. “She’ll be coming for you next.”

“I hope so.” Johnny groans, dropping his head into his hands.

Thudding steps come down the stairs, Simon appearing. He pauses, glancing at your door before shaking his head. “Girl’s busy these days.”

“As long as she’s having fun.” Kyle shrugs.

Johnny almost whines, head still in his hands.

“Needy little pup.” Simon mumbles, dragging a hand through Johnny’s newly cropped mohawk as he passes. “Probably hard in your shorts, huh?”

Johnny lets out another sound, running his hand over his face. “I cannae take it.” He pushes himself up to stand, beelining for Simon in the kitchen.

“Uh uh.” Simon says, turning him around before Johnny can get a hand on his dick. “Go sit back down and be good.” He delivers a sharp slap to Johnny’s ass.

Johnny lets out a frustrated groan but does as he’s told, sinking back into his seat at the table. Kyle hides his smirk in his tea, ears perking up as the moaning in your room quiets.

“Quick one this morning.” He muses, hiding his own stiffy under the table. The mental images of you and Price together is almost too much for even him. What he wouldn’t give to bear witness to that again. His alpha and his omega lost in their pleasure together. He wouldn’t even have to participate. Just watching would be enough.

There’s a few moments of silence before your door opens, John exiting looking rather pleased. You follow him, hair slightly mussed and a dopey smile on your face.

“Good morning.” Kyle says, smirking at his alpha.

“It is.” John says, heading for the kitchen, a pep in his step.

“Morning.” You say dreamily, a fucked-out look on your face.

Johnny mumbles something, staring hard at you before rising to his feet, the chair squeaking on the floor from the suddenness of his movement. “Cannae take anymore.”

He crosses the space between you quickly, brushing the placemats off the table before he’s lifting you. You drop on your back on the table, the wood trembling from the force of it. Johnny kneels between your legs, tossing them over his shoulders before his face disappears from sight.

Your head drops back, thudding against the table as a moan slips through your lips. Kyle’s own lips part as he watches, a slurping sound rising from between your thighs.

“Oh fuck.” He breathes, watching the top of Johnny’s head bob as he eats you out. His stiffy is now rock hard, pulsing painfully in his pants.

“Fucking mutt-” Simon goes to move forward but John stops him with a hand on his chest, watching your back arch off the table as Johnny continues to slurp at your pussy.

“Let him.” He says, dropping a hand to adjust his own pants. “He’s suffered enough.”

Your moans start to fill the air, body writhing on the table as Johnny sucks at your clit, the wet squelch of his mouth cleaning the remnants of John from your pussy loud in the air. He’s eating you like a man starved, but you suppose he is.

Your hands dart out, gripping the edges of the table as your legs start to shake, overly sensitive from what John gave you this morning, and likely last night.

“Gonna cum!” You gasp, thighs squeezing around Johnny’s head but he doesn’t seem to care. He’d gladly die in your pussy if he had to.

Kyle can’t take anymore either, slipping a hand into his pants. “Fuck…” He breathes, the sounds coming from Johnny almost obscene. He’s moaning almost as much as you are, fingers indenting your thighs from how hard he’s holding onto you.

“Come on,” Simon says, moving around the table. “Be a good boy and make her cum.”

Johnny moans against your pussy, sucking hard on your clit. Your body shudders, back arching off the table as you cum against his tongue. Johnny moans, sticking his tongue into your pussy to catch every last drop of you.

You’re breathing hard, hands still gripping the edge of the table as Johnny continues to lap at you, pushing you towards overstimulation.

“That’s enough.” Simon says, wrapping his hand around the back of Johnny’s neck, yanking him up to stand. “Let the poor girl breathe.”

You continue to lay there on the table, legs dropping over the edge, still shaking just a bit.

“Look at you.” Simon tsks, licking the side of Johnny’s mouth where your juices shine on his skin. His hand drops to the front of Johnny’s boxers, pushing against them at the wet spot on the front of his shorts. “Came in your pants again, didn’t ya?”

Johnny groans, nodding unabashedly.

“Fucking whore.” Simon spits, slapping Johnny’s ass. “Go clean yourself up.”

“Yes, sir.” Johnny moans, stumbling his way to the stairs.

Simon turns his gaze to Kyle, his hand slowing in his pants. “You need to go clean yourself too?”

Kyle swallows thickly, pulling his hand out of his pants. He shakes his head. “No, sir.”

Simon scoffs. “Should try a little harder, then.”

Kyle does almost cum in his pants then, his cock twitching as Simon’s mean side comes out.

“Come on.” Simon says, lifting you up so you’re seated on the table. “Up and at ‘em princess. Gonna get your pussy juice all over the table.”

“Bit late for that.” You murmur, sliding off the edge and into a chair.

Simon grabs the cleaning spray and a rag, tossing it to Johnny as he returns. “Clean up your mess.”

“Yes, sir.” Johnny says, spraying down the table.

Kyle’s cock is still throbbing in his pants, painfully hard as he tries to focus on his tea. He should excuse himself to the bathroom, jerk himself off real quick, but instead he remains seated, enjoying the pulsing in his shorts just a little too much.

“You’re really doing it?” You ask, sinking down on the couch.

“Hmm?” Kyle hums, looking up from his phone.

“Retiring?” You continue, tucking your legs up under you as you face him.

“Yeah.” He shrugs, slipping his phone back into his pocket.

“Why? You don’t have to.” You say.

“Because I want to.” He explains, draping an arm across the back of the couch. “John is right. You deserve to have a happy life with your pack and I want to be there for it. I’ve done my time and I think I’m ready to have a normal life.”

“You’re giving up your career for me.” You say quietly, almost hesitantly.

“It’s worth it.” He shrugs again. “I’d rather you be happy knowing I’m always going to be there than stressed I might not be coming home. It’s not fair to you to live with that stress.”

“But Simon and Johnny…”

“They’re going to do what they’re going to do.” He says. “That’s up to them and what they want. This is what I want. I want to live a normal life with you and John. He’s going to need the support for a while.”

“This is going to be hard for him, isn’t it?” You say.

He nods. “It will be a hard adjustment. John’s never been good at living a civilian life. Even when he’s had chances to go on leave, he never fully steps away. Giving it up cold turkey is going to be hard on him. He’s going to need help, support, someone who understands. No offense to you.”

“None taken.” You say. “He’s going to need you.”

Kyle nods. “That’s why I want to be there. It wouldn’t be fair for me to try and help from a distance. You’ll need help too, trying to adjust to a normal pack life again. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I left you both to flounder.”

You lean your head against his arm. “You’re so good to us. Too good.”

He smiles. “Nah, I just love you both.” He wraps his arm around you, pulling you in against his chest.

“I love you too.” You say, relaxing against him, and you mean it.

You love all of them so much it almost hurts.

NEXT ->

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[a-b-riddle]

Part Six

Can't stop thinking about reader finally giving the boys a taste of their own medicine. And hurting my own feelings in the process of it all. I wanted to make this a baddie reader chapter, but its just a saddie reader chapter. I played Down Bad by T.S on repeat while writing this. Y'all need to thank @blueladys-world for being my ventor for this part.

None of them came the next day to pick up the box of everything you had collected. By everything, quite literally everything. Birthday cards and gifts. Keepsakes from your time together they had given you. Even going as far as returning lingerie they had given you. You didn't want any trace of them in your home anymore. You were gonna have to work hard in rebuilding it to be your safe space once again.

You were surprised that someone from the expo had DM'd you. Renée was an author who had tried to stop by to your stand, but got too caught up in the day. She was in London, working on her next series installment and wanted to pick your brain. Writer to writer.

The two of you agreed on a time. She had mentioned wanting to try this restaurant the last time she visited and you already knew you would be putting that meal on a credit card. It was a bit of splurge, but after the past week you deserved it. You could even wear that sexy black number that had been collecting dust in your closet.

By the time you were done getting ready and squeezing into your dress, you looked more ready for a date than dinner with a colleague.

A colleague. You had a colleague!!!

The knock on the door pulled you from your girlish glee. You didn't need to guess who it was. Your friends knew to text you before they came over and Renée had agreed just to meet you at the restaurant.

It was one of them.

You didn't even t bother looking through your peephole before you opened the door to find Johnny standing there with a floral arrangement of your favorite flowers.

Johnny began to speak, afraid you were going to shut him down immediately no less. But no words came out. His eyes traveled up and down your body, taking you in.

A vision.

You wanted to snap at him that your eyes weren't located on your hips. But damn if it didn’t feel empowering seeing Johnny’s gaze gloss over.

"Fuck me." He swore, gathering his bearings before realizing you were dressed. In a sexy black dress and heels and makeup and oh, fuck you were going out. "Where are you going?"

"First off, none of your business," you said holding a finger up. "And secondly, what are you doing here?"

"Listen," "Bon-"

"The box is right there." You said pointing to a large cardboard box on the floor. "That's everything."

"If you just let me make it-"

"Up to me?" You cut him off again. "I'm over it. Really."

"Just give me a chance."

"Either you haven't spoken to the other two to know I am well and truly done with this situationship, or you’re hoping some half-ass apology and flowers will let you get a last fuck in and the skedaddle. So hopefully if it was latter, hopefully the former answered that for ya.”

So if that's all you came here for, I've got to get going. My reservation is at seven and it's rude to keep a friend waiting."

"It's been a week and you're already going on a date?" He accused.

"Who said anything about a date?" You didn't outright say it wasn't. Where would be the fun in that? “It's just dinner with a colleague.” You didn’t want to lie. It wasn’t a date. But you didn’t need to say it was a woman. “Hardly a date.”

“Look at the sight of ye!" He said, taking the opportunity to take a quick look at how deliciously your ass filled that dress. “A fookin’ dinner with a colleague. Like one of us would show up to a briefing like that.” You opened your compact. Not needed in the age of cellphones but loving the feminine touch.

There was something so... seductive about using a compact mirror to apply your lipstick.

“Kyle does have the legs for this dress.” You said, applying that lipstick he loves. That same shade that looked beautiful on your lips. The same lipstick you would mark all over Johnny’s body. “Believe what you want. Not my problem anymore.”

You put your compact back in your purse along with the lipstick in case you needed to reapply it after dinner.

Johnny's eyes zeroed in on your lips before his eyes met yours. That's when you felt it again. That undeniably spark of chemistry that you had with him. With all of them. That feeling that sucked the very breath from your lungs and for a moment all you could see was the man in front of you.

"Bonnie," he said placing his hands on your neck. His thumbs stroking your cheeks softly. "Just one more chance." He begged, his voice breaking. "I'm a fucking git, but I won't let you go again. I won't leave." You knew that when it came to promises, Johnny had proven that even if he didn't mean to break them, he had forgotten he made them in the first place.

But in that moment you didn't care. Even after everything, Meredith was right. You had loved them. Everything else had ended so shitty. John had blamed you. Kyle had only shown up until it was too late. And Simon. The last time you would ever hear his voice was after he said such cruel things to you.

No.

If you were done with Johnny, you won't let the last time he fucked you being a quick, rough fuck doggystyle before leaving you naked and alone in your bed.

No. The last time with Johnny needed to be good. It might make it harder to finally leave, but you needed this. You needed to know that he could still make love to you and not just fuck you like an animal in heat.

"Johnny?" You asked. Your mouth dangerously close to his. "I don't want you to fuck me."

"I don't have to," he said, starting to take a step back to give you some space before your hands reached his. Holding him in place.

He can't let you go. You couldn't let him go. Not yet. Just one more. You needed just one more time to get him out of your system. The closure you needed.

"Make love to me." You begged, your eyes pleading. "I need to know that I wasn't just something you wanted to fuck." You don't move as his eyes search yours, looking for reassurance. When you nod, his mouth softly touches your own.

His hands travel along your body, but never fully leave you. Sliding your neck to your back. Pulling your body closer to his. A hand placed on your hip so tightly he's afraid you might disappear.

There's no rush, no haste in his touch. His mouth not eager to devour you.

He's slow. With his hands, his tongue. Even when he picks you up and walks to your bedroom with your legs around his waist.

He doesn't throw you on the bed.

Not this time.

He lays you down. His body laying on top of yours. His hand skimming along your bare thighs, but not daring to travel any higher.

But damn you needed him. You wanted love making, but if he didn't get inside you soon, you weren't sure you could let him go after this. You weren't sure you would be able to leave.

"Johnny," you whimpered, pulling away from his mouth. "Please." You took his hand, putting it between your thigh. Aching for any friction.

He obeyed without hesitation. If you told him to get on his bark, he would in that moment. Anything to make you happy. Anything to keep you.

"Got to get you out of this dress first." He resting on his knees before he began to slide the black satin from your thighs to your stomach. You maneuvered, helping him undress you leaving you in nothing.

"I thought you liked the dress." You couldn't help, but tease. Your hand finding its home on the back of his neck, pulling you to him once more.

In a tone lacking any note of humor and in all seriousness, he looked at you. Really looking at you. Taking in how your smile reached your beautiful eyes before he said, "I want you bare to me when I take you."

You felt your stomach flutter at his words before he began to take off his clothes.

He joined you again. His body relaxing when they got between your legs again. His mouth traveled from your exposed neck to your nipples. Sucking and flicking them with his tongue until your back arched. Pressing harder into his mouth.

Your hands tangled in his soft brown hair before you boldly guided him to your already dripping core. He slid down your body before his hands began to push your knees apart until you were fully expose to him.

With your knees bent, Johnny settled on his stomach, placing soft kisses on your soft inner thighs. God, did he love seeing you squirm. He smiled at your tortured expression before looking down at your sex. "There she is." He said before placing a kiss on your pussy.

It wasn't sloppy. He wasn't diving in and licking at your center like so many times before. He was kissing it just as tenderly as he kissed your mouth. Slowly building it deeper and deeper. Adding tongue. Breaking away to readjust his head.

The delicious ache between your thighs began to become to unbearable. "Need you inside me." You panted. "Johnny-"

"Shhh." He soothed. "Got to warm you up first , Bonnie." He said before slipping his finger inside of you. One was all it took before your head settled against the pillows again. When your body relaxed, he added another. He would need to add three to make sure you were good and ready.

His digits stroked that spongy spot inside of you that made your toes curl. "You're barely fitting around my fingers." Johnny was a good 6 inches in length, but the girth is what always did you in. It hurt to take anything past his head into your mouth. If you fucked him without any preparation, especially after a week of no sex, he would tear you into too.

His tongue caressed your clit, your eyes squeezing shut as you felt your first orgasm creeping up on you.

"Johnny." You moaned, your fingers running through his soft brown hair.

"Give it to me, beauty." He panted. "Come on my face. Squeeze my fingers, Lass." He begged before his mouth went back to you.

It was like lightning. Your body now sensitive after being forsaken for so long. Your vision blurred and before you could process it, Johnny was sitting on his haunches between your legs, stroking his cock.

You could only nod, dazed and barely keeping a grip onto the reality of what this was.

The end.

He leaned forward, his cock nestling against you. You knew this was going to be nothing compared to his fingers. "Tell me if I need to stop."

You smiled, mockingly. Reminding him, "Not our first time together, Johnny." just our last.

"You were wrapped tight around my fingers." He gave a half smile before kissing your forehead. The gesture like a knife twisting in your heart. "I just don't want to hurt you."

"I'm ready." You brought your legs around his waist again. Pulling him to you, your arms wrapping around his neck as your mouths meet.

He presses into you. The head of his cock sliding inside just one or two inches. You body contracting around him in a small spasm. He swallows your moan and lets you adjust. He pulls away before looking down where the two of you meet.

"I could die like this, Lass." He said, his breath coming out unsteady as he tries his best to control himself. So close to just burying himself inside of you to the fucking hilt. "Seeing you like this is this first thing I want to see when I make it to the other side." You let out a choked cry as he pushes deeper inside you. Another inch. And another. And another until you're taking all of him.

He slurs something that sound like "fuck", but you are in too much of a daze to care. You arch into him, trying to get closer.

His thrusts are slow and deep. His pubic bone brushing against your clit making you whine and squirm. Begging for more.

You're not sure how long he had fucked you like that.

You needed it to stop.

You couldn't handle it. The softness. His words.

I could die like this, Lass.

Your lip quivered as you told him you wanted to be on top. You needed a moment. A chance to create a bit of space before he shattered your world yet again.

He pulled out. His absence already making you ache for him again before he settled beside you.

You squatted above his cock. Your feet flat against the mattress as you grabbed his hardness and slipping it inside of you. The sound you let out was pornographic. A high pitched, soft moan slipping from your lips as he buried himself inside of you again.

You placed you hands on his chest. Using the leverage to ride him. Your arms serving as barrier for you to get your bearings.

You used his body just as he had used yours. Throwing your head back, you moved faster and faster. Readjusting so your hands went from his chest to his stomach, giving him a better view of your connecting bodies.

His hand slips between the two of you, thumb pressing against your clit, and you tighten even more around. A needy whimper coming out of your throat. The sound mixing in with the sounds of his labored breathing and slapping skin as he begins to fuck up into you.

Even though he had been doing all the work for the last several minutes, you felt the tension start to creep into your calf.

"Fuck fuck fuck." You screech, barely able to hold yourself up any longer. "Ow." You hissed as the cramp took hold.

"Leg cramp?" He asked, not even faltering in his thrusts. You pathetically nod before he takes it upon himself to flip you on your back again.

"I'm going to do this every chance I can." He promises, pressing a searing kiss onto your exposed neck. "Any chance you'll give me." You can't take it. His words, his mouth, his fucking cock. It's too much. "I'm going to show you how much I want you. How much I want to fucking worship ye. Do anything to make you feel good. Not going to leave you again like that, Bonnie."

You reach for him again, pull him into a searing kiss just to shut him up. You need him to shut up. You couldn't take his false promises. You wouldn't survive it. Couldn't.

"Shit." His thrusts quicken, his thumb returning to your swollen bud. Flicking it in a way he had crafted into an art. He buries his face into your neck and you know he's getting close.

You weren't too far behind.

He didn't want to come, not yet, but this was fully out of his control. It was pathetic. A week without sex and you had him nearly coming in the first ten minutes.

But that's what you want. To see him lost in the idea that you would stay.

"Johnny." You groan out. "Please. Cum inside me."

He draws fast, beautiful circles around your clit that immediately push you over the edge. You shut your eyes tight, squeezing him like a vice as you come in strong waves, continuing to push inside you.

in out in out in out.

Deliciously clenching around him tighter and tighter until he can't take it anymore.

"Fuck," he says again, and you see it in his face, and you see it in his face, the second it's all over for him. You want to sear the image in your head. Keep it there forever. Knowing you'll never see it again. The way those enchanting blue eyes squint nearly shut before closing in complete ecstacy.

His mouth would open. A moan caught in his throat that he isn't ready to let go.

His hand closes around your hip, holding you to him while he presses as far as he can go, and it's only then do you feel his cock twitch in quick, jerky movements. He moans out your name before taking your mouth into a searing kiss.

"I fucking love you." He says. "So fucking much."

He was still under the blanket when you returned from the bathroom. You picked up your clothes up from the floor. Looking at the clock realizing you had less than five minutes to get out the door before you would be late for dinner.

"What are you doing?" he asked. You couldn't look at him. Hearing the panic in his voice almost made you stop. Tell him it really was just dinner with a colleague. A woman. That you would be back. Beg him to wait until you came home.

"I can't cancel on the dinner." You said slipping your feet into your heels. "This was a mistake."

You weren't sure why you said it. You weren't sure if you were trying to convince him or yourself. If you wanted to hurt him or make him think you regretted it when you would truthfully do it again. You would do it again and again. You would never stop.

Like Johnny, you could have died in that moment, but for a completely different. Where he would be content, you would be saved from the pain. The pain currently coursing throughout your very soul.

"Lock the door behind you." You say as you practically sprint out the bedroom. Only slowing in your stride to snatch your purse off the kitchen counter before running out. The door slamming behind you.

The restaurant was nicer than you expected. The wine alone was the price of an entree. You didn't seem to be phased at all and were relieved when Renée insisted on picking up the bill.

Your dinner had been delicious and the conversation even better. Renée wrote fantasy romance and wanted to pick your brain about a Why Choose. You had nearly spent out the over priced wine you weren't even really enjoying. Oh the irony.

"It's like all the rage now, but it's hard to make more than one appealing as the love interest. You should have seen the Goodreads comments on my last book. So many people bitched about my FMC not ending up with a character who was quite literally her adopted brother."

"So," you took a breath trying to find the words. "I'm going to be honest. I only read your latest book and I loved Luka. But I can't compare him to other MMCs you've written about so I don't know if they are similar or different. But what I can say is that I'm seeing like this trend of MMCs where they are all this dark-haired, brooding or mysterious character who dislikes mostly everyone and is only soft for either a select few or only the FMC."

"I think if you are going to write a Why Choose you need to think of guys you wouldn't mind falling in love with." You couldn't help, but think of what drew you to your boys. "One could be the leader. Someone who isn't afraid to have his neck on the line. To make sure everyone else is taken care of and being strong enough to handle the stress of that. He would be big on words of affirmation. Lifting the FMC up. For me, it would be someone that I know will take care of business. He's confident in his decision. That confidence would extend to me." You clear your throat. "If I was the FMC, that is."

"Okay." She nodded, pulling out a pen and notepad. "You don't mind if I-"

"I don't write about polygamy." Crossed that bridge. Currently trying to burn it. "So feel free."

"Another could be the one who it's so easy to fall in love with their charm. The one who falls to his knees. Wanting to worship every inch of her. The one who makes her laugh. That one to make her forget about the sadness that creeps into her bones. The one to hold her whenever he could. He's about quality time and physical touch."

"So different love languages." She said, her pen quickly scribbling.

"Yeah." You said, leaning forward. "Then there is the gift giver." Your mind went to Gaz. Most of the gifts and trinkets in the box sitting by your door had came from him. He had gotten you new earbuds when yours broke. When you were being harassed at your gym, he had bought you and him a membership at a different one. "The one who would give her the world if she asked for it. If you're going with a high fantasy then maybe the one to take note of something at a market that the FMC had been eyeing and he bought it for her. Just someone who takes notice like that."

"So acts of service would fall with all of them then you think?"

No. Simon had been the one who probably spent the least amount of money on you. He didn't praise you like John. He didn't even try to attach himself at your hip like Johnny.

But if you needed something fixed, he would come fix it himself. He'd be damned letting a strange man into your apartment. And alone? Fucking forget about it. The one who hated any sort of cardio activity outside of fucking you, but didn't hesitate in attempting to keep up with you when you wanted to go on a run and get some fresh air. If you needed something done, he didn't pay someone else to do it. He did it. If you wanted to do something, he made it happen. He made you safe.

You couldn't bring yourself to say explain it. Your eyes begin to itch. Warning you to think of something else.

So instead you just told her yeah. That they would all commit acts of service. And even in your hypothetical explanation of characters that haven't even been written yet, Simon was still the ghost among them.

"Lucky fucking girl." Renée said setting down her pen.

"Yeah." You said, downing the rest of your wine.

You walked home. The cool crisp wind feeling like it was whipping your exposed skin. It was soothing as the ghost of Johnny's touch still seemed to burn you.

You had hoped that you would get some closure, but you just felt hollow. You came twice and still manage to leave unsatisfied. Johnny wasn't malicious... he was Johnny. He wasn't like the others. Simon would never apologize and John and Kyle wouldn't try to keep reaching out after you told them know once.

Johnny couldn't stand you being mad at him. He never could. He would beg and beg for your forgiveness. You didn't regret fucking him one last time. He needed to know that you were well and truly done. There was no going back from this.

"Hey, Love!" You were pulled from your thoughts at the sound of a voice coming from a source you couldn't see. You perked up, quickly scanning the dimly lit street before your eyes settled on a cluster of shadows just across the street. "Yeah." The slurring voice said again. "Talking to you gorgeous!"

You resumed your trek home. Now picking up your pace. "Don't be like that! Where ya off to?" The voice followed you. You kept your gaze straight. You were three minutes away. Three minutes and you would be at your building.

Three minutes.

Three minutes.

"What's the rush?" Another voice joined the cacophony. "Just want to have a chat."

You turned. They were maybe twenty feet away. You kept your eyes glued to them as your started to make a run for it.

You had made it about ten feet before your body collided with someone. Firm hands gripped your upper arms, steading you as you threatened to fall back.

You sucked in a breath of air, ready to scream when you looked up. It was too dark to make out the man's facial features. He was tall. His head eclipsing the street lamp just behind him. You shook beneath his hands. The voices behind you now silent.

"Keep walking." You didn't need to see his face. You knew that deep timber voice anywhere. He released you from his grip before letting you pass him.

"Just wanted to have a chat." You heard one of them try to reason. "No harm done."

"No harm done yet." Was the last thing you heard Simon say before you broke out into a full fledged run.

[here2bbtstrash]

look down on me like that - 11 (explicit)

genre: slow burn enemies to lovers hatefucking coworkers au, smut, angst

pairing: yoongi x reader

summary: your asshole coworker min yoongi has made it his personal mission to ruin your life.

word count: 23.1k 🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️

contains: mentions of suicidal ideation, depression, panic attacks, therapy. many scenes featuring alcohol (naturally) and a brief weed-smoking interlude. a whole lot of tears!!! but also everyone heals, yay!! we have a lot of conversations about trauma and family/childhood shit and accountability!! also the scammys are back (boooo) - plus a smidge of phone sex ft. reader masturbating.... as a lil treat 🤪

A/N: i told y'all i was gonna fuck it shibal this out and here we are!!! omg omg omg. i don't have the words, but thank you for being here. thank you for waiting TWO YEARS. thank you for even caring at all about this insane story that has been rotting in my brain since 2023. i am so, so proud to bring you this final chapter. neither it nor i would be here today if it weren't for a metric truckload of support from my incredible friends/beta team/personal peanut gallery: @sailorsoons @moni-logues @eoieopda @daechwitatamic @jihopesjoint @yoongukie-ff - i don't know what i did right in a past life to end up cared for by such incredible humans. y'all mean everything to me.

read on AO3!

chapter ten | masterlist

~*~

It’s quiet in Yoongi’s studio. He’s slipped his headphones off, frustrated, and now lets them clatter onto the desk as he slumps back in his chair. He stares at the track on his monitor like it’s a puzzle he can’t figure out.

It hits him all at once: he’s tired. Tired of looping this shitty song over and over, playing with the mix, adding new layers just to delete them again, unable to make it into anything worth anyone’s time. He’s tired of working until his contacts sting in his eyes and exhaustion feels like it’s sunk right down to the marrow of his bones.

If he’s honest, he’s fucking tired of living like this.

Yoongi exhales hard and the sound feels deafening in the quiet of the room. The soundproofing is decent in here, but he knows even if he flung the door open and screamed down the hallway, there’d be nothing else to hear except the echo of his own voice.

And no one to hear it. He’s the only one left in the building, has been for hours.

An issued key to the front door glimmers on its ring, next to his half-drunk coffee. Hasn’t even been long enough for the polish on it to dull.

His whole life is so much quieter, lately. In a way, that’s what he wanted.

Or at least what he asked for.

Yoongi reaches a hand back to rub at his shoulder, trying to work out the dull ache that’s blooming there, mouth twisting into a half-grimace. All of his joints feel stiff from sitting still for so long– he told himself he’d only put one more hour in tonight, and that was two hours ago. He really should leave, but he knows full well that when he packs up his things, shuts the studio door behind him and heads for the exit, he’ll walk by a desk that’s sat empty for weeks now. He’ll get into a car that’s too quiet, glance over at a passenger seat with no one in it, then drive home to a dark apartment.

All this empty space. It didn’t used to bother him.

The downturn of his mouth flattens out again as his gaze refocuses on the screen in front of him. He doesn’t want to think anymore, about that, or anything else. Introspection never leads him anywhere productive. He wants to work, to get this fucking track done so he can go home.

He straightens his spine, stifles a yawn, reaches for his headphones and steels himself for another listen through. Maybe all the issues have magically worked themselves out, he thinks dryly, and then the sudden buzz of his phone against his desk makes him start a little.

The noise drags out long enough for him to realize someone is calling him– who the fuck is calling him?

With a huff of frustration, he grabs for it, and then his headphones are dropping out of his hand, missing the desk entirely and plummeting straight down to the carpet under his feet. In the moment, he’s not even sure he notices.

Not when the name on his phone screen has just knocked all the breath out of his lungs. Because, well, it’s you.

He never did change your contact name.

But why are you– fuck, isn’t it late in California? Or early?

Yoongi’s head spins as he tries to remember the math, and then it occurs to him that his phone’s been ringing in his hand the whole time and he’s probably running out of chances to–

At what feels like the last possible second, he taps the button to answer the call. Taps again to put it on speaker. Doesn’t say anything. What the fuck is he supposed to say? Hi? How’s it going? Do you hate me?

There’s a long pause on the other end, enough to make him wonder if you’re already regretting the decision to call. Or maybe this was an accidental dial from the inside of your purse, or the back pocket of your jeans, while you’re out enjoying your warm, sunny, new life.

If he’s honest, he’s having a hard time trying to conjure up a reason why you’d want to talk to him at all.

And then you’re heaving a sigh and murmuring, “‘Course you don’t have a fucking voicemail message.” 

Or at least that’s what he thinks he hears. The words all sort of run together.

But that’s your voice, unmistakably so. Yoongi feels the sound of it kick through him.

“Asshole,” you punctuate, and he winces. He supposes he deserves that.

There’s a shifting sound on the other end of the phone, like you’re moving around a bit, wherever you are. Maybe in bed, maybe on the bathroom floor. They seem equally likely given your current state. 

“Alright, fuck it,” you say like you’ve finally decided on something, voice a little muffled, like maybe you’ve got your hands over your face. Maybe you’re exhausted, too.

“I guess,” you continue, “I‘m just gonna say what I wanna say, and then you can… fucking deal with it whenever you listen to this. And if you don’t like it you can just delete it. Or block me, or whatever. I guess it doesn’t matter.”

This is by far the drunkest he’s ever heard you. Which is saying something.

It takes a second for the reality of it to click into place, and then it dawns on him. You, apparently, have not realized that he actually answered his phone, probably aided by the fact that he hasn’t fucking said anything.

He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to quickly figure out how to proceed here. Fuck, he’s not good at shit like this.

And then you start talking.

“My friends are all mad at me tonight,” you say, and Yoongi keeps his eyes closed. “I showed up so late to this party, when I promised them I would be here. I fell asleep at my desk, working late, after everyone else had left for the day. I work like, all the time now. I guess it’s a distraction. Tiff says I’m pushing everyone away to keep myself from getting hurt again. Which is like. Yeah, probably.”

Your breath hitches slightly, sticks on a self-pitying laugh. “When I finally got here, I was like hours late, so I tried to catch up to everyone. But nobody told me Vernon makes his Jello shots with fucking Everclear and now I’m just… way, way too fucked up. And it’s like I’m– I’m not even having fun. I don’t even remember how. How I used to.”

Yoongi tries to make his exhale as steady and as quiet as he can, tries to ignore the way he can feel his heartbeat in his throat.

“Fucking stupid.” He sees your voice in his mind’s eye, shaped like audio input on his monitor. A faint line wavering, unsteady, dropping in volume, shooting up again when you breathe in, a broken gasp. “This whole thing is so stupid. I’m so fucking angry, all the time. I don’t know what to do.”

The line stalls out– a long pause.

“You broke my heart.” The words come out all jagged-edged. “And now I’m just like you.”

And, well. That hits him like a truck.

“I threw my whole fucking life out and decided to come here, to get away from it all. And now I’m here and– it’s still everywhere. All over. I’m fucking miserable, and I wanna hate you for it, but I don’t. Not even close.”

Yoongi’s hand presses tight to his mouth, dry lips smudging over the lines of his palm, physically holding in this awful noise that threatens to tear out of the back of his throat.

“Half the time I wish I’d never fucking met you, and half the time I wish I’d never left. And I just… I don’t know. I don’t know what to do. About any of it. I don’t know how to stop being in love with you.”

The words hang there in the quiet of Yoongi’s studio, unfurling in his mind like ink in water. He can hear soft, tinny sounds through the phone speaker.

“So I guess you win,” you mutter, and it’s apparent in your voice now. You’re crying.

He scrubs his hands down his face, then shoves them through his hair. What the fuck is he doing, listening in on you like this? And why isn’t he saying anything?

In the empty space, you seem to come down from it a little bit; there’s a heavy shudder-sigh, then a sniff. A wet laugh. “Fuck. That was dramatic.” There’s noise on the line, like you’re dragging the phone closer. “God, how the fuck do you delete a voicemail?”

There’s a beep, then another, because you’ve started to aimlessly press buttons to try and delete a message that isn’t one, and if Yoongi’s going to say anything at all, it has to happen. Right fucking now.

So he swallows down the lump in his throat. And then he taps the button to end the call. Because he has no idea what to fucking say. How to make any of this better.

Yoongi pushes his chair back from his desk, lungs heaving air. He needs to take a fucking walk.

There are gaps in what comes next, like he is blinking in and out of reality. One minute he’s shouldering open the door to the lobby. Cars are rushing past in dizzying streams of light and sound. His face is wet, and he can’t quite catch his breath. He just keeps walking.

And then, all at once, there is the darkness of open water in front of him and a metal railing cool beneath his palms. Yoongi blinks out over the river, and it feels like he’s being unzipped, right down the middle. Like nothing has changed. Like everything has changed.

There’s footsteps, he hears them vaguely over the static in his brain. Steady rhythm, most likely a jogger, but then they start to slow before coming to a stop just past his shoulder.

So maybe it’s someone with worse intentions, he thinks, and it’s so unlikely, but there’s a fucked up kind of hope there. That it could be someone to flick open the line of a switchblade, find purchase right between his ribs, do for himself what he hasn’t figured out how to, hasn’t been brave enough to manage. Not even when he’s like this, on the precipice of it, close enough to taste it on his tongue: the allure of dreamless sleep.

He’s just so fucking tired.

When Yoongi turns back, he has to blink three times before he can process it. The figure standing a few feet behind him, in all-black athletic clothes, still breathing hard.

“Min Suga?”

“Jungkook?”

Yoongi is standing very still, but he wonders all the same if Jungkook can see it churning up inside of him. This dark, ugly violence.

“Is everything–?”

“I was just getting off work,” Yoongi answers simply, voice low. Jungkook’s head tilts a little.

“Walking home?”

Yoongi’s mouth pulls flat. “No.”

“Are you–?”

As if Yoongi is operating on a delay, the words he’s said finally catch up to him, shifting into place. Jungkook must track the way his eyes widen, because he loses his grip on whatever he was about to ask. Silence and warm night air hang in the space between them.

“The door,” Yoongi breathes. “Jungkook, I left the fucking door–”

He doesn’t finish the sentence before he starts running.

The city is a blur, just color and noise around him, useless, overwhelming. The only thing that matters is the thud of his sneakers on the concrete, underscoring the beat of his heart. Not again, not again, not again.

It isn’t until he’s jabbed the button for the elevator, and is standing there trying to take in air, that he realizes he’s not alone. Jungkook’s chest is heaving beside him. There’s a glisten of sweat at his temples.

“It’s okay,” Jungkook manages, and the words make Yoongi feel… insane. As if anything could possibly be o-fucking-kay right now. “Whatever happens. We’ll figure it out.”

The elevator chimes, and they step in together.

It’s quiet when they approach the glass doors. The lights are still on. No signs of obvious entry.

“I’ll go,” Jungkook says, and he’s pushing the unlocked door open before Yoongi can stop him. And Yoongi doesn’t stop him. He’s frozen where he stands, heart still hammering in his chest, hands shaking.

He is shaking all over, actually.

The minutes tick by, dreadfully slow, and then Jungkook is reappearing around the corner, Yoongi’s bag slung over his shoulder and the key in his hand. There’s no sound except the door easing closed behind him, and the click of the key in the lock.

Then Jungkook finally speaks. “Everything’s fine. Nobody took anything.”

Yoongi is still unraveling.

“It’s okay,” Jungkook stresses, and his brow is furrowed, like he’s really worried about something. “You made a mistake, you’re human. It’s okay.”

Yoongi doesn’t even think about it. All at once, his face is just– pressed to the smooth material of Jungkook’s shirt, leaving wet spots behind. There’s a split second where Jungkook stiffens, and then his arms are locking over the width of Yoongi’s back, and he’s pulling Yoongi that much tighter into his chest.

“You’re okay,” Jungkook says again, voice softer, and Yoongi fucking breaks down.

It’s a long time before Yoongi can get words in his mouth again. When he finally does, his voice is wrung-out.

“I– uh. Thanks. For that.”

Jungkook releases him, and Yoongi immediately puts space between them again, gaze skimming across the floor. He sniffs once, mouth drawn up tight.

“Did you eat, hyung?”

Yoongi glances up, not expecting the question, or how casually Jungkook asks it. Like nothing just happened. Like they’re old friends catching up.

Jungkook is already pressing the button for the elevator.

“Come on,” he says, turning back to meet Yoongi’s gaze again. “I want lamb skewers.”

Jungkook leads them out of the building and down a few blocks and Yoongi just follows, hands swiping at his cheeks, not really feeling like any part of this is real.

It’s nice, though. Just having somebody to follow.

It’s silent between them, and Yoongi can’t help but wonder if that’s for his benefit– quiet doesn’t seem to be Jungkook’s default state, not at work anyway. He’s always chattering on about some mobile game or the latest trend on TikTok– but he doesn’t seem uncomfortable with it, is the thing. Seems perfectly content to sit across from Yoongi and watch the skewers of meat turn over the coals and not talk.

Yoongi tips his head back, eyes closed as he chews, and feels himself coming down from it. Stepping back from the edge.

“You can head out if you want, Jungkook-ah,” he murmurs around his next bite. “Don’t let me keep you.”

“And what will you do?”

Yoongi hums a note, staring down at the table between them. “Go home. Probably get drunk.” Honesty comes easy to him in this moment. He doesn’t see a point in trying to act like he’s in a better headspace. Not after what Jungkook’s already seen tonight.

“Do you like Irish bombs?”

He blinks, surprised at the question, then looks up. “I– yeah. Do you?”

Jungkook’s eyes crease at the corners as a laugh floats out of him. “Why is everyone so shocked that I drink too?”

Yoongi’s mouth ticks up. “Hey, you’re allowed to, you know. Contain multitudes.”

“There’s a good place,” Jungkook nods toward the front door. “Around the corner.”

“I’m afraid I’m not much company tonight.”

Jungkook shrugs, like it doesn’t matter. “It’s fine, hyung. Come on.”

Yoongi doesn’t really know what he’s doing. But the beers go down easily enough, and so he orders a whiskey neat, even manages the ghost of a laugh when Jungkook sheepishly orders his with soda, then still does this throat-clearing hiss of a noise at the first taste.

He’s swirling his drink aggressively, in what Yoongi assumes is some misguided effort to better disguise the taste of liquor, when he says seemingly out of nowhere, “Can I ask you a question, hyung?”

Yoongi nods, takes another sip of his own drink.

Jungkook is now sliding his glass back and forth across the table, palm to palm. “Why Suga?”

It takes a second for the question to make sense, and then Yoongi sucks in air through his teeth when the realization clicks, shaking his head a little. “Come on, how long have we worked together? And you’ve never heard this story?”

There’s no way he hasn’t, but Jungkook shakes his head innocently, gaze still locked tight on his glass. “Nope.”

Yoongi’s fingers drum a steady beat against the dark wood of the bar. It’s easy, telling this story; makes him feel more like himself. “I loved basketball as a kid. To play, to watch. Still do. Though I haven’t played in years now. But when I did, I was the shooting guard. So when I needed a producer name– took the first syllable of each. Su-ga.” He huffs a self-deprecating breath that flutters his shoulders. “It’s really not that interesting.”

Jungkook hums, thoughtful. “Why not just use your real name?”

Yoongi makes a face. “Suga is more like… a facet of me. There’s a separation there. I wanted there to be.” Jungkook is slow-blinking, like he doesn’t quite follow, and the whiskey is starting to loosen Yoongi’s tongue, so he keeps going with it. “It’s all just different versions of me, right? Suga, Agust D, Min Yoongi.”

Jungkook’s gaze snaps up. “Wait, Agust D?”

Ah, fuck. “I didn’t–” Yoongi fumbles, trying to find the right words. “Let’s not go there. Just forget I said anything.”

It appears to be an impossible task for Jungkook, who is already shifting excitedly in his seat, retrieving his phone as if he immediately needs to scour the internet. “Hyung, do you have, like– secret music?!”

“No, no. Not yet.” Yoongi wishes he could think more clearly, but it’s all cotton-fuzz numb in his brain, more from easing out of an adrenaline rush than the liquor. His face is hot with embarrassment. “I don’t know. Probably never will.”

“But you want to?” Jungkook prompts, and he shrugs.

“I– it would be nice.”

This seems to stir something up in Jungkook, his spine straightening out, like the conversation is suddenly one of utmost importance. “You shouldn’t wait. To go after your dreams.”

At that, Yoongi outright laughs into his glass, shakes his head as he swallows a mouthful down. “Dreams are overrated, Jungkook-ah. I used to dream about being a professional basketball player.”

Jungkook’s eyes are shining. “And then you dreamed to make music.”

“And look at me now,” Yoongi quips, voice thick with sarcasm. “Living the dream, and still miserable.”

The ice cubes in Jungkook’s glass clink together as he rolls it between his palms. His voice is softer when he speaks again. “So maybe it’s time to try a new one.”

Yoongi sighs. “I don’t have time. I work too much as it is.”

Jungkook deflates a little, but he’s got this look on his face like he’s trying to work out the answer to a difficult question: brow furrowed, lips pursed, eyes sweeping over the bar.

“Are you doing it all on your own?” he finally asks, and Yoongi just gives another shrug.

“I guess that was the plan. You’re only the– second person I’ve said the idea out loud to, so.”

There’s a pang behind Yoongi’s ribs as the words hang in the air, and Jungkook nods, and Yoongi knows. Knows that Jungkook gets it. Knows that Jungkook’s not touching it.

“I have this friend,” Jungkook says instead. “You two should meet. His name is Chan and he is an amazing producer, seriously– I mean, nobody is in the same league as you, of course. But. Maybe it would be easier, right? If you weren’t trying to do it all by yourself?”

Yoongi takes another slow sip of his drink before he answers. “I’ll think about it.”

He’s surprised that Jungkook doesn’t push it, that all he does is nod his head along to the music playing low over the speakers, letting them lapse back into a silence that is somehow, just– comfortable.

When they’ve both finished off their drinks, Yoongi gets to his feet. “Come on, my car’s at the office. I’ll drive you home.”

They’re walking the few blocks back, the city humming steadily around them, when out of nowhere, Jungkook’s voice cuts through the sound. “Can I tell you something?”

“Go ahead.”

He sucks in this big breath of air, and Yoongi has no idea what to expect. But then he starts to talk. “You know, when I was a kid. In school, and stuff. I was bullied. Like, really badly, actually. It got to the point where I was having panic attacks every morning, just at the thought of going to school. Having to deal with it all. It felt so impossible sometimes.”

Yoongi doesn’t answer, because it seems like Jungkook needs to get this all out, like his brake line’s been cut. So he lets him go and just listens, the two of them walking side by side.

“And for a while,” Jungkook continues, “It just made me, like. Pull away. From everybody, from everything. I stopped talking in class, stopped hanging out with my friends. Didn’t go to Taekwondo. I just thought it would be easier if I lived… the smallest life possible. Like if I didn’t do anything to draw attention to myself, then everyone could, I don’t know.” Yoongi looks over in time to see his shoulders shrug. “Forget about me, I guess.”

“And how did that go?” Yoongi asks, even though he’s starting to feel like he already knows the answer.

The laugh that Jungkook breathes out doesn’t reach his eyes. “I was so, so lonely, hyung.”

There’s a lump in Yoongi’s throat, and he doesn’t try to speak around it.

Jungkook’s voice comes back again, stuttering, like he’s unsure. “I-I just want you to know that you don’t have to be like that. Lonely. If you don’t want to be.”

And, yeah, Yoongi thinks to himself. That is, actually, exactly what he fucking is.

“Hyung?” Jungkook murmurs, and there’s this urgency in the way he says it that makes Yoongi glance at him again. His eyes are a little red. “If we– if I hadn’t, uh. Seen you. Would you have...”

He trails off, and it takes Yoongi a second to finish the sentence in his head, to remember where he was when Jungkook found him, white-knuckle gripping on the edge of it all. “No,” he answers firmly, maybe a little too quick. “No, I promise.”

Jungkook swallows, nods once. “But you were– thinking about it?”

“A little bit, yeah.”

I always am, Yoongi thinks to himself, but he doesn’t say that part out loud. Jungkook doesn’t need to carry that around with him.

There’s a long, heavy pause between them, punctuated by a soft sniff from Jungkook. Then he finally manages another question.

“Do you want to know what I do, sometimes? When it’s all just, like… too much?”

It takes Yoongi a few more paces before he realizes that Jungkook has stopped walking. When he stops to turn over his shoulder with a questioning hum, he sees Jungkook behind him, tipping his head back and letting out this big, primal shout.

“You’re drunk,” Yoongi says with a laugh.

“Try it! Just like a….” He does it again, fists balled up at his sides, and it’s almost triumphant this time, a victory cry.

Yoongi feels it all buzzing through him, his nerves open-wound raw. But he’s smiling.

And then he’s closing his eyes and shouting up to the sky: a messy, ugly sound, echoing in the warm night air. But it’s honest.

He opens his eyes, and Jungkook is beaming, proud, painted in the glow of a streetlight. “Feels good, huh?”

Yoongi nods, because it does.

~*~

It’s a few weeks later that Jungkook asks if Yoongi wants to take a walk after work, and he agrees. He’s started doing that more and more lately. Saying yes. Mostly to little things: office lunches and happy hours, team meetings. Boxing classes, which he actually liked a lot more than he expected.

And really, it’s not so bad, getting outside the four walls of his lab. It’s a good distraction, at least.

Yoongi finds it a little suspicious that Jungkook is walking so purposefully as he leads them down a few blocks. Even more so when their destination just so happens to be a park with a basketball court.

And when the dark-haired guy leaning up against a car in the parking lot starts walking toward them, a ball tucked under his arm, Yoongi scoffs.

“Oh, I see. This is an ambush.”

Jungkook hums a questioning note, like he has no idea what Yoongi’s talking about. “Hyung, this is my friend Chan. He’s a producer too, did I ever mention him to you?”

Yoongi rolls his eyes, but still catches the ball when it’s tossed his way. “You’re full of shit, JK.”

Chan’s only greeting is a nod of his head, and Yoongi returns it. They both seem to be waiting on him, and he hisses out a dry laugh.

“I’m not playing. Not for real. I’m too old.”

Chan lifts his hands, palms out, like he’s not trying to fight. “Whatever you want. It’s cool.”

Yoongi keeps the ball, though– lets it drop onto the asphalt a few times, getting used to the feel of it under his palms. Shakes his wrists out, rolls his shoulders back, all his stiff places cracking. It’s been a long time. He lazily tosses it up a few times, knees flexing, just trying to get his form right.

“Chan said he’d be down to help you work on your mixtape,” Jungkook finally admits. When Yoongi glances over, he’s rocking back and forth on his heels, hands shoved into the pockets of his work slacks, mouth drawn up tight.

“I don’t have a mixtape,” Yoongi mutters, words almost lost under the steady sound of the dribbling ball.

“But you could,” Chan offers, circling him, not unlike a shark. “Hyung, if you want to make music, you should make music.”

“I do make music.”

Chan laughs a little, makes a face as if to concede that Yoongi’s not wrong. “Yeah, but like. Music that’s for you, you know? It’s different. You’re not trying to keep another artist’s brand in mind, you’re just… speaking from the heart. Saying what you wanna say.”

Yoongi shrugs the suggestion off. “I don’t have time.”

At this, Chan seems to brighten a little. “So let us help. If you’ve got rough ideas of what you want, just send them over. I can polish them up, then we can fine-tune or rework parts as needed. I can help mix and master. I’ve taught Jungkook a little bit, too. He helps me with my guides a lot.”

“He really is good, hyung,” Jungkook says softly, lips still pursed like he’s nervous. “I sent you some of his stuff.”

He did. Yoongi’s listened to it, and he knows Jungkook’s right. He keeps his gaze fixed tight on the ball in his hands, watching it bounce as he dribbles aimlessly. His thoughts feel like they’re going a mile a minute. 

“I’m not– I don’t want to waste your time.” Yoongi sighs as he lets himself get into it. “If we do all of that work, and I hate it, and I just want to scrap the whole thing. Or, or–” His chest starts to feel like it’s caving in, a little; he tries to breathe through it. “If we put it out there and nobody likes it. Or nobody cares. I can’t see why anyone would have interest in what I have to say, anyway.”

The ball thuds a heartbeat against the asphalt as Yoongi keeps going.

“‘Cause you know, who am I? Some producer? Some rich, out-of-touch, depressed asshole?” He shakes his head. “It’s just… probably not worth the hassle. I think some things are like that, you know. Better left as imagined ideals. Sometimes it’s better to just not try, ‘cause it’d be too painful to fuck it up. Reality is–”

“Hyung.”

Chan says the word forcefully enough that Yoongi glances up. Chan’s gaze is steely when their eyes meet, and Yoongi feels– a little ashamed, suddenly. Like maybe he’s overcomplicating this.

“Take the shot,” Chan directs, jutting his chin toward the net, and then Yoongi realizes that, yeah. He’s just been standing here dribbling all this time. Hasn’t even put it up once.

So he nods, drops the ball down one more time, then settles it between his palms. Brings it up, softens his knees. Gets out of his head, focuses on the thing in front of him, and for a few seconds, the rest of the world falls away. He sucks in a breath, and then he takes the shot.

It’s a pretty one, entirely silent, save for the swish of the net.

Chan’s voice comes back almost immediately, and Yoongi’s head jerks to take him in again. “Now in that moment– did you think about any of that shit?”

Yoongi’s mouth pulls flat, but it’s enough of an answer.

Chan’s already jogging up the court, retrieving the ball where it rolled to a stop against the perimeter fence. He keeps it tucked under his arm as he makes his way back, and there’s the ghost of a smile on his face as he steps in close to Yoongi.

“Sometimes, you just need to take the fucking shot.”

He passes the ball back, hard. Yoongi barely gets his hands on it before it knocks into his chest.

~*~

That Friday, in his studio, Yoongi tries not to think about it.

Jungkook is stretched out longways on the couch, scrolling aimlessly on his phone; he’d hung around as the rest of the office emptied out, and then Chan showed up with a bottle of whiskey– motivation, he’d quipped– and a devious grin. He’s made himself at home in Yoongi’s desk chair, getting the bones of a track ready, expanding off an idea Yoongi had sent over earlier in the week, the night he’d actually agreed to this.

Why the fuck did he agree to this?

They’ve had a few drinks– well, Yoongi and Jungkook have– but it hasn’t quite managed to get him calm. He drains the last of what’s in his cup now, trying to go back over the lyrics in his head, even though he knows he knows them.

He’s had this song written for years, actually.

“Alright,” Chan’s voice breaks Yoongi’s concentration, punctuated by the sound of him drumming his palms against the desk. “Should be ready for you.”

Yoongi’s mind is still racing as he gets situated, pulling on the headphones he’s had slung around his neck. He feels the muscle in his jaw tighten as he glances over at Chan and nods once, and then the track starts up in his ears.

He steadies himself. Gets out of his head, focuses on the thing in front of him, and for a few seconds, the rest of the world falls away. He sucks in a breath, and then he steps up to the mic.

~*~

“Thank you,” Yoongi keeps his eyes fixed on the table, diligently pouring soju into his glass. “For agreeing to meet with me. I know it’s been a long time.”

Just like that, the days have somehow slipped away into months. A few months now that he’s– they’ve been steadily working on this– well, project. This mixtape. His mixtape.

And the thing is, Yoongi’s starting to think that he actually likes what’s coming out of all those late nights in his studio. It’s not perfect, and certainly not finished. But when he listens to the rough drafts they’ve compiled, shuts his eyes, lets the music open up those places inside of him he usually keeps locked down and closed up tight, it just feels different this time. It feels like he’s onto something.

He lets that be enough, for now. Tries not to worry too much about what comes next.

There’s a scoff from across the table. “Yeah, well. I think my agent was doing cartwheels after getting a call from the producer Suga to set up a business meeting.”

Yoongi glances up to see a knowing glint in Jimin’s eyes, his expression all too familiar.

“Of course,” Jimin continues casually, “it was obvious to me that you purposefully planned your schedule so that our visits to New York would overlap, because you wanted to chase down the one that got away. The person that you’ve been in love with all this time, never able to move on from, even after a decade apart.”

Jimin holds Yoongi’s gaze for the longest three seconds of his life, and then he can’t keep his laughter in any longer. He nearly falls off the bench seat. Yoongi’s mouth twitches at the corner, but he’s never been one for big outbursts, the way Jimin is. In some ways, he’s a little envious of that.

“Jesus, Park. How did you get worse since we were teenagers?”

“Hey,” Jimin holds up a finger as if to make a counter-argument, still giggling a little. “At least I keep my clothes on now. Mostly.”

Yoongi realizes he’s smiling despite himself. He hadn’t expected it to be this comfortable, that they could just pick up where they left off. But Jimin is like that, he remembers now. Easy to talk to. He sips down the liquid in his glass, then sets it on the table again.

“I thought it was time we got back in touch, is all. And I appreciated the ticket to your show.”

Jimin cards a hand through his hair, mouth pulled into a smirk. “Figured you should see how much better I’ve gotten in ten years.”

“Ah,” Yoongi waves his words away. “I always knew you’d be good. You were good back then, too, and your work ethic was…” He sucks in a breath through his teeth, considering. “Insane, really. I remember you were always the last one to go home, always practicing so much harder than everyone else.”

There’s a distant look in Jimin’s eyes as he stares down at his own empty glass, running a fingertip around the rim, before he reaches for the bottle to top them both up. “Do you remember what you used to tell me?”

Yoongi makes a soft, low noise, gaze suddenly locked on the table again. Because yeah, he does remember. And he thinks he knows where this is going.

“‘You don’t have to work this hard.’”

A breath of a laugh punches out of Yoongi when he glances up to find Jimin looking at him, like he can see right through him. “Are you quoting me or telling me?”

Jimin’s eyebrow lifts, barely discernible. He doesn’t blink. “Just thought maybe you needed to hear it, hyung.”

The way Jimin emphasizes the last word and stares pointedly at Yoongi makes him hot all over, enough that he shifts a little in his seat, clearing his throat. He reaches for a skewered fishcake, if only for the distraction, then finally hums another wordless answer.

“I’d actually say my life improved drastically when I decided to stop making everything so hard all the time. Because it really doesn’t have to be.” Jimin flicks his bangs out of his eyes, like he’s satisfied with his own wisdom.

Yoongi’s fist smacks against the table, and as he fires back, he can hear the tone to his voice that only Jimin seems to be able to pull out of him– the other trainees used to say they fought like a married couple. “You are really just attacking me right now, huh, Jimin-ah? Like no time has passed?”

“Aish, it’s not an attack! Both of you! You and her, you’re so alike!” Jimin huffs, frustrated, his voice knife-edge sharp. The words hit Yoongi right in the center of his chest. “Taking everything so personally! And running circles around each other, for no reason. When it could all be easy if you let it.”

Fuck. Yoongi throws back the liquid in his glass, fills it up again, takes that one too. Breathes in deep as the rush of warmth pours into him. “I– she– that’s not actually what I wanted to talk about. Just so you know.”

His voice comes out low, a little uneven, and Jimin goes just as quiet. His gaze has softened when Yoongi finds it again, but Jimin doesn’t say anything. He folds his hands over each other on the table, almost like he’s waiting for Yoongi to continue.

A bolt of nerves travels up Yoongi’s spine. It’s a question he has to ask.

“But how is she?”

The corner of Jimin’s mouth just barely ticks up. “She’s good, hyung. Really good. I promise. She’s been… working on herself.”

Relief floods through Yoongi, and he leans back in his seat, exhaling a long stream of air. He reaches to pour himself another drink, and Jimin’s still quiet, like he’s letting Yoongi work out whatever he needs to work out.

“Did you know she called me?”

A flicker of surprise flashes over Jimin’s face as he takes the bottle back from Yoongi. “I didn’t.”

“Well, I wasn’t sure if she’d remember.” Yoongi’s chest is already tightening at the memory of that call, that night. “She was really drunk and, I don’t know. I picked up, but I think she thought it was a voicemail.” It’s all coming up now, undeniable, overwhelming, and he stares at Jimin across the table from him and just– says it.

“She, uh. Said she loved me.”

Jimin sucks a fishcake into his mouth, like it’s the least surprising thing in the world. “That makes two of you,” he says plainly, mouth full.

The words knock Yoongi off balance, and he blinks. “She– told you. About, uh. Me. That.”

“Of course she did.” Jimin chews, eyes narrowing, like he’s observing Yoongi carefully. “It really fucked her up, hyung. Everything that happened.”

“I know,” Yoongi answers. “It messed me up, too. In ways I’m still figuring out.”

Jimin nods, tongue prodding the inside of his cheek. “I guessed as much.” There’s a pause, and then he sighs. “Look, do you want my advice?”

All at once, Yoongi isn’t sure he’s ready for it. It’s too real and too much and he doesn’t think he’s had enough soju for any of this. He stutters for a second, then finally lands on, “I-I don’t know. Let’s just eat. Then, after. Maybe.”

Jimin makes a face as if to say, suit yourself.

Yoongi’s gaze sweeps over the table. “I’m working on an album, you know. Getting close to done now.”

“For who?”

“Uh, for me.” He swallows hard. “My first mixtape, I guess.”

Jimin’s eyes go wide, a smile playing at his lips, like he can’t quite believe it. “Wow, look at you. Finally doing it. Is it rap? Pop?”

“Some of both,” Yoongi shrugs, still uncomfortable with the attention. “Mostly rap, yeah.” He busies himself with eating as Jimin sips at his soju, and then a memory bubbles up. “Do you still rap?”

Jimin nearly spits his drink out. “Shut the fuck up,” he manages to cough, and Yoongi’s laughing too.

“I’m serious! It’s a real question!”

“Hyung,” Jimin groans. “I haven’t rapped in a decade. Please don’t remind me that I ever did.”

“Ahh, I always thought you were good!” It’s not not teasing. “You were!”

Yoongi’s still smiling at the picture of Jimin he can see so clearly in his mind: a decade younger, cheeks still full of baby fat, always with this put-on sneer, like he’d be quick to swing if you looked at him funny.

“I was such a try-hard back then,” Jimin mutters, and well, Yoongi can’t disagree with that. “Thought I had to be so tough.”

“You were cute,” Yoongi coos, and Jimin’s head hits the table with an audible thud. “Seems like you’ve grown into yourself, though. Like I’m not about to find you crying outside the bathroom anymore.”

“I can’t believe you remember that.”

“How could I forget?”

It was the first time he’d ever really seen Jimin break down, exhausted from the stress of it all, the demanding hours, and mostly the pressure he put on himself. Yoongi had found him like that: thick-framed dark glasses, swoop of an overgrown bowl cut casting a shadow over his tear-streaked face, balled-up fists smudging at the corners of his eyes.

Yoongi is having a hard time reconciling that Jimin of his past with the one sitting in front of him. “You’ve changed so much,” he says against the rim of his glass, and Jimin just shrugs as he straightens himself back out again.

“Everyone changes, hyung.”

Jimin says it so easily. It makes Yoongi wonder how he’s changed, too.

It takes him by surprise when Jimin continues the thread of that memory. “I was going to quit that night. I really was. I was so, so tired. So worn out.” He pauses, staring at a point over Yoongi’s shoulder, then laughs softly, like something’s just come back to him. “And then you sat down next to me, didn’t even look at me, and asked: ‘Do you like fried chicken?’”

“Oh,” Yoongi murmurs. “That’s right.”

The rest of it plays out in his mind as Jimin recounts that night, so many years ago now. He’d led Jimin down the street to a hole in the wall place; it was all either of them could afford at the time. They’d had to split the free soda, watering their halves down to make it enough for both of them.

“You didn’t say a word to me the whole time. We just ate and then walked back home, and the next day you acted like nothing had even happened.”

Yoongi nods. That much hasn’t changed; he’s never been good with his words. Not when it matters.

“But it always stuck with me. That you did that for me when you didn’t have to.”

There’s a long pause, because Yoongi doesn’t know what to do with that comment. It almost feels incongruent, trying to line it up next to the idea he has of himself in his mind. Like the two can’t coexist. “You seem a lot happier now,” he finally admits, and Jimin’s eyes draw up in a slight smile.

“I think I am,” he says with a nod, reaching to drain the last of the bottle of soju into his glass. Yoongi busies himself with cracking the lid of another. “And actually, I think it’s because I stopped mistaking emotion for weakness. You know? Life is… hard enough, without trying to fight everything I feel.”

And, well. That resonates, more than he’d like it to.

Yoongi grimaces as he pours his own drink. “There’s a lot I could learn from you, huh?”

“I’m wise as shit,” Jimin says, like it’s obvious. Their eyes meet over the rims of their glasses, and as soon as he swallows, Jimin keeps going. “So you tell me, why did we stop talking?”

Yoongi clicks his tongue, because he doesn’t have a good answer, except that that’s just the way he gets. How he operates. With everyone. “‘Cause we both gave up on our dreams?” he tries instead, but Jimin just shakes his head.

“Ah, we were kids. We didn’t even know what we wanted, not really. And dreams change. It’s not a failure.”

It’s not like Jimin’s said anything that intense– Yoongi doesn’t know why, all of a sudden, it’s like his chest is caving in. He clears his throat, rolls his shoulders back. Can’t quite look up to meet Jimin’s eyes, so he delivers the offer to his glass of soju instead. “Well, if you ever want to try it again. Rapping. I have this track that I think you’d be good on.”

“On your mixtape?” When he looks up, Jimin’s eyebrows are nearly at his hairline. “Hyung, that’s… like, a big fucking deal.”

“You don’t have to. Just putting it on the table.”

“This hyung,” Jimin mutters under his breath, and then he’s swallowing down his soju, like he needs it for strength. “I can’t believe I’m fucking saying this, but. Send it to me. I’ll see what I can do.”

Yoongi feels himself smile, really smile, big and broad. “Like you could ever say no to me.”

It’s somehow nearly two hours later by the time they stumble out of the restaurant, faces flushed from drinking, Jimin laughing hard enough that he can barely keep his feet under him as he breathlessly recalls the way Yoongi used to shove safety pins in the front of his beanies because he thought it made him look cooler. Yoongi’s got his arm slung around Jimin’s shoulders, half-holding him up, Manhattan blink-blinking around them, and he realizes: he’s missed this. Just having somebody who knows him like this. 

“Thanks again, for meeting up,” Yoongi mumbles, trying to unwrap himself from around Jimin, but before he can even manage it Jimin’s got both arms slung over his neck and is pulling him in for a real, proper hug, one palm smacking ruthlessly over the bend of Yoongi’s spine. 

“Don’t make it ten years before I see you again, you fucker.” Jimin’s words run together, like his tongue is heavy in his mouth, and Yoongi’s laughing when he finally extricates himself.

“Yeah, yeah, I won’t. Get some sleep.”

With a final smirk, Jimin starts off down the street, and in the split second before Yoongi turns to go his own way, he watches him pivot on his heel, like he’s thought of one more thing. He’s walking backwards now, hands in his pockets as he stares Yoongi down.

“Hyung!”

Yoongi raises his eyebrows, hums a little, and the corner of Jimin’s mouth tugs up.

“Stop making things hard! That’s my advice.”

Yoongi already knows exactly what Jimin means, but he clarifies himself anyway, the little shit. 

“Call her! It’s still early in California!”

“Goodnight, Jimin-ah!” Yoongi shouts in return, like he’s done discussing it, and the last thing he sees before he turns away is Jimin’s head thrown back, laughing up to the starless sky.

Before he even makes a conscious decision to do it, Yoongi finds himself walking the blocks between the restaurant and his hotel, long stretches of avenues, and he lets the white noise of the city streets buzz like static in his ears. New York is full of people, and he’s paying more attention to them now than he usually would. Standing outside of bars, hurrying down the street in the opposite direction, whizzing past on bicycles. Smoking, making phone calls, waving down cabs.

It’s like something unlocks in his brain, a key finally turning in a stubborn door. Good person, bad person. It’s all kind of… bullshit. All these people around him, they’ve all been hurt, and they’ve all hurt someone despite their best attempts. He knows it’s a banal fucking observation, and maybe it’s the soju talking, but somehow the thought has never quite hit him like this before. That people are just people. Trying and fucking up and trying again.

Everyone changes, hyung.

And yeah, maybe he’s changed too, in little ways. Maybe he still is.

Back at his hotel, Yoongi presses his keycard to the door, toes his shoes off in the entryway, and collapses down on the bed, phone in hand. He swipes to pull up his contacts, sees that familiar name, and feels everything swirl up inside of him all over again.

There’s so much he wants to say. And he’s so tired of not saying it.

He presses the Call button and breathes it all out as the line starts to ring.

~*~

It’s been a truly fucking terrible workday. Maybe not the all-time worst– you didn’t accidentally wipe an entire recording session’s worth of files, or not-accidentally fuck your nemesis in his studio– but it’s certainly up there.

The morning had started with an artist’s entire management team giving you grief for supposedly fucking up the studio scheduling, until you’d physically turned your computer screen around to show them that they had, in fact, booked time on the wrong day. It wasn’t even an hour later that you’d gotten a call about last-minute T&E costs that finance had forgotten to reconcile, which meant you had to work straight through your lunch hour to re-run all the quarterly reporting so the numbers wouldn’t be wrong. And just as you’d started packing up to leave for the day, an urgent call had come in from someone on the executive board, letting you know they wanted to “go in another direction” for tomorrow’s all-hands, and surely it wouldn’t take you too long to redo the ninety-minute presentation, right?

When you finally cross the threshold of your apartment, it feels like a miracle. You heave a sigh of relief, letting the door slam behind you a little harder than necessary, just to take the edge off.

“There she is!” Your roommate’s voice echoes down the hallway as you hang your keys on the hook and reach down to pull your heels off. “I thought you were done with your workaholic phase.”

“Yeah, well, the executives have no idea what they fucking want,” you mutter, and the words have hardly left your mouth when you feel your purse vibrate as your phone starts to ring. You’re positive it’s another one of them now, probably calling to ask about something that you’ve already clearly explained in an email sitting unread in their inbox.

Nearly toppling over as you shift your weight to pry your other shoe off, you drop your bag down onto the couch with an exasperated groan, then reach in to fish your phone out, anticipating the worst.

You take in the name staring back at you, and your heart instantly drops into the pit of your stomach.

The world tilts as your pulse starts to race, and all at once you lose your grip, like your brain is short-circuiting. Your phone slides out of your hand, clattering onto the floor beneath your feet, the impact enough to send it skidding right under the couch.

“Motherfucker,” you breathe.

You crouch down, hands and knees to the hardwood, and wriggle yourself halfway under the couch to retrieve it. The damn thing keeps buzz-buzz-buzzing, noise amplified by the floor beneath it until it feels deafening.

Distantly, you’re aware of the shuffle of Tiffany’s slippers.

“What’s up, buttercup?” she asks, voice drawing closer, and then she must turn the corner into the living room because her follow-up is much more direct: “What the hell are you doing?”

Just as you manage to close your grip around your phone, the ringing stops. Dread floods through you as you slowly drag it out, then turn over to sit right there on the floor, your back against the couch. You glance up at Tiffany, and even with a Hello Kitty sheet mask obscuring most of her expression, you can still see her eyebrows quirk up as something clicks into place.

“Oh no,” she breathes. “I know that face. You were making that face when I found you in the bathroom at the Jello shot party.”

“We agreed not to talk about the Jello shot party–”

“The point is!” she interjects, raising her voice to drown yours out. “That is your Yoongi face! Which means I need you to tell me right now: did he just fucking call you?!”

For a second, you can only nod dumbly up at her, and the words come out thin and reedy when you finally manage to say them. “Yeah. He did.” Tiffany drops down onto the floor next to you as you pull your knees into your chest. “What do I do?”

Her tone immediately softens. “What do you wanna do, baby? No wrong answers.”

You stare blankly at the dark screen of your phone, still clutched tight in your hand. It feels like staring into the depths of a black hole. “I have… no idea. I genuinely don’t know.”

“Okay,” she tries again. “Let’s start simpler. How are you feeling, right now, in this moment?”

With a steadying inhale, you let your eyes drop shut and try to find the answer. After all this time, and after a long, exhausting day, seeing Yoongi’s name flash up on your screen– it takes you back to months ago, when you were bordering blackout in the bathroom of this very house. The way everything rushed up inside you, a feeling so big you thought it might swallow you whole if you didn’t get it out.

“I think I’m… angry, Tiff. Like really, really fucking pissed off, actually.”

Her acrylics scritch gently at the back of your head, the sensation enough to bring you back to reality again. A muscle in your jaw tightens as you blink your eyes open.

“I think that makes perfect sense,” Tiffany says, nodding decisively. “I’d be hella angry too.”

A noise flutters out of you, halfway between a groan and a laugh. “Is it unhealed of me to want to call him back so I can just, like, fucking scream at him?”

Her head tilts, considering. “Um… it’s not super healed. But!” She raises a perfectly manicured nail for emphasis. “This does present an opportunity, if you want one, to share those feelings with him in a slightly more emotionally intelligent way. If you think it might help?”

Panic snakes up your spine; it’s an overwhelming idea. “Ugh, I don’t know. Like, I’m not– I don’t feel like I have to have closure from him, or even an apology.” Another self-pitying laugh. “I gave up on that dream after the fucking Jello shot party.”

“He never called you back, right?”

The memory is like a punch to the chest. You shake your head slowly. “Nothing.”

“Typical Pisces behavior.”

You sigh. “But at the same time, if we assume this wasn’t a butt dial, and that he for whatever fucking reason has suddenly decided to be open to conversation. Maybe it could be, I guess… cathartic? To hear what he has to say? And to communicate, like a calm, mature, rational adult who has had seven therapy sessions, that I’m still fucking pissed off and kind of want to kill him.”

Tiffany’s head tips back as she barks a laugh, aggressive enough that she has to reach up with both hands to keep her sheet mask in place. “You know what? I actually love that for you.”

Your pulse has already started to kick up at the thought. “Really? You don’t think it’s a bad idea?”

She shrugs. “I meant it when I said no wrong answers! The way I see it, if he pulls some asshole shit, you can officially block him and be done with it, knowing that you tried your best and that he’s gonna be his own worst enemy for probably at least another decade of his life. And then we can go get milkshakes or something.”

“Oh my god, In-N-Out actually sounds so good right now,” you murmur. “I worked through lunch.”

Tiffany gestures down the hall in the direction of your bedroom, as if to remind you of the task at hand. “Survive the phone call first! Go forth, girlie. Give him a piece of your mind!”

With a groan, you drag yourself to your feet, giving her a cursory glance over your shoulder. “Thanks, Tiff.”

“Love you, mean it!”

It’s only once you’ve closed the door behind you and dropped down onto the bed that it really sinks in. The gravity of this decision, the potential for everything to go horribly wrong all over again. All the memories spiraling up of moments you’d rather forget.

But it wasn’t all bad, either. That’s the hardest part.

You’ve never figured out exactly what to do with it. How to extinguish that glimmer, a pair of eyes in the dark that know you too well, that almost-something feeling. Or if you even want to.

As you wake the screen of your phone, you take in one long slow inhale. Min Yoongi’s name stares back at you. Thumb hovering over the Return Call button, you summon all the courage you can muster. Then you tap the screen and press the phone to your ear.

The line rings once, twice, a third time, but it feels like it’s happening too fast. Like there’s nowhere near enough time for you to collect yourself, remember to keep breathing, figure out what you want to say or what the fuck you’re even doing–

“Hello?”

Yoongi’s voice is– unmistakable. Smoke and gravel. It couldn’t be anyone else.

It takes you a second just to manage a response.

“Hi, Yoongi.” You try to keep your voice firm, even, try to hide how breathless you feel at the sound of him.

“Hey, uh. I hope it’s okay that I called you.”

You genuinely don’t know the answer to that, but you already feel yourself bristling, an instinctive defensiveness rising up faster than you can reign it in. “Can’t say I was expecting it,” you mutter, and you can hear the harsh edge in your voice.

“Right, yeah,” Yoongi answers, pausing to clear his throat before he continues. “I know it’s sudden. And also months overdue, I guess.”

There’s a heavy pause, and it hits you all at once– how much you don’t want to talk about it. That night, that drunk phone call, the embarrassing voicemail you left and couldn’t figure out how to delete. Your memories of that night are hazy at best, in part because you’ve tried not to think about it since, but you remember enough of your alcohol-soaked confession that a rush of shame heats up your face at the reminder of it.

Thankfully, Yoongi speaks again. “I saw Jimin tonight.”

It’s enough to snap you out of your own thoughts. Your eyes widen. “Really?”

He hums an affirming sound. “I’m in New York this week, and our schedules ended up overlapping here. So I got in touch to see if we could meet.” You double-blink, equally shocked by the notion of Yoongi reaching out to anyone. “He got me a ticket to his show, too. Madison Square Garden. He’s really doing it.”

The thought of your best friend performing to a sold-out arena, living his dream– it makes something draw up tight in your chest. “I miss him,” you breathe, before you can even consider if you should say it.

“I think I did too,” Yoongi answers. “More than I even realized.” He hisses out a half-laugh before continuing. “I feel like he has life so… figured out. At least, compared to me.”

The corner of your mouth just barely tugs up, because you know that feeling well.

“And we talked about a lot tonight, and it got me thinking. That there’s some things I’d like to say to you, if you’re open to hearing them.”

A weight drops into the pit of your stomach, and you squeeze your eyes shut, trying not to get your hopes up. The tension in your throat makes your voice come out thin. “I called you back, didn’t I?”

“You did.”

Another flash of anger flares up inside of you, knowing he can’t say the same. You spit out the words, acid-laced. “Just say what you want to say, Yoongi.”

“Right, okay.” The line goes quiet for a second, and it’s punctuated with a faint exhale, like he’s breathing out nervous energy. “Sorry. This is harder than I thought it would be,” he murmurs, but he keeps going before you can get another snide remark in. “I guess the main thing I keep thinking is that you were right. About… everything you said to me, really. Before you left.”

It takes a second for the reality of it to hit. That you’re actually hearing these words, even if they are months too late.

“I think at some point in my life, I got it in my head that I was a bad person: selfish, depressed, an asshole. Whatever you want to call it. And I think I used it as an excuse to, well. Act like an asshole. Hurt people, push them away– all the stuff I did to you. Because that’s what a bad person would do. And that’s what I told myself I was.”

Phone clutched tight to your ear, you turn over onto your side. When you blink your eyes open, your gaze finds the window and the sky beyond it, colored blush from the last fading rays of sunset, bleeding out to hues of dusk, violet-gray and deep blue.

That anger is still there, a hot coal glow in your stomach. But it’s muted now, like words muttered softly in another room, shapes you can’t quite make out. All at once, it doesn’t feel so important. Not with the things Yoongi is saying.

It’s enough to sweep the floor out from under you; suddenly, you’re in water too deep to touch the bottom of. Enough to drown in, if you’re not careful.

Yoongi’s voice pulls you up out of it. “But then, this person comes along who sees me at my absolute worst. And for some godforsaken reason, one that I will probably never understand, she keeps coming back anyway. Like she sees something worthwhile, where all I see is self-loathing. She doesn’t get scared when I tell her how I feel, how I really feel, even when it’s not fucking pretty. Or when I get reckless and stupid. If anything, it’s like she just… gets it. In this way where I don’t have to explain. Maybe she’s like that, too, in her own way.”

It’s suddenly hard to breathe. Because it felt the same for you, too. All of it. This terrifyingly perfect fit.

He huffs a dark, self-conscious laugh before he continues. “It made me fucking spiral, if I’m honest. Because it meant one of two things. Either that I was liable to seriously fuck up a good person with my own shit. Or, that I had been wrong about myself, all this time. Which, you know. That’s my whole sense of self just… gone. And I had no idea how to handle that.”

I didn’t either, you can’t help but think, and then the firm line of your mouth starts to tremble.

“So I panicked. And I did what I always do.”

There’s a lump in your throat, one you can’t swallow down or speak around. You thread an arm around your stomach, as if to physically hold yourself together.

Yoongi’s voice softens into something else, low and thick, a little hoarse. “I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’m– really fucking sorry.”

And just like that, your resolve crumbles, like a sandcastle to a tidal wave.

“I know I’m saying it way too late. And this isn’t– I’m not expecting or asking anything of you. Forgiveness, or anything. Honestly, I’m not even sure that I deserve it. But when I saw Jimin tonight, and talked with him, and saw how much he’s changed, I don’t know. It made me realize that I’ve just been– stuck. For a long time. On a lot of bullshit that wasn’t even true.”

With a slow exhale, you try to listen, your eyes flitting around the room as he speaks. The sky has settled to blue-black now; the night breeze fluttering in through the open window is warm; you can faintly smell your fabric softener on the bedspread, sweet and floral.

You breathe it in as Yoongi keeps talking.

“I’m sorry that I hurt you. That I couldn’t get my shit together enough to even talk about it. That I made it all so complicated when it could’ve been easy. I don’t know if me saying this is worth anything to you now, but. I just wanted to say it anyway.”

When Yoongi falls silent, it occurs to you that he’s probably waiting on you to respond; it’s a struggle to find any words at all.

“I, um–” You have to reach a thumb up to swipe at a tear that threatens to streak down your face. “Sorry. Just… a lot to process. But I appreciate you being honest.”

He lets another pause linger before his voice comes back. “Jimin said you’re doing well, so. I hope that’s true. ‘Cause I don’t want you to hate yourself the way I did. You deserve to be happy. And I hope you’ve found that in LA.”

The sentiment retrieves a buried memory: Yoongi’s hand brushing yours at a going away party. The way he looked at you, how it felt for a moment like you were the only two people in the crowded, noisy break room. And the last thing he said before you ran right out of his life: I just want you to be happy.

You sniff. “Can I tell you something?”

Yoongi hums his answer, and you slowly sit up, lifting a hand to scrub at your face.

“The day after I– um. Called you. I think Tiffany could tell I wasn’t doing well, so she convinced us all to go for a drive up the coast. Said we’d walk along the beach, just make a day of it.”

The memory is so clear in your mind: the day had been oddly overcast for Los Angeles, and just a little too cold for swimming, but Tiffany had managed to talk your group into it nonetheless.

Matthew had rolled down the windows in his Jeep once you hit the PCH, and you remember the rush of cool air on your face, the way it soothed the dull hungover ache in your head and the emotions swirling in your chest. The wind whipping through Tiffany’s long black hair, the smell of salt rolling in off the ocean.

Vernon had gone quiet next to you in the backseat, dark sunglasses pulled down over his eyes, for long enough that everyone just assumed he was asleep, until an hour in he’d suddenly broken a stretch of silence to ask if Matthew could put on Charli XCX. Tiffany had been so startled that she’d screamed, and Matthew had nearly driven the car right off the road, he was laughing so hard.

“At some point,” you continue, “we pulled off at an overlook, where there were these steep cliffs, with the shore and the ocean way down below them. And everyone got out to see the view, and. I don’t know. I remember standing right there at the edge, and looking down, and thinking to myself. I could just… take another step. Go right over.”

All the way down, where the waves were cresting over the jagged edge of the coast. Where it could all finally be done.

The words are hard to shape, harder to say. “I didn’t even feel scared. I didn’t feel anything. A part of me wanted to do it, just because. It would be better than the… gray. The nothing. I was so exhausted of the nothing.”

You can’t keep the emotion out of your voice, not anymore, not with a truth this raw. It’s pulling apart now, splintering around the admission.

“That scared me so much, Yoongi. I’ve had highs and lows, but I had never really felt anything like that before. And when we got back in the car I just… broke down. I told them everything. I was so afraid to say it, thinking I was gonna fuck up these friendships.”

But that hadn’t happened.

Instead, Tiffany had crawled into the backseat, hugged you so tight you could scarcely breathe, then pulled away with her eyes wet and shining and murmured, “You don’t have to do this alone, okay?” Vernon had been the first one to gently bring up the subject of therapy, had texted you the links to a couple different websites to search for a provider. After a tedious month of waiting lists and insurance woes, Matthew had driven you to your first session, cranked up ‘All I Do is Win’ on his stereo when you’d walked out of the building ninety minutes later, face puffy from crying. First step taken.

They’d all shown up, in different ways.

“I had never thought of it like that before. Until I felt it. Wanting to push people away so they don’t see all the dark shit. Like you’re a liability.”

“Yeah.” Yoongi’s words sound a little stilted on the other end of the line. “That’s– yeah.”

“But they didn’t leave. They helped me. Got me into therapy.” The breath of a teary laugh slips out. “Turns out, I’m really fucked up over my dad dying. And even stuff from before that.”

“Trauma,” Yoongi murmurs softly, and something sticks in your throat. “Yeah. That’s exactly what it is, actually.” You smudge the back of your hand over your mouth, heaving a sigh against your skin. “I don’t know. It’s only been two months, so. I don’t have all the answers or anything. Jimin is maybe overselling it, but. I’m trying.”

“Better than me. I don’t have a therapist. Unless you count Jungkook.”

It’s so unexpected, you’re laughing before you can stop yourself, and the feeling washes through you like relief. Like a balm for all the ache in your chest, for all the fracture-lines threatening to crack right open.

“If Baby Goth pulled all of that insight out of your emotionally constipated ass, you should be paying him,” you deadpan, and Yoongi really laughs, too.

“It’s– not exactly like that. But he’s somehow talked me into working on music, and when I’m writing, that’s when I really… Take everything apart and look at it. See it for what it is. But he puts up with a lot.” He huffs another low note, amused. “Probably should pay him.”

You can’t bite back your curiosity. “When you say music, like–”

“A mixtape. My mixtape, yeah.”

You turn onto your stomach, propping up on your elbows, eyes wide. “Wow, Yoongi, that’s–”

“Ah, let’s just–” he interjects, and the tone of his voice is so familiar that it’s like you can see the expression on his face. One hand to the back of his neck, brow pinched with discomfort. Like he immediately regrets bringing it up. “It might not happen; it’s not a definite, so. I’m trying not to put too much stock in it. If I actually see it all the way through, then you can congratulate me. Right now it’s just me screwing around, wasting time.”

“Okay,” you answer. “Well. I hope I get to hear it. Someday.”

“We’ll see,” Yoongi says softly.

You decide to let it be enough.

~*~

It’s a couple weeks later that your phone starts to buzz on the kitchen counter while you’re halfway through cubing a block of tofu.

The last time you’d spoken to him, Yoongi had extended an offer, and you had agreed to it: that he’d call you when he could, and that you were welcome to do the same. Neither of you had used the word, but it felt suspiciously like a proposal of friendship.

Which is… you’re not sure how to feel about it.

You haven’t managed to convince yourself to call him yet; in fact, the words of the previous conversation are still whirling around in your brain, not having quite settled in as reality.

But when his name lights up on your phone, you maneuver a free pinky finger to accept the call and put it on speakerphone.

“Hi, Yoongi.” It’s still weird to say that, too.

“Hey– bad time?”

“No, no, you’re good,” you murmur, trying to speak up to be heard as you slide the tofu off your cutting board into the pot on the stovetop, careful not to splash. “I just, uh. Got home from therapy, actually. So I’m a little drained.”

“Sounds like maybe it’s a bad time, then.”

“I’m serious,” you reiterate, wiping your hands on the kitchen towel so you can properly pick your phone up, turn off the speakerphone, and cradle it to your ear. “I would tell you if it was. Or, you know. I wouldn’t have picked up. Coulda sent your ass to voicemail.”

He hums, like he’s considering the argument. “Therapy was… tough?”

Your hip nudges against the kitchen counter. “Um, not the worst it’s ever been. I don’t know. Just talking about family stuff can be a lot. Heavy. Made me miss home.”

“Yeah. I get that.”

“Do you visit Daegu much?” It’s funny, all the things you still don’t know. Never had a chance to ask.

Yoongi sucks in a breath. “No. I should. It’s been years; my parents are getting older. I always say I’m too busy with work. But maybe I could take some time off.”

“It’s hard sometimes,” you murmur. “Home is weird.” Yoongi doesn’t say anything, so you turn back to face your simmering dinner. “I miss it, and also I don’t, so. I’m making soup about my complicated trauma feelings. This is what my wild nights in Los Angeles look like.”

The soft tones of Yoongi’s laugh filter through the phone, and it’s like you can see his shoulders shaking with it. “I didn’t know you cooked.”

“That’s because I don’t,” you confirm. “Not historically. But, you know. Maybe I am becoming someone who does.”

“Cooking’s nice,” Yoongi muses. “Relaxing.” 

And, oh. For just a second, you’re standing in a borrowed t-shirt, in a kitchen that isn’t yours, imagining a future that never came to be. Your breath sticks at the memory. That morning, the night before it, Yoongi’s hands on your body, his mouth finding yours under the spray of the shower, and the way it all felt so–

“Right.” Yoongi’s voice stops you before you can spiral any further. “I actually, uh. Wanted to get your opinion on something. If you’ve got a second.”

It’s a little hard to talk, but you clear your throat and try. “Yeah, sure. What’s up?”

He pauses, and there’s a shifting sound, chased by the faint click of a mouse in the background. You don’t know why it didn’t occur to you that he was probably calling you from his studio, given it’s midday in Seoul.

“I have…” Yoongi finally speaks, his voice deep on the other end of the line. “Been assigned a deadline, by which I need to stop dicking around and actually finalize my tracklist. For the– you know.”

“Mixtape,” you offer, and you don’t miss his disgruntled grumble of a response, even though it’s muffled, like he’s breathed it into the back of his hand.

“I’m stuck on this song. Whether to keep it or not. Can I send it to you?”

The question catches you off-guard. “Uh, yeah. Yes, okay. Will be glad to share my opinions as a professional music industry fraud.”

Yoongi scoffs a little, underscored by the muted clacking of his keyboard. “I’m emailing it to you.”

“And will you kill me if I play it right now?” you ask, pulling the phone away to flip the speaker back on.

“Nah,” he answers, and you can hear him groan softly, like he’s rolling out sore muscles in his desk chair. “I’ve already heard it a hundred times, what’s one more?”

“Fair enough,” you respond as the file appears in your inbox, and you pull it up and click play. 

It’s clearly a demo, the production far from polished, but it’s still impressive. Yoongi’s flow is rapid-fire, his voice proud and dynamic– and, it occurs to you as the chorus hits, familiar. Everything about the artist on this track sounds exactly like the Min Yoongi you encountered on your first day of work. Unapologetic, pissed off, and maybe a little bit of an asshole.

“Wow,” you murmur as the final chorus repeats and fades out. “It’s good, really good. So different from your producer stuff.”

“Honestly, I think I hate it.”

“Well, you’re an idiot,” you retort automatically, smirking to yourself as you turn the heat down on the stove, then reach to take your phone off speaker again. You tuck it back up to your ear. “Why do you hate it?”

“That’s the thing,” Yoongi sighs, voice heavy with frustration. “I can’t figure out why. I just feel this disconnect.”

“I mean, the line about winning a Grammy is a little painful,” you admit, and he hums a note of agreement.

“That too. Obviously I wrote this a while ago. Before.” Emotion-soaked memories lick at the edges of your mind, and you will them away, trying to focus. “And now, I don’t know, it’s just…” he trails off, unable to finish the thought.

“It’s not you anymore,” you offer, and Yoongi exhales. 

It takes you a second to realize it’s the breath of a laugh. “What?”

“Nothing,” he says. “It’s just. You’re good at that.”

“At what?”

There’s an extra beat of silence, like he’s hesitating. “I don’t know. Knowing me, I guess.”

It’s an overwhelming thing to hear, but Yoongi just keeps going.

“It’s not, no. When I listen to it I’m like, who is this kid? And why is he so angry?” 

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth at the wry smile in his voice. “I mean,” you start. “Okay, I’ve actually talked this to death in therapy. You felt that anger at one point. It’s not wrong, just because you don’t feel it anymore. Like, I was really angry at a lot of things, for a really long time. Including you.”

“Yeah?” You can hear the surprise in Yoongi’s question, the way his voice eases up.

“Yeah. Still am, sometimes.”

Another pause. “You can, you know. Be angry with me.”

Your hip thuds hard against the counter, like your knees are considering giving out all together. You can’t help but wonder when Min Yoongi is going to stop surprising you, if he ever will. 

“Okay,” you breathe. “Noted. And you can be angry on this song. Like, it’s not a bad thing.”

Yoongi makes a low noise, like he’s still not convinced. “I just sound like such a… try-hard.” It makes you wonder if he’s in one of those moods tonight, where every answer is the wrong one.

But he called you, didn’t he?

“Well,” you try, “is that really so bad, either? Music is by nature kind of a time capsule, right? Look at TXT. They’re not the absolute babies that they were when they did Cat & Dog–”

“That fucking song–”

“But,” you continue, unbothered. “It doesn’t mean it’s not still the greatest song that’s ever been written.”

“Christ,” Yoongi grumbles. “Why am I getting my advice from you?”

“We already covered that you’re an idiot,” you remind him, cradling the phone to your cheek as you turn to pop the lid of your rice cooker open. “All I’m saying is, I know firsthand that there are a lot of different versions of Min Yoongi. And this is only one of them, so. Maybe you just need some songs that showcase the others, too. Find a balance.”

There’s a long stretch of silence, like he’s considering this.

“‘Cause yeah,” you say, not quite able to hold in a giggle. “If your entire album was like this song, I’d be like, wow. This guy’s a real asshole.”

“Alright,” he says, like his jaw’s set firm. “Noted.”

~*~

“If I’m calling too often, you don’t have to pick up every time.”

You have to bite back your smile, doing your best to keep an office-appropriate expression as you click the button on your headset to turn up the volume of Yoongi’s voice.

“Workaholic producer doesn’t know what to do with himself with a whole week of freedom, huh?” you murmur, teasing, before turning back to your long list of scheduling requests.

Yoongi grunts an indignant sound. “I’m doing things.”

“Like sleeping?”

“Not as much as I’d like. My dog hogs the fucking bed.”

The mental image is enough to send a flutter of laughter through you: Yoongi relegated to the edge of the mattress, while a brown toy poodle– one whom you’ve received approximately 700 pictures of in the last seven days– sprawls comfortably in the middle.

“How is Daegu?”

It’s quiet on the other end of the line, save the chirp of early morning birds. A new picture replaces the old one: Yoongi pacing the back deck of his parents’ home, soaking up one of the last warm-weather days before autumn sets in. Barefoot, mug of coffee in hand, face still puffy from sleep.

With a hard swallow, you force yourself to refocus on work.

“It’s good,” Yoongi finally answers. “My last day here, so. I’ll cook them something before I go. Gotta finish up that woodworking thing for my dad.” He makes a soft, low groan, like he’s stretching himself out, or still waking up. It sends a shiver through you that you wish you could ignore.

“Are you glad you went?” you ask instead.

He hums, as if he’s mulling it over. “I think so. Brought up some stuff, but. It’s been good, too. Weird to think about it all. What’s changed. What hasn’t.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. Just being with my family, my brother. Driving around streets that I know like the back of my hand. And there’s memories everywhere. That bus stop, where I didn’t have enough money but the driver let me on anyway because he felt bad for me. This restaurant, where I had a panic attack in the bathroom after I broke up with my first girlfriend. The kimbap from the GS25 across the street from my high school. I think that’s why I avoided coming back for so long.”

You can’t help yourself. “The kimbap?”

Yoongi hisses a half-laugh between his teeth. “Nah, I just. Knew it would all be a lot. ‘Cause I still feel like a kid whenever I’m home. That apparently doesn’t go away, even in my thirties.”

All at once, you find yourself holding your breath; Yoongi hasn’t talked much about his childhood, not even during this week spent in Daegu. You haven’t wanted to push the subject, but it feels like he’s on the edge of something, so you leave an empty space for him to get it out, in case he wants to.

He sighs softly, and then he keeps going. “I think a lot about that kid. How he didn’t get enough love.” A pause. “And how it fucked him up. But it’s like, I’m old enough now to know my parents were just people, too. They tried in their own way. So I just… don’t know what to do with it, I guess.”

“Yeah,” you murmur. In the weeks of sporadic phone calls that have drawn out between you, you’ve learned that Yoongi doesn’t always need all the answers. That sometimes he prefers not having them, and letting the reality of that settle into him. Learning to live with it.

“I’m serious, you can really tell me to fuck off if you need to work. I can monologue to the wind.”

You smirk, fingers hovering over your keyboard. “It’s fine. I’m just doing booking shit. I’d have put on a podcast anyway.” For a split second, you press your lips together, as if to keep the thought to yourself, and then you decide to just say it. “Or your mixtape.”

“Ah, there it is.”

It’s been a week since Yoongi drove out to visit his family– and seven long days since his album officially dropped on streaming platforms, the release done with minimal fanfare per his insistence. Seven excruciating days you’ve gone without saying a single word to him about it, despite the fact that he’s called you damn near daily.

“You lasted longer than I thought you would,” he admits, voice nearly teasing.

“I figured you’d tell me when you wanted to talk about it.”

“And now, what, you’re tired of waiting?”

You roll your eyes despite the way your mouth is tugging up at the corners. “Just curious. We can keep not talking about it.”

There’s a pause on his end, underscored by the clack of your keys as you resume typing. “I have nothing to say because I haven’t looked at anything,” he finally admits.

That makes you lose your focus. “Wait, seriously?”

“I call it delaying the inevitable,” he answers dryly.

You open your mouth, then close it again, not sure what to say. How much to reveal. “And I take it you… want to wait? Until you’re back in Seoul?”

Yoongi sucks in a long sigh, like he’s debating, and then he finally lets loose a groan of defeat. “Fuck it. I’ve got stuff to distract me today. Go ahead, deliver the blow.”

“Are you sure?” You’re suddenly aware of the way your heartbeat is hammering behind your ribs.

“God, not an encouraging answer,” he mutters, before clearing his throat and putting on a more determined tone. “Yeah, yeah. Come on. Get it over with, rip off the bandaid.”

“Okay,” you breathe, more to yourself than to him. Fumbling for the mouse, you navigate to the browser window you’ve had sitting minimized on your desktop for the last seven days, doing your best to ignore the tremor in your hands. “Do you just want me to, like, read them to you?”

“Just the most important parts. I don’t need the fluff.”

“Alright. Let’s see.” As quick as you can, you scan your eyes down the page, trying to pull quotes, trying to will your pulse to slow as you read off the screen. “‘Producer Suga releases his first mixtape under the stage name Agust D, proving that there truly can be 'no-skip' albums.’”

He exhales a laugh, and you keep going.

“‘Through compelling lyricism and cohesive storytelling, he presents a narrative of the hardship and spite that comes along with the art of existing.’” You flip to another tab, then another.

“‘Agust D's first masterpiece proves that the producer can do more than make songs. In his stunning mixtape, he sets a new standard for other artists and sets the stage for a new era of self-exploration as he navigates discovering his final form.’

“‘The album is a collection of introspective abstractions, exploring different personas to represent rage, desire, desperation and empathy. He remains lyrically candid from song-to-song, painting a raw picture of his inner self that packs a punch, emotionally and artistically.’

“‘The Grammys may have snubbed him under his producer pseudonym Suga, but make no mistake: there is no ignoring Agust D.’”

A heavy silence stretches out on the other end of the line, long enough that you’re halfway tempted to check your phone to confirm the call hasn’t dropped. Just as you find yourself reaching for it, your hand still shaking slightly in a way you can’t quite believe is solely from over-caffeination, there’s the sound of Yoongi breathing deep. Like he’s coming up for air.

“Thanks for that. And I appreciate you… editing out the less positive parts.”

It takes you a second to find your words. “I-I’m not, is the thing. It’s– they’re all like this.” Your admission of the truth is met with more silence, so you squeeze your eyes shut and continue. “Because it’s good, Yoongi. I believe I’d use the term critically acclaimed. You know. As a music industry professional.”

Another pause.

“Well, shit,” Yoongi finally murmurs, and you can hear the smile in his voice.

~*~

“God, you’re so lucky Los Angeles doesn’t have weather. It was cold as shit in Chicago,” Jimin mutters, tugging down the brim of his baseball cap to better shield his eyes from the morning sun.

“Hey!” Tiffany interjects, clearly offended on behalf of her city. Her baby pink sneakers kick up little clouds of dust as they crunch along the gravel path beneath your feet. “We have weather! Sometimes it rains.”

The weeks have, somehow, spilled over into months, and Jimin’s not wrong– late fall in Los Angeles is a far cry from the colder temperatures you’d be experiencing back in Seoul. It all makes time feel a little unreal, like it’s speeding up and slowing down, the days both long and short. You’ve slipped into a comfortable, steady routine now, doing your best to keep things more or less balanced: work, therapy, nights out with friends, FaceTime dates with Jimin.

And, well. Yoongi’s still calling. And you’re still answering.

“Look at her.” Your best friend’s unwavering sass brings you back to reality, and he scoffs, voice thready from the uphill climb, words punctuated by the scrape of his sneakers as the trail continues to steepen. “Off in her own world. Drag me out here on my one day off, make me go on a fucking hike because you’re ‘a person with healthy habits’ now, and what? You can’t even be bothered to make conversation?”

You shoot him the best death glare you can manage. “Mochi, I will throw you down this canyon.”

The laugh you huff out is more like a snort; you can hear Tiffany giggling, too, on your other side. There’s a glow on the apples of her cheeks when you glance over, the only indication she’s expending any effort at all, and then her mouth pulls up smug, and you already know what’s coming.

“Oh, I know what this is, she’s got that look. It’s her new Yoongi face,” she says helpfully, eyes narrowing along with her grin as she flicks her gaze back to Jimin. “The old one was like–” she frowns, brow pinched, mouth taking on a downturned slope, like she’s liable to burst into tears at any second.

“Very familiar,” Jimin confirms.

“But the new one is like–” Tiffany’s face immediately brightens, her eyes wide and lashes fluttering; she might as well have a cartoon heart floating over her head. She waves a hand in front of her as she drops the expression. “She’ll be back with us in five minutes, give or take.”

“That’s right,” Jimin continues before you can get a word in. “I forgot you two are having your regularly scheduled phone sex. I’m still trying to get Wonho to do that; he just gets so flustered saying things out loud.”

“Hate that,” Tiffany chimes in.

“Right? Like, just tell me you want to split me in half. It’s not that hard.”

This time you actually do shove Jimin, though he’s put on enough muscle from touring that the impact barely seems to register. “We are not having phone sex, Mochi.”

“They’re having deep, therapeutic conversations,” Tiffany supplies, and she shoots you a look when you whip your head back toward her. “What? Our walls are thin.” She shrugs. “It’s not my fault I can hear you two talking about your trauma all the time.”

Like she’s already bored with the discussion, she unzips the lilac fanny pack slung over her hips, retrieving her cell phone and beginning to tap gently at the screen with her nails.

“Yeah, trauma on that pus–”

“Jimin!”

“Okay, okay!” Jimin squirms just out of your reach, narrowly avoiding your attempt to tackle him to the ground. “I’m caught up now. It’s enemies to lovers to long distance boring-ass friends who aren’t even having phone sex.” He grimaces. “God, this narrative is all over the place.”

You roll your eyes so hard they threaten to fall out of your head entirely. “You need to stop trying to shove me and Yoongi into one of your 12-episode dramas. Life isn’t that simple, Park Jimin. Or that cliché.”

All at once, you must find a patch of cell service, because Tiffany’s phone starts buzzing in her hand, humming with so many notifications that for a moment you think it might just combust. When you glance back, she’s clearly processing something on the screen, because her eyes widen, and then she claps a hand over her mouth with a soft squeak.

“Oh, holy fuck,” she breathes into her palm.

“What?” Jimin asks. His brow creases with concern. As if on some kind of instinct, you feel the bottom of your stomach drop out. 

Tiffany grips her phone with two hands again so she can type faster, thumbs clack-clacking for a moment before she manages to answer. “Um, well. Grammy nominations just dropped. And girl.” She’s looking at you now, eyes still wide. “Guess who’s on here.”

“Wait,” Jimin interrupts before you’ve even had a second to think. “For the mixtape? I’m sorry, am I a Grammy-nominated featured vocalist right now?” He tucks a hand under his chin, posing cutely, as if he’s already prepared to give the acceptance speech for his award.

Tiffany’s already holding her phone up so you can see it for yourself, and there it is, at the bottom of a list of names: Agust D.

Your heartbeat flutters like butterfly wings as your eyes snap up to the category.

“Best New Artist?!”

“Uh-huh,” Tiffany says, and you tear your gaze away from the screen just in time to see her shoot a grimace at Jimin. “Sorry for your loss, babes.”

“Those fuckers,” he hisses, immediately indignant. “Can’t believe they would snub me like this. Whatever, everyone knows the Grammys are a scam anyway.”

The static in your brain is whirring too loud for you to keep up with any of it.

“But Tiff,” you say softly, fully aware you’re processing all of this in slow motion. “It’s– that means– if he’s–”

“Better get ready, girl,” she murmurs, tilting to the side until her hip bumps against yours. “‘Cause here comes your man.”

The rush of memories is so overwhelming, it’s all you can do to keep up with the conversation as Tiffany and Jimin unpack the rest of the nominees, then somehow spend most of the long drive home on a tangent about tragic red carpet fashion. You barely hear any of it; all you can think about is– Yoongi, in a hotel bed, hair mussed from sleep. Yoongi, in a suit and tie, one hand squeezing yours as they call out a name that isn’t his. Yoongi’s head dropping down on your shoulder in a cab ride home, tongue thick in his mouth as he mumbles out–

“God, you really do have a Yoongi face.” Jimin’s shoulder thuds into the doorframe of your room, and you glance up to find him scrubbing a towel through his still-damp hair.

His eyebrows lift as you blink back at him from the edge of your bed.

“Um, excuse me, I believe this is the part of the exchange where you scowl at me? Threaten my life? Call me that stupid nickname?”

That one finally pulls you out of your thoughts enough to laugh. “If you don’t want me to call you Mochi, you should try being less mochi-shaped.”

“I can’t help that I’m adorable and delicious,” Jimin deadpans. He launches his towel into the laundry hamper tucked in the corner of the room, and then his gaze finds yours again, still a little questioning. “Seriously though, you good?”

You nod. “Yeah. Just. A lot to think about, you know.”

He hums, like he understands. “Well, Tiff said she’s picking up food, so I think I’m gonna ride along. Figured we’d leave you to your thoughts.” His mouth is already tugging up at the corner. “And your phone sex.”

“Mochi!”

You’re immediately on your feet, but Jimin disappears from view just as quickly; you can hear his retreating footsteps thud down the hall. By the time you make it to the doorway, he’s slipping into his slides, face still pulled into a shit-eating grin as Tiffany flips the lock on the front door, then swings it wide.

“Be right back!” she sing-songs, and Jimin is right behind her, shooting you one last glance over his shoulder.

“Tell Yoongi hyung I’m proud of him! You know, before you tell him how much you want his big, fat–”

The door slams shut before he can finish the thought.

With a groan of a laugh, your pulse already starting to quicken, you cross back to your bed, then grab your phone and drop down onto the mattress. Yoongi answers on the second ring, and his greeting is a noise that doesn’t quite manage to be a discernible word.

“Fuck,” you say quickly, trying to do the timezone math in your head. “Did I just wake you up? I figured you’d still be awake, but if you–”

“Wasn’t sleeping,” Yoongi clarifies, voice rough like gravel. “Chan and Jungkook took me out. I just got back. Almost called you, but.” He heaves a sigh. “Took me three tries to get my door open.”

It’s with that admission that what you’re hearing finally locks into place, the messy slant to his words, and you can’t hide the laughter that flutters out of you. “Oh my god. You’re drunk.”

“We were celebrating,” he whines, but the fact that he doesn’t deny it tells you everything you need to know. A version of Yoongi, albeit one you only ever managed a small glimpse of, slots into place in your mind: face flushed, smile all gums and teeth, laughing and dancing and scream-singing into a noraebang microphone.

The memory kicks through you, a pang that echoes right behind your ribs.

“I hope you had fun,” you finally manage, your voice soft at the edges. “I was just calling to say congrats.”

“‘S fucking crazy,” he slurs, sounding as dazed as you feel. “I almost pulled the plug on this album. So many times.”

“I remember.”

Yoongi inhales deep, like he’s preparing some big, elaborate thought, but then you hear all that air rush back out of him again, chased with a weary groan. “Fuck. I’m so– fucked.”

“Fucked for the Grammys or fucked for the amount of alcohol you drank tonight?”

The phone rustles a little, like he’s shifting, but there’s the sound of breathy laughter underneath it. “Just. Yeah. Fucked all the way around.”

“Best New Artist,” you try the words out, which just makes Yoongi groan again. “That’s huge.”

“‘M trying not to think about it. Too many milkis shots.”

For a moment, you wonder if maybe that’s it, and it makes sense. He’s so overwhelmed with a new future to start preparing for, a whole new level of fame and attention, all of it about to crash over him like an unforgiving tidal wave. Why would that have anything to do with you?

But then he’s continuing, his voice so low that it’s barely audible. “Guess I’ll be coming back to Los Angeles soon.” And you swear your heart jumps into your throat.

“Guess so,” you answer, with more breath than sound. All at once, you’re aware of so many things between the two of you: the big things, like space and distance and time, but also– this thread. This something, a tether you don’t have a name for, built up again from next to nothing.

In this moment, it suddenly all feels very, very fragile. Liable to break apart on impact.

“Wish I was there now,” Yoongi murmurs, and your breath catches. “With you.”

“You’re drunk,” you repeat.

“I know.” He sighs again, heavier this time, and you can feel it too. The weight of everything between you. Past and present. “But it doesn’t mean I don’t mean it.”

Your mouth twists. “And you can understand why that might be hard for me to believe, right?”

“I can,” he answers softly. His voice has emotion threatening your waterline.

You’re not sure what else to say.

Yoongi huffs out a frustrated noise. “Shit. I don’t want to be that guy anymore. But I don’t wanna only ever say shit like this when I’m drunk either. ‘Sjust easier sometimes. When I’m not thinking so much.”

The irony isn’t lost on you. You’ve been there, on the bathroom floor.

“We’re both guilty of that,” you murmur.

“Yeah.”

A rush of words is coming up before you can stop it. You squeeze your eyes shut with enough force to push a tear past the border of your lashes. And then you just say it. “For the record. I did mean it. What I said that night.”

I don’t know how to stop being in love with you.

Yoongi pauses, and the silence of it stretches out long enough to make you wonder if he even knows what you’re talking about. Maybe he’s forgotten that voicemail entirely.

But then you hear him take in a breath. “I did too. When I said…” He trails off, like it’s a thought he can’t quite finish. “Yeah. Think you already knew that, though.”

You try to swallow around the lump stuck in your throat. “It’s nice to hear it anyway.”

“I’m sorry. That I fucked it all up.”

A few more tears streak down your face, and you swipe the back of your hand over your cheek. “It wasn’t just you, Yoongi.”

“Fucking hell,” he groans, like he’s exhausted with himself. “It’s not– I don’t–” There’s a muted thud on his end of the line, and you can’t help but wonder if it’s his fist making contact with something soft, given the way he can’t even get a sentence out, the way his voice has gone jagged-edged with frustration. “‘M just. Gonna say this. And you don’t have to do anything with it, okay?”

“Okay,” you breathe. You’re distantly aware of the sound of keys in the front door.

“It’s still true. For me. Didn’t stop. Hasn’t stopped.”

The words sweep your feet out from under you. All you can do is breathe.

“Okay.” You say it once, then again. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Yoongi echoes.

And then it’s quiet.

You finally speak first, punctuated with a sniff and a soft huff at your own dramatics. “I hate to ruin this moment, but my friends just came back with food.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Yoongi murmurs, pausing to clear his throat. “It’s– yeah. You should go. I should sleep.”

“I have to console Jimin,” you say, unable to keep your mouth from tugging up at the mention. “He’s really torn up about his feature being snubbed.”

“Well.” Yoongi gives a grunt of effort, like he’s forcing himself to sit upright. “Tell him the Grammys fucking suck anyway.”

That actually manages to pull a laugh out of you. “I will.”

Silence hangs heavy in the air after the call ends, when it’s just you again, alone in your bedroom. You collapse back against the sheets, head spinning, still coming down from it all.

Yoongi loved you. Yoongi loves you?

The thought alone feels like touching a live wire, one that lights up every cell in your body. It’s awful, wonderful, terrifying, magical, life-ruining. It’s a nightmare. It’s the easiest thing in the world.

To his credit, Jimin’s patience lasts longer than you would’ve expected. He and Tiffany crowd in on either side of you, cross-legged on the floor of your living room, styrofoam takeout boxes of tacos fighting for space on the coffee table. The three of you make it through most of the blender of Tiffany’s homemade frozen margaritas before you feel his shoulder knock into yours. You know what question is coming before he even asks it.

“Alright, quit holding out on us. How did it go?”

Your pulse starts to quicken, and you keep your gaze fixed on the table. “Well. I guess. There is a distinct possibility. That Yoongi and I… could be more than just friends.”

“And how does that make you feel?” Tiffany pipes up.

You press your fingers to your temples, but you can’t keep the smile from breaking out over your face, one that only brightens when Tiffany starts squealing.

“I don’t know!” you quickly continue, even as you feel her close both hands around one of yours, fingers squeezing tight with excitement. “I really don’t know. I am, we are, still… figuring it all out. But there’s. Yeah. There’s something, I think. And it’s not a bad thing.”

Jimin, surprisingly, is quiet. You watch him closely as he sets his half-eaten taco down, then reaches for a napkin to diligently wipe the juices from his hands. All the while saying nothing, his face an expressionless mask.

Just as you feel your stomach start to clench with nerves, he turns to fully face you, and then you’re suddenly laid flat on the carpet, Tiffany letting out a squawk of surprise and barely managing to get out of the line of fire in time. Jimin’s on top of you now, pinning you against the floor, his arms wrapped around your waist in a hug so firm you can scarcely breathe. He peppers your face with kisses as you try to squirm out of his grasp.

“I am so fucking proud of you,” he murmurs, face squished in the crook of your neck. More tears immediately threaten the line of your lashes.

“Thank you, Mochi,” you whisper. You’re barely able to get the words out; his full weight crushed against your ribcage certainly doesn’t help. “For telling me what I needed to hear. I’m sorry that it took me so long to get my shit together.”

A fat, wet, dramatic kiss is pressed to your cheek. “You have nothing to apologize for. I knew you’d figure it out. I was always on your side.”

“Thank you for being my best friend.”

“Always, babygirl.”

Before he even finishes the words, Jimin cuts himself off with an oof, and simultaneously, you feel a second weight drop down on top of you, pushing you that much flatter into the carpet. Tiffany’s head peeks over his shoulder.

“Hi.” She grins down at both of you. “I was feeling left out. Should I make more margs?”

“Please,” Jimin wheezes, and you can’t stop laughing.

~*~

With a mostly-smoked joint pinched between your fingertips, you suddenly find yourself halfway through a question, your words underscored by the old school hip-hop thudding softly through the speakers of Matthew's parked Jeep. The last rays of the setting sun cling to the horizon in front of you, coloring the world dusk pink.

“How do you know when you’re in love?”

You’re not sure you actually meant to ask it out loud, but Matthew nods, thoughtful, as he reaches to pluck the joint from your grasp. The crease in his brow deepens as he takes a hit, like he’s really considering his answer, and then he shrugs.

The words flutter out on his exhale. “Love is… easy. And I don’t mean like rainbows and butterflies, hell no. It’s more like, when you’re with that person, there’s that feeling. Where everything locks into place. It’s like, oh yeah. There you are. Like you just found something that you’ve been waiting on a long time, kinda thing.”

You take the joint back when he offers it, exchange it for another question. “Do you think it can ever be easy with two people who have really hurt each other?”

“Oh, for sure,” he answers with a nod, fingers drumming aimlessly against the steering wheel. “Take me and Tiff. We’ve been through it, most definitely. There was a long time when I didn’t want to say how I felt, ‘cause I didn’t want to show weakness, you know? And that girl is crazy, too. She’s made me jump through every hoop there is.”

You laugh, choking a little on smoke, because you know he’s not wrong. Tiffany has admitted as much herself.

“But,” Matthew continues, gaze distant through the windshield. “We’re trying. Taking baby steps with it. And every time we screw up, we get a little better at it, you know? And at the end of the day, there’s nobody else for me. Nobody else I want to be with, nobody who gets me, really knows me the way she does. For real. Like best friend type shit.”

The corner of your mouth turns up. “That’s really sweet.”

He shifts in his seat, crossing his arms behind his head with a smirk. “I got a soft heart hiding behind these rock-hard tiddies, I know.”

You cackle as you pass the last remains of the joint back across the center console. Matthew puffs on it a couple more times, then finally lets it drop out the open car window.

“I’m serious though,” he says, glancing over at you in the passenger seat. “If two people are both willing to put in the work, try to meet each other halfway, and be accountable about their own shit, then. Yeah. Some people think if you’re always struggling, and fighting, it means you really love each other. I don’t buy that. But I do think sometimes you have to go through hard to find easy.”

You let out a long, slow exhale. The thought of it feeling easy almost seems too good to be true. And yet that’s exactly how it’s been in this strange little bubble, just you and Yoongi. Spending hours on the phone, yet somehow never running out of things to say.

“It’s scary,” you finally manage, and Matthew nods, sympathetic.

“Fucking terrifying, for sure.”

A long, stoned silence stretches out between you, until Matthew finally breaks it.

“So, you in love with that asshole producer still? Or, again?”

The smile flits across your face before you can stop it, and your pulse thuds in your throat. It feels so real, to say it so casually like this. “I think I am, yeah. Still and again. Both.”

Matthew’s smiling too, when you look back at him. “That’s cute. Well, I’m rooting for y’all.”

“God, you’re such a sap, Matthew.”

You both startle at the sound of Tiffany’s voice. Matthew’s gaze flits to the rearview mirror while you turn over your shoulder to see her stretched lazily across the backseat, eyelids still heavy.

“Damn, girl,” Matthew huffs. “I thought you were comatose back there.”

“I was meditating,” Tiffany says, like it’s obvious. “Can we get Taco Bell? I would do some very fucked up things for a crunchwrap right now.”

Matthew outright salutes, which has Tiffany snorting with laughter as she manages to pull herself back up to sitting. “I gotchu, baby.” The car roars to life as he turns the key in the ignition, then cranks the stereo a good ten notches higher. “Seatbelts on, y’all!” He has to yell to be heard over the music, and you fumble for the metal buckle of yours. “Daddy’s about to pull an illegal U-turn!”

~*~

You wake up flushed all over, bedsheets kicked down to the edge of the mattress, an ache of desire thudding like a pulse between your hips. Remnants of sleep-soaked images stick to the edges of your thoughts, and you try to will them back into frame: the slide of rough hands down your body, the press of deft fingers working you to pieces. The scent of sandalwood and musk.

Your phone is in your hand like a reflex. It’s only once the line picks up and you hear an answer that it hits you, what you’re doing.

“Are you okay?” Yoongi’s voice is painted with concern. “Isn’t it late?”

The middle of the night, probably. “Yeah,” you reply, knowing full-well that your voice is thick with it, this want. “I just– I’m sorry.” You shake your head. “It’s nothing. I shouldn’t have called.”

“What is it?” He tries again, undeterred. You wonder if you’re imagining that his voice has softened slightly, dropped a little deeper in his chest. It radiates through you, liquid-hot.

“I just, uh.” The words feel heavy in your mouth. “I had this dream.”

There’s a silence on the other end of the phone, just long enough that you nearly falter, and then you hear Yoongi’s voice again.

“Tell me what you want.”

“You.” The answer comes before you can stop it, flutters out on an exhale so soft you’re not even sure it registers. “I want you, Yoongi.”

“Yeah?” The word is so familiar, you can see the smirk on his face with your eyes closed. Your body reacts automatically. “You want me to tell you what to do?”

“Please,” you breathe with your heart in your throat.

“What are you wearing?”

It’s insane, really, the way your nipples stiffen from a single question.

“Just, uh.” You swallow hard, suddenly self-conscious at what feels like an unsexy answer. “A t-shirt, shorts. I was sleeping–”

“Take the shorts off,” he instructs, voice dark, and it’s so easy, following his lead, slipping the thin cotton fabric over your hips. Easier still when he tells you to touch yourself, to tease your drenched folds apart, to moan for him as you press yourself open with a finger. And you do.

“How wet are you?”

“Soaked,” you tell him, working a second finger in, gasping at the stretch, curling them until you find the place that makes your breath catch.

Alone in your room, with thousands of miles between you, it still doesn’t matter. It’s like you can feel the heat of Yoongi’s breath on your skin. 

“Am I the only one you get this wet for?”

“Yes, Yoongi.” There couldn’t be anyone else.

“Tell me how it feels.”

Instinct takes over: you press the heel of your hand flat to your center and circle your hips, choking on another gasp at the friction-spark against your pulsing clit. “Fuck,” you hiss, head tipping back against the pillow. “It’s so good.”

“Just like that,” he breathes. “Keep going.”

“God,” you moan as your hips fall into a steady rhythm. The needy press of your fingers only serves to make you that much wetter, until you can feel it painting your thighs, soaking the sheets. “It feels so fucking good,” you say again.

“I bet you look so good right now, fucking yourself like this.” Yoongi sounds like he’s coming undone, too. There’s a pause, and then his voice comes back. “Do you wish it was me?”

“Yes,” you gasp, without hesitation. “I miss you.”

“Yeah, you miss the way I touch you? The way I fuck you?” You feel it all in the dark. The weight of Yoongi’s body above you, the brush of his mouth over yours, the slow drag of his cock fucking you all the way open. This unmistakable ache, right behind your ribs.

“Yes, Yoongi,” you murmur. It’s overwhelming, a flood of a thousand emotions at once as you work yourself to the edge, thinking only of him. “All of it. All of you.”

When he speaks again, it’s softer. “Wish I was there with you. To take care of you. Make you come until you can’t take it anymore.” A pause, and he breathes a laugh. “Make you squirt. God, that was hot.”

“Yoongi,” you whine. You’re drowning in it now.

“I know, baby. You’d take me so well, wouldn’t you? Squeeze so fucking tight around me?”

“Yes,” you moan. “Please, I’m close.”

“Love the way you look when you’re all fucked out.” The word flutters through your body like a wave. Love. “Fucking beautiful.”

“Yoongi.” It’s all you can say, all you can think.

“I’m right here. Come for me.”

And you do. With a shaky gasp, you pulse hard around your own fingers, wishing they were his instead.

“Fuck, you are– unbelievable,” Yoongi says softly. You can barely hear him over the waves of pleasure rolling through you, dragging you under.

It’s a long time before either of you speaks again. 

“Thank you,” is all you can finally manage once your pulse starts to slow, and then it occurs to you how one-sided this has been. You’re not sure what the rules are. You’ve never done anything like this before. “Um, did you want me to–?”

“No,” Yoongi answers before you can finish asking. “It’s okay. That was probably more than I deserve anyway.”

“Yoongi–”

He cuts you off, insistent. “Really, I’m fine. And you should get some sleep.”

Even in the haze of post-orgasm glow, the feeling swells up again: you miss Yoongi. Desperately, terribly. You squeeze your eyes shut and try to feel him beside you, the weight of his body on the mattress. Sweat beading at his temples, pulse thudding in his throat, his dark eyes searching yours.

It crashes over you, undeniable. You love him. Of course you do.

But the words feel– too big to say. Too small to close the ocean of distance between you. Too much, and not enough.

“I wish you were here,” you whisper instead. Despite how badly you want to keep talking, exhaustion is already on you like a heavy weight, easing your eyelids shut. You can feel yourself starting to drift.

“I know,” Yoongi answers. “I will be soon.”

You don’t remember ending the call, just the dreams that come after: hot breath on your skin, a body pressed firmly into yours, and three little words, whispered over and over, like a prayer in the dark.

~*~

You try not to overthink things. But just like that, the near-daily occurrence of hearing from Yoongi starts tapering off. Three days between calls, then five. Then a week, sometimes two.

When you do hear from him, it’s usually just long enough for him to tell you how busy things are before he has to go again. You know there’s a lot going on, with his music, his work, his blossoming career as an artist. And you get it; your job keeps you plenty occupied as well.

But any free moment you manage, you can’t stop yourself from playing it all back, looking for answers. Wondering what you might have done to make him start pulling away.

Part of you wonders if he regrets that night, the phone sex. If you swung the pendulum too far back, in a direction he had no interest in revisiting. If it somehow made him think differently of you. But you can’t make sense of that– he was there. He told you as much himself, and you heard the truth in his voice. How much he wanted it, wanted you.

At least, you thought he did. But as the weeks stretch on, you’re not so sure.

The closer the Grammys loom, the tighter the anxiety spiral knits in your chest, until finally, you can’t take it anymore. The next time you hear from Yoongi, hardly a fortnight out from when he’s meant to touch down in Los Angeles, the dam breaks.

“Is something going on?”

There’s a heavy sigh on the other end of the line, but he doesn’t answer right away.

“Will you please just tell me, Yoongi?” You hate the way your voice sounds as you say it. “What– what did I do wrong?”

“Nothing,” he answers immediately. “At all. It’s me.”

Your stomach twists. “What does that mean?”

“It’s not–” he cuts himself off. “Things have been really hectic lately, and I’ve been trying, but.”

You steady yourself for the blow.

“I just don’t think there’s a way that I’m going to be able to see you. While I’m in town.”

“Oh.” It’s the only response you have.

He keeps going. “My schedule is… honestly, just fucking insane. Rolling Stone, Genius, Pitchfork. My calendar looks like I’m speed-dating the entire LA music industry. I’ll get maybe three hours of sleep a night if I’m lucky. So then I thought maybe I could extend the trip, stay for an extra day or two, but. I’m booked up for a solid month after this. I have to be on the first flight Monday morning just to make it back in time. As it turns out, I’ve somehow stumbled my way into working two full-time jobs.”

“It’s okay, Yoongi,” you finally manage, but you're not sure how convincing you sound. “I get it. I remember how busy it was last year, so. I can only imagine what it’s like for you now.”

But you can’t ignore the creeping sense of dread, a skull-numbing buzz that’s all at once too familiar. He really can’t make any time for you? You’re not worth even half an hour?

“I know it’s not fair to you,” he continues. “And I’ve been more distant because I was dreading having to tell you, and part of me was convinced that I could figure it out, that maybe there was a way I could make it work.”

He could make it work, your mind whispers. If he really wanted to.

“Right,” you answer wetly, a beat too late. “I get it.”

“I’m really sorry.” His voice has gone raw, like it’s hard for him to say these words. “I’ve looked at this from every angle. But I’m not… I’m not good at this. I don’t want the first time that we see each other to be when I’m– a wreck. Overwhelmed, anxious, jetlagged and running on nothing. You deserve better than that.”

A tear streaks down your face, quickly chased by a second. “Yeah.”

“None of this has anything to do with me not caring about you, or not wanting to see you. I need you to believe me when I say that.”

“Yeah,” you repeat dumbly, but you can feel it all building, until it threatens to choke you. The disappointment, the shame, the anger, a poison that stings in your veins. And with it, the urge to pick up your fears and your trauma, to wield them like weapons. To say things that can’t ever be unsaid. To hurt Yoongi the way he’s hurt you, over and over again.

Yoongi speaks before you have the chance to. “I know. I know I keep doing this, putting work above everything. It’s not fair to you. And I’m sorry for doing it then, and sorry for doing it now. But I just want to get this right. Being with you again, after everything– I want to do it right.”

“It makes sense,” you say softly, and then your facade crumbles. “It just hurts.”

“I know,” he says, like he really does. “It hurts me, too.”

A sob hitches in your throat. The thought of Yoongi being so close, so soon, and not being able to touch him, to even see him, after all this time. Loving him like this, from a distance. It’s devastating.

“I wish there was another way,” you breathe. “I just– I’m scared I’m never going to see you again.”

“I promise,” Yoongi says, and you’re not sure you’ve ever heard him more serious. “You will. Just let me get through this, and then I’ll come to you, and we can take our time. I’ll be all yours. No distractions.”

You swipe away a few more tears. As much as you want to blame him, hate him, a part of you understands that just as much of this is your fault. You were the one who ran away.

The words tumble out before you can shove them back down. “I wish you had stopped me. When I left. I kept hoping, I don’t know. That maybe you would show up at the last second and take it all back, or ask me to stay. And I just–” You try to swallow past the lump in your throat. “I know it was my choice. But I just really wish you had.”

Yoongi goes silent for a moment. His voice is barely a whisper when he speaks again. “I do, too,” he says. “Trust me.”

And, somehow, despite everything. You do.

As terrifying as it is, like free-falling with no safety net, you squeeze your eyes shut, and let your weapons drop. For the first time in your life, you make the choice to take Min Yoongi at his word. To trust him.

“Okay.”

~*~

“You know I'm fine, right?”

You turn to face Tiffany accusingly as you ask the question, and her eyes immediately snap away from your face. She does her best to act engrossed in the broadcast, as if you haven’t felt her gaze staring daggers into you the entire day.

Concerned, loving daggers, sure. But it’s driving you crazy all the same.

“I know!” she chirps, entirely unconvincing. “It’s just, like. We can always put something else on, if you want.”

“It’s really not a big deal,” you say for what easily has to be the fifth time.

“Tiff, seriously, drop it.” Matthew interjects through a mouthful of chips. The large serving bowl you’d set on the table for everyone to share has somehow ended up permanently in his lap. He reaches in for another handful. “Gotta admit though. Dude can for sure rock a suit.”

The four of you have been camped out in the living room for the better part of the afternoon, and you’ve just made it through the Grammys red carpet pre-show– well, at least three of you have. Vernon has been horizontal on the floor for at least an hour now, and you’re not positive if he’s sleeping, dead, or a secret third thing.

You’re appreciative to have the kind of friends that won’t let you go through a hard time alone, but it occurs to you now that maybe you actually would have preferred to be alone for this.

There’s no escaping the ache that blooms in your chest anytime Yoongi is onscreen. You find yourself holding your breath, just taking him in. The same dark eyes, same overwhelming gaze, his hair grown even longer in the year you’ve spent apart.

His fans have already made themselves known, and the reaction to him on the red carpet makes your heart flip. Even the interviewers are in on the “Yoongi Marry Me” jokes, and Yoongi does his best to force polite smiles that you can see straight through. It’s so strange to think how quickly everything has shifted; that only a year ago, no one knew who he was, or cared that he was at the Grammys.

And a year ago, you were there with him, too.

You swallow hard, trying to will those memories out of your mind, when Vernon sits up with a gasp.

“What day is it?”

“Sunday,” you answer slowly. “Why?”

Vernon’s brow is now creased with a panicked look, one you’ve frankly never seen before. “And tomorrow is Monday?”

“That’s how days work, yes.”

“Oh, then I’m fucked,” Vernon groans. His gaze flits from you to Tiffany to Matthew and back again. “I’m super fucked.”

“Vernon, baby, deep breaths,” Tiffany instructs. “What’s going on?”

“That big training on Monday,” he explains, expression twisting into a grimace. “I completely forgot, they wanted me to put the deck together, it was supposed to be like three hours of content.”

“Just do it now, dumbass,” Matthew says, and Vernon pauses, as if taking a moment to consider this.

The grimace quickly returns to his face. “I might, uh. Have left my laptop. At the office.”

“You’re telling me I gotta drive your ass all the way–”

“I can do it,” you interject quickly, before Matthew can spew any more chip crumbs out along with his complaints. A wave of relief rushes over you, because this is exactly what you need right now: the promise of an empty office and enough busy work to keep you occupied. “Seriously, I can build a deck in my sleep. I’ll just do it, and I’ll bring your laptop back in case you want to change anything.”

“Are you sure?” Vernon asks, awestruck.

But you’re already on your feet; a millisecond later, Tiffany is on hers, too. “I’m coming with you.”

“Tiff–” you shake your head, doing your best to shoot her a convincing smile, one that you’re sure doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “Just, please. Let me handle this, okay?”

Her mouth pulls flat; you know her well enough to know it means reluctant acquiescence, and you don’t hesitate. You cross the room to the front door and slip into your shoes, then grab your keys off the hook.

“Vernon–” you turn back over your shoulder. “All your files are on the shared drive, right?”

His brows raise, like it’s his first time hearing the term. “The… what now?”

As if to express his disappointment, Matthew lobs a couch pillow across the room, missing Vernon by at least a foot. You do your best to bite back a smile– it’s not like you can exactly judge anyone for a lack of computer knowledge.

“Just text me your password and where your laptop is, okay?” you try instead.

Vernon nods, shooting you a double thumbs-up. “Thank you for saving my ass!”

When you step outside, the promise of rain sits cool and heavy in the air, and you let yourself breathe it in. You’d been wound so tightly, trying to hold it together in front of your friends. You can feel those threads starting to snap now, like you’re coming apart at the seams.

The lights of the city begin to blink on, one-by-one, as you make your way across town. What was once an overcast afternoon sky has begun to bruise darker into grey-black storm clouds, thick and ominous over the hills.

You’ve barely managed to lock the office door behind you when the sky opens up, giving way to sudden downpour.

Finding Vernon’s laptop is easy enough, as is actually getting the slides together, despite his questionable notes. And, well. You can’t help it. You prop your phone up on the desk, tuned into a livestream of the Grammys broadcast.

It’s a long show, and you manage to finish the deck before Yoongi’s category is called. It’s still pouring down rain, so you stay at your desk, eyes glued to your phone.

You remember the feeling of Yoongi’s hand slipping into yours, the tick of nerves in the line of his jaw. Selfish as it may be, you can’t help but wonder if you’re on his mind at all. If he wishes he was with you instead. If it hurts him just as much, being this close.

And then a pretty blonde country singer is stepping up to present the next award, and your heart leaps into your throat as the words leave her mouth: Best New Artist.

Flashes of performance footage are stitched together into a video montage introducing each artist. You see Yoongi sneering into the microphone, dark hair falling into his eyes as he stares down the camera like it’s the barrel of a gun.

It’s suddenly hard for you to get a breath in.

The presenter fumbles a little with the envelope, but eventually manages to get it open. She leans into the microphone for one long moment of suspense, and then she says it.

“Agust D.”

The room erupts, and your heart cracks, right down the center. He really did it.

There are tears in your eyes now, and as you try to blink them away, you realize the camera is swinging a little haphazardly. It almost looks like they’re trying to find Yoongi, which doesn’t make any sense, given that they know exactly where he’s sitting.

When the broadcast finally manages to zero in on the dark-haired man bounding towards the stage, you clap a hand over your mouth in disbelief.

It’s Jungkook.

He makes it up to the microphone, as wide-eyed as you’ve ever seen him, one hand raised in a shy wave. “Oh, wow. Um, hi everyone. Hi Grammys.”

There’s another pang in your chest. God, you miss this kid.

“My name is Jungkook. Agust D has asked me to accept this award on his behalf.” You can see the look of sheer terror on Jungkook’s face now; he stares into the camera like a deer in headlights. “He, uh, gave me a note to read. Hang on, let me get it.”

As Jungkook starts to pat down his pockets in search of the note, you catch a glint of silver at the edge of his mouth. Is that a… piercing? You lean in closer, squinting at your phone screen to try and make it out.

There’s a bang at the front door, so loud that it makes you jump. You glance up, startled, and then the bottom drops out of your stomach.

Min Yoongi is standing outside of your office, soaked to the skin, like something out of a dream.

None of it feels real. Not when you get up from your desk, not when you unlock and open the door. Not even when he steps inside in his all-black suit, clearly out of breath, raking back his wet hair.

“You’re here,” he says dumbly, and you just stand there, sure that you’re about to wake up. Any second now.

“Yoongi,” you finally manage to breathe. “What are you–”

“I love you.”

The words nearly knock you off balance. “Yoongi,” you try again. “You just–”

He shakes his head. “I have to say this first, and then you can tell me to fuck off forever. I love you. I’m sorry that I didn’t say it sooner, or that I took it back when I shouldn’t have. It’s like you said– I was scared.” His dark eyes threaten to burn right through you. “I just couldn’t sit at that stupid show anymore knowing I was so close to you. I had to come tell you myself.”

You press a hand to his face, feather-light, your fingertips swiping at an errant bead of rainwater trailing along his cheek. His arms close around your waist, pulling you closer as if on instinct. Heat blooms under your skin at every point where your bodies touch.

“You just won a Grammy,” you say softly.

The look on Yoongi’s face shifts from concern to confusion, and then his jaw goes slack beneath your palm. “I– what?”

All you can do is nod. You feel a tear streak down your face. “I was watching the broadcast. You won, Yoongi.”

“I–I didn’t think I had any real shot.” His eyes widen. “Oh my god, and I told Jungkook to give my speech.”

You manage a wet laugh, even as more tears start to fall. “He did it, I saw him. He was shaking like a leaf.”

“Oh, the fangirls are going to love him,” Yoongi mutters with a disbelieving grin, and then he shakes his head again, as if to refocus himself. “We’ll circle back to that. This is more important. Than the music, than the Grammy, all of it.”

It feels like your chest could cave in at any second. “But Yoongi, this is your dream.”

His arms tighten around you, and a shiver trails up your spine. “There’s this funny thing that happens when your dreams come true. It makes you realize what really matters. Because as it turns out, being there tonight meant fuck all without you beside me.” A smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. “As much as I love Jungkook.”

Yoongi’s eyes search yours as he keeps talking. “I’m sorry I didn’t go after you when you left. I wish I’d known that you wanted me to. But I figured maybe if I did it tonight, it might count for something. Like, better late than never.”

You’ve given up on trying to hold the tears back, and you feel Yoongi trace a thumb gently beneath your lash line as more spill down your cheeks, unrelenting now.

“I hate to see you cry,” he says hoarsely.

You look up at him through your wet lashes, wondering how on earth he hasn’t put it together by now. “I’m crying because I love you, you idiot.”

Recognition spreads slowly over Yoongi’s face, and then you’re both laughing, his hands moving to cup your jaw. He looks at you like you’re something precious, something he doesn’t want to lose twice. For a second, it’s impossible to breathe.

“Can I kiss you now?” he asks softly.

“Please,” you answer, and he does.

His mouth on yours blots out every other thought in your mind. It’s a long time before you finally pull away.

“Hang on,” you start, once you’ve regained the ability to string words together, every cell in your body still buzzing with electricity. “How did you even know I would be here?”

Yoongi shrugs, strands of damp hair falling into his eyes. He pushes them back again, and you swear there’s a tinge of mild embarrassment in his expression. It’s an emotion you didn’t know he was capable of. “I… didn’t? I just kind of ran out of there, and I knew your office was close, and it was raining, and– I don’t know. I guess I was hoping for one more of those cosmic coincidences.”

“We do have a lot of them,” you admit with a nod of your head. “But honestly, you could have just called.”

“I know, I know.” He winces, and you swear you can see his face reddening. “I was acting on impulse, okay?”

“Shocking,” you deadpan, and he really laughs. Your heart threatens to beat right out of your chest at the sound. Another tear slips down your face at the realization: you’ve missed it all. Every piece of him.

Yoongi’s still smiling, your face still cradled in his hands. “Alright, your turn. Why are you here?”

“It’s a long story,” you say with a shake of your head. “And we have better things to do.”

“You make an excellent point,” he replies, lips brushing close to your ear. You feel him hesitate, just for a second. “I really am sorry I can’t stay longer. But I’ll be back as soon as I can, if you’ll have me.”

“Of course,” you murmur. As if you haven’t missed him since the moment you set foot on California soil. As if you could ever want anyone else, anything but this.

Another kiss, this one pressed to your hairline. “I know it’s probably way too soon for me to talk about this,” Yoongi’s voice is soft against your skin.

“It’s okay, Yoongi,” you answer. “Whatever it is, you can say it.”

“I just– do you think you’ll ever come home? To Seoul?”

And, well. You can’t help yourself. There’s a small smile on your face as you tip your head back to gaze up at Yoongi, feigning as much innocence as you can muster. “You know, I’m not sure.” You blink, and there’s a flash of something all-too familiar in his dark eyes. It’s a look that makes your gut clench with anticipation. “I guess you’ll have to make me.”

His mouth finds yours again, and something tells you that you won’t need much convincing.

~*~

A/N: thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for reading. 🤍

chapter ten | masterlist

[dreamwritesimagines]

Declassified [2] - Retaliation

A.N: I watched Thunderbolts* and I am ✨back on my bullshit✨ 🩷

I hope you guys like it! 🥰 Please let me know what you think! 🩷

Pairing: Congressman!Bucky x Female!Reader

Summary: Actions have consequences.

Warnings: Unwanted touching in the workplace (nothing graphic but please be careful reading it) , mentions of vaping, mentions of violence

Word Count: 3434 (and yes, this was supposed to be a blurb)

This chapter can be read as a standalone but if you want to see more of them, here is chapter 1! 🩷

It wasn’t very often that you were late to work, and if it were any other time you would be rushing inside, darting past everyone but your therapist had been very insistent about you taking some time early in the morning to ground yourself, so here you were; outside the building, focused on your breathing.

“I am healthy, I am wealthy,” you said, inhaling and exhaling slowly. “I am rich, I am that bitch—”

“What are you doing?”

You jumped out of your skin, your eyes snapping open with a gasp to see Bucky watching you with a curious look in his eyes. You let out a breath, pressing a hand over your chest.

“You scared me!”

“Sorry about that.” Bucky gave you an apologetic smile. “I wasn’t trying to sneak up on you, it’s a force of habit. What are you doing?”

You gestured at the building.

“It’s gonna be chaos in there,” you said. “I didn’t have time to do my affirmations this morning so I’m doing them before I walk in.”

“Affirmations?”

“Yeah, I usually do them in front of the mirror but like I said, didn’t have time,” you said. “I’m almost done, I’ll be right there.”

“It’s okay, I can wait,” Bucky said and you shrugged your shoulders, then closed your eyes again and clasped your hands in front of you.

“I am healthy, I am wealthy, I am rich, I am that bitch,” you recited. “If the world is a high school, I’m the head cheerleader. If the world is a knee, I’m Tonya Harding. If the world is an open buffet, I’m a damn snack. I have the confidence of an evil tech bro and the looks of a pretty princess, and I get princess treatment from the universe.”

You opened your eyes to find Bucky staring at you in utter confusion, but as soon as he realized you were finished, he nodded his head fervently.

“Uh—” He seemed at a loss for words. “Amen?”

You pursed your lips to control your smile, then walked into the building with him following you.

“How come you didn’t have time this morning?” he asked and you hummed.

“Me and the rest of the team went to karaoke last night,” you said. “Got plastered, and the last thing I remember is me and Kelsey trying to sing Bohemian Rhapsody.”

Bucky let out a chuckle and followed you to your desk. “Isn’t Queen a bit too old for you?”

“Queen is goddamn timeless, take that back.”

“No I’m surprised you know—”

“I’m also surprised you know Queen, it’s a bit too new for you,” you teased him back as Caleb put a file on your desk.

“There you go Birdie.”

“Caleb!”

Bucky raised his brows. “Birdie?”

“She sings like a bird, I’ll send you the video,” Caleb replied with a grin and you pointed at him.

“I’ll kill you once I’m off the clock.”

“With your voice?”

“With a knife,” you said and he feigned a gasp, then walked away from you. You let out a whine.

“I’m never going to live this down, am I?”

“Don’t think so Birdie.”

“I will kill you too,” you told Bucky as he shot you a smirk that made your stomach do a pleasant flip. “I’m serious. I have tricks you don’t even know about.”

“I’m very intimidated.”

“You should be,” you said and turned your laptop on, then clicked on a file. “By the way, you have a meeting with Mr. Thompson today, are you prepared?”

Bucky made a face. “I don’t really like that guy.”

“And unfortunately politics doesn’t care about who you like,” you said, your eyes glued to the screen as you attached the file to the email. “We can use him and his connections, so play nice alright?”

“No promises—”

“Yes promises.” You glared at him. “Yes promises right now.”

Bucky groaned and threw his head back. “But listen—”

“Go look over the email I sent you, it has everything you need for your meeting with him.”

“When did you send me an email?”

“Just now.”

“You’re talking to me right now, how did you—?”

“I’m great at my job, that’s how,” you told him and pointed at his office without taking your eyes off the screen. “Go. He will be here in two hours.”

If you didn’t know any better, you would’ve thought the infamous Winter Soldier, the future Congressman, the great Bucky Barnes was sulking but he walked away without protest, making you repress a smile.

By the time Mr. Thompson’s meeting with Bucky was over, it was nearly lunch time. Caleb and Kelsey were already vaping outside, and you sent the email you had been working on for the last couple of minutes, then grabbed your purse to leave the office, your eyes still glued to your phone. Your whole focus was on the news article about Bucky, so you didn’t even realize the man who was about to step out the door as well until you bumped into him and your head shot up.

“Oh, sorry about that Mr. Thompson!” you said and gave him an apologetic smile. “I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

“Oh no no, after you,” he said and you passed by him but as soon as you did, you felt his hand on your butt. Your whole body froze, your stomach lurching with the sudden panic that crashed onto you out of nowhere while he walked past you, his driver opening the door for him. You stared at his car until it drove off, your eyes burning with unshed tears, bile coating the back of your throat but you forced yourself to swallow, tightening your jaw.

“Hey, you ready?” Kelsey asked, the blueberry scent of her vape filling your lungs as you took a deep breath, then blinked back the tears.

“Sure!” You tried to smile. “Let’s—let’s go.”

                                            *

You couldn’t even decide who you were angry at more.

He was a perverted asshole, that was for sure, but now that you were thinking about it, you should’ve yelled at him.

Or slapped him.

Or did something other than freezing in your spot like an idiot.                                       

The tension hadn’t left your body for the whole day, no matter how much you tried to focus on work. All you wanted was to go home and take a long shower and bury yourself under the covers, so once everyone started to leave the office, you grabbed the file and knocked on Bucky’s door.

“Hey, here are the files for tomorrow,” you rasped out and put them on his desk. “I’m gonna leave if that’s all.”

Bucky’s brows furrowed. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.”

“You don’t look okay.”

If it were any other time, you would’ve come up with a snarky comment but you were way too tired to do so.

“Um, I just want to go home if you don’t need me for the rest of the evening.”

Bucky stood up from behind his desk to approach you, his pleasant scent tickling your nose.

“What happened?” he asked softly and you bit inside your cheek.

“Nothing.”

“Listen, if it were any other time I would be thrilled to see you leave on time for once, but not like this,” he said. “What is it?”

You shifted your weight, your eyes cast on the desk just so that you could focus on something other than the threat of tears tingling the bridge of your nose.

“Just a bad day I guess.”

“Who’s responsible for that?”

You rolled your eyes at him playfully, the dread in your stomach easing just a little.

“Why, are you gonna go Winter Soldier on them?”

“If needed.” His voice didn’t hold a teasing tone unlike before, instead it was almost dark. “Who?”

You let out a bitter laugh. “We’re making you a congressman, you can’t do the whole scary super assassin thing anymore—”

“Who?” he repeated and you heaved a sigh.

“You were right about Mr. Thompson,” you muttered. “He is an asshole who pretends to be a gentleman. Apparently he holds the door open for you with his left hand to feel you up with his right hand.”

The moment the words left your lips, something in his eyes shifted, making you frown in confusion before your heart started beating in your throat.

Ah.

There.

Ever since you started working for Bucky, Winter Soldier had been a popular topic among your friends. They all kept insisting that it gave him the perfect air of mystery and danger, and that it made him even hotter. You weren’t an idiot, you knew very well just how handsome he was, how he stood out among all the politicians – or anyone else in the room, to be honest— but up until this point, you had never seen any trace of the infamous Winter Soldier in him. For you, Bucky was your very, very attractive boss who was genuinely so protective, so honest and so good to people around him that sometimes you wondered if he was even fit for the dirty world of politics.

But until now, it had never crossed your mind that Bucky was perfectly capable of being the most dangerous man in the room, he just made the conscious decision to shield the world from that side of him.

“He did what?”

The low growl made your whole body warm and you could only stare at him for a couple of seconds before forcing yourself to snap out of it and licked your lips.

Bucky was your boss, you were in a relationship, and this was making you feel things you definitely weren’t supposed to feel.

“It’s nothing,” you said in a rush, taking a step back. “I’m fine, it was just….who hasn’t been through that, am I right? People suck and I—I’m just gonna go home and take a shower and forget this whole day happened. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You walked out of his office and snatched your purse off your desk without even slowing down, then left the building.

Normally, you wouldn’t be caught dead without your headphones in the subway but you were so lost in your thoughts that it was only when you reached home that you realized you weren’t wearing them. You frowned to yourself, then pressed your palms on your eyes, then dropped your hands with a sigh.

It was just because of today.

That was it.

And besides, anyone could see Bucky was handsome. It was an objective observation –hell, you were the one who kept joking that his looks would grant him a seat in the congress— so if anything, it just meant you were good at your job.

You unlocked the door and stepped inside, then closed the door behind you.

“Max?”

“In here babe!”

You made your way to the kitchen to find him on a stall, his whole focus on his laptop screen. You quickly pecked him on the lips, then put your purse on the kitchen island while he clicked away at the keyboard.

“You’re home early.”

“So are you,” you said. “Oh my God, you will not believe what happened today.”

“What?”

“You remember Mr. Thompson?”

“The guy who owns that sports foundation, right?”

“Yeah, him!” you said. “So, he had a meeting with Bucky today, and it was around my lunchtime, and as I was walking out, he held the door open for me and then touched my butt!”

He looked up from his laptop.

“Holy shit, that’s fucked,” he said. “You okay?”

“Can you believe that?” you exclaimed. “He walks around like—everyone thinks he’s this sweet old guy, and he—he goes and does that? It’s so fucking disgusting!”

“It is.”

“I should’ve slapped him,” you told him. “Seriously. Or like, punched him or something. That’s what he deserves, that fucking pervert.”

“He really does,” he said. “Hey, should we have pizza for dinner?”

You blinked a couple of times, silence falling upon the kitchen as you searched for the right words through the anger burning in your head.

“That’s it?” you asked after a beat. “I’m telling you some creep groped me and your reaction is just ‘that’s fucked, what’s for dinner’?”

“What am I supposed to do?” he asked back with a laugh. “Challenge him to a duel?”

“If you could be angry, that would be appreciated,” you snapped and he pulled his brows together.

“I am angry.”

“Are you?”

“What, I should go and beat him up to show that to you?” he asked, his tone mocking. “It’s just a creepy guy with a wandering hand. No harm done—”

“Maybe I should be the one to decide if there’s any harm done, Max,” you growled through your teeth. “Seeing that it was my ass that was involved, literally!”

“Alright.” He let out a tired sigh. “I get that you’re upset, but there’s no need to take it out on me, I can’t do anything about what happened. There’s always gonna be creepy guys around you, you can’t let that affect you this much. It’s not gonna solve anything, it’ll just make you more upset.”

You could feel the headache creeping up on you, climbing from the base of your neck to your temples as you gritted your teeth, then ran a hand over your face.

“Wow,” you said. “You know what? I’m just gonna take a shower and go to bed. Eat whatever you want.”

“Babe, come on—” he started but you walked out of the kitchen to the hallway, then slammed the bathroom door behind you, your eyes still burning.

                                              *

Your headache was a little better when you woke up. You were still angry and hungry at the same time, so on your way to work, you got a sandwich, coffee with four shots of espresso and some pastries for yourself and the people at the office. As usual, you were the first one to arrive, so you placed the pastries in the kitchen, made your way to your desk, put your earbuds in and got to work.

You were halfway into your report when Kelsey snapped her fingers in front of your eyes, making your head shoot up.

“Thanks for the eclairs Birdie,” she said when you took out your earbuds and you made a face.

“Not you too.”

“Bucky still isn’t in?” Caleb asked as he put a file in front of you while biting into an éclair and you and Kelsey both shook your heads.

“He has that breakfast thing with—”

“With Mrs. Ainsley in Borough Park,” you said and checked the time on your laptop. “Should be here soon though.”

Caleb popped the rest of the éclair in his mouth, then sat on your desk.

“So, let’s get the theories about last night,” he said. “I say it was his wife’s boyfriend.”

“Nah, I say it was a robbery.”

“Nothing was stolen.”

“The guy is loaded, he probably has stuff he doesn’t want the public to—”

“Who are we talking about?” you cut them off and they both turned to give you a look of disbelief.

“Don’t tell me you haven’t heard.”

“Heard what?” you asked, your heart skipping a beat as you grabbed your phone. “I’ve been working on my report since I got here, what did I miss?”

“It came out last night!”

“I had a fight with Max last night—what happened?”

Kelsey tilted her head. “What happened with Max?”

“Long story, what’s going on?”

Caleb leaned back on his palms.

“Someone broke into Mr. Thompson’s house last night.”

Your heart started beating in your throat. “What?”

“Yeah, someone broke into his house—which is insane by the way, he usually has security there and a bunch of alarms— and my journalist friend got the first report, that was definitely personal. All the bones in his right hand are basically dust now, no one knows what kind of machine they used.”

You stared at him while Kelsey let out a snort.

“He knows, he just refuses to say anything.”

“The guy is traumatized.”

“That, and he lost all his teeth.”

“Exactly. He must’ve blocked it out because if he remembered, he would’ve given the description in writing.”

No.

Absolutely not, that was—

That was a coincidence, that’s all.

Bucky didn’t care enough about you to do that, your relationship was purely professional.

“He won’t,” Kelsey said. “People say he saw who it was, but is too scared to tell the police who it is.”

“I’m telling you, it’s his wife’s boyfriend or something, there is something personal—”

He stopped talking and jumped off your desk, causing you to turn your head to see Bucky walking to his office. Bucky offered you a small smile and nodded at your friends before entering his office and you let out a breath, leaning back on your chair.

“Ugh, he’s too hot,” Kelsey said and Caleb rolled his eyes.

“He’s your boss, dumbass. Don’t shit where you eat.”

“I’m not doing anything!”

“Yet.”

“Listen, we all know the Venn diagram of his potential voters and the people who want to fuck him.”

“I still cannot believe Paul put that in the Powerpoint presentation, that was the most uncomfortable I’ve ever seen Bucky.”

“Oh please, as if Bucky doesn’t know how fuckable he is.”

“And do you realize what that means? We don’t ask people that question, it’s not in the survey, so it means almost all those voters just gave away that information voluntarily—”

“Uh, guys?” You hit print on the document, then grabbed the file out of the printer. “I’ll be right back.”  

You could swear your legs were shaky as you approached his office, then licked your lips and knocked on the door to peek your head in.

“Hey, are you busy?”

“Not at all,” he said and you stepped in, breathing fast for some reason. “I was just about to come to talk to you. How do you feel? After yesterday?”

“Oh I’m…I’m fine,” you said and rushed to put the report on his desk. “There. The latest numbers.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course,” you said breathlessly and turned around to leave, but then changed your mind and turned around again.

“Bucky?”

His piercing blue eyes on you were soft. “Yes?”

“Did you um—did you hear about Mr. Thompson?” you stammered. “Apparently someone broke into his house last night, through the security and all the alarms.”

He raised his brows in silence.

“It’s pretty weird, isn’t it?” you insisted. “Whoever it was, he broke all the bones in his right hand.”

A small smile twitched Bucky’s lips before he shrugged his shoulders.

“He needs his left hand to open doors.”

Your breath hitched in your throat, a warmth spreading from your chest to your stomach, and lower, and lower—

Holy shit.

It was Bucky.

The warmth turned into a fire rushing through your veins, making you lightheaded while you stared at him, your stomach doing happy flips. You didn’t even realize the smile curling your lips at first but as soon as you did, you cleared your throat.

“Bucky.”

“Hm?”

“You shouldn’t have.”

He scoffed. “We’ll have to disagree on that one.”

“He has security around his house,” you insisted. “You shouldn’t have put yourself in danger like that.”

He seemed almost offended that you thought security could pose any danger to him and you tried to focus on the issue at hand rather than just how adorable it made him look.

“And we were trying to get his support, if anyone saw you—”

“I don’t care about his support, nor do I want it anymore.”

Focus.

He’s your boss.

Focus.

“He apologized to you, by the way,” Bucky added, mischief glimmering in his eyes. “He would’ve said it himself but he doesn’t have teeth anymore, so…”

That managed to coax a burst of laughter out of you and you covered your mouth, then dropped your hands, trying to ignore the fluttering in your stomach.

“Thank you,” you managed to say and he held your gaze in his, making the butterflies in your stomach even worse.

His voice was soft: “Don’t mention it.”

You lingered there for a moment, then turned around and walked out of his office to your desk where Kelsey and Caleb were still talking. You could feel the fire blooming under your cheeks but you let out a breath and sat down, willing yourself to focus.

“Sorry about that,” you said. “What was that about the Venn diagram?”

Chapter 3  

[wbbpls]

Platonic Plus One

Word count: 6,500 Warnings: sexual content bc i edged you guys hard on getting this chapter okay here it is!! thank you all for your patience and i hope it was worth the wait. pretty please drops reacts or anything else. do you guys want to see this go back to storrs or let it end here?

Azzi is the first to wake up. She feels a weight on her, and when she wakes up, sure enough, blonde hair covers her shoulder and neck. Paige’s head is comfortably placed in the nook of Azzi’s neck, like it always belonged there, and her arms are tightly wrapped around Azzi’s stomach. Her legs are wrapped over Azzi’s as if she’s trying to keep her from flying away. 

Memories of last night start flooding Azzi’s brain. She expected to feel panic or worry, but for the first time this week, her head is just calm. Everyone thinks Azzi is the calm one who brings Paige out of the clouds, but that’s where they’re wrong. The blonde girl she’s holding, who is so full of life, also keeps her safe. Safe not to overthink or worry. Safe to be calm. 

Azzi gently moves the hair out of Paige’s face and kisses her head. Paige wiggles further into Azzi as if she weren’t close enough already. Azzi giggles and rubs her hand up and down Paige’s back.

“Paigey, I don’t think you can get any closer without living in my skin.”

“Can I just move in?” Paige mumbles into her neck and pulls her even closer. Azzi can’t stop the giggles from coming out. She feels like a middle schooler with how much she’s already giggled this morning. Paige smiles and starts kissing Azzi’s neck. 

“You’re so fuckin’ cute in the morning.” 

“Just cute?”

“And sexy. You’re cutexy.” Paige wiggles her eyebrows proudly. 

“Yeah, not so sure that worked as well as you wanted it to.”

“Next time you’re being cutexy, I won’t tell you then.”

Azzi doesn’t even know how to respond, so she just smiles down at Paige and runs her fingers through her hair. Paige looks up at her with shining blue eyes.

“You’re so fuckin’ pretty in the morning, Azzi.”

“And you’re just full of compliments in the morning, aren’t you?”

“Just facts, babygirl, just facts.”

Azzi softly kisses Paige. 

“Mhm, and an important fact is that I need to leave soon to get my hair and makeup done.”

“Already? It’s so early.”

“I know, but it’s like an all-day thing.”

“Shit, what am I supposed to do without you?”

“Uh, what do you normally do?”

“I normally just wait for you to get back.”

“Have you always been this cute?”

“Born this way, babayyy.”

Azzi can’t help but laugh, almost in relief at the freedom to voice her thoughts. For so long, she’s held in the moments she wanted to call Paige pretty or beautiful. It’s been years of holding back, and now the floodgates have opened.

Soft lips descending her neck pulled Azzi out of her thoughts. She takes in the weight of Paige’s body and sighs as she nips at her collarbones. 

“P, I gotta be downstairs in twenty minutes.”

“Aight, give me five, Princess,” Paige says with a smirk and quickly presses something into her phone before throwing it to the side. She then drops down Azzi’s body and opens her legs, immediately licking up her slit.

“Fuck, Paige.” Azzi gasped, overwhelmed by her directness.

“What, baby? Thought you needed me to hurry?”

“Ugh, shut up.” Azzi grabs Paige’s back of the head and pulls her back in.

Paige dives in with determination, stimulating her clit. Azzi immediately starts to buck her hips up to chase her lips, and Paige grabs her hips to keep her down. 

“You taste so good, mama.”

“Please don’t stop.”

“Never, baby.”

Paige enters two fingers, curling them in. Azzi’s moans grow louder as she pulls harder at Paige’s hair. She’s grasping so tightly on her hair that it’s starting to be painful, but Paige doesn’t care. She has tunnel vision focused on nothing but Azzi’s pleasure. Her legs begin to shake and squeeze tightly around Paige’s head. She’s screaming Paige’s name and gasping for air. 

“C’mon, baby girl, let go for me. I wanna taste you so bad.”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, I’m gonna come!”

Paige moved her tongue into Azzi’s entrance while still pumping her fingers and firmly licks back up to her clit. Then she sucks on it, making Azzi arch off the bed giving Paige space for her fingers to go even deeper into her. That does it, and Azzi comes screaming while Paige rides out her orgasm. 

She pushed Paige’s head away, signaling she was done, and tried to pull Paige back up to kiss her. Instead, Paige quickly grabbed her phone, which had been tossed on the bed. 

“Are you seriously checking your phone right after fucking me?”

“Three minutes and thirty-five seconds.”

“Uh, what?”

“That’s how long it took me to fuck you.”

Azzi stares blankly at Paige, trying to figure out if this is real or some big joke, but Paige’s proud smirk says otherwise. 

“You seriously timed yourself eating me out?”

“I told you five minutes tops. Plus, I can start making new records or somethin’.”

“You are genuinely insufferable.”

“Yeah, true, but you benefit if it helps.”

Paige shrugs, kisses Azzi on the lips, and then snuggles back under the covers. Azzi is at a loss for words. How did they go from admitting their feelings to eachother last night to Paige competing for best her personal records on fucking Azzi fast enough? 

“Imma go back to sleep. Love you, baby.”

Azzi shakes her head, trying to catch her brain up to where Paige is, which isn’t usually possible. Her brain is like a pinball machine, and it's best just to try to keep up. 

“I love you, too, P.”

After hours of hair and makeup, Azzi patiently waits to put on her bridesmaids' dress before taking photos, so she texts Paige. 

Princess 💗: I miss your stupid face so much.

Paigey 💗: stupid?

This face? stupid???

image sent

Paige sends a selfie of herself still cuddled in bed. Azzi can’t help but appreciate the soft skin exposed. 

Princess 💗: hmm very cutexy

Paigey 💗: YOU SEE THE VISION

Princess 💗: I see a face that gives me cuteness aggression 

Paigey 💗: bro i wanna kiss you bad right now

Princess 💗: maybe start by not calling me bro and you could

Paigey 💗: my bad baby

I wanna kiss ur beautiful face all over 

and then kiss the rest of you all over

Princess 💗: pls feel free to continue

Paigey 💗: all night mama

btw where my photo of you at? I sent one so it's only fair i get one back

Azzi chuckles and takes a selfie with the sunlight shining on her face. 

Paigey 💗: fuck ur so fuckin beatiful az

Princess 💗: It’s just good makeup haha

Paigey 💗: nah its my girl lookin hot asf

Azzi’s heart stutters. My girl. 

They haven’t spoken about labels yet, or anything past "I love you," for that matter. Azzi knows they should communicate and define this next step in their relationship, but for now, she’ll enjoy blushing over Paige’s text for the next five minutes. 

Princess 💗: I gotta take photos before the ceremony so i wont have my phone for a while. I'll see you there cutie

Paigey 💗hearted the message.

—————————————————————————

Since she has most of the day to herself, Paige slept in and is now heading to the lobby for lunch. Once she got downstairs, she ran into Katie and Tim. 

“Bueckers, here, now!” Tim calls her over with a big smile.

“Sir, yes, sir.” Paige jokingly salutes Tim. 

“Take a seat, hun. We actually wanted to talk to you before the wedding.” Paige slips cautiously into the booth next to Katie. 

“Uh, okay...Am I in trouble or somethin’?”

“Not unless you do something stupid to our daughter, no,” Tim says sternly.

“Oh, Tim, leave her alone,” Katie rolls her eyes at him before turning to Paige. “Look, Paige, we know your relationship with Azzi has been fake.”

Paige choked on the drinking water, causing Tim to crack up at her. 

“W-what?”

“Yeah, Azzi told me the other day.”

“Wait, she told you? Why didn’t she tell me?”

“I asked the same thing, Bueckers.” 

“Tim, you’re about to get kicked out.”

Tim throws his hands up in surrender, snickering at how easy it is to mess with his wife. 

“Look, sweetie, you know we love you and we know you love Azzi just as much, if not more. It’s been clear for years that there’s more to your friendship. We just want you to know that it’s okay and no matter what, you’ll always be our family.”

Paige is shocked to silence, so Tim takes the opportunity to fill that gap, “Unless you hurt her, then I’m comin’ after you.”

That gets Paige to laugh and take a deep breath. 

“I never ever want to hurt Azzi, I swear. She’s everything to me.”

“We can tell. Just don’t spend so much time being scared of what you’ll lose. You’re stopping yourself from having so much more.” 

“Thanks, guys. It actually is really nice to talk to someone who understands what’s going on. I was going crazy in my head there for a minute.”

The three continue to talk about Azzi, basketball, old stories, and funny family memories. As they begin to wrap up, Paige hesitantly gets their attention. 

“Sooooo, I was—well, I guess—no, I know—”

“Spit it out, kid.”

“IwanttoaskAzzitobemygirlfriend.” Paige takes a large breath and anxiously stares at the Fudds. 

“You know, like forreal this time.”

“Okay, so do it.”

————————————————————————-

Paige takes her time getting ready, letting last night's and this morning's realities settle. She’s trying to digest everything Azzi, Katie, and Tim have said. This is all she’s ever wanted, and now that it’s here, she feels overwhelmed with gratitude and fear. Fear of messing up and losing all of this, losing Azzi. She knows they need to talk. She also knows that Azzi deserves her to initiate the conversation. Azzi risked it all and put her feelings on the line when all Paige knew how to do was run. Well, she’s done running.

Now she’s doing her hair and makeup before getting dressed for the ceremony. She hasn’t seen Azzi in her dress yet, and Azzi hasn't seen Paige since she got the outfit tailored or with accessories. 

Paige parts her hair in the middle, curls her hair into long waves, and pins the front back to keep her hair out of her face. She knows Azzi loves her hair in a bun, but she especially loves to play with Paige’s long hair strands when she wears them down. And after the past 24 hours? Paige has learned Azzi really likes her hair. So yeah, Paige doesn’t mind doing her hair in a way that makes it easy for her to imagine Azzi pulling on it to get what she wants.  

Just half an hour until the ceremony. Paige is starting to feel nervous now. It’s not even her wedding. She’s literally just sitting in the audience and then praying the rest of the night. But in that audience, she will see Azzi for the first time out of the bubble they created in their hotel room. Will it be the same? Will Azzi change her mind? 

She slips on her light blue slacks, lying at the right spot of her hips, and buttons up the black vest. The deep V at the top and bottom is even better now that she’s gotten some color over the past week. She covers herself with gold rings, small gold hoop earrings, and layered necklaces, including the cross Azzi got her when she tore her ACL. 

After putting on her oversized blue jacket and shoes, she checks herself in the mirror one last time. Paige knows she looks good, but that’s not what she cares about. She cares about Azzi thinking she looks good. 

Paige makes her way to the outdoor ceremony and finds the Fudd family sitting a few rows back. 

“Yo, P!” Jose yells, ”We got you a seat right here.”

Paige's heart stutters. This is her family. She has always had a seat at the table with them, despite the changes in her and Azzi’s relationship. For so long, Paige focused on avoidance in fear of ruining a perfect friendship, but now she realizes she wasn’t just stopping herself from more with Azzi. She was stopping herself from having the most amazing family as her own. 

Paige takes her seat and scrolls through TikTok with Jon and Jose until they hear the ceremony music. Paige hasn’t been to many weddings, just her parents when they both got remarried. She knows they’re better off apart, but those weddings represented the split in her family. She always found herself a bit lost in those situations, never really feeling like she belonged.   

Today is different. Today, she is at a wedding with her family and the love of her life. Today, she is excited to celebrate love.

The wedding party begins to walk down the aisle, and Paige is anxiously waiting to see Azzi—her beautiful Azzi. Everyone looks great, and yeah, today is about the bride and groom, but she couldn't care less about anyone else here. Finally, Azzi turns the corner with one of the groomsmen, and Paige stops breathing. 

Her curls are stunning in a bun, with loose curls framing her face. She wears a deep blue silk gown with spaghetti straps and a heart-shaped neckline. As she continues to walk, Paige can’t help but notice the slit going down her right leg. 

Fuck, this is going to be a long night. 

“Dude, close your mouth.” Jose teases and nudges her, pulling her out of her Azzi trance. She probably does look crazy right now, but holy shit that girl is beautiful. 

As they get closer, Azzi finds Paige in the audience, like a magnetic pull. Azzi has to tighten her grip on the groomsman's arm so she doesn’t fall. She can see the love in Paige’s eyes from here. Azzi can’t help but blush and smile at the look of awe on Paige’s face. The image of Paige so at ease with her family, looking like she’s always belonged there, brings warmth to Azzi’s chest. 

Once she reaches the altar, she steps aside to wait for the rest of the wedding party and the bride to walk down. When her cousin Jessica turns the corner, everyone stands, and tears begin to fall. Azzi notices the groom, Brandon, desperately trying to keep his tears at bay. The love in their eyes for each other was an honor to witness and reminded her much of her own love. 

Azzi has always loved planning her imaginary wedding, but never included the groom role. She really only focused on the music, flowers, and colors. But now, she sees why. That spot has always belonged to Paige. She has spent years resisting her, trying to convince herself she needed to find a groom, when she had her bride the whole time. 

Azzi couldn't help but imagine Paige waiting for her at the end of the aisle, ready to start the next chapter of their life with open arms. Azzi knows they haven’t even defined what’s happening between them yet, but she knows one thing. One day, she is going to marry Paige Bueckers. 

When the girls finally see each other again, it’s at the cocktail hour. Azzi tries to move through the crowd to reach Paige, but many of her family members keep stopping her. Paige is looking at her adoringly from the other side of the room, patiently waiting. But Azzi wants her to be impatient and selfish. Azzi wants Paige. Just as she is about to cross the bar to say hi to Paige, her aunt steps in the way. 

“Azzi, you look gorgeous!” 

“Thanks, Aunt Chrissy. You look great, too. This is such a beautiful wedding.”

“You know, your wedding is probably next, my dear.”

Suddenly, Azzi feels familiar hands wrap around her waist, and a whiff of her favorite Valentino cologne clogs her senses. 

“Is that right?” Paige says. Azzi can hear the smirk in her tone before turning to see it herself. When Paige looks down at her, Azzi is taken aback by her bright eyes.  

“H-hey, P.” 

“Hi, pretty girl.”

“Well, I just can’t wait for your wedding. Don’t leave us waiting too long, okay, girls?”

“Don’t worry, Mrs.C, I don’t plan on waiting too long.”

Azzi snaps her head back up to look at Paige. Is this for show? Her aunt is one of the main reasons this all started. Her Aunt Chrissy gets distracted by another family member, leaving them alone. Paige moved to face Azzi and gently pushed a curl out of her face.

“You know what you’re doing is pretty messed up.”

“Me? What did I do?”

“You’re not supposed to outshine the bride, baby. I mean, look at you.”

Azzi rolls her eyes and starts blushing uncontrollably. Paige laughs at her and pulls her in by the waist for a hug. They just hold each other at this point, taking in the feeling of being together.

“I missed you today.”

“I missed you, too, Az. So much.”

Azzi smiles into the crook of Paige’s neck and hums in response. 

“Hey, Az, I was actually hoping we could maybe talk real quick?”

“Right now?”

“Y-yeah, I mean, if that’s like, uh, okay with you.”

“Of course. Want to go somewhere quieter?”

Paige nods and softly grabs Azzi’s hand, pulling her towards the garden and sitting at the bench near the fountain. Paige can’t stop herself from fidgeting, showing her nerves. 

“You okay, P? Is something wrong?”

“No! I mean, no, nothing is wrong. I’m just nervous, I guess.”

Azzi wraps her arm around Paige’s back and starts to rub her hand up and down to soothe her anxiety.

“What are you nervous about?”

“Last night. It was real, right?”

“Very real.”

Paige nods her head and then takes a deep breath.

“Look, Az, I gotta be honest with you. I’ve pushed the option of ever having you outside my head as best I could. But now, now that I know what it’s like to have you, I need all of you or none of you. I’m done being scared and living off of what-ifs. I’m done wasting precious time. I’m done telling myself not to want you. To not need you. I know I ran away last night because I was scared, and I’m really sorry. I’m so thankful that you came after me and made us talk, but because of that, I think it’s even more important that this comes from me. Azzi Fudd, will you please be my girlfriend?”

Azzi hits Paige upside the head.

“Ow!”

“Why didn’t you start with that? I thought you were already breaking up with me or something.”

“What? No! I literally wanna wife you up, baby.”

“Wife me up, huh?”

“Hey, I wasn’t lying to Mrs. C back there. Asking you to be my girlfriend is only step one.”

“Hm, I guess I can be your girlfriend.” Azzi shrugs nonchalantly, trying to hide her smile.

“You guess?” 

Paige starts tickling her, and Azzi desperately tries to push her hands away and catch her breath from laughing. Now she’s fully leaned into Paige, laughing, face red, and finally surrenders. 

“Okay, okay! I really, really want to be your girlfriend. Please give me mercy.” 

Paige pretends to think and taps her finger on her chin. 

“Hmm, I’m not sure I wanna be your girlfriend anymore.”

Azzi’s mouth drops in shock, and she is now the one to attack Paige, trying to tickle her, but Paige is too fast and grabs her wrists. The two girls are breathless and laughing as they look into each other's eyes. Paige’s eyes dart down to Azzi’s lips. 

“You my girl or what?”

“Yeah, I’m yours, P.”

Azzi closes the gap and releases a sigh of content she didn’t even know she was holding. Paige moves her hands up Azzi’s arms and onto her cheek. Their kiss is soft and unrushed. Paige pulls back and rubs her thumb against Azzi’s cheek. They savor the moment to take each other in before Paige leans in for another gentle kiss. 

“Dude, do you ever stop kissing my sister?” Jose interrupts them with a mischievous smile on his face. Azzi hides her head in Paige’s neck, giggling. 

“Literally, why would I?”

“You play too much.”

“Nah, when you get a girl even half as good as Azzi, you’ll get it.”

Azzi’s eyes are practically the definition of heart eyes, looking up at Paige while she talks to her brother right now. Azzi can’t help but notice every detail on Paige’s face. The sharpness in her jaw, the angle of her smile, and the brightness of her eyes. 

“Well, as much fun as it is, and not at all weird to compare my future girlfriend to my sister, I can’t say that’s why I came over. Mom and Dad want a family photo before you know who gets wasted.” Jose says, casually pointing at Paige and walking away. 

“Is he talking about me?” Paige’s voice is about 3 octaves too high, given how offended she is by his accusation. He might not be wrong, but still. 

“I think you’re cute when you’re a little drunk. Plus, you get all clingy.”

“Hm, is that why you’re always the one who offers to walk me home?”

“Yeah, sure, that’s why. Not the excuse to sleep in your bed with a cuddly drunk version of you.”

“Hey, I’m always cuddly.”

“Annoyingly so.”

Paige pouts in response, and Azzi can’t help but laugh at how cute she is and kiss the pout off her lips. 

“I love you so much, P.”

“Mmm, I love you too, Az.”

“You know, this outfit on you is just...wow.” Azzi looks Paige up and down while pulling at her jacket. 

“You like it?”

“I love it so much that I want to see what it looks like when I take it off you.”

“Shit, Az. You can’t say stuff like that when we can’t go anywhere.”

“But the blue makes your eyes pop. It’s so hard not to say stuff when you look like this, and it’s finally all mine.”

Now Paige has a goofy smile, “Yeah, baby, all yours.”

“Maybe you can remind me tonight?” Azzi smirks when Paige’s mouth drops open into an O shape. She runs her finger up Paige’s neck to the bottom of her chin to close her mouth. “Let’s get you drunk, hm?”

Azzi walks away, knowing Paige is watching her.

“Fuck, she’s gonna be the death of me,” Paige whispers to herself before running after her girlfriend.  —————————————————————————

Soon after, both girls are sufficiently tipsy and their heads are in the clouds. They’ve been dancing and talking with family, and Paige has been to the mac and cheese bar about three times. The fourth time Paige goes, she has to selfishly ditch her mac and cheese because the MC announces the slow dance will be starting and to partner up. Azzi's eyes immediately find Paige silently asking for a dance. Paige leaves the sacred mac and cheese line and walks towards Azzi with a smile only for her. 

“Wanna dance with me, Princess?”

Azzi grabs Paige’s hand and follows her to the dance floor. 

“You gonna be too scared to touch my hips again?”

“Ha ha, very funny. I was nervous, okay. ” 

“I mean, I hear you, P, but it's wild to be nervous about that after having your tongue down my throat.” 

“Alright, when you put it like that, I get the perspective...but this time I want to hold you as close as possible.”

The girls smile at each other as the music begins. Paige confidently, yet softly, wraps her hands around Azzi’s hips, and Azzi wraps her hands around Paige’s neck. They hold each other close and begin to sway to the music. 

“I’m really happy you came with me to this, Paige.”

“Me too, Az. I’m just happy to be with you.”

They lean their foreheads on each other’s and Azzi offers soft scratches at the base of Paige’s neck. 

“It’s gonna be weird tomorrow when we need to leave our bubble we made here. I’ve kinda enjoyed having you to myself.”

“Oh yeah?”

“It’s just when we get back, everyone is going to want a piece of you again, and I genuinely don’t blame them. Ice and KK alone need like 48% of you a day and an extra 12% for fortnight.” Azzi says as she pouts. 

“True true, but I’ll always find my way back to you. Even when I am with them or doing something else, I always miss you. If there’s a chance to be with you, Az, I’m taking it. Got it?”

“Got it.” 

“Speaking of going back soon. What do you want to do about telling the team?”

“I don’t know, honestly. Is it weird I kinda want to see how long it takes for someone to say something?”

“Bet. Who do you think will pick up on it first?”

At the same time, both girls say, “Caroline.”

The girls continue to dance and drink for the rest of the night. If people thought they were touchy before, then they had no idea what they were talking about. The girls were taking a break at their table. Paige had her arm wrapped around the back of Azzi’s chair while her other hand gently rubbed at Azzi’s cheek. Azzi leaned into her hand and drew circles on Paige’s thigh.

“You’re so pretty, baby.”

“Thanks, P. You’re not so bad yourself.”

“You want another drink, Mama?”

“Yeah, please. Want me to go with you?”

“Nah, you relax.” 

Paige kissed her on her forehead and then walked towards the bar, and Azzi stayed back to speak with her mom.

“Happy and in love looks good on you.”

“It feels good, too.”

“What you two have is really special. Paige has always been a part of our family, you know?”

“She’s always just fit in like that space was waiting for her.” 

“Maybe it has been.”

—————————————————————————

After chatting a bit more, Paige complains of feeling hot and removes her jacket. Maybe Azzi would have more self-control without alcohol running through her veins, but it’s too late for that. As Paige takes her arm out of each sleeve, the swell of her muscle is outlined and defined by the lighting at the reception. Paige turns to wrap her jacket around the back of her chair before putting her arm back around Azzi. She sits confidently, her legs slightly spread and her arm quietly claiming Azzi. When Paige moves forward to sip her drink, the veins in her arm are more prominent. Suddenly, Azzi is pulled out of her thoughts by Paige tapping at her forehead incessantly. 

“Yo, your Dad is tryna talk to you, babe.”

“Oh, what?”

“You good, Az? You were totally zoned out there.”

“Uh, yeah, just you know, appreciating.”

“Appreciating?”

“Mhm,” Azzi squeaks, and her eyes dart down to Paige’s arms. 

“And what exactly are you appreciating?”

Azzi wants nothing more than to wipe that smirk right off her face. She can tell Paige knows where her head is at now, and she can definitely tell Paige plans to take advantage of it fully.

“Just, like, you know, being here.”

Paige looks amused before moving to “stretch.” When she pulls her arms and tenses her muscles, her top rises slightly, and her muscle definition is clear as day. Azzi grabs her arms, pulling them down quickly. 

“Okay, we get it, you have nice arms.”

“Bruh, I didn’t even do anything.”

“Put your jacket back on before I drag you out of here.”

“Is that a promise or a threat? Because I’m kinda likin’ my odds here.”

Before Azzi could respond, the MC invited guests up for the bouquet toss.  

“Paige, let’s go!”

“What? Me?”

“You’re a girl who isn’t married, aren’t you?”

“I mean, yeah.”

“Glad we’re on the same page. Now let’s go.”

Azzi pulls her up by the arm and intertwines their hands. They gather in a large crowd of women ready to catch the bouquet. Paige has never actually done one of these before and almost feels out of place. 

When the bouquet is thrown, time seems to slow down. Before she knew it, Paige jumped, taking advantage of her long arms as her competitive spirit emerged, and she caught a bouquet. Everyone starts cheering, especially Azzi’s family, and blue eyes find brown eyes. 

“Looks like you’re next in line to get married, Bueckers.”

Paige gulps and laughs nervously. “I guess so, yeah. Can’t complain.”

“Well, when that time comes, she’s gonna be one lucky girl to marry you.”

“Believe me, I’ll be the lucky one.”

Azzi leans in to Paige and kisses her cheek gently before whispering in her ear. “All jokes aside, watching you jump up that high for the bouquet was really hot.”

Paige wasn’t expecting the tone shift, so she burst out laughing. 

“I never say no to the chance at a little competition.” 

As they’re talking, Tim walks and wraps his arm around Paige, squeezing her tightly. “You asked us a few hours ago about Azzi being your girlfriend, not your wife. You move fast, kid.”

Paige’s face immediately turns red, and she starts stuttering, trying to figure out what to say. She darts her eyes at Azzi, looking for help, but Azzi is too busy laughing with Tim at her girlfriend’s embarrassment. 

“Aight, you all suck.”

Paige dramatically shoves the bouquet into Tim’s chest, and he starts laughing harder.

“Aw, P, it’s cute!” Azzi smiles as she wipes Paige’s scowl off her face. Paige tries to stay mad—she really does—but Azzi’s smile is so contagious that it’s honestly just a waste of time. What isn’t a waste of time, however, is messing with Azzi.

“Y’all just keep laughing it up, but according to those flowers I’m next to get married and you, Azzi Fudd, are not.”

“Oh, so we gonna play it like that?”

“The flower gods have spoken. I can’t wait to see you at the wedding, though. I’m thinking you’d be my Maid of Honor. What do you think?”

At this point, Paige is standing way too close to Azzi, allowing herself to almost tower over the younger girl, and Tim walks away with his newfound flowers. He learned a long time ago just to let the girls bicker until they were all over each other again. 

“I think you'd better shut up before you end up with no wife and no girlfriend,” Azzi whispers evenly and looks down at Paige’s lips before looking back up and arching her eyebrow as if she’s saying, “go ahead and try me.” Paige loves it when they get like this and she has a feeling she’s about to love it even more now with their new dynamic. 

“How about I bring you upstairs and show you why you wanna stay my girlfriend?” 

—————————————————————————

The second they make it to their hotel room, they're all over each other. Maybe it’s the alcohol or maybe it’s the confidence that they know they are each other’s, but this time, their kisses are messy and demanding. Paige is running her hand up the open slit of Azzi’s dress towards her warm center.

“I can’t get enough of you, Az. This dress has been killing me all night.”

“So then why is it still on?”

“Bet.”

Paige rushes to unzip her dress and let it drop to the floor, exposing Azzi’s lingerie. 

“Damn, you had that this whole time? You really are tryna kill me.”

“No, just trying to get you to fuck me.”

Azzi yanks Paige’s jacket off her and starts unbuttoning her top. At this point, Paige’s brain has short-circuited, and she is brought back to reality by the feeling of her back hitting the wall behind her and Azzi’s mouth on her neck. 

“Azzi,” Paige moans desperately as she grips at Azzi’s hips. Azzi responds with her hands, finding the back of Paige’s neck and tugging hard. She reattaches her lips to Paige’s throat, devouring her. Claiming her. 

“Oh my god, Az.”

Paige is breathless, yet desperate for more. She doesn’t care if she can’t breathe anymore. Not when she has Azzi like this. Paige starts to move her hand to the front of Azzi’s panties and cups her through the fabric. Azzi stutters her movements for just a moment before nipping and sucking at Paige’s neck and grinding down on her hand. Paige moved quickly to slip her hand under the band and towards her new place of worship. She breathes in with Azzi at the feeling and begins to slowly stroke from her entrance up to her clit. 

“Fuck, Paige,” Azzi whines, almost sounding frustrated by the pleasant interruption. 

“Hmm, you want me to fuck you, mama?” Paige teases, and she moves deeper into her entrance and back, not giving Azzi what she wants until she can hear her. When she hits just a little deeper, Azzi’s eyes roll to the back of her head, and she moans. Paige smiles like she just won a national championship, “I’ll happily fuck you, girlfriend.”

Azzi moans at the mention of their new relationship and rocks forward into Paige’s hand. Paige quiets her moans by kissing her and sucking on her tongue. When Azzi starts kissing her back, she moves from her mouth, kissing down her chin and along her jawline. Azzi is holding the back of her neck like her life depends on it. She is gripping so tightly that Paige is practically forced into her neck, and Paige takes full advantage. She licks and sucks at Azzi’s neck and sucks harder everytime Azzi’s hips roll forward with a strangled moan. 

The sounds are driving her, so she manages to push Azzi away just enough to descend to her breasts, stopping to appreciate the light purple bralette and swap positions so Azzi now has her back against the wall. 

“You’re so fuckin’ sexy.”

Paige’s lips move as if they’re possessed, and Azzi’s nails find home in her scalp, encouraging her to continue. Paige unclips the bra and rips it off as if it personally offended her and without warning sucks at Azzi’s hard nipple. Azzi grips Paige’s shoulder and gasps when she feels her tongue swirling and flicking at her nipple. Azzi sighs at the feeling, leaning back against the wall for support while Paige moves to appreciate her other breast. Looking down, she meets Paige’s deep blue eyes, filled with love and longing. It’s almost too much to handle, but Azzi has waited so long for this, to not hold it with everything she has. 

Paige is on a mission to kiss down Azzi’s body, desperate to taste her. The thought alone sends a jolt of heat down Paige’s core as she moans out Azzi’s name and pushes her harder into the wall. Before Paige can make it too far, Azzi grabs her head, tugging her back up for a messy kiss. A kiss filled with teeth colliding, ragged breaths, and desperate moans. Before Paige can register the shift in Azzi’s body, she is being pushed towards the bed, falling backwards, and borderline squealing in surprise. 

“I wanna remind you why you asked me to be your girlfriend in the first place, baby,” Azzi says as she unbuttons Paige’s slacks and rips them off her. Any opportunity for delicacy was left at the door the second Azzi saw Paige in this outfit. Suddenly, Paige’s mouth is consumed by Azzi’s tongue, and the feeling of Azzi’s thigh grinding into her at a rapid pace.  

Paige is so lost in the feeling of Azzi that she doesn't even notice her slowing her thrusts to slip her fingers into her boxers. Azzi doesn’t wait for Paige to get used to her fingers; she plunges two right into her entrance. Paige screams out Azzi’s name like a prayer, grasping at her shoulders to ground her.

“You’re so wet, P. That all for me?”

Paige tries to speak, she really does, but all she can manage to do is nod. But that’s not what Azzi wanted. She wants to hear her. She wants to be hers. 

“Tell me or I’m gonna pull out.”

“Fu-fuck, Az.”

Without warning, Azzi curls her fingers towards her, hitting the deep spongey part of Paige that makes the world stop. Paige tensed and her jaw stuck open, trying to catch a breath. She starts seeing stars at the feeling, and then Azzi presses down on her stomach and thrusts harder. 

“Fuck, Azzi!”

“Who’s it all for, baby?”

“You! It’s all for you! Please, Azzi, please.”

“That’s what I thought.”

Azzi moves her fingers out back towards her clit and lick.s up Paige’s neck. 

“I need—” Paige grabs her wrist, moves her hand back down to her entrance, and tries to speak again. “I need you so bad.”

Azzi doesn’t hesitate. She follows Paige’s lead and pushes her fingers back inside of her. “You need me like this, baby?” Azzi asks breathlessly in her ear. 

Paige rolls her hips up, making Azzi’s fingers hit even deeper, causing her eyes to roll to the back of her head. “More, please, fuck, more.”

“Anything for you, my love.” Azzi gently kisses her cheeks, completely opposite of how hard she's fingering the older girl. 

Paige tries to respond or even beg for more, but any words have been lost in the back of her throat, blocked by a loud moan. Maybe she can’t speak, but she can move. Paige moves her hand from Azzi’s waist to her front and slips her hand into her panties. 

Azzi gasps in surprise and then starts to grind into Paige’s hand. They can’t tell who’s making what noises anymore.

“Fuck, Azzi, I’m gonna come, fuck.” 

Azzi starts grinding harder in response. She feels herself going over the edge. She doesn’t know if she’s more desperate to make Paige come or finish herself. 

“Paige, I wanna feel you come so bad.”

That’s all it takes, and Paige arches her back, screaming Azzi’s name. When Paige starts trembling, it sends Azzi over the edge. The girls both finish grasping each other and yelling each other’s names. 

Azzi collapses on top of Paige breathlessly. They both try to catch their breath while they hold each other. 

“Wow,” Paige exhales.  

“Yeah, wow.”

“I still can’t believe we’ve waited this long to do that.”  

“So stupid of us, honestly.”

“I really love you, Az.”

“I love you, too, baby. So much.”

Azzi starts kissing all over Paige’s face, listing all the reasons she loves her. Azzi falls more in love with her as she giggles under the younger girl. They don’t exactly know what’s next or how they’ll deal with everything when they get home, but right now this is all they need. 

[ktownshizzle]

Love & Lullabies | Part 5

✎ ˎˊ˗ Pairing: Min Yoongi x female Reader

✎ ˎˊ˗ Summary: What begins as a simple favor for your best friend Namjoon soon pulls you into the rhythms of Yoongi’s life—afternoons spent caring for his son, late nights filled with candid conversations, and a connection neither of you thought you needed. You’re just fresh out of a long-term relationship with an ex who didn’t want a family with you, so did you really just stumble into a life you’ve always dreamed of? (Thank god Namjoon isn’t the only one who’s clumsy.)

✎ ˎˊ˗ Alternatively: It’s 2025 and BTS is prepping for their comeback. All members seem to have gained muscle weight from their time at camp. But Min Yoongi has gained a different kind of weight—an 8-pound baby and a fuck-load of responsibility. (Thank god you’re there to help him.)

✎ ˎˊ˗ Genre: Fluff, Angst, Smut, idol!au, Acquaintances to Lovers, Reader is Namjoon’s bestie

✎ ˎˊ˗ Warnings: Yoongi is a DILF (!!!) That’s it.

✎ ˎˊ˗ Chapter warnings: Sex. Minors DNI. Also, barely proofread, sorry for any mistakes!

✎ ˎˊ˗ Word count: 3.8k

✎ ˎˊ˗ Posting date: February 1, 2025

✎ ˎˊ˗ Notes: Sorry it has taken me a while to get this part out. But I think you’ll like it. *fingers crossed* FULL TAGLIST TO FOLLOW. Sorry, I'm in a rush today. This is inspired by an ask/prompt sent by @yoongznme. 

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part 4.5 | Part Five | Masterlist

A fancy hotel takeout sits untouched on your kitchen counter, the smell of roasted garlic filling the small space. You glance at the clock—6:47 PM.

Yoongi promised to take you to dinner, but given the circumstances, a quiet night in felt more appropriate. Safer for him. After all, the media has been relentless since the Dispatch scandal dropped close to midnight like Cinderella’s kitten heel at the ball.

You’re kind of pissed, actually. Scratch that—you’re furious. Just when it felt like you finally had Yoongi—finally had the chance to explore whatever this was between you—this bullshit had to rear its ugly head. A photo of his kind of ex leaving his building was enough to set the internet on fire, and now it felt like the flames were creeping dangerously close to your life.

You’ve talked to him once today, and even that conversation was clipped. A text from him at 5 let you know he was about to leave HYBE and swing by his place first. “Be there by 7,” he’d said.

You stare at the pristine takeout containers, willing yourself not to spiral. You’re not that person anymore. You’re not the insecure girl who lets her emotions run wild over things she can’t control. You’ve done too much good work to let this unravel you.

“You’re fine. You’re fucking fine,” you mutter under your breath, pacing the kitchen.

Your phone vibrates on the counter. Namjoon. Always coming to your rescue at the right time.

“Hello?”

“You doin’ okay?” Namjoon asks, his voice calm but laced with concern.

“Define okay,” you quip, though your voice wavers slightly. “It’s been a lot.”

“I figured,” Namjoon says gently. “That’s why I’m calling. Just wanted to check in. Yoongi’s been swamped today, and I know how this stuff can mess with your head.”

You exhale slowly, grateful for the concern but also acutely aware of the simmering emotions just beneath the surface. “I’m trying, Joon. Really, I am. It’s just… exhausting. The waiting, the overthinking, the noise. I just want to know where I stand with him, you know?”

“He’ll tell you,” Namjoon assures you, his voice steady. “Just… don’t let the noise get to you.”

You swallow hard, his words striking a chord. “Thanks, Joon. Really.”

“Anytime,” he says warmly. “And hey, take it easy on him tonight, okay? He’s under a lot of pressure, but trust me, you’re his priority.”

“Will do, dad,” you tease, and for the first time all day, you feel a flicker of lightness.

“Bye.”

You set the phone down, Namjoon’s words lingering in your mind as you glance at the clock again. 

You think about Yoongi and the kind of pressure he must be feeling now. You can take care of him tonight. He deserves it.

You’re rearranging the pillows on the couch, trying not to glance at the clock again for the hundredth time. It’s not even about tidying the place anymore. It’s about occupying your hands, distracting yourself from the swirling mix of emotions in your chest.

Then, the doorbell rings.

7:01pm. 

You take a breath, smoothing your sweater. Calm. Casual. You’re fine.

You open the door.

And there he is. Yoongi stands in the dim light of the hallway, a dark jacket zipped up to his collarbone, a black mask shading his face, somehow directing the focus on the exhaustion in his eyes. But what caught your attention is his hair—slicked back with a little sprout of inky locks on top.

He scratches the back of his neck, suddenly looking bashful at the heat in your gaze.

Christ. He looks good. Criminally.

He steps in. “Hi,” he says softly, his voice carrying that calm rasp you’ve missed.

Your heart clenches. “Hi,” you reply, your tone quieter than intended. You clear your throat, stepping back to let him in. “Come in.”

He steps inside, pausing in the entryway as he glances around. 

You then notice the bouquet in his hand—gorgeous white roses and baby’s breath wrapped in brown paper. 

He hesitates, scratching the back of his neck as his eyes flick over your face. Something in your expression must’ve softened, because he quickly averts his gaze.

“I brought these,” he says, holding them out a little awkwardly.

Your chest tightens, a strange warmth spreading through you. “You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to.”

When you reach out to take the bouquet, your fingers graze his, and the contact lingers for just a second too long. Impulsively, your free hand rises to cup his cheek. Maybe it’s too much for whatever the hell this is between you, but the moment feels too honest to stop yourself.

“Are you okay?” you ask softly.

Yoongi freezes under your touch, his dark eyes widening ever so slightly. Then, as if the tension in his shoulders breaks all at once, he leans into your palm, just a fraction, and the smallest, most heartbreaking smile tugs at his lips as his eyes flutter close.

“I am now.”

You head to the kitchen, busying yourself with a vase to give the flowers the best chance to survive. You do not have a green thumb, so you pray to the gods the beautiful arrangement does not wither overnight.

“Hungry?” you ask, not turning around. “I bought chicken, shrimp fried rice, and some random banchan.”

“Yeah. Thanks,” Yoongi replies, his voice closer than you expect. You glance back to find him leaning against the counter, watching you with an unreadable expression.

You place the vase on the counter and fold your arms. “So,” you start, forcing lightness into your tone. “Survived the day?”

“Barely,” he admits, a tired smirk tugging at his lips. “Had to dodge more cameras than usual. Sat in meetings for a couple of hours. Si-hyuk personally called Sung Kyung’s agency. They assured me that they will investigate thoroughly. I couldn’t eat. I get home and there’s still press camping out. So yeah, shit day and I almost didn’t make it out alive.”

“That’s the longest response I’ve ever gotten from you.” You tease. “You really must be stressed out.”

Yoongi chuckles and for a moment, it feels like the tension that’s been hanging over you both all day melts away. 

You go around the counter and stand facing him where he’s sitting on your bar stool. He parts his legs and you immediately take that space, crowding him a bit more by placing your hands tentatively on his shoulder.

His eyes, warm like molten chocolate, meet yours. “How about you?”

You hesitate, suddenly feeling a little exposed. “I’m fine,” you say, though the tightness in your chest betrays you. “I mean, it’s not like this is new territory for you, right?”

“Doesn’t mean it’s easy,” Yoongi says quietly. “And I don’t like that you’re sort of affected by it.”

“I can handle it,” you reply, trying to sound more confident than you feel, projecting strength since he looks a little broken right now.

Yoongi’s lips press into a thin line, like he’s not entirely convinced. 

“I kinda knew what I was getting into when I knocked in your studio yesterday,” you say softly. “And I’d do it again. For you.”

His eyes widen slightly, surprise flickering across his face at your admission before it softens into something else. Something deeper. “For me?”

You nod, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks. “Yeah. For you.”

For a moment, he just looks at you, like he’s trying to figure out what to say. Then he straightens up from his slouch, taking one of your hands from his shoulder, pressing his lips softly against your pulse point.

“Dinner first,” he says. 

“Then what?” you challenge.

Yoongi just grins, eyes crinkling at the corners. 

As you sip the last of your drink, you steel yourself to ask the question that’s been bugging you all day. “So,” you say finally, broaching the topic. “Sung Kyung.”

Yoongi pauses mid-bite, his eyes flicking to yours. He sets his chopsticks down carefully, leaning back in his chair. “What about her?”

You take a steadying breath, forcing yourself to look him in the eyes. “Namjoon told me you’re co-parenting. But I need to hear where you two… stand?”

Yoongi exhales slowly. “Yeah, we’re co-parenting. That’s it. I don’t have any intention of getting back together with her. At all.” His voice is calm but firm, leaving no room for doubt. “I want Haneul to know his biological mom, but she and I—we’re done. That’s been over.”

Relief washes over you, but before you can fully settle into it, you notice the shift in his expression. His jaw tightens, and his eyes dart briefly to the table before returning to yours.

“There’s something else,” he says quietly, the words heavy with hesitation.

Fuck. You don’t like the sound of it, but you ask anyway. “What is it?”

Yoongi sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “A few weeks ago… she kissed me.”

Your stomach twists, and the room feels suddenly colder. “What?”

“I put a stop to it immediately,” he says quickly, his tone insistent. “I told her it couldn’t happen again, that if she wanted to keep seeing Han, she had to respect that boundary. And she has. She knows where we stand.”

You don’t respond right away, staring down at your plate as you try to process his words. 

Oh my god. This is so fucked up. You knew Sung Kyung’s reappearance wasn’t as harmless as it seemed, but hearing it confirmed still stings.

“I just thought…” you start, but the words trail off.

Yoongi’s voice is soft but steady. “You have every right to be upset.”

“Do I?” You think out loud. “We’re not…” You nod slowly, pushing your chair back. “I… need a minute.”

When you get to your bathroom, you release a long steadying breath. You stare at your reflection in the mirror, hands gripping the counter tightly. Fuck. You’re okay. This is–

A knock sounds at the door, startling you.

Yoongi’s voice is muffled as he says your name, but it’s gentle as can be. “Can I come in?”

You glance at the lock and realize, too late, that you forgot to turn it. The door creaks open, and there he is, standing in the doorway, his expression a mix of concern and something softer.

He steps inside, closing the door behind him and his arms immediately slide around your waist. The warmth of his touch seeps into you, and you meet his gaze through the mirror.

“Hey,” he murmurs against your hair. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

You lean back against him, the tension in your shoulders easing but just slightly. “I just… I don’t know how to feel about it.”

“That’s fair,” he presses his lips to your temple. 

“But I need you to know–” presses another on your cheek.

“That I don’t want anyone else–” presses the last where your neck and shoulders meet. 

“Just you.”

Your heart clenches at the sincerity in his voice, and when your eyes meet again in the mirror, the tenderness there leaves you so breathless.

Before you can second-guess yourself, you turn in his arms, your hands sliding up to his face as you pull him down for a kiss. His fingers tighten on your waist as he deepens the kiss, pulling you flush against him.

You walk back to your bed, lips fused with his, your fingers tangled in the soft strands of his hair. The urgency between you grows as you push him down onto the mattress, his back hitting the sheets with a quiet thud. You follow immediately, straddling him, your body molding against his as you capture his lips again. The kiss is deep, consuming, his hands gripping your waist like he’s anchoring himself to you.

You stay like that for a while, tongues teasing, breaths mingling, drunk in the taste of each other. Then, a sharp pull of his lower lip between your teeth has him groaning into your mouth.

You’re driven by lust, and something else. A possessive demon seems to be overriding your better judgment, thinking you’ve been timid with your feelings for long enough. No woman, not Sung Kyung, even if he is Han’s mom, can take what you and Yoongi have been building up to for so damn long.

“You’re in your head,” Yoongi says, nudging his nose against yours.

“Did she kiss you like this, huh?” The words leave you before you can stop them. Your lips return to his, sucking greedily, staking your claim.

Yoongi’s breath shudders as you pull back just enough to meet his eyes. “No, baby.” His voice is rough, lips pink and swollen.

Your fingers slide under his shirt, pushing the fabric up and over his head, tossing it aside before your hands explore the newly exposed skin. He’s warm, toned beneath your touch, and the way his muscles tense under your fingertips only spurs you further. You lean down, lips dragging along his jawline, open-mouthed kisses trailing down his throat. He tastes sweet, salty, and entirely intoxicating.

“Did you fuck anyone else when I left?” you mumble against his skin, your teeth grazing the sensitive spot beneath his ear.

His breath hitches, “No, shit. No.”

“Good boy.” You hum in satisfaction, your lips venturing lower, your tongue flicking against the hollow of his throat. He groans, head pressing back into the pillow.

“Baby, you’re making me lose my shit right now,” he grits out, his voice strained, desperate. His hands now get braver, sliding underneath your top to fondle your tits. 

Maybe you’re delirious. Maybe you’re too turned on to think straight. Or maybe—maybe this is exactly what you’ve wanted since the moment you saw him again.

Your hand drifts down, fingers tracing the outline of his hard length through his trousers, feeling the way he twitches under your palm. 

“You’re mine, okay?” you whisper, nipping at his bottom plush as your fingers give his dick a squeeze.

He exhales a shaky laugh, his lips curving under yours. “Yours.”

He lets you revel in your greed for a few moments, allowing you to do whatever you pleased as you lose yourself in the heat building between you.

He ruts up towards your hand, grunting slightly. Honestly, he’s so hard, it’d be a mercy to release him from the confines of his jeans. So you do, helping him unbutton, unzip, and undress, until his cock springs free and flops on his stomach.

What a pretty dick. Literally lickable—solid, girthy, veiny, a bead of white pooling at the slit. You take him in your mouth, tracing the tip with your tongue, the taste of pre-cum coating your throat. You let drool cascade down his length, slick fingers pumping his shaft while your mouth suctions his mushroom head.

His hand goes to the back of your neck, guiding you in a bit more. “Mmm… that’s it, baby.” 

Yoongi moans your name as you go faster. You feel him twitching inside your mouth. He’s so hard but you don’t want him to cum yet. You pop him off to lap at the base, before your tongue travels upward to trace the thick veins on the underside of his cock. 

Jaw slack, his eyes are dark, dark as he observes you while propped up on his elbows. “Come up,” he says when you reluctantly pull away. “Wanna eat you out.”

Your clothes are yanked off your body as you take his place on the cushions, not a single piece of fabric now separating your skin. He takes you by the hip and adjusts your position so he can get his face close to your mound. Before you can mentally prepare yourself, he shoves his hot tongue against your folds, locating your clit in 0.001 seconds and you know you’ll be careening off a cliff in no time.

“I—Yoongi, that’s… shit that’s nice.” You can’t help it. It does feel nice.

You reach for the little ponytail on his head, gripping it for dear life. He hums against your bud when you pull, the vibrations only driving you more insane.

“You taste so good baby,” he mumbles.

“Yeah?”

“I can eat you out for days, make you cum,” he vows, delirious just like you are. “Over and over… my favorite fuckin’ snack.” 

“Oh my god, Yoongi…”

He feasts, and feasts, and soon enough, you’re shuddering in ecstasy, hips bucking in the process, as he slurps all you give him. He wears your cum like a gloss as he comes up for air, a lazy but proud smile on his face.

You reach for the drawer on your nightstand and pull out a new, sealed, and unopened box of condoms shoving it on his chest. He holds it in one hand, nose scrunching as he suppresses a laugh.

“Someone prepared…”

You shrug as he plucks one and unwraps it quickly, “What?”

“Nothing. You’re too cute for me.”

“Shut uppp.”

He rolls the condom on his dick, propping one hand by the side of your face as he uses the other to rub his blunt tip against your entrance. Your pussy is drenched and he slips right in and bottoms out with a grunt against your ear. He’s thick and big against your walls.

A smack against your ass cheeks makes you clench. “Ah, shit.” And another one lands before he soothes it with a gentle massage. 

You’re going crazy but you need him deeper. Sensing your needs, Yoongi pushes the back of your knees higher and snaps his hips with more force, pounding your pussy as your bed creaks against the wall. Your lids are heavy but you keep your eyes open long enough to see how fucked out he looks, cheeks flushed pink with a coat of sheen on his forehead, teeth caging his lower lip.

“You’re so hot. I wanna ride you,” you declare, stuttering a bit from his thrusts.

“Yeah?” He pants, slows the roll of his hips, waiting for your confirmation. 

When you nod, he slips off with a wince and you feel your juices trickle down your skin. You reverse positions, mattress dipping as you shift your knees on each side of his hips. 

“Do your thing, baby,” he urges, lacing his fingers behind his head, elbows bent outward in a relaxed pose.

Your smile is watery as you use his tip to prod against your clit one or twice before you sink him inside your wet heat. You moan in unison when you're fully seated, the feeling of him snug and warm and so full inside you driving you mad.

You tip your head back, palms planted against his chest as you swivel your hips in a slow dance. 

You look down on him, hair cascading over your shoulder, and you think how much you like this view. And how you won't mind this view everyday, actually. Seems the possessive streak from earlier still has not satiated. 

“Shit—you’re so hot like this.” 

You rock against him, clit stimulated deliciously as you ride his cock. He’s got a cocky little grin as you use him. You throw your ass back, and he has a front row seat and VIP access to your bouncing tits, his tongue slack on the side of his lips. He cups your tits with both hands, the wet pads of his thumbs rubbing against your nipples.

“My turn,” he grabs hold of your waist and thrusts upward so roughly your eyes roll back in pleasure.

He pistons into you, finger digging on your skin to keep you in place and a long moan rips from your throat when he jerks up particularly hard.

Your hands slip to his shoulder as your body bounces by the force of his movements, tits sliding against his chest. His thighs must be burning and when he slightly lets up, you dip your head, shamelessly to lick the side of his face, moaning his name against his ear. 

“Baby—” you beg, not really saying what you need, but he knows.

He uses a sweaty hand to guide a tit in his mouth, suckling at it with a bit of teeth. 

Not a moment later, he’s fucking you again from below, deeper, faster, and when rapidly presses into your sweet spot, you’re a goner.

“I’m close, Yoongi. So close…”

“Me too, baby,” his voice is rough as he lets go of your bruised nipple, brows furrowed in concentration like he is fully intent to give you the orgasm of your life. He pushes into your depth relentlessly, 

White hot heat is blooming inside you, and you feel his cock throb, abs tightening, before he spills his seed in the condom, groaning with his eyes shut to savor the intensity of his release. It’s the pure unadulterated pleasure painted on his face and his deep delicious moan that tips you over the edge, too, clenching against his solidness as you slip into the sinful pleasure of your orgasm.

Chest to chest, you rest your full weight against him, softening dick still nestled inside you. You press your lips against his neck, feeling the vibrations of his throaty chuckle. Then he asks, “Was it good?”

“So good.”

“Mm.” He hums, nosing the side of your face so you’d look at him. “Did you really mean what you said earlier?”

“Which one?”

“That you, uh, despite everything, you’d do it again, for me.”

You start to feel a bit shy, but then you remember you’re literally naked. On top of him. And he is still inside you. The point of bashfulness is long past. It’s time for the truth. “Yeah.”

“Bold of you, no?”

“Dumb, too.”

He pushes an errant hair behind your ear, eyes still glazed from the sex, but fond. “You know I really like you, right? If it isn’t painfully obvious.”

“Me too, Yoongi. Since Stan. Maybe even earlier.”

“Will you be my girl, then?”

Yoongi watches you carefully, waiting for your response. The earnest curve of his lips, the slight scrunch of his nose, the way his fingers still rest on your waist like he’s afraid you’ll slip away—it’s all so achingly real.

You study him for a moment, letting yourself take it in. Everything about him—his caring nature, his tenderness, his immense love for Han, his ability to drive you absolutely insane and still make you feel like you’re the only person in the world who matters.

The outside world is still in chaos. The scandal, the noise, the questions that neither of you have all the answers to yet. But here, in your little apartment, wrapped in the warmth of him, none of that feels as important as this.

“I will,” you finally say, voice steady.

His breath catches, just for a second. Then, his lips spread into the softest, gummiest smile you’ve ever seen.

“Yeah?” he murmurs, almost like he’s making sure he heard you right.

You nod, “Yeah.”

Your lips meet for a gentle kiss that feels like a promise and the rest of the world falls away. For now, no matter what comes next, it’s the two of you—finally honest, finally sure, and finally together.

:]

A/N: YASSSS. Our babies have finally figured it out. How do you feel right now? Would love to hear your comments! 

Thank you for reading, you lovely, beautiful human! Xo

P.S. Am gunning for 1,000 followers before Yoongi’s birthday. :) I think I’ll get there with your help. Feel free to reblog the story if you like, and that can help more people find our lovely L&L couple.

Love you!~

Permanent Taglist (Part 1)

@wonh0oe @hyukaluve @glossdebut @kiki-zb @kookiewithluv

@agustblog @maryhopemei @perfectiondazesworld @kimsaerom @kam9404

@00-sleepdontweep-00 @tea4sykes @mggv97 @marnz1990

@whydoeyecare @pastelmin @tarahardcore @minjenna @chimmchimmm

@aaclariww @mar-lo-pap @tinytan-gerine @vesperbells @butterymin

@eve1633455 @baechugff @lilkittenjenjen @wobblewobble822 @coffeedepressionsoup

@futuristicenemychaos @jadestonedaeho7 @granataepfelchen @whoa-jo @annyeongbitch7

@chimmisbae @sexytholland @idkjustlovingbts @kpophosblog @tinyelfperson

@yoongicatagenda @codeinebelle @parapiop7 @diame93 @janeelizabeth1216

@withmuchluv-tannie @abadiimm @angellekookie

The rest to follow in a reblog.

[rangerbarbz]

Please

Author’s Note: Man, I am a busy bee. I apologize for how little I’ve been writing. I never catch a break, but I am so thankful for y’all. I hope the summer is treating you well!!!

“Please”

Summary: Ford lets out his frustrations on reader after a continuously failing experiment

You laid flat on you and Ford’s shared bed, stomach against the quilt that covered the mattress. Ford was downstairs finishing up an experiment while you were reading a chapter in your new book. The rest of the Pines family were on a daycation out of town leaving you and Ford by yourselves. It was nice to have this private time to spend with him. 

You flipped to the next page and shifted the weight of your head onto your other hand. It was no telling when Ford would emerge from the basement to join you. He had been down there for an hour now. At least you thought he had; you were pretty engrossed in this novel so who knows? You had changed into a tank top and shorts to make sure when he did get done with whatever he was working on, you’d be ready to fall asleep in his arms. Or so you thought. 

You heard Ford’s boots stomping down the hallway, your head perking up at the sound. You closed the book and placed it on the bed before standing up to approach the doorway. 

“Ford?” you called. Just as soon as you reached the door frame, he was there. His silver hair was tousled and his eyes looked more weary than usual. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you flush against his chest. He was wearing stained jeans and a taut, black t-shirt and smelled of his musky deodorant with a hint of moss. 

“Honey, are you okay?” you asked gently, letting him bury his face in your neck. His body was hunched over to make sure he was holding as much of you as possible. You rubbed your hands up and down his back soothingly as he started kissing your jawline.

Ford’s eyes met yours; they didn’t look tired anymore. They were fiery.

“I’m fine. It…It was just a hard day,” he explained quietly. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” You placed your hand on his cheek, letting him lean into the palm of your hand. 

“No, sweetheart. Not now.” He began kissing your wrist. “I just want you, please.” His words were mumbled against your skin. You felt your face get hot as he continued kissing down your arm, his eyes blissfully closed. 

You cupped his face to make him meet your gaze. “Take me then,” you whispered. Ford groaned in appreciation, his strong hands covering the sides of your face. He was kissing you with such a force that was uncharacteristic for him. His tongue flicked your lower lip, begging for a taste of yours. You let him deepen the kiss by opening your mouth and wrapping your arms around his neck. He was frantic trying to touch every inch of you. 

Ford suddenly broke the kiss. “I’m sorry. I forgot I had these damn boots on. Let me take them off before we get too far.” You nodded, unable to form actual words. He then bent down to start unlacing his shoes. However, his mouth was focused on something else. He began planting kisses from your knee, lips inching up your thigh. You let out a soft gasp; your fingers carding through his hair. His stubble was teasing the satin skin that was close to where you wanted him most. 

He suddenly stood up to place his lips on yours again. They never left even as he flung his boots and socks off making you giggle. You felt him smile against you. One arm then supported your back while the other snaked around your waist. You were gently laid on the bed as Ford kissed you passionately. 

He then lifted himself up, centimeters away from your face to look at you. His eyes were locked onto yours. After what felt like hours under his gaze, he leaned down to your ear. “I love kissing you,” he said in a low voice. He dragged your earlobe through his teeth, and your body shivered at the contact. His lips continued their journey down your neck, small moans escaping your mouth. Your legs had wrapped themselves around his torso.

He grunted against your chest, pulling down your tank top to expose your nipples to the cold air. His eyes darted hungrily across your breasts before tracing your areolas with his hot tongue. A sharp contrast to the temperature of the room. You cried out, once again holding his head in your hands. His right hand crept upwards to your other breast as he sucked your nipple into his mouth. 

“Ford, please,” you breathed, grinding against him to gain some sort of friction against your throbbing core. He was incredibly hard and straining against the zipper of his blue jeans. He groaned and bit your nipple to tease you back. You yelped a bit, face growing red from the sound you made. Ford didn’t seem to notice. Or, if he did, he didn’t mind. His hands grazed your waist down to your hips, thumbs rubbing circles into your soft flesh. 

“I couldn’t stop thinking about this.” Ford pulled down your silky shorts to expose your dripping cunt to him. He tossed the article of clothing to the floor, his attention never leaving you. His hands drifted up the sides of your thighs, pressing them around his head. He blew cold air against your sensitive clit; his eyes locked onto yours to see your reaction. You yelped and threw your head back which made Ford chuckle. 

“You’re so sexy like this,” he grumbled against your inner thigh. He peppered kisses up your leg. The tip of his tongue teased your opening slowly.

You gasped. “F-Fuck.” 

Ford’s lips wrapped around your clit and swirled his tongue gently. He lifted your right leg, putting it over his shoulder to give him better access. His once calculated licking began to turn sloppy as he dove into you. He slipped his big hands underneath you to cup your ass and pull your cunt closer to his mouth. He moaned into you while your hips grinded against his face. 

Just when you thought you were going to burst, his tongue slipped out of you. He gave your swollen labia a kiss. 

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I want to feel you around my fingers,” Ford admitted. He adored fingering you. You were almost positive it had something to do with the fact he had been made fun of his entire life for his hands. The hands he was once so insecure about were now able to evoke such pleasure from you. It made him feel powerful. 

His thumb grazed your throbbing clit as he slid one finger into you. His breath hitched in his throat at the feeling of your warm, wet entrance. You cried out how he filled you up so easily. Your nails dug into his shoulders; his finger began to pump in and out of you. 

Ford’s cheeks were tinged pink. He became so flustered seeing you write underneath him. “Oh, God,” he whimpered. “You feel so good…So beautiful.” He began to pump faster to hear more of your sweet moans. 

“Ford,” you breathed out. “Please, I’m so close.” He moved his other hand to your upper back, carefully lifting you up. 

“I know, baby. I know. I got you. Just let go, honey. Let me feel you,” Ford cooed. Your body did exactly what he said. You felt shivers run over your entire body; your cunt pulsating around his fingers. He hugged you against him, still fingering you but slowly now. Your head fell into the crook of his neck. You were breathing heavily, riding out your orgasm. 

“There you go. Atta girl.” He kissed your temple. “Do you think you got one more in you, honey?” You leaned back and looked at him, a grin on your face and a glazed over look in your eyes. 

“You betcha, Dr. Pines.” He smiled devilishly at you before standing up to swiftly remove his shirt. His pants and boxers were soon to go. You bit your lip as you watched him undress. He had such broad shoulders, toned muscles, and a painfully erect cock. 

You rolled over, showing your ass off to him. You looked back at him to see his mouth slightly agape, admiring your curves. To him, you were the most entrancing thing he’d seen in all his years. He kneeled on the bed behind you, running his hands over your smooth back. 

He caressed your ass before parting your flesh to expose your cunt once again. He breathed deeply, his cock teasing your entrance. He let your slick coat his tip before sliding into you completely.

Ford groaned, his head tipping back and eyelids fluttering. You whined at how he stretched you out. It hurt so good. He moved his hips slowly at first, letting you get accustomed to him. 

“H-how does it feel, sweetheart?” he asked shakily. 

“Harder, Ford. Fuck, I want to feel more of you,” you replied quietly. Ford sighed and laid his body against your back. 

“Don’t say things like that if you want me to last, Y/N,” Ford growled into your ear. His thrusts became sporadic, a bead of sweat dripping down his face. His hands reached around to hold onto your breasts. You could feel the build up of another orgasm already. 

“Ford.” Your voice had squeaked from the intensity of his thrusts. Everything felt so good it was overwhelming. 

“Where do you want me?” 

“Inside.” Ford let out a guttural noise at that. You then began to feel his dick twitch and that familiar warmness spread inside you. One of his fingers sneakily moved down to your clit, applying just enough pressure to bring you to climax. You screamed his name and pulsated around him. Your body collapsed onto the bed. He rested beside you. He held you flush against his chest; your breaths became synced together. 

“Let me clean you up, hon,” Ford whispered. He stood up and walked to the bathroom to retrieve a warm washcloth. “Roll over, sweetie.” You lazily flipped over with a grunt.

Ford giggled. “You’re so cute.” He started to clean up the evidence he had been there  from your inner thighs and folds. You gazed up at him lovingly. “There we go,” he said. “Good as new.” He placed the washcloth on the other side of him. 

He was smiling ear to ear down at you before placing a gentle kiss on your lips. “I’m going to run us a bath.” He kissed you again. “I love you.” 

“I love you, too.” And you meant it with every cell in your body. 

[jhyoos]

Off Limits

chapter one : cold hearted snake

soccer player vi x talis reader

mentions : player vi, besti ekko, romance, lesbianism, modern au, college au, drama, abby tlou, ellie tlou, cheerleader reader, mention of sex, mentions of overdosing

notes: semi long chapter so get some snacks, turn your fan on and rub your feet together

edit: i ended up changing nyu to asu (arcane state university)

next chapter ->

"Jayce… don’t piss me off," you mumbled groggily, swatting at the air as you turned away from the light creeping in through the curtains. Your brother had this awful habit of waking you up early, and this time, it was no different. You groaned as you felt the edge of his foot on your nightstand, a clear sign that he wasn’t planning to leave until you gave him the attention he craved.

"Please, sis. Just tell me if they go good with my outfit. It's my junior year. I gotta look fresh," Jayce said, his voice high-pitched and over-the-top, just the way it always was when he was seeking validation.

You blinked open one eye, then the other, squinting up at him. The sight of his goofy grin—complete with his messy hair—did nothing to help the headache that was already forming. He was holding a pair of sneakers in one hand, his new must-have shoes for the school year.

You rubbed your eyes and sighed, giving him the most unimpressed look you could muster. "Yeah, Jayce. You look good," you said flatly, trying to roll over and go back to sleep.

But Jayce, of course, wasn’t done. He let out an exaggerated sigh and plopped down on the edge of your bed, his body taking up far too much space. "Don’t go back to sleep, c’mon! It’s your first day here at ASU. You gotta make a statement," he said, wiggling his eyebrows, clearly proud of his well-meaning, annoying attempt to motivate you.

You cracked open an eye again, giving him a deadpan stare. "I don’t want to hear it, Jayce. You’re lucky I’m even awake right now."

Jayce chuckled, nudging you lightly with his foot. "Get up, you lazy bum. I need to know if this shirt works with my new kicks or not. It’s important!"

You sighed, sitting up slowly, still trying to shake off the remnants of sleep. Looking at him—his eager face, his ridiculous outfit—wasn’t helping your mood. You glanced at his sneakers, then his shirt, then his whole vibe. Jayce looked like he was trying way too hard to impress everyone on his first day back. He had his typical “I’m cool” swagger on display, and you weren’t sure if you should laugh or just roll your eyes harder.

"Yeah, Jayce. You look good," you muttered, not really caring but knowing that was the answer he wanted to hear.

Jayce leaned in closer, his face inches from yours, all dramatic as he asked, "Really? I mean, really? You sure about that? ‘Cause I need you to be my fashion consultant today."

You shook your head, not even bothering to reply to his antics. You were too tired for this. But he wasn’t backing down. He was, after all, Jayce—a master at annoying people to no end.

"Don’t make me get Mom on the phone, you know she’s got the best opinions," he teased, but you could hear the hint of excitement in his voice. He wasn’t just annoying you for attention; he genuinely seemed to need your approval.

You shot him a glare. "If you don’t stop, I’ll tell Mom you’ve been wearing the same pair of socks for two days."

Jayce’s grin faltered, just for a second, before he playfully shoved your shoulder. "Low blow, sis. Low blow."

Finally, you could hear him sigh in defeat. "Fine. I’m leaving, I’m leaving. Get up, though! Or I swear, I’ll drag you out of bed myself."

You stared at him as he got up and headed toward the door, but not without another remark. "Oh, and don't even think about that raggedy bus today. We’re taking my car. And you're making a statement whether you like it or not."

The door clicked shut behind him, and for a moment, there was silence—glorious silence.

You glanced at the time on your phone. 5:47 AM. With a groan, you threw the covers off and rolled out of bed.

The thought of the first day at ASU made your stomach churn with nerves, but you couldn't show it. Not after all the teasing and endless talk of “making a statement” from your brother. You needed to at least pretend like you had it all together. So, with a loud sigh, you shuffled into the bathroom for a shower, hoping the cold water would wake you up enough to deal with the day ahead.

As you stood under the stream of water, you tried to clear your head. You'd never been one for drama, but here you were, starting college at one of the most prestigious schools in the country. It was supposed to be exciting. New people, new opportunities, new everything. But you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were stepping into something much bigger than you were ready for.

Still, there was no turning back now.

You had spent your freshman and sophomore years in Italy, a place you quickly grew to love. It was a dream come true—walking cobblestone streets, sipping espresso in tiny cafes, and studying architecture and art history in a country that felt alive with culture and tradition. At first, you were nervous about being so far from home, but Italy embraced you with open arms, and soon, it felt more like home than your actual home ever had.

The plan had been simple: you would study abroad, and Jayce would come with you. Your mom had made it clear that he had the option to join you. “Think about it,” your mom had said, “two years of sibling bonding while experiencing a whole new world.” But, of course, Jayce had shrugged it off.

"Pass," he'd said without hesitation. "All my friends are here. Plus, who's gonna keep the soccer team alive without me?"

You’d rolled your eyes when he said it, but deep down, his refusal stung. He didn’t even consider it. And as much as you hated to admit it, part of you had wanted him there. Sure, he was annoying and constantly in your space, but he was also your big brother—the one who always knew how to make you laugh when you were stressed, the one who looked out for you when no one else did. Without him, you felt a little more alone than you were ready to admit.

But Italy had been a journey all its own. You’d found your rhythm there, made lifelong friends, and grown in ways you never expected. You learned to navigate bustling markets in Florence, spent lazy afternoons sketching by the canals in Venice, and even picked up enough Italian to argue with locals over gelato flavors. It wasn’t just a study abroad experience; it was a transformation.

Then, two years flew by faster than you thought they would. And just like that, it was time to say goodbye to everything you’d built in Italy. The narrow alleyways you knew like the back of your hand, the corner cafe where the barista always greeted you with a warm "Ciao, bella," and the friends who had become family. It wasn’t easy leaving it all behind, but the opportunity to finish your degree at home on a full-ride scholarship was too good to pass up.

There was one silver lining to returning home: Ekko. Your best friend since middle school. He’d been the one constant in your life before you left for Italy, and as much as you loved your new friends abroad, no one quite compared to Ekko. He was like a brother to you, but cooler than Jayce ever could be—not that you’d ever tell Jayce that to his face.

Ekko was in ASU with a full ride scholarship majoring in Engineering, balancing school with being on the soccer team alongside Jayce. The two of them had always been close, despite being complete opposites. Jayce was loud, confident, and always seeking the spotlight, while Ekko was more laid-back and analytical, content to let his skills speak for themselves. The idea of seeing them again—especially Ekko—was one of the few things keeping you grounded as you prepared to face New York after two years away.

After your last class wrapped up, you decided to head over to the campus coffee shop to grab something to eat. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee and baked goods hit you as soon as you walked in. You ordered an iced coffee and a bagel sandwich before making your way outside, where small tables with umbrellas dotted the courtyard.

Finding an empty table near the edge of the patio, you set your things down and took a seat. The campus buzzed around you as students chatted or hurried to their next destination. Sipping your coffee, you opened your book and began reading while occasionally taking bites of your sandwich.

As you lost yourself in the story, two hands suddenly grabbed your shoulders, making you jolt and nearly drop your sandwich. Your head whipped around, your heart racing, only to be met with a familiar face—Ekko.

“Holy—Ekko!” you exclaimed, standing up with a wide grin.

He laughed, his grin just as big as yours. “Surprise!”

Without hesitation, you threw your arms around him, hugging him tightly. “I missed you so much,” you said, your voice muffled against his shoulder.

“Missed you too,” Ekko said, his arms wrapping around you firmly. After a moment, he pulled back slightly, his hands resting on your shoulders as he took a good look at you.

You twirled around dramatically, giving him a full view of your outfit. His brows shot up in surprise as he took it all in. “Damn… Italy changed you in more ways than one. What happened to my (Y/N) who wore oversized hoodies and partied like a rockstar every other weekend?”

You smirked, crossing your arms. “She’s dead, but I still love a good party,” you quipped.

Ekko leaned casually against the wall, his arms crossed and a playful smirk on his face. “There’s gonna be a first-day bonfire tonight. Good music, new faces, and…” he paused for effect, “…Caitlyn Kiramman, the cheer captain, might be there. You could ask her about whether there’s a chance you’re on the team since you submitted that video for tryouts.”

Your face lit up with excitement. “You always come in clutch,” you said with a grin. “Only if you’re taking me, though.”

Ekko shook his head, his smirk turning into a sheepish grin. “Can’t. I’ve got a date for the bonfire.”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Aw, really? Who’s the lucky girl?”

“A girl named Jinx. She’s in most of my classes. Thought she was cute, so I asked her out,” he said, shrugging like it was no big deal. “She surprisingly said yes.”

“Surprisingly?” you teased, folding your arms and leaning toward him. “Please, Ekko, you’ve got more game than you think. Good for you, seriously.”

He chuckled, his cheeks dusted with a hint of pink. “Thanks, I guess. What about you? Got your eye on any girls here yet?”

You grinned mischievously, your voice dripping with confidence. “Always.”

Ekko leaned in slightly, his eyebrows raised. “Oh, really?” he asked teasingly.

“Yup. Vi,” you said with no hesitation. “She’s really hot—pink hair, tattoos on her back. God, I would love to take a ride on h—”

“Oh, fuck no,” Ekko interrupted, his voice sharp as his expression shifted to something between disbelief and warning.

You blinked, startled by his sudden tone. “What?!”

Ekko groaned, running a hand down his face. “She’s a player, (Y/N). I should know. She’s on the soccer team with Jayce. Don’t mess with her—you’ll get hurt. Real shit.”

You frowned, confused by his sudden seriousness. “What are you talking about? She seemed fine when I talked to her earlier.”

He pushed off the wall and crossed his arms again, his expression dark. “I’ve seen it happen. She’s got game, yeah, but not the kind you want. I don’t like the way she moves. I used to hang out with her, but I stopped for a reason. The only time I’m even around her is when Jayce is.”

You huffed, crossing your arms. “Okay, but maybe she’s different now.”

Ekko narrowed his eyes at you, unimpressed. “Look, I’m just saying—don’t let her mess with your head, (Y/N). You’re better than that. Just…be careful, okay?”

You rolled your eyes, though a small part of you appreciated his concern. “Fine, Dad.”

When you got home, Ekko’s warning was the last thing on your mind. Vi was texting you, and there was no way you were going to ignore her. She was too hot not to respond to. Balancing your bag on your shoulder and your coffee cup in one hand, you pushed the door shut with your foot. As soon as the door clicked behind you, you checked your phone again, a grin spreading across your face as you read her latest message.

Heading upstairs, you scrolled through the playful back-and-forth between you and Vi, feeling giddy. The attention she was giving you was addictive. You were so lost in the conversation that you didn’t notice Jayce stepping out of the bathroom until you nearly bumped into him.

He stood there with a towel slung around his waist, droplets of water still clinging to his skin. He raised an eyebrow as he noticed the stupid grin on your face. “The fuck are you smiling about, dopey?” he teased, crossing his arms over his chest. “You look a little too gay right now.”

You rolled your eyes and brushed past him. “Ha, ha, hilarious,” you muttered, holding your phone a little closer as you tried to move toward your room.

But Jayce wasn’t going to let it go. He reached over and snatched the phone right out of your hand.

“Jayce! What the fuck!” you yelped, spinning around and reaching for it.

Jayce held it out of your reach, laughing as he glanced at the screen. But his laughter quickly died when he saw the name at the top of the conversation. His eyebrows shot up in disbelief. “You’re fucking around with Vi?” he asked, his tone dripping with judgment.

“It’s the first day, so not yet, clearly,” you snapped, grabbing your phone back with an irritated glare.

Before you could retreat to your room, Jayce stepped in front of you, blocking your path. His expression shifted to something more serious, almost protective. “Whatever you’re doing with her, stop. She’s a close friend of mine, and she gets around, (Y/N). It’ll be awkward as hell, and on top of that, I’m not trying to get embarrassed by you.”

You rolled your eyes, brushing past him. “Whatever,” you muttered dismissively, though his words stung.

Jayce didn’t move from where he stood, following you with his eyes as you turned toward the stairs. “Hey, wait. Are you going to the bonfire tonight?”

You stopped and turned to face him. “Yeah, Ekko has a date, so I need a ride. Can you take me? Mom and Dad still haven’t gotten me a car yet, so I’m stuck.”

Jayce shook his head immediately, folding his arms again. “Oh, you’re not going. No way. Vi’s gonna be there, and that’s officially off fucking limits.”

Your jaw dropped in disbelief. “What? What the fuck, Jayce! I can’t even go socialize?”

Jayce gave you a hard look. “You’re not going to socialize, (Y/N). I know how you are when it comes to alcohol and…other shit. Or do I need to call Mom and tell her you need to go back to Italy after I let you relapse?”

His words hit you like a slap. Your stomach dropped as anger flared in your chest, and your eyes burned with unshed tears. “Fuck you, Jayce,” you said, your voice trembling with a mix of rage and hurt. “What a low blow.”

You yanked your arm out of his grip and stormed up the stairs, slamming your bedroom door shut behind you. You locked it for good measure, leaning against it as hot tears began to roll down your cheeks.

Outside the door, Jayce’s voice softened, guilt creeping into his tone. “Wait, sis… I didn’t mean it seriously,” he said, knocking lightly.

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t even look at him right now.

When it became clear you weren’t going to answer, Jayce sighed. “Let me know if you want anything to eat when I get back,” he said quietly before walking away. The sound of his footsteps faded down the hall, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

While you sat on your bed, still upset over the argument with Jayce, your phone buzzed. You glanced at it, and your heart skipped a beat when you saw it was a text from Vi.

Vi: Are you coming to the bonfire party? I wanna see you.

You hesitated for a moment before typing back.

You: Can’t. My brother’s not letting me go. And I don’t have a car. He was my only ride.

Her reply came almost instantly.

Vi: Well, I have a car. Give me your location and get ready. I’ll pick you up, beautiful.

A grin spread across your face despite everything, and you quickly sent her your location. Tossing your phone onto the bed, you sprang up and went straight to your closet. You scanned your options until you finally settled on a black fitted mini-dress paired with, a denim jacket draped off your shoulders, and chunky black boots. The look was edgy yet flirty—perfect for a night out.

You glanced in the mirror and realized your makeup was a mess from crying. Grabbing a makeup wipe, you cleaned up the smudges, reapplying your eyeliner and lipstick carefully. After smoothing out your hair and giving yourself one last look-over, your phone buzzed again.

“I’m parked outside the complex,” the text read.

“Shit,” you muttered, scrambling to find a cute bag. You tossed your phone, keys, wallet, and lip gloss inside, then rushed out the door.

As you left your apartment complex, you gave the doorman a quick wave. “Goodnight!” you called, like always.

“Have fun!” he replied with a knowing smile.

Outside, a sleek car idled by the curb. You spotted Vi leaning against the driver’s side, her pink hair glowing under the streetlights. She grinned when she saw you, and as soon as you slid into the passenger seat, she leaned over and kissed you.

You froze for a second, caught off guard, but then you melted into the kiss, returning it shyly. When she pulled back, her smirk was devilish.

“Nice place you live at,” she said, glancing at the complex as she started driving. “A friend of mine stays in one of these apartments. You must have a lot of money to live here.”

You shrugged, trying to play it cool. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.”

Vi gave you a quick side glance, her smile softening. “Well, good for me. I like spoiled girls,” she teased.

As soon as you and Vi stepped onto the sandy beach where the bonfire party was in full swing, she casually draped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you in close. The heat of the fire reflected in her smirk as she held you there like she had no care in the world.

Immediately, you pulled away, glancing around to make sure no one—especially your brother—had noticed. “Stop,” you hissed, swatting at her arm. “You’re going to blow my cover. I’m not even supposed to be here, remember?”

Vi chuckled, stuffing her hands in the pockets of her ripped jeans, clearly enjoying your paranoia. “Fine, fine,” she relented. “But text me when you’re ready to leave.”

“Where are you going?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m gonna go find Jayce and keep him occupied,” she said with a smirk, already scanning the crowd. “Don’t worry, princess. I got you.”

“Cool,” you said with a nod before slipping away from her, weaving through the bodies of drunken students and the glow of the bonfire’s flickering flames.

Your eyes darted across the party until they landed on Ekko. He was in the middle of a crowd, dancing with a girl who had strikingly light blue hair, her movements wild and carefree as they swayed to the music.

“Hey, Ekko!” you called out over the sound of the music.

Ekko turned his head at the sound of your voice, a grin forming when he spotted you pushing through the crowd toward him. “(Y/N)!” He gestured for you to come closer. “This is Jinx. Jinx, this is (Y/N), my best friend since middle school.”

You smiled, sticking out a hand for her to shake. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Instead of shaking your hand, Jinx’s face lit up, and she immediately pulled you into a tight hug. “Sorry, but I’m a hugger, girl,” she said, squeezing you before letting go. “And middle school? That’s so adorable!”

You chuckled. “Yep. We used to do chemistry projects together in high school and blow shit up. My parents had to pay millions.”

Ekko laughed, shaking his head. “Yup, we were menaces,” he agreed, nudging you playfully.

Jinx grinned, eyes flickering between the two of you. “I like you already.”

The party was loud, the music pulsing through the air as laughter and shouts filled the night. You were mid-conversation with Jinx when suddenly, a random frat guy shoved an opened Cayman Jack into your hands. The condensation from the bottle chilled your skin as you instinctively curled your fingers around it.

“Chug, pretty thang,” he slurred, grinning like he had just offered you the holy grail.

“Oh, um… no, it’s okay. I’m taking a break from drinking,” you said, trying to hand it back to him.

Instead of taking the rejection, he popped the cap off with his thumb and shoved it back toward you, his eyes wild with excitement. “Chug!” he chanted.

At first, it was just him, but soon, others joined in, the word picking up like a wave, echoing louder and louder around you. "Chug! Chug! Chug!"

Ekko shot you a worried look, his lips parting as if he was about to intervene, but before he could, the pressure of a dozen eyes on you—waiting, watching, expecting—became too much. Without thinking, you tilted your head back and downed the entire drink, the carbonation burning your throat, the alcohol hitting your stomach like a rock.

“There, happy?” you said, shoving the now-empty can into the frat guy’s chest.

He let out a cheer, eyes gleaming with drunken satisfaction. Then, in a final act of bravado, he crushed the can against his forehead with a loud crack and stumbled off into the crowd.

Ekko’s hand was on your shoulder in an instant, his grip firm but gentle. “Fuck…” you muttered, your stomach twisting. Your fingers trembled slightly, your body already remembering the ghosts of your past. “I haven’t had a drink since I…”

Ekko rubbed your shoulder reassuringly. “I’ll get you some water.” His voice was calm, but you saw the worry in his eyes. He turned to Jinx. “Watch her for me?”

Jinx gave a quick nod, her face uncharacteristically serious.

Ekko disappeared into the crowd, leaving you standing there with the taste of alcohol still lingering on your tongue.

“What’s wrong?” Jinx asked, tilting her head.

“I—I just…” Your voice faltered.

Before you could finish, a voice sliced through the noise, sharp and furious.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

Your stomach dropped. You turned to see Jayce standing a few feet away, his face twisted with anger, his fists clenched at his sides.

“I’m just hanging out, Jayce,” you said, trying to keep your voice even.

Jayce scoffed, stepping closer. “(Y/N), I can smell the alcohol on your breath.” His eyes darkened, his voice tight with frustration. “Shit, dude—not even a whole two weeks and you’re already relapsing?”

Your throat tightened. “I’m not relapsing. I was just pressured into taking a drink by those stupid frat boys,” you argued.

“Bullshit,” Jayce snapped.

Ekko returned just in time, a bottle of water in his hand, but he barely had time to process what was happening before Jayce was right in your face again.

You barely heard him, your mind spiraling as the weight of his words sank in.

Yes, you were an addict in high school.

After your dad’s death, you took it harder than anyone else in your family. You fell in with the wrong people, numbing the pain however you could. The night you overdosed, you had been left in an alley, a needle in your arm, your body convulsing, vomiting, barely clinging to life.

Your mother couldn’t handle it anymore.

Instead of sending you to rehab, she sent you to Italy—far away, somewhere new, somewhere she hoped you could start over. And you did. You got therapy. You worked on yourself. You fixed yourself.

But now, standing here with Jayce looking at you like you were a failure, it felt like all that progress meant nothing.

His next words shattered whatever was left of your resolve.

“Go home,” he said coldly. “I don’t care how you get home—just go.”

Then, without waiting for a response, he turned and walked away, leaving you standing there, your vision blurring with tears.

Ekko’s hand found yours, squeezing it gently. “Come on. I’ll take you home.”

Jinx nodded, stepping closer. “Yeah, I’ll come too.”

You swallowed hard, forcing down the lump in your throat. “Thanks. Just—let me say goodbye to someone first.”

Ekko nodded. “Cool. We’ll wait by the car.”

He took Jinx’s hand, leading her toward the parking lot, leaving you alone in the middle of the party, feeling like the ground beneath you was slowly cracking apart.

You pushed through the crowd, weaving between sweaty, drunken bodies, the pulse of the music thrumming in your ears. The fire in the middle of the yard crackled, casting flickering orange light over the partygoers gathered around it. Your breath was shallow as you scanned the area, searching for Vi.

And then you saw her.

She was standing by the fire, her red hair illuminated by the flames, her toned arms flexing slightly as she laughed at something. But she wasn’t alone.

A girl with long blue hair stood close—too close. She traced her fingers up and down Vi’s arm, her nails dragging over the inked skin like she had every right to touch her. Vi smirked, that signature, cocky grin that made your heart race earlier in the night. But now, it only made your stomach twist.

Then, before you could even process what was happening, Vi grabbed the girl by the waist and pulled her in. Their lips crashed together in a deep, messy kiss—not just a casual peck, not like the ones you and Vi had shared. This was something more. Their bodies were flush, Vi’s hands gripping the girl’s hips, their mouths moving like they’d done this before.

You felt a lump in your throat, but not because you were heartbroken. No, this wasn’t heartbreak. It was disappointment.

Because everyone was right.

Vi was a player. A flirt. She wasn’t the kind of girl to settle down—not even for you.

Without a second thought, you turned away, pushing through the crowd with more force this time, ignoring the people who grumbled or stumbled in your wake. Vi didn’t even see you.

By the time you reached the car, Ekko and Jinx were already waiting.

“You good?” Ekko asked as you slid into the backseat.

You didn’t answer. You just stared out the window, watching as buildings and trees blurred past. The streetlights flickered across your face, casting shadows that stretched and disappeared.

You didn’t cry.

You didn’t even feel angry.

You just felt disgusted.

For the first time in two years, that familiar, suffocating feeling crept back in—the one that made your skin crawl, the one that made you want to disappear.

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