#I have only seen the ring once and i was like six years old

[attapullman]

Pretend | Robert "Bob" Floyd

Summary: You aren't sure what's worse: having to share a bed with the boy who was your first boyfriend who you haven't seen in years, or having to pretend he's your boyfriend when you wish he actually was.

Word Count: 4.4k

Warnings: f!reader, light smut, 18+ only as always, unprotected pinv, fake dating trope, one bed trope, lots of switching between present and past tense whoops

A Note From Mo: It's Choose-a-Fic! Thank you to everyone who voted and has been part of my 500 Follower milestone! Hopefully you like the fic I wrote just for you (with a little extra one bed trope as a special thank you)! 😘

Coupe glasses tinkle and laughter rings out as the rehearsal dinner draws toward an end. Everyone’s had a little too much of the hotel’s signature white sangria. On your left, Isabel and Reuben are frozen in blissed smiles, the outdoor lights casting an ethereal glow. An idyllic night before the wedding.

You should be relaxed. You’ve had a little wine, the most delicious dinner, and tomorrow your college roommate is getting married at this stunning resort. But every time that big hand grazes your shoulder or his breath heats the skin of your cheek, you’re reminded none of this is real and you desperately wish it was.

The only difference between six-year-old Robert Floyd and the man standing in front of you is the broad shoulders. Those pink cheeks are just as prominent and his eyes are wide behind updated corrective frames. Sandy hair politely brushed off his face. Even his thin lips warp in that same warm smile that instantly relieves tension. The only significant difference is those shoulders that fill out the entire doorway as he checks his rooming assignment with Isabel.

From where you stand behind her, suitcase in tow, you feel your cheeks warm and your gaze drop. You haven’t seen him since the engagement party where you muttered, “it’s a small world after all” more than once. It seemed all too coincidental that your college roommate would be marrying a guy who just happens to be in the same Navy squadron as your first grade boyfriend. 

To be fair, you had “dated” Bobby Floyd for a total of a week before your parent’s divorce landed you on the opposite side of the country. There hadn’t even been a formal breakup. He’d simply been the guy you jokingly referred to as your “first love” at wine nights. Occasionally you remembered his collection of vintage Coke bottle caps. 

He was practically a figment of your imagination until Isabel introduced you to the man in the nicely ironed pale blue button down and you sputtered out that you already knew each other.

You’re so lost in how bizarre the coincidence of it all is that you zone out through Bob’s check-in and the next few guests that arrive. It’s not until her line of relatives has dwindled that she remembers you’re sat behind her, sorting out the favors for after the reception. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry, I should have given you your card earlier!” she apologizes as she flips back over her clipboard to find your room number. It’s all forgiven, you were waiting to finish up your bridesmaid duties before checking in. Get the work out so you can slip on your bathing suit and enjoy the amenities - pool, sun, and cabana boys - before dinner tonight.

She hands you a room card and walks you through the map of the hotel. You miss the second half while gathering up all your items, mentally trying to remember exactly how many rights before a left. Dinner is at seven and anything else surely she will remind you. With a kiss to her cheek, you head off to your room to begin the fun part of this destination wedding.

The property is stunning, all sun-washed sandstone and lush tropical plants. Deep blue terry cloth draped over the sun loungers you would live on all weekend. Some sun to compliment what should be a flawless wedding weekend. Maybe you’d get lucky and one of Reuben’s hot Navy friends would join you for some eye candy. You deserved a little one-weekend-in-paradise romance.

Suite 4. It’s a little deflating to remember that you’re in this big suite alone because all the other bridesmaids have dates. A least you have some privacy. The intricately carved door accepts your room key and you push the heavy wood open, ready to change and relax.

W-why was Bob in your villa?

Standing amongst the floor-to-ceiling windows draped with ochre that overlook the ocean, white oak furnishing topped with plush linen bedding, and a trailing pothos overtaking the wall, was Bob Floyd - right in the middle of changing his shirt. Equally wide eyes taking you in as he held the bunched heathered grey cotton right in front of his head, thumbs through the head hole, mouth open in shock.

“What are you doing in here?”

What was he doing in here? This was your room. “Why are you in my room?”

Despite knowing he’s not in the wrong, his cheeks tinge a deep pink. Takes a moment to pop his head in the hole of his shirt and brush out the wrinkles. You cling to to the annoyance of him interrupting your afternoon instead of focusing on how toned he’s gotten as an adult.

“This is my room. Suite 4. See?” He holds up a card identical to yours, the glossy ‘4’ reflecting the sunlight. The same ‘4’ that looks back at you. 

Clearly there’s been some sort of mistake, someone at reception accidentally typing in the wrong number while going about their busy day or Isabel reading her meticulous list wrong. An easy fix. 

You bite your lip. “Oh. Maybe I grabbed the wrong card. I’ll go find Isabel and sort it out.”

“I’ll come with you, she might have handed me the wrong card. Probably supposed to be sharing a bed with Fanboy.” He’s impossibly sweet as always. 

You have no idea who or what a Fanboy is, but you accept his company back to reception, leaving your bag in the room purely because the bridesmaid dress alone weighs a half ton. The walk back there - with a few long turns - is a tad awkward as you both walk in silence, occasionally jerking your heads in the direction to turn.

Isabel has wandered away from reception, and is now soaking in one of the poolside bars with Reuben, their lovesick smiles contagious. She gives you the warmest smile when you approach, face splitting in two as she takes in your companion. “Hey, you two! You get settled in okay?”

God, this is awkward. Thankfully before you can muster the courage, Bob steps in. “I think there’s been a mix up with one of our rooms.”

Her eyebrows furrow as takes in what he said. Eyes flit to her lounger where her clipboard of rooming assignment lies within her tote. Reuben sips his frozen margarita in casual interest, not involved in the logistics.

“Which room are you in?” Even without her clipboard, Isabel is pretty sure she knows who is in what room. She spent months perfecting these details.

You hold up the glossy ‘4’, now slightly sticky with your sweat.

“Four? Hmm, I’m pretty sure that’s right. Was there a problem with the key? Both your keys?”

You give her a bewildered look. “One of us has the wrong key. We’re not sharing a room.”

“Why not? Your prude parents aren’t here to care if you share a room with your boyfriend.”

Every muscle in your body freezes. What is she talking about?

And while you’re paralyzed on the spot, Reuben looks like he’s about to throw up the margarita. Because he knows exactly what just happened. And not only is it his fault, but he does not have a solution.

Before you can question Isabel, the pilot is throwing his arm around your shoulders and grabbing Bob’s elbow, whisking you two away, calling out to his confused fiancée not to worry, he’s got it handled. The controlled hands of a fighter pilot steering you back in the way of Suite 4 while his face reads like he’s watching a plane crash.

Reuben won’t answer any of your questions, holding up a palm while you sputter out the who, what, where’s? of what is going on. Bob silently allows himself to be directed, confusion upon his brow, but patient enough to wait for an explanation. 

Once you’re privately within the confines of Suite 4, the soft scent of bergamot and sandalwood wrapped around your bodies, Reuben finally confesses his mistake.

“Isabel thinks you two are dating.”

You expect to see eyeballs on the floor from how violently they pop out of your head. What? Bob doesn’t look much better. You two have barely spoken in decades, let alone are in a relationship! Why in the hell would Isabel think that?

Reuben drags a hand down his face, wishing he was back in the pool drinking. “When Bob over here told me that you two dated way back, I casually mentioned it to Is. When she asked the other week if he’d be good sharing a room, I thought she meant Fanboy or Harvard.”

You skip over the fact that Bob has talked about you to other people to focus on the details. “She meant me.”

“How was I supposed to know that?” By this point he’s rubbing the skin on the back of his neck raw, eyes wildly desperate. “Can you two share? It’s only two nights.”

Your eyes meet ocean blue as you both look at the single bed, then at each other. Bob intervenes calmly. “Why can’t you just tell her we need another room?”

Reuben crosses his arms across his chest, suddenly defensive. “We don’t have any other rooms. We booked the place out entirely. Short of Aunt Muriel keeling over, one of you would have to be at another hotel.”

“That’s fine,” you quip, grabbing your suitcase and ready to get the hell out of this situation.

“There’s nothing within a half hour drive. And you’re both in the wedding, that is not going to fly with Isabel.”

You’re tough, you can do hard things. Two nights at a gorgeous resort where you have to share a king-sized bed with the sweetest man on the planet? Could be so much worse. From a look at Bob’s face, he’s having the same realization.

And right as you’re about to tell Reuben that it’s not a big deal, he sends in the clincher. 

“You’re also gonna have to pretend you’re dating.”

“You’re joking.” Your tinny voice rings out in the room. You can do a lot of things - go to a wedding alone, sleep in the same bed as Bob - but you draw the line at pretending you’re dating someone you hadn’t seen until an engagement party six months ago. Nope, no way.

You look at Bob, standing with his hand resting low on his hip, watching this entire scene unfold. Giving him an expectant look, he smooths out his face and gives you a little nod. He’s on whatever team you’re on.

And just as you were about to tell Reuben to get lost, Isabel’s sweet face floods your mind’s eye. That happy smile she always greets you with, and her dismay that something had gone wrong with your room. Her perfectly planned out wedding weekend ruined by her misunderstanding a minor detail. She would insist that you have separate rooms, even if it interfered with plans, and she’d be upset - the smallest tinge of disappointment clouding her bridal smile.

Isn’t the job of a bridesmaid to make the bride not have disappointment?

And now, sitting here at the rehearsal dinner, warm conversation all around you, you can still hear yourself let out a large huff of breath and agree. “Alright, we can pretend for the weekend.”

It’s a decision you stand by, but doesn’t make the subtle way Bob has been playing your boyfriend the last 24 hours any easier. He plays devoted partner a little too well. Carrying your beach bag down to the water that afternoon when everyone wanted to sit by the pool, sweetly rubbing sunscreen into that spot on your back that you can never reach. Grabbing a drink for you when he went up to the bar. 

Your lonely wedding weekend is suddenly filled with this broad-shouldered Navy man who gives you a shy smile every time you make eye contact.

There wasn’t time to put in ground rules before Reuben threw you you to the wolves to socialize with the rest of the wedding party. When Isabel saw you, standing a healthy foot away from Bob and her sculpted eyebrow raised, it was the first test of this “relationship”. Your heart slamming in your chest as you slipped a hand around that thick bicep and rested your hot cheek against his shoulder. His own face fighting anxiety as he allowed you to set the pace. Isabel’s smile brightening as she beckoned you closer, instantly fawning over the two of you and the way Bob’s hand fits a little too nicely around your waist.

Thankfully the copious amount of relatives and friends constantly interrupting Isabel and Reuben prevented your friend investigating too close into this development in your love life. Happy to believe over some intentionally placed hands and the casual way he throws sweetheart in when asking if you want a drink.

“Now that I have you alone, why didn’t you tell me you were together? First loves reunited?!” Isabel drags you away to the other bridesmaids, Bob giving you a small wave as he joins the men. 

You shrug, making a show of looking at the hibiscus to avoid her eyes. Desperate for a believable lie. “I didn’t want to…uh, distract from your big day?”

She wraps you in a warm hug you don’t deserve. “Not distracting in the slightest. He’s the best, you’re so lucky!”

You throw a glance his way, watching his good-natured grin as Reuben’s groomsmen, mostly aviators he’s worked with over the years, joke and jostle on the other side of the lawn. It’s side glances like these that carry through the night; when he pulls your chair out for dinner, asks the waiter to refill your water, and offers you half of his dessert. When your eyes do meet, you drown in the twin oceans that twinkle back at you.

By the time you’re heading back to Suite 4 to share that big bed, you’re pretty sure you’re not pretending to like him anymore.

You’re regretting not putting up the pillow barrier Bob so kindly offered to set up. It seemed childish at the time - you didn’t need a divider to stay on your side of the bed - but now you’re lying here in your little cotton pajamas you did not expect anyone to see and you can hear him breathing and the room is a little too warm. Every sense is on high alert and a pillow barrier would give you an inkling of privacy.

In the silhouette of the moonlight peaking through the curtains, you watch the planes of Bob’s face as he peacefully sleeps beside you. If he’s good looking in the daytime, he’s breathtaking at night. Pale eyelashes against his cheeks, lips slightly pouted, hair mussed from changing sides. You wish you could smooth your fingers over the planes of his face, appreciate the sharpness of his jaw, the roundness of his cheeks.

Tomorrow you have to pretend all over again to be in love with him. A feeling that’s already starting to creep inside you. A whole day of his gentle touches and laughs against your cheek. He was the perfect boyfriend that week in grade school, and even more perfect as an adult. Holding his hand made you want to never let go…which promptly made you want to jump out of your skin. 

This was a tiny white lie to get through Sunday morning. That was it.

You keep replaying the last moment before you retired back to your hotel room for the night. The drunken group sitting around the fire pit, a bottle of tequila making its way around the circle. Not enough chairs so you ended up in Bob’s lap, body cradled in the firm comfort of his chest. 

He made it so natural, the way his hand ran up and down your arm when you shivered in the night chill. You knew he could feel the shock up your spine when you noticed how intently he watched you during your story of how Isabel found a rat in your dorm room. He made you feel like the only person out there by the fire pit. The only person on this island.

When even the tequila couldn’t keep you warm any longer, the group disbanded in favor of cozy beds and hot showers. And even when no one else was in sight he still kept his arm around your shoulder to share his warmth, the pinching heels you’d shed in his hand as he asked whether you wanted to shower first.

Lips accidentally brushing your ear when he said he liked your dress; it matched the bougainvillea.

While you hadn’t spent much time together since your parents moved you away too long ago to remember, you were continually floored by how thoughtful he was still. He remembered how Isabel didn’t like ice, and that a few members of his squadron had allergies. Giving up his water because the woman next to him was without. Not to mention how he seemed to go the extra mile with you. All the years of boyfriends before this and not a single one had ever noticed you picked the pine nuts out of your salad; your new fake boyfriend requesting a fresh one sans nuts.

And it was borderline torture watching him get ready for bed post shower. Face and chest red from the scalding water and slick hair pushed back, towel slung a little too low as he dug through his suitcase. You were still speechless as he offered to put up a pillow barrier or something if it would make you more comfortable, making sure you knew he respected your boundaries.

His eyes were so blue without his glasses…

Caution to the wind, you run a finger over his cheek, brushing away a rogue eyelash and promptly turn away from him. Only one more day and you would be free of wanting a man that wasn’t yours.

The Fitch wedding day was perfect. Wide smiles, bridal lace, stunning hydrangeas, and not a dry eye in the house when Isabel and Reuben officially became husband and wife. It was the storybook start to a happy ever after. 

The sunlight blessed ceremony was followed by a lantern-lit reception, dancing and drinking overtaking the sprawling beach-front lawn of the hotel. You stayed out until the evening ended, the wedding party laughing and overfilling glasses of champagne until the last lantern was blown out. 

You barely remembered your rooming/relationship situation until a warm hand was on your forearm, asking if you were ready to go back to the room. It’s entirely unfair how good he looks in his suit. All day you’ve admired it, from the moment he emerged from the bathroom asking for help with his bow tie to an hour ago, when the wedding party did one last rendezvous on the dance floor. 

Bob has an ease on the dance floor, clearly practiced, the hand on the small of your back gently guiding. A hand big and warm and more distracting than trying to remember your own footwork. The dark-haired woman he seems close with whooping out, “Look at those moves, Floyd!” every time you get close, her own date cheering along. 

You shake the memory from your brain as Bob walks you back to the room. Keep the pining to a minimum until you can get to the airport and not have to see him ever again. You’re doing this for Isabel, your own emotions have no place. Even as you watch him open the door to the room and welcome you inside, looking so perfectly boyfriend-shaped.

Your skin feels too hot, your head clouded by bubbles and loud poppers exploding into the sky. Shedding this satin dress and getting into a warm shower sounds like heaven, washing away the buzzing ill-content flooding your body since you joined the wedding group that morning hand-in-hand with Bob. But a broken zipper interrupts those plans.

“Bob?” He stills on his way to the bathroom, bow tie loose around his neck. You indicate to the stuck zipper you’re fiddling with, warmth flaring at the top of your cheeks at your predicament.

The tips of his ears flush as he walks to you, chest a breath away from your back, admiring the way the satin flows over your curves and dips. Takes a moment to gather your hair over your shoulder before reaching for the zipper. The skin of his pinky accidentally brushes your neck, twin breaths catching at the shock. 

Firm fingers guide the zipper onto the track. As they guide the cool metal down your back, the boiling point that has been simmering below the surface since yesterday afternoon comes to a head. The lace of your bra is visible. Now the silken band of your underwear. The air of the room is still, eagerly awaiting what happens next.

While his voice is shaky, his words are firm. “I don’t want to pretend anymore.”

Your head turns to the side, eyes catching his profile, too scared to look at him directly. 

“What are you pretending to do?”

His face falls into the crook of your neck, fingers tightening along the satin of your hips. “Pretending I’m doing our friends a favor. Pretending I’m not falling for you. Pretending every time I touch you it’s not the best part of my day.”

Your hand wraps around his, rough skin and satin beneath your fingers. Needing to tether yourself to reality to make sure this isn’t a champagne-fueled dream that he’s professing against your neck. 

“In that case, I don’t want to pretend anymore either.”

While you can’t see him, you can feel his realization against your skin. Brow furrowing, lips parting. The soft brush of his nose as he straightens up, uses his hands to turn you to him. Finally forced to look at each other amidst the information divulged.

You aren’t sure who leans in first, who braved the waters of uncharted territory. Time stills and speeds up as his face grows closer. The scent of sandalwood and bergamot that’s followed you all weekend replaced by the woodsy mint of his cologne you’ve treated yourself to when tucked into his side. Anyone outside can hear two hearts beating erratically, anxious and excited. 

His lips are warm and comforting, just like everything else about him. Pressing delicately against yours, taking his time and letting you set the pace. You’re torn between the shock of how divine he feels and the greedy need for more. Senses overwhelmed by him; you want to taste more, feel more, see more.

When he pulls away, a gentleman not wanting to overstep, you’re breathless.

“I’ve always wondered what it would be like to kiss you.” His confession is paired with pink cheeks and large hands playing with your fingers. 

You can’t help but to tease him, the banter from your childhood coming back. “Did it live up to expectations?”

“Way, way better.” Your smile is swallowed in his kiss, chins knocking as you trade off enthusiasm. A groan leaving Bob as you grab his hands and walk back to the bathroom. That hot shower still sounds amazing, but you need more of him.

The travertine tiles glow in the soft light as you watch your childhood love remove his suit, taking time to fold the pieces on the counter, letting you indulge in unbuttoning his crisp shirt as you share another sweet kiss. His own hands twisted in the dress barely clinging to your skin. The sounds that escape him as your hands explore his chest are purely sinful, meant only for your ears.

He barely lets you bask in his body, honed from years of Naval training, before he’s stripping the satin from your frame. You beg for another kiss, but he denies you. He can’t be distracted from watching every inch of skin being revealed. From letting his fingers follow the fabric as it pools at your feet. From kissing his way back up your body until your head falls back against the wall, fingers beckoning him to the shower.

“You’re so beautiful.” It’s more breath than words, but ignite the goose flesh along your skin as he adjusts the hot water and shower head to your liking.

Minutes or hours passed as you reacquainted under the steam. Your fingers tangled in wet strands of sandy hair, fingers slipping along any skin you can reach. His own hands tightly hugging your body, holding you close as he appreciates your nude form. Swallowing each other’s moans as his fingers dip between your folds and you run your palm along his shaft.

The universe has ceased to exist by the time Bob kisses you against the shower wall, fingers wrapping under your thighs to hoist you to his level. Loving the way you giggle as your arms wrap around his neck, trusting him wholeheartedly. Eyes trained at where he lines up with you, relishing the way your breath catches in anticipation. He kisses your forehead as a promise to take care of you, a promise you know he’ll keep.

Once he’s seated deep in you, the moment about connecting rather than getting off, he tilts your head up to check in with you. A kiss as his eyes search you for discomfort. The flames of his eyes burning the brightest blue. One final clench around him and he knows he needs to move; if not for his sake, for yours.

It’s the most glorious dream as he fills you completely, hips rocking into yours as sweaty foreheads meet.

When he brings you to orgasm, a steamy moment punctuated by your muffled screams against his shoulder, there’s nothing fake about the affection as he peppers you with praise. Or when he fills you with his own release a moment later, exhaling thank you, thank you, thank you.

A pillow barrier isn’t even discussed as you lay in his arms that night, cheek against bare chest. His arm trails down your arm like it had the night before, a mindless action you now recognize as meaningful to him as to you. Sated and content, as it should be.

You sit up a little to run your nose along his neck, producing a low groan from him. “You need something, sweetheart?”

“I was wondering, after that,” you gesture to the shower, cheeks heating, “does this mean we’re, uh, dating again?”

He smiles at your flush, cupping your face with one of his large hands. Presses the sweetest kiss to your lips.

“You know, we never had a break up. Technically we’ve been dating this whole time.”

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[dcxdpdabbles]

I have this idea for a post but I feel like you would do it justice.

Basically, Danny is yeeted through a dimensional portal and reincarnated as the clone son of Tim and Connor(from when Tim cloned Connor during his death). This little shit wakes up after that, when Connor has already been found, as a six year old gremlin with a need for chaos.

Que pranks!

I don’t have much more than that so I will leave this in your capable hands.

-🎃

"Master Bruce, if I have to remind you to fix your tie one more time, Gotham will be without its protecter for many months to come!" Alfred snapped - actually snapped - from where he was attempting to reorganize the entirey of the Emberald Sitting room.

Right now, he moved all the furniture and all the wall directions. He was just adding some tastefully done flower pots to make the place look inviting but also regal.

It had been six hours, and from the looks of it, Alfred had not found the balance he desperately wanted. He started over four times. His patience was all but gone.

Bruce's hands snap to his tie, scrambling to get it set just right. He moves it only slightly to the left - not making much difference - with a nervous smile. Alfred's teeth snap shut with a click, and his eyes blaze with frustrated rage as he rounds the coffee table toward the billionaire.

Bruce looks to be holding back a scream.

Dick winces, sinking into his chair lest the aged Butler turns his ire onto him. He knows why this evening has to be just right. Especially to Alfred, but gosh, he could not handle how terrifying the butler could be.

It's just for one dinner and one evening. Dick tells himself. Once Alfred can finally say he married one of us off, things will return to normal.

"Honestly! If you didn't walk around looking like an unkeept vagabond all the time, maybe there would be a Lady of the House by now!" Alfred sneered at a pale-looking Bruce.

Or maybe Timmy bringing Kon over to announce their engagement means Alfred will try to marry the rest of us off harder. Dick despairs as Bruce endures another tongue-lashing. He wants to go help, but if he moves even an inch from his seat, Alfred might realize Dick is still in the room.

He can't afford to anger the beast any further.

"And you, Master Dick!" Alfred suddenly rounds on Dick, pointing one long finger into his face, with narrowed eyes and the grim reaper at his shoulder. Oh, dear.

Thankfully, that's when the doorbell rings. At once, Alfred's face clears into an excited smile. "They're here! I'll let them in right away; you lads, gather the rest of the family. And remember, we must make a great impression! Tonight is the night we invite Mister Kon into the family!"

The butler doesn't quite skip out of the room, but the bristle walking with a chipper head turning is the close that Dick has ever seen him do.

"I'm so happy for Tim." Bruce mutters,"but I can not handle any more reminders that I haven't had a spouse."

"Tell me about it," Dick sighs, following after his father into the hallway and down to the dining hall. He can distantly hear Alfred opening the door and greeting the two. "A hour ago, he made seven passive agressive reminders that Tamaraneans propse with a dinner and a mock battle. Seven. I mean, how does he even know what Tamaraneans do when courting?"

"It's Alfred." Bruce tells him, taking a seat at the head of the table. Dick sits in the chair to his right as the oldest and First Heir- considering the reply. It makes sense.

Damian, Cass, and Duke walk in, not even a moment later. All are dressed better than any gala Bruce could have dragged them off, too. He is rather impressed that Damian is a red suit that makes even Bruce pale in comparison. Then again, he is the only one besides Alfred who has an eye for such things.

"Has he already proposed, or is he doing it at dinner table and were all supposed to act supirse?" Duke asks while sitting down. "I want to know what kind of face I should have prepared"

"The clone has asked Father for his blessing in his courtship with Timothy. He knew we would have figured out his plans when that blunder. It is no surprise." Damian huffs. Dick knows he's just upset that his big brother is going to get married and move out soon. He's adorable when he's territorial.

"I can confirm that Kon hasn't asked yet." Steph announces, strutting into the room in all her purple gown glory. Behind her, the Row sbilings wander in with matching celtic blue suits, making Dick grin. It's always nice to see people appreciate the best color. "Tim isn't the type of person to not show off his ring whenever he has a chance."

"I've always wanted to see a real-life popersoal!" Jarro gasps, flying into the room with his own little suit on. It's a nice black with green undertones just like Bruce's.

He lands in the miniature chair with a dinner dining set Alfred had special ordered for him.

It sits on top of where a regular dining set usually is, always the second chair on Bruce's left, because he is literally the favorite. Bruce denies it, but they all see the tender smile he throws the floating star.

The Wayne kids know. Jarro is too precious and hilarious, so none of them mind that he's the favorite. In fact, Dick has half the mind that he's the favorite of the majority of the family.

Jason leans over to pat Jarro's head, grinning when the little starfish swears. He adores when the kid randomly curses out of Aldred's hearing range.

"Shh, they're coming!" Cullen says from where he was lingering by the door, hoping to see Tim and Kon. He always looked up to the older boys as someone who had been forced into the closet for his own protection.

Seeing people like him helped ease the fear, and Dick feels his smile wideing when Cullen scrambles back to his seat. He's so excited he's practically in the Speed Force.

Alfred opens the door first, stepping to the side to allow the guest to enter first. Dick feels himself sit up straighter, the moment really setting in, Kon is going to propose to his younger brother.

His little Timmy is growing up-

"Wow, this place is big!" A child says, running into the room. Who the heck is he? "It's amazing, Dad!"

"Slow down. You don't want to fall." Tim laughs, rubbing the stranger's hair with a soft smile.

"It's okay, Dad. I'm strong!" The boy flexes his tiny arms. Tim laughs again as Kon crouches down to the little boy's height.

"Woah! Look at all those musceles. You're going to help me protect your dad, son?"

"Yeah Pa, I'll be the strongest super or robin ever!"

"Tim? Who might this lovely chum be?" Bruce cuts in, voice slightly strained. No one calls him out on it since they are staring wide eye at the tiny little boy who looks like an exact copy of Tim at age five.

Dick knows because he was one of the few in the Wayne's who saw Tim at that age. He's practically a clone to oh no.

Dick thinks he's having a heart attack.

Tim looks up at them before a brillient glowing smile breaks across his face. "Everyone, Kon and I have an announcement to make!"

Kon wraps an arm around his waist, sending adoring looks to man in his arms before they both hold up their left hand.

There are twin silver bands on both of their fingers. "We got married in Las Vegas, and we have a son! I like you all to meet Danny Drake-Kent! I made him when I thought Kon was dead."

"I am Danny, clone of Kon-el and Tim Drake. Fear me if you dare!" His voice squeaks. Squeaks.

Scratch that, Dick knows he's having a heart attack.

You can hear a pin drop in the silence his announcement cause, as Danny puffs up his chest and floats a few inches off the grown.

Oh, great heavens, Dick is an uncle.

"A fellow clone, son!" Jarro cheers from his little table. He slams two of his star points on the table to a beat that he speaks to. "One of us. One of us."

Danny's blue eyes land on the star fish and widen. He raises both arms into the air chanting back. "One of us. One of us. One of us!"

"It's awesome is what it is!" Steph cries, jumping up from her seat. "Hi, Danny! I'm you, Auntie Steph! I'm the cool one."

"Isn't this lovely? Master Tim not only has a husband but a child as well. Unlike some Masters." Aldred doesn't quite glare at Bruce, but he doesn't have to. The Waynes know who he means as Bruce wince.

Danny pauses in his chanting to look her up and down, staring pointily at her plum colored dress before humming. "That's a bold statement for an eggplant."

Steph gapes at him as Tim roars with laughter.

Oh, Dick is going to love this kid. He leaves his seat, trying to get to his nephew as the rest of the family attempts to do the same. Damain makes alarming threats to Kon, letting him know he would easily take him out if he detects a hint of mistreatment to his brother and new nephew.

The Waynes act like they can't hear the threat because they all have their own versions of the shovel talk prepared. They just have to get the clone alone.

It's a nice dinner.

[wineauntie]

evie and mom surprising Quinn with adoption papers🥺🥺

OH I LOVE THIS! (This is one longggg blurb, basically a fic without all the formalities)

Also I wrote this in under 25 mins and it’s severely unedited due to it being 2am

universe masterlist

Evie was seven when she asked if Quinn was her real dad. Your smart girl knew she looked nothing like Quinn and that Quinn was her ‘Winnie’ up until she’d started calling him dad when she was four.

You’d never actively hidden the fact Quinn wasn’t her dad, but Evie had never been fully interested in the fact or conversation at all.

She’d popped the question in the car on the way to school and despite your preparation for the day you knew would eventually come, you found yourself hurriedly taking Evie to a small diner nearby instead of school that day.

The two of you had sat down with hot chocolate and pancakes as you explained that Quinn wasnt her dad by blood, but he was her dad by heart, and that’s all that really mattered.

Evie was curious, she asked about her ‘blood dad’ and why she had never seen him. You treaded carefully around the subject, cautious so as not to hurt Evie in any shape or form.

Evie’s biological father was a horrible man whom once told that you were pregnant, had broken up with you, told you he was sleeping with your best friend, and then demanded you got rid of Evie, or ‘it’ as he’d called her.

You avoided saying any of this to Evie, simply saying that “he wasn’t ready to be a dad and then he had to go away.”

Evie looked a bit confused and as you expected a wave of questions from her, she shrugged saying “Dad was ready to be a dad.” And then proceeded to ask for more pancakes, knowing you’d give into her every whim at that moment.

After another plate of pancakes later, and the two of you cuddled side by side in a booth Evie had yawned, and curled into you, her voice small and tired as she whispered “I wish dad was my actual dad.”

Your heart cracked at her defeated voice, but a niggling thought arose in your head. A thought that pestered you to the point of restlessness, to the point where the world ceased to exist outside of your little family.

You’d told Quinn what had happened that day and he supported you whole heartedly, even going as far as having a one-on-one conversation with Evie about it. You allowed the both of them to talk in private only hearing snippets like “you’re my kid, bug, no blood will change that.”

And

“I love you too, now why don’t you go grab a movie and you, me and mom can go watch it?”

You spent days upon days mulling over the thought that lingered and grew exponentially by the hour and before you knew it, it was two weeks later and once again, you were driving Evie to school.

“Hey, Evie?” You asked tentatively. Your sweet little girl’s head bobbed up and down with a small hum as you pulled over the car to face her. “You know our talk we had about dad not being your blood dad?”

“And that dad is my heart dad!” Evie excitedly added, her teddy bear, Ted, held in one hand as her eyes twinkled. No matter how old she got, the teddy gifted to her by Quinn’s brothers, always accompanied her in the car on the way to school and remained there until she was collected afterwards.

“Exactly,” You smiled softly, your face completely losing any tension at your girl’s words. “Well, how would you like it if Dad became your real dad…your legal dad?”

The thought had been floating around for the past two weeks and it hadn’t been the first you’d thought of it. What you had with Quinn was undeniable– the two of you had been together for five and a half years, almost six years and he had become so ingrained in every aspect of your life and being.

He loved you to the moon and back, his care and love shining through with everything he did. He’d even gifted you a promise ring a year ago, an act of complete and pure commitment to you and Evie. Your daughter had gotten a small, dainty necklace, that mimicked the design of your ring.

Quinn was in it for the long run.

He knew it, and so did you.

“My legal dad?” Evie questioned, sounding out the sentence like an intricate problem.

“It means that he’ll sign an adoption paper, saying that the world recognises him to be your actual dad, and not just your heart dad. He’ll adopt you.”

“Mom?”

“Yes, darling?”

“Is that like what people do with dogs?”

You tilted her head at her question with a light laugh. “I suppose it is,” you shrugged.

“I like dogs…I want Dad to adopt me.”

And that was how you arrived at this very moment. It was the beginning of playoff season with the Canucks dominating their first game and Quinn playing incredibly.

The three of you had decided to have a nice family night with a dinner consisting of food you’d ordered in and a movie night, where the three of you would watch whatever Evie desired.

Evie was like a spring, bouncing up and down in her seat in excitement, glancing towards you every now and again. Your girl was smart, when you told her that you guys should surprise Quinn with adoption papers, she was all for it.

Quinn was chatting away to Evie and you all dinner, explaining the playoffs to Evie and catching up on the day with you.

Things were running smoothly under Evie eventually cried out and whipped her head towards you, unable to contain her excitement.

“Mom, can we do it now?!” She pleaded, her wanting eyes shattering any resolve you possessed.

“Do what?” Quinn paused his chewing and placed down his utensils, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. Evie beamed at him as you handed a large envelope to your daughter. “What’s that, Bug?”

Evie, now holding the envelope, felt a sudden wash of doubt cross over her, her eyes flitting towards you in worry.

“It’s okay, my brave girl,” you murmured, tucking a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. “Take your time.”

Quinn, unsettled by the sudden drop in Evie’s excitement looked ready to pounce into protective mode, with Evie wrapped safely in his arms. He remained quiet as you shot him a reassuring look, his gaze following Evie as she tread close to him.

“Dad?” Evie mumbled, her eyes pointed at her feet. Quinn felt his lips twitch up at the name. The name itself never failed to elicit the most glee-filled feeling he’d ever felt, and hearing it from Evie, his daughter, warmed his heart and soul.

“Yes, Bug?” He answered, his fingers lifting her chin carefully so that the two were looking at one another. His hand cupped her worried face, as he tried to rub soothing circles on her cheek. “Is everything okay?” He watched as Evie took a deep breath in before holding out the envelope.

“This is for you,” she explained meekly, glancing at you for support before focusing back on her feet.

“Me?” Quinn mused, cautiously taking the it from her. His fingers flipped open the unsealed envelope, pulling out a set of papers, neatly paper clipped together. His eyes scanned the first few words, which were big and bold across the top.

APPLICATION FOR ADOPTION ORDER

Quinn’s jaw went slack, his eyes immediately jumping to you, as you bit your lip nervously, urging him to react.

“You…me…you want me to adopt you?” Quinn’s raspy voice cracked as he refocused his attention on Evie.

“Not like a dog, but like my actual dad,” Evie supplied as if she was teaching him to understand it. She turned to you as you graced her with a smile for remembering what the two of you had talked about.

You didn’t often see Quinn cry. He wasn’t much of a crier you see. When he got upset, he got tired or quiet, so when tears tumbled down his cheeks you and Evie were lost in what to do.

“Oh no, we made dad upset,” Evie whimpered, looking at you in panic and devastation.

“No…no! I’m not upset,” Quinn choked out, his hands dropping the papers as he moved to fully face the small girl. “I’m just…I’m really grateful, Bug…this is, it’s just…thank you.”

Quinn captured Evie in a tight hug, her head burying itself into the crook of his neck as it once had whenever she was younger. Her own little arms had thrown themselves around his neck, clutching onto him as if he’d disappear if she didn’t.

You watched, with your own hot tears spilling over onto the cushion of your cheeks as your daughter hugged her dad. Watching the two together seemed to mend whatever your ex/Evie’s dad had broken inside of you.

“Mom, come join,” Evie’s muffled voice called out from its position. That was all it took for you to rush towards your family, enveloping they both in a tight hug. You watched as Quinn lifted his face, his reddened eyes, filled with love and happiness meeting your encouraging ones.

“You’re sure about this?” Quinn whispered to you and only you. He loved the two of you more than words could ever deny, there was no buts about it. He just wanted to be sure that you were one hundred percent certain on it.

You pressed your lips to his, feeling the saltiness of his tears against his plump lips before slowly drawing away to lean your forehead against his.

“I have never been more sure of anything.”

[niallsgoldhoop]

sweet spot

a niall horan short story part one of six / six thousand words-ish nsfw, 18+

“I’m going to get another drink!”

I smile at my friends before turning away from the round table we’ve been sitting at, cutting my way through the crowded bar full of people dressed in various shades of green.

St. Patrick’s Day was the day to go out.

This year, for once, it fell on a Sunday which was the only day that I was off work.

Not that I was complaining— Owning my own bakery was the one and only thing that I had ever wanted and dreamed of.

So this morning when a couple of my closest friends asked if I wanted to go out with them later that night, the only obvious answer was yes.

“What can I get for you?” Looking up at me with a wide smile, the girl behind the bar mixes a couple of drinks before pushing the one in her hand right to the girl next to me.

Biting on my bottom lip, my eyes scan over the rows of liquor bottles lined up behind her. “I’ll just take an old fashioned with an extra cherry, please!”

“You got it, babe.”

Turning her back to me and pouring my drink, I lean against the dark wooden bar top to wait. While I’ve made my rounds to different pubs and bars over the years, I’d never been to Wilson’s before. It was full of sports memorabilia and vintage Guinness signs.

As my eyes take in everything around me, I realize one more thing that this bar has that none of the others have ever had.

Him.

Jesus Christ.

Even from here I can tell his eyes are light— a contrast to the dark chestnut color of his hair that curls out from the bottom of the Boston Red Sox hat perched on top of his head.

Sitting with a small group much like my own, the moment his eyes meet mine from across the distance something shifts deep inside my belly.

Heat blooms across my cheeks as I look away, focusing my vision on the baseball game playing on the television to my left, only I definitely couldn’t tell you a single thing on it.

“See something you like?”

Whipping around at the sound of a low, Irish accent, I find myself face to face with the most attractive man I’ve ever seen.

If I thought he was captivating from across the room?

That was nothing compared to standing right next to him.

Under the brim of his hat, those eyes are so blue that it takes my breath away especially when the golden ring around his pupil catches the light when his fingers grip the brim of his hat and turn it backwards.

Fuck me.

“I—Um—“ Words evade me as he looks over the features of my face, those eyes falling to my lips for the longest few seconds of my life.

Running his hand over the dark scruff lining his jaw, it does nothing to hide the smirk that pulls at the corner of his full lips. “Cat got your tongue?”

This time I realize it’s my turn to let my eyes linger where they shouldn’t as a smug smile pulls on the corner of my own lips.

“Niall.” Holding his hand out to me, goosebumps travel up my arms at the electric touch between us. “And you?”

Just as I go to answer, the drink I ordered slides in front of me, looking so refreshing that I can’t help but pick one of the cherries out and bite it between my teeth, my tongue catching the drop of cherry flavored whiskey from my bottom lip.

“Willow.”

His thoat bobs against his swallow, that thick accent rough and low as he pushes closer to me as someone slides up to the bar behind him, repeating my name back to me as if he was imagining the taste of it on his own tongue. “Willow.”

I’ve never met someone who I’ve been able to fall into a conversation with so quickly. It feels like we stand there forever, slowly drifting closer and closer to each other. The smell of his vetiver and bergamot cologne becomes more and more intoxicating as time goes on.

“So, this is your holiday?” Taking a sip of the amber liquid from my glass, I look up at him through my lashes as the last rays of the sun filter through the old stained glass windows of the bar.

His laugh is loud and full before he leans a little closer to be heard over the noise, his tone playful with something else hidden under the surface. “I guess that depends.”

“Oh yeah?” A smirk pulls at the corner of my lips when Niall reaches out, his finger boldly tracing the thin green strap over my shoulder before following the path of my collarbone. “On what?”

A final peak of the sun hits the gold hoop in his ear just before he leans forward, his soft lips brushing against the shell of my ear. “Are you going to kiss me because I’m Irish?”

“I don’t know—“ Reaching forward, my middle finger tucks into the pocket of his jeans as I look up at him, my head tilting to the side. “Are you gonna kiss me if I’m not?”

Time stands still between us as Niall glances behind him, towards the table of friends he left behind, his hand dropping to my waist where the tips of his fingers slide just barely under the top of my jeans. “Maybe not on the lips— But I can think of some other places I’d like to get my mouth.”

“Here?” This time it’s my turn to look behind me, towards my friends. “I—“

“Well, I’m not opposed to that.” His voice sounds laden with honey. “I won’t lie, Willow— You are one of the most beautiful women I've ever seen.”

A blush crowds the apples of my cheeks as I push a lock of hair behind my ear. “I could say the same about you, Niall.”

“Will they miss you?” Blue eyes look over the top of my head as he looks towards my friends. “Because I know the guys at my table won’t miss me.”

Biting my bottom lip, I shake my head. “They’ll be fine.”

I wasn’t a stranger to a one night stand— in fact, I feel like that’s what I preferred.

Working the hours at the bakery mixed with helping my sister, it just worked out that way. Plus it never really bothered me to be single.

There was something about Niall that felt honest.

Deep in those sapphire eyes with their golden sunset, there was a feeling in my gut of trust.

Ever since I was younger I’d always had intuition that was rarely ever wrong, something that I held close to my heart, letting myself lean into those feelings.

“So what do you say, Willow?” That brilliant smile splits across his perfect features, a couple of small crinkles at the corner of his eyes. “Want to get out of here?”

“Are you asking me to make an Irish exit?” A laugh bubbles out from my lips as I look up to him.

With a shrug of his shoulders, that hand resting along the top of my hip slides along the rough material on my jeans before his fingers dip into the waistband, pulling my body flush with his as his lips brush across my jaw. “Is it still an Irish exit if you leave with someone who’s Irish?”

“Mm, maybe not.” My words come on an exaggerated breath— one not meant for the public to hear. “Let me just send my location to my friends and tell them I’m leaving.”

Niall nips my earlobe. “I can't stop thinking about what I’ll do when I’m alone with you.”

Pulling some cash out of my wallet and pushing it across the bar, I listen to the fire blazing through my blood as I thread my fingers through his, looking up at him with a smile.

“I can't wait to find out.”

_________

I’ve never wanted someone so bad.

The entire ride in the back of the taxi to Niall’s house was like the ultimate tease of his attention.

From the words he whispered against my skin to the way his hands rested heavy on my thigh, his pinky just teasing along the seam of my jeans.

His lips hadn’t even met mine and I already knew just how impactful it would be when they do.

God, how fucking god they’ll feel.

On my lips.

On my skin.

When his hand finds mine as he says goodbye to our driver, butterflies flood my belly as he guides me in front of him to the front door of a quaint bungalow style house complete with a blooming garden.

“Fucking finally.” My body presses into his front door as he reaches into his pocket, the sound of metal keys cutting through the crisp air. “When I saw you— Standing at that bar— All I could think about was getting you here, with me.”

One hand wraps around my waist as the other pushes the key into the lock, turning it and pushing open the heavy door. As much as I’d like to look at everything inside, that idea falls flat when Niall grips me by the hips, spinning us around and pushing my back into the door as it slams shut.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this? With where this is going?” Cupping my jaw, his thumb presses under my chin to bring my gaze to his. “If we’re going to do this— Together— I want you to be vocal, okay? I want to hear you answer me and tell me what you want, what you need. Can you do that for me, Willow?”

I swallow the nerves building up, nodding my head, my tongue rolls over my body lip. “Yes— Yes, I can do that. Please, Niall—“

“Come here.”

When the space between us closes, his lips on mine, I swear to god it feels like the earth starts to spin in reverse.

Soft and supple, Niall moves his lips along with mine as if he’d been doing just that for years. I can't even contain the whimper that falls from my own lips when his tongue teases across my top lip as his hands slide under the thin top that I pulled on this morning.

Just feeling his skin against mine sends a wave of goosebumps across my body, making me arch my back to push myself even closer to his warm body, feeling the heat emanating from him.

“Fuck.” His teeth pull on my bottom lip, just enough pressure to send a jolt through my nervous system. “I could stand here and kiss you all night, Jesus Christ.”

“Mhm.” Is my only reply as my lips travel from his and across the scruff lining his jaw, down to the spot under his golden earring, pulling the skin between my teeth and soothing it with my tongue. “But then I wouldn’t get to see this.” Dropping one of my hands, I cup him through his jeans and listen to the low groan from deep in his throat. “Wouldn’t that be a shame?”

“Yeah? You want to see my cock nice and hard for you— Is that it?” Niall pulls back just enough to meet my gaze as his hands fall from under my shirt. “I’m going to ask you some questions, okay?”

“Okay.” Breathless, I feel the electricity as it buzzes underneath my skin.

“Is anything off limits for you?” Working the button of my jeans, he keeps those blue eyes on mine.

Shaking my head, I feel my heart rate skipping a beat. “No.”

“Good.” A smile plays at the corner of his lips as the unmistakable sound of his fingers pulling down the zipper fills the space around us. “Do you need a safe word just in case?”

“N—No.” I shake my head again. “I don’t.”

A small nod is the only response I get before Niall drops down in front of me, looking up at me from his knees, his fingers curling around the edge of my pants before pulling them down to reveal the skimpy lacy covering my center.

“Jesus Christ.” Strong hands drag up my thighs as his eyes go wide. “This incredible body is just for me tonight, is that right?”

Through dark lashes framing his eyes, the blue fades out as the darkness of his pupils expand. “For tonight, yeah.”

“Are you going to leave that pretty green top on? Or take it off?” The very top of his finger traces the edge of the black lace, making my thighs inadvertently rub together. “Don’t worry— I’ll take care of you.”

Gripping the edges of my shirt and pulling it off, I drop it next to where my shoes and my jeans sit in a small pile, my hand reaching out to run through Niall’s dark hair.

When the soft light from the lamp across the living room catches the silver barbells through my nipples, his eyes close as he tilts his face up to the ceiling, almost like he’s in need of his own savior.

“Willow.” My name falls off his lips on a groan, one from deep inside his chest. “God.”

With my back still against the front door, a small gasp leaves me when Niall’s lips press against my skin, small kisses dancing across my thighs and the soft nips from his teeth adding to the sensation.

“Look at you— Soaking wet.” Dragging his finger over the center of the damp fabric, I tilt my head back when he presses his fingertips to my clit. “I bet you taste sweet, so fucking sweet.”

“Maybe if you quit talking you’ll find out.” I answer.

Niall scoffs, looking up at me. “So the pretty girl from the bar has a bratty side, does she?”

Hooking his finger into the lace and pulling it to the side, I can’t help the way my lips pop open as his tongue moves through my center, the tip of his tongue swirling around my throbbing clit before pulling away.

“Niall—“

“You know, I like brats.” Pressing a soft kiss to my thigh, his nails drag down the back of my thighs before peeling the scrap of material from my body. “So by all means— Keep going.”

Before I can formulate a response, he buries his face between my legs and when he suctions his lips around my clit, it feels like all I can do is not to unravel right then and there. Burying my hands in his hair, I moan out as he goes back and forth between tracing mindless patterns across the sensitive nerve and flicking his tongue in a rhythm that doesn’t even seem humanly possible.

“So fucking sweet.” Resting his head on my lower stomach, I take a second to catch my breath before feeling his finger as he drags it through the wetness he’s created. “I bet this cunt is so tight, so warm.”

Pressing one finger inside, he only draws it back to add a second one before hooking them both forward and finding the spot that only those few and far between have been able to find.

“Niall, oh god—“ Letting go of his soft brunette waves, I let my fingers slide up my belly until they find the silver piercings on my chest, messing with them to add another level to the pleasure he’s giving me. “That feels so good, so damn good.”

“Let me.” Moving my hands out of the way, he grips my heavy breast in his hand before flicking the metal and making me cry out. “Put your hands up— Over your head.”

I do as I’m told just as he finds his home between my legs again, the sounds coming from the back of his throat making me whimper louder than I even knew was possible. Especially when he lifts my leg over his shoulder, his tongue working in tandem with his fingers as he eats me with fervor— as if he hasn’t had a drop of water in a desert for years.

“Are you going to come for me like this? Against my front door?” Nipping the sensitive nerve, I feel my walls flutter against his fingers. “How many times has someone made you come before, Willow?”

My eyes flutter closed as he sucks and licks me like never before, his fingers pressing harder inside of me. “Thr—Fuck, three.”

“Challenge accepted.”

Those words are the last ones I hear before he brings me to a pleasure I’ve never known.

“Fuck!” Letting my mouth fall open, I cry out as my orgasm crashes through my body. “Niall.“

He stands up to tower over me, cupping my jaw and letting his fingers dig into my cheeks, a silent question.

When I nod and open my mouth, he lets his saliva mixed with my release gather on his tongue before letting it fall into my waiting mouth.

“Perfect— You are literally perfect.” Crashing his lips to mine, when his hands slide down my thighs, I let him wrap them around his waist before he turns us away from the door. “I’m going to have so much fun making a mess out of you— wrecking you.”

His lips move against mine in a slower kiss than before, taking his time.

I pull back from him just enough to see the dark walls of his bedroom, the bed looking like a cloud from the fluffy sheets and the half made duvet spread across the top.

Niall sits in the edge of the bed, his hands moving across my ass at the same time he drops his lips to my neck, leaving wet kisses down until he takes one of my nipples into his mouth.

“Oh, yes.” Barely a whisper, the sensation of his warm mouth along with his tongue flicking across the metal makes me arch my back. “More.”

Releasing one and doing the same with the other, he pulls away too soon. “Get on your knees first.”

“And if I say no?” I gripping the hair at the base of his neck, I pull until he has to tilt his head back to look up at me. “If I want to be a brat?”

A low laugh falls from his lips as he stands to his full height, turning so that he can drop me down onto the bed, reaching out and grabbing a fist full of my hair just hard enough that I feel the sting in my scalp.

From my scalp all the way to the spot between my legs.

“You want to be difficult? That’s fine.” Working the button of his pants, I bite my bottom lip in anticipation. “You can be difficult with my cock down your throat, yeah?”

When he releases my hair, his hands make quick work of his pants and briefs, shoving them to the floor and kicking them off to be forgotten until later before grabbing his shirt and adding that to the pile.

Just the sight before me makes me whimper.

A perfect amount of dark hair dusts across his chest and even matches the trimmed hair that leads to the most perfect cock that I’ve ever seen.

“Go on, put your mouth on me.” Gripping himself in his left hand, Niall presses the tip of his cock to my bottom lip, using it to pull it down to release it with with a pop. “Let me see how well I fit.”

Opening my mouth, I flick my tongue along the underside of his length, looking up at him through my lashes before closing my lips around him and drawing him in.

“Holy shit.” Dropping his hand, he threads it through my hair instead. “Just like that, baby.”

The small amount of praise makes me take him deeper, letting my tongue run along the thick vein that decorates him. His hand in my hair tightens as he hits the back of my throat, a moan breaking through his lips.

“Open your throat for me, I know you can take more than that.” Niall demands.

Doing just that, I let my jaw relax and when he pushes even further, the intrusion makes my throat restrict— gagging around him and feeling tears rush to the corners of my eyes.

“Again—“

Pushing forward, this time I let him rest at the back of my throat for a couple more seconds before pulling back, using my fist to work him over as I catch my breath.

I don’t waste time before taking him back in my mouth, keeping my eyes on his as I taste the saltiness of him, wishing more than anything he would give me everything— to let me swallow everything he could give me.

“I can’t—“ Shaking his head, Niall pulls back. “You’re mouth feels too good, Will—“

The shortened version of my name makes butterflies erupt in my stomach, ones that I immediately have to tamper down at the reminder that this is what it is.

One night.

A nickname means nothing.

“You’re ruining my fun.” I say with a pout, looking up at him.

“I am?” He grins as he looks down at me, his tongue rolling across the inside of his cheek as I nod. “Fuck, then around and keep your hands where I can see them.”

Eager to please, I maneuver around the mattress until I face away from him, letting my palms run across the soft sheets until they extend in front of me while Niall drops his hands to my ass.

“Willow, were you being honest when you said nothing was off the table for you?” Smooth palms work small circles across my skin.

Turning to look over my shoulder, I catch Niall’s gaze looking at where he wants to be buried, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. “I was being honest— Do your worst, Niall.”

Before I can finish my last breath, he raises his palm and brings it down across my skin making me cry out at the sting of pain.

“How’s that feel?” He asks, bending to press a kiss to the area. “ Feel good?”

“Yes, yes—“

Another sting across the opposite side, this one harder than the other as he squeezes my flesh in his hand. “Good, good girl.”

After a few more stinging strikes, I can feel my arousal as it drips between my thighs, the need for him so strong that I don’t know how to even possibly control it.

“Niall, I need more— Please, give me more.” I beg.

“Tell me now… Do you want me to get a condom?” Voice thick, his lips press to the middle of my bare back as he bends over me, letting his hands run over my breasts and toy with my nipples. “I’ll do whatever you want.”

“No, no.” Shaking my head, I breathe out. “I get tested and I’m clean.”

“I am too.” Warm breath skates across my back. “I can show you the results.”

Rolling my lips together, I whimper. “Don’t make me wait— I need to feel you inside of me.”

Niall presses one last kiss to the center of my back before I feel the blunt head of his cock as he runs it through my center, coating himself in me.

If I thought he was going to say something— I was wrong.

Instead, he grips my hips in his hands and buries himself so deep inside of me that my cries seem to ricochet off the walls from feeling him filling me.

“So fucking perfect.” He says, pulling out to the very tip before slamming back into me and pulling my ass up to meet his thrusts. “My cock fits so well inside you. Can you feel how greedy this little cunt is, huh?”

“Oh— Oh my god—“ A moan slips from my lips as he punishes me for things I haven't even done, his grip no doubt leaving bruises of his fingertips behind. “Fuck, Niall. You’re so fucking deep.”

From behind me, I can hear the sound of his hips meeting my ass, each one more punishing and relentless than the last. Niall lets his hands slide from my hips to my ass, moving just right so that when I hear the spit leave his lips and land perfectly on his cock, I feel myself racing towards another climax.

“I can feel you squeezing me, are you going to give me another one of your pretty moans? Coat my cock?” Bringing his palm down against my skin, my knuckles turn white as I grip the sheets. “Who would have known you were this fucking filthy.”

“Right there, please don’t stop!” The cry from my lips leaves my mouth open as I choke around the moan that follows it. “I’m going to come again. Oh fuck, right there. Please.”

Niall buries himself with such power that my release lets go, barreling towards the finish line as my teeth bite down on the comforter as I push my face into the bed. “God, Willow— You’re squeezing my cock so fucking good, holy fuck.”

He pulls out of me only to pull me to the edge of the bed and roll me over, sinking himself back inside of me, making my back arch off the bed while my hands reach for anything to hold onto.

“I could spend days buried inside of you and not get enough.” Meeting my gaze, Niall slows his thrust as he rolls his hips, grinding the base of his cock against my clit. “A night isn’t enough. Play with those pretty piercings for me, Will, please.”

Using both of my hands, I pinch and play with the sensitive peaks, giving the attention that I love and loving the way his eyes feel as they travel from my eyes all the way down my body to watch where he sinks inside of me.

“Harder, I need it harder—“ I say, biting my bottom lip.

Niall leans over the bed, his hand wrapping around the base of my throat, squeezing just enough to restrict my airway. “You want to be fucked like a slut? Is that what I’m hearing?”

Only able to nod, my voice catches in my throat as he picks up his pace and thrust into me so hard that my back slides up the sheets of the bed. “Oh, fuck.”

“Yeah?” Sweat drips down the side of his neck as he hovers over me, those blue eyes flaring with unbridled lust. “How’s that?”

“So good.” I moan, my nails scratching down his chest and over the muscles of his stomach. “I feel, god. Your cock feels so good.”

“I’ve never been buried inside someone that feels like this.” He moans, tilting his head up to the ceiling. “Strangling my fucking cock. and trying to kill my for everything I have.”

Dragging his hands away from my neck, his hand splays wide across my chest as he pushes me into the mattress. “Come on baby, I can feel you ready to soak me again— Give it to me, let me have it.”

“No. I want—“

Niall groans as he brings his thumb to my mouth, pushing it in deep enough that I gag before he drops it to my clit, working circles around the nerve as I cry out his name so loud that if he had neighbors close enough they’d never have to wonder what his name is.

“Stop being difficult, fuck.” Thrusting into me, he drops his head to mine and pulls my bottom lip between his teeth. “Come around me, now.”

Giving over the control of my body, Niall fucks me as I release around him again, coating his cock and soaking the sheets as he drops his head to my neck, sucking the skin between his teeth.

“There you go, look how perfect you are when you listen.” Low and rough, his voice is like gravel. “Such a fucking good girl for me, Willow.”

I nod, feeling empty as he pulls out of me and grips my knees, pushing them apart to look down at my weeping cunt, the mess he created.

“Fuck.”

Dropping down, he wastes no time before taking my clit into his mouth, the suction so hard that it sends me spiraling into another orgasm and coating his tongue with my release, making me squirm on the sheets.

“Niall, I— I can’t, my god—“

“Get up, let me see you dripping for me.” Niall runs his tongue along his bottom lip. “I’m not done with you.”

“I—“

“Now.” His palm cracks across the side of my breast, making my breath ragged as he fists his cock, taking a step back from the bed and reaching for my ankle to drag me to the edge. “Stand up and bend over. Take my cock like the good girl you are.”

I scramble to stand up, my legs already feeling weak as he grips my hips and turns us to face the dresser along his wall, the oversized mirror hanging above it.

“You’re going to watch me fuck you in this mirror— Watch as I fill this cunt to the brink with me, do you understand me?” Wrapping my hair around his fist once, twice— he tugs on it when I don’t answer. “Fucking answer me, you slut.”

Nodding, I rest my elbows along the top of the dresser. “Give it to me, please.”

“There’s that nice girl I met at the bar.” He smiles at me. “You are so perfect, so beautiful.”

Slower than anything else we’ve done tonight, Niall pushes inside of me; it feels like every single ridge and vein touches the right spot inside of me, filling me up so full that it brings tears to my eyes.

“You gonna cry over this cock?” Pushing harder, Niall places his hands on the outside of my arms flat on top of the dresser, the heat between our bodies an inferno as his sweat slicked skin moves across mine. “Cry over how fucking good we fit— Cry over how well you’re taking me— Taking me so deep?”

Shaking my head, I find his eyes in the mirror. “I can’t—“

“You can.” Niall presses forward, my legs shaking as he reaches around to bring his fingers to my clit and working the sensitive nerve into tight circles. “You can take it, and you fucking will.”

“Niall—“

“You’re going to come all over me again and then l’m going to fill this perfect pussy so full that you’ll be dripping down your thighs for me.” For the first time, his voice falters as I feel his thrusts foster for just a second. “Then maybe I’ll be done with you.”

Pushing up onto the tips of my toes, the new angle causes me to cry out, my hands sliding along the wood and pushing a stack of shirts to the floor at the same time that Niall’s scream blends with mine as he empties himself so deep inside of me that it feels like I can’t breath.

Fucking me through both of our orgasms, I feel the tears as they stream down my cheeks at the same time I gasp for air to fill my lungs.

“Fuck, Willow— Fuck—“ Niall grips my hips as he slowly pulls out of me, his eyes trained between my legs. “Look at that.”

Dropping to his knees, I let my head fall onto my arm. “God.”

“I made such a mess of you.” Using his thumbs, he pulls me apart to watch as his release runs down the inside of my thighs. “I’ve never seen someone look so good coated in me, dripping my come.”

“Niall.” The words from my lips are hoarse as he stands up, wrapping his arms around me and pulling my spent body into his. “I’m so— so tired.”

“You did so good, baby.” Pressing a kiss to my temple, I let myself sink into his arms knowing that it’s a chance I won’t get again. “Let’s go get you cleaned up.”

Carrying me to the bathroom, I don’t protest when he starts a bath and helps me climb inside, the warm water soothing me into a post sex state that I have never experienced before.

As he runs his hands over my body with a lavender body wash, I let my head rest against his chest from where he sits behind me, listening to him as he keeps telling me how good I was.

How good I am.

“You know, you could stay here.” Pressing a kiss to my shoulder, I close my eyes at his words. “Spend the night.”

Shaking my head, I turn to look at him. “This was a one night thing, we know that.”

“Exactly.” Pressing a lingering kiss to my lips, he runs the tip of his nose down the length of mine. “You staying the night is still just one night.”

Chewing on the inside of my cheek, I find myself nodding.

Which is exactly how I find myself curled into his side after a change of the sheets, an oversized Harley Davidson shirt pushed up over my stomach as Niall’s warm palm keeps me pulled into him as his warm and steady breath tickles the hair at the back of my neck.

I let myself relish in his warmth for thirty more minutes before I slip out from the sheets, taking one last look at him before making it to the living room and pulling on my jeans before calling a taxi.

Slipping away from the best sex I ever had and leaving without a note is hard, but it has to be done.

Niall and I were meant for one night and nothing more.

However, when I climb into my own bed still wrapped in that white shirt, I find myself wishing for the first time in a king that there was a potential for more.

That we would be more.

That Niall would want to be more.

With me.

—————

AHHHHH!!!!!

i’m so excited about this story and putting it out here for everyone to read!!! the second part is coming soon and i hope you like this!

-a🍀

[star-going-supernova]

Here’s a SB prompt for ya!

Gregory realistically couldn’t have lasted the entire game without getting hurt. He got bruises from being slammed into things, his limbs aches for days cause he pushed himself too hard, and you can’t tell me any scrapes from Monty or Roxy didn’t scar.

Gregory would 100% use jokes and quips to deal with all the memories from that night whenever it gets brought up. Freddy who’s programming is insistent on lightening the mood and is joke based hates when he does it with a burning passion.

I’m still not done with the mini ficlets, lol. I went with immediate aftermath instead of further down the line.

Just a Scratch

The shift from night mode to day mode as, somewhere, a clock finally struck six was the best thing Gregory had seen all night. Lights began to turn on, STAFF bots disappeared by the dozen, and the stupid music cut out, leaving a ringing silence in its wake. 

Just visible from his hiding place, he watched Chica twitch a bit, then zombie walk away toward her room down the long hall of Rockstar Row. Mere minutes later, Monty and Roxy followed, none seemingly aware of their surroundings. They all vanished into their rooms without a peep. 

Still tense and on guard, Gregory unfolded himself from the tight corner behind the trash can he’d been tucked behind. There was no movement from the green rooms; from where he was crouched, he could see that Roxy’s was empty. Recharging in their back hallways, maybe? 

Guests would start arriving in a few hours, after all, and the show must go on.

Limping down the hall, he raised his watch and pressed the button to talk. “Freddy? You still with me?” 

“I am still here, superstar,” Freddy said, and he sounded so relieved. “I believe it is over. The barricade over the doors has risen. You are safe now.” 

Safe. It’d only been one night, but it felt like such a foreign concept. How could the pizzaplex ever feel safe again, no matter what time of day it was? 

Six hours. Not even counting that first hour before the barricade went down. Longest six hours of his life.

He was starting to feel a little woozy and unsteady on his feet by the time he and Freddy found each other. Freddy gasped at the sight of him, and the sound reflexively made him look around wildly, expecting an attack. But the quiet halls were empty but for the two of them. 

“Gregory,” Freddy said urgently. “You are far more injured than I thought! We must get you medical care immediately.” 

Gregory blinked uncomprehendingly for a moment before looking down at himself and taking stock of his body for the first time in hours. He’d kinda had other, more important things on his mind, y’know?

The first thing he noticed were the bruises. He’d hit the deck more than once, either on purpose or from tripping, and his knees reflected that. They were dark and discolored. Lower, on his left leg, a trio of long gashes slashed diagonally down the front and curved around the back. They started to sting fiercely now that he’d noticed them. Monty had grabbed him there once, he remembered faintly. 

It was all a bit of a blur, to be honest. 

The sides of his upper arms and shoulders ached too, and he thought of how many times he’d taken a corner too fast, one animatronic or another hot on his tail, and the way he’d slammed into the walls before continuing on. On his back, the burn of another couple of cuts flared up; Chica had taken him by surprise at least twice. 

Shallow puncture wounds lined the top of his lower left arm from when he’d blocked Roxy’s teeth somewhere around 2 a.m. And both his right wrist and ankle throbbed with the pain of a sprain, probably from the one time the security guard had managed to grab him and yank him around and a fumbled jump down some stairs respectively. 

A full body ache buzzed through him, too—the result of running and lifting and pulling and pushing far too much, far beyond what his ten-year-old body was used to.

And his vision was admittedly a little blurry. A headache had started after the third time he’d had his head smacked into the floor by a pouncing Moon, so maybe he had a concussion on top of all the rest. 

The room was starting to spin, and Freddy was looking mightily concerned, which wasn’t an expression Gregory would have thought a robot capable of. Thoughts all tangled up around each other, he was suddenly desperate to reassure his protector that he was okay, honest, and they would look back on this night someday and laugh. 

He giggled now, tipped alarmingly to the side, and in a concussed attempt to alleviate Freddy’s worry and lighten the mood, Gregory enthusiastically declared, “Tis but a scratch!” 

Freddy made a noise of appalled disbelief, but if he said anything in response, Gregory didn’t hear it. He was too busy collapsing on the spot, thoroughly unconscious.

[dragonflylady77]

Mr Steve and The Monster Hunter

It's finally there, time to post my fic for @bigbangharringrove (thank you mods for all your work for this event!)

I've been working so hard on this one... I even did some doodles of a couple of scenes from it (I might post them once I've posted all 6 chapters).

Art by @adelacreations (so very excited about this!!).

I want to thank @ihni for Olivia’s name, @spaceofentropy for noticing I'd forgotten about Will (oops!) and @akioukun for Cindy’s name

Also on Ao3

Steve gets the surprise of his life when one of his students gets picked up by her father. A man who Steve thought had died on the dirty floor of Starcourt Mall fifteen years ago.  Billy Hargrove is alive... and a dad. He runs a security company called HellGrove and he hunts monsters in the Upside Down for a living.  When Billy opens a portal into the Upside Down in Robin and Heather’s backyard, Steve follows because he wants answers.

Chapter 1 - Mr Steve isn't a boy

Steve is looking forward to the weekend after a long week teaching six-year-olds. Having the school trip to the zoo the same week as the talent show is not something he’s keen to do again in a hurry and he let his principal know as much. 

He smiles as the last of the kids rush past him, waving him goodbye as they squeeze in the doorway before running down the hallway towards the exit, a spring in their step. He notices Olivia is still in the classroom and he walks over to her desk.

“Everything okay, Olivia?” he asks as she shoves the last of her drawings in her backpack. He reminds himself for the hundredth time to ask Robin where she found the Hawkins Lifeguard backpack because he didn’t know such an item existed and he was a lifeguard at Hawkins Community Pool for a few summers, both while he was in high school, and after, during summer breaks from university.

He knows he isn’t supposed to have favorites but Robin and Heather’s daughter is one of the brightest students he’d had in his ten years of teaching elementary school and she is extremely funny to boot, at a level that her classmates usually don’t get.

“Yep, Mr Steve, I’m spending the weekend with my dad so I want to show him all my work.”

“Your dad?” Steve asks, confused. As far as he knows, the little girl only has her two mums. Of course, Steve figures there has to have been a man involved in the process, he did pay some attention in biology class, but he never asked. Heather still scares him a little and he isn’t as close to Robin as they were fifteen years ago.

Nope, not thinking about it.

“Yes, he works a lot all over the country so I don’t see him very much.”

“Then I bet you’re very excited to see him!” 

“I haven’t seen him since Christmas, he’s very busy but he rings me when he can,” Olivia says matter-of-factly as she closes her bag. 

“That’s nice,” Steve says, smiling even though he thinks two months is a long time without seeing your child, not that he has any of his own.

“He lives in California, you know,” she adds as she starts walking to the door. 

Steve follows a few steps behind, in a daze, her words unleashing the memories of loud metal, leather and cigarettes, and a blue Camaro.

Nope, not thinking about him.

He watches Olivia step out of the classroom and turns towards the mess he still has to clean before he can go home when the voice coming from the adjoining hallway stops him in his tracks.

“Hey, princess!”

It can’t be. But that voice… He’s heard it before, and those words…

Shaking like a leaf, Steve turns towards the open doorway and takes the three steps that separate him from the owner of the voice.

It isn’t possible. Billy Hargrove is dead, Steve reminds himself. He died at Starcourt Mall fifteen years ago, in what remains the scariest night of Steve’s life. This is just his brain playing tricks on him. 

He steps into the hallway and freezes. The shock of seeing Billy Hargrove, alive and in the flesh, dims Olivia’s gleeful screams.

He looks… Steve feels all the air leave his lungs. Billy looks fucking good for a dead guy. His hair is cut short, some golden curls on the top still, he looks broader in the shoulders, his muscles more defined than they were in high school, not that Steve is looking, but the guy is wearing a t-shirt that looks painted on, okay?

He is also sporting a scar across his left cheek that looks not too recent but doesn’t make him look any less handsome, as well as some gnarly looking, but silver, older, scars on his arms and Steve knows there would be matching ones on his sides and in the middle of his chest, where the Mind Flayer had hit him with its tentacles.

“Pretty boy?” The shock is evident in Billy’s voice. He clearly didn’t expect to see Steve either.

“Daddy, you’re silly. Mr Steve isn’t a boy, he’s my teacher!”

Billy clears his throat and looks down at his daughter. “I can see that, princess.”

Billy Hargrove has a daughter!! What. The. Fuck? 

“Billy. Long time no see.” 

“Mr Steve, you know my daddy?” Olivia is looking between the two of them, trying to work out the connection.

Billy crouches so he is level with Olivia. “Mr Steve went to school with me and your moms, Livi.” He looks around and picks up her cardigan from her hook. “Is that all your stuff?”

“Yes, Daddy. I gotted all the stuff in my bag to show you.”

“That’s great, princess. Can you wait here a minute while I have a super quick chat with Mr Steve?”

She nods. “Can I play the word game on your phone?”

“Sure thing.” 

Once Billy sorts Olivia with her game, he looks at Steve who is still hovering in the doorway and gestures towards the classroom. Steve nods and heads back inside, Billy a few steps behind him.

Steve stops when he reaches his desk, trying to compose himself. He hears Billy behind him and turns around.

“Robin never said—”

“You probably hav—”

They both stop at the same time and Steve knows he’s being awkward but he is not prepared for this. It’s not like he was friends with the guy back in high school, but Billy sacrificed his life to save them that day in1985 so for him to just show up like that is just… Steve doesn’t even know at this stage. He needs time to process. 

“Listen, I have to run, haven’t seen Livi in way too long and I want to make the best of it but if you want to talk, or like, I dunno, have questions for me, here’s my card. Call me.”

Billy pulls out his wallet and hands Steve a business card with a tentative smile. Steve takes it, trying to wrap his head around what just happened. He nods as Billy puts his wallet away.

“See you around, pretty boy.” Billy doesn’t wait for a reply and he heads out. 

Steve hears Olivia’s voice then the chatter moves further away as they walk towards the exit. 

He finally looks down at the card in his hand. It’s dark gray, almost black, with the letters HG in white in the middle. He flips it to find the same monogram on the left then his eyes read over the words, taking them in.

HellGrove Security Consultants

William H. Hargrove

CEO & Head of Security

Followed by a phone number and an email address.

What. 

The. 

Fuck?

***

It’s after midnight and Steve is lying on his bed, flipping Billy’s card over and over, the dim light of his bedside lamp catching on something in the corner of the card. It’s embossed in the same color so he didn’t really notice until now. He brings the card closer so he can have a proper look and…

It’s a demogorgon flower head. 

Motherfucker. 

He grabs his phone to call Robin but then remembers that they’re not really best friends anymore, besides it’s late and she’s a parent now. Olivia did say she was spending the weekend with her dad but Steve isn’t sure what the arrangement is. 

Billy Hargrove is alive and he’s a dad. 

More questions than answers and it’s making Steve want to scream. So he sends Robin a message, figuring that she can choose to reply if she’s awake. 

He hopes she does.

Steve: So I met Olivia’s dad at pick up today. 

Immediately the reply box shows three littles dots. Steve holds his breath for a bit but has to give up after a minute. Either Robin is typing a novel-length explanation or she is not sure what to say.

Robin: Surprise? <cringe emoji>

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Steve yells in the empty room, his frustration at boiling point. His phone dings again and he looks to see what else Robin had to say.

Robin: Come over for lunch tomorrow. We’ll talk.

Steve sends a brief text saying he’ll be there then puts his phone down and switches to his laptop, giving into the temptation to visit HellGrove.com.

The website mentions the usual stuff: the various services offered (most of which mean little to Steve), reviews from clients as well a page about the company and its staff. Steve keeps looking on the main page for the freaky flower and finally finds it, hidden on the Reviews page when his cursor hovers in the bottom left corner and HOLY FUCK!

There’s no photos of the Upside Down but the hand drawn illustration in the banner is enough for Steve to suppress a shudder at the memories. There are a handful of anonymous written accounts by survivors who were rescued by HellGrove and reports about unsuccessful rescue missions. The wording is vague but, to someone who’s experienced it first hand, it’s clear they’re talking about the Upside Down.

Steve goes back to the home page and clicks on Staff. His eyes immediately focus on the black and white photo of Billy. It must have been taken some time ago because the scar on his face is missing. 

The short bio tells Steve that William H. Hargrove joined the Marines at eighteen and left after six years to start his own security company. Steve scrolls down and he is surprised and a bit shocked to find out that Max, Lucas, Will and El also work for Billy. And some guy named Argyle, who apparently has no last name.

He vaguely remembers Dustin mentioning that Lucas got a job in California after college and he knew El and the Byers already lived over there. He feels bad when he realizes he hasn’t thought about Max in years. He ponders reaching out to Dustin but that would open a can of worms and even more questions.

He closes his laptop and dumps it on the other side of the bed and settles on his side to go to sleep.

The feeling of an arm around his waist pulls Steve from his slumber. He gasps when he realizes there’s a (warm!) body behind him, the owner of which is dragging him closer and dropping a string of kisses on his shoulder.

Steve can’t remember the last time he shared a bed with someone, especially while being naked, though he is sure he was wearing pajamas earlier. The kisses morph into a bite and a needy moan escapes his lips when he feels teeth nibbling on his skin. The embrace around his middle tightens and Steve’s hand drifts to the one holding him, fingers locking with the ones of the man behind him. Because it is a man, of that Steve has no doubt.

He looks down, noticing the silver scars in the soft glow of his bedside lamp. “Billy?”

“Sorry I woke you up, pretty boy,” comes the hushed whisper from behind him.

“No, it’s okay. What are yo—” The words die in his throat when Billy moves their linked hands south. Steve can feel Billy harden against his ass as their hands start stroking his dick and he shivers.

Billy gives a light squeeze and Steve rolls his hips, arching his back and groaning when Billy bites down on the crook of his neck.

“Oh god… Billy…”

Steve lets go of Billy’s hand to bury his fingers in golden curls instead. It’s been so long since the hand touching him wasn’t his that the pleasure of it is blinding in its intensity.

He moans loudly, earning himself another bite from Billy.

“Shhhh, pretty boy, not so loud, you’ll wake the baby.”

Steve sinks his teeth in his bottom lip in an effort to be quiet, so he doesn’t wake this baby he doesn’t remember having. His entire focus is on not making noise while Billy does unspeakable things to his body. He shudders; he’s so close already…

Billy notices, because of course he does, he always did notice things, and his hand starts moving faster, his closed fist squeezing the head of Steve’s cock on the upstroke. It’s slick, it’s heady, and too soon, Steve can feel his orgasm rushing at him.

He comes with a shout he can’t silence, but when he opens his eyes again, he’s alone in his bed. It’s his hand around his cock, his mess in his pajama pants. 

Chest still heaving, he quickly cleans up using his pants and gets back into bed wearing a clean pair, reeling from the shocked realization that he wants Billy Hargrove. And a baby.

What the fuck?

Chapter 2

[angel-kyo]

Untitled

Warnings: This started as something sweet, but turned into pain at the end. No proof-reading.

Also, in my mind, Shibuya and such? Did not happen.

-----

Twelve...

Meeting you hurt him, quite literally. You were running at full speed, probably with no destination in mind and pushed him with enough strength to make you both end up on the ground. Your mother apologized profusely to his caretaker. Both of you were only five.

And you decided to befriend him. That must have been the beginning of it.

Eleven...

"I don't want to be your friend anymore!", you were running away again because he had spilled orange juice over your new dress, the one you father had brought from abroad for your seventh birthday. "Apologize!", you cried.

"You're a crybaby, [name]."

Unlike other afternoons, you left his home early that day. He never told you, but he cried after you left.

He apologized the next day.

Ten...

You were moving to the other side of the country and he was going to turn ten years old in a couple days, so you gave him a ring, both as a birthday and a goodbye gift.

"Don't lose it, okay?"

It was too big for any of his fingers, so he enclosed it in his hand and saw you get in the car.

Nine...

His letters had made you think he hadn't changed much, but his voiced sounded a bit different now and you wondered if it was just because some people sounded different on the phone.

"Satoru, you should come for Christmas. It will be fun. My aunt is okay with it too."

You had invited him every year since you had left, three in a row now, but he had never been able to go, not even once.

"Next year, I promise."

Eight...

"[Name]?"

He splashed water on your face when you turned to him and you pushed him away.

"You are the worst. It's cold!"

It was New Year's Eve and he had fulfilled his promise. You had gone to the shore with your new friends and him, who had come all the way from Tokyo to visit for the holidays.

The sun was setting down when you suddenly spoke. "Satoru?"

"What?"

"I will go back to Tokyo next year. I... I want to go to Jujutsu Tech."

He did not say anything. Maybe he had assumed you would prefer living a normal life. It looked like he was wrong.

"Then we will go together", he smiled widely and you returned his smile. That settled it.

Seven...

"You were my friend first, you should agree with me!", he was almost pouting.

"I just think Geto is right. What is the point of being strong if you cannot protect the weak?", you looked at him and added smirking , "Stop pouting. You are a crybaby, Satoru."

He rolled his eyes. His friends were too righteous.

Six...

He heard your steps but could not bring himself to lift his head and just said "Please don't ask me why too."

"I was not going to", You sat next to him. "I know why", you placed a hand on his shoulder, "and I would have let him go too."

Satoru's eyes were closed. If he had opened them, maybe you would have seen they were full of tears.

Five...

You sat down in front of him and sighed. "He's finally asleep."

He looked at you. "How did you do it?"

"It was just a stomachache. He should be fine after taking some medicine."

It was his turn to sigh this time. "Thanks for coming over. When Tsumiki called, I didn't know what to do..."

"I checked the fridge and there wasn't much in there anyway. If you are going to take care of them, you should make sure they have some actual food around."

"Let's go grocery shopping tomorrow, hm?" He smiled.

You were not twenty yet and knew very little about kids, but still you returned his smile and agreed.

"I knew you would find a way to drag me into this."

Four...

"Here you are", Satoru looked down at where you were siting. You were cross legged, resting your back against a tree.

"He liked this cherry tree, it made him hopeful," you said, "'When the seasons change and all is nice to have something that stays', that's what he said."

"Do you want some company?"

You gave him an almost invisible nod and he sat down.

"Do you think Nanami is thinking of him too?"

Truth was he had not heard of Nanami in a while, but he nodded. It was impossible he wasn't thinking of him on the anniversary of his friend's death.

Three...

"[Name], I...", he was at a loss for words, but his expression must have told you something else.

You shook your head. "Don't. Just forget it, okay? I don't know why I said that. I don't expect you to feel the same," you forced a laugh and turned around, "I'm sorry..."

He suddenly felt too conscious of the ring on his pinky finger, the same you had given him for his tenth birthday.

He should have said something.

Two...

You rushed to him as soon as the news reached you. He was leaning against the wall right outside of the infirmary.

"Satoru...", you were panting. He knew you had run there.

His eyes were the saddest you had seen them.

When he told you he did not want to dispose of the body of his best friend, you only embraced him.

One...

It was Shoko the one who called him.

"Her wounds... I can't do more for her, Gojo. I thought you would want to see her in case she..."

He did not let her finish that sentence. "I'll be right there."

He made it just on time. Just on time to take it all back, to tell you he felt the same way, that he had not said anything because he needed you to wait for him to reset the world, but there was no point in waiting anymore, and if you wanted to curse him with love, he would be happy to let you do so.

Happy new year!

He was back on the shore where you had spent the New Year over a decade ago.

He had slipped his ring on your finger before you whispered your last words and he accepted them as a vow, but Shoko had returned it to him, and he now carried it around his neck.

Loving you had hurt him, but he would accept the end of it.

"We will meet in the new world."

[babystrcandy]

matilda (pt. 6) | myg

summary: Loneliness had always been a constant for you, haunting you like a ghost; until your older brother’s best friend, Min Yoongi, came into your life. You both promised each other something back then - you’d always have his support and he’d always have yours. But with time and age, you weren’t sure how much that all still stood to be true.

pairing: yoongi x fem!reader rating/genre: 18+ Minors DNI | brother’s best friend au, f2e2f2l, slice of life, angst, fluff, smut word count: 25.9K warnings/notes: buckle up, it’s a doozy, mention of character death (reader’s father), depictions of grief and guilt, unsupportive/neglectful parents (reader’s mother is a starts-with-a-c-ends-with-a-unt), the paper ring . . . , oral sex (m. receiving), fingering, hickies, titty sucking, yoongi likes his kisses, someone play lover because yoongi and reader are the best, protective yoongi ;),  seokjin (that’s it), yoongi’s studio is soundproof *wink wink nudge nudge*, unprotected sex, spanking, creampie, i think that’s it but if i missed anything pls let me know, hope you enjoy <3

chapter six: you can let it go pt. 2 ( ← previous | next → )  

THE SUN FILTERED IN through the blackout curtains, stirring you awake. It was day; a new one; one you’d have to partake in soon.

With a soft groan, you shuffled in your spot, trying to stretch your limbs when you clashed against something warm. Glancing over your shoulder, your eyes landed on Yoongi, who was still fast asleep, mouth slightly parted and hair draped over his face. Oddly, he looked younger, like the years of solitude hadn’t weighed down on him; like he was still twenty years old with an unpredictable future ahead of him.

Then, you realized you were tangled up with him, his heavy leg so casually thrown over yours while his arm cinched tight around your waist. And then the memories of last night crept back in.

You and him in your old backyard, in your room, his hands on you, his lips touching your most intimate areas, his tongue, his teeth, even his length pressed up against your core. You remembered your bodies connecting, and the pleasure he’d given you. God, the pleasure .

Most of all, you remembered how he’d taken your hand into his and pressed it up against his chest, letting the beat of his heart speak the words he couldn’t say. You remembered it all, and a small smile found its way onto your face.

Not once did you ever think your relationship would find the two of you here, sharing a bed and tangled up with each other. But time was a tricky thing, and it’d led you here.

Perhaps time did have its shit figured out. Perhaps . . .

Carefully, you leaned closer to him, shifting to graze a finger across his plump cheek. It was smooth to the touch and the movement made his nose twitch in the same way a cat’s would. You found it utterly endearing.

This was Yoongi. Your Yoongi.

The smile remained on your face as you pressed a soft kiss to his nose, careful not to wake him before you stealthily crawled out of his arms and stood on the cold floor. A shiver ran up your spine at the feeling but you paid it no mind, sending Yoongi’s sleeping figure one more smile before you set your sights on the rest of his room.

In all the months you’d stayed with your brother and Yoongi, not once had you seen his room. Surprisingly, it was a little predictable—neat and tidy as he had always been, however, pages and pages of what looked like lyrics were littered around his room, spread out across his dresser, his bedside table, and even in a corner of the room.

Everything about his bedroom oozed his essence from the black bedsheets, black curtains, and black furniture clashing with the white of the walls to the pictures of him and all your mutual friends hidden behind lamps or computer set-ups. You could only stifle a laugh at the realization.

Then, your eyes drifted to his dresser, spotting a pair of sunglasses that he’d stolen from you in the spring. With a gasp, you tip-toed toward it, grasping it in your hand with a click of your tongue.

“Dummy,” you hummed, chuckling to yourself.

And you were about to turn around to try on the sunglasses in his mirror when something else caught your eye; something . . . familiar.

Blinking in disbelief, your eye caught onto one of the open top drawers to his dresser, discovering that tucked away in the corner sat a familiar paper ring.

Another blink of disbelief consumed you as you opened the drawer a little more so you could grasp the ring, pulling it out to find that it was, in fact, the very paper ring you’d given to him when you were merely twelve years old . . . and then again when you’d left for Busan.

That had been four years ago; you’d left him with that damned paper ring over four years ago. And there it still was, albeit dangerously withered with age and time, but still the same ring you’d made yourself. You’d recognize it anywhere. You’d recognized it now.

It hit you then.

Yoongi had kept the ring all these years.

All these years . . . it’d been in his possession, and not somewhere drowning in the trash. He’d kept it.

You wanted to know exactly what that meant. His feelings for you were obvious, that much was clear but you wondered just how deep they ran. Did he perhaps feel the same as you?

You swallowed in anticipation. Had he always felt the same? Is that why he’d kept it?

Surely—

But your thoughts were interrupted by a deep, groggy voice. “Come back to bed,” Yoongi grumbled, slightly whining your name like a plea (which, if you were being honest, was entirely amusing).

With the paper ring still grasped in your hand, your eyes flickered over to Yoongi, who still laid on the bed. There he rested, tangled in sheets, his hair messy, and a tired expression spread across his face. You couldn't help but smile.

The smile didn’t leave your face as you made your way toward him, climbing under the covers and laying on your back. You shifted closer to him and he instantly wrapped his arm around your waist, burying his face into your neck.

"Mmm, missed you," he mumbled into your hair, kissing you there while he swung a leg over your body.

Still, the smile remained as you wrapped an arm around the one on your waist and nuzzled into him. “It's been two seconds," you hummed, teasing evident in your voice.

Yoongi only responded by mocking your response before he nuzzled closer to you, peppering kisses down your neck and shoulder. You snorted in response, your hand coming up to tangle in his hair, massaging his scalp. He hummed in satisfaction, leaning into your touch.

As you tussled strands of his dark hair, your gaze drifted down to the paper ring you'd been toying with in your other hand. Only then did you find yourself saying, "You kept it."

Yoongi lifted his head from your shoulder. "Hmm?" he hummed, peeking through sleep-ridden eyes at what you had in your hand. His eyes widened slightly when it dawned on him what you had in your possession.

Growing awkward, you cleared your throat. "Sorry . . . I was snooping . . . found the paper ring I gave you," you mumbled out, keeping your eyes on the ring. "I just . . . I didn't realize you'd kept it." You couldn't help it. Your eyes never met his. Call it bashfulness or embarrassment. You were sure you felt it all.

But, Yoongi only kissed your hair and tugged you closer. "Of course, I did, kid," he murmured into your hair. "You made it for me."

Only then did you look at him. And by look, well, you meant you simply stared at him in disbelief as a blooming warmth blossomed in your chest. A soft smile filtered onto your face a mere second later.

He'd said it so casually. You made it for me.

You smiled a little wider.

Yoongi scrunched his nose, awkwardly. "What?"

And all you could do was lean forward and press your lips against his. It was fleeting but still warm and gentle. It was all you needed to relax into him further, pressing a hand against his chest to feel the beat of his heart. You couldn't help it. You pressed another kiss to his face, not quite on the lips and not directly on his cheek either, but rather at the corner of his smile.

"I just—" you cut yourself off, grinning like a mad man and shaking your head— “I care about you so much." (You didn't want to admit that you ended up kissing him again but . . . well . . . you did.)

Yoongi chuckled. "What's this about?"

You only shrugged, flipping the ring over in your hand. "I didn't think you'd keep this stupid thing," you admitted in a soft voice, eyes not meeting his.

"Hey—" Yoongi plucked the paper ring from your hand, pinching it between his fingers— "this stupid thing has been my good luck charm for the past four years."

Your brows only twitched in questioning.

And Yoongi went on to explain. "Every interview, every song, every demo, every album release . . . I kept it on me . . . and I've only ever been met with success," he began, a calm tone to his voice. He dipped his head to catch your eyes—he wanted you to see he was speaking the truth. "When I told you your support was the only thing I had pushing me, I meant it. It's gotten me here. It's given me hope when I had nothing. It's made me a better man. You have . . . "

You blinked, unable to do anything else.

There was nothing else you could do. You just felt so . . . so . . . warm.

A strained groan sounded from the back of his throat as he leaned his forehead against yours. "Is it cheesy to say I owe a whole fucking lot to you?" he questioned almost as if he were testing the words on his tongue.

Fisting his shirt as you swung a leg over his waist in an attempt to draw him closer, you mused, "Mmm, very, but you're in luck, I accept cheese."

Yoongi laughed in response. "Maybe don't come up with your own slogans."

You clicked your tongue. "Yah, like you could've come up with anything better."

"Better than that ."

A narrowed glare was your only response, slightly pouting at him. He simply grinned, gummy smile on display as he shook his head at you, his eyes still trailing across your face while he reached over you and put the paper ring on the bedside table. Once both of his hands were free, he circled them around you, tugging you even closer and kissing your brow, your forehead, and even your nose in the process. All the while, you groaned, putting up a big front, but the small stifled laughter which escaped you gave you away entirely.

"You're such an asshole," you tsked, shoving a finger into his chest once he pressed a final kiss to your brow bone.

"Heard it all before. Don't care," Yoongi hummed, calmly brushing his nose against yours. "Kiss me."

You scrunched your nose in response. “Your breath stinks."

“Does not,” Yoongi snorted, sucking on his teeth before he sniffed and scrunched his nose. “I think that’s yours wafting back into your face.”

You made a face. “Disgusting ma—“

“Baby—“ Yoongi cut you off, brushing his lips against yours in a feathering touch— “kiss me.”

"You're so needy."

The only response you received was his lips pressing against yours. You leaned closer, pleasantly sighing into the kiss as you nipped at his bottom lip. A grin tipped onto his face before he dipped in for more, running his tongue along the crease of your lips. You complied quickly, hands tangling in his hair as you pulled him closer and melded his tongue with yours. His grip tightened on you instantly, his hand sliding up your thigh, squeezing your hip before it snuck under the hem of your shirt (or rather his borrowed tee).

A small gasp escaped you when you felt the coolness of his hand graze the swell of your breast, palming it. He grinned into the kiss, circling his thumb around your areola, teasing you more than sending pleasure your way.

You tugged on his hair in annoyance, and he only chuckled, sucking on your bottom lip as his thumb pressed down on your puckered nipple, tweaking the bud. You hummed softly in response, grinding your clothed core against his thigh.

He stilled under your touch for a mere second before his hand gripped your waist, tugging you down onto his thigh as he rubbed it against your sex. His hand was at your shirt again in an instant, fisting it and pulling it up to reveal your bruised skin from last night’s endeavors.

Briefly, Yoongi marveled at the vaguely obvious marks he’d made on your skin from all the sucking and biting. But his mouth was on you in an instant, dipping low to trace his tongue against the skin of your stomach. He sucked more marks onto your skin while guiding you to rub your core against his thigh.

But his touch was gone almost too quickly. He’d broken apart, coming up to catch your lips again. "Mmm more,” he murmured against your lips, gripping your ass.

"Needy needy needy,” you managed to tsk, although your voice sounded way less than stable.

It seemed even Yoongi had caught onto the wavering in your voice as he only responded with a small, teasing kiss to your jaw before he gripped your backside and ground into you. You were left a mess, haphazardly rutting against his clothed length, the movements causing your core to pulse.

"What can I say? I'm at your mercy,” he confessed, breathlessly as he sloppily kissed your jaw. "Take pity on me, angel."

You shook your head, lust fueling your being. "I don't think I will," you muttered as you ground onto his hardened length, eliciting a small groan from the back of his throat. "Want you to fuck me now."

Yoongi hummed against your jaw. "Trust me as much as I wanna get you on all fours and fuck you from behind . . . your brother'll be home soon . . . “ he trailed off, pressing one more kiss to your jaw before pulling back completely, the two of you ceasing your movements. "And I, uh—" his knuckles trailed down your arm, gently grazing the skin— "I wanted it to be special."

You couldn’t help it, you snorted. " Now you're a hopeless romantic?"

He kissed your forehead. "Mhm."

"No soaking?"

"You're teasing me, you shit.”

"I can't help it," you hummed, laughing slightly as you pinched his scrunched nose. "You get this look on your face when I do."

"I don't have a look.”

"Mhm.”

"Such a smartass.”

You only rolled your eyes in response.

While, his eyes darted across your face, taking in your features with a soft smile. A second of comfortable silence passed before he spoke again, "Can I confess something?"

"You and your confessions," you tsked as you trailed a hand across the neckline of his shirt. "Tell me, are you a pathological liar?"

"Occasionally," he sighed with a shrug. But the amusement on his face dwindled as he took his bottom lip under his teeth and scrunched his nose in preparation. Then, he was speaking once again. "I kind of want you to run your nails against my dick.”

You nearly laughed in his face, clasping a hand over your mouth as you stared at him with wide eyes. Slowly, you lowered your hand. "Is this your weird attempt at asking me to scratch your balls? Are you really that lazy? 'Cause I won't do it. I won't," you rambled on, shaking your head in amusement.

Yoongi slapped a hand over his eyes and groaned. "No, god, you make me sound like a freak.”

"It was an odd request, Yoon.”

He lowered his head to your neck, resting there in embarrassment. "I know what feels good to me," he mumbled against your skin. "It's just, I don't know, comforting?"

"Having your dick scratched?"

He nipped at your skin. "Shut it, kid.”

You knew you were teasing him, but you couldn’t help it. This was too amusing to let slip by. Nevertheless, your hand found his back, running up and down in a comforting manner as you sighed, "Calling me kid after asking me to scratch your itchy dick? Tsk. Not the time to friendzone.”

"Yah, I don't have an itchy dick," he grumbled, squeezing your thigh.

You only laughed, continuing to scratch his back.

Mere seconds later, his head lifted up to meet your eyes once again, a dopey smile on his face. "We have such weird conversations."

You nodded. "We do, don't we?"

With a laugh, Yoongi fell back, his back pressed flat against the mattress now as he slung an arm around his eyes. You watched with a dazed smile on your face, eyes trailing down his body. Shamelessly, they flicked to the front of his boxers. They were impressively tented, the outline of his cock very prominent.

Then your mind began to spin . . .

"You know—“ you began, resting a hand on his abdomen— “as an artist, I like to . . . map out my entire model before I sit down and paint.”

Under his arm, a hint of a grin twitched on his face. "That so?"

"Mmm.”

With your eyes watching his face, you dipped your hand just barely under the hem of his boxers. You teased the skin there, slipping lower but carefully avoiding any contact with his length.

Yoongi’s hand was wrapped around your wrist in an instant. "What are you doing, baby?"

"Mapping out my model," you hummed, sweetly.

The arm around Yoongi’s eyes dropped, that dark gaze on you again as he shifted onto his side, facing you while his hand trailed up your arm. He released you from his grasp, eyes searching yours as he gave you a nod of approval. Your hand was on his hot, hard length in an instant, causing him to suck in a sharp breath.

"Sit still,” you tsked, gently palming his length. “Models are supposed to model , not squirm."

Yoongi’s hand came to your hair, fisting it. "Can't control myself with your hand on my dick like that," he muttered out, clenching his jaw tight when your thumb swept over the crown of his cock, circling the bead of precum at the slit.

"Calm down," you whispered, voice like silk. You held him gently for a moment, thumb rubbing up and down the shaft before you pulled him out of his boxers. "Wasn't it you who wanted me to scratch your cock?"

He sucked in air through his teeth. "You're teasing me again.”

"It's just so easy," you said in a sing-song voice as you gently grazed the freed length with your fingertips. "Now . . . show me how. My artist heart can't wait any longer."

Yoongi’s hand was on yours in an instant. "Like this," he strangled out, guiding your fingers along his shaft so your nails just barely grazed him. "Slow, light, and long. Up and down."

His hand fell from yours a second later as he slumped against the pillow, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. You remained amused, but kept your eyes on your movements, careful not to hurt him. You wet your bottom lip, thoughts running wild.

"What does this do for you?" you found yourself asking.

Yoongi merely shrugged. "Nothin' just mmm like feeling you touch me without all the . . . heat .”

"We really do have odd conversations," you laughed, hand still moving against him in a gentle manner.

"We do.”

Silence consumed the two of you as you continued your movements, taking in the sight of him. Even in the daylight, he stood hard as granite, tipping up toward his navel. And the tip was so very very blushed, making your core ache for him.

The aching in your core became too much, so much so that you found yourself asking, “Do you, um, still not want the heat?"

Shameless . You could’ve smacked yourself. But at that very moment, you didn’t care. The only thing you were focusing on was how his cock seemed to twitch in your hands as those words left your lips . . . and how he immediately looked at you with such burning desire you almost shied away.

Yoongi looked flushed, his Adam’s apple bobbing once again as he nodded once. "I could do with a little," he rasped out.

You raised a brow. "A little?"

And Yoongi only responded by shooting a cheeky half-grin your way before he hooked his thumbs under the hem of his boxers and pulled them off his body entirely. He flopped back down on the mattress, arms out.

"Explore, little artist," he hummed, a prideful expression on his face as he glanced between his length and your face.

You only grinned in response, subtly challenging him. "Why stop there?" you voiced aloud, hands already inching toward the hem of his shirt. "Need my full life model.” You gathered his shirt in both hands and drew it over his head, tossing it to the floor.

A shared smile was passed between the two of you before you pressed a kiss to his lips, then pulled back, careful not to get caught up in the taste of him. With one hand, you pushed him back on the bed, giving you more room. He sent a nod your way as if to say, explore at your will.

And you did. He’d teased you enough last night, he’d even won the stupid bet . . . now . . . now you wanted to torture him just a bit.

With a small grin on your face, you trailed your finger down the center of his chest, moving slower than a snail. But Yoongi just sat there, watching you intently as you trailed your hands across his arms, his chest, his neck, even along the veins on his hands, generously neglecting his length which leaped and strained for your attention.

"When you said you wanted to explore . . . I thought there'd be more . . . exploring ," he gritted out, swallowing hard.

"Technically, I said map out," you simply hummed, your fingertip dipping to his pelvic region, tracing words against his warm flesh. This seemed to spark something in him, his cock twitching before your very eyes, making you hum a chuckle of amusement. " Needy ."

"Brat," he muttered out through clenched teeth. God, was he doing his most to keep himself restrained. It was almost . . . amusing (who were you kidding, it was definitely amusing).

"I'm gonna need more words from you," you taunted, clicking your tongue as you skipped your fingertips over his hip bone. "What exactly do you want me to explore, Yoonie?"

" Yoonie ," he mocked the nickname you’d called him with the shake of his head. “Such a tease."

With a devilish smile creeping on your face, you leaned forward and ran your tongue along the skin of his pelvic region. You pressed a kiss there near his hip bone when you were done and hummed out, “I'm waiting for the words.”

He sent you a look, jaw clenched and brows furrowed. "I want my dick in your mouth. That wordy enough for you?"

"Jeez, at least take me on a date, Casanova,” you taunted further.

Yoongi had his hands in his hair a second later, tugging on the strands. "I'll take you on another one later.”

You raised a brow. "Beg.”

A strained laugh escaped him. "You are not pulling one out of my book," he muttered, dragging his hands down his face. "Unbelievable."

You leaned forward, just barely brushing your lips against the tip of his cock. "It doesn't sound like you want me.”

"Fuck, OK," he practically whined out. "Please?"

You pulled away. "Mmm, not gonna cut it.”

But Yoongi threaded your hands together, running his thumb along your knuckles. "God, please, touch me. Touch me, angel. Please," he finally rushed out, giving in to your request.

You could only grin. One point for you. The two of you were tied. "Show me," you hummed, innocently squeezing his hand.

"You're really trying to make me work for it?"

"It's my job.”

Yoongi tongued his inner cheek, shaking his head at your grinning face. You could practically hear his thoughts, and god, did they amuse you.

So much so that the grin remained on your face as you unlocked your hand from his and touched it to his thigh. "Here?" you questioned, rubbing circles into the flesh.

Yoongi only shot you a look, jaw clenched and brows furrowed. Your amusement only grew further.

"Sorry, I'm a visual learner,” you hummed with a soft sigh, waiting for him to take the bait.

And he did. He grabbed your hand and dragged your touch to where you both secretly needed it. He curled his hand over yours, guiding you to wrap your fingers around his stiff length, showing you how to stroke it the way he desired.

Once you hooked one leg over his thigh, gaining more access, you guided your hand up and down his length, slow and taunting. His hand fell from yours, allowing you to run your thumb across the head of his blushing cock, tracing the flared ridge of the crown and the slit where precum gathered. It took everything in you not to dart out your tongue and lick a strip across the small dewy slit.

Then, almost as if he’d heard your thoughts, he choked out, "I don't suppose you . . . map out your models with your mouth, do you?"

Still wanting to tease him, you tsked, "That's just sinful.” Those words left your lips, and your hand was running down his shaft all the way to the root, then up again to smear the precum with your thumb across the tip of his length.

Yoongi breathed shakily through your soft touch, laughing slightly. "Sinfuh—fuck .”

But you cut him off before he could mock you, your desires and his getting the best of you as you flicked out your tongue to lick away the precum. The bitter salty taste of him coated your mouth, and that was all it took before you ran your tongue up the underside of his cock all the way to the head. You caught sight of his eyes on you, keeping your gaze locked with his as you flashed him a tiny grin before you took the tip of his cock into your mouth, immediately swirling your tongue around it.

His jaw visibly clenched, Adam’s apple bobbing as you kept your eyes on his before your lips slid downward, slipping over the crown and further down his shaft. Then, you hollowed your cheeks, slowly moving your head up and down his length, taking him further each time. And he was left a mess, teeth clenched so tightly you were sure he’d break one while his chest heaved up and down with such fervor.

Your movements quickened, tongue flat against the underside of his length while you moved your mouth around him, letting your hands stroke what you couldn’t swallow. And when he was panting quickly, cock throbbing in your mouth, you sunk down as far as you could, the tip of him hitting the back of your throat briefly.

That was when a low groan sounded from the back of his throat and he bucked into your throat, causing you to gag slightly. His hand was caressing your cheek in an instant, brushing his thumb across your cheekbone.

"Fuck, sorry, I didn’t mean to . . . “ he panted out, lazily looking at you through lidded eyes. “I just . . . wanna fuck your throat."

You released him from your mouth with a popping sound, catching your breath as you hummed, "All you have to do is ask, Yoon."

Yoongi propped himself up on his elbows, hand coming out to tilt your chin. "Hey, hey, baby, are you serious?" he asked, still trying to catch his breath.

"Mmm," you hummed, pressing a kiss to the tip of his cock, causing him to shudder.

"I need to hear the words," Yoongi all but whined.

That only spurred you on further. You pushed up, crawling toward him as you straddled his waist and leaned in so your lips were just barely grazing the shell of his ear. "I want you to fuck my throat, Yoongi,” you hummed, sweetly.

Yoongi shook his head, a dazed gummy smile spreading across his face. "You have no idea what you do to me,” he confessed, his voice confident, full of truth.

"I think I have a hunch,” was all you said in response, eyes flicking down to his aching length.

"No—“ Yoongi suddenly said, reaching out to touch your face, thumbs resting just under your jaw as they grazed the skin there— “more than that. More than . . . “

His words trailed off and he tilted your chin, causing you to lock eyes with him. The sight you saw only made you breathless. What was this emotion Yoongi held in those deep pools of brown?

Then, his brows twitched with longing and he swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he whispered in the softest voice, “You unravel me . . . "

His eyes searched yours for understanding, and as they did, you felt your expression falter, your heart swelling in your chest. You unravel me.

You swallowed, awkwardly. "You must really want me to blow you."

"No, no—" Yoongi was quick to dispute, shaking his head— "Well, not no, but . . . honestly . . . truly . . . completely . . . you unravel me."

You unravel me.

There wasn’t a word to describe how you felt in that moment. You just kept staring into his eyes, hoping he’d see the words you couldn’t get yourself to admit.

You unravel me.

You’d loved Yoongi for years now. You knew this. It was the easiest thing for you to pinpoint, but in that moment as those words played in your mind, you thought perhaps love was not the right word to describe what you felt for him.

What you felt—that warmth blossoming in your chest—was more than that silly little word. Your feelings for him went beyond love. You wished there was a word to describe it better.

You unravel me.

Perhaps . . .

Perhaps that was the word you were searching for. You unravel me , and you were sure he’d done the same to you.

You unravel me, too, Yoon, you found yourself thinking as you grinned at the man laying beneath you with such adoration you nearly felt like one of your beloved paintings.

And with the wide, beaming smile on your face, Yoongi couldn’t help but smile back, shaking his head as his hand tangled in your hair. You wanted him. You wanted him in every way.

You’d shifted down his body a second later, taking his cock in your hand as you slapped it against your tongue. He laughed at your impatience and tightened the grip he had on your hair, gently pulling your head away from his length.

When you pouted at him, he faltered, wetting his bottom lip. "OK, shit, I'm gonna hold your hair and . . . you pull away if it's too much,” he rushed out, touching a hand to your face, thumb grazing your bottom lip. "OK?"

You took his thumb into your mouth, swirling your tongue around it before releasing it with a pop. "More than OK,” you hummed deep in your throat.

"You're gonna kill me, woman," he confessed, earnestly.

He was guiding your mouth down his cock in an instant, and you followed his lead, flattening your tongue and careful not to graze his shaft with your teeth. At first, your movements were slow, lazily trailing up and down his dick, hollowing your cheeks and swirling your tongue around the pink tip.

But then Yoongi’s grip on your hair tightened, and he bucked into your mouth, the head of his cock reaching your gag reflex. You breathed through your nose, forcing yourself not to gag as you emitted a soft moan while he repeatedly bucked into your mouth. Feeling more confident, you reached your hand out to massage his balls, coaxing a low moan—or rather a mix between a growl and a whimper—from the back of his throat.

"You're doing so good for me, baby," he rasped out, his words falling from his tongue like pants. "So fucking warm, so fucking ready. God, my girl. You're my fucking girl."

He bucked into you once more and steadied himself there in the back of your throat, feeling you moan around him. "That's it. Like that, fuck,” he groaned, sliding his dick back out once you gagged.

Your mouth was left hanging open, the tip of his dick resting on your tongue as you hastily breathed in, trying to catch your breath. A hand fell on your cheek, stroking the skin as you swallowed, soreness in your throat quickly forming as an unmistakable tear trickled down your face.

"Breathe, baby, breathe," he cooed, wiping away the tear with his thumb.

Once you’d caught your breath, your eyes snapped up to meet his as you swiped your tongue along the rim of his tip. He only grinned, shaking his head at you.

"One more?” he pegged the question, reading your thoughts. “Can you do one more?"

You nodded, swirling your tongue around the tip, teasing the small slit. And Yoongi only responded by rubbing your cheek once more before his hand was grasping your hair again as he slid his cock into your warm mouth. You moaned around him, clenching your thighs together at the feeling of your own slick pulsing out of you once you’d gotten a second taste of him.

He’d repeated his actions from before—slowly sliding your mouth up and down his shaft before he bucked into your mouth, rocking his hips. Your eyes began to burn, your mouth growing sore, but you persisted, swallowing around him as he fucked himself into your mouth.

"So fucking sweet to me," Yoongi hissed out, his voice almost a quiet whimper as he slid out of your mouth, allowing you to breathe.

As you caught your breath, he released your hair from his grip, curling it behind your ear before he moved his hand to stroke your cheek. You backed off of him once you caught your breath, sitting straight.

"You don't have to continue, angel," he gulped, tonguing the corner of his mouth. "I can get myself off. Take a break."

"Where's the fun in that?" you only laughed, still slightly out of breath, and throat feeling sore. "Besides . . . I thought you said you wanted to cum in me?" You quirked a brow, his eyes widened ever so slightly. "What if I want you to cum in my mouth?"

You took his shocked expression as a good sign, leaning down again and straddling his thigh before you bent to take him into your mouth. At the now familiar feeling, you hummed a pleasant sigh, the tight, wet friction creating enough pleasure to coax strained tuffs of air out of his lungs.

"Can I touch you?" he rasped out, desperately.

You nodded, cock still in your mouth. "Please," you mumbled, words muffled as you sank lower.

He slid his hand down your body, sliding under the hem of the boxers you wore. You moaned around him, the vibrations causing him to shudder as you widened your legs just enough for him to slip his hand into your wet heat. He sucked in air through his teeth at the feeling, slipping a finger into your folds and pressing his palm against your swollen clit, allowing you enough access to grind into him.

The two of you moved together, your mouth sliding up and down his cock while he pumped his fingers into you, moving his palm against your clit. He went faster, and you followed, both of you immersing each other in a pleasurable heat filled with soft moans and desperate pants. Heat pooled in your stomach. You were close, and you could tell he was too.

With that in mind, you pulled out one of your tricks, gathering enough saliva in your mouth to generously coat his cock before you let your hand take your mouth’s place, allowing for faster movements.

Then, you bent one of his legs up, allowing you access, which you took, mouth wrapping around his balls, sucking on them, swirling your tongue around them. You even flicked your tongue quickly against the small strip of skin just behind the swell of his balls.

It was a carnal act; one you’d normally be embarrassed by but now, with your orgasm quickly approaching, you didn’t care. You wanted him to cum, and you wanted to be the cause.

"Cum for me," you heard him rasp out as his cock twitched in your hand. "Can you cum for me, baby?"

You ground down faster against his palm, clit aching as you picked up your pace, jerking him quicker. Aching for him, you took him in your mouth again, sucking and moaning around him as you used your hand and mouth to bring him closer, and that was when you felt it—the coil in your lower stomach quickly approaching.

Yoongi rolled his head back onto the pillows, arching into your touch. "That's it. Fuck, that's—“

The coil snapped, and your muscles contracted, coaxing a breathy moan out of you. And then his own orgasm consumed him, cum shooting down your throat as you continued to stroke him through your high.

As the two of you came down from your highs, you swallowed his cum, sliding him out of your mouth with a pop. While, he drew his hand from your heat, sucking your release from his fingers before he reached for you, dragging you into his chest. Although still hazy, you managed to laugh against him while he peppered kisses into your hair, along your shoulders, your neck, even your cheeks, and finally on your swollen lips.

"Fuckin' perfect," he hummed, kissing you again. "You're fucking perfect." As he spoke through lazy kisses, he rubbed your cheek. "Did so good for me. Taking my cock like that. Swallowing all of me. Shit, baby. That mouth is a godsend. Fuckin' godsend."

"This is a new side to you, Min," you mumbled, wrapping an arm around his waist as you buried your face into his chest. "Submissive bitch."

"Brat," he tsked into your hair. "I should—“

But his words were cut off by the slamming of a door—the front door to your apartment. Your eyes widened, and you glanced his way, swallowing hard. Fuck .

"Please, tell me that's not Seokjin?" you hissed out, sitting up.

"Hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but I think it is," Yoongi sighed, pursing his lips in thought.

Maybe he’d go straight to his room and not stop by Yoongi’s. Did you leave anything out in the main room last night? Fuck, did you? Maybe Seokjin wouldn’t notice. Maybe—

"Yoongi!" Seokjin’s voice came almost instantly, followed by him beating his fists onto the door of Yoongi’s bedroom.

The two of you sprung to your feet, Yoongi quickly grabbing his clothes and shoving them on. He’d gestured for you to hide as he made his way toward the door. He’d glanced your way one more time, making sure you were hidden in his closet before he ruffled his hair and swung the door open.

"Hey," he rasped out, clearing his throat.

"H—“ Seokjin cut himself off. "Woah, what happened to you?"

Yoongi only grumbled. "I'm not in the mood for games, Seokjin.”

(You stifled your laughter. He was always such a pain in the ass.)

" Seokjin ? God, you really are pissed," your brother mused, mocking the way Yoongi said his name. "You get lucky? Huh? Shit, are they still here? Is that why—“

"Jin . . . please," Yoongi cut him off.

Seokjin snickered. "You're shameless.”

"You're wearing your shirt backwards," Yoongi simply stated, deadpanning. "Courtesy of your special friend from last night?"

Seokjin only clicked his tongue, silently scolding the younger man. "You really need to stop hanging out with my sister," he muttered, bitterly. (You grinned ear to ear.) "You're starting to sound like her."

Yoongi shrugged, calmly. "She's rubbed off on me.”

It sounded as if Seokjin had leaned on the doorframe. "Where is she anyway?" he questioned with a sigh. "Her shoes are here but her room's empty."

"Oh," Yoongi bit out, his voice a little less than calm now. ( Keep up the act, Yoon , you thought.) "She came home last night, yelled something about how the heels were too small, grabbed those little slippers of hers, and booked it to Hari's."

That bitch. You were going to give him hell for that one later.

"Huh," Seokjin mused.

"Yeah . . . "

A beat of silence.

Then, Seokjin spoke again. "Well—“ he slapped a hand down on Yoongi’s shoulder— "Have fun with your friend . . . "

He was gone the next second, the sound of Yoongi shutting his door filtering through your ears. You’d stepped out of the closet then, arms crossed over your chest as you glared at the man standing before you.

" Little slippers of mine?" you huffed out, approaching him with a wrinkle between your brows.

Yoongi seemed to be amused by this, sending you an infamous half-grin before he leaned down to press his lips against yours. He pulled you closer by the waist, sighing into the kiss. And then . . . then he did something which shocked you—he brought his hand down on your ass, loudly slapping the flesh there.

You nearly gasped right then, but quickly covered your mouth. "He will literally hear you," you hissed out.

But Yoongi only silently shook with laughter. "Good thing he didn't come when my dick was down your throat.”

Your eyes widened, and you drove a finger into his chest. "You really are shameless," you scolded, your voice hushed.

He only winked in response, that cheeky grin never letting up.

Absolutely shameless.

In the following days, you and Yoongi had to admit the two of you were shit at keeping up this little act of yours. First, it started with the three of you gathering in the living room to watch a movie the day Seokjin had almost walked in on you tangled up with Yoongi in his bed. The entire movie Yoongi kept resting his hand on your thigh, a subconscious gesture that you hadn't even noticed until Seokjin called the two of you out on it. You'd nearly choked at his questions, but Yoongi kept his cool, shrugging off your brother's remarks and adding the gesture up to nothing. You'd nearly laughed, still reeling from that morning.

Then, just on the Tuesday of that week, Seokjin had walked in on the two of you passed out on the couch together, a mess of limbs. You'd only found out about this via a photo your brother sent in the group chat. Now, Yoongi had tried to tell you your brother didn't know anything, and the two of you had fallen asleep together even before this so there was nothing to worry about. But . . . you still worried.

The thing was: you didn't know how Seokjin would take the news. When the two of you were younger, there was no doubt he would've punched Yoongi in the face for even thinking about touching you. But now, you didn't know where he stood.

So walking on eggshells around your brother seemed like the best option for now.

Except, you didn't take into account that it would be so incredibly awkward around him anytime the topic of Yoongi was brought up. On Wednesday, he asked you if Yoongi had gone to his studio, and you quickly rushed out an I don't know , gaining an odd look from your brother before he shook his head and went off. See . . . that was the problem: you.

You couldn't lie to your brother.

Furthermore, you were tired of hiding how you felt towards Yoongi. You'd done that for nearly two decades. That felt more than enough time for you. Too much time, you thought.

Fortunately, on the Thursday of that same week, you knew for a fact that Seokjin wouldn't be home until late. So when you found yourself in the kitchen, attempting to make a recipe you'd looked up online, as Yoongi approached you, hands on your hips, you didn't flinch away. Instead, a pleasant sigh left you as you leaned back into his touch, resting the back of your head on his shoulder while he nudged his nose against the slope of your neck.

"I wanna take you to my studio next week," Yoongi mumbled into your skin, wrapping his arms around your waist and squeezing you closer.

You laid your hands on top of his. "Thank you for asking if my schedule's free, Yoon."

He sighed into your neck. "Sue me, I want my girlfriend to hear some of my work," he mumbled, kissing up the slope of your neck and breathing in your scent just under your ear where you'd spritzed some of your perfume earlier that morning.

But you weren’t focused on that.

No, you were focused on the term he'd used. Girlfriend . You suddenly felt sixteen years old again, yearning to hold hands with him as the two of you walked down the halls of your high school. Only Min Yoongi could make you feel like a lovestruck teenager again.

In your silence, Yoongi sighed into your neck once again. "Fine, are you free, baby?" he questioned, teasingly.

You only tilted your head, eyes on his profile. "Are we dating, then?"

Yoongi stilled behind you, slowly locking eyes with you as he searched them, looking for something. You offered him a smile, and his eyes softened, seemingly finding what he had been looking for as he hummed out, "I . . . would like to."

"Girlfriend? Hmm ," you tested the word on your tongue, then nodded. "I like the sound of that."

He smiled and pressed his lips against yours. "Good."

Your eyes lingered on his lips, wondering if you'd ever get used to this. With a complacent sigh, your gaze drifted back to the recipe on your phone, thoughts spinning mindlessly. "What do you want to show me?" you nonchalantly asked as you scrolled through recipe after recipe, trying to pick which one called out to you.

"Mmm, secret," Yoongi simply responded.

You lifted your head from your phone and tsked at him, "You're aggravating."

Yoongi pressed a hand to your hip, massaging the skin there. "You love it," he mumbled into your hair, nuzzling his nose against you as he slowly swayed the two of you in place.

You rolled your eyes. Cheeky bastard.

"What are you—"

But the sound of someone unlocking the apartment door, made the words die on Yoongi's tongue as the two of you glanced at the door in confusion. You shot Yoongi a perplexed look, finding him mirroring your expression before the two of you pulled apart, preparing for Seokjin to barge through the door.

And he did. In came Kim Seokjin, a muttering mess, talking to himself with his hands moving haphazardly through the air. He didn't even kick off his shoes as he entered the apartment. Something was off.

"Jin?" you questioned, calling your brother's attention.

His eyes flicked to yours, narrowing as if he was shocked to see you. Odd.

You set your phone down. "Thought you said you wouldn't be back 'till late?"

"Yeah, man, what happened to the meeting?" Yoongi piped in, grabbing a tangerine from the bowl on the kitchen island and beginning to peel it.

Seokjin only sighed, threading a hand through his hair. "Still happening. Plans changed," he grumbled, voice void of emotion other than irritation. "Forgot the USB for the meeting in—" he checked his wristwatch— "shit, in ten minutes."

He stalked off, trudging through the apartment and heading straight for his room. You and Yoongi shared a puzzled look for a brief second before Seokjin was grumbling out of his room again, USB secured between his thumb and pointer. He reached the apartment door again, about to bid the two of you goodbye when a flash of realization flooded his face and he snapped his fingers your way.

"Oh, by the way, mom called," he informed you, hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose before he dropped it to his side completely. "She wants to hear from you."

You only sighed. "I know. I know. I Just—”

"Kiddo . . . " Seokjin cut you off in a gentle voice, causing more confusion to swirl in your mind. His face fell ever so slightly at the sight of your wide, puzzled eyes, and all he could do was send a tight-lipped smile your way . . . almost as if he were being sympathetic. "The anniversary's on Saturday. Dad's . Call her."

Oh.

Those words caused your shoulders to drop as it dawned on you that you'd forgotten the anniversary of your father's passing. Dread filled you a second later and guilt lingered like a ghost. How could you forget that? It'd been haunting you for months now . . . how could you let it slip your mind?

You glanced over your shoulder, half-expecting to see your father's ghost looming there. But nothing met your gaze, and you could only think how maybe that was fate's cruel way of torturing you. Perhaps if you'd gotten to see him one last time before his passing then you wouldn't feel like this—stuck.

But that would've been too kind.

You could only have so much luck with fate. Eventually, the balance scale would have to tip both ways. You supposed this was fate's way of tipping the scale. You wished to tip it back. Desperately.

"I will," was all you managed out after a few seconds.

Then, Seokjin was off, sending you and Yoongi a nod before he stepped out the door, shutting it behind him and leaving the two of you to bask in the silence. But unlike before where you'd wallowed in it, standing alone with your head held low and arms wrapped around your body in a hug, you weren't met with that loneliness. Instead, Yoongi had reached you in an instant, bringing you into his chest as he rested his chin atop your crown and rubbed your back.

"I forgot," you mumbled into his chest, clutching the fabric of his shirt into your fists. "I can't believe I . . . "

"Hey, hey, it's OK," Yoongi whispered into your hair, handling you as if you were made of glass and he was desperately afraid to break you. "You were happy, don't feel sorry about that. It's been a long time since I've seen you like that." He kissed your hair. "Uh, I know it won't help but . . . I forgot Seokjin's birthday one year. He still won't let me live it down, but no harsh feelings. We're still tight. "

You rubbed your thumb against his clothed chest. "It's not the same, Yoon," were the words which left you in a soft, heavy tone.

"I know."

He hugged you tighter, combing his fingers through your hair now. You nestled closer, leaning your head on his chest as your eyes fluttered shut. The heaviness in your chest didn't let up but you found solace in one thing—you weren't alone . . . and you didn't have to go through this alone.

"I wish I could take it from you," Yoongi suddenly whispered after a few seconds, his voice unsteady.

You furrowed your brows. "Take what?"

"The pain."

Oh.

Your heart swelled and words gathered on your tongue.

However, your mouth never opened, and the words stayed trapped there, quickly dying out. The truth was: there were many things you could've said in response, but none of them ever felt quite right.

Because here he was, telling you he'd carry your pain for you, and all you could think was how much your heart beat for him. There were no words for that; there weren't any words to tell him just how much his comfort, his company, his entire being meant to you. So you settled for a comfortable silence, wrapping your arms around his waist, tugging him closer to you as you pressed a lingering kiss to his chest just above where his heart beat.

"I want . . . I want to comfort you . . . but I don't know how," Yoongi went on from there, gathering more courage to spill his thoughts.

"You already have," you hummed, smiling slightly. "You're here by my side, and neither of us is running away. You're here. That's comfort enough."

Yoongi nodded, hand still running through your hair as the two of you silently swayed in the kitchen of your apartment. And for once in your life, you realized you felt at home. This was where you wished to stay, but not because you'd grown up here in the city of Seoul, but rather because you finally felt . . . safe.

Safe.

A smile touched your lips. You could get used to that feeling.

"Are you still smoking?" Yoongi questioned after a while, and you knew what he meant.

"Sometimes," you admitted, sheepishly. "I haven't in a while, but . . . when things get hard I do. I don't, uh, I never mind." And you hadn't. Not since a few months ago.

"Then I won't let you out of my sight until this passes," Yoongi simply stated.

You shook your head, sighing out a mangled laugh. "Will it ever?"

A beat of silence.

Then, Yoongi spoke. "I think it will," he said, earnestly. "The pain will always be there, but . . . it'll get manageable. And I'll be here. Seokjin, Hari, everyone . . . we'll all be right here. You get the urge to smoke, just grab me and we can go fishing with your brother."

You couldn't help it, you snorted. "I literally hate fishing."

"I know," Yoongi hummed, chuckling slightly. "I do, too. Knife throwing, then?"

"Mmm, are you the target?" you mused, teasingly.

"Yah," Yoongi softly scolded, pinching your side. "You sure you're not the sadist?"

You only shook your head, giddily as you pressed further into him. Safe. This was what that felt like; it felt like him.

Another beat of silence passed.

Then one more.

Before he spoke again. "Just . . .  promise me you'll come to me if it gets too much. You don't have to do anything alone ever again. Even if you think you have no one, you have me. You never lost me, OK? I'm here," he whispered into your hair, and you believed every word, wholeheartedly.

That deep belief was the exact reason you felt so comfortable only giving him a soft hum and nod of acknowledgment.

But Yoong liked words. So it was no surprise when he hummed out, "Promise?"

You softly snorted. "Promise."

Then . . . his hand drifted down your arm until he reached your hand, his pinky finger locking around yours. He mumbled something about you shaking on it, and all you could do was laugh in amusement.

You tilted your head enough to find his eyes with yours. "Aren't we getting too old to be keeping pinky promises?" you questioned with a wide, toothy grin on your face.

Yoongi only glanced down at you, mirth glossing his eyes as the corners of his mouth twitched. "Oh, absolutely . . . " he trailed off, gently squeezing your pinky with his.

And you simply rolled your eyes, a small playful smile still on your face before you tightened your grip on his pinky and shook. Another promise was shared between the two of you. One that wouldn't be broken.

You both swore that .

The anniversary of your father's passing came all too quickly.

You'd like to say the day went smoothly, but it'd passed with bumps in the road. From the moment you awoke, the abnormal rain beating down against your window was enough to tell you how the rest of the day would go.

Seokjin had driven the two of you to the train station to retrieve your mother and her new husband later that day. You'd said your greetings and shook hands with the new man in her life, but nothing went beyond simple conversation. Once you all slid into Seokjin's Porsche Panamera GTS (which your mother had complimented many times in just the first few minutes), you kind of clocked out, sitting silently while your brother and mother conversed, occasionally dragging her husband to share a little more about himself. All the while, you stayed silent, checking your phone every so often when Yoongi would send texts your way.

Your mother had brought up how successful Seokjin had been with the company, and it only spiraled from there . . . your mother going on and on about all the achievements that your brother had accomplished. Not once did she mention anything about your career.

It was clear she still didn't support the path you'd decided to take. You knew she hadn't. You knew she never did. The snide remarks only became worse after your father's death, oftentimes resulting in her phone calls turning sour once she brought up the fact that your father would be disappointed in the person you'd become. She claimed the daughter of a businessman shouldn't have wasted her life like you had.

You knew it was childish, but you could help but feel a certain jealousy toward your brother. Even now when the two of you were approaching your thirties, your mother still instilled that subtle competition onto the two of you.

But you knew no matter what the competition would always end the same way . . .

Seokjin would always be the golden child; and you the second child, the restless child.

Sometimes, even now, you wondered if maybe your father's opinion would've changed. If it did at all. Before his death, you remembered seeing him at your house right before you'd left for the train station. There, he'd caught you at the front door, a moment of silence passed between you before he gave you a simple nod and retreated back into his office. That was the last time you saw him.

You wondered if that nod meant more than a goodbye. Yoongi had told you months ago your father had been proud of you. Maybe, unbeknownst to your mother, the nod your father had sent your way before your departure . . . had actually been a nod of approval.

But how could you have known?

Your father had passed. He was one with the weeds now, and here you were along with your brother and mother (and god help you, her second husband), left to remember your father on the three-year anniversary of his death. There was no knowing what that nod truly meant. Not now anyway.

Now . . . it all felt a little bittersweet.

You couldn't help but sigh at your thoughts.

Today would be rough, you decided as you slowly shifted in your seat, tuning out the voices around you and leaning your head on the window, silently watching the streets of Seoul zip by. Your eyes traced a raindrop sliding down the window, wondering when you'd reach the restaurant your mother had booked for dinner. (She had the bright idea that since both her children were in the same place for once that having dinner as a family to remember your father was the right thing to do. You, however, wished you had the guts to decline the offer, but there you were anyway.)

Another sigh left you, then you felt a hand touch yours, gently squeezing. Your eyes flicked to the touch, discovering that Seokjin had reached out to grasp your hand, catching onto the discomfort you'd expressed. You glanced up at him, finding he was still glancing between the road and the rear-view mirror while conversing with your mother. But his hand was gone with one final squeeze.

A smile lifted onto your face. He'd wanted you to know he was there. The smile grew a little more.

Then, your phone buzzed in your lap, gaining your attention. You turned it on, only to be met with a text from Yoongi.

Yoonie Blow a gasket yet?

You stifled your snort and unlocked your phone, quickly replying to him.

You Almost. Still the black sheep, apparently

The three dots appeared immediately. Then the blue text followed.

Yoonie I finished early. Want me to meet you guys at the restaurant?

You sucked your bottom lip under the grasp of your teeth. You did want him to come. Really you did, but you didn't want him to feel like he had to. You—

Another text from Yoongi.

Yoonie Don't do that self-doubt bullshit, angel. Let me be there for you

You couldn't help it, you smiled. Then your fingers were typing for you.

You I'll text you the address

Yoonie That's my girl

It only took a few minutes before you interrupted your mother on one of her rants, and asked your brother the address to the restaurant, stating Yoongi wanted to join. You covered up your almost too obvious relief by claiming he wanted to see your mother to pay his respects. And that was that, Seokjin recited the address and you forwarded it to Yoongi.

The rest of the ride, you sat there silently, with a soft smile on your face.

Dinner only came with more problems . . .

. . . all starting with your mother's husband butchering his speech.

"I—uh . . . I've only been in your mother's life for a short time now, but I just—I wanted—I would like to say how much I'm thankful to be here with you all—you kids . . . today. I'm sure your father—uh your husband—Mr. Kim would be pleased to see you all together, so without further adieu—" your mother's husband stammered on, raising his drink— "a toast. To—"

"Oh, darling," your mother interrupted, lowering her husband's arm. "We only toast with champagne."

No, you didn't. She'd never done that before.

He blinked. "Oh, right."

Your mother simply smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Family tradition."

No, it wasn't.

"Well, I think that should start us off," your mother quickly stole the attention of everyone at the table, eyes immediately going to Seokjin before flicking between you and Yoongi. "How have you been Yoongi, dear?"

Yoongi leaned back in his chair. "Well," he hummed in a calm tone, lifting the rim of the beer bottle to his lips before taking a swig. "Everything's well. And you?"

“Splendid.”

Time ticked on from there, a few words being exchanged between Yoongi and your mother as she asked him about his job at the music company he was a part of. (You didn't miss the way she wrinkled her nose in judgment when Yoongi went on about the new album he had in the works, featuring various artists and even some with his own voice. She was still the same woman she always had been: too headstrong to see another path other than the one she knew.)

After a few faked smiles and meaningless words, your mother set her sights on Seokjin once again, smiling brightly at him while she questioned how the company was doing. They went on and on and on, all the while her husband sat idly by, nodding as words were exchanged. He seemed nice enough . . . maybe a little pathetic, but nice.

And almost too predictable, you sat silently, hands clasped in your lap as you occasionally picked at your food. She hadn't asked you a question in forty-five minutes, and you were beginning to think she wouldn't. Not that it bothered you too much, you'd already expected this. But what you didn't expect was to see Yoongi shift out of the corner of your eye as he placed his arm on the back of your chair, lightly stroking your shoulder with his thumb.

It was a simple gesture, but it was enough.

You glanced up, finding his warm eyes.

With Yoongi by your side, you could get through this meal. You could.

But . . . then you heard your mother's voice and this time her sights were set on you. Shit.

"So how have you been, dear?" your mother asked, a tight smile on her face.

You stayed silent for only a second, questioning if she were actually addressing you, and then you were speaking. "Oh, fine," you muttered out, clearing your throat. "I've been trying to get back into the studio and—"

Almost as if on cue, your mother cut you off with a scoff. "God, still? I thought after the contract you were going to give it up?"

"When have I ever said that? It's my career, mom," you instantly muttered out, clenching your hands into fists on your lap. "I'm just taking a break, trying to find a muse, if you will."

Your mother sighed, sipping from her glass as she glanced back at her husband. "Wouldn't you rather go back to school and do something noble?" she questioned, glancing at your brother next with her brows raised and a small smile on her face.

She'd always done this: taken little jabs at you. There was not a day that went by where your ears weren't filled with her little comments, pin-pointing one of your decisions that she had quickly claimed were mistakes. Dropping out of college? Mistake. Moving to Busan? Mistake. All of it. Your entire life had added up to one big mistake in her eyes.

Half the time you didn't know if she said the things she did to teach you a lesson or because she just wanted to hear herself talk. You didn't care either. It made your blood boil nevertheless.

But you'd learned not to talk back. It only made things worse. So with your blood boiling, you cleared your throat and averted your gaze to your plate, expecting her to go on and make her point.

Except . . . her voice never came. No, instead, the man beside you spoke.

"You don't think art is noble?" Yoongi questioned, his voice dark as he shook his head and scoffed. "Contributing to culture . . . that's not noble?"

Your mother's eyes were on him in an instant. Redact that— everyone's eyes were on him, even yours.

A second of silence passed. Then another. And one more before your mother released a strained laugh almost like she couldn't believe someone had actually questioned her words.

And then, she spoke. "I think my dear daughter got in over her head and now that her contract’s up she realizes what a big mistake she's made," she clarified, pursing her lips. "You always indulged her in these fantasies. I've never liked that." She glanced between your stunned face and the stern look in Yoongi's dark eyes. "Besides, it is none of your business. Off scamming people into buying overdone music. What would your father say?"

That snapped you out of your daze as you turned to face your mother, brows furrowed and lips in a straight line. "Mom," you began with a shake of your head. "Don't talk to him that way."

Your mother only clicked her tongue, but she didn't say a word.

In fact, no one uttered anything.

Until . . .

"Alright," Yoongi muttered under his breath, leaning an elbow on the table as he gestured toward your mother. "I apologize in advance but—Your daughter's work is impressive."

A scoff from your mother. "Please."

Yoongi clenched his jaw, a muscle twitching there. "Her drive, her technique, her entire essence is poured into each and every one of her pieces and people see that. People live off that. They admire it," he went on, his voice stern, but not as calm as it had been before. "She's only twenty-six and yet she's been all over—Paris, New Orleans, London, Melbourne . . . all—all over the States, and Europe and that's only the half of it. Do you know how rare, how groundbreaking that truly is?"

Your mother stayed silent, but ever so uptight. She didn't dare glance your way.

And Yoongi only continued from there. "It's sad how you can't see it . . . " he trailed off. His eyes flicked to yours as he inhaled sharply, but the breath was barely audible. You, however, had heard it, and your brows twitched, wondering what he was thinking. He'd answered your wonderment shortly. "She has spent the last four years building her career up, inspiring people all over the world, and still . . . a few words from you and I see her revert back into herself."

You swallowed hard, placing a hand on his forearm. "Yoongi, you don't have to."

He'd only shook his head, a soft smile on his face that was only meant for you. "I know, but . . . I want to."

I want to. You closed your eyes, soaking in his words.

He'd turned back to meet your mother's cold gaze a mere second later. "The world never teaches you how to dream, but it always promotes competition. You've been pitting the two of them—" he pointed between you and Seokjin— "against each other from day one, and she's too good to say anything, but I'm not. I've seen what you've done. The way your words broke her down . . . but she always got back up. She's always kept going, and it paid off." He tongued the inner corners of his mouth, scoffing slightly with a shake of his head. "If that's not admirable . . . if that's not noble , then I don't know what is."

"I see," was all your mother said.

It was enough, however, to coax a sigh out of Yoongi as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm sorry. I know I'm making a scene, but . . . you don't get to sit there and treat her like that," he uttered out, gesturing toward your mother once again. "You don't want to support it, support her, then fine. She doesn't need your bullshit support anyway. But . . . you best respect her. She deserves that much."

And all that met him was the silence. All eyes remained on him, but yours especially never left his face.

"Well . . . " Seokjin coughed out after a painful minute of piercing silence. "The pork belly here is really good."

All eyes lifted off Yoongi, shifting toward Seokjin before the three of them immersed themselves into quiet conversation once again. You knew your mother would never let Yoongi live this down, but for now, there was nothing left to say. Even so, your eyes remained on Yoongi's hardened face, desperately wishing to spill everything on your mind.

At that moment, you were reminded of the silly promise you'd made to each other when you were kids. He'd always have your support, and you'd always have his. You'd promised each other that . . . and he'd kept that promise today.

Your hand met his a second later, squeezing. Carefully, you watched as his eyes flicked to your hand in his, then slowly flick up to meet your gaze.

A smile tipped onto your lips. Thank you, it seemed to say.

He smiled back, threading his fingers together with yours. Always, he'd replied by grazing your knuckles with his thumb.

You'd decided to ride home with Yoongi, bidding farewell to your mother at the restaurant before you slid into his car and the two of you took off. There was nothing left to say to your mother. She didn't want to talk to you anyway. Bringing up what had happened at the restaurant would only start a fight you didn't have the energy to deal with, so going home with Yoongi was your best option (it was also the only option you even wanted to think of).

And while the ride to the apartment was silent, it was not uncomfortable. His hand stayed tangled with yours the entire drive. It wasn't driven by heat or anything like that; it was just a simple touch, a simple comfort for the both of you.

I just want to feel that you're there.

Reminds me that this is real.

Those had been his words he'd shared with you the night of your date, and they'd stuck with you. You were sure they always would. Reminds me that this is real. It was. You found solace in that.

His words remained on your mind as he pulled into the parking lot and the two of you made your way up to your apartment. Only once you got inside, and flicked off your shoes, did you turn to Yoongi, drowsily rubbing your face before you entered his room and laid on top of his bed, snuggling into his pillow. He'd only laughed in response, saying something about Seokjin being home soon, but nevertheless curled up right beside you, tugging you into his chest.

The two of you just laid there, a mess of limbs, relishing in the sound of each other's quiet breathing. This was real.

"Is this awkward now that you've seen my dick?" Yoongi abruptly muttered into your hair.

And you couldn't help it, a loud laugh escaped you. You knew what he was doing. You knew his words had only left him in an attempt to cheer you up with everything that had happened that day. (You'd be lying if you said it didn't work a little.)

"More than seen it," you softly replied with a small smile on your face.

He tugged you closer in response, one arm securing around your back with the other tangled in your hair, massaging your scalp. You relaxed into his touch, breathing in his scent—a mix of jasmine and wood. You realized you finally felt at peace there in his arms. That only made you smile wider as your eyes fluttered shut and you nuzzled your cheek into his chest.

This was real.

But time ticked by and you grew anxious, wishing to tell him how much you appreciated what he had done for you that night. He'd always shown his elders respect, so standing up to your mother like that was uncharacteristic of him. He'd done it for you, and that meant more to you than you could even begin to fathom.

You bit the inside of your cheek, releasing a soft sigh. "Thank you . . . for back there," you mumbled, rubbing your hand up and down his chest, finally stopping just above his heart where you drew circles with your pointer. "I just . . . I can't stand up to her."

"You will . . . one day," Yoongi simply replied, pressing his lips against your forehead.

Time ticked by. You weren’t sure how much, you just let it drone on, allowing yourself to melt completely into Yoongi's arms. It must have been at least half an hour later when the front door to the apartment clicked open and shut a second later, followed by shuffling footsteps approaching Yoongi's open bedroom door.

Neither of you bothered to rip apart, Yoongi whispering reassurance in your ear that your brother wouldn't catch on. And you put your faith in him, tilting your head slightly just in time to see Seokjin step under the threshold of the door. You gave a soft laugh and waved him into the room.

A soft sigh left Seokjin as he stepped into the room. "Move over," he huffed, approaching the two of you on the bed and climbing onto it, shifting onto the open spot just between you and the wall. With a strained groan, he laid down, his back on the bed, shifting one arm under his head while the other lazily draped over his stomach.

You poked his armpit, earning another groan before you turned back to Yoongi and laughed into his chest. Yoongi only patted your head, smiling down at you.

Seokjin smacked the back of your head in retaliation, and you only laughed more. And while it was dark, you were sure your brother had a small smile on his face as well. Nevertheless, his words changed the course of your mind as he hummed out a, "Well . . . that happened."

You, of course, knew what he was talking about: the dinner.

And Yoongi did too, as he stiffened under your touch.

"Are you mad?" you found yourself asking.

Seokjin only gave a dry laugh. "God, no, I just didn't want to fight with her," he explained, clicking his tongue and then inhaling deeply. "She's just . . . she has a strong personality."

You nodded. Then, your hand was reaching out to pinch his side. "Yeah, you're just like her," you teased, wishing the heaviness of the day would just disintegrate if you tried hard enough.

"With that logic, you're just like dad," Seokjin retorted, flicking your hand away.

With that, you dropped your hand. Maybe there was some truth to his words. Maybe . . . maybe you really were like your father. Parts of him could've been seen in you. You knew that. You just wished you knew what parts of him you'd inherited.

You swallowed, hard, feeling at a crossroads once again.

And as if sensing your shift in mood, you felt Yoongi's hand trail down your arm, nails grazing the slope as they reached the palm of your hand then spread out to your fingers, all the way up to the tips. It was a comforting gesture, one that numbed your mind, and you found yourself sighing into him.

"He would've hated that," Seokjin's voice came again, tearing you from your mind. "The dinner . . . "

Yoongi snorted.

And you laughed. "Oh, completely. He would've walked out within the first five minutes."

"Snuck out the bathroom window or something," Seokjin added with a shake of his head.

"He wouldn't even go that far to hide it," you countered, humorously. "He'd just leave."

"You're right. You're right."

But while the silence enveloped the three of you, the darkness consuming your sight, your mind began to wander. All you could think of was the funeral. You'd stayed until the end, then hopped on a train as soon as it was over. You hadn't stopped once to let anyone approach you or to ask how your brother or even how your mother was taking it. You'd just left.

How could you just leave like that?

How could you—

The floodgates had begun to tremble and you knew what was happening. Fuck. No, no, no. You didn't want to cry. Not now.

You just . . . you'd spent so long running from feeling all of this, from mourning the death of your father that it'd begun to build and build and build. And now? There was nowhere to run . . . and you didn't want to. Not anymore. Not again.

That, however, didn’t make this any easier. Letting yourself feel wasn't something you were used to. So with an unsteady mind and fear pounding in your chest, you opened the floodgates . . . willingly this time. The tears followed short, your entire body convulsing with quiet sobs.

You felt your brother and Yoongi go stiff as you quietly sobbed, quickly bringing your hand to your mouth to cover the sounds. And they let you, knowing this . . . this was what you needed.

"I just don't get it," you gasped out. "We weren't even that close. Why do I miss him so much?"

Yoongi hadn't released you from his grip, him squeezing your arm made you realize this. "Because there was a chance you could've been closer," he mumbled, whispering it to you both and Seokjin, knowing the both of you needed to hear those words.

A second of silence passed.

Then, a hand fell to your hair, petting the back of your head, and you knew the hand belonged to Seokjin. His voice filtering through your ears a second later confirmed these thoughts. "Sometimes I wonder if I'm doing right by him with the company," he admitted, shocking you so.

What?

But . . . Seokjin had always been so sure of his decisions, always so sure of himself.

You glanced over at him, brow furrowed in confusion. "How do you mean?"

Seokjin swallowed so hard it echoed in the air before he muttered under his breath, "Mom thinks I'm doing so great, but . . . If I make the wrong move, I could tank the company . . . that would be like letting him die in vain." He shook his head, and when he spoke again, you could hear the uneasiness in the way his voice wavered. "Sometimes when deals fall through or I fuck up a meeting . . . it feels like I'm failing him."

Oh. You’d never thought he felt that way. He was Seokjin, the golden child. He didn’t doubt. He never had. So then . . . ?

A bitter laugh left your brother. "His shit's still there, in that office. His telescope's sitting there and I swear sometimes I can still see him standing there, looking out of it at the moon . . . and then I hear him and I can never tell if he's saying he's proud of me or if I've failed him."

And then you realized.

Growing up, Seokjin had always needed affirmations. He'd always sought them out, and he'd looked for them with his head held high. He'd made it known to your parents how a new watch for acing a test was what would let him know he'd done well. You'd never been that way. You'd always sought out their approval, silently, so silent that perhaps they hadn't even noticed just how much you needed it. You'd always paved your own way, searching for your own approval while Seokjin looked to his parents, knowing exactly what he wanted and how he was going to get it. You saw this now.

While you had been quiet, Seokjin had been vocal.

It was as simple as that. The two of you were different: two sides to the same coin.

Perhaps your parents had seen this too. Perhaps your father had.

And maybe you were looking too much into it, or maybe . . . maybe you were right. But . . . with your father's passing, he'd signed all of his materialistic things in Seokjin's name from his company to the watch he'd always worn. He'd done this to show his son he could continue on his name, and in doing so, he'd make him proud. While . . . he'd signed away a large sum of his savings in your name. Maybe . . . maybe he'd done that because he knew you'd use that money for what you wanted, not for what everyone else desired. He knew you'd take that money and do something good, something grand, something utterly you.

Perhaps that was his own way of letting you know you'd made him proud.

He was proud of you, and he'd be proud of you now, Yoongi's words filtered through your ears as you remembered what he told you your first night back in Seoul. And you chose to believe that.

Your father had been proud of you. He knew you would find no use, no inspiration in the materialistic things he'd once owned. No, he'd left you that money so you could do something more.

A smile lifted onto your face as you realized this. Your father would be proud to see what Seokjin had done with the company, and he'd be proud to see what you'd done with your career. You chose to believe this.

And you chose to admit it aloud as well.

With a nod of your head at your thoughts, you reached out to squeeze your brother's arm. "Dad would be proud of you, Jin," you spoke softly and quietly as a single tear slipped down your cheek. This time you didn't wipe it away. "He left you all that . . . so when you looked at it, you'd see him. Those were his prized possession. I think, in a way, you were too." You nodded once more. This was the truth. "He was proud of us , in his own way . . . and he'd be proud to see how the company turned out."

A second of silence passed before Seokjin rested his hand atop yours. Thank you, the gesture seemed to say and you only offered him a smile in the dark.

The silence was lighter now as it encircled the three of you in its embrace. Perhaps the truth wasn't so scary after all.

Minutes later and you swore you were almost drifting off into sleep when Yoongi shifted beside you and groaned, "Are we all really about to sleep in my bed?"

Your brother barked out a laugh. "Afraid so, Min."

Yoongi only grumbled in response.

"He's such a grouch," Seokjin tsked.

You nodded. "Tell me about it."

"I can hear you," Yoongi bit out, pinching your side.

A soft laugh left you as you twitched in his arms. "He says that like that wasn't the point."

"He's just—"

But Yoongi cut your brother off before he could speak. "Yah!" the man hissed, pulling away from you and turning on his side, his back now facing you. "If you're both going to sleep in my bed, then at least shut the fuck up."

His outburst brought a certain silence once again, you and Seokjin stifling your laughter before your brother turned away from you and faced the wall, rolling onto his side. He grabbed a pillow and hugged it to his chest, and that was when you complacently sighed and turned to face Yoongi's back.

A soft smile twitched onto your lips as you shuffled closer to him, snaking an arm around his waist. Yoongi immediately grabbed your hand, tugging you closer to him as he intertwined your fingers with his and pulled it to his chest. You shook your head in amusement and placed your cheek against his back, nuzzling closer to him.

You knew wrapping yourself up into Yoongi like this was risky considering it could give Seokjin the hint that the two of you were more than friends. But you didn't care. You'd try to figure out a lie later if he asked. But right now . . . right now you just wanted to blissfully drift off into sleep with the scent of jasmine and wood consuming your being.

And you did exactly that.

True to his word, the following week you found yourself staring up at the tall corporate building with Yoongi standing by your side, taking in your stunned expression with mirth in his eyes. You knew he'd belonged to one of the largest music companies in the country, but you'd never seen it in person, only in photos, so standing before it, realizing just how small you were compared to the building towering over you, felt a little unreal.

Out of the corner of your eye, you watched Yoongi approach the front doors. You cleared your throat, clutching the hem of your skirt to tug it down before you followed after him (yeah, yeah, yeah, you knew it was stupid to wear a skirt in the beginning of November, but hey, the weather was on the warmer side, so fuck it).

Once inside, many people greeted Yoongi, mumbling a good morning to him, and then referring to him as Suga . You’d only quirked your head to the side in confusion as you followed him into the elevator, then down a hall.

Only then did you address your confusion. "Suga, huh? Stage name?"

He glanced over at you and flicked your nose. "So smart, dollface.”

"Fuck you," you grumbled, swatting at his hand. "Why Suga?"

"Stands for shooting guard.”

You snorted. "You are so predictable.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he huffed before he glanced around, then tugged you down another empty hall. Instantly, he slapped your ass, chuckling when you jumped at the touch.

You shot him a dirty look.

Yoongi ruffled your hair. "You're lucky we're in public, you know?" he spoke under his breath before he tugged you further down the hall, not giving you enough time to adjust to the warmth pooling in your lower stomach at his words.

Finally, he stopped in front of a door in the middle of the hall, and you were left to observe. A keypad met your eyes, and then you caught sight of the sign labeled Genius Lab , and you couldn’t help but snort.

"Genius Lab?" you mused, quirking a brow at him.

He glanced over his shoulder at you. "Something funny?"

"Nope, nope, nothing.”

A click of his tongue was your only response as he dipped to punch in the passcode.

"Passcode, too?” you remarked, teasingly. “Wow, I'm impressed you've managed to remember it.”

The lock beeped, unlocking as Yoongi rested his hand on the handle but didn’t shove it open. No, instead, he turned to look at you once again, this time sighing. "Yeah, well, when you forget it once and lock yourself out for four days, you tend to make it a point not to forget it again," he admitted, a little bashfulness to his tone.

"Again," you hummed. "Predictable."

Yoongi only rolled his eyes before he pushed the door open. "Yeah, yeah, yeah, get your ass in there," he huffed, shoving you inside the small studio.

Once inside, your eyes widened. All around you laid equipment, a desk and a chair to match among other things that just had Yoongi written all over it. But what caught your eye was his old basketball jersey hanging up on his wall as if overseeing all of his success.

You remembered that jersey.

Before one of his games, he’d asked you to sign the inside of it, claiming it’d give him good luck. And you’d signed it willingly with a wide, toothy grin on your face. You’d almost forgotten but there it was staring right back at you, and you couldn’t help but smile.

You even found yourself approaching it, hand stretched out to check if your name was still there. “You still have—Ow!"

But you never reached the jersey. Instead, Yoongi slapped your ass once again, this time harder, halting you in your actions before he sat down on the gaming chair with a cheeky grin on his face. Under your harsh gaze, he leaned back, arms resting on the armrests as he spread his legs while raising his brows at you. That same damned grin remained on his face.

"Yoongi, seriously?” you all but spat.

Yoongi bit the tip of his thumb, eyes dragging down your figure. "Sorry, couldn't resist.”

You only crossed your arms over your chest. "What if someone heard that?”

"Soundproof.”

"Oh.”

(You ignored the warmth pooling in your stomach at what that tiny detail entailed.)

Yoongi grinned wider. "C'mere," he commanded, patting his thigh.

And you couldn’t resist. You reached him, sitting down on his lap and leaning your back against his chest as he shifted underneath you to secure his arms around your waist. His chin rested on your shoulder, and he hummed a sigh of relief. Perhaps he felt safe with his arms wrapped around you, too.

"So this is it?" you found yourself asking, eyes still searching the dim-lit room.

"Were you expecting more?"

"No, I didn't mean it like that," you mumbled. "I mean . . . this is it. This is your life. It's you." You turned to face him, smiling. "I just—Thank you for sharing it with me."

"You're a part of my life," Yoongi simply said. "A big part of it. I wanted to share this with you."

You couldn’t help it, you scrunched your nose just as you felt your heart swell in your chest. "You really are just a big sap, you know that, Yoon?" you all but giggled before you pressed a kiss to his nose.

"Shut it.”

Another laugh came from your lips. You averted your gaze to the equipment laid out in front of you, your mind wandering. "So, is this why you wanted to take me here?" you questioned your thoughts aloud. “To share this with me?”

"Yes and no," Yoongi mumbled against your skin. It was almost as if he were hiding himself from your view. "I wanna . . . wanna show you something."

The next second he was reaching for a black notebook placed neatly at the corner of his desk. He slapped it down in front of you, and began turning the pages.

He paused his page flipping. "I told you about the new album I'm writing, right?" he asked.

You nodded.

Then he gripped the page in between his fingers, seemingly hesitating for a mere second before he sighed and continued flipping until he paused to reveal a page consumed by messy handwriting.

Was this one of his songs?

But Yoongi’s voice filtered in through your ears before you could get too inside your head.

"It's, uh, it's different from my other work. There are still different artists weaved into certain songs, but for the most part, it's all me: the lyrics, the music, the voices . . . " he trailed off, tapping the page. "I got the idea almost a year ago now. I just—I wanted to try something different, you know? And inspiration struck so I just kept writing and writing, and the album kind of . . . wrote itself?"

"Is this you saying I get to have a sneak peek?"

"Yeah, yeah, I guess so," he chuckled under his breath as his hand trudged through his hair. "I've been experimenting with rap and I'm taking vocal lessons too, so there's some of that. I wanted it to be raw, you know? Real." He wet his bottom lip, glancing at the side of your face briefly. "Every song's inspired by something that’s happened in my life, so I guess . . . I guess I wanted an outside opinion to see if it's shit or not."

You only grinned at his response, eyes meeting his. "Min Yoongi, are you nervous?" you taunted, poking his side.

"If that's what you call this—” he tongued the inner corners of his mouth— “then yes," he sighed humorously before he trudged his hand through his hair once more.

"You're so cute.”

"God, don't call me that.”

You clicked your tongue at his response. "OK, OK, let me hear it.”

He looked at you for a second as if hesitating, then he reached for the headset resting on the desk and placed them over your ears. He went to work after that, turning on the computer and sifting through his folders until he reached the file he desired. Then, with an inhale, he hovered the mouse over it and took a glance your way.

"There's one song that I think needs tweaking, so . . . it's up to you to tell me what's shit about it and what's not, got it?" he informed you, his words sounding awkward on his tongue.

"Yoongi, I don't know anything about music," you reassured him.

"Bullshit," he playfully scoffed. "You grew up with me, you've got to have a good ear on you."

"No promises.”

He only responded with a shake of his head.

A second of silence passed.

Then, he spoke again. (God, he really was nervous.)

"OK . . . this is an older work. I've switched it up a little over the years, added lyrics, but by lyrics I mean it's got my tone-deaf voice on it so you've gotta keep that in mind," he warned as he tongued the corners of his mouth again. "If it's shit, it's shit. Spare me the looks, just ask to move on and we'll move on."

"You really are nervous," you mused. Then, you leaned forward, squinting your eyes at his forehead before you tapped a finger to his brow. "Is that sweat?"

He swatted your hand away. "Yah, don't tease me.”

You only snorted, waving him off as you turned your attention to the computer.

His voice came again, even more hesitant now. "Oh, and um . . . here—" he tapped the notebook again, drawing your eyes down to the words sloppily written across the page— "it's the lyrics. The rough draft anyway. Just . . . read along while it plays and uh . . . make any marks you think best."

You nodded. "Press play, Yoon."

"Right.”

The song began with the soft strumming of a guitar, creating a simple melody in your ears. You touched your hands to the headset over your ears, a soft smile lifting onto your face. It was silly but you could’ve sworn you’d heard this song before. Then, his soft, deep voice joined the soft guitar. His voice was breathy and slightly off-key but it worked with the overall soft hum of the song . . . but your mind was still stuck on the rhythm of it, the tune, the ambiance. It felt almost nostalgic to you.

And then as the song played on, you realized where you had heard it before.

This . . . this was the same song Yoongi had first ever composed. It was the same song he played at his first gig; the first song you thought might have been composed for you; the song he played the night at his bar. This song you now knew had been for you, but you hadn’t understood the extent of it until that very moment.

As his voice filtered through your ears, going into another verse, your face slowly fell. You weren’t upset or anything of the sort . . . rather . . . you had caught onto what he was saying, what he was telling you through the lyrics. You’d first thought it to be a thank you when he’d played it at the bar, but now . . . you were sure this was an apology.

You blinked, eyes burning as you flicked your gaze down to the notebook. You flipped a page, searching for the verse playing in your ears, and when you found it, you couldn’t ignore the lump in your throat that had begun to form.

You can let it go, you read and your heart swelled in your chest.

This . . . this was written for you; for the years you’d been burdened by life. It was an apology, a thank you, an ode to you.

An ode . . . there . . . that put you at rest. It was an ode.

You lost yourself in the song, the lyrics, the guitar, all of it in that moment. And you just let it consume you.

The song trailed on for another verse, but your mind was too preoccupied spinning and spinning farther away from you. You couldn’t wrap your mind around it. This was the song he’d first composed, the same one he’d shared with you on that train when you were kids, the same one he’d played for his first gig, the same one he’d played the night at his bar. This was the song he’d written long ago and . . . he’d written it for you.

Your mind only spiraled from there . . .

It all made sense now.

You couldn’t stop yourself. The next second you reached forward and restarted the song, letting the tune consume you. The lyrics were more clear now, and you had to stop yourself from gasping as the song filtered through your ears once more.

The song began painting the image of you and Yoongi riding your bikes to catch the train—the very train that would take you to the art gallery . . . to your first show. You’d had no care in the world back then. Everything was not a big deal, because you hadn’t let it become one. You only realized just how blind you were to the rest of the world when you returned home that same night and had to face the music.

The backlash you’d received from your parents when you returned, Yoongi by your side, hadn’t bothered you then. It hadn’t been a big deal, not when Yoongi had looked at you with pride and adoration in his eyes. It didn’t matter if your parents didn’t support you, you’d done well. Your own support along with Yoongi’s had been enough for you back then.

It was still enough now.

The next verse delved into the many celebrations you'd had on your own, not bothering to invite your parents. An image of you surrounded by the smiling faces of your friends greeted you then. A warm feeling bloomed in your chest as you remembered the surprise Hari had orchestrated after you sold your first painting.

All the other times you’d thrown little party after little party after each success crossed your mind then. You’d never invited your parents, instead sharing your achievements with your close friends over a few bottles of wine. That little family you’d found on your own had been enough for you.

It still was.

However, as the song played on, the gentle baritone of Yoongi's voice mixed with the subtle guitar, you realized there was one particular verse that your brain stuck on. Matilda, you talk of the pain like it's all alright but I know that you feel like a piece of you's dead inside, the lyrics filtered in through your ears as you pin-pointed the verse on the notebook, checking with your very eyes to see if you'd heard it correctly.

When you saw the exact words splayed out on the paper, Yoongi's notes written in the margin lines, you couldn't help the twitch in your brow. He'd truly written that. That was exactly how you knew the song had truly been for you. And as your eyes flicked up to catch the title of the song splayed out in chicken scratch at the top of the page, your suspicions were further confirmed.

Matilda. That had been the song’s title.

Matilda. The silly little movie you’d watch over and over again as a kid, oftentimes forcing Yoongi to sit through it with you.

Matilda—the tether that had been keeping the two of you bound to each other for years now.

That silly little movie had helped you through the darkest of times, relying on it like a crutch. It'd kept you going, serving as your drive. In other words, Matilda had been your inspiration, and you had been Yoongi’s Matilda. You realized now he had been yours for a while now, too.

He’d brought the sun to the darkest days. Truly. He’d been your helping hand, pulling you out of the darkness, and you’d done the same for him. An eternity of pushing and pulling at one another, simultaneously keeping each other afloat in the dark abyss of life.

The suspicions you had of the song mapping out the course of your life bit by bit, only furthered when you listened closely to the next verse. Yoongi's voice came from the headset, whispering that you didn't need to be sorry for leaving your hometown and growing up. He'd reassured you there was nothing left for you. You'd deserved to move on; deserve to live for yourself instead of for everyone else.

Your heart swelled. For so long you’d been burdened by leaving home for a better life. You tried to figure out why it bothered you so, not realizing all you really needed was for someone to tell you it was going to be alright. You’d only needed a little reassurance all along.

His voice filtered through your ears again, another deep baritone verse began to play, painting an entirely new picture. The song went on to repeat how you didn't have to be sorry for doing it all on your own; for living your life on your own. You swallowed hard. You'd done it all on your own.

And you really had.

You’d done it on your own because you’d believed you had to. You didn’t need to do that anymore, to guard yourself so harshly.

You didn’t need to do it alone anymore. But all the same, you didn’t need to apologize for going off and leaving your parents behind.

What happened was not your fault. You’d loved your parents in your own way. While there may have been regrets, there was no need to stick this burden upon yourself.

Another verse, and the voice—Yoongi's voice—was reassuring you that they—your family; the words of the past—couldn't hurt you anymore as long as you could let them go. As long as you could let the past go, release it from your grasp, and release yourself from its burden . . . then you could truly live.

Forgiveness was what you needed. You needed to forgive them. Then, you needed to forgive yourself.

You’d repented long enough. It was time to let the past go.

The song slowly sang the last two verses, the words the same. But a simple line stuck out to you. It was Yoongi singing, his voice lower compared to the rest of the song, his words painting the picture that you could surround yourself around people who would always be there, who would always support you. You didn't have to seek their validation.

As the song iterated, this family that you could start all on your own would be yours. It wouldn't be tainted by the past. It was yours, not your mother's or your father's ghost . . . it was just utterly yours.

You could move on; you could let yourself move on.

And just like that, the floodgates opened . . .

Unable to stop yourself, you blinked, more tears trickling down through the floodgates and onto your cheeks. You never knew he could see just how much the burdens placed on you by your parents had wielded your mind. You never knew he’d seen that part of you—the part of you still searching for validation with wide, hopeful eyes.

You can let it go, the song had sung. These were the words he couldn’t say but so desperately wanted you to know.

It was a simple message.

He’d told you long ago that jazz had started in a little place in New Orleans where no one could speak to each other, so they spoke through music. He’d spoken to you through this song . . . and you’d heard him.

You heard him.

And he saw you.

A hand touching your arm was the only thing to bring you out of your trance. You blinked, a few more tears trickling down your face as you glanced over your shoulder to meet Yoongi's searching gaze. He looked almost . . . anxious. It was cute, you thought.

"So?" he muttered out, clearing his throat when he heard the hoarseness of his voice. "What'd you think?" He wiped away your fallen tears with his thumbs.

You only stared at him, taking him in. For a long time now, you hadn't truly looked at Yoongi. But there he was, staring right back at you and you couldn't help but get wrapped up in his features. From his button nose to the smile lines just in the crinkle of his eyes, you took all of him in. Your eyes even fell upon the small freckle on his nose, and you remembered you'd claimed it as your favorite thing about him when you were a mere child. It still remained one of your favorite things about him.

But Yoongi, more anxious than he'd ever let on, shifted beneath you, averting his gaze briefly as a hand came up to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Is it creepy?" he sighed, closing his eyes in regret. "Fuck, it's a creep move, isn't it? I knew—"

"Min Yoongi," you quickly cut him off with a soft laugh, "you really are a sap at heart."

Slowly, Yoongi glanced up, eyes wide. "What?"

You laughed a little louder in response.

God, you loved him.

"You wrote me a song," you simply said, a toothy grin still on your face.

His expression lifted at your words, then he tilted his head, screwing up his face as he strained out, "Well . . . "

It was your turn to widen your eyes in astonishment. "An album ?"

Yoongi sent you a sheepish tight-lipped smile, and nodded. "Is it entirely too . . . sappy to say you've been—" he shrugged, thinking of his words before he continued— " something of a muse to me?"

"Yes, entirely. "

"Guess I'm fucked then."

You shook your head, your cheeks beginning to hurt from smiling. But you didn't care. This was bliss.

And in your blissful haze, you shifted in his lap a little more, wrapping your arms around his neck before you pressed your lips against his. The kiss was fleeting, but it managed to warm your entire being, providing a comfort you never thought you'd need.

You pulled back a second later. "No, not entirely fucked," you mused, kissing his nose, right on the freckle you adored. "You're lucky I'm so self-absorbed." A click of your tongue, and you continued. "I mean, don't get me wrong, this is totally just charity work, but what can I say? I just love my fans."

Yoongi's eyes roamed over your face as he shook his head. "You're the worst," he hummed, a hint of a smile twitching at his lips while his hands remained at your waist, keeping a steady grip on you.

"Clearly, not," you taunted, brows furrowing. "I mean damn, you're giving me a big head."

A low groan escaped Yoongi as he tilted his head back, baring his neck to you. "The worst," he muttered, his Adam's apple bobbing as he spoke.

That was enough to set you off, lust immediately filling you.

What?

He had a beautiful neck. God, did he ever.

Almost subconsciously, your hand came up to fist the hair near the nape of his neck, tugging it back ever so slightly to reveal more of his neck to you. You only grew greedier as your mouth attacked his neck. You licked a long strip up the column of his neck, running over his Adam's apple, and vocally voicing your approval when you felt him swallow under your touch.

You continued your exploration of his neck, pressing open-mouth kisses up his jaw, lapping and swirling at the skin as you made your way to his ear. You teased the skin just under his ear very briefly, sucking the flesh, and you could've sworn you'd heard him inhale sharply as his hand tightened on your waist, but it was too quiet to be sure.

Then, you devilishly grinned against his skin before your tongue flicked out to wet his ear. You took it a step further, enveloping the lobe of his ear into your warm mouth, swirling your tongue around the piercings while you gently sucked the skin. When you bit down ever so slightly, he'd shifted beneath you, a soft, barely audible moan being coaxed from his chest.

At the sound, you sucked lightly on the indents you'd made, slowly pulling back with a complacent smile sitting on your face. His head lolled forward, lidded eyes connecting with yours as you took note of his slightly parted lips.

"Still the worst?" you smugly questioned, trailing a finger along the marks you'd made on his neck.

Yoongi only shook his head in disbelief, grinning as he briefly tilted his head back, a vocal sigh tipping from his lips before he straightened his neck and locked eyes with you once more. Definitely not the worst. He just didn't want to admit that.

Didn't matter. You had other plans anyway.

"So—" you began, dragging your nails down his chest in a gentle graze— "soundproof, you say?"

"Yeah, yeah, shut up," he snorted, pushing your face away.

Oh? He didn't understand what you were getting at. You stifled a laugh. Cute.

That same misunderstanding gave you enough motive to exploit it. You'd shifted on his lap, steadying your hands on his shoulders so you wouldn't fall as you placed knees on either side of his thighs. You didn't stop there, either. No, instead, you decided to tease him, tilting your hips ever so slightly toward him as your short skirt rode up your thighs. Never once did your eyes meet his as you sat down completely on his lap, skirt now bunched up at your hips and red panties peeking out just enough for him to see.

Only then did you flick your eyes up to meet his, a half-grin twisted onto your face as you took in his expression. He was looking at you like that again—mouth slightly parted as dark, lidded eyes traced your features, glancing down to where your bodies met every so often. You gave a roll of your hips, to confirm your suspicions. As you rutted against him, your core brushed firmly against his hardened length straining in his pants, and you grinned in response.

"Wanna put it to use?" you questioned. "The room . . . of course. We could listen to the album all the way up . . . or . . . "

His eyes grew darker, clouding over. "Don't tempt me, angel," he groaned under his breath, but his grip on you tightened, his arm wrapping around your back as he pulled you closer. His other hand drifted to your neck, thumb grazing your jaw. "I can only control myself for so long around you."

Something snapped within you, your core aching for him. That was when you felt it—the sticky wetness clinging to your folds. You rolled against his length again, coaxing a soft whimper from your lips while you watched Yoongi close his eyes, jaw clenched.

"Can't help it," you all but whined, fisting his shirt in your hand. "Want you to fuck me so bad. You wrote me a song, Yoonie. Let me show you how grateful I am. Please .”

"Don't say that," he muttered through clenched teeth, eyes still closed.

"Why not?" you breathlessly questioned as you ground against him again, almost certain your wetness had leaked through your underwear and now begun to form a wet spot on the front of Yoongi's pants.

A low groan sounded from the back of his throat, and he didn't give you time to think before his hands were gripping your hips again. His grip on you tightened, holding you in place as he bucked up into you, grinding his clothed length against your aching core. Your grip on his shirt became a lifeline as he rolled his hips against yours, stimulating your clit with every thrust and leaving you a gasping mess. But the feeling was gone almost as soon as it came as Yoongi grasped you against him, arm wrapped around your waist again, securing you to his chest as his other hand threaded through your hair. He'd tugged on your hair just enough to bare your neck to him before he'd leaned in, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

And then . . . then he spoke. "Because it makes me want to rip off those soaked panties and fuck you right here like the dirty girl you are," he darkly whispered, his voice stern yet slowly cracking under your touch.

"And that's a bad thing?" you questioned, drawling out your words. You trailed your eyes down his chest, catching sight of the uneven breaths. A smirk quirked onto your face at the sight before you slipped out of his grasp and sunk to the floor, kneeling between his spread-out legs. "Want you to fill me up, Yoonie. Want you." You placed a hand on his thigh, squeezing lightly.

"Fuck," he groaned out, elongating the word as he dragged his hands through his dark locks. "I had a plan, you know?"

"Mmm, plans change, plan guy," you hummed, pleasantly, rubbing your hand up and down his thigh. You glanced at him through your lashes, lips twitching upward as you leaned forward and began placing your lips on his thighs, kissing him through the fabric standing in your way. "You've been teasing me all week. Making me sit on your cock. Taunting me with it. Do you know how many times I've had to get myself off in the shower, pretending my fingers were . . . something else. It's just cruel, Yoonie."

His hands dragged down over his face, covering his features from your view. He gave a vocal sigh, and hissed out a laugh, "What are you doing to me?"

"You say that a lot," was all you managed, hands coming up to trace the zipper to his pants.

He dropped his hands, resting them on either side of the armrests, and clutching them so tightly his knuckles turned white. "You make me think it a lot," he admitted, eyes attentive as they watched you slowly unzip his pants, then teasingly fold down the hem.

Your eyes flicked up to his face, watching his expression. "This OK?" you pondered aloud, asking for permission.

Much to your elation, Yoongi could only nod, not trusting his tongue as he clamped his jaw shut. You were tugging his dark pants off him with his help as he lifted his lower body so you could pull the material down his legs. In a second, you threw the pants on the other side of the studio, eyes quickly falling upon the impressive tent in his boxers. His eyes met yours then, brows raising as if to say, Go on.

And you obliged with a roll of your eyes. Your hands were on him again in an instant, curling around the hem of his boxers before you'd tugged those off his body and discarded them on the floor. With eyes flicking back to his lower half, you were met with his hardened length, standing tall, the pink tip damp with precum. He was all shades of beige, pink, and so very very enticing. You couldn't help but grind your core against the heel of your shoe, creating little friction to subside the ache blooming within you.

You swallowed hard, your eyes meeting his. He stared back at you, eyes dark and lidded and solely focused on you and your every movement. You felt like the focal point of his attention; his muse as he had said.

That very thought spurred you on. With a slow bat of your lashes, a knowing smile touched your lips ever so slightly as you shifted on your knees, leaning closer to his lower half. You'd wrapped your hand around his shaft, thumb grazing over the small slit at the head of his cock as you spread the precum. The touch was enough to coax a hiss out of him. A grin was your only response as you traced the rim around the head. You had him right where you wanted him.

A darker gaze clouded over your eyes then, not looking away from him as you slowly—so slow it could be considered torture—licked the head of his cock. Your warm tongue lapped over the small slit, gathering all the precum in your mouth. Your eyes fluttered closed as you swallowed his arousal, humming a soft moan of contentment, already working yourself up over the thought of seeing him squirm under the touch of your tongue.

But you didn't get the chance to take him in your mouth again.

"Fuck it," you heard him hiss out instead.

His hands were on you in an instant. With a startled gasp, your eyes flung open just in time to see him stand to his feet, pulling you up along with him as he kicked the chair, letting it hit the door without a care. His lips found yours a second later, sucking, biting, and melding your tongues together in a punishing dance. You melted into his touch, humming sounds of approval as his grip on you tightened at every noise which spurred from your throat. You couldn't even pinpoint where his hands touched; one second they were squeezing your hips, then your sides, your ass, your tits, everywhere. It was almost as if he couldn't get enough of you, trying to memorize every curve and slope of your body.

Then, he pulled back, leaving you breathless with your lips swollen and tingling from his torment. Your eyes fluttered open a second later, finding his gaze already on you, taking in the swell of your puffy lips. And then . . . then the bastard dropped to his knees, eyes flicking from your panties to your flustered face. He didn't give you enough time to react before he pressed you back, your hands shooting out to stabilize yourself against his desk. Generously, he allowed you to inhale sharply before his fingers hooked around the hem of your panties, pulling them down along with your skirt, and tossing them somewhere.

You whined at the coolness which met your bare core, rolling your hips ever so slightly. This seemed to amuse Yoongi further as a sly grin slid onto his face while he looked up at you with mirth in his eyes.

"Eager?" he taunted, tonguing his inner cheek as he continued to grin.

A huff from your lips was the only response he gained from you. You didn't trust your tongue. But as he hoisted one of your legs up onto his shoulder and blew cold air across your aching cunt, earning a strangled gasp from you, you couldn't help the words which left you. "Oh, fuck you," you hissed out, tightening your grip around the desk that was holding you up.

He pressed a teasing kiss against your inner thigh. "So mean," he mumbled before he began to suck, lapping and biting a bruise into the skin.

"Ngh! You are infuriating, Min Yoongi," you rushed out as you felt his lips suck higher and higher, inching closer and closer to your core. "Living in my goddamn head for months now. Dreaming of your touch. How your tongue would feel. Your fingers. That cock. God—" He flicked his tongue across your clit ever so slightly, and you yelped— "fucking sadist. Fuckin—Ah!"

His mouth was on your core in an instant. All words died on your tongue, your mind numbing as you felt his tongue lick a strip up your slit, dipping into your warm heat briefly before his mouth closed around your clit, sucking the nub. You were left a panting mess, rolling your hips against his skilled tongue as he continued his punishing torment, lapping and sucking at the sensitive bundle of nerves, simultaneously making you forget every thought until all you could think was fuck, fuck, fuck.

You wished you had more room to balance yourself so you could thread your hands through those dark locks, but he kept you pinned against his desk. It was utter torture, twitching under his warm tongue and not being able to touch him. You whimpered against him at the thought.

His hands gripped around your ass, squeezing the flesh. "So that's how I get you to shut up," he mused, darkly. He flicked his tongue repeatedly over your sensitive nub, the motion quick and blissful. Then, he pulled back, pressing a taunting kiss against your core before he spoke again. "Noted."

In that moment, flustered with pent-up desire, you gathered the strength to peel your eyes open and look down at him, finding his eyes already on you as he blew cool air across your dripping cunt in an attempt to soothe the pulsing. But you knew there was only one thing that could satisfy that deep ache.

"Please," you rasped out, voice hoarse you barely recognized it. "Please, fuck me."

Yoongi only grinned wider.

Cocky bastard.

You whined in response. God, you'd never been this deprived before.

His mouth was on you again the next second, sucking on that bundle of nerves. And you were left to grind against his tongue, shamelessly. He chuckled against you, the vibrations only spurring you on more.

"Needy needy needy," he mused as his thumb grazed up, dipping into your heat ever so slightly. "And so . . . wet. "

But you were stuck on his other statement. The cocky son of a bitch was mocking your words. (It seemed Min Yoongi didn't like to be teased, and well, neither did you.) So you found yourself scoffing. "Oh, you are not using my own words—ah—" your words were cut off as a sharp staccato yelp left your lips when his sucking against your clit became more intense, needier . . . like he was truly a man starved, in need of your desperate whimpers— "against me, Min Yoongi."

"Always so sensitive," he remarked, gently grazing his teeth over your clit, earning a jerk of your hips from you. “Needy, too. ”

You cursed under your breath as you felt his tongue lay flat against your core once again. And you couldn't help it, you rolled your hips, grinding against his tongue, brushing your clit in just the right way. A low moan sounded from the back of your throat as you felt the familiar coil in your lower stomach begin to wound up. You began to chase it, breaths coming out faster as you quickened your pace, being held up now solely by Yoongi's tight grip on your thighs and ass.

Throwing your head back, you fisted a hand in his hair, not caring if your legs gave out on you. Yoongi would keep you steady.

Losing yourself in the feeling, the rhythm of your hips snapping against his skilled tongue was enough to coax continuous soft moans from your puffy lips. And just when you felt the coil begin to tease you a little too much, Yoongi slipped two fingers into your heat, curling inside of you right where your sweet spot lay. You cried out, core clenching around him as you continued to fuck yourself on his tongue while his fingers pumped in and out of you at a punishing pace.

It became too much, your lower stomach tightening as your muscles pulsed. "Fuck, oh fuck—Yoongi, I don't think I can," you stammered out, your rushed breathing turning into desperate pants.

"I know. I know. Let go. Let go, baby," Yoongi hummed.

Let go, he'd whispered, and you complied. His fingers stroked your sweet spot, his mouth sucking on your swollen clit as the coil snapped, causing you to cry out. Your muscles tightened, your core pulsing as your high broke through every part of your body, your head tilting back in ecstasy as those soft moans pipped out of you in hiccups. His fingers stayed inside you, mouth still working against you as he helped you ride out your high until you were whining and twisting in his arms from overstimulation.

His hands were soft against your skin, gently helping you stabilize yourself against the desk as he stood to his feet. He wrapped an arm around your waist, stepping closer to you until you were chest to chest, with his face dipping into the crook of your neck. A whimper left your lips when he bit down on your sweet spot, then lapped at the indentations. But that soft whimper was all it took before Yoongi was kissing you again, his lips rough and needy against yours. His tongue melded with yours and that was when you tasted it—your arousal coating his tongue.

You couldn't help it, you moaned at the taste. There was just something about how bold he was; how much he wanted to eat you out. It was arousing, almost too much to the point your entire body buzzed once the taste hit your senses.

Even more, it was almost embarrassing the effect it had on you. Because one second you were still recovering from your orgasm, then with one taste, you were aching for him again, subtly guiding your hand down to his still solid length. Your hand wrapped around the base, coaxing a shocked groan out of him, and at the sound and feel of him, you couldn't help but whimper in response.

"Please," you all but cried into his mouth.

Guiding his cock to your core, you used the tip to smear your arousal around, even going as far as to punish yourself when you grazed over your clit. Another whimper vibrated in your throat as the painful sensitivity hit you, but you continued brushing against him as you flicked your gaze to meet his, searching his eyes for an understanding. You were only met with a cheeky grin.

His hand clasped around your jaw, putting pressure there. "Still want my cock even after I've made you cum?" he silkily taunted. His other hand reached around to grab your ass, kneading the plump flesh just to hear you whimper under his touch once again. He chuckled, darkly, shaking his head. "You really are a dirty girl."

"I hate you so much," you huffed out, clearing your hoarse voice.

Bemused, Yoongi scrunched his nose, tilting his head to the side as he dragged his eyes down your body. "Nah, you really don't," he countered, biting his inner cheek as his eyes lifted back up to meet yours. "You wanna know how I know that?"

You could only nod, swallowing hard.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him wrap a hand around the base of his cock, replacing your shaking fingers. Then, you felt the tip line up with your entrance and you nearly bucked forward. Fuck. This was really happening. This was—

"Because, this—" the tip of his cock jutted inside your folds, making your breath hitch, but he didn't sink any deeper— "doesn't lie."

A noise sounded from the back of your throat in preparation, but much to your dismay, Yoongi slipped out of you. You all but whined at him, glaring as he chuckled at your protests.

"Yoongi, you motherfucker, if you don't fuck me right now I swear—"

"Swear what?" he cut you off, a warning thumb pressing down on your clit.

You stood shocked, jaw shut tight. No words came to mind. You just stared at him.

That seemed to amuse him further, eyes twinkling with mirth, so much so it almost took over the glassy look. "Ah, empty threats," he hummed, clicking his tongue as he loosened his grip on you. "Be a good girl for me and turn over. Wanna see this ass."

With a final squeeze to your ass, he stepped back, allowing you enough room to do as you pleased. You stared at him a little longer, swallowing hard as the aching between your thighs became unbearable. Then, you did as he asked, turned around, and bent down over the desk. Shamelessly, you spread your legs and arched your back, giving him a full view of your needy cunt, glistening with arousal.

A low groan sounded from him at the sight of you, only making your cunt throb more. But you didn't have time to bask in his shameless approval. His hands were on you the next second, placed on your hips, his fingers digging into your hipbones as you felt him step an inch closer to you. He leaned down over you, chest pressed against your back as he kissed your hair.

"Want me to fuck you, angel?" he murmured into your hair, and that was when you felt him grind his cock into your bare ass, eliciting a sound of shock out of you.

"Fuck, yes," you breathed out, arching into his touch.

With a dark chuckle, he pulled away from you but his hands remained secure around you. "Prove it," he mused, squeezing your hips. "Can you count to five?"

What? You nearly rolled your eyes at his antics. Always the one to tease . . . Min Yoongi. (You'd be lying if you said you didn't enjoy it thoroughly.)

Still, you had half the mind to question him. "Is that supposed to be some stupid attempt at undermining me?"

"Nah—" one of his hands had shifted to grip your ass, kneading the plump flesh as he pulled the skin taut just enough to catch a further look at your aching core— "just wanna see if you can keep count for me."

"Keep count for—"

A hand came down on your ass, pain rippling from the impact.

"Fuck!" you cried down in a high-pitched moan, jerking forward against the desk.

That was when you realized what he just did. Yoongi'd smacked your ass. He'd actually just spanked you. And fuck, did it manage to turn you on even more. You felt yourself clench around nothing as you collected your thoughts.

Then, you heard his voice. "You like that?" he questioned, hesitance entangled in his tone almost as if he were asking for your permission to continue.

God, did you shamelessly shake your head ‘yes, yes, yes!’ with so much vigor you were sure you'd made yourself lightheaded. That, however, had been enough to amuse Yoongi as he chuckled above you, his hand kneading your ass once again.

"Good, count," he hummed before he spanked your ass once again, kneading the flesh to soothe it when you cried out.

"Two," you choked out, trying to grip at anything to stabilize yourself.

Yoongi continued spanking you, leaving you a mumbling mess as you counted with each pleasurable smack. You were sure your arousal had begun to leak down your inner thighs now as he delivered a fourth smack to your ass. Groaning a sigh of approval, Yoongi pulled your cheeks taut, your aching core on display for his eyes. He couldn't help himself, he touched his pointer and middle fingers to your cunt, dipping into your pulsing hole and giving you a few teasing pumps before he pulled out of you completely.

"Almost there, baby," he affirmed, his voice strained.

You nodded, readying yourself before he brought down another spank onto your ass, causing you to whimper a soft, five.

"So good," he cooed, leaning down to kiss your clothed back. "Such a good girl." He kneaded your sore cheeks, soothing the ache.

Once able to catch your breath, you stammered out, "Why—Why five?"

"Halfway to ten," Yoongi remarked and you could practically hear the smirk on his face. "Gonna fuck you through the other half." You felt him shift behind you, then the feeling of him aligning the tip of his cock with your entrance made you arch your back in anticipation. He chuckled once more. "You still want it raw?"

You could only nod (a little too quickly).

He clicked his tongue in disapproval. "Gonna need to hear the words, baby."

You all but groaned. "Yes, Yoongi! Fuck, yes, fuck me raw, please I can't—shit! "

The tip of his cock dipping into your folds cut you off entirely. And then, he was sinking deeper, inch by inch, making you forget your train of thought entirely. Fuck, was he thicker than you remembered, stretching your walls as you clenched around him at the feeling. But you didn't mind the slight burn; you welcomed it, tilting your ass toward him, taking him further.

Uneven breathing left your lips as you basked in the fullness which came along with his cock sliding snugly against your tight walls. Your breath hitched in your throat just as you felt him bottom out, your core taking him all the way until the hilt, the feeling of your ass pressed flush against him hitting you all at once.

He groaned out a series of curses, gripping your hips tightly as he gave you time to adjust to his length. You ached with desire, clenching around his thickness, and nearly making him falter. You couldn't help it, it just felt so fucking good—the feeling of being filled by him. It was utterly carnal.

"Yoongi," you breathed out, already breathless as the feeling of him inside you quickly morphed from slight pain to immense pleasure and the desire to be fucked. "Please, please move." You all but sobbed, discarding your dignity as you openly begged him. "Wanna feel you."

"You're gonna be the death of me," he groaned before he drew back, leaving only his tip inside you.

A brief second passed. Your breath hitched. Then, he snapped his hips, plunging into you with such force, the tip of his cock nearly kissed your cervix. And he didn’t stop there, he continued pounding into you, setting a ruthless pace and fucking you through your uneven gasps. You clenched around him, gripping onto the edge of the desk to stabilize yourself as his cock sunk deeper and deeper, hitting places you’d never even felt before.

You couldn’t think. You couldn’t breathe. You only felt the pleasure of his cock fucking into you, wet squelching sounds filling the air, tangling with his soft grunts and your low moans.

Pain suddenly pinched your ass, coaxing a high-pitched moan from your lips as you realized Yoongi had spanked you. Your core pulsed, squeezing him tighter at the mere thought.

"Feel so good," Yoongi groaned out, voice hoarse as his fingernails dug into the soft flesh of your hips. "So fucking tight. Shit, greedy pussy taking me so well. Fucking greedy. Fucking filthy.” Another spank to your ass before he pulled your cheeks apart, watching as his cock fucked into you. “Fuck." He slowed down his pace, rolling his hips, hitting deeper and harder than before if that were even possible.

His pace began to steady, fucking you hard but not quite as fast as before. It was almost as if he were trying to savor this moment; flesh you out entirely; feel all of you. And you were left at his mercy while he spanked your ass when your moans grew louder.

Then, he pressed a hand to your lower back, pushing down for a better angle. And fuck. Once his hips snapped, his cock plunging into you at that same agonizing rate, you felt him brush against your sweet spot. Unable to stop yourself, you cried out, a panting mess as you pulsed around him, sucking him in.

Yoongi chuckled, dry and sensual. "Oh, yeah? There?" he hummed, amused.

"Yes, god, yes! Don’t fucking stop," you moaned out, not even trying to hide just how close you were to the end.

Another chuckle came from his lips at your words as he continued fucking into you, hitting that sweet spot over and over. His hands were gripping your ass again, squeezing the flesh and pulling it apart to watch his cock plunge deeper and deeper into your wet folds. "This fucking ass," he growled. He actually fucking growled as his fingernails dug into your cheeks and he quickened his pace ever so slightly. "Can you do one more for me, baby?"

And you knew what he meant—his words holding a double meaning. You knew the answer to both.

With dignity out the door, you nodded, mouth wide open in ecstasy. You were sure you’d begun to drool onto his desk, but you didn’t care. This was too good. Too fucking good.

The warmth pooling in your lower stomach only heightened as you felt his hand deliver one more pleasurable spank to your ass, coaxing a high-pitched moan out of you. But you weren’t given time to adjust to the slight pain in your ass. No, one second you felt the small pinch, then the next, Yoongi was bucking into you with such vigor that you had to shoot your hand out to stop yourself from hitting the wall. You didn’t even care. You just felt Yoongi’s thick cock hit your sweet spot again and again, bringing you closer and closer to the edge.

The coil taunted you, winding and winding up. You could only moan in response, begging for it to snap. That was when you felt your core clench, practically causing you to sob under the force of his cock snapping into you.

"You gonna cum?" Yoongi chuckled through his breathless grunts, his pace never letting up. "Can feel you sucking me in, clenching around me. Greedy greedy greedy."

He was mocking you. You’d get him back . . . eventually. But right now? God, you didn’t have half the mind to care.

All your care slipped away entirely the moment his fingers dipped around you, pressing down on your clit as he rubbed firm circles onto the sensitive nub. You cried out at the added stimulation, ears beginning to ring as you thrashed underneath him.

Still, through the ringing and your own cries, you heard Yoongi command, "Cum for me, yeah?"

And you obliged.

Everything pulsed as he kept his relentless pace, hitting your sweet spot over and over again as his fingers worked skillfully against your swollen clit while you chased the coil. It tightened and tightened, rings of pleasure building and building. Then, you heard a small groan leave Yoongi’s lips, and that set you off. The coil snapped inside you, allowing you the release you had so desperately desired. You screamed out, hands sweatily sliding against the desk while your cunt clenched around Yoongi’s cock, squeezing him for all he had as you melted into your blissful high.

He fucked you through your high, allowing you to unravel completely. He gave you a few more pumps before he pulled out, his cock still hard and aching for his own release. But he let you come down from it all, whispering praises in your ear and rubbing your back as you tried to calm your breathing.

When you could finally get a grasp on reality, you weakly lifted your head and glanced over your shoulder to find Yoongi leaning over you, lust still clouding his expression and . . . cock still hard enough to cut granite. You swallowed; a deep part of you—the part that had been waiting for this moment of union for years now—still ached for him . . . to feel him . . . in every way.

As if reading your thoughts, Yoongi whispered, "Think you can take a little more? . . . Don’t worry if you can’t. I rather like the idea of cumming on your tits." There was that sly grin again.

You only bit your lip to halt your own grin. "I want you to cum inside me, Yoonie,” you hummed, sweetly.

The grin on his face grew, causing him to shake his head. You amaze me, that grin seemed to say. And you relished in that fact alone.

He leaned toward you, kissing your cheek. “Such a good girl to me. So fucking sweet," he whispered before he leaned back, allowing you enough room to move. "Turn over. Wanna see you."

And who were you to disobey?

With a dopey grin on your face, you used all your strength to stand to your feet, finding your legs more wobbly than you thought. You laughed at the feeling, stabilizing yourself against Yoongi by placing your hands on his shoulders for support. He’d only hummed at you, softly dragging his knuckles down the slope of your body before his hands met the material of your shirt’s hem. He’d lifted it off your body, adding it to the tossed clothes on the ground.

Much to his surprise, your bare chest met his gaze. You beamed up at him, no longer sheepish at the fact you’d chosen not to wear a bra that day. Yoongi only raised a brow, eyes flicking from your hardened nipples to your glassy eyes.

“Presumptuous?” he mused, placing his warm hand over the mound of one of your breasts. The action made you sigh into him, tilting your head back ever so slightly. "So beautiful.” He pinched the nipple between his pointer and thumb before he dipped his head down to catch your neglected bud in his mouth. Briefly, he sucked the peak before pulling back and releasing it with a pop. "Fucking angel."

"Careful, Min—"

He cut you off as soon as he pinched your nipple, twisting it between his fingers. A mangled breath hitched in your throat as you arched into his touch. Your eyes flicked up to meet his then, finding them consumed by mirth as that damned half-grin resided on his lips. He’d done that on purpose. Fucker.

"You were saying?" he teased, raising a brow.

A muscle in your jaw twitched. "Just fuck me, you asshole.”

Yoongi only grinned wider at that, pure amusement and raging lust consuming his soft features. "Only because you asked so nicely," he hummed . . . and then . . . he winked. He fucking winked.

But you weren’t able to respond before his hands were on you again, pressing you against the desk so you could lean your weight onto it as he lifted one of your legs onto his hip. He tugged you closer while one of his hands drifted down to his aching cock, gripping around the thick base as he guided the tip to align with your swollen entrance.

"Eyes on me," he clicked at you.

Your eyes immediately found his, searching through the sea of lust and mirth, and then you felt it—his cock slipping past your folds with ease now. It was almost impossible to stop the soft whimper which left your lips as you felt his hard length stretch your tight walls, inch by inch. You were sure you’d never get used to this euphoric feeling, and god, did you revel in that.

With one more inch, he’d bottomed out, your cunt taking him all the way to the hilt as the two of you inhaled at the feeling. You clenched around him, still sensitive from your previous two orgasms, and dreadfully tired, but Yoongi didn’t seem to mind. In fact, his eyes hadn’t left yours.

What shocked you, however, was the way he was staring at you, soaking in all your features as if in pure awe. It’d had an effect on you, making your brows twitch in longing. This was really happening. This was real.

The corners of Yoongi’s mouth quirked into a small smile. "Yeah, yeah, like that,” he whispered, softly before pressing his lips against yours.

Only a second had passed before he’d leaned his forehead against yours and whispered for you to brace yourself, before you felt his cock slowly slide out of you until just the tip was enveloped by your folds. He gave you just enough time to inhale, and then his hips snapped forward, bucking into you with a punishing rhythm.

The way he fucked you—relentlessly pounding into you, his nails digging into your hips as he hit all the right spots over and over again; it was almost sinful. You felt like a fucking sinner, and god did it make your soul burn with pride. And the soft grunts that’d sound from the back of his throat managed to raise every hair on your body. You never wanted him to stop.

And then . . . then you squeezed around him, milking his cock, and a soft whimper that was different from the rest left his lips, and you swore you thought you were going to melt right then. Because holy fuck, that was hot.

You repeated the action, purposely clenching around his cock as hard as your muscles would allow you, and that soft needy sound tumbled from his tongue, this time in short pants. It’d coaxed a moan of your own out of you, as you gave a light laugh. This, however, seemed to spur Yoongi on as he grunted, his grip on you tightening just before he began pounding into you at an even faster, harder, more relentless rate.

His thrusts left you a whining mess, forcing you to slam your hands down on the desk for support. And he didn’t stop, chuckling as he fucked into you. Then when he set that ruthless pace, you could have sworn you felt his cock twitch against your tight folds.

The whimper he gave a second later confirmed your suspicions. "Shit—I," he huffed out, his breathing uneven and jagged. His thrusts became weaker, his whimpers louder now, and his grip loosening as he continued pounding into you.

He was a fucking mess, and you thrived off it.

You swallowed your moans once he hit that sweet spot again. "What's the matter, Yoon? Gonna cum?" you taunted, relishing in the fact that you were making the stoic Min Yoongi an utter mess.

Yoongi lowered his head to your neck, stabilizing himself against you. "Gonna fuck that mouth one day you won't be able to speak," he grunted, grip tightening on your hip as he shifted your leg ever so slightly to plunge deeper inside of you.

"I'll hold you to it," you gasped, throwing your arms around his neck.

"Yeah?" he taunted.

"Ye—"

He’d bit down on your neck the next second, making you cry out in pleasure. "Yeah, take my fucking cock," he groaned out, snapping his hips at a faster rate, but each thrust became sloppier, less meticulous the more he indulged himself. He was close.

A dopey grin fell upon your face as you realized this, clenching around him again. He gave a groan of submission, his thrusts barely cohesive now. He was so fucking close. So so so close, and you reveled in this, wishing to tip him over the edge. With that thought on your mind, your hands shaky, you reached under your leg and cupped his balls, massaging them the best you could with the position you were in.

He nearly fell on top of you, bracing himself with one arm on the desk. "Like that—shit, shit, shit, like—fuuuuck, ” he whimpered out, thrusting once more before he stilled, his hips shaking slightly as a low moan sounded from the back of his throat. His hips gave a smaller thrust before he spilled his load into you as he tilted his head back at the pure ecstasy which consumed him.

You marveled at him, taking in his closed eyes and parted lips while he still held onto you as if he were scared to lose you the moment you were out of his grasp. You knew then that you really did love him. Truly. Completely. With your whole heart. You loved this man in every form, every way.

You couldn’t help yourself, you reached out to slick back his damp hair that’d stuck to his forehead with sweat. He’d slowly come down from his high, his cock twitching inside you once more before he lifted his head, eyes locking with yours as a dazed smile graced his face. His lidded gaze trailed over your face, flicking down to your lips before he crashed into you, melding your lips against his in a brief, warm kiss.

Then, he pulled back, but stayed close, his forehead pressed against yours. He stayed inside you, too, his cock softening inside your walls as his cum seeped past, trickling down your thighs. "That was—" he cut himself off, tilting back only slightly so he could see your face in full view. His brows twitched then as if he realized something before words that stunned you tumbled from his tongue. "I love you."

You snorted in disbelief. Sure, he felt something deep for you, but . . . come on. "Shut—"

He’d only cut you off with another kiss. "No, I love you,” he pressed again, his face lightening as the words left him like he was hearing them for the first time too; like he was realizing it for the first time. And then . . . then he’d smiled—a wide, genuine smile filled with teeth and crinkled eyes. "I—fuck—I love you." Another kiss to your lips, then your nose, your cheeks, and finally your forehead before he pulled back, still grinning down at you. "I fucking love you."

But you remained . . . shocked. "Yoongi . . ."

And you watched as Yoongi’s face quickly crumbled before your very eyes. "Damn, harsh, wait until I pull out before you reject me, sweetheart."

You were quick to stop him from pulling out of you, hands grasping his hips. "No, no, stay, I just . . . “

The words on your tongue died as your mind spiraled. The thing was . . . no one had ever confessed that to you before, let alone the only person you’d managed to love in your life. All the hookups, all the month-long relationships, all the people you’d toyed with over the years . . . and not one had ever loved you. A few of them had managed to convince you of this, but ended up cheating on you with someone else, someone better later down the line. So you’d never really believed anyone.

And now . . . now Min Yoongi stood before you, confessing that his heart beat for yours in the purest way possible, and you couldn’t quite wrap your head around it. You just . . . you needed to hear him mean it.

Your eyes finally flicked up to meet his again in that moment, lips pursed and brows furrowed. Then, you pressed a hand against his chest right where his heart beat, and you found yourself asking, “Do you mean it?"

In other words, you’d asked him if after all this time, after all the years, all the fights, all the history . . . did he truly want you. Would he truly accept you?

And Yoongi had only smiled, a soft comforting smile as if to say, always.

Then, he spoke. "I've been an idiot for almost two decades now,” he began, his hands quickly finding your face as his thumbs grazed your cheekbones. “I've let you slip through my fingers too many fucking times. I'm not doing that again. I'm not going to live a life without you. Never again. I've always loved you, angel. Just took me a little to figure it out . . . took me even longer to find a way to say it."

Your brows twitched at his confession, a small smile finding its way to your face. "You are such an idiot," you laughed as you placed your hands over his, nuzzling into his touch.

"I know. I know.”

And once his lips touched your forehead in a gentle kiss once again, you couldn’t stop the floodgates. Your eyes squeezed shut, your bottom lip trembling as you hummed shakily.

You didn’t know what had caused it. Perhaps it was everything at once. But one second you felt this tremendous joy, then the next everything was bursting out of you. And you couldn’t help it, you’d let a few tears trickle down your cheeks.

"No, no, don't—don't cry," Yoongi rushed out, wiping away the salty tears with his thumbs. "I hate making you cry."

"I'm not sad, you dumbass. Sometimes you are so dense, Min Yoongi," you laughed through your tears, kissing his palm. “It’s just . . . “

It was just . . . you were just so . . . happy. For the first time in a long time, you could pinpoint this emotion, and you felt it in extremes. This was bliss.

You unravel me, his words filtered through your ears then. You unravel me.

And you thought that was exactly how you’d explain the emotions you felt at that very moment. Min Yoongi had a way of unraveling you completely, allowing you to bare your soul, and you had the same effect on him. Funny . . . how that worked.

You unravel me.

Then, your eyes found his, and you couldn’t help but smile. "It's just . . . you unravel me, too,” you finally confessed, earning a stunned expression from Yoongi. "You unravel me." The words left you again as you nodded in confirmation. "Completely."

You were only met with Yoongi pressing his lips down onto yours again. Warm, needy, and safe. You found sanctuary in his kiss.

You unravel me. His kiss confirmed that.

The trip home was anything but calm.

You and Yoongi were all over each other—hands, lips, tongues, teeth. There was not a second the two of you disconnected from one another. Your touches varying from soft to hard to needy even, slowly melting your thoughts until all you could think about was Yoongi and his lips and his hands and god, what that devious mouth could do.

Even when the two of you reached your shared apartment, Yoongi couldn’t keep his hands off you. He’d pushed you inside, slamming the door before he pressed you up against it and pulled you in for another heated kiss. It didn’t take long before you were moaning into his mouth, begging for him to touch you more.

“Oh, greedy are we?” he taunted, sucking on your bottom lip. “Gonna fuck you so hard you lose your voice.”

You whimpered.

“Yeah?” he chuckled, darkly. “You like that? Want me to fuck that tight little pussy until you can’t scream no more?”

You opened your mouth to bite out a snarky response. Only . . . you never got the chance to respond.

One moment you were opening your mouth to retort, then the next you heard, “You’ve got to be fucking kidding.”

Your heart flatlined, wide eyes focused on Yoongi.

Ever so slowly, you turned your head to face the person, your gaze landing on your brother, Seokjin, who had most definitely seen Yoongi kiss you. Scratch that, he’d most definitely heard Yoongi say he was going to fuck you. That . . . that was definitely so much worse. So so so much worse.

The wide-eyed expression on your brother’s face told you all you needed to know. The secret was out.

Seokjin knew.

You swallowed, hard.

Fuck.

[busycucumbermelon]

Five vampire siblings, with one obsession

Summary : you never thought that your standoff-ish attitude and how you learned to behave at Sunshine Academy would backfire on you, especially in this way: having five people obsessed with you was far from easy.

Warning: blood,broken bones, very traumatized reader, vampires, threatening, sketchy jobs/illegal jobs, tell me if I missed any

Description of a Demi humans just in case Demi-humans once looked like animals, but have morphed over generations into human-like beings with animalistic features. story starts below this.I hope you love it or at least like it.🥰😊

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Author note

If you want a series or something with these characters, please give me ideas or requests as I'm not really sure what to do with them. Additionally, if you see that I have misspelled any names or the spelling isn't similar, please let me know as I'm unsure how to properly spell them and have been winging it myself.

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Since you were six, you lived at Sunshine Academy, trained with Demi-human to serve owners. Occasionally, they allowed humans for tests, experiments, or their underground fighting ring, where many patrons enjoyed watching humans being pummeled to the ground. You survived it all, but the Academy decided to sell you off since you weren't making enough money for them. Everyone knew you'd survive, which ultimately led you to your current situation.

With your best friend becoming a  servant, to two of your five new owners - although you preferred to call them kidnappers - you struggled to adapt to this new life as one of their prized possessions.

Sadly, your indifference toward pain, your fighting skills, your ability to quickly solve problems, and your inability to be vulnerable with anyone besides your best friend - their servant - ultimately ended up pushing them all to the point of obsession. In their minds, you had no flaws except for that one: you didn't know how to be vulnerable with anyone other than your best friend. To them, you were the perfect plaything, and they used your skills and talents for their own benefit.

You also had a good mouth on you, and you weren't afraid to argue back with anyone, especially if you knew you were in the right. This often resulted in all of them being at each other's throats, which could be seen as both a win and a loss for them, and you.

This was a good opportunity to teach them how to share, which of course annoyed all of them. The only reason they were all together was because their mother had important news to share that she wanted to tell them at the right moment. In the meantime, the siblings tried to just sit it out so they could inherit the house. Well, it was not a house—it was a castle, and now, they had to deal with each other's constant presence on a daily basis, which was making them go stir-crazy.

Milmira and Marissa were the oldest siblings, and they were the new owners of your previous best friend, and still your best friend. This meant you spent a lot of time around the two of them, and luckily, they didn't feel like changing the name you had given him (Reiner) so that's the name he stuck with.

When you and Reiner first met, he was the same age as you—four years old. However, he had already been taken from his parents and sold into the Sunshine Academy.

Reiner was a ram Demi-human, and surprisingly enough, the two of you got along pretty well. Reiner was also the main reason you met some of your other friends back at Sunshine Academy.

Reiner, he became a servant to two people who would constantly interrupt your conversations and override the fact that the two of you were even talking. These two people would tell Reiner to either leave the room or to go do a menial task for them. Due to Sunshine Academy's intensive training, Reiner had a sense of loyalty and commitment, and he would do whatever he was told.

Marissa and Milmira were the only twins in the group, and they were used to sharing everything, including you. Without your knowledge, they had come to an agreement that they would also be sharing you. However, this arrangement felt like a complete surprise to you.

That's when you felt that you needed to take a break from them, or, well, try to do so to the best of your abilities. Even though you tried to find ways to distance yourself from them, the siblings had a discussion and decided to take away the room you had been designated. This meant you would have to hop rooms and sleep with one of the siblings or with a servant. However, luckily, you had made a bond with a few servants, which made your situation a little more bearable.

Occasionally, a sweet otter from the kitchen would allow you to share her bed or sleep on the floor in her room. You didn't mind sleeping on the ground, as it was something you had often done at Sunshine Academy. In addition, there was an overly clumsy deer who would let you sleep in his room at times, although it depended on whether he wanted you to or not. Of course, if neither of them wanted you to sleep with them, you would have to go to one of the siblings' rooms or Reiner's.

At times, when you would put up a fit, Reiner would get punished for it. This happened because the punishment would hit close to home for you. Additionally, since your training at the Sunshine Academy made you used to pain from them, they couldn't punish you by breaking bones or anything of that nature.

After a week of being standoffish and grumpy, while Reiner tried to calm you down and get used to his role as a servant, the twins instituted your first punishment: You don't remember much of the punishment itself, except Melmira giving you a soft apology before her fist met your ribs. Although you barely even said anything besides a small "Oh," you felt the crack and heard it, but you didn't move a muscle or indicate any signs of pain.

This unsettled all of them, as they were used to humans screaming in pain, while you just sat there. You didn't even move to stop her hand.

The twins each had very different reactions, as they were used to sharing everything, feelings included. Melissa, on one hand, was torn between feeling awfully proud and excited to see what else you could do, while simultaneously worrying what Sunshine Academy had taught you, as you were a human who shouldn't have been there in the first place. On the other hand, Milmira also felt worried and tried to bring up the topic, only for Melissa to brush it off.

In contrast, Milmira was worried about your closeness to Reiner from the beginning, as your attachment to him hinted at possible unresolved attachment issues. After she had broken your ribs, she became even more certain that something had happened at Sunshine Academy that the rest of the world was not aware of. Milmira was the more gentle and considerate twin.

Marissa and Melissa had vastly different reactions to seeing one of the siblings getting in trouble or drama occurring. While Melissa often wanted to stay out of it or watch from the sidelines, Marissa would cheer it on and add fuel to the fire. Meanwhile, whenever you tried to tell her that these situations aren't anything to be happy about, her excitement would often overpower any reasoning.

This was one of the reasons why the twins often got into long fights with their siblings, as well as one of the reasons they didn't like being in the castle—they were used to traveling and going wherever they liked. This would also be beneficial for their careers, although they had never told you about them, as none of them really informed you about their respective careers.

After a few days, you started to figure out more about them. You were used to studying people, especially since you held a high rank at the Sunshine Academy. On a few occasions, you slipped up and mentioned that you knew more than they had told you, and although no one said anything, your actions implied that you had been watching and studying them quietly.

Although Marissa never really noticed or paid attention to this, Melissa actually did take note. At first, Melissa thought you might just have a good memory or be observant, but now she had her suspicions. She knew that something was up, but she wasn't sure exactly what it was yet. She also didn't know if her siblings had discovered it either.

Krollien also discovered this, and he was the next to give you a punishment. However, before that happened, he decided to give you time for your ribs to heal and see if he could investigate your mysterious past and figure out what it was that you were hiding.

Krollien took this time to get to know you, much to the dismay of his head servant Jessie. You soon learned that Reiner was the twins' head servant, which meant he would have to be around them 24 seven, further limiting his interactions with those outside of this seemingly exclusive group.

This new information made you even more hyper aware of your surroundings, and how the rest of your stay would likely go, although none of them truly saw or noticed anything. You were, after all, quite good at bottling up your emotions, even with them all spending so much time with you.

Just one thing, to continue occupying your mind: why was everyone so upset about being in the castle, and why were they all supposed to be in the castle in the first place? Whatever it was, it seemed like it was taking forever...

While you wanted to figure out everyone and how you fit into their weird life, you knew you'd have to start with Krollien. Even though he was in a bad mood, his mood seemed to lighten when you were around. You soon realized that he hated being in the castle and seeing his siblings everywhere.

Whenever you tried asking him a direct question such as, 'How do you fit in to all of their weird lives? If they were all so obsessed with you and hated each other, how would they share?' He would simply laugh it off and tell you that you'd see in due time.

When he wasn’t trying to spend time with you, he was budgeting and doing other things you didn’t really understand. budgeting especially because at the time he was using terms, you didn’t get understand

In the middle of falling asleep,you would learn he ended up taking a vineyard to live in from one of his clients after not paying him back. this was when you started to have a grasp on what he actually did for work.

You thought you were pretty good at math so occasionally you’d offer to help him with something math involved. this was usually to Jesse’s dismay. as Krollien would always tell her to go away, so he could talk to you for a little bit free of interruptions

Even though this would often result in you teasing Krollien about his nickname for Jesse, which was "Bunny," something that he felt was supposed to demean her, you thought it was romantic and sweet, and you would occasionally bring it up when he annoyed you or if you wanted to annoy him in return. This would often make him frustrated and slightly embarrassed, and his response to this would always make you laugh.

Krollien’s frustration stemmed from the fact that his little sister, Lilybet, would often make the same joke before he left the castle. Although he might have found it amusing at first, it eventually began to grate on his nerves, especially as she continued to do it again and again.

The more she and lilybet got to know each other, the more she started to understand her circumstances. Lilybet didn't have a job outside of training servants - unlike her siblings who all had different illegal and legal jobs. When she wasn't training servants, she was mostly just trying to be the perfect daughter - something her mother did by having her wear very frilly dresses, which she constantly complained to you about.

Now she was starting to understand her siblings' worries, but she decided she would not worry about it too much and simply continue to get to know you. She was still competing with her siblings to see who’s official pet you would be - even though their mother told them to share, they all knew they weren't going to do that.

She especially hated the constant comments from her younger brother, Silus. Although they lived in the same house, there was still a sort of rivalry between them. All of the other siblings had already left and created their own estates, but the two of them remained there, waiting until their mother died to see who would get the estate. Still, this didn't mean there wasn't a lot of tension between them, with Silas always blackmailing her, and she doing the same in return.

Lily had a confusing behavior. After a hard, rough day, she wasn't usually very cuddly and often just wanted everyone to stay away from her. However, she let you stay. Occasionally, she wouldn't let you leave her arms after a really rough day. She would only get more and more annoyed if it wasn't her day with you.

Lilybet genuinely adored you, but when she had heard about her siblings hypotheses of your past could be she was less interested in how it affected you mentally and more about how it changed you physically. She knew you had a pain tolerance that was almost unbelievable. What else could you do? You didn't even flinch when your ribs were broken.

She brought you along on head servants' tests and training - occasionally giving references. One day, she decided that you would be the challenge - not as a real threat, but simply to teach the servants not to judge an opponent simply based on appearances. It happened only once, and something in you did change, although it was brief. For a second, Lilibet was genuinely scared for the servant's life.

Another person also saw you that day - albeit out of curiosity and a bit of fear. You're different than anything else that has ever been created or painted, making you much more intriguing. This made you even more special and the perfect subject to paint.

 Silas was an avid fan of art, specifically his interest in humans. He was very much into tattoos and the beauty of the human body. However, his tattoo-covered body always caused distress among his siblings and the mother. Still, he made it his goal in his business to show exactly that - the beauty of life in all its natural forms.

To you, his way of showing his affection to the world was definitely not beautiful. Silas would beg to differ, though, your days with him were mostly spent with him painting you. While he was kind of.... To put it simply, rude, his head servant told you that this is simply his way of showing he liked you. If he didn't, you would have been dead by now.

Silas didn’t praise often, and he was always filled with snarky responses; teasing manners; and occasional compliments on your features whenever he was painting you. In general, he was rude, and just a person you liked to stay away from. Unfortunately, you were now his household pet. While that word was very demeaning and beneath your status - no, you refuse to believe it - it seemed to be true.

You were not claiming yourself to be above any of the other servants in any way, shape or form. You didn't understand why this was happening to you. Why you had to be the chosen pet? Why not some other human? Why you?

Anyways, let's go back to Silus. We can talk more about the mental torment later.

Silas is very different compared to his siblings. He doesn't care what his mother thinks, and he barely cares about any of his siblings' opinions. His relationships with his siblings are relatively good besides Krollien - the two are completely different and hate each other, as they are complete opposites.

Just like the rest of his family members, he was not exactly a morning person. Silus was also different than his siblings when it came to restraining his strength with you, perhaps because of your past. Whatever the reason, he had a good excuse to not hold back when he was with you.

Whenever you tried to move out of his grasp, he would either pull you closer or tighten his grip on your waist. The twins would always comment on the purple hand marks on you, each sibling having their own way of putting their mark on you. However, these hand marks would last until you were with Silas again, right before he renewed them. These marks weren't even fully healed before they appeared again

Though the marks were not sexual in nature, you hated just lying there in bed. Silas, on the other hand, would happily stay in bed all day, unless it was for his work which he would brag about to you, or when he was painting. You were always his muse, but if you weren't there to model for him, his paintings would usually become inspired by nature instead. The only exceptions were when his siblings intervened because they were not letting him spend all of his time with you.

Silas wasn't always affectionate, but he would show a sudden softer side when it came to you. He would perform actions that were definitely out of character for him, and if anyone made a comment about how he did it for you, but not for someone else, they would not be around for very long afterwards.

Every one of Silas' siblings had their own 'special thing' they would do only for you. This moment only made their mother realize that she may have just made her own life a lot harder. She still saw you as a pet, but she feared that if she didn't have control over all her sons and daughters, they would continue to act as if you were on a pedestal, and she would lose any chance of gaining their true obedience.

Many of the family members, including Lilibet, had opinions on their mother that weren't very positive, many of them negative. Lilibet tried to gain her respect, but it was just for the money, and many of the servants had their own opinions on her - most of the opinions were not positive in the slightest. Their mother knew that you might just be the child who makes them realize that she doesn't offer them as much as they believe. In their minds, she is their mother, after all.

To the mothers, you weren't really much of a threat. You were a lowly human, and she could easily kill you if she wanted to. In the past, she had killed her children's previous human lovers after all. This time, however, something was different. Their infatuation with you quickly grew and turned into an obsession, and they could not seem to get you out of their minds - especially after you became aware of this obsession. It was hard to get five obsessed vampires away from a single human.

[featherbreak]

Camilla Hect's sworddaggerknives: an exhaustingly comprehensive weapons inventory

(alternate title: "In Which Tamsyn Muir Tries to Kill Cosplayers with Imaginary Weapons", or "How to Consult a Swordfighter for the Fight Scenes but Not Give Nearly As Much of a Fuck About the Implements Used")

Written in hopes that this will either spare other Cam cosplayers some misery, or bring them to the commiseration station --

Gideon The Ninth - Canaan House Cam: In Which We Meet the Weapons Nerd of the Sixth

When we first encounter Camilla Hect, she's using a somewhat traditional sword + offhand combo against Gideon:

Gideon The Ninth, chapter 12, bold emphasis mine, italics canon -

She dropped the wedge of sculpture with a clonk, drew her sword from its shabby scabbard before the wedge had bounced once, and advanced. Gideon, neurons blaring, drew her own. She slid her hand into her ebon gauntlet—the grey-cloaked girl let the flashlight fall, drew a knife with a liquid whisper from a holder across one shoulder—and their blades met high above their heads as the cavalier leapt, metal on metal ringing all around the chamber. ... Blow after lightning blow rattled her defences, each one coming down like an industrial crush press, the short offhand knife targeting the guard of Gideon’s blade. ... her opponent dropped as though shot, crouched, kicked her dagger up into her hand, and did a handspring backward down the stairs.

Anime physics aside, we have also immediately established Tamsyn Muir's love of using "dagger" and "knife" interchangeably. The sword is described as a rapier a paragraph later, at least:

Gideon was stronger; the girl’s arm was buckling—she brought up her rapier to harass Gideon’s blocking arm ...

We get a closer look at it in the duel against the Second:

Gideon The Ninth, chapter 23, emphasis mine -

The rapier looked, like Gideon’s, maybe a million years old. It was the first time she had seen it in a good light, and here it looked as though it had never been designed to take an edge blow; the blade was light and delicate as a cobweb. The offhand looked like Camilla’s whole House had gone searching down the back of the sofa for weapons. They had come up with what looked more like a long hunting or hacking knife than a duelling dagger: thick, meaty, cross-guarded, with a single sharpened edge. The whole effect was sadly amateurish.

We quickly learn that she can still deliver a drubbing with this combo. However, it is not clear whether her offhand in this duel is the same knife as the one she fought Gideon with - which is described as a "short offhand knife" compared to the "long" knife against Marta - and we can call that into question more confidently once we learn that Cam is PACKING LOTS OF STEEL:

Gideon The Ninth, chapter 27, emphasis mine -

There was no question about whether or not Camilla inhabited the horrible cot attached to the end, cavalier-style. It sagged beneath assorted weapons and tins of metal polish.

Gideon, being a weapons nerd herself, calls Cam on her setup bluff partly by elaborating on Cam's pile o' pointies:

“So, hey. What do you really use when you’re not pretending the rapier’s your main wield? Two short blades of equal length, or one blade and one baton?” Her keen eyes narrowed into black-lined slits. “How did I mess up?” she asked, eventually. “You drew your rapier and your dagger at the same time. And you’re ambidextrous. You keep cutting like both your blades are curved. Also, there’s six swords and a nightstick on your bed.” “Should’ve tidied my mess,” admitted Camilla. “Two blades. Double-edged.”

Gideon refers to Cam's offhand in the duel with the Second as a dagger here, too, despite having previously observed that it looked more like a knife. She also refers to all the blades on Cam's bed as "swords", but it's clearly a mix of blade types. Gideon is only as consistent or reliable a narrator as Tamsyn is; her terminology is equally laissez-faire.

Cam, meanwhile, is not more specific when she describes her main wields: they're just "blades." We finally meet them when shit hits the fan later on, but they are confounding:

Gideon The Ninth, chapter 32, emphasis mine -

With only the faintest liquid whisper of metal on sheath, Camilla drew her swords. Gideon had never had the opportunity to study Camilla’s two short swords before: they were more like very long daggers, slightly curved at each end, wholly utilitarian.

So Gideon's observation that Cam cuts as if the blades are curved seems to hold water, but Cam specifically only identifies her blades as double-edged - which is much less common on curved blades longer than a few inches. In the same breath, they're implied to be shorter than short swords, but remarkable enough to call "very long" for daggers, which also means they're longer than the "knife" length in which having double edges is relatively common without making tradeoffs in durability/blade structure.

(This is where my brain broke.)

To add insult to injury, for the rest of the chapter, Tamsyn calls them knives:

Gideon The Ninth, chapter 36, emphasis mine -

She crashed into her from the side, her two knives flashing like signal lamps in the sunlit hall. ... Camilla Hect off the leash was like light moving across water. She punched her knives into the Lyctor’s guard over and over and over.

Well, mostly. That would be too easy. Here's the lone exception:

Camilla slumped next to her, swords crossed over her knees.

SWORDS AGAIN?

We also see Cam with a single knife. It's unclear if it's one of her main dual wields or another one she had stashed:

Camilla, as she’d seen from above, had caught up with Cytherea the First. She had one hand in the Lyctor’s singed curls, dragging her head back. The other hand pressed a knife against the smaller woman’s throat.

Whatever it is also is well-balanced enough to throw -

Her good arm was up behind her head, holding the blade of her knife. Gideon ducked. The knife whistled over the top of Gideon’s head in a flashing blur and buried itself in Cytherea’s upper back.

- which usually implies something shorter and less medieval dagger-y. Different knife? or more Anime Physics? We don't know.

In conclusion: Canaan House establishes Cam as Very Hot and Good At Pointy Objects. Who the fuck knows what they are, though.

---

Harrow the Ninth - Random Planet Encounter Cam: Still Kickin'

At this point, Cam has been chugging along under the tender mercies of BoE, hauling her pulverised necro around, and comes face to face with a delightfully lobotomized Harrow. She's still dual wielding, although whether they're her Canaan House blades is doubtful, and they're described as knives all the way through:

Harrow The Ninth, chapter 32, emphasis mine -

... you were astonished by the speed with which Hect drew those big, balanced knives from each shoulder, and hurled herself at your skeleton like a stone from a sling. Her first sweep with the butt of a knife shattered the ribcage—it coalesced back; you now disdained skeletons not made of permanent ash. ... Camilla Hect sheathed her knives with as much speed and fury as she had unsheathed them, and she said: “No sudden moves.”

Still a badass, obviously. And "big" knives seems to imply they're still of a long-dagger/short-short-sword length as Gideon described. "Butt" instead of "hilt" or similar terminology seems to imply they're more pedestrian than daggers. What the hell does Harrow mean by calling them "balanced", though?

Who the fuck knows. That's all we get. Onward to:

---

Nona the Ninth - New Rho Cam: More Badass & More Bonkers Than Ever

Cam is living her best worst best-given-the-circumstances guerrilla fighter rebel operative life. This means she's just...armed to the teeth all the goddamn time, and it's knives all the way down:

Nona The Ninth, chapter 2 -

... Camilla looked the person deep in their eyes and casually touched the hilt of the knife she kept down the waistband of her trousers, and then the person moved to the back of the queue.

Nona The Ninth, chapter 9 -

Camilla had been crouched down, wiping her knives on one of their jackets. ... Then she had equally normally set to putting her knives away – sticking them in the bands down her thighs, inside her trousers –

Nona The Ninth, chapter 12 -

Almost all of the knives Camilla had strapped to her got taken away, but not the very hidden knife, or at least the one hidden knife Nona knew about. There were probably more.

This could be because they're actually knives, or because Nona's vocabulary only goes so far, and her narration - backed by Tamsyn's established lackadaisical approach to pointy objects - is too simple for disambiguation.

To hint at this: when upon prepping for the final mission(s) of the book, Cam empties out the hidden armory, and Nona goes so far as to compare two of her blades to kitchen or filleting knives:

Nona The Ninth, chapter 22, emphasis mine -

Pash said, “Your people... that obsession with swords.” “We are our swords,” said Camilla. She shrugged on a criss-cross halter of black plastic straps and clipped it tight across the front of her chest, and then she opened a box and took out two long, plain knives, the type of thing they used to chop up fish at the market. All of Cam’s secret knife stash, Nona thought, numb with anticipation.

Cam seems to only say "swords" to mirror Pash philosophically, not to describe her weapons, but it's worth noting.

A detail that is mentioned once and then never brought up again, though, is that she's carrying at least four blades into the fight. Earlier in that chapter:

Camilla flipped open boxes and took out a belt, which she tied around her waist, and she secured a hook to the side of the belt. To this hook she reverently attached a long plain black scabbard, then a shorter plain black scabbard, and she tested the hilts in her hands.

So: two unseen blades of possibly different lengths - described only by the hilts, but stored in scabbards of two different lengths - in addition to "two long, plain knives" that are presumably stashed in the shoulder? back? chest? "criss-cross halter" holster situation. Or something.

Say it with me: WHO THE ACTUAL FUCK KNOWS.

Nona The Ninth, chapter 23, emphasis mine -

Just for shits and giggles, Tamsyn throws in the only use of "daggers" to describe Cam's weapons in the whole goddamn book right before the final duel with Ianthe:

The two uniformed soldier zombies knelt Camilla, roughly. They squeezed her wrists until, with an agonised hiss of breath, she dropped her daggers. They clattered softly on the carpet.

Her main dual wields of choice, this time, seem to be single-edged, likely the "fish knife" pair:

She mopped a little at her chest... she was bleeding freely and messily... and she picked up, from where they had fallen, her two long, plain, one-sided knives.

Even Ianthe agrees that they're knives:

“I didn’t mean to take anything to this planet I couldn’t replace,” said the Prince. “I shouldn’t have bothered. Why two knives?” “Shock and awe,” said Camilla.

And then Paul happens and my heart broke forever that brings us to the end of Camilla Hect As We Knew Her x Bladed Weapons OTP For Life is too short and love is too long.

So what's our takeaway on accurately portraying Camilla Hect, you might ask?

tl;dr: use whatever the fuck you want. go loud, Cams.

do not be like me and spend a cumulative 15-20 hours spread out over three weeks debating how to accurately portray her weapon shape because fanart seems to mostly depict her with daggers.

---

as for me? I've finally gone with utilitarian but elegant hunting daggers (long, cross-guarded, single-edged, curved at the end) for Canaan House Cam and a scrappy pair of Bowie knives for New Rho Cam, after polling a bunch of Cam fans; votes were overwhelmingly in favor of curved blades being more important than double edges. THE PEOPLE HAVE SPOKEN.

with the utmost thanks and apologies to the patient & best beloved folks in the Library for responding to my Cam poll, and for emphasizing & reassuring me that cosplaying On Vibes is kosher and encouraged in this fandom

[thatlovinfeelin]

Flightless Bird | eighteen | Bradley Rooster Bradshaw

Synopsis: Josephine Wilson Miller is alone for the first time in her life. She got married after her first year of college and became a housewife, but that life is gone now. So she runs to San Diego, to her childhood best friend Jake, where she meets the man who could very well be her salvation.

series warnings: unplanned pregnancy, just pregnancy in general, talks of infertility. past mental and emotional abuse. anxiety. talks of women's reproductive systems (idk)

“Mommy! Hurry up!” Wren said, dragging Jose behind her, “Auntie Nat twell her!” 

Natasha only laughed and walked next to Jose. They were on their way from the parking lot to the tarmac for the airshow. Jake was set to be flying and Wren was begging to go see it. Although, Jose tried to normally stay away from Airshows in general just in case someone certain was there. 

“So, I have some news,” Nat whispered to Jose. 

“Oh?”

Natasha just smiled and twisted her wedding ring, something Jose noticed the female pilot did when she was a little anxious. Her and Jake got married two years prior in a small ceremony on the beach. Not to big and fussy, as both of them wanted simple friends and family. A certain Blue Angels pilot was not able to attend, so Coyote was Jake’s best man while Jose was the maid of honor, with little baby Wren as a little flower girl. It was beautiful and simple and perfect. 

“You can’t tell anyone yet,” Phoenix stated, “But I’m pregnant.”

Jose stopped in her tracks, much to Wren’s dismay who let out a little wail and tried with all of her might to pull her mom forward. 

“Oh my god, Nat!”

“Are you mad? I know you-”

“Mad? Oh my god no, I’m so happy for you!” Jose exclaimed, hugging the other woman, “Does Jake know yet?”

Natasha shook her head, “No I haven’t found the time to tell him yet.”

“How far along?”

“Six weeks? I think? I have a doctors appointment next week to confirm,” She explained, “But I’m so scared to tell Jake. We’ve talked about kids, but not yet.”

“Well, I’m assuming you weren’t using anything?” Jose asked carefully. 

“We weren’t trying,” Nat swore, “But we weren’t not trying.”

Jose couldn’t help but laugh. That sounded like the most Jake and Natasha thing. 

“I want Gampa Mav and Nenny,” Wren whined, snapping the two women out of their hug. 

“Okay, let’s go munchkin.”

Wren was dressed in little combat boots, one of the flight jackets that Jose bought for her before she was born, and a pink tutu. She looked like a little combat princess as she strutted in front of Jose and Nat. 

For a nearly four year old, she had a lot of personality. Maybe too much for her own good. But Jose loved her daughter with all of her heart. There wasn’t a thing in this world that she wouldn’t do for her.  

“Thank you for coming today,” Nat nudged Jose with her shoulder, “I know it means a lot to Jake to have you guys here for this.”

Jake was set to be a part of a super important Legacy flight, one of the only f-18 pilots chosen. He couldn’t stop talking about it for weeks prior. Jose wasn’t sure if she’d ever seen him so excited for something related to work before. 

“We couldn’t miss it,” Jose shrugged, “Wren wouldn’t let me.”

“Mama we see Unca Yake?” Wren asked. 

Jose couldn’t help but smile at the way that Wren said Uncle Jake. They were still working on her speech, but the little munchkin was getting better and better every day. 

“Yeah sweetheart, we’ll see him soon, I promise,” Jose replied, “But let’s find Gampa Mav and Nenny first, okay?” 

She nodded enthusiastically and wiggled a little in Jose’s arms. Little Florence loved Maverick and Penny, now lovingly known and Gampa Mav and Nenny. They stepped right into the role of grandparents to Wren without a second thought. They were there to support Wren and Jose with no questions asked, even after Jose forced Braldey to leave. 

They never once asked what happened between the two of them. Instead they just loved Jose and her little daughter with all of their hearts. 

“Gampa Mav!” Wren wiggled out of Jose’s arms and took off running towards the older pilot, “Nenny! Auntie ‘Melia!”

“Shit,” Jose cursed, chasing after her little girl. 

Wren jumped into Mav’s arms, hugging the older man as tightly as she could. Mav laughed and hugged her back, not seeming to notice the fact that the little girl ran off without her mother. Penny was a little more attentive and scowled at the little girl as best as she could. 

“Wren, what have I told you?” Jose was out of breath as soon as she reached them, “You need to stay with me!” 

“But I saw Gampa Mav and Nenny.” The little girl blinked up at her mother, not seeming to understand. 

“You can’t run off-”

“Mav! There you are!” 

Jose froze. She didn’t dare turn to look at the source of the voice. A noise escaped her, sounding like a small wounded animal. She didn’t even check to see if they were going to be here today. Normally she checked every air show, but Jake was so excited that she was going to come and bring Wren.

“Bradley,” Mav said, handing Wren over to Phoenix who finally caught up, “Didn’t expect to see you until later.”

“I had a second and saw you guys over here.”

Wren looked at Bradley with wide eyes. He was in his blue and gold flight suit, looking like a hero in his own way. Wren was mesmerized by any pilots. She loved planes, and the people that flew them. 

“You fwy pwanes?” 

Bradley was stunned for a second. He finally realized who was standing next to Mav and Penny. She looked so different, and yet exactly the same. Her hair was longer, and she was thinner than he’d ever seen her. So much so it made him wonder if she was eating enough. But he didn’t have the right to worry about Josephine Wilson anymore, not when she kicked him out of her life. 

“I uh-” He cleared his throat and directed his attention to the little girl in Phoenix’s arms. 

Somehow it hadn’t occurred to him that this was the little baby he once loved with all of his heart. She was so much bigger, with wide eyes that mirrored her mother’s. She looked just like Jose. There’s no way that wasn’t her daughter. It made him want to cry. He loved her like a daughter and he missed out on so much of her life. 

“Yeah, I do,” Bradley smiled at the little girl, forcing down the emotions. He leaned down so he was eye level with her, “See that blue and yellow plane over there?” he pointed down the way a little to where all of the Blue Angels were lined up, “That one is mine.”

“Woah,” She replied, “Auntie Nat can we go see?”

Nat carefully looked over at Jose, who still hadn’t allowed herself to look over at Bradley. Jose nodded quickly, watching as Nat along with Mav, Penny, and Amelia made their way towards the row of planes. 

Jose swallowed the thick lump in her throat. She felt like she could cry. She always did her best to avoid Bradley at any event that the Blue Angels could be at. Jake always understood. He hated it, but he understood. She wanted to be mad at him for not warning her that he would be here today. She felt tricked and like her heart was going to explode.

“Jose.”

She closed her eyes and licked her dry lips before opening her eyes and turning to face him, “Hi Bradley.”

“It’s good to see you,” He said slowly, carefully even. 

“Yeah, um, you too,” She replied, “You look good.”

“I am. Pensacola has been good for me,” He replied, voice sounding like gravel. 

She nodded. She wasn’t sure what she expected him to say. What do you even say in a situation like this? How is she supposed to do this? How was she supposed to face Bradley, when all she wanted to do was be held by him again? She wanted to feel his lips on hers again. She wanted him more than she could dare to put into words. 

“You look…nice,” Bradley had to force the words out. He wanted nothing more than to hold her. 

“Try keeping up with a three year old, see how you look,” She responded quickly. 

“No, I didn’t mean it like that. I genuinely meant you look nice.”

She looked down at her little sundress and sighed. She hated this feeling between them. This rift, the distance…whatever it was. She wanted to feel close to him again. But she didn’t know how she could ever feel close like she used to. 

“She’s gotten so big,” Bradley was looking over his shoulder now, looking towards Wren, “She was so tiny when I left.”

“Bradley about what I-”

“Bradshaw! Time to get ready.”

His eyes closed as he took a deep breath. His shoulders squared before his eyes opened again and he was back to being Rooster. He forced a smile and held out his hand for Jose to shake. How do you even shake hands with the man you’re still madly in love with?

“Nice to see you again, Josephine. Look for me in the skies.”

She wanted to say more. Wanted to beg for his forgiveness. Wanted to beg for him…just for him to give her a second chance. But he was gone before she had the chance. He disappeared into the crowd of people like a leaf disappears in the wind. 

Jose was still holding her breath when Natasha came back to stand next to her, “Mav has Wren. Are you okay?”

Jose’s eyes started to water, “I didn’t realize how much I missed him. And then he’s right here and I can’t say any of the things that I want.”

“You’ll get your chance,” Natasha assured her, “Now c’mon, Jake is up next. Don’t want to miss him.”

Later that night, Jose was sitting in her bed alone. Wren was staying with Jake and Natasha tonight, so the house was silent. Jose didn’t quite know what to do with herself. So she poured a big glass of wine and settled in. What she didn’t expect was her phone pinging at eleven, with a text from a number she never expected to see again. 

She found herself scurrying out of the bed and fumbling her way to the front door. Her breath was ragged as she threw the door open to reveal Bradley standing there. He looked too good to be true. 

“Hey,” She said stupidly. 

Bradley was on her in an instant, hands cradling her face, “Tell me you don’t want this.”

“I-” She took a second, “I want you. I always have.”

Then he was kissing her like she was the only thing that mattered in the whole world.

[mercurygray]

Blind Dates Fest 2024 - Freda Torvaldsen, ARCS

A few days ago I asked for MOTA prompts, and @junojelli delivered:

A MOTA scene prompt for you: a new arrival is amongst the clubmobile ladies at the local pub one evening. Of course, it would only be right that they give her the lowdown on the men they can see in the bar, and the recent gossip on possible nocturnal escapades of course 😏

So! An extra Blind Date! You can learn more about @blind-dates-fest at their blog.

Fandom: Masters of the Air

It was only a matter of time before the subject came up.

“Can’t say I’ve ever met a Freda before.”

It was always like this, her first day in a new assignment, where you been, where you from, what do you do. And then inevitably someone would work around to the obvious. So... what’s a name like Torvaldsen doing with a name like Freda?

“And neither had my mother,” Freda said with a resigned smile, sitting down heavily and nodding thankfully to one of the other girls for the beer. “After my father and brother were both Peters I think she just wanted something interesting.” She shrugged. “She told me once she found the name in a short story in a woman’s magazine. Never got confused with another girl in class, though! Fred’s just fine, for every day use. It’ll get tossed in eventually, so we may as well start there.”

Fred was easy - approachable, even. A good way to start a conversation, a quick, easy joke to set everyone on the same level. Who’s on shift today, girls? Rose, Laura, and Fred. Wait, Fred? And she’d stick her head out from wherever she was hiding, and the boys would all have a laugh that Fred was really a twenty-six year old blonde from Madison, Wisconsin with a big smile, and not the paunchy driver from Brooklyn they all pictured when they heard the name. She didn’t mind the jokes, really - it made the whole job easier. So what’s your name, solider? You have a nickname, too? Where you from? The whole reason she was there, in three questions or less - to make the average G.I. feel at home, seen, valued and wanted.

“Where’d you say you were, before this?” Helen asked. At least, she thought it was Helen - or was it Ellen? Honestly, Tatty had run through the team of three pretty quickly this morning and she might have misheard. Tatty, of course, was easy to remember - Katherine Spaatz, with a last name the papers wouldn’t soon forget and a face that liked being photographed. Mary Boyle was the other, a sparkling-eyed Irish girl from Des Moines who looked like just the kind the fellows all liked to spin around a dance more than once. She couldn’t remember the name of the girl she was replacing, either - not that that mattered much. She was going home with the one non-communicable disease the Red Cross didn’t want to deal with - pregnant, Mary had mouthed across the table when they’d first met this morning, her fresh off the bus from London and Tatty skating artfully around the subject.

“Did a spell at the canteen in Washington, another couple months in London in a few different spots,” Freda offered. “I guess I’m a professional replacement at this point - which is either a compliment or a curse. You’ll have to tell me which.”

“Well, we’re happy to have you, for as long as we’ve got,” Tatty said with a nod. “Did they tell you what the work would be like? Working a base is different than canteen service.”

“The hours, for a start,” Mary said, rolling her eyes.

“If they’re running a mission, they’re up and at ‘em at 4:30 for a 5 am briefing, which means -”

“Service ready for 4:45,” Freda filled in, nodding along. “Means we’ll be starting about...three thirty, maybe, to have everything hot and ready?”

“Will that be a problem?” Tatty asked, her eyes dark and decisive across the table.

Freda shook her head. “Always was more of a morning person. How long are they usually out for?”

“Longer runs...six, seven, eight hours at a time? Tower will give us a ring when they’re expected back in, and then we rack up donuts and coffee in the interrogation hut. You’ll need to be sharp on that shift,” Tatty warned. “They don’t always come back looking pretty.”

“Doctor’s usually on hand to evaluate anyone who can walk. If they’re still standing he’ll turn ‘em loose on the interrogation team,” Mary explained. “Captain Brennan and her girls run that room - she’s nice, you’ll like her.”

“You’re not there to make small talk for that one - pass out coffee and get ‘em to their table as quick as you can. Each crew runs through the whole mission - what they saw, who they shot at, bombs dropped. The after-action report. Once they’re done, they’re free to leave, and so are we. We’ll do dishes and clean-up, and then get the coffee urns ready to drive ‘round to the crews. Can you drive?”

“Well enough for Wisconsin,” Freda offered with a shrug. “We had a Ford I could grind through.” She didn’t say anything about the last time someone had asked her if she knew how to drive, and how she’d nearly run over the campus mascot trying to muscle a Clubmobile into a turn.

“Sounds like you’ll be driving our Jeep, then. We’ve got one assigned to us.”

Freda nodded, trying to maintain serenity. Well, that’s all right. A Jeep’s not a remodeled London bus, and it sure as hell doesn’t drive like one.

“The planes are parked out on hardstands and the crew basically live out there while they’re working,” Tatty went on, “So we take coffee and sandwiches around once the planes come back in. They’re good guys out there - better than the flyboys, sometimes.”

“Now, Tatty, don’t go turning her head the wrong way,” Mary interjected, before Freda could ask what a hardstand was. “They’re all nice. Just take some getting used to.”

“Anyone I’ll need to watch out for?” Freda asked, glancing around the club, which was gradually beginning to fill for the evening - officers in their Class As, the gilt on their wings like sunshine, laughter like a river. The knucklehead who knocked up your friend, for instance?

Tatty made a gesture across the room towards the biggest group. “The tall one horsing around with the dartboard is John Egan - Major Egan, rather. Or Bucky, if you want nicknames. He’s mostly harmless, but he’ll flirt with anything. Just give as good as you get and you’ll be fine. Man next to him is Major Gale Cleven - also Buck - who you’ll wish was single and isn’t.”

“He’s got a girl back home in Wyoming,” Helen (Ellen?) put in, her smile a little wistful. “Ask him about her sometime.”

“Man with the permanent frown is Major William Veal - Bill, sometimes. He’s all business, you’ll never see him dance, so don’t ask. Tall fellow next to him with the lighter curly hair is Major Jack Kidd, also mostly business.”

Freda’s eyebrows went up. “Mostly?” Now there’s a word with a story.

It was Tatty’s turn to smile. “We think he might be sweet on Mary, when he lets himself.”

Mary rolled her eyes. “Only because the rest of you gang up on him!”

“Those are the squadron commanders, anyway - the other pilots and navigators and crews report to them. It’s a lot of names,” Tatty said, almost dismissive.

Notice how she didn’t say I’d learn them, Freda thought to herself. They’d told her that much in London, when she’d gotten her assignment. Don’t get too attached to your post, or the soldiers there. They can change or leave at any time. It’s a war, not a weekend.

“Ladies! And how are we all on this fine evening, eh?” Here it was - faces up. Freda found her smile and turned to see who it was - a young man with black hair and blue eyes and a smile just this side of mischievous. And this one is named Trouble, I’ll bet. First lieutenant with flying wings - a pilot. “You all over here plottin’ somethin’ we fellas need to be made aware of?”

“Just introducing the new girl around, Curt.” Tatty gestured to Freda, on the other side of the table, who raised a hand and nodded hello.

Trouble (Curt?) smiled a little wider, his hand on Tatty’s shoulder, leaning closer over the table. “Oh, the new girl, eh? And does the new girl have a name?

“New girl answers to Fred,” Freda said with a patient smile, trying not to smile too hard at the patently obvious big-city, big-spender feeling rolling off of the lieutenant in waves. New Yorkers. You could run them off a press like that. It was funny, sometimes, how much they tried not to be types - but she’d known far too many men like him. That was the trouble with canteen service - you saw so many they all started to look the same. “And she’s not looking for another drink, before the lieutenant starts asking.”

“Tough customer!” He laughed at that. “Curtis Biddick, at your service, Fred. Now, if any one of these jokers starts anything or gets fresh, you come find me, alright?” He pointed, for emphasis, and she took note of the knuckles of his hand, the shortness of his nails. “Gotta take care of our girls, you know, since you’re always taking care of us.”

“I’ll certainly keep it in mind, Lieutenant.”

Biddick waved the rank away like it was a fly he were swatting. “Now, none of this lieutenant crap, Fred. My friends call me Curt.” He fixed his eye on her and she smiled, and nodded - heard and acknowledged. Confident they had an understanding, he clapped Tatty’s shoulder again and stood up. “Tatty. Mary. Helen. Fred. Yous all have a good night, now.”

“Well, there you are, Fred. If Biddick likes you you’re set. He was serious about finding him, too - he’s the company boxing champion.”

“Of course he is,” Freda said with a smile, finally able to place where she’d seen hands like that before. And a total sweetheart underneath all of it, if I read him right.

And a soldier, something in her head reminded her. That’s the trouble with working a base - they won’t just be here for a night. You’ll have learn their names, and their girlfriends, see them day in and day out - until one day you don’t.

She took a deep breath and a sip of her beer, still glancing around the room, at the laughing men at the dartboard, the craps game, the piano, everyone alive and free and full of life. Maybe it had been a bad idea to start with names.

---

Eagle-eyed readers will notice that I have name-dropped several new characters in here; one of them, Marion, is my other Blind Date this year. You'll meet her on Saturday!

[riverxsong-ao3]

So, since I got several comments on the latest chapter of Vitae Redux re: 16-year-old Voldemort trying to seduce 13-year-old Tom when he comes out of the ring Horcrux and possesses Harry, here were my thoughts when writing it.

First of all, it was meant to be dark and disturbing. Full stop. Once Tom began his journey down the path of making Horcruxes, I can't imagine he did anything less than throw any semblance of morals out the window, therefore, anything goes.

But, more to the point: I've always seen Voldemort as being, at once, both very self-indulgent and self-loathing. We can point to the creation of multiple Horcruxes as an example of this; most witches or wizards, upon finding themselves afraid of death, would likely make one Horcrux, if they knew how, or otherwise resign themself to becoming a ghost after dying. In splitting his soul intentionally six times (not counting the accidental split that created a Horcrux in Harry), this was not an act of self-care or self-love, though it would be incredibly self-indulgent. In this, he feels guaranteed that he will live into perpetuity, albeit with a mangled soul, allowing himself to live out the pleasures of life for eons whilst simultaneously being incredibly cruel to himself.

As a teenager, I imagine this trait would manifest as well in his dalliances with his classmates -- i.e. he would be an incredibly selfish lover, using his good looks and charm to take people to his bed -- Abraxas Malfoy, however many unnamed pure blood Slytherin girls, whom so ever he could use to boost his own power by leaving them wanting whilst also indulging in his own pleasure, hence the bit where ring!Tom comments that he never used to kiss the pretty boys and girls he seduced. There is little pleasure in kissing unless you actually desire the other party in some way, be it romantically or sexually, or just because you care about them. Tom of the past would have felt none of this, simply using sex to chase his own pleasure and power.

Coupled with this, there is the intense desire of the soul shards to make their way back to completion with the whole. We know this as extended canon from a very old interview with the author -- wherein she stated that the pain in Harry's scar when near Voldemort is that piece of soul trying desperately to escape and be reunited with himself. So, when ring!Tom wakes up by possessing Harry, and finds himself close to modern-day Tom, the most healed piece of his own self, naturally he wants to be close. I also think that the idea of being intimate with another part of himself would appeal deeply at that point in his life, given that no one else could know on such a perfect level how to please him. Of course, what he doesn't understand is that this new version of himself has learned how to love -- and yes, he's only capable of loving Harry, no one and nothing else, but it's enough to put new Tom off the idea of pure self-indulgence, wanting only for the real Harry to come back -- and hence is past Tom's downfall.

So. Yeah. There's my basic thought process I went through when writing that particular scene. It's gross. It's meant to be gross. I honestly made myself a bit sick when writing it, and feel a bit sick again now thinking back over it, but such is life when writing awful villains who do awful things. =D

(Link added for context)

[mxlfoydraco]

hey! pretty new to the fandom and I’m looking for some specific fic that I cannot find through the tags on ao3. so I’m hoping you would be the place to ask, if not no worries <3 so I’m looking for drarry fic where they are at least 30 years old. like that's it, I just really love when they're older and find each other. if you happen to to know any good ones id love to hear. hope you have a good day!

I think they are 30 and/or over 30 in these but also the cut off can be iffy so be nice to me and nod along if there's a late 20s or sth in the mix

Make Me a Headline (I Want to Be That Bold) by @dictacontrion (31k)

Draco never expected to see Harry doing that again. Especially with someone else, in a grainy photograph that's landed on his desk one Monday morning.

Pocket Full of Starlights (Never Let It Fade Away) by @femmequixotic and @noeeon (46k)

When Scorpius Malfoy and Jamie Potter meet at Quidditch camp, they take an instant dislike to each other. Then they discover their lives are more connected than they could possibly imagine. 

A Private Reason for This by @femmequixotic (92k)

When the wife of a star politician in the Scottish Ministry turns up dead just outside Hogsmeade, Draco Malfoy and his murder investigation team are called in from the Edinburgh Auror force to find her killer. What DCI Malfoy doesn't expect, however, is to have an ex from two decades past end up in his murder room, endangering not only his case, but also his heart.

The One You Feed by @sweet-s0rr0w (10k)

Draco's been a werewolf for almost twenty years now, and he's an expert in helping new werewolves adapt to the change. He's seen it all before - or so he thinks, until his newest client, a recently turned Harry Potter, arrives on his doorstep.

Paper Rings by @lettersbyelise (50k)

When Harry’s in need of a divorce lawyer, he has no choice but to turn to the best in the trade. Draco Malfoy’s reputation for discretion is flawless, and his track record for winning cases is close to perfect. But he’s also ruthless, passionate, and as infuriating as ever, and the brief relationship he and Harry had in Eighth Year still feels painfully fresh despite two decades spent apart. What Harry and Draco used to be is all in the past. And surely they can work together in these new, emotionally charged circumstances without falling in love all over again… can’t they?

Number Seven by sara_holmes (253k)

Harry already has small children, an ex-wife, annoying colleagues and an international crime ring to deal with. So when Draco Malfoy reappears after eight years AWOL in France, of course Harry is going to leave him well alone… Right?

Turn by Saras_Girl (306k)

One good turn always deserves another. Apparently.

Blood and Fire by @lqtraintracks (44k)

Harry has spent the last twelve years in Romania, not returning to England as often as he knows he should. It's complicated. But when Ginny asks him to be her best man and help her plan her wedding, he can't say no. Having a reckoning with his choices, with himself, won't be easy. To say nothing of seeing Draco again.

All Life is Yours to Miss by Saras_Girl (114k)

Professor Malfoy’s world is contained, controlled, and as solitary as he can make it, but when an act of petty revenge goes horribly awry, he and his trusty six-legged friend are thrown into Hogwarts life at the deep end and must learn to live, love and let go.

Historians by @oknowkiss (29k)

It’s the Dumbledore’s Army Reunion Holiday, and Harry’s found himself in hot water with his friends once again, after telling them he has a boyfriend he definitely does not have. In an attempt to fix things, he’s made it his colleague on Level Nine, Draco Malfoy’s problem too. Featuring a ski chalet in Switzerland, a pair of bunk beds, and an agreement that should’ve been simple, were it not for all the bloody feelings getting in the way.

Take a Sad Song (And Make it Better) by @femmequixotic (48k)

The last thing Harry wants is to lose his kids.

Albus Getting Married by @violetclarity(6k)

Albus and Scorpius are getting married, and they’ve put Harry and Draco in charge of the reception. Which is fine with Harry. Really, it is. He’s not holding on to childhood grudges anymore...but he can’t stop thinking about that one kiss. And dating your son’s fiancé’s father is really, really not on.

The Wonder of You by @ladderofyears (72k)

A Family Man AU. In the year 2000, Harry left Draco behind in London, intent on America and Quidditch fame and never looked back. Thirteen years later, Harry gets the opportunity to see what his life could have been like, had his life unravelled in a different way. Nothing in Harry’s world is the same, but Harry soon comes to realise that fatherhood, marriage and the biggest, laziest Crup in Hogsmeade add to up a life he enjoys more than he could ever have imagined.

The Man Who Lived by @e-sebastian (253k)

Draco breaks a cup, and one thing leads to another. A story of redemption, tattoos, dreams, mistakes, green eyes, long conversations, and copious amounts of coffee.

Set in New York twelve years after the war.

Burn the Witch by @lettersbyelise (95k)

When Harry Potter is sent in to investigate Draco Malfoy’s successful potions company, posing as Draco’s bodyguard, he doesn’t know the case will launch a series of events that will change his life — and Draco’s.

A story about choices, scars, Chopin piano pieces, and finding all kinds of love in the most unexpected places.

Are You Mine? series by gracerene (91k)

A trilogy of fics set in an Epilogue-Compliant Harry Potter 'Verse, with various accompanying time-stamps and one-shots. Fics are in chronological order.

*They are first together younger and then get back together later

Shibboleths by @lol-zeitgeistic (109k)

Muggle Immersion co-Professor Harry Potter spends his days hanging with his son, reading to his “dog,” teaching magical kids about the internet with his cousin Dudley, and irritating Snape’s portrait. He’s understandably annoyed when his cosy life is interrupted by the Headmistress hiring on Draco Malfoy to be Hogwarts’ new Ancient Magical Cultures and Spellcasting professor. But then the explosion happens, and it turns out they’ll all need Malfoy’s knowledge if they want the magical world to survive. The one with the scary things and Professor Dudley.

when by now and tree by leaf by @aibidil (46k)

When Scorpius Malfoy is saying goodbye to his dying mother, he doesn't expect to hear her confess, "Your father slept with another man and became pregnant with you." Grappling with his grief and his identity, Scorpius sets out to discover his other father, who it turns out has a lighting-shaped scar and no idea that Scorpius exists.

When Times are Dire by @aibidil (130k)

Magical Britain is screwed, and it’s once again up to Harry to save it. This time, by marrying Draco Malfoy.

Father of the Bride by November Snowflake (29k)

Harry’s little girl is getting married, and the identity of her chosen suitor is about to open up a world of complications—for better and for worse.

Harry Potter and the Great Cat Caper by @kbrick (78k)

Harry's lonely in the aftermath of his divorce. Except for the weekends that he has the kids, Harry's cooking gourmet meals for one in his big, empty farmhouse, with only his seven cats for company. Until, that is, Harry finds Al and Lily playing with Scorpius Malfoy in the front yard, and learns that Draco Malfoy is his closest wizarding neighbor. Oh, and also, Harry's favorite cat is stolen (multiple times!) by someone who had the audacity to put a sparkly pink collar on her, with a nametag that reads "Plumeria Seraphin Snugglybug". These things (Malfoy and the cat-snatching) may or may not be related. Featuring: a cat-loving Harry who loves to cook, has playdates with Pansy Parkinson, and tends to rap when he's wasted, and good-dad Draco Malfoy who's still a prat, albeit an irritatingly attractive and charming one. Also featuring: a slew of adorable children, a stolen cat named Stormy, copious amounts of sexual tension, divorce betting pools, amoral yet charismatic Slytherins, peeping-tom Harry, foot massages given while under the influence, Harry's first time with a bloke, and did I mention cats?

More Than That by joosetta (10k)

This is a story about two 52 year old men who refuse to age gracefully.

Harry Potter and the elusive day off by @fuckyoupbk (71k)

Auror Potter needs a fucking break. He is wiped. He is exhausted. He probably didn't intend to put himself into a magical coma but these things happen. And who cares, really? He is comfortable in a house where he has hidden away all the shit he can't deal with. Guaritore Christopher Black is an exceptional psychiatrist with a specialisation in sleep disorders. He is also Draco Malfoy in a Glamour. Minister Hermione Granger knows the dangers and the complications, but she needs her best friend back.

And, On The Other Side, A Welcoming Voice by @blamebrampton (38k)

For twenty years, the official history has told readers that Harry Potter died at the Battle of Hogwarts. The next edition is going to require some significant revisions.

Shine, Even in the Darkness by @raitala (41k)

Harry hasn’t seen Draco for over fifteen years, but now he’s showing up everywhere and Harry is sort of weirdly attracted to him, but that can’t be right?

Across the Multiverse by @hsvh-hp (108k)

Thirteen years after the war, Draco Malfoy is quite happily tucked away in the Department of Mysteries as an Unspeakable. When an Auror disappears through a broken Vanishing Cabinet, it presents the perfect opportunity for Draco's research to finally graduate beyond theory. Unfortunately, Harry Potter will also be along for the ride.

I Do Not Love You by Writ_and_romance (228k)

In 2013, a carefully-designed Obliviation leaves Harry reconfiguring his life and identity without any memories of true love; an act that’s essentially erased Draco Malfoy from his mind despite a wedding band and shared home. In 2000, Draco had expected Pansy’s relationship with Luna to bring the Gryffindors a bit closer to his orbit of quiet, carefully pacifistic existence, but he never expected to navigate such a transparent embrace into a unit of family, friendship, and love. A mystery, two love stories, and a reminder that learning to love never has an end date.

The Strongest Affinity by @eidheann (17k)

Trouble finding a wand for Scorpius leads Harry and Draco to something they never imagined. Career Choices: Harry: Wandmaker; Draco: Single Father/Hermit

The Beauty of Thestrals and Other Unseen Things by @writcraft (63k)

Harry has terrific friends, an amazing girlfriend and his job as Head Auror enables him to work on challenging cases and Ministry reform. He just wishes he could work out why he’s been so out of sorts. When Draco Malfoy is arrested for gross indecency, Harry’s comfortable life begins to unravel. He’s forced to decide if it’s worth risking everything for love in a world where following his heart is a criminal offence.

The Kisses Don’t Count, If No One Else Knows by oldenuf2nb (41k)

Minister for Magic Harry Potter does not love his job. The one bright point in his life is his secret relationship with Quidditch Super Star Draco Malfoy. When they're 'outed' by a peeping tom with a camera, Harry has to decide what's really important.

The Stars Have Courage by @fantalfart (85k)

Draco waited five long years to watch his husband wake up from a coma. He's not ready to meet a Harry with no memory of anything that happened after he died at The Battle of Hogwarts, twelve years ago.

Dwelling on Dreams by @the-sinking-ship (135k)

Draco thought he could avoid Potter for the duration of his brief return to England. He’d stick to his schedule and be back home in Paris, where he belonged, in a few short months. No trouble at all. He had plenty to occupy him, what with the opening of the London branch of his successful apothecary, his innovative research, drinks with Pansy, a backlog of unread potions periodicals. Except Head Auror Potter is everywhere — in Draco’s chair, at his door, in his dreams. All six feet of motorbike-riding, combat-boot-wearing, sex-hair-sporting Saviour of the World packed into one unfairly fetching uniform. Potter won’t leave Draco the bloody hell alone, won’t let him breathe, let him forget, let him sleep. Because no matter how fast Draco Malfoy runs, Harry Potter is always hot on his heels.

[sonekwi]

☆ ⸻ the white paladin, keith x reader

chapter three: lion assignment

characters/parings: keith, female reader

genre: fanfiction

summary: on another planet millions of lightyears away from earth, you and your friends awaken two aliens who have been asleep for 10,000 years.

word count: 3,911

links: previous, next, wattpad, masterlist

     The Blue Lion flies towards a castle. Four tall pillars accented with a blue that reminds you of the coastal waters of home surround the main structure. A long, ancient, and deteriorating bridge connects the lone plateau the castle sits on to the rest of the world.

     As the Lion lands in the large, spacious courtyard before it, it lowers its head to the ground.

     "Keep your guard up," Shiro warns.

     "What's wrong?" you ask.

     "My crew was captured by aliens once, I'm not going to let it happen again," he says.

     The group exits the Lion, your mouths agape and your eyes wide with awe and disbelief. Your footsteps echo loudly within the courtyard and the pearly white stone beneath your feet seems too clean. You look around, hoping to spot someone or something, but you're alone.

     Behind you, the Lion stands and roars. Hunk freaks out and hides behind you, screaming that you're going to be eaten. But the doors to the castle groan as they open and the Lion sits back down.

     "Oh... the door is open!" Hunk says, coming out from behind you. He looks at the Blue Lion, "I guess I was wrong about you!"

     The doors lead to darkness, the sunlight only reaching so far inside. You feel uneasy not knowing what lurks within. Thankfully, Shiro takes the lead and the rest of you cautiously follow. And after a few moments inside, your eyes finally adjust to the darkness. The group stands in a room larger than any you have ever seen; the Blue Lion could easily fit inside.

     "Hello!" Hunk calls out and you nearly jump out of your skin.

     The group stops in the middle of the room. In front of you, a large staircase leads to an upper floor and the balconies overlooking the room.

     "From the size of the Lion, I expected these steps to be bigger," Pidge observes.

     "Maybe the castle isn't for the Lion," you say, looking around.

     Something powers on above you and creates a ring of light around you. The tiles below you illuminate and a robotic voice speaks, "Hold for identity scan."

     A light rises from the ground at your feet and up to your head, scanning you and gathering whatever information is needed.

     "Why are we here? What do you want with us?" Shiro interrogates but is left unanswered.

     The scanner powers off. The room lights up, the torches along the walls igniting. You can properly see now, and you're realizing just how futuristic the castle is. Its architecture is abstract and alien.

     As the long corridor at the top of the steps lights up as well, Pidge shrugs and says, "I guess we go that way."

     The group moves forward and you grab onto Lance's arm to make sure he stays close. Knowing him, he would see something and wander off.

     "(y/n), I can walk myself," your brother complains.

     "You're basically a two-year-old in the body of a teenager," you say.

     Lance irks. "You're literally ten months younger than me! What makes you think you're any different?"

      You roll your eyes, "I'm much more mature."

     "What!?" Lance barks at you, ripping his arm from your grasp. "You drink apple juice and eat animal crackers like they're your freaking life source!"

     "So?" you say and raise a brow at him.

     The six of you wander into another room. In the center sits a control console and two cryopods standing vertically a few feet behind it. Lance walks up to one of the pods, tapping on the glass. He mutters something to himself.

     You and Pidge inspect the control console in the center, or at least that's what you think it is now that you're looking at it. There's nothing on it, and there doesn't seem to be a way to turn it on.

     Lance screams when the cryopod he stands by hisses loudly, the freezing air from within escaping as the seal breaks. The glass door opens, revealing a beautiful woman with curly white hair and dark skin. She whispers something and her knees buckle beneath her. Lance catches her before she falls to the ground.

     She looks up at your brother. "Where am I? Who are you?" she asks.

     Lance grins, his cheeks flushing. "I'm Lance, and you're right here in my arms," he flirts.

     The woman gives him a quizzical look. She reaches a hand towards his head. "Your... ears?" she says. It's now that you notice her ears are pointed.

     "What about them?" Lance asks.

     "They're hideous," the woman grimaces, "What's wrong with them?"

     "Nothing's wrong with them! They heard exactly what you said about them- Agh!" Lance grunts as the woman yanks him by the ear and throws him to the ground. She grabs his arm, pinning it behind his back.

     "Who are you? Where is King Alfor?" she interrogates. "What are you doing in my castle?"

     You feel your heart beat wildly within your chest. Adrenaline rushes through your veins at the sight of your brother in danger. Without a single thought, you charge at the woman to protect him. Your shoulder connects with hers and she falls to the ground. As you stand over Lance, you watch her movements carefully.

     "Don't touch him," you growl, "A Blue Lion brought us here and that's all we know."

     The woman picks herself up and dusts off the skirt of her dress. "How do you have the Blue Lion? What happened to its Paladin?" she asks, staring at you and Lance for a moment. She glances around the room and sees the rest of the group. "What are you all doing here? Unless- How long has it been?" she rushes over to the control console, placing her hands on top of it.

     "So that's how that works," Pidge comments as the control console powers on, a holographic screen popping up.

     "Who are you?" Shiro asks, "Maybe we can help?"

     You glare at the back of her head as you help Lance off of the floor. Whoever she is, she is not touching Lance ever again.

     "I'm Princess Allura of the plant Altea," the woman says and presses a button. The other cryopod opens up and an older man with a bushy orange mustache wakes up.

     The man gasps and shouts, "Enemy combatants!" He lunges from the cryopod at you and Lance, and the two of you easily dodge him.

     The man catches himself on the other pod, groaning. "Quiznack! You're lucky I have a case of the old 'sleep chamber knees'," he says, turning to you.

     Crazy old man, you think to yourself. His detailed explanation of how he would take you down in a fight goes in one ear and out the other. You feel no need to be defensive, because if he was going to fight you he would have done so already.

     But your brother decides it would be fun to entertain him.

     You leave Lance to the chaos and join the rest of the group near the control panel. You keep your distance from Allura as you watch her pull up some data.

     "It can't be," she says with shock.

     The man stops and looks at her. "What is it?" he asks.

     "We've been asleep for ten thousand years," Allura says, her expression quickly turning to anger. She glares at her hands before turning to the man. "Altea and all the planets in our solar system have been destroyed. Coran... Father is gone. Our entire civilization... It was all Zarkon."

     Shiro's eyes go wide. "Zarkon?"

     Allura clenches her jaw. "He was the king of the Galra. A vile creature and enemy to all free people."

     Shiro looks down at his robotic arm, flexing the fingers into a fist. "I remember now... I was his prisoner."

     "He's still alive? That's impossible," Allura says.

     "I can't explain, but it's true," Shiro says. "He's searching for a super weapon called Voltron."

     Allura shakes her head, "He's searching for it because he knows it's the only thing that can stop him," she says, "And that's exactly why we must find it before he does-"

     The castle's alarms blare and the console's screen flashes red. It shows a video of an alien warship similar to the one you encountered back at Earth.

     "A Galra battleship has set its tracker to us!" Coran exclaims.

     "How did they even find us?" you ask.

     "I bet it's Keith's fault," Lance says, side-eyeing the mullet boy.

     Keith rolls his eyes, "Say whatever you gotta say to make yourself feel better," he growls, "After getting us stuck on the other side of a wormhole!"

     Lance gets in Keith's face, "I'll stick you in a wormhole!"

     Shiro grabs Lance and pulls him back and you do the same with Keith. As Lance raises his arms and feigns innocence, Shiro steps between them, "Stow it, cadets! This is no time to blame others, it's time to work as a team!"

     Keith stares your brother down and you can practically feel his blood boil beneath his skin. You tighten your grip on his arm to get his attention, but he doesn't look at you.

     Shiro turns to Coran, "How long before they arrive?"

     "At their speed?" Coran hums, counting his fingers, "I'd say... a couple of days?"

      "Good, let them come," Allura says. "By the time they've arrived, you will have reformed Voltron and together, we will destroy Zarkon's empire."

     "Princess," Shiro says, "There are five of these Lions, how are we going to find the rest?"

     "Come with me," Allura says and walks out of the room. The group follows her, but you're wary. The last time you told you to go with them, you ended up flying through space halfway across the galaxy... at least you think it's halfway.

     Allura enters another large room, glass windows reaching floor to ceiling all around it. The room contains a large control console at the far end of it, six individual chairs towards the entrance, and two waist-high pillars in the center. A large crystal is mounted on the ceiling above them.

     "King Alfor connected the Lions to Allura's life force," Coran says, "She alone is the key to their whereabouts."

     Allura walks up to the pillars, placing her hands on the crystal blue orbs sitting on top of them. She closes her eyes and the crystal above her shines a light down on her. After a moment, a three-dimensional, holographic map of the universe fills the entire room. Stars, planets, and various other markers float through the air. You smile, amazed at the technology.

     "These are... coordinates," Pidge says, curiously reaching a hand through one as it floats by him; the Black Lion. "It looks like the Black Lion is in the same place as the Blue Lion."

     "That's because the Black Lion is in the castle," Allura explains.

     "To keep it out of Zarkon's hands, King Alfor locked it in the castle," Coran says, "It can only be freed if the other Lions are present."

     "As you have found, the Lions choose their pilots," Allura says. "It is a mystical bond and cannot be forced."

     You cross your arms, confused. "Then how come the Blue Lion let me and Lance fly it? These things are made to only need one pilot."

     Allura furrows her brows, "I... do not know. Perhaps it's because you share the same blood? The quintessence of the pilot is mirrored in their Lion," she says.

     You share a look with your brother and he shrugs.

     Allura swipes her hand through the air and the map rotates. The Black Lion floats above Shiro's head. "The Black Lion the decisive head of Voltron. It requires a pilot who is a born leader and in control at all times. Someone whose men with follow without hesitation. That is why, Shiro, you will pilot the Black Lion."

     "The Green Lion has an inquisitive personality," Allura says, moving the Green Lion to Pidge, "And needs a pilot of intellect and daring. Pidge, you will pilot the Green Lion."

     "The Blue Lion–"

     "Hold up, let me guess!" Lance interrupts, "Takes the most handsome slash best pilot of the bunch?"

     You smack his arm, silently telling him to knock it off. He hits you back, and it takes every fiber of your being to not give in to your little sister instincts.

     Allura moves on, "The Yellow Lion is caring and kind," she moves the Lion's marker over to Hunk, "Its pilot puts the needs of others before his own. His heart must be mighty. Hunk, as the leg of Voltron, you will lift the team up and hold them together."

     Allura looks down at her hands where the Red Lion's marker now sits. "The Red Lion is temperamental and difficult to master. It's faster and more agile than the others, but also more unstable," she releases the Red Lion and it floats over to Keith. "It's pilot needs to be someone who relies more on instinct rather than skill. Keith, you will fly the Red Lion."

     She continues, "Unfortunately I can't locate the Red Lion's coordinates yet. There must be something wrong with the castle, and after ten thousand years, it might need some work..."

     "Don't worry!" Coran interjects, "We'll find it soon. They don't call me the Coranic for nothing!" he pauses, "You know, cause it sounds like mechanic... Coranic... mechanic..."

     Allura smiles, laughing softly. As she continues speaking, the Lions floating around the map roar and fly toward the center of the room, forming Voltron. "Once the Lions are united, you will form Voltron, the most powerful warrior the universe has ever known!"

     The map dissipates. To be honest, you're a little bummed you don't get a giant robot cat to fly around. But at least you still get to help out... maybe. You're not sure what you can do.

     "Wait, how does a Lion turn into a leg?" Hunk asks Allura. "Also, is this going to take a while, because I have to pee. Do you people pee?"

     Shiro sighs, "We don't have much time. Pidge and I will go after the Green Lion. Lance, you take Hunk and get the Yellow Lion. Keith and (y/n), you can stay here until the Red Lion is found."

     "In the meantime, I'll get the castle's defenses ready," Allura says. "It will be sorely needed."

     Coran folds his arms behind his back, "I'll ready a pod and load in the coordinates so you can get to the Green Lion," he says, "But we can only keep the wormholes leading to the other Lions open for two of your Earth hours, so make it quick!"

⁀➷

     You and Keith sit on the floor, playing a game of twenty questions while Allura and Coran configure the castle's defenses. You lean back against the wall, puckering your lips as you think.

     "Is it... big?" you ask.

     "Yeah," Keith answers.

     "Is it... an animal?"

     "Sort of?"

     "Is it red?"

     "Yeah."

     "Is it the Red Lion?" you ask with a smile and sit up.

     Keith kisses his teeth, "Yeah, how'd you guess it so quickly?"

     "You just gotta come up with things that are harder to figure out," you say. You place your hands on your knees and Keith takes his turn asking questions.

     The two of you get through a few more rounds of the game before the others return. Shiro and Pidge are in a pleasant mood, whereas Lance and Hunk look like they went through Hell. Keith stands and you grab his hand and he helps you up.

     "You made it!" Allura chirps.

     Lance rolls his shoulder, groaning. "Yeah, just barely. That was a nightmare..."

     "Did you find the Red Lion yet?" Shiro asks.

     "Allura just located it," Coran says. "There's a bit of good news and bad news..."

     "Good news first?" you shrug.

     "Okay, the Red Lion's nearby!" Coran says, then crosses his arms. "The bad news... it's aboard that Galra ship now orbiting planet Arus."

     You grimace, glancing at Keith. He's going to have to go straight through the enemy to get to the Red Lion.

     "But wait, good news again," Coran exclaims, "We're Arus!"

     "They're already here!?" Shiro shouts.

     "I guess my calculations were a bit off..." Coran says. "Finger counting is more of an art than an actual science."

     The room's lights flicker for a moment before a broadcast appears on a large screen. On it is a one-eyed alien with purple fur and fluffy ears. Under other circumstances, you would think he was adorable. But his menacing snarl reminds you what he's here for.

     "Princess Allura," the alien speaks, "I am Commander Sendak of the Galra Empire. I come on behalf of Emperor Zarkon to confiscate the Voltron Lions. Turn them over to me, or I will destroy planet Arus."

     The broadcast ends and you feel nauseated. You turn to Shiro, hoping for some words of encouragement.

     "Alright, let's not panic," he says.

     "Not panic?" you look at him with disbelief.

     "The scary purple alien thing is driving his battleship towards us!" Hunk exclaims, "We only have four Lions–"

     Pidge interjects, "Technically three working Lions."

     Hunk pats his shoulder as to say a very sarcastic thank you, "Three working Lions and a castle that's, like, ten thousand years old!"

     "Actually," Coran smiles proudly, twirling with his mustache, "It's ten thousand six hundred years old–"

     You shoot him a glare, "Not helping Coran!"

     "See?" Hunk gestures to Shiro, "Now is the perfect time to panic!"

     "Just wait," Allura says desperately, "This castle has a particle barrier we can activate."

     Lance smirks, "Girl, you've already activated my par–"

     "Lance!" Shiro growls.

     Coran pulls up a diagnostics screen of the Galra battleship. He highlights the canon sitting on top of it and isolates the individual information of it. "The particle barrier won't stand against Sendak's ion canon forever. The Galra's technology must have advanced since the last time we fought..."

     "Panic now?" Hunk asks.

     "No," Shiro sighs, "We just need to figure out our plan of action... and figure it out quickly."

     "I say we pop through a wormhole and live to see another day," Lance says.

     "I second that," Hunk says.

     "Did you not hear Sendak?" you ask, frowning at the two. "He'll destroy the planet if we don't do as he says. We'll be screwing over everything that lives on Arus if we run away!"

     "And the Galra will keep destroying planets and capturing prisoners until we stop them," Pidge says.

     "But what if Sendak doesn't destroy the planet and follows us through the wormhole?" Hunk asks.

     "Are you seriously gonna trust that?" you cross your arms.

     "Staying is our only option," Keith says, standing beside you.

     "Here's an option, shut your quiznack!" Lance says and the vulgar words nearly kill Allura and Coran on the spot.

     "I don't think you're using that word correctly," Keith says, getting increasingly frustrated with your brother.

     "What do you know, mullet?" Lance asks, getting in Keith's face.

     "We're staying!" Keith shouts.

     "Leaving!" Lance argues back.

     "Guys, stop!" Shiro barks,

     You step between the two, holding your arms out at your sides to keep Lance from simply going around you. You take a few steps back, moving Keith with you. "Can you not go at each other's throats right now?" you growl.

     Shiro turns to Allura, "Princess, these are your Lions. You've dealt with the Galra Empire before. You know what we're facing better than any of us. What do you think is the best course of action?"

     She hesitates, eyes wide with uncertainty, "I don't know..." she says softly.

     Coran rests a hand on her shoulder, "Perhaps your father can help?"

⁀➷

     Allura returns a few moments later dressed in an Altean uniform, a determined look on her face. "You five paladins were brought here for a reason. The Voltron Lions are meant to be piloted by you alone. We must fight and keep fighting until we defeat Zarkon. Voltron is the universe's only hope."

     "We're with you, Princess," Shiro says.

     "Then come with me," Allura says.

     She brings everyone to an armory. Five suits of armor sit safe and sound within glass cases, the accent colors of each one coordinating with a Lion.

     "Your suits of armor," Allura says.

     You watch as your brother runs up to the Blue Lion armor, gawking at it. You frown, majorly feeling left out, and walk over to him.

     "This is so cool!" Lance says, glancing back at you. "I wish you could get one too."

     "Yep," you purse your lips.

     "Alright," Shiro says, "Let's suit up!"

     Once everyone is in their Paladin armor, Allura moves over to a table. She places her hand on the glass top and it slowly disappears, revealing four strange objects.

     "These are your bayards. The traditional weapon of the Paladins of Voltron. It takes a distinct shape for each Paladin," she says and they mystically float up and into the hands of their Paladins, transforming into a different weapon.

     Hunk gets something similar to a Gatling gun, Keith gets a sword, Lance gets an Altean rifle, and Pidge gets a handblade. But Shiro doesn't get a bayard.

     "Shiro, I'm afraid your bayard was lost with its Paladin," Allura says.

     He shrugs, "I guess I'll just have to make do."

     When everyone comes back to the main control room, the group begins to devise a plan. Coran pulls the Galra battleship diagnostics back up, and Allura talks the rest of you through it.

     "You'll need to retrieve the Red Lion from Sendak's ship," she says. "There are various areas of the ship you can enter through, but not without being spotted."

     "That's a really big ship," Keith says, "How are we going to know where the Red Lion is?"

     Pidge says, "It's not a matter of we, it's a matter of you."

     "Yeah!" Hunk says, "Once we get you in there, you'll be able to feel the Red Lion's presence and track it down."

     "You know how you felt that crazy energy while we were in the desert?" Lance asks.

     "Yeah, you made fun of me for it," Keith frowns.

     "And I'm proud of it," Lance smirks, "But turns out, it's just like that."

     "Keith," Allura says and he looks at her, "Remember, the Red Lion is extremely temperamental. You'll have to earn its respect."

     "Alright," Shiro says, placing a reassuring hand on Keith's shoulder. "Here's our plan of attack...

     "The Galra empire knows about the Blue and Yellow Lions, but they don't know about the Green Lion. Hunk and Lance, you'll act as a decoy by pretending to give yourselves up. Keith, Pidge, and I will sneak onto the ship in the Green Lion. Keith and I will find the Red Lion while Pidge guards our exit. Hunk and Lance, you need to find some way to take down that ion canon in the meantime."

     "Let me come with," you say, "I want to help."

     "I don't think there's anything you can do other than stay here with Allura and Coran," Shiro says. "Besides, you don't have any armor or weapons."

     "I'm sure there's some spare stuff," you say, hoping to persuade him. "I don't want to sit here and wait around. I can help you guys find the Red Lion."

     Shiro stares at you for a moment, considering. He then sighs, "Fine. Allura, is there another suit of armor (y/n) can use?"

[natlacentral]

‘Avatar: The Last Airbender’ Crown Prince Dallas Liu Had Elliott Smith on his Zuko Playlist

With the Netflix show officially renewed for two more seasons, the actor talks to GQ about his personal style, his cult series PEN15, and bending lightning.

Before he found his calling, Avatar: The Last Airbender star Dallas Liu considered becoming a stuntman. But when Liu was only 12 years old, his soon-to-be manager discovered his competition videos on YouTube and asked him if he'd ever thought about acting. The answer was yes: “Martial arts had definitely inspired me to become an actor, because of the performance aspect of it,” Liu tells GQ from his home in California.

Now, at 22, Liu’s credits include a Gen-Z cult comedy (PEN15) and a high-profile Marvel film (Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings.) He’s been able to channel his eclectic background to play the complicated villain at the center of the Avatar: The Last Airbender franchise, Fire Nation royal Prince Zuko.

A few weeks before Netflix announced that Avatar had been renewed for a second and third season, Liu talked to GQ about how playing Prince Zuko changed him, his love of A24 films, and the Pen15 renaissance.

Were there any Avatar scenes that you were really excited to film?

All of the flashbacks. All of episode six was super fun, but specifically the scene between Aang and Zuko in that shed after an escape. And then, when Zuko sort of blows up at Zhao, at the fight at the Northern Water tribe.

The writers had given me a lot of good stuff to work with, and so I was just happy that in our show Zuko gets a character arc. In the first season of the animated series, he’s sort of one-note and quite melodramatic in each scene—he's sort of being repetitive about his motives. [But] he was always my favorite character as a kid. I just loved Zuko. Being able to play him was a dream come true.

I saw in another interview that you said that it was great to humanize him. Was there anything that you kind of discovered about yourself through playing Zuko, because he's such a complicated character?

Yeah, since he’s so complex, playing him opened up my heart while I was off-set. When I had originally arrived in Vancouver to work on the show, I was similar to Zuko in that I was very narrow-minded in what I wanted to do, in terms of how I wanted to be an actor on set. I thought this was my one opportunity in life to prove to the people that I have a spot in this industry.

I was like, I'm focused on my work, do my job, go home, rest, and just take care of myself. And throughout that process, that's what it feels like with Zuko and Iroh. Zuko is like, "I'm just going to capture the Avatar, and then return them to my father and then I get to go home." And we see that that's not the case.

There are so many things that are involved in this journey that Zuko and Iroh go on, and something that I felt was my relationship with the other cast members and with the crew members started to grow. I found myself wanting to open up my heart and share this experience with them, and share all the love that I had inside of me that I had been trying to hold back on.

If you were not playing a character from the Fire Nation, what powers would you want to have personally?

Oh, it still definitely would be fire. It’s the most aesthetically-pleasing one in my opinion. In the world of Avatar, you can start to manipulate other elements once you become a master of that base one, and I think lightning is something that I've always thought would be super cool to bend. I think fire represents me, my heart.

What's your Zodiac sign?

I'm a Leo.

That adds up.

Wait, why?

Leo is a fire sign!

Oh, yeah, that's true!

Have you seen the TikToks about the Pen15 renaissance?

During my time shooting it, Pen15 was still blowing up. It's been on this continuous rise, which I'm so happy because that show—now it's really, really popular. But at the time, it was so underrated. I was still tapping into a younger version of myself on that series. But [for Avatar] I took inspiration from watching Maya and Anna act out as kids, for Zuko being an innocent child himself in the war meetings, in that first scene with Uncle Iroh in episode six.

I mean, you were still a kid. You were 16. That's a child.

Yeah. Yeah. Well, I guess it's a lot closer to Zuko, and that he doesn't think he is.

Did you really shave your head for this, or did you do a bald cap?

Given that we were trying to stay faithful to the original and what it represented in the show, I thought it was extremely important for me to shave my head. I had a choice. I won't get into what it represents so much, but you get to see a little bit in some of the Avatar lore that exists outside of our series. But it gets you into character so much because it pisses you off so badly every morning. Waking up on the weekends when I'm not working and I just want to go out, I have to throw on a beanie. But waking up and staring at myself—This is my life now, this is who I am—I think it certainly got me into character very easily.

I really liked your red velvet suit at the premiere. How has your style evolved from your younger years to now?

My mom has always been my biggest fashion influence. She's the one who sort of turned me into this picky critic when it comes to outfits and clothes. Even when I was younger, I wouldn't ever let her pick out my outfits. And because I didn't let that happen, I ended up looking really stupid and goofy a lot of the time.

But I think everyone starts in sneakers—very common, especially for guys. You start with basketball shoes, and then you transition into Jordans, and then you transition into some form of streetwear after that. And at that point, you could go, I think, either into this world of vintage or archive clothing, or obviously, people love designer clothing and mixing up that world of streetwear with that.

But for me, I think I just really elevated basics. My style has just become less about brands, obviously, and more about quality. I'm 22 now, so I'm paying for all of this stuff myself. So I'm like, is this worth it? Am I going to be fine without this? On carpets for the Avatar premiere, I wanted to go all out. When I'm in real life, I just stick to all black and different shades of gray.

Did you make a playlist for Zuko, his character to get into character?

I did, but at some point, I stopped using it just because I sort of found my groove from the character. But some artists that were in there were Elliot Smith and Duster.

Which Elliot Smith songs did you put on there?

“Between the Bars.” And just all of his most popular stuff for sure, because especially “Between the Bars” relates to some part of Zuko's life, whether it was his actual scar banishment or catching the Avatar.

Are there any genres you want to dabble in next?

I honestly love drama so much. Obviously, the new Dune film just came out and I just love Denis [Villeneuve]. Every actor, I feel like can agree with me on [that]—and that we want to do an A24 film. But honestly, I'm still just trying to take any work that I can get, because I do want to show my range as an actor. I'd love to work with Willem Defoe on something, that'd be cool. So, just projects that are grounded, but have a stylistic element that separates it from Hollywood blockbusters.