#and having to realize and grief the same thing with the relationship with his father all at once at all | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fluorynn · 6 months

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✮⋆˙ 🩻 — 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 | 𝐥. 𝐬𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐲

✮⋆˙ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 : lo’ak 〤 omaticayan!reader

✮⋆˙ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 : in which 4 years have passed after the incident. Change was normal to occur, but so was loss and grievance within that change. Change was something that had occurred within the youngest Sully boy when the RDA returned, when he had to flee from home and leave you behind, when the incident happened. When the Sullys returned after two years, Lo’ak instantly seeked for you, yet you’ve noticed he had changed both for the better and worse, and sometimes, most days, it had become for the worst. You’d given him many warnings throughout the year, as both of you have now reached adulthood and have committed to a relationship that at first begun with the constant lovesickness for one another, never ending touches, stolen kisses, but that was when you were mere teenagers, and as time went by, as change and grief and war came upon you, your relationship took a shift. Harsher he became, more reckless, impulsive, ignorant, inconsiderate, yet he promised he’d change for you. After every act and word, he promised to search within himself, within the past to try and find the Lo’ak he once was, the proper mate you deserved soon, the Lo’ak who you adored with your entire soul. Yet if you were to be sincere, you knew that after all these major events that happened to Lo’ak and after the months of not seeing him, he would not be the same, especially after the loss of Neteyam. You wanted to hang onto the sliver of hope, of sanity for yourself, because Lo’ak had not been the only one to have lost something, someone, yet it seemed that everyone always excused him for his behavior, nobody cared, especially Lo’ak. He was constantly out flying, ‘on patrol’, never returning to the hideout the Omaticaya People still had to endure, and his excuses only became more and more unreasonable. His father said the boy’s just under a lot of pressure, Kiri said he’d come around, but Neytiri did not; while she too grief, she too experienced major changes, it did not give her son the excuse to treat you with such heartless behavior. You loved Lo’ak, and you loved him ultimately and beyond compare. You loved him too much however, to the point where it blinded you from seeing the harsh reality that this indeed was not your Lo’ak anymore. The strong substance your people had, he somehow always found a way to consume it, practically reek of it without his family knowing — and you didn’t dare ‘rat’ him out. He wasn’t yours anymore, and every ounce of pain, of grief, of sadness you felt for him soon disintegrated. He was supposed to be your boyfriend, he was supposed to be the one bound to be your mate when the time came. But now, it seemed that he wasn’t suitable for you, and while 14 year old you promised his 14 year old self to never leave, you realized now why promises wound up empty. Everyone reaches a breaking point, and you are now finally acting upon it.

✮⋆˙ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 / 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 : aged up!lo’ak, ANGST, 18+, thigh riding, fingering, grinding, mild kuru play?, overstimulation, soft!lo’ak, teasing, drinking/alcoholism — lo’ak’s insecure, stubborn, harsh and grieving still but masks it a bit well, reader is slightly sensitive, fed up w him, gives in to one more chance w him tho — italics in dialogue signifies they’re speaking Na’vi!

✮⋆˙ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : pretty long, lol

✮⋆˙ 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 : @bambithewriter @lilghostiequinni @pandoraslxna @avatarloverfrfr @strongheartneteyam @talanyra

✮⋆˙ author’s note : Just in my feelings rn, LMAO. Neteyam series prologue will be posted soon ( hopefully….I just want to make sure it’s good and there’s enough but not too much detail to give away what may happen in future chapters — it’s one of those things where I’ve written the following chapters just not the one I should have actually put time in😭 —) but just thought I’d drop this — Lo’ak lovers, rise up! I hope you like it! Please don’t hesitate to comment, reblogs are appreciated! <33

“Good. You are up here.” You aree met with his back facing you mere feet away, the unkempt pattern of his stripes and the tense rise of his shoulders is more than enough for you to know it is him, especially when knowing that this spot is the single one reserved for him. Lo'ak Sully was left in a state of utter bewilderment, a feeling he thought he had long surpassed. Over the years, he had honed and heightened each of his senses to such an extent that no ordinary being could startle him anymore. However, you were no ordinary being, and that was precisely what captivated him. Your ability to always bewilder and astonish him in unexpected ways kept him constantly alert and intrigued.

He gave a subtle glance to the object in his hold — a minor wooden cup filled to the brim with an alcoholic beverage — naer — one the Na’vi can smell before even spotting it for its scent is strong, vigor. At this point, there is no trying to hide or deny it from you. Even if he did try to throw it off the large branches he sat upon, the scent would be there, reeking around and on him. He had given you the vacant promise to back away from it, or very least try to yet make no effort in doing so. This drink that, while it tips one over for a bit of time, it also deprived feelings you could no longer do. Whatever had happened in his life, each burning drop down his throat and to his mind managed to fix for a minimum amount of time. Of course Lo’ak would not give this up — the opportunity to not feel anything to the bone.

“Your father said you did not show up for your training.” Your tone of voice was deficient of its common disappointment and despair, simply uttering as if you didn’t spare a care for it anymore.

“My father should learn to mind his own business and worry more about leading his People and fixing the damage done from the Sky People.” Lo’ak finally spoke, voice curt and Na’vi language gaining a thickness as he heard your subtle footsteps against branches. “I am not a child anymore.”

“You are right. You are not. But he is still your father, he worries for you. So does your mother.” You reminded him as if it were not known, reaching your spot next to his sitting frame only to see what you have already suspected in his hold, taking in his physical state.

“Yeah well, he shouldn’t. He has no reason to, and neither does she.” His quip made your lips squirm down but said nothing as you observed the drink in his hand, the way his ear flitted from his own words, from your words in adding onto that his mother worries. A quirk settled between your browline but held your tongue for you did not want to start some meaningless quarrel. But Lo’ak could feel the distaste radiating from you, how you’re fighting the urge to scold him for his incapability to uphold his fair share of promises. What he doesn’t understand is why have you not done so?

“You look very pretty. Sevin ( pretty ).” He softly stated.

A small smile was all to be offered — one filled with slight remorse. His legs had been dangling down the edge of the thick glowing lodge, and you pondered on doing the same as you have always done since you were children; swinging them above the small lake of water at the same pace he would, teasing him with a light nudge of your foot. But this time was different. Instead, you settle beside him, knees bent beneath you and slightly tilted your body towards him. Lo’ak’s blazing irises scrutinized you the way he typically does, recognizing the strain your shoulders formed, as if you were on edge because of him. So, he took one more small swig of the liquid before his face started inclining forward to plant a light kiss on your lips. One that was fleeting – everything tied or related to Lo’ak was always fleeting.

Lo’ak’s lips very often suffused your mind from thought, so incongruous from right and wrong.

One moment Lo’ak offered his physical affections and pretty words.

The next, not even a split moment, he was the cause of your suffering stars.

You now pondered where exactly this little act would land the both of you in.

You were the first to retract away from Lo’ak, not wanting to fall into his patterned act. The kind of act of loving Lo’ak too destructively that overflowed everything with a single touch, and tug you back into him.

“What iss wrong?” He inquired, dark brows quirking.

Your coils lightly sway at the head shake given, yet he knew before you could have a chance to verbally utter the lie. “Lying is not a good look for you.”

“I am not lying.” You were quick to snip out before you could contain your tone, palms pressing into your thighs that indicated the falseness of your words.

“Right.” His eyes rolled and bit, “There’s something you would like to say?”

You can’t help but blink a few times. This was an opening, to say what was in your chest. “Srane ( yes ).”

A hum of boredom rang through the air. “You could have just said that then. No need to take the hard way around.” His golden eyes were drawn to the liquid in his hold, watching its faint glow swirl with the light flick of his wrist, and you wondered just how far gone was he. Normally, Lo’ak would have some sort of facade going on, one that’s filled with his now dry jokes and teasing smiles despite the fact that the both of you knew it was just a show. Yet now, he was unfazed by your presence as he brought the cup to his lips, throat bobbing with the largest swings he took.

Perhaps if you were standing, you might’ve tipped over and fallen into the lake. He simply saw it written in bold letters right across your face. “I am not here to fight with you.” You quietly started.

“Then don’t.”

An exhale flared your cat-like nose at his crossed tone. “Okay, I will not but I am going to need you to drop whatever tone it is you are trying to achieve with me, Suli.” Lo’ak, despite the abrupt changes spiking in him, was still your Lo’ak, so when he heard your warning, his ears pinned down by the sides of his head and eyes strayed to the ground below as an act of regret. This gave you some sliver of hope.

Not necessarily did you want Lo’ak to be unstable or uncertain with himself, it made you quite content that he has grown into his fierceness. What was bothersome to you were his drastic changes, and it seemed what once went as two souls that twined perfectly for one another was now misplaced — your presence within his life was not necessary any longer. The intoxication he was constantly washed in came with a smell too strong for your liking, too nauseating, too overwhelming for your senses. Tears swelled up in your eyes, yet you contained them. “I had thought you were going to quit.”

“If we are speaking truthfully, I told you I would try.” He corrected, smug voice paired with a stupid smirk.

“Hm, and have you?” You retorted and his brows hitched beneath his two thin cascades of braids. “Have you tried to quit?”

“And you have got proof that I haven’t?” You despised this, despised the person he’d become, despise that he seemed to knew precisely what he was doing and didn’t give two fucks about it.

“Let us see — there is Kiri, there is Spider, oh there is even Tuk who tells me this!” Your voice carried a feign sweetness and surprise, watching how his brows crashed together with your sneered words. “This is the brother you wish for them to see? This is the person you want your future People to see, Lo’ak? Their possible future leader, the Tippling Olo’eyktan?”

“And what the hell is it to you, huh? We already know I am not suited to be Leader.” His spiking temper was one to shut you up, but you did not fail to notice the light lash his tail made. “You are not my mother, you are not Tsahik, and you are certainly not my mate. I do not need you worrying over me. And I do not need your constant annoying questions.” Your body shuddered, more so because of the harshness of his tone rather than the biting air. Your knees dug into the branch’s crippled surface, fingers winding into fists as your eyes quickly averted from him. Eywa was witness to the sensitivity you had gain over the years, the years Lo’ak happened to be in.

“It is not common for some warm body to ask this much from their future Olo’eyktan either.”

Lo’ak’s added on words striked you with force, causing you to physically and instinctively recoil from the sharp sting of it. The deep slice within your heart, cleanly tearing into two parts. Perhaps in some pieces, some hindsight, it could have been described as that if you did not add onto the fact that the both of you grew up together, the fact that he did not have the simplicity of courage to call you by the true title he once proudly uttered you as; his. His bound-to-be mate, his love.

“A warm body? That is all I am to you?” You questioned, and Lo’ak — rethinking whether his mistake was to tell you the definition of those words in human terms or perhaps the true, more common mistake he noticed that was clearly etched in his features — gained regret behind those lax-colored eyes of his. But it was masked, tightly trapped beneath this filthy portrayal of pride, egotistical, brash and reckless man. Not even a man, a boy.

“Lo’ak!”

Instead of giving you a proper answer, he threw you a side glance, one filled with provocation. The scoff emerging from your throat was inevitable, and you nodded. If this was how he wished to act, then fine. It will make the forthcoming situation much easier for you then. The only way to get through with this was if you treat him as if he was nothing to you. “We must speak.”

Push through the heartache, the pain, the way it tore you apart. You must start to truly see him for who he was in this present moment.

And what you saw was not your Lo’ak.

Lo’ak was listening, you could tell by how his ears slightly flitted up, but he said nothing. Simply awaiting for you to proceed as he took another sip.

“I…” You felt the affliction that tried clawing its way up your throat, your eyes fixating on the ground and you stayed quiet for a while.

“Just spill it already.”

“I have come to say goodbye, Lo’ak.” His slamming shock is beyond thrilling. You had been seeking for some, any type of sign that would prove Lo’ak’s care for you — and perhaps this was the answer; the high perch of his ears, the broadening of his eyes, the hitched breath. Nonetheless, it was too late. He had created his situation, and now he would have to accept the consequences.

“What do you mean g-goodbye?” He stammered, and the cup was now abandoned and falling to the ground that was far below the both of you.

“Ah, so now you can speak!”

“Enough,” he inhaled deeply. “And answer the question.” The audacity this skxawng had. You are firmer with your words “Srane. Goodbye, Lo’ak.”

“And where exactly are you going? And when exactly were you going to tell me?” He spat out in distaste and disapproval, body fully turning towards you.

“The Tipani Clan.” You responded with an edge of sass. “I am telling you right now, aren’t I?”

His response was immediate, loud and he shook his head despite your answer was to be expected, knowing that one of your deceased parents descended from there. “The Tipani Clan? What about—” He halted his sentence from speaking of himself, of how if you left, you would be tearing away a part of him and taking it with you. But fear of vulnerability halted him from doing so, so instead he dodged it. “What about your duties here? I thought you promised to be here for your People in case the Sky People returned. To help rebuild.”

“Lo’ak, I am telling you that I am leaving and all you care about speaking is duty? Are you serious?” He instead looked away from you, too stubborn to answer, so you said his name again. He ignored you.

“Lo’ak, fucking look at me.” It was the rarity of hearing you speak English and the vulgar word thrown in the mix that caught Lo’ak’s attention, gold orbs flickering towards you in an instant and you immediately notice the diversity of emotion pooling them.

“So all that matters to you, is my duty to the Omaticaya? For me to not be here as a fixer upper for them? You only care about that being broken instead of this? Is that the only thing that matters in that head of yours?”

No. The response was, should have been a fierce no. You were constantly, always in Lo’ak’s head. He yearned for you extravagantly, and besides staying alive for the sake of his family, you were one of the few things he could find himself caring for. There would be many cold and curt swears to never trust, to never care or love after losing someone who not only qualified as a good mate, but a loving one, is what Lo’ak thought, he knew it. If you left him — when you left him, he would be done with it, with the twinge of good, of hope. He would be completely shut off from ever seeking a mate to be bonded with under Eywa’s will, he would not care of continuing the legacy of his name despite him now being the only son. His heart, the heart you once saw as fearless and strong, would be guarded by much thicker, massive walls, and that small space left would only become constricted by the waves of his tears. While you were everything to him, you were not sufficient enough to spare him the grief. At least not alone.

While he has grown, while he has sculpted his abilities and became nearly as mighty as his big brother, under all that was still a broken, hurt boy filled with guilt. He could not allow himself to get rid of that part of himself. He could not shed enough tears to move past everything that happened, that he had seen and lost.

Lo’ak loved you, he is deeply in love with you. And perhaps another thing that has changed was that he could not depend everything on you. No one should carry the responsibility of one’s whole happiness. There is no fairness in that.

So instead he found need in other things, distractions despite it being selfish. He needed to fly because it could get him away from the ground and connect to the closest thing that felt like Neteyam, he needed to drown himself in that alcohol the Na’vi made because it drowned away all the pain and misery his family went through, the burden to try and add up to something, someone he will never be able to fill. But while he was engulfed himself in all that, he could pretend that his family was not broken. That it was the same, once happy family it once was 5 years ago. The one that still had Neteyam’s presence, the one that still had a father rather than a commanding leader. In this minor haven of numbness, he could still pretend that those once fond memories were fresh, remembered the way they were supposed to be reminisced. He could not just let it go.

Meanwhile, Lo’ak’s silence was tearing you apart, fragmenting your heart into pieces. But now you knew, you saw the truth. You could not keep a desperate grasp around old words and acts anymore, for now they were faint. Empty. Pointless gifts of a said courting that was going nowhere. Loving phrases and charming grins he more than knew could accomplish in capturing your heart.

But now it was clear as day that it meant nothing to Lo’ak. You meant nothing to Lo’ak. He did not love you as much as you loved him.

His throat cleared, and thickly spoke in English. “Your place is here, Y/N.” His eyes refused to meet yours, jaw narrowed enough to demonstrate he was clearly upset, though you’ are not certain why.

“It was.” The correction you gave his words finally made everything click. His gaze lingered on the lake’s neon glow before lifting to look at you, trying to catch your own. The pretty decorated braids that framed his face moved with the motion of his head slanting to the side. He repeated your word, squinting before shaking his head and more so whispering to himself, “You’re leaving.”

Sharply exhaling, you finally uttered, “I am also here to end things between us, Lo’ak.”

Again, he was bewildered, and the cut breath he released made it known. Eyes darted over each feature upon your face, as if trying to commit it all into his memory, panic slowly seeping within him. “Can … I can say something, right?” His tone still carried its infamous jeer, but you suppose that was the last you deserved. You were the first to engage in this conversation. When you grant him the permission to speak, he wasted no second in taking advantage of it.

“W-where’s this coming from?”

You’re more than certain more inquiries will follow, and one or two questions will satisfy his little interrogation.

“What’s the motive behind all this, huh? How long you’ve been planning this, to leave me?” Lo’ak’s voice was one that never faltered nowadays — he, much like his father, was a fierce speaker. You knew that Lo’ak did not like to be kept in the unknown, in hiding. But now his voice was rather meek. His once honed gaze turned rounder, emphasizing that he may cry. What you despised most in this moment, was that it unphased you. Before this, all the trouble and conflict spiking between you and your Lo’ak, his tears were your least favorite thing in this entire existence. Out of everyone, you once believed Lo’ak was the least of them all to deserve the brim of tears. That he deserved happiness. The sight of them always managed to tear you bit by bit with every fallen droplet, and now it hardly mattered. While you do still very much believe that he indeed deserved happiness, you have reached your limit. You have devastatingly accepted that you could not restore that happiness in Lo’ak.

“Few weeks. A month maybe.” You answered faintly. You use the best of your abilities to keep a firm composure. It would be miserable to cry, especially right then and there. Lo’ak stumbled through his repetition of your answer, dubiety twisting your features, mind and heart. You cannot seem to comprehend the sudden shift of his act. The authentic perplex and strain to recall what went wrong as if he never saw this coming from you.

“Whatever I did, I’m sorry, Y/N—” His long arms extended, touch reaching to collide with you, yet he reluctantly retracted back as if he had been scorched by some blazing flame of a barrier around you. He repeated his apology, scrambling to try and find whatever pieces he has broken and bring them back together while trying with all his strength to not lose his damn mind. “Lemme fix this — y-you have to let me fix this, okay?”

His voice is desperate, pleading, and it was as if he is speaking without wanting to hear reason. Lo’ak may not be known for his smartness, but he was clever with certain things. To you, Lo’ak was everything. But even so, that usual thick headed mind of his was unable to get himself out of this one.

“Y/N, we can — it’s fixable.” His head was repeatedly bobbing up and down, and it told you that perhaps you have brought him out of his drunken state. Brought him back to Pandora, at least for a split moment, you thought.

“I think it is too late now, ma Lo’ak.” His eyes shuttered and he let out a quivered exhale.

“Baby, don’t say that, please—” He reached for you again, this time pushing through the fear and on with it. He could not help the slightness of grimace upon him when his hands cut into your self-obtained space, and it was then that he realized why that burn had been a great protection for you.

Anxious, panic-stricken he was, digits winding around the bareness of your hips and wastes no second in tugging you upon his lap. “Please…just give me one more chance a-and let me fix this, yeah? Baby?”

The expanse of his palms quivered when they lifted to your cheeks, your own gripping the taut muscles of his shoulder blades to maintain your balance, to keep yourself steady from the plead within his green-speckled hues. The air surrounding Lo’ak reeked of that forsaken alcohol, entangled through his braids, the essence of his blue flesh, his accessories.

You take him in; the faint violet flushed beneath the sockets of his eyes, the drain that highly beseeched at you with every syllable tumbling from his cloying lips. “I’m….fuck.” His breathing was escalating; more turbulent, almost hysterical as he tried retaining every part of you inside of himself.

Without your willingness, you are gently moved, yet still, your form remained unyielding.

“There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you, and you know that.” His softly hushed words are right. You knew he meant them. While Lo’ak’s emotional avoidance over the last few years had been quite a lot, it did not make him exceedingly insensitive. He was full of many pretty words, but never once did he utter abundant words into existence without purpose. But what you only wished for was that he’d been able to say them sooner. Could have been swarmed with the realization and recognition of you before you had made it to the edge of the cliff above the depths. All that was left for you to do in order to escape was to take the act in plummeting. To end things with Lo’ak, to start anew with your own life.

It is unattainable, you arere more than convinced that this is the end of the path for the both of you. Even with that said forged in your mind, you nodded still. Purposeless it was to see him in this state of franticity and fear of the prospect of losing you burdening your heart. You may feel repentant later on, but you are to leave once this is finished, once this is over with and you would never return to the Omaticaya. Lo’ak was to be an experience of your past. He would hate you then, hate you for an eternity for what you were to do, but you knew he would be okay. What he needed was his family. To fix those cracks, to patch those injuries. To improve himself, Lo’ak must and will find a way to find his true self beneath all those layers of resentment and suffering.

That was all that ceased to matter.

“I can fix this? You’ll let me?” You nodded once more, but he did the opposite in an act of disapproval. “Nah, I need to hear it. Let me hear you.” His voice was glazed with true, raw pain, something you haven’t heard from him in such a long time. “Please, Y/N…”

“You can fix this, ma Lo’ak.”

“Y-you promise me that?” He questioned, and for a moment you faltered. It’d be much more deceiving for him to know you were lying. So you do not, and instead you let the tips of your four fingers stray to the nape of his neck and pull him into a kiss. And in this moment, you knew that you had never loved with such depth, such fervor with every fiber in your being.

You were aware that once you vanished from here, the fractures etched in your heart would scorch, ablaze to the point where you would feel every flicker and pain. With that being said, you poured it all into this one kiss, one that seized every ounce of respiration from his lungs. Vehementing it was. Vehementing you are, of course. His mind is nebulous; hazy, too fucked over — but you are here. In amidst the turmoil of an inner war, you. He loves you profoundly, and he knows you well. Well enough to know what the next day would bring. He knew why you were contributing to this, why you were granting him the belief that his pathetic attempt of resolution would be enough.

You love Lo’ak as well.

The thought of facing a day without your presence gracing his life churns his chest with a crushing sense of loss, the palpitating organ within bending and compressing as if some being had reached and tried bending it to their own taunting will. He must give you everything, he has to give you everything, risk it all, and perhaps it would be sufficient. This time it is Lo’ak who retreated from you, dark lashes fluttering against the warmth of your cheek while his eyes perused over your face just one more time.

“You know that no matter where you go, you’ll always be mine.” His words are not a question, more so a statement of persistence and certainty the both of you felt and knew deep within your bones.

“You do understand, yeah?” You could hardly form a verbal response, though you do not give him the opportunity to bask in his little glory, and instead your hands, the ones currently on his shoulders, slide to the beaded necklaces encasing his toned neck, fingers tangling through them. “If you are going to do something, get on with it.”

Lo’ak cannot help the soft smirk hoisting his cheek at your clipped tone and grumbles, “Impatient much?” Candidly speaking, this was perhaps the closest he was to being himself. That brilliant smile you haven’t seen in so long resisting the urge to be the prime focus of attention. A pity, really, for you.

“You still trust me?” He notices your indecisiveness. He does not give you time to respond for he soon adds on, “Like this?” and that almost immediately changes the answer. The adapted pads of his fingers graze down the dip of your neck and to the elegant line of your collarbone, peering down your figure. “Do you trust me enough to have you like this?”

Your chin slightly dips bashfully as you nod. His brows draw together and hisses in a breath. “I wanna hear you say it then. Make this easier for the both of us.” Your delicate beaded chest piece subtly heaves from the ascent your chest makes, and he could not help but laugh, eyes crescent-shaping with the sound, at your irritated voice.

“I trust you, Lo’ak.”

“Good.” he mutters softly beneath his breath while letting his hands fall and secure themselves to your hips.

Yes, good, you repeat the single word in your own mind.

“You’d give yourself to me right here, right now?” He question, and you stutter at this. It was not the upmost ideal thing, for this spot practically belonged to you and Lo’ak was perhaps the most reserved place within the Forest since you were children. But it was the Forest, and you never knew who from the People could be wandering around. The thought of someone stumbling upon you and the Olo’eyktan’s son out in the open petrified you.

Though it seemed your pussy thought otherwise and did not mind one bit of this idea.

“S-srane ( yes ).” Firm is your word, and it pleases Lo’ak. Muscle memory it became when his palms create a path upwards from your hips. Palms that hold such tenderness as they splay up your stomach, blunt nails beginning to faintly engrave themselves into the azure flesh of your waist, soon following your midsection to endearingly trace over the pretty stripes decorated there.

The strokes he causes make you squirm in his lap, body curling slightly to the side and your nose twitches cutely. “Lo’ak, enough—” your plea goes ignored once more by him.

“Do y’know how pretty you are?” Lo’ak’s words cause your heart to skip a rather large beat. Curse his idiotic mouth, curse him. Curse his abilities to have you melt with a single breath of his lungs.

“Our People always speak about the Great Mother’s beauties. Saying how she spent a great deal on Pandora,” You didn’t hesitate to listen, even despite the light acts created from his touch that have your abdomen twitching.

“But gosh, I think you’ve bested her.” He exhales almost breathlessly, as if the weight of his words are too grand and exquisite from being spoken to existence, to you. You see nothing but sincerity in his face, blinking rapidly when he taps your hip and utters, “Take it off now.”

His demand left no inch of a room for a disagreement, so without further hesitation, you hitch yourself a bit up while wobbly fingers perch down and into the weaves of your tewng, slipping the garment off. You more than know that when he meant to take it off, he meant to discard everything — such as your little chest piece. But almost as if it were a challenge, you do not. This draws a chuckle out of Lo’ak and you roll your eyes despite settling back down on his thigh.

His mouth moving hot against yours, and for a second your entire world stills, the remaining fragments of your heart plummeted, the wild fluttering as the single thing inside of you capable of sustaining life. Your ache, your beautiful, throbbing, lifelong ache dwindles for a moment as Lo’ak’s mouth meshes with yours. He kisses you fiercely, fingers brushing the lower swell of your breast, breathing existence back into your being, and it is then that you moaned lowly for him.

When he rips his mouth away from your own, it is when his fingers found their way down the dips of your stomach, outlining the lower section, soon curling around the upper muscle of your thighs to part them just a bit more, dragging two deftly fingers through the growing mess between.

“Even when that pretty head of yours wanna hate me, this body can’t resist me, hm?” He retracts his hand as he speaks, long enough to glide those two fingers between his lips, humming contently around them before pulling them out. They were profusely coated with his spit, making it such an effortless task to increase the mess worse. Its pads nudge back and forth between your slit, occasionally granting nurturing circles to your nub. Your mind is becoming warped within the lust, back to clutching onto his shoulders for steadiness.

Your nails puncture the muscles there with the longing to grind against something, anything. “You’re so damn wet, mamas.” The foreign nickname has force in tearing out a sharp gasp from your throat, and he huffs out a chuckle while absorbing all the moist sensation.

“ ‘m gonna have you all fucked up on my fingers, then some more with my dick, how does that sound?” The sensation of his dark plaits graze your cheek, lips adding on when they brush your flickering ear. “You want that, Y/N/N/?”

You could not do anything more than whine, allowing your hips to wind forward in hence to catch every languid swipe of his slim fingers against you. Your body quaking, head pummeling as you paddle near the pleasure.

Pleasure which you more than know was not healthy. It is as if adding a single aid to a severe wound. The following day, you will detest yourself to the core for giving into this thrilling temptation; the thrusts he gives your tightened cunt, the kisses shared between your swollen mouths, the caresses given to your skin, all of this would create much more difficulty for you to move on.

Lo’ak’s fingers waste no time in swatting against your swollen clit, pads of each digit rubbing gingerly over. Sensitive it is, every swipe causing your entire body to stutter.

You could feel more arousal oozing out of your cunt, adhering to Lo’ak’s constricting thigh. His flesh will be tainted with your slick, his dangling braids and pretty coils will be ruined with every slight tug given by the time you were done. Though he cannot not bring himself to care about it, he cannot let you go at this moment, he cannot not ever bring himself to do it.

The momentum of his overworked digits is lethal, you will be culminating in a matter or seconds. The hand currently entangled within Lo’ak’s hair suddenly disappear to slide down the base of his thick queue, fingers delicately curling around the sensitivity while you begin to subtly gyrate your hips forward, the stimulation becoming much more direct and effective.

Though the act made from your dainty touch causes his jaw to go slack, pupils engulfing the golden pools of his eyes as a soft hiss whispered from his mouth.

"Look at you go, baby…" Tongue peeks out just to glide over his honed incisors before teasingly reaching forward to lightly bite your pouting lower lip, gaze never tearing from yours, and you see it : everything is what you are to him.

The brimming of your orgasm deepen inside the center of your lower belly, spiraling bit by bit. “Hey, no, look at me, mamas.” His tone is low but beseeching, words practically breathing into you, directing you to obey his plea despite the violent desire to let your head slant back if it weren’t for another one of his pleas catching you, voice caressing the tethers of your soul.

“Please look at me, sevin. Lemme see you when you fall apart for me, yeah?” And it is then that you were reminded of your thoughts from earlier.

How fucking perilous Lo’ak’s mouth could be.

“Ma L-Lo’ak—” His name is uttered in a whine, clutch becoming firmer around the single braid of his as you compel yourself to remain in eye contact with the Sully son. He squirms yet does not reprove you and continues his work between your legs despite the building-up ache bulging between his own, three fingers dipping lower to gather more slick before adding it to his pattern against your throbbing clit.

“I-I’m close,” you huff out, and Lo’ak nods deliberately, the subtle movement of his pleading face mesmerizing you. “C’mon, lemme see it happen. Lemme see what I do to you, how good I make you feel, hm?”

"Hmm— L-Lo’ak, I am near, y-you are going to make me cum…" Perhaps you are nearly driven to tears when Lo’ak crane his neck forward again, though this time his lips peck over the pink contours of your scrunched nose first. Sweet, loving kisses falling over each star-like speck across your cheeks, beginning to create a path all over your face.

“You are doing so, so good for me. Always so fucking sweet to me." His breathy muttering ought you to look away abashed, flustered.

"You love the boy you knew, don't you?"

"You are not a boy anymore — y-you are grown, you are to be Olo’eyktan o-one day." You remind him curtly, words tumbling from your lips as you try focusing more towards your pleasure.

"Nah, no." His head shakes, the two braids aligned to each of his cheeks swaying from the motion. "Grown — Grown Lo’ak is very different from boy Lo’ak, isn't he?"

Your heart cannot help but falter at this, a muskiness kissing your waterline, blinding your senses as you stare at him solemnly. "I love every version of you, ma Lo’ak. I just love you."

Agitation suddenly crumbles his pretty features, and brokenly whispers, “Then why are you choosing to leave me?"

You truly do want to answer him despite the way your heart nearly plummets to your stomach, yet it is difficult to. His lips sweetly find their place over your face again, prickling your flesh as if pointed needles.

“L-Lo’ak." He merely hums at the low warning, nuzzling against your flushed cheekbone. "It’s okay, just go ahead mamas. I know."

"Cum for me, you've been so good, sevin. My pretty girl." Your chest heaves overwhelmingly, the tips of your ears flirting with each of the pretty, earnest words he reiterates, swelling the urge for you to sob. "Perfect and pretty. The only girl, my only babygirl."

And perhaps you will sob.

"All you have always done is take care of me, huh? But who takes care of you?" His working hand drags up, and the sudden act caused you to jolt. Lo’ak’s free arm and hand, however, waste no second in coiling around your midsection in order to keep you from moving away.

"Just wanna make it up to you, tìyawn. Just tell me that's what you want from me." He beseeches, nose nuzzling into the line of your trembling jaw.

“Y-yes, that is what I want, ma Lo’ak. Please, please, please. T-Take care of me — make me cum— make it up t-to me, Lo’ak, please." A moan rumbles in the center of your throat for Lo’ak feels it when his lips twist upwards into a wide grin. “Then do it — c’mon, cum for me, baby. Let it out…”

He did not need to instruct it twice for you come in an instant. It washes over with a moan, long and broken, your head seizing forward and into the crevice of said neck and broad shoulder. Damped lips are immediate to latch onto the future Olo’eyktan’s neck, biting, suckling, and softly licking the striped flesh, body quivering as you are thrown over the edge.

Your walls twitch around a vacant place, and Lo’ak kneads your abused nub through the aftershocks as the pearlescent proof of your release pools out of your cunt. "Fuuck, my pretty girl, doing so damn good for me." He croons sweetly, the long length of his lashing tail somehow finding its way to tenderly coil around the thigh clenched by his side.

You faintly feel the swift movements of his hands reaching down to fiddle with his own tewng, yet the dread is too heavy for you to react.

It is only then when you realize that Lo’ak was not stopping his tempting assault that you found the strength to peer hazily down at where your pussy and Lo’ak’s fingers met. He is still playing with you, flexing digits coating themselves in your sweet essence before ramming them right into your much sensitive hole.

He is immediate in starting at a brutal pace, so engrossed in searching for the spot that will have you squirting all over him.

"L-Lo’ak, Lo’ak, no w-wait, please— " Yet he has decided to not listen to your cries. Not even looking at your face, no, his gaze was enthralled with the way his fingers are digging you out, the way you swallow them whole, nearly becoming one with them.

"No, you must take it. You can take it.” He forewarns but your head is shaking in denial, a sob flying out your mouth. “K-Kehe ( no ). I-I can’t, m-ma Lo’ak—”

“But you can, baby. I know you can.” His brows furrow softly together, brushing against your browline as his forehead kisses yours. “And you know how I know that? Hmm?”

Stammers are the only that manage to form. “Because I know you, Y/N. I am the only one who knows you better.” He feeds you the answer he had been seeking for and your chin juts up and down. “Or am I not, mamas?”

“Y-yes, L-Lo’ak, it is you — just you.” A chuckle proudly spews from him. “And who knows this pretty pussy better than me?” Hips jerk forward, whining with a gasp at the harsh deepness of his digits. Your grip on his queue releases, palms scattering out and planting on each side of Lo’ak’s angular face as you keep his attention locked towards you.

“N-no one, ma Lo’ak. N-no one—”

Lo’ak nods firmly, “That’s what I thought, baby. Now, let me treat her the way she deserves to be treated, okay?” His mouth brushes over your lush one, yet didn’t necessarily grant you the yearn of a kiss. Not as he notices the subtle flash of upset striking your face.

“Just one more chance for tonight.” He adds after a pause. “You’ll let me have her for tonight, won’t you, Y/N?”

You whine shamelessly, “Y-yes, o-oh … P-please, Lo’ak—”

“That’s the Y/N I know,” His praise goes by tenderly while the act between your legs is entirely distinct, much more carving, exhilaratingly burning you. “My Y/N, my girl.”

Your pussy is well acquainted with the feel of Lo’ak’s touch, a rather hefty debate between said cock and fingers. Every single adapted ridge, divot, arch. Always, always taking him so well, so eagerly, prettily desperate for Lo’ak.

"You're so wet." He grunts, pupils dilating in awe from the brief yet sufficient enough glance given to the drenching mess. "Need you to tell me how it feels."

“So good, Lo-Lo’ak. You make me feel so, so good." Lo’ak likes you like this, all in a drunken daze, vocals all garbled up.

"You gonna cum, mamas?" You cannot even answer, not as your body actively chases every thrust. "I can feel you squeezing my fingers so good. Jeesh, you're so damn perfect." He rasps lovingly, "Love having you like this…you’re everything to me, you know that?”

The words are meant more to himself, yet you hear him all the same. “L-Lo’ak." you mutter though the tut his tongue makes keep you from proceeding, head shaking. “Shh, don’t say anything. I jus’ want you to cum for me, got it? Flood my shit.”

You feel every curl, every nudge his fingers gives the most sensitive spot within, your insides coiling, rattling all at once to the point where you nearly lose all feel of your lower body, all sense of the way your tail swivels, the way your limbs quiver. “Make a mess all over your Olo’eyktan, hm?”

The hand grasping your hip rises to press against the rising arch of your back, encouraging the pretty dip to take shape while your inner thighs clench around Lo’ak’s palm.

But the continuous push to your back flush you forward, thighs yanking open with the lankiness of his lower abdomen shoving between. The act causes his fingers to retreat from your weeping hole and knead them sloppily upward. The intensity of your subsequent climax comes in high waves when he slumps them back inside, pumping once, twice, three times all in one before he is pulling back to stimulate your pulsating clit.

White spasms of what can be compared to blazing stars overcome your vision, a shriek rippling from your hoarse throat while you drizzle your release all over Lo’ak, the hands once cradling his face dragging down to the length of his neck and jabbing your thumbs into the hollow of his constricting throat. Tears cascade down your glowing, flushed cheeks, a never ending streak assisted by the river flowing from your cunt — an enthralling combination that has Lo’ak feeling ecstatic.

"Mhm, that's it, baby. Just ride that shit out for me…that’s it, there you go." His encouragement has your body feeling dazed and spent as you lean forward to flush yourself against Lo’ak’s dampened chest, ear flickering at the rumbled sound he creates.

"You did so good for me." Lo’ak mutters into your other ear, mouth grazing the point of it. "So, so good." The length of his palm move to cradle the curve of your head as he feel the racketing your body creates, watching the sways your lovely tail creates before it nestles right beside his thigh.

"Your pussy's so perfect, made to take me, made to listen to me, isn’t that right?” You cannot help but to not answer from the embarrassment clutching at you, and instead nuzzle the tip of your nose over a glowing speck on his cobalt striped chest.

"Nga yawne lu oer ( I love you )." This is sincerely declared with a brush of a kiss to your head. "I do, I really, really do." He insists, and he cannot evict the sniffles following that scrunches his nose afterwards. "I am sorry, very sorry for the way I’ve acted."

You are too exhausted to create some sort of movement, but one thing that is for certain is that Lo’ak prefers it this way. It makes the act of speaking, of apologizing much easier for him.

"Damn, I really have been so selfish, haven’t i?” A deep furrow finds its way to your forehead at his self chastising, at the way he is combined, conflicted between uttering this to you or to himself. “You will still leave. You won’t be here anymore. This is really happening, isn’t it?”

Another stiff sound leaves Lo’ak, so meek, so lost before sweetly adding, “I promise I did try. For you, I really tried. F-for them — for my family. To be what they need— what you needed.” A sob strangles in his throat, mind nearly beginning to descend into that fogging darkness. “A-and I know it’s not an excuse, I know it’s been years but after we left, a-after Neteyam—”

Yet the gentle, secure entanglement of your arms pulls Lo’ak from that mindset, and he finds solace within this embrace, keeping him close, letting him feel and know that you are there.

“Q-quiet. Enough — do not do this to yourself.” You stammer out softly, a light kiss meeting his collarbone. “We still have one more chance, ma Lo’ak. One more chance within this night. One more chance to pretend that this is not our future, to pretend that everything is fine, yes? Do not waste it by recounting your regrets, okay?”

Lo’ak’s mind gear this over, and in there, and in his heart, he more than knows that he is never going to be able to bring himself to love with such force as the way he loves you. Yet still, even now he cannot express it in a good, healthy, proper way that you truly deserve. He will find a way to prove it, however. To show, to act, to live by it as if it was the very sole purpose of his life. Lo’ak will find the pieces of himself beneath all this tethered and tainted pain, and bring them together within himself in order to bring himself back to life.

Lo’ak would do it for you. For his family.

So you can learn to love him again.

But he will do it for himself as well inorder for him to learn to love himself again.

"Wipe your tears for right now, okay? I am still here. I am right here in front of you." Lo’ak’s firm arms surround your frame into a hold that is soothing, familiar, full of strength. It blossoms molten warmth within your chest, erupting an arsenal of emotions.

"Whatever you — whatever you wish to give I will take." you end meekly and Lo’ak is certain he has fallen for you all over again. Yes, his climb back to victory will be well worth it. For you to look at him one day, and to once again see him as the boy you loved, the man you will love, the man you admired so profoundly. It makes Lo’ak’s entire heart begin to tremble, along with the curves of his lips.

"Alright then, sevin. Just take a breather and rest for a while, yeah? Our night's just getting started."

︵ ✮⋆˙

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mrs-kmikaelson · 22 days

Text

Our Song and Dance⁶

Pairing: Finnick Odair x reader, Katniss Everdeen x platonic!reader Summary: You'd grown used to dancing the same dance over and over again, the victor's dance, but then you start dancing with Finnick Odair and you feel things you never thought you'd feel. So you let yourself enjoy the dance, even though you knew that every song inevitably came to an end. Warnings: mentions of torture, mentions of forced prostitution, exploitation of minors, suicidal thoughts, war, violence, murder, mind games, religious references, very complicated relationships, complex mental health issues, death, and grief Words: 12.8K

Masterlist | Series Soundtrack

a/n: ladies and gents, this is the moment you've waited for! (greatest showman reference, not excluding my enbys y'all). here it is! this is the end! just for clarity, anything in present tense means r is thinking (as always), and there's an additional a/n at the bottom. love u guys!!

When you were younger, you dreamed of being a storyteller. This wasn't your first time dwelling on that fact, but now you wondered if it'd be the last.

There was a saying your mother used to say, before your father died and she went mad. You reap what you sow. It was ironic how backwards it was in your life. First you were reaped, which then subsequently sowed the domino pieces to your fake life, all falling down to lead up to this moment.

Yes, backwards it was.

You'd barely gotten a wink of sleep before faraway booms were waking you up. You didn't flinch this time; you could tell they weren't close, but Finnick's hand on your shoulder still tightened, like he was reminding you that he was there if you so needed it.

"Mortal shells," Gale informed you, looking up at the basement's ceiling. "It's not ours. Peacekeepers must be shellin' the rebels outside of the city."

It surely didn't sound like it. Cressida must've came to the same conclusion because she soon piped up, "That's not outside the city."

Inside, then. They were inside the city.

That meant it was show time.

You separated yourself from Finnick without a word, going to prepare. In his mind, you must've just been so focused that you couldn't speak to him. In yours, it was that you were so unfocused that you wouldn't.

For the last eight years of your life, you'd been spinning stories with Finnick like there'd be no tomorrow, and now that was about to become a reality. That's why you couldn't speak to him. This was the last chapter, the last dance before the song came to a stop.

So you got ready, screwing arrowheads onto their shafts and strapping yourself with guns, moving slowly as if you were frozen in time with knowledge no one else had.

This was the end of your story.

This was the end of the song.

Music beat loudly in your ears, but it was quieted by the sound of beeping. Your eyes were drawn to a black box on the table in the corner, similar to the one you once watched Finnick from, now projecting a mandatory viewing. There was no fanfare this time, as if Snow was now realizing that there was no need to sugarcoat what was happening.

The rebels had already invaded the Capitol. If its citizen's didn't know the severity of the situation before, they sure did now.

Finnick lightly snorted behind you as Snow's face came onscreen, making you resist the urge to swat him and laugh. You wouldn't have been laughing at Snow, though—you were much too angry for that—just at the boy who still found the courage to laugh in such terrible times.

You'd miss that.

Snow began speaking right away. "To all Capitol citizens more than a half mile outside the city circle, I am announcing a mandatory evacuation." Your brows knitted together. What? A quick glance at Katniss told you that she was just as confused. "Come to my home," he beckoned. "I am promising you shelter and sanctuary. All refugees... come to my home. There, you will be provided with food, medicine, safety for your children... and you will have my solemn oath to protect you until my dying breath."

Cressida made a sarcastic quip that you didn't hear, like your head was underwater.

This doesn't feel right.

"Our enemy is not like us," he continued. "They do not share our values. They have never known our comfort and our sophistication."

Somewhere in all the muffledness you heard Finnick mutter, "No shit," but it barely registered. Your eyes were trained on the image as if it'd unravel and reveal something to you. You didn't know what there even was to reveal—everything was laid out in the open now.

So then why do I feel like something's hiding in plain sight?

"And they despise us for it. Make no mistake." Snow's voice was filled with certainty and a spite so sharp it could cut through flesh. "They are not coming to liberate us. They are coming to destroy our way of life. They are coming... to bury us." He put emphasis on his last words before the stream ended, his image cutting out with a flash.

What an interesting choice of words he used. Bury them. The people in 4 had been buried underneath rubble, so much so that you couldn't bury your own mother.

Katniss cut off your thoughts. "Is he still in the mansion?" You turned toward her, seeing her eyes already on you.

You had to clear your throat before you replied, "Yeah." You'd been in that God-awful room enough times to recognize it, even in your dreams.

She nodded absentmindedly. "Okay, where's that?"

Pointing to a map she pulled out, Cressida answered, "About five blocks away. We're right here, off the avenues." She pointed to another far-off spot. "Mansion's here."

You crossed your arms. That was a long distance. "What about the pods?" you questioned.

Cressida motioned to another part of the map. "Well, they'll probably deactivate the pods around here for the residents' safety."

"That could work." Katniss looked up at you, that same fire shining in her eyes that reminded you of her nickname. "We could get close enough."

That was the problem. You could get close enough—you could really do it.

But that felt too easy.

You didn't voice your doubts; Gale did. "Every Peacekeeper's gonna be waiting."

"Next to our faces on every billboard," Cressida cut in.

You shrugged. "Well, Snow's offering shelter to all the refugees." You could feel everyone's eyes dart to you, but you kept yours on Katniss. She understood your message right away. This was your shot.

You had to take it.

The two of you were in agreement and that's all that mattered. Nobody was going to stop you.

Katniss got up, and then after grabbing the last of your weapons, you were heading upstairs.

One shot. You had one shot.

The extravagancy of Tigris' shop was lost upon you as you threw on a large coat, listening to Cressida's directions. There would be thousands of refugees; all you had to do was join them and keep your head low.

She wished you good luck, and then you found yourself hugging this girl you'd barely known for more than a few days. But she gave you trust when you needed it, and you wouldn't ever forget it.

You knew you weren't gonna see any of these people ever again, so you might as well say goodbye.

You were halfway through thanking Tigris when Peeta's voice suddenly sounded. "Katniss, let me come with you, okay?" You saw her face fall out of the corner of your eye.

He wasn't asking; he was begging.

"I can be a good distraction. They- they know my face—"

She firmly cut him off. "No, I'm not losing you again."

"What if Peacekeepers are searching the houses?" Gale spoke up. Whether it was out of spite or concern, you couldn't tell. "And if he's captured—"

He barely got to finish his sentence before Peeta was hurriedly interrupting him. "Then give me a nightlock pill, okay? I'm not going back."

You inhaled a sharp breath. Unconsciously, your hand went to the side pocket you'd tucked your pill in. Peeta's words had reignited a fear in you that you thought you'd expelled, bringing back memories you didn't want to have at that specific moment.

Please- please, I don't want to play anymore.

You didn't know you had closed your eyes until you reopened them to Gale handing Peeta his nightlock pill. Katniss went to unlock his cuffs, and that's when you looked away, getting the feeling you were intruding on something private.

Instead your eyes went to the very person you were avoiding. You met Finnick's blue eyes easily. Pretty blue eyes the colour of the ocean, your favourite colour.

Your favourite person.

A smile crept onto your face without your knowing. This was exactly why you were supposed to be avoiding him, but as you watched your best friend with the boy she loved, disregarding everything just to say goodbye, you couldn't help but want to do the same. You knew you already said goodbye to him, but you were already running out of time; why waste what little of it you had left?

One last time, you told yourself, just one last time to drown in his ocean.

You made your way over to him across the room, and before you could even get a word out, he said, "I want to come with you, too." You opened your mouth to protest— "But I'm not gonna ask you to."

You furrowed your brows. "Wha—"

Finnick lazily draped an arm over your shoulder, yet at the same time there was nothing lazy about the action at all. That, coupled with him brushing strands of hair out of your face, made you go silent. He was quiet, too, just staring at you.

The way he was looking at you reminded you of the way he examined his surroundings in the Quell, trying to remember where everything was.

It was like he was trying to commit your face to memory.

After a moment, he explained, "I know you won't let me." Of course, you wouldn't.

You weren't gonna let him watch you die.

You sighed, "I'm sorry—"

With his voice as soft as silk, he chided, "Don't be sorry." His lips quirked upward while he caressed your hair. "Just come back to me in one piece so we can have that talk?"

You tried your best to reciprocate his smile. "I will." Liar.

Terrified that he'd see through your façade, you pulled him in, wounding your arms around him tightly. He held you just as tight. Only when your face was no longer in his view did you screw your eyes shut, willing yourself not to cry.

You'd stay like this forever if you could.

But you couldn't.

Behind you, someone cleared their throat, which meant your time was up. You had to go now.

Slowly, you unwrapped your arms from Finnick's body, wanting to hold onto him for as long you could. By the time you fully let go, you felt like something was missing. And there was.

Finnick Odair would always hold your heart in his hands.

You flashed him one last smile before you turned around. You wouldn't say you loved him before you left, and perhaps you'd regret that, but if you heard him say it back, you didn't know if you'd have the willpower to leave.

Déjà vu crashed into you like a tidal wave. You lived this moment before, saying goodbye then turning your back and walking away.

I'll see you at midnight?

Yeah, I'll see you at midnight.

You didn't see him at midnight. But you came back. It wasn't the same you that came back, but you did, eventually.

You came back before.

This time, you wouldn't.

You and Katniss set off, finding the crowd immediately. It was a sea of people, impossible to miss. You joined them easily; if you were tentative, you'd get caught, so you had to march with them like you belonged.

There were dozens of Peacekeepers lining the sides of the path. When you glanced up, you found even more on the balconies of buildings, which quickly made you duck your head back down.

If you so much as removed your hood, they could identify you. And you refused to die before Snow did first.

The two of you were silent as you moved forward. There was that feeling in your chest again, the feeling that you were supposed to be saying something, but if anybody recognized your voice, you'd both be as good as dead. Katniss must've felt that pressure, too, but she didn't speak up about it, either.

On a whim, you glanced up ahead of you. You immediately regretted it when a child's eyes locked on yours.

Shit.

She was clutching onto a woman's shoulder—her mother's, you assumed. You prayed that she was too young to recognize you or too tired to make the connection, but then her head lifted up and you knew it didn't matter.

She recognized you.

You glanced away from the kid before looking back. Her gaze didn't move but neither did her mouth.

She recognized you, but she wasn't going to say anything.

You were about to breathe a sigh of relief before Katniss tapped your arm, motioning ahead. Your eyes travelled to where she was gesturing, and you could've sworn your heart stopped.

Peacekeepers.

They were checking people. You wouldn't get past them and you both knew it, so you swiftly turned around without another word. Except they were behind you, too, sweeping through the crowd.

Fuck.

You turned forward again, your heart and your mind racing in tandem to find a way out of this. You don't know what you could've possibly come up with.

You don't even think you were breathing.

Your fingers were inching their way to the gun on your hip just as a hand went to your shoulder. But before either of you could do anything, a loud boom sounded, sending you to the ground.

People were shouting everywhere all at once, mixing in with the music so you couldn't hear a thing. Your ears rang but you could still hear someone bellow, "It's the rebels!"

You glanced backward, and their yell was proven correct. A mob of rebels marched forward in a line, shooting at every guard in white they saw.

Another explosion reverberated through the battlefield, making you cup your ears. You couldn't hold back the pained cry that left you.

You looked forward, your eyes finding the same little girl from earlier, her yellow coat now tainted with dirt. She was kneeling above her mother's body, screaming. Tears sparked in your eyes.

That girl's mother was dead.

But you couldn't end up like her.

Quickly, you gathered your bearing, ushering Katniss up. "Come on!" She was stagnant, but as soon as you pulled her up, she was back from wherever she'd gone to. And then the two of you were running.

You jumped behind a barricade, only stopping momentarily. There was a Peacekeeper lying on the ground in front of you. Good, you thought. You could use his gun.

You untangled the rifle from his hands, kicking him down when he started moving. Then you were running forward again.

You ran like never before, stopping only to check that Katniss was still with you. Explosions went off on your way, shaking the ground. Some were too close, but you kept running.

Whether it was your sheer will or the adrenaline pumping through your body, you couldn't stop, not when you were so close. The gate was in your view now. You pushed through the crowd, not caring if your hood fell off in the process. There was too much chaos for anyone to notice.

The people were restless, a robotic voice trying and failing to pacify them. You were so busy climbing up a tank, trying to get a better a look at the palace, that you barely caught it. The gates will open momentarily, it was saying. The children will be received first. Stay calm. Bring your children forward.

That... that didn't sound right.

No, it did. It did sound right. It was right to bring the children forward first.

And that's exactly why it sounded wrong.

President Snow had never cared about children—why would he start now? It was puzzling; it didn't make any sense. But you couldn't make sense of it. You're forgetting why you're here, Y/N.

You shook your head, trying to bring yourself back to your objectives and not watch as the Peacekeepers lifted children from their parents' arms, but then something else caught your attention.

Whirring.

Your eyes shot to the sky where there was a lone hovercraft flying, Panem's emblem painted onto the wings. Not one of yours.

The hovercraft flew by. You don't know what you could've possibly expected, but you certainly didn't expect for it to drop parachutes in its wake.

"Gifts from the Capitol!" someone cheered.

The pit in your stomach returned, no matter how hard you'd just tried to get rid of it. The parachutes fell like they were in slow motion. You couldn't tell if they were truly moving so slowly or if was just you.

The world seemed to stop. The dance seemed to stop. And then everything clicked.

But you were too late.

Your eyes widened. "No—"

BOOM.

You were thrown through the air, landing somewhere hard. The wind was knocked out of you. At first, you were choking on nothing until you finally gained the ability to wheeze. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes.

This time, you couldn't hear anything. No screams, no more shooting. No more music at all.

The music came to a screeching halt. The record didn't skip. It just stopped.

It occurred to you then that the fucking needle must've just scratched the vinyl, because the music restarted. But it wasn't the same.

You shot upward, coughing your lungs away and waving dust out of your face. You stumbled as you got up—that was a misstep.

Dancing, dancing, dancing, dancing—

Katniss.

Where's Katniss?

Frantically, your eyes darted everywhere. She wasn't beside you. She wasn't in front of you. You spun around, dancing, and she wasn't behind you either.

You wanted to scream her name, but you didn't. She's fine, you reassured yourself. She had to be fine—she was right next to you when the bombs went off. You just had to find her.

Your eyes scanned the scene in front of you, just now really looking at it. Bodies littered the ground, medics and Peacekeepers alike rushing to the wounded. So many wounded. You'd never seen so many bodies in one place.

You looked for a woman in a blue cloak among them. You didn't find her. But you did find someone else that was oddly familiar.

A blonde. A young blonde in a medic's uniform.

You know, I used to be jealous of you.

Jealous of me?

No, that couldn't be—

You have a family that really loves you, that beautiful sister of yours.

You blinked as if it'd make her disappear, but when you opened your eyes, she was still there, not a figment of your imagination at all. She was there.

And then she wasn't.

You had just opened your mouth, but the words died in your throat. "Prim—"

It all happened faster than you could register it.

You saw the flames first. Light travelled faster than sound. Then you heard it—the explosion. And then you felt it. You felt it more forcefully than any of the other ones, shockwaves rippling through your body.

And then you felt nothing.

The last time you awoke in the Capitol, you could feel that something bad was about to happen to you. Dread flowed through your veins like it was blood, infecting every part of you. It was as if a dark cloud hung over your head, a voice in your ear telling you to keep your eyes closed for as long as you could, to enjoy the rest while you still had it.

This time, your eyes fluttered open on their own accord. Your eyelids weren't as heavy. Your body wasn't as sore. But there was a still a weight on your chest.

The dread was still there.

Then the memories flooded back to you.

Bombs. And Primrose Everdeen.

No. You had to have been hallucinating.

With that thought, you blinked, suddenly becoming aware of your surroundings. The lights were fluorescent, but they weren't blinding like typical hospital lights—and there was an incessant beeping noise, but it wasn't very loud. You gathered that this wasn't a hospital room; it was more like a triage centre.

There was a shuffling to your right that you directed your attention to. It was a blonde woman tending to a sleeping brunette's wounds. You blinked again, and then you realized that brunette was Katniss.

You let out a sigh of relief. She was okay.

Your eyes then immediately flickered to the other presence in the room. Haymitch stood between yours and Katniss' beds. He was already looking at you.

You didn't greet him; the two of you were past that. "Is it—"

"Yes." He seemed to understand without any explanation. Your eyes fell shut for a moment then, taking it in, and he let you.

The war was over.

You won.

But this didn't feel like winning.

When you opened your eyes, Haymitch seemed to already know what you were thinking. That's what you liked about him: no nonsense, no bullshit, no trying to sugarcoat something that was so clearly sour. Just straight to the point.

"It was over after the Capitol dropped those bombs to defend the Palace. Rebels took it right after." He paused, eyes glossing over with a look you knew all too well. "Everybody felt it—Peacekeepers, Palace guards... kids. It was, uh... it was over after that."

You could remember that. The children reaching up in the air, trying to grab what they thought were gifts from their beloved Capitol. Bombs exploded in their faces. You wondered if they were strong enough to kill on impact.

You hoped they were.

Children crying for their parents. Parents crying for their children. All of the sounds melded together eventually.

But you won. You won, didn't you?

Didn't you?

He changed topics. You think it was too hard for him to talk about, too, and that was almost absurd. You never thought you'd see the day that Haymitch Abernathy shied away from anything, yet here you were.

"Your injuries are minor," he told you. "Damage is superficial. You got off unscathed." Did you? "They wanted to take you right to the Palace, but I figured you'd want to change your own clothes."

He said it casually, but the implication was there. That made you crack a smile, or at least the best smile you could give. "Thanks, H."

He nodded in acknowledgement but otherwise didn't mention it. The victors didn't talk about those sorts of things, not up until recently. You knew what happened to him, to his family, his girlfriend. And he always knew what was happening to you, but it was never spoken out loud. The things that happened in the dark were never meant to be brought under the spotlight.

So Finnick brought out the sun. And now, every secret, every body, and every monster under the bed was out in the open for everyone to see.

You just never thought the sun would burn so much.

Your gaze travelled over to the blonde woman, still at work, applying some type of ointment to Katniss' neck. She hadn't said a word.

You suddenly realized that you were staring at Carine Everdeen.

You looked back to Haymitch, then Carine, then back at him, a question lying silently in your eyes. You opened your mouth, but you didn't need to. Haymitch just nodded, a solemn countenance overtaking his face. At his confirmation, you felt yourself physically deflate.

You weren't hallucinating.

Prim was dead.

You sat there with that information for a bit, unknowing of what to do with it. Katniss' innocent little sister was dead, caught in the crossfire of a fight she should've never had to live through.

Katniss only ever volunteered to spare her sister.

And now she was dead, anyway.

She deserved to be acknowledged. You didn't know what to say, but she deserved the effort. Prim deserved the world.

Your voice was just barely above a whisper, hoarse from either the lack of use or remorse, perhaps both. "Mrs. Everdeen?"

Her hands paused mid-movement. She slowly turned around to look at you. Only, she wasn't looking at you. She wasn't really there.

You could count the number of times you spoke to Carine on one hand. It'd only ever been in passing, a hello here and there. She wasn't close with Katniss, therefore, she wasn't close with you. But right now, it didn't matter how close you were at all.

Somehow, everyone felt so faraway.

You swallowed. "I'm so sorry."

She was silent, but you could see every word she wasn't speaking in her eyes. Sadness, regret, anger, devastation. Grief. For a second, you could see her come back, but she was gone just as quickly as she reappeared.

"Me, too."

The ride from the triage centre to the Palace was all a blur. Somewhere in between everything, you got dressed into your own clothes, not the ones from 13. You briefly wondered how they got ahold of them.

Katniss was still there, sleeping. Maybe she woke up by now. You just needed to get out of there. Haymitch had told you that Finnick was en route, and you asked him to help you get out before he got there, to just tell him that they'd taken you to the Palace right away like they originally planned.

You didn't know why you did that, but you just knew you couldn't talk to him. Not yet.

They gave you a random room then left you there after you asked them to. You were sure they weren't supposed to do that, probably on Coin's orders, but the glare you sent them must've been real bad because they went scurrying out like mice.

You exhaled when they closed the door, finally alone. For a second, you felt like you could breathe again. And then you caught a glimpse of the bed and it was back to feeling like you were suffocating.

Crimson red sheets, gold accents. A ginormous velvet head board. A huge comforter that would likely warm you up— God, you were still so cold.

But you'd lied on a bed just like that before. And you were just as cold then, even with the warm body lying right next to you.

You cupped your mouth, knees buckling, but your other trembling hand grasped onto the chair right in front of you. You held onto that crest for dear life, simultaneously holding back a sob.

Calm down, Y/N. Just stop.

You were trying— you were fucking trying. But then your eyes zeroed in on items on the table in front of you. They blended in with the rest of the extravagant decor of this room, but once you saw them, it was all you could see.

A crown.

And a vase of fucking roses.

You screamed, letting go of the chair and throwing the vase the ground, not caring if any of the shards hit you. The crown was next. Then you were tumbling down to the ground, too.

The dam in your eyes broke, tears flooding down your cheeks with no sign of stopping. Sobs wracked through your body.

It hurt. It fucking hurt. Not your legs. Not your back. Not your ears. Your heart. You clawed at your chest relentlessly, pleading for the pain to go away.

"Please," you cried. "Please make it stop." You don't know who you were crying to. You hadn't prayed in ages— you didn't even know what you believed in anymore. All you knew was that you were on your knees, begging for any God to listen.

But nobody answered.

You might've sat on the floor of that room for hours—you truly didn't know. You cried until you didn't have tears anymore, until you were numb. You just sat there after that, staring at the ground, at the crown you threw.

So much power that a single object had over you. It was a mask. A contract. A lie. A trick painted in gold. Your legacy.

It was your fucking poison.

Heavy is the head that wears the crown, they said.

They didn't know the half of it.

After a while, you got sick of staring at it, forcing yourself up and immediately turning to the door. You were exhausted, sure, and you'd sleep eventually, but not on that bed.

You turned the knob on the door and shut it behind you, knowing it was unlikely that you'd return to it. You made your way through the Palace like it was second nature; you knew this place well. Dozens of parties and faux appearances would do that to you.

The Palace only held poor memories for you. Here, your life as a marionette began, and you hadn't known anything different since. What person would want to stay in a place like that, a place that symbolized the moment their life changed forever?

Getting reaped might've been when your life went downhill, but your life became Snow's the second you stepped into his home.

You found yourself pulling the French doors to the backyard open, wanting to feel a cold that didn't come from your own body. The ground was covered in a blanket of white that crunched beneath your feet. Only a thin jacket protected you from the air sharply licking your skin, but you welcomed the feeling.

You didn't know what you were doing, but when you saw two men guarding the Rose Garden, you couldn't help but be pulled to it, like you still had strings attached to your limbs.

You were just reaching the doors when one of the guards stepped in front of them, his hand out. "Sorry, Princess. Can't let you pass."

His statement caused you to intake a deep breath, whether it was from the actual statement itself or the name that so happened to spill from his lips. You had half a mind to argue with him—you weren't sure if you were in your right mind at all—until a familiar voice ordered, "Let her in."

You turned your head, seeing Paylor stood on the steps you had just walked down.

If you were in a better state of mind, you might've smiled.

"On my authority. She has a right to anything behind that door."

You didn't smile, but you settled for a nod. You weren't sure if your eyes translated correctly, but when she nodded back, you knew she received your message.

You weren't just thanking her for this.

Without another thought, you turned back to the garden. The guards opened the glass doors for you, letting you in. Immediately, your nostrils were flooded with the rich scent of earth. Green plants and bushes were everywhere, the most vibrant colour of green you'd ever seen in your life. You wondered if light hit differently in the Capitol, allowing people to see colours you didn't have back home.

Then you thought back to how people here had ignored the black tendrils engulfing the city for so long, and you realized that: yes, light must have hit differently here. It was impossible to ignore the darkness otherwise.

White roses were everywhere. It made you sick, but you stopped the bile from rising. There were so many. You used to wonder why Snow seemed so obsessed with flowers, why he wore them on his person at all times, but you supposed it was no secret anymore.

Help cover the scent of blood from sores in his mouth that will never heal.

Your eyes were trained on one of the roses when a voice cut through your daze. "That's a nice one."

Instantly, every part of your body stiffened, but you ignored every instinct screaming at you to spin around. You refused to give him the satisfaction.

"The colours are lovely, of course. But nothing says perfection like white."

Your jaw locked, and you made good effort to relax it before you turned around. Seeing him there with that smile on his face nearly made you crumble, but you stood tall, echoing, "Ironic, isn't it? How a man so tainted tries to fool the world with an illusion of purity."

His grin only widened. "I was hoping you would find your way here. I knew you would." You wanted to slap the grin off his face and strangle him until the smugness in his voice disappeared. Your hands clenched by your sides, and judging by the way his eyes twinkled, he saw.

He sat down on a ledge, musing, "You always were my greatest achievement."

The words were being spat from your mouth before you could stop them. "I am not your anything."

He tilted his head just ever so slightly, staring at you with pools of condescension as if telling you that wasn't true. It wasn't true, and he knew you knew it.

"I have a feeling your visit will be brief, so let's not waste our time, shall we?" You hated the way the word our rolled off his tongue, but you didn't show it on your face.

Snow cut himself off with a cough, bringing his handkerchief to his mouth. When he lowered it, it was spotted in blood. "Please offer my condolences to Ms. Everdeen about her sister." He tutted to himself. "So wasteful. So unnecessary."

You scoffed a humourless chuckle. "Really?"

"Why, yes, dear," he replied, shaking his head for effect. "Anyone could see the game was over by that point. In fact, I was just about to issue an official surrender when they released those parachutes."

A scowl crawled onto your face. "What the hell are you on about? You released those parachutes."

"You really think I gave the order?" He leaned forward in his seat, his eyes peering into your soul. You didn't once look away. "We both know I'm not above killing children. But I am not wasteful." He stressed the word like it was disgraceful to him. "I take life for... specific reasons. And there was no reason for me to destroy a pen full of Capitol children— none at all—"

He was cut off by another cough. It did little to disturb you; you were already disgusted from the moment he began talking. Every word he spoke was careful and calculated. Listening to him explain his rhyme and reason wasn't something you were interested in. What reason could he possibly have for what he'd done?

He took the lives of everyone he met. Every person you cared about had fallen victim to his schemes. Katniss. Johanna. Peeta. Finnick. He took your mother's life— he took your life.

There was nothing he could say to ever make you understand his perspective.

Once he stopped coughing and looked back up at you, the smile was right back on his face like it never left. "I must concede, it was a masterful move on Coin's part," he admitted. The second he uttered Coin's name, you tensed even more than you thought possible. Humour laced through his voice. "The idea that I was bombing our own helpless children to hold back the rebels... it turned the last of my guards against me. There was no resistance left inside the Capitol or the mansion." He leaned forward again, like he was letting you in on a little secret. "Do you know it aired live? There's a... particular savvy in that, isn't there?"

You were afraid that, if he kept talking, you wouldn't be able to hold back the bile in your throat. He's crazy. This was Coriolanus Snow, a man who rose to the top by knocking down anything or anyone that stood in his way. You couldn't trust a word that came out of his mouth.

Yet you were still compelled to listen to him.

The moment you met Coin flashed behind your eyes as you blinked. You felt the sensation of shaking her hand all over again. Every encounter you ever had with her ran through your mind.

You thought back to when you were in 2 and her and Commander Lyme disagreed.

You've been underground a long time, Madam Coin. This isn't like the rest of Panem. Support for the Capitol runs deep here.

Then there is no sacrifice too great.

Snow pulled you out of your trance. "I'm sure she wasn't gunning for that Everdeen girl, but... these things happen in war." It was as if he could see the gears in your head spinning out of control.

Spinning, spinning, spinning—

"My failure was in being so slow to grasp Coin's plan," he proclaimed. "She let the Capitol and the districts destroy one another, then she stepped in to take power with 13's arsenal. Oh, make no mistake." He chuckled. "She intends to take my place now."

Your skin was crawling. You felt the urge to rip it off.

Something about his smile became more harrowing, like he was placing down his final piece on the chess board. "But I've been watching you. And you watching me." You dug your nails into your skin. "I'm afraid we've both been played for fools."

No.

"You're lying." You didn't even sound convincing to yourself.

He tutted once more. "Y/N, my dear, I may have done many things, but have I ever once lied to you?"

You were gonna be sick. You turned around before he could see the tears gathering in your eyes.

This was over.

You went for the door, but just as you were about to knock on it and alert the guards, Snow stopped you in your tracks. "I see so much of myself in you, Y/N."

You felt your lips tremble, but not a single tear raced down your cheek. You didn't allow it.

Slowly, you turned around, your voice quiet but firm. "I am nothing like you," you avowed—to him and to yourself.

You didn't spend another second wasting your time looking at him, going to knock on the door as he broke into a fit of coughing. That coughing transformed into laughter.

Snow laughed maniacally as you left the garden and didn't stop. You could hear him laughing as you powered through his backyard, echoing in the empty space.

And even when you were back inside the Palace, his laugh still followed you.

You found a random hallway in the mansion, the first one that didn't remind you of anything, and you immediately went to the wall closest to you, leaning your forehead against it and inhaling a shaky breath.

Get your shit together, you scolded.

You already broke down once today. You didn't deserve another breakdown— no, you couldn't afford another breakdown. You needed time to think.

Did you believe Snow? Was this just his last way of fucking with you before he died, trying to get the last laugh by absolving himself of the blame? He had to know that he'd reached the end of the line, that he'd be dying at your hands.

He lost, and you won. The war was over—all that was left to do was kill him.

Katniss' voice suddenly rang through your head. This isn't right, she'd said, mourning the possibility of innocent life being lost before it even happened. You remembered your response to that, too.

It's fire catching, Everdeen.

A shiver ran through your body. Was this what fire catching looked like? Children dying. Hundreds of people with their lives forever altered—hundreds of people injured or killed by those bombs going off. Fire caught onto them.

This didn't feel like a win. Mulling over Snow's accusations in your head, it all made sense. There were no victors in an arena. You deluded yourself into thinking this was anything other than a game while Coin was playing her winning card.

You remembered what it was like in the arena, surviving off of ruthlessness, uncaring of what'd happen to anyone else as long as it meant you got to win.

But this wasn't meant to be a game.

I see so much of myself in you, Y/N.

You didn't want to be like that anymore. You didn't want to play anymore.

"Y/N?"

You turned around, being met with the Girl on Fire standing across from you on the other side of the hallway. That was the name Caesar gave her from her first Tribute Parade, but you no longer found it appropriate.

The Girl on Fire was the girl who volunteered in place of her sister.

The woman that stood in front of you now had her sister killed by the very thing that once defined her.

You made it a point to never call her that again.

Katniss Everdeen was her name. She was The Mockingjay. And somehow, she became your best friend. So then and there, as you stared at one another, you knew that you had to tell her what Snow said, regardless of what you believed.

Softly, you told her, "We have to talk."

Yet no matter how soft your voice was, you don't think anything could have ever softened the blow.

Katniss took you to her room, and there, you told her everything. When you were done explaining, she looked so empty but so full of so many emotions at the same time.

Do you believe it? she asked you.

I don't know, you responded. I don't know.

You sat there with her and gave her time to absorb it, not saying another word. The two of you sat there in silence until Gale came and fetched you, saying that Coin wanted to speak with you both.

You got up and left the room but closed the door on your way out. She wanted to talk to him—she needed to.

You were there waiting for her when she was done, and you pretended you didn't watch Gale leave the room with tears in his eyes.

Side by side, you walked to Snow's cabinet room with you leading the way. No one told you it'd be there, but you had a strong suspicion that that'd be Coin's choice. When you found two armed guards in front of the double doors, you were proven correct—and you didn't know why that unnverved you so much.

About 20 feet away from the doors, you held your arm out in front of Katniss, effectively stopping her. You had sat in silence with her for who knew how long, but now was one of those moments when you felt like you had to say something, and you were gonna take it before you got within earshot of those guards.

You stepped in front of her slightly so you could look at her, and for a moment, you lost your footing. It wasn't like you saw Katniss anything other than indifferent often, but this look struck you to the core.

Perhaps it was the thin line of her lips. Maybe it was the emptiness in her eyes, no emotion in sight. Or maybe it was how you felt like you were staring into a mirror.

But she deserved so much better than being you.

Katniss Everdeen deserved the justice you never had.

You didn't know how to say all of this, nor did you know if she was in the headspace to listen, so you made sure she was looking at you when you spoke. "Do what you have to do," you whispered.

She stared at you for a few seconds, empty, but in all the darkness of her eyes you could see a faint light shine. Clarity.

She understood.

She gave you a small nod, and then you were moving out of the way, finishing your walk to the conference room. You might've been vague, but you knew your point was received. Whatever she wanted to do from this point forward, you'd stand by it.

The ball was in her court now.

The men in front of the doors gave you short nods of acknowledgement before stoically opening the doors. When they did, you weren't met only with Coin. This was a room full of victors.

And even though you suspected they hadn't been chatty before you entered, they were now radio silent.

Your eyes immediately locked with Finnick's, and you would've exhaled if you weren't under the microscope. He's okay. He's okay, and you knew that already, Y/N. You knew he was okay, but being told that wasn't the same as seeing him in person.

You didn't think you'd get to see those blue eyes again.

But you were.

Finnick flashed you a soft smile. It wasn't his classic Finnick smile, the one he'd throw at cameras and crowds. He was visibly exhausted, but he still found it in himself to smile at you.

It was the least you could do to smile back, even if it wasn't as dazzling as his.

"What's this?" the brunette beside you questioned, knocking you out of your trance. Her voice was cold and detached, but you noticed something now that wasn't there before. Deep underneath that ice was red, hot anger.

From Coin's response, you doubted she caught it. "The remaining victors." She gestured to the table. "Won't you join us?" Behind her, Johanna held out her arms, too, a mocking smile on her face that would've made you laugh if you weren't so tired.

You followed Katniss' lead, taking the last two seats at the table while also taking a cursory glance of the room. Beetee, Enobaria, Haymitch, Johanna, Finnick, Peeta, and Annie. You frowned. She was supposed to be on her honeymoon, not back in the Capitol—probably never back in the Capitol. But she glanced at you and you smiled, anyway.

"I have invited you all here for several reasons, but first, I have an announcement." Both Coin's words and her tone of made you look back at her, but then something else caught your attention.

Even under the glare of all the chandeliers in the room, you could still see the glint in her eye.

"I have taken the burden and the honour of declaring myself interim President of Panem."

Oh, you could've laughed. Even though there wasn't a single thing funny about it.

You settled for narrowing your eyes; meanwhile, Haymitch scoffed. "Interim? Exactly how long is that interim?"

Coin's hands remained clasped on the table, and she didn't flinch. "We have no way of knowing for certain. But it's clear that the people are far too emotional right now to make a rational decision." Her voice was calm and collected, if not condescending. "We'll plan an election when the time is right."

You hummed, and even though she undoubtedly heard you, she ignored it.

"But I have called you here for a far more important vote." She finally look her hands off the table, leaning back. "A symbolic vote."

Everyone in this room is a symbol in some way, you thought, but you held your tongue. Symbols didn't mean much to people who had been turned into nothing more than just that, but the thought must've escaped her.

"This afternoon, we will execute Snow. Hundreds of his accomplices also await their deaths. Capitol officials, Peacekeepers, torturers, Gamemakers. But the danger is, once we begin, the rebels will not stop calling for retribution." Dread crept into your stomach. Whatever she was going to propose, you wouldn't like it. "Thirst for blood is a difficult urge to satisfy. So... I offer an alternative plan. Majority of five may approve it— no one may abstain." She gave you a pointed glance. "The proposal is this. In lieu of these barbaric executions, we hold a symbolic Hunger Games."

Somehow, the room got quieter.

You fought to keep your face impassive—though, you were unknowing if you succeeded. You could only hope that the years of pretending paid off.

In lieu? What the hell did that mean? She wanted to spare a horde of evil people in exchange for the lives of innocents? That didn't make any sense.

But then you realized, powerful people. It'd be sparing powerful people.

Johanna broke the silence with a laugh. It bounced off the decorated walls like rubber. "You wanna have another Hunger Games with— the Capitol's children?"

Peeta monotoned, "You're joking."

"Not in the slightest," Coin responded.

You glanced at Katniss. She was mute, just staring staring straight at Coin. They all might've thought she was in shock, grieving, but you knew the truth.

It was all falling into place for her.

Finnick let out a scoff. "Is this Plutarch's idea?"

If you didn't know any better, you would've thought the look on Coin's face was offense and not pride. "It was mine." There was another scoff in the room, probably from Haymitch that time. "It balances the need for revenge... with the least loss of human life."

The least loss of valuable of human life.

"You may cast your votes—"

"No," Peeta cut her off immediately, voting first. "No, obviously not. This is crazy."

"I think it's more than fair," Jo chimed in. "Snow's got a granddaugter. I say yes." You didn't judge her for that answer, even if you didn't agree with it. All of you had felt pain at the hands of the Capitol, but you couldn't possibly imagine condemning anyone else to the same fate.

Capitol children or not, they were still children. They weren't symbols; they were human. And you refused to join any line of thinking that said otherwise.

"So do I," Enobaria said, her red lips curving into a smile that made you remember when those lips were once coated in blood. "Let them have a taste of it."

"You guys, this way of thinking is what started these uprisings." Peeta's voice was incredulous.

Annie spoke up. "I vote no. With Peeta." Despite the decision in her tone, she cast a worried glance your way right after. Why haven't you said anything? her eyes read.

You looked away from them.

"No," Beetee voted. "We need to stop viewing each other as enemies."

Finally, the voice you were waiting for sparked. "You have to be kidding me right now." Finnick had a baffled smile on his face, and you had a feeling he was going to start saying a few choice words.

And you didn't know why just yet, but you couldn't let him.

Before he could get his vote in, you blurted, "Yes." His head immediately snapped to yours, and you felt instant regret when his eyes met yours. In the swirls of all the blue, you could see betrayal.

The bile that you worked so hard to suppress earlier was back rising, but you wouldn't let it leave. He had to understand. You had to make him understand.

You kept your eyes on his, no matter how sick it made you feel, pleading to him silently. His own words echoed through your head.

Please just trust me.

Trust you to do what?

I just need you to trust me, Y/N, please. Trust me.

You did. You trusted him, even when you didn't understand it at all, and now you were just begging him to return the favour.

You closed your for a brief second. Please just trust me, Finnick.

"Yes." Your eyes flew wide open to see him already looking at you. He maintained your stare before looking back to Coin. "You've got my yes, too."

He said yes. But really, he was saying so much more than that.

I trust you.

Coin nodded, disclosing, "It's down to Katniss and Haymitch." Majority of five. Only one of them had to say yes for her plan to take off, and you already knew which one of them it'd be.

Coin's eyes narrowed while Katniss remained expressionless, and in that moment, it was clear that The Hunger Games wasn't the one Coin was proposing. It was this, and President Coin was the Gamemaker and engineer behind it all. This was a game of cat and mouse.

Only Coin wasn't the cat.

After a beat of silence, Katniss finally spoke. "I get to kill Snow," she dictated.

A few pairs of eyes flitted to you, but you only focused on one of them. Coin glanced at you, and when you didn't object, she obliged, "Of course."

The room was back to silence, but your mind was anything but. What you heard were strings, brass, percussion, and a whole orchestra of instruments. A cacophony of noise and voices singing about a necklace of hope, only getting louder, and louder, and louder, and louder—

And then the beat dropped.

"Then I vote yes." That's five. For the first time since you entered the room, there was a crack in Katniss' voice. "For Prim."

That was nearly a warning, but if Coin caught the edge to her voice, she didn't say anything about it. You think she was so consumed by satisfaction that she wouldn't have been able to notice, anyway.

She turned her attention to Haymitch if not just to stay true to her words. No one may abstain. "Haymitch?"

Katniss and Haymitch shared a gaze for a few seconds, and then he looked to you, and to Finnick, before he was looking back to Coin. He didn't agree with this, but he still lied, "I'm with the, uh, Mockingjay."

Coin nodded, poorly stifling a smile. You wondered how anyone could smile at the news of a slaughter. "That carries the vote. Excellent. We'll announce The Games tonight after the execution."

And that was it. She got what she wanted. She won.

But as you glanced at Katniss to see the emptiness returning to her eyes, you had a feeling that wouldn't last very long.

Stylists brought you to your room and did your hair for you, taking the locks and forming them into the braided updo that the people had grown to love. It was a crown—that's why they liked it so much. You would've preferred to leave your hair as it was, but you compromised that you'd do the hair if they didn't make you wear that ridiculous costume.

Cinna was an impeccable designer, but if you could go forever without wearing that suit, it'd still be too soon.

On your way into your room, the stylists ignored the broken glass on the floor, stepping over it and sending each other looks that they thought were discreet. They weren't.

When they saw the crown lying on the floor, too, they didn't dare ask you to wear it.

They left soon after little small talk, though you didn't think they blamed you. You looked like shit before they got to fixing you up, making you look like you'd actually slept.

Your lips were no longer pale, coated in lipstick that didn't look like lipstick. You supposed the "natural" element was part of the Princess façade. They did something that made your cheeks look less hollow and more rosy, and they concealed the bags under your eyes pretty nicely.

Now, you looked like the Princess.

But she doesn't exist, a voice reminded you. She's not you.

You tilted your head at the woman in the mirror. She wasn't your reflection; she was a mirage. You didn't see yourself in any of it, but you didn't see yourself before they added all the glamour, either.

Who are you, Y/N?

You swore to yourself you'd find out.

After slipping on your coat, you left the room, promising never to see it again. You were walking to the front when you saw a woman in five inch heels and silvers tassles exiting a room, a big blonde wig on her head with sharp silver ticks pinned into it that looked like they could stab her if she fell the wrong way.

She glanced to the side and saw you before you could greet her, beating you to it. "Oh, Y/N!" A big grin came to her face as she marched her way over to you, heels clicking against the floor adamantly. You think she would've skipped if she could've.

Her arms wrapped themselves around your frame before you could even think about protesting. "How lovely it is to see you!" she exclaimed.

Your humour trumped your discomfort, making you laugh and reciprocate the hug. "Hi, Effie." When she pulled away, you were quick to cut to the chase, knowing she'd talk your ear off for ages if you gave her the chance. You nodded to the doors she walked out of. "Is Katniss in there?"

"Oh, yes— yes, dear!" She ushered you to the doors. "Go right ahead!"

"Thank you." Effie uttered something along the lines of 'no problem' before opening the doors and practically closing them within the same breath.

The smile that was on your face promptly dropped when you saw Katniss, looking no better than earlier, but you made quick work to bring it back. "Hey, Everdeen." You tried to make your voice light, but the heaviness in the air didn't dissipate.

She turned to you after just a second too long, almost like she hadn't heard you. A grimace crossed her face, but you could tell it was her attempt at a smile.

You stood there for a bit, keeping your hands at your sides. There wasn't much more to say—this was it. After this, you didn't know what'd happen. What would life even be like without being crushed by the Capitol's thumb? Would you go home? Did you even have one?

You didn't know how any of this would play out, but you did know that whatever ending Katniss wrote, it would likely end in the two of you separating. You'd both go home, and you'd no longer see the girl you got so used to. Realistically, you'd only been in close quarters for a month, but before that, you were isolated. Katniss helped you get acclimated with the revolution and gave you hope for a better world, and now you'd be going into it without her.

She wouldn't be at your side anymore, but you wanted her to know that you'd be standing behind her regardless.

In two strides, you were embracing her in your arms before you could think better of it. She froze, stiffening, and you were just about to let go and apologize when she engulfed you with the exact same fervour.

Your lips curved upward, and that time, it wasn't forced.

Eventually, you pulled back, resting your hands on her forearms. Her eyes didn't look so empty anymore.

You wanted to thank her for everything she'd done for you without knowing it, for saving your life in more ways than one. You wanted to tell her you loved her.

You opened your mouth, but she cut you off before you could even try. "I know." She nodded, the slighest quirk of her lips visible. "I know." Pause. "Me, too."

She knew. You didn't need to say it, and neither did she.

Things weren't okay—they probably wouldn't be for a while, but in that moment, you knew they'd get better one day, even if you wouldn't be around each other to see it.

You nodded back at her, and you squeezed her arms one last time, whispering, "Don't do anything I wouldn't do, Katniss."

And then you were letting her, walking away and leaving her alone while you still could. If you'd stayed any longer, you don't know if you would've left.

There was nothing left unsaid, and those were the best kinds of endings. But it was an ending, and that left you with bittersweet feelings you couldn't name.

Deep down, you knew you probably wouldn't see her again, and perhaps that was why you didn't meet the cars waiting for you at the front. If that was the last you saw her, you wanted that to be your last encounter.

And, so, your last memory of Katniss Everdeen was in that room.

The word revolution, in the least words possible, meant change. That's what'd been happening for months now, if not years, and your reality was on the cusp of being turned on its head.

Yes, things changed.

And yet some things never did.

West of the city, there was a big lake; you found yourself there when you were supposed to be watching Snow's execution. A certain part of you was disappointed that you wouldn't get to watch him die; it was all you wanted ever since you got to 13, your sole motivation for staying alive.

But the other part of you was relieved. He would die, yes, but he wouldn't see you again before he did. He wouldn't get another chance to exercise his power over you ever again. So instead of being there, you were here, watching the water.

It reminded you of home. Back in your days at the Capitol, you didn't get do much sight-seeing of the city. You'd be brought in for a day or two, really only for the nights, and then you'd be sent back by morning. But once you met Finnick, he started walking around with you, and some nights you'd end up here.

You'd stare at the lake together in silence. Back then, the water was as close to freedom as you'd ever get. You supposed that was one of the things that did change.

You were free now.

What does that mean?

You pondered over that question for a while. For so long, you dreamed of even just tasting freedom; the thought was unattainable for so long, but now it was in your hands and you didn't know what you'd do.

The war was over.

But it wasn't.

The fight was over for you, but that didn't mean it was over for anyone else. Homes were destroyed. People were dead, and even more people were left here just to grieve. The nation was broken.

What did that make you if you just went home and left things like this? Maybe you'd done enough. Maybe you should just go home and retire the crown, finally get the rest you'd been longing for. But you didn't want that.

Who are you, Y/N?

Maybe you could be more than Panem's Princess.

"Y/N."

You were startled by the call of your name, spinning around. When you were met with eyes that matched the water behind you, you were calmed down.

"Finnick." A smile graced his face, eliciting one from you like it was contagious. "Hi."

"Hi." So many words to say, and yet that was the only one that either of you said.

He walked up to you, turning his gaze to the lake, and just like old times, you did the same. Just like old times, the two of you stared out at the water without saying a thing. Just like old times, for a little while, you were just Y/N, and he was just Finnick.

And just like old times, all of that came to an end eventually.

"You weren't at the execution," he said at one point.

"No," you replied. "I wasn't."

"But you already know what happened." It was set up like a question, but it wasn't.

You turned to see him already looking at you. His eyes weren't angry; they were just curious. You quirked one side of your lips upward. "I had a feeling." Judging by his statement, your feeling was correct. Your lips quickly drooped downward. "Is—"

He nodded before you could finish. "Katniss is alright." A breath of relief left you. "Paylor's gonna pardon her eventually. She'll probably be taking over." That confirmed it.

Coin was dead. And Snow was, too.

When you got your bearings, you shrugged. "I'd vote for her." You might've said it just to bring some humour to the conversation, but it wasn't a joke. You had no doubts that Commander Paylor would lead the nation with courage.

Finnick chuckled, agreeing, but as soon as he stopped, the light disappeared, reminding you of the weight of the conversation you were about to have. You didn't think you'd even be alive to have it, but you were, and now there was no avoiding it.

He must've seen the shift in your demeanour. "Y/N—"

"I love you," you breathed, cutting him off. If you were gonna have this talk, then that was the way you needed to start it. "I love you, and I have loved you for years. I'm so happy that I get to say it out loud now, because I never thought I'd get to, but Finnick, I—" the quivering of your lips made you stop. Realization dawned on his face, and that made tears come to your eyes. "I don't think love is enough."

He stepped closer to you, grabbing your hands. You let him. "Y/N—"

A tear raced down your cheek. "I don't know who I am when I'm not pretending. I lost myself trying to love you," you confessed, more tears falling down your face, but in the blur, you could see tears in his eyes, too. "I need to find myself again. I'm not— I'm not in the right headspace for a relationship right now, and it wouldn't be fair to you to jump right into one like everything's okay." Your voice shook. "It wouldn't be fair to either of us."

You were just about to pull your hands away when he squeezed them tighter. "No, I can— I can wait."

Your chest tightened as you held back a sob. He was so frantically trying to hold onto you when he shouldn't have been. You shook your head. "No, you don't understand. I need to stay here— I need time—"

"I can give you time!" he exclaimed, his voice cracking, simultaneously cracking your heart. "I can stay here— I can wait. Y/N, I will wait forever for you if you need me to."

This time, the sob did leave you, and there was nothing you could do stop it. "You shouldn't have to! You should just go be happy—"

"I can't be happy without you," he argued, stepping even closer to you like his every action was begging you to see his perspective.

At his interruption, more sobs fell from your lips, and he promptly pulled you into his chest. Instinctually, your arms wrapped around his torso, and his hands went to your head, caressing your hair as you cried.

You cried, and cried, and cried, and he held you all through it, letting you soak his shirt with your tears. He held onto you tightly, and not just physically, either.

Finnick Odair would never let you go.

Never again.

Somewhere in the haze of it all, you calmed down. You don't remember when you did or what happened after that, but eventually, your eyes were fluttering open to a white ceiling. Your hands grasped at your surroundings, feeling linen scrunch beneath your fingertips.

You glanced to the side where a big window was, light shining in from the moon. You furrowed your brows. How long were you out—and where were you?

Slowly, you stood up, soreness hitting your body immediately. You held back a hiss. Sleep must've given the bruises time to marinate; you decided to ignore it.

You walked through what was clearly a bedroom and opened the door. It opened into a hallway; noise was coming from the left, so that's where you went.

You didn't know what exactly you were expecting when you reached the end of the hall, but it certainly wasn't Finnick in front of a stove, frying something out of view.

"Finnick?"

He turned around, eyes widening. "Oh, hey— let me just—" your brows raised as he turned back to the stove, picking up the pan and dropping its contents onto two plates on the counter. Eggs. You blinked, and memories flashed underneath your eyelids of scenes just like this one.

You didn't think you'd ever see him cooking again.

When you opened your eyes, he was back to facing you, a sheepish smile on his face that looked just a touch out of place. "Sorry, I was cooking us some food." He gestured behind him then added, "Since you can't."

You scoffed, almost like you hadn't just been bawling your eyes out, almost like you were back at home and everything was still fine. "Okay, first of all, screw you—" he let out a chuckle, "second of all, thank you. And third of all, where the hell are we right now?" Your eyes scanned the area; this wasn't a hotel room. It was an apartment. "Last I remember, we were at the lake."

"This used to be Cressida's old place," he explained. "Said we could crash here as long as we wanted. She doesn't really wanna be here either way."

"Oh." We. We could crash here, he said. You were brought back to reality. "Finnick—"

"Let's eat," he cut you off, an easygoing smile on his face. Easygoing, but not easy. You could see the nerves churning behind his expression, so with a sigh, you nodded, letting him lead you to the dinner table and pull out your chair.

You told yourself you did it for him. But really, you wanted to prolong this for a little while longer, too.

He put your plate and cutlery in front of you. You wondered how he managed to procure eggs that weren't expired, but you didn't ask him aloud. You just picked up your fork and started eating.

Whether it was your hunger or your desire to hold onto this, you stayed silent as you ate. You even caught Finnick eating slower than usual; he wanted to hold onto this, too. He was determined to do so.

You and Finnick did what you did best: you pretended. You pretended that you didn't just lose it and cry yourself to the point of passing out. You pretended that you didn't have to talk after this. You pretended that you were still living in the life you had before the Quell, eating dinner every night just like this. And in remembering those dinners, you pretended that you weren't pretending then, too.

But you couldn't pretend forever.

You finished your food first and waited for Finnick to finish his. He took his time, and you let him. You let him twiddle with his fork when he was done, and then you let him take your plates and wash them afterwards. And once they were on the drying rack and he had no more excuses, you stood up from your chair with reality ready to spill from your lips.

"Finnick—"

He took no more than second to get to you. "Please, just— hold on."

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath. "We can't avoid this forever."

"I know." Despite the shake in his voice, there was undeniable resolution in it. "And if... if what you said is really what you want, I'll give it to you." Out of sheer surprise, your eyes opened. The face you loved so much looked pained, but he still gave you a smile. This time, you could tell it wasn't real; it was purely for your sake. "There are countless things I need to apologize to you for, and I'd spend the rest of my life making it all up to you if you let me, but I'd do anything for you. So if what you want is for me to walk out that door right now, I'll do it." He swallowed, like he was scared out of his mind. "I just want to ask you one thing first."

The rational side of your mind screamed at you not to entertain it, to say no and get him to leave while you could both still bear it. He was willing to give you an out—that's what you wanted.

Was that what you wanted?

No, what you wanted was to feel better, and sometimes, Finnick did that, but other times, he did the exact opposite. Most times, the rational you corrected. Most times, he made you feel worse. But the happiness he gave you in those few times overrode everything else.

The other version of you, the one that remembered the good just as equally as the bad, nodded and gave him the greenlight.

He enveloped your hands in his, and the warmth made you realize just how cold you were. "Dance with me," he pleaded. "Dance with me and then decide."

No. Don't do it—

Transfixed by the way he was staring at you, you found yourself agreeing and ignoring your inner voice. "One dance," you told him.

The smile on his face became a grin. Real. This time, it was real. "That's all I'll ask," he promised. You took his word for it.

One last dance.

He led you to the open area between the kitchen and the living room, keeping your hands in his hold and pulling you closer. You rested your head on his, listening to his heart rattle against his ribcage. God, you missed that sound.

You missed this.

Finnick swayed you slowly to the music, nothing external or tangible, but the music you were dancing to was more real than any song you'd ever heard.

You realized now that the rational you was right. Finnick set his trap, and you lied in it. Because now that you remembered what this felt like, how could you willingly give it up? How could you ever leave?

The song might've been filled with heightening moments, and there might've been times when you just wanted to throw the damn record player into the wall, but it was your song.

And this was your dance.

Minutes passed before you pulled away. Finnick's hands immediately tightened on yours, and you squeezed them right back. You were pulling away, but the song wasn't over.

It wouldn't be over for a long time.

You warned him, "It's gonna be a lot of work, Finnick."

"I'm okay with that."

"We had a life back home— you had a life. I wouldn't be blaming you if you wanted to go back to it."

He was shaking his head before you were even done speaking, eyes earnestly poring into yours. "I'll build any life so long as it's with you."

You searched his eyes for any sign of doubt or lying but found none. When you were sure that you believed what he was saying, that he believed what he was saying, you released the smile you were holding back.

"Okay."

His eyes widened. "Okay?"

An involuntary giggle left you. "Yeah. Okay—" without warning, he picked you up and was twirling you around, making you squeal. "Finnick!"

Your laughs resounded throughout the apartment, and when he put you down, it was just to engulf you in his arms again. You wanted to kiss him, and he wanted to kiss you, but you'd have to work your way back up to that.

And eventually, you would.

No, your song wasn't over.

It was just restarting.

In district 12, Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark stood inside their home. They started to live together after some time had passed, and while they weren't a couple at that moment, they were still together. That was more than enough for the both of them.

Katniss chopped up vegetables for the dinner they'd be having later with Haymitch while Peeta read her a letter, addressed to them both. They didn't get mail often, not in 12, so they didn't know entirely what was happening with everyone else, but this letter informed them of all that they'd missed.

You'll be happy to hear that Katniss' mother has been training new medical units in the Capitol. Thanks to her, we'll be able to heal many more people at a much faster rate.

Gale has been promoted to a captain in district 2 to help keep order and security. He's doing well there.

Johanna has gone back to district 7 where she is taking the healing process one day at a time. She'll take as much time as she needs.

Annie and Julian are back in 4, along with Mags. They spend every day loving their son the way we all should've been loved, and it's a beautiful sight to see.

I am in the Capitol. I run a centre for children all over Panem who have lost their parents. One of the children has been staying with me personally for a while; she reminds me of you, Katniss. I'm thinking of adopting her.

Finnick has been here with me. We're happy together. One day, not any time soon, but some day, I'm gonna marry him, and the two of you better be there for the wedding.

We've all suffered so much. But we owe it to the memories of everyone we've lost to do our best with these lives.

I hope you're both finding some peace.

As Peeta read the last lines, Katniss smiled for the first time in a long time.

Sincerely,

Y/N

Taglist: @avoxrising @mxacegrey @littleshadow17 @lovelyteenagebeard @nasyanastya @catastrxblues @zodiyack @zulpix-blog @mushroomelephant @muggies @lantsovheiress @hobiebrowns-wife @notplutos @faeriepigeons @hnslchw @unholyhuntress @aclmagic @gloryekaterina @ayme301 @lem0ns77 @kisskittenn @onlyangel-444 @moonagedaydream505 @spderm4nnnn @satellitespeirs @glitzcute @iammirrorball @corpsebasil @forever-sleepy-sloth @omwtkydttfym @divinelovers @maggiecc @i-am-a-simp1 @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @nelliereadsstuff @how2besalty @dreaminglandsworld @eilaharmonia @catvader101 @lexa138 @h0neylemon @dakotali @hermionelove @theseerbetweenus @whosscruffylooking @yourdailymemedelivery @emma-andrea1 @s1lngwns @meenyminymoes-blog @roxi-reid @rattertatter @sunnybunnyy2 @just-levyy @amaranth-writing @jennaaaaaaaaaaaa @joshhutchersonisdaddy @my-name-is-baby @hehehe13356 @quazsz @chloecharms23 @darlingsoulbeautifulthoughts @thehairington86 @imaegonstargaryenswife0 @ment1tavoid @hereliesme @tayrae515 @mottergirl99 @blackdxggr @giverosespls @erindiggory @feyretopia @bibliosaurus @sleila @soursonnets @blackoutdays13 @lovelyteenagebeard @nj01 @0bsessedwithfictionalcharacters @marimba375 @willow-g-1 @blahablah2 @inatimate-icarus @shoebillcuicui @scoliobean @awritingtree @h-------n @yoonki-bored @miserablebl00d @iloubr @fairytales007 @beannnnnnnn @dominicfikexoxo @aclmagic @helaenaluvr @ravenmedows @bigdolldoeeyesgirl to all taglist members, tell me if you want to be added to my finnick taglist overall! thank you for reading my fic, and thank you for enjoying it enough to even ask to be on the taglist.

additional a/n: see what i did there at the end—our song and DANCE ;) you guys, this is it. the song is over (for us at least). i'm in a mix of like pride and sadness. this has quite literally taken a year to finish. it's one of my fav things i've written to date, and at one point, it was the only thing i was writing. to those of you that have stuck around to the end, thank you. i really hope u enjoyed the series and its ending! i'm thinking of writing little blurbs for this and whatnot if ur interested, all revolving around their journey. eventually, i'll post a list of canons ab y/n and where i think she ends up. once again, thank you all so much for your support. reading your comments has never failed to make me smile. i love you!! have a great day.

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nqueso-emergency · 26 days

Note

From a writer’s perspective, I just don’t see Buddie happening for the same reason I don’t see Eddie finding a LI that lasts anytime soon. Let me know if you agree.

To me, if the whole main cast is already paired up, it can get boring for the GA. There are so many sls you can do with a couple, much less if you have a main cast made only of couples. Having Buddie would, also, change the 118’s dynamic in a way I don’t think would be good.

Up until now Buck was the one they could play as the attractive bachelor, but I think it got old and the GA wanted him to find happiness and a solid partner for once and finally. I haven’t seen that sentiment towards Eddie (so far). Therefore - find Buck his happiness (Tommy) and have Eddie take on the role of bachelor of the 118.

I’ve been thinking this since the end of the season, but marketing pushing RG has made me think I could be somewhat right

You are right but a little wrong.

With the way Eddie's storyline was left at the end of season 7, it is obvious that the last thing Eddie needs is another LI. He's got issues with his past he will need to address before they even think of giving him a new LI.

You are correct in saying that about the main pairings and the way Buddie would change the dynamics. There are real firefighters and regulation managers on set. Sure, they understand it's television and certain belief must be suspended. However, they are sticklers for the rules.

This could be countered with the Bobby/Athena relationship. Just keep in mind that Athena is a Sargent and Bobby is a Captain so disobeying orders wouldn't be met with as much force as it would for two basic firefighters under the same house.

If Eddie or Buck got hurt, the other one would not be able to take part in helping them. They would be pulled off shift and then the 118 would be down two men.

They would have to separate them and then people would bitch about that too.

They part you're wrong about is Buck being a bachelor is boring to the general audience.

Buck, constantly struggling in relationships, was becoming boring for Oliver. He was dying to have Buck experienced domestic scenes and allowing his character to grow through a mature relationship that wasn't one-sided, like in season 1.

Something I'd like everyone to understand and keep in mind is this:

Yes, this is a procedural on network television. You are not going to get six year slow burns or the characters suddenly saying "fuck it" to protocol. (A secret relationship would be grounds for termination.)

Saying that, Tim and the writers are really drawn to representing their general audience and so far, they have.

Hen and Karen: Hen pursuing college after 40. Karen being a genius yet down to earth person. Lesbians. Cheating. Struggling with having children. Foster system. Adoption.

Maddie and Chim: Domestic violence. Second chance. Chim not thinking he's enough in previous relationships. Medical emergencies. Pregnancy. Therapy. Post-partum depression. New mom fears. Marriage. Miscommunication.

Bobby and Athena: Divorce. Betrayal. Alcoholic. Traumatic pasts. Lost fiancé. Lost family. Accepting love again. Support. Found family. House fire. Co-parenting. Recovery.

Eddie: PTSD. Army medic. Parent to special needs child. Single father. Repressed grief. Straight man unable to connect with woman. Anger issues.

Buck: Abandonment issues. Needs companship. Looking for happiness. Jealousy. Young. Sex addict. Rule breaker. Realized he was bisexual at 32.

Tommy: Came out late in life. Mysterious. Kind. Sarcastic. Defense mechanisms. Was forced to play a part of something he hates for most of his life. Army pilot.

It's important that the audience can see themselves in the characters they love.

#911 abc #anonymous

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turnnblurb · 4 months

Text

You’re The One I Want

pairing - Rhett Abbott x OC (Odelia Graves)

wc - 4k

warnings - mentions of death, talks of sex, tobacco use, emotional abuse, religion, eventual smut

synopsis - Odelia Graves has never been the first pick in anything until she rekindles her relationship with her childhood friend Rhett Abbott.

notes - I am such a sucker for childhood friends to strangers to lovers. Thank you for reading!!! Love you, mean it!!

Loneliness was a common word around Amelia County. Uttered expression of it would earn someone a polite, but disingenuous, bless your heart. It was an emotion that Odelia Graves felt more often than not.

She found it hard to recall a moment in her life that was inhabited by human nature and warmth, those were buried only in the years before her mother’s passing. Bless your hearts.

Those three words were thrown at the Graves sisters for years. Eventually, the population of Wabang found themselves too enchanted with their own indulgences to bless the hearts of the grieving family any longer.

The oldest Graves, Anna Mae, was a degreed nurse at Wabang General. Sophisticated and damn good with a needle and stitch, what did she need the blessings for? Layla, the second born, seemed to be having her fun with her bull riders and bonfires. Nothing like a distraction to swallow down the big pill of grief. The youngest, Daisy, had to be the most well-mannered sixteen year old girl to grace the small town. No blessings needed there.

Odelia fit somewhere in there, she herself just wasn’t sure where. Third born, not exactly the middle, but not first or last. It was more beneficial to the town for them to disregard the daughter that was a spitting image of her slain mother. Better to forget the unsolved case than to dwell on how her daughter’s amber red hair matched her own at that age.

She was sure that if her father could still open his eyes he would even look right through her.

Earl Graves, once the best nine-ball shooter to step foot into The Handsome Gambler, was now being kept alive with machinery on the second floor of the family’s home. Odelia didn’t truly believe someone could be killed by heartbreak before her mother’s death. She knew now that if the sheriff hadn’t knocked on their door into the late hours of the night to personally deliver the dreadful news, her father would be tending to their cattle. Not a lifeless bag of bones laying in a hospice bed that insurance refused to cover.

So, with her sisters’ endeavors and family ranch to upkeep, Odelia did find herself awfully, terribly lonely.

Her time was spent treating ill hooves, harvesting, herding, delivering hen eggs, and working on other ranches when time allowed. Anna Mae would hand her a measly check every month. A meek $200 to be spent strictly on whatever was needed to keep the ranch from plummeting into the ground.

It was her duty, everything seemed to be her damned duty. She didn’t mind looking after Daisy. In fact, she cherished it. At times it seemed to be the only thing holding her together. She would bring her to school in the morning when she woke up too late to catch the bus. Laugh and blush with her over Dean Martin movies and a homemade Digiorno's pizza. Braid her hair for when they went riding together. Nurturing the youngest of the Graves was a glimpse into a life she once so desperately wanted.

Like most things she once believed in, the concept of love had been altered by the nasty realities of life. The boys stopped looking to her for entertainment when their voices dropped and their visions were clouded by lust. Layla had straighter hair and wider hips around the same time this occurred. Even the youngest Abbott, whom Odelia was so desperately in love with at the age of thirteen, had grown into his own teenage ways. It didn’t take long for her to realize that he only started coming over when Layla was drinking sweet tea on the front porch in one of her sundresses.

Even now at twenty-three, him at twenty-four, she had enough sense to know that there was nothing there for him within her scrawny figure and purple under eyes. Had enough sense to know that there was nothing there for anyone’s longing.

His Ma had always loved Odelia. Greeting her with open arms and rushing her to their dinner table to stuff her full of the sweet treats he had minutes before been denied. Begging him to go check up on her when things headed south. Things had changed. Odelia ran a bit colder from what she did when she was younger, but Cecilia fed and doted over her all the same.

When Perry’s girl, Rebecca, turned up missing it got harder for Odelia to make the weekly egg delivery. She nearly couldn’t bring herself to witness the ache within the house that once and still did echoed in her own. But, it was her duty. Her duty to muffle the selfish pain in order to provide the Abbott family their order of a dozen eggs. They had their own coop, but Royal insisted nonetheless. Telling her each time that her hens had the best eggs in Wabang. Not telling her that he once witnessed her walking from the mailbox with a stack of bills and tears in her eyes when he was working on the fence in the north pasture.

If any of the Abbott’s truly loved the girl, it was Amy. She just had to jump up and down in joy on the front porch when she saw that green bronco pull into the drive every Sunday. Greeting Odelia with a tighter hug each time. Odelia would have to tuck the girl’s head in a little longer so as to not let her see the tears pooling in her hazel eyes. Perry saw. He saw them fall a few times too after Rebecca had gone missing.

Amy hadn’t any verbal clue that Odelia had lost her mom, but the girl wondered sometimes if the younger one somehow felt it within her.

Their relationship even softened a certain cowboy’s gruff heart. He’d catch some moments from the dining table at breakfast. Go along with Amy’s pleas to ride with him out to the north pasture when there was work needing tending to at the fence. She’d call for her, and he would lift her over barbed wire when she met them. Silently praying that a hug for her from his niece would allow her at least one good moment in her day.

He never meant to become such a stranger to Odelia. But, by the time he was long and done with her sister it had already been too late. He was no good at comfort. Nothing he could ever say would make her situation any better, so he chose silence. And she did too. He wasn’t proud of it. He especially wasn’t proud of how he stood behind that group of guys back in school. Hands in his pockets when they pointed a cruel joke at Odelia when they should’ve been around their necks. At that age the only way he knew of getting into the riding crowd was to be uncomfortably stuck up the asses of ignorant teenage boys.

He still shivers when he thinks about what his Ma would do to him if she knew he were the reason she didn’t come around for months. Had her worried sick, riding out to Odelia’s house on the third week. She didn’t tell her the truth, and he never took her for much of a liar. He hears from his mom that Cash, her horse, just had a bad hoof. He knows he saw Odelia and Cash that same morning when he was driving out to the feed store.

He refused to hardly lay eyes on Layla anymore. Not even when she was practically begging him to fuck her under the stands at the Rodeo. He finds himself thinking of Odelia more often than he’d like to admit to anyone. The red halo around her head, the scar on her face from when she would climb through barbed wire to get to his house as a child, the night she caught him sneaking into Layla’s room. He still can’t decide what emotion she held that night, but he thinks it oughta been betrayal.

Not that he had been aware of her tortuous crush on him. He had been oblivious to her loving tendencies at the age of fourteen. How she would shove one of his Ma’s apple fritters into her pocket, giving it to him when they were no longer under Cecilia’s gaze. Always being the first one to check his body for injury when he took a stumble. Still, he could only compare those actions to those of a sister he never had.

While Odelia had found him as a friend at that age, she still remained shy around him. Unlike Layla with her winks and lifting of her skirt in his presence. He had just always figured that Odelia didn’t feel as close to him as he did to her. So, he found a new and different type of friend in her older sister. Luke Tillerson lost his virginity at fourteen, why shouldn’t he be capable of doing that?

He had unintentionally done to Odelia what others had been doing her whole life. Not choosing her.

Sunday comes around quicker than it usually does. She’s not sure if that is due to dread or anticipation. Possibly both.

Her days tend to blur when there is more work to be done, but she knows it’s Sunday because she is awoken by the smell of biscuits and the sound of singing from the kitchen. It had become a routine for Daisy to make breakfast on the holy day, singing hymns while she flipped eggs. Odelia had lost her faith a long time ago, and figured her baby sister would too when she came of age. Sure enough when Odelia trudged into the kitchen with one sock a little lower than the other, Daisy was wearing her church dress.

“Morning Odie,” The girl said through a hum. “How’d you sleep?”

“Same as always, lying down.” Odelia stole a biscuit that hadn’t been thrown into gravy from the pan. Earning her a slap with the towel and her favorite teen a kiss on the cheek. “What about you, hun?”

“I slept okay, I had a silly dream.” Daisy spoke as she moved the food to the small dining room table, it had shrunk when Anna moved out and Layla started coming home late into the night, or really not at all. They ate while sharing their dreams.

It wasn’t long until it was time to get in the truck and pay the Abbott’s their usual Sunday morning visit. Odelia to deliver the eggs, and Daisy to catch a ride to church. When they pulled in Amy had been waiting on the porch with a large smile on her face like always.

“Odie, Odie! Grandma, Odie is here!” It was a call that Odelia didn’t think she could ever tire from hearing. Amy had rushed over to her arms immediately. Good thing she had already passed the eggs over to her sister.

“Goodmorning sunshine, what’s got you up so early?” Odelia asked each time just to hear the answer.

“I’ve been waiting on my best friend.” Amy’s wide grin turned into a fake frown, “But, now that she’s here Grandma is gonna make me go to church.”

“Don’t worry, bug.” Odelia leant down to press a kiss to the girls crown, “I know just the person to go with you.”

As if on queue, Amy noticed Daisy’s presence and rushed over to give her a hug. Odelia swiftly grabbed the eggs from her sister’s hands to avoid a mess, and let the two girls follow her as she made her way up the porch. She knocked even though the family was already made well aware of her arrival. She heard a call for her from inside the house and let herself, and the two girls in.

“Oh, bless you. We just ran out.” Cecilia greeted her in the kitchen, taking the eggs from her hands and placing a kiss to her cheek. The dining table held an unfamiliar sight. All three Abbott men sat down waiting for their breakfast, something that typically occurred on special occasions.

“Mornin’ Odelia,” Royal didn’t look up from the morning paper as he greeted her, she didn’t mind one bit. They had an established relationship. Him helping her out when she needed it. Her pretending not to notice that he was anything more than a gruff old grandpa. The small smiles they shared every now and then were enough for her to know that he saw her, and enough for him to know that she was thankful for it.

Perry gave Odelia a slight wave, knowing that if he didn’t he’d have his daughter to answer to. Rhett sat stoic, seeming to pause at Odelia’s arrival. He rested his eyes on her own as a form of greeting, nodding at her gently to which she returned. His hat was on its hook. Hair unruly from a restless sleep. It seemed that all of them were in their church clothes, what a strange sight.

“Is today a holiday?” Odelia muttered outloud with a wrinkled forehead, louder than she meant to.

“Nope.” Cecilia gave her eggs a break on the stove before placing her hands on her hips and turning to Odelia. “Told them I wouldn’t cook their supper for a week. Equally dire.”

A gasp from Amy had Odelia regretting saying those words a little too loud.

“Please come Odie!” Amy looked up to her with her hands wrapped in one another, a begging motion as if Odelia held the name she was baptized under.

“Oh, I don’t know bug. I’m not necessarily in my Sunday best.” She huffed, looking down at her dirty jeans and Carhart jacket. Odie looked at the pout fall upon Amy’s face.

“Even Uncle Rhett is coming! He never comes to church.” Both Amy and Odelia’s eyes shot up to the younger Abbott, who just shrugged under the attention.

“You’ve still got…” Cecilia looked to her wrist, “45 minutes to change. We can meet you there if you need more than ‘at.”

It seemed like everyone’s eyes were on her, awaiting an answer. Odelia hadn’t stepped foot into the church in nearly seven years, not since her mother’s funeral. She gave her cross necklace to Daisy on her 16th birthday.

“Fine, but I’m buying lunch.” Odelia looked back at Cecilia pointedly until her eyes were drawn to Royal by the quiet chuckle leaving his body.

“Like we would ever let you drop a penny on us. Go get dressed, girl.” He waved her off with the Stetson in his hand. As she turned to give Amy and Daisy quick hugs she heard the unforgivable sound of a wooden chair scraping against ceramic. She didn’t turn to see which one of the boys had stood up.

Odelia didn’t have time to register the heat behind her as Rhett grabbed his hat and pushed the door open for her. Her walking past him as he softly spoke a ‘Good Morning’, eyes looking right into hers.

It’s just a church. It’s just a church. It’s just a church.

A mantra Odelia replayed in her head as she drove to the white building blessed by God in ways she never had been. The mantra doubled in speed as she parked her bronco. She spotted Daisy helping little Abbott out of Royal’s tall truck, she had no time to chicken out because Amy had already started running over. The sons had drove separately, but had already arrived as well. There was no out.

It didn’t take her forty five minutes to change, only twenty to fix the mess of amber curls under her hat and pull one of her old sundresses out of the closet she hadn’t touched in years. Ten to check on her father. Another ten to sit in the drivers seat and convince herself that she wouldn’t burn up upon entering the double doors. At least she impressed Amy with her appearance.

“You look like a princess.” The nine year old even opened the door for her to get out of the truck. Showing Odelia more respect than any man probably had ever in her life. Before she knew it Amy began dragging her by the wrist to show everyone, hardly giving Odelia time to shut her driver door

“I remember that dress!” Daisy pulled on the sleeves of it, before patting down the wrinkles Odelia couldn’t care to get out. Always the perfectionist. With all eyes on her she blushed profusely, cursing her genes as she felt her skin burn with embarrassment. She also felt the burning stare of a certain blue pair of eyes.

“‘S probably the nicest one I own.” Odelia looked down at herself. There were a few tears in the dress, and she couldn’t stand the way it was just low enough for everyone to see the freckles on her chest. She didn’t know of any princess that looked like this.

“Oh angel, you look wonderful,” Cecilia gently rested her hands on the girl’s shoulders. “Rhe—”

“You look beautiful.” The cowboy’s jaw was clenched around the dip in his mouth. Even though Odelia knew he had only said it for his mother’s ears, she felt her heart jump only slightly. Only slightly.

“Thank you, Rhett.” She couldn’t meet his eyes when she said it, not wanting to see the roll of them. Not wanting to know that he didn’t mean it.

If Odelia had looked she wouldn’t have missed the softening of his eyes as they scanned her flushing body. As they both dragged their attention to anything besides each other, both became ignorant to the beaming smile on Amy’s face as she looked between them.

The congregation had seemed happy enough to see her. Pulling her into polite hugs and intruding questions about her whereabouts. She was being pestered and prodded by seventy year old Lou Ann Williams when she caught the Abbott’s and her sister standing on the second to last pew. So much for looking out for her.

She dismissed her conversation with the woman as politely as she could, pointing to the pew and smiling as she walked away. The bench was hardly long enough to hold the group of them, Royal at one end and Daisy at the other. It seemed there was only enough room for her to squeeze between Rhett and Amy. Great.

Royal stepped out upon her return, making way for her to squeeze right in. Getting past Cecilia’s small stature was no trouble. Perry leaned backwards an awful bit to let the girl through. When Odelia got to Rhett she had nearly made up her mind of turning back around to go sit with Lou Ann.

It was no secret that with age and riding bulls the younger Abbott had acquired himself quite the build. His chest poked out with his straightened back, and his height was nothing but intimidating. The smell of leather and tobacco dizzied her before she stepped in front of him. She decided that rubbing her ass on him to get by wouldn’t be so appropriate in the middle of a church. She excused herself as their chests touched, clearly taking no example from his brother on letting a lady through. His eyes flickered to hers for a brief second, but it might have been longer. Odelia had no clue.

“Sorry.” She whispered, not missing the quiet swallow of spit she got in return. She had made it to her spot, but at what cost.

She sat through the sermon. A full hour of Rhett’s denim knee touching her’s, it seems he was given just enough space to man spread. It was harder to ignore that than the shared giggles between Daisy and little Amy, who was all too happy with her conniving actions.

After final prayer had concluded, the group shuffled out the same way they shuffled in. Minus Odelia being a mere inch from meeting her hips with Rhett’s.

The sun had found it’s place in the middle of the sky, making the Wyoming fall feel that much warmer. Which made it that much easier for Odelia to conceal her blushing cheeks when she caught those blue eyes on her face.

“Meeting at the diner, Odie.” Cecilia rushed, wanting to beat the crowd.

“I’d love to, but I really gotta get home.” Odelia’s nose scrunched. “‘Ave been putting off moving the cattle for days now.”

“Nonsense, no work on the lord’s day. Rhett will help you tomorrow morning.” She turned to the truck before the girl could so much as get another word out.

“Ma—”

“Rhett Abbott. If your father doesn’t even move cattle alone what makes you think Odie should.” Cecilia turned to her son with a look that should’ve made thunder roll out of the clouds.

“I’ve done it before, Cecilia. It’s no problem, really.” Odelia raised her hands and waved both of them off, but the mother was too caught up in staring down her son to notice. Rhett’s eyes were on her though, the longer he looked at her the more he started to forget about what the hell he even had to do on a Monday morning.

“I’ll be there at 7.” His words pushed Odelia’s hands down back to her sides. All she could do was shake her head at him. Cecilia was quick to turn back and point at her next.

“You need to learn how to accept help, missy,” then back to Rhett. “And, you need to prioritize what really matters.”

What really matters.

“Yes Ma’am.” Odelia couldn’t figure out for the life of her why Rhett’s eyes never left her face.

#rhett abbott #rhett abbott x oc #rhett abbott smut #rhett abbott fluff #rhett abbott angst #lewis pullman #bob floyd #outer range #perry abbott #royal abbott #fan fiction #outer range fanfiction

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twistedwonderlandimaginesblog · 1 year

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Hey Hey~ just wanted to say I love your blog!! Please keep it up 💖💖 I just wanted to ask, how many children would the Diasomnia bois have with their s/o. I saw you did one for Savanclaw. Please and thank you!!

Lilia Vanrouge:

How many children Lilia has is highly dependent on if you really want to have one yourself or not. He would prefer to not have any of his own, he was more into the adopting wayward children who really needed him business, and he had a fulfilling life raising a few other children already. But he could never deny you your happiness and he wouldn’t be a bad father, quite the contrary considering all the experience he already had.

Malleus Draconia:

Malleus has one child, a son. He was raised as a successor from the very start, expectations thrust upon him since birth that he had never asked for. It’s a stressful way to live but he was also surrounded by endless love, Malleus’ body guards and his own ragtag bunch of friends (that are pretty much considered family). They can have a complicated relationship later on as every Draconia has to go through an angsty period of coming to terms with living longer than all those around them, but with their father having some experience with that specific type of grief, his son has an easier time dealing with it.

Sebek Zigvolt:

Sebek has a legacy to carry on, taking great pride in serving under Malleus and wanting his child to feel the same. He has a son that has the same serious demeanor to him, almost appearing as mini-me. Sebek was strict with him while growing up as he knew there were many stressful situations that he’d have to be put in to be a good bodyguard, but he’s actually quite spoiled by Malleus whenever Sebek isn’t looking. His son also has a deep respect for his fathers strength in morals.

Silver:

Silver hadn't thought about it much but he thinks he'd like that normal fairytale family. One boy, one girl, living together out in a cottage with a peaceful life. He doesn't know why such an image brings this overwhelming sadness and longing to him but when he finally receives it, he realized the stability helped him feel more at ease. He went through a great deal when losing his father figure but he assured he was never forgotten, surprised by the shocked look on his childrens faces when he recalls all the things he once went through as a child raised by a fae.

#Lilia Vanrouge #Malleus Draconia #Sebek Zigvolt #Silver #Twisted Wonderland #TWST #Twisted Wonderland Imagines #TWST Imagines #TWST x Reader #Twisted Wonderland x Reader #TWST Silver #Lilia Vanrouge x Reader #Malleus Draconia x Reader #Sebek Zigvolt x Reader #Silver x Reader

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katierosefun · 1 year

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not to sound like a broken record, but every once in a while i just remember that beyond evil really said that a strained relationship between a parent and child does not necessarily have to be straightforward, in that han joo won clearly despises his father (you sent me away, you’re the reason my mom’s dead, you were never interested in who i was until it was relevant to your career) and yet joo won still has a room in his father’s house (even though you locked me out without a warning) and they still eat dinner (even though you shoo me away when i tried to approach you) and joo won even still gives his father a dozen chances to prove that he’s not an awful person (just tell me the truth, just tell me the truth, and i promise i’ll help you) and even in the finale, you see a bit of that anger and disappointment and pain in joo won’s face and hm something about beyond evil saying that the relationships between parents and child are complex in that no matter how many times a parent kicks at their child, there will always be a tiny, tiny part of the child that still wonders if there’s even a sliver of a chance of a functional relationship--

and you see a bit of that in jeong je and his relationship with his mom too, in that his mother almost obsessively looks after him. she hovers over him, keeping track of his medication and sending him away to hospitals (is it out of love or self-preservation or shame? or maybe it’s all of those things at the same time), and she decides that she’ll protect her son first and foremost, but then the second it’s convenient for her, she tells him that she’ll throw him away. (she doesn’t want to be called “mom” anymore. maybe it’s true that she was only a mom, but isn’t that what every kid wants from a parent. for their parent to be their parent first.) and yet, despite that monstrous moment, do hae won still has a whole breakdown when she realizes that jeong je might truly kill himself, and there’s something pathetic about that (if you truly cared about your child, you would have known the kind of hell you were putting them through) and yet a little tragic too (how come it had to take you that long to realize your child was in hell).

and you see some strains of that with dong sik and jae yi, in that both of them had such beautiful relationships with their parents, and yet there’s something in both their relationships that broke that down. for jae yi, she loves her mother but there’s a small part of her that resents her for suddenly going missing--as soon as you come back home, i’m going to walk out of this shop and never come back. and yet she loves her mother, even with all that resentment and hurt and confusion within her, even before she learns of the truth. (she’s the one who runs over to the morgue every time a new body’s found. she’s the one pestering morticians and prosecutors about where her mother might be. she does this every year, even though she’s angry, deep down she’s angry.)

and then with dong sik, who has so many fond memories of his parents--you see that grief and sadness on his face when he talks about how just overnight, his father was no longer his best friend. dong sik left so quickly after the accusations against him because how could he stay, when his own parents either can’t look at him in the eye or look right through him? and there’s some bitterness there too--and even more bitterness when dong sik visits his mom, scoffing at the idea of being a good son (because he’s not a good son, he’s the son who ran away from home the second he thought he no longer had a home, he cleans his mom’s hands a little too roughly because he doesn’t do that often anymore). of course, dong sik loves his parents, of course, dong sik loves his mom, because he still talks to her (even if she can’t understand him), but there’s that grief underlying it all too. his mom isn’t herself anymore, and dong sik might not get that back, and maybe he’s bitter more at himself than he is at his parents, but at least there’s something there for him to hold onto, at least at the end of it all. and maybe that’s kind of all that someone can do when they haven’t always had the easiest relationship with a parent--the good parts are good, but the bad parts are bad, and maybe that’s as much as anyone gets.

#caroline talks #beyond evil #long post #i'm. listening to family line by conan gray in case u could not tell #i just. HM #the fact that joo won scoffs at his dad's name but still quietly resents the idea of being like his mom #and i think he really wants to be a little more like his dad + he gives his dad so many chances #the fact that jeong je looks so tired whenever his mom comes to him but at the same time that's his mom. he still sounds like a little kid #when his mom says she's abandoning him #even though jeong je's a whole grown adult it's like. MAN!!!#when beyond evil said parent-child relationships are so messy!!

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demigoddessqueens · 7 months

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First of all I just wanted to thank you for letting me know your requests were open. It makes me so happy to see people still giving Ezio the love he deserves! I don’t usually go for a lot of the more cliche lover tropes but I can’t stop thinking of Childhood best friend Ezio x reader.

What comes to mind is reader and Ezio having a strained relationship prior to his family’s execution due to readers newfound romantic feelings for Ezio and his infatuation with Christina. But once Ezio’s world is flipped on its axis after the murder of his father and brothers that he would seek reader’s help and comfort as he escapes Florence and trains to become an assassin.

I think at first he would be too shaken up and focused on revenge but after a while he would come to realize that he likes the reader. Maybe he would confess then, or perhaps after he kills Uberto.

It’s up to you to decide how you want to write all of this and what format (if you choose this request at all). You definitely don’t have to use my ideas if you don’t want to either, honestly I’d just love to see any type of Ezio x childhood best friend reader content. Thank you so so much for opening requests and for reading this 💗

Speaking my language with the Ezio angst!!! I need moar 💕💔

MASTERLIST 10

You cared for Ezio so much and it hurts. Growing up close with the Auditores was filled with the happiest memories of you, Frederico, Ezio and Claudia together, welcoming Petruccio, but your feelings always ran different with Ezio.

It left you dismayed at the unrequited feelings, and you felt your heart shatter when you heard of his late escapades of getting chased out with Christina.

Yet nothing could prepare you for the tragedy that struck when you heard of what happened to Giovanni and his two sons, your closest friends. There wasn’t time to grieve as you would have liked now that targets were on you and your family’s back, and you had to leave much of what you knew behind.

Only you didn’t expect to see Ezio at the same place of refuge at the end of things. He mentions that he was able to send a final goodbye to his father (with the help of Christina) but you ignore the pangs at your heart. You mourn along with him at the loss of the life you once knew together.

Being friends of friends (or family) of Assassins come with the perks of protection, but nothing you know of is ever the same again. Getting adjusted to your new life leads to unexpectedly wielding a blade, despite the constant wounds

Still, Ezio is there to see you grow and change as you both reach your respective milestones well into adulthood.

When Leonardo comes to see you both, it’s a much needed reprieve you didn’t realize you needed. A sense of normalcy despite all the heartbreak, and you realize how much you miss Ezio’s smile whenever you laugh at each other’s jokes.

Things feel…different. Upheavals so young and facing through them together does bring you closer. You and Ezio talk of the nightmares, seeking revenge, but try not to forget the good times as well.

In his quest against those who wronged him and his family, Ezio still thinks of you. You bring a tether and one close to him who knows what he’s feeling, going through.

There was one time you swore you felt him kiss you when you fell asleep at one of the desks, but you never brought it up since

Still, you heard of the visits he had with Christina and you didn’t think it would still affect you but jealousy works in mysterious ways. The day he lost her was the day you saw something shift in him, beyond the grief and pain from before.

He’s more urgent, stringent on whenever you go on missions or gather intel, and always wants to be by your side. Even Claudia begins to notice the change in her brother

It starts to annoy you at first, Ezio always hovering around you and whenever another person (let alone man) talks to you

“Ezio, this has gone on far too long now! Why are you always hovering near me?!”

“BECAUSE I WONT LOSE ANOTHER! Not those I CARE about!”

Speechless.

You don’t have anything to retort, especially since he still has more to say

“I’ve lost more than enough in one lifetime, and I can’t lose you too. I care for you…maybe even more than that.”

You can only hug him for now, but come the next day there’s still more to say

#assassin's creed #inbox requests #assassin’s creed x reader #ac brotherhood #ezio auditore da firenze #ezio auditore #ezio auditore de firenze #ezio #ezio auditore x reader #ezio assassins creed #assassin's creed brotherhood #my writing #headcanons #ezio x reader #ezio trilogy #ac ezio #assassin’s creed #Assassin’s Creed ii #ac ii

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pedroscurls · 1 year

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Hi there! I’m J. Below the “keep reading” line is my ultimate masterlist for the stories I’ve written for Jeffrey Dean Morgan and Pedro Pascal characters! Please note that all stories at 18+ and this list is very long, so if there are any issues with any of the below links, please let me know!

Happy reading!🫶

1️⃣ = One-shots || ✍ = Multi-chaptered stories / WIP (✍️✅ = complete)

FRANKIE “CATFISH” MORALES (triple frontier)

1️⃣ Always Here For You: Frankie comforts you as you cope with your grief. (Francisco “Catfish” Morales x fem!Reader || part of the pedrostores 1k celebration)

✍✅ Chance Encounters: You’ve suddenly and tragically lost your best friend and can’t handle the grief. Until four strangers give you a glimmer of hope that things will (and can) get better. (ultimately a story about working through grief with the help of our four boys from Triple Frontier)

1️⃣ Hold My Hand: For years, you have been in love with Frankie. Everyone else saw it, except him, and you never had the courage to tell him how you truly felt. Instead, you stuck by his side even when it hurt. And after Colombia, he hadn’t been the same. You knew he had demons (being a veteran and all), but this… This was different. Would Frankie finally open his eyes and realize that the woman he was meant to be with had been right in front of him all along? (Francisco “Catfish” Morales x fem!Reader)

✍️✅ Third Time’s A Charm: There is history between you and Frankie. In fact, you have both broken up twice and yet, you still seem to find your way back to each other. Could this third chance be the last and final one? (Francisco “Catfish” Morales x fem!Reader)

JAVIER PEÑA (narcos)

1️⃣ All We Are: You and Javier have history and have been in this endless cycle for years, always trying to “one-up” each other, but what happens after a night of steamy, dirty sex that the truth finally comes out? (Javier Peña x fem!Reader)

1️⃣ Innocent Eyes: Javier and his partner, Steve Murphy, finally have one night off. So, when they go to a local bar to unwind, Javier certainly wasn’t expecting you to walk through the doors. (Javier Peña x fem!Reader)

JOEL MILLER (the last of us)

✍️✅ Always Been You: You and Joel have become best friends, but as the years pass, you both realize that the love you have for each other goes beyond just “best friends”. Will either of you have the courage to express your true feelings or will you both just remain secretly in love with each other? (no-outbreak!Joel Miller x fem!Reader)

✍️ Broken Souls: What happens when you realize love isn’t enough? And when years later, you meet again that all the pain and heartbreak comes rushing back… Like it never left. (Joel Miller x fem!Reader)

✍️ Dirty Little Secret: When your best friend and his fiancée, Sarah, have their belated engagement party (kicking off their pre-wedding parties), you meet the father of the bride and realize that he’s completely off limits. But you always did like older men, and Joel? Well, maybe he could be your dirty little secret. (age-gap, no-outbreak!Joel Miller x fem!Reader)

1️⃣ Guys Night Out: Tommy takes Joel to a strip club. (Joel Miller pre-apocalypse x fem!Reader)

1️⃣ In Case You Didn’t Know: Joel steps out of his comfort zone and puts his feelings into words the best way he knows how. (Joel Miller x fem!Reader)

✍️✅ One Drunken Night: Reader’s date stands her up, so she decides to stay at the bar anyway. Then, she meets Negan who unravels her entire world. All the while, trying to navigate her relationship with Joel. (Negan x fem!Reader, Joel Miller x fem!Reader, TLOU x TWD crossover)

✍️ The Teacher: You have been on your own for over a year and after Maria saves you and brings you to Jackson, you try and settle in, doing your best to contribute to the community. Though, it doesn’t help that your neighbor, Joel Miller, reminds you of a special person from before Outbreak day. (Joel Miller x fem!Reader)

MARCUS PIKE (the mentalist)

✍️ Second Chances: After Marcus moves to DC - alone - he’s determined to just focus on work. After a failed marriage followed with his failed relationship with Lisbon, Marcus believes that love just isn’t in the cards for him anymore. Until you move in next door. (Marcus Pike x fem!Reader)

DENNY DUQUETTE (grey’s anatomy)

✍️✅ Dear Maisie: Maisie receives a letter. (Denny Duquette x fem!OC)

✍️✅ Love At First Sight?: Jess meets an unlikely stranger that changes her life forever. (Denny Duquette x fem!OC)

1️⃣ Our Confession: Denny has a confession to make. (Denny Duquette x fem!Reader)

1️⃣ Our Happy Ending: Denny and Izzie finally have their happy ending. (Denny Duquette x Izzie Stevens)

1️⃣ Our Own ‘Getaway’: Denny notices the change in your demeanor and despite being stuck in a hospital, he decides to comfort you in a way he only knows how. (Denny Duquette x fem!Reader)

1️⃣ Reassure Me: After being released from the hospital since his heart transplant, Denny feels a bit self-conscious with his new scar. (Denny Duquette x fem!Reader)

IKE EVANS (magic city)

✍️✅ Fatal Attraction: Diana is newly married to Ben Diamond, also known as The Butcher. However, after meeting Ike Evans, the charming older gentleman of the Miramar Playa, she can’t help but indulge in an intimate relationship with the man. Can she keep this a secret from her dangerous husband? (Ike Evans x fem!OC)

1️⃣ Fever: Ike’s entertainment manager hires a burlesque dancer that catches Ike’s attention. (Ike Evans x fem!OC)

1️⃣ Gender Reveal: Ike and Vera find out the gender of their baby. (Ike Evans x Vera Evans)

1️⃣ Playing with Fire: Your father stays in one of the suites at the Miramar Playa, and the hotel’s owner, caters to his every need. But, when you finally see what this man looks like, you cannot help but tease him every chance you could get. (Ike Evans x fem!Reader)

✍️✅ Sway With Me: Ike, a business professor and hotel owner of the Miramar Playa, meets an unexpected woman that catches his interest. (Ike Evans x fem!OC)

1️⃣ Your Secret’s Safe With Me: Ashton has a secret that only Ike knows. (Ike Evans x male!OC)

JASON CROUSE (the good wife)

1️⃣ I Won’t Give Up: Jason reminds his wife, Jen, just how important and loved she is. (Jason Crouse x OC)

1️⃣ Let Me Make it Up to You: Once at home, waiting for Jason, a burglar enters your home. (Jason Crouse x fem!Reader)

1️⃣ Let’s Stargaze: After a long day at work, you decide to cook dinner for Jason and your son, Luke, while the two stargaze out in the backyard. (Jason Crouse x fem!Reader)

1️⃣ Not What It Seems: Deciding to bring Jason lunch, you weren’t expecting to witness when showing up to his office. (Jason Crouse x fem!Reader)

1️⃣ Old Friends: It’s been twenty years since Jason and [Y/N] have seen each other. (Jason Crouse x Reader)

✍️✅ Protect Me: Samantha, a freelance writer, moves to Chicago. She didn’t expect to be a victim of a stalker, but what happens when she seeks professional help from Alicia and Lucca? Then Jason Crouse, the private investigator, comes in and offers his help. (Jason Crouse x fem!OC)

1️⃣ Sunday Funday Surprise: Jason and his daughter, Susie, plan a surprise for Mother’s Day. (Jason Crouse x fem!OC)

1️⃣ Take A Bite: Jason introduces Alicia to something new. || part of jeffreydeanmorganrarechar/ladylorelitany‘s Red Velvet challenge. (Jason Crouse x Alicia Florrick)

1️⃣ Teasing is a Fun Game: After a few trysts with Jason, he shows up unexpectedly during your lecture and all you can think of are the intimate moments you two shared. (Jason Crouse x Reader)

1️⃣ The Newest Family Addition: Jason and Jen tell Susie the good news, but as the months progress and Jen’s baby bump begins to show, Susie becomes anxious that her parents will replace her. (Part 2 to Sunday Funday Surprise). (Jason Crouse x fem!OC)

1️⃣ The Other Sister: You accidentally walk in your older sister, Alicia’s, apartment to find her newest affair naked on her bed. (Jason Crouse x fem!Reader)

1️⃣ You Are Mine: Jason reveals his jealous side. (Jason Crouse x Reader)

MAX (the resident)

1️⃣ Coffee Date: Since Max wasn’t going to make the first move, you take him by surprise and ask him out for coffee. (Max x fem!Reader)

1️⃣ Similar Personalities: Max needs some comforting and turns to you to make him feel better. What he didn’t expect was for you to find out his secret, and more than willing to partake in one of his fantasies. (Max x fem!Reader)

1️⃣ The Breakthrough: What if Juliet didn’t stop Max? Would that have changed everything? (Max x Juliet)

1️⃣ You’re Safe With Me: Max didn’t expect for you, the new tenant, to be newly divorced with two young children. However, the more time he spent with you, the more he realized that you had taken him out of the walls and shown him a world that he always knew he could live. (Max x fem!Reader)

NEGAN SMITH (the walking dead)

1️⃣ A Broken Facade: Negan gives Father Gabriel his confession. In doing so, a vivid memory enters his mind about the one person he failed to protect. || part of flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash writing challenge. (Negan x Lucille)

1️⃣ A Flood of Old Memories: While singing in the shower, Negan overhears the song that brings back old memories that he has tried to suppress for so long. (Negan x fem!Reader)

1️⃣ A Hands-On Demonstration: Negan shows you just how it’s like to be pleasured by a real man. (Negan x fem!Reader)

1️⃣ A Private Dance: As a new dancer, you try and familiarize yourself with the regulars, listening to the other women’s advice. However, your eye catches a man in a leather jacket sitting towards the back of the room. (Negan x fem!Reader)

1️⃣ A Proper Thank You: An underestimated, young Savior saves Negan’s life and he repays her the only way he knows how. (Negan x fem!OC)

1️⃣ An Unwanted Flashback: After Negan makes Carl face down onto the pavement, flashbacks from the Claimers enter the young boy’s mind and goes into a mental breakdown. (Negan x Carl)

1️⃣ Baby, I’m Back!: After his month-long supply run, you and Negan show each other just how much you missed one another. (Negan x fem!Reader)

1️⃣ Coach Negan: Coach Negan takes a liking to you and after he witnesses the bullying that you endure, he shows you just exactly how special you are. (Negan x fem!Reader)

✍️✅ Coach Negan: You always loved sports. Most specifically, basketball. After deciding to join the new season after a very embarrassing last season, you believe that you could change the team’s bad luck and bring them to the championships, but you weren’t expecting the team’s coach to be as good looking as him. It was going to be tougher than you planned. (Negan x fem!Reader)

1️⃣ Control: You and Negan have the same temperament, and when you both get into an argument, it is always a battle of power and control that ultimately leads to angry, rough, dominant sex. In this instance, who wins the argument? (Negan x fem!Reader

1️⃣ Goodbye My Lover: Negan knows what’s to come, but he can’t seem to come to terms with it. Lucille was the woman he loved, despite everything he had done || Inspired by “Here’s Negan” (Negan x Lucille)

1️⃣ Hurt Me: You finally have enough of Negan’s behavior towards you. (Negan x fem!Reader)

1️⃣ I Don’t Wanna Live Forever: Negan realizes the truth to the saying, “you never know what you have until you’ve lost it.” When you, one of his wives, decide to leave him, you wonder if you’ve made the right decision and Negan starts to question if he should have let you go in the first place. (Negan x fem!Reader)

1️⃣ I Know Your Secret: After a year from being accepted into The Sanctuary, you had become one of Negan’s top Saviors. During a night of fun with the rest of your fellow Saviors, Negan drops in and decides to tease you for hiding such an “important” secret. (Negan x fem!Reader)

1️⃣ I Truly Am Sorry: Witnessing your father’s death broke you and the one man that has been haunting your nightmares finally show up for the first pick-up. (Negan x fem!OC)

1️⃣ I Trust You: Negan asks Mary an important question that will change her entire life. (Negan x fem!OC)

1️⃣ It’s Over: Negan doesn’t understand that your affair with him is over. You, however, had enough and finally lose control || part of @embracetheapocalypsewithme‘s 400 Follower Negan Challenge. (Negan x fem!Reader)

✍️✅ Just the Three of Us: You meet Negan and Simon at a bachelor party and realize a hunger you never knew you had. What happens when you finally are able to have each of them and then suddenly, the world collapses? (Negan x fem!Reader x Simon)

1️⃣ Let Me Take Care of You: After sorting out the supplies from a successful run on a hot, summer’s day, you accidentally cut yourself after opening a box with your knife. Negan takes notice and decides to take care of it himself. (Negan x fem!Reader)

1️⃣ Let’s Make A Deal: After the deaths of Glenn and Abraham, Rick and the rest of the group have been on edge. Hannah didn’t know what she had gotten herself into when joining this group, but she was just about to find out what had everyone working their asses off. Negan shows up and offers her a deal that she cannot refuse. (Negan x fem!OC)

1️⃣ My Not-So Little Girl: Pre-apocalypse AU. Negan gives his daughter, Casey, advice on how to drive and it gets out of hand. || Part of flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash writing challenge. (Negan x fem!OC)

1️⃣ Now, What Do We Have Here?: You have been living in the Sanctuary for two months now and neither men showed any interest towards you. Though, it is a good thing that you’ve got a vivid imagination and after a long day at work, you decide to let out some steam. (Negan x fem!Reader x Simon)

1️⃣ Our First Night: Lara has a big crush on the leader of the Sanctuary, Negan. Tonight, though, she finds out just exactly how mutual the feelings are. (Negan x fem!OC)

1️⃣ Save Me: Rick and Shane receive a call about a domestic disturbance, but so did Negan and Simon. (Rick x Shane x fem!Reader x Negan x Simon)

1️⃣ Straight for the Castle: King Ezekiel’s daughter, “Princess” Ramona, has a plan to overthrow her father and take over the Kingdom. When her plan finally goes through, Negan shows up at the gates of the Kingdom while her father was on a supply run. (Negan x fem!OC)

1️⃣ Talk Dirty to Me: You can’t help but be attracted your leader, to your Savior, Negan. What happens when he brings you back to his office? Will it finally happen? (Negan x fem!OC)

✍️✅ The Moon: Luna, a shy and timid woman, encounters Negan who is the complete opposite. Negan tries to break her out of her shell, but will it work? It was going to be tough, especially since he reminds Luna of her late husband… And not in a good way. (Negan x fem!OC)

1️⃣ The Physical: Going to the doctor’s have always been a big fear of yours and now that you were waiting for your doctor to enter the room, he walks in with a large grin and deep dimples || part of noodlescupcakes 1st Writing Challenge. (Negan x fem!Reader)

1️⃣ The Proposal: @a-girl-interupted requested: “I had an idea of a character with negan where she eventually becomes his/a wife and somehow he realizes how important it would be to her to have an actual proposal and wedding. We dont want to Negan too soft and the details are up to you but I would cry to see this” (Negan x fem!OC)

1️⃣ The Punishment: You hire a lawyer after being wrongfully accused of a crime. However, your lawyer, Negan, has a different way to punish you || pre-apocalypse AU. part of flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash‘s writing challenge. (Negan x fem!Reader)

1️⃣ Unknown Feelings: Negan takes notice of one of the new Saviors during their weekly game night with the rest of the guys. Though, what he doesn’t expect is the feelings that follow… (Negan x male!OC)

1️⃣ You Belong to Me: You didn’t realize what you were getting into after stealing the supplies. However, what you also didn’t expect was to be attracted by the man who ultimately had your fate in his hands. (Negan x fem!Reader)

1️⃣ You, Doll, Are Special: You and Negan finally give in to one another. (Negan x fem!Reader)

1️⃣ You’ve Got A Friend in Me: Negan realizes that Fat Joey has a sister. Little does he know, she’s also got a voice of an angel. (Negan x fem!OC)

THE COMEDIAN (watchmen)

1️⃣ A Double Life: Eddie secretly leads a double life, but as his wife, you think it’s time that he hangs up his costume as “The Comedian.” (The Comedian x fem!Reader)

1️⃣ Opposites Attract: Can the God of War and the Goddess of Love and Beauty – both opposite sides of the spectrum – find a way to meet in the middle? || part of jeffreydeanneganstrash 1k writing challenge. (The Comedian x fem!OC)

1️⃣ Unsteady: Eddie turns to you for some stress relief. (The Comedian x fem!Reader)

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liannelara-dracula · 8 months

Note

Hello! If you are taking requests, can I get hcs for Reiji and Ruki (separate) about they realizing that they're in love with their S/O? Like, how they realize it, and when? What they do after? ❤

Hi Love,

Totally, I’m sorry this is late I’m trying to catch up. But here it is.

-Liannelara

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Prompt

Requests are open

Rules

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Reiji

It takes a long time for him to be in love, as well as admitting it.

But not to realize it.

Reiji doesn’t love easily, he’s a perfectionist.

But it doesn’t mean he cannot love.

He’d realize this after a long time, possibly years.

This is not because he’s dumb but because the relationship moves slow and he doesn’t believe in loving someone so quick.

So you earned this.

Anyways he realized this when being put in a situation where you were are hurt or put at stake because of his father.

Something like that would definitely touch him.

If you were going to get hurt, he just won’t stand for it.

To see you in such grief and worry, with your tearful eyes and shattered voice that would tear him into pieces and want to walk away from the scene but also hold you.

Even if you had been in an argument about something important that would allow him to notice how much it affects you, and that would take a toll on him.

Another thing that would test him is if his mother claimed that the girl he loves isn't worthy enough to be with her son.

This would cause Reiji to be angry with himself for not pleasing his mother but, most of all, putting his lover through this.

He’d be at war with himself, mostly because “Why did it matter to so much?”

To confirm his feelings, he sees this when he is happy with you. No matter what but as long as he is spending time with you it makes him feel at peace.

He's able to not think about his past, his family, or/and any discretions he has with others when he is around you---that right there is Reiji Sakamaki in love.

If you can make this man have a smile run across his face, then he loves you madly, and truly.

Before he figures to tell you he comes to terms with himself about how he should tell you this.

If you were his bride, he would deny his feelings in the beginning and try to alter his approaches in behavior believing he was only confusing himself with attachment and value, seeing that she may have just been obedient compared to the others. And that what he's feeling is not love but a value and respect for someone.

He is in denial for a little while and once he's figured it out he tries to deal with it on his own.

However, if he senses that you may have feelings or can no longer keep it to himself he will eventually confess to you.

Reiji generally does not believe in love, so if you can make him go back on his words he will be mesmerized.

Obviously, if you’re on good terms he will admit this to you in a timely fashion but more or so, he’d show it to you.

He’d confess to you at a ball where you were enjoying yourself by dancing. He smiled seeing you content, but tried to not give him self away when you caught his eye a couple times. Later, he’d pull you aside for a chat to tell you something alone in the dark in the courtyard of the castle.

"You have something to tell me, Reiji?" You'd ask, confused by why he wanted to speak with you.

The two of you mere inches away as he kissed you passionately before pulling away, “I cherish you so very deeply, my dear. I can't imagine unloving you.” He'd whisper, his hand caressing your cheek.

Ruki

Unlike Reiji, he was quick to realize that he cared about you deeply.

However, Ruki is stubborn, so he took forever to move forward with it.

He'd especially take long if this was a bride because this wasn't part of the plan to fall in love with her.

He'll act differently in the sense that he will distance himself and act colder to you because he doesn't want to be influenced by his feelings.

You are a weakness, and he is trying to change that about himself,

While at the same time your ignorance about his behavior only made things worse as figured he was upset at you which made you upset so you ignored him.

And then when this happened he was like great.

The more he spent apart he found himself wanting something which happened to be your presence. He wanted you to be there.

Yes, physically, you were with him most of the time but Ruki wanted you to not just be there but, with him.

He thought about this for a couple months before deciding to tell you.

Ruki realized he loved you when he always found himself saving you from any possible threat/danger that occurred with you around.

He found himself always at your side, protecting you unintentionally. At first, it was for sheer convenience.

But with all time you spent being at the Mukami manor with him and dealing with his stoic behavior and all your arguments. He came to learn so much about you, so much that he could love, so much no one else knew. It felt special to know so much about a girl who was a mystery to everyone else.

Ruki realized that both them weren't so different after all.

And no matter what he thought of you whether it was at school, on his own time, when reading books, etc. You never seemed to leave his mind, it began to be a problem for him.

He could never not protect you, he found him self stepping in.

He claimed it was because you would cause trouble.

Overall, he came to the point where he gave up on keeping secrets.

He'd confess mostly through action rather than words.

Ruki would be much more intimate and whisper to you that you mean so much to him.

However, he may also admit this firmly if the moment is crucial and you have angered him or you are in some situation to which you have fueled him to give into what he wants, so he just gives up and confesses to you in an aggressive makeout session along with blood being drawn.

"I can't stand this anymore." He'd say being fed up with his feelings and giving in to them.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

˗ˏˋ 𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑚𝑦 𝑤𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑖𝑠 𝑜𝑟𝑖𝑔𝑖𝑛𝑎𝑙 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝐼 𝑑𝑜 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑜𝑤𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑟𝑎𝑐𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑠 ˎˊ˗ ©𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟔~Present

#diabolik lovers #anime #diabolik lovers headcanons #anime headcanons #dialovers #diahell #reiji sakamaki #anime requests #ruki mukami

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blakelybeau · 5 months

Text

Am I the only one who loves Maxvid having a huge power imbalance but reversed?

Max would be in charge and likely initiate it.

I can see David not reciprocating and feeling like he has no choice in this unhealthy relationship.

It would probably start off as a power trip. Max doesn't really care about mushy gushy things, he likes knowing that he has control over an adult. If he wants David to be miserable, then he's miserable. If he wants David to be happy, then he's happy. But it's all at Max's discretion.

Picture this:

Maybe it started to escalate from humiliation. A taunt or tease because David is such a wet towel. A door mat. We know Max is empathetic but it's something that develops during the series. Early seasons? Literally tried to kill David episode 2.

Max pushes David just hard enough and the counselor just breaks down, curls into himself and sobs against the dirt.

He's gross, and his tears are muddying his cheeks. But for some reason Max can't help but feel so damn bad.

And he hates that, he doesn't feel victorious like he usually does. It's not the same as taking control of an adult. He liked knowing David's mentality is dependent on him. He's finally calling the shots and he's the one in power despite being up against an adult.

And okay, maybe he's been a little harsh on David. Maybe there really is only so much one guy can take. But David's put up with everything else, so what gives?

When Max wants his phone, he takes his phone. When Max wants David to get hurt, he makes sure he gets hurt. When Max wants David to be happy, he'll amuse him and reign in his gang.

David takes all of it. He takes it when Max ties him to the flagpole, he takes it when the other kids attack him, he takes it when everyone belittles him; David's built to take it.

And at first he thought he wanted to break him. He wanted David to see how fucked up the world is, it's not good and if you're weak-willed and gullible you're just easy pickings. Like David.

He just didn't realize how easy it was to pick him apart.

How was he supposed to know the final straw was something as stupid as The Order Of The Sparrow?

David put up with everything else, it wasn't just Max who made his life hellish anyways.

Everyone degrades David. Everyone hurts David.

He's finally got this man where he wants him, fingers dug into soaked grass and body heaving with sobs. There's nothing near a smile on that perpetually haply face. There's no chiding or annoying quote from what he could only assume was some sort of Facebook post by some white soccer mom who unironically uses the #blessed sign.

No, David's groveling, unraveling right before him in the dirt and rain and Max can't control this because he isn't sure he can fix it.

And maybe it's when his hands grip into stupid gelled red that he realizes how uncomfortable he is. He knows why, he knows an unpredictable David takes away his security.

And it's hard, it's so hard to proceed. David's eyes look miserable, face caked in mud and tears and rain and saliva and

And he actually snapped him. But it wasn't rage like he expected because let's be honest, David's definitely a fucking time bomb waiting to go off. Max has seen it, he's seen some of that anger slip. Anger that slips when Max decides it can.

David is grief stricken, like this was the most devastating outcome. Like someone had come and slit his own fucking mothers throat in front of him.

Which is stupid, it's just a fucking bonfire.

But there's nothing left. David doesn't have motivational words, he's not getting up. The only reason he can see his face is because Max forced it with a grip to red locks.

And in his indecisiveness, Max is reminded of his father and mother.

His mother who would threaten to leave until Max's father beat her black and blue, and then she'd cry against his hands when the man would whisper those sweet nothings after.

A toxic fucking cycle, Max knows. But he can't care about a woman who puts her shit husband before her son.

It always soothed her though, despite the inflicter being the source of comfort. And it's gross, but he's already wet and gross from the rain.

When Max sits down and yanks David's head against his thigh, he understood by the lack of reaction just how out of it this guy is. Which is fine, Max can deal with malleable. That's all David fucking is; putty in the hand of any keeper.

David's built to take things. To hurt. To handle anything. But he doesn't look prepared when Max loosens his grip on his mussed fringe. He's not coherent enough in his weird fucking mental freak out to get up or question it, but Max can tell by the furrow of his stubby brows that he's confused. Lost. Psychology is a stupid fucking degree, but it's not a stupid field of study. You can make or break a person with shit like that.

He's read all about it in the novels at the library. How you can impact the psyche. He sees it with his parents, when his mom finds solace in his father despite him being the abuser.

And he finds that in David too, when he presses his fingers against David's cheek and strokes against skin.

The way his eyes lid over, the way those miserable sobs quiet down into gasping little huffs. A reminder David isn't cured by Max's generosity, but that the affects are instantaneous.

And here he was, sitting with the counselor who so pathetically lays crumpled in the mud. His only reprieve being Jean clad thighs of his camper.

He's at Max's mercy.

Max doesn't know when he starts talking, but it's nothing above a low murmur.

Things like "It's okay Davey, sometimes your best just isn't good enough." "You're going to cry over assholes who left you in the mud?" "If you'd listened to me in the beginning, this wouldn't hurt so much."

It doesn't sound like him, it's not even good comfort. David doesn't seem to care though, not when his shaking seemed to subside despite the heavy rain. Not when bloodshot eyes finally close.

And Max realizes why he likes controlling David. His content is rested solely on Max. The one who was really in charge.

It feels good to be the one in control, but especially to be in control of someone who's bigger than him. Older. Someone who should be in charge.

Max likes feeling like the grown up, and he likes making David feel like a child. Helpless, out of control. Dependent.

Maybe Dad's onto something.

#maxvid

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babystrcandy · 2 years

Text

matilda (pt. 6) | myg

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This was Yoongi. Your Yoongi.

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

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

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

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

“Dummy,” you hummed, chuckling to yourself.

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

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

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

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

It hit you then.

Yoongi had kept the ring all these years.

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

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

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

Surely—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You smiled a little wider.

Yoongi scrunched his nose, awkwardly. "What?"

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

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

Yoongi chuckled. "What's this about?"

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

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

Your brows only twitched in questioning.

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

You blinked, unable to do anything else.

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

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

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

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

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

"Better than that ."

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

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

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

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

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

You made a face. “Disgusting ma—“

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

"You're so needy."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He kissed your forehead. "Mhm."

"No soaking?"

"You're teasing me, you shit.”

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

"I don't have a look.”

"Mhm.”

"Such a smartass.”

You only rolled your eyes in response.

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

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

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

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

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

"It was an odd request, Yoon.”

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

"Having your dick scratched?"

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

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

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

You only laughed, continuing to scratch his back.

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

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

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

Then your mind began to spin . . .

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

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

"Mmm.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"We do.”

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

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

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

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

You raised a brow. "A little?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You raised a brow. "Beg.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It's my job.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You unravel me.

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

You unravel me.

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

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

You unravel me.

Perhaps . . .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Seokjin snickered. "You're shameless.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Huh," Seokjin mused.

"Yeah . . . "

A beat of silence.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Absolutely shameless.

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

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

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

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

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

You couldn't lie to your brother.

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

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

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

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

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

But you weren’t focused on that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Mmm, secret," Yoongi simply responded.

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

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

You rolled your eyes. Cheeky bastard.

"What are you—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh.

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

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

But that would've been too kind.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I know."

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

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

You furrowed your brows. "Take what?"

"The pain."

Oh.

Your heart swelled and words gathered on your tongue.

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

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

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

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

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

Safe.

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

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

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

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

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

A beat of silence.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Another beat of silence passed.

Then one more.

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

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

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

You softly snorted. "Promise."

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

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

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

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

You both swore that .

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you knew no matter what the competition would always end the same way . . .

Seokjin would always be the golden child; and you the second child, the restless child.

Sometimes, even now, you wondered if maybe your father's opinion would've changed. If it did at all. Before his death, you remembered seeing him at your house right before you'd left for the train station. There, he'd caught you at the front door, a moment of silence passed between you before he gave you a simple nod and retreated back into his office. That was the last time you saw him.

You wondered if that nod meant more than a goodbye. Yoongi had told you months ago your father had been proud of you. Maybe, unbeknownst to your mother, the nod your father had sent your way before your departure . . . had actually been a nod of approval.

But how could you have known?

Your father had passed. He was one with the weeds now, and here you were along with your brother and mother (and god help you, her second husband), left to remember your father on the three-year anniversary of his death. There was no knowing what that nod truly meant. Not now anyway.

Now . . . it all felt a little bittersweet.

You couldn't help but sigh at your thoughts.

Today would be rough, you decided as you slowly shifted in your seat, tuning out the voices around you and leaning your head on the window, silently watching the streets of Seoul zip by. Your eyes traced a raindrop sliding down the window, wondering when you'd reach the restaurant your mother had booked for dinner. (She had the bright idea that since both her children were in the same place for once that having dinner as a family to remember your father was the right thing to do. You, however, wished you had the guts to decline the offer, but there you were anyway.)

Another sigh left you, then you felt a hand touch yours, gently squeezing. Your eyes flicked to the touch, discovering that Seokjin had reached out to grasp your hand, catching onto the discomfort you'd expressed. You glanced up at him, finding he was still glancing between the road and the rear-view mirror while conversing with your mother. But his hand was gone with one final squeeze.

A smile lifted onto your face. He'd wanted you to know he was there. The smile grew a little more.

Then, your phone buzzed in your lap, gaining your attention. You turned it on, only to be met with a text from Yoongi.

Yoonie Blow a gasket yet?

You stifled your snort and unlocked your phone, quickly replying to him.

You Almost. Still the black sheep, apparently

The three dots appeared immediately. Then the blue text followed.

Yoonie I finished early. Want me to meet you guys at the restaurant?

You sucked your bottom lip under the grasp of your teeth. You did want him to come. Really you did, but you didn't want him to feel like he had to. You—

Another text from Yoongi.

Yoonie Don't do that self-doubt bullshit, angel. Let me be there for you

You couldn't help it, you smiled. Then your fingers were typing for you.

You I'll text you the address

Yoonie That's my girl

It only took a few minutes before you interrupted your mother on one of her rants, and asked your brother the address to the restaurant, stating Yoongi wanted to join. You covered up your almost too obvious relief by claiming he wanted to see your mother to pay his respects. And that was that, Seokjin recited the address and you forwarded it to Yoongi.

The rest of the ride, you sat there silently, with a soft smile on your face.

Dinner only came with more problems . . .

. . . all starting with your mother's husband butchering his speech.

"I—uh . . . I've only been in your mother's life for a short time now, but I just—I wanted—I would like to say how much I'm thankful to be here with you all—you kids . . . today. I'm sure your father—uh your husband—Mr. Kim would be pleased to see you all together, so without further adieu—" your mother's husband stammered on, raising his drink— "a toast. To—"

"Oh, darling," your mother interrupted, lowering her husband's arm. "We only toast with champagne."

No, you didn't. She'd never done that before.

He blinked. "Oh, right."

Your mother simply smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Family tradition."

No, it wasn't.

"Well, I think that should start us off," your mother quickly stole the attention of everyone at the table, eyes immediately going to Seokjin before flicking between you and Yoongi. "How have you been Yoongi, dear?"

Yoongi leaned back in his chair. "Well," he hummed in a calm tone, lifting the rim of the beer bottle to his lips before taking a swig. "Everything's well. And you?"

“Splendid.”

Time ticked on from there, a few words being exchanged between Yoongi and your mother as she asked him about his job at the music company he was a part of. (You didn't miss the way she wrinkled her nose in judgment when Yoongi went on about the new album he had in the works, featuring various artists and even some with his own voice. She was still the same woman she always had been: too headstrong to see another path other than the one she knew.)

After a few faked smiles and meaningless words, your mother set her sights on Seokjin once again, smiling brightly at him while she questioned how the company was doing. They went on and on and on, all the while her husband sat idly by, nodding as words were exchanged. He seemed nice enough . . . maybe a little pathetic, but nice.

And almost too predictable, you sat silently, hands clasped in your lap as you occasionally picked at your food. She hadn't asked you a question in forty-five minutes, and you were beginning to think she wouldn't. Not that it bothered you too much, you'd already expected this. But what you didn't expect was to see Yoongi shift out of the corner of your eye as he placed his arm on the back of your chair, lightly stroking your shoulder with his thumb.

It was a simple gesture, but it was enough.

You glanced up, finding his warm eyes.

With Yoongi by your side, you could get through this meal. You could.

But . . . then you heard your mother's voice and this time her sights were set on you. Shit.

"So how have you been, dear?" your mother asked, a tight smile on her face.

You stayed silent for only a second, questioning if she were actually addressing you, and then you were speaking. "Oh, fine," you muttered out, clearing your throat. "I've been trying to get back into the studio and—"

Almost as if on cue, your mother cut you off with a scoff. "God, still? I thought after the contract you were going to give it up?"

"When have I ever said that? It's my career, mom," you instantly muttered out, clenching your hands into fists on your lap. "I'm just taking a break, trying to find a muse, if you will."

Your mother sighed, sipping from her glass as she glanced back at her husband. "Wouldn't you rather go back to school and do something noble?" she questioned, glancing at your brother next with her brows raised and a small smile on her face.

She'd always done this: taken little jabs at you. There was not a day that went by where your ears weren't filled with her little comments, pin-pointing one of your decisions that she had quickly claimed were mistakes. Dropping out of college? Mistake. Moving to Busan? Mistake. All of it. Your entire life had added up to one big mistake in her eyes.

Half the time you didn't know if she said the things she did to teach you a lesson or because she just wanted to hear herself talk. You didn't care either. It made your blood boil nevertheless.

But you'd learned not to talk back. It only made things worse. So with your blood boiling, you cleared your throat and averted your gaze to your plate, expecting her to go on and make her point.

Except . . . her voice never came. No, instead, the man beside you spoke.

"You don't think art is noble?" Yoongi questioned, his voice dark as he shook his head and scoffed. "Contributing to culture . . . that's not noble?"

Your mother's eyes were on him in an instant. Redact that— everyone's eyes were on him, even yours.

A second of silence passed. Then another. And one more before your mother released a strained laugh almost like she couldn't believe someone had actually questioned her words.

And then, she spoke. "I think my dear daughter got in over her head and now that her contract’s up she realizes what a big mistake she's made," she clarified, pursing her lips. "You always indulged her in these fantasies. I've never liked that." She glanced between your stunned face and the stern look in Yoongi's dark eyes. "Besides, it is none of your business. Off scamming people into buying overdone music. What would your father say?"

That snapped you out of your daze as you turned to face your mother, brows furrowed and lips in a straight line. "Mom," you began with a shake of your head. "Don't talk to him that way."

Your mother only clicked her tongue, but she didn't say a word.

In fact, no one uttered anything.

Until . . .

"Alright," Yoongi muttered under his breath, leaning an elbow on the table as he gestured toward your mother. "I apologize in advance but—Your daughter's work is impressive."

A scoff from your mother. "Please."

Yoongi clenched his jaw, a muscle twitching there. "Her drive, her technique, her entire essence is poured into each and every one of her pieces and people see that. People live off that. They admire it," he went on, his voice stern, but not as calm as it had been before. "She's only twenty-six and yet she's been all over—Paris, New Orleans, London, Melbourne . . . all—all over the States, and Europe and that's only the half of it. Do you know how rare, how groundbreaking that truly is?"

Your mother stayed silent, but ever so uptight. She didn't dare glance your way.

And Yoongi only continued from there. "It's sad how you can't see it . . . " he trailed off. His eyes flicked to yours as he inhaled sharply, but the breath was barely audible. You, however, had heard it, and your brows twitched, wondering what he was thinking. He'd answered your wonderment shortly. "She has spent the last four years building her career up, inspiring people all over the world, and still . . . a few words from you and I see her revert back into herself."

You swallowed hard, placing a hand on his forearm. "Yoongi, you don't have to."

He'd only shook his head, a soft smile on his face that was only meant for you. "I know, but . . . I want to."

I want to. You closed your eyes, soaking in his words.

He'd turned back to meet your mother's cold gaze a mere second later. "The world never teaches you how to dream, but it always promotes competition. You've been pitting the two of them—" he pointed between you and Seokjin— "against each other from day one, and she's too good to say anything, but I'm not. I've seen what you've done. The way your words broke her down . . . but she always got back up. She's always kept going, and it paid off." He tongued the inner corners of his mouth, scoffing slightly with a shake of his head. "If that's not admirable . . . if that's not noble , then I don't know what is."

"I see," was all your mother said.

It was enough, however, to coax a sigh out of Yoongi as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm sorry. I know I'm making a scene, but . . . you don't get to sit there and treat her like that," he uttered out, gesturing toward your mother once again. "You don't want to support it, support her, then fine. She doesn't need your bullshit support anyway. But . . . you best respect her. She deserves that much."

And all that met him was the silence. All eyes remained on him, but yours especially never left his face.

"Well . . . " Seokjin coughed out after a painful minute of piercing silence. "The pork belly here is really good."

All eyes lifted off Yoongi, shifting toward Seokjin before the three of them immersed themselves into quiet conversation once again. You knew your mother would never let Yoongi live this down, but for now, there was nothing left to say. Even so, your eyes remained on Yoongi's hardened face, desperately wishing to spill everything on your mind.

At that moment, you were reminded of the silly promise you'd made to each other when you were kids. He'd always have your support, and you'd always have his. You'd promised each other that . . . and he'd kept that promise today.

Your hand met his a second later, squeezing. Carefully, you watched as his eyes flicked to your hand in his, then slowly flick up to meet your gaze.

A smile tipped onto your lips. Thank you, it seemed to say.

He smiled back, threading his fingers together with yours. Always, he'd replied by grazing your knuckles with his thumb.

You'd decided to ride home with Yoongi, bidding farewell to your mother at the restaurant before you slid into his car and the two of you took off. There was nothing left to say to your mother. She didn't want to talk to you anyway. Bringing up what had happened at the restaurant would only start a fight you didn't have the energy to deal with, so going home with Yoongi was your best option (it was also the only option you even wanted to think of).

And while the ride to the apartment was silent, it was not uncomfortable. His hand stayed tangled with yours the entire drive. It wasn't driven by heat or anything like that; it was just a simple touch, a simple comfort for the both of you.

I just want to feel that you're there.

Reminds me that this is real.

Those had been his words he'd shared with you the night of your date, and they'd stuck with you. You were sure they always would. Reminds me that this is real. It was. You found solace in that.

His words remained on your mind as he pulled into the parking lot and the two of you made your way up to your apartment. Only once you got inside, and flicked off your shoes, did you turn to Yoongi, drowsily rubbing your face before you entered his room and laid on top of his bed, snuggling into his pillow. He'd only laughed in response, saying something about Seokjin being home soon, but nevertheless curled up right beside you, tugging you into his chest.

The two of you just laid there, a mess of limbs, relishing in the sound of each other's quiet breathing. This was real.

"Is this awkward now that you've seen my dick?" Yoongi abruptly muttered into your hair.

And you couldn't help it, a loud laugh escaped you. You knew what he was doing. You knew his words had only left him in an attempt to cheer you up with everything that had happened that day. (You'd be lying if you said it didn't work a little.)

"More than seen it," you softly replied with a small smile on your face.

He tugged you closer in response, one arm securing around your back with the other tangled in your hair, massaging your scalp. You relaxed into his touch, breathing in his scent—a mix of jasmine and wood. You realized you finally felt at peace there in his arms. That only made you smile wider as your eyes fluttered shut and you nuzzled your cheek into his chest.

This was real.

But time ticked by and you grew anxious, wishing to tell him how much you appreciated what he had done for you that night. He'd always shown his elders respect, so standing up to your mother like that was uncharacteristic of him. He'd done it for you, and that meant more to you than you could even begin to fathom.

You bit the inside of your cheek, releasing a soft sigh. "Thank you . . . for back there," you mumbled, rubbing your hand up and down his chest, finally stopping just above his heart where you drew circles with your pointer. "I just . . . I can't stand up to her."

"You will . . . one day," Yoongi simply replied, pressing his lips against your forehead.

Time ticked by. You weren’t sure how much, you just let it drone on, allowing yourself to melt completely into Yoongi's arms. It must have been at least half an hour later when the front door to the apartment clicked open and shut a second later, followed by shuffling footsteps approaching Yoongi's open bedroom door.

Neither of you bothered to rip apart, Yoongi whispering reassurance in your ear that your brother wouldn't catch on. And you put your faith in him, tilting your head slightly just in time to see Seokjin step under the threshold of the door. You gave a soft laugh and waved him into the room.

A soft sigh left Seokjin as he stepped into the room. "Move over," he huffed, approaching the two of you on the bed and climbing onto it, shifting onto the open spot just between you and the wall. With a strained groan, he laid down, his back on the bed, shifting one arm under his head while the other lazily draped over his stomach.

You poked his armpit, earning another groan before you turned back to Yoongi and laughed into his chest. Yoongi only patted your head, smiling down at you.

Seokjin smacked the back of your head in retaliation, and you only laughed more. And while it was dark, you were sure your brother had a small smile on his face as well. Nevertheless, his words changed the course of your mind as he hummed out a, "Well . . . that happened."

You, of course, knew what he was talking about: the dinner.

And Yoongi did too, as he stiffened under your touch.

"Are you mad?" you found yourself asking.

Seokjin only gave a dry laugh. "God, no, I just didn't want to fight with her," he explained, clicking his tongue and then inhaling deeply. "She's just . . . she has a strong personality."

You nodded. Then, your hand was reaching out to pinch his side. "Yeah, you're just like her," you teased, wishing the heaviness of the day would just disintegrate if you tried hard enough.

"With that logic, you're just like dad," Seokjin retorted, flicking your hand away.

With that, you dropped your hand. Maybe there was some truth to his words. Maybe . . . maybe you really were like your father. Parts of him could've been seen in you. You knew that. You just wished you knew what parts of him you'd inherited.

You swallowed, hard, feeling at a crossroads once again.

And as if sensing your shift in mood, you felt Yoongi's hand trail down your arm, nails grazing the slope as they reached the palm of your hand then spread out to your fingers, all the way up to the tips. It was a comforting gesture, one that numbed your mind, and you found yourself sighing into him.

"He would've hated that," Seokjin's voice came again, tearing you from your mind. "The dinner . . . "

Yoongi snorted.

And you laughed. "Oh, completely. He would've walked out within the first five minutes."

"Snuck out the bathroom window or something," Seokjin added with a shake of his head.

"He wouldn't even go that far to hide it," you countered, humorously. "He'd just leave."

"You're right. You're right."

But while the silence enveloped the three of you, the darkness consuming your sight, your mind began to wander. All you could think of was the funeral. You'd stayed until the end, then hopped on a train as soon as it was over. You hadn't stopped once to let anyone approach you or to ask how your brother or even how your mother was taking it. You'd just left.

How could you just leave like that?

How could you—

The floodgates had begun to tremble and you knew what was happening. Fuck. No, no, no. You didn't want to cry. Not now.

You just . . . you'd spent so long running from feeling all of this, from mourning the death of your father that it'd begun to build and build and build. And now? There was nowhere to run . . . and you didn't want to. Not anymore. Not again.

That, however, didn’t make this any easier. Letting yourself feel wasn't something you were used to. So with an unsteady mind and fear pounding in your chest, you opened the floodgates . . . willingly this time. The tears followed short, your entire body convulsing with quiet sobs.

You felt your brother and Yoongi go stiff as you quietly sobbed, quickly bringing your hand to your mouth to cover the sounds. And they let you, knowing this . . . this was what you needed.

"I just don't get it," you gasped out. "We weren't even that close. Why do I miss him so much?"

Yoongi hadn't released you from his grip, him squeezing your arm made you realize this. "Because there was a chance you could've been closer," he mumbled, whispering it to you both and Seokjin, knowing the both of you needed to hear those words.

A second of silence passed.

Then, a hand fell to your hair, petting the back of your head, and you knew the hand belonged to Seokjin. His voice filtering through your ears a second later confirmed these thoughts. "Sometimes I wonder if I'm doing right by him with the company," he admitted, shocking you so.

What?

But . . . Seokjin had always been so sure of his decisions, always so sure of himself.

You glanced over at him, brow furrowed in confusion. "How do you mean?"

Seokjin swallowed so hard it echoed in the air before he muttered under his breath, "Mom thinks I'm doing so great, but . . . If I make the wrong move, I could tank the company . . . that would be like letting him die in vain." He shook his head, and when he spoke again, you could hear the uneasiness in the way his voice wavered. "Sometimes when deals fall through or I fuck up a meeting . . . it feels like I'm failing him."

Oh. You’d never thought he felt that way. He was Seokjin, the golden child. He didn’t doubt. He never had. So then . . . ?

A bitter laugh left your brother. "His shit's still there, in that office. His telescope's sitting there and I swear sometimes I can still see him standing there, looking out of it at the moon . . . and then I hear him and I can never tell if he's saying he's proud of me or if I've failed him."

And then you realized.

Growing up, Seokjin had always needed affirmations. He'd always sought them out, and he'd looked for them with his head held high. He'd made it known to your parents how a new watch for acing a test was what would let him know he'd done well. You'd never been that way. You'd always sought out their approval, silently, so silent that perhaps they hadn't even noticed just how much you needed it. You'd always paved your own way, searching for your own approval while Seokjin looked to his parents, knowing exactly what he wanted and how he was going to get it. You saw this now.

While you had been quiet, Seokjin had been vocal.

It was as simple as that. The two of you were different: two sides to the same coin.

Perhaps your parents had seen this too. Perhaps your father had.

And maybe you were looking too much into it, or maybe . . . maybe you were right. But . . . with your father's passing, he'd signed all of his materialistic things in Seokjin's name from his company to the watch he'd always worn. He'd done this to show his son he could continue on his name, and in doing so, he'd make him proud. While . . . he'd signed away a large sum of his savings in your name. Maybe . . . maybe he'd done that because he knew you'd use that money for what you wanted, not for what everyone else desired. He knew you'd take that money and do something good, something grand, something utterly you.

Perhaps that was his own way of letting you know you'd made him proud.

He was proud of you, and he'd be proud of you now, Yoongi's words filtered through your ears as you remembered what he told you your first night back in Seoul. And you chose to believe that.

Your father had been proud of you. He knew you would find no use, no inspiration in the materialistic things he'd once owned. No, he'd left you that money so you could do something more.

A smile lifted onto your face as you realized this. Your father would be proud to see what Seokjin had done with the company, and he'd be proud to see what you'd done with your career. You chose to believe this.

And you chose to admit it aloud as well.

With a nod of your head at your thoughts, you reached out to squeeze your brother's arm. "Dad would be proud of you, Jin," you spoke softly and quietly as a single tear slipped down your cheek. This time you didn't wipe it away. "He left you all that . . . so when you looked at it, you'd see him. Those were his prized possession. I think, in a way, you were too." You nodded once more. This was the truth. "He was proud of us , in his own way . . . and he'd be proud to see how the company turned out."

A second of silence passed before Seokjin rested his hand atop yours. Thank you, the gesture seemed to say and you only offered him a smile in the dark.

The silence was lighter now as it encircled the three of you in its embrace. Perhaps the truth wasn't so scary after all.

Minutes later and you swore you were almost drifting off into sleep when Yoongi shifted beside you and groaned, "Are we all really about to sleep in my bed?"

Your brother barked out a laugh. "Afraid so, Min."

Yoongi only grumbled in response.

"He's such a grouch," Seokjin tsked.

You nodded. "Tell me about it."

"I can hear you," Yoongi bit out, pinching your side.

A soft laugh left you as you twitched in his arms. "He says that like that wasn't the point."

"He's just—"

But Yoongi cut your brother off before he could speak. "Yah!" the man hissed, pulling away from you and turning on his side, his back now facing you. "If you're both going to sleep in my bed, then at least shut the fuck up."

His outburst brought a certain silence once again, you and Seokjin stifling your laughter before your brother turned away from you and faced the wall, rolling onto his side. He grabbed a pillow and hugged it to his chest, and that was when you complacently sighed and turned to face Yoongi's back.

A soft smile twitched onto your lips as you shuffled closer to him, snaking an arm around his waist. Yoongi immediately grabbed your hand, tugging you closer to him as he intertwined your fingers with his and pulled it to his chest. You shook your head in amusement and placed your cheek against his back, nuzzling closer to him.

You knew wrapping yourself up into Yoongi like this was risky considering it could give Seokjin the hint that the two of you were more than friends. But you didn't care. You'd try to figure out a lie later if he asked. But right now . . . right now you just wanted to blissfully drift off into sleep with the scent of jasmine and wood consuming your being.

And you did exactly that.

True to his word, the following week you found yourself staring up at the tall corporate building with Yoongi standing by your side, taking in your stunned expression with mirth in his eyes. You knew he'd belonged to one of the largest music companies in the country, but you'd never seen it in person, only in photos, so standing before it, realizing just how small you were compared to the building towering over you, felt a little unreal.

Out of the corner of your eye, you watched Yoongi approach the front doors. You cleared your throat, clutching the hem of your skirt to tug it down before you followed after him (yeah, yeah, yeah, you knew it was stupid to wear a skirt in the beginning of November, but hey, the weather was on the warmer side, so fuck it).

Once inside, many people greeted Yoongi, mumbling a good morning to him, and then referring to him as Suga . You’d only quirked your head to the side in confusion as you followed him into the elevator, then down a hall.

Only then did you address your confusion. "Suga, huh? Stage name?"

He glanced over at you and flicked your nose. "So smart, dollface.”

"Fuck you," you grumbled, swatting at his hand. "Why Suga?"

"Stands for shooting guard.”

You snorted. "You are so predictable.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he huffed before he glanced around, then tugged you down another empty hall. Instantly, he slapped your ass, chuckling when you jumped at the touch.

You shot him a dirty look.

Yoongi ruffled your hair. "You're lucky we're in public, you know?" he spoke under his breath before he tugged you further down the hall, not giving you enough time to adjust to the warmth pooling in your lower stomach at his words.

Finally, he stopped in front of a door in the middle of the hall, and you were left to observe. A keypad met your eyes, and then you caught sight of the sign labeled Genius Lab , and you couldn’t help but snort.

"Genius Lab?" you mused, quirking a brow at him.

He glanced over his shoulder at you. "Something funny?"

"Nope, nope, nothing.”

A click of his tongue was your only response as he dipped to punch in the passcode.

"Passcode, too?” you remarked, teasingly. “Wow, I'm impressed you've managed to remember it.”

The lock beeped, unlocking as Yoongi rested his hand on the handle but didn’t shove it open. No, instead, he turned to look at you once again, this time sighing. "Yeah, well, when you forget it once and lock yourself out for four days, you tend to make it a point not to forget it again," he admitted, a little bashfulness to his tone.

"Again," you hummed. "Predictable."

Yoongi only rolled his eyes before he pushed the door open. "Yeah, yeah, yeah, get your ass in there," he huffed, shoving you inside the small studio.

Once inside, your eyes widened. All around you laid equipment, a desk and a chair to match among other things that just had Yoongi written all over it. But what caught your eye was his old basketball jersey hanging up on his wall as if overseeing all of his success.

You remembered that jersey.

Before one of his games, he’d asked you to sign the inside of it, claiming it’d give him good luck. And you’d signed it willingly with a wide, toothy grin on your face. You’d almost forgotten but there it was staring right back at you, and you couldn’t help but smile.

You even found yourself approaching it, hand stretched out to check if your name was still there. “You still have—Ow!"

But you never reached the jersey. Instead, Yoongi slapped your ass once again, this time harder, halting you in your actions before he sat down on the gaming chair with a cheeky grin on his face. Under your harsh gaze, he leaned back, arms resting on the armrests as he spread his legs while raising his brows at you. That same damned grin remained on his face.

"Yoongi, seriously?” you all but spat.

Yoongi bit the tip of his thumb, eyes dragging down your figure. "Sorry, couldn't resist.”

You only crossed your arms over your chest. "What if someone heard that?”

"Soundproof.”

"Oh.”

(You ignored the warmth pooling in your stomach at what that tiny detail entailed.)

Yoongi grinned wider. "C'mere," he commanded, patting his thigh.

And you couldn’t resist. You reached him, sitting down on his lap and leaning your back against his chest as he shifted underneath you to secure his arms around your waist. His chin rested on your shoulder, and he hummed a sigh of relief. Perhaps he felt safe with his arms wrapped around you, too.

"So this is it?" you found yourself asking, eyes still searching the dim-lit room.

"Were you expecting more?"

"No, I didn't mean it like that," you mumbled. "I mean . . . this is it. This is your life. It's you." You turned to face him, smiling. "I just—Thank you for sharing it with me."

"You're a part of my life," Yoongi simply said. "A big part of it. I wanted to share this with you."

You couldn’t help it, you scrunched your nose just as you felt your heart swell in your chest. "You really are just a big sap, you know that, Yoon?" you all but giggled before you pressed a kiss to his nose.

"Shut it.”

Another laugh came from your lips. You averted your gaze to the equipment laid out in front of you, your mind wandering. "So, is this why you wanted to take me here?" you questioned your thoughts aloud. “To share this with me?”

"Yes and no," Yoongi mumbled against your skin. It was almost as if he were hiding himself from your view. "I wanna . . . wanna show you something."

The next second he was reaching for a black notebook placed neatly at the corner of his desk. He slapped it down in front of you, and began turning the pages.

He paused his page flipping. "I told you about the new album I'm writing, right?" he asked.

You nodded.

Then he gripped the page in between his fingers, seemingly hesitating for a mere second before he sighed and continued flipping until he paused to reveal a page consumed by messy handwriting.

Was this one of his songs?

But Yoongi’s voice filtered in through your ears before you could get too inside your head.

"It's, uh, it's different from my other work. There are still different artists weaved into certain songs, but for the most part, it's all me: the lyrics, the music, the voices . . . " he trailed off, tapping the page. "I got the idea almost a year ago now. I just—I wanted to try something different, you know? And inspiration struck so I just kept writing and writing, and the album kind of . . . wrote itself?"

"Is this you saying I get to have a sneak peek?"

"Yeah, yeah, I guess so," he chuckled under his breath as his hand trudged through his hair. "I've been experimenting with rap and I'm taking vocal lessons too, so there's some of that. I wanted it to be raw, you know? Real." He wet his bottom lip, glancing at the side of your face briefly. "Every song's inspired by something that’s happened in my life, so I guess . . . I guess I wanted an outside opinion to see if it's shit or not."

You only grinned at his response, eyes meeting his. "Min Yoongi, are you nervous?" you taunted, poking his side.

"If that's what you call this—” he tongued the inner corners of his mouth— “then yes," he sighed humorously before he trudged his hand through his hair once more.

"You're so cute.”

"God, don't call me that.”

You clicked your tongue at his response. "OK, OK, let me hear it.”

He looked at you for a second as if hesitating, then he reached for the headset resting on the desk and placed them over your ears. He went to work after that, turning on the computer and sifting through his folders until he reached the file he desired. Then, with an inhale, he hovered the mouse over it and took a glance your way.

"There's one song that I think needs tweaking, so . . . it's up to you to tell me what's shit about it and what's not, got it?" he informed you, his words sounding awkward on his tongue.

"Yoongi, I don't know anything about music," you reassured him.

"Bullshit," he playfully scoffed. "You grew up with me, you've got to have a good ear on you."

"No promises.”

He only responded with a shake of his head.

A second of silence passed.

Then, he spoke again. (God, he really was nervous.)

"OK . . . this is an older work. I've switched it up a little over the years, added lyrics, but by lyrics I mean it's got my tone-deaf voice on it so you've gotta keep that in mind," he warned as he tongued the corners of his mouth again. "If it's shit, it's shit. Spare me the looks, just ask to move on and we'll move on."

"You really are nervous," you mused. Then, you leaned forward, squinting your eyes at his forehead before you tapped a finger to his brow. "Is that sweat?"

He swatted your hand away. "Yah, don't tease me.”

You only snorted, waving him off as you turned your attention to the computer.

His voice came again, even more hesitant now. "Oh, and um . . . here—" he tapped the notebook again, drawing your eyes down to the words sloppily written across the page— "it's the lyrics. The rough draft anyway. Just . . . read along while it plays and uh . . . make any marks you think best."

You nodded. "Press play, Yoon."

"Right.”

The song began with the soft strumming of a guitar, creating a simple melody in your ears. You touched your hands to the headset over your ears, a soft smile lifting onto your face. It was silly but you could’ve sworn you’d heard this song before. Then, his soft, deep voice joined the soft guitar. His voice was breathy and slightly off-key but it worked with the overall soft hum of the song . . . but your mind was still stuck on the rhythm of it, the tune, the ambiance. It felt almost nostalgic to you.

And then as the song played on, you realized where you had heard it before.

This . . . this was the same song Yoongi had first ever composed. It was the same song he played at his first gig; the first song you thought might have been composed for you; the song he played the night at his bar. This song you now knew had been for you, but you hadn’t understood the extent of it until that very moment.

As his voice filtered through your ears, going into another verse, your face slowly fell. You weren’t upset or anything of the sort . . . rather . . . you had caught onto what he was saying, what he was telling you through the lyrics. You’d first thought it to be a thank you when he’d played it at the bar, but now . . . you were sure this was an apology.

You blinked, eyes burning as you flicked your gaze down to the notebook. You flipped a page, searching for the verse playing in your ears, and when you found it, you couldn’t ignore the lump in your throat that had begun to form.

You can let it go, you read and your heart swelled in your chest.

This . . . this was written for you; for the years you’d been burdened by life. It was an apology, a thank you, an ode to you.

An ode . . . there . . . that put you at rest. It was an ode.

You lost yourself in the song, the lyrics, the guitar, all of it in that moment. And you just let it consume you.

The song trailed on for another verse, but your mind was too preoccupied spinning and spinning farther away from you. You couldn’t wrap your mind around it. This was the song he’d first composed, the same one he’d shared with you on that train when you were kids, the same one he’d played for his first gig, the same one he’d played the night at his bar. This was the song he’d written long ago and . . . he’d written it for you.

Your mind only spiraled from there . . .

It all made sense now.

You couldn’t stop yourself. The next second you reached forward and restarted the song, letting the tune consume you. The lyrics were more clear now, and you had to stop yourself from gasping as the song filtered through your ears once more.

The song began painting the image of you and Yoongi riding your bikes to catch the train—the very train that would take you to the art gallery . . . to your first show. You’d had no care in the world back then. Everything was not a big deal, because you hadn’t let it become one. You only realized just how blind you were to the rest of the world when you returned home that same night and had to face the music.

The backlash you’d received from your parents when you returned, Yoongi by your side, hadn’t bothered you then. It hadn’t been a big deal, not when Yoongi had looked at you with pride and adoration in his eyes. It didn’t matter if your parents didn’t support you, you’d done well. Your own support along with Yoongi’s had been enough for you back then.

It was still enough now.

The next verse delved into the many celebrations you'd had on your own, not bothering to invite your parents. An image of you surrounded by the smiling faces of your friends greeted you then. A warm feeling bloomed in your chest as you remembered the surprise Hari had orchestrated after you sold your first painting.

All the other times you’d thrown little party after little party after each success crossed your mind then. You’d never invited your parents, instead sharing your achievements with your close friends over a few bottles of wine. That little family you’d found on your own had been enough for you.

It still was.

However, as the song played on, the gentle baritone of Yoongi's voice mixed with the subtle guitar, you realized there was one particular verse that your brain stuck on. Matilda, you talk of the pain like it's all alright but I know that you feel like a piece of you's dead inside, the lyrics filtered in through your ears as you pin-pointed the verse on the notebook, checking with your very eyes to see if you'd heard it correctly.

When you saw the exact words splayed out on the paper, Yoongi's notes written in the margin lines, you couldn't help the twitch in your brow. He'd truly written that. That was exactly how you knew the song had truly been for you. And as your eyes flicked up to catch the title of the song splayed out in chicken scratch at the top of the page, your suspicions were further confirmed.

Matilda. That had been the song’s title.

Matilda. The silly little movie you’d watch over and over again as a kid, oftentimes forcing Yoongi to sit through it with you.

Matilda—the tether that had been keeping the two of you bound to each other for years now.

That silly little movie had helped you through the darkest of times, relying on it like a crutch. It'd kept you going, serving as your drive. In other words, Matilda had been your inspiration, and you had been Yoongi’s Matilda. You realized now he had been yours for a while now, too.

He’d brought the sun to the darkest days. Truly. He’d been your helping hand, pulling you out of the darkness, and you’d done the same for him. An eternity of pushing and pulling at one another, simultaneously keeping each other afloat in the dark abyss of life.

The suspicions you had of the song mapping out the course of your life bit by bit, only furthered when you listened closely to the next verse. Yoongi's voice came from the headset, whispering that you didn't need to be sorry for leaving your hometown and growing up. He'd reassured you there was nothing left for you. You'd deserved to move on; deserve to live for yourself instead of for everyone else.

Your heart swelled. For so long you’d been burdened by leaving home for a better life. You tried to figure out why it bothered you so, not realizing all you really needed was for someone to tell you it was going to be alright. You’d only needed a little reassurance all along.

His voice filtered through your ears again, another deep baritone verse began to play, painting an entirely new picture. The song went on to repeat how you didn't have to be sorry for doing it all on your own; for living your life on your own. You swallowed hard. You'd done it all on your own.

And you really had.

You’d done it on your own because you’d believed you had to. You didn’t need to do that anymore, to guard yourself so harshly.

You didn’t need to do it alone anymore. But all the same, you didn’t need to apologize for going off and leaving your parents behind.

What happened was not your fault. You’d loved your parents in your own way. While there may have been regrets, there was no need to stick this burden upon yourself.

Another verse, and the voice—Yoongi's voice—was reassuring you that they—your family; the words of the past—couldn't hurt you anymore as long as you could let them go. As long as you could let the past go, release it from your grasp, and release yourself from its burden . . . then you could truly live.

Forgiveness was what you needed. You needed to forgive them. Then, you needed to forgive yourself.

You’d repented long enough. It was time to let the past go.

The song slowly sang the last two verses, the words the same. But a simple line stuck out to you. It was Yoongi singing, his voice lower compared to the rest of the song, his words painting the picture that you could surround yourself around people who would always be there, who would always support you. You didn't have to seek their validation.

As the song iterated, this family that you could start all on your own would be yours. It wouldn't be tainted by the past. It was yours, not your mother's or your father's ghost . . . it was just utterly yours.

You could move on; you could let yourself move on.

And just like that, the floodgates opened . . .

Unable to stop yourself, you blinked, more tears trickling down through the floodgates and onto your cheeks. You never knew he could see just how much the burdens placed on you by your parents had wielded your mind. You never knew he’d seen that part of you—the part of you still searching for validation with wide, hopeful eyes.

You can let it go, the song had sung. These were the words he couldn’t say but so desperately wanted you to know.

It was a simple message.

He’d told you long ago that jazz had started in a little place in New Orleans where no one could speak to each other, so they spoke through music. He’d spoken to you through this song . . . and you’d heard him.

You heard him.

And he saw you.

A hand touching your arm was the only thing to bring you out of your trance. You blinked, a few more tears trickling down your face as you glanced over your shoulder to meet Yoongi's searching gaze. He looked almost . . . anxious. It was cute, you thought.

"So?" he muttered out, clearing his throat when he heard the hoarseness of his voice. "What'd you think?" He wiped away your fallen tears with his thumbs.

You only stared at him, taking him in. For a long time now, you hadn't truly looked at Yoongi. But there he was, staring right back at you and you couldn't help but get wrapped up in his features. From his button nose to the smile lines just in the crinkle of his eyes, you took all of him in. Your eyes even fell upon the small freckle on his nose, and you remembered you'd claimed it as your favorite thing about him when you were a mere child. It still remained one of your favorite things about him.

But Yoongi, more anxious than he'd ever let on, shifted beneath you, averting his gaze briefly as a hand came up to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Is it creepy?" he sighed, closing his eyes in regret. "Fuck, it's a creep move, isn't it? I knew—"

"Min Yoongi," you quickly cut him off with a soft laugh, "you really are a sap at heart."

Slowly, Yoongi glanced up, eyes wide. "What?"

You laughed a little louder in response.

God, you loved him.

"You wrote me a song," you simply said, a toothy grin still on your face.

His expression lifted at your words, then he tilted his head, screwing up his face as he strained out, "Well . . . "

It was your turn to widen your eyes in astonishment. "An album ?"

Yoongi sent you a sheepish tight-lipped smile, and nodded. "Is it entirely too . . . sappy to say you've been—" he shrugged, thinking of his words before he continued— " something of a muse to me?"

"Yes, entirely. "

"Guess I'm fucked then."

You shook your head, your cheeks beginning to hurt from smiling. But you didn't care. This was bliss.

And in your blissful haze, you shifted in his lap a little more, wrapping your arms around his neck before you pressed your lips against his. The kiss was fleeting, but it managed to warm your entire being, providing a comfort you never thought you'd need.

You pulled back a second later. "No, not entirely fucked," you mused, kissing his nose, right on the freckle you adored. "You're lucky I'm so self-absorbed." A click of your tongue, and you continued. "I mean, don't get me wrong, this is totally just charity work, but what can I say? I just love my fans."

Yoongi's eyes roamed over your face as he shook his head. "You're the worst," he hummed, a hint of a smile twitching at his lips while his hands remained at your waist, keeping a steady grip on you.

"Clearly, not," you taunted, brows furrowing. "I mean damn, you're giving me a big head."

A low groan escaped Yoongi as he tilted his head back, baring his neck to you. "The worst," he muttered, his Adam's apple bobbing as he spoke.

That was enough to set you off, lust immediately filling you.

What?

He had a beautiful neck. God, did he ever.

Almost subconsciously, your hand came up to fist the hair near the nape of his neck, tugging it back ever so slightly to reveal more of his neck to you. You only grew greedier as your mouth attacked his neck. You licked a long strip up the column of his neck, running over his Adam's apple, and vocally voicing your approval when you felt him swallow under your touch.

You continued your exploration of his neck, pressing open-mouth kisses up his jaw, lapping and swirling at the skin as you made your way to his ear. You teased the skin just under his ear very briefly, sucking the flesh, and you could've sworn you'd heard him inhale sharply as his hand tightened on your waist, but it was too quiet to be sure.

Then, you devilishly grinned against his skin before your tongue flicked out to wet his ear. You took it a step further, enveloping the lobe of his ear into your warm mouth, swirling your tongue around the piercings while you gently sucked the skin. When you bit down ever so slightly, he'd shifted beneath you, a soft, barely audible moan being coaxed from his chest.

At the sound, you sucked lightly on the indents you'd made, slowly pulling back with a complacent smile sitting on your face. His head lolled forward, lidded eyes connecting with yours as you took note of his slightly parted lips.

"Still the worst?" you smugly questioned, trailing a finger along the marks you'd made on his neck.

Yoongi only shook his head in disbelief, grinning as he briefly tilted his head back, a vocal sigh tipping from his lips before he straightened his neck and locked eyes with you once more. Definitely not the worst. He just didn't want to admit that.

Didn't matter. You had other plans anyway.

"So—" you began, dragging your nails down his chest in a gentle graze— "soundproof, you say?"

"Yeah, yeah, shut up," he snorted, pushing your face away.

Oh? He didn't understand what you were getting at. You stifled a laugh. Cute.

That same misunderstanding gave you enough motive to exploit it. You'd shifted on his lap, steadying your hands on his shoulders so you wouldn't fall as you placed knees on either side of his thighs. You didn't stop there, either. No, instead, you decided to tease him, tilting your hips ever so slightly toward him as your short skirt rode up your thighs. Never once did your eyes meet his as you sat down completely on his lap, skirt now bunched up at your hips and red panties peeking out just enough for him to see.

Only then did you flick your eyes up to meet his, a half-grin twisted onto your face as you took in his expression. He was looking at you like that again—mouth slightly parted as dark, lidded eyes traced your features, glancing down to where your bodies met every so often. You gave a roll of your hips, to confirm your suspicions. As you rutted against him, your core brushed firmly against his hardened length straining in his pants, and you grinned in response.

"Wanna put it to use?" you questioned. "The room . . . of course. We could listen to the album all the way up . . . or . . . "

His eyes grew darker, clouding over. "Don't tempt me, angel," he groaned under his breath, but his grip on you tightened, his arm wrapping around your back as he pulled you closer. His other hand drifted to your neck, thumb grazing your jaw. "I can only control myself for so long around you."

Something snapped within you, your core aching for him. That was when you felt it—the sticky wetness clinging to your folds. You rolled against his length again, coaxing a soft whimper from your lips while you watched Yoongi close his eyes, jaw clenched.

"Can't help it," you all but whined, fisting his shirt in your hand. "Want you to fuck me so bad. You wrote me a song, Yoonie. Let me show you how grateful I am. Please .”

"Don't say that," he muttered through clenched teeth, eyes still closed.

"Why not?" you breathlessly questioned as you ground against him again, almost certain your wetness had leaked through your underwear and now begun to form a wet spot on the front of Yoongi's pants.

A low groan sounded from the back of his throat, and he didn't give you time to think before his hands were gripping your hips again. His grip on you tightened, holding you in place as he bucked up into you, grinding his clothed length against your aching core. Your grip on his shirt became a lifeline as he rolled his hips against yours, stimulating your clit with every thrust and leaving you a gasping mess. But the feeling was gone almost as soon as it came as Yoongi grasped you against him, arm wrapped around your waist again, securing you to his chest as his other hand threaded through your hair. He'd tugged on your hair just enough to bare your neck to him before he'd leaned in, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

And then . . . then he spoke. "Because it makes me want to rip off those soaked panties and fuck you right here like the dirty girl you are," he darkly whispered, his voice stern yet slowly cracking under your touch.

"And that's a bad thing?" you questioned, drawling out your words. You trailed your eyes down his chest, catching sight of the uneven breaths. A smirk quirked onto your face at the sight before you slipped out of his grasp and sunk to the floor, kneeling between his spread-out legs. "Want you to fill me up, Yoonie. Want you." You placed a hand on his thigh, squeezing lightly.

"Fuck," he groaned out, elongating the word as he dragged his hands through his dark locks. "I had a plan, you know?"

"Mmm, plans change, plan guy," you hummed, pleasantly, rubbing your hand up and down his thigh. You glanced at him through your lashes, lips twitching upward as you leaned forward and began placing your lips on his thighs, kissing him through the fabric standing in your way. "You've been teasing me all week. Making me sit on your cock. Taunting me with it. Do you know how many times I've had to get myself off in the shower, pretending my fingers were . . . something else. It's just cruel, Yoonie."

His hands dragged down over his face, covering his features from your view. He gave a vocal sigh, and hissed out a laugh, "What are you doing to me?"

"You say that a lot," was all you managed, hands coming up to trace the zipper to his pants.

He dropped his hands, resting them on either side of the armrests, and clutching them so tightly his knuckles turned white. "You make me think it a lot," he admitted, eyes attentive as they watched you slowly unzip his pants, then teasingly fold down the hem.

Your eyes flicked up to his face, watching his expression. "This OK?" you pondered aloud, asking for permission.

Much to your elation, Yoongi could only nod, not trusting his tongue as he clamped his jaw shut. You were tugging his dark pants off him with his help as he lifted his lower body so you could pull the material down his legs. In a second, you threw the pants on the other side of the studio, eyes quickly falling upon the impressive tent in his boxers. His eyes met yours then, brows raising as if to say, Go on.

And you obliged with a roll of your eyes. Your hands were on him again in an instant, curling around the hem of his boxers before you'd tugged those off his body and discarded them on the floor. With eyes flicking back to his lower half, you were met with his hardened length, standing tall, the pink tip damp with precum. He was all shades of beige, pink, and so very very enticing. You couldn't help but grind your core against the heel of your shoe, creating little friction to subside the ache blooming within you.

You swallowed hard, your eyes meeting his. He stared back at you, eyes dark and lidded and solely focused on you and your every movement. You felt like the focal point of his attention; his muse as he had said.

That very thought spurred you on. With a slow bat of your lashes, a knowing smile touched your lips ever so slightly as you shifted on your knees, leaning closer to his lower half. You'd wrapped your hand around his shaft, thumb grazing over the small slit at the head of his cock as you spread the precum. The touch was enough to coax a hiss out of him. A grin was your only response as you traced the rim around the head. You had him right where you wanted him.

A darker gaze clouded over your eyes then, not looking away from him as you slowly—so slow it could be considered torture—licked the head of his cock. Your warm tongue lapped over the small slit, gathering all the precum in your mouth. Your eyes fluttered closed as you swallowed his arousal, humming a soft moan of contentment, already working yourself up over the thought of seeing him squirm under the touch of your tongue.

But you didn't get the chance to take him in your mouth again.

"Fuck it," you heard him hiss out instead.

His hands were on you in an instant. With a startled gasp, your eyes flung open just in time to see him stand to his feet, pulling you up along with him as he kicked the chair, letting it hit the door without a care. His lips found yours a second later, sucking, biting, and melding your tongues together in a punishing dance. You melted into his touch, humming sounds of approval as his grip on you tightened at every noise which spurred from your throat. You couldn't even pinpoint where his hands touched; one second they were squeezing your hips, then your sides, your ass, your tits, everywhere. It was almost as if he couldn't get enough of you, trying to memorize every curve and slope of your body.

Then, he pulled back, leaving you breathless with your lips swollen and tingling from his torment. Your eyes fluttered open a second later, finding his gaze already on you, taking in the swell of your puffy lips. And then . . . then the bastard dropped to his knees, eyes flicking from your panties to your flustered face. He didn't give you enough time to react before he pressed you back, your hands shooting out to stabilize yourself against his desk. Generously, he allowed you to inhale sharply before his fingers hooked around the hem of your panties, pulling them down along with your skirt, and tossing them somewhere.

You whined at the coolness which met your bare core, rolling your hips ever so slightly. This seemed to amuse Yoongi further as a sly grin slid onto his face while he looked up at you with mirth in his eyes.

"Eager?" he taunted, tonguing his inner cheek as he continued to grin.

A huff from your lips was the only response he gained from you. You didn't trust your tongue. But as he hoisted one of your legs up onto his shoulder and blew cold air across your aching cunt, earning a strangled gasp from you, you couldn't help the words which left you. "Oh, fuck you," you hissed out, tightening your grip around the desk that was holding you up.

He pressed a teasing kiss against your inner thigh. "So mean," he mumbled before he began to suck, lapping and biting a bruise into the skin.

"Ngh! You are infuriating, Min Yoongi," you rushed out as you felt his lips suck higher and higher, inching closer and closer to your core. "Living in my goddamn head for months now. Dreaming of your touch. How your tongue would feel. Your fingers. That cock. God—" He flicked his tongue across your clit ever so slightly, and you yelped— "fucking sadist. Fuckin—Ah!"

His mouth was on your core in an instant. All words died on your tongue, your mind numbing as you felt his tongue lick a strip up your slit, dipping into your warm heat briefly before his mouth closed around your clit, sucking the nub. You were left a panting mess, rolling your hips against his skilled tongue as he continued his punishing torment, lapping and sucking at the sensitive bundle of nerves, simultaneously making you forget every thought until all you could think was fuck, fuck, fuck.

You wished you had more room to balance yourself so you could thread your hands through those dark locks, but he kept you pinned against his desk. It was utter torture, twitching under his warm tongue and not being able to touch him. You whimpered against him at the thought.

His hands gripped around your ass, squeezing the flesh. "So that's how I get you to shut up," he mused, darkly. He flicked his tongue repeatedly over your sensitive nub, the motion quick and blissful. Then, he pulled back, pressing a taunting kiss against your core before he spoke again. "Noted."

In that moment, flustered with pent-up desire, you gathered the strength to peel your eyes open and look down at him, finding his eyes already on you as he blew cool air across your dripping cunt in an attempt to soothe the pulsing. But you knew there was only one thing that could satisfy that deep ache.

"Please," you rasped out, voice hoarse you barely recognized it. "Please, fuck me."

Yoongi only grinned wider.

Cocky bastard.

You whined in response. God, you'd never been this deprived before.

His mouth was on you again the next second, sucking on that bundle of nerves. And you were left to grind against his tongue, shamelessly. He chuckled against you, the vibrations only spurring you on more.

"Needy needy needy," he mused as his thumb grazed up, dipping into your heat ever so slightly. "And so . . . wet. "

But you were stuck on his other statement. The cocky son of a bitch was mocking your words. (It seemed Min Yoongi didn't like to be teased, and well, neither did you.) So you found yourself scoffing. "Oh, you are not using my own words—ah—" your words were cut off as a sharp staccato yelp left your lips when his sucking against your clit became more intense, needier . . . like he was truly a man starved, in need of your desperate whimpers— "against me, Min Yoongi."

"Always so sensitive," he remarked, gently grazing his teeth over your clit, earning a jerk of your hips from you. “Needy, too. ”

You cursed under your breath as you felt his tongue lay flat against your core once again. And you couldn't help it, you rolled your hips, grinding against his tongue, brushing your clit in just the right way. A low moan sounded from the back of your throat as you felt the familiar coil in your lower stomach begin to wound up. You began to chase it, breaths coming out faster as you quickened your pace, being held up now solely by Yoongi's tight grip on your thighs and ass.

Throwing your head back, you fisted a hand in his hair, not caring if your legs gave out on you. Yoongi would keep you steady.

Losing yourself in the feeling, the rhythm of your hips snapping against his skilled tongue was enough to coax continuous soft moans from your puffy lips. And just when you felt the coil begin to tease you a little too much, Yoongi slipped two fingers into your heat, curling inside of you right where your sweet spot lay. You cried out, core clenching around him as you continued to fuck yourself on his tongue while his fingers pumped in and out of you at a punishing pace.

It became too much, your lower stomach tightening as your muscles pulsed. "Fuck, oh fuck—Yoongi, I don't think I can," you stammered out, your rushed breathing turning into desperate pants.

"I know. I know. Let go. Let go, baby," Yoongi hummed.

Let go, he'd whispered, and you complied. His fingers stroked your sweet spot, his mouth sucking on your swollen clit as the coil snapped, causing you to cry out. Your muscles tightened, your core pulsing as your high broke through every part of your body, your head tilting back in ecstasy as those soft moans pipped out of you in hiccups. His fingers stayed inside you, mouth still working against you as he helped you ride out your high until you were whining and twisting in his arms from overstimulation.

His hands were soft against your skin, gently helping you stabilize yourself against the desk as he stood to his feet. He wrapped an arm around your waist, stepping closer to you until you were chest to chest, with his face dipping into the crook of your neck. A whimper left your lips when he bit down on your sweet spot, then lapped at the indentations. But that soft whimper was all it took before Yoongi was kissing you again, his lips rough and needy against yours. His tongue melded with yours and that was when you tasted it—your arousal coating his tongue.

You couldn't help it, you moaned at the taste. There was just something about how bold he was; how much he wanted to eat you out. It was arousing, almost too much to the point your entire body buzzed once the taste hit your senses.

Even more, it was almost embarrassing the effect it had on you. Because one second you were still recovering from your orgasm, then with one taste, you were aching for him again, subtly guiding your hand down to his still solid length. Your hand wrapped around the base, coaxing a shocked groan out of him, and at the sound and feel of him, you couldn't help but whimper in response.

"Please," you all but cried into his mouth.

Guiding his cock to your core, you used the tip to smear your arousal around, even going as far as to punish yourself when you grazed over your clit. Another whimper vibrated in your throat as the painful sensitivity hit you, but you continued brushing against him as you flicked your gaze to meet his, searching his eyes for an understanding. You were only met with a cheeky grin.

His hand clasped around your jaw, putting pressure there. "Still want my cock even after I've made you cum?" he silkily taunted. His other hand reached around to grab your ass, kneading the plump flesh just to hear you whimper under his touch once again. He chuckled, darkly, shaking his head. "You really are a dirty girl."

"I hate you so much," you huffed out, clearing your hoarse voice.

Bemused, Yoongi scrunched his nose, tilting his head to the side as he dragged his eyes down your body. "Nah, you really don't," he countered, biting his inner cheek as his eyes lifted back up to meet yours. "You wanna know how I know that?"

You could only nod, swallowing hard.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him wrap a hand around the base of his cock, replacing your shaking fingers. Then, you felt the tip line up with your entrance and you nearly bucked forward. Fuck. This was really happening. This was—

"Because, this—" the tip of his cock jutted inside your folds, making your breath hitch, but he didn't sink any deeper— "doesn't lie."

A noise sounded from the back of your throat in preparation, but much to your dismay, Yoongi slipped out of you. You all but whined at him, glaring as he chuckled at your protests.

"Yoongi, you motherfucker, if you don't fuck me right now I swear—"

"Swear what?" he cut you off, a warning thumb pressing down on your clit.

You stood shocked, jaw shut tight. No words came to mind. You just stared at him.

That seemed to amuse him further, eyes twinkling with mirth, so much so it almost took over the glassy look. "Ah, empty threats," he hummed, clicking his tongue as he loosened his grip on you. "Be a good girl for me and turn over. Wanna see this ass."

With a final squeeze to your ass, he stepped back, allowing you enough room to do as you pleased. You stared at him a little longer, swallowing hard as the aching between your thighs became unbearable. Then, you did as he asked, turned around, and bent down over the desk. Shamelessly, you spread your legs and arched your back, giving him a full view of your needy cunt, glistening with arousal.

A low groan sounded from him at the sight of you, only making your cunt throb more. But you didn't have time to bask in his shameless approval. His hands were on you the next second, placed on your hips, his fingers digging into your hipbones as you felt him step an inch closer to you. He leaned down over you, chest pressed against your back as he kissed your hair.

"Want me to fuck you, angel?" he murmured into your hair, and that was when you felt him grind his cock into your bare ass, eliciting a sound of shock out of you.

"Fuck, yes," you breathed out, arching into his touch.

With a dark chuckle, he pulled away from you but his hands remained secure around you. "Prove it," he mused, squeezing your hips. "Can you count to five?"

What? You nearly rolled your eyes at his antics. Always the one to tease . . . Min Yoongi. (You'd be lying if you said you didn't enjoy it thoroughly.)

Still, you had half the mind to question him. "Is that supposed to be some stupid attempt at undermining me?"

"Nah—" one of his hands had shifted to grip your ass, kneading the plump flesh as he pulled the skin taut just enough to catch a further look at your aching core— "just wanna see if you can keep count for me."

"Keep count for—"

A hand came down on your ass, pain rippling from the impact.

"Fuck!" you cried down in a high-pitched moan, jerking forward against the desk.

That was when you realized what he just did. Yoongi'd smacked your ass. He'd actually just spanked you. And fuck, did it manage to turn you on even more. You felt yourself clench around nothing as you collected your thoughts.

Then, you heard his voice. "You like that?" he questioned, hesitance entangled in his tone almost as if he were asking for your permission to continue.

God, did you shamelessly shake your head ‘yes, yes, yes!’ with so much vigor you were sure you'd made yourself lightheaded. That, however, had been enough to amuse Yoongi as he chuckled above you, his hand kneading your ass once again.

"Good, count," he hummed before he spanked your ass once again, kneading the flesh to soothe it when you cried out.

"Two," you choked out, trying to grip at anything to stabilize yourself.

Yoongi continued spanking you, leaving you a mumbling mess as you counted with each pleasurable smack. You were sure your arousal had begun to leak down your inner thighs now as he delivered a fourth smack to your ass. Groaning a sigh of approval, Yoongi pulled your cheeks taut, your aching core on display for his eyes. He couldn't help himself, he touched his pointer and middle fingers to your cunt, dipping into your pulsing hole and giving you a few teasing pumps before he pulled out of you completely.

"Almost there, baby," he affirmed, his voice strained.

You nodded, readying yourself before he brought down another spank onto your ass, causing you to whimper a soft, five.

"So good," he cooed, leaning down to kiss your clothed back. "Such a good girl." He kneaded your sore cheeks, soothing the ache.

Once able to catch your breath, you stammered out, "Why—Why five?"

"Halfway to ten," Yoongi remarked and you could practically hear the smirk on his face. "Gonna fuck you through the other half." You felt him shift behind you, then the feeling of him aligning the tip of his cock with your entrance made you arch your back in anticipation. He chuckled once more. "You still want it raw?"

You could only nod (a little too quickly).

He clicked his tongue in disapproval. "Gonna need to hear the words, baby."

You all but groaned. "Yes, Yoongi! Fuck, yes, fuck me raw, please I can't—shit! "

The tip of his cock dipping into your folds cut you off entirely. And then, he was sinking deeper, inch by inch, making you forget your train of thought entirely. Fuck, was he thicker than you remembered, stretching your walls as you clenched around him at the feeling. But you didn't mind the slight burn; you welcomed it, tilting your ass toward him, taking him further.

Uneven breathing left your lips as you basked in the fullness which came along with his cock sliding snugly against your tight walls. Your breath hitched in your throat just as you felt him bottom out, your core taking him all the way until the hilt, the feeling of your ass pressed flush against him hitting you all at once.

He groaned out a series of curses, gripping your hips tightly as he gave you time to adjust to his length. You ached with desire, clenching around his thickness, and nearly making him falter. You couldn't help it, it just felt so fucking good—the feeling of being filled by him. It was utterly carnal.

"Yoongi," you breathed out, already breathless as the feeling of him inside you quickly morphed from slight pain to immense pleasure and the desire to be fucked. "Please, please move." You all but sobbed, discarding your dignity as you openly begged him. "Wanna feel you."

"You're gonna be the death of me," he groaned before he drew back, leaving only his tip inside you.

A brief second passed. Your breath hitched. Then, he snapped his hips, plunging into you with such force, the tip of his cock nearly kissed your cervix. And he didn’t stop there, he continued pounding into you, setting a ruthless pace and fucking you through your uneven gasps. You clenched around him, gripping onto the edge of the desk to stabilize yourself as his cock sunk deeper and deeper, hitting places you’d never even felt before.

You couldn’t think. You couldn’t breathe. You only felt the pleasure of his cock fucking into you, wet squelching sounds filling the air, tangling with his soft grunts and your low moans.

Pain suddenly pinched your ass, coaxing a high-pitched moan from your lips as you realized Yoongi had spanked you. Your core pulsed, squeezing him tighter at the mere thought.

"Feel so good," Yoongi groaned out, voice hoarse as his fingernails dug into the soft flesh of your hips. "So fucking tight. Shit, greedy pussy taking me so well. Fucking greedy. Fucking filthy.” Another spank to your ass before he pulled your cheeks apart, watching as his cock fucked into you. “Fuck." He slowed down his pace, rolling his hips, hitting deeper and harder than before if that were even possible.

His pace began to steady, fucking you hard but not quite as fast as before. It was almost as if he were trying to savor this moment; flesh you out entirely; feel all of you. And you were left at his mercy while he spanked your ass when your moans grew louder.

Then, he pressed a hand to your lower back, pushing down for a better angle. And fuck. Once his hips snapped, his cock plunging into you at that same agonizing rate, you felt him brush against your sweet spot. Unable to stop yourself, you cried out, a panting mess as you pulsed around him, sucking him in.

Yoongi chuckled, dry and sensual. "Oh, yeah? There?" he hummed, amused.

"Yes, god, yes! Don’t fucking stop," you moaned out, not even trying to hide just how close you were to the end.

Another chuckle came from his lips at your words as he continued fucking into you, hitting that sweet spot over and over. His hands were gripping your ass again, squeezing the flesh and pulling it apart to watch his cock plunge deeper and deeper into your wet folds. "This fucking ass," he growled. He actually fucking growled as his fingernails dug into your cheeks and he quickened his pace ever so slightly. "Can you do one more for me, baby?"

And you knew what he meant—his words holding a double meaning. You knew the answer to both.

With dignity out the door, you nodded, mouth wide open in ecstasy. You were sure you’d begun to drool onto his desk, but you didn’t care. This was too good. Too fucking good.

The warmth pooling in your lower stomach only heightened as you felt his hand deliver one more pleasurable spank to your ass, coaxing a high-pitched moan out of you. But you weren’t given time to adjust to the slight pain in your ass. No, one second you felt the small pinch, then the next, Yoongi was bucking into you with such vigor that you had to shoot your hand out to stop yourself from hitting the wall. You didn’t even care. You just felt Yoongi’s thick cock hit your sweet spot again and again, bringing you closer and closer to the edge.

The coil taunted you, winding and winding up. You could only moan in response, begging for it to snap. That was when you felt your core clench, practically causing you to sob under the force of his cock snapping into you.

"You gonna cum?" Yoongi chuckled through his breathless grunts, his pace never letting up. "Can feel you sucking me in, clenching around me. Greedy greedy greedy."

He was mocking you. You’d get him back . . . eventually. But right now? God, you didn’t have half the mind to care.

All your care slipped away entirely the moment his fingers dipped around you, pressing down on your clit as he rubbed firm circles onto the sensitive nub. You cried out at the added stimulation, ears beginning to ring as you thrashed underneath him.

Still, through the ringing and your own cries, you heard Yoongi command, "Cum for me, yeah?"

And you obliged.

Everything pulsed as he kept his relentless pace, hitting your sweet spot over and over again as his fingers worked skillfully against your swollen clit while you chased the coil. It tightened and tightened, rings of pleasure building and building. Then, you heard a small groan leave Yoongi’s lips, and that set you off. The coil snapped inside you, allowing you the release you had so desperately desired. You screamed out, hands sweatily sliding against the desk while your cunt clenched around Yoongi’s cock, squeezing him for all he had as you melted into your blissful high.

He fucked you through your high, allowing you to unravel completely. He gave you a few more pumps before he pulled out, his cock still hard and aching for his own release. But he let you come down from it all, whispering praises in your ear and rubbing your back as you tried to calm your breathing.

When you could finally get a grasp on reality, you weakly lifted your head and glanced over your shoulder to find Yoongi leaning over you, lust still clouding his expression and . . . cock still hard enough to cut granite. You swallowed; a deep part of you—the part that had been waiting for this moment of union for years now—still ached for him . . . to feel him . . . in every way.

As if reading your thoughts, Yoongi whispered, "Think you can take a little more? . . . Don’t worry if you can’t. I rather like the idea of cumming on your tits." There was that sly grin again.

You only bit your lip to halt your own grin. "I want you to cum inside me, Yoonie,” you hummed, sweetly.

The grin on his face grew, causing him to shake his head. You amaze me, that grin seemed to say. And you relished in that fact alone.

He leaned toward you, kissing your cheek. “Such a good girl to me. So fucking sweet," he whispered before he leaned back, allowing you enough room to move. "Turn over. Wanna see you."

And who were you to disobey?

With a dopey grin on your face, you used all your strength to stand to your feet, finding your legs more wobbly than you thought. You laughed at the feeling, stabilizing yourself against Yoongi by placing your hands on his shoulders for support. He’d only hummed at you, softly dragging his knuckles down the slope of your body before his hands met the material of your shirt’s hem. He’d lifted it off your body, adding it to the tossed clothes on the ground.

Much to his surprise, your bare chest met his gaze. You beamed up at him, no longer sheepish at the fact you’d chosen not to wear a bra that day. Yoongi only raised a brow, eyes flicking from your hardened nipples to your glassy eyes.

“Presumptuous?” he mused, placing his warm hand over the mound of one of your breasts. The action made you sigh into him, tilting your head back ever so slightly. "So beautiful.” He pinched the nipple between his pointer and thumb before he dipped his head down to catch your neglected bud in his mouth. Briefly, he sucked the peak before pulling back and releasing it with a pop. "Fucking angel."

"Careful, Min—"

He cut you off as soon as he pinched your nipple, twisting it between his fingers. A mangled breath hitched in your throat as you arched into his touch. Your eyes flicked up to meet his then, finding them consumed by mirth as that damned half-grin resided on his lips. He’d done that on purpose. Fucker.

"You were saying?" he teased, raising a brow.

A muscle in your jaw twitched. "Just fuck me, you asshole.”

Yoongi only grinned wider at that, pure amusement and raging lust consuming his soft features. "Only because you asked so nicely," he hummed . . . and then . . . he winked. He fucking winked.

But you weren’t able to respond before his hands were on you again, pressing you against the desk so you could lean your weight onto it as he lifted one of your legs onto his hip. He tugged you closer while one of his hands drifted down to his aching cock, gripping around the thick base as he guided the tip to align with your swollen entrance.

"Eyes on me," he clicked at you.

Your eyes immediately found his, searching through the sea of lust and mirth, and then you felt it—his cock slipping past your folds with ease now. It was almost impossible to stop the soft whimper which left your lips as you felt his hard length stretch your tight walls, inch by inch. You were sure you’d never get used to this euphoric feeling, and god, did you revel in that.

With one more inch, he’d bottomed out, your cunt taking him all the way to the hilt as the two of you inhaled at the feeling. You clenched around him, still sensitive from your previous two orgasms, and dreadfully tired, but Yoongi didn’t seem to mind. In fact, his eyes hadn’t left yours.

What shocked you, however, was the way he was staring at you, soaking in all your features as if in pure awe. It’d had an effect on you, making your brows twitch in longing. This was really happening. This was real.

The corners of Yoongi’s mouth quirked into a small smile. "Yeah, yeah, like that,” he whispered, softly before pressing his lips against yours.

Only a second had passed before he’d leaned his forehead against yours and whispered for you to brace yourself, before you felt his cock slowly slide out of you until just the tip was enveloped by your folds. He gave you just enough time to inhale, and then his hips snapped forward, bucking into you with a punishing rhythm.

The way he fucked you—relentlessly pounding into you, his nails digging into your hips as he hit all the right spots over and over again; it was almost sinful. You felt like a fucking sinner, and god did it make your soul burn with pride. And the soft grunts that’d sound from the back of his throat managed to raise every hair on your body. You never wanted him to stop.

And then . . . then you squeezed around him, milking his cock, and a soft whimper that was different from the rest left his lips, and you swore you thought you were going to melt right then. Because holy fuck, that was hot.

You repeated the action, purposely clenching around his cock as hard as your muscles would allow you, and that soft needy sound tumbled from his tongue, this time in short pants. It’d coaxed a moan of your own out of you, as you gave a light laugh. This, however, seemed to spur Yoongi on as he grunted, his grip on you tightening just before he began pounding into you at an even faster, harder, more relentless rate.

His thrusts left you a whining mess, forcing you to slam your hands down on the desk for support. And he didn’t stop, chuckling as he fucked into you. Then when he set that ruthless pace, you could have sworn you felt his cock twitch against your tight folds.

The whimper he gave a second later confirmed your suspicions. "Shit—I," he huffed out, his breathing uneven and jagged. His thrusts became weaker, his whimpers louder now, and his grip loosening as he continued pounding into you.

He was a fucking mess, and you thrived off it.

You swallowed your moans once he hit that sweet spot again. "What's the matter, Yoon? Gonna cum?" you taunted, relishing in the fact that you were making the stoic Min Yoongi an utter mess.

Yoongi lowered his head to your neck, stabilizing himself against you. "Gonna fuck that mouth one day you won't be able to speak," he grunted, grip tightening on your hip as he shifted your leg ever so slightly to plunge deeper inside of you.

"I'll hold you to it," you gasped, throwing your arms around his neck.

"Yeah?" he taunted.

"Ye—"

He’d bit down on your neck the next second, making you cry out in pleasure. "Yeah, take my fucking cock," he groaned out, snapping his hips at a faster rate, but each thrust became sloppier, less meticulous the more he indulged himself. He was close.

A dopey grin fell upon your face as you realized this, clenching around him again. He gave a groan of submission, his thrusts barely cohesive now. He was so fucking close. So so so close, and you reveled in this, wishing to tip him over the edge. With that thought on your mind, your hands shaky, you reached under your leg and cupped his balls, massaging them the best you could with the position you were in.

He nearly fell on top of you, bracing himself with one arm on the desk. "Like that—shit, shit, shit, like—fuuuuck, ” he whimpered out, thrusting once more before he stilled, his hips shaking slightly as a low moan sounded from the back of his throat. His hips gave a smaller thrust before he spilled his load into you as he tilted his head back at the pure ecstasy which consumed him.

You marveled at him, taking in his closed eyes and parted lips while he still held onto you as if he were scared to lose you the moment you were out of his grasp. You knew then that you really did love him. Truly. Completely. With your whole heart. You loved this man in every form, every way.

You couldn’t help yourself, you reached out to slick back his damp hair that’d stuck to his forehead with sweat. He’d slowly come down from his high, his cock twitching inside you once more before he lifted his head, eyes locking with yours as a dazed smile graced his face. His lidded gaze trailed over your face, flicking down to your lips before he crashed into you, melding your lips against his in a brief, warm kiss.

Then, he pulled back, but stayed close, his forehead pressed against yours. He stayed inside you, too, his cock softening inside your walls as his cum seeped past, trickling down your thighs. "That was—" he cut himself off, tilting back only slightly so he could see your face in full view. His brows twitched then as if he realized something before words that stunned you tumbled from his tongue. "I love you."

You snorted in disbelief. Sure, he felt something deep for you, but . . . come on. "Shut—"

He’d only cut you off with another kiss. "No, I love you,” he pressed again, his face lightening as the words left him like he was hearing them for the first time too; like he was realizing it for the first time. And then . . . then he’d smiled—a wide, genuine smile filled with teeth and crinkled eyes. "I—fuck—I love you." Another kiss to your lips, then your nose, your cheeks, and finally your forehead before he pulled back, still grinning down at you. "I fucking love you."

But you remained . . . shocked. "Yoongi . . ."

And you watched as Yoongi’s face quickly crumbled before your very eyes. "Damn, harsh, wait until I pull out before you reject me, sweetheart."

You were quick to stop him from pulling out of you, hands grasping his hips. "No, no, stay, I just . . . “

The words on your tongue died as your mind spiraled. The thing was . . . no one had ever confessed that to you before, let alone the only person you’d managed to love in your life. All the hookups, all the month-long relationships, all the people you’d toyed with over the years . . . and not one had ever loved you. A few of them had managed to convince you of this, but ended up cheating on you with someone else, someone better later down the line. So you’d never really believed anyone.

And now . . . now Min Yoongi stood before you, confessing that his heart beat for yours in the purest way possible, and you couldn’t quite wrap your head around it. You just . . . you needed to hear him mean it.

Your eyes finally flicked up to meet his again in that moment, lips pursed and brows furrowed. Then, you pressed a hand against his chest right where his heart beat, and you found yourself asking, “Do you mean it?"

In other words, you’d asked him if after all this time, after all the years, all the fights, all the history . . . did he truly want you. Would he truly accept you?

And Yoongi had only smiled, a soft comforting smile as if to say, always.

Then, he spoke. "I've been an idiot for almost two decades now,” he began, his hands quickly finding your face as his thumbs grazed your cheekbones. “I've let you slip through my fingers too many fucking times. I'm not doing that again. I'm not going to live a life without you. Never again. I've always loved you, angel. Just took me a little to figure it out . . . took me even longer to find a way to say it."

Your brows twitched at his confession, a small smile finding its way to your face. "You are such an idiot," you laughed as you placed your hands over his, nuzzling into his touch.

"I know. I know.”

And once his lips touched your forehead in a gentle kiss once again, you couldn’t stop the floodgates. Your eyes squeezed shut, your bottom lip trembling as you hummed shakily.

You didn’t know what had caused it. Perhaps it was everything at once. But one second you felt this tremendous joy, then the next everything was bursting out of you. And you couldn’t help it, you’d let a few tears trickle down your cheeks.

"No, no, don't—don't cry," Yoongi rushed out, wiping away the salty tears with his thumbs. "I hate making you cry."

"I'm not sad, you dumbass. Sometimes you are so dense, Min Yoongi," you laughed through your tears, kissing his palm. “It’s just . . . “

It was just . . . you were just so . . . happy. For the first time in a long time, you could pinpoint this emotion, and you felt it in extremes. This was bliss.

You unravel me, his words filtered through your ears then. You unravel me.

And you thought that was exactly how you’d explain the emotions you felt at that very moment. Min Yoongi had a way of unraveling you completely, allowing you to bare your soul, and you had the same effect on him. Funny . . . how that worked.

You unravel me.

Then, your eyes found his, and you couldn’t help but smile. "It's just . . . you unravel me, too,” you finally confessed, earning a stunned expression from Yoongi. "You unravel me." The words left you again as you nodded in confirmation. "Completely."

You were only met with Yoongi pressing his lips down onto yours again. Warm, needy, and safe. You found sanctuary in his kiss.

You unravel me. His kiss confirmed that.

The trip home was anything but calm.

You and Yoongi were all over each other—hands, lips, tongues, teeth. There was not a second the two of you disconnected from one another. Your touches varying from soft to hard to needy even, slowly melting your thoughts until all you could think about was Yoongi and his lips and his hands and god, what that devious mouth could do.

Even when the two of you reached your shared apartment, Yoongi couldn’t keep his hands off you. He’d pushed you inside, slamming the door before he pressed you up against it and pulled you in for another heated kiss. It didn’t take long before you were moaning into his mouth, begging for him to touch you more.

“Oh, greedy are we?” he taunted, sucking on your bottom lip. “Gonna fuck you so hard you lose your voice.”

You whimpered.

“Yeah?” he chuckled, darkly. “You like that? Want me to fuck that tight little pussy until you can’t scream no more?”

You opened your mouth to bite out a snarky response. Only . . . you never got the chance to respond.

One moment you were opening your mouth to retort, then the next you heard, “You’ve got to be fucking kidding.”

Your heart flatlined, wide eyes focused on Yoongi.

Ever so slowly, you turned your head to face the person, your gaze landing on your brother, Seokjin, who had most definitely seen Yoongi kiss you. Scratch that, he’d most definitely heard Yoongi say he was going to fuck you. That . . . that was definitely so much worse. So so so much worse.

The wide-eyed expression on your brother’s face told you all you needed to know. The secret was out.

Seokjin knew.

You swallowed, hard.

Fuck.

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