#but i tend to warm up after a bit. after i relax and anxiety passes i go back to normal.

[theharrowing]

Collateral 🗡️ 21: It's now or never

Your ex-boyfriend gets in over his head working for the local mafia, and Boss Min has come to collect his payment: You.

But was it simply a matter of being in the wrong place at the wrong time? Or has he always had his sights on you?

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🗡️ Yoongi x Female Reader x Namjoon, Jungkook x Female Reader

🗡️ word count: 19.4k

🗡️ mafia au, strangers to lovers, graphic violence, major character injury, poly, smut, angst, fluff, nsfw, explicit 21+ 

🗡️warnings: anxiety spiraling; Yoongi's scar; baby Jimin is still in a coma; explicit smut (oral, vaginal, and anal sex; face riding; squirting; spitroasting; getting messy with cum; all holes tended to; ass eating and mutual fingering; some very interesting positions that i don't know how to name; subby Yoongi; mc being a bit more dominant; Namjoon is Namjoon; subspace; multiple orgasms; overstimulation; semi-public sex); graphically violent dreams; mc has a lot a lot a lot a lot of feelings.

🗡️note: we're speedrunning the healing time of a headwound okay medical professionals. ignore how fast Yoongi heals. anyway, big should out to @sweetestofchaos for the existence of Dionysus, the club in this fic. more details in the end notes so please check those out!!! also lmaooo this chapter made me and my beta reader cry so good luck!!!

🗡️ beta read by @neoneunnajimin!

🗡️ posted on dec. 2023 | read on ao3

The flight to Hong Kong is a little over three and a half hours, but you are so antsy the entire time that it feels like it takes all fucking day. Namjoon attempts to distract you with episodes of an anime that involves demon hunting, you think, but you are unable to focus on the plot.

He even attempts to distract you with his hands and lips, leaving warm kisses along the expanse of your neck while his hands push up the skirt of your floral sundress, charting familiar paths they took only a few hours earlier and so many times before—many times which had ended with your thighs wrapped around his neck, begging for reprieve from overwhelming pleasure. 

But you are unable to stop your mind from running in circles. You cannot relax.

All you can think about is Yoongi and his wound. Yoongi and his distance. Yoongi and whatever the fuck he is doing in Hong Kong. Yoongi meeting with members of the Busan family—meeting with his ex. 

This morning, lying in Yoongi's bed, it was much easier to relax and let go of your worries. But now, in the air, on your way to see him, you cannot quiet your mind for the life of you. 

Mere hours, laying in Yoongi's large bed with an afterglow from Namjoon's talented mouth and hands, the two of you had a nice talk about his fears and worries, putting a lot into perspective and assuaging all the feelings of bitterness and frustration that you felt over the last several days. You truly do not blame him for needing to have some time and space to himself—he and Yoongi have a bond so deep, it is no wonder that Namjoon's thoughts become insurmountable. 

Namjoon admitted that he had actually not been able to get ahold of Yoongi and that you were going to surprise him with a visit tomorrow, having already spoken to Uiseok about dropping in. Everything he said about Yoongi regretting creating distance and all that was just him babbling because he was high and stressed out—something you relate to after the night you and Jeongguk shared. He was desperate to keep you from worrying as much as he was.

But then Yoongi finally responded to Namjoon's texts and it changed the trajectory of everything, spurring you two to get onto a plane as quickly as possible. What was originally meant to be a trip to bring him home tomorrow became a mad dash to pack a suitcase and get onto a flight as soon as you could. The piggyback ride from Jeongguk's place was only about nine hours earlier, yet it feels like so much time has passed. 

And if all of this is not enough, you spiral thinking about the whirlwind of returning to Namjoon's arms after the tumultuous night spent with Jeongguk, barely able to fathom the fact that you are closing in on Hong Kong and that in the next hour or so you will be back in Yoongi's arms. It takes all the effort you have to not think back to Jeongguk asking those fateful words. Do you think you could fall for someone like me?

All that matters to you is that you, Yoongi, and Namjoon will soon be back together at last. It feels like each time you make progress in your relationship and something good happens that pulls you closer, something terrible happens that rips you apart. You are certain that you cannot possibly handle another thing ripping the three of you apart. Not after all you have been through. 

When the plane finally begins to descend, your heart goes haywire. All you want is to wrap your arms around Yoongi and bring him home. There has been too much distance between the two of you lately, and you are beginning to feel sick with worry. Instead you hug your purse tight to your chest, feeling cool black leather against your palms.

You operate on autopilot as the cabin door opens and Namjoon ushers you out into the cool evening. Once more, you are landing in Hong Kong in the later hours of the day, and once more you have no intent on enjoying your stay, despite how much a small part of you wishes that you could. 

Uiseok and the rest of The Tigers have done absolutely nothing wrong, as far as you know, yet they are the last people you want to sit and schmooze with. Your nerves are too on edge and fragile, and you are not sure you have the patience for any amount of socializing at the moment. 

You practically insist on the pilot keeping the engine running, and you are thankful that the two of you have packed nothing more than a suitcase each with the bare minimum items that you need in order to enjoy a brief stay away from home. A member of the family's staff rolls the suitcases behind you, and you have half a mind to tell him to just leave them on the plane.

"Worst case scenario, we should be able to sleep in Taehyung's suite," Namjoon says as you stomp toward the familiar red and white car, hoping to find Yoongi inside—hoping to drag him out by the lapels and usher him straight onto the private jet. 

You hum in response and round the back of the car, bending low to peer inside, feeling your anger rise when you realize it is only Sohee who waits for you and no other passengers. A low, impatient grumble works from your chest through your lips and you sigh, then reach for the door handle and yank. 

"Welcome back," Sohee sing-songs with a sweet smile, body rotated to face you as best as she can.

Although it feels unconvincing, you smile back, doing your best to appear as friendly as possible given the current circumstances. It is not her fault that you are so pissed off, and you do not wish to take your anger out on her. 

Namjoon surprises you by approaching the front passenger seat and sliding in, and you huff out a sigh as you reach for your seatbelt and fight the urge to insist Sohee drives now before you lose your fucking mind. 

"I would have brought the lover boy but Uiseok mentioned it was meant to be a surprise," Sohee explains as she drives off, away from the jet. "I have a feeling the surprise has already been ruined, however; he was getting into the shower shortly before I left and muttering about getting presentable."

What kind of state is Yoongi in, you wonder. Has he been drinking and doing drugs? Has he been busy with new ideas for keeping the family safe? Is his hair still the same? Has he let himself go? More than a week has passed but it feels like it has been months.

Although you have only been here once, the scenery looks familiar. Green makes up the bulk of the neon lights, with bright bursts of red, yellow, and blue, and you allow your gaze to linger on details just long enough to capture them but not long enough to try to decipher anything. You even space out long enough that when Sohee pulls past a familiar restaurant front, you feel a burst of anxiety and begin to somewhat mindlessly pick at the hem of your soft light blue sweater sleeve. 

Without a word, the three of you exit the car as soon as she pulls up across the street from the pseudo restaurant. If you had a key to the place, you would be sprinting ahead, but instead you linger back and stumble forward at times, unsure what pace your body wants to keep; unsure whether you can handle being here at all. 

Namjoon's hand finds your lower back and the warmth is nice, but everything else about this trip feels ominous and off. There is something in the air that you cannot sort out the weight of, and it makes you want to squeeze your eyes closed and curl into a ball. 

Only when the door to the fake restaurant is opened and you enter the fluorescently lit space, do you realize Namjoon and Sohee are carrying on conversation. But what they are talking about flies right past you. 

That is, until Namjoon says, "Nah, I haven't spoken to her in years."

"Hmm?" you mutter as Namjoon's warm palm guides you to the right, through the kitchen and toward the walk-in cooler. 

"She was much more soft-spoken than I expected," Sohee says, and you turn your attention to your left, to Namjoon, waiting for what he has to say next, in search of context clues because you do not want to admit that you have not been paying attention. You step into the cooler and blink as your eyes adjust to the much darker room.

Namjoon cracks a smile but his eyes are glazed over and distant as he stares ahead. "Her being soft-spoken is a mask, but so is any show of confidence. Truth be told, I don't think her father ever allowed her to learn how to express herself genuinely." He turns to you with a wink and adds, "Which is probably why Yoongi was so drawn to me while they were together," and you realize they are discussing Ryujin. 

"Was she here?" you ask as the three of you exit the cooler and you are forced to go in front of Namjoon while entering the narrow hallway. 

Sohee hums an affirmative with a shrug and halfway glances over her shoulder at you without looking past her curtain of dark hair to say, "But don't worry, Yoongi didn't seem too thrilled to see her."

The implication that you may be jealous makes you somewhat mad but you are in no mood to voice it. Sohee is not exactly someone you are eager to be on friendly or unfriendly terms with, and saying anything one way or another might sway you out of your current stance of perfect neutrality. You would rather keep your mouth shut and accomplish the task that you came here to see through without any conflict. 

You do hum, however. A burst of sound that is vaguely a drawn out consonant. Namjoon's hand rubs a small circle, and you keep your eyes on the furnishings that come into view when you enter the large chaotic maroon and gold space at the end of the hallway, doing your best to avoid looking at Sohee and anyone else who may be in the room. You can already sense that Yoongi is not present because neither Yoongi or Namjoon would be able to keep his presence a secret. 

"Like I said," Sohee yawns, tilting her head toward a hallway to the left, "in the shower."

As soon as the words leave her lips, you can hear the unmistakable sound of running water coming from a room down the hallway, and you toe out of your black sneakers and begin to make your way toward it. 

"Guest room is the third door on the right," Sohee informs and you nod while making your way to that very doorway without hesitation. You can sense without looking that Namjoon is following close behind. 

With heavy footfalls and a light sway to your step, you feel drunk—senses heightened yet somehow dull; details bright and twisted as if through a kaleidoscope. How many more times are you going to have to feel this dreaded anticipation laced with hope? This cannot be the lifestyle that you grow accustomed to and yet, you cannot stop your body from moving forward. 

The door is closed and you do not bother to knock before reaching for the small brass knob and pushing your way through. A terrible, dark part of you expects to find some sign of Yoongi's ex lingering in the room as if she has been the one to keep him company in your absence. But all you find is a small bed with the sheet pulled down on one side, one pillow that is indented and one that looks perfectly untouched, and a metal rack on which several black suits hang. 

A suitcase is sprawled open beneath a window that lets in the glow of streetlights and light reflected from the nearly full moon, and there are shirts, joggers, ties, and a square black bottle of cologne sitting on top. No sign of Ryujin, because why would there be?

The water shuts off in the bathroom, and rather than join Namjoon, who takes a seat at the foot of the bed, you yank the bathroom door open and call, "Yoongi!"

"Darling?" Yoongi responds through the fog and your legs turn soft, threatening to topple you over. 

Somehow your limbs manage to carry you forward, and you step into the yellow tiled room and come face to face with the man you love, gaze gravitating straight to his wound. Yoongi keeps the injured eye closed and you can see the stitches that run over his lid and brow and down to the apple of his cheek, along a reddened gash. Nausea rises, and you stumble to the right, hand gripping to the edge of the sink. 

"Fuck," you mutter before you can stop yourself, but Yoongi's smile does not falter.

He stands before you dripping wet and nude, and if you were not so overcome with the urge to vomit and run far, far away, your hands would be reaching to explore. How could you have done this to him? How can he smile at you as if it is nothing?

"Just a scratch," Yoongi says as he steps close, failing to assuage your anxiety. It almost angers you how nonchalant he is about it. 

"No," is all you can bring yourself to say, voice shaken and deep.

"Darling, please," Yoongi tries, stepping close with a pastel pink towel dangling from his fingertips that he makes no move to use on his wet skin. "You didn't come all this way to be too afraid to look at me, did you?"

Consonants and vowels attempt to pass through your lips as you shake your head, eyes and mouth worried and wide. "N-not— I'm—"

"Hey handsome," Namjoon says from behind you, ripping you from the trance you feel stuck in, and you twist quickly, slamming into Namjoon's chest before scrambling around him, out of his weak attempts at grasping you as you stumble back to the bed. 

All at once your body disagrees with gravity and you fall to your knees, arms reaching out to the bed but barely able to hang on. "What have I done?" you mumble weakly under your breath. 

Your head shakes listlessly while your eyes attempt to focus on the patterns of the comforter that you can feel but cannot see—lines of embroidered thread in shades of pink and red. You feel frantic and dizzy; sick to your stomach, and you are tempted to ask Sohee to drive you back to the jet. 

"I imagine it can't be easy," you hear Yoongi say sweetly in that kind and gentle voice that is reserved for you and Namjoon. "I am not offended in the least."

"Sweetheart," Namjoon calls, forcing your shoulders to lift to your ears. Why can't you disappear, just for a moment? Poof into thin air and become a dust mote while you get your bearings and stop panicking. "Did you take your medication this evening?"

It occurs to you that you have not. You manage to slide your arms down and rotate until you are on your butt on the floor with your shoulder leaning against the side of the mattress. You open the flap of your black leather purse and reach in to grab your phone, wondering why your daily alarm never went off, and you pull the device out only to realize that it has died. 

With a sigh, you rummage further in search of a little square pill packet. Before you can ask for water, you hear the bathroom sink running and a moment later, Namjoon emerges and hands you a small, dark yellow glass cup, which you reach for with shaking hands. You take a gulp of tepid water before setting the cup onto the floor and ripping open not only a packet of your medication, but a packet of Xanax, as well. 

"Would you prefer to stay here for the night or in Taehyung's suite?" Namjoon asks as he crouches before you, lifting a hand to gently rub the backs of his knuckles against your arm. 

"I wanna go home," you mutter weakly before knocking the pills from your palm to your mouth and swallowing them down with another gulp of water. Your eyes stare ahead to the side of Yoongi's open suitcase and the pile of black linen that pours from it.

"We could go home if you wish," Yoongi says, legs coming into the periphery.

You drink the last of the water and clench the small glass tight in your hand, then say, "I'm sorry," while closing your eyes.

"There's no need to apologize," Yoongi responds, voice close as if he, too, is crouched beside you. 

You keep your eyes closed as you mutter, "I didn't mean to react so poorly. It's been a long day…a long fucking week." 

"Care to talk about it?" Yoongi asks.

Namjoon's knuckles continue to run up and down your arm, pushing and pulling gently at the fabric of your sweater, and you squeeze your eyes tighter and shake your head. "I want to sleep."

"Here or in Taehyung's suite?" Namjoon asks once more. 

"Or in the jet?" Yoongi adds. 

What you really want is to turn around and go home. You feel exhausted and seeing Yoongi is much harder than you expected. But it feels like a waste of time and resources to fly all the way here only to go straight back, so you concede to a night in Hong Kong and even allow yourself to consider doing a little sightseeing tomorrow if the three of you feel up to it. 

"The suite," you finally say, and Namjoon stops caressing you in order to stand and place a phone call. 

"Darling," Yoongi tries, and you finally pry your eyes open, finding that you have to blink a couple of times. When you turn to him, his injured eye is still closed and his open eye is downturned and concerned. "Is it really that horrible to see me?"

"No," you admit, because you really ought to stop being such a baby.

"I've missed you so much, but if I am being honest, this is one of the reasons I have been keeping a distance."

Guilt overtakes your fear and you suddenly feel terrible. "Oh."

"I thought that maybe if I healed first, you would want to look at me like you used to," Yoongi says with a frown. 

You begin to peel yourself off the end of the bed and rotate fully to face Yoongi, who crouches in just a pair of black briefs with the pink towel slung around his shoulders. His hair hangs like a damp black curtain around his pretty face, cheeks a little flushed, and you feel the sudden urge to crawl into his arms. 

"It's not that I don't want to look at you," you respond weakly while Namjoon paces around the bathroom speaking into his phone, presumably to Taehyung. "I just feel so awful, and seeing the injury is a reminder of how I fucked up."

Yoongi sighs and his lips turn up to a soft smile. "Darling, I can never hold an accident against you and Namjoon. Please know that I am not upset with you."

"Alright," you respond, unsure whether you are fully ready to accept what Yoongi says, but willing to at least try.

Namjoon returns and says, "Tae's calling the hotel now."

"I took a Xanax," you admit with a frown and both men begin to chuckle. 

"Do you want to try to eat something before you get too sleepy?" Namjoon asks, and you shake your head, making his smile widen. "Alright, then we'll order room service once we get there, because I definitely need to eat something."

The rest of the evening is a blur, in part because your emotions are all over the place, and in part because the medication completely dulls those emotions as you begin to shut down. Yoongi takes no time at all to get dressed and pack his suitcase once Taehyung calls with the confirmation that he has booked his suite for the three of you. 

Rather than ask one of The Tigers to drive you to the suite, Yoongi calls a driver who picks you up in the same type of armored vehicle that the men drive back home. You close your eyes once you are settled in the backseat and barely register Namjoon carrying you from the sedan to the penthouse and tucking you into bed. 

Thrice you wake up—once to pee and once because you hear a loud sound from the main room of the suite, you presume from the television. And then you wake up to the feeling of the bed dipping on either side of you and warm arms wrapping you in an embrace that feels like home.

You are somehow the last to wake up in the morning, and you find both Yoongi and Namjoon getting dressed in black tees tucked into black slacks. Yoongi wears his black eyepatch and has the top half of his hair pulled into a bun atop his head while the rest hangs almost to his shoulders.

"Are we leaving?" you ask, catching the attention of both men, who turn to you with smiles.

"Is it alright that we do?" Yoongi responds, threading a black leather belt through the loops of his slacks. "I know we have never done proper sightseeing here, but I am somewhat eager to get home."

"We can go home," you say as you sit up, stretching your stiff limbs and feeling groggy from getting too much sleep. 

Namjoon adjusts the Rolex around his wrist, then approaches with a smile, kneeling on the edge of the bed to lean close and give you a kiss, which you meet him halfway for. "After we have some breakfast," he says, and you smile widely and nod. 

Part of you laments going home already because you do not wish to return to a world where Yoongi has responsibilities. You imagine how nice it would be to stay in bed all day with the two of them and it tugs at your heartstrings. 

What would it be like to have a couple of days off like regular people? Sure, Yoongi has the money and influence to go anywhere and do anything, but it only feels like an illusion of freedom.

By the time you roll out of bed and stumble into a pair of black leggings and tug on a black sweater, room service is delivered and causing the entire suite to smell of eggs, meats, sweet breads, and coffee. The three of you share an easygoing breakfast with Namjoon and Yoongi discussing the deal that was struck while you space out and stare ahead at the table of food. 

And once you are finished eating, the three of you head back to the airport for a nice flight just short of four hours that involves the two of them talking over the same demon hunting anime that you struggled to pay attention to the first time.

Hoseok greets the three of you at the airport, and you are pleased to see his smiling face. You even surprise him with a hug when he exits the vehicle to hug the men, and you assure him that you have been taking good care of the pajamas he so graciously gifted you.

"So, the deal," Hoseok prompts as soon as everyone is settled, with Namjoon in the front seat and Yoongi joining you in the back.

"The girls are going to back off," Yoongi responds through a sigh as if he is bored of talking about this already. "We are keeping the dock in Busan and I am offering them a higher cut to keep them off our asses. With Jimin still injured, there is nobody I trust to oversee Serendipity aside from Jeongguk, so I have offered it to Ryujin as a consolation prize."

"Eager to keep Jeongguk home?" Namjoon asks.

Yoongi hums in agreement. "We just got him back here full time and I would like to keep it that way. Once Jimin does wake up, he will need all the help he can get at Paradise."

"And did they have anything to say about the attacks?" Hoseok asks, causing you to feel uneasy.

Yoongi hums and takes his time responding, reaching across the empty middle seat to find your hand and hold onto it. You lace your fingers with his and stare down at your conjoined hands, waiting for him to continue.

"Ryujin apologized and admitted she was being a brat. She had the gall to say she was only sending out pawns to shake things up a bit, and that she never expected any of us to get hurt."

"Fucking bitch," Namjoon grits just barely loud enough for you to hear, and although you agree, you are surprised to hear him say that.

With another sigh, Yoongi adds, "She seems very remorseful for Jimin and offered a handsome sum of money to assist with his hospital bills, but I turned her down. The last thing I need is to give her a reason to hold anything else over my head…plus I don't need her fucking money. When she promised never to attack again, it felt genuine, but I suppose we will have to see how it goes."

"And Hyungseo?" Hoseok asks.

"It seems Ryujin has given over responsibility to Hyungseo but still calls the shots in many ways. I can't quite figure the two of them out."

Namjoon turns enough to look over his shoulder at Yoongi. "What do you mean?"

"They seem…close," Yoongi says, gently squeezing your hand as he pauses. 

Hoseok's voice is dripping with intrigue. "Close, how?"

"Too close to just be friends," Yoongi responds, "but maybe I am just reading into things too much. Either way, she kept her distance from me when we met, so whatever Hyungseo is doing, it is keeping her distracted."

"Thank god," you mutter before you can stop yourself, earning another squeeze from Yoongi's hand. 

Before anything else can be said, Hoseok makes a right turn and you hear the telltale sign of the metal gates scraping open, gaining you access to the mansion. And as soon as Hoseok pulls into the driveway, your eyes land on a sleek dark grey Porsche that sits in front of the garage. Atop the sports car is a giant red bow, and you know before asking that it is a gift for you.

"We're still two days away," Yoongi explains, referring to your birthday as he squeezes your hand once again, "but we couldn't resist."

You are so focused on the Porsche that you do not notice Jeongguk until Hoseok pulls up beside the car and he comes walking over from the mansion's front door, twirling the key fob around his index finger. 

Jeongguk is dressed in satin as if he is headed off to Paradise next, and the thought makes you feel sad; you wonder if they will bother to open it back up before Jimin recovers. The feeling does not have a chance to linger, however, because before you can hone in on the thought for too long, Jeongguk is opening your door with an impatient smile, eyes wide as if wondering what the hell is taking you so long to unbuckle your seatbelt. 

"Dollface," he says, kicking up butterflies and anxiety in your tummy.

"Gguk," you respond softly as you reach for the seatbelt and undo it. 

Everyone else is out of the vehicle by the time you are shoving Jeongguk out of the way and placing your feet on the ground. Your legs are tired from sitting for so many hours, and you stand on your toes to stretch before reaching for the key to your new car, which Jeongguk predictably holds over his head. 

With a huff, you reach, but it is no use, making you frustrated enough to shove at his chest with your palms, barely making him stumble backward. Thankfully Namjoon is on your side, and he reaches for the key fob and frees it from Jeongguk's grasp, making the youngest pout. 

"Thanks, Joonbug," you say with a wink as he hands it over, leaning close for a kiss before he lets you have it. 

The car is gorgeous, but there is only one problem…

"I haven't driven in years," you admit sheepishly, feeling your palm begin to sweat as it grips onto the key fob. "I don't know if I even remember how."

Namjoon says, "We'll teach you," at the same time Jeongguk says, "We can take her for a spin," making your cheeks warm. 

You turn to the left to find Yoongi—who has been awfully quiet—leaning against the nose of Hoseok's sedan. He smiles and nods his chin to Namjoon, saying, "He's an excellent teacher," and that settles it. Or, perhaps you will allow both men to give you guidance, and Yoongi if he wants. It takes a village, and all that.  

Although you are thrilled to be trusted with this symbol of freedom, you are also swallowing back so many emotions. This car has to have cost them quite a lot.

"She's armored," Yoongi says, pulling your attention back to him. As he steps toward the car and rubs his palm over the curve of its hood, you laugh to yourself over the way he is already personifying it. 

But then his words sink in, and you understand the gravity of them. Your concern must show, because he cocks his head, searching your face before adding, "As an extra precaution. We armor every car that we buy, darling; no need to worry."

"Of course," you mutter, returning your gaze to the car, then looking around to the men present. Your eyes trail from Namjoon to Jeongguk as you say, "Thank you," before returning to Yoongi.

"Yoongi bought it," Namjoon says playfully. "We just helped pick it out."

"It's beautiful."

"This is the first of many gifts," Yoongi says as he approaches, dragging his fingertips along the hood of the car until he no longer can and letting his arm fall to his side. "You will have plenty to unwrap in the coming days."

Your heart pounds and you smile, taking a step toward Yoongi and reaching for his belt loops, giving him a little tug that makes his smile widen. 

"And what if I just want to unwrap you?" You ask, causing a sigh and a groan from two of the four men present.

"This is my cue to leave," Hoseok announces while Jeongguk mutters, "Take me with you, hyung," and you laugh softly, eyes never leaving Yoongi.

He says, "That can be arranged, darling," and you raise your eyebrows, eager to find out just how much he means it. It has been far too long since you have gotten to enjoy him and now that you are home, you would like nothing more than to climb into bed.

"Alright, peace out," Jeongguk shouts, followed by the chime of a bell, and you turn to find him riding away on the mint green bicycle that feels more like a thing of legend than a real object. 

Without saying goodbye, Hoseok simply drives off, leaving you, Yoongi, and Namjoon alone with your suitcases standing on the driveway. 

"Shall we?" Namjoon asks, and you nod, turning your gaze to him as he begins to unlock the mansion. 

"Yes, please," Yoongi responds, taking your hand and leading you toward the door. 

"The luggage," you say, pulling toward where the suitcases sit, but Namjoon says, "I got it. You focus on unwrapping your present," with a wink.

You are pulled up the steps into the mansion, stopping just fast enough for both you and Yoongi to kick out of your shoes—Yoongi never dropping your hand—then through the mansion and up the stairs to the second floor. Yoongi yanks one of the bedroom doors open and tugs you straight to the bed, then he spins and releases your hand to take you gently by the face and pull you in for a kiss. 

Yoongi's lips are soft and his scent is familiar, causing you to instantly relax into the feeling and lift your hands to rub over his ribs and chest, palms gracing over clothed nipples until he gasps against you. When he mutters, "Missed you," it is into your mouth and chased by his eager tongue, giving you no time to respond. 

As Yoongi begins to pull at your clothing and undress you hastily, you close your eyes and sway to the movements, lifting your arms over your head and slowly lowering them back to his chest. The air hits your bare skin, causing you to shiver, and when he eagerly shoves at your leggings, you begin to giggle, opening your eyes to find him staring at you with his one good eye.

"You're so beautiful," Yoongi mutters softly, squeezing at your heart.

All you can do is complain, "Stop," but he shakes his head and says, "It's true."

Footsteps travel up the stairs and you hear the sounds of small wheels rolling over marble and softening over a rug before the noise ends. You expect Namjoon to join the two of you, but then the sounds of slippers slapping against the steps recede, likely to continue collecting suitcases. 

Yoongi continues to paw at you, leaving the thin lace bra and panties on and pulling you at the hips to get impossibly closer while you begin to untuck Yoongi's black tee and gather the bottom hem before lifting the garment over his head. His hair is a bit wild when you toss the shirt away and you reach to push your fingers into it, mussing it up just enough to make him laugh and shake his head. 

"You're so beautiful," you say with a grin, watching as Yoongi blushes so slightly.

Namjoon's footsteps return and you begin to undo Yoongi's belt, slotting a thigh between his to apply just enough pressure to his crotch to make him hiss. Hands reach around you to assist with undressing Yoongi, and when his pants are dropped to the floor, you turn so Yoongi can assist you with undressing Namjoon.

Without words exchanged, you kiss and touch, caught between bodies, eyes cloudy. The three of you tangle together on the bed and slowly explore one another as if the time spent apart has made your fingers and lips uncertain despite following expertly charted paths. 

You make love, taking turns to focus two on one at a time, worshiping to the point of overwhelm, murmuring soft promises and professions of love. Your heart feels full and your limbs light as a feather, tingling from pleasure as you drift to sleep, unsure how much time has passed save for the gradually shifting light that comes in from outside. 

Even from the moment you wake up, you feel emotionally heavy. Your sky is overcast and the clouds are thick and threatening to burst, unlike the bright evening that greets you from outside. 

Yoongi and Namjoon are fully dressed and curled on the couch watching something on the television while Namjoon plays with Yoongi's hair. As you stir and stretch, both men notice, and Yoongi begins to sit up with a loud yawn, stretching his limbs. 

"Hey guys…" you begin, uncertain. Lately you have really been wanting to visit Jimin. And you are not sure why asking for it is so difficult, but you swallow thickly as the two of them watch you with soft, patient expressions, and you ask, "Do you think we could go see Jimin?"

Yoongi beams and Namjoon nods, and you let out the breath that felt trapped in your lungs. 

"I can call Tae and find out whether we could go right now if you want to," Yoongi suggests, and you nod, stretching one more time.

You hobble out of bed pad over to the closet to change out of the joggers and tee you slept in only to grab a new set. Your sweaters are in your own closet, and you make your way out of the master suite and over to your room, feeling like a zombie with legs that are too heavy with each step. 

Without turning on a light, you reach into the dark space and feel for a cotton sweater, yanking the sleeve out enough to see that it is a nice forest green and then yanking it harder to free it from its hanger. Since you are already in your bedroom, you brush your teeth in your own sink, then you haphazardly yank the sweater over your head and make your way back to where the men are. 

Yoongi and Namjoon stand beside the door to the master suite, and you nod to indicate that you are ready despite nobody asking, then the three of you make your way down the stairs to the main hall. You slide into some black sneakers and open the front door, greeted by a cold wind and warm sun. Winter is on the horizon. 

The walk to Taehyung's place is quiet, save for the crunch of gravel and fallen leaves underfoot. You hold Yoongi's hand on the right and Namjoon's on the left, letting go of Namjoon when you come out of the clearing at Seokjin and Hoseok's home to wave hello to the two of them who smoke on their front stoops, dressed dapperly in black and white. 

Jeongguk is also outside when you come upon his property, and he asks whether you mind that he joins you, stepping in line behind you three and filling the air with weed smoke and light conversation about the quickly changing weather. 

Once you arrive at Taehyung's house, you feel antsy. You have never seen someone in a coma before and you are scared of what you may find. 

Taehyung greets you at the front door, taking the joint from Jeongguk and offering it around before stamping it out. Being high will only make you sleepier, so saying no is easy. 

He leads you all downstairs to a large fluorescently lit space, to the right past several doors. "It is likely that he can hear you, so try not to say anything you wouldn't want to hear while in a coma," he instructs, and you swallow thickly and nod, steeling yourself for whatever state Jimin could be in. 

Only, as you enter the room and approach the bed, you find Jimin looking just as he always does—angelic and beautiful. He lays on his back with his eyes closed and his arms at his sides with various tubes attached to his hands, and there is a steady beeping coming from a monitor on the other side of the bed. 

Chairs already surround him, and as you step closer, Taehyung calls out, "You have company today, Jiminah!"

The way his silence and stillness tugs at you makes tears break instantly. You sit in the center chair closest to where his hand rests, and you take it gently in both of yours, careful not to pull on anything attached to it. 

"Hey, Jimin," you say weakly, fighting the tremble behind each word, "I've missed you a lot. I'm sorry I haven't visited yet."

The others take their seats, Yoongi and Namjoon to your right and Jeongguk and Taehyung to your left. They greet Jimin and tell him the good news about the deal that went through with The Tigers and the Busan girls. Yoongi tells him about your upcoming birthday and you tell him that you wish he could be there as tears pour down your cheeks. 

It feels surreal. Jimin appears completely unharmed and yet he lays there, succumbing to and healing from a pretty serious injury. Taehyung informs the group that the wound on his shoulder from the bullet is healing nicely, but that they are just waiting for him to wake up. He sounds hopeful that Jimin could wake up any time—that his brain is functioning and every once in a while, his fingers ever so slightly twitch. 

The mood is somber but also happy, and you are glad to finally see your friend again. Taehyung and Jeongguk offer everyone a drink, to which you all agree, and Namjoon follows the two of them out, leaving just you and Yoongi at his side. Your hands sweat from holding onto Jimin's so tightly but you refuse to let go. 

Yoongi places a hand over yours, and when you turn to him, tears fill his eyes. Then he blinks and they run down his cheeks, followed by a sniffle. 

"Baby," you mutter and Yoongi shakes his head, wiping at his cheeks with his free hand and saying, "It's alright. He'll come back to us."

The two of you sit a little while longer and the others return with glasses of whiskey. They regale you with stories of the crew from the early days, commenting on how young and innocent Jimin has always seemed but especially back then, and you have a hard time believing his soft cheeks wide eyes could have ever been more cherubic than they are now.

By the time you all decide to head back home you feel much lighter, and with a kiss to Jimin's forehead and cheek, you promise him that you will see him again soon. And then you exit the room beside Namjoon with Yoongi and the terror twins close behind. 

"Do you shave him?" Namjoon asks once you are out of the room.

"Of course I do," Taehyung responds as if offended. "Can't have our angel laying there with a beard sprouting from his face. He would kill me."

You laugh in tandem with the group and imagine Taehyung shaving Jimin's pretty face with a straight razor, or even a knife. The five of you convene upstairs and have one last drink, then you head home for the day feeling a bit tipsy from enjoying so much whiskey on an empty stomach.

"Pizza," Namjoon announces once the mansion is in sight, and you and Yoongi hum in agreement. Pizza sounds amazing.

After a post-pizza nap, you wake up with the desire to touch and kiss the men who hold you on either side. Yoongi is pressed against your back and you arch your body to rub your ass against his crotch while your lips and teeth find Namjoon's neck. 

Namjoon is the first to stir, groaning and sighing as you suck and kiss harder, right hand drifting across his chest and down to his cock which is already erect. He stretches and begins to shift around, pressing against you and muttering, "What's this, sweetheart?"

"Need you," you whine in return, still on the edge of sleep but eager to shake it away as one hand gropes Namjoon and the other reaches behind to paw at Yoongi.

Yoongi finally grumbles, and you look over your shoulder at his pretty, groggy face while Namjoon begins to pull off his clothing and settle on his side. You allow Namjoon to undress you, kicking your joggers and panties down under the comforter while your shirt is tugged over your head. 

With Yoongi waking up and stretching his limbs, you roll onto your side to face him and begin pulling at his clothing. His eyes open and he cracks a sly smile, saying, "Well hello, darling," in a tone that is extra gravely from sleep. 

"I need you, kitten. How should we have you?" you ask, fingers moving to his button and zipper, eyes never leaving his face.

Yoongi's lips open but no sound comes out, and you kiss along his chin and neck, reaching your hand into his slacks to give him a squeeze over his briefs. 

"Excellent question," Namjoon says from behind you, mouth dragging over your shoulders and neck.

You swish your bare ass against Namjoon, causing him to hiss and groan, hand gripping onto your hip as if desperate for you to be closer. You shove at Yoongi's slacks until he finally begins to kick them down, then you yank at his t-shirt, giggling as he groans half asleep and struggles to help pull it over his head.  

"I have an idea of how I want the two of you," Namjoon continues as his hand moves from your hip and gently grazes over your labia in the faintest touch. 

"Oh?" you ask with a shudder, eyes on Yoongi, who settles on his side.

Yoongi leans in close and slots your bottom lip between his, sucking and nipping hard enough to make you groan. You open your lips for him to explore but he sticks to the bottom one, licking and teasing it with his teeth and tongue. 

"I want you to sit on my face, sweetheart," Namjoon says, voice deep and low beside your ear. You feel him reach around you and begin to stroke Yoongi, who whimpers against your lips. "And I want Yoongi to fuck you while I eat you out."

Before you have a chance to say anything, Yoongi deepens the kiss, licking against your lips before probing his tongue eagerly against yours. Namjoon's mouth finds your neck and you gasp and shiver into the feeling, body turning to hot wax between them, melting into the mattress.

"On your knees," Namjoon instructs, and Yoongi breaks the kiss to smile against your lips.

You do as you are told, rotating onto your knees while Namjoon scoots down the bed away from the pillows. Once he is settled you crawl over to his head.

Your panties sit bunched up beside Namjoon’s knees and you grab them and reach back to shove them into Namjoon's face, giggling to yourself as he groans but opens his mouth to accept his fate. Then you settle back onto your knees and straddle Namjoon's head with your hands beside his knees, keeping your hips lifted so that he has to reach for you. 

It is futile to be a tease with two men who are much stronger than you, but you try your best, lifting your weight when Namjoon attempts to pull you into place, giggling and trembling when he gives your ass a playful smack before somewhat roughly forcing you to sit back. 

Your panties are still bunched up around his chin when he holds you in place and begins to lick and suck at your pussy lips and clit, sending a burst of arousal through you. Behind you, the bed dips, and you do your best to sit tall with your back straight, hands anchored against your thighs for stability. 

Namjoon's talented mouth and the sounds he makes when he savors you—hums and groans of satisfaction—work you up quickly, and with each lick and suck your body quakes with pleasure. Yoongi's arms wrap around you, hands claiming and squeezing your breasts while he gets close enough for you to bow your spine and rest your head against his shoulder. 

"Just look at you," he mutters against your neck, teeth grazing over your skin and adding to the overwhelm of bliss. "I want you to cum before I fuck you. Can you do that for me, darling?"

"Yes, sir," you all but moan as the steady tongue and lips work you over and send you close to the edge. 

"That's our good girl," Yoongi praises, pinching and rolling your nipples between his thumbs and index fingers. "Always so perfect for us."

The way the two of them make you feel has your head spinning. Yoongi's words of praise rasped in his deep voice while his hands tease; Namjoon humming and groaning while he pushes you quickly toward orgasm, gripping your legs so tight that you have no choice but to stay in place; everything is a lot. 

"I'm gonna cum," you whimper as your quakes deepen, making your body jerk uncontrollably. 

"Of course you are," Yoongi teases, nipping at your neck, making you feel somewhat humiliated by how he always has to tease you for being easy. "Make a mess of our Joonie."

The thought of Namjoon's handsome face glistening with your cum is the push you need to plummet over the edge, and you bow your back further, digging your head into Yoongi while broken sobs and moans fall from your lips. You cum hard, pressing your pussy against Namjoon's mouth as your body trembles through each heaved breath. 

Namjoon lays his tongue flat for you to use and each movement drags your lips and clit over it, feeling heavenly. That is, until the overstimulation kicks in. 

"Fuck," you whimper as your hips continue to convulse, unable to settle and relax. 

"Bend," Yoongi instructs, releasing your breasts to rub his hands over your back and shoulders only to begin pressing you forward. 

You obey, leaning forward until you are down on your elbows and close enough to Namjoon's cock to begin teasing the tip with your lips and tongue. Namjoon moans and you giggle as his dick jumps from the gentle touch. Precum dribbles from his slit, inviting you to lap it up and tease him with your lips.

Namjoon's lips and tongue continue to pleasure you, and you are thankful that from this position you are able to relax a little more, settling on one elbow while you lift your other hand to slowly stroke his length. Namjoon is vocal, moaning and groaning muffled sounds against your cunt that encourage you to not to stop.

Two hands grip your ass and you expect to feel the blunt tip of Yoongi's cock. In fact, you are so eager to feel him that you clench around nothing in anticipation. When Yoongi's tongue greets you instead, probing into your dripping hole and then dragging up, over your ass, you squeal and dig your face into Namjoon's pelvis. 

Two tongues as skilled as these are dangerous, and you do your best to breathe through the quick pace at which your pleasure builds and threatens to drown you. Yoongi focuses on your asshole, licking and teasing, digging the very tip of his tongue inside and making each breath come out ragged and quick despite your best efforts.

"Oh my god," you moan as the pleasure feels too intense you fear you might not make it out of this alive. You knew it would feel amazing to be devoured by the two of them, but never could you have imagined it would be this good. 

When Yoongi's tongue laps over you one last time and you feel the mattress dip while he adjusts behind you, there is a brief moment in which you are disappointed. But then his cock rubs over your entrance and you feel the eager thrill fill you once more. 

However, before Yoongi presses into you, he drags himself lower. Namjoon's lips leave your cunt and you hear a gasp and a hiss come from Yoongi that makes your heart pound. Yoongi holds onto your hips, digging his weight into you as he thrusts downward and you wish you could watch his cock disappear between Namjoon's full, pretty lips. 

Then Yoongi spreads and slightly lifts you, and before you have a chance to anticipate how he may feel, he thrusts deep in one swift movement, spearing you wide. The stretch makes you shout and whimper, and you bury your head into Namjoon's soft thigh skin while Yoongi pulls back and snaps forward again and again.

Sobs and broken moans fall from your lips, and a second pair of hands grabs your thighs and holds you in place. You feel Namjoon's lips and tongue drag over your clit in broad, sloppy strokes, and any ounce of sanity you had left crumbles away. 

Namjoon's skin is hot and moist against your lips, and you lift your head just enough to take a mouthful of his cock and do your best to suck while Yoongi fucks you. Precum leaks from Namjoon's tip, heady on your tongue, and his thighs quake as he moans loud and eagerly against you, urging you to suck and stroke as purposefully as you can.

"God damn," Yoongi groans as he gives your ass a firm stinging smack, causing a muffled squeal from your throat. "I missed you two so fucking much."

Namjoon groans, "Gonna cum soon," against you.

"I want you both to cum at the same time," Yoongi instructs. Luckily for him, you are very close. 

It is almost comical the way you and Namjoon both suck and lick with a little more intention, eager to push the other over the edge. And it works. 

You feel yourself climbing higher and higher toward the precipice of bliss, and you are right on the edge when a wet finger rubs over your asshole with a hint of pressure. A squeal sputters from your lips, and you drool around Namjoon's throbbing cock. 

"Fuck," Namjoon attempts to warn, but there is no need. You can feel him pulsate against your lips, and you relax your mouth while stroking his shaft in anticipation. 

Namjoon's deep voice cracks as the first spurt of cum hits your tongue, and he muffles his voice against your clit and sucks hard enough to make the dam break once more. Orgasm rushes over you so intensely that you struggle to keep your head steady and end up with ropes of his warm release on your nose and lips. 

"That's it, baby," Yoongi praises, pressing the tip of his finger deeper into your ass and intensifying every little sensation. 

"Fuck!" you scream, drool and cum dribbling down your chin. Yoongi fucks at the perfect angle to make you feel like you might squirt, and you attempt to warn Namjoon, but all you can get out is, "I'm gonna—oh fuck, I'm—"

Yoongi's grip is firm and his hips are punishing. Your body goes limp before it tenses once more and pleasure rushes from you, covering Namjoon. You think you hear deep moans and deeper praise, but your pulse is loud and heavy in your ears and all of reality seems to slip away from you. 

It is a mercy that Namjoon stops licking your pussy and slides back until you are straddling his chest. Little by little, your senses return, and Yoongi adjusts his position, anchoring one foot on the mattress as moans pour from his lips. 

You can hear Namjoon's mouth working Yoongi over, undoubtedly eating his ass, and you wish so badly that you could see it. But hearing it is enough, and you grip onto Namjoon's thighs for stability as Yoongi continues to fuck you at a punishing pace. 

Slowly, Namjoon begins to slide down the bed, out from under you, making you sit up and attempt to give him space. Yoongi very gently pulls you by the shoulders and forces you to stay sitting high on your knees while Namjoon repositions himself on his knees, facing you. His face and neck are drenched and his short dark hair is a wild mess. 

You weakly lift your hand to reach for him, beckoning him close. Namjoon smiles and knee-walks closer, taking you by the chin and rubbing a thumb over the cum that has begun to dry against your chin. "I see we both made a mess," he teases, and you nod as best as you can while moaning through Yoongi's deep, quick thrusts. 

"Fuck, I'm close," Yoongi grits between his teeth.

Namjoon licks his lips with a smirk. "Want you to cum in my mouth, baby," he instructs with his eyes on Yoongi but his lips closing in on yours. 

You lean ever so slightly forward and press your lips to Namjoon, moans and sobs falling with each quick exhale, some of which he swallows and some he merely licks around. Your tongue darts out weakly in an attempt to return Namjoon's sloppy kiss, but you struggle with each movement, hypnotized by pleasure. 

"Joon," Yoongi moans, hands gripping you tightly while he pulls his hips all the way back, pulling out and shifting his body to the side. 

You are held in place while Namjoon drops to his hands and leans forward. Although you turn your head to the left in an attempt to watch, all you see is Namjoon's head bobbing while Yoongi trembles and muffles his mouth against your shoulder. 

Yoongi moans and sobs and Namjoon groans, all the while you catch your breath, sitting in place until you are given instruction for what to do next; unsure whether you could control your body if you tried. 

The room quiets and Yoongi leans a little further into his hold on you before sitting back, causing you both to fall onto your butts against the mattress. When Namjoon returns, taking your face in his hands and pulling you into a slow, deep kiss, his tongue is coated in Yoongi's release, and you lean into it and savor him. 

"More?" Namjoon asks against your lips.

You feel exhausted, but you definitely want more of these two. Anything they have in mind. 

"I wanna fuck Yoongi. How does that sound to you, sweetheart?"

It sounds amazing. "I want to watch you fuck Yoongi."

Namjoon sits back with a grin and nods, then he pats the bed off to the side from where you sit and says, "Come right here, baby. You can watch me stretch him."

It takes a moment for Yoongi to release you, and as soon as you crawl to your spot in the center of the bed, all the sweat and cum begins to turn cold, and you settle with your legs pretzeled and reach for the comforter to drape over your shoulders. 

Namjoon crawls past you to the small table on Yoongi's side of the bed while he instructs Yoongi to get on his hands and knees and crawl just enough that his ass is in view—perky and soft. He settles on his elbows with his forehead pressed into the mattress, and Namjoon opens a drawer and closes it, then returns with a clear half-empty bottle of lube. 

With a chance to settle and catch your breath, you are eager for more. But first, you want to watch Namjoon pull Yoongi apart. You have no idea where you may come into this equation, but you are unconcerned; they will make space for you. 

Namjoon sits behind Yoongi, takes his ass in both hands—dropping the bottle of lube to the mattress—and leans forward to lick over his rim, groaning and devouring him the way he devours you. Yoongi moans into the sheets, reaching for the bunched up comforter and squeezing it in his fist and you feel hypnotized watching Namjoon's tongue lap over him in firm, broad strokes. 

The vision is sinful, stirring arousal deep as you watch as Namjoon's hands squeeze and smack, making Yoongi moan and shake with each movement. Then you watch as Namjoon slicks up his fingers and buries them deep inside Yoongi one at a time. 

You wonder what it feels like to finger Yoongi and you get onto your hands and knees and crawl close, shivering as the comforter falls away, leaving you bare. Three of Namjoon's fingers disappear inside him, and you sit close on your knees, watching intently while reaching first to cup and squeeze at his soft ass and thighs, and then to tease the stretched skin of his stuffed rim with your fingertips. 

"Can I?" you ask, rubbing a finger between two of Namjoon's to slick the tip with lube and gently prod. 

Namjoon twists his hand and pulls nearly all the way out, pointing his knuckles downward and giving you an opening in between his fingers that are in almost a v-shape. You lean close and dribble spit onto his fingers, and then you slide your pointer to fit snug with his and slowly join him in stretching Yoongi wide.

"Oh my god," Namjoon groans as Yoongi trembles and sobs. He feels warm, tight, and soft, and you do your best to match Namjoon's pace pulling out and back in, out and back in. 

You ask, "You like the way we feel, kitten?" as you reach with your free hand to gather the precum on Namjoon's hard, neglected cock and give it a stroke that matches in pace. 

Both men moan and you pull your gaze from Yoongi's greedy ass to look at Namjoon who stares at you with a hunger that only excites you more. You bite your lip and give him your widest, cutest fuck-me-eyes and giggle when his expression morphs from pleasure. 

"You are so fucking sexy," Namjoon groans as he pulls your fingers out completely and takes your hand to lift it to your mouth. "Taste him," he commands, and you obey, lifting your finger to your lips and darting out the tip of your tongue.

Yoongi is heady and tangy-sweet, but his delicate natural flavor is masked too much by the artificially sweet lube. Still, you suck your finger into your mouth while holding eye contact with Namjoon, then you place your palm onto the bed and lean toward Yoongi, eager to taste him a little more. 

You feel a bit shy as you drag your tongue over his rim, but the way he moans and clenches around nothing urges you to do more. Namjoon slowly crawls forward, dick still trapped in your hand, and you spin your tongue over Yoongi, letting drool gather and drip to make him nice and sloppy. 

Namjoon settles with his cock so close to your mouth that you turn and take the tip, sucking in your cheeks just hard enough to make him whine before turning back to Yoongi to lick and tease. You can tell by the quick huffs and sounds Namjoon produces that he is growing impatient, and you continue to alternate sucking and licking until you feel satisfied with how worked up they both become. 

With one hand, you search for the bottle of lube while the other strokes Namjoon against your tongue, which is held out flat and drooling. Then you give his tip one last suck and sit back, popping open the bottle and squirting a generous amount of the sticky liquid onto your palm. 

You warm the lube in both hands and then smear some on Namjoon and some on Yoongi, dipping the tips of your fingers inside him to get him nice and ready, grinning when he trembles and sobs. And you stay on your hands and knees and rest your cheek against Yoongi's hip, spreading his cheeks wide and staring up at Namjoon as he shifts forward and lines the two of them up. 

Namjoon towers over the two of you like a god and you hold eye contact as he slowly begins to press his cock inside. Yoongi quakes and gasps, and you lift your head up just enough to watch as Namjoon carves him open. 

"Wow," you mutter, mesmerized by the sight of Yoongi's tight, perky ass swallowing a cock so big. 

With a deep groan, Namjoon asks, "Like what you see, baby?" 

You look up at him through your eyelashes and nod, responding, "Yes, daddy," in the cutest voice you can muster. Then you sit up on your knees and begin to crawl to Yoongi's head. 

Namjoon begins to fuck Yoongi hard and fast, punching sharp breaths from him and making his voice break. You sit on your knees in front of Yoongi and take a handful of his soft, sweaty hair, then you lift his face out of the blankets and force him to look at you. 

The scar takes you by surprise, making your stomach churn, but you quickly notice the rest of his fucked out, reddened face, and you lift your other hand to slot two lube-sticky fingers into his mouth giving him something to suck on. 

Yoongi sputters and sobs, lips gripping tightly to your fingers while his eyelids flutter, barely open. You very gently say, "Eyes on me, baby," and delight when he opens them wide. 

"Do you like how daddy fucks you?" you ask, giving his hair a gentle lift, causing his eyes to momentarily roll back before he focuses them on you. 

He attempts to say, "Yes, baby," but the words jumble cutely around your fingers.  

A loud smack makes Yoongi squeal, spit sputtering from his lips, and you glance up at Namjoon who stares down at you with a crooked grin. "I have an idea," he says, and you lift your eyebrows and cock your head.

"An idea?"

Namjoon hums. 

"And what is that, daddy?"

With a deep groan, Namjoon slowly pulls out, causing Yoongi's face to screw up with pleasure and then impatience. You keep your fingers nestled between his doll lips, watching as he breathes deeply through his nose, then you turn your attention back to Namjoon. 

"Yoongi baby, lay down on your back."

You slide your fingers from Yoongi's mouth and sit back, watching him flop down to the mattress and roll onto his back. Namjoon grabs his hips roughly and yanks him closer, spreading his legs wide. He wastes no time sliding his dick back inside, saying, "Now you sit on his face."

"Oooh, yes, daddy," you say excitedly, crawling over Yoongi's face. His cock slaps against his tummy, leaking precum, and you settle against him and waste no time reaching for it, eager to suck. 

Yoongi grabs onto your hips and wastes no time licking your pussy, surprising you with his sudden burst of energy as he reaches with one hand to finger you while squeezing your ass in the other. You attempt to moan as you swallow his length, sucking eagerly the moment a mix of his and your fluids grace your taste buds. 

You keep your eyes open to watch Namjoon's cock disappear inside him, and you make loud, needy sounds with the hope of urging one of them to cum again. This time, you want to be the one to swallow. 

Only Namjoon has other plans.

"On second thought, you should sit on his dick, baby."

You suck in your cheeks nice and hard one last time, then open your mouth wide to let all the drool that has collected on your tongue drip down his length. When you begin to sit up and move away from Yoongi's face and hands, he whines and attempts feebly to keep you in place before giving up and letting you go. 

Without anything obstructing his mouth, Yoongi's moans are loud and raspy; music to your ears. You turn around and straddle his waist, then reach between your legs and grab onto his length. 

With one pump of your hand, you line him up and slide yourself down, back bowing from pleasure and causing your head to gently bump into Namjoon's shoulder while you and Yoongi moan in tandem—his trembling from his lips at the rhythm of Namjoon's hips and yours falling short at the end. 

Namjoon wraps his arms around you, holding you in place against him while he fucks Yoongi—one hand slides to your throat and the other grabs onto one of your breasts—and you swish and circle your hips, burying Yoongi deep inside you and reaching spots that make your eyes roll back. 

Pleasure with these two feels like something out of a dream. Yoongi reaches with a slickened thumb and twists it over your clit, and you grind harder, matching Namjoon's rhythm and chasing your next high. You have no idea where you end and where one of them begins, and the sounds the room fills with—the moaning and sobbing; skin against skin—is absolutely hypnotic.

You cum without warning and scream, back arched and eyes wide to the tall ceiling. Namjoon fucks Yoongi hard enough that you barely have to move, body jerking uselessly while your senses tingle and dull once more and you fight your body to stay upright, thankful that you are held in place. 

"Look at him," Namjoon instructs, and you slowly drop your gaze to Yoongi, who lays with one hand high above his head gripping to the comforter and the other reaching for you. His eyes are closed and his mouth is agape, lips trembling around unvoiced sounds. With his dark hair fanning wildly against the bed and his skin slick with sweat, he is breathtaking. 

"F-fuck," he mutters, eyes opening only to roll back again. "I'm gonna— oh my god."

"Cum for us, pretty Yoongi," Namjoon says, hips never losing their steady pace. 

Yoongi moves his lips as if to respond to Namjoon but he appears too lost in pleasure to form words. You swish your hips and squeeze your pussy around him, pleased with yourself when his back bows and he begins to sob.

"What a fucking sight," Namjoon groans and you nod, unable to take your eyes off Yoongi as he squirms and pants, reaching his high. 

Without warning, Yoongi cums, filling you with his warm release while he gasps and continues attempting to form words that never make it past his pretty lips. Namjoon picks up his pace, cursing under his breath as he rattles and shakes Yoongi into a trance with his mouth and eyes wide.

Somewhat frantically, Namjoon gropes your breasts and tummy, squeezing as he huffs and moans against your shoulder, sucking harshly against your skin. He quakes and then freezes momentarily, moaning warm, moist breath into your neck. Then his hips rock in and out and in before he pulls all the way out with a groan. 

"On your back," he commands through an airy tone, and you do as you are told, not sure how he plans to continue going considering all three of you are fucked past the point of exhaustion. 

You hobble off of Yoongi and throw yourself down onto the bed, barely able to adjust before Namjoon has your legs spread wide and his face buried between them. He slurps at your dripping pussy, tongue pressing as far into you as it can, causing you to quake from overstimulation and pleasure as he laps up various fluids inside you. 

And then he breaks away and falls into a seated position and then further back onto his elbows, tilting his head to the ceiling and panting heavily. Your feet slide against the bed and you relax in a heap, instantly turning cold as the sweat settles on your skin.

"Bath," Namjoon mutters, and you nod in return. 

Yoongi grumbles incoherently and you cannot help but giggle.

"Fucked him stupid," you say, staring up at the ceiling and smiling as Namjoon begins to laugh.

After a bubble bath the three of you go to sleep, and you do not dream at all. Endless darkness holds you in its embrace. You sleep until an early hour of the morning, only to wake up and tiptoe to the bathroom, then return to sleep some more. 

You feel rested and happy when you fully rise several hours later, and a little shy when you find the room has been covered in vases full of roses and wildflowers of various colors. 

It has been years since you have celebrated your birthday.

Yoongi and Namjoon dote on you from the moment you wake up until it is time to get ready for your party, bringing you pancakes and mimosas in bed and taking you for a spin in your brand new car to get manicures and pedicures together. You allow them to insist on having your nails painted white with gold french tips, and you delight in how ticklish both their feet are as the poor technicians pamper them. 

Namjoon drives around the city until you find an ice cream stand along the river, and wearing average casual attire with masks covering your faces and baseball hats worn low over your faces, you almost feel like normal people doing normal everyday things—despite the security detail that stays ten feet behind you at all times.

And you capture everything. The flowers, the nails, the ice cream—everything is photographed and added to a folder to be uploaded to Instagram once you return home. Being that you are a semi-public figure, you worry that if news got out about your birthday and you did not post, people might start whispering. 

Yoongi takes a scenic route back to the mansion, holding your hand while he handles your sports car with ease, and you allow yourself to bask in an absolutely perfect day, thinking about how nice it would be if the three of you could exist this simply all the time. 

When you return home, the men kiss you and tell you to wait in your room while they get dressed for your party. Yoongi informs you that you have time to shower if you would like, and Namjoon says he cannot wait to see you all dolled up later. 

You do not feel the need to shower, so you strip down to a little black thong and find a black silk robe to lay around in, holding your hands up high to inspect your manicure and kicking your feet as you smile to yourself. Then you imagine how the giant engagement ring would look shimmering on your finger, and you hold your hands close to your heart.

In the quiet moment all to yourself, you drift in and out of sleep, unsure what to expect from the evening. And although you feel groggy when there is a light knock at your door, you sit up with a start and prance over quickly to greet your guest. 

With Jimin absent, a soft-spoken woman with long, dark brown hair and foxlike eyes named Yeji bows in your doorway. She is dressed like the family men in a black button-up tucked into black slacks, and carries a charcoal grey garment bag draped over her arm and a large black makeup case in her hand. 

You lean-sit against the edge of your bed, suddenly feeling a bit bare in your silk robe while she sets the case down and begins to unzip the garment bag and pull your gown free. To your surprise, the dress is off-white and all you can think about is how much it reminds you of a wedding dress.  

Yeji hands you the gown and turns her back to you as you stand, shed the robe, and begin to delicately step into the garment. You are going to need to swap your black thong for a white one, but otherwise it is perfect.

The top gathers in a halter over your chest, wrapping in a circle around your neck and leaving your back bare. Gold embroidery accentuates the neck and waist, and the skirt flows in layers of chiffon with high slits up the both sides, making you feel like a Greek goddess.

Yeji produces several blue Tiffany boxes and opens all but one of them. She adds beautiful gold bracelets with delicate diamond encrusted vines to your wrists and a matching gold and diamond vine ring to your right hand. Then she recommends several pairs of gold strappy shoes and offers a pair of gold ballet flats for later in the evening, smiling shyly the entire time. 

Your hair is pulled and twisted from your head and your makeup is minimal—hints of black with a dusting of gold on your lids and gold highlights on your cheeks. You assume there must be earrings in the final Tiffany box, but she leaves it untouched and gently lifts her fingers to your chin, urging you to straighten your posture as she scrutinizes your appearance with a soft smile.

"You look like a princess," she says, blushing and averting her eyes as you stand before your vanity and dance your fingertips over the skirt. 

You feel like a princess, and you smile widely as you say, "Thank you, Yeji."

A familiar knock on the door kicks your pulse into high gear and you hold your breath as Yoongi walks in wearing all white. A ruched, tunic-style linen dress shirt with long fluted sleeves hangs somewhat loosely but fitted in a way that shows off his broad shoulders and firm muscle. He wears fitted white slacks, gold necklaces, and his hair is styled in beautiful waves around his face. 

But what really takes your breath away is that for the first time since the accident, both of Yoongi's eyes are wide open and his stitches have been removed. A deep, pinkish-red gash greets you, making Yoongi's fierce dark brown eyes seem even more menacing; a fitting scar for a man in his position.

Your heart sinks at the sight but it also stirs something inside you. Somehow, the scar makes Yoongi even more attractive—a thought that you will need to unpack some other time. 

"Wow," you say, ripping your tear-filled gaze away from Yoongi's face and studying his outfit once more. "You look amazing."

For once, Yoongi is speechless and it makes you feel somewhat antsy. Rather than respond, his eyes continue to take in your outfit and his silence feels maddening. Is he also thinking about how much this gown looks fit for a bride? Is that why he looks at you this way? Luckily Namjoon appears and breaks the tension.

Also outfitted in all white, Namjoon wears a dress shirt tucked into fitted slacks and a white leather belt. His jacket has gold and clear gems embroidered in decorative bursts on the left shoulder and right breast, and gold gems line the wrists of his sleeves. His short dark hair is styled back from his forehead, and he wears dainty gold chains and bracelets, and small gold hoop earrings.  

"Sweetheart," Namjoon mutters as he steps up behind Yoongi and rests his chin on his shoulder. "You look…"

"Incredible," Yoongi finally says, eyes wide and teary with his arms straight down to his sides. 

"Just missing a couple more things," Namjoon says with a smile that dimples his cheeks as he turns to the vanity and grabs the final blue box. "While we were in Paris, Jimin and I went shopping for all of this jewelry. Do you like it?"

You lift your hands and inspect the vines that grace your wrists and finger, and you feel your eyes well with tears thinking about Jimin and the Paris trip that changed everything in more ways than one.

Your voice is soft and laced with emotion as you say, "I love it."

"I was particularly fond of these," Namjoon says, pulling your attention with the sound of the last box opening, "and we crafted the rest of tonight's theme around them."

Diamond encrusted gold earrings in the shape of vines shimmer from the soft blue box, and Namjoon lifts them for you to see. 

"May I?" he asks, and you nod emphatically, tipping your chin to give him access. He gives you the box, which you take in shaky hands, and then he delicately adorns each of your ears, warm nimble fingers working swiftly, giving you shivers as they brush against your skin. 

You glance into the mirror then take a step forward to get a view of your reflection. It appears as if the dainty vines climb up your lobes and they are absolutely stunning. The thought of Namjoon picking out the jewelry makes your heart swell with affection, and when you glance back at him and Yoongi, they watch you with reverence.

"Thank you," you say, eyes roving between the two of them. "This is too much, really."

"Nonsense," Yoongi responds, "you deserve the world. And Namjoon and I intend to give it to you."

Suddenly you feel shy and you lift your hands to cover your face, doing your best to hold back tears. You know in your heart that these men mean it when they say such ridiculous things. And you love them so deeply for it, even if the prospect terrifies you.

Your left hand is gently tugged away from your face, and before you can inspect who is responsible, you feel the cool kiss of gold on your ring finger, followed by the weight of the diamond it holds. Your heart pounds harder, and you continue to swallow back the urge to cry. 

"Shall we?" Yoongi asks, letting go of your hand and revealing a gold and diamond Rolex hiding under his long sleeve. "The party has begun but I thought we should be fashionably late."

Namjoon holds you in place as Yoongi helps you step into gold strappy heels, then he drapes a white fur evening jacket over your shoulders that barely covers your torso. Hoseok is in the driveway sitting behind the wheel of a red stretch limo sedan, and you shake your head at the emissions a beast like this must give off as you approach. 

The door opens from the inside and Jeongguk’s smiling face greets you. Taehyung is in the seat beside him and they are dressed in white fitted tuxedos and gold bow ties. 

“Dollface,” Jeongguk beams, taking your right hand while Namjoon steadies your left arm and you hoist yourself into the vehicle. 

“This is fucking ridiculous,” you laugh as you get seated facing the partition behind the front seats. Jeongguk and Taehyung have their backs facing the partition, creating a large square shaped space littered with gold confetti and buckets containing iced bottles of champagne. 

“How is our honorary buttercup?” Taehyung asks as he pops a bottle open. Yoongi enters to your left while Namjoon gets settled on your right. 

“A little overwhelmed,” you mutter while Taehyung pours a flute that Jeongguk holds onto before handing it off to you. 

“Well, I hate to break it to you, darling, but the night is young."

You turn to Yoongi and lift your brow. From behind the black partition, Hoseok begins to leave the driveway as you ask, "And what is that supposed to mean?"

Jeongguk pipes up, "Means you're gonna be overwhelmed as fuck when we get to Dionysus."

Everyone laughs and you join in, only somewhat showing your unease. The cold, bittersweet champagne helps calm your nerves, but it is difficult to feel settled when four pairs of eyes pierce into you—even Taehyung stares more openly than usual. 

You are tipsy by the time Hoseok reaches the city, and you silently pep talk yourself as the vehicle pulls up to a tall marble building with a red carpet outside. To your surprise there is a crowd waiting.  

Namjoon gets out first and steps aside, offering you his hand, and cameras flash in your eyes as you take it and slowly climb to the rug below, attempting not to stumble and struggling to lift your eyes. Although there is a stir from your presence, people begin to clap and cheer when they see Yoongi. 

You cannot fathom who any of these people are, nor can you imagine so many strangers so openly recognizing him. Are all of them somehow involved in the syndicate, as well? Does Yoongi have another reputation that you are unaware of?

The unmistakable whispers and murmurs begin about his scar, about your dress. Once Yoongi is by your side, crooking your arm into his elbow, Namjoon gets back into the stretch sedan and Hoseok drives off, leaving the two of you to make an entrance. 

You keep your eyes ahead, too shy to look at the crowd, and you walk under a large white and gold awning that stretches from the sidewalk to the large glass doors. Camera flashes threaten to temporarily blind but nobody stands in your way, and when you enter the hotel, everyone follows behind. 

Large gold and crystal chandeliers brighten the massive hotel lobby, and the red carpet stretches through the space, stopping at a set of gold elevator doors. You glance around at the light marble, white furnishings, and confused hotel guests littered throughout, noticing several armed guards stationed around the space dressed in white with gold bow ties, similar to your friends.

"What is this place?" you ask with wide eyes. 

"This is the hotel that I sold to lady Choi, the woman who was friends with my mother," Yoongi mutters close to your ear while you walk ahead, eyes dancing over the marble and gold, appreciating the extravagance. "What did Hyungseo refer to it as? One of my less flashy hotels?"

You remember the night in front of Paradise when Hyungseo taunted Yoongi—the night Jimin was shot. If this is what she refers to as less flashy, what do Yoongi's other hotels look like? Surely, she was just trying to rile Yoongi up, and you can see why it may not have worked. 

Yoongi leads you through the lobby to a gold elevator, and you are not in the least bit surprised when it takes you to the uppermost floor. You are surprised, however, when the doors slide open and the scene before you is somehow more decadent than the one you left. 

"This," Yoongi says magnanimously, "is Dionysus."

The tall walls and high arching ceilings are made of white iron and glass, allowing the glow of the moon and light pollution to add to the ambiance. Large arches of elegantly designed iron spandrels and ornate columns draw the eye to a second floor mezzanine that wraps around the space where guests stand with drinks, some dancing along to the music that sounds modern and downtempo but unidentifiable to your untrained ear. 

The floors are ash grey hardwood, and the furnishings are white and gold with the exception of  a massive oval-shaped bar made of dark hardwood in the center of the space. Tracking lights hanging from the grandiose ceiling assist delicate white and gold sconces that are placed throughout to brighten the space. 

"For obvious reasons, we chose to move your party," Yoongi informs as you step forward, gaze landing on more people you do not recognize than those you do. Changkyun and the rest of the members of the security team wear white tuxedos with gold bow ties, as well. Other guests are dressed in an array of colors, but it appears that nobody else wears white. 

An attendant approaches to take your jacket and you bow your head at him, shivering from the lack of warmth as Yoongi continues. "We renovated Paradise for this occasion, but I felt that having the party there might be too painful for all of us. Of course, a larger venue called for a larger crowd."

You hum in response, still taking in your surroundings, undoubtedly with your mouth hanging wide open. "Wow," you finally mutter, lips moving like a fish out of water as you struggle to find the words to describe the way you feel.

Dionysus is massive, and the lengths staff members must have gone to in order to decorate for your party do not go unnoticed. Gold streamers and green vines entwine, snaking up columns and along the edge of the mezzanine and bar, and gold balloons are placed throughout accentuating corners, tables, and various other points, along with piles of gold disco balls scattered around shimmering with reflected light. 

The staff wear gold leather and latex. Clothing is scarce, barely covering them, and they are painted from head to toe in gold glitter as if carved from the shimmering alloy, carrying intricately carved golden trays of food and drink. 

"Are you pleased?" Yoongi asks. 

You nod emphatically and turn to Yoongi with tears forming, forcing yourself to look into his eyes and not stare at the reddened slash that cuts over one of them. Although the sight makes your stomach momentarily ache, you are undeniably happy. 

"Yes," you say, taking a step forward and placing your palms over Yoongi's chest. The giant rock on your left hand shimmers in the bright light of the venue, sending a pang of uncertainty and worry to your gut that is only somewhat masked by your joy.

"Let's get you a drink," Yoongi says, gently grabbing your wrists before spinning around and linking your right hand in his left while tugging you toward the bar. 

A nearby server carries a gold platter of champagne flutes, and when Yoongi reaches for one and hands it to you, there are even gold flakes floating around inside. Ridiculous, you think to yourself, but also very thoughtful.

One sip of the champagne takes you by surprise; it is light and sweet, different from what you are used to. And, to your delight, the gold flakes seem to have no flavor. 

"Ah, here they are," Yoongi announces, and when you look up, the other five family men—dressed in the same white and gold attire—are approaching, holding matte black gifts of various shapes and sizes.

"Oh, no," you mutter to yourself, feeling your cheeks become hot. "This party is already enough."

"Nonsense, darling," Yoongi whispers close to your ear, voice deep and inviting. 

The music changes and suddenly the entire room is singing happy birthday. You feel embarrassed enough to hide behind your hands, but Yoongi gently takes your champagne flute and sets it aside, then tugs your wrists downward, forcing you to watch as the family men approach with their gifts.

"I thought the switchblade was my present," you tease, looking between Jeongguk and Taehyung the moment the song stops. Of course, since that fateful night, you have not moved the switchblade from where it sits in its case atop your bedside table in Yoongi's bedroom.

"Well, since you must announce the elephant in the room," Taehyung teases, holding out a rectangular box about five inches long and two inches tall, "we worried that you may hold some animosity toward that weapon and decided to gift you another option."

Another weapon, he means. You already know from the size and weight of this box that Taehyung is gifting you a handgun. Still, you tear at the matte black gift wrap and pretend to be surprised as you reveal a black velvet box containing a subcompact Glock. 

You do gasp, however, when you notice the beautifully carved flowers and vines along the handle of the gun, and you feel somewhat emotional when you look back at Taehyung and say, "Wow, this is beautiful."

"We have a variety of holsters that you can choose from," Taehyung says with a proud smile. "Come by anytime to rummage through our collection."

"Alright," you respond as you turn to hand the gun off to Yoongi. Staff seem to have carried over a round high marble-topped table and he sets the box in the center.

Next is Hoseok, who gives you a stunning Tiffany statement necklace that is shaped like a gold scorpion tail, and Seokjin gives you a dainty gold Rolex watch with a mother of pearl face.

Jeongguk steps forward and hands you a box that contains a little metal cocaine vial and you laugh so loud, your voice echoes through the large venue. "I have one more for you," he mutters quietly, "but it would be inappropriate for you to open it here, so you'll have to come by my place some time soon."

Namjoon kisses your forehead with a smile, making your cheeks warm at the thought of the crowd noticing as he says, "The rest of my gifts are at the mansion." 

You shake your head, knowing that all of the jewelry you wear is from him, muttering, "You've already done too much."

But then he hands you a small gift box and says, "This one is from Jimin."

Suddenly your heart feels heavy, and you accept the box with a tremble in your hands. You rip at the matte black paper but your hands shake so hard that you have to turn and set the box onto the table just to open it. 

You expect more jewelry to greet you and it takes a split moment to process what you are looking at. In a small pile against black velvet is a gold keyring containing three keys and a golden dove charm. You lift the keys to inspect them, finding each one inscribed with one word: Paradise, Studio, and Home.

Tears well and you drop the keys back into the box, cursing the universe for being so unfair. Jimin has given you sanctuary in so many ways and you are unable to thank him. 

Shaking your head in an attempt not to cry, you are hit with a dizzy spell, but in an instant, arms are around you on three sides, pulling you into a soft shield of material and warmth. You keep your head tilted upward, worried about staining anyone's white jacket, then take in a deep unsteady breath. 

All you can think about is how happy Jimin had been for your approaching birthday—how excited he seemed about your gift. Although you just visited with him yesterday, you miss him now more than ever.

Yoongi, Namjoon, and Jeongguk take a step back, and you smile, wiping the tears from your face and gently as you can, worried about smearing your makeup. 

"Thank you," you say weakly, causing the room to erupt with cheers and clapping, reminding you that you are surrounded by strangers. 

Another table has appeared while you were not paying attention, and one after another, strangers bring gift bags. You are informed by a member of the security team that each gift has been carefully inspected, but you feel too embarrassed to watch as guests come and go, bowing and muttering words of thanks without looking anyone in the eye, and turning instead toward the bar. 

Yoongi sidles up to your right and turns you gently by the shoulders to face him, rubbing his thumbs beneath your eyes. To your left, Namjoon orders seven glasses of neat whiskey. 

Guests come by to wish you a happy birthday as you wait for your drink, and you thank them politely and glance around the space looking for somewhere to go to have some privacy. When Namjoon finally hands you a glass, you waste no time gulping down some of the rich liquid. 

"Do these people know who I am?" you ask into your drink while smiling and waving to strangers who greet you from a distance. 

"In theory, yes," Yoongi responds, placing a hand on your elbow and leading you past dancing bodies to the far side of the space. "They know who I am, and they know about the ring you wear."

"They're treating me like I'm the queen of England," you complain, slamming back the rest of your drink.

Yoongi's voice gives you chills as he leans close to say, "That's because you're the queen of Seoul, my love."

Ahead, under the mezzanine and past a group of partygoers, is a black curtain hidden somewhat inconspicuously with Changbin clad in white and gold standing guard with a wide smile.  Changbin greets you with a warm hug while Yoongi pushes the curtain aside revealing a door through which you quickly walk, finding a carpeted storage room full of cardboard boxes and stacked tables and chairs. 

"Thank god," you grumble, turning to Yoongi to begin searching his pockets for his cocaine; yours is out on the gift table. "This is a lot more overwhelming than I expected."

"We could find another way to overwhelm you, if you'd like," Yoongi offers with a grin, leaning his forehead against yours as you unscrew you the vial and lift piles of white powder to one nostril after the other.

You inhale harshly and rub a knuckle against your nose, asking, "We?"

Seconds pass before the door opens and in walks Namjoon and Jeongguk. 

"We," Yoongi finally responds, lips tugging into a devious smile. The cocaine shimmers through you and you waste no time taking him up on his gracious offer. 

"Yeah, okay," you say, grabbing a chair and sitting with your legs spread wide, bare from the high slits in the skirt that make it fall open on each side and between your thighs. "Do your worst, gentlemen."

The three of them drop to their knees, Jeongguk crawling forward first, hands rubbing over your calves, up to your thighs. "I should be quick and get back out there," he says, wasting no time lifting the skirt flap that covers you and burying himself beneath. 

He makes a mess of your panties, nipping and sucking over the mesh, driving you wild with anticipation long enough to make you begin whimpering, "Please, Gguk. Please stop teasing me."

Jeongguk yanks your panties to the side and devours you, lips and tongue dancing a familiar, glorious dance over your clit, making you sink in the hard wooden chair while doing your best not to let your hair touch anything. Although you are sure nobody on the other side of the door can hear you, you muffle your voice with the back of your hand and use the other to grip Jeongguk's head as best as you can with layers of fabric in the way. 

It takes very little time for Jeongguk to make you cum, back arching off the chair and hands falling to your sides to grip its wooden edges to keep you from sliding to the floor. Jeongguk appears from under your skirt, face flushed and hair tousled, wiping your release from his lips and chin with a dopey smile. 

"Bathroom is to the right when you exit," Namjoon teases as he begins to use his fingers to fix Jeongguk's hair. Jeongguk stays for a moment longer on his knees, searching your face as if he has something he wants to say before finally getting to his feet, leaning close, and pressing a heady kiss to your lips.

"Happy birthday, beautiful," he mutters, though his eyes say a lot more. 

"Thank you," you respond meekly, struggling to hold his soft, caring gaze. Your mind echoes, Do you think you could fall for someone like me? And once again you think that you could.

As soon as Jeongguk turns to leave, Namjoon lifts the center flap of your skirt and tosses it over your hips, revealing your cunt, which feels cold behind wet mesh. Yoongi spreads you further as he crawls beside Namjoon, and the two of them take turns using their hands and mouths to slowly pull each thread of sanity from you. 

You cum twice more and the two of them keep going, ignoring your pleas for mercy, teasing as they say, "I can't take anymore isn't your safeword, baby."

"Too bad we can't make a real mess of you," Namjoon complains as he nips against your thigh and keeps the thrusting of his fingers to shallow movements. 

"Tonight," Yoongi insists, and you nod robotically, feeling too fucked out to do anything but let pleasure overwhelm you, just as Yoongi promised it would.

Your legs may as well be cooked al dente by the time they finish and you stand in an attempt to straighten yourself out. Spit and cum cause your panties to stick uncomfortably but you feel too blissed out to care. 

Namjoon goes ahead, placing a soft kiss against Yoongi's lips and then yours, and Yoongi delicately does his best to clear away any makeup that has smudged beneath your eyes. He kisses you deeply, moaning in tandem as you melt against him and taste yourself on his lips, and you think to yourself that this night is nearly close to perfect.

"I have one more thing," he says, and when you meet his gaze, it is soft and a little worried. "I hope you don't mind how unromantic this room is…I just can't bear to wait any longer."

You continue to catch your breath after the orgasmic ringer those three put you through, and when Yoongi reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small blue box, your brain screeches to a halt before attempting to make sense of what you are seeing. 

Yoongi holds up the box and says, "I just want you to know that when you feel ready, this one is the deal," but the words do not compute. That is, until he opens it.

Nestled in blue velvet is a platinum band adorned with three diamonds. Although the center stone is much smaller than the ring you wear, there are two pear-shaped stones on each side. Tears cloud your vision and the sound of your pounding heart is deafening. 

"Namjoon helped me pick it out," Yoongi continues as if you are not in total physical distress, falling apart with each second that passes. 

Your next breath heaves from your lungs and you feel your knees threaten to buckle. Is Yoongi actually proposing to you on your birthday, tucked away from everyone else? A promise for when you are ready to receive it is still a promise that is spoken in real time, and the weight of it is crushing. 

"Darling?" Yoongi tries, but his voice feels distant and you stumble backward, feeling as if you might faint. 

Yoongi is quick to catch you by the elbows and sit you back down on the chair. "Darling, are you alright?" he asks, but you feel too sluggish to respond, heavy-blinking but unable to focus on him. 

Yoongi takes out his phone and thumbs around. "Taehyung," he says, voice laced with worry. "Come to the storage room quickly."

Although you want to shake your head and insist that everything is fine, you are not sure you can do that much. Time and space elude you, your ears ring a high, terrible pitch, and you squeeze your eyes closed, only opening them when a cold compress touches your forehead, zapping you into the present.

"There you are," Taehyung responds, gently rubbing his knuckles along your cheek. "We lost ya for a bit."

Your skin is cold and clammy, and you shiver, wishing you had your jacket. To your surprise, Yeji is at your side with a stoic expression, and she opens her black makeup case. 

"Sorry," you mutter, dizzy and uncertain of what just happened. Yoongi and Namjoon stand behind Taehyung watching you with concerned expressions, and you begin to worry about how long you have been away from the party. 

"You didn't miss much," Taehyung says as if reading your mind. He lifts a small flashlight to your eyes from the side like he did the night he checked you for a concussion. "How are you feeling?"

"Tired," you admit with a sigh. "Hungry."

Taehyung hums and nods, saying, "Once she touches you up, come back out to the main hall. I'll tell them to bring out the cake."

Cake sounds incredible and you nod, mouthing, "Thank you," with barely a sound coming out. 

Yeji touches you up quickly, blotting away sweat and applying a little makeup before bowing and taking her leave. And when you stand, you feel much steadier on your feet, albeit a bit jittery. 

When it is just Yoongi and Namjoon left in the room, the two of them kiss before Namjoon kisses your forehead and leaves. Yoongi swallows thickly and watches you as if he is waiting for you to speak first, so you do, voice trembling and weak.

"That wasn't a reaction to the ring," you lie. It may have been, but you do not want to face that possibility at the moment. "I don't know what came over me. Sorry, baby."

With a nod and an uncertain smile, Yoongi takes your hand in his and tugs you to the door, out into the small dark space and past the black velvet curtain. And in an instant, you remember that you are completely surrounded with strangers and that you need to keep your cool and stay on your feet. 

As soon as the two of you walk out into the main hall, staff members cart out a massive cake while more of them carry bottles of champagne crackling with sparklers. The room erupts into shouting and clapping and you feel yourself go hot under everyone's stares, wondering whether anyone is speculating on what happened while you were away. 

You eat a slice of decadent strawberry jam cake, and once you feel better, you drink and dance and drink some more, doing your best to push out all thoughts of that ring. Felix even joins you, spinning you around and laughing like old friends. Euphoria kicks in with the family men around, and you find it easy to return to the feeling of joy, eager to face everything else in the morning. 

By the time you return to the mansion, you are stumbling from your feet aching but also from all the champagne and whiskey. Namjoon carries you from the stretch sedan to the front door and Yoongi peels away your strappy shoes before taking you into his arms so that a drunk, clumsy Namjoon can get out of his shoes. The three of you make your way upstairs and you bury your face into Yoongi's neck as you ascend. 

"We still have more gifts," he mutters and you sigh happily, insisting, "Tomorrow."

"Would you like to sleep now?" Namjoon asks. "Or shower first?"

Although you know that you should clean your face, you are exhausted and whine to be taken to bed. Thankfully Yoongi carries you into the ensuite first and sets you onto the cold marble counter so that he and Namjoon can gently wash off your makeup, remove all of your jewelry, and encourage you to brush your teeth. 

They help you undress and step into warm joggers, pulling a soft black tee over your head. And the moment your head hits the pillow, you are out like a light. 

You are riddled with nightmares and toss and turn, struggling to stay asleep but too groggy to stay awake. 

In some, Yoongi's wound bleeds while you grip onto the dripping knife. In another, he and Namjoon have cast you aside and left you to fend on your own with nothing but the little black dress and combat boots that you wore into the mansion on the very first day they kidnapped you and brought you home against your will. 

They laugh and tease and make you feel foolish. Like a conquest and nothing more. Cheap, tossed aside, and all used up. 

But the dream that really shakes you to your core is one of Jimin's funeral. He lays in a glass casket wearing a gorgeous black lace gown and veil, face pale and lifeless as marble, and you sob uncontrollably, throwing yourself at the glass and begging for him to wake up. 

The funeral crowd erupts in cheers and laughter, and when you glance up, hundreds of the man who shot him surround you, holding out his smoking gun. You lift your gun and shoot, sending hundreds of the man to the floor with his brains leaking through his many foreheads. 

And then you wake up screaming. The room is empty with the exception of the many flower vases that surround you, and you feel dizzy as soon as you quickly sit up, grabbing for your pounding head.

Moments pass with nothing but your own sobs and you cry loud and horrific, clenching the black and gold comforter close to your chest with one fist, desperate to get the image of Jimin lying dead out of your mind. But it is no use; you can feel residual anguish leftover from the dream clawing its way into your heart for safe keeping.

Footsteps rush to the door and you hear Namjoon barrel forward, shouting, "Sweetheart, what is it?"

Unable to speak, you shake your head, but then a piercing pain around your temples and in the back near your neck halts your movement and you cringe and grab once more onto your head, leaning forward. 

You hear, "Darling," but Namjoon quickly says, "Get Taehyung!" and Yoongi's voice drifts away as he shouts for him. 

You wonder if they have been meeting in the main hall, and you thank your lucky stars that they are all there. Then you feel the urge to vomit, scrambling for something to get sick into before everything fades to black.

In a blink you are on your back, laying in bed with a cold wet compress against your head. The family psychiatrist Christopher is there and he and Taehyung are muttering about medication side effects as you blink them into focus and stretch your limbs. 

"Buttercup," Taehyung says softly as he approaches and leans close, feeling your forehead. "What do you say we take a trip to my examination room so I can have a look inside that pretty little head of yours, hmm?"

"Oh," you respond sluggishly, licking your dry lips and weakly nodding your head. You ask, "Did I faint again?"

With a frown, Taehyung says, "I'm afraid so."

Namjoon approaches with a hoodie and Taehyung helps you sit up. In the back of your head there is a sharp pain, and you feel nauseated the more you move. They slide one arm after the other into the sweater and then Namjoon sits on the edge of the bed with his back to you and tells you to climb up. 

It takes effort but you knee-walk to Namjoon and fling yourself over his shoulders. He stands slowly and adjusts your legs in his hold, and you bury your face against his neck while he carries you from the room, down to the main hall, and out the front door. 

You hear the voices of the other family men but none of them regard you, and for that you are thankful. The air is chilly and you hold tightly to Namjoon, listening to the familiar crunch of gravel and leaves underfoot while Yoongi and Taehyung chatter lowly behind you. Briefly, you think you may begin to fall asleep. 

The examination is not so bad, but the MRI makes you nervous. The whir of the machine is scary, and although your eyes are closed, you feel claustrophobic inside the enclosed space. After getting a good look at your brain, Taehyung checks your heart, draws blood, and leads you to a small bathroom where he asks you to pee in a cup. 

Then he asks you to meet him in an examination room where he will join you shortly, but you go to a different room instead. With a sigh pouring through a smile, Taehyung assists you with gently moving Jimin's arm, making space on his small bed, careful of all the wires and tubes.

You lay on Jimin's bed, head against his chest and listening to the steady beat of his heart with your eyes closed against bright white fluorescent light. Namjoon and Yoongi sit on the other side of the bed with their heads leaned close, not speaking a word, and after you find yourself drifting off for a moment, Taehyung returns. 

"I can't determine a physical cause for your sudden bout of fainting spells," he says, which should be good news but not having an answer is also worrisome in its own right. "They began before you started taking your medication, so the best I can surmise is that it is not a side effect to that medication, and that it is likely caused by trauma and stress."

You hum, unsure what to say. Yoongi and Namjoon also say nothing. 

"Did you take your medication yesterday?"

Truthfully, you are unsure, but you are inclined to think that you may not have. Shaking your head softly against Jimin, you mutter, "I don't think so."

Taehyung hums. "I want you to be a little more mindful of your medication, alright? Lay off any drugs or alcohol for a little while, and eat on a regular schedule. We're going to monitor your heart rate and blood pressure regularly, too. Does that sound alright?"

"Alright," you respond automatically, attempting to let everything sink in. 

Trauma induced fainting is not something you want to deal with on top of everything else. And with Yoongi's most recent proposal of sorts, nausea kicks up and you begin to fear for the worst.

"Could be that you need a vacation," Taehyung continues, writing on a pad of paper as he speaks. "A lot has happened around these parts lately, and perhaps this is your body telling you to get away for a while."

Get away for a while. 

You know in your heart that getting away could be the only option. With your mental health deteriorating so fast, it is hard to imagine it won't get worse. 

But how much time away from the mansion is long enough? How much longer will you attempt to heal and move on from everything that has happened while surrounded by your stressors and waiting for the other shoe to drop?

The only solution is to get away entirely.

How will you break things off with Namjoon and Yoongi, especially after that gesture last night? Whereas the ring you have been wearing symbolizes a fake union, the ramifications of it have always been real. Real threat of danger; a real target on your back. 

Now, with the prospect of genuine engagement looming over your head, your fight or flight instincts have you feeling the strong, overbearing urge to run far away and never look back. Playing mafia wife is one thing but becoming a mafia wife is petrifying. 

How long will you be able to look Yoongi in the eye knowing that you gave him that scar? And if Jimin never wakes up, how long before you stop blaming yourself for his injuries? It is easy for Yoongi to assure you that he does not hold anything against you now, but how do you know that won't change? 

And if you are at the heart of one more tragedy—one more grand fuck up—and Yoongi dies with a needle in his arm, will Namjoon not blame you? Is that something you can live with?

Sometimes important decisions—ones that we know we have to make—still hurt like hell.

"Alright," you mutter again, unsure what to say. 

On the other side of Jimin's bed, Yoongi and Namjoon hold onto one another while you think about how you are going to approach Seokjin. After all, he is the one offering you a way out. 

You hate that this might be the last time you ever see Jimin again, but you feel grateful that at least Yoongi and Namjoon have each other. At least all of the family men have each other, you tell yourself. They can and will get through this next phase together. 

It will hurt like hell. They may all come to hate you. It could even push Yoongi over the edge. 

But you are certain that you cannot be around to witness another crack in the foundation. And you cannot put your well-being on the line just because someone else's may be threatened. 

You cannot keep doing this, but there is no other way that you can see turning down another one of Yoongi's proposals without disappearing instead. Even imagining the prospect of walking away breaks your heart and causes tears to form in your eyes.

Maybe in another life you could have been perfect. But in this life, all you have is heartache. In this life, all you have is fear and uncertainty and the brassy scent of blood. 

The only way out of a life like his is death.

Above all else, you know that you can not wait around to watch someone die. You cannot hope and dream and wish for a normal life while the men you love continue down paths of uncertainty and danger. 

You deserve a chance at a normal life. You cannot keep living this way. They cannot force you to stay in the mansion and live like this any longer. 

It's now or never. 

Calm myself A cup of tea Could give me good comfort Calm myself A couple of weeks Could make me forget you

🎵 visit the playlist

ONE MORE CHAPTER, AHHHH!!!! and then a sequel!!! don't worry this is not the ending!!! but it is still an ending so to speak, so HOW DO YOU FEEEEELLLLLLL??? any ideas of what Jungkook gifted her for her bday???

you may have noticed that some of the scenes did not get the usual Collateral treatment of the reader being fully aware of everything mc is aware of, including the mention of a conversation mc & Namjoon had at the start of the chapter, as well as the conversation that happens when Jimin is in a coma where i breeze over her being regaled with stories from their past. the first conversation is in Namjoon's POV scene, and i have been planning for a long time for the conversation at Jimin's bedside to be the topic of Yoongi's POV scene, so i left those details out. more information, including a teaser for Yoongi's scene to come in the near future! (sorry for the cross-outs, but i made some changes!!!)

as promised in the beginning notes, let me distract you a little with Dionysus!!!! it is actually a club in Chell's fic Blessed With a Curse (which you should absolutely read!!!) and i became obsessed and wanted to steal it (with permission!!!) (it turns out it's a real place lolol.) much of my ability to describe it at all came from Chell's writing and i am so grateful to have an amazing friend who allows me to use their inspiration for my own. she's a super talented writer who is also a big fan of this story, and more than anything i wanted the presence of Dionysus in this story to be a nod to her because i care so much about her.

check this fucking place out:

obviously i changed some details here and there, and really did not even fully go into detail because it is a lot and architecture words allude me and i really have no idea what i am doing. (if you know more technical terms that could add to the description, i would love to know!!! i have no qualms with sneaking info into the fic on the sly.)💜

these end notes are becoming so fucking long lmao i am so sorry. i used to put nothing at the ends of fics/chapters and now i am writing entire dissertations.

REBLOGS AND COMMENTS ARE THE LIFEBLOOD OF THIS SITE, BUT LIKES ARE ALSO SUPER APPRECIATED!!! THANK YOU FOR READING, I LOVE YOU!!!

tag lists will be on separate reblogs! they’ve gotten too big to contain as one! if you would like to be tagged in this fic, please let me know!!! 💜💜💜

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Collateral is copyright 2022-2023 theharrowing, all rights reserved. no translations of reposts allowed.

[sequinsmile-x]

And So it Goes

A slow start to a work free weekend for Aaron and Emily

-x-

Hi friends

I am working on a Minimal Loss AU (that I think we all know is going to get away from me massively) but I thought we could all do with some pure, sweet, fluff on this dreary (where I am at least) Monday!

This is for my dear pal @hancydrewfan, who deserves all the good things. I hope this makes you smile <3

-x-

Words: 2k

Warnings: None. pure pure fluff

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

Emily wakes up slowly, her senses returning to her one by one as she becomes aware of her surroundings. She briefly opens her eyes, only to groan and close them again, the light of the room too bright for how sleepy she was still feeling.

She hears, and feels, his laugh from behind her. The rumble of it passing from his chest to hers as he pulls her even closer, his arm slung over her waist a relaxing weight, something she was quickly learning helped her sleep better than she had in years. Something deep in her subconscious telling her she was safe, that she could relax, just because he was there, pressed up against her as they slept. 

“Don’t laugh at me,” she grumbles, her eyes still screwed closed as she blindly turns in his embrace, pressing her face into his t-shirt covered chest and breathing him in. She sighs contently, relaxing further into his embrace as his hand sneaks under the t-shirt she was wearing, one she’d stolen from him, his palm warm against her skin as he skates it up and down her back.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” he replies, sounding anything but as he kisses her forehead, hauling her impossibly closer so she is all but lying on top of him, one of her legs hooked over his hip. 

“It’s ok,” she replies softly, “I’ll forgive you. It was nice not sleeping alone."

He chuckles again, “It’s nice to know I have my uses.” 

She hums in response, “What time is it?”

Aaron hides a smile in her hair at the way she slurs, her words all merging together, well aware that even in this half-awake state she could, and would, kill him if she thought he was making fun of her. There was something about her like this, first thing in the morning when she was extra clingy and more open, too sleepy to throw up the walls she would still occasionally use around him, that he found adorable. 

“Still early,” he says, kissing her forehead again, “It’s only just 7 a.m.” 

She groans again and pulls back to look at him, opening her bleary eyes, narrowing them when she meets his wide awake ones, a spark in them that she hadn’t known could exist before they became them.

“How are you so awake?” She grumbles and he smiles, cupping her cheek as he leans forward to taste her frown, the kiss enough to turn it into a smile by the time he pulls back.

“I’m an early riser,” he replies and she smiles, leaning in to kiss him again as she rocks her hips against his just once, laughing as he groans into the kiss.

“I can tell,” she quips, stamping her lips against his one more time before she settles back down, her cheek against his chest as she yawns, “It’s Saturday it should be a crime to be awake this early,” she cranes her neck to look up at him, “Can we stay like this just for a bit longer?"

He nods, his hand still trailing up and down her back, “We can stay here as long as you like,” he says, smiling at her as he tucks some stray hair behind her ear, “Or at least, until Jack comes in demanding pancakes.” 

She smiles, but it fades, familiar anxiety blooming in her chest, desperately trying to take root in the places Aaron had tended to so carefully the last few weeks. 

“You’re sure he won’t mind that I’m staying all weekend?” She asks softly, her teeth sinking into her lower lip, her tongue peeking out to taste the remnants of him after their kiss. 

This was by no means the first night she’d stayed over at the Hotchner household in the two months she and Aaron had been together. It was something she’d done even beforehand. Ever since her return from Paris, she’d been a frequent guest in their apartment. Wedged between Aaron and Jack as they ate together and watched movies, the two of them slowly helping her return to herself at her own pace. There were countless occasions when she would stay over. Nights when she’d argue with Aaron about her taking the couch after movie night had run on too long and he didn’t want her to drive home. Looking back on it, she knows they should have figured out this was where they were heading even then, both of them too scared and stubborn to make the first move, eventually pushed together by too close a call on a case.  

When they made the leap into their relationship, a rushed kiss hidden behind an ambulance at a crime scene that turned into a conversation that turned into this, one of her main priorities had been Jack. He’d been through so much in his young life, and she didn’t want to add to that. To make him anything other than happy. She knows she needn't have worried. 

He was delighted when they told him, yelling ‘finally’ in a way that seemed a little bit too much like Dave for her and Aaron’s liking, as he threw himself at them for a hug. She’d continued to make sure he was right at the centre of everything, and as much as she loved spending as much time as possible with him and Aaron she wanted to make sure she wasn’t overstepping at any point. 

It was their first full weekend off in weeks, with no threat of a case looming over their heads, so when Aaron asked if she wanted to spend the weekend with them, after her initial joy she hesitated. Worried she was taking away from precious father-son time. Aaron had told her it was fine, that he’d spoken to Jack about it first and he was delighted at the idea. The concern still lingered, something deep in her gut that kept telling her she had to do this right. 

She knew this was something she wanted to last forever, to be the foundation of the rest of her life, and she wanted to make sure it was built on solid ground. That there was nothing that could shake them, nothing that could make it all crumble down around her. 

Her concern for Jack made Aaron love her even more, something he hadn’t thought was possible. He simply smiles, pulling her in for a kiss before he replies.

“Em, it’s all he’s spoken about all week,” he assures her, kissing her again, “I’d say he loves you more than I do,” his smile widens, his dimples peeking out in a way that makes her stomach flip, “But that’s not possible.” 

She bites the inside of her cheek in an attempt, that immediately fails, to try and contain her smile. She reaches up and pushes some of his hair from his forehead, her smile only widening further, her fact aching with it, when it flops back down. She cups his cheek, her thumb pressing into his dimple, and she pulls him in for a kiss, groaning when he pulls her closer, his palm firm against her back. 

“I love you,” she mumbles against his lips, pulling back just enough to speak before she kisses him again, “So fucking much.” 

“I love you too sweetheart,” he replies, stamping a kiss to her lips and then the tip of her nose, repeating the action when she scrunches her face up at him. He wants to show her how much he loves her, to take his time like he had the night before, but he hears the familiar click of Jack’s door, followed by his fast footfall in the hallway, “Incoming.” 

Emily chuckles and pulls back from Aaron, both of them sitting up and resting against the headboard, Aaron’s arm slung over her shoulders, just in time before the door swings open.

“Morning!” Jack says, his smile wide and his hair a mess, the young boy clearly as much of a morning person as his father. 

“Jack,” Aaron says fondly, his voice soft, “Remember our conversation about knocking on the door?” 

The six-year-old’s eyes go comically wide, something that forces Emily to hide her smile in Aaron’s shoulder, and he backs out of the room. It was a rule Aaron was slowly trying to introduce. Jack could come in if the door was open, but had to knock if it was closed. The only exception was if it was the middle of the night and he’d had a nightmare.

It was something Aaron was implementing due to a close call a few weeks ago when Jack had almost walked in on them first thing in the morning. Aaron’s hand making its way into Emily’s shorts as Jack pushed the closed door open with little fanfare as he enquired about breakfast, seemingly unaware that his dad and his girlfriend had burst apart from each other like they were on fire. . 

“Sorry, Daddy!” He says, pulling the door closed again, and there is a beat of silence before they hear a loud knock.

“You’re mean,” Emily mutters, her smile in direct conflict with her words.

“He needs to learn to be polite,” Aaron replies quietly, before turning to the door, “Come in buddy.” 

“He’s a mini you, he’s the most polite kid I’ve ever met,” she replies so only he can hear, and he squeezes her shoulder. 

“Morning!” Jack says again before climbing onto the bed, wedging himself between the two of them, his head against Emily’s shoulder. 

“Morning, sweetie,” she says, kissing his forehead, “Did you sleep okay?” 

He nods, “It took ages to fall asleep because I was so excited about you being here all weekend,” he says quickly, his enthusiasm clear, “Daddy said we can go to the museum with the dinosaurs.” 

Emily chuckles and pulls the little boy closer, the last remaining anxiety in her chest easing, “He also said something to me about pancakes.” 

Jack gasps and turns to look at his father, “Pancakes?” 

Aaron shakes his head lovingly at the sight of them together, their grins wide as they stare at him, and he leans forward, stamping a kiss against his son’s forehead and then Emily’s lips.

“I’ll go make breakfast, you two stay here,” he says kissing Emily once more before he climbs out of bed and she nods, pulling Jack further into her arms, “We can have breakfast in bed.” 

“Breakfast in bed?” She says, winking at him as he looks back at her from the doorway, “Maybe I should spend the weekend more often.”

He winks back at her and leaves the room, whistling to himself as he leaves. 

“Emily?”

She looks down at Jack, giving him her full attention as he turns to look at her, his hand reaching to play with her hair, his little fingers tangling in the loose locks. 

“Yes, sweet boy?” She replies, smiling softly at him, wishing that this was always her reality, but aware that she’d only been with Aaron for eight weeks. That they had to take everything at the right pace. 

“I wish you were here all the time,” he says, resting his head back against her shoulder. It makes her heart swell, the combination of his words and his closeness, the way he obviously trusted her so deeply, enough to make her eyes shine with tears she won’t shed. 

“Oh yeah?” She asks, kissing his forehead, “Why is that?” 

“You make Daddy happy,” he replies, saying it as if it was nothing, as if it didn’t mean everything to her, “And you make me happy too.” 

She holds him a little tighter, taking a moment to soak it all in, thoughts of why she was putting off living with them overtaking anything more rational. It may have only been a couple of months, but she knew this was it for her, and Aaron had told her the same. They’d already wasted so much time pretending they weren’t in love with each other, so why should they waste any more now they’d admitted it. 

“Really?” She asks, not missing how her voice shakes a little. 

“Really,” he confirms, pulling back to look at her, before shrugging like only a small child could, “But also Daddy doesn’t usually let me eat in bed so that’s fun.” 

She laughs, loudly in a way she knows Aaron will have heard in the kitchen and she nods, “Well, in that case, I’ll just have to stay much more often, won’t I?” 

Jack’s response is a nod, and it’s all she needs. 

-x-

Tag List:

@ssa-sparks, @lukeclvez, @lyds102, @glockleveledatyourcrotch, @hotchnissenthusiast, @danadeservesadrink, @ssamorganhotchner, @emilyprentissisgod, @notagentprentiss, @freesiasandfics, @emilyshotchniss, @thecharmingart, @paulitalblond, @hancydrewfan, @camille093, @whitecrossgirl, @moonlight-2-6, @rawr-jess, @florenceremingtonthethird, @jareauswife, @ms-black-a, @beebeelank, @aubreyprc, @zipzapboingg, @psychopath-at-heart, @criminalmindsgonewrong, @fionaloover, @kinqslcys, @prentissinred, @ccmattis-22, @denvivale317, @thrindis, @hotchsguccitie, @cmfouatslota77, @alexblakegf, @aliensaurusrex, @prentissxhotch, @emobabeyy, @victoiregranger, @stormyweatherth, @wanderingdreamer009, @ssablackbird, @luhwithah, @lex13cm, @prentiss-theorem, @dont-emily-me, @mrs-ssa-hotch, @jocyycreation, @itsmytimetoodream, @hotchnissgroupie, @controversialpooh, @capsshinyshield, @canuck-eh

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[justsomeoneintoomanyfandoms]

Hello there! Might I have a genshin matchup, if it’s not too much trouble?

My name is Emily (she/her) and I’m a lesbian, though if you think about platonically matching me with a male character, I would not mind. My Zodiac sign is Capricorn and last I checked, my MBTI is INFP, the mediator.

Appearance wise, I’m roughly 5’6 and have a pudgy baby face, wavy dark blonde hair (that’s quite soft!), almond shaped brown eyes with shadows underneath that I can never seem to get rid of, thick thighs, pale skin, and moles scattered all over my body. I do not wear makeup and the most I will put on if I feel like it is some mascara. I typically clothing shop in the men’s section and tend to wear comfy, casual stuff like jeans/sweatpants and flannels/hoodies.

Personality: the first word most people use to describe me is quiet. I’ve been told that I’m sweet, funny, easygoing, loyal, idealistic, loving, and warm. I’m quite laidback and it takes a lot to rile me, but I am passionate about certain things. I do suffer from depression and social anxiety, though I do try to hide present symptoms to avoid worrying those close to me.

I love having time to myself to read a good book, research things that interest me (mainly history related), play video games with a good story or pretty art, or catch up on sleep. I do enjoy a good beer as well. I also love learning about history and law. I recently graduated with a degree in English and creative writing, and a minor in archaeology! If I like someone, romantic or not, my giving love language is acts of service, which manifests in cooking/baking meals and treats. My receiving love language is physical touch (I am extremely touch starved and love hugs/massages/having my hair played with)

I heavily dislike people being pushy (I work in customer service🙃), loud noises, guns, bigotry, hypocrisy, and ignorance. I do have a bit of androphobia (fear of men), so even though I will strike up friendships with some, I despise being touched by men.

Were I to be a character in Genshin with a Vision, I’d like to be a Hydro swordswoman from Fontaine😊

Hi Emily! Thank you for your request! Sorry it took so long. I decided to give you a romantic and platonic matchup. I hope you like your matchups!

In Genshin Impact, I match you with...

You and Jean are a good match for each other. You're quite different but you balance each other out well, striking a good mix of easygoingness and organisation.

Loves it when you make lunch or snacks for her to have at work. She enjoys your cooking and it's something she can look forward to when she's having a particularly tough day.

Jean's reasonably good with physical touch as well. She's not overly into PDA but behind closed doors she's happy to give you as much affection as you want, whether that's hand holding, hugs, head pats, or anything else.

There's nothing quite like a relaxing drink at the Angel's Share after a long day of work. I see Jean as someone who enjoys a good beer as well so when you go out together, you can take turns shouting the other their drink.

She does have her moment where she can be pushy but that's more a side effect of her position in the Knights of Favonius. She always doe she best to leave that role at work and just be Jean when she's with you.

In Genshin Impact, I platonically match you with...

I know you mentioned disliking men but I felt like Alhaitham would be a good platonic matchup for you. He's pretty quiet and okay with his own company so he's more than willing to spend as much or as little time with you as you want.

He does enjoy reading with you though. Usually he likes solitude while reading but if you're a quiet reader, he's happy to sit near you while you enjoy your own books.

I think he would like talking about what you've been reading as well. Swapping and comparing books is a good way to pass the time and gain an understanding of books you haven't got around to reading as well.

Alhaitham doesn't strike me as some who's a huge foodie but he does enjoy your cooking if you share it with him. He thinks you're quite skilled at combining flavours into something both you and he will enjoy.

He's quite observant so I think he would see through you and notice your anxiety and depression soon after meeting you. He'll do his best to subtly check in on you and make sure you're doing okay.

[luvsae]

melodies of love | kang saebyeok

- saebyeok x gn!reader

- fluff :)

before you met saebyeok you were trying to get into university to major in music. lucky for you, you got in.

you met saebyeok in the middle of your first year, the two of you clicked, and then eventually dated.

over a year later you were still with your wonderful girlfriend, and still in university for music.

one thing about university was the terrible stress of it and saebyeok always noticed.

"hey. are you okay?" saebyeok sat down across from you. her eyes relaxed at the sight of you. "you seem stressed about something."

her hand reached across to yours to hold your hand - in which you did hold her hand - it made you smile a bit.

"i just have a big project." you sigh, the tiredness always tended to overcome you at the worst moments. "university is stressful."

"i know." saebyeok nodded, her finger circled the back of your hand. "you should take a break soon, okay? ill get us some food."

you nodded. "okay. i'll see you soon."

saebyeok eventually left which meant you had to get back to work quickly.

what your girlfriend didn't know is that your project was basically about her.

you had to write a song about something important in your life. how could you pass up this chance?

there were a few lines already - you just had to figure out the rest and then figure out the guitar cords for it.

your fingers tapped across the keyboard. the ideas kept popping into your head, but you kept erasing certain things you typed.

- you were the one i hoped for when i picked those petals off the flower. she loves me, she loves me not.

"why is this so difficult.." you mumbled to yourself. another sigh escaped from you shortly after.

you ended up typing a few more lines before saebyeok home.

your girlfriend brought home som bibimbap - your favorite dish. "it smells delicious." you smiled, pushing your laptop off to the side.

"let's eat it while it's warm, yeah?" you nodded at her response as she took the containers out.

the two of you then ate in silence before saebyeok asked something. "what's your project about? you never told me."

"uhhhh," the hesitation of telling her crossed your mind. "it's just writing a song about your life."

it wasn't entirely a lie... right?

"can i see what you have written down-"

"no!" you exclaimed, maybe a little bit loud since it caught her off guard.

"what?"

"wait, i don't mean no, i mean.. ill show you after i get my mark." you smiled after swallowing your food.

a chuckle escaped her. "alright."

the next few days consisted of you writing the rest of the song and fixing any typos that you somehow managed to sneak into your work.

you finally submitted it to your teacher a few days ago and was now currently waiting for a response back with your mark.

as of right now you were sitting down on the couch, trying to distract yourself from the fact that you were getting the mark today.

suddenly you felt your phone vibrate. you checked and saw an email from your teacher. uh oh, here comes the anxiety.

you clicked on the email and then the link.

100%.

"oh my God." You whispered.

"oh my God!"

saebyeok entered the room quickly, book in hand as she looked at you - there was worry in her eyes. "what's wrong?"

"i got 100% on my song!" you smiled and faced your phone screen towards your girlfriend, she smiled as well.

"i'm so proud of you!" she pulled you into a tight hug after placing the book on the table. "that's amazing."

the two of you pulled away from each other, still smiling. "i can't believe it."

saebyeok loved when you were happy - it made her smile all the time. "do i get to hear it now?"

your smile stayed for a moment and then slowly faded away. "oh, oh! yes, of course. but- i don't have it recorded."

"i can read it." she suggested. oh yeah.

"right. of course." you quickly hurried and grabbed the extra printed copy, it was about to go down.

you looked at yourself in the mirror of the shared bedroom - a sigh escaped your lips - it will be fine.

when you entered the kitchen saebyeok was sitting at the table. she was waiting to read your paper, of course.

"im excited to read it." she said, giving you a small smile.

you returned one back - more so filled with nervousness than happiness. "here you go. it's not that good, anyway."

"if you got an 100 on it then its probably good." she said.

and so you sat down across from here as she scanned the paper - you couldn't quite tell what her reaction was, but you hoped it was good.

it felt like time was going by so slow. why did the world have to do this to you right now?

you noticed saebyeok wiped her right eye once, then the left eye. was she crying?

she soon finished and set the paper down. you noticed a little droplet a water that had set into the paper - she definitely cried.

"are you okay?" you asked with a quiet voice.

she immediately got up and wrapped her hands around you in response. you were surprised by the sudden action but soon settled into her familiar warmth.

"you.. wrote the song about me?" she questioned as she continued to hug you.

"yeah. of course i did."

"that's why you didn't want to show me the paper then, right?" she sniffled once.

you nodded. it was now your turn to start tearing up. "we had to write about the most important person or thing in our lives,"

pulling away, you continued to explain the project. "so, i chose you, of course."

saebyeok's eyes were glossy when she looked at you yet there was still a smile planted across her lips.

it was that same smile she gave you when you first hung out. it was your favorite smile ever.

"i'm the most important person to you?" she asked although you would argue it was obvious.

"of course you are." you reached to hold her hands. "i.. i love you a lot. i don't know if it's still too new to say that but-"

"i love you too." she stepped towards you. her hand slipped from yours and now rested on your face.

you felt a familiar warmth on your lips - her lips against yours always made you smile.

"i love you so very much. it will never be too early to say that."

[rocorambles]

Surprise Interview

Pairing: Kenma x Reader

Genre/Warnings: NSFW, Yandere, Pseudo-Cest, Dub-Con/Non-Con, Verbal Humiliation, Manipulation

Summary: Kenma sees if you have what it takes to be Bouncing Ball’s newest employee.

A/N: This is for @sugawara-sweetheart ‘s Decadence Collab. So excited to be a part of this collab and to be able to indulge in such a delicious prompt and theme. Be sure to check out everyone else’s works! As always, thanks for beta-ing @sawamooora ~

There’s a familiar peace and a new nervousness about coming back home for the holidays. Mostly because home isn’t quite the same home it used to be. You can feel warmth blooming in your chest at the thought of seeing your mom, telling her about everything and everyone (as if your daily phone calls aren’t enough), and just lounging around while she fills you up with her cooking. But you can also feel a certain shyness as you approach the house, a building that still feels brand new and strange to you.

Your mother had gotten remarried during your earlier college years after your father’s passing and you were elated for her. If anyone deserves all the happiness in the world, it’s her. You had met Mr. Kozume quite a few times and you have no qualms with the man. He treats your mother like a queen and even though you playfully gag as they sweet talk and kiss in front of you, you wholeheartedly approve of their relationship.

However, what you aren’t quite as prepared for is having a new step-sibling.

You don’t know much about Kenma Kozume. Well, not much more than the rest of the world does.

Professional gamer. Successful stock trader. Popular YouTuber. Founder of his own corporation.

You know exactly who your new brother is, but other than seeing him a few times in person at family gatherings and exchanging polite greetings, there’s no real connection. Which is why your heart races as you nervously ring his doorbell, anxiety already making your leg twitch as you wait for the door to open.

Your mother and step-father are on a couple’s vacation and won’t be returning for a few days.

(“We just want some romantic time together before we have a full house again for the holidays. Plus this is a great chance to get to know your older brother better!” You hadn’t even been able to get a word of protest in before she had laughed and hung up on you, leaving you speechless and on your own as you hesitantly texted Kenma, letting him know what day to expect you.)

Kenma is quiet as ever as he nods in greeting, silently leading you to your guest room before quietly telling you to make yourself at home and leaving to do his own thing. You let out a huge sigh of relief as the door closes behind him.

There’s nothing wrong with Kenma. He’s smart and successful. Maybe a bit on the quiet side, but that only adds to his down to earth charm. You know your mother and step-father adore him and you can’t blame them. Yet, you can’t help but feel scrutinized, seen so clearly in a way that terrifies you when his feline eyes gaze at you. It takes everything in you not to immediately scurry away whenever you’re in viewing distance of him, desperate to hide all the flaws you imagine he’s noticing and calculating. Your step-father had mentioned how Kenma used to be the strategist of his high school volleyball team, and has always been able to evaluate and accurately break down situations and people. And you believe it.

You’re just grateful the house is large enough to avoid each other and that Kenma tends to reside mostly in his home office and bedroom.

But even the founder of a company needs a break from time to time. Kenma shuffles towards the gaming room, only to blink in surprise when he sees you already inside of it, happily smiling as Animal Crossing visuals and sounds fill the space.

He had known you owned a Nintendo Switch, a piece of information your mom had shared to break the ice a bit. And it’s really no surprise that this is your go-to game. But knowing and seeing are two different things and he can’t help but let his own lips twitch upwards at how calm and relaxed you are tending to your garden, decorating your home, choosing your outfit.

Kenma’s never been good with people, has never been the one to initiate a friendship. He knows he should have made more of an effort to be friendly and welcoming to you as your new older brother. There’s a slight pang of regret in his chest when he sees how at ease you are while you’re unaware of his presence. His eyes are as sharp as ever and he locks in on the way your body slightly stiffens, fingers nervously fidgeting when you finally notice his figure in the doorway, words already stuttering an apology for using his game room without explicitly asking.

You look like a scared mouse about to flee from the claws of a cat. And it pisses him off.

He hasn’t made the best efforts to bridge the gap between you, but for you to fear him? That seems a tad unnecessary, and more than a tad insulting. It’s more than enough to make the sadistic streak in him want to give you something to be scared about.

But he’s never been impulsive and he just quietly sits beside you on the floor, reassuring you it’s fine to play, smirking when you sneak little side glances his way as you continue collecting fruits.

“Kozume, do you want to play-”

“Just call me Kenma.”

Entranced eyes watch as you grow flustered at his words, mouth silently testing the weight of his given name in your mouth. For once, Kenma could care less about playing video games when a shaky timid “Kenma” slips past your soft lips.

“Kenma, do you want to play something together?”

You have no idea how badly he really does want to play together, but it’s a game you’re not ready for. So he calls upon any restraint he has to pluck your device from your hands and change the game to Mario Kart.

It’s amusing how easily you soften besides him, brow furrowing in concentration, eyes intently and eagerly following the screen, any anxiousness quickly forgotten as you get into the game. He greedily watches as you pout when you make a mistake, as your eyes light up every time you pass someone.

If he had known how easy it would be to make you warm up to him, he’d have done this sooner and he genuinely laughs when you whine and fake glare at him as he wins yet another round.

He asks about school. You ask about work. He tells you about his childhood. You share your own stories.

It’s a comfortable rhythmic back and forth and he’s afraid of ruining it, but a certain question nags at his mind, a question he knows may ruin the entire flow of the conversation.

“You’ll be graduating soon. Have you decided what you want to do after college?”

“Kenma not you too!!!”

His shoulders relax at how well you react to the question, smiling at the way you flop onto your back and groan about how mom and dad are already on your case about future plans.

“I’ve been applying to places, but who knows. Maybe I’ll just work for you at Bouncing Ball.”

There’s a playful lilt in your voice when you say it, a giggle and teasing smile accompanying the words. But there’s nothing funny about it to Kenma and your smile falters a bit when you see how tightly Kenma’s gripping his controller, the way his eyes pin you down.

“Kenma? It’s just a joke. I would never take advantage of-”

You try to get up from your reclined position, only to whimper in confusion when Kenma’s hand on your shoulder forces you back down. And suddenly you’re pinned down by more than just his stare as he moves to straddle you, knees on either side of your body, hands next to your head, his whole body caging yours.

It’s a lighthearted joke in the family that if all else fails, you could always work at Bouncing Ball. A joke your step-father and mother always dish out when the arguments get too tense as the three of you talk about your future. But it’s become less in jest for Kenma, especially after Kuroo sent him a scandalous picture of his newest secretary kneeling between his long legs, lips wrapped around his cock.

It wasn’t the first picture, nor was it the last incriminating photo the older businessman had sent him. Kenma merely rolled his eyes before deleting the image from his phone, wondering when Kuroo would grow bored and find a new toy to play with. But he freezes when he sees the following text message from his long-time friend.

“You’re the CEO of a company, Kenma. Wouldn’t it be nice to have someone convenient around? A pretty warm body? I bet that cute new step sister of yours would look really good under your desk. Doesn’t she graduate from college soon? If you don’t make a move, maybe I’ll snatch her up right from under your nose. I’m due for a change of secretary soon.”

There’s absolutely no reason for the hot anger that lances through him at Kuroo’s taunting words and he grimaces at playing right into his ex-captain’s hands, already hearing Kuroo’s braying laughter in his head if the older man saw just how much his words affected him.

But initial irritation aside, he lets himself really think, really imagine what a life with you at his beck and call would be like. And he likes what he sees. He doesn’t delete Kuroo’s photos as quickly as he used to, replacing the female faces with yours in his imagination as his hands slip under the hem of his boxers.

He knows it’s a longshot, knows there’s a high chance you’ll continue your lives as is, never destined to exchange more than a few polite greetings at family outings. But now...now hearing you voice the idea out loud yourself, hearing the way his first name sounds from your lips…

Maybe it’s not the silly pipe dream he had believed it to be.

“I’m in need of an assistant if you really do want to work at Bouncing Ball, but you’d need to prove why it would be worth hiring you.”

He almost laughs at how you perk up despite the precarious position you’re in, almost ready to launch into an elevator pitch of your qualifications flat on your back underneath him. You’re quite the multitasker already and he groans at the thought of having you cockwarm him while he tests out a new video game, making you answer all his calls stuffed full of him and desperately trying to hide the lustful tremble in your voice.

But he’s not here to listen to your carefully crafted speech. (Guess you really were practicing for job interviews like you said you were. What a good girl.) And he firmly presses his lips against yours to silence you, taking his time to immerse himself in the way your mouths mold against each other.

Your taste, your smell, your warmth. It’s all intoxicating and he slips his tongue inside your parted lips, subtly rutting his groin against your body. He can feel your body jostle as you lift your arms and he waits for the weight of your arms to lovingly wrap around his neck, only to be shocked when you weakly press against his shoulders until he finally relents and pulls back just enough to look down at you in irritated confusion.

“We- we shouldn’t be doing this.”

It’s not the words that have him clenching his fists, not even the way your palms still timidly press against him in a laughably weak show of defense.

It’s the fear in your eyes, the way you look at him like he’s some monster. It's the way he can almost palpably feel and hear your desire to be anywhere other than here, with anyone other than him, wishing to put as much space between the two of you as possible.

It’s your rejection.

It hurts to know that he isn’t enough just as he is, that he needs to resort to less...savory and straightforward ways to entrap you. But he’s not Hinata or Kuroo. He doesn’t have an electrifying personality or roguishly handsome features and charm to woo you. He only has his cunning and sharp tongue.

And he fully intends on maximizing his gifts.

“Of course, you don’t have to. You can just keep on applying and getting rejected by every company you speak to, if they even bother meeting with you after seeing your pathetic resume. Average college. Average grades. Average major. Tell me, how many interviews have you actually been reached out to for?”

He’s going out on a bit of a limb, but his suspicions are right and he cruelly smirks at the way tears bubble in your eyes at his words, no comeback or denial rolling off the tip of your tongue. He had a feeling you were struggling from the bits and pieces he’s picked up as your parents quietly talk and fret over you actually being able to find a job after graduation.

“Our parents are too nice to say anything about it, but you know they’re disappointed in you, right? Have you noticed how they always avoid talking about how school is going or asking you about how job hunting is going? How they only ask me how work is going? It’s because they know you’re just a loser whose life is going to amount to nothing.”

“That’s not true! They love me-”

“I’m not saying they don’t love you, but doesn’t that make it even worse? Making your loving and caring parents worry and stress over you when they should be preparing for retirement, an easy life? Instead of letting them finally enjoy a carefree life, you’ll be their freeloader daughter who uses up all their remaining funds. Is that what you want?”

You really are too easy and his lips curl in satisfaction at the way you frantically shake your head side to side, fat wet drops streaming down your face, adorable sniffles filling the air.

“If you become my assistant, I’ll compensate you well. You can live here with me, have your own room, a roof over your head, all the food and clothing you need and want. Think about how relieved and happy our parents will be seeing you provided for, seeing us getting along. Isn’t that what you want? For them to be happy?”

He knows how close you are to your mom, how important this idea of a perfect family is to you. He knows how insecurity and doubt about your own capabilities torment you. And he knows you’re hooked on his claws when your hands that are still pressed against his shoulders drop limply besides you, not even a hint of resistance left in you when he leans down once more to rest his forehead on yours, one hand cupping the side of your face.

“This is all you’re good for anyway. Working underneath me.”

If you notice his pun, you don’t acknowledge it, too busy wincing and squirming as he harshly nips and bites a trail from your lips to your neck as he pushes up the hem of your shirt until your chest is on full display for him. There’s something experimental, cold, meticulous about the way he gropes and fondles your breasts.Your face heats in humiliation at how he treats you like one of the many game consoles he’s reviewed for his audience.

But you don’t do anything about it, telling yourself that this is just his version of an interview as he pinches and prods at you, meanly twisting your nipples and chuckling at your yelp of pain. You obediently let him spread your legs apart, only letting out an agonized cry as he tests your flexibility, staring at him with a trembling lower lip as he sharply tells you to shut up while scrutinizing your panty-covered sex.

“You really are made for this, aren’t you?”

You whimper as he nudges the small wet spot on the thin fabric, clenching your eyes shut in denial at how hot and wound up your body feels from his touch, unable to hide your gasp as he pulls the layer aside and rubs your aroused clit.

There’s something so different about the way his fingers slowly sink into your wet pussy, almost lazily curling against your soft walls, his thumb never stopping its careful massage on the bundle of nerves at the apex of your thighs. So different from your own fingers desperately thrusting in and out of you. So different from the drunk partners you’ve hooked up with at college and their sloppy, rapid, frantic movements.

You can feel something large, something intimidating slowly rising from deep inside of you, a volcano about to erupt compared to the bright and fast to fade shooting stars you’re used to. You’re scared. Scared of the intoxicating feeling, of how easy it is to grow accustomed to Kenma’s presence, of how his cat-like eyes are all you can see and think of.

How can something feel so wrong and so right at the same time?

That’s the last coherent thought you have before your world goes blank, pleasure rocking through you as you soak the carpet and your step-brother’s hand with your juices. You’re moaning as Kenma continues to rock his fingers in and out of you, fingertips insistently massaging your clit and g-spot as you ride out your orgasm, body trembling and convulsing.

But even when the tremors slow, when pleasure becomes something sharper, more overwhelming, he doesn’t stop. You wail, begging him to stop, to let you rest, slumping in relief when he finally drags his hands away from you, carelessly wiping the mess you’ve made of his hand on your skin, covering you in your own essence.

Your heavy eyelids threaten to flutter shut as you let exhaustion wash over you, already dreading having to get up and wash yourself. But you’re shocked back to reality as something hard begins to nudge at your still fluttering entrance.

“Kenma! No! Too much-”

You break off into a sob as surprisingly strong hands dig into your hips, holding you still as he pushes and pushes until he’s fully settled inside of you, balls resting against your ass.

You’re still so tight, your quivering walls clamping around the intrusion, and he groans at the thought of being able to sink into this hole every day, multiple times, whenever he wants. His cock is already aching from holding off for so long, from watching your body and face contorted in pleasure. Kenma can feel his end quickly approaching as you scream and wail underneath him, eyes rolling back in your head, drool trickling from the corner of your mouth. You look absolutely obscene and he doesn’t think he’ll ever get enough of this side of you.

But despite the way his balls are tightening, despite the stutter in his hips, he’s determined to watch you fall apart once more, to see you shatter to pieces yet again. He grits his teeth, fingers reaching down to furiously rub at your already oversensitized clit, reveling in how your back arches, thighs shaking in overstimulation, and then you snap.

He wonders what his parents would think of their dear dumb daughter now, looking nothing like their silly angel, looking like a wanton used whore, incoherent garbled noises slipping past your lips as you twitch uncontrollably, your pussy milking him dry as he cums inside of you.

There’s only silence mixed with your pitiful whimpers as he slides out of you, grimacing at the sticky mess you’ve made of yourself and him. But that’s what your other hole is for and he orders you to suck him clean, admiring what a quick learner you are, eager to please as you noisily slurp and lick him clean, moaning at the taste of your combined fluids...

Maybe too eager and he shoves you off of him when you become too enthusiastic, his cock beginning to twitch in interest once more.

You look so lost, still sprawled out on the ground, staring up at him with wide imploring eyes as he pulls up his pants. So vulnerable and in need of guidance.

Good thing you have such a great boss to manage you.

“Not bad. Consider these next few days your internship and if all goes well, I’ll be more than happy to hire you as Bouncing Ball’s newest employee this summer. Now clean up this room and show me that my future assistant can do more than just be a slut.”

[duhnova]

hihi!! could I send an ask for your ship game, svt, 18+ and she/her please (this idea is soso cute)! I’m v quiet on the outside (introverted and choose my friends selectively- I prefer to be alone most of the time, ppl are overwhelming to be around), but once you get to know me I’m rlly energetic and bubbly (as long as my social battery lasts at least). im straightforward so what I say can come off as shocking sometimes (it’s just my sense of humor help). im creative and love art/writing/anything where I can express myself through something that isn’t speaking (social anxiety beating my ass lmao). I love putting together outfits and doing my hair/makeup, i love feeling cute!! I tend to be superrr absentminded and clumsy (save me) and I have a rlly hard time opening up to ppl, even if I trust them (deal w it myself mentality ugh save me). For kinks, ect I like a big size dif (feeling small/helpless>>), condescending, dumbification, manhandling ^^ aaaa thank you so much!! congrats on 1k <33

nsfw, mdni!

hiii sweets, of course you can send an ask for the ship game! and thank you so much! ^^

i could see you with seungcheol!

cheol knows how important your alone time is, he knows how much you need it especially after being around people for to long during the day. he can’t help but be so head over heels for you, watching you come out of your shell and be so bubbly and happy (it makes him unbelievably happy to see you smile and have a good time). he always knows how to help you relax/recharge after a long day and if you’re too overwhelmed in public he holds you close and is always doing the things you’re to anxious to do yourself (and he doesn’t mind one bit, he loves doing acts of service for you - it makes him feel so warm inside knowing he’s someone you rely on). he always loves watching you get ready in the morning, always compliments your hair/makeup/outfits and he even helps you pick color schemes and such for the day if you’re struggling to choose (he always thinks you look cute and he makes sure you always know) and he’ll even let you try out markup looks on him if you’re nervous about how it’s gonna turn out. he’s always there to save you from clumsy situations as well, he’s quick to catch things you drop or to catch you if you trip over your own feet (he’s always protecting you and your items and he loves it, though he’d be a blushing mess if he ever admired to loving it). this man is a beast in bed, he big in all the right places and he definitely makes you feel small as he picks you up and manhandles you like it’s nothing. he’s so rough and mean in bed despite his soft and caring nature outside the bedroom, he’s fucking you till you’re dumb, babbling and crying and screaming his name until you’re on the brink of passing out “aw look at my dumb fucking baby, can’t even keep her eyes open.” he’ll fake a pout (though when he’s finally finished it’s like a switch is flipped as he’s so soft and gentle with you, worried that he took it to far until you’re smiling like an idiot at him telling him he was so good - only then does he relax a little before he’s taking care of you, cleaning you up and cuddling you to sleep).

[wri0thesley]

Hey Nat, I'm kinda blaming you for my budding infatuation with Nanami and I was wondering if I may request Nanami and his s/o having their first kiss? It doesn't have to be long but I'm just feeling soft and with the way you write him it sounds like a treat once this reserved, professional man finally allows himself to give in

oh anon i am so... so very soft.... you cannot blame me for the nanami desire. he is simply irresistible. 

date night - nanami x reader (3k)

you’re nervous about your first date with nanami.

warnings: none. fluffy, soft. neutral reader, some mentions of food and alcohol.

You cannot help but be nervous about tonight.

Your friends have made fun of you, talking about your hot date – Gojo thumping you on the back, Shoko looking at you with her tired eyes but a smirk on her face. Neither of them really get it, you don’t think – to them, Nanami is their former junior who is just a little too serious for his own good. A gloomy, stoic presence who they trust implicitly due to the good head on his shoulders, but who they do not really see as ‘a potential romantic match’. They know that you’ve been harbouring a crush on the former salaryman for months, and they’ve already tried to warn you off him.

“He can be so boring,” Gojo had said, swinging an arm around your shoulders. “Let me set you up with someone instead!”

Your face had heated up at the idea that Gojo didn’t trust you to make your own romantic decisions, but he was already halfway through listing the name of every eligible bachelor he knew (and a few who he said ‘weren’t eligible, but they probably could be, for you!’). You’d been able to do nothing but listen politely as you’d walked with him to his classroom, occasionally gathering strange looks from the students that were milling around in the corridors.

“Think about it!” He’d cried to you as he’d stepped into his bare classroom (you hardly ever see him doing any actual classwork in there; mainly, you see him lying on top of desks and making fun of his students) and greeted the three first years waiting for him. “You don’t wanna be stuck ironing Nanami’s socks for the rest of your life!”

You hope his students don’t hear him, as you decide to go for a walk outside to clear your head.

You and Nanami have been dancing around the idea of maybe possibly being something more than friends for weeks. You’ve felt it, in the brush of his hand against yours, the way that his eyes seem to soften and his tiredness seems to lift when you’re near him. You’ve felt it, as you’ve passed him a cup of coffee and he’s relished the warmth emanating from the cup. In the soft way he speaks to you.

You’ve felt it when he’s held your hand as the two of you have walked together, not saying anything. In his scarf wrapped around your neck, smelling like him.

What you haven’t done, is go on a date.

And perhaps this isn’t a date the way you’d once have dreamed about it. You’re going over to Nanami’s place; he’s going to cook a meal for you, the two of you are going to catch up after he’s been gone on a mission for almost a week -  the two of you are going to watch a foreign film he’s been able to get hold of, that you’ve been saving to watch with one another. You’re going to perhaps have a glass of wine together, or two--

You kind of do want to be stuck ironing Nanami’s socks for the rest of your life.

It sounds so silly when you say it aloud! You haven’t even kissed him, just brushed fingers and held hands and saved each other’s lives whilst on exorcisms together. But whenever you close your eyes and imagine your future, Nanami is always there, right beside you.

You breathe in deeply. You have to ignore what Gojo and Shoko and everyone have been saying. They’ve known Nanami for longer than you – they were his upperclassmen, after all, and you suppose it’s traditional to make fun of and quash your younger classmates a little. You just need to think about what you want, and what Nanami himself may want. Plucking uselessly at your clothes, nerves fizzing in your stomach, you elect to ignore the anxiety gnawing at you until you’re at least outside of Nanami’s front door.

Then, you tell yourself, then, I’ll allow myself to panic a little bit. Seeing Nanami’s calm, handsome face always calms me down. The minute he answers the door, I’ll forget that I was even nervous, and everything will be just as it should.

It doesn’t stop you worrying, as you get dressed and try and fluff your hair and rearrange all of your accessories whilst you get ready. It’s just an evening at his house, you try and keep telling yourself. He’s not expecting me to show up like a runway model, he’d probably hate that anyway--

Still. Having a crush on somebody is never easy, and Nanami can be so utterly unreadable at times, that you get dressed and undressed twice more before you settle on something in between casual and formal; that looks like you’ve made an effort, without looking like you agonised for hours to figure out what the level of effort should be. You’re clutching a bottle of wine and standing outside of his door three minutes early, wondering if he’s the kind of man who gets annoyed if you are there too early.

The door swings open, and Nanami is there, leaning on the door frame. He’s breathtakingly handsome, in casual clothes – an expensive looking sweater in soft grey that gives just a peek at the column of his throat, cuffed jeans. You’ve never seen him look so . . . relaxed. And the fact that he’s looking at you, his lips barely tilting, his tired eyes just a little turned up at the corners.

“You look nice,” he tells you, and you thank God that you went with this outfit. You hold out the bottle of wine for him, and his smile breaks wider as he looks at it. “You didn’t need to bring me anything, you know. I’m happy to be the provider this evening.”

“It’s-- it’s polite!” You insist, and Nanami steps aside to allow you into his house. He’s very proper, and you’d wanted to impress him – you think the young lady who had served you in the specialist store you’d anxiously entered had sensed your worry, and had been very kind as she’d picked something for you she was certain you’d like.

“You made a good choice,” he tells you, as he invites you into his hallway and you gratefully pull off your shoes. “This one looks fine--”

“I didn’t really choose it,” you admit. “I let the experts do it.”

He laughs, the sound like an early spring morning. You don’t think anybody else hears him laugh like that, and the comfort that the two of you share makes you feel soft and warm.

“Even more admirable, then,” he says. “Most people we know would just barrel in guns blazing and insist they knew the right way to do things.”

You both share a secretive smile, your cheeks warming. You can feel tension draining out of you the longer you spend in Nanami’s company. Something about him just sets you at ease.

When you’d first met him, you’d been frightened of him. He seemed so gloomy and intense, so utterly focussed on his goals – when you had tried to speak to him, he had brushed you off with short one word answers and you’d caught him looking at you when your back was turned as if he was waiting for you to slip up.

But as time had worn on . . . as time had worn on, Nanami’s edges had softened. You’d realised that he was willing to talk, when the participant had proved themselves to be worth talking to. He’d told you once, shrugging, that most jujutsu sorcerers just tended to be . . . odd.

“Not you, though,” he’d said, and your heart had leapt in your chest. “Well. You’re not odd in any way that isn’t charming.”

He’s not usually the kind of man who heaps praise on other people; that little compliment, you had carried with you like a flame in your heart. The first time he had held your hand, he hadn’t said anything. The first time he had walked you home, and met you for coffee in a morning a half hour before you were due to be at the scene of an exorcism; Nanami Kento shows that he cares about you in a hundred different little ways that aren’t as simple as telling you it out and out. You admire that about him. You’re so used to putting your foot in your mouth.

“Come sit at the table,” he says, and you follow him obediently. His house is tastefully decorated, somewhere between modern and traditional; he has shelves of books everywhere, and that makes you smile. You’ve heard him say, sighing; “When I’m done with all this, I’ll finally have time to get around to reading them.” The shelf in the very corner of the dining area is the only one that looks well-thumbed; even from here, you can see that it’s where he keeps his recipe books.

“I hope you’ll like it,” you settle into the chair that he pulls out for you. He moves into the kitchen with purpose, grabbing serving dishes and utensils and juggling them with a precision that makes you admire him all the more. “I’m very glad you were on time. It’s the kind of dish that needs to be eaten at the exact right moment.”

He whips the cover off the main dish.

You knew that Nanami was a foodie. His instagram is full of pictures of various places and treats he’s eaten – with a particular focus on adorable baked goods, especially bread, that had made you feel warm inside when you’d noticed. Still, the spread that he’s laid out before you would not look out of place in the most high-class of restaurants; the kind that you’d never had the money to afford to eat in, and you’d have been afraid of showing yourself up at the tables of. You stare at it, mesmerised; the vegetables, so bright and colourful and steaming, lovingly presented – the glaze of the meats, the bowls full of side-dishes that you can’t quite recognise.

There’s an anxiety in his face when he looks at you.

“Sorry,” he says, quietly. “I think I probably over-estimated. And over-compensated, I suppose, for not taking you out to a restaurant--”

“No,” you say, quickly. “It looks delicious. I’m glad you invited me. It’s just . . . a lot.”

“Yes,” his eyes rove over the table. “There are only two of us.”

“It’ll make good left-overs,” you suggest, and he brightens.

“That should have been my line,” he tells you as he retrieves the wine you’d brought. You can see that there was already a bottle chilling in a bucket by the table, but Nanami’s face is affectionate as he pops the cork and pours some into the wine glass by your plate. “I’m supposed to be the responsible one.”

“Sorry for stealing your thunder,” you take a sip of the wine.

“Just as long as you don’t make a habit of it.”

The food really is delicious. You could easily have had seconds, or even thirds – on an ordinary day. A day in which your stomach isn’t churning from how alone the two of you are. There’s a buzz in the air that isn’t quite tension; more, it’s a promise that there’s more yet to come. You and Nanami laugh over dinner, the conversation surprisingly easy when the knot in your insides is so tight. He talks about his old job, and you talk about your own adventures before you’d ended up in Tokyo – he smiles, and laughs, more than you’ve ever seen him do.

He seems so much more at home here. That’s silly, considering it is his home – but somehow, there’d always been an image of Nanami in your head as serious and unforgiving with his tie very tight and his suits perfectly pressed even when he was relaxing in his own rooms.

That image is quickly wiped away, by the way he looks as he rolls up the sleeves of his sweater to take the dishes away.

“Let me help you wash up,” you try and say, but he waves you away.

“I’ll leave them for after you’ve gone,” he says. “I’m not going to ask a guest to do that. Or maybe I’ll even be bold; leave them for in the morning.” His smile makes you feel weak at the knees, this time – a spot of pink high on those sharp cheekbones. Is he blushing, or has his face gone rosy from the wine?

The two of you migrate into the living room. His television is large, but not ostentatiously so; a row of DVDs are neatly in the cabinet beneath it, mainly drama films, period films and some foreign prestige box sets. The movie the two of you have been talking about is one of those – a Danish film about an ageing detective who takes on one last case. You had originally planned to see it together, when it made it to Tokyo cinemas; but one thing had lead to another, and before you could both get the schedules to work out it had gone.

He places the DVD into the player and you can’t help but stare at him; how the soft material of the sweater clings to his broad shoulders, how the jeans seem to emphasise his ass – he’s always in slacks, you’ve never really had the chance to ogle it before, but seeing it in front of you now you suddenly understand why he keeps it covered. Who knows what riots it might incite, if it were just out and about for anyone to see?

“You’re staring,” Nanami turns his head slightly, catching your eye. Heat rushes to your face – but he keeps your eyes pinned with his own for a moment, before deliberately dragging them down the length of you, sat on the sofa. You feel hot and warm and bothered by the way he smiles afterwards, as if he is saying that he likes what he’s seeing too. “You don’t need to be sneaky about it. I don’t mind.”

You swallow, your throat suddenly going very dry. Nanami moves across the room, sitting on the sofa beside you. Heat seems to be radiating off of him; there’s a comfort in having him next to you.

“You look uncomfortable,” he says, five minutes into the movie. He leans back, an arm coming to rest on the back of the sofa behind you. “You can lean on me, you know. I don’t mind.”

He looks inviting. His head is tipped to one side as he meets your eyes; there’s no challenge in his. Just a softness. A quiet affection. Perhaps a touch of nervousness – of trepidation, that you’ll refuse the offer. You hesitantly sidle closer, leaning your head against his side. His scent wraps around you; freshly cleaned laundry, peppermint, coffee, spices, some of the wine from earlier--

You fair go dizzy at it all, but not as dizzy as you go when the arm on the back of the sofa wraps around you, his fingers resting on your shoulder. How are you supposed to concentrate on anything, with him so close to you? With everything about him making you feel like you’re on a roller-coaster climbing upwards and upwards, hurtling towards the inevitable?

You try – oh, you really do try – to keep your eyes on the film and the subtitles scrolling across the bottom of the television. But the aged detective is not half as interesting as Nanami; as the way he focusses on the screen, as his face bathed in the light. As his hand, as it gently starts to stroke over your shoulder, as if he’s barely aware he’s doing it. As his tongue, as it darts out to nervously lick at his lips.

“You’re staring at me,” he says, and you flinch that he’s noticed. His head turns, pinning you with the full force of his gaze. “Are you not enjoying it? We can turn it off?”

How do you answer that?

The real answer: ‘I’m not enjoying it because I can’t concentrate on anything other than you, and how badly I want to be brave enough to kiss you’, feels too bare and bold. You bite your lip.

Nanami leans in closer to you, so close that you can see the flush on his cheeks. The slightly ruffled hairs falling over his forehead. You can count his eyelashes, almost--

“I’m not sure what’s going on either,” he admits, softly. “And I can speak Danish.”

The arm not around your shoulders moves, resting on your waist. You can barely breathe. He’s so close to you; so gorgeous, in the light. All of that former salaryman indifference seems to have gone; he’s not cold any longer, but boiling hot. You’ve been watching it slowly strip away from him since you met him, you think, but tonight might be the first time he’s been Kento Nanami with no pretension.

Nervous about his food, even though he knows he’s an excellent cook. Blushing as he realises you’re checking him out. Almost trembling, as his hand slides up and he cups your cheek like you’re made of porcelain and he’s afraid he might drop and shatter you at any moment. You blink up at him, honey-slow, so dazed by his touch and his presence you can barely make sense of what’s happening.

“I’m going to kiss you,” Nanami says, as a warning. Even now, he seems to think you might pull away. But you cannot, you do not; you just press yourself closer into him, your voice coming out very soft and small as you whisper;

“Please do.”

He does not need to be asked twice. His lips are so soft against yours. The wine clings to them, intoxicating and heady. The hand on your cheek tips your face further up, so he can keep his mouth pressed against you so sweetly. You pull back, your heart pounding.

“Ah, I’m sorry,” he’s saying, almost immediately, nervous that you have changed your mind – but all you do is free your arms, so you can wrap them about his neck and pull him in closer, to devour him the way you’ve wanted to for months.

The movie plays on, forgotten.

[sagendipity]

the law of attraction: de minimis

a quackity x reader law school au

part one, chapter two

[PREV] | [NEXT]

.

“Now turn to your left and say hi to your partner, the person your significant other will hate, after you blow them off on Valentines day to do voir dire.”

Alex chuckles, the sound drawing your gaze right over to him. You sigh dramatically, but can’t help yourself from letting a fond smile take over your features.

“Figure it’s time to introduce myself,” Alex quips, holding out a hand invitingly. “Alex.”

“Yeah,” you say, as you take his hand and shake it. He is warm, and your hand fits perfectly in his. “I picked up on that.”

“You will each work in teams of two within larger groups. I will assign you into a group. Each group will have a defense and a prosecution. You do not get to choose which side you represent. You do not get to choose your client. You do not get to choose the crime.” The professor rakes his eyes across the room of students. They all, including you, are silent and sitting attentively. “The only thing you get to choose is how well you represent your client, whether your client be the accused, or the state.”

Beside you, Alex lets out a low sigh, almost a whistle. His knee is bouncing, the black fabric of his track pants bunching up around his knee with the movement. You want to reach out and straighten it, fix the three white stripes running parallel down the side.

“You may know this: the university is granted a courtroom at the William Kunstler Courthouse for academic use. When you leave this room in a few moments, you’ll find informative packets on my desk.” The silver-haired man grabs a heavy stack of papers, and spreads them out on his desk like a dealer spreading a stack of cards. “Take one. It contains all the information you need to win your case, and pass this class.”

Your breath catches in your throat- you had a feeling this was coming.

“If you lose your case,” your professor says. “You will receive a maximum of a B+ in my class. If you win, you are guaranteed an A.”

The static sound of unsettled murmuring steadily rises in the echoey lecture room. You glance over at Alex, who is leaning back in his chair, legs crossed casually. He’s fiddling with one of the hoodie strings that hangs from his collar.

“This mock trial will work as any other real case. Your jury consists of freshmen students in a jury studies elective. They have no knowledge about this case, and you should treat them not as students, but as ordinary citizens when you go through voir dire.”

Alex huffs a laugh again, a little noise that is quickly becoming very familiar to you. “Explains why he went over voir dire for three hours last week.”

Despite the anxiety thrumming through your veins, you nod in accordance. Your fingers thread and twist through each other, the poor ring on your index finger falling victim to your fiddling. You pull it off your finger and twirl it around in your lap, the metal warmed from your body heat even if you feel more frigid than not.

“A real judge will be presiding over your case. Kissing up to them by bringing them a gift basket and ‘thanking them for their time’ is not frowned upon, but it is not effective. They are the only truly impartial ones in that courtroom, most of the time.”

With every word out of your professor’s mouth, you feel your exhaustion growing.

Isn’t this what you want to do? Isn’t this what… everyone here wants to do, for the rest of their lives?

You look to Alex. He’s looking at the professor with bright enough eyes, but the bags underneath them tell a different story, the skin taking on a bluish tint. His relaxed posture, his crossed arms with his fingers tucked into his own sides, the confident yet also unreadable expression he tends to wear still constant as ever. He looks like he knows something you don’t, and that should scare you.

You slide the ring back onto your finger and fold your hands atop your desk.

“The only difference from a real trial is that you have more prep time, and that you have your partner to help you with your side of the case. Both of you will be present in court, choosing jurors, delivering opening arguments, questioning witnesses, presenting evidence and arguments, and, yes, delivering your closing statements. You better get comfortable with your partner. Your futures rest in each other’s hands.”

You think you feel a headache coming on. You’re about to put your entire future, the fate of your entire career, in the warm hands of someone who is, at this point, just this side of total stranger. That should scare you.

“Everyone take a packet on your way out. I suggest you get coffee or a meal with your partner in the time you would spend in this class on an ordinary day. Information about Wednesday’s class is in the packet. We are meeting at the courthouse.” The professor spreads his arms wide, an enthusiastic grin suddenly spreading over his face, looking as out of place as a daisy on a sidewalk full of snow. “Welcome to real criminal procedure. Class is dismissed.”

.

“Here, before I go.” Alex’s voice pulls you out of your stupor with a gentle hand on your upper arm. You think you can feel the warmth seeping into your chilled skin through the thick fabric of your coat. You look down at where his hand rests on you, his skin a beautiful contrast to the dark red of your coat. Then, you notice his other hand- holding out a post-it note. “My number. I’m really sorry, I have to go- I have a thing to do for a friend- but, are you free this afternoon for lunch, maybe? We can get to know each other a bit before we start spending hours together each day.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” you force out, the teasing normally coming naturally, but today it feels like speaking around a rock in your throat. “Um- you have to go?”

“Yeah, sorry, it’s a- work thing.”

“I thought you said it was for a friend?”

“It is- look, it’s complicated, I’m sorry. I promise, you can have me as soon as I’m done, I’ll call the minute we’re done.” His furrowed brows stab at your resolve, the questioning facade you put up disappearing like a melted snowflake.

Taking the post-it from his outstretched hand, you carefully fold it into quarters and slip it into the pocket of your slacks. Before you do, you catch a glimpse of a little :] scrawled at the end of the string of numbers.

“What makes you think I want you?” you quip back after a moment.

His face falls for a moment, before he gets the joke and his brown eyes spark back up with the intensity of a firework. An unapologetic laugh bubbles up from his chest, an addicting sound that you feel echoing in your own chest, as well throughout as the high-ceilinged lecture hall.

“I’ll grab you a packet,” you say, nodding your chin at the table at the front of the room that has assembled a bit of a crowd around it. “Go, get your thing done.”

“You- thank you!” Alex grins, his hand on your arm squeezing in some sort of a thank-you before he leaps to his feet and grabs his binder. “I’ll see you soon- promise.”

“Promise,” you nod seriously, holding up your pinky.

You don’t expect him to turn on his heel and link his own finger with yours, pulling your hand tight against his for a moment before nodding with an enthusiasm entirely inappropriate for the situation. Then, he is actually gone, with his green jacket slung over an arm and the papers in his binder fluttering as he whisks out the door.

You notice that the frost in the windows had cleared when you see him jog across the street. He crosses just in time for a gust of wind to threaten to tear off his beanie- he slaps a hand down on top of his head, unruly black strands curling around the edges of the hat as he disappears around a crowded street-corner.

.

You sit yourself down in the library with a pen, a highlighter, and a steaming cup of coffee from the campus coffee shop. For midmorning on a Monday, the library is packed. Most of the students are windblown and dusted with snowflakes, their jackets pulled tightly around their shoulders as they seek out shelter from the horrible weather to chat with friends, classmates, and partners.

One of the only open tables rests right in the corner, sandwiched between two wide windows. You find why it’s empty very quickly, the thin glass doesn’t do much to stop the icy air from leaking in. Regardless, you shoulder your messenger bag onto an empty chair before setting yourself up in the chair farthest from the window. The packets you’d grabbed from your professor had taken a bit of a beating in the trek here, both dotted with little spots of water from stray, melting snowflakes.

Wincing as you smooth the packets out with your hand, you carefully wipe away an ink smudge that one particularly big snowflake had created. The words “de minimis” are smudged out, at least you think that’s what had been there, considering the following sentence.

A court of law is focused on the smallest things. Arguments are described as de minimis, as in, having their foundation built upon the smallest of things. One partial fingerprint is enough to seal someone’s sentence. One word misspoken is enough to cause a mistrial. One sentence too far is enough to get yourself held in contempt. The smallest things seal fates and shape lives, in law as in life.

You take your pen and carefully scrawl in de minimis onto the dampened paper.

.

TAGLIST: @just-a-dreammm @strawberrymilkgeorge @wmmy @nochuwastaken @noraimp @axths @tinyegg @moonamor @lincolnns @boiled-onionrings @esylwen @queennightsetz

[darkdevasofdestruction]

Brahms's Lullaby ~ Brahms Heelshire x Reader

Note: Why do I love Brahms? Fuck if I know. Anyway, this is what happens when a a meek, cute girl moves away from her old life to turn the page and find herself once again...And yet, her dark past quite literally comes back to haunt her.

'That's one huge manor...' Y/N thought to herself, the back of her neck straining as she scanned it from the bottom to the very top of the roof. The grip on her luggage tightened as she gulped in anxiety, and after taking a few deep breaths, she entered in this house, and immediately got greeted by the elderly woman who was the mistress of the house.

Y/N wasn't sure if it was her who was just nervous about the drastic change in her life, or if the woman was simply incredibly intimidating, but hey, as far as she was concerned, this woman won't be staying with her, so she will be all alone in the house, taking care of a child...How bad could it be?

Oh wait. Y/N hates children. They are so loud, bratty, obnoxious, entitled, rude...And the list could go on for ages, but she couldn't loiter in her mind any longer, and instead, she had to memorise where each room was, and what instructions the woman was saying.

She couldn't believe it, but she was glad she chose to wear a pair of comfortable sneakers, for she kinda got tired going up and down the manor...But what could she do anyway?

The kitchen got introduced to her, the woman told her to keep the leftovers in the freezer, told her about Malcom the delivery boy and how he's the only one allowed to bring her stuff. Weird, but what could she do? P'haps the child has a very strict routine that they must stick to, otherwise they'll feel weird and uncomfortable. Who knows?

And then, she showed her the music room, and while she wasn't paying much attention to the woman who turned on the music on the radio rather loud, Y/N looked around, inspecting the musical instruments, especially the piano, and the music sheets neatly displayed - "Brahms's Lullaby" it was called.

"Oh, is the child a fan of Johannes Brahms?" Y/N asked with a soft smile on her face, as she gently traced her fingers over the keys. "Yes, he is. In fact, the child is called Brahms." the woman spoke a bit sharply, looking her up and down with eyes that almost seemed...Judging, for some reason. "What a lovely name. When will I meet little Brahmsy?" she asked, and as soon as she used that nickname, the woman's jaw got set, and Y/N could swear she was gritting her teeth in anger at her. "...Brahms. His name is Brahms. You will meet him right now. Come on." the woman went on ahead and opened a room, where a doll was sitting in a chair, neatly dressed like a gentleman, while next to him, crouching, an elderly man, who she could only assume was the woman's husband, the master of the house. "Oh, my dear Brahms...This is Y/N, she is here to be your new nanny. Miss L/N, this us Brahms, and he will decide whether he accepts you or not." ...a doll? She...Has to babysit...A doll? Well...The pay is good, and she's veeeery far away from her old home, so...No new beginning happens within your comfort zone, right? "Hello, Brahms, it's great meeting you. I hope we'll get along well." with a sweet smile on her face, Y/N crouched down if front of the chair and took the little hand of the doll, shaking it carefully. "...Fine enough. Now, could you give us some time alone? Brahms will decide now." with that look on her face, while the old man looked at her with pity, and...Relief, maybe? Y/N exited the room, only to see a man standing in front of her, wearing an amiable smile. "Oh, hello there, you must be the new nanny. I'm Malcom, the delivery boy. Well, delivery man. Nice to meet you." very charming... "Ah, yes, I've heard about you. My name is Y/N, nice meeting you as well." she replied politely, although she could sense the flirt he was failing to put forward. "If you want, some day, I can show you around the town. It's small, but kinda pretty." he continued in the same manner, and Y/N replied with simple answers, until finally, the woman opened the door widely, with an even wider smile. "Brahms has decided that you are suitable to be his new nanny, congratulations." how the human behaviour can change so drastically, doing a whole 180, in a split second. "Thank you so much for accepting me, Brahms! I'm sure we'll get along well!" Y/N clapped her hands together to her chest in a cheerful manner, as the elder man left as well, allowing his wife some more farewell words with the doll. "Here, I made you a simplified list of rules you must follow. You don't have to wake up at 7 in the morning every day like my wife told you, but you must make sure all of these are taken care of, alright, miss L/N?" the man asked, handing her the paper which she attentively read. "Yes, of course, I will do as instructed without fail. Thank you for having trust in me with your dear Brahms. Have a lovely trip and I hope you get a well-deserved rest!" Y/N wished them, and for a split second, she almost thought the man's eyes flashed with shock and sorrow. What was going on anyway...? This family is...Peculiar, to say the least. Well, no matter, she will be paid weekly, and with the pretty generous amount she earned while working as a doctor, she should be able to afford anything she'd want, so she won't get bored.

And so, the Heelshires left, and she was all alone with the doll - Y/N decided to make her new bedroom to her liking, as much as possible, with Brahms sitting on a nightstand, as she was humming whatever tune that went in her mind, and swaying carefreely.

"You know, Brahms? I wasn't expecting you to be a doll. But frankly, I think this is better. Children are annoying...But you? You're really nice. And you're not loud or obnoxious. I think we'll be great friends." speaking to a doll...I guess that's how far in my loneliness I've gotten. Tragic, really...She thought as she realised how much of a crazy person she'd look like, were someone to see her. "Since it's already evening, let's go make some really good dinner, and then we can play the piano a bit? Maybe even watch a movie together?" she picked up the doll and went to the kitchen, and looking in the fridge, then at the utensils available, she put together a nice dinner, and put it split in two plates, one for her, and one for the doll, and to keep away the boring silence that hung painfully throughout the house, she put on some LoFi music on her phone, and ate, feeling more peace now than she ever did. "Hmmm...I know your mum told me to put the food in the freezer...But it's better eaten while still warm. I don't think you'll like it if it's stone cold...So, I'll leave it here, on the table, and see how it is. If you don't like it, and you want me to put it in the fridge, just tell me, and I'll do as advised." ...Just tell me? JUST TELL ME? Girl, are you out of your mind?! As if a doll could speak...

After she washed her plate, fork and knife, she picked up the doll once again, and went to the music room, putting the doll on the piano, and cracking her fingers, she let them glide over the claviature, creating a beautiful melody echo through the room, and maybe Y/N didn't realise, but she had a glowing smile on her face, and she visibly relaxed and felt at ease, as if she was flying through the fluffy clouds.

"I haven't done this in so long, I'm surprise I'm not rustier. I hope you liked it too, Brahmsy. Now, let's go to be. Do you want to sleep in my room? Come on, I'm a bit anxious to sleep by myself in this huge, creepy house." she mused as she got to her room, carefully putting the doll on her pillow and after going to the bathroom to change in her cutesy Unicorn Pusheen nightgown, and turning on her laptop, she put on Harry Potter, one of her comfort movies, and cuddling with the doll, she gave it a little kiss before getting engulfed in the story once again, and falling asleep without realising.

Everything was peaceful in the house in the morning, until Y/N reached the kitchen to make some light breakfast, only to find a paper on the table, with beautiful cursive writing in ink on it.

"Warm is better, thank you :) "

Frankly speaking, it freaked her our enough to get a panic attack and barricade herself in her room for the whole day, her bedroom locked and too afraid to leave that place for the whole day.

Oops.

After this, days on end, and then weeks passed by uneventfully, as Y/N took care of Brahms with no problem, Malcom came by to give her the groceries, the pay and anything that she'd order online, she'd chat with some old friends, would watch movies, would go out to plant flowers and tend to the garden, would dance around, happy to bask in the warm Summer sun, would read whatever books she likes, with the doll in her lap, and she realised that she never felt more relaxed and free in her life.

It was pretty cool not having to work for money, huh?

But one day, when she was out in the garden, barefoot and with a cute, flower dress on, her long, beautiful hair, accessorised with a colourful flower crown, and she was dancing to the music on her phone, she noticed a figure somewhere from the forest. It was unmoving, almost as if it was staring, and it startled Y/N. It startled and frightened her so much that she quickly picked up the doll and went inside the house, making sure all windows and doors are properly locked, and the drapes are closed, so nobody could get in.

That night, she kneeled on the bad, an upset frown on her face, as she felt her eyes watering slightly, looking down at the porcelain doll of the little boy.

"It's moments like this when I hoped you were human, Brahmsy. Not a child...But a man. I'm scared...I'm so scared...I don't like being alone. There was some creep outside in the forest, and it was staring at us. What do I do, Brahmsy? What am I supposed to do...?" as she felt a few tears streaming down her face, she sighed, hanging her head down, raking her fingers down her face in mild desperation. "...Who am I kidding, you're just a doll, you're not human. Why the hell do I even bother. I'm going to die here, sooner or later..." her voice was filled with dread and resignation as she got under the covers, clinging onto the doll as if her very life depended on it.

Since that very day, she continued seeing the silhouette of a tall man, standing there, menacingly stalking her every single day, from different places, until she heard the phone ring, and reluctantly, she answered.

"...Hello? Who is there...?" she muttered, gripping the phone anxiously, awaiting and answer. "You don't recognise the voice of the man that made you feel good every night?" her breath stopped completely hearing that awful voice she hoped never to hear again. Instead of answering, she slammed the phone down.

But it rang again.

And again.

And again.

Until it drove her mad and she disconnected it completely.

It wasn't like anyone would call her anyway, and if they wanted to contact her, then they could text her on her private phone, or on social media.

Why can't she just get some peace anywhere? She just wanted to get away from all hell she was put through at home...But now, it seemed like Hell was inclined to follow her to the ends of the world.

The stress and fright from this increased when she received multiple pictures of herself from either outside the house, or even inside, which is when she realised the stalked from outside was, in fact, the one who called her on the phone. It was her horrible ex.

And one horrible night, as she gripped on the doll to dear life, walking down the corridors of the huge manor, checking for the thousandth time that everything is locked tight, she heard a noise.

What was she supposed to do...? She couldn't run out of the house, everything was locked...And could she hide? Not really, she was sure he'd check all the rooms without fail.

So...What could she do except try to hide in her room?

She waited in her wardrobe, knowing very well that, if he were to get inside her bedroom, he would check every nook and cranny, but even so, she felt safer in a cramped, tight place, than outside in such an open room.

Mere seconds felt like outright centuries, she heard the door slam open, making her jump in fright, her hand to her mouth, so she'd muffle any sound she'd potentially make from her hyperventilating. She knew, it would be long before he checked the wardrobe, but gosh...The anticipation made her anxiety skyrocket.

Until it finally happened.

Y/N found herself being dragged from inside her safe place by the hair, thrown to the ground, but not once did she let go of the doll that became some sort of a comfort object for her.

"So that's where you were, Y/N! I missed you! It's been a while, hasn't it?" oh no, that overly sweet voice...It's nothing but poison. It was so bad that her bottom lip started quivering with fear as she tried to crawl away from there, but obviously, to no avail. "Wheeeere are you going, darling? Didn't you miss me? Come on, give me a hug!" he grinned, grabbing her and trapping her in his arms, and she couldn't help but tremble in disgust and fear as she felt his hands roaming in places it shouldn't. "Why aren't you talking to me? Why aren't you saying anything? Come on, let me hear you voice! ...DO SOMETHING, DAMN IT!" ah, his facade crumbled much faster than expected, and that aggressive scream in her face as he roughly pushed her in the wardrobe door made her whimper and wrap herself around the doll, trying not to let tears fall down her face and just...Praying for all this to be over...To be just a nightmare..."What the fuck is with that doll anyway? Why do you cling on it, and not on me? Give that here." but she didn't let go, and seeing how she was opposing him, he forcefully grabbed her face before slapping her before snatching away the doll from her arms. "Sheesh...It's so fucking ugly. No wonder you stay with this, it's the only thing that would stay with someone like you. So ugly, dumb, annoying...You should be grateful that I'm here! Nobody in this world wants you! You're worthless and you deserve nothing. Do you hear me? You ARE nothing! Better thank me nicely for coming all the way here for you! Nobody would bother doing ANYTHING for you!" he yelled at her, as she cradled her face, crying, but also fearing being seen crying, remembering how bad it would get. "Don't her Brahms...Please...Please don't hurt him..." she begged and pleaded over and over, but it only seemed to ignite more anger in his eyes. "You only beg me with that sweet voice of yours...To save your stupid...Thing? Really, Y/N? You're pathetic. You're stupid. You're disgusting. Fuck you and fuck your stupid doll!" and with that, the jerk started slamming the fragile porcelain doll on the wall, ignoring the desperate pleas from the girl. "NO! NOOOOOOOO! No....! Brahms, no...! What has he done to you..." Y/N crawled to the place where the doll's porcelain head was slammed apart, and she let tears fall over as, with shaky hands, she tried to piece together the overly-fragmented head, only to get pulled back by the hair and slammed on the ground, as he pushed himself upon her, his hands grabbing at her exposed flesh, her light nightgown offering close to no protection from the lecherous predator, and her weak, noodle arms, just like before, offered no resistance to his significantly stronger, bulkier built, and no matter how much she tried to fight back, she knew...She knew that struggling never helped, no matter how much she tried. It never did. And it only made it hurt more.

But then...Before she knew it, a loud noise, like that of an explosion, or destruction, came from somewhere in the room, startling the poor girl enough to make her scream in fright, while the predator jumped to his feet looking at the hole in the wall...

Only for a pair of hands to slowly creep out of the wall, tredging along the wooden walls, and then, a head wearing a porcelain mask creepily got out, followed by 2 legs and a body. It seemed to be a man, very tall - In fact, taller than her ex - , but while yes, his dramatic entrance startled the two, the man only got angrier, ready to fight the intruder, while the petite girl only got more frightened by the commotion, dragging herself in the safest corner of the room, shaking, guarding her head with both her arms, hoping again and again that this was all a nightmare, and it would end already - It was beginning to look so much more incredible, like a weird fantasy movie...This can't be real, right?!

"Y/N! Help me!" the voice of a child called out her name, almost strangled and desperate, and peeking at the brawl on the ground, she noticed her ex trying to strangle the stranger, whose head was leaning, his eyes fixated on hers.

He went out of the wall as soon as she got attacked...He was trying to protect her...Maybe? So...She got up, trying not to attract the attention of her ex, and taking ahold of the lamp on her nightstand, she brought it down hard against her ex's head, making him groan in pain...But he didn't fall. He didn't faint, like you see in movies. Instead, he got up, glaring at the meek girl and snatched away the lamp, throwing it away.

"You fucking bitch...Now you've done it." his voice was so dark that she was sure this was game over, so she bolted out of the room as fast as she could, but the labyrinthine house was impossible to navigate, and before she knew it, she found herself in a dead end, with no escape.

However, instead of seeing her ex with the wrath of a raging bull, she noticed the stranger slowly making his way towards her, his shoulder slouched, his dirty, once white, tank top now splattered with fresh blood, as is the rest of his outfit. But his hands were up, almost as if to say that he 'surrenders', as he stepped right in front of the trembling girl.

"Please don't kill me. Please don't hurt me. Please, please, please, I will leave you alone, I will go away, I will do want you want, please don't hurt me." even her voice was shaky, her arms crossed to protect her face, and her eyes closed in fear, so she didn't notice the curly haired man slowly crouching down in front of her, his head tilting slowly, before he gingerly grasped her wrists, pulling them away with such gentleness that she never knew. It was so weird for someone to be so careful with her body...With her...That she opened her eyes, doe-like, looking at the man's wide eyes that peered through his mask. "I am Brahms." but this time, his voice wasn't like that of a child, but not did it sound rough and hoarse, like her ex's. It was soft and delicate, masculine, but not too much. It was soothing. And what Brahms once saw to be the most frightened eyes, remembering how scared Bambi was when his mother died, yet now, they had more of a curious spark. "I won't hurt you. I promise. Don't leave." the once tense girl visibly relaxed under his touch, as he let go of her wrists and letting his knees touch the floor, he leaned forwards, between her legs, to get closer to her, and touched her face with both of his arms, wiping away her tears, surprised at how soft her skin was...Is it was a flower petal feels like? He remembers overly descriptive books where women are seen as different delicate things...A flower, a fawn, a butterfly, a nightingale, the Moon, and so many others...And he could finally understand why. "You are safe now." he continued, thinking it would make the girl smile, but instead, even more tears leaked down her face, and she threw her arms around his neck, bringing him closer to her, his body flushed to hers...And he stood there, stiff, shocked at the situation he was in.

What was he supposed to do now? Touch was so foreign to him...But he loved it so much! It was so warm, it made him happy! He wanted the girl to be closer and closer to him. He remembers what she did daily to his doll - What was it called...A cuddle? - Yes, he wanted that. He NEEDED that.

He hated that man touching her - He was hurting her - Only HE can touch her. He deserved to die. He deserved to fuck off. All he has to do is get rid of the body, and the rest can go on as it always has been - Except, instead of Y/N cuddling the doll, she will cuddle him every night, and she will kiss him.

"Thank you, Brahmsy. Thank you. Thank you so much." she continued thanking him over and over again, but he didn't answer. Instead, his hands slowly made their way on her waist, then went to the curvature of her hips, then to her thighs, and without any warning, he lifted her up, indirectly forcing her to glue herself to him even more - Not before hearing her cute squeal of surprise - And he carried her to one of the guest bedrooms, shivering a bit as he felt her warm breath on his bare neck - It excited him, but he didn't understand really what it was - But it was enough to make him bite his lip behind the mask and his grip on her thighs strengthened a bit, under the pretext of making sure she doesn't fall by mistake.

Luckily, he reached the bedroom and closing the door behind, he got in bed, holding her close as she stood in his lap, so close that he could feel her rapid heartbeat slowing down little by little. It was no misunderstanding, she was getting more and more comfortable around him. He was her protector, and he wasn't going to let anyone hurt her ever again. She was his. Nobody else's. Only his.

They stood like that for a while, just holding each other and calming down, before Brahms turned the both of them to the side, and he hugged her tightly to his chest, playing with her hair, not letting her go for the whole night. His embrace was warm, and Y/N felt so safe - As never before, not even in her parents' home. She felt...Good.

The next day, she woke up still in Brahms's arms. She wasn't sure if he woke up or not, but she leaned to plant a soft kiss on the forehead of the mask, as she raked her fingers through his dark, curly hair, but before she knew it, a pair of arms wrapped around her torso, hugging her close to his chest.

"Good morning, Brahms. Did you sleep well?" her sleepy voice was so cute...He wanted to wake like this every day...As an answer, he merely nodded. "I'm happy to hear that. Come on, we have to eat breakfast, then take a shower...And after that, we can do whatever we want. Sounds good?" she asked, getting up and holding his arms, urging him to follow her. "No shower!" ah, the childish voice again, I see... "Then...How about I shower with you? I have some cute rubber duckies, if you want." she tried to appeal to his inner child, which seemed to pique his interest. "...Only if you wash me." he muttered, making the girl chuckle. "Okay, sure, sure. Let's eat something first. I think there's some milk and cereal." she remembered how much she loved to eat that every morning before going to school, when she was little.

She prepared two bowls and they ate in silence, until Brahms muttered that he wants to hear the music she usually puts when eating - And grinning at him, she put on LoFi music once again, which seemed to make the boy happy too.

After that, they went to the bathroom, and while Brahms waited for the tub to get filled, Y/N went to get the clothes in the washing machine, while getting some fresh clothes for the both of them. Apparently, he actually had other clothes, he just didn't want to bother washing or changing...For who knows how long...

As Brahms got in the tub, only briefs on, playing with the duckies, Y/N kneeled by the tub, taking the flower-scented showed gel and the sponge.

"Get in the tub too." Brahms put his arms on the tub edge, leaning his chin on them, looking at her attentively. "We don't have much space in the tub." she explained, but he had none of it. Instead, he rose from underneath the water, picked her up with a weird ease, and got her in the tub, not before splashing her, so her nightgown was soaked so she couldn't protest anymore. "...Fine, you got me. Let me clean you, then." she shook her head with a sigh as she heard him chuckle, gripping her wrists and pulling her to sit on his lap. Did he really like it that much, she wondered. "Can I shave your chest and neck, Brahms?" she asked as she trailed her hands over his chest, shoulders and arms, scrubbing with a sponge, one hand always finding its way on either her hip or her leg. The answer came in the form of a nod, and she reached to the sink to get a shaving blade and very carefully, making sure not to irritate his skin, or cut him by mistake, she cut down the overgrown, stinky, unwashed hair. In the end, his skin was finally clean and soft and smelling like roses and vanilla. "Let me sit behind you, I have to wash your hair." he seemed pretty exited, feeling her legs on either side of him, his head leaning back so her fingers could work miracles - He felt in heaven - He was so spoiled, and he loved every second of it. The shampoo smelled really nicely too, he had to admit. But her fingers massaging his scalp...Ahhh, it was so perfect, he was almost sure he'd fall asleep. "Let me wash you too!" he said, and in a split second, he could feel the girl's body stiffen, her eyes going wide, and her face...It was beginning to turn pink...? Was she...Blushing? "Ah, uhm...Well...Y-You can wash my hair, if you want?" she was stuttering! So cute! So cute, in fact, that he pinched both her cheeks, and they felt like marshmallows. "H-Hey, stop, that hurts." she pouted as he teased her. He loved that. "Yay!" Brahms cheered as he got her back glued to his chest, his hand gingerly tracing her neck, making her lean her head back, just as he did...But why did he like the sight of his hand wrapped around her neck? He didn't want to hurt her...But the visual was getting him feel weird things.

He followed the same routine as she did to him - Massaging her scalp, putting shampoo, rinsing, then this...Conditioner? Oh, it smelled nicely...And this is called...Hair mask? Ah, this is coconut scented! And she is smiling! She has a kitty smile! She looks like a cute little kitty!

After the bath time was over, Y/N wrapped him in a bathrobe, and while he wasn't paying attention, she quickly took off her nightgown and put another bathrobe on tying it tightly, and guiding the man back to their room, so she could use a hair dryer to dry both their hair, before brushing it neatly, so they could dress up...And he insisted she dressed in that cute, flowy, flower-patterned dress

"There, all good. What do you want to do now, Brahmsy? Do you want to go in the garden and see the flowers?" she asked, a bright smile on her face, both her hands holding his, and he could see her eyes were basically glimmering, pleading him to go out with her...But he hated the outside...Hmmm...

He grumbled a bit, but ultimately, he let himself be dragged outside - He hissed a bit, as if he was a vampire getting burnt by the sun, but after a while...He didn't find it that bad...? And the flowers in the garden were so pretty...!

"Hey, Brahms, take off your shoes and socks. Feel the grass. It will make you feel so calm and peaceful...Here, how do you feel?" she asked, intertwining her fingers with his. "It's...It tickles." he muttered, looking down and wiggling his toes to get used to it. "Come sit down with me. Watching the clouds is really relaxing." she said, helping him sit down, then laying on their backs. Instead of staying apart, however, Brahms pulled her close to his chest, her head resting on his shoulder. "...But it's kinda boring..." he muttered, as he started kneading her arm up and down, massaging it from sheer boredom. "Look, Brahmsy, that cloud looks like a bunny, don't you think?" she put her finger up in the air, pointing to one of the clouds passing by. "Ah! You're right! And that one looks like a dragon! And that one looks like a butterfly! Look, Y/N, it's so pretty!" his boredom dissipated quickly and it got replaced by excitement instead - Very wholesome, the girl thought as she looked at the person next to her getting so happy over such simple things.

They stood outside until evening came, and they could watch the beautiful sunset, the sky painted with the most gorgeous shades there are. "Let's get inside, dear, it's getting cold. We don't want to get sick, right?" she smiled at him, only for him to hang his head down, and then he took off his cardigan and put it over her shoulders and pulled the girl between his legs, her back glued to his broad, warm chest and his embrace made her feel so warm and at ease. "Brahmsy...?" she asked softly, tilting her head up, before feeling his chin on top of her head, but she was met with silence. "The stars are pretty. You are pretty. Y/N is the prettiest, brightest star. Y/N is my star. I love my star." his soft voice was heard, almost whispery, and after a few more seconds, she felt the softest, sweetest kiss on her hair, then on her temple and on her cheek, before his chin found its place back on her head. "I love you, Brahms." she said, with teary eyes, intertwining her fingers to his, pulling his arms closer to her and squeezing his hands. "And I've never loved anyone more than I love you."

Needless to say, that comment made the man giddy and happy, for he, too, felt happiest now than he ever did before. When they felt tired, Brahms picked the girl up and got her back to their now shared room, dressed in their sleeping wear and cuddled, yet this time, Y/N was holding him, his head resting on her chest, as she played with his hair, soothing, and humming a lullaby to help him sleep.

It was Brahms's Lullaby.

[dubersbutt]

Take a Bow (4) - Connor McDavid and Leon Draisaitl

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3,

Warnings: Babies, anxiety/feelings of heightened anxiety, smut

It’s not that Connor hates kids. They just make him uncomfortable.

Like when his aunt had a baby when he was 13 his mom asked if Connor wanted to hold him. Connor was fine when his mom gently placed the baby in his arms. Up until his mom told her to be super careful with his head or else he could snap his neck and kill him. Or if Connor accidently pressed his soft spot it could severely detriment his brain development. It was too much responsibility.

At least that’s what he used to think.

He fell in love with Emilia the minute you walked through the front door with her in the baby carrier. The dogs were excited by the tiny squirming arms inside the carrier, he had to hold Lenny back so he didn’t crush her.

“This is going to sound super cliche,” Connor says as he coos into the carrier where Emilia is trying to open her tiny eyes, “but she is the cutest baby I’ve ever seen.”

“She’s a lot cuter now that her head is a normal shape,” you joke, munching on a cookie Connor had set out for you.

“Can you stop making fun of our daughter’s cone head?” Leon rolls his eyes.

“You didn’t see it, it was terrifying.”

(Connor googles a picture of it later. Babies are fucking weird.)

He helps you up the stairs to the waiting cup of tea on the mug warmer in your bedroom. He lets you get settled, handing you the TV remote and giving you a kiss on the forehead before going back downstairs to meet his daughter (step-daughter? Connor didn’t really know).

“Can I hold her?” Connor asks when he finds Leon and Emilia in the living room.

“What happened to the three month rule?” He raises an amused eyebrow.

Connor had created it after the incident. He didn’t hold a baby that was younger than 3 months.

“I’m feeling brave.”

Leon scooches over so Connor has room to sit comfortably. Leon gently places Emilia in his arms, and gives Connor a pillow to prop his arm on. Emilia’s blinks at him before squirming and stretching her little arms over her head. Connor feels all warm and fuzzy in his chest.

“Hello, Emilia,” he says, with a smile on his face, “I’m your other dad.”

~~~

Connor’s not inherently a jealous person.

Or at least he thought he was. But ever since Emilia came home he’s been feeling it. He loves Emilia, don’t get him wrong. Well, actually, he should backpedal for a second.

Connor is still annoyed at Leon.

He knows he should probably bring this up (because look what happened last time) but he hasn’t because Leon was trying to make things right with you. He obviously was trying with Connor as well, but he couldn’t help but feel like he was an afterthought. Some days were better than others, but everytime Connor thought about how he woke up and couldn’t find Leon in the penthouse he felt like puking.

Emilia eases the pain. He truly does love her like his own. The only time he uses the “she’s your kid” card is when it's 2 am and he’s too tired to get up. But he rarely even does that because Connor’s always been the heaviest sleeper out of the three of you. But other than that, he volunteers for bathtime, plays with her while you’re in the shower, he doesn’t even hate changing diapers that much.The puppies love her too, they’ve transitioned from napping on the dog beds in the living room to the spot on the couch closest to the bassinet to keep an eye on them. He regularly has to stop Lenny from trying to jump in and crush Emilia.

Back to Leon (Connor tends to get side tracked when talking about Emilia). Connor’s still annoyed and he’s been working up to talking about it. But it never seems like a good time. First you were pregnant, and Connor didn’t want to upset either of you. Then it was playoffs and Connor didn’t have any time to think about anything else. Then they got swept and Connor did nothing but eat ice cream for a week like he just had his first heartbreak. And after that…well, he just hates confrontation.

He keeps telling himself that he’ll get around to it, that he just wants to gather his thoughts but he knows he’s stalling at this point. Mostly because -

“So did you do what we talked about last session?” Sophie, his therapist, asks him at the beginning of his appointment.

-his therapist calls him on his bulshit. And he realizes that’s the whole reason he pays her, but it’s still rude.

“About that…” Connor trails off.

She gives him an amused smile, “Connor, you know I don’t like telling you what to do but I strongly suggest you talk to Leon.”

“Sophie, my girlfriend gave birth, we started playoffs and got swept all in the last two weeks,” he says with an exasperated sigh, “I deserve a little time for myself. Isn’t that what you told me last week?”

“I was getting to that,” she says.

Connor almost didn’t show up to his first session. He spent the whole ride over that he his therapist would be a quiet homophobe and who’d sell his story to the presses and ruin his life.

But then he went in and saw the framed photo of Sophie and her wife and their twins. He let out a sigh of relief and felt more comfortable telling her about his life. She didn’t even really watch hockey and she told him that he thought he was a “good player” for his age. Connor always has to stop himself from laughing whenever she tries to compliment his playing style. She’s adorable.

“And what about  (Y?N)? Have you thought about what you were going to say to her?”

He knows. He just doesn’t know if you’ll want the same thing.

“I have, a little bit.”

“And would you like to share what you’ve been thinking about?”

“I-uh,” he swallows, “I want another baby?”

“Is that a question?”

“I don’t think so.”

Sophie sends him home with the same homework he had last week: try to slowly figure out what he wants to say when he’s eventually ready to have a talk.

When he comes home, Leon’s standing in the kitchen by Emillia’s bottle warmer. He looks stupid hot holding a baby and Connor’s only mildly annotated about it.

“Hey,” he flashes Connor a bright smile when he notices Connor’s presence, “Can you hold her while I make her a bottle?”

“Sure,” He takes Emilia from Leon before sliding the dimmer down on the light switch. Her eyes slowly open in the dim light and her gumless smile warms Connor’s heart.

“Hello sweet girl,” he coos, watching as she somehow wiggles an arm loose from her blanket, “I love you. I hope you had a good morning.”

He doesn’t expect her to answer, obviously, but she does start to open and close her mouth, indicating she's hungry.

“Leo, you’re too slow,” he taunts playfully, watching as Leon carefully measures out the formula, “she’s starving over here.”

“I can only move so fast,” he laughs.

When Leon finally gets Emilia her bottle Connor relaxes into the dining room chair as she eats her lunch.

“How was therapy?”

Connor told you and Leon that he started going when he came home from his session. Connor didn’t divulge everything that happened in his sessions but it felt nice to have someone ask.

“It was good,” he says, leaning over and resting his head on Leon’s shoulder, “I only cried a little this time.”

Leon chuckles, “Does that mean therapy’s working?”

“Probably.”

~~~

Connor can’t help but laugh when he rewatches the interview of Leon talking about Emilia. He manages to somehow be adorable and sarcastic at the same time. You’re settled against his chest with your ipad resting on your lap and he can feel your giggles as Leon gives his short, glib answers to the journalists' annoying questions.

(Congratulations, she’s very cute.

“I know. She is my daughter after all.”

Your girlfriend’s not going to get mad about that comment?

“She’s gonna get mad if you keep asking questions about her newborn.”)

“I can’t believe you haven’t seen this yet,” Connor says as he runs his fingers through your hair.”

“Neither can I,” you giggle as Leon looks into the camera like he’s on the Office.

Leon rolls his eyes as he emerges from the bathroom, now freshly shaven.

“It’s not that funny,” he says.

“Don’t sell yourself short, Leo,” Connor says, gently hooking his fingers in Leon’s chain to pull him down for a kiss, “You’re very funny.”

“Why did you shave?” you say as Leon turns to give you a kiss, “Your beard looked so good.”

“It was also getting super scratchy,” Connor says.

Leon gets under the covers on Connor’s otherside, “Yeah Emilia’s been distracting me from the beard routine.”

You scoff, “the scratch is the best part, Con.”

“Tell that to the scratch marks on my ass,” Connor says without thinking, and then immediately blushes.

You groan, “Don’t talk about anything remotely sexy when my poor vagina is still healing from pushing out a whole watermelon.”

Leon laughs, “Don’t worry, baby, the beard will be back by the time you get your 6 week all clear.”

~~~

(5 weeks later - after your 6 week all appointment)

“Guess what bitches,” you shout as you enter the kitchen, “I can finally have sex again.”

“Mhm,” Leon hums, feigning disinterest, “And what would you like me to do about that?”

“You’re mean and not funny,” you say lightly hip-checking him, “Besides I have two boyfriends for a reason.”

“Yeah about that,” Connor stretches and yawns, “Emilia kept me up last night so I was gonna take a nap.”

You blink, “I will go to Whyte Av and find some rando to screw in a coat closet, don’t fucking test me.”

Leon grabs your hips and pulls you against his body so your back is flush against his chest before walking forward and pressing your hips into the kitchen counter.

“As if I could pass up the opportunity to fuck this sweet little pussy,” he grinds his hips, pushing your hips further into the counter.

“What have you been cleared for?”

“L-light, non-strenous sex.”

Connor laughs, “Boring, but better than nothing.”

“Davo, take her upstairs,” Leon commands so Connor scoops you up and carries you bridal style to the bedroom.

“Wait wait,” you say when they reach the top, “Where’s Emilia.”

“She’s napping in her crib,” Connor says as he drops you onto the bed, “Leo’s gonna check on her before he comes. So you can turn your brain off for a little bit.”

Connor doesn’t wait to hear your answer, just presses his lips to yours. He fels you moan against him. Connor’s hands slide under your shirt, slowly exposing skin. When he gets it over your head he trails his kisses down your body, unhooking your bra as he does. His kisses move in between your breasts to your belly.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs as he kisses your belly button, “you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever met.”

He hooks his fingers on your shorts, pulling them down your legs. He settles himself on the bed as he spreads your legs to press kisses to your inner thigh.

“Perfect,” Connor says, lightly nipping at the sensitive skin.

The tiny hitch of your breath causes all of his blood to rush straight to his dick, but he can’t bring himself to care. He takes his time, warming you up with kisses to your inner thighs, gently scraping his teeth against the skin. He kisses your pussy before running his tongue through your folds. His tongue gently caresses your clit with his tongue. Your hand comes down in his hair when he sucks your clit into his mouth. Your hips start to move against his face, grinding down to give yourself more friction.

“So impatient,” he hums, fucking one finger in you.

“It’s been six whole weeks,” you say,  “I haven’t gone six weeks without sex since I was a virgin.”

Connor chuckles, “Easy baby, we’ll get there.”

~~~

Connor can’t help himself when he sees you changing Emilia’s onesie in her nursery. He walks up behind you, wraps his arms around your waist and rests his head on your shoulder.

“Good morning,” he says, planting a kiss on your cheek, “And good morning to the world’s most adorable baby.”

Emilia gurgles but doesn’t retort. Smh, someone needs to teach her how to be humble.

“Morning,” you reply, buttoning up her fresh onesie, “How’d you sleep?”

“Good,” he responds with another kiss, “Except when you kicked me in my ribs.”

“I take offense to that,” you raise an eyebrow, “I am an angel in bed. And, yes, pun intended.”

Connor snorts, “We both know that's a lie.”

Both Connor and Leon have been victims of your aggressive sleeping style. One of these days he’s gonna tie all your limbs down, and not in a sexy way. But not in a murderous way either, let’s make that clear. In a Connor-wants-one-singular-night-to-not-get-punched-in-his-sleep way.

Oh god, his brain is rambling. Oh god, he does not want to do this.

“(Y/N),” he says before he can talk himself out of it, “I’ve been wanting to talk to you about something.”

“About what?” you ask, holding Emilia close as you sit down in the rocking chair.

“I…” Connor has never been this sweaty in his life, “I want another baby.”

“Oh,” you say, indifferent, “Congratulations.”

His brow furrows, “what?”

“On growing a uterus,” you arch an eyebrow, “Because I sure as hell am not using mine again for like 3 years.”

Connor laughs, “I wasn’t saying right away. But, I just want to know if it’s something on the table.”

“I want another baby,” you say, “And as long as you’re willing to wait, I don’t see why it would be an issue.”

~~~

And Connor definitely feels lighter after his talk with you. And he even impresses Sophie by actually doing his homework for once:

“So did you talk to Leon yet?” She asks after he’s finished giving his rundown of his week.

“No,” he says sheepishly, “But I did talk to (Y/N) about having another baby.”

She has the professionalism to not look shocked, but Connor is getting a little better at reading her. Or at least he thinks he is. He still gets anxious whenever she writes things on her notepad, “and how did that go?”

“Honestly, it was better than I expected.”

“How so?”

He shrugs, “I guess I was just expecting the worst?”

“And why is that?”

He shrugs again, “Isn’t that something that you’re supposed to figure out when you psychoanalyze me at the beginning of every session?”

Sophie throws her head back in laughter, “You do know I can’t read your mind right.”

It sure feels like she can sometimes. Which is why he pays her but still, it’s rude. ~~~

Connor thought he was sweaty and anxious before talking to you. However, when it comes time to talk to Leon he also feels nauseous. Like, he might throw up in the kitchen sink again nauseously. But he’s been sitting on this for a few months now - but what if Leon hates him. What if he doesn't want to be with Connor anymore. What if he asks for a trade?

No, Connor’s spiraling. Leon’s a rational person; he's not gonna hate Connor for talking about his feelings, something Leon encourages because Connor tends to bottle things up until he explodes.

But what if-

No. No spiraling, yet.

“Leo,” Leon hums against Connors chest from his spot on the couch next to him, “You still awake?”

“Yeah,” he says quietly, “But I was thinking about going upstairs soon.”

Connor shuts the TV off, “Um, actually before that can we...talk?”

Leon sits up and stretches, “What about?”

Connor takes a deep breath, “I think - I think I’m mad at you?”

Leon looks a little confused, and Connor can’t say he blames him, “You think you’re mad at me?”

“I-yeah,” he takes another breath, “I know you’ve been trying really hard to reconcile with (Y/N), and that’s great, and I’m definitely not trying to say I take priority over her, but it kind of feels like you’ve put me on the backburner a bit.”

Leon nods, “How so?”

Connor shrugs, “I mean, when you came back and you apologized it was definitely pointed towards her. And it’s the little things, like you always make what (Y/N) wants for dinner and not me. It feels a little bit like there’s a hierarchy here.”

“Do you...feel this way with (Y/N) too?”

“A little bit,” he says, “But mostly with things concerning Emilia, so it’s not as big of an issue.”

Connor realized he feels a bit…scorned, for lack of a better word. Connor was with you first, and that’s not something he feels jealous about but now it’s all coming up. Connor never left you, Connor was the one who held back your hair and wiped your tears when Leon was MIA. Connor was there, Leon left.

...maybe he did need to talk to you some more.

~~~

Connor and Leon spend a long time talking on the couch before they join you in bed. Eventually, Leon puts his head in Connor’s lap as the conversation turns mundane and they just enjoy each other’s presence. It’s been a while since they’ve done that. They end the night with a little make out session that doesn’t lead anywhere more. It was nice.

The next morning Connor’s on baby duty. Not that he minds, it’s always nice to start his day with a smile from Emilia. He changes her diaper and puts a fresh sleeper on her, listening to the little baby noises she makes. When he’s finished he takes her downstairs to the kitchen where you and Leon are making breakfast.

“Good morning, babe,” Leon says when Connor turns the corner, “Do you want strawberries or blueberries on your french toast?”

Leon was making his favourite breakfast. Connor can’t stop the smile from spreading on his face.

“And how’s my favourite girl?” he asks, giving Emilia a little kiss on her forehead.

“A pooping machine,” Connor responds to her, and Emilia laughs at him.

“Did she just-?” you get from your spot on the barstool and run to Connor’s side.

“Her first laugh?” Connor says, “Yeah.”

He tickles her belly in an effort to get her to keep laughing, but she chooses that moment to be a stubborn newborn and frowns instead.

He looks at Leon, “She is absolutely your baby.”

“I smiled when I was a baby!”

“No, Leo he’s got a point,” you say in between funny faces, “your mom said she has one baby photo of you smiling because you would refuse to smile for the camera.”

“I was shy.”

“You’re a robot,” Connor says.

“Like you’re one to talk,” you scoff.

~~~

“Connor please,” you pant, “I don’t know what I did to deserve this.”

Connor holds back a laugh, watching the sweat drip down your face, “I thought this is what you wanted?”

“Leo!,” you yell, catching his attention from across the room, “Tell Connor he’s being an ass.”

Leon does not hold back his laugh, “He’s got a point.”

“I can’t believe I’m getting bullied right now.”

Connor wraps his arms around you and pulls you close into his body, “It’s just some squats, baby, it’s not the end of the world.”

“It is when you keep adding weight!”

“Because you’re stronger.”

You just stare at him and, honestly, Connor feels a little scared.

“Tell you what,” he leans down so he can whisper in your ear, “If you make it through your sets, without complaining, Leo and I will take turns eating you out tears run down your pretty little face.”

“Promise?” you hold out your pinky.

Emilia’s being babysat by her grandparents so Connor feels no qualms when he links his pinky with yours, “Promise.”

“Promise what?” Leon pipes up from his place on the leg press.

“Connor offered up your body in exchange for squats,” you say, shouldering the bar once more.

“And what did Connor say I would do?”

“You’ll find out,” Connor says, waving a hand at Leon nonchalantly.

“I don’t even get to know how I’m being used as a bargaining chip?”

“Nope,” Connor says with a smile, popping the ‘p’.

~~~

Leon learns what the exact terms and conditions are of the agreement about an hour later. And, just like Connor expected, he does not complain.

He even has the audacity to wink at Connor as he’s tongue-deep in pussy. Ugh, he forgot what the butterflies in his stomach felt like when he’s not constantly annoyed with Leon. He can’t help himself, he gets up from where he was giving his jaw a break, and slides his fingers over Leon’s hole. Leon tenses up ever so slightly, he breaks the momentum he had on you, evident by how hard your ankles are digging into Leon’s shoulders.

“Don’t stop,” Connor grunts, slipping one digit past the rim, “You don’t cum until she does.”

He slides his finger all the way before uncapping the lube and lathering his fingers up and adding a second. Connor knows when he hits Leon’s prostate when He lets out a low groan into your cunt.

“Fuuuuuuck,” you whine, writhing against the sheets.

Leon pushes back on Connor’s fingers at the same time your hips start to grind down feverishly on Leon’s face.

“Make her cum, Leo,” Connor says, removing his fingers from Leon’s ass and teasing his hole once more.

Leon’s focus changes completely. His fingers dig into your hipbones, pulling you closer to him so he has a better angle. Your chest is rising and falling quickly, heaving off the bed when Leon finally sucks your clit. You cum with a shout, tumbling over the edge, pussy clenching around Leon’s tongue.

Connor wastes no time, grabbing Leon’s hips to steady him before spreading Leon's cheeks and swiping his tongue in long, broad strokes. Connor’s not the biggest fan of rimming, but Leon loves it. Leon groans as Connor teases him, starts to rut against the bed when Connor’s tongue dips into his hole, loses it when Connor starts to fuck him open with his tongue. He reaches over to jack Leon off, pumping him as he continues to take him apart. Leon goes limp beneath him, reduced to nothing but moans. Connor speeds up his ministries, revealing in the way Connor’s name falls weakly from Leon’s mouth. Leon bucks hard against the bed, cums with a shudder. Connor takes his hand off Leon's cock, and places it on his own but doesn’t quite relent on his tongue, working Leon through the aftershocks' pleasure. It doesn’t take very long for Connor to cum, finally letting up on Leon and effectively ruining his boxers.

“Aw Leo,” Connor says once he can catch his breath, “We have to watch the duvet cover now.”

~~~

“Where is my baby?” Connor teases playfully when you walk through the door, baby carrier in hand.

“Calm your tits,” you say, placing the carrier on the kitchen counter and allowing Connor to take her out, “She’s home, and just woke up from a nap.”

“I wish I took a nap today,” Connor says as he rocks Emilia in his arms. She gives Connor a toothless smile and Connor just wants to smoosh her.

“Has anyone ever told you, you look really good holding a baby?” Leon says, giving Connor a quick peck on the cheek.

“Good enough to have another baby?” Connor asks.

You roll your eyes, “Two years, Con.”

“I’m just teasing.”

And, yeah, Connor finally starts to feel like he’s home again.

[letstalkaboutshtufff]

A Bad Feeling Pt 2

Levi x reader

Pt 2 (Final part)

Pairing : Levi x Cadet reader

Warnings: mentions of attempted rape, mentions of injury, cursing, violence. 18+ only please

***************************************************

Hey guys! Thank you all so much for the wonderful comments! You're all amazing! I did my best to write Levi not ooc, so please lemme know if I did an ok job. This chapter was hard to write so please lemme know what you think! Enjoy!

"Look at me" he was less angry now and more concerned. Because although he would never admit it. He cared for his team deeply and hated to see any of them hurt.

Knowing you couldn't disobey you sucked in a breath and slowly lifted your head up.

And when Levi's steel eyes met your teary ones they turned into one of shock.

Slowly his eyes travelled over your form. His eye brows furrowed at the grip marks that covered your chin. He looked down further and saw that both your wrists were red. His eyes travelled back up and his whole body froze when he saw the angry looking bruise peeking from under your collar.

He stood there in shock for a moment before snapping out it.

"Y/n.." he started slowly, almost gently.

"Tell me what happened" he clenched his jaw when he realized how scared you look. It did not sit well with him that a girl as strong as you ended up in this state.

Tell him?? I can't... Oro said that he would-!

"I-I c-can't" you closed your eyes feeling completely overwhelmed. Levi was going to be so angry with you, but you couldn't risk being expelled from the survey corps.

Had your eyes been open you would've seen the flash of concern that crossed his usually stoic features. Knowing he wouldnt get anywhere with you in that state he asked you to follow him. Not knowing what else to do you did...

************************************

Silently he led you to a room you had never seen before. It was neat and organized, and off to the side you saw a small stove and sink.

You were so out of it, the shock taking over that you didnt even remember being sat down at a small table.

You stared at the wood in silence, listening to some clanging around you for several minutes but snapped out of it when a small plate and tea cup full of something steaming and sweet smelling was put in front of you.

Wordlessly you looked up at your captain who took a seat near you, but far away enough not to add to your nervousness.

"Drink, it'll help" he ordered quietly. And so you did. You both sat in silence until the last drop was gone. You thought he would yell at the clattering noise your cup made every time your shakey hands grabbed it but he didnt. He sat there quiet and silent.

When you were done you let out a small thank you. You felt a tiny bit less shakey but no where near relaxed. How could you be?

Levi silently took the cup, and deposited it in the sink.

When he was finished, he made his way back to you and sat down.

"Y/n, I know you don't wanna talk, but I need to know what happened" he started calmly.

You looked into his eyes and saw that he was patient and not at all angry.

Could you tell him the truth? Oro said that he would ruin your future but if you told captain Levi, would he protect you? Despite his harsh demeanor you knew that Levi did care and protect his team when it came down to it. Even his harsh disciplines were usually for the best. Even if we couldn't see it.

But even so...Oro is his friend... way longer than I've been his cadet...what if I tell him and he talks to Oro and oro tells him something else that he believes over me.

Levi noticed the hitch in your breath and tried to calm you down once more, "Listen to me y/n, Its my job to look out for you, you're safe now" he promised gently, well as gently as he levi could be) you looked and saw sincerety in his orbs. Your mouth formed the shape to speak. But you still were not able.

"If you're not able to tell me what happened yet, I need you to at least give me a name" he tried to reason. You couldn't believe how calm and patient he was being with you. You so desperately wanted to tell him. But you were terrified.

"I-I'm afraid.." you admitted quietly in shame..

Levi felt anger rise within him, not at you no, but at whoever made you like this. He'd seen you take down titans like it was playtime at school. And now you were shaking like a leaf afraid of something he still had no idea what/who caused this.

"Like I said you're safe now-"

" Thats not.." you cut him off, "I-I'm afraid you won't take.... my side.." you admitted as a fresh set of tears ran down your face.

His eyes widened a little at this, did you not trust him?

"Y/n, listen to me" he waited until you raised your teary eyes up to meet his once more.

"You have proven yourself to be nothing but trustworthy during your time as my cadet. You have my word that no matter what you say, I will believe you" he said with finality.

And that was all you needed to hear to unlock the fear that held you back.

"Oro" you whispered.

His eyes widened in utter shock before turning into quiet rage.

"Oro did this.."

************************************

Levi did a remarkable job of holding in his emotions as you told him what happened. You didn't do it all at once. You kept having to pause to collect yourself. And some things were harder to say than others. But slowly you told him everything, his words and what he did.

The whole time you couldn't bring yourself to look at him. Afraid of what emotions his face held. But when you were finished and he stood up, you couldn't help but steal a glance.

You sucked in a breath.

*Ok small teeny tiny spoiler in the next paragraph from season 3*

The last time you witnessed levi in that state was when he fought the beast titan. His body was eerily calm, but his eyes. His eyes held death.

"Stay here" and with that he was gone and you were alone...

************************************

It was torture waiting in that room. What was he going to do? The anxiety of waiting and doing nothing was killing you.

The panic mixed with exhaustion was such a strange feeling to you. Your mind was racing but your body felt on the verge on collapse.

Sighing you threw your head on the table and tucked your arms underneath.

You couldn't help but let your eyes droop.

You were somewhere between a light sleep and a deep one when the click of a door opening made you jolt awake.

"Heichou.." you went to stand but he motioned for you to stay put. To be honest you weren't sure you could stay upright. It felt like you had been thrown off a roof.

"W-what happened?" You couldn't wait another second before asking.

He stared at you for a moment, much more calm than when he had left earlier. "It's taken care of" he said finally.

You waited a few seconds for him to continue but he didn't.

"Um, by taken care of you mean...?" you nervously fidgeted with your hands.

He sighed and walked over to a nearby cabinet, not facing you he replied, "I mean that bastard won't be bothering you or anyone else anymore" you were slightly frustrated by his lack of elaboration.

Before you could press any further he turned around and cut you off, "Forget about it now, we can discuss it in the morning." You nodded hesitantly although all you wanted was some answers.

It was then you noticed that Levi was holding a small med kit in his hands. Before you knew it, he was sitting next to you, scooting the chair slightly closer.

"Hand" you stared blankly at the outstretched hand for a moment in confusion.

Whats he?... oh!

You snapped out of it not wanting to annoy him after all he had done for you by taking too long.

And despite the situation, you somehow found the capacity to still blush like a school girl when his soft hands gripped yours with surprising gentleness.

A comfortable silence filled the room as he got to work tending to your wrists. With more care than you thought he was capable he applied a cool ointment and wrapped them delicately.

You didnt even realize you were crying until you saw a fat tear plop onto the table. Levi looked up at you, pausing his movements.

"S-sorry! I didn't mean to-sorry..."you babbled embarrassed, your words not really making sense. You suddenly felt bad for putting him through all this. And now you couldn't even stop crying like an idiot.

You squeezed your eyes trying to stop the flow, but for some reason you couldn't stop. All the panic and relief caused you to feel so overwhelmed you couldn't help but let it all out. You also couldn't help but to keep apologizing over and over.

"Don't apologize.." your breath hitched at the quiet kindness in his voice. He had surprised you at least 20 times tonight by how gentle he was being. You slowly opened your eyes letting the tears fall freely. It was like the floodgates had opened, "heichou..." you swiped a hand over trying to quell the tears, "thank you" you sobbed out sincerely, not holding back.

And for the 21 time that night you were in utter disbelief when Captain Levi, the cold hearted, sadistic, cruel leader of the survey corps turned in his chair, facing opposite of you, reached a hand over to cradle your head and pulled you into his shoulder.

"It's alright y/n...its alright..." he whispered holding you close. Your wide eyes eventually closed and you clutched the arm cradling you. It was warm and safe and secure, and your heart filled with happiness, because despite everything that had happened, you knew you always could trust him, and maybe it was selfish to think this but a part of you believed that out of everyone on his squad, he only had showed this kindness to you.

************************************

The next morning as you made your way into the hall for breakfast. You couldn't help but feel everything was a bit too normal. Despite your fears, people weren't whispering about you, or giving you looks.

Sighing you found your usual spot by Sasha and Mikasa. Luckily the Mark's on your chin had lessened enough to where you could pass it off as a "I fell out of be and hit my chin on the floor" kinda thing.

After some time the boys joined as well,

"Ne did you guys hear?!" Armin exclaimed suddenly as he placed his tray down.

"Hear what?" Eren asked chewing on a piece of bread.

"About Captain Oro!" At that you felt your heart skip a beat.

Shit, what had he heard?

"What about him?" He asked raising a eyebrow.

"He was arrested!"

"What?!"

"No way!"

"There's no way!" They all were in shock.

"Its true!" He exclaimed.

"I was on my way to deliver some things to Hange-San when I saw him get dragged away by the police! And get this, he was all bloody and bruised! Like he had just been in a fight or something! They were practically carrying him!"

What?! Did Captain Levi...?!?

"Why was he arrested??" Mikasa chimed in.

"I don't know, I asked around but no one seems to know anything.."

"Huh, weird.. I wonder what happend" one of them responded.

One day you would tell them what happened but for now you decided to keep quiet.

Suddenly a flash of raven hair caught your attention. You spotted the captain making his way to Hanges table across the room. When he caught your gaze you couldn't help the small rush of heat and found your lips pulling up into a grateful smile.

He nodded simply and continued on.

Despite everything people said about him, he truly was a good person. And you couldn't help but feel a little giddy at the thought that he beat up Oro because he hurt you.

You still felt the rush of heat at the memories of last night and how he held you. After your cries had quieted down he escorted you to your room and told you to get some sleep.

You thanked him again and that was that. All night all you could think about was- well of course everything that happened- but also, the gentle way Levi tended to your wrists, the way he held your head close, the way he smelled up close the way-

"Hey y/n?" Jean leaned over with an eyebrow quirked.

"Y-yeah?"

"Why are you so red?"

Shit

***************************************************

And that's the end! I hope the ending was everything you guys were hoping for, thank you all for taking the time to read it. I hope Levi didn't seem to ooc. Until next time!

@justanotherlifeff @fangirlingonrhys @haikoo @peculiarinsomniac @charlie-rose-thegay @babyshinso28 @your-daily-dose-of-fangirl @eleventhdoctorsangel @cravrat @hawkssnugget @kimbapkidding1004 @xruna @huffelpuffers @sofflepoffle  @sunisenpai  @kuromihomii @deadcalmlol @smokeychan1216

[belliesandburps]

Our Favorites Handling Bellyaches

I imagine that a lot of our favorites tend to deal with indigestion in very different ways, which can lead to amusing and appealing scenarios.  And since folks tend to enjoy these posts most, figured I’d whip up a new one for y’all.  :P

And for the sake of not going insane, I’ll keep it to one character per series:

Leona Kingscholar (Twisted Wonderland):  Leona has a really strong stomach and canonically stuffs himself constantly.  A full belly tends to just make him really sleepy.  But every once in a while, given his love of exotic, expensive foods, Leona eats something that doesn’t agree with his stomach.  This usually kills his ravenous appetite and leaves his usually concave, slightly toned stomach looking a little puffed out and gurgling deeply.  When this happens, Leona will hiss to himself with a mildly strained and annoyed look on his face, really firmly rubbing his belly with one hand; firm enough that he’s riding his shirt up and exposing his tanned middle while his fingers really dig into it to settle it down, hissing about his indigestion being a huge pain in his ass, as always.  He’ll give a few guttural burps, trying to ease as much pressure in his belly as he can, but they tend to get more rumbly and wet-sounding if he’s feeling mildly nauseous, which don’t bring him any relief.  And if he’s letting a few out in a row, Leona may end up burping so hard that his throat hitches, and he immediately clamps his mouth shut, as if he’s about to throw up.  It eventually passes, but that’s the telltale sign that he’s gotta ease up.  Fortunately, if the Prefect catches him pretending his gut isn’t bothering him, they’ll start rubbing his burbling belly which never fails to calm it down.  He’ll groan about how Herbivores are good for something besides eating, and give a familiar ‘rumble’ in his chest that, if the Prefect ever uttered a word to anyone else about...would be the death of them.  Fortunately, if they relax Leona enough, he’ll be too busy catching a much needed catnap to maim them.  On the veeeeery rare instance where Leona DOES eat too much, his belly will be spiling out to the point where it’s completely hiking up his shirt and forcing him to spread his thighs apart because that’s how much food it will take to actually give Leona a bellyache.  In that instance, Leona will be groaning miserably and punctuating his fullness by burping so forcefully that the ground itself feels like it quivers.  When he’s that full and feeling his belly churning so hard it hurts, Leona will groggily call out to whoever he can, be it the Prefect or Ruggie, whoever gets to him fastest.  Then he’ll demand they rub his belly or he’ll swallow them whole the first chance he gets.  Ruggie tends to get cheeky and when he does, Leona shuts that shit down by grabbing him by the throat and burping enormously in Ruggie’s face, leaving Ruggie coughing while Leona growls that he can still make room for dessert.

Katsuki Bakugou (My Hero Academia):  Bakugou canonically loves extra spicy food, downs a lot of soda and tends to eat very ravenously.  He’s smart enough to know his limits, but he’s a stubborn lil timebomb sometimes, and will always eat past his limits to spite anyone who ever said he couldn’t.  And that usually leaves him groaning miserably while his bulging, churning belly groans intensely from being so abused.  When he’s overstuffed and suffering indigestion, Bakugou will slump back in his seat miserably, tug his tanktop up and firmly run his hands up and down his bloated middle, hoping to ease the cramps in his stomach lining.  While rubbing, Bakugou will press down on his belly and work up some really deep, throaty belches.  These are really thick, hefty sounding burps that give him a sliver of relief, until he eventually slaps his belly as hard as he can and burps so loudly that you’d swear there was an earthquake.  And THOSE monsters always leave his toes curling and his head lulled back with a loud, relieved moan and a satisfied pat to his taut, rounded belly.  If he ate something that didn’t agree with him, then like Leona, Bakugou’s abs thin out and get very mildly bloated and feel like they’re vibrating with how hard his belly churns.  Bakugou gets even pissier than usual, snapping at people to fuck off, but groaning miserably the whole while.  He’ll knead into his gut firmly, always tugging his shirt up and exposing his bare belly while he tries to circulate the gas up with his firm touch.  Bakugou always tries to burp out the nausea, desperate to work up the biggest belch he can to bring some desperately needed relief.  He’ll slap his exposed belly repeatedly until the gas comes out forcefully, or gulp down air to belch on command, which he can do loud enough to give some relief.  But on rare occasions, he’s burped too hard and ended up vomiting profusely instead.  He always gets really angry if that happens and threatens to explode the living shit out of anyone who looks down on him for throwing up.

William James Moriarty (Moriarty the Patriot):  William has a pretty strong stomach, because everything about him is measured and disciplined.  And he has nerves of absolute steel, which means anxiety never becomes a factor.  However, William is no stranger to vices.  He’s quite partial to sweets and though he isn’t a heavy drinker the way Sebastian is, anytime he and Sherlock go out to the pub, Liam can’t help but get competitive with his soulmate.  Or he eats something exotic that simply doesn’t agree with him.  If he drinks too much, William actually ends up getting the hiccups.  One of the only times Sherlock has ever seen his beloved Liam blush was when a loud, high-pitched *HIC!!!* erupted from the young mathematicians mouth, leaving him covering his lips with slightly widened eyes.  After that, William tries to keep his hiccuping stifled with his mouth closed.  This causes his stomach to jerk around a lot, which doesn’t sit well for the poor red-eyed devil, especially if he’s got a belly full of beer, sloshing around inside the organ heavily.  That can lead to some hiccups turning into deep “hiccurrrrps” instead, which rumble in his mouth audibly.  Anytime he muffles a belch in his mouth brought on by all the spasms, William will excuse himself under his breath, and try to hold said breath so the hiccup-fits pass, subtly massaging his stomach or throat if he’s hiccuping too much.  If he just ate something that didn’t agree with him, William’s mask-like face won’t give much away.  He’ll still appear blank, even smiling at you as needed.  But if you look carefully, you’ll see beads of sweat forming from how badly his stomach is aching.  The gurgles it gives aren’t loud, but they’re forceful.  He’ll carry on like nothing’s wrong, and when no one is looking, subtly use his fingertips to knead circles into his belly to try and settle it down.  Or he’ll turn to some of Louis’ much-needed tea to try and settle his gut.  If Louis hears Brother William comment on his stomach giving him grief, he’ll take it upon himself to rub William’s belly to make it feel better (not in "that” way because...hell-fuck-no).  If SHERLOCK hears William comment on a bit of indigestion, he’ll have more fun with it, unbuttoning Liam’s shirt and exposing his lean stomach as they sit down together in private with Sherlock rubbing Liam’s belly sensually and occasionally resting his ear against William’s warm stomach, listening to it gurgle and making some analytical comments on the sounds and what it says about Liam.  Sherlock is surprisingly delicate when rubbing Liam’s belly, but he’s got a cheeky side, so he’ll occasionally knead a little harder and get William muffling a much deeper belch so he can tease him.  William will get back at him by smiling and very gently asserting that Sherlock must have some kind of fetish, getting him sputtering, and William back in control as always.  :P

Natsu Dragneel (Fairy Tail):  Of all the characters on this list, Natsu’s the one we’ve canonically seen suffering from bellyaches the most.  He gets them from motion sickness, and can get them from eating way too much.  If he’s feeling nauseous because he’s on a train or a caravan, his abs puff out slightly, but of the bunch, Natsu is the most overt and crippled by his aching belly.  Whereas Leona is annoyed, William is subtle and Bakugou is really gassy, Natsu is groaning miserably, green in the gills, and puffing out his cheeks like he’s on the verge of vomiting at any moment.  He’ll whine and whimper pitifully, begging Lucy for belly rubs, and she’ll always give it to him, unable to say no...aaaaaaaand not wanting to see him puke his guts out.  XD  He’ll rest his spiky head on Lucy’s shoulder, huffing breathlessly while she very carefully navigates his abs with her fingertips, kneading and caressing that rock-hard belly while he groans, both in pain AND in pleasure.  But from time to time, he gets a really bad stomachache from just eating WAY too much.  In doing so, he’s sporting a huge, jiggling gut which sloshes heavily with every step he takes, since the fire in his belly works down his meals way faster than an average person.  He’ll announce how overstuffed he is with a giant belch, and a miserable groan.  Like the first instance, Natsu will be whining at Lucy to rub his belly, but it’s punctuated by his glutted belly churning noisily and Natsu occasionally interrupting himself with an incredibly deep and throaty burp.  Lucy has taken to rubbing Natsu’s belly outside of her apartment when it’s REALLY noisy, because that gurgling tends to mean there’s a lot of gas festering inside, and what she’s taken to doing is pressing against Natsu’s belly until he unleashes a HUGE, fiery belch...and she’ll keep pressing into Natsu’s belly, making him burp and again as the plume of fire grows weaker each time, until eventually, he’s just burping up smoke.  That tends to give Natsu some MUCH needed relief, which leaves him more docile as he slumps back and eventually dozes off.  But Luce is NOT letting that fiery ditz burn her roof down again...

Killer Croc (Batman):  Croc‘s canonically a huge glutton and canonically very prone to nausea. He doesn’t do well with heights at all, and on multiple occasions, has eaten things which don’t agree with his scaly gut one iota.  If it’s a height thing, then unfortunately, Croc’s inevitably gonna puke.  There hasn’t been a single instance where Croc complains about not feeling so hot in the comics where he DIDN’T throw up.  In the comics, he tends to burp wetly a few times first, but that eventually leads to him throwing up violently, and a few times in a row...which Harley certainly has a field day with.  If he ate something that isn’t sitting right, Croc will let out a really throaty burp and cover his mouth after, worried that he’s on the verge of puking because he can taste whatever he just ate on his burp, or complains that something came up with that one.  In these instances, if someone rubs Croc’s belly, they can settle it down and keep him from spewing.  Whenever Croc’s got something not sitting right, it’s usually not the only thing he’s eaten, meaning his gut is probably pretty bloated. I love to imagine Croc with a paunchy, doughy belly (thanks to a certain @horriblehooter) but his scaly stomach will still look visibly distended, and be pushing his pants down a little.  So when someone rubs Croc’s belly, their fingers will sink into his bellyfat a little while they run their hands up and down that scaly gut and knead into it.  This will get Croc groaning pleasurably, giving a rumble in his chest not unlike Leona’s, just way more beastly in nature.  The rubbing will occasionally work up a beefy belch, and if that person really presses into Croc’s belly, he’ll let loose a HUGE burp that gets the ground itself almost rattling.  But those will give Croc some MUCH needed relief...aaaaaand more than likely cause him to belch up the remnants of his last meal, usually their bones...

Gilbert Nightray (Pandora Hearts):  Gil’s definitely the sort to suffer from indigestion the most.   He gets the most worked up out of anyone within Pandora, aaaand he’s kind of the whiniest (one of many reasons why I love this unwitting cinnamon bun).  Usually, it’s because he’s eaten too much, drank too much, or because he’s just too worked up to the point where he’s given himself a stomachache.  We saw in that fluff episode, Gilbert gets the hiccups pretty frequently when he’s drunk, and if he drank too much, poor Gil’s gonna be a hiccuping mess which is eventually gonna lead to him crawling on the ground, cradling his stomach and hiccuping / whimpering pitifully, before he starts crying and whining that he’s a huge lightweight...which he is.  If he ate too much, Gil’s stomach doesn’t get nearly as big as anyone else on this list.  He’s the sort who, at his worst, gets a really tight and taut bloat that presses his belly out and feels really heavy for him.  That leaves him wincing in pain and sweating bullets as Gil tries to massaging his aching belly, and insisting he doesn’t need any help.  But Oz being Oz, he’ll immediately plant his hands on Gil’s belly and start rubbing, which will leave Gil blushing furiously, and looking away to try and mask how good it feels.  But because Oz is also something of a troll, he’ll wait until Gil is in the middle of saying something then press on his belly so Gil ends up accidentally burping mid-conversation, or even accidentally burping part of his sentence out, which always leaves him mortified while Alice scoffs and says she could top those in her sleep.  If he’s got an anxiety-induced stomachache, Gil occasionally tries smoking to calm his nerves, but with his gut giving him grief, that tends to make it worse, and leaves him coughing up a bunch of smoke comically.  On occasion, Oz still rubs Gil’s stomach to try and settle it and offering words that will ease Gil’s anxieties.  This will always soften Gil up and leave him trying his best not to get sappy with his young master and best friend-o.  :P

Cloud Strife (FFVII Remake):  Cloud’s canonically got a weak stomach, especially when it comes to motion sickness.  Him riding Chocobos will leave him cradling his stomach and lurching miserably.  And in the process of getting nauseous, Cloud will get really wet burps that gurgle up his throat so hard he covers his mouth and lurches like he’s trying so desperately hard not to throw up on the spot.  He’s like Natsu, in that he’s very weak to indigestion, groaning and burping too much to even really talk at all, mumbling that his stomach hurts really badly.  Someone rubbing his back or rubbing his belly will settle him down, but only if the ride is over.  If he’s already nauseous and still has more of a trip to go, he either needs a really long break, or he’s gonna eventually throw up.  Ironically, he can pack it away like a champ, but is still prone to eating too much from time to time as well.  In those instances, someone settling up close and leaning against him to rub his belly will make all the difference in the world.  Because Cloud is your stereotypical loner, but he’s also quite starved for physical affection and contact.  Rubbing his belly will circulate gas up, but Cloud will turn his head and muffle any burps he feels rumbling up his throat, unless he REALLY needs to get it out, in which case...brace yourself.  ;)

Link (LoZ: Breath of the Wild):  Link‘s now a canonical glutton and I love that.  He’s also canonically prone to getting some serious indigestion brought on by experimental cooking gone horribly wrong.  Link will eat freakin’ ANYTHING now, and I love it.  I freakin’ LOVE it.  But that also means he eats things that are just awful.  And when he does, Link is a miserable mess, slumped over, groaning and burping while cradling his aching belly, which is pooching out beneath his tunic because the glutton of time knew what he was eating was awful...and still ate ALL of it.  Some potions will help settle Link’s stomach in instances like that.  Or he’ll ride it out and let a warm campfire bake near his belly to settle it.  Zelda, often times, will delicately slip her hand underneath Link’s tunic and shirt and start rubbing his belly from beneath the tunic to calm it more directly.  And whenever he gets a belly rub, Link has the most adorably docile smile on his face as he hums and leans in to Zelda’s touch.

If there are any other characters you’d like to see covered, hit up the ask box, folks!  :)

[floral-force]

Knight in Beskar Armor: Chapter 1

Audience with a Hunter

words: 2.9k

series master list | read on ao3

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“Wake up, Princess! You have a long day ahead of you.”

The familiar voice of your maid drifted into your ears, waking you from your slumber. You groan and open your eyes, then hiss and recoil when the bright Coruscant sunlight hits your tired eyes.

“Maker, Nelly! Did you have to open the curtains all the way?” You growl, your voice hoarse. You tug your bedsheets over your head and groan again, even though you know Nelly won’t give in to your fit.

There’s a soft thump and you feel weight tug down on your mattress by your feet. A sigh follows, and you can picture how Nelly must look—forehead wrinkled, pinching the bridge of her nose, thin lips pursed—as she tried to find a solution to your stubbornness. Silence envelopes both of you; all you can hear is a lone morning bird chirping faintly outside as you wait for her to respond. You slowly peek out from the sheets and see Nelly perched on the end of your bed, the morning light highlighting the lines on her face and making her frustration into a divine portrait like that of a saint.

And if anyone was a saint, it was Nelly. She had been your nursemaid initially and then remained your maid after you refused any other nanny or maid presented to you. Nelly was there when you were brought into the world, and she was there for your first words and steps. Nelly kissed your childhood wounds and dressed them with gentle hands, whether it was bandaging a scrape on your knee or holding you after you overheard your parents arguing. Nelly guided you through your anxieties about womanhood and all that it brought with it, physically and mentally. She was the one who helped you accept your future role as Queen of Naboo.

You slowly sat up and reached out to touch her hand where it was resting on her lap. She heard your movement and looked at you, and you could have sworn you saw a weariness in her eyes that you hadn’t seen before. She took your hand and squeezed it, smiling weakly.

“Oh, Nelly, forgive me. I—”

“Hush, Princess. I know you have been anxious about this day for a long while now,” She squeezed your hand and leaned in closer to you. “I’m sure it didn’t help that I let the sun blind you.”

You chuckled. “Not really. But I’m more awake now.”

Nelly rose, outstretching her other hand to you. You took it and she pulled you out of bed, just as she had always done since you were a toddler. You were a bit taller than the short maid, but not enough that she had to strain to look into your eyes; when Nelly kissed your forehead, you had to slightly tilt your head so her lips could meet your skin. The routine gesture was something you had never received from your own mother, and the more you reflect on it, the more you realize that Nelly provided the comforts your own mother could never give you.

“Let’s get you ready—you have a long day.”

You nodded and followed Nelly into your boudoir, then sat in front of your vanity and started fixing your hair as Nelly prepared water for you to rinse your face with. As your morning routine progressed, you felt yourself awaken more and more. While Nelly was tightening your corset and fixing your gown, you stared at yourself in the floor length mirror. You were then consumed by your own thoughts and anxieties, both about yourself and the day. You’d spent your entire life being prepared for your future, and now that it was approaching, you were terrified. All of Naboo would have its eyes on you, as would the other planets in the system. The weight of the kingdom would soon fall on your delicate shoulders.

The touch of cold metal around your neck snapped you out of your anxious trance, and you watched as Nelly placed a simple silver necklace around your throat, centering the modest teardrop diamond to fall right between your collarbones. It complimented your simple sapphire blue gown, the silver in the necklace matching the thin silver belt that accented your waist. The lace on the square neckline was the only detail you disliked about this gown; it made your chest itchy, and you had no way to relieve that itch until the end of the day. Flowing out under the belt in a centered upside-down V was a simple floral pattern embroidered in white. The hem of your gown had the same pattern, and you adored how delicate it looked.

Nelly carefully put a simple bandeau tiara on your head, making sure not to disturb the hair you had pinned back and away from your face in a simple low bun, a few pieces framing your face. In the center of the tiara was a gorgeous oval sapphire that perfectly matched the hue of your gown. You stepped into a pair of pointed slippers that matched your gown, finishing your daytime outfit.

You thanked Nelly, and the two of you left the boudoir and your chamber to walk to the garden for your breakfast. Whenever it was sunny, your palace staff knew to set your breakfast outside; you loved the way the garden looked in the morning, and it was your favorite place to be on the palace grounds. After a silent walk through the palace’s winding hallways, Nelly opened a door and you stepped outside and into the fresh Naboo air, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath through your nose, immediately feeling relaxed when you exhaled and opened your eyes. Nelly rubbed your back and guided you to where a mug of hot tea and warm food was waiting for you, your chair set to face the expanse of bright flowers and the lush foliage. You gave Nelly a kiss on the cheek, and she left you to enjoy your morning by yourself.

The morning was the only time you felt at peace. The nighttime was good; you were by yourself and could read by candlelight, stargaze on your balcony, relieve stress through pleasuring yourself, or you could put yourself to sleep with fantasies about a different life. The morning, however, never began with stress. The night was when you had to cope with the day’s stress, but the morning was when you enjoyed your last moments of peace before being subjected to whatever your day brought with it. There was beauty in these intimate and peaceful moments that were reserved purely for you, and they let you connect with yourself and clear your mind.

You listened to birds sing their morning ballad as you ate, the sun warming your skin. After you finished your meal, you sipped your tea and admired the flowers. You heard the door click open, and you recognized Nelly’s soft footsteps. She asked if you were finished, and when you nodded, she walked over to you and you stood, linked arms with her, and left your paradise for the confines of the palace.

“Nelly?”

“Yes, Princess?”

You looked down at the floor, watching it pass your feet as you gathered the courage to speak. “I-I’m nervous.”

You felt a tug when Nelly stopped walking, and you stopped as well, eyes still on the floor. Her free left hand cupped your cheek, and you lifted your eyes to look into her green ones. She was frowning, sad and concerned. It wasn’t pity—you knew Nelly didn’t pity you. It was the face of a mother worried for her child. Nelly had always told you she still saw you as the little girl she tended to, and you realized she must be a bit scared for your next chapter in life just like you. She breathed out your name, a soft motherly sigh, her thumb stroking your cheek.

“You are more than capable for this, for your new duties, for your life. All that is soon to come, you will handle with grace.” She smiled gently at you. “I know it.”

You smiled back at her, placing your hand over hers. “Thank you, Nelly.”

She simply smiled, dropped her hand, and you both started to make your way to the throne room, where your challenges would begin.

Upon reaching the throne room doors that were flanked by two knights on either side, Nelly unlinked your arms to turn and face you, and squeezed your hands. She rubbed your arms, centered your necklace and tiara, remarked your beauty, and then left you to finish her morning duties. You took a deep breath and nodded at the silent knights, letting them open the doors to where you’d be spending a majority of your day.

You saw your father and mother sitting at the very end of the elegant room, seated on ornate thrones atop a high marble platform that rose from the floor. Your feet gently tapped the ornate rug that stretched all the way from the doors to the foot of the platform’s marble steps, casting a shadow on it as sun poured through the arched windows on the east side of the room. Portraits of former Naboo monarchs lined the opposite wall, and as you approached your parents, your heart started beating faster. The royal blue banner of the Naboo crest behind your parents seemed more ominous than it had ever appeared to you before, and you tried your best to ignore it and focus instead on maintaining your posture and keeping your head lifted. Your parents could not see you stumble or slip up, especially today.

Finally, you reached them, and you gave them a deep curtsy, awaiting their words when you rose. Your mother seemed to be judging every aspect of your appearance, even if her gaze didn’t show it. You could see the wheels turning in her head, and you felt your mind begin to race with critiques about your body, the way your dress looked on you, your face, your hair…everything. You were brought back from your internal critiques when your father’s voice echoed through the hall.

“Daughter,” he gestured to the empty throne at his right side. “Come. Sit.”

You obeyed, feeling like a village dog after your father’s commands. Every day, you hope he’ll ask about your morning, or how you’re feeling, or even just smile at you. You read once that insanity is doing the same thing over and over but expecting a different result. Maybe you were a fool for hoping your father would finally show you a tiny bit of affection, but the small girl within you constantly hoped for it.

He didn’t have to tell you what would be filling your morning; you’d sat through many audiences before. Commoners from all across Naboo entering the throne room, airing grievances, asking for help with their villages’ needs, some even sinking to their knees and begging for help with a dire situation. Over time, you’ve learned to suppress visible emotional responses, focusing instead on your father’s responses. Someday soon, it would be you making these decisions, speaking with your planet’s citizens, and you had to learn to put your emotional nature aside in favor of practicality and logic.

The morning turned into afternoon, and you felt yourself getting restless. Luckily, a recess was called, and you exited the throne room alone, walking to the gardens again. It was refreshing to step outside and breathe in the scent of flowers after spending hours inside a stuffy throne room. You walked along the path, meandering deeper into the gardens, brushing your hand against the flowers, grounding yourself with the touch of petals and leaves. Finally, you reached the pavilion, where you could get a clear view of Naboo’s gorgeous landscape beyond the gardens. You smiled, looking up from the flower bushes, and your breath hitched when you caught a glint of armor across the pavilion.

There weren’t normally knights here; why was he here? However, he couldn’t be a knight, he wasn’t wearing the same armor that Naboo’s Royal Guard donned. You took a slow step back, suddenly aware of every breeze and every pebble under your slippers. He seemed to be staring directly at you from across the pavilion, and even though his face was hidden by his helmet, you could feel his gaze piercing you. It unnerved you, and you felt your blood freeze. Your backward steps picked up in speed until you turned around entirely, nearly jogging to get away from the unknown knight.

When you were approaching the marble patio, you noticed a glass of water and a plate of fruit, cheese, and biscuits were left out for you. Scared that the knight was following you, you scarfed it all down, and then hurried inside back to the throne room. You had never wanted to be stuck in a stuffy room with your parents before now, but it was only because some strange knight frightened you in your safest place in the palace.

The afternoon audience carried on in the same fashion as it did in the morning. This time, however, your father allowed you to respond to some commoners, adding on when he saw fit or deemed your response inadequate. Although he never addressed you or gave you explicit instructions or tips, you sensed that he was guiding you in the only way he knew how. You watched as candelabras and sconces slowly began to glow automatically, a product of your planet’s advanced technology. Finally, the herald called forth the last case, and you felt your heart stop.

It was him. He approached the platform, and as he came closer into view, you noticed his broad shoulders and the blaster holstered on his thigh, the ripped cape trailing behind him, and the signet on the right shoulder of his armor. You weren’t close enough to make it out precisely, but you were confident you didn’t want to ever be that close to him. He knelt when he reached the base of the platform, dropping his head.

“Rise, Mandalorian.”

Mandalorian. You remember reading about Mandalore during your lessons; you thought all remaining Mandalorians were either dead or hiding in the Outer Rim. You felt silly for not realizing the stranger was a Mandalorian—you should have remembered the distinct helmet style from your readings. In fairness, you were frightened and not paying attention to detail, just on putting distance between you and the ominous stranger.

Your father continued after the Mandalorian rose to his feet, his gaze now directed at your father. “I trust you bring news on your latest quarry?”

“Yes,” the Mandalorian said, his voice modulated through the helmet. “The quarry is outside of this room.”

Your father nodded. “Very well. Sir Morn, give the Mandalorian his pay.”

The Calamari treasurer appeared seemingly out of nowhere—he must have entered the room at some point, and you didn’t notice it because your entire body was frozen on the Mandalorian—and presented the Mandalorian with a bag of credits. He pulled them out, examining them in his gloved hands. Maker, your father paid the Mandalorian handsomely; at least 500 credits were in that bag. Satisfied, the Mandalorian cinched the bag closed, and Sir Morn walked away.

“Mandalorian, I have a proposition for you.”

“If it’s another quarry, you know what my answer will be,” he stated, tucking the bag away in a satchel at his hip.

“Join my Guard.”

Your eyes widened and your head snapped to your father, who had a straight face, his chin lifted. He was exuding confidence, but it terrified you. He was crazy to believe a Mandalorian would join the Royal Guard.

Without hesitation, the Mandalorian replied, “I work for no one.”

“I already reward you for hunting the threats to Naboo.” The king shrugged, resting his elbow on the throne’s armrest. “Why not make it official?”

The Mandalorian’s helmet turned slightly to the right. Was he intrigued? You couldn’t tell. Your heart was beating out of your chest as you waited for his modulated response.

“I refuse to ‘officially’ work for anyone. This is The Way.” The Mandalorian’s words sent a chill across your skin, and you felt the tension in the throne room increase.

Your father sat back in his throne, nodding. “Very well. In that case, I suppose we shall continue to conduct business as we have been.”

The Mandalorian nodded, and turned to walk away, but your father’s voice stopped him in his tracks.

“But Mandalorian, seeing as this quarry was particularly difficult—I’ve fought plenty of those wretched Barabels in my time—I welcome you to rest in my palace tonight.” He paused, then added, “I can also see to it that my bay crew fix your ship.”

The Mandalorian paused, considering the deal. “No droids.”

Your father smiled. “Of course.” He rose, and you and your mother followed suit, trailing behind him as he descended the steps to meet the Mandalorian. “I’ll have one of my stewards show you to your chamber for the night.”

As you exited the throne room with your parents and the Mandalorian, your mind was racing, still terrified, but now you were…intrigued. Your curiosity was getting the better of you, turning your fear into stupid interest in the mysterious Mandalorian.

When the steward led the Mandalorian down the hall, you could have sworn he was staring directly at you, eyeing you up like one of his bounties.

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[smelted-applejuice]

Heck yeah man! Platonic husbands just bring so much serotonin! So here's my first request for that. ( I've been craving angst for them im so sorry! ) ( p.s. i already requested this to one person but I have zero idea if they are gonna do it so here it is yeee boi! ) How about the platonic husbands went out to go get something for foolish for the mansion and they left reader ( maybe they are like a kitsune with five tails and are like thirteen) to stay at home with Michael and they come back to basically a bloody scene as Reader and Michael were attacked so Reader had Michael wrapped around in their tails in a protective manner so that he wouldn't get hurt in which reader took all the wounds and stuff and reader is literally knocked out bleeding while Michael only has a few bruises and small cuts.

So sorry for being descriptive. I just have a lot of ideas in mind. Lol

Pairing(s); Platonic Husbands x Reader (PARENTAL), Micheal x Reader (SIBLINGS)  Pronouns; she/her  Desc; [YourName] protects her brother from a random intruder.  TW: Blood, fighting, entry without consent, memory loss, 

Requests are open!  -

A few weeks ago, Tubbo and Ranboo had taken in a fox hybrid they found in the woods. [YourName] was knocked out and not dressed for the cold weather, but waking up in a warm house around strangers scared [YourName]. Due to how hard she was knocked out, faces became fuzzy in her past life, and names no longer existed. Fear was an understatement, Ranboo and Tubbo were unsure if the hybrid even knew how to speak for the first few weeks. It wasn’t until she croaked out a sob fear and spilled her guts out to Ranboo and Tubbo. Ranboo held the teenager while Tubbo gently rubbed her back, both worried for her. [YourName] explained how faces were fuzzy and she couldn’t remember anything about her family- she was scared and Ranboo understood that feeling. After evaluating [YourName] to make sure she was truly okay, Ranboo talked [YourName] through her anxiety and became a father figure toward her.

Ranboo learned [YourName] was thirteen or fourteen, half fox, and loved a variety of berries. She seemed like the breed Fundy was, so he would have to hunt Fundy down and get information about his habits and how he reacted to certain scenarios- but Tubbo and Ranboo were excited to have another child in their platonic lives. [YourName] and Micheal were already close from the weeks prior when [YourName] silently sat with him while he played or ate. [YourName] was seen as the perfect child to add to their little family dynamic, Micheal would now have a protector and comforted both the platonic husbands when they left. Many trips were taken before this upcoming one, so what would make this trip so much different? Maybe a few more nights would be spent out, but [YourName] seemed okay with staying with her little brother for a while longer.

“[YourName]!” Ranboo called his daughter down, Tubbo sat in the twisty chair spinning as he also waited for the girl. [YourName] came down the ladder and looked at her fathers, “Yes Dadboo?” she with her hands behind her back. Tubbo smiled at her nickname for his husband, “We need to head out for a few nights, you can watch Micheal by yourself, right?” Tubbo asked. [YourName] nodded with a proud smile “Of course, dad! No reason I can't.” she said with confidence. 

Tubbo and Ranboo watched with smiles as [YourName] trotted back upstairs after hearing Micheal’s oinks for attention. “We got lucky, Ranboo.” Tubbo said with joy, Ranboo nodded emitting a happy enderman like grunts “We sure did.” he confirmed. The happy giggles from both their children could be heard from the room above them, and all that was felt was warm and fuzzy. 

“LEAVE HIM ALONE!” [YourName] yelled, ignoring the seething pain.

Tubbo and Ranboo stood in front of the doorway, Micheal stood with his older sister. He let go of her hand to give his fathers hugs with [YourName]. “We’ll be home in a week, behave and be safe.” Ranboo said pressing a hand into [YourName]’s head and ruffling her hair. Micheal squealed with joy when Tubbo did the same for him. 

The two stepped back, letting their fathers finally leave. Their trip could take them longer than planned, so food was stored in a freezer in that case. [YourName] guided her brother back upstairs where she’d tend to his needs for the next few days. Everything went smoothly and how it usually would go, well, until it didn’t. 

[YourName] was in the kitchen prepping beans and rice for her and Micheal when a crash was heard upstairs. She turned the oven off and rushed upstairs to see a hooded figure going right for innocent napping Micheal, “Step away, now.” [YourName] hissed quietly. The figure looked up, its face covered in a black mask. 

The figure looked shocked to see another person in the house, so [YourName] took this chance and acted on her need to protect Michael and attacked first. She cringed at the thumping noise and the hard feeling of this random person’s hands roughly fighting to strangle her. The squeal of fear from Michael didn’t help the situation. Her head would get roughly shoved into the wooden floor.

She heard Micheal’s footsteps race around the room for a hiding spot, thank goodness Ranboo and Tubbo managed to teach him that. [YourName] ended up kicking and chi blocking one of the figure’s legs and arms. She had enough time to find a proper weapon but paused in her tracks when she heard Micheal’s panicked squeals. She spun around and went full-on anger mode, her tail stood up and her ears were pressed against her head “LEAVE HIM ALONE!” she yelled ignoring the seething pain in the back of her head. The figure simply laughed and brought up the dagger toward poor Micheal. [YourName] launched forward and bit the man’s arm causing him to drop Micheal, allowing the child to rush away. Now it was just [YourName] and this mysterious character, “What do you want from us? Why do you want to hurt Micheal?” [YourName] asked angrily. The figure didn’t say a thing, just remained silent as it made its next move. Its move would involve [YourName]’s tail getting slightly bent in a direction it simply shouldn’t and multiple stab wombs. Now, the figure hadn’t done what it wanted to, but watching [YourName] bleed out while protecting Micheal was a sight Ranboo wouldn't like either. So his job was done, and he left with no words, a note, and no other actions. He stared at [YourName] holding Micheal behind her and left. The following morning is when Ranboo and Tubbo came back. [YourName] had passed out by now, but was still protectively holding Micheal close. Micheal had some of his sister’s blood on him, but hearing his parent’s voice, he squealed and oinked for assistance. This whole experience last night was so traumatizing he hadn’t slept a wink, he wanted to make sure his sister was alright first. The loud noises hadn’t woken up [YourName], which worried the little guy even more. All the ruckus had definitely gotten Tubbo and Ranboo’s attention, so they rushed up the ladder and were met with the horrifying sight of blood on the floor and trailing toward [YourName]. Micheal got out of his sister’s grasp and rushed forward toward Tubbo and Ranboo, doing his best to explain what happened last night. It didn’t process either parent, they only knew so much of the language their son spoke and was learning more- but his panicked tone told them everything; [YourName] was risking her life for their son. Ranboo was first to step forward, going to check on [YourName] who was luckily still breathing. “Go… go get Phil. Take Micheal with you,” he said in a deadpan-like voice. He was shaking, anger was oozing out of him, he began to glow. He relaxed when he heard Tubbo’s voice confirm he was leaving with Micheal. [YourName] was in her father’s arms as she slept peacefully after her battle. It didn’t help when Ranboo found a note placed neatly on the nearby table. “I warned you.”

[katnissmellarkkk]

Chapter Four

“Dang it!” I bellow eight days later, as my body gives way and topples over, having used too great of force to yank a now dead primrose from the ground.

Yesterday morning I had come outside to discover the yellow evening primroses, the flowers Peeta had planted upon his arrival back in Twelve, had all but died.

And I didn’t even notice. I’ve been so distracted with everything else going on in my life—namely Peeta and his blonde companion—that I entirely forgot about the flowers. The flowers that my sister was named for. The flowers meant to represent her when she was no longer alive to represent herself.

The idea that I could forget the plant, that I let myself lag on the simple duty of keeping them alive and watered and healthy, felt as if I had let my little sister down all over again. It felt as if I’d failed Prim a second time.

And it’s more than I can handle. I can’t even endure the thought. The very implication that I am, in any way, dishonoring my sister’s memory is entirely unbearable. Even if it is just me implying it, inside my head.

But in any case, it looks like the primroses are too far gone and I don’t have even a chance at resurrecting them back to life. I took too long to notice their wilting, I was too caught up in other things, that I let the plants die and now there’s no going back.

For a split second I consider returning one of my mother’s many calls to ask for gardening advice. She has always had a green thumb and been able to grow whatever she set her mind to. I never had any of those skills. I was a hunter by nature, not a nurturer.

No, that was Prim. The soft and gentle one, who loved animals, who could heal any wound she could identify, who could garden and grow herbs just as well as our mother.

And I miss her so much. I miss my little sister so very much that I almost breakdown into tears right then and there, right in front of the dead primrose bush outside my house.

“Katniss?” I hear someone call in the distance. I recognize the voice instantly.

And rapidly get up and make a beeline towards my front door.

Unfortunately he’s determined to catch me. After eight solid days of evasion, Peeta is dead set on catching me at any given opportunity before him.

It’s almost funny how once upon a time it was him who wished to avoid me. It was him who craved distance between us, who acted icy and detached at every encounter, whether forced or by chance.

Now it’s him trying to force an encounter between us, trying desperately to make up for hurting me, trying to still be a part of my life, even after I pronounced our relationship finished.

The bread he left on my doorstep—that I immediately tossed in the garbage—is proof of that. The cheesebuns he left on my counter who met their demise to a flock of birds on my back porch is proof of that. The cookies he baked and passed through Greasy Sae when I went to trade at the new, rebuilt Hob is glaring proof of his efforts.

I did actually eat those but I made sure to do it in private, where Peeta would never know if his token was accepted or not.

Because I don’t want him to think we’re okay. I don’t want Peeta to believe me and him can still be friends, with Bailey Robyn, the uptight, controlling blonde still lingering over his every move.

Okay, maybe I’m being a bit overdramatic. Bailey isn’t residing over Peeta’s every action. She probably doesn’t even know he’s made all these treats for me. And she surely wasn’t sitting by his side in the corner of Greasy Sae’s booth when our eyes briefly met before I stubbornly stormed out.

But I feel like she is. I feel her presence overcast in every one of Peeta’s actions, in every deed he partakes in, in every moment I run into him. Maybe it’s only inside my head but it’s enough reason for me to avoid Peeta. It’s enough reason that I wish to stand by my words eight days ago and cut him directly out of my life. With a chainsaw if necessary, I wish to cut the invisible cord that has tied me and him together for so long now.

“Katniss!” Peeta calls again, his arms grasping my waist just in time to prevent my escape into the house.

“Go away,” I mutter under my breath, ire and ache still seeping off me even after a week separating this moment here with our last interaction.

“Why are you upset?” He asks, a little breathless now from the race to my front door. But even tired, concern still manages to leak into his tone. His blue eyes still show anxiety for my well-being.

And it’s still not enough to thaw me.

“You know why,” I say rigidly, pulling my front door open and shoving his hands away from me.

“No, no, I mean,” he quickly tries to correct his question. “I meant, what’s happened out here that has you upset?”

I audibly huff, my eyes about as warm as a popsicle in a snowstorm. The last thing I want to do is stand here and recount just about anything to Peeta, especially in regards to the way I’m currently feeling.

Especially after the last time we spoke about our feelings, when I chose to let him in and allowed him to see the vulnerable parts of me that I never trust anyone with.

Only for him to turn around and side with Bailey over me.

But knowing how persistent Peeta can be when properly determined—his intensity to train like a Career, Brutus’ murder and him warning District Thirteen about Snow’s incoming attack all fly to the top of that list—I merely gesture widely to my backyard, where the dead flowers lie.

It only takes Peeta a moment to click it all together, to his credit. Though I’m hesitant to even offer him that right now.

“I’ll replant them,” he instantly offers, like a dog begging to fetch his owner a carcass bone.

“Don’t bother,” I say, about as rude and uninviting as humanly possible. “It’s not your responsibility.”

I’m just stepping into the house when Peeta’s hand shoves on the door, hard enough to keep it open. For a split second, I contemplate putting all my strength behind it and slamming his fingers in the door. But even as mad as I am—even as wounded as I am—I won’t physically harm Peeta.

After all, he already lost his leg once about I tied it in a tourniquet. I may have saved his life but I also cost him half a limb and that thought alone stops me from nearly taking his fingers off too.

“Katniss, I want to,” he pleads and his eyes are so big and blue and I feel my heart involuntarily melt a bit upon at the sight. “I want to replant them.”

I release an unconscious breath, for the first time in over a week not completely hostile towards the boy with the bread, who in my eyes, completely turned his back on me. Or so it feels. “I’ll just end up killing them again, Peeta. I’m serious. Don’t even bother.”

“Then I’ll tend to them,” Peeta throws out, getting more and more desperate the more I refuse, it seems.

I’m about to brush off his offer once again when another voice joins us. “Oh, let him do it, sweetheart. The boy needs a hobby besides baking,” Haymitch chimes in, standing at the bottom of my porch, looking drunk as ever.

“You love that baking is his only hobby,” I shoot back at the paunchy, old man.

“Well, not anymore. Since you two started fighting he’s been making me fat. I need a break.”

I’m about to come back with another comment, probably one to suggest Haymitch doesn’t have to eat everything Peeta brings, when we’re joined by a third presence.

Of course, she has to join us. Bailey can’t seem to let Peeta go anywhere without her nowadays.

“What’s going on?” She murmurs, looking around at all our tense body language. Well, at mine and Peeta’s tense body language. Haymitch is currently sitting on the bottom step of my porch now, as relaxed as Buttercup is in the window.

Peeta opens his mouth to respond but then shuts it again, glancing back at me. I don’t know if it’s the fact that he doesn’t wish to discuss his offer to help me with his girlfriend or if it’s the fact that he clearly knows I dislike the notion of Bailey in my business, but either way I’m a little pleased when he closes his mouth and adverts eye contact away from the blonde.

Instead it’s my drunken mentor who elaborates. “The girl’s flowers died. Your boyfriend just wants to replant them.”

To my utter astonishment, Bailey seems amendable to the idea. “The flowers for your sister?” She inquires, looking right at me. I shoot her a quizzical—and perhaps slightly unfriendly—look out of the corner of my eye but she continues on anyway. “Peeta, you should help her plant them again. Especially since you let them die-“

But I’ve heard enough from her—and everyone else here, for that matter—and I turn to Peeta, my hand still holding the doorknob tightly, ready to slam it shut. “Fine,” I cave, my tone anything but grateful. “Go ahead and replant the primroses. If that’s going to help you, then go for it.”

I don’t wait to hear a response from any of the parties now camped out on my property. Instead I shove Peeta’s fingers off my door—first time I’ve touched him in eight days—and throw it shut with such a force I feel the walls in my entryway shake.

“She’s always been a spitfire,” I hear Haymitch mumble as three sets of footsteps make their way further from my porch.

I barely catch Peeta’s response. If I hadn’t been standing by the door, unintentionally listening to hear what they may be saying, I would have missed it altogether.

“That’s the best thing about her.”

/

It’s just mere hours later before I’m disturbed once again. This time not by a crew of three but by one solo intruder.

“Sweetheart?” Haymitch barks, evidently not too keen on the fact that I decided to turn every light in my house off after returning home from the Hob.

“Go away,” I mumble out, knowing well and clear that he can’t hear me from upstairs. I’m in my bedroom, lying in the safety of my own bed, in my own private sanctuary, where I do not wish to be disturbed by anyone at any cost.

Of course, it only takes a few minutes of bumping into things and cursing for Haymitch to track me down. “Girl, it’s six at night?” He says incredulously.

“So?” I snap, as he turns my light on, effectively blinding me.

“Did you just forget about dinner tonight?” He asks, his voice neither kind nor hostile. In all honesty, he just sounds puzzled.

“Why are you in my room, Haymitch?” I murmur, rubbing my eyes until they adjust to the beaming brightness and pulling myself upwards now. Off his dismissive glance, I let out a deep sigh. “I wasn’t hungry.”

Of course, we’re not really talking about me skipping a meal. I highly doubt Haymitch truly cares if I miss dinner by my own accord. He surely wasn’t too interested in my meal intake when he brought me home from the Capitol and dropped me off on my doorstep.

No, we’re referring to the weekly dinners me, Peeta and Haymitch have at the old man’s pig sty. The same dinners I’ve brought Delly along to, that Haymitch is constantly passing out drunk during, that Bailey has been crashing nonstop since arriving here in Twelve.

When I came home from trading at the Hob tonight, I decided I was done with those dinners. I don’t need to subject myself to bossy Bailey any longer, and my resolve to keep Peeta out of my life as much as humanly possible is still strong. Despite the fact that I agreed to let him plant the primroses in my garden again and tend to their growth, I still don’t wish for us to be friends. I still don’t want to subject myself any further to him and Bailey’s exhibits.

And I figured no one would mind my absence anyways. At least not for a few dinners. I knew eventually Haymitch would try to push me to come back and Peeta would probably ask me very sweetly to join again, but I didn’t think the first night I skipped would be a huge production.

And okay, maybe there is a small part of me who deep down hopes if I refuse to come, Bailey may be disinvited in order to make me feel welcome again. It’s a long shot and not one I’d consciously admit to counting on, but I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t a small, minuscule part of me wishing for that to happen just the same.

Haymitch glances at me suspiciously now. “You’re always hungry, kid.”

“I am not.”

“Yes, you are. You’re the most enthusiastic eater I know.”

Okay, he is blatantly confused apparently. His drunken goggles are blurring his perspective of reality, it would seem.

In any case, I flop backwards on my bed and roll away, hoping if I ignore my mentor long enough he’ll just evaporate into thin air.

But for some reason, Haymitch is weirdly dogged tonight. “Come on,” he urges, shaking my shoulder a bit too roughly. “I know the boy always says you’re just like me, but this little display is over the top, Katniss.”

I roll my eyes. “Why do you even want me at those dinners, Haymitch? You have Peeta and Bailey there.” I can’t stop myself from throwing the extra emphasis on Bailey, as immature as it may be.

However, the old man isn’t interested in dignifying me with a response. “And Delly. And Johanna. And Annie Cresta.”

That catches me completely off-guard. “What?”

In the time since the war ended and I returned to Twelve—or rather, was exiled to Twelve—no one from the other districts have visited. I have barely seen anyone I know in the last few months, outside Haymitch, Peeta and Delly.

“Some of which are anxious to see you at dinner,” he adds, gesturing for me to get up.

I shoot him a mordant glance. “Johanna’s anxious to see me?”

“I said some. Meaning Delly and Annie,” he clarifies. Off my still hesitant expression, he reaches down and tugs on my wrist, trying to get me out of bed.

“Fine!” I exclaim, feeling strangely embarrassed now as I realize that our roles are suddenly being reversed. I’m the one who always forced him out of bed, who made him come to meals, who fought with him to hurry up and get moving.

In the end, I don’t bother cleaning myself up or trying to appear presentable. Johanna and Annie won’t care and Peeta doesn’t get to care anymore.

And it wouldn’t matter anyway. Even if Effie Trinket or my entire prep team were here, I’d never stand a chance of looking anything but plain next to Bailey.

It’s not that I care that she’s so blatantly pretty. It’s just that her looks are one more thing about her presence to be bothered by, and that list is getting long and extensive. Even after her apparent approval of Peeta gardening my primroses, even after no negative interactions in eight days, I still sense hostility with her. And I still can’t stare at her without feeling my stomach churn.

Because every time she’s around, I know I’m about to be the odd one out. For whatever reason, outside of Delly, the people I care for, hold a deep affinity for Bailey Robyn.

And it bothers me above anything I can express. It bothers me beyond words, beyond measure, beyond any sense of feeling.

“Look who I found,” Haymitch announces as we enter through the threshold of his filthy residence.

“Katniss!” Annie exclaims and tosses her arms around my neck, despite the fact that we’ve never been too close. I can’t even remember the last time we had a conversation in person. The only true communication between me and Annie is the letters she sends, the ones filled with details of her life in Four and Finnick’s son. The ones I rarely respond to, but always read just the same.

Still, despite the fact that Annie might as well be a glorified stranger to me, I return the embrace, instinctively at first and then, simply because I want to. Because no one besides Peeta has given me any sort of affection in months and I miss it. Now that Peeta has put conditions on our relationship, I am hungry for any physical touch at all.

It shocks me to realize, in that moment, just how completely starved I am, for closeness.

I hug Annie for far longer than I think anyone watching anticipated but she doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, she seems to welcome it too.

Then again, her husband died and left her with seemingly no family at all to help raise their baby. So perhaps she’s just as desperate for a human touch—I suppose besides her son—as I am.

I don’t receive the same welcome from Johanna, unsurprisingly, but as soon as me and Annie break apart, she shoots me a satirical glance and pulls on a piece of my hair.

“Ow!” I exclaim, my thick brows furrowing in confusion. “What was that for?”

“It was sticking up,” she explains with a shrug and then smirks. “Did you just roll out of bed and come here?”

“Did you?” Her outfit is just denim pants and a low cut t-shirt. Not that different from my attire.

“Yes. And I’m not ashamed of it.” She runs a hand over her hair which has grown out to about length with her shoulders. “But I know how to use a hairbrush, at least.”

I roll my eyes as she nudges me. “This is dinner,” Haymitch deadpans as he makes his way to the table. “Not a Capitol Beauty Contest.”

Jo examines the unwashed table as we follow the grumpy man’s lead. As of right now, the table is completely void of substance. “Doesn’t dinner imply food?” She asks and Annie laughs lightly, suggesting she was thinking along the same lines.

“Haymitch doesn’t believe in cooking himself,” I retort, earning a look from the old man. “He’s waiting for Peeta to arrive with food.”

“You’re more than welcome to provide the meal, sweetheart.”

“And what are you providing?”

“The residence the meal is served at.”

“And what a residence it is!” Exclaims a completely different voice, a higher pitched soprano.

And like clockwork, three blonde heads round the corner of the dining room, abruptly joining the party.

Delly looks as enthusiastic to be walking with Peeta and Bailey as I am to be in their company right now. Which she further evidences by hurrying to the seat at my right.

“Don’t think I’ve ever seen you without a grin,” Haymitch remarks as he pulls out a bottle of white liquor and pours it into a half-clean glass.

“Wonder why that is,” I murmur out loud before thinking better of it. After all, Haymitch seems to care for Bailey more than me nowadays. I should probably not stir the pot before the food is even presented before me.

But he doesn’t reply back. Even if he did, I doubt I’d notice anyway.

Because, in the flash of a second, the attention of the room is completely shifted.

I knew Bailey was coming with Peeta. She’s practically glued to his hip at all times of day, almost as if she’s afraid to let him out of her sight. But it would seem that Haymitch did not inform Johanna or Annie about Peeta’s new relationship, effectively catching them both by surprise at the additional dinner guest.

And there’s little room for doubt to anyone with eyes that they’re together. Their hands are practically singed as one, in an airtight grasp, her manicured nails intertwined with his long fingers.

For a split second I wonder if that’s what my hand looked like inside Peeta’s last week. I wonder if this is what Bailey saw before her, when she caught us roaming through town at the crack of dawn.

“Barley?” Johanna says in a shocked voice.

It takes a moment for her comment to compute in my brain. “Bailey,” I correct, trying to be helpful. Though I’m unsure where she even managed to get the name Barley at all. Especially if Haymitch didn’t warn her about the girl Peeta was bringing and I strongly suspect he didn’t.

Jo looks at me like I’m insane for the amendment before turning back to Bailey and Peeta. “You’re dating Bailey Barley?” She say incredulously.

Bailey Barley? Is that a nickname? Now I’m the one who’s completely lost at sea, feeling like there was a good chunk of time I somehow missed.

Bailey’s blue eyes stare into Jo’s now, not exactly friendly but not as belligerent as I’ve seen her before. As I saw her last week.

I don’t know nor do I understand what they’re silently communicating, but I do comprehend one thing without a doubt.

Johanna knows Bailey. Somehow, someway, Johanna knows Bailey even more than I do.

Peeta doesn’t seem too confused though. He doesn’t even seem fazed by the exchange at all. Instead he drops Bailey’s hand—not soon enough, in my opinion—and moves to set some kind of meat and potato meal down on the table.

“Where did you get the meat?” I ask abruptly, recognizing it as deer. I just shot my first in a long time only the other day. How on Earth did Peeta get deer meat around the same time I did.

“I traded a cake for it. At the Hob,” he explains nonchalantly, avoiding my bewildered eyes now.

I just stare at him for a second, debating on even further commenting.

The Hob is where I traded the deer after killing it. Peeta literally baked a cake and traded it for meat, just because I wouldn’t speak to him.

He literally traded a cake so I could eat the meat that I hunted myself.

Something about that scenario vindicates me slightly. And I have to wonder if I’ve become sadistic with time and solitude.

My attention though is pulled back to Johanna and Bailey now. “What’re you doing in Twelve?”

Bailey takes her seat, between Haymitch and Peeta, with grace. “Peeta and I met in the Capitol,” she states simply. “I decided to come here and spend some more time with him. Get to know him a little better.”

As if to punctuate her words, she places one dainty hand on top of Peeta’s and gives it a squeeze.

I can’t even fight my eye roll.

“I see,” Jo murmurs, casting a sideway glance at me, none too subtle. “Well, it looks like you did... that.”

Delly snickers into her water glass and I don’t miss the way Bailey shoots her an irritated glance. Peeta seemingly does though. Haymitch is already too tipsy to care if an actual fight breaks out among us, his white liquor kicking in quick.

Annie on the other hand, who I’ve always believed to often be oblivious to all those around her, decidedly cuts the tension here. “Well, I’m hungry. Peeta, pass me a plate.”

And just like that, we’re having one of the most awkward meals I’ve ever had to endure.

Read More On AO3

[thirstyfortaglines]

My girlfriend will outlive me but that’s okay because I love her

Yanfei x Gender Neutral!Reader

1.5k words. Fluffy-ish writing with reader and Yanfei just talking. Tiny bit angsty since there’s some talk of Yanfei’s lifespan being a lot longer than the average human’s.

The rather loud bustling of the streets as the remaining day stalls became more loud in an effort to attract any last customers to their wares before they set up shop for the night was muted to the pair that strolled down its streets. Usually interested in the goods themselves, you and Yanfei had decided to pass on any actual shopping that particular evening in favor of simply taking in the environment of the harbor which was relaxing in its own way with the familiar clamor of the environment.

Despite instigating this outing, wanting to get out after finally finishing a particularly hard job, she was uncharacteristically quiet. For the last few days she had excused herself from the usual excursions around the harbor you two shared, the emotional drain from the child custody case she had taken on leaking into her non-work life. It wasn’t like you could have just told her to care less or to try and let it affect her less, Yanfei loved her work and her dedication and investment in each and every case was what made her so good as a legal adviser. The downside was just that in emotionally charged cases she tended to struggle a bit, the lack of a real definite cut and dry answer or compromise proving taxing on her as no amount of investigation would solve it.

Gently nudging her to catch her attention, she met your gaze. “Something weighing you down?. Even if we weren’t dating I’d still listen to you as your friend. You can always talk to me,” The offer hung in the air for a few moments, the silence bringing up concerns that perhaps it had sounded demanding.

Before you could fret too much, however, she responded. “In a way, yes. It’s a rather heavy topic so let’s discuss it at the end and just enjoy our evening out.” Yanfei’s tone was matter of fact, leaving no room for discussion on the matter for the time being. At least whatever was affecting her wasn’t doing so to the point where she was unable to compose herself quickly like she usually did.

Still not quite sure if she was really okay, you reached and held her hand like you normally did, giving a reaffirming squeeze to it which was reciprocated.

“Now come on, everything will close by the time you get to the stall if you keep on being this slow,” she pestered as she took the lead in moving through the street, letting go of your hand in favor of emoting while she spoke.

“We go to the night market, it’s just becoming sundown.”

“It’ll be well past morning at the rate you’re walking, and if we hold up any stalls who are nice enough to still be open by the time you make it there at that snail’s pace that would be a violation of the ordinance on stall times that requires they only be set up at their allotted time slots, of their own choosing of course.” She was evidently teasing you, her exaggerated nagging tone giving that away easily. As she turned back to make a face at you of mock exasperation at your still average walking pace, you surprised her by having moved right next to her.

“I’m not moving that slow and I won’t lose track of you. Not everyone in Liyue has bright pink hair and is even half as energetic as you.”

Unsurprisingly, she was only surprised for half a second at best before she had a retort lined up. As the two of you continued your walk, playfully arguing while pointing out various wares to each other and occasionally checking out stalls, the warm yellow of streetlamps slowly grew stronger.

It had quieted down for the night, or perhaps it was the place where the two of you had decided to settle at, a patch of grass on the terrace overlooking the harbor, by the time your legs had begun protesting and Yanfei had conceded to stop for the night and rest.

A warm kind of silence filled the air as you rested against each other, the kind that just settled unspoken and naturally.

“Regarding what was bothering me earlier, it was nothing much or perhaps it’d be more prudent to say nothing that will be of pressing importance anytime soon,” she began. Pausing before continuing, she looked at you for affirmation to continue and that you were listening. Not wanting to really verbalize a response and interrupt what she had going on any further, you nodded to indicate your attention. “While I have little fears of children or us separating and whatnot, unlike the case I just dealt with, it did bring some fears to light for me that hadn’t really come to the forefront of my thoughts before.”

She took an extra moment to prepare her words as she turned to fully face you. “There is no doubt in my mind that I would like to spend the rest of my life with you, our long withstanding friendship and now romantic relations a testament to that fact, the fears of your inevitably passing as my lifespan theoretically should far exceed yours are present.”

Yanfei raised her hand in a motion to indicate for you to stay quiet right as you were about to say something, she knew you too well and a small smile broke across your face at that despite the rather heavy conversation topic.

“However, I am not someone who is willing to let the upsides of life pass me by in favor of cowering in fear of what will happen. I’ve thought this through, though not much as the answer was already evident from the start, but I’d like to spend the rest of my life with you and even if that isn’t possible I will do my best. I hope you feel the same.”

Flustered at her words, you were at a loss of words for a moment. Upon seeing your reaction, Yanfei’s expression once again relaxed from the previous serious face she had been wearing, the same one she used to mask her anxiety during her work which was enough to betray her true feelings to you despite how calm she appeared.

“Yeah, I love you a lot too, which is what I’m going to assume that’s what you meant. I won’t lie, I have thought about it before but you’re right that it’s a long way off. Let’s just enjoy the time we have together, and I’ll be sure to make good memories for you to remember” Deciding to counterattack in light of her smug expression, you leaned forward and pressed a kiss against her cheek, the scent of flower perfume and the fried food stalls you had visited together mixed in a rather strange but comfortingly familiar way.

From there, the conversation naturally flowed back to what it usually was, ending with Yanfei standing up and brushing her skirt off.

“With that off my shoulders, I feel up to doing another investigation. I got a request for another case as I was exiting the courthouse earlier today and was already given the downpayment for it,” she began, the usual glimmer in her eyes back in full force which you were more than happy to see.

“Is it another case of false advertising at another stand selling trinkets?” you sighed, tone laced with tiredness that was only mostly fake. “I thought today was supposed to be resting as time off from your last case?”

“That was yesterday, it’s already a new day. The peace and prosperity of Liyue won’t stand without people there to keep everything in order.”

“It also won’t go away if you decide to take a day or 2 off.”

“Oh hush and help me find out what place was selling those frost jade crystals, I have a feeling they’re false as they didn’t seem to have cryo energy within them and the only really nearby source of them that’s reliable is shipments from Snezhnaya and whatever the traveller brings from the cryo enemies in Monstadt. Neither of those two have relations with the seller which is exceedingly suspicious,” she began, already involved and trying to get an angle on the situation. It was cute, but it’d be even cuter if she wasn’t already halfway down the stairs to the main part of the harbor while you had been distracted trying to figure out what she was trying to investigate.

“I’m hurrying up, I’ve got it,” you called out just as she turned around to probably call on you, mirroring how she had quieted you before when she anticipated your response. As you rushed to get off the ground and not fall down the stairs, you almost fell.

“If you die early from chasing after me and falling down the stairs I will personally not let your soul leave your body. Now hurry up and be careful, the sun is rising soon,” Yanfei teased, turning back around and sprinting down the stairs rather gracefully. Benefits of being alive for hundreds of years included knowing the exact architecture of Liyue Harbor and how to sprint down stairs without tripping it seemed. Sighing, you called out to your girlfriend as you ran after her though you were still smiling.