#also how do i do past tense in this fucking language

[hl-obsessed]

the voice kids rn: contestant sang love of my life and after he chosed his trainer in the background they played silver tongues!!!

[kithtaehyung]

broken, pt. 1 (3tan) | myg

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

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Words abandon you.

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

All of those moments shattering into dust around your heels. 

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

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

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

“Course I do.”

Huh? Wait. Why does he sound so—

“I was there.”

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

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

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

“I was.” 

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

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

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

It’s just not the right time. 

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

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

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

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

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

All the words around you just as speechless. 

Just like that, you’re gone again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And a little bit of summer rain. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

After three months of questioning his existence. 

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

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

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

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

The fuck.

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

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

And he doesn’t see your name.

Dumbass: 1 New Message

But your brother’s.

What the hell does he—

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

…Shit.

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

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

Shit. 

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

Why can’t he fucking move? 

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

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

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

“Hey, you coming?”

“Huh?”

“We have that session in thirty.”

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

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

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

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

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

Dumbass [7:40]: Heading over

Fuck!

“You okay?” 

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

“Nah, come now.” 

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

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

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

Yoongi [7:42]: Going to the studio

“On time? You better!”

Goddamn, he’s juggling too much right now. 

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

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

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

“Shit, I know.” 

“We can’t keep doing this.” 

“Dude, relax, I get it.” 

“Do you? Cus this is… Fuck.” 

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

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

“The… The overhead mic for the drums.” 

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

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

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

Dumbass: Incoming Call 

Of fucking course. 

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

“Wait, where are the—”

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

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

“Don’t leave yet, I’m coming.” 

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

“Don’t lie. Y’all are done, right?” 

Don’t lie. Yoongi feels like hurling. 

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

“Shit.”

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

“Okay, fine.” 

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

Delusion is a great place to stay.

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

“I just… Tch. I can’t even say it.”

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

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

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

“Everything, Yoong.” 

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

So, so far away. 

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

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

“Just lemme know when you get back.”

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

“No running.”

“K.”

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

“How did that sound?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey.” He turns. “You’re good.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Kidding. Only a little.”

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

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

Choosing not to say what he wants to. 

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

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

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

“Do the chorus again.” 

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

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

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

Done. He said it. 

And the response that follows puts complete silence to shame. 

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

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

Huh. They’re gonna take that? 

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

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

“Mmhmm.”

“Yeah, we can try that.”

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

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

“Sammy would’ve thought of it.”

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

“Let’s see how it sounds.” 

“K.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay, we’ll take ten after this.”

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

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

“Nothing.”

“You sure.”

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

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

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

Hustler: Incoming C—

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hustler: Outgoing Call 

Straight to voicemail? Shit.

Hustler: Outgoing Call

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hustler: Outgoing Call 

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

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

Shit. How much of that did he witness?

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

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

“Don’t wanna commit anymore?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s the food next door, huh.”

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

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

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

And Yoongi can only stare somewhere else. 

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

Stare, and stare, and stare some more.

“Hit it until it breaks.”

Because he’s already aware. More than anyone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And the whole arctic starts to seep into his bloodstream.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I went to Jimin’s last night.”

…What. 

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

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

“Care to share what’s been going on?”

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

“Why her, Yoong? Hmm?”

Fuck! 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can’t fucking believe you.”

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

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

Oh, fuck that. 

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

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

“Say it—”

“Stop fucking your ex, dude!”

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

…Motherfucker, what?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So everything I heard was a lie?”

“Huh?”

“He told me!”

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

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

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

“You gonna say anything or what?” 

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

Even if it kills him.

“No, I, umm…” 

“No?” 

Just hurry up and fucking do it. 

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

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

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

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

“You sure?”

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

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

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

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

His ex? 

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

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

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

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

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

“Domestic?”

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

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

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

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

A sudden crack splits him through.

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

The clunk of his phone hits the table very hard. 

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

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

And hatred paints his heart another shade darker.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I think she feels all alone.” 

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

“And it sucks not knowing what to do.”

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

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

“I’m heading out again.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

On the run.

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

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

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

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

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

Yoongi almost fucking confesses.

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

“You think so?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” 

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

Unprecedented.  

“You’re the best out of all of us.” 

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

And they both share a drink in respectful silence. 

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

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

“You still are.”

“Says you!”

“I still am, too!”

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

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

“Break up with her, Yoong.” 

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

“Yeah?” 

“It’s over now.” 

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

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

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

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

“You sure it’s over?”

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

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

“Then get rid of that fucking guitar.” 

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

Get rid of it? He’s been trying. 

For three. Fucking. Months. 

“I might.” 

“…K.” 

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

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

Keeping his shadow exactly where it stands. 

Yoongi knows he needs to talk to you.

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

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

What time is it? 

All that greets him is darkness. 

Nothing new, but darkness all the same. 

Why was she mentioned? What does that mean? 

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

Her? You. His sheets still smell like you. 

Inhale. Breathe. Inhale. 

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

And the darkness pulls him back under. 

Without even telling him the time. 

Buzzing. 

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

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

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

Hustler: Missed Calls (6)

Dumbass: 1 Message

Hustler: 3 Messages 

Chim: 7 Messages   

Chim: Missed Calls (3) 

Holy fuck. 

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

“Oh, fuck. There you are.” 

“Mm.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m an idiot. I’m sorry.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He told you?” 

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

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

“Ah.” 

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

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

“That it’s done.” 

A hum. 

“That’s very true.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Where’s the fun in that?” 

“Knowing the answer.” 

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

“You’ll know it when you see it.” 

“Annoying.”

“Love you, too!” 

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

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

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

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

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

“K. Same time tomorrow?” 

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

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

“Relax! You will like it.” 

“Chim, I swear—”

“You’ll thank me later bye!”

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

Exactly where he always ends up. 

Exactly where he doesn’t want to be. 

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

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

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

Yoongi clutches his phone a little tighter. 

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

That sounds like fucking bliss. 

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

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

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

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

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

Fucking hell.

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

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

All he wants to do is see you, too. 

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

After all this time. All these days and nights. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Something that isn’t broken. 

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

What. No way. 

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

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

Hustler: Incoming Call 

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

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

“Are we… is this over?” 

Fuck.

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

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

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

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

“Oh. Shit, I really thought—”

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

Your sniffle sinks the ship with his heart inside. 

“Are you? With me?” 

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

“No way in hell, doll.” 

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

“Okay… I’m just. It’s been a day.” 

That’s okay. 

Because he’s had a day, too. 

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

Please keep going. 

Please don’t leave him alone. 

“Talk to me.” 

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

You’re so good at that. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck, really?” 

“Yeah.” 

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

“What did he say?” 

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

“Oh, thank fuck.” 

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

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

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

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

“Me, too, baby.” 

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

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

“I’ll figure it out.”

“You will?”

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

“Just a little longer.”

He has to.

“Okay.”

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

“Thank you.”

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

“For putting up with me.”

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

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

“Really?”

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

“Boo.”

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

“A ha… Yeah.” 

“What are you still talking to me for?” 

“I miss you.” 

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

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

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

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

“Why?” 

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

“Fuck.” 

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

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

“I hate you.” 

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

“Ha ha.” 

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

“Nu uh! You hate me, too.” 

Wait. Did you…

Did you just pout? 

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

“Wait, huh? Why!” 

“Nothing.” 

“I swear to god—” 

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

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

The smallest smile graces his face. “Guess.” 

“Kitchen.” 

The hell? “How’d you know?” 

“You’re always in there.” 

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

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

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

“The world said let them cook.” 

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

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

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

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

“You better sleep, too.”

“I will.” 

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

Because of you. It’s always you. 

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

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

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

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

“Okay. Good night, baby.”

One more heartbeat to get him through the night. 

“Night, doll.”

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

Right towards the corner that stares back. 

It’s been five days.

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

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

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

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

…So what in the fuck was that?

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

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

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

This is so hard. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tonight.  

This man.

I got the next one.

This wonderful, charming man. 

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

Goddamn it, Min Yoongi. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tonight. He’s gonna cook for you?

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

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

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

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

Yoongi: Outgoing Call 

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

“Hey.” 

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

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

“Hello?” 

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

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

He simply huffs a quiet laugh.

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

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

“You sure?” 

“Yeah! I got big girl money now.” 

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

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

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

The groan that seeps through your car should be illegal. 

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

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

“Do better.” 

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

“What? Who said anything about dessert?” 

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

“I’m starting to regret this.”

“Regret what?”

“Everything.”

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

“I am.”

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

“That’s a given, though.”

“Excuse you.”

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

“Mm, babe. One more thing.” 

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

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

“I think we’re out of condoms.” 

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

“Wait. Or are we?”

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

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

“Yeah. That’s why we’re out of—”

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

“Nah, you don’t have to.”

“Oh. Found some?”

“No.”

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

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

And you want that to be the case forever. 

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

“Yeah, you’d be annoying as hell.” 

“Damn!” 

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

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

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

“It’s gonna happen, doll.” 

You clutch the wheel.

“Cus I want that, too.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You could’ve asked somebody.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Uh huh.”

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

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

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

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

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

Your turn to blink.

“And I needed food.”

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

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

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

“Eat.”

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

“Mm.”

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

“Just a bite then.” 

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

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

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

“I don’t mind.”

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

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

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

“Nah.”

“Why not?”

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

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

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

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

“Everything.” 

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

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

“It’s okay,” you whisper. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“…Yeah.” 

Fuck. “About what?” 

“That you’d hate me.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You do?” 

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

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

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

“Hmm?” 

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

“Always, doll.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Where we’re going.”

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

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

“Then why—”

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

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

“You comin’?”

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

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

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

“Yoongi!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So I shouldn’t bust in?”

Huh. “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

What is it with him and keys? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So fucking long.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re so cute.”

“How,” you ask just as softly.

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

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

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

“Eat.”

“Huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks.” 

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

“You’re perfect, you know that?” 

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

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

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

“Good. You bored?”  

“Huh?”

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

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

You could do this for eternity, too.

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

This man. 

“Forever might be a stretch.” 

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

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

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

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

“It was kinda hot.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And why is that?”

“Cus of what I’m wearing.” 

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

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

“Okay.”

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

“What.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Uh huh.”

“I’d make you cry what the fuck!” 

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

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

“It’s mine, I just ran out—”

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

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

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

“Uh huh.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Careful, doll.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck it, we’re leaving.” 

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

“Fuck this. I’m taking you home.” 

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

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

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

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

Fucking hell, Yoongi was right.

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

But team jerseys? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Me?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Why me?” 

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

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

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

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

Ah, you were right. “I like it.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. 

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

All you can do is stare back. 

And without even realizing. 

You’re already rubbing your arm.

-

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tbc. :((

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

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

[reverie-starlight]

{PR DAY ~ sakusa kiyoomi}

MSBY manager!reader my beloved <3

it’s PR Day for the jackals and you, their manager, have the day off. so why is your boyfriend trying so hard to convince you to go with him?

gn!reader, fluff, an attempt at humor, atsumu slander (as much as it pains me, it comes with the territory of writing a fic like this 😔) suggestive in some parts. not nsfw at all, but explicit language is used and one conversation surrounds that topic, so read at your own risk <3 also, intentional tense-switch in the beginning!!! and just like the first part, it’s not explicitly mentioned, but reader and atsumu have known each other since high school.

part 1 of the mini-series

managing MSBY came with its ups and downs.

on one hand, you wouldn’t have met your boyfriend if it weren’t for this job. and you've never laughed as hard as you have been these past three years with coworkers before meeting the current core line up of the jackals.

but on the other? you had three massive fully grown children under your care. four, technically, if they managed to annoy sakusa enough that he stoops to their level of childishness.

which was unfortunately very often.

…

nearly every week.

…

fine, basically everyday.

and ever since your relationship was revealed to the team nearly a year ago, the “trouble trio” had been behaving exactly like you expected them to. the whole team was slightly insufferable about it, sure, but atsumu, hinata and bokuto really took it too the next level.

so obviously you really valued your days off.

and today was the first day off you’ve had in months. you refused to take off days during the busiest weeks of the season, but today was a PR day.

interviews, promotional videos for the official social media accounts, a livestream or two- all things you were more than happy to leave in the hands of the team’s PR and social media managers.

the birds were singing, the sunlight was streaming through the bedroom window and a cool breeze could be felt against your skin. the day was calm and you were so excited to relax and do all the things you had planned.

but of course, your hopes are just that.

you see your boyfriend standing in the doorway of your bedroom, looking like he wants to say something. your heart lurches into your throat.

“soooo,” he starts, not looking directly at you as he moves to the bed and looks at his laid out clothes. you’re already shaking your head before he can say anything else. he ignores this and proceeds to betray you. “if you wanted to tag along today, you could or whatever.”

he’s shameless. he knows how much you’ve been looking forward to today.

“kiyoomi. love of my life. my darling. what the fuck?”

he lets out a snort and looks down at you semi-pleadingly- a rare sight. “I’ll buy you coffee on the way there.”

oh, he’s bargaining? you smirk. “aww, baby,” you stand up and make your way over to him, dramatically twirling and falling back into him with the back of your hand touching your forehead and the other pressed to your chest. “you just can’t bear to be apart from me, can you?”

the pleading look in his eye fades and he gives you a disgusted look you know he doesn’t mean. his arms stay wrapped around you so you don’t fall. “you wish.”

you shrug and move back to your chair, finishing up your morning routine. “hmm I guess I’ll stay here then.”

you enjoy the silence for a moment before he sighs. “fine, two coffees.”

a loud laugh leaves your mouth when he says that. your boyfriend would never put this performance on for anyone else. it was as close to begging as you’d ever get from sakusa kiyoomi.

you shake your head and sigh. “my love, you know I’ve been looking forward to my day off for so long. why are you so insistent about me going with you?”

suddenly he’s behind your chair and leaning down so his breath tickles your ear. “coffee and lunch and maybe when we get back I could be convinced to try that thing you were talking about…” the words are backed up by a kiss to your jaw and some pointed eye contact through the mirror.

you widen your eyes and search his expression for any trace of a lie.

none.

you cannot believe you’re letting him convince you into this, but the offer is far too good to pass up.

you pretend to mull it over, then meet his eyes in the mirror again. “make sure the trouble trio don’t try to coerce me into working and we have a deal.”

“well of course, I was going to yell at them if they tried anything like that anyway.”

“perfect, then let’s seal it with a kiss.”

“only a kiss, baby, I feel your hands wandering.” he pecks your lips quickly and pulls away before you can deepen it.

you pout. “can you blame me? you’ve got me all excited now.”

he shakes his head fondly and straightens up, moving to put the shirt his stylist had insisted upon for the upcoming interviews. you had to hand it to her- she knew exactly what she was doing.

you watch him with hawk eyes and he just turns his head to look at you in amusement. “stop staring at me and get ready, you perv, we have to leave soon.”

as soon as you step into the building where all the other jackals are, you’re bombarded with confused greetings.

“hey, I thought it was your day off?”

“ayy, manager’s here! good to see ya.”

“what are you doing here? you weren’t scheduled for today, were you?”

you sigh and sip your coffee, letting go of sakusa’s hand as you speak to the coach. “no, I wasn’t. I was kidnapped and brought here by one of your wing spikers.”

he chuckles and glances over at your boyfriend, who is looking up at the ceiling and avoiding eye contact. “I see. well, if anyone tries to get you to work today, just let me know and I’ll help sakusa put them in their places.”

you smile kindly. “thank you, sir, I appreciate it.”

as soon as he walks away, you’re surrounded by the three people you wanted to see least today.

a long sigh leaves your lips as atsumu, hinata and bokuto stare at you in wonder.

“just get it over with,” you grumble.

“how much do ya wanna bet he promised something outrageous?” atsumu.

“what, like an all expenses paid vacation?” hinata.

“no, it’s omi-omi, it wouldn’t make sense for him to take time off in the middle of game season.”

you roll your eyes at their back and forth and glance over at the man in question, who appears to be glowering. you can almost picture the scowl underneath his mask. “you’re all idiots,” he states.

“hey! I haven’t even said anything yet!” bokuto protests.

“yes, but I can practically hear the gears in your brain grinding.”

“I’ll bet it’s a sex thing,” atsumu interrupts just as bokuto is about to defend himself.

you all freeze and stare at him.

your boyfriend, deadly calm, says “miya, I will skin you alive.”

the blonde, who absolutely loves getting a rise out of sakusa, just smirks. “oh, so I’m right then?” he turns to you and slings an arm over your shoulder. “tell me, dear manager, what exactly did he have to agree to in order to get ya to show up on your day off?”

you flick his forehead and shake your head disapprovingly. “none of your business, you freak. just 'cause your dating life isn’t going too well right now doesn’t mean you can pry into mine. download tinder or something if you’re that bored.”

bokuto and hinata snicker at that, but straighten up quickly when he shoots them a glare. suddenly, meian stalks up behind the three of them and clears his throat.

“if you’re all done terrorizing our manager, our social media team is ready for us now. hurry up.” he nods at you with an apologetic smile and drags atsumu away from you. “sakusa, you too. we’ve been waiting for a while now.”

as soon as his teammates walk away and he’s sure they’re not watching him, he slumps a bit and you notice the tips of his ears have gone red. you smile at him in amusement and pat his cheek, the action only slightly awkward due to his mask.

“aw lighten up, kiyoomi, I’m used to dealing with atsumu by now. just ignore him, he wouldn’t dream of bringing that up again if he knows what’s good for him.”

he sighs and drops his shoulders, relief washing over him now that he knows you’re not regretting your decision to come with him. he slips off his mask and presses a quick kiss to your lips. “alright. I love you, just enjoy the show.”

you take his mask and walk with him to the rest of the group so that they can start with the promotional videos.

it’s fun to watch, honestly, because the team’s dynamic does work well for the cameras. they’re not even playing anything up.

you sit through the promo videos they need to film for upcoming games, the silly one-off fluff questions and the fan asks for their instagram page before they’re allowed a break.

sakusa stalks over to you with a small scowl and you smile. “you’re doing great, handsome.”

his expression softens a bit and he offers you a kiss on the forehead. “thank you, darling. care for some lunch?”

you nod and pull him out the door before a certain trio can invite themselves to the impromptu lunch date.

you walk in comfortable silence towards the building’s food court before something pops into your mind. “kiyoomi, you never answered my question from earlier.”

he hums in acknowledgment. “and what might that be?”

“why were you so insistent on me joining you today?”

he doesn’t answer for a moment, but you wait patiently. you know he’s not ignoring you.

finally he sighs and squeezes your hand. “I feel like we haven’t been spending much time together lately outside of work… and I was hoping that by bringing you with me today we’d be able to have at least some time together…” his voice is low, but he’s not shy about it.

you fiddle with the chain around your neck, one he bought for you a while back. "that's very sweet of you, kiyo."

"and..." he hesitates a bit, but you squeeze his hand in return to encourage him. "I feel more relaxed in front of the cameras when you're there."

you melt a little bit. "I'm happy I make you feel that way, kiyoomi. thank you for kidnapping me on my day off, I suppose."

he snorts and you smile. you're about to lean in to pull his mask down for a kiss, but you're interrupted. of course.

"hey, hey, hey! there you guys are! we saw you leaving so figured we'd get lunch with you!"

you honestly don't think you could ever be mad at bokuto, but he is seriously testing your patience right now. not far behind him are atsumu and hinata, one looking smug and the other a bit sheepish. one of them probably brought up your departure to bokuto, either on purpose or accidentally you'd never know.

you sigh and pat sakusa on the back. "yeah, come on. you're all paying for your own, though."

you both ignore the whines of the fully grown children behind you and continue walking hand in hand.

~~~~

BONUS:

"so this question is directed at sakusa..." atsumu reads the question silently and the team watches as he holds back a laugh.

you watch as your boyfriend narrows his eyes at the blonde in front of him and you sigh. things had been going so well up until now.

it’s past lunch break now, and their social media manager had just given them a box full of printed out tweets with fan questions to answer. she snickers to herself as if she knows which question it is and looks pointedly at you from behind the phone she’s recording on.

you blink in confusion, but everything is made clear when atsumu opens his mouth again.

“omi-omi, user @/kiyosdear wants to know if you’re single, or if you’re in need of a dog, because they’re more than willing to bark.”

the social media manager giggles, as does the rest of the team. you feel your eye twitch a bit, but you’re easily able to shove down any possession you feel in the moment.

it’s obviously impossible to ignore so many people vying for his attention all the time, but sometimes it could be a little funny to see how flustered your boyfriend could become from the unwanted attention.

you smile at the small scowl that forms. “no thank you. I’d want nothing less.”

atsumu snorts at his curt answer and hands the box to him. sakusa picks out a question and reads it to himself before blushing furiously and turning his face away from the camera. you watch curiously as meian looks over his shoulder to see what could have garnered that reaction from him and his eyes trail to you amusedly.

the social media manager looks like she’s having a field day, zooming in on sakusa’s red face for a moment. it’s not often something flusters him that badly after all. she’ll milk it for all it’s worth.

the captain pries the paper out of your boyfriend’s hand and reads it out loud.

“@/msby_luvr asks, yo @/sakusakiyoomi, is your team's manager single? totally unrelated, @/msbymanager, are you free on thursday?"”

it’s not exactly a secret to the public that there’s something going on between you two, they just don’t know what that something is.

of course neither of you ever confirm or deny anything, but you imagine being asked outright like that is what caught him off guard.

the camera cuts to you, “offstage” laughing at the question and shaking your head a little in amusement.

or maybe he’s not shy, but rather jealous?

that’s kind of sweet.

regardless, you speak up for him, knowing he wouldn't answer. "I am not single, but thanks for asking."

the camera pans back to the team, just in time to catch the tail end of atsumu clapping your boyfriend on the shoulder.

sakusa gives you a small smile, clearly relieved you took over for him, and goes back to focusing on the interview.

hinata, the poor thing, reads the next question. “oh boy… @/msbymanager asks, sakusa and atsumu rivals to lovers arc when?”

you cackle as both men whip their heads in your direction, betrayal and incredulity on their faces.

raising your hands, you said to them “in my defence, I was still miffed about being dragged here on my day off when I sent it in!”

atsumu loudly refuted the question and the jeers from his teammates, but that was all drowned out by the look your boyfriend sent your way.

you sighed. you were really in for it later.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I’ll 100% be doing more MSBY manager!reader. and I’ll do more PR scenarios as well, bc as much fun as this was to write, it didn’t have as much as I wanted to include. but I’ll have to do more research. thank you for reading!! and happy birthday sakusa <3

tags: @dira333 (ty for inspiring me to turn it into a mini-series) @emmyrosee (Ik you love Sakusa and you wanted the WIP for this a long time ago)

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

WOW I can't believe you opened them! I adore you! Please Tumblr lacks Krueger fanfic, can you write something NSFW enemies to lovers, where he and the reader joined Chimera at the same time and are at "war" with each other mainly because reader is an ass, she likes to annoys Krueger by constantly reminds him that she is younger (like four/five years, no more) than him and more skilled as a soldier and sniper making Krueger get on his nerves? Sorry for my wtriting, english is not my language and i'm not good at it, i hope i was clear enough and i also hope i formulated the right question without violating your requests. Thank you and good job at the flower shop!

—Ain't Giving Up My Pride

⇢ ˗ˏˋ 5k Drabble Masterlist ࿐ྂ

╰┈➤ ❝ [You get on his nerves, partially because you want to. But what happens when he finally snaps?] ❞

You have to wonder if you expected to be ass-up and face-down getting fucked in the back of a storage room today, and you have to admit, the answer is most likely a resounding negative. 

But war is always interesting.

Krueger and yourself had a little…thing…going on. Call it what you will—a rivalry, a large annoyance, whichever word better fits the state of twin crashing atoms constantly waiting to prove something to the other. To you, any real satisfaction can only be drawn by the way his shrouded head would look your way with obvious scorn—imagining a sneer to his lips as you walked past and smirked, loudly talking about your success at the firing range. 

About beating the top mark yet again. Krueger. 

“Interesting, hm?” He grunts to you now, belt jingling as you hide your burning face into your arm; pelvic bones getting repeatedly pushed into the crate. “Little winner, yes? Willing to bet she only feels good when she gets filled up by my cock.”

You open your mouth to speak, but his hands on your hips drive them backward and forward, skin smacking rapidly as your speech is reduced to garbled whines and loud moans. It was pathetic how fast he was already working you to that point—pussy spasming and legs kept open by Krueger’s hands. 

“Hm?” The man leans in close, his fully-geared chest stapling itself to your spine. “What was that?”

“F-fuck,” you blink quickly. 

He chuckles, covered face hidden from you. “That is what I—”

“Fuck better than you shoot,” you gasp, hips instinctually meeting his thrusts as your toes curl, pants at your feet, and a stain of fluids dripping down to them. The man falters, pace stuttering as you shove yourself back into him with a shiver down your vertebrae. 

His throat releases a low growl moments later, hand going to the back of your neck as you smirk. But any chuckle is lost as you’re pulled by the collar of your shirt backward, getting kept to Krueger’s front as the prodding ruthlessness of his member drives itself home again and again.

You gasp loudly, eyes snapping back and mouth releasing tight moans before a hand covers your lips, a low snarl in your scalp. 

“You always have such a mouth, Vögelchen,” he grunts, feeling the effect of your tight cunt himself as he draws closer to his finish—what you did to him was criminal; no one should make him act like this, like a heathen in the back rooms seeking a carnal release into your womb. “How do I fix this, then?” 

You pant from behind his hand, letting him play with you like a doll because, damn if this wasn’t the best sex you’d ever had. 

“Ah,” he replies to himself, that smooth voice right in your ear as he moves a hand down to play with your clit. You tense up, noises of pleasure heard from behind the tight press of his grip. “Yes, that’s it.” Your release snaps through you like a storm—not even a proper build-up before it shatters what little of your mind is left at this point. Not once did Krueger’s hips slow or stop, pushing you through it until you were whining like a dog, another round started just like that even as the man rides his own high, spilling into you.

The wet splatter of cum leaks to the floor as you’re back facing the crate, eyes rolling back into your head and body shaking with unchecked pleasure.  A shuddering growl is right in your ear, a heavy body rocking against your spine.

“I have to fuck it out of you.”

[itsfairly]

A Little Tense // Nanami Kento x f!reader

word count: 3.1k

cw: f!reader, female anatomy, explicit language at the beginning, smut (very brief), fluff, established relationship, reader unable to hit the big O, nanami being a gentleman and setting the standard, petnames (sweetheart, good girl, love, angel) self-indulgent, not proofread.

summary: when having sex with your love leaves you more tense than relaxed, nanami decides to ease that tension in a different and much innocent way.

notes: tmi, you can guess about what. lets hope my motivation to write stays because i keep getting too many ideas and not enough energy.

liked this? show it with a like, reblog, and/or comment. each is greatly appreciated and celebrated!

You were wet, practically dripping onto the sheets with every thrust. The sounds of skin slapping every time his hips met yours filled the room, along with the wet squelches from your cunt as it relished the feeling of being completely full. Sex with Nanami was always amazing. He knew where and how to touch, when to make you wait and beg for him, and when to give in to you and spoil you completely so that every time your legs wrapped around his waist like this you could feel how your body tensed beyond its limits only to make said tension disappear soon after.

Tonight, you two have been at it for a while. Feeling his hands roam your body with his tongue lazily popped in and out of your pussy and your legs hooked on his shoulders one moment, and the next bouncing on his lap as the air was punched out of your lungs and earning sweet nothings from Nanami. You're not sure how long it has been and neither of you cared when your moans mixed together in sweet synchrony and each position felt better than the next as his attention shifted to different parts of your body—tongue swirling circles around your perked nipples with a satisfied hum as he looked up at you, hands squeezing your waist to guide your pace met with an "easy there, sweetheart," lips finding your neck to press the sweetest kisses followed by a quick playful bite, fingers rubbing over your folds but not going in just yet. His attention was entirely on you and how to wash your body over with pleasure no matter how long it took.

He was doing everything right, not just with his body, but also his voice. The sounds that left his lips were already heavenly, grunting as your body met his with every thrust and moaning every time you squeezed around him, but his words were just as good.

Good girl, keep moaning for me.

I can't wait, I want to feel you around me.

Fuck, need to make you feel good, love. I'll spend all night to make you feel good.

Despite your body being aroused like never before, your mind didn't seem to follow.

It was by no means Nanami's fault. He was following along what you both knew of your body. Trailing kisses on your neck and being extra attentive when he reached your soft spot by biting it gently, licking over the spot, and nibbling on it; keeping just the right angle of his hips against yours so that you could feel his curve hitting your G-spot, and of course, being ever so kind to moan and grunt loud enough for your ears to catch knowing the effect his voice has on you. But lately, your body and your mind didn't seem to connect. Even if the mood was just perfect, the dimmed light illuminating your bedroom and the way your bodies moved caused the bed to gently rock, no matter what position or move from him, it didn't seem to be doing it for you now. At least not to the point of orgasm.

You didn't know it was wrong and it was making you more frustrated and tense, the opposite of what you wanted right now. You have tried many positions for one night and neither of them has brought you past the edge, making you more impatient in a way that wasn't even from how good you felt—it was from how awful it felt being so close to the edge but not quite there yet, over and over again.

Soon, your thoughts take you away from the current moment, stuck trying to figure out what was being so difficult right now, and Nanami picks up on that. Deciding that enough was enough, his hips press against yours one more time and tries to catch his breath as he looks down on you.

"We should stop."

You snap out of your thoughts with his voice, breathy and raspy, from what you assume was exhaustion. You don't blame him, after all, he's been focusing on coming up with whatever would make you feel as good as you were making him feel, all those efforts amounting to practically nothing and making you feel guilty when his voice sounds firm in his decision.

"No," you placed your hands on his arms, looking up at him with a frown, easily read as frustration. Just not at him. "Kento, I can-"

"I don't enjoy it if you don't. I'm not going to continue just for me," he says sternly as he cuts you off, his eyes looking at you warmly as he breathes heavily. He wouldn't be selfish like that.

Yet, the way his words came out made it easy for you to put more guilt on yourself, feeling like you were depriving him of an obvious need his body craved. "I can't just let you not get off just because I can't, especially when we've been going at it for a while."

"Hey, it's okay," he says softly, shifting his weight to his arm and bringing his other hand to your cheek to caress it. "You don't have to feel like you need to compensate me. These things happen and you would've done the same for me, why can't I do it for you?"

You sigh, throwing your head down on the mattress. You felt awful. Even if he was trying to assure you that it was no problem to stop, you didn't like the fact that one, you couldn't get yourself to orgasm no matter how much you tried to concentrate, and two, that prevented him from orgasm. He was very patient this whole time and it felt like your body and mind weren't cooperating.

"I'm sorry," you breathed out, that frustrated frown still present on your face.

"It's not your fault, sweetheart."

"It feels like it. It's not like it didn't feel good, it's just..." God, it felt so embarrassing to express this. You felt the center of her chest heat up, mentally beating yourself up as a tear or two filled your eyes. Why on Earth were you crying just because you couldn't cum? "...fuck, I couldn't get there, Kento."

Nanami softened at your frustration, slowly pulling out and laying down on the bed next to you. His hand stayed on your cheek, thumb carefully wiping under your eyes. He could see how being pent up and edged over and over again against your will was making your frustration grow, which in turn prevented you from releasing any kind of tension. It was a weird cycle—you wanted to cum but couldn't, making your body more and more pent-up and tense, which made you frustrated, and then it was back to step one.

Nanami stays quiet, none of the words in his head sounded right. He worried that anything he would say would just upset you further and make you feel embarrassed or insecure about your body. Instead, he brings you closer to him, his arms carefully pulling you towards his bare chest to then caress his hands down your back. You needed comfort, ease your mind off things. Your tears told him the severity of your feelings at the moment, every single one valid in his eyes and understanding your frustration. What was supposed to be an explosion of euphoria turned into a cocktail of emotions directed towards yourself, it wasn't fair to you and it hurt him to see you like this in this situation.

You sighed, nuzzling your head against his arms as you looked away from his eyes. You could feel your eyebrows knitted together, but you couldn't feel how your jaw tensed as you gritted your teeth against each other or the way you were closing yourself off by taking as little space as possible. It felt stupid, trying to find the reason why your body just wasn't feeling like feeling pleasure, circling back to your cycle, your mood, if you were stressed, anything that would explain what was going on. But as much as you wrecked your mind over it, no answer felt right and it made things more frustrated. No answers meant no way to solve things.

Taking in these little sighs, Nanami knew you needed to relieve this tension some other way. So he reverts back to the small things.

"Get on your stomach, love." He said softly, slipping his arm from beneath your head as he lifted himself to kneel on the bed.

"We already tried that, Kento." You answered in a mumble.

"Not for that, I want to help you another way."

You looked up at him from your side, meeting his patient eyes as he waited for you to do as he asked. To be honest, you just wanted to get back into your clothes and call it a day, hoping that your body would get over whatever it was going through by the next time you two got horny. But then again, he didn't seem to be overthinking or mad about the situation like you were and was pushing aside the fact that his body was just starting to soften, immediately shutting down any possibility for sex tonight for good. You didn't know what he was planning, so with a raise of an eyebrow, you turned on the bed to lay on your stomach as your elbows propped you up to look back at him intrigued.

Without skipping a beat, his hands find your shoulders, fingers pressing against that tender spot close to your neck and rubbing in circles. It was tense, to no one's surprise, making him sigh and making you groan quietly. His fingers slowly slide outwards against your skin, sometimes changing circular motions to knead your muscles up and down.

You wanted to tell him he didn't need to be doing this considering he already went above and beyond before to help you orgasm, but you already knew he would just brush it off and continue. Besides, it felt nice. Your body was sore, pent-up, and you were frustrated. A massage didn't sound too bad, even better when he was being really gentle with his hands and applying just the right pressure.

"Does that feel good?" He asked softly, his head turning to you when you groan.

You hum with a nod, letting your arms rest completely on the bed and using them as a pillow, letting Nanami pamper you a bit. You know he said you didn't need to make it up to him in any way, and though he was right, you wanted to. He was doing too much for the little you did.

But he didn't see it that way.

"You know, sex isn't the only way I want to make love to you." He started, his hands sliding down your sides until he reached your lower back, using his thumbs to rub over in circles. "And I don't want sex to be the only way we get intimate and release some tension."

"I love how you look at me with those pretty eyes, begging me for more and moaning my name with my hands all over you. But I also love seeing you feel confident, comfortable, and loved. How you relax whenever we are together, how you seek me just because you feel like it, how we bounce off each other even if it means keeping me on my toes...that's why I can't enjoy it if you don't. Because it doesn't feel like you are here with me—and I want to be with you whenever I can. So if sex isn't enjoyable, I will just show you my love in other ways."

Nanami chuckles, hands still rubbing at your waist and hips as he leans down to kiss the top of your head. You turned your head to the side, still resting it on top of your arms, to reveal how vulnerable his words hit you. He made it sound as if pleasure came second when having sex, making you feel a bit silly for not thinking about it in that way and preoccupying yourself with your climax first. Not that he would blame you for that, of course, since he also prioritized your pleasure first out of love for you. Still, it did take some guilt off your shoulders, both figuratively and literally now that he worked through some knots, knowing that his earlier words came out of a caring place rather than a pity one. It was stupid to ever think he would ever intentionally try to make you feel guilty over something you had no control over, and it made you feel a bit better about your sudden condition.

"Thank you, love." You breathed out, placing a hand on this knee and rubbing your thumb over it. Words weren't being your friends right now with everything you were feeling even if things were starting to clear up, but you still wanted to show him how much it meant for him to say and do so much at a moment's notice. It might be small, but you hoped it was enough.

Your small touch was met with a hum, his eyes looking down at your hand on him briefly before smiling down at you. He was glad to see that familiar look in your eyes, the one which you look back at him when his feelings dawned on you once more after God knows how many times he has seen it before. Seeing you soften up and seek him in the most subtle ways that, in his eyes, were the ones that showed your feelings the best. He was seeing you feel loved, just like he wanted you to feel right now.

"Back, please." He instructed gently, hands rubbing up your hips to the sides of your breasts. A quick and innocent touch before you actually turned.

You smiled softly, lifting your head from your arms and using your elbow to roll on your back like he asked. Though it was starting to feel a bit cold, you didn't really feel like putting back some clothes on. You still wanted to feel his hands directly on your skin, especially now that your legs were feeling sore after how tensed they were a couple of minutes ago.

As if he read your mind, he took one of your legs, placing it on his shoulder before giving your ankle a soft kiss. He hummed, his hands kneading down your legs starting with your calf. Thumbs worked through your muscles, earning a soft groan from you as you looked up at him. There was something sensual from the moment, unsurprising considering the two of you decided to remain bare to each other and your leg stretched out to rest on his shoulder, but also with how slow and thorough he was being.

Rather than the usual sudden and unraveling pleasure from an orgasm, this kind of touch felt like a crescendo. His hands touched your skin and applied pressure in the places he felt you tense, getting closer and closer to the most intimate parts of you but not letting things escalate further than a simple massage. It was calm and delicate, taking time to build up before he even pressed against you. It wasn't overwhelming, it didn't dumb you down or force your thoughts out of you, it nourished them by redirecting them into how your body felt. As Nanami lowered your leg to the mattress to raise the other and work his way up to your calf, it was as if you could feel the parts rather than just the whole of your body, aware of each tension and knot that had built up over time and surrounding to his rhythmic and soothing strokes. Pressure came and left like waves at the shore, feeling the way your body slowly relaxed and brought the relief you were seeking.

Nanami wasn't looking to break you down with pleasure tonight. He was looking to build you up until you felt greater than the sum of the parts, parts he loved each and immensely.

"You're being really quiet, am I making you fall asleep?" Nanami chuckled, bringing his hands down to your things where they met your hips before caressing them up to the soles of your feet.

"Would you stop if I did fall asleep?" You teased, raising yourself up with your elbows as you grinned at him.

"Not unless you asked me to."

You giggled, feeling all that clutter in your mind leave with each minute, focusing on his hands and occasionally kisses he left over your skin. You relaxed your body further, releasing the tension you unconsciously held on other parts of your body as you noticed them.

You took the opportunity to look at his face, admiring his attention to you and how much he has done already for you on this night alone. He didn't complain once tonight. Not when you asked for a different position, not when he stopped, not when this night turned into something different. Instead, he was caring and selfless, looking out for you and doing it because he wanted to—no, insisted on making you feel good some other way. He was so...

"You're perfect," you breathed out, your thoughts escaping your mind before you could react. But when you do, you bring your leg down from his shoulder and sit up, bringing a hand to his cheek and caressing it. "I love how you love me."

Nanami softened at your words, a bit taken back at your sudden affection but he wouldn't have it any other way. Keeping his eyes on you, he wasn't able to say his own thoughts before you continued yours.

"I love you, Kento. You made me feel better about tonight."

Nanami hummed, brushing away the strands of hair that covered your beautiful face. There she was, his angel. All pampered, taken care of, and present. There you were. He kissed your hairline, pressing his lips a bit more before he pulled away.

"And I will make sure I keep doing that. I can't have my love feeling all tense, not even a little bit."

He smiled at you, running his hands down your arms pulling you closer and planting a kiss behind your ear, "I love loving you, I love how you love me, and above all, I absolutely adore you."

Your heart swelled, bringing this warmth all over your body from your chest. A warmth that felt intimate, but didn't make you feel aroused. It made you feel cozy, confident, loved. You wouldn't trade that.

As you take his hands off your arms and into yours, squeezing them tightly as you pepper his face with kisses, Nanami chuckles and allows you to focus on him for a moment like he has on you. Maybe he would have to massage you more often if it meant feeling your lips on every inch of his face, a much special massage if you ask him.

[plasticferal]

hate that i love you | matt sturniolo.

authors note: i am sickly obsessed with his mattitude so i had to, also not really proof read so sorry, i’m tired.

warnings: dom!matt, fem!reader, angst, mentions an argument, explicit language, physical and verbal degrading and kind of rough, unprotected sex. reader discretion advised.

the dramatic clinking sound of ice cubes hitting the glass was enough to make your eyes snap open. you had chosen to sleep on the lounge as opposed to with matt after a heated argument. you were prone to arguments, but tonight in particular, tore the house apart.

tiredly, you raise from the lounge to watch where the noise was occurring, hearing him pour himself a drink. “didn’t mean to wake you,” his low voice travels through the silent, dark house. you roll your eyes, knowing he purposely made no efforts in being quiet.

“whatever, matthew.” you huff, tense from the distaste in his full name. sliding your body off the couch, you shuffle into the now brightly lit kitchen. ignoring him completely, you brush past him coldly to grab a glass from a top shelf, feeling his eyes on you as your shirt lifts with a stretch. you turn around and stare at him, waiting for him to move away from the sink that you need to access.

he rolls his eyes, stepping to the side. his lower back is resting against the kitchen island, one of his hands' curves around the counter while the other wraps around his beverage. annoyed, you flick the tap on, letting the water rush heavily before slamming it shut.

“can you calm down?” you hear him cut through the tension.

you chug down your water glass, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand before locking your eyes with him, waving the empty glass in your hand and making it clear that you’re lowering it into the sink at a slow pace, to satisfy him. calmly. more or less to shut him up.

before you get a chance to leave the kitchen, matt's hand lunges forward to wrap around your wrist, an unexpected touch. your face is flat as you look at him, wondering what on earth he could possibly have to say.

“no goodnight kiss?” his words are underlined with mock, knowing how much it would get under your skin. you pull your hand out of his to storm off, but not before muttering something under your breath.

“asshole,” you aim toward the hallway cupboard to collect blankets for the couch, where you intended to sleep.

your fights lately have been escalating, but tonight was the final straw. this fight was still fresh in your mind. you remember slamming the laundry basket of clothes against the wall and him yelling that the neighbours could probably hear you. you didn’t care. you remember him saying maybe you two should take a break, that it was getting too much. but there was no such thing as a ‘break’ in your mind. just a break up.

he chuckles bitterly, having heard your whisper. you wave him off with your hand. he gives you a “whatever,” before you leave momentarily. you return with a white soft knitted blanket and silk pillow that you typically slept with in your arms. you throw them on the couch with a defeated sigh.

“don’t be ridiculous, you’re not sleeping on the couch, come on,” you hear him speak, sauntering into the dimly lit open living space and placing his hands on the back the couch.

“yes i am.” you look at him.

“no, you’re not.” he debates, almost thinking this conversation is a game.

“stop telling me what to do, i’m so sick of you,” you grumble with clenched teeth, as you begin to tuck one of the blankets into the couch cushions.

“fine, whatever sleep on the fucking couch, i don’t care anymore,” he turns his shoulder on you abruptly, and your eyes go wide.

“like you cared at all in the first place?” you pushed back, arms folding across your chest as a wall to defend your feelings. your words were coming from a place of hurt. of course he cared about you. but for a while it seemed as though he didn’t want to.

“don’t you dare say i never cared,” he turns back and points a finger at you, firing up in defence. "i still do, you just don't appreciate shit," and his words are clearly in retaliation.

“god, i hate you sometimes,” you thought that sentence came out in your head, but it didn't. you speak out loud. he freezes, eyebrows scrunching in query. he steps forward slowly.

“what did you just say?”

you look down at your feet, flushed with remorse but more confusion on if what you said, you meant. you grind your teeth together, contemplating whether you should even look up at him.

you ignore his question, choosing instead to lock your eyes with his, almost feeling like a stare-off. his hair is a mess and still wet from his shower earlier, his white tee-shirt contrasts his dark tattoos, and his sweats hang dangerously low on his waist. all things you wish you couldn't see. your own arms cross over your chest, mirroring him. he takes a small step forward.

“you didn’t hate me last night when i had you clawing at my back,” his voice lowers an octave, making you drop eye contact with him to gaze at anything but his face, knowing it would just make your words catch in your throat.

“because we didn’t fight last night” you fire back quickly, starting to walk into the dining room. trying not let him get under your skin.

“we fight every night, y/n!” he huffs a bitter laugh and follows you, throwing his hands up as he speaks.

“because you’re never happy!” you pause your steps with scoff, mimicking the way he talks with dramatic gestures before turning on your heels and storming off once again, or attempting to at least.

matt grabs your arm, longer limbs making it effortless for him. tugging you to toward his chest and you collide with him. matt's lips are inches apart from yours, breathing heavily from the exasperating bickering.

“don’t walk away from me,” he states firmly, eyes darting up and down your face. a smile threatens to curve your lips, knowing it would just tip him over the edge. you take the initiative to lean in closer, lingering so close to his face you can feel his breath, body heat and light peach fuzz that covers both of your skin. with your voice soft and gentle, you utter your next sentence.

“fuck you.”

his eyebrow perks up and jaw tenses slowly. his stark blue eyes darken, looking deep into yours. an easy, smug smirk pulls and dimples appear in his cheeks.

"as you wish, sweetheart,” he speaks in a relaxed manner.

his fingers brush against your hip bone, sending a chill across your side. you want to lean into his delicate touch, but keep your self control together. you push his hand away, sharing a sharp, distasteful huff.

“you think that will resolve this?” you narrow your eyes, daring his response. he raises his hand slowly to brush them across your cheek, down your jawline. creating a flowing rhythm further down your neck, warm fingers past your collar bone.

“with how hard i’d make you cum, yeah, i do” his response is fearless and direct, like any other confident line that has ever left his pretty, smart mouth. you feel excitement trying to push through the stern front you’re attempting to keep up.

“i’d like to see you live up to that,” you retort, making his hand stop at your hip to grip tightly, pressing deep into your bone and tugging the lower half of your body to touch his.

“baby, i can live up to my word on one condition,” matty speaks. you wait for him to continue, but he doesn’t waste a second in sliding his hands down the back of your thighs to lift you up, turning you around to place on the cold wood of the dining table.

“don’t talk back.” and just like that, he was over the edge. he forces you in place, shuffling your shirt up past your hips eagerly. you support yourself on your elbows and lean back to still be able to see him, and allow him to take control.

his coarse, hot hands plant themselves at your side, thumbs digging deep into the crease where your hip meets your leg. the pressure was sure to leave a sore spot in the morning. spreading you open for his pleasure, he dips his head down to brush his lips along the inside of your thighs. he starts at your knee, and you feel his breath as he travels closer to your heat, teasing you.

you crave him to come closer, to make more contact. knowing what you want only makes him do the opposite. he brings two fingers to your black lace panties, pulling them to the side, whereas usually you’d help guide them off. while his fingers are there, the takes his middle and ring finger and slides them through your folds, feeling the pool that’s starting between your legs.

“matt-” you exhale.

“shut up.” he doesn’t give you a chance to merely breathe his name, hand holding your lace to the side and mouth attaching to your cunt. his tongue scoops upwards, soft yet firm. he enjoys going down you more than he’ll ever admit, but when he thinks he has the upper hand in a disagreement, your punishment is having to let him focus. therefore, no speaking.    

you feel him flick your clit, before making a stripe back from the start. he keeps attacking with his tongue, moving his mouth rhythmically but not focusing on your sweet spot as he doesn’t want to overwhelm you just yet.

his free hand leaves your thigh and makes his way to your heat, the tip of his middle finger tempting your entrance before he spits harshly, making you hum, as he slides in slowly. you gasp as his finger curves inside you, exploring you. inserting a second finger, he quickens his pace, thrusting into you hard and firm, tips brushing your walls with every push.

you grind into the palm of his hand with a heavy moan, friction from both matty and the table beneath you stimulating every moment. his tongue fixates again on your cunt, moving fast. you’re desperate for more, and he’s dragging out every second he can. you try to encourage his movement, running a hand through his perfect subtle curls. you grip his soft brown hair between your fingers, pushing him down to force pressure.

“y/n, keep your hands to yourself,” he swats your hands away, and you groan in annoyance at the loss of momentum. 

“but i need more,” you almost demand with irritation, seeing as though this was not only his idea, but emphasising the pent up annoyance lingering from the fight earlier. all he wants is for you to be quiet and take it. you’re a challenge for him. 

“like the needy slut you are." he states. 

“actions speak louder than words.” you counter.

“fuck are you gonna stop talking or do i have to make you?” matt groans, growing more direct.

“i never agreed to stop.” you rebutted. he laughs with a scoff, licking in the inside of his cheek slowly. he leans up to straighten his posture, looking down at you with his hips flush against the table. 

“y’wanna be that way? okay,” he exhales while slipping his thumbs into the waistband of his sweatpants, pulling them down teasingly to show the soft pale skin sharply leading down to his already hardening cock, pressing against his boxers. it’s all your eyes can focus on.

“turn around.” he speaks faint, raspy. when you take a few seconds too long to manoeuvre your body the way he desires, he takes it upon himself, forcing you by your hips and pressing into your lower back to flip you over. his strength is beyond you, and there’s no chance you’re unable to be manhandled. you’re on your knees, ass out for his viewing pleasure on this huge table. you still use your elbows as support, back arching.

his right hand crawls around over to your face from behind, around your neck, then up to your lips. the fingers that were inside you make their way into your mouth, prying your lips apart and forcing entrance to make you taste yourself. 

he keeps them there, using his free hand to slide his boxers until they fall. he traces the arch of your spine. when he reaches the curve just below your ribs, he abruptly grabs your body, pulling you toward his waist.

you feel the tip of his cock push against your exposed perineum, warm and wet, inching closer to your entrance where he finally fills you. you moan as he swallows his own, heavy exhaling with relief as he slides out and slams into you heavily. 

he repeats his motions once your body gives him the green light, thrusting into you at a steady pace, giving you time to feel his full raw movement when he pulls back before aggressively crashing your skin together. you can feel the sweat starting to glaze your skin, rocking back and forth with each moment. you moan with each stroke of his thick throbbing cock, the friction becoming a fire between your core.

“gonna try speak with my fingers in your mouth, huh?” he grunts, still thrusting into you deeply. 

without warning, he brings his free hand down to the side of your thigh with a hard spank, stinging badly. you gasp, teeth digging into his fingers as he makes a mess of your saliva all over your lips and chin, not being able to keep his hand still. 

matty prides himself on how long he can last, and his stamina meaning he has the time and patience to edge you until you’re on the verge of tears. you can feel the familiar feeling of a climax buzzing in your stomach, nearing closer with the consistent pace. you bring a hand up to put pressure on your already sensitive clit, making you shutter.

he finally pulls his fingers from your mouth and you pant, cussing and yelling "fuck, shit, s'good" your eyes shut tight, trying to match his pace and slap your ass into him while he thrusts. he slaps your cheek just hard enough to snap your eyes open, and you realise you're being far too loud.

he curves himself over your body so his chest is pressed on your back and he bites your shoulder, leaving marks all over your upper back. he bites hard enough to make you wince, and it's a very clear punishment for you.

"says i don’t care," he mutters, recalling the words you spoke earlier. he never drops anything easily. he'll use anything against you when he has you a moaning mess underneath him. he thrusts slow and hard, the noise so loud and hard you cry out.

"you hate me now, princess?" another hard, almost painful thrust. his thick cock fills you and hits so deep, feeling him the entire time and heavy in your cunt.

"n-no," you cry out again, feeling a tear slip. he'll never admit it, but the sight of your face wet from tears is the prettiest image for him. he wan't to be the only one to make it happen, and the only one to kiss it better, wipe your face, kiss it better.

"yeah, that's what i thought," thrust. he picks up his pace again and you know you can't last long.

"i'm gonna cum, matt, i- i need to," your breathing is jagged and voice is strained. you feel yourself clench around him and matt grabs your ass with his hands, repositioning to pull you back and forth aggressively onto his cock, and you're gripping the table so tight.

"god you feel so good. this pussy is so fucking good," he speaks through tight teeth. the moment you scream out and let your body collapse he pulls out and you feel his warm cum land all over your lower back.

"sh-shit, fuck," he moans out his climax, in a shuttering breath, the sweetest sound you could ever hear. he slaps your ass again, making you kneel up.

"cm'here" he uses your own shirt to clean you, wiping you down before helping you off the table. your legs are jelly, so you hold onto him tight.

"come back to bed?" he asks, wrapping your arms around his shoulders to keep you standing. you nod, and he starts guiding you both toward his room. you pull him back to face you.

"i don't hate you, matt" you bring your lips up to his, kissing him softly. he doesn't kiss back.

"not what i wanna hear," he shakes his head. you hesitate, leaning back to think. you really do not want to escalate it, but you think it's more suited to give him a taste of his own medicine.

"i hate that i love you," you look him in the eyes. he laughs through his nose, an exhale of air.

"i'll take that," he leans down, connecting your lips. he wraps his hand around the back of your neck, pulling you closer, pressing harder. squeezing lightly. he pulls back, brushing your noses together.

"i hate that i love you too, baby," he starts.

suddenly leaning over he’s sweeping his arms under your thighs, carrying you bridal style. you hold onto him tight, letting a laugh out as he yawns.

"now let's go to bed before we break up again."

[jiminjamms]

sex therapy :: 21. daddy toji

chapter tags/warnings: **can be read as a stand-alone!** daddy toji, in every sense of the word. toji also calls himself daddy. unprotected sex. creampies. megumi is down the hall! masturbation. exhibitionism. toji likes that it’s his cousin’s wife that he’s fucking. infidelity/adultery. possessiveness. sexual frustration. degradation. praising. pet names (‘princess’ and ‘sweetheart’). manipulative undertones. family drama. strong language.

word count: 3.6k

notes: tattooed dr. fushiguro can only be a gentleman for so long when it's his little cousin's wifey around. likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated. xoxo

fic masterlist | 01. 02. 03. 04. 05. 06. 07. 08. 09. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33.

“Why don’t you give daddy a show?”

Nothing could make you feel more exposed than this very moment on Toji Fushiguro’s bathroom counter—your bosom heaving from irregular breaths, your arms holding up your body, and your legs spreading across the granite surface so that you could offer up a good view. So that you could put your naked self on display. 

Just for him. Just for your sex therapist.

Just for Dr. Fushiguro.

You gulped while pressing your back against the cold ceramic walls, hoping for some relief from your impending humiliation. “E-Excuse me?” 

“C’mon, sweetheart,” Toji crooned, and the pet name had your heart skipping a beat. Lazily, he dragged a lone finger from your stomach to your center, prodding right at your soaking entrance despite your efforts to shrink away. “Don’t be shy. I’m just your therapist. Let me see what you’ve learned.” 

With much endearment, he watched you writhe. Being in the spotlight scared you, but he knew you would hate to disappoint. 

At the very least, you should demonstrate some appreciation. 

“Like what?” you asked, voice barely above a squeak.

“Well,” and amusement riddled his grin, “show daddy what he had taught you, baby.”

And goodness did all this daddy talk really turn you on. Toji could see how your figure tensed at the words, how you clenched around nothing from sheer need. (Did you think he would not notice?)

“Please,” you sighed, poorly hiding how your breath hitched. “Please don’t call yourself that.”

“Call myself what?”

Obviously a rhetorical question, yet Toji loved the bafflement on your ditzy face nevertheless.

“You know…‘daddy,’” you murmured, uncomfortable to the point you were staring at the floor as you spoke. “Because as someone who loves my dad, and hearing this from someone who actually is a dad, I find the name…disturbing.”

Disturbing but also hot, and Toji could tell. 

“Don’t lie, princess. You like when I call myself that,” he chuckled. Pinching at your waist, he chortled in that same giddy manner whenever he felt particularly amused. “So, who’s going to be daddy’s obedient little girl?”

He noticed that you were doing that thing again whenever you were a little nervous: pursing your lips into a quivering pout and twisting at the meaningless rings on your fourth digit. Too loyal for your own good. Maybe that was what Naoya really loved about you, enough to keep you as his cute little trophy wife. 

Swallowing loudly, in the end, you responded, “Me.”

Using one uneven breath to center yourself, your hands steadily grazed over your hips and your thighs before your dear fingers rested above your clit. Nothing could beat the embarrassment from how you flinched at your own contact. 

Here went nothing. 

Timidly, you drew your middlemost fingers through your folds and circled the digits around your entrance. The opening was warm, sensitive, and utterly soaked. The slick that had slipped past those puffy lips allowed you to push one, and then two fingers inside as your back arched gently at the stimulation. 

A dull pleasure started to thrum in your body especially as you brought your ample juices back in using slow, deliberate motions.

To much frustration, your dainty digits couldn’t quite stroke that special spot within you with much expertise. Why wasn’t Toji helping? You wanted him to help. But, if you didn’t think too hard, you could lose yourself in the sensuality of your ministrations and imagine Toji’s fingers curling inside you instead. His fingers were larger and thicker and longer, after all. 

While Toji’s true emotions had always been as mystifying as the man himself, never had that troubled you more than now. Those steely green eyes had been staring at you for what felt like hours now. 

Did he like what he saw? Did he want more?

The people pleaser within you was just looking for a reaction—any reaction—to validate the hard and honest work you were putting in. 

“Good kitty,” he complimented suddenly, as though he had been reading you like an open book all along. He did not realize since when, but he had begun stroking his cock through his pants. 

How could he not? You had been listening so well, and his free hand reached down to rub tight circles at your puffy clit. 

“Toji!” you shrieked immediately, body caving in. 

“Keep going, sweetheart,” he commanded, dipping his index and middle fingers in as well, his thumb still drawing tight movements at your precious button.

His fingers slid against yours, aided by the thick coat of arousal that lubricated the movements, and his dick twitched from excitement, a situation exacerbated when he relished in the way you angled your hips to accommodate all four fingers plunging into your sopping cunt.

“Don’t stop working on yourself.” 

“I won’t,” you struggled to whimper. 

“This is nice, isn’t it? When someone else is touching you, too.” His statement was softened by the same tone he liked to use when playing that ‘friendly neighborhood sex therapist’ role. “Your fingers are delicate, but they can’t reach all the places mine can, can they?” 

“No, they can’t,” you breathed out in helpless agreement, shaking pathetically at the combined ministrations. ��Everything feels better when you are the one finger fucking me.”

Toji hummed deeply in satisfaction. “I know, princess.” 

He lowered his head to press his lips into your jaw, but the subtle softness in his searing kisses convinced you to tilt your head gently and bring your unoccupied hand up to run up his hard triceps and dig into the jet-black ink peeking from his sleeves. 

In response, Toji sank his teeth into your skin every so often, eliciting your squeals. 

Painful. Yes, this was painful.

But more than painful, the gush that flooded your veins was fucking phenomenal.

“What’s wrong?” Toji asked innocently, biting harder as your nails pressed visible crescent marks into his tattoos. “I only want to taste you,” and he soothed the sore spots by licking the assaulted areas, just to repeat the process on another target.

Pussy feeling empty but needy, you shifted on the countertop in order to grind desperately against your therapist’s clothed crotch.

“Please,” you mewled, now begging for Toji’s attention rather than cowering away. “Please fuck me.”

Funny.

Just an hour ago, you were bawling about your loser husband. Naoya Zenin this. Naoya Zenin that. Well, duh. Of course, his baby cousin was an asshole partner. 

Now, here you were, pleading for Toji Fushiguro’s cock?

Toji rewarded your change of heart with a deep kiss pressed on your lips, a gesture that you passionately reciprocated. Even as he devoured your mouth like a starved man, your tongue fought like a maniac into his mouth, satisfied sighs slipping from your lips to his. 

Only when there was an unexpected slam coming from Megumi’s door did you two pull away, faces only centimeters apart and connected by an almost translucent string of saliva. 

Toji panted, watching your chest rise and fall from similarly irregular breathing. 

If nothing else stopped him, he would be falling onto his knees right now from how dazed you appeared: face flushed, lips parted, and lids heavy. 

But both he and you had one concern in mind right now. 

Megumi. 

Given the sound earlier, Toji awaited footsteps from the younger Fushiguro. 

Was he grabbing a midnight snack from the kitchen downstairs? Was he planning to pace the halls to alleviate stress?

Or worse yet, was he heading to the bathroom?

If his son really did walk into this scene, discovering what his father was doing to his sweet and pretty guest several doors away, Toji would be speechless because the idea was purely mortifying. 

Also a little sexy.

But anyway.

“I’m sure he just closed and locked his door for the evening,” Toji deduced when the boy’s footsteps never came. 

Immediately, your shoulders slumped with ensuing relief.  

“Thank goodness,” you sighed, still tense and high-strung. “We don’t want Megumi to hear us,” you pointed out, completely oblivious to how loud you had been when merely kissing. “Let’s wait for him to sleep first. I don’t want us to get caught.” 

The way you cared this much was adorable. 

“Why would we have to wait, though?” Toji pointed out, and his tongue swiped over his scar. “I can be quiet. But the real question is: can you be quiet?” 

At first, you were stunned and silent.

But after a long while, you gulped and your neck bobbed noticeably. "Yeah. I…can be quiet, too.” 

“Good girl," and at that, Toji flashed a quick and lascivious grin. “Then, why don’t we test that out?”

Not waiting for your reply, he grabbed the collar of his white shirt and dragged the top off his shoulders.

His movements were slow, just so he could catch your marveling reaction as he revealed his bare torso, but the fabric had been too fitting and tight for his body anyway. 

As soon as he pulled his shirt over his head and off his body, your eyes locked on his body to admire his brawny and toned physique. But more stunningly was how Toji Fushiguro was a mural of tattoos, intricate artworks that had been carefully selected and embedded into his torso—stylized letters, entwined violets, and hyper-realistic scenery. What demanded the most attention, though, was a prominent phoenix that covered his right chest, emerging victorious from a plume of smoke and ashes, its feathers spanning into his shoulder and back. 

Easily, you were enchanted. You didn't have a chance to view his tattoos before. But Toji himself had always been enchanting.

“Come closer,” the man commanded, tone low and gravelly. He dragged his waistband down until his hardened dick sprang free with great force. His cock was swollen and red and violently angry, precum beading at the tip after he had long neglected himself from his release. "I’ve missed you."

You shifted forward on the countertop.

“Then do anything to me.”

Just to test you, he experimented a little, pinching your nipples with the knuckles of his fingers and smiling like a mad dog when you squeaked. "Anything?" 

"Yes," you breathed out, nodding and back arching into his touch. 

Obviously, you were too lost in arousal to comprehend the power placed into your tattooed therapist's hands, and Toji silently wished that Naoya Zenin could hear his wife begging for someone else like this. 

He patted your cheek and cooed. 

So silly, so cock drunk, so desperate.

That was what you were, and he wasn’t even inside you yet. 

You reached between your legs to grab at his dick, lining the tip up to your entrance as Toji groaned from the contact.

"How are you so wet for me?” he hissed, gritting his teeth hard. 

“Please, please, come on—” After a long bout of negligence, you had become incredibly whiny and desperate, seeking attention and affection like never before. “I’m too turned on. Just…please ruin me.”

Toji had been close to bursting already, but an intense flash stifled him when your words registered as music to his ears, his large hands helping you swipe his dick between your folds slowly. Teasing them both.

He had been well lubricated from the precum that slipped from the head, his massive cock so hard from the anticipation that awaited such that he could feel electricity buzzing at his fingertips. All because he couldn't handle himself when you begged for him like this. Yet, Toji resolved to fuck you with everything he had—for as long as he could, anyway—and slipped himself gradually into your warm and moist heat. 

Shudders.

All that filled the room were shudders.

Toji’s eyes darkened as he pressed through the tight resistance, your muscles squeezing around his length. He had to will every fiber within him to not lose himself. He was this close to falling apart, unraveling. Because holy shit, were you fucking tight. 

Beneath him, you suppressed a whimper. 

“Damn,” you sputtered, abandoning any remaining hesitation and clenching around him. Compared to his pathetic cousin, your therapist was not small by any means. "You feel so good inside of me, Toji."

Ah, hell.

He needed to get you to relax. He could barely move and, if your walls squeezed him any harder, he might just be hurled over the edge and cum all over your thighs, staining your freshly showered body. 

“Oh,” he managed to hum in contentment, closing his eyes momentarily so that he could shut down all other senses except for one. His arms wobbled a little, his hands digging hard into your sides as his hips moved slowly—very, very slowly—out before going back in again. 

At the languid thrusts, your head fell back and your hips lifted upon instinct, one hand pressed against the counter for stability as the other skimmed over his tattoos. He's so hot. You're so hot. He makes you feel so hot.

Toji growled again when your fingers brushed against the inked phoenix's wings, gliding over his pectoral muscle. He loved being touched like this and only wanted you to examine him more, rewarding you with movements wholly deep and stimulating.

As moans flowed freely from your mouth, Toji would tell you to shut up. After all, Megumi dwelled only a few doors away and must not be forgotten. But how could Toji bring himself to hush the sweet sounds that you sang?

“Yes, just like that,” you whined at some point, fingers clawing into his chest. “Fuck. Fuck, Toji.”

He raised a disapproving brow. “Just Toji?”

“Fuck, daddy.”

And Toji lost his fucking mind.

Since when did you talk like this? Pretty princess with a potty mouth. Who would’ve thought? It was sexy. So goddamn sexy. 

"You’re incredible,” he found himself saying. 

Toji had never been harder than he was at this moment, his cock like a fucking titanium rod as his listless movements degraded into an onslaught, throbbing and twitching as he replayed your dirty words in his head. 

He felt extraordinarily horny, aroused, and invigorated. 

Meanwhile, you looked like a fucking fairy—his fucking fairy, to be clear: features glowing golden under the ambient lights, pupils dilated and blown out wide, skin glistening from both water and sweat. 

Long ago, Toji figured that you had given up in your attempts to get away from him, the sole struggle from your body being how your walls involuntarily twitched and tensed amidst the storm of pleasure and pain he had brewing within your core. 

If only Toji had more hands. That way, he could simultaneously pull at your hair, wrap his fingers around your neck, and swat at your bouncing tits.

In a moment like this, he hated having to choose and grabbed your legs in the end, moving them from the counter to his shoulders. Toji could now go even deeper, and boy, did this new angle  have you seeing stars. 

“Oh, goodness,” you blubbered, coughing and drooling and panting. “Oh, that feels so good.”

“I know,” Toji said arrogantly.

Lucky for you, he was a mature man who could hold his load. Other boys didn’t know shit. If they were in his current position, they would have busted their nuts long ago, too impulsive and easily excited to exert much self-control. 

Toji, on the other hand, knew how to dig his fat cock into your cervix over and over, brushing that one special spot within you along the way. To make you scream. To keep you addicted. To take his cousin’s wife at his mercy.

The room filled with sounds that resulted from skin contacting skin—squelches and wet smacks—and you were left loud and messy, feeling so good that you could not think straight. 

“Shit, you’re so good to me. Can’t get enough of this pussy,” he grunted, hand pulling back before connecting with the meat of your ass with one loud  slap. 

You cried out, fighting back tears that welled from the pain. “That… hurts!”

“But my kitten loves being roughened up, no?” he taunted, licking at his scar again as he observed you: love bites littered over your neck, nipples perked into pebbles, skin marked and slightly bruised.

“I,” several huffs in between, “I can’t take this for much longer. I’m so close. I think I’m going to—”

“Only if you tell me who owns you.”

His words made you whine, and the therapist took great pleasure in the way you contorted. The demand had taken you by surprise because Toji had never denied you the right to your pleasure before. In fact, he had always been the type to coax you to cum, telling you to cream all over him instead.

Tonight, however, he wanted to set things straight. For a while, he had been thinking that he ought to buy you a collar just so you would remember who you actually belonged to—who really taught you what sex feels like—and heat tore through his skin again from the fantasy. 

Admittedly, Toji was a tad bit possessive. 

But he needed to drill into your head that you were not Sukuna’s or Choso’s or Geto’s. 

And most certainly, not  Naoya Zenin’s. 

“Well?” He was fully aware of what was happening and taking true delight in your futile struggle, knowing exactly what you needed but wanting you to obey him first. Snaking an arm around your body, he pressed his lips to the shell of your ear and purred, “Who knows how to fuck you right?”

“Toji Fushiguro does,” you chanted, lacing your fingers with his, your body in sheer pain from need. “Guys my age could never.”

Which was exactly what he wanted to hear.

“Then cum for me, baby.”

So, you did.

His permission sent you vaulting over the edge, your whole body spasming as your orgasm ripped through.

Your lips parted. Your cheeks hollowed. Your arms wavered.

Despite everything, you continued begging for his cock harder, faster, just like that. At some point, the hand once tangled with your therapist’s now slotted into your mouth to muffle any exclamations of pleasure as the waves continued to ripple fiercely through your body. Throwing your head back against the wall, you could dully feel your teeth puncture the skin between your thumb and pointer finger. Yet, that didn’t bother you, didn’t even hurt, and only served to add to your masochistic satisfaction as your cunt fluttered and clenched around him. 

“What a good girl.”

Toji was remorseless as he continued his abuse, the tendons of his hands and arms flexing from the effort needed to keep your lower body still, the tattoos on his wrists appearing pitch black under the glimmer of your juices. The wetness that spilled from you was so abundant, dripping down onto the floor. With any luck, once this was all over, you would have left a mess such that Toji would be forced to assign Megumi to bathroom cleaning duty in the morning.

"I'm gonna cum inside you, baby," was what he managed to say just as his gut suddenly tensed. He couldn't even control it. Without further warning, thick ropes of semen shot from him and into your womb. He grunted loudly, lurid fantasies dissipating as his mind went blank from his climax, his own groan hardly recognizable from how guttural his voice had become.

“Give me all your cum, daddy,” you wailed as you came again, pussy tightening impossibly on his cock and practically massaging every single drop out of him.

Toji was not done, he didn’t want to be done. 

Despite his blurred vision and terse jaw, Toji wanted to give you every ounce that he was worth. He gritted his teeth as he fucked up into you, pace irregular and sloppy. He made sure to push every possible milliliter of his seed deep into your stomach, the rest of his load spilling against his balls. 

His cock was far too sensitive and overstimulated, but he felt  so goddamn good that he wanted to keep going and going until he was completely spent with nothing more to give.

“Fuck,” he choked, on the brink of tears. 

Toji had to take a moment to recover fully, keeping his eyes closed while his chest heaved from the sheer exertion of his orgasm. His breathing was deep, wet, and haggard, and he was blistering hot even without clothes on. His slicked-back hair was soaked with sweat and hung limply in front of his flushed face. As he slumped over, he sensed a new pain in his shoulder, and he guessed that he must have strained something without noticing. Cum inevitably dribbled from your hole as he pulled out, splattering on the floor and mixing with your juices earlier.

He strode toward the bathroom closet, grabbing additional towels.

After wrapping them around you and himself, Toji brought you close to his frame and directed you into his bedroom diagonally across the hall. The rest of the night was quiet, especially since you both were consumed by exhaustion and post-coital haze. You rolled onto his canopied bed without sound, Toji lying next to you and pulling you snugly against his chest. After ensuring that you were okay, he kissed the sweet temple by your forehead and the bruises on your collar, smiling softly when you hummed in response. 

He could hardly recall the last time he had felt so warm and so content, wanting nothing more than to cling onto this moment for as long as he could. In the back of his head, his conscience scolded him harshly. He still owed you plenty of explanations. For how he had been hiding his family, his relationships, and his original motive in using you to help him get back at his enemies. 

Yet, as he pushed aside these intrusive thoughts and murmured to you ‘Goodnight,’ one thing became clear:

Toji Fushiguro was far too selfish to let you go.

last chapter || next chapter

end notes: This is my first time writing smut that comprehensively includes Toji’s POV. While we have always gotten Y/N's POV in sex, I wanted to include Toji's perspective so that we could get into his psyche a little since he's battling his own demons as well.

taglist: @dissociatingdiva @httpsplanetmarsdotcom @nemoyr @huangfairy @shadowarchon @203steph @agentdedf1sh @cloudybabes @hinativity @lynn-writes-things @illicitwriter @7oji @kikuchimi @piqer @nobody289x @chaoticjojofan @musicisme333 @vvestwoodrose @kumocchin @s-guru @mwahilovemylife @hey-gurls69 @cloudsinthecosmos @moon-mumu-moon @kazscara @obitohno @skilerfrostfairy @funicidals @nico707 @proteovaldez @tsukiyohanayome @marimoares @qirbys @blackdragoncigarette @puffaloxx @shoisae @sakanoshitaa @arizzu @kissditrio @tokyometronetwork @downtown-roponggi @the-cosmos-network

[xrcs]

sub gyutaro + dom reader

author’s note – i like deadass forgot about demon slayer until the new ep came out yesterday 🤦🏾‍♂️.. but here i am writing for it

content warnings – talk of insecurities. mirror sex. handjob. uncut gyu. nipple play. self harm. soft porn again. L word used???

Mirrors. Gyutaro despises his reflection, breaking each one he sees. Why? Why did he have to be made like this? Were the gods furious at him? Gyutaro wanted to shatter every bone that protruded from his frame. You always see how he treats himself. It was almost as if he was immune to self-care.

You wish you could understand what was going on in his mind. Watching as he scratched his skin off every time he got mad at himself over little things. Warm crimson blood oozed out of the cuts he made from his continuous scratching.

“Jesus Christ, Gyutaro! Stop that, please,” you wince, his tired yellow eyes glancing at you. Gyutaro’s hand hovers over his wounded neck, chest feeling heavy.

“And why do you care?” he scoffs. Gyutaro turns his back on you and walks into another room. Why is it that he hates himself? You follow his footsteps slowly, trying your best not to anger him. But it’s also infuriating seeing Gyutaro degrade himself and his worth.

You sigh as you notice him breaking down. He’s facing the wall, gripping his hair tightly. It’s saddening. His behavior makes you want to cry for him. Gyutaro’s sniffles and sobs become increasingly louder. You approach him and hug him. Your loving embrace soothes him. His tense shoulders drop while he turns to look at you.

Your lips hover over the shell of his ear, “Gyutaro. I want to understand you. Please, let me know what’s goin’ on,” He doesn’t respond to your concern. You’re just going to have to make him feel better. Your soft and plush hands snake down his torso. Fingertips grazing his bony flesh. Gyutaro’s lips let out a small gasp as he feels himself heating up from the contact.

He was never used to being treated well. Even being protected was a taboo thing to him. Gyutaro loathes everyone except you. You’re different. You’ve never judged him for looking a certain way. That’s why he loves you. You’re kind, loving, caring, and so much more. Gyutaro loses himself in your touch, eyes fluttering shut.

“Get up,” you whisper. Gyutaro follows your request and stands up. You wrap your hand around his wrist and guide him to the vanity mirror. The first emotion that washes over Gyutaro is disgust. His repugnance only grew once he saw how skeletal he was. All of his self-hating thoughts came back again.

You observe his body language. That same sickened expression was on his face. You let your hands explore his body this time. The left teases his pec area while the right goes to other places. Gyutaro’s heart rate increases as you touch him so lewdly. He can feel the tent growing in his sweatpants.

His chest feels light when you touch him.

“Look at yourself. I want you to realize how handsome you are,” you utter. You slowly take off Gyutaro’s sweats, his semi-hard cock springing out. Another small gasp comes from his lips, his member twitching in anticipation. You press light kisses onto his nape, nibbling occasionally.

You rub your palm on his bulbous tip, rolling your wrist. A series of moans slip past Gyutaro’s mouth. Pre-cum starts to leak out from his tip. You stroke his whole length, lubricating his cock with the sticky substance. His eyes close while trying to take in all the pleasure.

You abruptly stop and firmly say, “Look into the mirror. Now,” Gyutaro whimpers as he opens his eyes, watching himself getting pleasured. Your other hand pinches his nipple, rolling it between your thumb and pointer.

“Haah, fuck! W-Why do you want me.. ngh- to look at myself in the m-mirror?” Gyutaro questions, arching his back as your touches become more intense. That question will be answered later when he figures it out. Your hand slowly fondles his cock. With every stroke you give, his foreskin covers his tip. The delicious brush of the skin on his tip makes his head spin.

He can’t help but look away. Does he really deserve the pleasure you’re giving him? As he turns his head to the side, your hand assertively keeps it in place. Your eyes burn into his face while you do so. You flick his dark grey nipple, making him yelp. All this touching is making his mind all muddly.

You stop stroking his dick, leaving your hand in the same position. He starts to buck his hips into your fist. God, this is your favorite sight to see. Him fucking your fist like an animal, chasing his own pleasure. You continue to pinch his nipple, creating a more blissful experience from Gyutaro. Waves of satisfaction ripple through his body.

“Look at you, Gyu. So pretty becoming undone. You’re perfect,” you state, smiling as you watch his eyes roll back into his head. He’s getting close. You move your hand around his cock at a fast pace, forcing him to look at himself.

Tears fall down his face from your compliments. You really think he’s pretty? Perfect? More pretty moans and whimpers come from Gyutaro. The coil in his stomach is about to snap. The roll of your wrist as you stroke his cock makes his mouth water. His eyes feel heavy, eyelashes clumping together from the tears.

“F-fuck! ‘M gonna cum.. cum! Lemme cum, pleasepleaseplease,” Gyutaro moans, voice cracking as drool slips past his lips. You smirk as you feel his body twitch as you play with his nipples.

“You’re so handsome, so perfect for me,” you mutter. Gyutaro feels like he’s going to break. The pleasure keeps on building up and it’s getting stronger by the second. Your praise is just too much!

“I love you, Gyutaro,”

His cock twitches as you mumble those words in his ear. Thick, hot, white ropes spurt out his cock. His eyes roll back as his head falls onto your shoulder. Your left hand comes up to pat his head, soothing him as he comes down from his high. God, what has he done to deserve you? You always make him feel so secure. Even with himself.

You wait patienly for his breathing to slow down. Humming and playing with his hair as you do.

Once he does, he sits up. His head between your thighs.

“You have no flaws, Gyu. Say or do some stupid shit again and you’ll see what happens,” you vocalize, giving him a small kiss. He nods and turns around to look at you.

“I appreciate you. I.. love you too,”

XRCS 2023

[writerblue275]

Ranking the Heartsteel members from least to most romantic (with some explanation).

Inspiration: A post from @strawberrydoesthings discussing the fact that (confirmed by Riot via Twitter) Sett is the best cook in the group. Not that I didn’t think Sett could be romantic beforehand, because I ABSOLUTELY thought he could be, but this definitely got me thinking about who in the group being romantic comes easy to.

Genre: Ranking? First time I’m doing this style so we’ll see how it goes!

Category: Fluff

Gender: Gender Neutral Reader

TW: Swearing

Important context: I fully believe all Heartsteel members have the ability to be romantic for their partners. So even those I rank “lower” could definitely still make your heart flutter. It just might come more naturally for others.

Least

- Ezreal

Ez’s vibe is a little….chaotic? I just can’t see most romantic gestures being a natural everyday thing for him, and definitely not at the beginning of your relationship.

But I do believe that he’d really make an effort for you on special days (birthdays, Valentine’s Day, etc…). It’s clear to me Ezreal is a very passionate person. And when he has an occasion or a person to focus all that passion on, he doesn’t half-ass things (especially when it comes to you).

LOTS of planning and stress though because he doesn’t want to disappoint you. He’d definitely ask the members and Alune for their opinions on things.

The first time he asked for their opinions, everyone stared at him for a few seconds in surprise because they truly weren’t expecting it. Then of course they helped him plan you the best surprise party!

One small romantic gesture I do think Ezreal would be very good at is playing with his partner’s hair (if his partner is cool with that of course). I feel like he needs something for his hands to fidget with at almost all times (fucking mood). He’d love brushing your hair and, if it’s long enough, braiding it.

- Kayn

Kayn is another member who has a bit more of a chaotic vibe. Definitely can’t see him surprising you randomly with your favorite flowers or slipping little notes into your pockets.

BUT!! I do think Kayn’s another member who would really send it on special occasions. Like when this man goes all out, he goes ALL! OUT!

Fully have a headcanon that one of Kayn’s love languages is physical touch (both giving and receiving). So if you’re someone who likes physical contact, this is a way he’ll inject a little romance in day-to-day life.

I’m talking hand holding, arm around your waist, hand in your back pocket while you two are in line, hand on your thigh while he’s driving, or a shoulder massage if you’re really tense (why do I think he’d be so good at those omg). And there’s also another reason he likes to have contact with you at all times.

He’s sweetly very protective of you. Definitely NOT in a toxic way (fuck toxic relationships), but in a “fans of my profession don’t always take the news of a relationship the best. And while I’m not hiding you, I’m definitely not letting anything happen to you,” way. Along with physical contact he’d do things like walk on the sidewalk side closer to the road if you’re walking with him. (Old-school rule I know but I still find it very sweet.)

- Aphelios

I feel like Aphelios hasn’t had a lot of relationships in his past. So it’s not that he’s unromantic, he’s just a bit inexperienced at the start of your relationship.

I don’t think he is necessarily the “big showstopper romantic gesture” kinda guy, but he’ll show tf out for you on special occasions. (Song just for you, anyone? Can you imagine the lyrics he’d come up with? I’m melting! 😩)

The quiet ones are always the most perceptive (#1)! And our man Phel is hyper perceptive when it comes to those he loves. And of course he loves YOU.

He would really excel in the small day-to-day romantic gestures department like sweet good morning and good night texts without fail (and regardless of the time zone he’s in).

Aphelios definitely LOVES how your face lights up when you find the sweet little notes he snuck into your pocket or bag. And how delighted you get when he randomly brings home your favorite takeout for dinner. And when you sent him a text thanking him for the beautiful bouquet of your favorite flowers he had delivered to you? He literally fist pumped and surprised the hell out of Sett.

- K’Sante

(I know he uses the yellow heart on his tweets but TUMBLR doesn’t have that so pink it is.)

I’m gonna start sounding like a god damn broken record, but I get such amazing vibes from Heartsteel K’Sante. He’d be a truly excellent life partner. Great listener, gives great advice when you ask for it, and knows when you just need to vent your frustration out.

Life with him would be safe, but never boring!You know where he’d thrive when it comes to romance? He’d be excellent at spontaneous romantic gestures.

Dancing/kisses in the rain/snow, turning chores around the apartment into a little dance party/jam session (mentioned in my first headcanon), or buying you flowers randomly because they made him think of you, are some things I think K’Sante would truly excel at. His ways of showing romance would be sincere, but fun.

The KING of spontaneous dates. Stuff like driving to the middle of nowhere to star gaze/have snacks or a picnic or driving up to a random out look because he heard the view of the city at night was amazing. (Spoiler alert: It absolutely was.)

I think K’Sante loves spontaneous gestures even more than full out planning things for you. It doesn’t give him a chance to overthink things!

(A/N: Holy shit deciding how to order these final two was WAY WAY harder than I anticipated. I switched them multiple times and honestly I feel like either could go #1.)

- Sett

Please repeat after me because I’ve said it before: “Mama didn’t raise Sett to be a jackass of a partner.” This man has damn good manners. Car door, opened for you. Your seat, pushed in once you’re sat. Walking w/ him on the sidewalk? He’s taking the side closer to the street.

And ESPECIALLY now that we know he’s the best cook in the group?? Oh my god I think soft Domestic!Sett is a go!! Fully believe acts of service (giving) is one of his love languages.

Due to his schedule, it’s very likely he’s out the door before you in the mornings but even then, he’ll always make sure to set up another pot of coffee/hot chocolate/boiling water for tea so that it’s ready for you when you start your day.

Always has a designated date night with you every week. Doesn’t matter if he’s on tour! Discord/FaceTime exists as do watch parties on streaming platforms. Fuck distance, all that matters to him is spending quality time with you in some way.

And I really think he’d be excellent at planning bigger romantic gestures for his partner. He loves you and he has no issues showing that fact off. (Could absolutely see him getting a tattoo that symbolizes you. Especially one that you help him design so it’s even more meaningful.)

- Yone

I don’t care what sort of scowl-y and hard persona Yone presents to the public. With you? That’s your Koala. (Lmao I will die on the hill that he is secretly a cuddle FIEND. Fight a wall.)

He gives me low-key old-school “gentleman” vibes. Always holds the door open and will push your chair in once you’ve sat down at dinner. Will ALWAYS offer an arm for you to hold. Protective (not toxic) of you. And while he’s not scowl-y with you, this is where his public-facing demeanor can come in handy.

*Clears throat* THE QUIET ONES ARE ALWAYS THE MOST PERCEPTIVE (#2)!

Within a month or two of you starting your relationship Yone knows all your favorites. Will gladly surprise you with them at random times, or especially when he senses you need a pick-me-up. Another member who would write love notes and sneak them into places you’ll find them (I feel like he’s heavily involved in lyric writing so this man is a fucking POET).

His favorite way to grandly express his love for you is through music. He has a list of songs that make him think of you and he’s made a whole mix of them. Would surprise you with it and dance with you around the apartment. (Omg slow dancing around the living room with Yone sounds so cute! 🥹) And little do you know but the very last song on the mix is an original he wrote all for you.

Most

As always, thank you so much for reading! I think I might need to do some more of these rankings because this was so much fun to write! I can definitely think of a few other ideas that would fit with this format!

[yevmarie]

My Angel. My Devil.

Pairing: Scud x Female Reader

Word count: 1k

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, terribly written smut, unprotected piv, swearing, drug use (by reader as well), bad English (not my first language).

A/N: well, it's my first time in writing smut in English (as if it could be better if I wrote in my first languages, lol). So, if this post is deleted after some time, just know that I felt cringey. YOLO.

You lost count of which round it was as your consciousness had left your brain as soon as you took the first hit. You were rolling your hips on top of a whimpering overstimulated mess called Scud lying half-upright on the couch of your tiny apartment in the warehouse where you worked for Blade. Scud's arms are weakly holding your hips, the head is fallen back on the throw pillows, and some of the hair strands are stuck to his sweaty pretty fucked out face. His eyes are half closed, mouth babbling something inaudible, that used to be pleadings an hour ago.

This evening could've been the same as others if Scud hadn't offered you pot again while you both were working on the tech stuff Blade needed so much for his next mission.

“How the hell can you work stoned?” you asked irritated as this kind of ‘ritual’ when the guy offered you smoking was always repeating day after day. And your answer was always 'no'.

“C’mon baby, you’re always so tense and serious. Why don’t you let yourself relax?” Scud answered in a muffled drawl keeping a blunt between his lips while he was soldering a circuit.

And the reason for it was having a really bad crush on him. A workplace romance wasn’t what you planned as Blade paid you much. So a one-time stand with the colleague you fell for was strictly forbidden by yourself. But your pretty obvious ignoring attitude wasn’t helping, let’s say it was even encouraging for Scud. And today was the day you completely gave up. That was true you needed to unwind.

“I want to relax but after I finish programming these microcontrollers,” you sighed concentrating on the code you wrote.

“You’re always saying so,” you heard his desperate and upset voice which you couldn’t handle anymore.

“8:00 PM at my apartment, snacks on you,” you replied after several minutes of silence between you both.

“Hell yeah!” he answered happily, “Baby Scud knows how to relax. You won’t regret it, sweety.”

You were ignoring him though you felt butterflies fluttering in your stomach. The rest of the workday you were just only thinking how to quickly spend time with him and send him out of your room until the worst happens.

At 8:00 PM sharp you heard knocks at your door. Opening it you saw smirking Scud holding shopping bags full of food.

“Have you robbed the supermarket? This is the week ration for a family of three,” you said gesturing the man to come in.

“That’s literally us with B,” he winked and went further into the apartment where a big couch and a massive coffee table were standing in front of the wall where some music videos were projected. The room was also lit by a dull light bulb from the kitchenette.

“Don’t be so grumpy, Y/N. Lemme help you switch off,” he put the bags on the coffee table and put out a cigarette case and a lighter from his jeans pockets. “And I don’t know what you like, so…”

You went past Scud and sat down on the couch inviting him to join you.

“Video games, cartoons, films? Any preferences?” you asked looking at the guy picking out a blunt from the case and passing it to you.

“This is your evening, you choose,” he grinned watching you picking the blunt in your fingers and placing it between your lips. Seconds after he lit the blunt and you made a light drag not to cough immediately. You held your breath to let the weed do its work and passed the blunt back to Scud.

“Then let’s watch a film,” you said exhaling and took a remote control to choose one.

You slightly leaned back to the table to light another blunt. Taking a hit you held your breath and leaned forward turning to Scud. You hooked his choker with your finger and pulled his face to yours while you started riding him again. He opened his eyes just a bit, his mouth agape. You leaned closer so your lips barely touched his and slowly puffed the smoke into his mouth. He was inhaling while you felt his cock twitching inside you. You let his choker and laid your arms on his shoulder for steadiness and continued sliding up and down his length. A small whimper left Scud’s mouth.

“Fuck, I love you.”

“You’re high,” you let out an obscene moan feeling you are about to reach your climax.

“Jeez…” Scud suddenly grabbed you tightly to lay you on your back and started thrusting into you.

“Sc…” your mouth was immediately covered with his lips and tongue kissing and licking you sloppily. His thrusts became faster hitting your sweet spot each time. Scud feeling you clenching around him uncontrollably put his thumb on your clit to draw circles applying just perfectly enough pressure.

You started clawing into his back overwhelmed with sensation when suddenly your body exploded with unbearable excitement. Everything became dull, blurred. It’s dinging in your ears, the heart is pumping so fast you thought it would break your ribcage, your whole body is trembling. You were suffocating, drowning in the waves of pleasure.

Almost passing out after your release you felt a sudden emptiness followed by Scud’s moans. Through your half-opened eyes, you saw a lewd scene: panting Scud rolled his head back, his chest heaving, his left hand squizzing the throw pillow, his right arm was tensed as he was stroking himself letting out strings of his warm cum on your lower belly. The scene that you imagined so many times during lonely evenings pleasing yourself. After he finished he plopped himself on the couch and pulled your weak body on top of himself.

“You’ll get dirty,” you said in a tired voice only earning a chuckle from him.

“Let it be the worst thing between us, babe,” he kissed your swollen lips passionately caressing your hair and your back.

[whatlovelybones-if]

"the screaming and fighting and kissing in the rain" THE WHAT?! YOU DARE AVERY??? AND WTF J???

What would happen if MC and J were about to kiss, but MC suddenly stopped and just apathetically stared at them and said that they resented them for not being their first kiss, and just left? 😂😂

(Also, did MC have a some sort of relationship before the story began, or is that left for headcannon?)

it started with a simple statement.

“i won’t be riding back with you today,” J said.

you didn’t mind, not really. of course, you used to take every opportunity to spend time with them, but you could understand that they had their own life and sometimes their plans didn’t line up with yours.

“anything special you got planned?” you joked while closing your school locker, but you feel your insides wither and shrivel like a crumpled flower when they give you the actual reason.

“avery wanted to take me home today,” J said, shrugging like it wasn’t a big deal but the embarrassed pink on their cheeks give them away.

you had a feeling whatever was going to happen today, you wouldn’t be liking it at all. on top of that, J was acting weird as hell. not to mention that this avery person had been someone they’d been weirdly close the past couple of days.

you also happen to know that avery lived on the other side of town, completely off the route you and J took to get home every day. avery wasn’t just giving them a ride; it was something else. the more you thought about it, the more it sounded like a date. a motherfucking date.

you felt your heart starting to weigh three times heavier as you forced a smile and said, “oh, sure, that’s fine.” and then, before you could stop yourself, you found yourself stupidly asking, “so did they ask you out on a date or something?”

to save yourself the embarrassment and act nonchalant, you find yourself ruffling their hair slightly. if J noticed that you were forcing it, they didn’t let it show. instead they just laughed nervously, trying to fix their hair, and said, “actually, i was the one who ended up asking them out.”

wonderful. you wanted to scream, but you managed to give them the fakest smile you could. “i’m so happy for you.”

J picked up on the hint that maybe you weren’t feeling as happy as you’re saying you are because they asked, “are you alright, teddy?”

that nickname hurts even more now as you nod, “of course, why wouldn’t i be?”

one of J’s love languages has always been physical touch and everything just gets a lot more complicated; their hand on your back is warm, the inky dark eyes that stare back at you are kind and worried, the full pink lips that you wish to kiss look so inviting. they smell the same as always: leather, strawberries, spearmint, and marlboro red smoke masked by a fancy cologne/perfume.

“did i do something wrong?” J asks, looking like a kicked puppy.

you can’t stand it. the concerned look on J’s face as they ask you what’s wrong when everything is wrong right now. it’s wrong that they can’t see how much you love them. it’s wrong that they can’t see how loving them has become second nature for you. it’s wrong that they can’t see how you don’t want to be just their best friend.

knowing them, you know your best friend is probably imagining a thousand different scenarios of how they must’ve hurt you. but you know that they didn’t hurt you, they could never do that, at least not intentionally.

then you do it. you actually do it. one of the stupidest things you have ever done in your 15 years of existence.

you leaned in and kissed them.

the look on J’s face makes you wanna crawl into your own skin and die. their body had tensed up, their lips frozen open, parted but not uttering a sound. all of that was enough to tell you that it was fucking mistake. so you do the only thing that made sense to you at that moment: you turn and run outside like a fucking coward.

time seemed to slow down, each second stretching impossibly beyond normal. the only sound that could be heard was the rain. heavy, rhythmic, and coming down without pause. you don’t even feel the chill setting in as your whole body burns with the shame of what you did and the image of J’s reaction only makes your skin crawl more.

stupid, stupid, stupid!

you run across the parking lot to get to your car and book the hell out of the school campus. you utter a loud curse when you check your pockets and realise you left your car keys in your locker.

you’re soaked to the bone and you aim a swift kick at your car; panting like you just ran a marathon, hair sticking to your neck and cheeks, heavy breathing pushing your chest up and down, your face wet from both the rain and your tears.

tears? no, you’re not wrong, you can feel the saltiness mixing up with the rain and pouring down your face. you haven’t cried in forever. at least not in a genuine way.

why in the world did it have to J of all people that you had to fall for? they had been your best friend since you were kids, always a constant and comforting presence in your life. almost a decade of friendship down the drain because of your stupid feelings. it wasn’t worth it at all to lose your best friend like this.

your best friend who’s now calling your name. a yell in the distance muffled by the sound of the rain and of your breaking heart. your breath hitches but you ignore them. there’s no way you can face them, not right now.

“for god’s sake, you can’t just kiss me and walk away! hey!” J yells out.

“go away, J! i really don’t want to talk to you right now.”

they catch up to you, refusing to let you run off again. “and why is that, hm?”

“i don’t know!” you answer, throwing up your hands in exasperation. “i’m ignoring you right now.”

“well,” J continues to stubbornly come closer, “i am ignoring the fact that you’re ignoring me.”

you give them a glare. “that’s not how it works.”

J matches your challenging glare. “fine then. tell me why you kissed me and i will leave you alone.”

“i kissed you because i love you, you daft dumbo!” you nearly yell, frustrated beyond reason. ignoring the dumbfounded look on J’s face, you continue, “i’ve loved you ever since we were kids. i love your eyes and how they sparkle like stars when you’re talking about music. i love your voice and how it soothes me whenever i’m having a hard time. i love how you know me and know exactly what to say to make me feel better whenever and wherever. i just love you so much and i cannot stand the thought of you with avery. i will get over this though, J, just give me some ti—”

in a heartbeat, they lean in and their lips are on yours. you can’t help the gasp which slips out of your mouth, too surprised, too tense, and J holds your face dearly like you’re something precious, pressing your lips and body against theirs with something akin to desperation. both of you so entirely soaked from the rain, so entirely frightened, so entirely in love.

when the kiss ends, it’s because both of you are completely out of breath. J doesn’t let the space between the two of you grow any further, though. they instead press themselves further against you, your bodies fitting like perfect puzzle pieces.

“don’t get over me,” they plead, the taste of strawberry in your mouth, forehead against yours, dark eyes fluttering close. “don’t ever get over me.”

“b-but,” you stutter, head still spinning, “what about avery?”

J groans, following it up with a chuckle. “one date and i think even they’d be able to see it.”

“see what?”

“how you are the one i’m in love with.”

before you can even process what they just said, they lean in again to seal it with a kiss.

[skylarsblue]

Cat Calling

Content Warning(s): Murder, creepy men, very mildly implied fem!reader (but no pronouns used), blood.

(This took me way too fucking long. Bro, the burn out has been REAL SHITTY. Anyway, this was requested by @lonnielolooington. Forgive me for this taking so long-)

Michael Myers(All)

Michael obviously stalks you most of the time. The longer you two have been together, the less he follows you, mostly because he’s more comfortable doing his own thing. He’s less paranoid about you going to the police and ratting him out. Still, he likes following you, observing your everyday actions. He won’t try to hide from you very much.

Michael’s possessive. That’s a plain fact. You might not interact with many people, but he absolutely hates when people hit on you. He wouldn’t be mad at you in any aspect unless you were actively flirting with someone else. But what makes him livid is when you get clearly uncomfortable, even verbalize your disinterest, and the person continues to try shit. It sends a wave of protectiveness through his veins.(especially if it’s RZ Myers)

He’s pretty unaware of a lot of social issues. He likely never thought about what he’d do if someone he cared about was cat called. Not only has he been living under the assumption that he’d never care about someone like that, he’s also never experienced someone he knows being cat called on the street. The closest comparison he has is the occasional pervert in Smith’s Grove making comments at a nurse. He definitely didn’t like hearing it, that’s true. Not that he cared for the nurse’s, but he definitely doesn’t like perverts. They make him uncomfortable by proxy. (Again, especially if it’s RZ Myers)

Now, watching you get cat called? He instantly understands your concerns about the matter and he is immediately angry. If it’s broad daylight, he’ll hold back until he can drag the individual away in order to kill them. If no one else is around, he’ll brutalize them right away. (More UTC)

Michael had been following you for the past ten minutes on your way to the grocery store. It wasn’t anything new, and at this point, it felt oddly comforting. His presence brought a sense of safety with it. Ironic, really. Walking alone was always a bit nerve-wracking, especially when it was a bit late at night. But you desperately needed some things from the grocery store and gas prices were sending you through the wringer. It wasn’t that far, walking there was completely feasible. Though it didn’t help with your paranoia at all. Michael’s heavy stare did, ensuring you had a guard dog of sorts on your tail.

“Hey baby, how bout I get your number?!”

And there it was. You jumped at the sudden exclaim, glancing in the direction it came from. Michael watched as your shoulders tensed and your face twisted into an uncomfortable grimace. He looked at the man who called out to you. Middle aged, unfit, appearing to work in some form of construction. The section of the street that was torn up gave more credence to that observation. His hands tightened around the handle of the blade he’d taken from your kitchen. Michael watched you cross your arms and look at the ground, walking faster. “Aw come on baby, don’t be a bitch, I can show you a good time!” Michael’s jaw clenched when the stranger called again. You were very obviously uncomfortable, it was plain to see, even to someone as emotionally oblivious as Michael. He could only guess that the man knew this fact and enjoyed it. Michael liked intimidating you, sure, but it was a different circumstance. You now trusted him. Your “fear” with him was now associated with situations you ended up enjoying, you submitted to him willingly because you wanted to. This was not the same circumstance. Even Michael knew when to quit based on your body language.

The man called at you one more time. You kept your gaze down and mentally prayed that he just wouldn’t follow you, not when the streets were dark and lacking of people. It was the sound of a scream and a wet choking that made you stop and look back. Michael hadn’t hesitated to grab the man’s shirt collar and send the knife through the front of his face. You winced at the sloppy sound blood and tissue made when he retracted the blade. Michael slowly turned to look at you, dropping the body. You swallowed and looked around. There was still no one, so you took a moment to mouth your gratitude before turning to run away from the scene. Sticking around would be suspicious and Michael knew that. He’d protect you on your new route to the store and back.

Jason Voorhees

Oh, Jason hates people like this. He despises them more than almost anything. Jason’s naturally against things sexual in nature anyway, but to top it off, Pamela taught him to always respect others. He likely hasn’t seen much of this kind of behavior, but I wouldn’t be surprised if Pamela got hit on here and there when he was growing up. Not to mention any creepy campers that couldn’t keep their hands off the girls in their group.

Two consenting teens/adults having flirtatious interactions makes him upset, but that’s mostly because it feels disrespectful when they’re in his camp. He knows they’ll eventually try to have sex, where he died, and where his mother died. Yeah that’s gonna piss him off. But watching someone pressure someone else into something like that? Making disgusting comments that are unwarranted and unwanted? Pamela’s angry before Jason can even register what’s happening, and if mom is angry, Jason is livid.

Jason doesn’t like people interacting with you anyway. It means there’s people in camp, which leads to complications, and he doesn’t want you involved with the typical visitor of Crystal Lake. Even if you used to be a visitor…that’s different, okay?

He absolutely despises people who are pushy, flirty, etc. So seeing you subjected to such behavior brings forth a rage he hasn’t felt since he saw his mother be decapitated. It’s a lot of anger. He might even need to stay out of the house for a few hours after he’s maimed the person, purely to calm down. It’ll be a bloodbath. Rest assured, they will not make it out unscathed.

The bells had gone off earlier that day, meaning Jason was out in the woods around Camp Crystal Lake, stalking whoever was stupid enough to visit. Your cabin was off the camp, up some paths mostly hidden by the woods, with a view of the same lake. It was the only finished building that had gotten done when some people tried to expand the camp, add more cabins. They of course, failed that task thanks to Jason. You had grown to fill up the time when Jason was gone with things like chores. It wasn’t necessarily fun, but it was better than lounging around, especially when the weather was nice. Not too hot or humid, warm with a breeze. Today, you decided to fix up the outside of the cabin. It was…well loved, so to speak. You’d been helping Jason make it nicer in your time with him. The tiny porch attached to the wooden home had a lot of chipping paint and the amount of splinters it’d given you was unmeasurable. So currently, you sanded parts, painted them, and while they were drying you’d move on. Simple!

Yeah, well, that was until some people in the trespassers decided to explore. It was a rather large group. Jason was currently occupied with another portion of them, he hadn’t seen the group of three young boys meandering their way up towards your house. Probably in their early twenties, fresh out of college. You were only doing some work. Dressed in something to keep heat off, but it wasn’t provocative in any way. Not that it would’ve mattered. You carried the can of paint off the porch and set it on the set of stairs, dipping the brush so you could begin on the railing. Enjoying the sound of breeze rustled trees and chirping wild birds. And then came a sharp whistle.

“Damn baby, nice ass!”

You nearly dropped the paintbrush at the sudden noise. You looked over your shoulder, seeing the three boys chuckle to themselves, motioning at you. It’d been a long time since you had to deal with something like this. That was part of the reason living with Jason was so nice, no one bothered you. Self sustained and independent without having to worry about walking home alone, or someone being in the backseat of your car, or having to change your outfit to avoid stares. As if it was the clothing that was the problem. Nervous nausea settled in your stomach as you tried to ignore them. They were going to die anyway, you didn’t have to be bothered by their comments. “Come on, sweet stuff, lemme show you a good time!” “You wanna make our trip worthwhile?”

The two voices made your shoulders tense. You exhaled shakily and reminded yourself to ignore it again. Maybe it was unconscious, but you glanced at the tree line, subtly hoping to see a stained hockey mask. You set the paintbrush in the can, deciding it might’ve been better to wait out this time wave of trespassers inside. The fact they were moving closer wasn’t helping. “C’mon, don’t be a bitch.” One of them laughed. You backed up onto the porch and looked behind them again. They saw your facial expression change, no longer tense and fearful, more bright and expectant. They followed your gaze. Adrenaline and terror shot through veins as they came to see the hulking figure or Jason Voorhees. You hugged yourself and gave your man a wave. “They tried to touch me, Jason. They also commented on my ass.” You replied. They looked between you and the new threat fearfully. Jason’s shoulders squared and the rage he felt radiated off him like heat from the sun. It prompted the three to run into trap filled woods. Jason stomped up to you first, making you smile. With the porch allowing for a less intense height difference, you leaned to kiss his mask. “I’m okay, just try to have them done before dark. I want to watch that movie with you.” You said softly. Jason gave a single nod and pressed the mouth of his mask against your temple. He then set off into the woods, utterly seething.

Bo Sinclair

Bo is admittedly a flirtatious man, but above that, he is extremely possessive. He’s not shy about it, he’ll say it outwardly. When dating him, you are his. Not in the way someone owns an object, he doesn’t want you to think of it that way, that’s not what he means by statements like that. He means that you’re his special person. You stand alone in a specific spot in his life and he doesn’t want anyone trying to shove you out of that.

Okay, that and he’s insecure, I can’t lie. Especially in the beginning of the relationship. Bo’s never been in a proper relationship, one where you’re both committed and emotionally vulnerable. He struggles a lot at first. So, when he feels he might be an inadequate partner, people trying to flirt with you upsets him.

Now that is a completely different case in catcalling, because that is NOT flirting. That is harassment. Harassment gets him angry for different reasons, obvious reasons. Bo might come across a little pushy here and there but he knows the importance of boundaries when it comes to it. He has the right to try and test what boundaries are okay to push and what you can compromise on. Bo’s your partner after all! Someone calling you sexy from across the street does not have that right, and the fact they’d try such a thing makes him livid.

Bo is an angry man. That’s just fact. If you hold him back, he’ll settle for shouting back while pulling you close to him. If they’re close enough and you don’t stop him? He’s whoopin’ ass. He’s a fighter, that’s just how he is, how he’s always been. He’ll break noses, send teeth flying, he might kill someone if it’s bad enough.

It wasn’t often that Bo took you out on the town, which wasn’t necessarily an issue, but it was still nice when he did it. He walked with his arm around your shoulders. Passing shops that he let you glance at, wondering when you’d pick one to go in, though he was content with just walking. You leaned into him slightly. It only took one glance at him to catch his slight smile that he was trying to fight. “Thank you for taking me out, again.” You said. He glanced down at you and nodded with a soft gaze. “‘Course baby.” He said quietly. You always liked when he was like this, a bit zoned out but happy, speaking gently and calm. He was so used to being rough & angry, seeing him at peace felt like a victory.

You glanced at a small bar and restaurant. “Are you hungry? We could get something to eat.” You said as you motioned to it. Bo opened his mouth to say something but you beat him to it. “Yes you can get a beer, but only because we’re walking.” He chuckled at your response. “Am I that predictable?” He asked while you crossed the street. “For me? Yes. For others? You’re as unpredictable as a Lester’s three AM conversation topics.” You replied, feeling warmth in your chest as he laughed, shaking his head. “Now that’s just plain nonsense, doll. Unpredictable and insane are two separate things.” He opened the door for you. “Yeah, but somehow you got both.” You teased back. The restaurant wasn’t too busy necessarily, but it was clearly well liked, the bar especially. You and Bo glanced at the drink menu hanging on the wall, though you already knew what kind of beer he liked. “Why don’t you find a spot, I gotta hit the bathroom.” He offered. You snorted with an eye roll. “Old man kidneys.” He gently flicked your nose in response, smiling still as he left you to find somewhere to sit.

You knew Bo didn’t like being in the center. He was more extroverted than Vincent, but he was far from social. He liked people he knew. He also hated being paranoid that someone could hear his conversations, even if they were innocent in nature. You stood for a moment, scanning empty tables, trying to pick one that would suit his comfort. He wouldn’t care either way, but you like accommodating him in these situations, it benefited you when he was comfortable. You spotted an empty two-seat table in a corner near a window. You decided to walk towards that, gaze mostly on the floor out of habit. It completely caught you off guard when someone let out a sharp whistle from the bar. It was sudden enough to make you look up and where it was coming from.

“Hey, sweetheart, why don’t’cha lemme buy you a drink?"

You tensed a bit at the comment, frowning uncomfortably. "Uh, no thank you." You said, raising a hand and shaking your head. The man clicked his tongue and scanned his eyes over your figure, making the sense of discomfort even worse. With an uneasy breath, you smoothed out your outfit and went to get the table again. You ignored the mutterings the drunken individual gave to his friend on the topic of your figure. You chose to stare out the window until Bo came back. The thought of Bo helped put you at ease, knowing he wasn't far and he'd never allow someone to hurt you. He made that clear many times. You gasped and jolted when a rough hand hit the table you sat at, making you turn, finding the man who offered you a drink leaning a bit too close. There was no fighting the face of disgust you felt at the heavy smell of a cheap whiskey, cheap whiskey always smelt terrible. "C'mon baby, let a man treat ya. What'cha want? Somethin' fruity? You don't look like a beer drinker."

The sleaze was slurring his words, he'd clearly been here a while. "No, really, I don't want anything. I'm just waiting for my husband to come back." Bo wasn't yet your husband or your fiance, but that's often what you used in your act back in Ambrose. It usually helped keep anyone wanting to push your luck with him or you, keeping them from flirting too heavily or outright assaulting either of you. The man scoffed and stumbled a little. He looked ready to fall over. "I don't see a ring. You lyin' to me?" He accused, making you shake your head quickly. Usually, you had a decoy ring, but since it was a tarnishable metal, you took it off when you had to shower or anything similar. You forgot it today of all days. Anxiety plagued your veins when he roughly grabbed your wrist, mouth open to speak. It didn't last long, however.

The drunk man hit the floor with a small gust of air and the resounding clap of a fist against a cheekbone. Bo stood with a clenched jaw, tense shoulders, and a sneer. If looks could kill, those baby blues would hit like a tank. Quickly, you stood and placed your hand on Bo's chest to prevent anything further, even if you wanted nothing more than to watch him break the stranger's face. His gaze turned to you. "He hurt ya?" You shook your head. "Mostly just gave me a headache from the smell of cheap booze and chewing tobacco. That's all." Bo sighed at your reassurance, but he kissed your forearm anyway, just in case the grip hurt you. "Let's go, I don't wanna deal with some drunken assholes makin' my baby uncomfortable." He instructed. It was impossible to not smile at the statement. He softened slightly at the kiss you placed on his cheek. "My hero." You said, smile genuine and tone teasing.

Vincent Sinclair

There aren't many scenarios you'd be put in with Vincent around when getting cat called. He prefers you stay in the house, and if not there, then in Ambrose. They don't like you being too far just in case something bad were to happen, cat calling and a plethora of other things are one of their biggest concerns regarding you. While they're sure Bo and/or Lester can keep you safe, he trusts himself the most with that responsibility.

That being said, if there is a case where you're cat called or harassed, it'll likely come from a visitor in Ambrose. It's not really surprising. Drifters come from all walks of life, it's bound to bring in a creep or two. Vincent is reluctant to let you help in their schemes, even if they're flattered and touched you'd be willing to. Really, it'd be Bo that encourages it. Which always puts Vincent on high alert when visitors come into Ambrose.

Vincent values you more than they can usually express thanks to their limited speech. However, he often pours how he feels into drawings or poems about you. He's a hardcore hopeless romantic, likes consuming the old classics in romantic literature, and tries to convey his adoration like that. They could never fathom being the type of guy that shouts at others across a street. He finds it both disgusting and tactless.

Now that becomes a whole new set of emotions when it becomes applied to you. Vincent may appear more composed and calm out of the three brothers, but he holds just as much murderous rage as the other two. He can be ruthless, and merciless. When someone is a threat to those they care about? There is no hesitation, he goes for the kill. There won't be any fanfare when the person who wronged you dies.

Vincent was always wary about you helping in the small town, kind-hearted southerners act that Bo & Lester pulled. But, you insisted you wanted to help and Bo made the point that it would help sell it all better. So, after a lot of convincing, he lamented. So, you fell into a routine with the other two brothers. Most days you still stayed inside the Sinclair home, where Vincent was most comfortable with you being. Filling time with chores or a hobby. Visitors really weren't all that common in Ambrose, which made sense, it wasn't even on the map anymore.

However, when Lester called in a visitor, Bo would ask you to head down to look busy in the town. Most of the time it was where you'd act like you were cleaning or carrying something around. Today was no different. Lester called in a group of four young men, probably in their college years, heading into town for the standard. A fanbelt. You left your chore of dirty dishes to clean the station, which was actually cleaning it, rather than faking it. Bo never properly thanked you for it but you knew he was grateful. Vincent would be somewhere nearby no doubt, they always watched you closely, wanting to ensure your safety 24/7. That was why you felt no fear when the new voices came from outside. You were certain you'd be safe. Either these men would die at the hand of Vincent's knives or they'd die with a blast from Bo's shotgun. You put on the sickeningly sweet fake smile that all customer service people had when the bell above the door rang. "Good morning! Welcome to Ambrose, what can I do for y'all?" You asked kindly. It was still a strange effect. Talking to people you knew were about to die, even if they weren't aware of it. Though it was now less disturbing and more so fascinating.

They meandered up to the small counter. "We're looking for an eighteen-inch fanbelt." One said. "Or ya know, your number would be just as good." You fought the urge to sneer in disgust. "Well, I think we can get you that fanbelt. We just got a few eighteen's in a few days back, just haven't hung them up yet. I can go get'em right now." You said in a cordial tone. Bo was up in the church. Vincent was somewhere, but you couldn't be sure where, if he was close enough to see what was happening. Admittedly, it was a bit nerve-racking to be basically alone with four men you didn't know. The young man's friend snickered and nudged him at your subtle rejection. "That's cool. When we get my car fixed, how bout we take you out somewhere?" He persisted.

You fought off an intense eye roll. "I'm taken, thank you. Let's just get you that fanbelt." You repeated, frowning when one of the strangers moved to block the entrance to behind the counter. "Well he ain't here, he doesn't have to know." The first one spoke. You let your frustration show on your face finally. "They would know because I'd tell them. I don't want anything to do with any of you, I'm taken. You can either pay for the fanbelt and leave, or you can leave empty-handed. Those are your options." You hissed, voice sharp and shoulders tensed up. "Ooo, fiesty. That's how you like'em, right Bryce?"

It was shockingly fast as it all happened. The main one, Bryce apparently, went to speak. But all that came out were blood-filled chokes as a long knife blade emerged from his esophagus. How none of them had seen Vincent approaching, you weren't sure. He always had a miraculous ability to sneak around silently, sometimes they used it to startle you, when in a playful mood. Unlike now, in which they used this ability to murder sadistically. You quickly ducked behind the counter as he went for the second one. Vincent was deceiving in his hobbies. You watched him delicately carve and smooth out details in wax, cautiously placed strokes of paint, lovingly and patiently creating artwork on sketch paper, canvas, and sometimes on your skin. Yet they were far from a delicate being. This proved it. You waited as a few guttural screams left the victims, followed by the squelching of muscle being pierced by steel.

You waited until you heard even boot steps come close to the counter. You lifted your chin to gaze up at the wax mask you came to adore, surrounded by long locks of black hair. He tilted his head slightly as he looked at you, leaned over the counter, hands a mess with blood. You gave a smile. "Thank you, love." You moved to stand on your knees and peck the forehead of his mask. They exhaled through their nose and gave a little nod. "We should get back home, Bo's gonna be real pissy when he sees the mess you made in his shop." You said fondly, making Vincent nod slowly.

Lester Sinclair

Lester is the most…”sane” out of the three brothers. That doesn’t mean he’s normal, but he plays it the best. Lester is the most likely to handle things like your average person, he goes into public more often, he’s the most extroverted. Etc etc.

He is also the least aggressive. Outwardly, at least. Lester will hesitate and stop himself from doing things like fighting people. He has the most restraint. However, this doesn’t mean he has any less rage than his brothers, it’s just better hidden. He can smile in the face of something that’s making him livid. It’s a little scary sometimes, just how well he’s able to fool others into thinking he’s not angry. When internally, he could be tearing them limb from limb.

One of Lester’s biggest rage triggers? The disrespect of those close to him. (In my pre-movie lore, it’s Victor’s treatment of Bo & Vincent that gets Lester to kill him.) He takes very seriously. He’ll approach most situations with the intent to diffuse or redirect attention. This doesn’t always work though, nor is it always it an option. Someone shouting something lewd at you from across the street will have Lester seeing red, even if he can hold off. In public, he knows better. He’s not as blatant as Bo, he gets into less trouble because of it, he knows not to start a physical fight because it draws to much attention. So he’ll lead you away and shield you. He’s not as confrontational.

But, this does not mean that he won’t act when given the opportunity. If he can manage to find the person off on their own, even if it’s months after the incident, they’ll be found mysteriously beaten beyond recognition. Without anything left but DNA samples to confirm who the body is. Or perhaps Lester will make them unrecognizable from the gore of the roadkill put. He will never bring them to his brothers because he doesn’t want them used in art. Even if Lester’s art isn’t anything like Vincent’s, he takes the concept of art very seriously. Someone who makes you uncomfortable, insecure, upset in any way? They are not worthy of art. And they most certainly aren’t worthy of breathing the same air you do, that’s how Lester feels. He doesn’t make a spectacle of it. But he is ruthless, in a way, it’s an art form in itself with just how meticulously he’ll tear them apart. Hence why his typical breezy demeanor can be so…misleading.

You and Lester didn’t often get a chance to go out on the town. It wasn’t a problem of distance from the city or a result of antisocial behavior. More often than not, it was just because Lester’s job could be taxing on the body. Lugging around dead animals wasn’t exactly easy. After all, some kinds of deer could weigh up to two-hundred pounds. Not to mention the mental aspect. Lester was an animal lover, even if fascinated by death. Picking up deer, birds, and wild rabbits didn’t bother him as much. But every once and a while, he’d come home and immediately seek you out for a hug, all because he had to put a deceased dog or kitten in the pile of corpses near Ambrose. He was a hard working man. Despite his energetic personality, he rarely had the energy for dates outside of the home, even if he tried to do so frequently. Regardless of you saying several times that you were fine with staying home.

Lester was an extrovert. He enjoyed social atmospheres, even if he didn’t go out of his way to talk to every individual he could. He liked focusing on you when out. Listening to you talk about whatever you wanted, occasionally joining in to give an opinion or extended rants about his own likes. He especially liked when you’d both land on a topic enjoyed between you two. He also enjoyed walking during Summer nights, passing busy bars and clubs, enjoying the lessened humidity and the hum of neon signs.

He wasn’t the most intimidating man, but just him being there tended to ensure you weren’t in any danger. He’d proven to you before that he was more than capable of keeping you safe. Aside from that, it was just helpful to not be walking alone in the dark. It often worked well! Though there were those occasional times where someone just didn’t seem to care. “Hey sweetheart, how bout you bring that nice ass over here and give daddy a better look at’cha!” The voice was slurred and masculine. Distant from across the street. At first, you and Lester didn’t even think it was aimed at you. So, though disgusted, you were particularly concerned and kept walking. Until the drunken man called out again. “Ay, I’m talkin’ to you! C’mon baby, ditch your pal and lemme show you a real lay!” He called again. Now it was abundantly clear he was talking to you. You felt Lester’s hand slightly tighten on your shoulder as his face fell.

It was always an odd effect when Lester’s face grew serious and upset. He tended to have a natural scowl when focused, but you were more used to him smiling. This face wasn’t like the one you’d see when he was wrapped up in a task. It seemed like a normal expression on first glance, not pleasant but not abnormal either. It was his eyes that made it so uncomfortable. Deadpan and intense, blue-like green suddenly so sharp it could pierce the air. Freakishly calm. You placed your hand over his which rested on your shoulder as Lester took the man’s physique & face into memory.

He wasn’t good with numbers or letters, but he was excellent at remembering faces. A useful skill. He stopped his stare down when you softly said his name however, face softening slightly. “Ignore him. We can just go home, he won’t try anything.” You reassured. Lester swallowed and glanced back at the drunken stranger. “Don’t mean he should get away with it. Bein’ so fuckin’ rude. Even my ma taught me better than that.” He huffed. “I know, but really, I’m okay. You’re okay. Let’s just enjoy the rest of tonight.” Your words got him to nod and walk a bit faster with you. But, he did not forget the moment, nor the man.

It was a week later when you were taking a momentary break from laundry to check the news that you were caught off guard. Folding one or Lester’s pyjama shirts, the anchor began speaking of a body found in Pearl River. The station wasn’t shy about stating the details.

“We just got information about the body of a man found in Pearl River. Uh, as you can see, there’s a lot of officers out there trying to get as much info as they can. We don’t know the identity of our victim, but we do know that he is a Caucasian male, estimated at about five foot eight. The cause of death has not been technically confirmed but the report includes a lot of injuries. About twenty eight stab wounds, broken ribs and a battered face. We can’t show it here but it’s safe to say that this man’s face is…well, it’s essentially just gone. We’re unclear when his body appeared in the river and so far a murder weapon has not been located.”

You blinked at the screen and slowly turned your head. Lester stood in his Lazy-Sunday clothes, which consisted of an old AC/DC shirt he stole from Bo as a teen and a pair of pyjama pants with small beetles & bees printed over them. Holding the a mug Vincent crafted out of clay, full of warm coffee. He leaned on the doorframe and kept a hand in his pocket, the other raising his drink so he could sip the caffeinated beverage, watching the screen with a familiar expression. “Lester.” He glanced over at you. “Would you happen to know anything about that man in the river?” Though your voice was quiet, he knew better. He smiled jovially. “Not a clue, but who knows,” he shrugged.

“Maybe he had it comin’ to him.”

Thomas Hewitt

Thomas adores you. I just have to make that clear. The fact you’re with him is something that always sends him for a loop, and he utterly adores your entire existence. This is why he takes protecting you very seriously. Be it from everyday things like the rain, a sickness, flying insects. Or be it from people. He’s protective, that’s no secret. It’s why he’s known as “the guard dog” of the Hewitt Family in a way. Not only is he big, imposing, and powerful, but he’s also got a strong sense of familial bond. When he loves something/someone enough to call them family, let alone call someone a lover, he’s going to defend them with his life.

Now, admittedly, the cat calling concept doesn’t work very well when we’re in the movie timeline. Fuller is deserted. There are very few people around to be creeps, which is a blessing and funnily enough a curse. Given those creeps would turn out to be steaks if they were around. So, for the sake of it, let’s say you’re with Thomas before the meat plant shuts down and when Fuller is still a working small town. In this case, there is no shortage of assholes willing to say the first thing that comes to mind. Take it from me, old Southerners, especially old Southern men, will not hold off saying they first thing that comes to mind. No matter how vulgar.

When someone makes a disrespectful comment about you, even if not shouted at you or intended for you to hear at all, if Thomas hears it, it’s going to be an issue. He thinks of you like a godsend. No matter how much of an asshole you may think you are or how chaotic your personality is. You are his angel, period. So when Thomas hears residents mutter lewd comments about you, that alone is enough to send him into a rage. He’s a calm man until certain buttons are pressed. The conundrum of being a gentle soul with anger issues is something Thomas understands well.

Now, Hell forbid someone make you uncomfortable by saying things like this to your face. And Heaven prohibit someone do something more than just a comment. The wrong set of words and actions can make Thomas revolt to murder, if he’s not stopped of course. That’s something you’ll have to do if you don’t want your sweetheart shot by police or thrown in a cell. He’ll still make it clear that you are to be respected. If he has to send that message by breaking an old man’s face? He will. (Oh, and while he won’t resolve to physical violence for Hoyt and/or Monty, he will still make them shit their pants in fear if they make such comments.)

Thomas hated going into town for anything other than work. Plain and simple, people were cruel, they always had been. It’s why it shocked everyone so much when word got out that Tommy got himself someone special. Hell, even Thomas himself was shocked when someone expressed interest in him. In all honesty, your flirting had gone right over his head, mistaken for plain kindness. Though, that alone got him to fall for you, so it worked out anyway. Victory was victory even if it didn’t go as planned. Luda Mae was very happy to learn that her baby had someone interested in him, even if the Hewitts were wary of anyone that wasn’t family. It wasn’t necessarily easy for you to gain their trust, and often times you wondered if you actually succeeded or not, but you managed to be placed in a spot somewhere in their family.

Luda wasn’t going to turn down your help either. When you offered to accompany Thomas for errands, she didn’t hesitate to accept. She wouldn’t admit it yet, but she was getting older, and the more she moved the more she was reminded of that fact. Thomas did heavy lifting jobs. You always insisting on helping, even if he could easily handle it on his own. Still, your presence was never unwelcome by him. He’d keep you at his side 24/7 if possible. He watched fondly as you went about checking your list of things you’d need to bring back. As well as keeping track of your budget. You bent slightly to grab something off a lower shelf in the store you both stood in, muttering right Thomas about the next aisle you’d be going to. Both you and him were alerted to your surroundings when a sharp whistle hit your ears.

You stood and looked towards the source behind you. Two men, roughly your age, maybe a few years younger than Thomas. They chuckled and nudged each other. Your face flushed with a mix of rage and embarrassment when you realized the whistle was directed at you, for your ass, presumably. You huffed as you dropped the item in the cart. “Hey Tommy, you outta send that piece of ass my way, I can show’em a good time!” One grinned. Naturally, you scowled, beyond repulsed. You shook your head and went to move away. However, Thomas didn’t, and that’s what prompted you to stop and look at him. His face showed nothing but disdain. A perfect depiction of wrath. A far departure from your usual blank faced but soft eyed man. “Thomas?” You whispered.

“What? That piss you off, freak? C’mon, Hewitt, you and I both know I can show your pretty lil doll a better time than you.” The young man pressed. You scoffed, only to have your expression drop when you saw Thomas leave his spot beside you. Approaching the vulgar idiots in large strides. It was something so quick, it almost gave you whiplash. Just three minutes ago, Thomas was gazing at you with the gentleness of cloud fluff as he helped you get things off shelves. Now you watched him begin to bludgeon the individual who felt it necessary to comment on your body. The cracking of bone, the clatter of flying teeth, and then dripping of blood. You watched in awe and, admittedly, some morbid fascination. Before it hit you that Thomas wasn’t going to stop on his own.

You approached quickly and placed your hands on Thomas’s shoulders, tugging slightly. “Thomas! Tommy, baby stop! You’ll kill him and then you’ll get in trouble!” You pleaded. He glanced up at you. “Just leave him, you’ve done enough damage.” He glanced at the boy, who was crying and incoherently groaning in pain, occasionally muttering a call for his mother. The brunet stood to his full hulking height. You exhaled in relief and hugged his arm, pulling him away. You rushed to get out of the store with your items before anyone noticed the bleeding man on the floor. Thomas held into some residual anger as you loaded Luda Mae’s truck. You both settled into the three seater cabin of the blue pick-up.

Thomas ground his molar teeth together as he picked at a seam in his pants. He jolted when he felt a careful peck on his cheek, just above his mask. He looked at you. Honestly, confused by your gentle smile. “Thank you, sweetheart. You defended me today.” Your tone made his chest clench. He nodded with an acknowledging hum. He felt better knowing you weren’t upset with him for his outburst, sighing in relief while you started the car. “Besides, I could get used to seeing you whoop ass for me. Since you look so sexy doing it.” You laughed at his sudden wide eyes and jolt at your comment, grinning at the blush it formed. He looked away from you but rested his hand on your thigh casually as you began driving.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

Are my parents and I the assholes for insinuating that my aunt and uncle's dog should be put down?

I (21F) hate one of my aunt and uncle's current dogs. They rescue old racing dogs and have done for like 15 years now. Their first two dogs I loved. First one was a bitch in both senses of the word, but she was funny and well behaved when it was important. Second one was a true gentle giant and a lovely boy. The second pair they've adopted though are a nightmare.

Alice, the current bitch they have, has suffered some form of trauma in her past. There are three years missing from her medical history and she's got some scars, so we'll never know exactly what happened but something did. She's a very nervous dog. She can be a sweetie, and they were making progress with her until they got the new one. Alice, however, does what more dominant dogs around her do, which has become a problem.

Enter Blue. Blue is genuinely dangerous. Blue snaps with no previous warning and tries to kill things. My family all know about dogs, this isn't us misreading his body language, he is giving no warning then going for the throat. He's taken a particular dislike to mum (who is usually a bit of a dog whisperer) and has got her in the hand a few times. Blue also tries to kill any dog who doesn't share his breed. We were in a restaurant, sitting outside, Blue saw a Beagle and before any of us could do anything he'd pulled my uncle backwards off of his chair and dragged him towards this poor dog. My uncle is a big man, 6" and not thin, so you can imagine the strength it took for Blue to drag him like a doll (the Beagle and owner got away DW).

I've disliked Blue for a while, but what made me actually hate him was that, when my aunt and uncle came to see us just after our own elderly dog had passed, Blue walked into our sitting room and pissed on the carpet. He's house trained and has never done this before. I think he was doing it territorially because he could smell that our dog was dead. I've never wanted to kick an animal before, but I did then and had to excuse myself before I caused a scene.

Cut to yesterday. We were in the pub having a family meal. Blue is muzzled now in public after the last restaurant incident. There was a family sitting across the room from us with a very little girl, 3 or 4 years old I'd say. She was looking at Alice and trying to get her attention from across the room. As her mum got up to take her to the toilet, the girl pointed at our table and asked to see the dogs. Her mum asked us if it was okay. My aunt agreed. The little girl came over. Alice immediately hid under the table.

My aunt was like "ooh sorry, she's shy, why don't you say hello to Blue".

Blues head pops up. The mum sees he's wearing a muzzle and tries to pull her daughter away from him but the kid was too quick and went to pat him on the head. He was super chill with it, pressed into her palm like he wanted harder pets, then with no warning growl, no tensed up body language, nothing, just lunges for the kid.

Obviously she's terrified. The mum is terrified and pulls her away. My uncle grabs hold of Blue's leash and my aunt is ineffectually going "oh no blue bad boy" over and over. My parents jumped up to help the mum and the little girl. I grabbed Alice so she couldn't start copying Blue. We all got kicked out of the pub.

We were standing on the street outside when my parents and I started laying into my aunt about how irresponsible that was. She is like "he'll never become accustomed to humans if he's locked away". Dad shouted that he doesn't get to maul someone to learn that lesson. She scoffed and said he had the muzzle. I said it takes one piece of brittle plastic before he gets put down. My aunt told us all to fuck off and stormed off in the opposite direction. My uncle took Alice from me and followed her.

My aunt made a passive aggressive series of Facebook posts about how all dogs deserve care, and how everyone lashes out when exposed to trauma, then blocked mum (only Facebook user in our house).

I don't think we're the assholes, but I know I'm very biased, because I genuinely hate that dog and would be quite happy to hear it had moved on, whether that be to a different home or the afterlife, I'm not picky.

So awta?

What are these acronyms?

[lovelettersforthedamned]

I just read this and 🥹🥹

https://www.tumblr.com/lovelettersforthedamned/736383346194694144/okay-this-request-might-be-a-little-specific-and

Could you do a part two?? Where Peter finally knows from her telling him because he’s still worried something is wrong between?

The Parkers

--genre: FLUFF, slight angst

--pairing: husband!tasm!peter parker x pregnant!wife!reader

--word count: 0.9k

--warnings: language, reader is pregnant, anxiety, one mention of nausea, FLUFF, peter loves his wife and her overthinking so much.

lowkey was waiting for someone to ask for a part two because i love this fic so much...

It was half past nine when you and Peter decided to head back home. The party was winding down, and after a cleaning up, May seemed like she was ready to hit the hay as well. With one last hug for everyone left in the living room, Peter leads you out the front door. 

As soon as the two of you stepped into the night, a shiver ran up both of your spines. A quick glance at each other signaled that it was absolutely freezing. Peter immediately pulls you into his side and starts to rub his hand along your arm at a fast pace, a simple attempt at trying to warm you up. You giggle at his action, looking up at him and his now rosy cheeks, admiring your husband. 

You must have not noticed how long you were silent, Peter broke it, “You sure you’re alright, bug?” Peter still thinks that there’s something wrong between the two of you. The thought was eating him alive as you’ve been silent the entire walk home. 

Your body tenses at his question, and with you still pulled into his side, he felt it too. May’s get-together was a good distraction from the very real situation you’ve found yourself in, and Peter's question brought back all the anxiety you felt earlier today. The hairs on his arms raised at the sudden nervousness radiating off of you. Even though your anxiety is urging him to speak, he allows you the time to respond. “Oh–um…Yeah, everything’s alright. I just need to talk to you about something,” your voice wavering, didn’t help either your or Peter’s feelings right now. 

Peter clears his throat, “Yeah, what’s going on?”

All of a sudden, you feel hot. Even a thin sheen of sweat appears on your brow, but the last thing you want is for Peter to let go of you. Your pace slows as you muster up the courage to tell him about everything, the test, the nausea, the conversation with Miriam, all of it. “Peter, I-I’m,” you take a sharp and deep breath, not daring to look anywhere but the pavement, “I’m pregnant.”

And still, with the words leaving the tightness of your throat, you still don’t feel any better. As you wait for any sort of response from Peter, you feel worse. 

You finally pry your eyes away from the gray cement and to the warm brown eyes of your husband. You two look at each other for a prolonged moment. You’re so nervous, but you can’t bear to pull yourself out of the trance of Peter’s eyes. 

You sigh, as you begin to speak, more like ramble, again, ��Fuck, I know I should have told you as soon as I found out this morning, but I was, still am, nervous. And I also know I have no reason to be nervous, especially around you, but everything about this scares the shit out of me, but it also makes me so excited? I just have a lot of emotions right now, and I don’t know how to–.”

You're quickly enveloped in a bone-crushing hug, Peter rocking you two back and forth. He lets go of you as he brings both of his hands up to your face, “I’m gonna be a dad?” 

His entire reaction throws you off guard as you look at his features, “Uh…yeah, Pete. You’re gonna be a dad.”

A little giggle leaves his mouth before he leans his head down to kiss you softly, but passionately. The tenseness in your shoulders dissolves as you kiss him back. You two probably look crazy to others walking or driving down the street, but neither of you cared for them. 

With one last peck, Peter pulls away from your lips with a wide smile on his face. He brushes a stray hair that fell into your face behind your ear as his eyebrows furrow, “Why were you so nervous baby?”

“I don’t know,” you start, “I know that we’ve talked about kids before, but now, it’s real and I didn’t know how you were going to react.”

“Oh, bug. I will always stand by you and with you through whatever life throws at us. This is pretty big, but I fully believe that you’re capable of amazing things like being a mother, and with me, raising a family. I love you so so much (Y/N). Forever and ever.”

Peter always can bring a tear to your eye just off the way he loves you. You never knew how much you could love someone until you met Peter, and you were silly for ever thinking that his love for you would dull due to something like this. 

“You know, Miriam caught onto me earlier today?”

He leads you into a casual stroll as he recoils in disbelief, “No way. You just found out, how could she know?”

You shrug, “Said she could ‘see it in my face’.”

Peter laughs, grabbing ahold of your hand, and giving it a soft squeeze, “Maybe she’s magic…You know, May said that she once knew if her patient’s baby was a boy or a girl. And she was right.”

“Well,” you look at your husband, “we know who we need to go to when one of us wants to buy a lottery ticket!”

--author's note: EEEKKK!!! YAY A PART TWOOOO!!!!! peter loves reader so much omg its sickening. i need to write dad!peter more bc damn, i need him. be sure to like, comment, and reblog if you love what you see. my asks/inbox is open to send requests!!! ok, bye ily<3333

[writethrough]

The Only Destination

(Billy Hargrove x Gender-Neutral Reader)

Synopsis: Sometimes you can’t stand all the noise and the people. You want to run and hide, but you don’t know where to go. Until you spot the one person who you’ll always run toward.

Warnings: Language, overstimulated/sound-sensitive Reader

Word Count: 1638

A/N: So, I definitely did not mean to go over a month without posting a fic, but the creative juices have been sparse. Thankfully, I think they're slowly coming back.

This started as a Shy!Reader fic and turned into this. And I didn't use pronouns (I think), but I use the word "perfume." Just an FYI. Hope you enjoy it! (Also, I can't remember what gifs I've used already, so I'm just going with my heart from now on.)

Moodboard by @steph-speaks

Rubbing your chest, you force yourself to keep your hand there and not travel to your throat. There are too many people around. They’d think you’re trying to hurt yourself instead of self-soothe.

You’re mostly on autopilot as you down the remainder of your drink. It seemed the normal thing to do as you search for somewhere with fewer people—less noise.

Someone walks past you a little too close, and you want nothing more than to scrape your nails down your arms to stop the breeze.

It’s so fucking crowded. As if everyone is placed in just the wrong spot. You have no privacy, no space where you can go and breathe.

The kids splashing in the pool, the grill sizzling, the laughter and talking, it’s too much.

Your last saving grace is to go inside and find a bathroom, flee to a confined space, and hope you don’t feel caged—until you spot Billy. And your feet move before your mind can fully process what you’re doing.

He’s sitting on the edge of a lounger, watching the kids even though they all know how to swim.

You’re squeezing your fingers, scratching the back of your hand unconsciously as you walk toward him.

He glances your way, looks back to the kids, then returns to you when he realizes who you are. His brow pinches once he sees your face and the shift in your eyes.

He doesn’t move, only waits for you to get to him. You stand there, lifting your lips into what you hope is a smile, but when he doesn't return it, you know it isn’t.

You're unsure what you want to do but know Billy’s where you need to be.

But he knows.

He slowly places a hand over yours, tilting his head to the lounger in a silent “sit.”

You do, grateful to not stand there, feeling like all eyes are on you.

You slide your fingers through his absentmindedly and tuck yourself into his side, just behind his back.

He tightens his grip, scanning you.

“You wanna go?” he asks quietly, ever so slightly hunching toward you, hiding you from the others.

You don’t know.

You don't know what you want, and you don’t know what to do. And it makes you wish you could shut your brain off, but it keeps going. And the only thing that you know is that Billy makes you feel a little better. Like you don’t wanna crawl out of your skin.

You put your other hand on your intertwined ones and press your mouth into his shoulder, needing to feel as much contact as possible.

“Okay,” he whispers into your temple. “I’m right here.”

His thumb grazes your knuckles.

You concentrate on it—the warmth of his skin and the remanence of smoke. You hate the smell, but right now, it’s entirely him. It pushes your frayed nerves aside and ironically lets you breathe easier.

After a few moments, you open your eyes—not realizing you closed them—and meet Billy’s.

You rest your forehead on his shoulder, slightly embarrassed by how you pushed yourself onto him.

You inhale deeply and let it out before sitting up, still close enough that your hips touch.

“What do you need?” He keeps his voice low. You can't express how much that means to you.

You're not as on edge as you were, the shouts and laughs don’t make you tense as much, but you know if you move it'll get worse. You just need a minute…

“Can we go somewhere? Just for a bit?” It finally feels right to speak, like the words won’t get stuck in your throat and hurt your ears.

“You good to move?”

You like how he doesn’t say “yes.” He gets to the point—listens to your words and body language. And when you nod, he leads you to the side of the house surrounded by trees. 

When you can’t see anyone and the voices are muffled enough, you wrap your arms around his waist and bury your face in his neck. His arms encircling your shoulders feel like a barrier between you and everything else.

You search for the dip of his spine, and your fingers twitch along it. The press of his cheek on your head comforts you.

He doesn’t sway or shift, only holds you with the steadiness you crave. 

And when you lift your head, he waits for your arms to loosen so his can, too.

You’re still touching each other as your eyes meet. Billy's hands are under your shoulder blades, yours on his ribs.

He waits, knowing too many questions will throw you back into that state. All you have to do is say the word, and he’d drive you home. He’d fill everyone in later and collect your stuff while you got in his car. He’d stay with you if you wanted, sit in your living room while you lay in bed, or stand together in your kitchen the rest of the day if it kept you grounded. Whatever you need.

You’re tracing the tattoo on his side without realizing it, and his chest clenches a little at how he's the one you sought out.

“Can we sit on the swing?” Your voice is slightly hoarse like you’re forcing it to stay hidden.

He glances toward the bench swing and nods when he knows no one’s there.

Again, he leads you, holding the swing steady so you can settle into the cushion first. As soon as he sits, you pull your legs underneath you and lean into his side.

You’re far enough away from everyone that they’d have to walk over to talk to you but close enough to watch as Will pushes Jonathan into the pool.

Billy’s arm is around your waist, hand secured on your hip. You rest your head on his shoulder, and he tilts his chin to whisper in your ear.

“Okay if I swing us?”

Slowly, you nod. And Billy gently rocks you both, waiting a few moments to see if you want him to stop. When you don’t say anything, he relaxes, kissing your head and keeping his lips there for a few moments longer.

It’s a gesture that makes you want to cry. You can feel the tears welling. If you focus on them, you know they’ll fall.

“Thank you.” Your meek tone makes him squeeze your hip.

“I’ve got you.”

—

You stayed there for almost an hour before you asked Billy if he could drive you home.

When you arrive, the thought of him leaving feels like one of your limbs is being ripped off. You want to hold yourself so you can try to keep your body intact.

But you don’t know how to ask him to stay. It’s like the words are stuck in your throat. So, you sit in his car for a moment. You can feel him looking at you. And you’re trying to force air into your lungs when he breaks the silence.

“Can I stay tonight?”

You nod, eyes soft in a way that tells him you’re still feeling like an exposed nerve.

Once you’re inside your apartment, you head straight into the shower. You’re not sure if you despise yourself or everyone at the party more, and you need to wash it all away.

Billy’s in your kitchen brewing you tea. Whether you drink it or not, holding the warm mug will comfort you.

He sets it on your nightstand. Then, strips himself of his shirt and shorts, climbing into your bed.

Yours is softer than his, and it smells like you. Whatever perfume you use always makes him a little dizzy—in the best way. 

There are photos scattered around. Some on your dresser and desk, one on each nightstand, and one peeking out of the top of the book you’re reading.

He opens it and smiles almost immediately.

It’s you and him at his birthday party. The first one he had since his mom left. You threw it for him. Surprised him and everything—cake, streamers, presents, the whole nine.

Jonathan took this one—among many others. You’re in Steve’s kitchen facing each other. Your hands are in mid-motion as you tell him a story, smile wide and eyes bright. And he’s grinning.

It’s obvious how he’s leaning closer to you—like you’re in your own bubble. And he’s happy he didn’t catch Jonathan taking the picture, or he’d have moved away. He would’ve pretended he wasn't enthralled by you. At that point, he didn’t realize what he felt for you.

You walk into the bedroom then. The smell of your shampoo drifting over.

Wordlessly, you settle into your side and sip your tea. You close your eyes for a moment. Breathe. Then place the mug back.

He’s about to ask you if it’s okay when you slip down and press yourself against him, wrapping your arms around his waist and pushing your face into his side.

He almost blushes. You’re so damn cute.

“Can you read to me?” you ask.

“I don’t read smut for free,” he teases.

You bury your nose in his side. “It’s not that.”

He chuckles, resting his arm around your shoulders and propping the book on his lap.

He reads five pages before you’re out.

When he realizes you’re asleep, he puts the book down and looks at you.

You’re so relaxed, eyelashes fluttering as you sink deeper and deeper.

He doesn’t know what he did to deserve your trust. By some miracle, you feel safe with him.

Maybe…Maybe he doesn’t have to turn out like Neil.

Carefully, he lays down, pulls you onto his chest, and buries his nose in your hair.

He could stay like this forever.

The longer he breathes you in, the more sure he becomes.

You’re it for him. And it’s time he tells you.

Taglist: @moonlightfountain, @steph-speaks, @bookshelf-dust, @nix-rose-q

If you’d like to be added to any taglists, please comment or message me with the character you’d like updates on.

[ruby-winchester24]

Craig Tucker headcanons!

{sfw+nsfw} {fem reader}

when you first met Craig your freshman year of high school you were put off by his “i don’t give a fuck” demeanor

but after getting to know him, you found out he was just a sweet kid with many walls

when you first started dating it came as a surprise to the school, that Craig wasn’t fully gay

Tweek was hurt at first to see his past lover move on but he decided to move on also

he is extremely territorial of you, he hates when other men try to talk to you

during football games he can’t stop staring at you on the sidelines in your cheerleading uniform

for homecoming week you wore his jersey for there homecoming game and he was smitten

pda is sometimes okay, he likes to hold your hand out waist when you walk

he is a secret admirer, even when you are dating he will sit there and admire your beauty

writes love notes to you for every month anniversary

since stripe passed away you guys got a new guinea pig and named him spot

his love language is physical touch, he loves holding you close

is super big on cuddles, every time you hang out there is a cuddle sesh

says i love you in the first month because he is smitten with you

plays with your hair

the first time you ever saw him cry is when you had your first fight,

it scared you at first because you have never seen him so vulnerable 

“the reason why i am upset is because they don’t have good intentions, they want to use you!”

“your the only person i love, i would give you the whole world if i could”

comforting him was a little bit of a struggle because you didn’t know how

when you cry it’s the same for him

he doesn’t know how to respond to your emotions

ok Fridays you and Craig’s gang hang out at Tolkien’s house because he rich, and they have a pool

you and Jimmy are besties 👯

he loves when he lays on your chest so you run your hands through his hair

is actually a very extroverted person when you get to know him better

6’3, fucker is tall

when he kisses you he holds your head with both of his hands on each side of your head

always updates you on what’s happening when your not in class together

“dude Cartman just swung at Kyle”

“ wtf why💀”

“because remember how we have a presentation about WWII?”

“yeah..?”

“well Cartmans presentation was about hitler being right about jews and shit like that and obvi pissed kyle off and he just swung out of nowhere and it was great”

“damn i wish i had history with you guys😭”

late night drives are very common for you, it’s when you can be alone and talk about anything

always kisses your neck or forehead

when you are stressed he will rub your back until you fall asleep

he loves movies and makes you watch them with him

is you do any activities, he is always there with a smile on your face watching your every move

for valentine’s day he gets you a huge bouquet of your favorite flowers and a poem he wrote for you

he sells vapes for easy money

gives you free ones if you want any

his family really likes you

his mom always tells you stories of when he was young, and you guys always gossip🤭

his dad thinks your a good match for his son

Tricia really likes you and asks to hang out with you guys all the time

Craig usually says no😞

your name for him in his phone is “Mrs Tucker🫶🏼”

will always listen to what you have to say he is more of a listener then anything

when he gives you a sweater of his or a stuffed animal, he sprays his cologne on it

he loves when you wear his hat he thinks it looks so cute on you

always tells you how beautiful you look, it is an everyday occurrence

he sees you being together for a long time in the future but he doesn’t want to say anything to jinx it

he really likes eye contact, it feels so sensual to him

tells you all about his hyper fixations, aka all the space facts he knows

always asks if you ate today

is extremely good at reading people and knows exactly when your upset

“hun what is wrong?”

“nothing is”

“yes, something made you upset your shoulders got tense”

“you know me too well”

his parents are pretty layed back so they let you have sleepovers

once his dad flipped you off and it scared the shit out of you because you thought you did something wrong

almost all the photos you have together, Craig’s flipping off the camera🤦🏽‍♀️

he really likes to lift it helps relieve stress

he has a photo of you in his car, locker, phone case and room

you made a scrapbook of all the things you have done together, it contains dried flowers, the love notes he gives you, pictures of you guys and special dates

he def listens to R&B

always play fights with you, he usually body slams you on the bed

when you facetime him he always puts spot on the phone so he can say hi to his mom

you babysit Tricia whenever his parents are away and Craig is busy

she loves you though so it’s always a win win

if you ever ask Craig to be in a Tiktok with you it always takes you begging him for 19 straight minutes

when he snaps you it’s always a photo of him doing this face 😐

he loves the simple things in life like taking a walk or a picnic with you

calls you Mrs Tucker in front of his friends

if anyone tries to flirt with you he will go psycho

he will rip that guy a new one and swing, and yes it’s happened before

he hums or taps his finger to a beat when concentrating

he loves music and has a collection of vinyl records

sometimes he will put on his Frank Sinatra vinyl and you guys will slow dance

NSFW!!

he is a dom 100%

low key a sadist, he is also very kinky (it’s always the quite ones)

he loves to see you a wimpering mess begging to be touched by him

his favorite is edging

to see you so excited about your release but then being able to take it away makes him feral

6’5 inches but he is pretty girthy

he loves toys, especially paddles

brat tamer all the way

if you have been bad he will bend you over his knee and make you count and say thank you after each spank

he is not lacking muscle, god no, his arms are very defined and he has a great v line and soft abs

is very rough during sex usually

if he is in a very romantic mood it will be slow and passionate

he loves to mark you up, especially on your thighs

loves degrading you,

“god your such a slut”

“you stupid whore, you like it when i fuck you senseless, yeah?”

“be quite slut, you don’t want to be punished, huh?”

loves face fucking

his favorite position is doggy style because he can pull your hair and arch your back

is very into bondage and always practices on you

when he does he makes sure to be careful the first time to make sure it’s safe, if he hurt you he would never forgive himself

nipple clamps are also one of his favorites and gags

he loves to see you tied up, a submissive mess, begging to cum

his favorite part about you is your boobs and stomach

loves to be called sir or daddy

when you first did he swore he almost died because of how hard he came

really likes to go raw, he loves how it feels and really likes to cum on your face

when you suck him off he holds your head so he can be in control

loves to give you head, usually overstimulates you on purpose

“p-please sir i c-can’t anymore!”

“yes you can, i need to taste you again”

aftercare is usually really sweet

he usually apologizes if he went to far or said something that hurt your feelings

will get you water and ibuprofen incase your sore

he will get you all cleaned up and dress you

holds you in his arms with a grip of steel

kisses your forehead and your lips

.

.

i really enjoyed writing this, and i’m always open to requests i love writing for you guys. i hope you enjoyed this❤️