#Gods this is gonna be another hell of a ride

[chaosandwolves]

Ok, so

Ep 07x04 - Buck, bothered and bewildered

Possibly referring to the song

Bewitched, Bothered, And Bewildered by Ella Fitzgerald

Some lyrics:

Men are not a new sensation I've done pretty well I think But this half-pint imitation Put me on the blink

Lost my heart, but what of it He is cold I agree He can laugh, but I love it Although the laugh's on me

He's a fool and don't I know it But a fool can have his charms I'm in love and don't I show it Like a babe in arms

Love's the same old sad sensation Lately I've not slept a wink Since this half-pint imitation Put me on the blink

But I'm like sweet seventeen a lot

"Couldn't eat, was dyspeptic

Life was so hard to bear

Now my heart's antiseptic

Since you moved out of there

Romance, finis, your chance, finis

So this ep will be focused on Buck

We know he's - yet again- on a self discovery journey but - hopefully- finally reaching the turning point

This whole song is very much Buck like... "lost my heart but what for", "Love's the same old sad sensation", "but I'm like sweet 17 a lot"

That's one side of it

The other is being stunned and revived by someone

I'm wondering if he maybe has a bi re-awakening

Some guy he absolutely crushes on and only then does he realize that... Actually if I can have sex with guys, why not have a relationship with them... Maybe this will change something...

And he finally, very slowly, starts to realize something

Or

It's all just about Natalia and him realizing that it's not it and he was just a little bit bewitched

Cause the "bewitched" is missing in the title and that means that he's not anymore but now he's

Bothered - cause he fell into the same pattern like always

Bewildered - cause something is dawning on him

Still choosing a song with the line "Men are not a new sensation" is WILD

-

Episode 7x05 - You don't know me

Possibly referring to the song

You Don't Know Me by Ray Charles

To you, I'm just a friend That's all I've ever been No, you don't know me

I never knew the art of making love Though, my heart aches with love for you, yeah I'm afraid and shy, I let my chance go by A chance that you might love me too

You give your hand to me, and then, you say goodbye And then, I watched you walk away beside the lucky guy I know you'll never know the one who loved you so No, you don't know me

I mean this screams Eddie pov

If Buck does have a bi thing going on...

Eddie would possibly be like... Oh so it would've been a possibility after all?

But now I'm too late

And he obviously only ever saw me as a friend

I pray to all the TV gods this will result in a talk with either Karen or Maddie

Cause even though we all agree the man has already realized his feelings for Buck

If there was a bi thing... that would change his perspective

But he'd also be afraid

Thus a talk with either a competent queer person (who is not the 118) or someone who knows a side of Buck he doesn't and knows if that could actually still be a real possibility

But honestly that's just what I wish for myself here

Anyway

I think though that watching Buck with Natalia, it makes Eddie's heart ache and Marisol will just be another Ana... Just a way to do what's expected of him, what's right, what seems good

But also I feel the "You don't know me" directly relates to the "She sees me"

So I feel... Maybe something happens and - like always- Eddie is there and giving Buck exactly what he needs cause he knows and sees Buck

Maybe Buck makes a queer related joke... Something along the lines of...

Haha wouldn't it be easier if you liked guys, we could just date each other!...

and Eddie answers "I'm afraid, you don't know me that well"

Ok I'm venturing into fic inspo now

But I think the contrast of these two songs is so interesting and the way they relate to Buddie SO HARD

And I will not stop talking about that god damn "Men are not a new sensation" line

Anyways we all didn't want to clown again but I'm afraid the clown train is boarded and rolling and it's a party

[blueberryblogger]

just saw someone recycling ye olde "X character doesn't read as Y identity to me, someone who doesn't & has never held that identity & thus am not as intimately familiar with mannerisms, tropes & characterizations that are typically associated with Y identity. There is no evidence for X being Y and you guys are acting insane."

like. do you understand that you are using the EXACT SAME excuse that other people are using to shit on YOUR headcanon that you're so attatched too because it has so much evidence?

did it ever cross your mind that it would probably be harder for you, person who isn't X, to pick up on subtler tropes & identifiers of X that you've never experienced because you aren't X?

like you get how it sounds like you're shitting on other wueer people?

[nemo-of-house-hamartia]

Ngl

I rewatched Kingslaive a grand total of 4 times during the two flights I was on yesterday.

Nyx got me.

Nyx got me and he got me BAD.

THIS GUY RIGHT HERE. HE GOT ME SO BAD, HE IS ON MY MIND 24/7, AND THAT'S. A LOT.

I NEED TO PROCESS THIS.

[kithtaehyung]

broken, pt. 1 (3tan) | myg

title: broken (pt. 1) pairing: 3tan!yoongi x reader(f) series:masterlist | three tangerines | fireworks | house party | basketball | stay | sidewalk talk | friends | dalo | like that | anytime | sundress season | yoongi’s interlude | forfeit | flutter | video call | busted rating/genre: m (18+) ; angst , fluff ; brother’s best friend au, implied age gap au summary: chilling conversations prolong things even further… until everything goes to hell. note: this is only one half of what was supposed to be a whole chapter! broken, pt. 2 will come out after i've had time to make it something i'm proud of. trying to rush everything out didn't do any favors, so hilariously and ironically, broken is broken up into two hahaha. warnings: language, angst, tension, yoongi’s pov is longgg, alcohol consumption, tobacco mentions, bro🥲, yoongi in the studio😩, the studio boys make another appearance👀, …someone else makes their first appearance👀👀, scuffles, tense situations, did i say angst?, water bottles get their own warning, long hair yoongi, basketball yoongi🫠, crying, bro a ha ha, jimin has tats and he’s not afraid to show them, the chains stay on(???), …bad boy yoongi😀👍, honestly he is on another level of warning here don’t perceive me💀, the fluff is fluffing here like what, backstory we’ve been waiting for😗, yoongi on the phone, hand holding :’)), kissing :’)), oh god the kissing❤️‍🩹, there’s just a lot in both parts i'm sorry y'all playlist: broken (lp) drop date: dec 3rd, 2023, 4:00pm est word count: ...19.1k 🚶‍♀️

-

-

Words abandon you.

They stand far from your form, pitying observers of your decaying state in front of the man you’ve been lying to. At once, you feel completely alone, not even Yoongi’s lingering presence helping when those eyes are piercing through time and space. Everything you’ve experienced over the past two years slings across your vision, from the first time you left your house in the pouring rain to get to Yoongi’s, to the car ride back you just took with his kiss still on your lips. 

All of those moments shattering into dust around your heels. 

Your feet make lines in them when you move to close the front door, something leaving your mouth before you can judge if it makes sense, “About what?” 

Zero sense. Absolute zero sense. Which your brother has absolute zero patience for. The drone in his question hits you like a punch to the gut, “Really.” 

“Just out late, is all,” you grumble, trying your best to not acknowledge an atmosphere so tense it’s almost crowded. “Jimin had another party, remember?” 

“Course I do.”

Huh? Wait. Why does he sound so—

“I was there.”

Dread launches up your veins, rocketing right to your heart in the middle of a pulse. He was there? You saw his car when Yoongi pulled up close to the house. He was there? When the fuck did he arrive? Oh, fuck, if he got there early enough… did he see you… and Yoongi…

No. There’s no way. Because one, Yoongi parked far down and around the corner. He made sure not to be close just in case you two could be spotted. 

With a thought you really cannot afford right now, you also assume he stayed that distance just so that he could pin you against his car. Fucking hell, focus! Upping the strength of your resolve to match cardboard, you lamely stall in your hunt for clarification, “You were?” 

“I was.” 

The watch on his wrist glints in its twist. When aggravated veins stare back at you, it’s obvious your brother is on the edge. Because he is deathly calm. “So where’d you go?” 

You blink, not having expelled a single breath since you stepped foot inside. 

Does he not know? Or does he know and he’s just waiting for you to finally spill? With all the hope in the universe, you yearn for it to be the first one. Because you cannot deal with a fallout right now. Not right after what happened with Yoongi. 

It’s just not the right time. 

“Yuri’s,” you blurt, finally kicking into gear and strategizing how you’re gonna finesse this. “She came and got me.” 

Your sibling just stands there, eyes a solid beam before he sighs at clasped wrists. 

Here it comes. He’s gonna ask why you didn’t say anything. Like he always does because for some reason you’re still not a true adult to him and he has to keep tabs on you at all times and you can’t just sneak around with his best friend in peace—

“K.” Your eyes shake once. “Just tell me next time.” 

And just like that, your brother vacates the foyer, dark dress shoes clacking as he retreats back into his room. Leaving you standing in silence. 

All the words around you just as speechless. 

Just like that, you’re gone again.

After watching you leave and wishing you didn’t have to, Yoongi shuts his door to rest ponderous thoughts on worn wood. Eyes closed and a storm on his mind’s horizon.

Just a little longer. He hopes you’ll understand. This is just something he needs. More than anything else. 

Exhausted, he peels himself from the door, meandering through the bog of his living room. Trudge, trudge, trudge to the dining table, skirting fingers along the edge and noting that it feels different than before. 

At least something in his apartment has changed for the better. 

Who would’ve thought that table would witness both an end and a beginning. That it would see the worst and best of him. If it was ever called to stand, there’s no doubt that it could recite all his failures and shortcomings. But he hopes that it would also attest to how much he’s fucking tried. 

As much as Yoongi wants to throw it out, he hasn’t. Because despite being withered to hell, all it needed to recover was the new company of a familiar face. 

And a little bit of summer rain. 

It watches as his thoughts move on, and soaks in the blues and pinks of sunrise as he crosses into the bedroom. At the feel of your lingering presence, Yoongi gnaws on his lip. 

What the fuck does he do now? The moment you leave, he wants nothing more than to have you back in his bed. It’s the one fact that he has come to fully acknowledge. Because there are many times you’ve caught him slipping. But when you’re lost to your dreams? Visibly at peace and safe under his sheets? That’s when he can’t even think straight. 

How your serenity throws him into disarray, Yoongi has no fucking clue.

But he can’t afford these feelings right now. Because how can he want you close while being the reason for this distance? Make it make sense. Don’t be a fucking hypocrite. Tsking, Yoongi once again accepts the consequences, heading to his bathroom before going back the fuck to sleep. 

Lies. Who is he kidding? There’s no way his rest will be the same without you. Especially since he doesn’t know when he’ll get to see you next. 

There is a way to remedy that. To put an end to your time apart. But Yoongi’s been so in his fucking head that it’s chaining him down and pulling taut. No matter how much he struggles, he can’t break free, and it’s driving him to the brink.

But last night? With you? Half moons mar his palms as he stands. Staring. Branding that whole memory into his heart.

After three months of questioning his existence. 

All it took was your soft hums to give him a reason. 

And you won’t ever know how much that meant to him. Not until Yoongi finally decides to tell you. Which will most likely be never. Maybe that’s why this time tears at his chest more than all the others. Maybe that’s why he stood in his doorway longer than usual. Maybe that’s why he can’t quite carry the weight in his chest.

Dumping himself on dark mountains—creations of his and your design—Yoongi buries his face in those valleys. Inhales those aromas like some hit he can live off of for however many days left he needs. 

Desperately grasping for a fading world where only you two exist. Drifting. Dreaming. Disarmed by a vibration on his nightstand.

The fuck.

Who is texting him this early. There are only a few people he has notifications on for wait it’s probably you saying you’re home.

Peeling himself off the sheets with a groan, Yoongi simply shifts his upper body to reach for his phone, squinty-eyed as he checks his screen.

And he doesn’t see your name.

Dumbass: 1 New Message

But your brother’s.

What the hell does he—

Dumbass [07:30]: We need to talk.

…Shit.

Yoongi grips his phone in panic, ice water streaming through his veins and mind set ablaze with potential scenarios.

He’s awake. You went home. And he’s awake. Fuck, did anything happen? Did you say anything? What are the chances this text means he found everything out? 

Shit. 

Does Yoongi answer now? Or does he sleep and pretend that this is just a text and isn’t a problem at all? Think. Your brother may not even be referencing you, or him. Right? It could be something completely different. 

Why can’t he fucking move? 

Every regret Yoongi’s kept at bay floods his brain, crashing into assumptions of your mental state and creating a massive whirlpool of dread. Just answer. Don’t answer. Just answer. Don’t fucking answer. Suddenly, another alert lights his home screen and it’s a call oh fuck—wait… It’s Jungkook? 

Why not. Sure. What’s one more issue. 

Picking up, Yoongi runs hard fingers through his hair as he answers.

“Hey, you coming?”

“Huh?”

“We have that session in thirty.”

The what. The session? Oh, fuck. The session. Yoongi completely forgot they had a recording booked today because they were so hyped last night to get a date for the release party shit. Vacating his bed, Yoongi answers with a low, “Yeah, I’ll be there.” 

“Yeah, don’t be late. It’s those guys from before.” 

Fuck, it’s that one. The dudes that stopped by the studio just as things were wrapping up, shocking everyone when they scheduled some time. Highly successful musicians and performers booking something with a no name studio? Things are rolling in the right direction and coming along fast. 

But as things go. If they don’t take this shit seriously, everything can crash just as quickly.

“Heading out,” Yoongi finally says as he yanks a hoodie from his closet, and a loud vibration against his ear makes him flinch. 

Dumbass [7:40]: Heading over

Fuck!

“You okay?” 

“Shit, yeah.” Yoongi grips soft material before his phone hits his desk with a thump. Hastily dressing, he grunts, “Maybe. Might be like two minutes late.” 

“Nah, come now.” 

He’s heading over? Your brother? If that’s the case, there’s no way he doesn’t know. 

Fuck, relax. Don’t overthink. If anything, there wouldn’t have even been a heads-up. Yoongi figures he’d just find out as soon as he’s thrown against a wall. Or the ground. Or right onto his coffee table that this very guy helped pick out. Shit, he needs to know but he doesn’t wanna find out. 

But nevermind him. Are you okay? Swiping his device, Yoongi quickly types a text before fast-walking out of his room, going on autopilot when he assures into his receiver, “I’ll get there.” 

Yoongi [7:42]: Going to the studio

“On time? You better!”

Goddamn, he’s juggling too much right now. 

As Yoongi breaks into the dining room, he hears a rustling on the line before other voices jut through the speaker. Sounds like Hobi and Joon are already there, and the next thing said further spikes his stress level another peak, 

“We’re already cutting it close with the prep.” 

Fucking hell, the prep. The mics, the tracks, the setup. They forgot to do all of it. Something inside of him starts snarling and almost pounces through the phone, “Fuck, we should’ve been ready already.” 

“Shit, I know.” 

“We can’t keep doing this.” 

“Dude, relax, I get it.” 

“Do you? Cus this is… Fuck.” 

“Yeah, yeah, we’ll get it done but it’s gonna be tight. Hey, where’s the… Damn it, what’s it called?”

Frustrated and rummaging through his pantry, Yoongi knows he sure as hell didn’t think about anything else as soon as he heard you crying on the line. If he had remembered while leaving the studio, he could’ve spared a brain cell to rush everyone back in. “The what.” 

“The… The overhead mic for the drums.” 

Of course, he’d repeat every decision he made last night. Over, and over, and over again. But any of them should’ve remembered this step before leaving, which pisses him off. The studio’s lack of experience is showing and it’s making him nervous. 

And Yoongi still doesn’t know what’s going on with his best friend. 

“We need two overheads for drums,” he corrects while swiping a water bottle from the counter. And he’s about to rattle off where they are when he feels another long buzz. 

Dumbass: Incoming Call 

Of fucking course. 

Mind whirring so hard he can feel steam, Yoongi quickly recalls where the mics are, “They’re somewhere in the back by the amps, but I gotta take this so I’ll see y’all there.” 

“Wait, where are the—”

Nope. Kook’s just gonna have to figure out whatever he’s asking on his own. Switching calls, Yoongi answers while opening his door, hastily putting out the food and water he grabbed from the kitchen. 

“Hey.” Fuck, is his voice shaking? What the hell is he gonna be faced with in the next few seconds? Can he freeze time and rewind and keep last night on repeat? “I’m about to head out.” 

“Don’t leave yet, I’m coming.” 

“No, just”—Yoongi dashes back inside before grabbing his wallet and keys from the bar—“You good? I can’t be late.” 

“Don’t lie. Y’all are done, right?” 

Don’t lie. Yoongi feels like hurling. 

“We got another project,” he huffs as he meets sunrise again, blazing a trail through his corridor and rounding the corner to his car. “A band’s coming in for a session.”

“Shit.”

There’s a pause on the line. And it’s the first bit of silence Yoongi’s had since he got the first bone-chilling text. Is his secret safe? Are you okay? Should he work extra late and run from a problem yet again? He’s very good at that. Running. If there was a medal for distance ran from issues, he’d be on the podium for both gold and silver.

“Okay, fine.” 

Relief is temporary. This could just be him biding his time in order to figure out what to do. Or maybe he truly doesn’t know what’s going on and Yoongi has a bit more uninterrupted time with you. 

Delusion is a great place to stay.

In any case, his friend’s behavior is alarming. What’s he doing up this early? And why is he wanting to swing by so bad if not to slice him into tiny pieces? Nerves slow on the downslope, Yoongi shuts his car door and lends his ear, “But serious, are you okay?”

“I just… Tch. I can’t even say it.”

He lets his friend go through a series of small sounds on the line, pulling out of the lot and hitting the road with tire squeaks. “What’s up,” he finally pushes, looking sideways and remembering the car ride home. 

There was no way Yoongi was gonna say no to you. He didn’t in this universe, and he’d bet his whole life he doesn’t in any other one, either. Not when your wings looked like you hadn’t used them in months.    

Pained, Yoongi hopes you’re completely fine and sleeping. Tucked away in a bed that captured part of his heart, visiting him in your dreams so that some version of him can be at your side. 

“Everything, Yoong.” 

But, as it so starkly turns out, he has to deal with reality. And with the fact that you’re just as far away as you were before last night. Maybe even further out of reach. 

So, so far away. 

“There’s a ton of shit, but. Fuck. Guess we’ll have to wait.”

Right now, deal with the studio prep and get through the session that will probably take awhile. After that, meet up with your brother and hope to god he doesn’t know. “K.”

“Just lemme know when you get back.”

Then, when all of that is done, Yoongi will be alone. Staring into the night and trying his hardest not to give up on himself again. “Yeah, I will.” 

“No running.”

“K.”

When the call ends, Yoongi lets out the harshest breath he’s ever let out in his life. Hoping you went right to sleep without dealing with any of that. 

“How did that sound?” 

Looking into the recording room, Yoongi raises a thumbs up as Hoseok clicks back to the beginning of the track. At their side, Namjoon hits a button on the console before speaking into a microphone, “Y’all wanna come hear it?” 

“We can move on. Wanna get the doubling done.” 

Huh? They’re gonna move onto vocal doubling already? With a few blinks, Yoongi think it’d be better if they—

“Okay!” Jungkook agrees from the couch, cutting out any other thoughts. “If any of you need adjustments, let us know.” 

“Yeah, actually, can one of you come switch this out?” 

Joon throws a suggestion over his shoulder, but Yoongi is already heading for the booth before his name is even mentioned. 

Get everything done smooth. Stay disciplined. Be professional, goddamn it.

Entering the soundproofed room will always make him want to occupy the mic instead. That feeling hasn’t gone away, and there have been countless nights where he’s spent time just sitting in this very space, visualizing what it would be like to work on this side of the glass someday. Deep down, Yoongi knows he could be somebody. But imposter syndrome runs deep. 

Avoiding cables strewn about the room, he offers his hands without a word, taking a guitar from the lead singer and making his leave—

“Hey.” He turns. “You’re good.” 

What? Where the hell did that come from? Did he even hear this guy right or was he just daydreaming again? Yoongi’s so thrown he can only stare with question marks for eyes. 

Amused, the singer simply points to the side of his beaming countenance. “You have an ear.” 

Huh. How the hell can this dude tell? All Yoongi’s done is indicate if a recording take was good or not, and given a few minuscule suggestions to the keyboardist and guitarist—instruments he’s well-versed in. 

Yet again, he’s so in his head that the man outright laughs, “Relax! You can talk to us like normal, you know. None of us care about etiquette shit.” 

“Shit, my bad,” Yoongi finally responds, instrument in his hands proving a little lighter. “Thanks.” 

“Of course.” Swishing long bangs to the side, the performer rests a hand on his hip. “We’re open to anything. We’d just tell you if your opinion sucks.” 

Eyes creasing with his lips, Yoongi puffs out a laugh. 

“Kidding. Only a little.”

Even though these people are world-renowned, they’re the first humble group to run through the studio. Everyone else has been either cocky, standoffish, or super opinionated, which made for unproductive hours.

Yoongi likes this change of pace. His shoulders start to feel composed, less scrunched than they had been since you left his place this morning. Comforted, he looks down at the guitar in his fingers.

Choosing not to say what he wants to. 

Should he? Nah. These guys know what they’re doing. Despite the nice offer to speak up, it’s not his place. Far from it. 

…But what would you tell him to do? What would you be proud of?

Committed to his answer, Yoongi grips the neck and decides without another thought, 

“Do the chorus again.” 

The whole studio stills. But all he’s looking at is the man in front of him, shaking his head when they ask, “Same way?” 

“Uhm. No.” As he hands the guitar back, Yoongi wordlessly checks if he can see the sheet music. When given the go-ahead, he scans the lines before pointing out a passage to note, 

“Mm. Here. Vocals are fine as is, but. Ride the build-up quicker and hit the next chord after a bit longer.” When he stops, he has to fight to ignore the eyes on him. There’s no doubt that his extended time in the recording room is being questioned, and his hand movements probably make him look stupid. “It’ll keep in time but hit harder.” 

Done. He said it. 

And the response that follows puts complete silence to shame. 

Instantly self-conscious, Yoongi swears he can hear Hobi’s pants shift in the control room through two closed doors shit he took it too far. Fuck, if these guys walk out now the studio is done for and he’ll be the only reason why—

“Well, goddamn. Let’s try that then.” 

Huh. They’re gonna take that? 

As he steps away, Yoongi feels slightly awkward doused in attention. Yeah, expressions seem like looks of approval, but they could just be polite. 

The man hums the chorus with Yoongi’s notes in mind, and his eyebrows tick a bit before he addresses the others in the room, “You heard him?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Yeah, we can try that.”

“Why didn’t you think of that, Woosung?”

Yoongi can’t keep his amusement under wraps as the singer laughs, addressing his keyboardist with a grin, “Damn, not even Sammy? Straight to Woosung, huh.”

“Sammy would’ve thought of it.”

Another bout of mirth spreads joy around the recording booth, and Yoongi shares a look with the singer before they both nod. 

“Let’s see how it sounds.” 

“K.”

Proud and adrenaline-filled, he turns to walk back to the door, head so buzzed he doesn’t know what to do. But when Yoongi can’t see into the control room anymore, he misses a stare through the glass.

A stare that lingers on him just a little too long. 

The rest of the session goes smooth, and Yoongi’s relieved that they haven’t asked him for anything else. 

After all. He doesn’t wanna push it, or step on Jungkook’s toes. What happened in the recording room only went down because you would have scolded him for not seizing that moment. And the suggestion he gave was lauded after the next take.

It was the first time since you kissed him goodbye that he felt a healthy pulse in his chest. Despite the chaos of the morning, amid the thoughts and worries penetrating his brain, you reached out and kept him steady in just the right moment. 

Fuck being his good luck charm. You give guardian angels shame and you don’t even know it. 

“Okay, we’ll take ten after this.”

Jungkook holds up an arm while agreeing, “Okay! We’ll save what we got!” 

Yoongi’s scanning the tracks when he feels hovering over his shoulder, and he already knows it’s the kid without looking. “Sup.”

“Nothing.”

“You sure.”

At this, Jungkook pauses before he sighs. “Yeah, it’s nothing,” he clearly lies. 

But Yoongi will let him figure out whether to run with that or not. He seems a little bothered about something, and it very well could be what happened in the booth. This is work, and they’re both adults. If he wants to talk about something, Yoongi will gladly have that conversation. 

Suddenly, a vibration erupts in his hoodie pocket, and his phone is fished out without him even thinking. 

Hustler: Incoming C—

Shit. You wouldn’t call him at work unless it’s urgent. Which is quickly throwing any possible theories about your brother not knowing out the window. 

But fuck, he can’t answer yet. There’s no way. Not only is he in very close range to someone you don’t wanna speak to right now, but he’d get blasted for being on his phone during a session. Hoping you can wait just two more minutes, Yoongi turns the buzzing off within his hoodie pocket, anxiously waiting for the take to start. 

Hoping to everything that Jungkook didn’t happen to see what was on his screen. 

As soon as everyone looks pleased—three takes and thirty minutes later—Yoongi quickly excuses himself from the control room. His head practically overheats on the way out back, but the gust of morning breeze serves to soothe it some. 

It’s been chilly lately. A bit grey. But whatever the weather has been outside, it’s no match for the atmosphere of his brain. 

Pulling his hood over hair he hasn’t cut in months, Yoongi looks around before ringing you up. Hoping that you’re good and didn’t have to go through a version of his panic earlier. 

Hustler: Outgoing Call 

Straight to voicemail? Shit.

Hustler: Outgoing Call

Fuck, still voicemail. Are you okay? On the phone with someone else? Did your brother actually end up finding out and things are worse than he thought? Clutching his phone, Yoongi glances up while giving it slight shakes, body on alert while deciding what the hell to do now. 

Maybe he can at least text you to ask what the hell happened this morning? Typing. Erasing. Retyping. Retrying. 

Yoongi [9:02]: Got a session today, doll. 

That’s what he had to say? That won’t do you any good, the fuck? Berating himself with a sigh, he takes a few steps while texting a follow-up. 

Yoongi [9:03]: Still going, but are you good?

Staring, it takes him a few seconds to decide if this is enough. If these two messages are gonna suffice to help him figure out what the hell he’s getting into later. 

It’s not. There’s too much he needs to know. 

Hustler: Outgoing Call 

When it doesn’t ring a third time, Yoongi gives up, cursing before turning and raking his hood off in distress.

Only to see Woosung materializing out of nowhere—relaxed, silent, and taking a drag. 

Shit. How much of that did he witness?

“Been there,” the man empathizes, blowing out smoke into crisp morning. After a swell of early traffic fills the alleyway, he continues, “In trouble?”

Great. With a sound of dejection, Yoongi answers to a stack of random boxes, “Might be.” 

“Don’t wanna commit anymore?” 

“I do,” Yoongi blurts without hesitation, looking right into eyes that have seen plenty more than he has. 

And it’s the first time he’s admitted anything out loud. To a stranger miles above him in status, no less. Hands stuffed in his pockets, he clarifies, “It’s just… There’s something I need to do first.” 

Wait a sec. Why the fuck is he talking about this so freely? This isn’t something he does. Privacy is practically his brand. So why is it easy to talk to this guy? It’s him, for fuck’s sake. But what’s done is done. Woosung probably won’t even remember this conversation even happened, or is already annoyed as hell he didn’t get a good read on him. 

To Yoongi’s surprise, his alley companion speaks again after another white wisp. “Mmm… Something you need to do?”

Well. Yoongi walked right into this one. Swallowing and knowing he can’t dip out, he sighs, “Some shit I wanna finish.” The smell of tobacco wafts around him when he looks at dulled skies. “Shit I need to get through.” 

An amused hum floats through empty space. “Been there, too.” 

Yoongi slowly turns to regard his client, watching as Woosung becomes very interested in wet concrete.

What kind of shit has this guy seen? Surely, he could have had some of the same experiences. The slight droop in his confident shoulders tells enough. But would he understand the exact same situation? 

No. At least, Yoongi hopes not. Quite fucking frankly, he hopes no one has had to go through the same shit that he has. 

“Let me know if you ever need help,” Woosung offers, shocking Yoongi to the point of speechlessness. As he drops his cigarette to squash it out, he runs a hand through wild dark locks. “We’ll be around again.” 

Wait. What? Yoongi can only blink. “Serious?”

“Yeah.” The man looks down the outside corridor, watching as people start heading to their jobs through a central courtyard. “Got a good feeling about this place.”

What does he mean by that. What can Woosung possibly mean by that what does he mean they’ll be back? To the studio? To the city? What’s happening. Yoongi simply lets a pause prevail before offering the only response he’s capable of,

“It’s the food next door, huh.”

That laugh has got to be top five in the world. Not as great as yours, but definitely up there in terms of what makes Yoongi feel like things are alright. Not that he’d ever admit that shit to anyone. Ever.

Mercifully, the conversation moves away from risky topics. Instead, there are talks about a tour one is planning for his band’s album, mixed in with mentions of equipment the other is saving up for. Then the rest isn’t about music at all.

Finally, it’s time for them to continue recording, so they know to head back inside. “Don’t wait,” Woosung advises as he turns on his heel. 

And Yoongi can only stare somewhere else. 

“If there’s something you need to get through...” 

Stare, and stare, and stare some more.

“Hit it until it breaks.”

Because he’s already aware. More than anyone.

As Woosung shuts the back door, Yoongi’s gaze finds the crushed cigarette at his side. Another reminder of how things were.

And a reminder that he’s still a fucking coward.

Hours later, Yoongi’s car awaits him in the lot. 

And when he realizes that you still haven’t responded, he shuts his door just a little too hard. 

Whenever his friend comes over for drinks, it’s always the same routine. 

Both of them don’t talk much, instead opting for a quiet greeting before someone dumps themselves on the couch while the other grabs a bottle and cups in the kitchen. As soon as glasses are filled, conversation sparks as a game plays out on tv—or a sportscasting show if nothing interesting is airing. 

But this time? None of it happens that way. Because when Yoongi opens his door, he’s pinned with a shadowed visage he's only seen piercing through others. 

And the whole arctic starts to seep into his bloodstream.

Raising a brow and giving space is his chosen course of action. Best to not disturb a beast if they’re already ready to lunge.

And his friend eyes him as he stalks into the house, scanning around in search of something—living room, dining table, even looking into the open doorway of the bedroom. 

Fuck. Relax. Don’t assume anything until things are on the table. Yoongi has got to pretend like tonight is normal and fine and that he’s obviously and positively not seeing and sleeping with his friend’s little sister. 

And that he most definitely didn’t eat you out where your brother is sitting now motherfucker he needs a drink. Or a smoke. Or both with a plane ticket out of the whole country. 

At least the television is already on. If it wasn’t for that ambiance, Yoongi’s head would be jam packed with every goddamn sound known to man. Including the adorable way you talk in your sleep, and how you strain so beautifully when you come fuck, fuck, fuck! Focus. 

What’s happened has happened. And what’s going to happen will happen. Whether it’s a consequence of his actions, or nothing to do with any of this at all. 

But when faced with everything smushing together at once? Yoongi will probably need to be revived no matter what the outcome. This is the most stressed out he’s been in years. 

Not only that, but his stress is more than obvious. Even now in the kitchen, he’s scanning through his bottles with a finger—an action he’s never done while sober since the choices are always predictable. Holy shit, he needs to pull it together. 

Has he ever been this panicked? Does he appear just as chaotic and disjointed as he feels? This is too new. This is very new and if he doesn’t regain control there’s no telling where this foreign road leads.

But the silence still remains as he turns. And apparently the road hits a dead end at his dining table. Since it’s occupied rather than the living room sofa. 

Sighing, Yoongi ambles to his friend, placing everything down with clinks and ignoring the way his furniture is getting burned through. Both whisky’s are ready. Yoongi’s already holding his. And your brother still hasn’t moved a muscle. Honestly, what the fuck is going on with—

“I went to Jimin’s last night.”

…What. 

Don’t react. He’s staring. Don’t fucking react. Take a drink. A sip. Pick up the goddamn glass. Doing so, Yoongi slowly brings the liquid to his lips, not quite following his own instructions as he asks behind a barrier, “How was it.”

His question is met with a laugh that isn’t funny at all. The kind that drags a finger along the chalkboard of your soul. And the next question directed his way pulverizes Yoongi’s denial,

“Care to share what’s been going on?”

He’s sick. Beyond sick. The room is closing in and closing in too fucking fast. Shit shit shit. There’s no way he saw. No fucking way. He parked down the street he deliberately stopped as far away as possible and you saw your brother’s car in your driveway. Did he get there after you left? And didn’t see you while also not hearing from hi—

“Why her, Yoong? Hmm?”

Fuck! 

Yoongi can’t feel the air in his lungs. Because there isn’t any. Just a barren wasteland of shriveled futures and cracks in the foundation of every relationship he’s had in his whole life. The millisecond before a crash and only his wheels spinning and spinning and spinning—

Your brother shoots out of the chair, making the glass in Yoongi’s palm feel infinitely more solid.

“I mean, fuck! After all the shit we’ve been through? You’re gonna go back to her?”

All the—shit, he can’t even—back to? Back to you? What does he mean by back to you? Does he know about the first ti—

Volcanic, the man interrogating paces beside the dining table. Back and forth, back and forth. A pause. Back and forth.

And Yoongi still feels frozen in time. Is this it? Is this when things come crashing down? Glass suspends in midair all around him; an orchestra trembles beneath his feet, waiting for the moment to rip into his rib cage with swift strokes and a flourish as he’s taken down. 

“Can’t fucking believe you.”

When Yoongi finally chooses to speak, what comes out only feels like a horrible attempt more than anything else, “Listen, it’s my fau—”

“What, you just decided to fuck that bitch again? Couldn’t stay away?”

Oh, fuck that. 

Wood scrapes into flooring as Yoongi vacates his chair, hard feet planted as he gets into the face of his best friend, his confidant, his day one. Only to speak so low only them two can hear, “How bout you use your fucking words already and I’ll tell you.”

“Yeah? Is that what you want?” They are only a breath apart. But no one’s going anywhere now. “Need me to spell it out for that fuckass brain of yours—”

“Say it—”

“Stop fucking your ex, dude!”

Yoongi’s back connects with the chair behind him, palms flinging back to brace himself through a jolt of pain. And his eyes go so wide they stretch at the edges.

…Motherfucker, what?

Your brother is not done in the slightest, but Yoongi can only stare as he’s being berated for something that is one-hundred percent news to him, too. 

“Everyone was happy when you finally left. All of us. Only for you to go and, what, get back with her?”

Nothing makes sense. This isn’t about you? Yoongi’s heart can’t even reset to start beating again. Everything is coming as shock after shock and there’s no way he can keep up at this pace.

His ex? Her? Where the fuck did that come from and why the hell does he of all people think that’s actually true?

“If you’re gonna be with her, you can count me out.” 

No. Never again. That would never, ever happen again. “The fuck are you even saying—”

“I’m not fucking joking, Yoong. If you’re seriously back with her then—”

“Look, I don’t know what the fuck you heard, but I’m not.”

“So everything I heard was a lie?”

“Huh?”

“He told me!”

He—who? Who the fuck would say that? And when how what the fuck and why? Yoongi stares, chest heaving with every inhale and exhale. Because he has a choice to make. Either he trudges into this lie and rubs sludge all over his bones, or he denies it like he wants because it’s not fucking true.

What the actual fuck. It’s already bad enough that someone sent this along the rumor mill. And it’s making him sick thinking about all the implications surrounding it. But it’s even worse that his best friend believes it so easily. He’s coming at him so quick without even asking if it’s true. 

The only silver lining—the singular bright spot in this hellhole—is that he can use it as an out. An out to protect you from wrath and further fury from your older sibling because if you were the rumor? He’d be laid flat on his floor next to a broken dining set.

“You gonna say anything or what?” 

Truthfully, Yoongi feels queasy knowing what he’s gonna do. But it’s for you. You, you, you. And for that, Yoongi will do anything. 

Even if it kills him.

“No, I, umm…” 

“No?” 

Just hurry up and fucking do it. 

Resigned, Yoongi lets the memories flood through. Every moment that’s haunted him from a distance charges forward as he surrenders to the pain of his past. “It’s—” Fuck, he can’t even begin to lie, head thundering, thundering, striking his heart in the rain. “I...” 

His friend halts. Tense before his shoulders fall back to normal. “You what.”

What the fuck does Yoongi do? What can he say when his brain is only firing up to beg him to run? Technically, he doesn’t have to say anything. He really doesn’t. But he can deflect. It’s what he’s best at, after all. He’s been doing it to you and he will do it again.

In the most defeated voice he can muster, Yoongi comes up with something that will placate his friend while still prolonging this horrid fib, “You don’t have to worry about that anymore.” 

“You sure?”

It’s true. More true than anything. “It’s over now.” 

A century passes. Then another. Then another. Every piece of furniture waits in silence as the television seeps back into his ears. 

Then his friend sighs, not looking back as he slumps into the same chair that you always occupy. And Yoongi hopes his sigh of conflicted relief isn’t witnessed. 

Following suit, he rubs his lower back before taking his regular seat again, not giving any shits about waiting to drink. 

His ex? 

As his throat warms, Yoongi starts to harden the more memories keep crashing into each other like jagged waves fuck he really hates how she was brought into this he swears as soon as he figures out who said this he is going to—

“Sorry.” Haze shattered, he lifts his gaze. “I’m so fucking stressed and hearing that last night just…”

“It’s done.” Yoongi reaches for the thick bottle, pouring more into his glencairn. Wanting to talk about literally anything else, he diverts the conversation, “But something else is up with you so say it.”

It works. The man inhales deep, rubbing his face with weary hands. When he rests elbows on wood, he finally talks about other things clouding his mind,

“Work is shit,” he groans downward. “They’re having me travel again.” 

“Domestic?”

“Yeah. But for longer. And I don’t…” Tapering off, he sits back, slowly playing with his glass. As if he doesn’t want to mention the next problem. 

When he finally does, Yoongi wholeheartedly understands the hesitation, “I dunno know what’s going on with my sister.”

Oh. Fuck, how the hell does he respond? Keeping his cool, Yoongi just repeats the question, taking out his phone and pretending to check his screen. “Your sister?”

“Yeah.” A sigh is sandwiched between explanations. “The past few months, I feel like.. They haven’t really been themselves.” 

A sudden crack splits him through.

“Not laughing. Not eating as much. Like even when they sound happy, I can tell it’s a front.. I don’t know.” 

The clunk of his phone hits the table very hard. 

No. No, no, no. Your texts have been so positive. So encouraging. Other than a few sad calls, you’ve been happy to hear from him just as he had been relieved to hear from you. Even in the car, you must’ve put your feelings lightly. 

Your wings. You’ve been enduring all that? For him? Yoongi’s heart rears its head, snagging one of his breaths and slamming both lungs into the floor.

And hatred paints his heart another shade darker.

“They finally went out last night, but. Didn’t come back until this morning.” Running rigid hands through his head, the man looks so pained. So helpless. “Same clothes, dude.” 

And Yoongi can only stare, feigning nonchalance but raging and tearing himself apart inside. “Mm.”

“I just… I know I suck at this, but. I don’t know what the hell to do. Or if I even do anything.” Your brother finally takes a swig, wincing at how much ethanol coats his tongue. 

Relax, relax, relax. As much as he wants to erupt on himself right now, Yoongi has to stay calm.

Not like he doesn’t know how. That’s usually how he operates, anyway. It’s hard to tell he’s struggling unless you look deep enough. And almost no one thinks to do so because his surface is all they want. 

But right now? He doesn’t think he can sequester this anger any longer. At him, his past, and his stupid present decisions. 

“Like I tried to say something but I just.. I felt like if I push too hard, they’re gonna shut down even more. Ever since that fight with Kook, it’s like..” 

Seeing an opening and keeping a neutral stance, Yoongi asks the most ironic question to date, “Are they seeing someone?”

At this, his friend shakes his head, eyes glued to dark amber liquid. When he answers, all the breaths in the world cut at once, 

“I think she feels all alone.” 

This hit is the strongest. Straight to the gut, breath stuttering and muscles clenching so hard they lock. It’s almost severe enough to affect how Yoongi feels around his eyes. 

“And it sucks not knowing what to do.”

Yoongi’s heart lurches, deflating and slipping out of the crack in his chest. Piercing on the jagged edges before slumping down onto a table that continues to judge him.  

You’re hurting. Your brother’s hurting. And it’s all his goddamn fault. Why can’t he just break free and admit shit? Why is he still haunted by the phantoms of his past? Why is he still so fucking weak? It’s clear that he hurt you. For months. You’ve been cheering for him that whole time while you’ve been visibly broken and it’s all because of his dumbass decision to—

“I’m heading out again.”

Yoongi raises his eyes. Because he can’t seem to move anything else. “When.”

Your older sibling takes a slower, more measured sip. Looking towards the channel playing in the living room, he answers, “After our game. Dinner Friday, game on Saturday, fly out Sunday.” 

“Mm. We’ll still be here,” Yoongi assures, keeping things as normal and neutral as he can. “Just like last time.”

How ironic. How hypocritical. He hasn’t been there for you in the slightest so how the fuck can he say that with a straight face. 

“Thanks. I know it’s a lot for y’all but..”

Not at all. Yoongi is more determined than ever to make everything up to you. It’s the least he can do after putting you through something he decided on the fly. 

On the run.

“Don’t worry about that,” he vows into his drink. Honestly, if you’ve been having second thoughts about this whole thing, he doesn’t blame you. Absolutely doesn’t blame you if you realize you’re better than this. But Yoongi’s at least gonna apologize in every single way he can. As soon as he possibly can. “We got it.” 

“K.” The man finishes his glass and goes to pour more. “Did I ever mention that she liked you?”

Now what— Coughing on whisky is a bitch and a half. Hitting his chest while both eyes squint from burn, Yoongi croaks out his exact thoughts, “What.”

At this, his friend finally breaks into his regular smile. Setting the bottle down with a hollow clunk, he points, “Don’t you fucking get any ideas. Jimin’s already on my shit list.” He scoffs out a laugh. “But it was obvious when we were younger.”

And Yoongi can only cough some more. He shakes his head through the sting, swallowing and trying to compose himself. He doesn’t know where the hell that came from, but he hopes your brother will understand when all is said and done. Even though he’s been the reason you’ve been so…

Yoongi almost fucking confesses.

“You’re a good person,” he blurts instead. Whether the guilt or last cough pushed it out, that’s still on the table. “You don’t suck at what you think you do.”

“You think so?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” 

The hell? Does this dude really not see how successful he is? How much he’s overcome and conquered and sacrificed? Truthfully, Yoongi wouldn’t be where he is today if not for your brother. Him. Jimin. You. Anybody. Which is what makes this ongoing betrayal… 

Unprecedented.  

“You’re the best out of all of us.” 

Your brother finally looks at him, though Yoongi isn’t doing the same. But he can still tell when a fist is held out for him to bump, so he does.

And they both share a drink in respectful silence. 

After a moment of them watching the tv, the man finally sighs. “Guess we did shape up pretty nice.” When he’s agreed with, he keeps going with a grin. “We were so fucking bad.”

Yoongi can only chuckle, much better memories fighting off the terrors. “Old me was a little shit.”

“You still are.”

“Says you!”

“I still am, too!”

Laughs precede big swigs of whisky and comfortable quiet. Bit by bit, shoulders start to relax with the surrounding air, and Yoongi lazily releases tension in his neck. 

After a few more pours, your brother decides to call it, using the bathroom before announcing that he’s gonna head out. Yoongi gets up from his chair to clasp hands goodbye, not expecting to hear one more plea,

“Break up with her, Yoong.” 

Shit. He sighs, and their conversation continues from the dining table to the front door. “It’s not like that.” 

“Yeah?” 

“It’s over now.” 

“For good?” As they stop beside the coat closet, your brother pins him with a look. “I was about to drive over and break down the door.”

Even though Yoongi shares a tsk with him, he can’t help but imagine what could’ve happened if that was the case. And it sends an unwanted jolt of chills. 

“Serious. I’m gonna keep saying this, but. she was just making you miserable, dude.” He slips on his shoes, smacking his foot on the ground to push one in place. “I’m sure it was good at first, but I mean… You gotta move on. You deserve better than that.” 

Anything would be better than that. Yoongi just disagrees with the whole deserving part. “I guess.” 

“You sure it’s over?”

“Yeah,” he assures, because that is something he intends to keep true forever. “It is.” 

“Good.” Keys jingling, your sibling then points into the open area with his whole arm, seven words leaving his mouth like ice, 

“Then get rid of that fucking guitar.” 

Ah. Among all the things. Of course he would bring that up, too. Jaw working, Yoongi looks away, now assaulted by all the torturous thoughts surrounding that painful reminder and fighting them off with no success. 

Get rid of it? He’s been trying. 

For three. Fucking. Months. 

“I might.” 

“…K.” 

And his best friend departs, leaving Yoongi inside and staring at the same black spot he’s kept in the corner for years. It has mocked him as he struggles. Laughed at him whenever he’s tried to throw it out. And aside from the times he’s made you feel better stinging himself on those strings, he has accomplished nothing except letting it win.

Pissed off and doused in guilt, Yoongi yanks himself away from the door, the instrument, and everything else except for his bed.

Keeping his shadow exactly where it stands. 

Yoongi knows he needs to talk to you.

But his phone exists somewhere on the other side of his bedroom door.

And he doesn’t have the strength to go get it. 

What time is it? 

All that greets him is darkness. 

Nothing new, but darkness all the same. 

Why was she mentioned? What does that mean? 

He needs to call you. He’s lying to his best friend. 

Her? You. His sheets still smell like you. 

Inhale. Breathe. Inhale. 

He needs to call you. But he’s so, so tired. 

And the darkness pulls him back under. 

Without even telling him the time. 

Buzzing. 

Faint, gentle buzzing softly lifts Yoongi’s eyelids before a loud series of smacks causes him to rush out of bed what the fuck? 

Oh. His phone fell outside. Fucking hell, his heart’s beating way too quick for that to be the only thing that happened. 

Head in his hands, Yoongi sighs deep before making his way to the dining table. And it takes all of his strength to bend down to reach for his phone. 

Hustler: Missed Calls (6)

Dumbass: 1 Message

Hustler: 3 Messages 

Chim: 7 Messages   

Chim: Missed Calls (3) 

Holy fuck. 

With only the light of his phone illuminating the dark, Yoongi rings Jimin up. His heart’s a little disappointed it wasn’t you calling just now, but it’s probably best to stay away while his brain is so scattered and torn. 

“Oh, fuck. There you are.” 

“Mm.” 

“Don’t scare me like that, bro. I was starting to get ready to drive over—” 

“It’s fine,” he juts in. “What’s up.” 

Alright, maybe he shouldn’t be an asshole. There’s no reason to let his lingering shadow from earlier control his temper now. Jimin’s just being himself, for fuck’s sake. 

“I, umm. I wanted to tell you I’m sorry.” 

Now that’s not what Yoongi expected at all. “For what?” 

There’s another pause on the line, and his reaction is immediate when he knows for a fact Jimin is fighting back tears. 

“I… I got so drunk last night, I—And I—”

Shit. A sinking feeling starts to weigh Yoongi down, his center pulling the rest of him in like a black hole. And he doesn’t need to hear the rest of this to know what this call is about. 

“He was looking for her, Yoong, and you weren’t there, either. He had this look, I—I couldn’t think of anything else to say in the moment and I told him—”

Jimin can’t even finish his confession. And it hits right in the gut. 

Despite his perceived persona, Yoongi doesn’t like hearing people cry. At least, if they don’t deserve to or don’t deserve to be sad—or if they’re you. He could care less about the rest.

But Jimin is one of the only people that can get him like this: eyes stinging at their edges and his chest concave. In the dark, though, no one can tell. No one can see him.

So he can openly swipe at his eyes before dumping tired limbs into a chair, catching his forehead in a damp palm. 

“I’m an idiot. I’m sorry.” 

Exhaling through his nose, Yoongi tries his best to calm his emotions. Because they are still raging and it’s going to take all of him to quell this tempest. 

Jimin knows more than anyone what this means to him. To you. The time you spent apart? If it wasn’t for his friend, Yoongi may have been in a much different position. If this was the only thing Park could do, then his effort has to be acknowledged. It worked like a fucking charm.

But goddamn, Yoongi wishes Jimin thought of literally anything else. He could’ve made up some random, some fling from another city, the damn studio itself. 

“Don’t worry about it,” he finally rasps out. “It’s just been a fuckin’ day.” 

Jimin sniffles before cursing at himself and, judging by the sounds on the line, Yoongi figures he’s opening his fridge. If he reaches for soju, that would not be surprising in the least, and now that sounds like a good idea.

“Same. Gah, I just… I should’ve warned you. I didn’t know he went over there.” 

“He told you?” 

“I called him after you didn’t answer earlier.” 

“Oh. Yeah, I passed out after he left.” 

“Ah.” 

Something shuts before there’s a crisp clink on the line, validating exactly what Yoongi was thinking. 

“I really am sorry. What did you end up saying?” 

“That it’s done.” 

A hum. 

“That’s very true.” 

There’s a question that Yoongi thinks to ask. Context that he needs. But as important as this information is, Yoongi doesn’t feel like talking about it right now. Or ever. But now still counts. So he switches the conversation over to something less daunting, “Practice still on tomorrow?” 

When Jimin laughs out of surprise, it gives Yoongi the smallest kick of energy.

“Ah, someone actually ready to go for once?” 

“Yeah. The plan is to make this game quick.” 

A hearty swallow spills out of the speaker before a hum follows, 

“Mm, that reminds me. Got something that might help with that.” 

What the hell does that even mean? “Huh?” 

“I’ll bring it over tomorrow. You might find some good uses for it.”

Yoongi rubs the grogginess still clinging to his face. “All these years and you’ve never given me a straight answer.” 

“Where’s the fun in that?” 

“Knowing the answer.” 

At least Jimin’s back in a good mood. Or a better state than puffy-eyed and regretful. He doesn’t have to share the pain in this, too. It was an honest mistake. 

“You’ll know it when you see it.” 

“Annoying.”

“Love you, too!” 

Yoongi’s huff billows through his nose, and Jimin’s energy almost brings enough strength for him to clear the table. 

Ehh. He’ll leave it alone. He’s been pretty good at that lately, too, no matter how early or late it is in the night. What time even is it? Checking his phone, Yoongi’s brows crease when he figures that out. Why the hell are they even on a call right now? “Wait, is it really three?” 

“Huh? Yeah. I’m telling you, dude, I was getting worried.” 

He was really about to drive over? “Sorry. I really did just pass out.” 

“Mm. Well, I’m gonna go do that now.” 

“K. Same time tomorrow?” 

“Ah, a little earlier. Just so I can give this to you before everyone else shows.” 

That just makes Yoongi infinitely more curious. “Seriously, what did you get?” 

“Relax! You will like it.” 

“Chim, I swear—”

“You’ll thank me later bye!”

As soon as Jimin disappears from the line, Yoongi is left alone again.

Exactly where he always ends up. 

Exactly where he doesn’t want to be. 

But now that he’s done dealing with those notifications, Yoongi roams lidded eyes over his screen again. 

Wait. You called him six times? Fuck. What did you text? Were you wondering where he was, too? 

Hustler [20:01]: HOLY FUCK!! my phone died after i tried calling you this morning and i just fully woke up to charge it😭 he’s not home so call whenever  

Yoongi clutches his phone a little tighter. 

He very much would’ve rather been in your bed with you all day. 

That sounds like fucking bliss. 

Hustler [23:37]: tried calling but he’s home now. are you ok?? idk what’s going on with him but i think we need to be careful

Shit, Yoongi didn’t get to tell you. You’ve probably been worried about that every second you’ve been awake today. 

And he couldn’t even make it out of his goddamn room to help. 

All he comes with is worries for you. What kind of shit is this? What is he even doing? He even outright told you that you were dating only for that to be ripped from your hands for months. Why are you still giving someone like him a chance? 

Hustler [23:40]: but all i wanna do is see you

Fucking hell.

Nothing in the world can stop his heartbeat quite like you can. With that smile, or those eyes, or the simple shit like this. Not even lightning can strike him the same way. 

Despite the consistency Yoongi has with admitting his own shortcomings, and despite the way he keeps reminding himself he doesn’t deserve you…

All he wants to do is see you, too. 

You’ve been more than he ever would’ve imagined—your consideration, your intellect, your mind. And there have been times when you’d look at him as if he was the center of your galaxy. 

After all this time. All these days and nights. 

You still don’t realize that he was destined to orbit you.  

It’s been decided long before his mind was made up—at least, the part of him that doesn’t traverse the dark side. His heart had been tugging him to you ever since that rainy day, no matter where he’s drifted or which direction he’s gone in. All of them lead back into your arms. 

But just like the feeling he gets walking into the recording booth, imposter syndrome eats him alive and doubt scavenges on what’s left. 

He will never be good enough for you. One of these days, you will realize that you don’t have to settle for him. It’s good now, but you’ll only give him so many chances, which he is swiftly running through at breakneck speeds. 

How fucking stupid. Having these thoughts while wanting nothing more than to hear your voice. 

Just like everyone else, you’ll eventually be done passing through. His winter will return after your inevitable departure, all the warmth you give focused on something else that deserves it more. 

Something that isn’t broken. 

Yoongi whips his head up at the sound of buzzing, noticing thin lines of light beneath his phone on the table. 

What. No way. 

From the rapid beats inside his chest, he shoots his hopes right into the dark. 

And they burst into beautiful sparks when he reads his screen. 

Hustler: Incoming Call 

But just like the streaks of color he witnessed with you on that balcony, his brightness is short lived. Because as soon as Yoongi answers, the way your throat constricts scorches his windpipe through.

And the first thing you attempt to get through makes his eyes shut tight. 

“Are we… is this over?” 

Fuck.

“I get it, if we are. If you—if you don’t wanna do this with me anymore.” 

Fuck. Fuck everything this is not happening right now. “Hold up,” Yoongi breathes, body on full alert. “What’s going on?” 

“I thought… When you weren’t picking up, I—”

“Breathe, babe,” Yoongi softens, hating, hating, hating himself all over again. “I passed out before you called. That’s it.” 

“Oh. Shit, I really thought—”

“You would know,” he whooshes, syllables squeezed out by the mountain of regret on his back. After hearing what he put you through? Hearing how you sound now? There’s no way he can do that shit again. No more disappearing from the grid because he can’t fight himself. “You would know if I was done.” 

Your sniffle sinks the ship with his heart inside. 

“Are you? With me?” 

Yoongi folds, fingers digging through his hair and blocking it in hard chunks. The amount of things he wants to say to you could wrap the whole world before repeating. But he settles with a truth he can say out loud, 

“No way in hell, doll.” 

Please. Don’t cry. Because he can only handle feeling his eyes sting so much in one night. There’s only so much he can take before he’s grabbing his keys and speeding over—friends and brothers be damned. 

“Okay… I’m just. It’s been a day.” 

That’s okay. 

Because he’s had a day, too. 

“I don’t wanna bother you with it, though, it’s so late.” 

Please keep going. 

Please don’t leave him alone. 

“Talk to me.” 

Like a gentle stream, your recap—though not ideal—washes away the weariness from Yoongi’s eyes. Lifts the weight he bears on his shoulders, even if just a little bit. 

You’re so good at that. 

“Well. Umm. He saw me coming home this morning. And, umm. It was weird. I don’t know why but I think we have to be really careful. And ugh, it—. It sucks because he’s going on a trip soon and I don’t wanna stress him out even more but I—” 

Shit, you’ve probably been holding all of this in ever since you got up. You don’t know that your brother believes something entirely different. But of course you’d be considerate, even now. That’s just who you are.

“I, umm. I feel so fucking bad about it but I don’t wanna mess him up right now. Or maybe he knows but just won’t say it? Fuck, sorry, I’m trying not—to—”  

The phone goes mute, and Yoongi’s head suddenly weighs ten times heavier. 

“He doesn’t know, babe,” he soothes, hating how he can’t be there to comfort you with more than his word and waves in the sky. 

If he was stronger, things could be different by now. Vastly different. Vastly better. You would cry less, he knows that for damn sure. Weak, weak, weak. That’s all he fucking is. 

The only one he seems to be strong for is you. “He came over earlier.” 

“Fuck, really?” 

“Yeah.” 

You pause, seemingly to roll this information around that beautiful mouth of yours, and Yoongi has the strongest yearning to kiss all your worries right out of it. 

“What did he say?” 

Shit. You’ll just have to forgive him later. Because Yoongi chooses not to tell the whole truth. You don’t need to bear the same worries as him, anyway. They aren’t yours. He will shoulder all of those on his own. Because he’s the reason for them in the first place. “Nothing about us.” 

“Oh, thank fuck.” 

Good. Your relief is all that matters. But Yoongi still feels bad for not being able to pick himself up. You could’ve known that a lot sooner if he was stronger. If he was better. “So don’t worry, doll.” 

“Okay. What about you? Are you okay?” 

Huh? Your questions catch him completely off-guard. It’s almost comical how his first reaction goes straight to a No. But sticking to his earlier stances, he won’t bother you with any of that. There is a truth that he can admit. One that’s always true and will continue to be so. “Just wanna see you.” 

And this is when his eyes slowly shut. Don’t. Don’t cry.

“Me, too, baby.” 

Hearing that? Chipped and broken from your lips? That is another thing Yoongi can’t handle. His heart beats once before it free falls, and he clutches his phone just a little tighter. 

Fuck everything. He’s gonna find a way to do this. All of it.

“I’ll figure it out.”

“You will?”

He’ll figure out how to move mountains to make it up to both you and your brother. 

“Just a little longer.”

He has to.

“Okay.”

Neither of you deserve this. And he doesn’t deserve either of you. Truly, the only thing he deserves is to be alone. And judging by the way things are going, it’s only a matter of time before you start resenting this behavior and leave, too. 

“Thank you.”

What? Something in Yoongi flickers, and he lifts his whole head to eye his screen. 

“For putting up with me.”

Oh. Of course you’d assume you’re the issue. Seems like you need the same type of assurance that he does. Both of you the same? Who would’ve thought his bruised soul would sync up with a perfect one like yours. 

At this, he holds his breath before chuckling soft. “This has been the highlight of my day, doll,” he admits, finally breaking into a tiny smile and sitting back.

“Really?”

Wait. There was another good part of his day. But he wants to save that for when he can tell you in person. “One of them. But you’ll hear about the other one later.”

“Boo.”

Cute. Wait, isn’t it absurdly late? You have to be up for work in mere hours. It’s a miracle you reached out when you did. “Don’t you have to be up soon?”

“A ha… Yeah.” 

“What are you still talking to me for?” 

“I miss you.” 

Well. That’s not something that he expected. And your admittance being so immediate actually sends shivers down his arms. 

Yoongi can only laugh to himself. He knew he had it bad, but this feeling is something else. “Don’t do that.” 

“Don’t do what? Miss you? Yeah, right.”  

God. You’re getting too fucking good at this. He’s gotta fight back or else his throne will be taken before he even sees you again. “Just a bad night to say it, doll.” 

“Why?” 

Perfect. “Cus I’m willing to get in the car.” 

“Fuck.” 

Yoongi happily lets his mouth slant when you groan, chuckling into the receiver and getting up to clear the table. When he flicks on the kitchen light, he doubles down, “Wanna try again?” 

He knows you’re gonna say no. Even though your brother doesn’t know, it’s definitely not a proper time to sneak you out—as much as he fucking wants to. Fuck, to be the one sneaking you out of your house… Maybe there’s another version of you both out there that’s done it. A version of him watching a version of you creeping out to his car, face shining in nightfall and etching a permanent smile into his heart.

“I hate you.” 

Yoongi should’ve expected that. The sudden laugh that flings out into his liquor cabinet ricochets off multiple bottles, and he shuts it while sporting a wide grin. “That’s better.” 

“Ha ha.” 

You’re smiling, too. Cute ass. Just the fact that he knows makes him excited for the future, and he’s determined to make it count. Make it worth it. You deserve every goddamn apology he can give. “I miss you, too, babe,” he whispers, grabbing the glasses from the table to wash in his sink. 

“Nu uh! You hate me, too.” 

Wait. Did you…

Did you just pout? 

Hell no, that’s outright cheating. That’s when Yoongi will never be able to win. Putting the phone down, he promptly states his new plan into a basin, “Nah, I’m going to sleep.” 

“Wait, huh? Why!” 

“Nothing.” 

“I swear to god—” 

“Nothing at all,” Yoongi lies, voice straight as he can muster while hot water runs over his hands. It’s a good kind of sting as his chilled skin adjusts, and he cleans one glass before he hears you ask in his ear, 

“Getting ready for bed? Or are you in the kitchen?” 

The smallest smile graces his face. “Guess.” 

“Kitchen.” 

The hell? “How’d you know?” 

“You’re always in there.” 

Can’t deny that. The glasses are both set to dry in the dishwasher as Yoongi’s amusement dies down, and his next comment flows out before he can think much of it, “You like to keep me in here.” 

“It does seem to be where we end up, huh?” 

“It does.” Which is fine by him. He’ll never forget all the times you’ve been in here. Your laughter and your storms, he will remember them all. 

“The world said let them cook.” 

Your giggles will be the fucking end of him one day. Fuck, he can’t wait to see you. He may even find a way to see you before the game. 

But for now, Yoongi will figure out how to talk to you, every day, no matter what. Texts, calls, whatever the fuck. The effort has got to show from now on. No more of this dark headspace shit. He needs to try harder and figure it out faster. For you. 

“Go to sleep, doll,” he huffs with full cheeks. 

After another adorable batch of sounds, you rustle on the line before sighing, 

“You better sleep, too.”

“I will.” 

With a blink, Yoongi notices two things. One, he just cleared his table and cleaned up without even thinking. And two, despite feeling like absolute shit the entire day and dreading the coming of night, falling asleep won’t be an issue. 

Because of you. It’s always you. 

Maybe there’s a way out. Maybe he can finally face it all and come out on the other side. “Talk to you tomorrow, babe.”

“I’d like that. And you’re sure he doesn’t know?”

Just like that, the demons are knocking again. Closing his eyes, Yoongi murmurs into the receiver, “I’m sure.” 

There will come a time when he will tell you. But that will be way in the future, when he is ready. For now, you’ll just have to trust that he’s telling the truth. Not the whole truth, but enough for it to calm your nerves. 

“Okay. Good night, baby.”

One more heartbeat to get him through the night. 

“Night, doll.”

When the phone cuts, Yoongi’s hand falls, his stare shifting straight to the living room. 

Right towards the corner that stares back. 

It’s been five days.

But it feels like you’ve aged twenty-eight years.

Ever since your brother confronted you—after your much needed reunion with his best friend—you’ve been floating through time. Lost. Confused. Wondering why that conversation went the way it did and gnawing at your sanity bit by bit. 

And even though Yoongi explicitly told you he didn’t say anything concerning your relationship, you still haven’t shaken that feeling. No matter where you are, who you’re with, or on a pretty Friday like this one, you feel… Strange. 

When you saw your brother waiting, you for sure thought you were gonna get grilled. It was a given you were gonna break as soon as he started asking deeper and more specific questions. The fallout was gonna happen in your own house right at your door. 

…So what in the fuck was that?

You shift your legs, the chill of the office failing to comfort you in your manufactured, building distress. 

Somehow, that version of the conversation proved much, much worse. Because now you’re spiraling trying to figure out why he just took your lie as the truth. Truthfully, you feel nauseous. And as much as you need to get some semblance of closure, you still feel hesitant. Because if he’s just biding time? He’s not just thinking about what to do with you. 

He’s thinking about what to do with Yoongi, too. 

This is so hard. 

The only thing—the only thing—keeping you grounded. Is Yoongi himself. 

Ever since the call you never thought he’d answer, you’ve been contacted every night. What was once days of radio silence quickly shifted to him reaching out however he could, hours of the day be damned. Just last night, in fact, Yoongi sent you texts at four in the morning, and you beam just thinking about what he said so casually.  

Yoongi [3:57am]: That keyboard I told you about is fucking dope. Just got it today and it won’t let me sleep lmaooo

Yoongi [3:58am]: I was gonna say sorry for texting but fuck it you’re getting all the updates :) 

No matter what it is, be it a text, call, or video chat, Yoongi seems fully committed and in the moment. Present. And it’s been… Really nice. If you didn’t have your brother’s shadow hovering over your brain, life would be practically perfect. 

Forcing yourself to actually work, you manage to get some small things done. Even the meeting you attend goes smoothly and you leave any outside worries on the other side of those glass walls.

So when you get back to your desk, an awaiting paper bag makes you pause. And your whole body prepares to weep.

Only one person has ever sent you food while you’re at work. And staring inside the parcel, you would’ve been able to tell who it was from even if said person had never sent any before.

There’s a small note on top of a to-go container—one that you immediately recognize as that super good restaurant next to Jungkook’s studio. 

What the hell? How did Yoongi know you wanted some this whole week but didn’t wanna risk being so close? With careful fingers, you pluck the tiny paper from the bag, opening it with care before your eyes get so teary eyed you can’t even read.

Tonight.  

This man.

I got the next one.

This wonderful, charming man. 

But you’re getting what I need so here’s the list:

Goddamn it, Min Yoongi. 

Seeing an actual list of food squeezes a laugh through your throat in a squeak, tears rushing out of your ducts before they’re hastily swiped. 

After five days. Yoongi really just sent you on a grocery run to surprise you with another meetup.

The gesture is so him that you cannot help but shake your head, ruefully huffing to no one and pocketing the note in your bag. And all your worries scatter even further. 

A dinner before the big game is risky, for sure, but at this point you couldn’t care less. Your brother has his own work outing tonight, anyway, and you are dead set on breaking all of this to him soon.

Even though you are very much unprepared. And he is going to lose his fucking mind if he doesn’t know already. Fuck.

You’ve had all five days to think it over. All the possible combinations and possibilities and outcomes. Some of them are extreme, some of them are hopeful. But for a majority of these projections, you have a feeling that none of you are gonna leave it without wounds. 

And you don’t know how you’re gonna save both of them if theirs are cut too deep. 

Regardless, that’s in the future. Not now. Right now, you are staying in the present and working like molasses until you can jet out the door, nary a care nor concern weighing on your heels.

Tonight. He’s gonna cook for you?

You’ll have the first substantial meal you’ve had in months.

Even though you want nothing more than to see Yoongi, your nerves are still buzzing and bumping into each other nonstop. There’s a lot you still need to know. Like why he was radio silent for months, and why your brother has been a little weird this whole week. 

Save it for later. Hopefully Yoongi will tell you why eventually. Or that gap will stay elusive to your brain forever.

Sliding into your car, you dump your bag in the passenger seat before pulling out the list, clutching it close and taking a leap that could either calm your nerves or spike them. 

Yoongi: Outgoing Call 

When he picks up, you legitimately don’t answer. Because even after all this time, you still can’t quite function when you hear that deep voice addressing you directly. 

“Hey.” 

All you have to do is say something. Anything. You could rattle off the damn list, stumbling over all the syllables just like they’re currently smushed together in your fingers. 

But you don’t snap out of this trance until he speaks again. 

“Hello?” 

“Hi,” you squeak out, clearing your throat while watching other people walk to their cars. “Hi, sorry. I just umm.” 

You just what? Somehow lost all sense of language just from him saying hi? Get it together. Stop that racket in your stomach and say what you were gonna say. “Thank you for the food. I’m off work now so I’m heading to the store.” 

He simply huffs a quiet laugh.

“Get whatever you want, too. Just let me know how much it is.” 

Huh. Did Yoongi just say all those words in that order? If you heard him right, forget the damn food. You’re close to speeding directly to his place and breaking down the motherfucking door. “Oh, I definitely will,” you respond with instead of hauling ass, the words pushing through your lingering smile. “And don’t worry about that, I got it.” 

“You sure?” 

“Yeah! I got big girl money now.” 

Yoongi laughs again on the line, fuller and closer this time. Are you on speaker? 

“It’s like that? Maybe I should work there, too.” 

“Oh, you’d hate it,” you giggle, scheming hard in your head for tonight already. Pretty bubbles in your ribs lift all your spirits. “I’m actually pretty bossy here.”

The groan that seeps through your car should be illegal. 

“That is literally what I’ve been wanting to see.” 

It’s your turn to chuckle as you finally make your way out of the parking lot, heading right to the market that you know for a fact has all of what he’s asking for. “I’m only that way at work, though.” 

“Do better.” 

Your immediate response makes his laugh crunchy in the speakers, and you go along with him because life is good. Life is fucking great right now. “Never mind, you’re paying. And I’m getting stuff for dessert now, too.” 

“What? Who said anything about dessert?” 

“Me,” you huff out in pride. Since he wants to see that demanding side come out so bad. With a fleeting thought, you think about what it could be like if you end up confident enough to— 

“I’m starting to regret this.”

“Regret what?”

“Everything.”

Liar! Your cheeks hurt as you look both ways before making a turn. “Can’t fool me. You’re excited.”

“I am.”

The way there was no hesitation sends shivers up your spine. But it’s partly because you thought you’d be faced with another joke or dig. Not a sudden one-eighty. Stopping at a light, you clear your throat before shyness puffs right out of it. “Well, good,” you state while checking your mirrors. “Cus I am, too.” 

“That’s a given, though.”

“Excuse you.”

Yoongi laughs before you hear the sound of cabinets, and you wonder which ones he could be touching. 

“Mm, babe. One more thing.” 

Can he stop making your heart beat two times at once? “Hmm?”

There’s a little bit of pause, followed by the clank of a pan on metal. When you hear another hum, you wonder what he could possibly—

“I think we’re out of condoms.” 

Who is out of what. If you weren’t still at a red, your foot would’ve slammed on the gas because what the fuck! All you can manage out are sounds without substance, random syllables, gibberish. Nothing is computing in your head. 

“Wait. Or are we?”

Okay, Yoongi needs to stop with that two-letter word before your behavior turns downright criminal. With as much seriousness as you can manage, you accuse, “Are you just fucking with me?”

And his response launches you forward just as the light turns green, 

“Yeah. That’s why we’re out of—”

“Alright!” you cut in, stopping stopping stopping him because for whatever reason, this conversation is too much. Despite seeing this very man naked in many, many ways, just having this talk with him is making you shier than ever before. “Guess I’ll, umm. Get those, too.”

“Nah, you don’t have to.”

“Oh. Found some?”

“No.”

Wait. If he didn’t find some why is he telling you that you don’t have to— “Oh,” you peep in realization. A very sudden, jaw dropping realization. “Goddamn it, you’re too distracting now, bye.”

And he finally breaks with laughter that’s contagious as hell. Which isn’t fair when you’re pretending to be upset with him. Even when you can’t see Yoongi, you can imagine the way his cheeks rise and his eyes crease. The way the whole room illuminates when he’s packed with happiness. 

And you want that to be the case forever. 

“You’re just lucky I’m not there with you.” 

“Yeah, you’d be annoying as hell.” 

“Damn!” 

As the market comes into view, your teeth shine as you grin, roasting this man quickly becoming one of your favorite pastimes. 

“To be fair,” you start to amend, fingers drumming on the wheel as you decide whether or not to say what you want. After deciding that there’s no wrong answer here, you softly admit, “I really do wanna get groceries with you.” 

There’s no words that come out in response. Only the slight movements of shuffling and water running and what could be more cabinets closing. But you don’t really know for sure—

“It’s gonna happen, doll.” 

You clutch the wheel.

“Cus I want that, too.”

One of these days you’re gonna see this damn cat again. 

Foot connecting with Yoongi’s door, you grunt as multiple bags burden your limbs, pride digging divots along your arms—second trips be damned. 

It doesn’t take long for him to let you in anyway, and you swoon at the way he doesn’t even ask while taking some of your baggage. But the kiss on your cheek makes your heart bang into everything between the front door and the kitchen. It’s so distracting that you barely smell the spices greeting you, too. 

“Thanks for getting all this,” Yoongi says as you both cross onto tile.  

“Of course.” Lifting the much lighter load that you have, you revel in the small thumps and thuds on his counter. Not really knowing why. “Let’s put this up before I yell at you.”

His laugh comes out in hisses while you both start reaching into bags. “For what!” 

“Sent me everywhere to find some of this shit.” 

“You could’ve asked somebody.” 

Feeling a bit silly and high off his presence already, you repeat his words in a goofy mocking tone, and the way he blows out air sends your belly fluttering. 

And just like that, things are back to normal again. No worries about your sibling, or work, or anything else looming by the door. Inside is what matters, and the whole apartment fills with jabs and jokes as groceries find their homes.

But Yoongi finds a bag you had separated from the rest, and you snap your mouth shut when he looks inside, something rising in your core when he turns to you with an eyebrow raised. And a smirk so salacious it makes you quiver. 

“What about it,” you squeak out, crumbling when he simply takes the bag and flings it through his bedroom door. “You said you—we were out, so…” 

“That’s a big box, doll,” he points out on his way to your tightly bitten lip. Mouth slicing through your sanity, he approaches you with a glint in his eyes. “Got something you wanna say?” 

“Nope,” you whoosh out oh god he looks way too hot in those sweats wait is that a growing bulge? “Although I will say it took me forever to pick out what—”

Sparks ignite your hands when your lips are claimed, launching them into his shirt and tugging him backward because you’ve been waiting way too long to kiss the shit out of him. 

And Yoongi responds in kind, pinning you to his fridge and so, very obvious that he’s been waiting for this, too. 

Heaven probably wonders how to replicate this feeling. How to imitate this treasured yearning that only he can pull from the depths of your ocean. Deep, deeper, deepest. All these kisses. Your ascending affection. 

“As much as I wanna throw you on my bed,” Yoongi jokes, pulling away and giving your cheek a light tap. “I’m taking you somewhere.” 

And you’re so thrown from the impact that your brain mini-resets. “Huh? We’re leaving?”

“Uh huh.”

Hold on. Wait. Is this what he meant when he said he’s getting the next one? You’re going out to eat? Together? No. No, there’s no way. Yoongi knows that’s the worst possible thing to do right now, as much as the idea is sending your belly in a frenzy. “Are you sure? What about dinner? Won’t people… You know.”

“It’s ready already,” he reveals. “By the door.” 

Your head snaps to where he points out, even though you can’t see through the bar. “Really?” No wonder it smells like a cooking aftermath. All those smells twirling around your head. How did you not even catch the dishes in the sink? 

But hold up, you just bought a shit ton of food! “Then what the hell was the run for?”

Yoongi blinks. Then he does it again. Expression stone still, he responds as if you were privy to his plans this entire time, “I told you to get what I needed.” 

Your turn to blink.

“And I needed food.”

This man is going to be the death of you. Affronted, your jaw hangs before you grit through a smile that betrays you, “Oh, you—” 

“So thanks,” he quips through another tilt of his lips. “Let’s go, doll.” 

The begrudged sound that leaves you makes him kick his head back on the way out the kitchen. 

“Eat.”

The container on your thighs warms you through. “Now?”

“Mm.”

“I can wait,” you assure, watching as night paints the surrounding scenery in navy and black. “We can eat together.” 

“Just a bite then.” 

Turning to Yoongi, you don’t see a change in his face as he eyes the road. The veins in his arm catch all the streetlight, and you gulp before your gaze falls to what he made. Music fills the car, and you decide that maybe you do feel a little hungry. So you listen to instruction, popping it open and being careful as you pluck a piece to try. 

There’s no denying it. This motherfucker is a chef. “Fuck, this is good.” 

Your borderline moan sends Yoongi’s shoulders bobbing, and you will never get over those low, gravelly laughs. “Sorry.” Your hand hovers over your mouth in embarrassment. “I don’t react like that unless I’m alone.”

“I don’t mind.”

“Yeah, well,” you swallow. “Course you don’t.”

A tiny peek of teeth show as Yoongi smiles, and you don’t expect what he offers next, “Just be you, doll. It’s just me.”

The next bite of food pauses on the way to your mouth. “Oh,” you murmur. “Same for you then.”

“Nah.”

“Why not?”

“Cus we wouldn’t make it to where we’re going.”

That was legitimately the worst time to put food in your mouth. Sputtering, your words come out low and chortled, “You fucker.”

His hisses are brief before he dips into silence again. As he slowly turns the wheel, you can see a glimpse of something deep in his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he suddenly apologizes, swallowing as you keep your gaze. 

What is that look? Weren’t you both just having a good time? “For what, baby?” 

“Everything.” 

Your lungs flinch. This is definitely not what you expected to hear on the way to wherever the hell you’re going. “Oh.” 

Yoongi still doesn’t look your way, and with each pass of a light over his face, you catch quick snapshots of those eyes you’re still so shy of. “I, umm. I didn’t expect shit to pan out this way.” 

“It’s okay,” you whisper. 

After a slow motion of disagreement, his head falls forward just a bit. And your eyes find his hand clutching the gear shift in what you sadly think is frustration. “I’ve just thought about some things,” he starts, another song playing. “How worried you must’ve been.” 

You look forward. Because this is the part where you can’t face him. “I was. But not for the same reason as last time.” Without a hesitation of your own, your palm reaches between your seats. And you can tell Yoongi watches as you take his hand to hold. 

“I was worried about you,” you correct with softness. “It was hard because I didn’t know what to do.” Don’t fucking cry. You filled quite a few buckets already. “When you started not really saying much, I just… Hoped it was for a good reason, so. Yeah.” 

You feel your hand gently pulled, which is already enough to make you melt. But when it’s kissed, you don’t know what the hell to fucking do. 

“I’m sorry, doll,” Yoongi whispers into your skin, lips brushing with every syllable and painting a canvas of his reconcile. “I won’t leave you hanging like that again.” 

There’s a tiny fire in the back of your throat, the embers reaching your eyes just a little too aggressively. You attempt to squash the growing flames before they flare. “Oh. Umm. Thank you.” What else do you say? Yoongi’s being wonderful, but why do you feel… sad? Why is there lingering snow on your windowsill? “Were you worried?” 

“Me? Umm.” He stops at a light that he clearly didn’t want to stop at. Resting your conjoined hands on his pliant thigh, his jaw works as he observes them.

And you wonder if he thinks they slot together perfectly, too. 

“…Yeah.” 

Fuck. “About what?” 

“That you’d hate me.” 

Your heart meshes his fingers with yours. “Yoongi.” 

“Or that you shouldn’t be with someone that’s gone this much.” 

Fuck, he’s doing it again. Regressing. You’ve seen it happen in his kitchen and you’ll be damned if all that work, all that peeling, all that resolution amounted to nothing wait, wait, stop. This isn’t gonna be an overnight fix. And you have no clue what’s been happening, so just keep trying, trying, trying. 

“I’m used to people leaving,” you joke, but not really. “Like seasons.” 

He whips his head to you, and you backpedal because that probably sounded so random. You’ve got to think about filtering your thoughts a little more now that you’re getting comfortable. Yoongi says you can be yourself, sure, but you have to admit your quirks are a little out there. “I know it’s weird, but..” 

He’s quiet as the light turns green. And when you don’t finish, he admits, “I think the same.” 

“You do?” 

Your hand is brushed as a hum peppers it from above. “Mmhmm.” 

“Well.” That’s interesting. You didn’t know anyone thought about that stuff like you did. Now you wonder if there’s anywhere else your wavelengths sync, and if they’ve been syncing up all this time. “At least you come back.” 

Yoongi squeezes your hand tight before he holds it against his lips. Again. Fuck, this is a lot. You’re so wrapped up in his gesture that you don’t catch what he whispers. 

“Hmm?” 

He glances at the center console before putting your hand back on his thigh. 

“Always, doll.” 

And the fire you stepped on rages back with a vengeance. Heat and sting surrounds your eyes, and you don’t hide how you press your feelings into his skin. “Me, too.” 

If you weren’t lost in the surrounding scenery outside, you would have caught Yoongi’s look. But all you feel is his hand clutching you tight, and it breaks you down all the same. 

The rest of the drive is spent with him telling you to eat more, and a bunch of your sing-alongs to almost every song that comes on. It seems like the tiny bit of closure opened you both up, and you don’t even realize that you’ve been on the road for a really long time. 

But finally, Yoongi pulls up to a building, and you’re haphazardly rapping along to a song before you notice. Wait. What? He drove you to a rec center? 

Your fingers curl around his forearm before you even notice. “What’s this?” 

“Where we’re going.”

Hold on, you’re going inside? “Are we even allowed to be here?”

When Yoongi responds, his teeth make you shiver as he smirks. “Can’t say for sure, no.”

“Then why—”

He unlocks before you can finish, and you’re left in an empty car until he rounds the hood, coming over to your side and opening the door. You almost don’t hear what he says next, too focused on the jewelry swinging from his neck as he bends forward. 

But you catch it, and glance once more at the sight in front of you before biting your lip—in nervousness or excitement, you can’t decide.

“You comin’?”

Damn. Obviously, you want nothing more than to see him here. And it’s much too late for anyone to be around. But if something happens… Whatever. 

Your mouth finally unsticks. “If we get caught, you’re gonna pay for this.”

And you can’t resist his stupid grin. “Now get your pretty ass out before I put you in the back.” 

“Yoongi!”

Grinning, he leads you out, and you follow him to the trunk. After bouncing his stowed ball a couple times, he decides to lean in and reach for something else. 

Wait. Is that what you think it is? “Did you always have that in there?” you ask, pointing to the contraption that Yoongi’s using to air up his basketball.

And he does a horrible job at suppressing a smile. Which makes you burst into flutters and beats beats beats. “You liar!” Oh, you are gonna wipe those laughs from his throat. “I had to change up my plans because of you!”

Palming the ball, Yoongi tilts his head dangerously to one side. “And I got to see you,” he proudly claims. “So I’ll take it.”

You hate how the memories come packaged with what’s haunted you. What else happened during that time, and what happened after you left. But there’s no way you’re gonna bring that up. Not when the night has transformed into something so magical. 

So you just clutch your food and lean on his car, opting to compliment him to wipe the murk away. “Got to see you, too,” you puff into the brisk night. Because you harbor a bit of nostalgia in your bones. And because he still makes you shy. “You and your stupid hair.”

Another bout of hisses wisp into your side. As you turn to regard Yoongi again, he slips his chains into his hoodie before continuing, and you swoon at the veins popping out of his skin with each pump. 

How can he look so perfect doing the simplest things? So unfair. 

After seconds that feel like an hour, Yoongi’s done. And he scans the parking lot before telling you to follow him. 

What you expect is some outdoor courts. Maybe getting past a gate or two. So when you approach a back door lit by the shine of a single light, you freeze. “Are we really going in?”

Fishing something out of his pocket, Yoongi simply turns over his shoulder. “Yeah. Why not?”

“Oh.” You didn’t think you’d actually get inside the building. If there was an outside court just as accessible it would’ve made sense. Can you even bring food in here? Is that question even relevant? “No reason.”

“So I shouldn’t bust in?”

Huh. “What?”

“I’ve already done it a few times, so.”

“Wait!” Nerves throw your hand on his bicep before you can stop. “What if someone sees us?”

He’s so warm. And so toned. And if he plans on taking his hoodie off? You’re not prepared for whatever the hell he has underneath. 

Voice softened, Yoongi tries to placate your paranoia, “They won’t, doll.”

“Are you sure? If we get caught here they’re gonna call the police and I am definitely not… Gonna…”

The object in his hand jangles, and you clearly see he was just joking the whole time because keys—keys—stare you in the face. 

What is it with him and keys? 

When Yoongi speaks, you feel like you’ve never done anything bad in your life, and suddenly the thought of trespassing with an official way in is so scandalous, 

“You picked the wrong night to be a good girl.”

You have to admit. Seeing him so mischievous and dashing makes you wanna follow him wherever the hell he goes. Even if it gets you in trouble. Even if you were breaking in tonight, you would be all in. And that thought should frighten you, but it only does because of the wings tickling your rib cage. 

How can he make you feel rebellious and yet still so shy? The power of Min Yoongi. He’s way too good at destroying you.

When you glare, the man only grins, hisses of laughter leaving him way too happily before he unlocks the door to no alarms or sirens. He doesn’t need to throw a wink your way, too, but of course he does as he lets you in. Which causes you to float through the dark entryway instead of walk oh he did not just slap your ass!

A jolt in your cunt causes you to regard him in shock. To which he hums in a feigned question. “Hmm?”

With nothing but darkness and his cologne surrounding you, it’s only natural that giddiness takes hold. Truthfully, you’re packed with so much adrenaline that you feel a little wild yourself. “You’ve been waiting to do that, huh.” 

“So fucking long.”

You are not surviving the night. And you don’t give a single shit.

But as shy and out of control as you feel around this man, you also feel safe—even in a faraway, dark building that you’ve never been in before. That’s gotta say something about him, right? 

Yoongi feels along the wall beside you for lights, purposefully bumping your chest with his front even though he’s securing a ball with an arm. When you question his joking decision with noises, a chaste kiss on your lips shuts you right up.

“You’re in the way,” he jokes through what you think is a smile, and you’re about to move when he flicks on a switch very far away from your shoulder.

Liar! Your jaw drop must be comical because Yoongi’s grin stretches astronomically wide. But you cannot find a retort because seeing him so chill while you’re stiff from paranoia has you at a loss.

Is this how he used to be all the time? This carefree, all caution to the wind? He’s so fucking handsome like this. No wonder he’s pulled so many hearts just like yours. 

When you still don’t find any words to say, Yoongi makes it harder, stepping so close that you have to swing the plastic container away. Taking one of your hands in his free one, he gives it a warm squeeze while murmuring,

“You’re so cute.”

“How,” you ask just as softly.

And Yoongi responds with lights in his eyes. “Just are.”

Your lips mesh with his as he keeps your fingers secured, and suddenly every cautious thing in your body gets launched into the skies, too.

But it ends as soon as it begins. And Yoongi backs away from you with a smile, 

“Eat.”

“Huh?”

“Eat, doll,” he orders before turning and dribbling onto the court.

When you call out that he hasn’t eaten yet, Yoongi tells you that he already did. When you look around to figure out where to even sit, you decide on the closest set of bleachers and make yourself as comfortable as you can.

Which is impossible. Because they’re bleachers. Which is now triple impossible. Because Yoongi just shucked off his hoodie and the only thing he had under it was his chains goddamn it.

If you weren’t already sitting down you would’ve fallen right into the next dimension. How the fuck are you supposed to eat in these conditions shit he’s walking over! 

Your throat seizes as Yoongi approaches, face trained as if he isn’t aware of his overwhelming presence. All he does is bend to place his sweater next to your legs. But the quick smooch on your lips makes you swoon harder than you ever have.

And the way his silver taps your chest makes you mentally hold on for dear life. Wait. What the fuck, Yoongi’s taking them off right now? Right in front of you? Just as you're supposed to eat oh okay he’s handing them to you great wonderful fantastic.

The metal links feel so warm yet slightly cold to the touch. Weighty, yet light. But you clutch them in your hand as you connect a gaze to his.

“Relax,” he orders, lightly slapping the side of your thigh. “No need to worry.” 

And with bangs swishing, he goes right back to the ball waiting for him. Leaving you starry-eyed to hell with silver in your palm.

…Did all of that just happen? Is any of this even real? Quite frankly, you fucking forgot what you were even worried about. 

No matter what he does—simple lay-ups standing in place, dribbling to different spots to shoot, or even lazily jogging after the ball—you’re so enthralled with his actions that you forget that you’re not supposed to be here. 

And it takes your last bite of food for something to finally hit you. How does Yoongi have keys to this place? Where the hell did he score those because you don’t think he ever mentioned anything about working here. Or anywhere else other than the studio. 

Yet another mystery to add to this walking, bare-chested enigma. 

But there’s another question forming behind your eyes the longer you watch him practice, the more you notice how he’s actually going hard. Yoongi’s really good right now. A lot better than what you’ve seen of him before. 

Has he been coming here more often than he’s let on? And why does he look so… serious? You’d be surprised if he even remembered you’re here. 

Setting your empty container down, you gather the chains in your hands again, deciding to slip them over your head for safer keeping. After, you grab a water before stepping down the bleachers, hanging a little ways away until Yoongi notices you’re courtside.

And when he sees you, he stops practicing immediately, jogging to you so sweaty and shining and gross and handsome and— “Wait, you’re all swea—”

You’re pulled into a kiss the same time you hear a basketball drop, salt on your tongue and damp palms on your cheeks. And you melt right into the shiny wood floor, drifting, drifting, sailing into dreamland even though you’re technically already there. 

“Sweaty,” you whisper into his hot breaths of exertion, a twinge between your legs when he kisses you even deeper—breathing, inhaling, taking you in. “Gross.”

“Thanks.” 

You flash a smile against Yoongi’s lips, giggling because this is all better than anything your brain could’ve conjured on its own. When you ask why he’s going so hard, all you get is a question in return,

“You’re perfect, you know that?” 

Huh? Blinking, you suddenly don’t remember your own train of thought. “What did I do?” 

“Nothing.” He presses a wet mouth to your nose. “Did you eat?”

Laughing, you reassure him, “I did, I did.” 

“Good. You bored?”  

“Huh?”

Yoongi leans to softly take your lips this time, and you want to say he’s approaching the legal limit for kisses tonight. “Thought you came over cus you wanna leave.”

“And stop seeing you play? I could watch this forever.” You squeeze the water bottle a little tighter. “Just checking on you.” Another strike hits between your legs when Yoongi takes another, lazier glide over your mouth, and you sigh when he tugs you forward by your bottoms, fingers slick from use. 

You could do this for eternity, too.

“Well I got about five more minutes in me, so..”

This man. 

“Forever might be a stretch.” 

“Ah, shut up. Here,” you offer through a giggle, holding the water out for him to take. 

“Thanks.” When he does, he tilts his head at just the right angle to cut you through, gulping down liquid and making you do the same to your nothingness. 

So unfair. “You looked like you were going pretty hard.” 

Lowering the bottle, Yoongi shifts his jaw before taunting something a ways off. “I kinda was.” 

“It was kinda hot.” 

His laugh makes you smile, and his next swig makes you weep. “Nah, but. This is our practice gym. I can just zone out here, so. It’s been one of those things.” 

Ah. Was this one of the places Yoongi ended up during those months apart? You wish he could’ve brought you along sometimes. Or at least thought about asking. It’s nice just to be around him while he does something he likes. Gaining courage, you say exactly what’s on your mind, “You can always bring me, too. If you want.” 

And it’s true. You don’t really have to do much when you’re with him, because just being around him is what brightens your day. Lifts your mood. 

But you have to admit that watching him play basketball while shirtless is the biggest fucking win in history. 

When did Yoongi get so close? When did his eyes retreat so far away? “I didn’t wanna bother you with this,” he admits, a drop of sweat clinging onto his chin. “I don’t even put music on.” 

“You never bother me,” you whisper back. Hoping that he believes you and that he will start to accept that as fact. Because it is. “Even if you’re being annoying.” 

The bottle crinkles as he smiles, and there’s a soft kiss to your lips that has no real desire behind it. Just a nice peck that sends you careening down a hill of flowers. “You won’t be feeling that way tomorrow, babe.” 

“And why is that?”

“Cus of what I’m wearing.” 

And he says that while half-naked? Like any look on him could get any worse. “Oh,” you scoff out, fully calling his bluff. “As if.”

Well, fuck. You don’t enjoy the smirk plastered on his face. It has you both dreading and excited for whatever demon you’re gonna run into tomorrow. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He shrugs as he starts to hand the water back. “We can go soon, by the way.”

“Okay.”

But before you can grab it, Yoongi pulls the bottle from reach. “Unless,” he teases. “You wanna play me.”

“What.”

His grin shines, face glistening and turning your insides to jelly. “You told me you’d win, so. Let’s see it.”

You said that? While sober? How does he remember something like that when you can’t even recall a time or place you’d tell him something so bold. “When!”

“Right after you woke up once. Said you’re a master?”

Oh. That was ages ago. Fuck, you already forgot how did Yoongi remember? 

“Oh. Well.” Your nose turns up in feigned haughtiness. “Wouldn’t wanna throw you off your game before a championship.” 

“Uh huh.”

“I’d make you cry what the fuck!” 

Water spills down your head in rivulets as you freeze, stunned and watching Yoongi jogging his laughs back to the bleachers like a punk. “Think you got something on your face, doll.”

“Yoongi!” What the hell possessed him to do that to you here? Racing after him with purpose, you slam into him just as he reaches for another bottle, shoving a laugh out of his throat and making him catch himself on hardwood. “Nu uh, gimme that!”

“It’s mine, I just ran out—”

“Bitch!” You lunge for another bottle lying further away, distancing yourself to quickly rip the cap off and to avoid feeling his slick back on your hands. 

And it’s a lawless gym as both of you start spraying water, arcs and splashes of bottled liquid spewing over the court and soaking into your clothes and his bare skin. Which proves to get worse and worse for your wellbeing the more he gets soaked in your attacks. 

Running ends up being the only option to avoid getting completely drenched, and you hightail it behind bleachers before your waist is grabbed. “Fuck!” 

“Uh huh.” 

You try to wrestle out of his hold, his wet forearm digging lovely into your stomach, and you’re temporarily let go just so Yoongi can spin you around. 

Your back connects with solid wall, the impact shooting a grunt out of your throat before you laugh out of pure disbelief. “I can’t believe, you got me to do that,” you rush out, sentence punctuated by your breaths more than anything else. 

Here you are. Under bleachers. With Yoongi’s skin caging you with radiating heat.  

You can only stare as he drinks you in, no doubt looking at his silver around your neck and your chest heaving from exertion. Butterflies float across your stomach when his smile drips, and you fold as soon as he swoops in. 

Everything in your being pulses hard. It’s so visceral that you teeter on the edge of sanity and logic, and the thoughts slipping through your mind are just as wild as you feel. Before you’re even aware of it, a mischievous finger slides along the hem of his shorts, and you jump at the downright boulders rolling down your front, 

“Careful, doll.”

“Hmm?” You feel bad. And it feels fantastic. “What was that?” 

More gravel slides down his tongue, and you shake at his attractive as fuck threat, “Fuck around and find out then.” 

Your giggles add feather lightness into his murky laughs, but you’re so preoccupied that you don’t notice his hand between your legs until he slaps the inside of your thigh. “Yoo—!”

“Unless.” He leans forward. “My baby’s too scared.” 

Holy fuck, you might be. Is he really willing to do something with you? In a public place very similar to where you’re gonna watch him play tomorrow? You don’t know why the fuck that’s attractive as hell, but it is. 

Yoongi grips your chin, eyes falling to your lips and brows knitted before claiming your lips even harder. And despite your bones vibrating to hell, you put your all into the kiss, relishing in the growing hardness you feel against your front. An animal starts to wake inside your core, and you almost feel like stroking it. Feeding it. Raising it only for it to consume you in return. 

“Fuck it, we’re leaving.” 

“Huh?” Dazed, you let your vision refocus as Yoongi chuckles at your hazy state. 

“Fuck this. I’m taking you home.” 

For some reason, the game makes you nervous today. Even while Taehyung strides into the gymnasium with you, there’s a lingering feeling swelling in your stomach, and you don’t have any reason for it yet. 

At least this is another rec center entirely. Because there’s no way you would’ve sat still knowing you had a clandestine meeting in the same place not even twenty-four hours before. 

But the activity already bustling around hardwood catches your attention. Not on both sides, since only one team is here, but they are active on the other end doing drills. 

Wow. They look really intimidating, matching jerseys that were clearly done professionally and warm-ups having a set routine. You wonder if this is gonna be a tough game for… Wait. That’s your brother under the basket. That’s them? 

Fucking hell, Yoongi was right.

Because you’ll already never get over how attractive he looks in athletic clothes.

But team jerseys? 

Seeing this man rock a basketball uniform with his toned arms and legs so visible makes you want to claw your way out of your invisible cage. 

When the hell did they even get those? And why is he already slightly drenched during the warm-up alone? 

As soon as you see him make a lay-up, you know for a fact that you shouldn’t be here. 

Yes, you’re gonna stay and yes, you’re gonna cheer for them all game. But you are absolutely gonna feel like jumping him, which will in turn make you wanna bolt and run all the way out of town every agonizing second. 

Shit, shit, shit. You’re gonna have to try your damned hardest to unstick your eyes from that man the whole time. Already, you can hear Taehyung’s teasing, and your groan is to lament your future state.

Your name suddenly rings across the gym, and four feet pause in your ascent up the bleachers. When you catch both him and Jimin waving you down from their courtside chairs, you tilt your head in intrigue. 

They want you to come over there? What the hell is this about? 

Sighing, you turn. “Guess I’ll go see what they want.” 

“Here,” Tae offers his hand. “I’ll save you a seat.” 

Your bag is transferred to his grip while you nod, and you step down onto the court, wondering if you’re even allowed to walk onto it to see them. And Jimin’s grin can be seen from miles away. “Come here!” 

You gingerly step onto shiny wooden floors, making your way over and becoming hyper aware that someone else notices your presence. But you’re so puzzled as to why there’s no one on the other side of the court yet because isn’t the game about to start? 

Where’s the other team? As you approach their row of chairs, your hands immediately find your hips. “What’s up?” 

Jimin’s eyes stay creased as your brother explains the reason he waved you down. A very stupid, very innocuous reason. “Can you keep score?” 

“Me?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Why me?” 

Your brother uses his jersey to wipe sweat from his brow, and you wince at the brand new material getting gross already. “The girl that usually does it for us is sick.” 

“And you know the game,” Jimin quickly tacks on, rubbing at some tattoos on full display. Wait, are there more than you remember? When did he get more ink?

Your sibling asks another question you had in mind, “You aren’t gonna cover those?”

“Nah. Not today,” the man elongates in a stretch. “Just got another one. This one!” 

Ah, you were right. “I like it.” 

Jimin couldn’t look more proud. But enough of that because you really just wanna go back and observe the game from another place entirely. “Can’t y’all find someone else to keep score?” 

“We don’t think anyone else can,” your brother explains, looking over your shoulder. “At least, not the people coming to watch us.” 

Cool. You get to be met with heat and sweat from all these guys without compensation. How is this something you would say yes to? “Well. I don’t really feel like being a scorekeeper for free.” 

When your sibling laughs with Jimin, they share a look before he says so matter-of-factly, “Told you.” 

You’re sticking with that. If you’re gonna sit next to a bunch of smelly people, they’re gonna pay… you… somehow.

A ways down the row, you catch Yoongi dumping himself onto a random chair, head tilted back before he hangs it forward to wipe sweat from his forehead. 

And suddenly this temporary gig doesn’t seem terrible in the slightest. 

Because one, you can sit on a team bench that will have his fine ass right there. And two, this will give you a way to objectively focus on the game. You won’t have time to be distracted by a demon and his hair that’s gotten criminally long. 

“I’ll get us all dinner,” your sibling slices through your thoughts. “After we win.”  

“Fine,” you sigh, taking the end seat and shooting one more glance to the other side of the court. “Then I get to p—”

The air around you squeezes inward. And all sounds plunge underwater. 

Because you recognize someone you knew from a dark club walking onto the court, his team looking just as sharp and cocky as his eyes. 

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. 

You don’t notice the way Jimin’s hands flex, nor the way a familiar presence walks up to join your brother. 

All you can do is stare back. 

And without even realizing. 

You’re already rubbing your arm.

-

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tbc. :((

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a ha ha... so how do we feel? | taglist | discord!

a/n: okay, hello, loves. apologies this part took so damn long to post! can you imagine if i tried to post everything at once LMAOO yikes talk about too much at once. but i hope this part was enough to still be good on its own, and broken, pt. 2 will be... well. you can probably guess that's where a majority of my brainpower is going to go. a/n 2: thank you all for being here! it's been an amazing two years working on this series and i cannot tell you how grateful and appreciative i am to have such wonderful people alongside me. i hope this series continues to be there for you when you need it, bc it has become that for me, too. ++ feedback box: ⇥ of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated! ⇥ for the ones that are too shy to reblog with a review, comment on this, or send a message, i went ahead and made another anonymous form where you can send in what you think! ⇥ no emails collected, no need to put in a username. it’s literally just a comment dropbox :D feedback can be as short/sweet or as long as you’d like! ⇥ here! ++ more links: ⇥ masterlist  ⇥ three tangerines masterlist

[astroboots]

Stitches and Claws

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x female reader

Summary: You find yourself in a compromising position on your knees when you help stitch up Miguel's wounds.

Content: Blowjob, riding cock, overstimulation, fangs and claws. Miguel kind of likes his horniness with a little bit of pain? Just a smidge.

Word Count: 3.3k

Astroboot’s Masterlist | Spiderverse Masterlist

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"Miguel, can you please just relax?"

"I am relaxed," comes the sharp reply, as he glares down at you. Jaw so tense, you're surprised his molar teeth hasn't cracked under the pressure.

Your hand comes to his knee, as you spread them wider, and you can feel the plane of his thighs tense underneath your palm.

Yeah, the man is anything but relaxed.

Miguel is still in his suit. Skin covered in dark blue and red. The only part of him not covered in the fancy spandex (and if he heard you call it that he'd be livid, cause it's Unstable Molecule fabric, not spandex) is that scowling face of his and a small patch on the inside of his left thigh. An area the size of your hand that's bare, revealing his tanned skin underneath and a nasty looking injury.

You poise the needle in your hand against the gaping wound. You don't even get the chance to make skin contact with the tip before he's hissing at you like some damned feral cat.

"I haven't even touched you yet. This is going to hurt a hell of a lot more if you keep fighting me."

You probably sound more than a little bit irritated, because this position isn't exactly comfortable. The hardwood floor is digging into your knees, and with hindsight you should've taken the cushion he'd offered you before.

God, up close, that wound look really bad. Four inches in length, red and angry. You're not a doctor. You don't know why the hell you agreed to do this. For all you know you're going to get the wound infected or worse.

"Miggy, I don't know about this, don't you think it's better go to a hospital. What if it gets infected? You'll end up with gangrene and then we'll have to amputate it and then what?"

"That's not going to happen. It's a tiny cut."

"Fine, but I'm not a medical professional and I'm probably gonna make it scar to shit."

"So it'll scar. It'll be your permanent mark on me."

"I'm worried I'm going to mess this up".

"No", he says, shaking his head. "I trust you."

Your cheeks warm at the words, barely able to look him in the eyes after he's said it.

Fuck, he'd have to go and pull that card didn't he?

With a big sigh and bigger reluctance, you dip your head down as you pierce the needle through the skin, threading it across. There's a muffled pained noise from above. The leather of your armchair squeaks as he grips it tight.

A sympathetic ache tugs in your chest at his pain and your hand still against his thigh. "Do I need to stop?"

"No, keep going," he bites out through gritted teeth.

From the corner of your eyes, you catch a glimpse of the pointed edges of his corner teeth protruding against his bottom lip. It's hard to keep your hands still when your fingertips tingle at the sight of them.

Jesus, you need to get your head out of the gutter. This is hardly the time. You persevere, dipping back down for a better view, so you can sew up the gaping wound as best as you can, ignoring the warmth of his firm thighs that are caging you in at your sides.

You try to pretend you don't hear the strained noises he's making. (Noises that are much too similar to the ones he makes when he's the one between your thighs). Practically bury your head into his thigh so you can no longer see the way his broad chest heaves or how he bites down hard on his lip when you make another stitch.

"Stop, stop!" he demands.

His hand grips down hard on your shoulder, pressing you backwards, but you ignore it, because the needle is already halfway through his skin, and for a man who is constantly battling supervillains on skyscrapers with jetpacks and regularly crashes into skyscrapers, he can be such a baby sometimes.

"Miguel, stop, I need to--"

"Enough!" He growls, his hand pushes more insistently, determined to pry you off him until your ass lands on the hardwood floor behind you.

"Let me do it myself."

Let him? Let him?! As if you had forced him to make you do this? This asshole. Swear to god! He's the one who came home in this state, plonked his dumptruck ass in your chair and asked you to help him. He's the one who sweet-talked you with his: "I trust you," when you had soundly suggested he go to the hospital.

He's always like this. Running hot then cold. Asking you to help, then pushing you away in the next second. It's a miracle you don't have permanent neck injuries with the metaphorical whiplashes he keeps giving you.

You drag your eyes upwards, the way he's hunched on himself in your chair, covering his thigh. His face is turned to the side away from you.

You don't know why he's being so unhelpful about this.

Stitching up your superhero boyfriend with a $10 Amazon sewing kit isn't your idea of a perfect Saturday night. But now that you've started you need to finish up with the stitches, you can't just leave it as it is.

"I'm sorry that I went too rough. If I hurt you, I can go slower, okay?"

He doesn't answer you, just drags one large hand over his face. It's only then that you notice that his ears and bits of his cheeks are flushed a darker shade of red than the tanned tone of his hand.

"That's not the problem I'm having," he mutters.

"Well then, can you tell me what the problem is?"

No answer.

Leaning forward, you place your hand back on his knee. That finally seems to get his attention and he removes his hand.

"You said you trusted me right? So let me know what's wrong so I can take care of you. Please?"

For all his obstinate stubbornness, Miguel is just as susceptible as you are to that card. He groans dramatically, collapsing back into the chair with a defeated expression on his face.

His legs shift in the chair, spreading outwards. The arm draped across his lap falls away, and the tight fit of his supersuit does absolutely nothing to disguise the shape of his cock, hard and heavy under the clinging fabric.

Oh. oh.

Clearly you’re not the only one being affected by the forced proximity of this situation.

"See the problem?" he says.

You look up and his eyes flicker away sheepishly. If you didn't know better, and if it wasn't for the scowl still plastered on his face, you might've mistaken him for being embarrassed. If you didn't know better, you might've made the mistake of calling him cute.

You ache between your thighs at the sight of him. But even though there's nothing more you'd like than leap into his lap and fill that ache with every inch of him, there's other priorities right now.

Crawling forward, you shoulder your way back between his thighs and settle there.

"Let me finish," you insist. "If you let me finish, then I'll help you with your problem."

It's an uneven bargain to say the last. Because the reward you're offering him, is something you want more than your next breath, and you have to bite back the 'ohthankyousweetjesus' on the tip of your tongue, when he gives you a small nod to seal the deal.

Maybe it's your newfound incentive, but this time as you pinch the needle between your fingers to stitch him up, it's a swift and efficient ordeal. You refuse to allow yourself to get distracted, eyes focused on your goal, even as you hear him groan above or shift underneath you. Not until the last stitch is done.

When you finally let yourself tilt your head back up. His eyes are pinned on your face, and you can see now that the familiar brown shade replaced by a red tinge.

Your tongue is heavy in your mouth, and you try to keep your eyes fixed on his, holding the contact as you lean forward. Anticipation rides heavy on your spine, as your mouth inches forward, until your lip press against the thin fabric of his crotch, and you nuzzle against the rigid shape of him.

The leather of your chair creaks, and there's a rip. From this angle your view is a bit obscured, but you catch sight of his hands, the firm unforgiving grip he has on your poor armchair. The extended sharp talons piercing through the soft leather in his excitement.

All you hear from above, is a breathy, "Fuck", then the thin fabric separating him from your mouth disintegrates, the dark blue fabric making way for his tanned skin underneath.

Then he's right there. Bare and naked for you to touch. His cock jutting upright between his thighs. He's ruddy and flushed, the fat tip of him glistening with precome that wells from the slit that you can practically already taste on the tip of your tongue.

Your mouth salivates as you part your lips to take him.

To call Miguel thick is an understatement. It's a struggle to fit him in your mouth, your jaw strain with the effort as you slide him further down. As deep as you can, until the blunt tip nudges against the back of your throat and you have to swallow around him in a panicked fit to suppress the reflexive gag pushing back in you.

It's always the hardest the first time. Your mind and throat instinctively fighting you, as you try to swallow down the intimidating girth of him.

"Take it slow nena," Miguel rasps from somewhere above. His voice is a slow and melted hum that drips sweet and honeyed in your veins, and that helps.

You take a deep inhale from your nose, taking in the familiar musky scent of him, and feel your throat relax around him, accommodating to his thickness.

Your thighs ache with arousal. Panties wet and slick as you clench down around nothing. Everything is tightly wound inside you. Your stomach heavy with the dizzying heat as the weight of him rests so fucking perfectly on your tongue.

It's all you can take. You shove your fumbling fingers between your thighs, tugging at the edge of your panties until the obscene wetness greets you and drag it up against your clit.

Relief and pleasure surges through your head, filling your veins with the sensation and you rock into the palm of your hand seeking for more of your own touch.

"Are you touching yourself?"

Your fingers still at the question. You're not exactly embarrassed, it's not like you're doing anything wrong, but you feel sheepish all the same at being caught.

You pull off his cock, letting it slide between your lips and when you finally look back up, he's staring down at you with a dark hunger in those otherworldly crimson eyes like he wants to eat you whole.

"Fuck, come up here," he directs, but you ignore him. Tongue lapping at the tip, savouring the heady taste of him as you run the flatness of your tongue down the length of him.

"Nena," he bites off impatiently. "Up!"

He doesn't wait for your reply this time. So fucking impatient this man.

He's already lunging forward, arms circling your torso as he pulls you up and into his lap with an impressive ease. His arm comes to your thighs, rearranging you to his liking in his lap, one large hand gripping his cock as he positions you above.

"Sit on my cock, nena. Ride me."

Your eyes flit to the poorly stitched up wound on his thigh that looks flimsy to say the least.

"Won't that hurt you?"

His head tilts, brow arching with that sardonic expression of his as if he doesn't see what the problem is. "And?"

This is such a bad idea. But you'd be lying to yourself if you said you wanted to stop now. Instead you settle on a compromise to ensure that you can at least limit the potential damage on him.

"You have to stay still for me, or you'll tear the stitches," you warn.

He nods perfunctorily in agreement and you don't think he's even listening to you. No surprise there, Miguel has never been the best at listening to yours (or anyone's) instructions. He'll do what he wants as he sees fit.

But you can't find it in you to stop. Not when you wrap your hand around the base of his cock, and the velvety smoothness of it twitch in your grip. Not when you notch the tip of his cock to your slick entrance and can feel yourself dripping down his length.

The only thing you care about is to have him inside you.

You lower yourself onto him, sliding down, inch by maddening inch, as that thickness stretches you to your limits and white hot pleasure invades every one of your cells until you feel drunk on the sensation.

"That's it," he encourages, with a sharp inhale, hand gripping to the sides of your hips. The honed edge of his talons gripping into your flesh, but never breaking the skin.

Your thighs are shaking as you inch down on him until they are pressed flush to his hips, and his cock is kissing that perfect spot deep inside you that has your vision whiten. Thick and sweet.

As promised, he doesn't move. Even though you can tell from the muscle twitching in his jaw, that there's nothing more he wants than to flip you over and thrust into you hard and deep until you're screaming his name with a force that makes your lungs burn out.

You lift your hips, savoring the sweet drag of his cock against your cunt, slow and unhurried until only the blunt tip of him rests inside you and stay there.

"Nena," Miguel says, and the nickname on his tongue sounds like a warning.

He's not a fan of the slow pace you're giving him apparently.

But you've never been one to heed his warnings. Instead you slide down on him, just as slowly, letting his cock fill you at a leisurely pace and it is fucking heaven.

You still as he bottoms up inside you, before you do it all over again. And again. Then again. To each grumpy groan of his that's mixed with pleasure and impatience. Then you do it again.

It's only a matter of time before his short-spanned patience snap. You can practically see it in the furrowed line of his thick brows, as you raise yourself up on his knees. His sharp canines bites down on his bottom lip, breaking the skin and that is all the warning you get before his arms wraps tight around your ribs, knocking the very breath out of your lungs.

Miguel's arms pushes you down flush on his cock, it's strong and demanding. A stubborn grip until he makes sure you've taken all of him to the root. It's blinding you with the force of it, and all you can do as he buries his face, sharp teeth poised at your shoulders, is whine.

Good, it feels so fucking good. The sweet ache of his cock filling every inch of you. You can't think anymore.

You try to raise yourself again on his cock but you wobble, the muscles in your thighs screaming in protest and gives under, unable to lift yourself back up again.

Fuck, you don't know if you can move anymore.

In a split of a second, Miguel straightens up and pulls you into his chest. "So pretty, nena," he groans into your skin, while he ruts up and into you, fucking his cock deeper.

You should probably scold him. Try to stop him somehow, so that he doesn't rip the tenuous stitches on his wound. But you can't bring yourself to open your mouth. Not when it feels this good. Not when aching pleasure is pulling you down under and robbing you of your breath and every word in your vocabulary.

"You feel so fucking good. Stretched so tight around me. Just so fucking pretty when you take my cock."

The sharp edge of his fangs skirts gently across the soft flesh of your throat, and sets every nerve in you alight. Every part of you tingles. From the tip of your fingers to the curl of your toes. That telltale warmth and heat coiling in your stomach and spreads outwards ratcheting up to a fever pitch.

Your orgasm breaks. It rushes over you, hard and punishing. Your body shakes, thighs tensing and your heart is beating hard and fast into a gallop in your chest. You shake and tremble in his lap as it courses through your veins. Lungs squeezed painfully tight as the sweet bliss of it invades your ribs and you struggle to catch your breath.

You still feel it, rushing and pulsing from your stomach down your thighs, it doesn't even have a moment to properly subside.

Miguel doesn't stop. His hands are already on your waist, lifting you up and almost off his still hard cock and you gasp at the shift in pressure inside you. You're clenching down around the fat tip of him reflexively, and there's no time to adjust, no time to think, next thing you know, he lifts his hips while pushing you down on the length of his cock. All in one swift, and harsh, unforgiving motion.

It's so much, too much. You whimper at the next thrust, the whole of your body wracked in shivers as the sensation overfloods your brain. As good as if it feels, you don't know if you can't take much more.

"Keep going, don't stop. I know it's hard nena. I know you're sensitive." he coos, his hands are gentle on your hips, guiding your movements, but for all his sweet cajoling words, and for all that you're struggling he's not easing up.

"Keep going. Keep squeezing my cock like that and I'll fill you up. I'll fill you up with every drop of me."

He keeps encouraging you, as if you have any other choice but to take his demanding thrusts. As if there is anywhere for you to go with how firmly he's holding you to him.

Fuck you can't, you can't-- oh fuck, you're--

Your arms scramble to grab onto something, anything, fingers digging deep into the firm muscles underneath.

It's chaos.

He thrusts up again. Deep and demanding and your brain shortcircuits.

Sharp electricity surges through your spine and it is blinding. All you can do is hold on to him, to claw on and hold for dear life, or you're pretty sure you're gonna fall off the edge of the earth into oblivion if you lose your grip.

Distantly, you hear him hiss in your ear, feel his hips stutter up against yours, cock pulsing inside of you, but you're too far gone to piece it all together.

All you know is that you're coming again or maybe you never stopped and this is that first orgasm still wreaking havoc on your body. Maybe it'll never stop. The sensation feels like a punch to your gut, consuming and all at once. Your eyes must cross behind your head, because your vision goes dark and blank, wiped clean of thoughts. The room seems to tilt, and crash then disappear. There's no weight to your limbs, and your thighs are so numb, you're not even sure they are there anymore. Your body is not your own.

When you come to, you're still perched on his lap. You feel like wrung out and boneless, body spent and broken. His arms wrapped around your torso the only thing that's keeping you upright.

The arms of your leather chair have been scratched up to hell. Long claw marks brandishing each side.

He looks like an absolute mess. Brown curl a deranged mop on the top of his head, sheen of sweat over his tanned skin. But he looks good, messy. Looks fucking beautiful in a way that has your chest squeeze tight when you gaze at him.

Miraculously, the stitches on his thigh has held up somehow and you feel more than a little ounce of pride of your own sewing skills at the feat.

Your hands slide off of him from where they're still gripping on tight onto him and Miguel's eyes follow the motion to his biceps where your nails have broken through skin. The tiny crescent marks looks red and raw and painful.

"Shit, Miggy I'm sorry."

He blinks up at you, eyes a little bit dazed before he breaks out into a smile. He raises his arm and looks at the mark with a pleased and admiring expression one filled with pride.

"I hope it leaves a scar," he says.

Dedication & Credits:

For @thirstworldproblemss who had to listen to me figure this one out, I'm still trying to find my voice for Miguel so sorry if this is a bit clunky for you.

Also dedicated to @guruan whose artwork literally inspires me to write/think/breathe smut 24-7 like a 7-eleven store. It's always open for slut business here. This artpiece with the spread thighs definitely inspired this oneshot.

I don’t have a tag list but please follow me on astroboots-writes and turn on notifications to be notified when I post something new!

[thexsilentxwordsmith]

Simon Ghost Riley x F!Reader

Getting so worked up during a celebration for Price's birthday that Simon has to take you in the bathroom of the bar you are both at just so you'll calm down

"Just couldn't fuckin' wait till we got back, yeah baby?" Simon growls in your ear with his warm breath, lips close to the side of your head as you both stand cramped inside that tiny bathroom stall as he desperately works your cunt with his fingers. "My fuckin' needy little kitten, shit you're just grinding away on my thick fuckin' fingers, aren't ya? Needed it that bad?"

It wasn't your fault honestly, he knew what the liquor did to your libido and yet he let you have shot after shot to keep pace with the boys...I mean it was a celebration after all, but still.

If he didn't want to be knuckles deep between your petals he should have pulled the reigns long ago...and yet maybe this was what he wanted in the first place. It wasn't like he was dismissing your discrete advances all night, even taking you by the hand to the dingy bar bathroom himself.

Price's birthday wasn't always able to be celebrated, work did have to come first unfortunately, but it just so happened that everything fell into place this year and so the entire group gathered in the local bar to let go and have fun.

And here you were with Simon having you own extra bit of fun, though this one wasn't for sharing...

Using your bandana that you had worn in your hair tonight as makeshift cuffs, Simon had your hands tied behind your head so that you wouldn't be tempted to stop the work his fingers were currently doing down below to get you off.

It had to be quick and distractions wouldn't help.

"Sorry, baby," you whimpered, mouth agape as heavy breaths exited your lips. "Just fucking need you so bad sometimes I can't see straight. And you are just looking so good tonight...was having trouble not just riding you at the table."

Oh he was absolutely gonna give you hell for it, but there was no doubt that he loved every fucking second of just how needy you could get for him. Just hearing that lilting whine in your voice, begging and pleading with him to take you in any way, shape, or form he could sent him up the goddamn wall.

"They probably all know what we're doin' in here, ya know that sweetheart," he said, thick accent making your skin tingle and your clit throb. "They're probably chucklin' under their breaths about how we weren't slick at all, breakin' away from the group like that. I bet they're whisperin' about how you're fuckin' just takin' it all, whatever I give ya."

You shook your head, eyes closed as he slipped another large finger into your already soaked panties and up into your core. "Don't care," you breathed, "even if they call me a whore, they better put your name in front of it and I won't deny it."

The plan was just to get you off quick so that you could finish out the night with the gang and then take you back later to his to do you proper, but fuck the way his cock was straining against the fabric of his jeans that wasn't gonna be enough.

"F-fuck baby, why do you always feel so fucking good?" you again whimpered quietly, so far gone between the booze and your lovers fingers that sanity had left you completely.

You were just so fucking wet, looking so goddamn voluptuous with all those juicy curves, saying all the right things to make him fall apart. As much as he tried to stay sane, it wasn't working, so change of plans...otherwise he was gonna be a fucking mess and that just wouldn't do.

That's how it always went, didn't it? He should've known he could keep himself out of you; not even if he tried.

"Ya want me inside ya?" Simon asked hurriedly out of the blue, as if he didn't already know the answer, and instantly your eyes shot open as your heart nearly burst from your chest.

"God, yes," you answered without hesitation. "Please Simon, fill me to the brim..."

A quick scramble to undo his pants, buckle jingling and denim rubbing against itself as he shimmied the damned things down enough to release himself, his cock already hard and pulsating, needing to enter you now.

Using the toilet paper dispenser as a makeshift ledge, Simon picked you up and set you on it with a prayer that it would stay bolted to the stall wall long enough the he could get you both off before it broke. He hated that any part of you had to touch anything in here, who the fuck knew how clean it was, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

Your thighs instantly locked around his hips as you waited for him to align the head of his cock with your entrance. "Gotta make this quick" he groaned, the head of his member slipping itself through your petals.

And there it was, the initial thrust that always split you open as you took every inch inside until he ran out of inches to give. Christ, how fucking amazing it was to be so full of him; that fucking girth was more than enough.

"G-god-d-damn," he choked out, his hands digging harshly into your hips as he clung on for dear life, trying to not cum so fast. "Your gonna be the fuckin' death of me sweetheart."

You were already soaked and he had no trouble slamming into you over and over again, his pace quick and intense as at any moment someone could come walking through the door and hear you two going at it like a couple of teenagers, screwing wherever the mood struck.

Over and over his cock thrust into your core, the wet sounds of skin slapping against one another music to his ears that only fueled his passions further. You were a dream, a fucking vision of lustful beauty, and the way you felt only matched.

What was he supposed to do, not be obsessed? Fuck that, you were the best goddamn thing to happen to the manky bastard and it made him absolutely crazy about you.

Shit the pressure felt divine as the angle of his penetration made certain to engage your sensitive clit as well. Mix that with the tingling in your limbs from the alcohol and you were already dancing dangerously close to the edge of your orgasm.

"Yes, y-yes," you repeated in increasing volume, breasts bouncing up and down against his chest as he pounded into you.

"That's it sweetheart," he praised, "come on. Let go for me baby."

The wall of the stall shaking, the creak of the paper dispenser beneath you, the relentless place of Simon's hips snapping against yours was all to much.

"Cum with me," you begged.

"I'm already there luv," he replied quickly, "just let go. Come on pretty girl, come on."

In and out, in and out of your tight cunt a few more times, his abs clenching as Simon's own orgasm popped off and you were gone, crying out as your body shook from the release of pressure like a least in the wind.

Shit you saw fucking stars with that one.

As you both rode out the end of your pleasure together, that's when you heard the door open and a pair of heavy booted footsteps cross the floor. Simon's large palm cupped over the entirety of your mouth to stifle the last of your orgasmic moans, his cock still buried within you as whoever it was went about their business, taking a piss as was evident by the sound.

The urinal flushed after a few moments, followed by footsteps to the sink. A quick wash and the both of you thought the coast would soon be clear and you'd be able to finish up and head out.

"Be sure and come back to join us when your done, yeah?" the voice of your captain sounded through the tiny room; you'd been caught red handed. "Would hate to see you two leave early...again."

Well fuck, guess the cat was out of the bag now. Simon chuckled as he leaned in and gave you a kiss as the door to the bathroom shut, leaving you two alone in silence again.

"Oops," Simon whispered against your lips before he planted another heavy, greedy kiss to them, "too bad I'm not sorry."

[laniluvsuu]

Pony.

Southern Ony&Southern Eren x Blackfemreader!

Warnings: smut!!! Threesome, Creampie, Oral (M. Receiving), Riding. Language, Slapping/Spanking. Choking/neck gripping. Maybe some misspelled words. I think that’s it srry if I missed anything😣!

You felt eyes on you, eyes to your right to be exact. They’ve been looking at you this whole time, you’ve made eye contact once or twice.

“You boys know it’s rude to stare?” You said turning your head and meeting the eyes once again. Two sets, one pair was dark brown the other was emerald.

“Our fault pretty. It’s sure as hell hard not to when you look so gorgeous.” The man directly next to you said, while the one in the back nodded his head in agreement as he fixed his hat and placed his drink back down on the counter.

“I’m Eren.” He said with a smirk on his face, placing his hand out for you to shake. Eren was fine. With his long shoulder length dark brown hair, his emerald green eyes that never left your face, and the many tattoos that covered his arms.

“Hi Eren, im Y/N.” You said placing your hand into his to shake it, he didn’t shake your hand just held it while looking you in your eyes. There was a deep chuckle before you could get another word out and it was from the other man. He was now moving to the other side of you.

“Let’s not be selfish Eren. Im Onyankopon, but you can call me Ony.” He said as he took a seat next to you with his back facing the counter and his legs spread out while he lifted his hand up to you with a soft smirk. Ony looked good almost too good, with his cornrows, and his mustache and goatee combo that complimented his face. His gold nose ring that decorated his right nostril, the tattoos all over his arms and hands.

“Well then Ony, Eren. What y’all got planned for the night?” You said after shaking Erens hand and now placing your hand into Onys, waiting for their answer.

“You tell us Mama.” Ony said moving his head to lay on his shoulder, looking at the side of your face while holding your hand in his.

“Mmm..I wanted to give the bull a ride before the night was over.” You said reaching your free hand over to Eren’s head to grab his hat and place it on your head. Eren smirked at your actions, and then gave Ony a knowing look when the bull was brought up.

“Oh? We’ll make sure you get a ride before the night ends pumpkin.”

And they sure as hell did, took them back to your apartment and now you’re bouncing up and down on Onys dick your back facing his chest while Eren was standing infront of you, his dick touching your throat, all you could see was his ink covered chest and pelvis.

“Oh yeah darlin, just like that all the way down.” Eren groaned out as he let his blunt sit in his mouth as he moved his hands to the back of your head pushing you all the way down, your nose meeting with his pelvis. You gripped onto Onys legs beneath you as you stopped your movements on his dick and focused on Eren as tears spilled out of your eyes.

“Don’t stop, you know better.” Ony said as he slapped your ass and moved his hands to your waist moving you up and down. His thumbs pushing into your dermal piercings making you squeal out around Erens dick.

“Ohhh my god. F—fuck!!” You yelled out as soon as Eren let you go, you rested you head on Erens thigh and kept your hand stroking his dick while Ony fucked up into you, and moved his hand up to mess with your clit. “Nope mama. Head up. Don’t fucking drop your hat.” Ony said reaching his hand up to grip on your neck and force you to look up at Eren. Since you wanted to play with hats so bad earlier Onys making you wear his hat until y’all are done.

“Ouuhh..I’m g—gonna cum again!” You cried out to them feeling your lower stomach get hotter and that knot tightening, Eren moved his hand down to grip your face, and force you to look him in the eyes, he also passed the blunt that was once in his mouth into Onys hand that was once around your neck.

“You gonna cum for us babygirl?” He said as he tilted his head, and narrowed his eyes while he looked down at you, he grabbed his dick and tapped his tip on your lips twice. “You look so fucking gorgeous bouncing on his dick with my dick in your face. You’re such a fucking slut.” Eren groaned out at the sight below him.

“S-she’s so fucking tight. O-oh fuck!” Ony said as he looked down at where you two were connected, your pussy was practically drooling all over his dick, squeezing him so hard it felt like you were tryna milk him dry. The white ring around his dick from your pussy made him feel dizzy.

“O-ohh..she’s fucking creaming on my shit. Holy fuck. I’m gonna cum.” Ony said as he threw his head back, moving your hips harder and faster chasing his climax once he felt the coil in his stomach get tighter and hotter.

“You heard him babydoll, he’s gonna cum where you want it?” Eren said as he stroked his dick still looking at your face, smiling once he heard you moan out. “I-insidee…! Daddy please! Mmph!” Eren quickly put his dick back in your mouth before groaning at the feeling, squeezing his eyes shut once you moaned around his dick.

“You heard babygirl Ony, fill her pussy up while I work on her mouth.”

[kopilot-pop]

Comfy 18+

(Yunjin x GP! Reader)

Request: oh my- that karina fic was so good. i need you to write a similar fic for clingy yunjin x soft dom reader pls… doesn’t have to be gp reader but i totally liked it in sofa

Warning(s): MDNI, GP! Reader, breeding kink, dirty talk?, daddy kink(there’s like one word for it), etc.

A/N: Hi.. it took like 300 years but here’s a new fic… love y’all (plz dont hate me)

———————————————————————

“I don’t wanna go.”

“I swear to god, if you’re late Chaewon will murder me.”

The blonde girl in your arms seems to pout even more at your words.

Yesterday was Yunjin’s break day and the two of you spent it going on a movie date, drinking at your apartment, and sleeping all cuddled up.

Making her ride you was in there somewhere but the both of you were too drunk to remember.

You woke up at 10 a.m. with Yunjin curled up in your arms... naked (except for your oversized hoodie covering her). It’s now 12 p.m. and your girlfriend is supposed to be at the practice room in an hour. But it seems like Yunjin has no intentions of leaving your apartment - hell, your bed.

“Jen.. you’re really gonna be late…”

She whines as you try to pull her off of your body and clings onto you even tighter than before.

You’ll be lying if her in your arms wasn’t turning you on. Her.. chest.. was touching your side, and you're having a very difficult time not staring at her bare legs.

"Jennn... c'mon.."

Suddenly, she jumps up from your arms and sits on top of your stomach. She looks at you with a smug grin and a mischievous glint in her eyes.

"What if... I do this?"

With a swift motion she takes off the hoodie and throws it to her side. She tilts her head at you and bites her lip.

"Do you still want me to leave?"

You let out a loud groan and turn your head back to the pillow underneath you. Yunjin pins you down by grabbing your shoulders. The moment you try to convince her for one last time, she shuts you up with a kiss.

You can feel her pussy on your stomach, and when she slowly grinds back and forth, you can feel it slowly becoming soaked.

Your hands glide up to her nipples, playing with them just so you can see Yunjin blush.

“God, you’re so fucking hot babygirl.”

The moment the petname slips out of your mouth, her confidence seems to immediately disappear. She lets out a quiet whine and stops her movement.

You - having a sudden boost in confidence at her reaction - flip her onto her back, trapping her between your arms. With a yelp, Yunjin clings into your shoulders.

With no more patience, you pull down you sweatpants along with your boxers, and let your painful boner free. It springs out to your stomach, and you can immediately feel your girlfriends fingers touch it.

“God, I still don’t know how you fit that in me.”

With a breathy shake Yunjin aligns your cock to her wet hole and wraps her leg around you to push you in.

You slowly sink into her tight pussy, and groan at the warmth surrounding you.

“Mmf… God I love you…”

Yunjin pulls you into another sloppy kiss, but she suddenly pushes you away when she feels the tip of your cock touch her womb.

“Ah-! W-wait Y/nnnn!”

You start rolling your hips back and forth - trying to be as gentle as possible - but Yunjin always had trouble adjusting to your size no matter how wet she was.

She lets out small whimpers, digging her face into your shoulders, and tightly gripping onto your arms.

“Ah- ah-! I want… I want you to…”

“Hm? What was that? Fuck- Couldn’t hear ya sweetheart.”

“I… ugh! I want you to.. hng… I wanna feel you cum inside me..”

You pause at her request, but after what she said registers into your mind, your whole body feels like it’s on fire.

“Goddammit- you asked for this.”

Yunjin hiccups at your clouded eyes, and starts to feel excitement when you manhandle her into a different position. She’s practically folded in half, with her legs hooked over your shoulders.

As you pull her in, your dick slams into her core at the same time, causing her to let out a scream.

“F..fuck! Fuck, daddy you’re so deep- angh..! inside me-!”

She lets out short breaths at the same rhythm of you pounding into her. You watch her face go from pain to absolute pleasure as her tongue lolls out and her eyes keep focus on your member ruining her pussy.

The slapping sounds echo through your room, and you can tell that the wetness is embarrassing her when she rolls her head into the sheets.

Having none of that, you grab her face and force her to look into your eyes as you start going faster.

“Ah!! Y/n, Y/n, Y/nnnn…..! Fuck, ugh!! I love youu…”

“I’m.. hah… I’m gonna cum…”

Her teary eyes make it impossible for you to hold yourself in, and as you finally bury yourself as deep as possible, Yunjin’s back arches and she lets out the loudest scream you’ve ever heard (even for her).

You feel her legs lock you inside as you let spurts of cum fill her up. Her spasming walls cause your cock to twitch inside of her - making her let out tiny whimpers.

The two of you let out deep breaths as Yunjin’s arms pull your torso closer for comfort.

“Mmf.. I’m cold…”

“Yeah, well - you’re the on that decided to throw your hoodie across the room.” You let out a breathy laugh.

“It’s technically yours so… can you go get it?”

You give her a playful glare, but the moment you see her smile - as always - you lose.

———————————————————————

a/n: its so weird writing after so long

[crushmeeren]

Everyone in this NSFW One Shot is aged up/18+, if you have any issues with that—remember this is a work of FICTION!! so just block me & move on lmao

Warnings; cursing, teasing, dirty talk, praising, soft! dom Tamaki, breeding kink, mentions of pregnancy sex, pussy eating, fingering, vaginal sex

Note; for the lovely anon requester, I super loved writing this, I love Tamaki—the soft dom version of him hits the spot 💕🤤 also I tried really hard to make this a good soft dom, I hope I did it justice.

•••

Tamaki is, more often than not, tightly wound into a ball of nerves. Not to say he hasn’t gotten any better at being able to handle the reigns of his anxiety, because he certainly has.

It’s just, there’s always a small undercurrent of unease lingering in his belly. Skyrocketing his heart rate, making his fingers shake with adrenaline each time he gets interviewed after a villain beat down.

He’s ashamed to admit that even when he’s with friends the unsettling feeling remains, albeit only in a small amount. It lurks in the back of his mind—never truly gone completely.

That is, unless he’s with you, and now, with your baby girl too. Funnily enough, his hands were as steady as they’d ever been when he first held his sweet baby.

His heart didn’t race, he wasn’t choking to death on butterflies—okay well, those things actually were happening, but not in an oh my god the sky is falling type of way. It was in an oh my god I love my family so much I’m gonna throw up kind of way. Tamaki was drowning in his feelings for the two of you. So much so that he thought he may burst into tears (he did).

Tamaki’s sweet little Chiyoko is only two years old now, but fucking hell—he’s started to want to have another baby so goddamn badly. It clouds his mind constantly, marring his thoughts.

He wants another little one to raise, to teach them how to be better than he ever has been. Another person he can completely be himself with, who he’ll love unconditionally. Always striving to give his kids a better world than the one he grew up in.

Although, what really snapped the pathetically thin thread that was left of his patience was when he came across what must’ve been the 10th pregnant woman while out on patrol today.

All Tamaki could keep picturing was you. With your belly so cute, so swollen & round. An image pops up behind his eyelids. Your lovely face, your lower lip pushed out so sweetly in a pout, tits spilling over the top of your bra. Tamaki swallows, throat dry as cotton as he works to keep a steady pace while he walks the streets.

He knows his cheeks are burning bright red, he can feel the heated flush crawling up the back of his neck—up to his ears. Tamaki pulls his hood further over his face as his mind sharply turns down a much filthier path. Vividly picturing you riding his cock while you’re 6 months pregnant. How unbelievably tight your pussy always is, how he’s able to place his hands possessively on your belly as he lets you fuck yourself on his cock. Watching your tits bounce beautifully.

Oh god, oh shit—he craves the satisfaction of fucking another baby into you so much his balls ache. His heart stops momentarily as he feels his cock rapidly thicken against his thigh, hot & heavy. Tamaki is urgently speed walking back to his hero agency because he’s pretty sure the stretchy spandex of his hero outfit is not going to hide his humiliating boner.

•••

Later on that evening, after your daughter has fallen asleep, you find yourself with your hands bound to the metal slats of your headboard. Soft, smooth silk caressing your skin. Binding your wrists together above your head with just the right amount of pressure to keep you from breaking free.

Your skin is starting to feel stretched too tightly over your bones, entire body flushing hotly as Tamaki traces the pads of fingers feather light over your bare breasts. Both of you are naked & he’s been playing with you for what feels like a lifetime. He teases you relentlessly as his thumbs lightly circle your nipples until they pebble up. You can feel your pussy throb.

“Tama,” you whine his nickname lowly, arching your spine as he grips your left tit playfully—desperately pushing further into his touch, you’re craving so much more from your husband. His other hand trails your lower belly idly.

“Hm? What is it my goddess? This not enough for you?” Tamaki teases you with a soft voice, punctuating his words with a rough squeeze. Making sure to pinch your nipple in between his fingers. Your feet are planted on the mattress, thighs spreading even further to fit his lithe frame as you cry out.

“Hah! Oh fuck—no, not enough Tamaki,” you complain with a breathy moan, straining against the silk that ties you down. Goosebumps litter your arms as he rests his warm palms over the bumps of your ribs, fingers splaying out under the swell of your tits.

“No? My, that’s a bit bratty of you,” He murmurs playfully, warm breath tickling over your skin as he presses a kiss to your sternum.

“Baby,” you choke out, tilting your head down to stare at him, eyes pleading. “Please I want your mouth so bad.” Fingers dig into your ribs, forcing a squeaking noise out of you. Tamaki only hums in response as he presses a line of kisses down your soft belly, lowering himself onto his own as he makes his way to your pussy.

“Here?” Tamaki asks innocently before he bites a kiss into the sensitive skin of your hip bone. Your hips twitch, trying to get his over head to your pussy—which is starting to ache, no doubt puffy and slick from being so turned on.

“No,” you whimper, fingers curling into fists, nails digging into the flesh of your palms where you’re bound. Tamaki places his palms on the underside of your thighs, easily pushing them open further for him.

“Oh, so you must mean here hm?” He snickers, dipping his head to kiss the inner part of your thigh, close to the crease, near where you want him the most. He nips at the skin there sharply, making you gasp.

“You know that’s not it Tamaki,” you huff, wiggling in place, frustratedly tugging at the silk yet again. Your shoulders ache a little bit and you have the insanely strong urge to tangle your fingers in his soft, purple hair.

Taking action, you maneuver your legs until you can rest your thighs over his shoulders, heels ready to dig into his upper back. He instinctively wraps an arm around your thigh. The other hand snaking up to brush his fingers through the small patch of curly hair you left above your clit. It makes his cock twitch because it’s like a neon sign pointing him straight to your pretty pussy.

“I’m not quite sure what you want then my goddess,” Tamaki sighs, pretending to be disappointed. “Ya know, only good girls get what they ask for, you should use your words better lovely,” He remarks thoughtfully, pinching your clit between his thumb and fore finger, trying to bite back his smile. One of his canines pokes out over his bottom lip.

“Tama!” You suck air in through clenched teeth, pressing your pussy towards his mouth—but the arm around your thigh is like steel. It makes your pussy drool. “Fucking—Tamaki, please baby, I want you to eat my pussy,” you bite, teeth grinding together in frustration.

“Oh! I see, why didn’t you just ask me in the first place? Such a good girl though, using your words,” Tamaki teases. His warm lips brush over your clit when he speaks & you could strangle the man right there.

You whimper, his praise forcing a thick warmth to your lower belly. It swirls around intoxicatingly, dripping down into your pussy. His wet tongue is so close to your clit you want to rip apart the silk tie. Tamaki takes his chance to wrap both arms around your thighs.

“Tamaki if you don’t—fuck!” Your complaint is cut short. Jaw falling open, fists clenching, when your husband’s warm tongue parts your slick pussy. Moving up to swirl around your clit slowly. Warm shivers race up your spine as he kitten licks over your sensitive flesh.

“Holy shit Tamaki,” you keen, voice watery & thick with pleasure. “Please don’t stop,” you beg, thighs threatening to suffocate him as you cross your ankles over his back. He rewards you with soft lips wrapping around your clit, sucking happily & flicking his tongue at the same time. He teased you so much before that you’re already starting to feel an ominous knot tighten up behind your navel.

“Tama I wanna, oh god—nngh! Fingers, want your fingers in my pussy, please!” You plead, silk cutting into your wrists as you pull painfully. You vaguely remembered to use your words & it pays off. He hums approvingly, making your eyes squeeze shut from the ticklish vibration. Tamaki smoothly lets go of one of your thighs.

With no resistance, he slips his two middle fingers into your overly slick pussy. Stretching you just enough to help you get closer to bliss. He thrusts them at a steady pace—never letting up the suction on your clit. Tongue teasing under the hood in the way he knows you love.

“Fuck! Just like that, Tama please, m’gonna cum,” you whine, tilting your head to look at him again, meeting his gaze. His eyes are half lidded, pale cheeks colored in pink. He’s so pretty it hurts. Your hands start to throb from tensing so hard—circulation cutting off.

The knot of your orgasm tightens frighteningly fast. Tamaki pumps his fingers three more times and just the sight of him is too overwhelming. The base of your skull digs into your pillow as the water balloon pops. Pleasure gushing through your limbs like warm waves.

Your mouth opens in a silent O shape as your entire body goes taught. Your back arches off the bed, stomach muscles clenching. Your pussy acting as a vice while you cum around Tamaki’s fingers. He moves fluidly with your hips as you roll them into his mouth.

Your husband pulls his mouth off your overly sensitive clit with a pop. Fingers still fucking the life out of you.

“Look at you, such a good girl, cumming on my fingers so sweetly,” Tamaki coos. His pink tongue pokes out to lick the slick off his shiny lips. He moans at the taste. The sight pushes a whimper out of your throat.

After a few seconds, your body begins to melt back into into the mattress below. Thighs releasing their death grip on his head. You breathe heavily, watching Tamaki push himself up with one hand, sitting on his haunches. His fingers are still in your pussy & you swallow thickly at the realization.

“You’re too good at that,” you breathe, chancing a peak at your husband’s full, hard cock. It’s a pretty dick. Thick & pale, sticking straight out, pink at the tip. It twitches a few times at your praise. His precum making the tip shiny & saliva gathers in your mouth. You want to lick him clean & swallow him whole. Instead you snap your gaze to his face.

Tamaki is already smiling down at you like he’s read your mind. He takes his fingers from your pussy slowly. Thumb rolling over your clit, making you wince.

“I know you wanna suck my cock but m’gonna knock you now, okay sweet girl? Want me to untie your hands?” He whispers sweetly, running the knuckles of his clean hand over your cheek. You nod, humming softly—only slightly embarrassed by his nasty words.

“Please,” you laugh, tugging on the silk for emphasis. He chuckles gently in return, leaning over to untie your wrists. As he does, the warm, spongy tip of his cock accidentally glides through the mess he made of your pussy. Massaging your puffy clit, making you both moan simultaneously. The weight of his cock making you burn like you have a fever.

Tamaki’s eyes are intense as they stare into yours. He lets you free, hands hovering nearing your face. You pause, flexing your fingers, blood flowing through your veins. You can feel the tension smoldering deliciously between you both, close to blazing.

Hands plant themselves on either side of your head. Tamaki’s warm lips are suddenly smashing against yours desperately. He tilts his head to the side as his lips meet yours over & over. Your fingers finally tangle through his soft hair, tugging on it roughly. He lets his sharp canines catch on your bottom lip in return. Hungrily swallowing the moans he’s pulling from you. A wet tongue only plays with yours briefly.

Tamaki breaks the kiss, sitting back on his heels. Your hands fall limply to your sides when he moves away. He places his palms on your inner thighs, pushing them wide open. You let out a sound of protest, lower lip jutting out. He bites the tip of his tongue, looking amused. The man loves to see you pout.

“Don’t pout my queen, I know what your pretty cunt really wants,” he teases, lightly slapping your clit. You jolt in surprise, fingers fisting the soft material of the sheets.

“Yeah—okay, please fuck me,” you agree, noticing sweat beading in the hollow of your throat.

“I’m gonna stuff you full princess,” Tamaki says, voice airy & light. One hand keeping you spread, the other gripping the base of his shaft & he pushes his slick cock head inside. His jaw clenches at the tight warmth of your pussy.

“I know Tama, c’mon, wanna make you a daddy again,” you tease, wolfish grin pulling at your lips. Tamaki pauses, blinking at you in surprise—cheeks a soft pink. He looks too cute. Said man raises an eyebrow, slipping the rest of his cock in without any warning. Punching a strangled sound from your lungs as you grip your pillow for leverage.

“My queen’s got a filthy mouth,” Tamaki croons, hooking your knees over his elbows—effectively folding you like a pretzel as leans forward. Hands braced by your shoulders this time. “It’s hot,” he giggles. The glare you level him with holds no heat behind it.

He wiggles his eyebrows playfully and pulls his hips backwards teasingly. He only pulls out halfway before thrusting forward smoothly. You grip his shoulders, head falling backwards into the mattress. His cock is so so good.

“Fuck—Tamaki, f-feels amazing,” you moan throatily. The glide of his cock along the inside of your walls is heavenly. Splitting you open just the way you love. He lets the way your body writhes underneath him guide his pace. Wanting to make you howl. You desperately move your hips the best you can to keep up with him.

“Yeah? Your pussy fits me like a glove princess, makes me feel so good.” Tamaki pants slightly, warm breath ghosting over your face. He’s drinking in your breathy moans like a parched man.

“Mmhmm,” you whimper, hanging onto his muscled forearms now. “Harder, please Tama,” you beg, feeling breathless. Your face scrunches up in pleasure as your eyes flutter shut. All you can focus on is the slick feeling of his cock gliding in & out of you, carving out a space.

“That’s such a good girl, asking for what she wants—just like I told her,” Tamaki praises, voice low & sweet like honey. He gives you what you want, making it his goal to curve hips slightly so he can hit your sweet spot dead on.

Your nails dig into his flesh & your back raises off the bed the best it can in this folded position. Your veins are buzzing with pleasure as he fucks you. Eyes rolling so hard back into your skull you’re afraid they’ll get stuck.

“Tamaki!” You almost sob. “I can—ah, oh my god, fucking feels like you’re hitting my cervix.” Your legs flex over his elbows, his strength keeping you pinned however he chooses.

“It’s called a mating press for a reason baby,” Tamaki huffs a laugh, his eyebrows pinching in pleasure as the sound of his pelvis smacking your ass pushes him closer to the edge.

This continues for a while. You’re unsure how long. Tamaki keeps making you cum so intensely you see stars. Hearing going fuzzy. Your hips are starting to ache & then you’re begging him to cum inside you—making his already stiff cock twitch repeatedly. He wants to fill you up so so badly, he just also loves making you cum.

“You’re so sweet when you cum on my cock like that princess,” he whispers. The pretty moans leaving his mouth are music to your ears.

Tamaki knows he’s toed the edge as much as he can & now he’s about to explode. Your pussy squeezes rhythmically around him from your latest orgasm & it’s not helping. His groin aches.

“Tamaki, cum inside me baby,” you murmur, hands reaching up to frame his face. Unable to help the little ah sounds spilling out of you.

“I can’t wait to see your belly stretched with my baby again, such a good mama,” he coos softly, tone brimming with love. Sweat has started to drip from his chin onto your neck & you’re just as sweaty as he is. “Fuck, m’gonna cum, you’re made to take my cock, made to give me babies, my goddess,” Tamaki whines, thrusting shallow & desperate.

You can’t deny the way it makes your pussy flutter around him with the way filth leaves his mouth so easily. Those tiny squeezes must be enough to push him over the edge because he shoves his cock inside you completely. Curly, coarse hair at the base of his cock teasing your clit. Tamaki fills you to the brim, choking on the moans in his throat. Stuffs you with small thrusts, sucking in air through his teeth when he starts to get over sensitive.

You feel so full, wanting so badly for him to get you pregnant. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, hugging him to your chest as Tamaki drops your legs. You let out a groan of relief, feet tingling as you crack your toes. The two of you catch your breath for a moment, hearts thundering.

Eventually, your husband rises, sitting back on his calves. Forcing you to drop your hands to the bed once again. He runs his tongue over his bottom lip as he pulls out of you slowly, admiring the sticky, white cum coating his cock. He groans as he tracks the way his cum trails out of you. Before he can think better of it he drags a thumb over your pussy. Gathering a bit of his cum & wrapping his lips around his thumb to suck it off.

“Tamaki!” You gasp, cheeks burning from the nasty sight. You’re ashamed to admit that it makes your pussy throb.

“I wanted a taste,” he teases, pulling his thumb from his mouth with a wet pop. A surprised laugh tears out of you & then suddenly Tamaki is laughing too. You both giggle as he lies down on his side, facing you. Placing a palm over your lower belly. You slowly intertwine your fingers with his, resting your hands back on your stomach.

“You’re lucky we didn’t wake up Chiyoko,” you mumble, halfhearted in your attempt to scold him. He just laughs.

“I would’ve put her back to bed my queen,” Tamaki teases. You hum, content with his answer, body floating.

“I can’t wait to be pregnant again,” you say in a hushed voice, eyes drifting shut as you relax.

“You’ll be just as beautiful as you always are,” Tamaki whispers in a voice so sweet it’s tooth rotting. The two of you both enjoy the post orgasm haze for a little bit longer before you do anything else.

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 28

part 1 | part 27 | bonus stobin scene | ao3

cw: anxiety attack, graphic thoughts of death

Chapter 7

Steve's mom leaves the week before Thanksgiving.

No preamble, no notice, no "so long and thanks for paying rent," just— poof. Gone. Ta-ta, kiddo. Have a great life!

(Or don't!

Who cares?

Not me, that's for sure!)

The worst part is Steve finds out from Ernie of all people. Ma couldn’t even tell him to his face that she’s abandoning him to the gaping maw of this hellish town because she’s a good-for-nothing coward. Some day this place is gonna swallow him whole, splinter the bones and cough up the pellet, and Florence Harrington will be somewhere far, far away, sighing empty condolences over a fresh glass of red. “Just dreadful, isn’t it? Such a pity; what a shame.”

Steve’s hanging towels on the clothes line the day after the party — after the ride to drop off Max and the hangover brunch with Robin; after drowning his headache in Tylenol and finally getting home, only to realize that he can’t shower yet because all the towels are soaking wet — when Ernie looks up from his yardwork and casually ruins his goddamn life.

“You're wastin' your time with that,” he says, propping his weight against a rake and squinting at Steve in the mid-afternoon sun.

“What?” Steve frowns; hangs another towel. It's not like they're going to dry themselves. "Why?"

"Too cold."

"It's not supposed to rain, though, is it?"

"No, but the humidity—"

Screw the humidity. "I'm sure it'll be fine."

Ernie shrugs. “Suit yourself.”

He turns his attention back to his yard, dragging the rake over a smattering of damp leaves; obsessed with keeping his little patch of lawn pristine; and Steve reaches into the hamper and sincerely hopes that Ernie’s wrong. He needs a shower, and if the towels don't dry fast enough they get that gross mildew smell to them, and then it gets in Steve's hair, and how is he supposed to flirt with Eddie if he smells like musty lake water?

"Where's your mom off to, anyway?" Ernie asks after a moment. "Saw her leave this morning with two big suitcases,” he explains when Steve throws him a questioning look. “Figured she was off somewhere nice.”

Steve blanches.

Two big suitcases?

He didn’t even notice that she wasn’t here. Feels like a stupid, selfish asshole now, because he’d called ‘ma, I’m home!’ when he got in earlier and had thought nothing of her complete lack of response, the peaceful silence of the house; had welcomed it at the time, even, and what if—

Oh, god, what if she’d died?

What if she’d been lying there dead in her room, and Steve didn’t bother to check because he was too busy thinking about himself and how nice it was not to hear reruns on the TV for once? How long would she have lain there, rotting and bloated, and— and how long would his dad have, if the gunshot hadn’t rung out? How long; how long? Bleeding out on the carpet gurgling fish sounds everything red and Steve can’t breathe—

“Did she—?” he pants. Brings a hand to his throat; tries again. “Did you- see who she left with?”

“Some woman. Relative of yours, maybe? I didn’t get a good look at her. Had a real fancy car, though. Mercedes, think it was.”

Steve chokes on his own spit. Feels his throat close up, his heart pound and his ears ring and the yellow-purple-black start creeping in like vines at the edge of his vision, like demogorgon claws; like death’s shark-toothed grin. Hungry, howling, happy as it takes a bite out of him.

“You alright?” Ernie asks.

Steve grinds his jaw so hard he feels something crack. "Excuse me," he grits out, stomping back into the house.

—

"Fuck!" Steve shouts to his empty house — to the sun-faded paneling, to the weird stain in the orange carpet. Fucking Cecelia; fucking hell.

He cleans the house in a rage, eyes hot with unshed tears, and there's a note on the breakfast table. Crisply folded on plain paper, prim cursive letters, almost comically estranged:

Steven,

Apologies for short notice. Gone to stay with Aunt Cece in Evanston. Call or visit if you like.

— Mom

P.S. Happy Thanksgiving

The words leave papercuts in his throat. Steve rips the note to tiny pieces, can hardly see for the tears swimming in his eyes, but he's not crying over this; he's not. He fucking refuses.

Somewhere along the way, the cleaning turns to blind destruction, demolition of the all the little scraps of life mom left behind: her creepy angel figurines, her vintage Pyrex dishes, an empty bottle of old perfume. Steve hurls them all against the living room wall, delights in the shimmering pile of broken glass at his bare feet. Wants to crawl over it on hands and knees. Wants to burn this place to the ground.

When the sun dips below the trees he goes back out to check the towels. The air is wet, bitterly cold; nips at his hands when the wind blows, and the towels hang heavy on the line, just as damp as before but now the slightest bit stiff with the first creep of frost.

"FUCK!" Steve roars, ripping a towel down off the line. Yanking each one down in turn, throwing them into the dirt, raging, "What! Is! The fucking! Point!"

His tears spill over then, hot and wet as he sinks to his knees with a wounded growl, and he chokes there in the dirt; the cold, wet mud, the patchy grass. Gravel digs into his shins, and sobs wrack his chest, capsize him like plunging waves, and he can't do anything but shake and cry where the whole neighborhood can see. Making a commotion; making a scene, as his mother would say, but his mother's not here. She fucking left. She left him here, and his dad did, too, and Steve is utterly, truly, hopelessly alone.

"Come on, son."

And there’s Wayne Munson, coaxing him up off the ground with a sure, strong grip. Steve makes animal sounds as Wayne lifts him under the arms — ruined hiccups, mangled wails. There's mud in his lungs. Ocean silt; sucking sludge.

His mother's gone.

"Easy now," Wayne shushes; hugs him hard against his side. "You're alright, kid. You're alright."

—

part 29

tag list under separate reblogs, comment if you’re over 21 and want to be added tomorrow

[frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe]

i literally have no idea what this is, or where it came from but here's a thing:

pairing: steddie | word count: 2,043 | rated: M (will be E in next part)

Eddie Munson was not Steve’s bi awakening, okay? He wasn’t.

He just happened to be standing in the middle of Family Video dressed like his bi awakening (and it didn’t help that he already had an embarrassingly huge crush on the guy).

Steve had come out of the back none the wiser to what he was about to see, glancing up from the tape he was carrying for someone who’d called earlier. His eyes met big, clunky, worn-in cowboy boots, long lean legs (and very nice ass–damn, they’ve got one of those stupid bandanas in their back pocket too) in classic Levis so tight they looked like they were painted on, the back of leather jacket (--hold on), and the back of a head of long, wild-looking, sun-kissed, yet still dark hair.

After his seconds-long oogling, Robin, who was chatting with Bon Jovi’s twin at the counter, glances behind him at Steve. 

Bon Jovi tries to turn and look back without taking himself off the counter, but when that insane hair of his gets in the way, he shoves up off the counter and spins on one heel.

“Munson? Where the hell’ve you been?” Steve thanks whatever it is up there that the surprise of seeing Eddie again temporarily suspends his frazzled ‘hothothothothot’ thoughts about his friend enough to respond normally.

“Damn, Stevie, been gone all summer and all I get is a ‘The hell’ve you been’?”

“Of course, asshole, you’ve been gone All. Summer.” Steve says, finally getting to the counter himself and dropping the tape on it. He scoops Eddie up in a tight hug, one long won from their month of recovery post-Vecna.

Everything went fine, Vecna was dead, the upside-down sealed away, but they hadn’t all left unscathed. Specifically Steve and Eddie, both of whom ended their spring break from hell nursing bat wounds, and closer than ever before. 

Then, after finally graduating, being hailed a hero for “saving” Max and Dustin from the real killer (thank you, suspicious government people), Eddie was hauled out of Hawkins by his Uncle, the former of whom got just enough time for a quick ‘Gotta go, Wayne wants me helping out at the farm this summer,’ before he was gone.

“I told you I would be, Harrington,” Eddie says once Steve sets him back down on his own two feet.

“So what happened? Where’ve you really been?”

Eddie raises a brow, “At the farm. Like I said.”

“Okay, well, excuse me for thinking it may have been the same 'farm' my parents said my childhood dog was sent off to.”

“You think my Uncle was gonna take me upstate to shoot me dead?”

“Obviously not, dumbass, but what other goddamn reason would you, Eddie Munson, have to be on a farm. Like with cows and stuff?”

“Though the sun did you some favors,” Robin cuts back in.

And isn’t that the truth. Up close now (and letting himself look), Steve could see how Eddie’s normally dark hair and pale complexion were now sun-kissed and so well be-freckled that it sent his stomach for another rollercoaster ride.

“Yeah, Munson, you planning on keeping the blond around?” Steve teases, picking up a strand of sun-lightened hair off Eddie’s shoulder and giving it a short tug.

“I don’t know, I’m not really used to how light…”

Whatever Eddie says after that is completely drowned out by ringing in Steve’s ears because Eddie stretches an arm up to paw at the top of his head and he’s wearing a crop top.

He’s wearing a goddamn crop top under his jacket, some band tee that looks like he’d hacked off himself..and are those abs?? God damn he is so fine. It’s not fucking fair. Who does he think he is running around like Steve’s own personal wet dre–

“Holy shit.”

He couldn’t help it. The words just fell out of his mouth.

“H-holy shit, you’ve got abs, Eddie!”

‘Thank you, Robin.’ Steve thinks at her absently since his brain is completely preoccupied..

“Wha–? Oh! Yeah! Check me out, huh?!” Eddie grins wide, lifting his shirt just a bit more to show off the toned expanse of stomach. 

Steve’s mouth goes bone dry.

“And that’s not all,” Eddie says. He drops his shirt and shucks the jacket off his shoulders.

His very well sculpted shoulders.

And arms.

And oh god those hands. Steve could hear the soft scrapes of rough callouses against the leather when Eddie threw the garment onto the counter beside him and his only thought was about how they might feel against his skin..

Still beaming, Eddie flexes one, then both arms, his biceps bunching under more tanned skin. “I got a lot of ‘lifting heavy things and putting them back down again’ in over the summer.” he continues, “I’m probably stronger than you now, Harrington.”

“Ha haha, right..yeah. Robin, can you excuse us for a second?”

Steve doesn’t wait for her response before he grabs Eddie around one of those absolutely delicious biceps and hauls him through the store and out the back door.

He lets a grinning Eddie go as soon as they’re through the back door, taking a couple steps away towards the woods behind their building, and trying to calm down with measured breaths.

When he does turn around, Eddie’s stood away from the door, one hip cocked out and his arms crossed across his chest.

The grin on his face has melted down into a smirk though, and the look in his eyes is less teasing and more cautious.

Steve steps back up close to the other man, and literally starts to circle him like a shark. Scanning his eyes up and down Eddie’s body as he does.

“What’s goin’ on Stevie? Looking for some style tips?” he jokes.

Steve doesn’t answer, and starts his second cycle around his friend.

“You know, maybe get rid of some of those polos?” Eddie sounds just a bit more unsure this time.

Steve’s behind Eddie’s right shoulder when he speaks again. “You think you can barge back in after all this time, looking like that,” Steve comes around to stand in front of Eddie again, “And not expect me to react?”

Eddie grins wickedly again, and steps back at the same time Steve steps forward.

“Expect me to not want to devour you whole?”

“You expect me to want that, big boy?” Eddie says as he’s pressed between Steve and the closed back door.

Steve rears back immediately, “Shit, Eddie, I’m sor–”

“‘Cause I do.” Eddie grabs hold of Steve and spins them around, pressing the younger man back against the door instead. “Ohhh boy, do I want that.”

Steve groans as Eddie slots their hips together, “You really are a big boy, aren’t you sunshine?”

“The things I’m gonna do to you..” Steve growls out, Eddie’s jaw snapping open with his words.

They’re both startled away from the back door when Robin bangs on it, “You’ve got five minutes to get back in here before I drag you back in! It’s Friday and we’re about to get busy!” she yells through the door.

He hears her converse squeak on the tile inside the door as she heads back to the front, then chances a look at Eddie.

He looks as red as Steve feels, from the bit of his face he can see from behind the hair he holds over it.

“Eddie–”

“It’s cool, Harrington,” he wheezes out a dry laugh, glancing over at him, “Better get in for the rush before Robin comes back.

He reaches for the handle again, but is stopped short by a hand on his wrist.

“Listen, Eddie.” Steve says, giving the other man’s arm a soft tug to get him to turn around. “I may have gotten a little…over enthusiastic…”

Eddie’s face scrunches up in a weird way.

“No! Not in a bad way, unless you weren’t as into it as I was–doesn’t matter! Point is, I may have gone a little crazy, but I wasn’t faking it.”

“I don’t think guys can fake it, Steve-o.” Eddie jokes softly, a small smile on his face.

Steve chuckles just as soft, “Shut up man, you know what I mean.”

“Do I?”

“I think you do.”

“I dunno Steve," Eddie shrugs sarcastically, "You’re quite an enigma.”

“Okay, fine, here’s it spelled out for you: I am super into you.” Steve puts up a finger to stop whatever it is Eddie was about to say, “Hold on– I am bisexual, have been for a while and would like to try this..with you. If you want.”

“You gotta be more specific on what ‘this’ is, sunshine.” Eddie steps close to him once again.

Steve smirks, walking Eddie backward to the door again with both hands on his waist. Once he’s got him pressed back against the warm metal, he scoops the hair away from Eddie’s ear and holds it out of the way with a hand on the back of his neck.

He leans in, whispering right into Eddie’s ear. “I want to take you apart, Eddie.”

Eddie sucks in a sharp breath and Steve can feel the man’s heart hammering against his own chest.

“I want to suck you down, eat you out, and fuck you into next Tuesday.” He states, nipping on his earlobe for good measure before pulling back. 

Steve takes in Eddie’s flushed face, his eyes blown out they’re almost completely black, his chest heaving.

“I’d also like to totally romance you and date the fuck out of you, but…” he shrugs, grinning as Eddie smacks his chest lightly with a laugh of his own.

“I’m serious though, Eddie. I want this.”

Eddie’s smile falls slightly. “You sure about the whole dating thing, Harrington? You know you can’t date me for real..like in public and shit.”

Steve shrugs, “I know, but… I don’t think I’d survive something casual with you, Eddie.”

Eddie lets out a breath like he’d been punched.

He takes back in a deep breath, then pulls Steve flush to him again.

“I think that sounds amend—-”

Eddie’s forehead smashes into Steve’s nose when Robin shoves the door open behind Eddie.

“Damn! I knew the door was a bad idea.” Steve says, his voice coming out nasally from where he’s pinching at the bridge of his nose.

“Time’s up, Dingus, get your fruity butt inside.”

Eddie chuckles after her, leading Steve inside. “You shouldn’t tip your head back, lean forward and let it drain out.”

“Ugh, you sure? I’ll get blood all over me,”

“I’m sure, sweetheart, I’ve had a few bloody noses in my time.”

“Here,” Robin says once they reach the counter.

Steve takes the offered tissues, and soaks up the small trickle of blood.

“You still wanna date me if my nose is crooked?” he asks Eddie, who’s (sadly) shrugging his coat back on.

He pretends to think for a moment. “Sorry Stevie, that’s a dealbreaker. Even if it was my forehead what done it.”

“Ugh you’re such a dweeb, I don’t know what you see in him, Steve.”

“He’s hot, okay? And he’s still hot even after he rejected me just now.” Steve states matter-of-factly while shoving a wad of tissue into the one nostril still bleeding.

“You think I’m hot?”

“Very.”

“No, you’re gross. You guys are both gross.”

“Oh Birdie, you should've heard the things he was saying to me outside; all ‘Ooh Eddie, your muscles are so big and so is your hair and also your di—’”

“OKAY! That’s enough of that!” Steve cuts him off, pushing the still grinning Eddie toward the door, then, a softer: “Yours or mine after I’m off?” once they’re at the door.

“Definitely yours, unless you want Wayne to be privy to our shenanigans.”

“Yeah, that’s a no. Also, shenanigans? Really? You’re a super dweeb.” Steve smirks, pushing his boyfr— frien— Eddie out the front door. “I’m off at four, see you at five?”

Eddie fumbles backward over the curb but manages to catch himself, “It’s a date, Steve.”

He watches Eddie climb up into his van, and follows its path down the road and out of sight with a dreamy sigh.

“You still have tissues in your nose, Dingus.”

part 2/2 here | and on AO3!

definitely inspired by this post from @sparrowtapes

[mggsv]

BOYS LOCKER ROOM !✭

f!reader x gojo satoru (18+) | not proof read | reblog pls <3

summary : You hated the boys locker room for many reasons..like how Satoru didn’t have much room when he fucked you in there, or time for that matter..

warnings : Shower sex, girl in the guys locker room, public sex, quickie, talks of getting reader pregnant, Gojo has a pregnancy kink idc, breeding kink, asshole tease, whiney gojo is a my fav gojo

“Satoru! the game starts in thirty minutes..what are you doing man?”

“Be out in a sec! Gotta be clean before I get dirty out there~!”

As Gojo would say, you could never be too clean. He glances towards the door before he heard it close, his teammate leaving him be in the shower. Satoru took a deep breath, the steam flooding his thoughts for a second.

“Hurry..up.” you whine. He glances down at you, you skin glistening in the warm water, Satoru’s cock buried deep in your cunt, his thumb teasing the ring of your asshole. You held onto a rail, back arched to give his better access. There wasn’t much space to work with after all. “Oh what’s wrong captain? Oh shit, you’re supposed to be out cheering…” He lets out a halfhearted laugh, pulling out until the tip popped out of your gaping hole. His cum seeped from your folds almost instantly. You shudder from the lost, despite the warm water hitting your back. “Fuck..put it back in Toru.”

“Yeah..? You want it back in princess?” his cock slaps against your sensitive pussy. His lips part at the sight of your holes squeezing around nothing. “yes. yes- god fuck.” Your whines turn into needy cries, his thick head teasing your swollen clit. His cum beginning to smear over your slick walls. “Fuck I need to get you pregnant..” he moans. Satoru’s thumb circles back at your hole, pre stretched by him of course. Freaky fuck. You press your ass back on him. He didn’t miss the jiggle, slapping it softly.

“Gonna cheer for me captain? Huh baby?” He’s pushing his cock back into your workout warning. You felt your eyes water at just how good it felt. Fuck you didn’t want to go out there. “Want you riding my cock princess.” He groans, fucking into you as if you didn’t have to go out there and do everything perfectly.. “want you fucking yourself pregnant..want to see your stomach full of my seed- shit!” Satoru watches you gush over his cock and the shower floor. Your arms trembling from holding yourself up. “mm….a-ah Toru..T-Toru..” You whimper out a warning, your pussy squeezing around his cock. You hate that he couldn’t fuck you the way he wanted. You wanted his hands around your neck, commanding that you take every drop of his seed. “w-wanna see that pretty tummy swollen..” Gojo whines, head tipping back, the water running down his neck.

“That’s it.. cheer for me captain.” He was pretty sure the sound of your bodies colliding was louder than the shower running but he didn’t care. He finally had you, who was to stop him? The game..the game he had to play in less than 30 minutes. He sped up, reaching down to touch that pretty clit of yours. Your body jerks- you come with a small scream of his name, legs shaking from the stimulation. “i-i…oh fuck too much- too much T…oru.” Your eyes sting with tears, body spasming.

“Oi! Satoru, coach says he’ll give you hell if you take another ten minutes!” Satoru’s head tipped back resting on the tiled wall while his cum coated yours, shooting deep into your womb. You mewl at the feeling. Ignoring the comment from his teammate who had opened the door once more. Satoru’s eyes peeled open, glancing forwards the fogged frame. “Coming..” he calls out, smirk on his lips.

“He also said to tell Y/N her coach is looking for her, said don’t let it happen a fourth time or he’s snitching.”

Another reason you hated the boys locker room, everyone was aware of what Satoru did when he showered last..fucking you. You’re his pregame workout after all.

read more

[raphael-angele]

Nico Protection Squad

WARNING: Use of hateful slur

Nico, coming home from school with Percy: Hey, Reyna. Hey, Jason.

Reyna: Hey, Nico.

Jason: Hey, Buddy

Percy: Hey, guys. Uh, Nico, why don't you go to your room and rest. We need to talk.

Nico: Mkay. *leaves*

Percy: Make sure to do your homework, alright?

Nici: Uh huh!

Reyna: What happened?

Jason: Is he okay?

Percy: ...we need to call the team

---Later---

At one of their rooms:

Percy: Good day, everyone. I know it's late and it's unusual for me to call a meeting at this time but this is an emergency

Annabeth: But first, an attendance check. Annabeth? Here. Bianca?

Hazel: Oh, she comes back next week

Annabeth: Ok. Jason? Here. Thalia? Here. Percy? Here. Hazel? Here. Piper? Here. Reyna? Here. Will? Here. Grover? Here. Leo? Here. Frank? Here. And Mr. D? Present! Ok, that should be everyone. Take it away Percy

Percy, clearing his throat: Okay, I need you guys to swear that you will not go berserk right after this and you will remain seated until we have a plan.

Everyone:

Percy: So, I was picking up Nico from class. On the drive back, he...

Hazel: He what?

Percy: He...asked me what a faggot was.

Everyone:

Thalia: WHAT THE FUCK?!?!

Will: Is he okay?!

Hazel: Where did he even learn that from?!

Jason: Did someone call him that?!?!?

Reyna: WHO THE HELL WOULD CALL HIM THAT?!?!?

Leo: Every single douchebag in school, of course!

Piper: You think they'd learn their lesson after the first time

Percy: *gavels* Order! Order!

Grover: I think we're all missing the point here. How's Nico doing?

Percy: He's fine. I asked him where he knew the word from. He said someone was calling him that, a couple of students a year above him apparently.

Frank: What happened then?

Percy: I asked him if he knew their names. He didn't and he asked me again what it meant.

Will: What did you say?

Percy: I didn't answer. There was a McDonalds right there and I went for it. He took the bait and has been quiet for the whole car ride.

Grover: So...what do we do?

Leo: OH! *raises his hand* WE'LL SET THEIR LOCKERS ON FIRE!

Thalia: I think what Grover meant was what do we do for now? We don't know these guys, and we don't know how much it's affecting Nico.

Reyna: Thalia's right. We need to have a plan to protect Nico and catch these bastards.

Annabeth: Percy and I already thought about it.

Percy: Introducing the Pick up/Drop off Nico Chart. We each get a schedule of when to pick him up, and when to drop him off

Annabeth: And to make sure we catch these guys, we think it would be best to see Nico off to his classrooms or at least the building.

Thalia, raising her hand: Uhm-

Percy: Don't worry. We adjusted it for times you guys are away. Which is why we used magnets to represent us. See? I'm the water droplet, Annabeth's the owl, Grover's the goat, Leo's the fire, you're the tree, Hazel's the-

Annabeth: They get it, Percy. All in favor of the chart say aye

Everyone, raises their hand: Aye!

Leo: So how are we gonna get back at these guys?

Jason: We could tell them off to the dean

Percy: You'd suggest that, wouldn't you, Mr. Goody Two Shoes?

Piper: I can charmspeak them to do embarassing stuff

Percy: Eh, we need something more

Annabeth: I'm writing that one down, it sounds funny

Mr D.: I am the God of Insanity. I can just drive them crazy.

Annabeth: Mr. D, no.

Percy: Not a bad idea though. I'm writing it down.

Will: Wait. I think I figured out another problem

Percy: What is it, Will?

Will: Who tells Bianca?

Everyone:

Percy: ...all in favor of keeping this a secret from Bianca, say aye?

Everyone, terrified: Aye!

Will: Whu- Percy, no. Remember that time you didn't tell her about how you accidentally destoryed Nico's mythomagic cards and made him sad for nearly a month?

Percy: *shivers* I still get nightmares from that.

Annabeth: Fine. Who tells her?

Everyone: *looks at Reyna and Thalia*

Reyna: No

Thalia: Absolutely not.

Mr. D: Hang on. If Bianca is so terrifying, why not just give the guys to her?

Percy: Mr. D, although that's a tempting plan, there is no telling what Bianca will do to those guys if we let her get near them.

Mr. D: She can't be THAT scary.

Everyone: Yes, she can.

Percy: With what she did to me? She might as well have sent me to Tartarus!

Frank: Gods, what did she do to him?

Annabeth: She took away all the blue in our apartment and replaced them with orange.

Percy: It took a month before she put them back! There was no blue food for a month!

[darkenedurge]

Part One Here.

.

“ “𝐈’𝐦 𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲,” 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐚𝐲, 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚𝐮𝐝𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐭,

“𝐈𝐭 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭.. 𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐞. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐟𝐲 𝐦𝐞. 𝐈’𝐦 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨..” ”

.

CONTENT : Fem. Reader | So, P in V Sex | Face Sitting/Riding | Oral, F. Receiving | Religious Guilt | Slight After-Care (Cuddles) | Falling in Love (and it’s consequences).

A/N : Sorry this is quite short, I hope you enjoy regardless! Reminder that this is a part two, however it can be enjoyed as a stand-alone, short fic. If, that’s your jam.

.

˚ ✧.

"Shit, shit, Enver.." You grind, helpless and relentless against his face – his tongue, clumsily circling your clit; his hands, resting upon your thighs, fingers kneading into the supple, softness of your flesh. Enver groans, the sound reverberating – riding through your body, head to toe.

Your chest heaves, orgasm creeping up far quicker than you'd anticipated – your hips drive harder, stifling him beneath your pleading cunt. Your hand, gripping a fistful of his hair. Tugging, fingers curled against his scalp. Another groan from Enver, and you're tipped over the edge. Trembling, legs shaking, you rut out your high – before collapsing, rolling onto your back.

Enver's face is slick with your juices, lips and stubbled chin glistening beneath the dim lighting of the candles that adorned your shared walls. He's above you, without a word, fingertips ghosting over your bare skin – tracing the outline of your waist. You reach up, thumb trailing his lower lip – earning a smile, as he presses a kiss to the tip.

"I adore you," He says, in his usual grumble – though, his voice is notably hoarse from the guttural groans he'd released only moments prior; "I hope you know that."

You hum, letting a brief moment of silence pass. "I know," You then reply, tone uncharacteristically gentle for a creature as violent as yourself – "And I adore you."

Enver responds by dipping his head, burying it in the crook of your neck, peppering sloppy, needy kisses to your skin. You know him well by now, know that it's a silent request for entry – a silent plea to feel you, around him. Your legs spread, a silent reply, resting either side of his hips.

He adjusts, face greeting you with a lazy smile – as his cock pushes into you. A familiar stretch, a familiar warmth. You cry out, with a swift, huff of a laugh to follow. Oh, how you'd missed this – despite the fact that it had only been days, perhaps a week at most.

"Gods," Enver grunts, guiding himself into his usual rhythm, "How do you always feel this incredible?"

You moan, shamelessly, the sound muffled as Enver captures your lips in an open-mouthed kiss. His tongue tangles with yours, and you can still taste yourself on him – drawing a second, keening moan from your throat.

“Such pretty sounds,” The comfort of his voice greets you once again – he’d grown fond of that, talking, praising, while he was inside of you – “All for me.”

Enver’s hips are driving into you harshly, seeking to batter that sweet, sweet spot he’d abused so many times – steering you to ecstasy, and even further beyond. Your moans devolve into helpless whimpers, nails decorating his skin in crescent grooves – some, painted with slithers of red. Blood.

“Enver,” His name, spoken almost as a warning, “If you keep doing that I’m gonna–”

He hushes you, clicking his tongue – “Ah.. that’s the idea, little one. We’re going to come together.”

And come together you did. It’s electric, dizzying. It’s hot, like the very fires of the Hells themself. Hot, yet a shiver still courses through your body as it’s pinned beneath him – hips, still pistoning, in and out.

Eventually, though, he stops – head in the pillows, drawing the covers over both of you as you curl at his side, fingertips tracing his chest hair. Spent, your eyes flutter.

Until. You remember.

Murmuring, “Father, please forgive me.. forgive me for I have forsaken you..”

Enver makes a soft noise, one you can’t identify. It’s not one of displeasure, nor is it one of approval. “Must you always pray after we make love, dearest?”

A sharp intake of breath, that’s then released, and you urge yourself closer – nestling further at his side, head upon his shoulder; his arm, laced loosely around your waist, free hand combing fingers through your hair. “I’m sorry,” You say, with audible guilt, “It just.. terrifies me. You terrify me. I’m not supposed to..”

“Hush.” Enver interjects, a kiss pressed to your temple, “Rest. You’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.”

Father, Father.. forgive me. Forgive me. Forgive me.

[pear1escence]

Being Keegan’s girlfriend would entail…𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 °

Keegan p. Russ x fem!reader - explicit

Being David Walker’s girlfriend would entail…

⭒ Late night car rides, driving around town with American oldies playing on the stereo, a cig in your hand nd his gaze shifting from the road to admire you every so often.

⭒ He’s not much for fancy dates, but he loves going out on walks with you. Strolling on beaches in the evening, loves it when you wear pretty skirts that flow with the wind. You might find a nice spot to put down a couple beach towels, share a bottle of wine and some home baked goods.

⭒ The warmth in his veins from the wine combined with your pretty face, he can’t resist kissing you. He’d pull you into his lap, his hand buried in your hair as he kisses you deeply, those delicious groans slipping from his lips as he does so.

⭒ Wouldn’t do beach sex. Sand getting everywhere, eugh. But in the car??

⭒ He’d have you riding him in the front seat, shirt pushed down, lips around your nipple, hands on your hips. He’ll bite just to hear you yelp. Can’t shut up either. He’s not shy of being vocal, groans a lot, the deep, sexy kind of sounds that has your stomach doing a flip.

⭒ Pretty average in length but his cock is thick as hell. Stretches you out so good. Hairy everywhere. Chest, thighs, nether regions. Yum.

⭒ Compliments you a lot, tells you just how pretty you look taking him so well, how good you feel. “Yeah, that’s it babe” “You’re taking it so fuckin’ well, doll” Curses a lot too.

⭒ Ok enough of that😾

⭒ He owns the comfiest, softest tees, the perfect ones to throw on in the morning with only a pair of panties underneath. You’d wear them a lot when he’s gone.

⭒ He thinks of you a lot when he’s deployed. Tries not to, he gets sad thinking of you alone.

⭒ Hugs you so deeply whenever he returns. Those comforting, safe hugs along with murmurs of how badly he’s missed you. Buries your head in the crook of his neck nd strokes your hair softly.

⭒ His heart breaks for you when he sees you cry. He’ll immediately forget about whatever he’s got on his hands. He’ll sit you down and wrap one arm around you, his hand lifting your face towards him as he asks you what the matter is.

⭒ Projecting my daddy issues onto this poor innocent (not) man very hard right now. Pls god I need him so bad

⭒ “Oh, my sweet girl” he’ll murmur, voice low and tinged with sadness, he’ll pull your legs over his lap nd wrap his arms round you tighter.

⭒ He’s very much not the perfect boyfriend, even though he wants to be.

⭒ He has his issues, struggles with PTSD which causes him to be very closed off. He hates opening up, sometimes it’s like there’s spiked wire wrapped around his throat when he tries.

⭒ He rarely seeks you out when he’s down. He can be very avoidant, scared he’ll blow up on you without meaning to. If he does come to you, he won’t talk.

⭒ He almost slumps up from tiredness, prefers it to be in your bed with your fingers drawing slow circles along his back, sweet words of affection nd loving kisses to his head.

⭒ He hates getting angry with you. The Ghosts are far from soft on one another, the rough atmosphere within his team has sometimes traveled over to you as well.

⭒ He’d never lay a hand on you. Never. But he has regrettably raised his voice at you a few times, when he’s really mad. The fear in your eyes causes him to pull back though, nd he’s quick to leave out of guilt.

⭒ He wouldn’t want you to worry for him, shoots you a couple messages about needing to blow off some steam before he takes a long drive to try and clear his mind.

⭒ He’s heavy with guilt and shame once he comes back, very soft with you in the days following.

⭒ You see the guilt in his eyes whenever he looks at you, hear it in the repeated ‘I’m sorry’s he gives you.

⭒ Why did I make this sad all of a sudden. I’m telling you I need to stop projecting my issues onto pixel men😞

I’m not gonna reread this so apologies for any misspelling, this has to be the first time I’ve posted in months?? I’ve been busy wasting time on stan twt 😖 Note - if you liked the angsty part towards the end I have a longer fic with a similar concept, ‘I miss what you’d do to me’

[lonelystarrs]

𝑴𝒂𝒊𝒅 𝒁𝒆𝒏’𝒊𝒏

𝗧𝗼𝗷𝗶 𝗭𝗲𝗻’i𝗻 𝘅 𝗙𝗲𝗺𝗥𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿

He really, really needed to stop making bets and gambling with you, it bit at his pride but god damn the results were always so fucking worth it.

Part one: Don’t Touch

Warnings: 18+ MDNI + maid Toji + loses a bet in prt 1 and makes it worse for himself + switch reader + reluctant sub Toji / dom + toy usage + Toji gets meann but also shows his soft dom + degrading/ praise kinks + established relationship + fluff + cum play + dirty talk + possessive + anal play + I’m sorry but I was screaming with laughter at the end -idk why my fics end with stupid crack I can’t help it.

Another 4k smut fic I’m not sorry.

Yeah, you really did think you were fucking funny didn’t ya?

Toji’s jaw tightened as he tried so very hard to not have his damn eyes roll back into their sockets from rolling so hard because he was actually doing what you asked.

He was no chicken, he could keep up on his side of a bet but couldn’t recall this being part of the deal, in fact he was so very sure it wasn’t part of it.

The clothing was tight, not suitable for a man of his size and stature, in fact it wasn’t suitable for a man at all.

When the hell would he learn to stop making bets with you? He was always so ridiculously unlucky when it came down to it, when was he gonna learn that gambling with you wouldn’t ever go in his favour?

Maybe his pride was letting him make the mistakes again and again.

“You missed a spot, Maid Zen’in.”

“Yeah? How ya see that when you ain’t even looking up at that shitty book huh?”

You snickered as you flicked the page, indeed not looking up at him but knowing he’d skipped the bottom shelf because he didn’t want to bend over in this damn skimpy maid outfit.

“Don’t recall this being part of it,” he sneered, glaring at you as you still refused to look at him.

“Oh? When we got home after that Halloween party, you bet I’d cum first and you were the one who blew his load first, it was your idea on who wore the outfit had to do whatever the winner said for a whole three hours and well, Zen’in-“ you snapped the book shut and finally looked up at him, “-here we are.”

You smirked at him whilst tilting your head and he hated how those little pulses sent to his cock made him throb. He both loved to hate how that little stubborn, challenging streak in you made him secretly simp for you, not like he’d ever admit it, besides it was always so rewarding.

“So, bottom shelf T, needs dusting.”

He snorted and turned back around, when he bent over though you didn’t find yourself so amused, was it supposed to be hot watching that stupidly short skirt ride up, see Toji Zen’in in a damn thong and those fucking breeder balls of his bulging against the material?

You never thought about it, truly, but it made your cunt clench and suppress a moan with how this man was wearing something so degrading.

You didn’t think he’d go all out and actually wear the thong, but seems he took his gambling more serious than you thought.

It wasn’t because of you calling him a chicken, a pussy if he didn’t do it had anything to do with his pride being bitten at…

“Gone quiet doll, you into this shit you- oi”

“You are too, you’re getting hard.”

Even more so when your hands cupped his balls through the thin material, your thumb however followed the line up the thong and that’s when Toji straightened, turning around all but glaring at you.

“Don’t push ya luck, I ain’t into that ass stuff.”

“Oh? You tried it?”

His stare was hard, the silence making up for his lack of will to say any words and you only smirked at him.

“So you never tried it, you’ll cum so hard y’know-“

“You’ve banged a guy before?”

“Yeah, but we can just do fingers.”

“I didn’t say I was doing it you brat,”

“Awwwwh, Toji c’mon, you can’t handle a little finger?”

You wiggled your index finger at him and bellowed out a cackle when he told you to fuck off and stormed off, his skirt bouncing around his thick thighs and each step made heavier by your laughed that didn’t seem to fade no matter how far he walked away.

You never realised how stroppy Toji could be, you’d seen him get assy when he’s lost a bet on any kind of silly race he was interested in at the time. You’ve seen him pout ever so slightly at the most stupidest of things, even if he denied it and said his face wasn’t capable of pouting…. Sadly his scar gave any kind of minor movement away on his mouth.

It made him quite readable actually, not like he was difficult to read— most the time he was rather black and white when it came down to it. However, this side of him wasn’t often on show.

But it was fucking hilarious when he did show it.

Two hours later after cleaning left him sat on the couch with his arms crossed pouting as he glared at the tv, you were sure he wasn’t even watching it just looking past it and directing his glare there instead.

Cause you’d only mock him further for his attitude if he directed his attention to you, sat there all cozy in his T-shirt that he should be wearing.

“Awww, t’wooohjiiii- are you fweeling sad?”

You prodded his cheek and stifled a laugh noticing his shoulders tense, the maid outfit was straining against his muscles.

“But you look too hot to be sad-“

Your name left his mouth slowly in a warning as he turned to look at you, his green eyes fired up and quiet honestly you’d never seen him this annoyed with you.

“-you’re pushin’ it, fuckin shut up before-“

You shifted and swung your leg over him on the sofa, straddling his lap and tracing your fingers along the front of the maid outfit, his huge pecs bulging under it and even more so from his crossed arms under them

“Before you what?”

Your voice was husky, practically tempting him to threaten you, in vain of course because he knew you liked it.

You wiggled your hips on him and he just glared harder at you.

“You got an hour left of me being in charge,”

“Tch, don’t get too cocky, you’ll regret it.”

“Will I?”

“Doll, don’t be a fucking fool.”

“I just wanna fuck you in this, on the sofa, right here.”

He fell silent, the hardened glare softening ever so slightly, but he still wasn’t convinced it was all you wanted.

He knew you better than that.

“I wanna start off with your cock down my throat, wanna treat you for being so good today T. But I want you to let me finger fuck your prostrate, if you don’t like it I’ll stop-“ his stomach tensed when you ran your hand down his stomach, his six pack tensing under your touch as his breath hitched. Your hand cupping his semi hard dick through the short maid skirt.

“You’re getting hard,” your leaned forward, lips brushing his ear and he tilted his head to allow it, his arms relaxing across his chest “-good boy.”

It took fifteen minutes to get the little prostrate toy in his tight hole. It only took sucking him off and slipping a finger in, hitting his prostrate and milking his cock was surprisingly enough to convince him.

and it took five minutes for him to be practically drooling, his hips bucking up brushing against your clit with each stuttered jolt, the toy vibrating against his g-spot.

He was sweating already, his hands firmly gripping your hips that kept moving to your ass, unsure where to put his hands.

“F-F-Fuckin’ he- shit, fuck!”

You cackled above him, hands cupping his face trying to get him to look at you, your thumb running over his bottom lip swiping away drool.

“Awh, Toji you feel good?”

“S-Shut it,”

You hummed and kissed him, tongue filling his mouth greedily and he rose his own to meet yours, trying to keep up with it but failing as his moaning echoed against your tongue.

Your other hand reached down to angle his cock at your drooling hole, rolling it around to catch slick.

“Don’t, don’t you fucking dare, you’re dead-ah Fuck,”

You were so wet, so feral after watching him turn into an utter mess under you that you slid down in one smooth slide taking his 9 inch, thick cock to the hilt and his eyes rolled back.

“M’cummin’ fuck me I think I’m gonna cum,”

You’d never seen him cum like this, his voice broke, his whole body tensed, shaking as he came so hard his eyes crossed, looking down to see his cock disappearing into you. The bulge forming in your stomach as you reached the hilt, his toes curled against the floor, his hands forcefully moved your hips to rock against him.

You gripped onto the maid outfit at the front, your breath hitching as you spread to accommodate his girth, his hips moving so messily, so wild from cumming so hard that he was already moving inside you. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled yourself against him, hovering above him slightly and biting your bottom lip whilst smirking at him.

His green eyes dazed but focusing on your face, your hand held a little remote and you turned off the toy. The low buzz disappearing to leave his heavy breathing fill the silence in the room. Your rolled your hips and his jolted.

“Shit-“ his hands gripped your hips stopping your movement, his sensitive cock still leaking out cum as your cunt pulsed around him, his body humming as he came down from whatever high you’d just put him through, “-stop moving you brat.”

“Your last hour is up,”

It was shocking how quickly he recovered, your back hit the sofa so fast everything blurred, suddenly focusing on Toji hovering above you in a maid outfit. He was still breathing heavy, sweat beading on his skin and the veins up in his forearms, one hand around your throat as he kept you in place.

He pulled his cock from you, both eyes dropping down to watch it leave you coated in more cum you’d ever seen him unload. It was covered in white slick, dripping down his shaft both to his balls and onto your inner thighs. It slapped hard against his stomach before bobbing, still rock solid and dripping in cum.

The maid skirt hanging over the top of it, bunched at the hilt of his cock and it was kinda amusing seeing his big dick poking out from under it.

An airy, moany fuck left him watching himself pull from you,

“-well, ain’t that the hottest thing I’ve ever seen, made a mess of me sweetheart,”

He rolled his hips forward so the head of his thick cock caught your clit, sticky cum rolling around the sensitive bundle of nerves and your body jolted.

“Dicks drooling f’ya still doll, know what that means?”

You hummed in response, back arching off the sofa as your head rolled back from his dick starting to fuck against your clit, his hips rolling so smoothly your body was humming for him already.

Toji leaned down, brushing his lips against your ear as he pushed your hips up with his thighs, half curling over you, his dick sliding past your clit leaving a sticky glide up your stomach. It flexed against you as his mouth met your cheek.

“You got your safe word?”

His hands gliding up your sides, smoothing up your thighs that were braced either side of his ribs, over your hips and gripping your waist, his huge hands swallowing your smaller frame. His thumb brushed under your ribs, giving you a squeeze.

You nodded dumbly turning your head to meet his mouth with your own, but he pulled back, his hips following as he blindly lined himself up with your drooling hole.

“Use ya words, doll, know I ain’t doin’ shit until you do,”

You felt his lips moving against yours, his green eyes holding some glassy look in them you’d not seen in him before, glistening like emeralds framed by strands of black hair.

Your heart surged in your chest when your eyes locked, reading his expression that was almost soft.

“Y-Yeah, know my safe word.”

“N’what is it?”

“Zen’in,”

“Good girl, if you take this without sayin’ it I’ll tell ya a lil summit at the end.”

God your heart was jumping, it was banging against your ribs like it was screaming the answer at you, like it knew what he possibly had dancing on the end of his tongue when he was looking at you like that.

Like you were feeding his damn soul.

“Are you making another bet with me?”

Toji smirked, cock sure about himself on this one.

“Sure, know you ain’t gonna win this cause I’m gonna ruin you.”

How he entered you was cruel, it was slow, almost damn loving the way he watched you. Your back arching, head rolling back and one hand moved to brace against the arm of the sofa behind your head. One of his hands joined yours, sliding from your waist, up your wrist slowly and laced his fingers through yours. His other remaining on your waist to hold you as he stayed folded over you, your hips angled up supported by his thighs under your ass.

Green eyes drank in your expression, your mouth opening so he could hear your breath hitching, the echo of your body humming for him in a song he couldn’t ever stop listening to.

And his heart kicked against his ribs.

Shit.

Shit.

You were it. His second chance.

He knew it months ago, maybe even years but it was so damn hard to ignore his soul singing for you at times like this.

“Fuck, Toji feels s’good.”

He hummed in response, leaning down to kiss the place on your neck that made your cunt clench around him and he felt it. He picked up a pace that was slow, fucking up into you at the perfect angle.

“Yeah, you do feel good sweetheart,”

Your tits bounced with every jolt from his hips meeting yours, the wet squelch of his cock bullying into your cunt, he moaned into your neck.

He meant how he was fucking you, but he had every intention to lead you into a false sense of security. His hand squeezed yours before leaving it to grab at your waist again, sitting back straight he looked down on you looking so small under him.

Your legs over his thighs, his huge hands swallowing your little waist and he had such a stunning view of his cock spreading you open from this angle, cum staining that pretty pussy.

He groaned and chewed the inside of his cheek starting to fight himself on changing his pace.

He could keep fucking you like this, all loving and slow, his body was humming for it after how hard you made him cum. The toy was still sat in his ass and quite frankly taking it out at the moment didn’t even cross his mind…

His cock flexing in you made his ass tighten around the toy every time and it felt fucking good.

He didn’t even give a shit he was fucking you like this in a damn maid outfit either.

He pulled out to the tip, moaning a breathy fuck me as he watched your cunt pulse, trying to suck him back in still covered in cum and slick.

His large hands squeezed your waist lovingly, before slamming back into you with such force you almost screamed. Head rolling back to him, your mouth agape, eyes doe eyed in shock at his sudden change.

And you couldn’t help but look at him, holding your waist, sat up with your hips to his smirking down at you in a maid outfit that was straining against his huge form. His black hair sticking to his face in some places, sweat beading down his chest and his veins bulging up his wrists and arms.

Your hand on the arm of the sofa flew to one of his wrists to brace yourself, the other held on firmly to the toy remote you kept hidden from him.

He snorted a laugh, the scar on his mouth twitching as he fought a smirk.

And he started to fucking rut into you, it was vicious, his balls sticking to your ass with every wet plap, plap, plap, of him bullying his thick cock into your pussy.

“F-Fuck, Toji! Fuck! Hah- baby- fuck baby that’s it.”

He sneered, panting out as he used his body to see you both through the stars, finding it still amusing that you were talking like this under him.

It wasn’t what he wanted.

He wanted tears, drool and begging. He wanted your body shaking under him.

So he fucked you nasty, not even slowing as you came around his cock for the third time, feeling your slick and cum drooling past your ass onto his thighs.

“You-you’re a sadistic little whore, hah, look how well you’re taking it. You like this cunt full of my cock, sweetheart?”

“Y-Yes!”

“Yeah? Like that bulge in your stomach? Fuck, fuck you take my big dick so well.”

You gave a moany laugh, your hips bucking up into his looking down to see the bulge of his cock appearing everytime his hips met yours, burying himself to the hilt.

“Who’s pussy is this?”

You looked up to him, green eyes already focused on you.

“It’s hah, oh fuck, i-it’s yours-“

One hand left your waist to grip your chin, squishing your cheeks and forming your mouth into a little pout.

“And who is dick this made for?”

“M-Me,”

“Yeah? It is huh? Fuck, you do look good on it.”

Your breath hitched when he pressed down on the bulge in your stomach, switching angles and your eyes widened when you felt something else stirring in your cunt.

He seen the panic in your eyes, your thighs starting to shake under him as he was fucking you past your limit. He suddenly moved up onto his knees, folding your knees to your head and his hands landed on the arm rest behind your head caging you under him, his dick fucking down into your cunt.

He hit so deep your eyes crossed, small whimpers leaving you as your voice left you, unable to moan with how deep he managed to get his cock into you, it was borderline painful how he was hitting your cervix but you couldn’t find it in yourself to say the safe word.

“Fuck you take me like a champ you little brat,-“ he moaned out, rutting his cock down into you in his little maid outfit, “-fucking look at you, she feels so good swallowing my cock like that. Sloppy pussy is drooling for me sweetheart -hah- shit you gonna cum again? Feels like it! C’mon, give it up. Fuck keep givin’ it to me.”

“T-Toji w-wait, it feels funny -fuck Toji w-wait!”

Of course he ignored you.

He wasn’t planning on listening to you unless you screamed that safe word of his last name.

Your toes curled as you felt yourself explode over him, cumming so hard you squirted over his cock and stomach, and onto yourself.

Green eyes widened as he watched you squirt over yourself, glistening on your tits as he folded you over.

“Holy shit-“ he kept thrusting into you, making sure to make a mess of it as you just kept cumming over him “-shit doll, you can squirt?”

“Y-You asshole! Hah, fuck! Toji you asshole!”

He chuckled above you as you tried to glare at him, unable to hold his gaze long as you thrashed, convulsing under him.

Somehow though you managed to find a second of clarity, fingers pressing that button to the little toy inside his ass and turning it up to full fucking blast.

The moan that left him was unholy, his arms over you buckled, his grip still firm on the arm rest but he dropped back, unfolding you slightly as he moved an arm to the spine of the sofa. His hips jolting into you uncontrollably as the toy slammed against his gspot.

“Huh- fuck, you little b-brat,”

His head tilted back, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he moaned out, the veins in his thick neck showing as his whole body twitched in places.

You huffed under him, trying to get air back into your body as you laid there shaking under him, still half folded and his cock still buried in you, flexing on its own as he got his prostrated fucked by a small toy.

His orgasm hit him so quickly he looked back at you a little stunned, his eyes dazing out and crossing as no noise left him. Gripping your hips again as he humped his cock into you, spilling cum into your swollen pussy.

“Feels fucking good-“ drool spilled from the side of his mouth, “phhh-uck, turn it off will ya? S-Shit,”

You gave an airy laugh and did as he asked, he fell forward onto you, even his own body shaking slightly as he was above your trembling one. Your heavy breathing filling the silence of the living room, the tv noises starting to fade back into your senses and the lights dancing across the room.

“So-“ you panted, patted his back and he lifted himself a bit to glare at you half heartedly. “-shower?”

He grunted in response, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you with him, your legs wrapped around him as he carried you towards the bathroom, his cock still plugged in you but softening.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, planting soft kisses at the scar on his mouth, moving across his cheek.

“So damn clingy-“ you laughed against his cheek, his deep voice sounding tired but content. His soft, wet cock slid from you just as he stepped into the walk in shower and he stood back, ripping the maid outfit off his body like it was tissue.

He threw it onto the floor, reaching over your shoulder to turn on the shower, planting his arms either side of you to hide you under the cold water, letting it warm up before it hit you.

With your back against the cooling tiles, you looked up to his calm face, eyes closed, giving a pleasant hum as the water hit his hot skin. His black hair falling to frame his face as water dripped from the ends, little streams forming on his skin.

You fingers grazed his cheek and his eyes opened to meet yours, still a little glassy from the sex you both had but focused on you softly.

He leaned forward, his forehead pressing to yours for a second before wrapping one arm around your waist, pulling you up against him burying his face into your neck.

“I love ya, it pisses me off, but I do.”

He felt you freeze under him and his arm squeezed you, apprehension spreading through his chest as for a split second he worried he said the wrong thing.

Like him you loved in a unique way, you were never one for the lovey dovey crap and neither was he, it suited him.

He felt you pull back and reluctantly his eyes met yours, now glassy as tears started to build in them.

“Y-You-“

“I mean it, I ain’t joking around.”

The tears spilled and his tongue clicked.

“Doll, don’t cry, Christ ain’t this suppose to be a good thing?”

You hit his chest playfully, babbling a laugh at him you wiped away at your tears.

“I love you too, you giant softie.”

His nose wrinkled at the insult, never in his life had he considered himself soft in any way. He says one thing to you and you think he’s soft?

He leaned down again burying his face into your neck and letting himself relax, hoping to fucking god you didn’t feel the beat of his heart slamming into his ribs, see the heat creep his neck or see the smirk twitching at his mouth.

Your response and acceptance making him feel like some dumbass schoolboy.

But you had to ruin it.

“Toji-“

“Woman, can you just enjoy the silence for one minute?”

“Did you just tell me you loved me, with that toy still in your ass?”

©pharix/lonelystarrs 2023 permission is not given to repost, translate or post anywhere else.

Yes I used maid Barou as a banner ahahahaha