#but one person can start a chain reaction!

[disneydatass]

Why are you so angry all the time? Why do you lock yourself away from the world? Why are you not living your life they ask?

I answer with my own set of questions. How can I live in a body that doesn’t work? In a house divided? In a mind that constantly races? How can I go out and try to make a living when I know off the back of my labor my money goes to funding genocide? How can I think positively and go out and have fun when children are being gun downed for going to school, the movies, the mall? Is this survivor’s guilt? It can’t be. I don’t feel guilty for surviving. I feel rage and sorrow that I have to survive. I should be living. We should be living. One shouldn’t have to struggle to eat, drink, and have basic healthcare and rights.

[kithtaehyung]

broken, pt. 2 (3tan) (m) | myg

title: broken (pt. 2) pairing: 3tan!yoongi x reader(f) series:masterlist | three tangerines | fireworks | house party | basketball | stay | sidewalk talk | friends | dalo | like that | anytime | sundress season | yoongi’s interlude | forfeit | flutter | video call | busted | broken (pt. 1) rating/genre: m (18+) ; angst , fluff , smut ; brother’s best friend au, implied age gap au summary: the championship game lights up... and everything goes down. note: not too much to say other than thank you. this part is definitely another very, very close one to my heart. please buckle up and enjoy the ride. warnings: [spice warnings under the cut] language, angst, tension, alcohol mention & consumption, fights, basketball!yoongi🧍‍♀️, cocky!yoongi, jimin😳, tense situations, did i say angst?, long hair yoongi, crying, bro😀, reader is a real one i don’t make the rules, arguments, the chains stay on(???), …bad boy yoongi😀👍, saying softhours puts some of this lightly, bro🥲, blood/wound mentions, hurt/comfort, there’s just a lot in here y’all idek, taehyung being the best ever, …angst. drop date: february 9th, 2024, 10:37pm est word count: 17.7k my god

smut warnings: cursing, choking, light slapping, breast play, angry s*x a ha ha, crying, multiple explicit scenes y'all istg don't perceive me lol, c*nt slapping, penetrative s*x, brat!reader, protected s*x, edging, consent king ofc :), rough s*x, b*cksh*ts and a lot of them, ...unprotected s*x (yeah it's here and y'all better be responsible or so help me!!!), f*ngering, or*l (m/f rec), brat tamer!3tan yoongi!!!, reader loses themselves for a sec, but yoongi is a king, pain k*nk whewwww, kissing, so much kissing lmfao, c*m play, slight bond*ge (yoongi hands), spanking, aftercare ofc :'))

-

-

There’s no way.

How the fuck is he here? When did that horrible excuse of a guy even join a team? Had he been playing intramurals this whole time? 

“No fuckin’ way.”

Your eyes find your brother standing rigid at your side, wrists tensed to hell and shoulders spiked. Did he not know he was playing, either? Judging by his smoldering question, you’re going to guess he wasn’t aware. 

“Were they always on this team?” 

“No.”

“I don’t remember them being on any teams.”

They? Them? So they recognize more from the court on that day you try to not think about. Shifting your vision, you start gauge reactions under sounds of the growing crowd. 

It’s Yoongi that looks at you first, eyes lowering to the hand you still have on your arm damn it you should be okay about that night already. But you can’t seem to let your limb go, your fingers covering it in a weak attempt at protection and resilience. 

The blaze in his eyes makes you shake. Even as you swallow your pleas for everyone to just go home, he doesn’t look away. Instead, he walks over to stand in front of your knees, motioning for you to scoot over one so he can take the end seat.

Normally, you would slightly question why he wouldn’t just sit next to you. But this time, you’re hyper aware of what he’s doing—and why. It’s so obvious that you wanna reach out and grip his sweaty hand. 

Yoongi absolutely sat there to shield you.

And your heart burns and burns.

If only he could do more, be more, show more. Because with a rattled ego and tainted mind, you’re already yearning for his touch, wanting him to whisk you out of here and bring you back to the comfort of his home—just like he did that night. 

God, he makes you dizzy doing absolutely nothing. 

“What’s the plan,” he asks, eyes on the court and palms between his knees.

“Dunno yet.” Your brother shakes his head before looking back, eyes narrowing at the laughs on the other bench. “But I might get my ass thrown out if we—”

“Play.” 

Immediately, all three of them snap their heads your way. Fuck, your arm is still… 

One person cannot have this hold on you. There’s no way you’re going to let him control your every waking moment, and your determination bubbles into your commands. “Play the game and beat his ass,” you seethe, holding yourself together and aiming daggers everywhere. “Just make it quick.” 

Yoongi gives you a look before Jimin snags him with an eyebrow raise. 

“And you’re paying me double.” 

Looking at the man beside you, it’s almost comforting seeing his attention fully on your face. If it weren’t for your ghost on the other side of the scoring table and your brother standing there, you wouldn’t hesitate to kiss him. 

But you only nod, getting a huff and a lopsided curve in response before you watch him lock eyes with your brother, “What do you wanna do?” 

After a long, resigned sigh, your sibling finally relents, “Fuck this shit up.” 

Good. Yes. This is what you want—for you and them. “Exactly.” 

Scanning around the tight circle, you notice that you have everyone’s attention. 

But one person seems to send a question without any words at all. In kind, you answer the same way, wings battering your stomach when all of them send thunder to the court with lightning in their eyes.

Yoongi scoffs through a slant, carrying the air of someone you never want to mess with in your fucking life. “The fuckin’ nerve.” 

Jimin hums, sliding a finger along his flexed to hell jaw. “Bold,” he adds. And his voice drop sends shivers when he turns to you,

“Don’t worry, love.” 

You stare.

“This will be over soon.” 

-

-

The game is… just a game. For now.

No one’s taunted hard other than a few smirks and winks, and right now it seems as if both teams are just being competitive more than antagonistic. Which relaxes you to the point where you’re cheering from the bench with the other players—and their coach that arrived late—jumping and yelling and clapping when things go in their favor.

Your brother’s slamming down dunks. Jimin’s been playing amazing defense with his quick reflexes and high stamina.

And Yoongi? Has gotten sickeningly sharp. All those late nights at the rec center are paying off in this championship and, when he scores a hard shot, the pride you feel launches you to your feet. 

“Nice job, b—” Oh fuck you almost shout something that should never be public knowledge. Holding your tongue, you quickly switch it up with a hasty, “Let’s go!” 

That was close. Way too close. 

Get it together. 

But you cannot help it right now. Seeing Yoongi facing off against the man you both wanna square up against? And making it look easy? The fluttering you feel in your belly grows double. Triple. Tenfold. His gestures, the way he acts like it’s nothing, his shrugs at their failed attempts to stop him—everything’s making you scratch proverbial walls and kick bench chairs. 

And it’s not just him—the whole team has been playing excellently. Each play seems intentional; every pass and movement is strategic. If you didn’t know this was a casual rec game, you would think they’re gunning for a real, prestigious trophy. 

However. 

When it’s starting to be very clear who the better squad is, that’s when things start getting more than tense. 

On a foul call, both sides start getting in each others’ faces. And you peg that as normal until someone on your team gets shoved and your brother immediately gets between the action. 

Both you and the coach shoot up from your seats. 

Shit, shit, shit. If there’s one thing your older sibling’s gonna do in this game, it’ll be finding any excuse to deck that man in the face. And once that happens, there’s no telling how many injuries are gonna walk off polished floors.

Thankfully, everyone separates without a ruckus, and timeout is called on your side. The crowd starts to yell in favor of either team, and that’s when you notice that Taehyung has been joined by Shiv and your friends. From the looks of things, all five of them are laser focused on you. 

You hold a quick thumbs-up before you’re covered by hot and sweaty men huddling around the bench. And you immediately agree with their coach when he barks, 

“I need you all to calm down.” 

“No can do, coach.” 

“Not if they aren’t.” 

Shit. All of them look fucking livid, not giving any shits whatsoever if they’re willing to talk back to their leader. What’s really been happening on the court? Has it been even more tense than you perceived? 

Oblivious to the context behind this matchup, their coach keeps yelling, “Look, I don’t give a shit if you have something to settle. Play the game and leave it on the floor. Understood?” When there’s charged silence, he yells it even louder. 

And a smattering of agreement comes out before all of you hear an even bigger yelling session booming from the other bench. When you look over, it’s quickly noticeable that they’re getting reamed over there, too. 

Jimin watches before speaking, and it seems like your coach’s pleas fell on deaf ears, “Fifteen went for my legs.” 

“Saw that. Let’s switch cus he can’t guard me.” 

“K.” Park swivels his head to address someone else. “You good to keep playing?” 

Your brother responds with a nod, wiping his never-ending sweat. “Yeah, I’m good.” 

Huh. Even though you know he’s mad, the man seems… Calm. Eerily calm. It’s reminding you of the way he acted after you came home from Yoongi’s. 

And you don’t like it one bit. 

But the timeout is over, and both teams eye each other on their walk back onto the court. As it continues, the gym erupts into life again, with a bit of back and forth shots racking the scoreboard up. 

And Yoongi keeps scoring. And scoring. And scoring. 

Which lands him in a bit of trouble when the same idiot from Dalo pushes him during a layup. After he manages to make the shot, Yoongi immediately flicks him off—which gets a whistle blown. Which also means he has to sit on the bench for a second because his coach is pissed. 

Ignoring the scathing remarks being thrown, he dumps himself next to you. And you immediately feel the heat roll off of him in waves, trying hard to focus on the game. “Don’t be stupid,” you jut out. 

“What?” 

“Don’t be stupid. These guys aren’t worth it.” 

“After what he did to you?” 

The way those words leave his mouth ice you over, flares spiraling through every fiber of your being. Your reaction is so visceral that you can barely get your response out, “Yeah, but…” 

Leaning on his knees, Yoongi wipes his forehead with a crinkled to hell jersey, excess sweat pinging onto his sneakers. The crowd is loud and the buzzers even louder, but they aren’t enough to drown out his bite,

“I can’t let that shit go.” 

“Yoongi.” 

“Sorry, doll.” 

“Please just—” 

Yoongi leaves the bench before you can finish, and you whip your head in a rush, hands jutting out in a desperate attempt to hold him back. 

Only for him to be just out of reach. 

-

-

After halftime, it’s a whole different game. 

From an outside perspective, it’s as if everyone was using the first half to sniff each other out, circling around each other before deciding how and when to go in for the kill. 

And Yoongi isn’t the only one that you’re starting to worry about. Jimin, your brother, and even Rohan and the other guys are on edge, playing hard and doing everything they can to keep their scoring lead. 

Both you and their coach know you can’t stop whatever’s going on out there. And you’re starting to feel yourself getting angry at how your brother and them are egging the guys on. 

Why are they taunting? What the hell is making them so bent on making the other team pissed? Yes, all that went down with you, but nothing else had happened since then. And they clearly aren’t listening to anyone telling them to calm down.

If they end up starting shit you are going to—the fuck! 

Yoongi gets straight shoved again as he goes for a layup, and you shoot up in your chair as he hits the back wall with a thud. While the players at your side are yelling and everyone on the court starts grouping in shouts, you stay rigid, solely watching Yoongi eye his attacker—the same idiot from Dalo.

Fuck everything, you wanna rush into the fray and throw hands yourself because that looked painful.

The only thing that’s stopping you is the chilling fact that Yoongi is… Grinning. 

Wiping his curved lips, he waits while the refs break up the squabble, still looking triumphant as he walks to the line to shoot his free throws. When both of them are made, he stares directly at your assaulter—as you finally call it like it is—and doesn’t stop even when the coward looks away.

A whistle blows, and the game continues to be close. Too close, too close, too close. A couple more timeouts let you see just how laser-focused everyone is, and you’re a little shaken when it feels like they forgot you were even occupying their bench. 

What the hell is being said on the court? Even Jimin is brimming with anger. 

But after a few back and forths, Yoongi passes to your brother for a hard dunk, basket ringing from his throwdown and shaking when he lands. 

Thank god. Those points are enough. They’re gonna win. 

All the pent up anxiety you’ve harbored all game releases as everyone starts cheering, and your pride soars as your boys stare down their opponents while the clock winds down.

It’s over. The game is over, nothing too serious happened, and you can all go the fuck home to eat dinner and celebrate. 

Your eyes catch Yoongi throwing a rudely lopsided curve across the court. Even when Jimin comes up to push him back in excitement, his expression doesn’t change. 

And you find that wildly, unfathomably attractive. 

Then, as it goes, your brother comes up and they all share quick daps, eyes ablaze and not letting the losers out of their sight. 

Well. All of them are infamous for a reason. You would guess their energy altogether certainly contributes to that. Because the aura you feel oozing from them fills the gymnasium all the way up to your knees. 

And the sigh you let out mingles with their coach’s shake of his head.

-

-

Things are still tense as they all shake hands—or at least offer hands to shake—with the other team. The atmosphere is even a little iced when they receive their trophy. 

But the way you’re currently being surrounded as your guys converse hides you from plain sight, so you feel heavily protected. Even Jimin, who’s usually cheerful even when exhausted, wields sharp eyes as he keeps glancing over his shoulder. 

Honestly? You wouldn’t know what to do without them. Both your brother and all his friends, good pasts or not, are great people. They didn’t need to shield you like this. But they’re doing it anyway, because they won’t give that lowlife another reason or chance to approach you. 

Yeah. Your older sibling knows how to choose his circle.

It’s making you wonder if… 

Nah. 

That’s still too big a reach. 

When it seems like all of them and their cheering squad are gone, everyone starts making their way over to the bleachers—and you’re acutely reminded of what went down under similar looking ones the other night. 

Your shivers are overshadowed by Yuri’s telltale screams to Rohan, “You were so good, baby! Are you okay?”

Reia and Dom shake their heads before focusing on you, the latter being the spokeswoman, “So what was all that for?”

“Don’t ask,” you sigh, knowing exactly what she’s referring to. “I’m just glad they won and that we can go home.”

“You’re not coming to Yuri’s?” Reia asks. “I thought we planned on that, no?”

Ah, shit. Earlier this week, you did make plans with them without really thinking about what day they were gonna fall on. But now you’re so mentally drained that you kinda just wanna go—

“Is anyone else starving? I’m hungry as fuck!” 

Right. Food. Adrenaline made you forget you were starving. Glancing towards your brother, you quickly remind him, “Yeah, me. And you’re paying.”

“Ah, shit, that’s right.” As he lets out a hard groan and deals with Jimin and Yoongi’s comments, your sibling relents, “Alright, where are we going.”

“Up to you,” you shrug, stealing a little look at the man you want to kiss like hell for his performance tonight. 

God, Yoongi’s so handsome. As Jimin leaves his side, he silently wipes his forehead of any excess sweat, hands and shoulders shining in the lights wait wait wait. Hold on. 

Walking over, you toss any care about who notices you out the window. And as he eyes your approach, you murmur with care and concern, “Is your back okay?” 

Blinking once, twice, the man nods. “Yeah, it’s all good.”

“You sure? That looked…”

Of course he decides that now is the perfect time to rake his sweaty locks back. Speaking so low that only you can hear, Yoongi reassures with a fist full of hair, “I’m fine, doll.” 

Motherfucker. 

Pinning down your urge to reach out and smother him, you only breathe relief. And before you move away to put some distance between, you whisper, “Thank you.”

Yoongi looks your way again. “For what?” 

Swallowing what’s left of your anxiety, you sigh. “For not getting into it out there. I was about to get mad as hell, but.. Looks like they were all talk.” 

“Mm.”

Honestly? It’s a miracle. The game’s over without any hitches or brawls? More relief starts blossoming in your chest, prompting a smile to grace your features. “You looked so good out there, by the way. I almost called you ba—”

“What are y’all talking about over there!”

Your mouth snaps shut as soon as you see your brother watching, but Yoongi is quick to fire off an insult, “The way you always take so long to pick something.”

“I picked already!”

“Then let’s go then.”

Laughing, you join the whole crew as you’re all the last ones to walk out. Your friends and Shiv parked in another lot since one side was already full, so you tell them you’ll meet at the restaurant.

Some other teammates decide to join, with jerseys being shucked off as everyone heads out the door. Immediately, body odor swoops into your nose, making you welcome the crisp, fresh air of night. 

Scratch that. You smell oncoming rain. 

Conversations cease, which only leaves the sound confirming your observation: booming, rolling thunder. Stopping at the edge of the gym’s awning, multiple heads turn up at the rumbles, watching lightning crack the sky. 

In front of you, Jimin shifts his head to the side. “Still?” 

And when you look at who he’s asking, you see Yoongi nod. 

Weird. 

But it’s not raining just yet, so all of you make your way into the lot and to your cars. As you do, you check your phone while making your way over, aiming a question at Tae, “You know where we’re going?” 

“Yeah, it’s not far,” he responds, fishing out his own device. “I think we’ve been there before.” 

We? Looks like things are progressing nicely over there. Since you’re lingering behind the guys, you start to take a small jab, “We, huh? Cute.” 

Lips spread as tight as his eyes, Taehyung parries. “Cute? Look who’s talking, miss whipped.” 

“You’re whipped.” 

“No, you.” 

“No, you,” you giggle out, reaching out to tickle Tae’s side and laughing as he flinches away. You chase him for a few seconds before you see his whole body freeze completely, asking a small question before going quiet.  

And when you slowly follow his line of vision, your heart freefalls to your gut, smashing it so hard you feel bile sting the back of your throat. 

The man from Dalo. And all the guys from the court plus some. 

Surround both Jimin’s and your brother’s cars.

Fuck. Oh, fuck, there’s so many of them, standing and waiting and unflinching in the bursts of thunder inching closer and closer what the fuck are you gonna do— 

“Taehyung.”

Your eyes shake. 

“Get her out of here. Now.”

And you’ve never screamed so loud. 

Every word rips out of your mouth before you’re promptly shushed by large fingers, icicles pinging around your heart and holding it down, “Don’t fucking do thi—!” 

To your horror, Tae’s already hauling you back, voice low and firm in your ear, “Come on.” 

“No! What the fuck—” 

“We’re leaving.”

“Please—!”

There are so many of them. So, so many of them. Panic drowns out your words and excess leaks out of your eyes, your own storm preventing you from seeing that your best friend is just as torn apart. 

“Babe, we have to go now.” 

“No, let me go!” 

They’re outnumbered. What if they have weapons? What if the police are called? What if something happens that you aren’t prepared for?

You’re screaming. Curses, their names, or whatever whatever you don’t even know what the fuck you’re saying because your toes are kissing the edge of madness. 

Dragged a good distance away, your yells devolve into incoherency, your nose and eye sockets smashing into Taehyung’s solid forearm so hard it hurts. 

Make it out, make it out, make it out. For the love of everything in the fucking universe and beyond it, make it out alive. 

Some movements and backs straightening are the last things you see before getting pulled around the corner.

And when Yoongi calmly rolls one of his shoulders, you feel a wick of your soul burn out.

Panic. Worry. Panic and more panic. The car ride that Tae paid for is the blurriest muddy water you’ve ever waded through.

Truthfully, you don’t even remember blankets being pulled over your shoulder. Where even are you? Oh, you’re in a bed. Whose bed are you in because this isn’t yours. But what does it matter anyway what does anything matter anyway nothing matters there’s nothing you can do you gotta get up and go back over there get up get up go—

As soon as you yank his bedroom door open, Taehyung is there, holding you back and pushing your frantic energy back inside. “Tae, if you don’t let me—”

“Do what!”

“I’m going back!” Wrestling out of his strong hold, you bolt down his hallway, head clanging as your shoulder bumps into a wall. “We need to go back—”

“Stop!” You hear running as you burst through the living room, whizzing past the glowing television. “We have to stay here—”

No no no. There’s no way you’re staying here when you need to be back at that lot. Who the fuck would call for help if anyone needs it? When they’re gonna need it? Your vision proves so blurry you can’t even find your shoes—

Arms wrap around your waist and you fight back with a scream, “Let me go!”

“Stop and just think for a second—”

“Why aren’t you with me on this, they’re—”

“Dumb as fuck!” 

Your friend’s quick comment is so sharp it cuts your breath. As you still in his firm but comforting hold, you finally stop to breathe. Breathe, breathe, breathe as you’re turned to level a look with his eyes.

Eyes that are red-rimmed and so, so raw. “They’re idiots,” Taehyung grits out. “But they will be alright.” 

From the shake of his voice, you find that neither of you think that for sure. 

“I need to.. To…” Your breaths are ragged, energy spent and head dizzy from your quick exit from his bed. As you come down from your volcanic high, every weight the world places on your back proves too much. 

“You need to relax,” Tae advises, guiding you further back inside. And you don’t speak as he leads you past the couch, past the pictures on his hallway wall, and into the dark of his bedroom.

Maybe it’s over. Right? Maybe someone will answer if you ring them up. “Call. I need to call…” 

“Shh,” he soothes again, walking you backwards away from his door. When the bends of your knees hit his bed, Taehyung lets you down slowly until you’re sitting. “I’ll do it.” 

Brain fried from hyperactivity, you can only nod. 

Your friend steps away to fiddle with his phone, the light illuminating his beautiful features in the night. When he holds it to his ear, this is when you hear rain and the television in the living room, noticing that it’s playing a movie he watches for comfort. 

Shit. He’s going through it just like you are, and yet he’s still finding energy to calm your nerves? What have you even done to deserve him?

Guess you know how to choose your circle, too. 

Going unanswered, Taehyung lowers his hand, thumb rubbing the homescreen before gripping the device hard. 

Both of you are in the same boat. So steer when he can’t do it anymore. Soft but assertive, you rise to your feet, offering your embrace while calling his name, “..Tae.”

When he turns, the man wastes no time in dropping his phone to bring you in close. “It’ll be okay,” he murmurs, and you hear his words on your head but feel the trembles in his chest. “Okay?”

Feeble fingers grab at his soft shirt, and you bury into his scent while soaked and tired eyes shut. 

You want to believe him. You do. You do. 

But hope may be a bitch. 

So you don’t. 

-

-

Forever passes while you both lie still in his bed, with Taehyung holding you close and keeping you subdued with notes of honey and wood. You both try to have conversation, but it’s disjointed and manufactured, so giving up is a group effort. 

You’re about to give up on a lot of things before you both jolt at Tae’s phone vibrating. 

The world shifts quick as you both sit up, the call immediately being accepted and a low greeting whooshing at your side, “Hey.”

With bated breath, you hear Jimin on the line. “Hey.” 

“You okay?”

“Yeah, we’re all alright, but…”

We. We, we, we, all of them thank the fucking world. As your breath is held, Taehyung’s voice is solid, “Say it.”

“My eye is pretty fucked. Yoongi’s face is cut up and he’s got some nasty bruises on his—” 

You don’t even remember yanking the phone to your mouth. “Where is he.”

Jimin audibly pauses on the line before having the audacity to chuckle. Irked and feeling ire bubble back to the surface, you seethe, “This isn’t funny, Park. Where the fuck is he?” 

“With us.” Us. Shit. “In the car.” 

Oh. 

“Your brother’s here, too.” 

“Ah.” That means they’re all there. They’re all heading home. “Am I on speaker.” 

“Umm.. Yeah.” 

As much as you’re relieved they’re all okay, stockpiled anxiety transforms into anger, your limit striking the thundering sky. “Actually, you know what? Good. Now I can say you’re all idiots and immature as fuck.” 

It’s your sibling that responds first. “Hey, wait a damn minute—” 

“I waited long enough!” you scream, ignoring Taehyung’s wide eyes. 

You know you need to relax. But you can’t help what’s happening right now and all you feel is pain. “I know this shit isn’t new to y’all, but really? You didn’t need to do this.” 

“He was gonna—”

“All you had to do was play the game! Why’d you have to make them mad? Do you even know what could’ve happened back there?” Damn it, you weren’t supposed to cry during this part, not when you just want them to know they fucked up. 

And the response is dead silence. Because of course it is. But if they won’t answer you here, they’re gonna answer another, “Just tell me one thing,” you plead. “Is this gonna happen again?” 

That one your brother answers with finality. “They won’t be coming around anymore.” 

Gulping, you give Taehyung a glossy-eyed look before staring at his lit screen again. Trying not to let your voice waver, you accept his response, “Okay… Are you okay?” 

“Me? Yeah, the hits I took were weak as fuck. I’ll get home soon so if you wanna order in tonight we can.” 

“Fuck that.” 

“Huh?” 

What an idiot. “Bro, you don’t even know how fucking mad I am,” you accuse through gritted teeth. There’s no way in hell you wanna deal with their bullshit. Ignoring your pleas and staring harm in the face? Forget it. “I’m going to Yuri’s.” 

“What? Nah, come home tonight and we’ll talk.” 

“I just—No.” Taehyung has to grip your shoulder before pulling you into a hug. And you’re still steel in his arms because you haven’t been this upset in ages. “I’m not talking to any of you for awhile.” 

And you mean that. 

“…Fine. But go asap then. I don’t want you out late on your own.” 

So you gotta listen to what he wants but when it comes to what you say, it’s crickets? Goddamn, you’re furious. “…Of course you don’t.”

And you hang up before anyone can say anything else. 

-

-

You open the front door to your brother leaning against the hallway wall.

Both of you eye each other, one of you with a perfectly fine face and the other that isn’t so lucky because he’s a fool.

And no words are exchanged as you trudge your frustration to the kitchen. 

-

-

Ice. Bandages. Dinner. Anger propels you through it all.

Whipping up a quick but hearty meal, you let your brother patch himself up after demanding he showered. The smells of comfort food waft through your nose as things sizzle on the stove and, through the whole process, you don’t think about anything except how upset you are.

They’re all okay. But like Taehyung so abruptly put it, they’re all stupid. 

As you turn off your burner, you transfer everything to a bowl, sighing so loud it seasons the top with fire. When you approach the bar, your actions speak pretty damn loud—the dish clank shoving out a question from your sibling,

“Is there something you wanna say to me?” 

“There’s a bunch of shit I wanna say to you.” 

“It’s about Yoongi,” he asks, the absence of hesitation making your insides squeeze. “Isn’t it.” 

But luckily for you, your rage is so potent that it overruns your fear. As soon as your brother stands up and starts to repeat his question, your correction clangs through the room, 

“It’s about all of you! You say you wanna be there for me but what the fuck will doing this shit do?” 

Freezing, the man waits in shock as you keep going, “Yes, that guy deserves hell. I was so scared when he grabbed me at the club.” You stop to swallow. “But I had them both there and we left.”

Fuck, this is hard. Having to relive that shit is difficult but you need your brother—and all of them, for that matter—to know how hurt you feel right now. Mustering up enough bravery to get to the goddamn point, you finally squeak out, 

“If I lose them? Lose you? Because of something as stupid as a fight?” Your eyes search his, and your heart cracks when you see glassy sheen amongst his bruises. “What would I do then?” 

You expect silence. And silence is what you get. It’s drawn out, loud, and telling. “We know.” 

“Do you?”

“Yes,” he whispers, eyes lifting to meet yours with sincerity. “And we’re sorry.”

Another moment passes between the two of you, the food you made left uneaten on the counter and the rest sitting still on the stove. But you know your sibling will eat it all tonight, whether you’re there or not. 

And you step forward at the same time he holds his battered arms out. 

Freshly showered, he still smells like rain and exertion. But his heart beats under your chest, he’s present, and back home—things you need to stop taking for granted. 

But you’re still mad. And getting things off your chest has only made you tired, so you decide that it’s finally time to go before you circle back to other scary territory brought up tonight. “I’m leaving now,” you announce as you step away. “But just think about that.” 

“I will.”

“I’m serious.” 

“I will.”

Staring, you take note of his cuts and injuries, wondering how the others are faring even though you don’t wanna deal with anything else. Because it hurts too much, and if you see who you’re thinking about, there’s no telling what you’d do if you were like this with your brother. There’s no telling how you’d…

No. You choose to go the easy route this time. Everyone can simmer in their sore, swelling consequences while you have a night of de-stressing with your friends. 

So you leave to go pack without another word. 

It’s raining. 

Hard.

And even though your car is heading to Yuri’s, your heart is beating backwards. Tugging you somewhere else and not letting up. 

With a ping of chill, you can’t shake it. Braking at a stop sign close to your destination, you sit in silence, letting the rain pelt every side of your vehicle and wondering what the hell to do. 

Truthfully? Your brother looked like shit. But your body isn’t telling you to go back to the house, which can only mean one other place. And you know for a fact you don’t wanna talk to him, either. 

So fucking upsetting. They did all that for what? You can barely keep your thoughts in a row because they keep yelling at jostling each other just like everybody did on the court. If anyone had to fight the dipshit, it should've been you. 

Fuck! Your head connects with the wheel, an inner monster rumbling with the thunder because you’re so fed up with everything that happened. 

Your brain is the one yelling. But your heart is begging for it to listen. Go to Yuri’s? Go to Yoongi’s. Find shelter in that warm bed of hers and sink in her plushies to comfort you? 

A sigh. Maybe you can at least call him to tell him off one more time. He needs to hear what you told your brother because if you ever, ever lose him—

Your eyes burn. 

Yoongi: Outgoing Call

No answer.

Yoongi: Outgoing Call

Pick up. What the fuck.

Yoongi: Outgoing Call

…Turn the fuck around shit, shit, shit.

Curses flying, you whip your vehicle in a flash, heart pounding so loud it’s blocking out the storm. Which is morbidly impressive considering how horridly it’s pouring. 

Thinking in leaps, you pivot and make another decision. Tell her and make it all quick. 

Yuri: Outgoing Call

“Hello?”

“Hey, I’m not coming.”

“You okay?”

“I’m going to Yoongi’s.”

“Yoongi’s? Why?”

Ah, shit. Oh, fuck. She doesn’t know. 

Banging the steering wheel, you smash your teeth, stressed as hell from braving the rain in the dark and now snitching on yourself to someone else. 

Damn it. What do you say? What can you possibly even say when you’re so mad and stressed and conflicted and worried—

“Hello?”

“Because he’s the one,” you whoosh out, your vision quivering twice as much as it should. “And things went down after the game and now something feels wrong.”

“Oh, shit. Is that why y’all didn’t come to—”

“Yes.” When you say all this out loud, now it has weight. Horrifying weight on your chest and a block pushing down on the gas. You hear a bit of shuffling on the line, and you’re starting to get so anxious that you blurt, “Please don’t say anything. Please.”

“I won’t. Not about this.”

“Thank you.”

“Hang up, babe. Make it safe.”

“Okay.”

Go, go, go. Please, just get there. 

Letting up, you change your speed, hoping to everything good in the world that this feeling you have is only a feeling and nothing more. 

Yoongi: Outgoing Call

What a strange emotion, wanting his reason for not picking up solely being because he doesn’t wanna talk to you. That is an answer you can deal with. 

But you still can’t fight off the jagged pulses telling you it’s something else. 

After an agonizing drive, you finally see his complex, tensing harder the further and further away you have to park. 

Whipping into a spot, you screech into it before hauling your bag out, popping the trunk and desperately grabbing a plastic box you always keep inside. 

And the mad dash drenches you long before you seek cover, your bones shivering shivering shivering from the chill.

Yoongi has to be home. His car is here. 

But he still won’t pick up the fucking phone.

Skidding at his door, your knocks are rapid, knuckles singed from the ice cold wraps.

Answer, answer, answer. For fuck’s sake, he better answer. 

After a haunting moment of silence, you decide to call one more time, head wet and bones shivering as you press the phone to your damp ear. 

Finally. “Hello.” 

“Open the door,” you jump into commanding, hearing nothing other than a voice that sounds so crushed and low that it crumples you inside. 

“You’re here?” 

“Yeah, let me in.” Fuck, your teeth are clattering against each other, whether it’s from the rain, the cold, or anger, you can’t tell. 

But the reply you get is the coldest thing imaginable. And it sets your whole body aflame. 

“Not tonight.”

Hell no. Hell fucking no Yoongi is not going to get rid of you that easily. Not when you have a boatload of things to say and only one dock to dump them all on, “Yoongi, I swear to god—” 

“Not tonight—”

“—you don’t let me in I’m—”

“Go home—”

“I’m fucking staying out here until you open the goddamn door!”

Oh, you’re pissed. You’re so fucking pissed because this all could’ve been avoided if none of them were stupid. Or prideful. Or whatever the fuck boys decide to be when they can’t let something go. 

And this man still has the audacity to give you the stiff arm, silence on the line before he rasps out another short, “I’m serious.”

“No.”

“Go home.” 

“No!” 

He says your name. So, so softly, before a gut-wrenching, 

“Please.”

Breath shaken, you rest your forehead against chilly wood, hoping it quells the fire you feel rising from your rib cage. 

You can’t give up. Not when you have so much to say. Not when you have to check on him and make sure he’s fine. 

Not when you give into the strongest premonition that you need to be nowhere else but with him tonight. 

You will stay. Stay, stay, stay. Even if he doesn’t want to see you. 

Voice trembling in rage and concern and everything in between, you feel your eyes sear through when they close, mission boiling down to one more desperate choice, 

“…No.” 

You’re cold. And wet. But you will stand out here for as long as it takes him to let you inside—a night, a day, no matter what.

And for a moment. Or a few. You think he’s dead set on making you prove that. 

But you finally, finally, finally hear a sigh before a lock turn, and you try to prepare yourself for what you see but he opens the door and his face comes into view holy shit he looks like a wreck—

“What the fuck,” you grit out as you rush in with vision swimming, digging into your bag for the medkit you hastily stashed and swinging off your sandals because you gotta get something in the—

A hand grips you hard, tugging you back before you even register what’s happening.

As your feet stumble back onto linoleum, your gaze snaps to the ground. 

And your breath cuts like it’s your last. 

Shards. 

Pieces.

Thousands of wood and glass chips litter the entire open area of the living room. 

And realizing where they came from strikes like lightning. 

Fuck. Oh, fuck, what did Yoongi do?

“I told you, doll.”

You choke on a sob.

“Go home.”

Your breaths return before you straighten, tears flowing freely as you don’t know whether to start cleaning up the chaos or finally facing the one who caused it.

No, no, no. Get rid of it. 

Throw it out, all of it, all of it. 

A new fire roars to life, forging your steeling commitment as you wrestle out of Yoongi’s hold.

What did he do, what did he do?

Revving with smoke out of your ears, you burn a path to the kitchen, grabbing a trash bag before marching into the wreckage. Up go the biggest pieces first, chucked into plastic before the smaller ones follow.

Throw it all. This one, this one, and this one.

Yoongi isn’t even wearing shoes. He can cut himself up even more if this all stays where it is. 

Shit, this is everywhere. 

When you realize you’re gonna need a broom, you storm back into his laundry closet to yank one out and keep going. When you go to sweep, the sharpest voice cuts through your fingers.

“Stop.”

Your grit grips the tool even tighter. Because you won’t. Don’t dare look into his expression, either, because you know that one glance will melt every scream on your tongue. So you stay resolute and shoot rejection to the ground, “No.”

“Just go, please.”

“No.”

This hurts. 

This really, really hurts. 

Yoongi has never, ever said these things to you and it feels like a knife jabbing into the same spot over, and over again. You almost prefer three new months of no contact over whatever the hell this is.

But you have to keep going. Eyes clenching, lips wobbling, you must keep going. 

Because you came here for a reason other than this mess. And he’s gonna have to do better than this to kick you back out into the rain. 

“I got it.” 

“Let me do it.” 

“Your brother needs you.”

“Yeah, well, I already tore the fuck into him and I’m gonna do the same to you.” You harden your fist on the sweeper, tugging it more towards your shoulder with finality. And you gather all the energy you need to leave no more room for arguments, because Yoongi is going to listen, “So sit down.”

It hurts.

He wants to say shit. You know he wants to.

But he only breathes hard with eyes closed, following your orders and carrying his dark clouds to the dining room. 

When he finally leaves you alone, this is when you look his way. 

In sweats and a shirt, he appears fine. But with a deep pang, you notice he’s slightly limping. Judging from those knuckles, you wonder if they’re red from the fight or from hitting another wall of his apartment. 

Or from whatever the fuck happened around your feet.

Shit.

While he dumps himself at his table, you clean up the pieces of his rampage, mentally noting that one plan of yours has now changed. 

This one. These, too. A string here. A metal piece there.

You don’t know how long it takes you. All you know is that you’re burning inside, determined to clean everything and sweep this chaotic energy away. 

One more. Two more. Another one here.

As soon as you’re done, you lug the trash bag out of the front door and don’t give a shit what happens to it now.

Keep going. There’s more that you need to take care of.

The fuel inside of you rages on, anger conflicting with anxiety and past worries and sadness for something that didn’t even happen. As you spin, you vow yourself to keep pushing until you can’t anymore. 

Sniffling. Shivering. But staying strong because things could’ve gone a lot worse. 

Yoongi meets you by the table, messy, damp hair shielding his features. “You’ve done enough.” 

“I still need to—” 

“Just.” He looks away. “Go home, doll. I can’t do this tonight.” 

“Do what? I’m helping you.” 

That’s what you do for each other, right? You both help each other. But now you’re not so sure because Yoongi comes back with not an acknowledgement, nor a way of relenting. 

But ice. 

“Who said I needed it?” 

And in all the time you’ve spent with this man, this is the first time you’ve felt downright cold. “Yoongi, what?” Your eyes travel across his face, chest caving in when there’s barely any hints of vitality. “Are you serious?” 

“You think I’m joking?” 

“You’re kicking me out? What happened to saying you’d never do that, huh?” 

“I say a lot of things.” 

…Oh.

That hurt. That… That physically couldn’t have hurt any harder. 

Nodding, you look away, shaking your head in disbelief because you are on the verge of losing it. “You know what? You do say a lot of things.”

Walking away, you start rearranging pillows on the couch pushed askew. “Like how perfect I am.” Picking up his books from the now non-existent coffee table. “And how there’s no one else.” 

As you give the volumes a new home on his intact tv stand, you turn to face him again. “Those are just words, too, huh?” 

Yoongi kicks his head back with a smile, one that cuts instead of mends. “Nah… Not tonight.” 

“Not tonight what.” 

“We aren’t doing this tonight.” 

“The fuck we aren’t.” It’s his turn to walk away, with a slow head shake that you really don’t like. “Where are you going?” 

“Nowhere.” Yoongi shifts his head to the side, but not enough for you to fully see him. It’s almost as if he doesn’t want you to. “But you’re going home.” 

Something’s off. There’s something completely off but all you feel is sadness and rejection in your ribcage. “So this is how it happens, huh. Now I’m just like everyone else.” 

He finally faces you, miles away even though you’re just rooms apart. “You’re gonna go there?” 

“I am.” 

“Wow.” 

That’s what he comes back with? This is gutting you from the inside out and you have no idea what’s happening but now rage is flaring into your mouth, “You think I wanted to come here? After what all of you did?” 

“Do you even know?” 

“No! But how the fuck would I? You don’t tell me shit!” 

“That’s cus—” 

Your response sears over his floors, “I can take care of myself. But none of you told me about that dude from the court. None of you.” Breath shaken, you continue dumping out all your thoughts and previous concerns, “If I had known? That whole Dalo thing could’ve been avoided and I would’ve ran.” 

For a person that you’ve come to know as so warm, Yoongi’s entire aura freezes you over as you keep talking. “And today? You know how fucking scared I was? If I… I…” 

All he does is stare. Why isn’t he doing anything else? Is he really flipping the switch and choosing to legitimately let you leave this time?

Fine then. 

“You know what?” Giving up, you laugh—harsh, and breathy, and without any joy at all. “Forget it. You’re not even listening anyway.”

“I swear to—I just said not tonight.” 

Frustration from the game, fear from the ambush after, anxiety from not hearing from them. All of it coalesces into something you can’t even control anymore. Your buffer shuts off, the monster you created seizing the reins, “No, I get it. I do! You want me gone. Sure. See you in three more months.” 

Stunned, Yoongi huffs in disbelief, jaw working overtime. “Are you serious?” 

“Yes, I am. Trying to help you but it looks like you don’t even want that. So good fucking bye.” 

And it looks like he has a beast of his own because his next response to your last attempt has you reeling back in shock, 

“Who asked you?” 

Dark liquid drips onto your soul. 

You can only stare, unblinking and feeling like you’re in an entirely different universe. “Who asked me? Who asked me.” 

“That’s what I said.” 

Forget the question of who asked you because… Who are you even talking to? Who is this person standing in front of you because it’s not the Yoongi you know. It’s so jarring and hurtful and strange that you truly feel thrust into the middle of a nightmare. 

You’re gonna do it. You’re actually gonna leave this time. 

“You know what? Kiss my ass, Yoongi.” 

God, it hurts. It hurts. It hurts.

It hurts.

You don’t even know where this is all coming from. All you know is that you’re angry and there’s no stopping the hot magma bubbling in your center. 

Silence fills the room.

And it rains. It pours.

But finally, you hold a sob back before burning a shaky path to his door, wrestling with the lock before yanking it open—

Only to have it shut back in your face, so thrown when you realize you’re getting spun. Air whooshes out of you before your shoulder blades connect with wood—  

And this is the goddamn breaking point. The walls you haphazardly built to keep you upright collapse and tumble. It’s so potent and blinding that you don’t even realize your hands are connecting with his chest in the weakest, saddest ways and you are outright screaming. 

“God, what the fuck! I told you to—We didn’t hear from you for hours and I—I didn’t know if you were okay—” 

“Whoa, hold u—” 

“I thought the worst and I—didn’t even get a chance to—I finally told you want I wanted and you—Fuck—” 

“Just listen—” 

“Don’t ever do that again! I don’t wanna lose you and today was so fucking scary and I’m not, fucking, leaving—” 

Your lips are smashed to hell, his lips bruising so hard you feel it in the back of your skull. And it’s a whole storm as Yoongi pins you against the door, leg wedging between yours and his hands gripping you like a vice. It’s intense. It’s overwhelming. 

“I swear to—” 

You don’t know what to do. What to do what to do what to do, and all your madness jangles as you’re yanked and slammed against another wall, breath leaping into his open mouth before you tug at his hair, digging anger through his shoulders. 

“Can’t fucking listen, can you?” 

“No,” you rip from your throat, shoving him back only to gravitate right back and lock lips again. 

And he rips at your clothes, tearing the front of your shirt so far your chest emerges on full display. Before you can even react to the cuts on his face, Yoongi’s hand clenches around your throat, making you gargle just how you fucking want to right now. 

“Shouldn’t even fucking be here.” 

“When has that ever stopped us.” You groan as you get rapidly led back into something hard, and you realize it’s the dining table digging into your ass. 

“He’s still home.” 

“So?”

“Shouldn’t you—”

“Then kick me out!” you taunt. “For real. Let me go. Fucking do it then.” 

Yoongi works his jaw before gripping tighter, making you groan and your gut flare into something primal. Nostrils flaring, he moves to grip your head hard enough to make your stomach flip but not firm enough to scare you. 

Never to scare you. “You aren’t gonna leave me alone.” 

Your eyes are ice. 

“Are you.” 

You solely watch in determination, breath harsh from your nose and billowing out like steam. Drilling your answer into his eyes, you charge the surrounding air enough to spark like the flashing sky outside. 

And Yoongi cracks like lightning. 

“Goddamn it.” 

Everything happens at once and in quick succession. Teeth grit to hell, Yoongi pulls you upward before fast stepping you to his bedroom, slamming you through the door before you shove him right into his desk. 

Things teeter and shake and clang with each impact, your storm disrupting everything in its path and creating a tornado of desire and thoughts in your brain. 

Something swirls and twists between your souls, tightening and condensing into emotions darker than midnight. And as angry as you are, it’s slipping into a dangerous mania, and you’ve never been this excited for anything in your life. 

“Stubborn.” 

“Coward.” 

Your back stings as you’re pushed back into his door, the wood smacking into the spackle of his wall. Rough lips smother yours as you claw at his shoulders, neck, hair, and you hear him growl into your mouth, 

“Want me to kiss your ass? Suck my dick then we’ll talk.” 

“Fuck you. I give better head than you anyway.” 

His words rival the deepest growl, “Prove it.” 

“Make me.”

Whirlwind. Storm. Tempest. At this point, it’s a whole goddamn high. Your body is thrumming and the only way to feed your anger is to channel it through actions. 

And truth be told, you need this. You both do. With all the high strung emotions that had nowhere to go until you collided?

This is liberation. 

You’re shoved onto your knees before Yoongi dives into his pants, and you’re already hungry and impatient enough to help him shrug his sweats down before he can do it himself. 

“Choke on it,” he commands, holding his dick and watching as you note how hard he already is. When you waste no time taking him in, you elicit the deepest groan you’ve ever pulled from him when you fling spit onto his length. 

Maybe his reaction is to your face. Because you’re still mad as fuck and you aren’t done letting him know that. 

With a passing thought, you realize that this is all new. But you’re welcoming it because it’s working. Only Yoongi can bring out this passion even in anger, or maybe the two of you were going to get to this point no matter what. 

“Fuck.” He steadies the bottom of your chin while you suck him off. “Uh huh. Got anything else to say?” 

You flick him off, and he hums with a rumble, his cock reacting and hitting the back of your prideful throat. 

“Fuck you, too, doll.” His talks devolve into hisses, grunts, moans when you slobber all over yourself, and your cunt is already dripping with your own slick. “There you go. Gonna take it all? Or are you gonna keep running that mouth?” 

And you pop off before taunting, “Find out, pussy.” 

And you’re swallowing him before he shoves you all the way forward, your body arching up in a gag but filled with him him him, your nose flat against his pelvis and his dick squeezing tears from your eyes and your throat overstuffed to hell and there’s no way he’s gonna forget this moment. You’re making damn sure of it. 

Another middle finger raises as you’re tensing around him, and you can barely hear him above you but you do know he’s massively pleased. Tears stream down your eyes when you’re yanked off, gasping for air and being pulled off the ground. 

“Holy fuck.” 

Throat hoarse, you attempt speech but it doesn’t matter anyway, because his lips steal them all. And your cunt is slapped with a whole palm, making you flinch and shoot out a whine into his kiss. 

Before you know it, your body hits the bed before he joins you, arms bulging as he rips your top open completely. You can’t even think straight as he teases your earlier efforts, “I’ve had better.” 

“Oh, you fucking—Shut the fuck up,” you growl, a moan leaving without permission as he palms your cunt again. Just when you think he’s gonna top you, Yoongi hauls you up, hastily leading you around the bed until your back connects with another wall. 

You love that shit. And you’re starting to think Yoongi is very, very aware of this fact. 

“Take those fuckin’ pants off,” he orders. “And hands on the wall before I put them there.” 

“Can’t make me do shit—”

Fingers grip your chin before Yoongi gets right into your face, primal instinct making you go on full alert. As his tongue prods his cheek, your whole lower body quivers. “I can. And I will, if you don’t behave.” Tapping your jaw in a warning, he hums. “Now do what I fucking say.” 

Holy shit, he’s not playing around. Which only heightens your desire to peaks previously unreached, and you’re shucking your bottoms off while he yanks his drawer open for condoms. Hurrying, you fling your clothes away before planting—

Yoongi smashes his whole front against your back—pinning your whole body against the cold, rough wall—before intertwining long fingers with yours. “Good girl.” 

Hitching your hips back, he sticks your ass out as you slip, and you feel his cock tease your entrance. Groaning, you grip your hands into fists as he continues to rub your cunt but never enter. Denying, denying, denying. Smacking your pussy and still not letting you feel him inside. 

And it’s maddening. “Please!” 

“Please what,” he asks, giving your ass a spank that has you flinching into the wall. 

And, without any shred of mercy, this goes on for longer than he’s ever held out. It’s so sickening that tears start flowing from your eyes, and you devolve into saying anything to get him to fuck your brains out. Between spanks on your ass, slaps on your tits, and aggravating kisses on your back, Yoongi doesn’t let you phase him for minutes. 

It’s when you choke on a sob that he finally, finally squeezes inside of you, checking for your nod before wrecking you completely. 

“Oh, fuck—” Your eyes shut tight as you try to keep yourself upright, hands pushing against the wall as your legs shift with every thrust. 

“This ass. Fuck.” Yoongi’s pace is relentless, hands bruising your hips and your cheeks smacking into his pelvis over and over and over. “It’s a goddamn problem.” 

You’re trying so hard. So, so hard to stay on the wall. But your hands are too sweaty; they're starting to slip with each attempt. “Bed,” you command. “Bed now.” 

And he obliges immediately, pulling out and yanking you back. Mouth to your ear, he both checks in while making your legs jelly, “You tapping out?” 

“Break my fucking back,” you rasp in return, hearing him growl in satisfaction before burying you facedown into his bed. As he plunges inside again, you grip at his sheets, driven to the brink and reveling in all the things he’s saying to you while feeling him in your stomach. 

Suddenly, you feel your arms pulled back, and you yell into his mattress as he buries himself even deeper. Everything you’re screaming makes no sense, but the phenomenal sensation you feel as you go limp renders you speechless anyway. 

Yoongi knows exactly what he’s doing as he pushes his thumb into your asshole, because you clench so hard around him that he chuckles darker than dark. Careening into space, you kiss the edge of euphoria before he inconveniently pulls out, launching a sling of insults from your mouth. 

“What was that?” 

“I said fuck you!” 

“Thought so.” 

Not done in the slightest, Yoongi hauls your thighs so flush against him that you have to use your fingertips for support. Just as you’re about to argue, he rams into you from a new and impossibly enticing angle and holy fuck it feels so good you want to weep.

“Put that fucking hand down,” he growls, smacking away the fingers you didn’t even know were on your mouth. “If you wanna talk shit.” 

“Fuck—!” 

“Uh huh. Let it out, baby girl.”

You’ve never felt this out of control. This wild. This out of body. Your head is yanked back, your back pressing into the front of his shirt before you feel him so far into your guts that you quiver. 

Now at the mercy of his tongue in close range, you hear his gravelly tone in your ear, “What’s my fuckin’ name.” 

“Asshole—” 

A hard smack to your tits has you crumpling with a whine. “Say it.” 

“I’ll say it if I wanna say it—” 

Another spank to your inner thigh and you’re gone. Eyes roll as he tweaks your nipple, and your words are almost garbled when he grips your chin from behind. “This what we’re doing? Hmm?” 

You laugh breathy before you taunt, “Uh huh.” 

“Mm…” Despite your laugh, you shake. “I wouldn’t do that, doll.” 

“Make me. Bet you can’t.” 

Tensed and veins angry, Yoongi grips both your tits before snarling, “That’s enough.” 

Swiftly, he shoves you down into the sheets, muscular frame pinning you as he strokes up into you just right. Again. Again. It’s all too slow and too effective and you’re trying to stay mad but all you can feel is perfection, your back arching at his thrusts and mewling at his low growls in your ear. 

“You wanted this.” Another thrust. “Talking shit.” Your jaw goes slack. “Pissing me off.” 

Your groan is downright erotic. Why why why? Just knowing you’re making him this mad flutters your cunt and, from the sinister chuckle shooting into your neck, Yoongi definitely felt that. 

“Fuckin’ thought so.” 

When he reaches to grab your breasts, the last thrust has you crying out in a flurry of pleasure. 

Every single thought is Yoongi, from beginning to end in a biblical cycle of debauchery. Exertion leaves you slick, sweat coating the expanse of your skin only to press into his bed, your mess your mess your mess. At his hands. The smacks of his cock. The rolls of his hips. Are you gone? Are you here? If he’s bruised then you feel like you are, too, and you welcome the temporary pain as Yoongi’s fingers dig ever deeper into your waist fuck one’s now pinning your head down. 

The moans you let out are unending, and your thighs shake when all you get in response is a laugh of condescension. 

“Look at you. Can’t even stay mad.” 

“Fuck you!” You’re close, you’re close, you’re close again. Release is at your fingertips, but Yoongi yanks himself out to rip it away from your outstretched fingers. “No!” 

“What, doll.” 

“Please!” 

“Nah.” 

Body sore, you’re flipped over with no mercy as something else presses against your cunt. 

Fucking hell, he’s eating you out now? Shaking, you feel Yoongi’s tongue swirl around your thrumming clit before he sucks, edging you to the point of tears and heartbreak. And it proves too much as you grab at his head, yank at his hair, because he lets up when you’re close. 

Every. Single. Time. 

Your madness spirals into your curses, and he relishes in your despair, continuing to lick and suck and slap your thighs with patience. “What do you say?” 

“Please!” 

“Mm. Not loud enough.” 

“Yoongi, please.” 

“Oh, we’re saying names now?” 

Fuck, fuck, fuck, it aches. It’s starting to borderline hurt. “I’ll be good,” you barter, beg, plead with a head spinning off its own axis. “I’ll do anything.” 

“Do it yourself then.” 

Later, when you look back on tonight, you’ll be embarrassed and shy to hell. But right now, you’re so over any shyness that you don’t hesitate, reaching down to rub at your clit and moaning when it’s so sensitive.

And Yoongi gets a front row seat. 

His groan is gutteral. And it doesn’t take you long to quicken your pace, bucking your hips and whining to the ceiling. You’re so so so close it’s right there—

Your hand is smacked away. And after you try to wrestle out of his grip, you are a flat out, blubbering mess. “Yoongi… Please…” 

“Nah.” 

This is torture. And you’re frightened at how much you’re enjoying it. “I’m so close.” 

“You’ll come when I say you can.” 

“Please! …Please..”

“You done being a brat?” 

“No! Fuck. Yes!” If you weren’t so far gone, you may have deciphered a tiny smile of amusement. But it won’t be for months later until you’ll realize that you were wrong. 

Because the menacing flash of teeth you see is much too wide to be anything other than pride. “The fuck did I say? Use your words.” 

You know you’re still upset. You know Yoongi is still upset. But for some reason, you feel closer to him than you have in awhile, and you wonder if lust and madness are two sides of the same coin. “Let me come. Please.” 

Yoongi finally obliges with something he hadn’t pleasured you with yet. And your vision blanks as you yelp at the sensation, his slick fingers pistoning into your folds so fast you’re arching so taut. From between your quivering legs, you hear one final command, 

“Then fucking come.” 

And you burst, so hard you almost feel like something threatens to spew from your cunt. But all you can do is shake and thrash under his grip, so erratic that you feel like Yoongi’s starting to pin you down. Gone, gone, gone, you’re sure the veins of your neck threaten to break through your sweaty skin. 

Then you feel his cock thrust inside of you, and you whip your head forward only to get your airway cut off. “Again,” he calmly repeats, flinging you back to the last time this happened. 

Only this time, there’s even less room for you to make any other choice. 

“I said again.” 

Your body cannot fathom disobedience, pulsing and milking his perfect fit. Over, and over, and over. You hear rumbling from a dragon above, feel breaths of steam whooshing as it watches you come undone. 

“Yoongi—” 

A light slap to your cheek is your only warning before your chin is tugged, lips smushing into yours to swallow your straining sobs. Fuck, fuck, fuck, your body is still thrumming, inundating around his cock until your emotions spill from your core. Toes. Fingers. Everything is straining and locking in place. 

“So fucking hot.” He rips your soul right out. “Shit.” 

You fly through time and space, gathering emotions and feelings and spiraling spiraling spiraling. Crying. You’re crying. Full on crying you’re so overwhelmed with everything truly you were so mean to him you upset him holy fuck you should’ve left when he told you to—

“Baby.” 

But you cannot stop crying, choke choke gasping on sobs. 

“Babe.” 

“I—I—” 

Your name stabs you with a crisp shot, coupled with a firm grip on your chin, snapping you back to lucid. And Yoongi’s eyes are frantically searching your own. “Look at me.” 

You do. Do you? You do. And his eyes… 

They’re not angry at all. It’s pure concern. Steadfast concentration. And something reflecting your soul. “Breathe.” 

“Oh, shit,” you whisper, coughing and reaching for oxygen you didn’t know you were denying. Air rushes back into your lungs as you inhale. 

“There you go. Keep going.” 

You do, gulping down air and hiccuping a breath or two. Your cheek is being caressed, you think. And with another pass, you know it is. 

“Relax for me.” And you hiccup a sob. “Breathe, babe.” 

You do, you do, you do. Yoongi kisses your forehead, your cheeks, your nose, and you breathe more and more through it all. “You with me?” 

“Always,” you answer, filter off because you are hanging by a thread and he’s holding the top. “Please don’t kick me out ever,” you hiccup. “Please, baby, I’ll do anything for you but I—could—never handle that—” 

You’re tenderly hushed before lips slide over yours, attempting to swallow your thoughts and your sobs and your oncoming tears. As you flood his bed with apologies, Yoongi keeps wiping them all.

“I’m sorry.” 

“Nothing to be sorry for.” 

“I’m really sorry.” 

“Babe.” 

“You told me so many times—” 

“Breathe, angel.” 

You blink at the change in name, and it makes you focus just a bit stronger. Floating down from the precipice. 

“I wasn’t kicking you out,” he slowly explains, kissing sweat from your forehead. His words feel like a calm, rock-filled river over your eyes. “I felt like an idiot and hated you seeing me like this.” 

“Like what?” 

“Just… Like this.” 

“You’re perfect like this,” you hitch out, not caring about what flows out of your mouth. “So perfect. Always to me. I just wanted to help you, baby, I’m so sorry—” 

He hugs you so tight more tears squeeze out. 

And so do more confessions, “I… I care about you. I think a little too much. If I lost you, I wouldn’t—be able—” 

“I’m here.” 

“So please don’t push me away.” 

“I won’t.” 

“I know you don’t make promises but—” 

“I promise.” Without an ounce of doubt, Yoongi places a firm, lingering kiss on your temple. “Promise. Fuck.” As he holds you tight, you feel him shake before you hear the tiniest sniff at your ear. 

Oh. He doesn’t need to be like this, too. You try to move your hand up between your bodies to comfort him, but your whole limb feels gelatinous. So you simply whisper, “It’s okay, baby.” 

You can’t tell how long you lie like this, with his beautiful weight on yours. But time is irrelevant when your mind is unwinding from hours of whirring, starting to finally accept the fact that everyone is okay and you don’t have to be angry anymore. 

“Come on,” Yoongi rasps, voice cracked and airy. “Let’s go.” 

“Hmm?” 

“Shower.” 

“Oh. Okay.” 

You’re so thrown and dizzy from what just happened that even getting to the bathroom is a blur. What you kinda feel is Yoongi holding you upright when your legs buckle, but you don’t remember when he leaves your side to turn the water on. 

As he flips on the light, your eyes squeeze until they adjust, and you watch as he tests the water while fully clothed. Air conditioning starts to give you a chill, but the shower warms up just in time because he reaches out to guide you inside. 

Wait. Is he not joining you? Bleary, you grab at his shirt when he steps away, eyes pleading. “Are you coming in, too?” 

Yoongi stops before he gives a shake of his head. “I’ll take mine when you’re done,” he says through a slight smile. “We’ll take care of you first.” 

That doesn’t make sense. Even in your depleting haze, you know something doesn’t add up. “You can join me now. I don’t mind.” When you try to lift his shirt, Yoongi visibly flinches when you brush over his ribs.

And all the murk around your head vanishes in a snap. 

He kept his shirt on that whole time. Not once did your positions allow you to see his upper body fully. And now he’s not gonna get in the shower or take his shirt off? 

Your voice lowers two octaves when you reach full clarity. “Let me see.” 

Unblinking, Yoongi tries to back away, “Don’t worry—” 

“Let me see it, baby,” you command, breath cut until he finally allows you to lift his shirt up holy fuck those injuries look so painful tears prick your eyes. “Oh, my god, Yoongi—” 

“I’m fine.” 

“You’re hurt.” You feel these wounds deep in your ribs, and you tell him to get your kit what the hell he fucked you while feeling those? 

Attempting to alleviate your stress, Yoongi decides to strip fully and step into the shower, ignoring your pleas to grab your med kit and promising you can take care of him when you’re done washing up. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yes, doll.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Promise.” 

And when his arms wrap around you, this is when you finally let go. Huge, chest-wracking sobs echo around tile, and Yoongi stays quiet through your cathartic release. 

There’s another reason you were so upset. And it has nothing to do with any of them, but with yourself. The main reason you’ve been so riled up and frustrated is because… This is technically your fault, too. 

But, unsurprisingly, he won’t let you take any blame whatsoever. 

“You got hurt cus I said to play.” 

“Nope.” 

“I wore the outfit that day.” 

“Doesn’t matter.” 

“And lost my friends at the club.” 

“No.” 

Sniffling in quick succession, you think about one other option. Some form of closure that can double as compromise. Voice soft, you suggest the last resort you have, 

“How about we share it.” 

Yoongi blinks twice before he clarifies, “You wanna share the blame?” When you nod, he huffs through the tiniest smile of confusion. “Mm. Then it’s our fault.” 

“Okay.” 

After shaking his head, he closes his eyes, molding his forehead with yours. “What are you doing to me.” 

A sniffle. “Wrecking your water bill.” 

His laughs join yours as you barely get your sentence out before giggling, and to feel him so close and present and here makes your worries slink down the drain. 

Hands trace down your arms, walking along falling rivers before creating ponds with your fingers intertwined. “Gonna clear me out someday.” 

“Duh.” 

He’s himself again. 

And after a whole night of chaos, you feel like yourself again, too. 

That’s all you both need to feel peace. 

-

-

You keep that tranquility carrying you through his room, peeking into his closet to grab the biggest shirt and sweats you can find before drying your head. 

But no matter how much water you can dry, your body will keep being washed in relief. And it’s the calmest feeling, watching as Yoongi does the simplest things near his bed. 

Your lips curve when he pulls up his pants; your heart beats when he grabs a tee. It’s in this moment that you admit that these outfits of his are your favorites, and you gravitate to him as he slips cotton over his damp head. 

“Come on,” you softly offer as you turn. “I’ll make food and get you some ice.”

Again, Yoongi just stares with a faint smile. But his eyes are alive again, so you’re more than fine if he just follows your lead without a word.

In the kitchen, you pause amongst the appliances, the cabinets watching as you utilize your phone to find a good recipe. “What shall we eat… Stew? Or, wait—” 

Looking up, you eye him in thought before choosing to focus on something else. “Actually, let’s figure you out first.” 

Opening yet another tab to add to your hundreds, you type away before selecting a good starting point. “Okay, let’s see. You’re breathing fine, so no bruised ribs. Umm…” 

Scroll, scroll. 

“It looks really bad there, though. You sure you can move right?” 

Despite asking, you go right back to your phone before Yoongi can even respond. Scrolling and clicking and reading again. 

Scroll, scroll. 

“Okay, so no bruised ribs, and according to this you don’t have any broken bones. And nothing fractured, either, thank god—”

“I love you.” 

Time bursts.

Your chest glows. 

Everything starts to beat, beat, beat in slow motion. 

And you don’t even feel like you’re in the room anymore. “…What?” 

You need to hear it again. You need to need to need to, because if you heard him wrong, you will check yourself and bolt right out the door. 

His eyes. 

Despite the battlefield on his skin, they are dripping, and sparkling, and full. The whole world suspends as he stares right into your soul, caressing it with his wounded hands and cradling it in his bruised arms. 

No matter how hard the moon will try—for years, and years, and years more—it will never outshine this single, shaken, solidified admittance. 

“I love you, doll.”

You don’t know what to do. You don’t know what to fucking do. 

Why is Yoongi saying this now? Why is he choosing now of all times to make you the happiest person in the universe? 

No. 

Happiness isn’t even close to what you feel and you’re pretty sure you’re crying but nothing makes sense and your vision plunges under sunlit waters. 

“And you don’t have to say anything. I know I don’t deserve to.” 

What?

“I can’t be everything you want. Or need. Or whatever the fuck I’m trying to say. But I just needed you to know because I can’t fucking fight this shit anymore—” 

You lunge forward before he offers his last syllable, careful to avoid his wounds and not mush his face because he would do the same for you. 

And it’s all too much tonight. The lingering fear, the dying anger, the floods of relief, the joy. You can’t stop your sobs from coming out in bursts, your whole body wracking with overwhelming emotion as he grits into your skin,

“Goddamn it, I—”

“Yoongi—”

“—so fucking much.”

Yoongi loves you. He’s here. He loves you, loves you, loves you and the beats of your heart pulse orange and blue, blue, blue. 

Nothing will ever compare to this moment. Nothing. You will bottle this one up in a jar to place next to all the others you have stored, and when you are lonely, or hurt, or even when you’re doing just fine, you will uncork it to surround yourself with this memory and know that everything will be okay. 

He loves you. 

Fuck, he loves you? 

You choke out his name with a sob, and he squeezes you even harder. When you can’t reply with anything else, he buries his face in the crook of your shoulder, his tears taking root and blossoming into beautiful vibrant fruit all along your rib cage.

He loves you.

Why can’t you seem to say it back? What the fuck is wrong with your tongue?

Maybe it’s because saying it doesn’t feel like enough. Like it’s laughable that there are words for this feeling because they don’t nearly represent what you harbor in your very being for this man. 

There’s no way any words are enough. Not for him. Nor for you. Because right now, Yoongi needs something more. And you’re going to give him more than everything. 

“Yoongi, I—”

He captures your lips in his, and you let him push you against his counter and consume you everywhere he wants to. Between his claims, your sobs have room to breathe. Which makes for a horrible showing of your attempting to say what you want to. “I… I can’t… Yoongi—”

Fingers press into the back of your head, a forehead smushing into yours and shutting you up completely. “I’m sorry,” he says, words rolling down the tracks your tears have walked. “I won’t ever be able to say that enough.” 

“Baby,” you hiccup, resting a hand over one of his. “It’s okay.” 

“It’s not.”

“It is.” You squeeze his hand, feeling the lovely digs of his knuckles in your palm. His scent wafts around you like an embrace, and you know there’s nothing quite like it. At all. “You’re okay, so I’m okay.” 

After he plants a warm kiss on your temple, you feel his hands ball into fists at your ears. “I just—fuck.” 

There’s no telling what he’s thinking about in that brain of his. But you need him to know that there’s nothing more for him to be sorry for. All you care about is that he’s present, responding, and himself. 

“Babe,” you whisper, still not believing those three words coming out of his mouth. “I’m here.” 

“I know.” He sighs, smushing into your lips and holding you so tenderly, yet so tight. As he laps at your tongue, you’re more than sure he can taste your rainfall. 

None of this is real. Because you can’t believe it at all. Even as Yoongi continues his journey across your neck, your shoulders, your jaw, your face, you still can’t piece together that this is truly happening.

When you feel him hard on your pelvis, you remember that he didn’t get the same release you got earlier. But you’re not gonna be the one to suggest going again, all of this will be what he decides. 

And what Yoongi decides is to pull you closer, breathing you in while you do the same. His kisses are never ending, and your hands roam languidly along his shoulders, his hair, stretching across the expanse of his back. One that has held the weight of the world and then some.

His name leaves your mouth in a sigh, your back arching as softly as the kisses being planted along your breasts. 

“If you only knew,” he whispers, laughing to himself as he wraps an arm around your side.

“Knew what?”

“Nothing, babe.” You gasp into his next rough press to your lips. “You’re so—fuck.”

You said you’d let him lead. But as Yoongi starts to walk you into his bedroom again, you think about his injuries and feel more concerned after knowing they’re there. So you quietly stop him as you reach his bed, “Are you sure?” 

“I’ll be alright, doll,” he whispers, lowering you down and smiling so tranquilly your heart lurches. “As much as I think you enjoyed the first time, this time will be better.” 

Giggling, you fight the heat from searing your cheeks as you smile. “You enjoyed it more than I did, I think.” 

“I don’t think so.” Yoongi smirks, getting up. “Lemme get a cond—” 

“It’s okay,” you halt him with a hand, and he freezes. 

Full stop. No movement. Not even a breath. “...What?” 

“We don’t…” You swallow, stomach fluttering at his expression. “We don’t have to this time.” 

Because Yoongi’s eyes have not left your face. “You sure?” 

Then something causes you to smile. Knowing that if there’s anyone you want to do this with, it’s this man right here and now. There’s genuinely no one else in the world with whom you would wanna share this experience, and the fact that he’s still asking makes you emotional.

Cradling his face with the most tender touch you can imagine, you confirm, “Just for a little bit.” And you add something you think he needs to keep hearing. “I trust you.” 

Gulping down any extra emotions spilling from your heart’s chalice, your words come out a little wobbled. “And I want to, if you want it, too.” 

“I want what you want, doll.” 

“Then it’s okay.”  

Clothes on or off, you still feel so shy underneath him. 

But this time, you vow to shove those feelings of unworthiness to the side. Because you are fully invested in this moment above all others. And Yoongi deserves more than you can give. 

When he slowly tugs his sweats from your legs, you’re already choking back tears. As he climbs on top, you await the connection you never in your dreams would’ve imagined. 

And when Yoongi stares at you one more time, you know exactly what he’s asking. 

“Yes, my love,” you wisp into his skin, craning up to kiss him and swallowing his last slice of doubt. Knowing you’ll say it again and again and again. 

His brows pinch as he kisses you—slow, purposeful, understanding. Then he positions himself, and you can physically feel his hand brush your cunt as he does so. If he ever asks if you felt him shake, you will deny it. But only for a year or two. 

As soon as you feel him—only him, solely him—you swell with a current of emotion. And it pulls you all the way under when he’s fully sheathed inside. 

“Holy fucking shit.” 

“Yoongi—” 

“Fuck.” 

Simply having him inside, with no barriers or obstacles in between? You’re already close. There’s no early explanation, but you already feel overwhelmed enough to come. 

No no no. You want this to last forever, so you wait for Yoongi to gather himself because he appears to be fighting, too. 

Chuckling, you ask, “You good, baby?” 

And your lover snaps his gaze to your face, bangs sweeping across your cheeks and eyes unblinking. “Yeah, just...” He stares at your inquisitive expression before whooshing out a harsh breath. “Just this is about to make me bust.” 

You burst into laughter before admitting you were just thinking the same thing, and his slow grin makes you want to cry. “We’re not good at this.” 

“No. You’re too good at this. I can’t even move.” 

“Yes, you can,” you whine. “You wreck my shit all the time.” 

Feeling a twitch more prominent than ever, you giggle as Yoongi puffs out pained amusement. “Doll, if you keep talking like that, I’m pulling out.” 

“Okay, okay,” you surrender, loving how out of sorts he seems. He’s fighting for his life and you’re enjoying the hell out of it. 

“You’re a little too perfect right now.”

Maybe one day you will agree with him. But that day is far from reach, your head shaking in quiet disagreement.

“You are.”

“Nowhere close,” you whisper.

His nose brushes against yours. “Say that again and see what happens.”

“Is that what you tell all the others fuck!”

His shove up your cunt makes you see stars. “What did I fuckin’ say?” 

“What—”

Another launch has you careening through space, lip bitten and suppressing a hearty whine. “You think there’s someone else?” Again. “Hmm?” 

Again. 

You’re so dazed and mind-fucked to pieces that your speech is barely audible. But your chin is grabbed as you’re snapped straight, and your eyes try their hardest to focus on slitted ones above. “You’re gonna regret saying that.” 

You just laugh, whine pinging sharp into the ceiling as he shoves forward so hard your whole body shifts upward. “Oh, yeah?” 

Yoongi doesn’t respond with words, thrusting up again and sending you twisting and winding towards the edge unbelievably fast. “Uh huh.” 

“Make me then,” you gasp out. “Make me really sorry.” 

The sound Yoongi makes comes from deep within his stomach, the rumbling hum shooting right into your veins like liquid fire. 

And the full-on attack he bursts into renders you completely speechless. Everything Yoongi does pulls you deliciously in all directions—his thrusts, his chain hitting his chest, his grip on your wrists, the way he snags your chin. Everything. 

“Taking me so well like this.” 

“I—”

“So fucking tight.”

Fuck fuck fuck it’s habitual for you at this point, and you unhinge your jaw a split second before he smacks the side of your face. Desire lowers your lids halfway as you feel empowered, and you don’t even recognize your voice as you order him on the spot. “Do it again.” 

Yoongi doesn’t stop his pace as he keeps his eyes on you. 

“Do it again,” you growl, fully limp and a groaning mess when he does exactly what you want. 

Fuck, the pain feels good. So good that you reach up and choke him out. But the back of your head is grabbed before you feel hungry lips smash into yours. You feel your wrists pinned again by one large palm, air chilling for a moment before a hot mouth captures one of your nipples. “Oh, fuck, Yoongi!” 

“Uh uh.” 

“Please—please—” 

You’re still tensing as he devours your chest below his shirt, strokes now slower but just as powerful. 

Your arms still haven’t been freed, but there’s something about being under his control that has you loving this position. Without question. Maybe it’s the fact that you can see him now, losing himself just as he saw you washes in the throes of passion. 

And he licks, sucks, lolls his tongue all over your tits, whispered praises sinking through your bosom as he keeps a grip on your wrists. 

“Baby,” you gasp. “I’m close, I’m—” 

“Shit.” Air whooshes over you before you feel your arms freed and him yank himself out, and you freeze as he unloads right on your stomach, a sharp cocktail of pride and shock in your gut. 

Holy fuck, Yoongi was that close? Did he hold out as long as he could? Shit, he’s breathing so hard his jewelry shakes as it dangles. 

You’re still so surprised that your arms are still locked into bends, and he glances up at you from his kneeled state. “Fuck,” he laughs, and is that… Is Yoongi shy? “Thought I could hold out.” 

“No, no, it’s fine,” you assure through your own tiny chuckle. “Oh my god, I promise.” 

He leans down to plant a heart fluttering kiss on your lips, but you hate how he looks pained on the way down. 

Those hits he took… Now you kinda understand his perspective. Because now you want to avenge him in five hundred thousand ways—almost half as many ways as you want to show him how you feel. 

“Stay there, beautiful,” Yoongi orders as he moves to get off the bed, wincing in passes. “I’m not done with you.” 

Damn. He looks even more exhausted than before. “Baby, are you sure?” 

But Yoongi walks right to his bathroom to retrieve a towel, and your eyes may as well transform into hearts when you watch him come back to you. So handsome, even now. Even when he’s simply holding a washcloth, hair completely mussed, soul sparkling and face bruised. 

As he sits to clean your face before moving to your stomach, you can only observe his eyes. So experienced. Calm. At peace. When they drift to yours, it’s instinct that has you shying away. “What, love.” 

Another reason to crumble inside. “I just… nothing,” you whisper. 

And Yoongi finishes with the cloth before tossing it somewhere. “Tell me,” he says, lying down on the ribs with more damage. “I wanna know.” 

“Come on this side,” you tell him, and he obliges without a word. “It’s a secret.” 

“A secret?” 

“Mmhmm.” 

Yoongi settles before lifting your chin, rubbing an affectionate thumb over any tears still persevering on your cheeks. “I can keep those, you know.” 

Smiling, you fold way too easily. “Okay, I’ll tell.” 

When he leans in, your nervousness and excitement to tell him almost spoils your ability to do so. Like someone gifting a present while wanting to say what it is before it’s even opened. 

“I love you, too,” you whisper, tears sprinting to your ducts as Yoongi freezes. When he looks at you, you can’t help but choke on a sob seeing his eyes get as red as the marks on his cheek. “And you deserve more than I could ever give.” 

His eyes hold the heavens and the seas. 

You’re right. Just saying it isn’t fucking enough.

You’re already liplocked again before you can think, saltwater on your face and you don’t even know whose eyes it came from.

Determined, Yoongi starts kissing a trail from your lips to your jaw, and you start to cry as he makes his own journey down the expanse of you. 

All of you.

Is this what it feels like? Is all of this actually, genuinely real?

You hope so, because you feel devotion in each press of his lips, and every touch will be remembered in its own right. Its own pocket of time.

Every single stop.

It almost feels divine when his mouth reaches your folds, lapping at your essence and swirling around your clit. When you say his name, Yoongi says nothing, instead palming your thighs and eating you out like he has all the time in the world. 

Swelling, you already feel close. 

But the way he gets you to fantasia is so natural that you slide into your quivers seemlessly. The transition into your heaven flows like a stream, and your waves engulf his tongue and coat his mouth without trouble. 

This is what it feels like. What it feels like with Yoongi. 

And you wanna keep making love until only sleep can take you from him.

Your hands jut into his hair, gasping as he keeps his pace, and no matter how you squirm he is dead set on holding you down until holy fuck you’re coming again. 

How? What’s happening to you? This constant stream of release is shocking you to the point of crying out, and Yoongi groans into your orgasm and prolongs it with the whole press of his tongue.

“Holy fuck, baby—!” Another wave overcomes the next, and you outright quake in his hands, eyes rolling and vision blinking white. Muscles lock as you can’t keep up with the pleasure, and you’re mercilessly let go only for lips to descend on yours.

Your tears spill into your ears as you kiss him back, wrapping tired arms over his shoulders and raking in deep. 

“Fuck.” And you feel his cock lodge against your entrance, and you’re amazed how hard he is again. 

Does he want what you want? Is he ready again? 

As Yoongi quietly gets up to get a condom, you’re amazed that he wants to keep going after everything that’s transpired. But, if he feels like you do, he’s ready to keep going until the sun comes up three whole times. 

When he sits next to you, your better half appears shy as he bites the wrapper. “Don’t take this the wrong way.”

“Oh, I already know.”

“K. But god, I fuckin’ want to.”

You bite your lip to hold back your smile, remembering what he said a long time ago and bringing it back full circle for the next thing you both wanna try. “One day.”

Yoongi only grins. 

And for the next hour, your lover, your secret, your home gives you everything he has, and you come for him more times than you ever have in your life.

Every time, he drags your pleasure out, expertly tearing you down with his movements and building your confidence up with his words. He tells you you’re perfect, and he disagrees when you disagree. When you find tears on your face, he kisses those away, too. When you feel along his silver, he simply watches you in silence. 

No sadness, doubt, nor anger to be found. 

After you physically can’t do any more, Yoongi lies at your side, silent as you play with his hair. You do your best to stay still, not wanting to accidentally push into any of his injuries that you’re gonna beg him to get checked in the morning. 

Once he’s healed? That’s when you’ll never let go. Because you want to crush him into you completely. Mold into him, just so he can feel the brevity of your highest affection. 

“I’m sorry for yelling,” you finally whisper. “But I really was so mad at you. All of you.” 

“I know.” 

“I don’t wanna lose you.”

“It won’t happen again.” 

“That’s what you said last time.” 

Yoongi stares, seeming to withhold something from you before he palms your cheek. “They were gonna follow us home if we didn’t, babe,” he reveals, snapping your heart back in two. “We all knew that.” 

“Oh, fuck.” Everything hits you at once: why they stayed, why you and Taehyung had to leave. Why Tae didn’t bring you straight back to the house. And the burns at your eyes match the searing in your gut. “I didn’t… I didn’t think about that.” 

When you start to cry, Yoongi sits up and hangs his head between his sweats. “You don’t need to think about shit like that,” he murmurs, sounding defeated as ever. “But we talked after you told us off. We won’t hide that from you anymore.” 

Sniffling, you whisper out a thank you. But you don’t want Yoongi to feel like he has to distance himself, so you untangle him—slowly, gently–-before bringing him into your chest. 

After dealing with all that and the tempest in his living room, this man still let you in. From the looks of things, there’s a lot that he had been fighting, and you’re more than appreciative that he opened his door. Not knowing how to put these feelings into words, you say the first things that come to mind. And for some reason, they feel heavier on the way out, 

“Thank you for letting me in. It was raining really hard.” 

Yoongi stiffens hard before holding you closer. 

“Babe?”

No response. Just another batch of weighted quiet. 

Worried, you tilt your head. “Hey. Look at me.”

If he stays right where he is, you’ll have to respect that decision. But he ends up pushing himself up, and as soon as you see moonlight catch on a falling tear, all your instincts reach for him, “Oh, fuck, come here.”

You surround him with everything you have, wanting every single bit of warmth birthed from his love to fill his space instead of yours. Whatever he needs, you will give. “It’s okay, baby,” you whisper, holding him so close but not nearly close enough. 

Never close enough.

His face is buried in the crook of your neck, and you will let him live there whenever he needs to. “I’m not mad anymore, okay?” God, you hate how he’s still so silent. You get it, but you hate whatever made him default to this state. “I’m just glad you’re alright.”

After light rain fills the room, your soul breaks at a sniffle, and you crush your love even tighter.

“This isn’t about that, doll,” Yoongi finally whispers, burying wet eyes further into your shoulder. “It’s just…”

It’s what? What’s he thinking about? Hopefully it’s not anything—

“It’s so fucking better when you’re here.” 

When you choke out a sob, his body locks, words pouring from nowhere and everywhere. “I sleep better. Eat better. Fuck, I even feel better even if nothing else changes.”

“Yoongi…”

“It’s true.” Sighing, he sniffles again before letting his weight drop onto you in resignation. Or relief. “I mean that.”

“Then… Those three months…”

“One day, I’ll tell you everything,” he offers, making you wonder what the hell he’s been through in the past. And if it has something to do with that guitar he smashed to pieces. “But from now on, you can be here whatever you want.” 

Many things have shifted tonight. As if an earthquake had upturned everything between the both of you, only peace has settled in its wake. A peace you had never felt before. As you brush fingers through his hair, you joke, “So I can come to those parties you host, too?” 

“Those weren’t my idea, by the way. Jimin made me.” Kissing your shoulder, Yoongi continues to admit, “He was worried. And hoping you would show.”

Oh. That’s news to you. 

“I knew you wouldn’t. But.” He exhales before nestling in further. “I did hope to see you, too.” 

“It’s okay.” You rub the back of his neck, your fingers feeling nothing but warmth and the softness of his clothes. “It would’ve been too obvious.”

“What would’ve.”

“That I wanted you all to myself.”

“You already have that.”

When you stiffen, your words are tiny. “You know what I mean.”

Yoongi laughs soft, taking one of your hands in his and bringing it up for a kiss as you blurt, “My brother was the one that invited me. To come to those, I mean.”

The way he blinks is comical. “Huh.”

“I know.” It’s your turn to bring his hand close, kissing along his knuckles before you stare out the window behind him. “It makes me wonder if he knows.”

“What if he does?”

You snap your eyes right to his. “Does he?”

Yoongi watches your lips linger on his fingers before he tells the truth, “No.”

“Okay. But you’re sure I can stay?” 

“Who do you think you bought those groceries for?” 

Oh. Wait. “What?” 

Grinning so sly, Yoongi reveals the plan he had all along, “I get you for a week, right?”

Oh. Holy shit. You cannot quite possibly deal with what this man is saying. That whole time you were shopping for his list… No wonder he was already done with dinner when you got there oh you’re gonna get him back for that. 

Light bursts from your center as you grit out through a grin, “You sneaky little—” Pulling his tilted mouth in for another kiss, your heart pulses little pink stars as he leans in with a laugh, and you meet lips again and again until he slowly, reluctantly stops. 

“One day,” he murmurs out of nowhere, and you flick your eyes to his. “I’ll be better.”

Of course he will. You have no doubts. But, just like he always does for you, you’re gonna start offering the same reassurance out loud, even if he knows it’s there. 

And you can’t contain your little laughs at your own joke, despite him just staring into your face right after you crack it, “Don’t make it just one day, silly.” 

Even if you’re very serious, it’s in your nature to lighten things up. Especially after hearing such wonderful news for what’s coming. Clutching a little bit of his shirt, you whisper with complete devotion, 

“We’ll make it as many as we can.”

You hate how you feel him freeze, knowing what that means, what plaguing little thoughts are embedded in that tiny shift. 

Yoongi’s still hesitant to accept.

Because you are, too. In many ways. But this man has been picking you up and making you stronger day after day—in both his presence and absence—that you can’t help but fight to do the same. 

Does he ever think about you? Does he know that you’ll always be with him? No matter how close or far apart you are? You hope so. Because it’s so true that your heart is searing that promise into your soul, branding it as a reminder to reciprocate all this genuine love you’ve never been given before.

He loves you?

You still can’t accept that as fact.

…Maybe one day.

You chuckle to yourself, deciding to keep talking because Yoongi is still so very quiet. “At least. Until the day I get to meet my cat,” you huff in triumph. “Then I’m running away with her.”

It’s a perfect strike of a match. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.” You pretend to pout. “But I’m starting to think she ran away already and you won’t fess up.”

Yoongi laughs so suddenly you flinch. After a playful scoff, he tries to make you feel better, “She’s still here!”

“Lies.”

“How much are you betting, doll.”

“How much are you willing to lose, babe.”

“This much,” he finally says, pinching your sides and hissing laughter when you scream. “Maybe I’ll make you leave after all if you’re gonna be a problem.” 

“You did threaten to kick me out before.” 

“Huh? When?”

“That day I showed up,” you remind him through a chuckle. Thrown back to that first night, you start to see all the parallels between then and now. And how vastly different things have become. “Said you were gonna kick me out for hustling you.” 

The glorious laughter from the depths of his belly makes you grin, and you cringe when his brows pinch in both laughter and pain. “I should’ve!” 

He needs to get those hits healed. “You really should’ve.” 

“Played me from the very start. You happy with yourself?” When you nod, Yoongi shakes his head. “Course you are.” 

“You love it.” 

“I do.” Your eyes meet, which proves dangerous for you because he bites his smirk before pulling you in for a kiss. “Thought I was gonna say it, huh.” 

“No!” You lie. Because no, you certainly were not! “…Maybe.” 

“Guess what.” 

Suddenly paranoid, you give him a look, already expecting to be tricked again. 

But Yoongi captures your lips without warning, curling your toes into sheets you’re now achingly familiar with. After a few passes, he shifts above, planting a hand at your side and letting his chain slide against your chest as he slots a leg in between yours. 

Yet again, you think about that first night, that first time. The first of apparently, surprisingly, wonderfully unexpectedly many. 

Who would’ve thought rain and a broken ego would bloom into something good? Who would’ve believed a person so close to your roots would be your home? 

As he lets up with one last slow stroke of his tongue, you whisper, “What were you gonna say?” 

At this, Yoongi spreads closed lips, taking his time planting a peck on your nose. “I just fucking love you, doll.” 

Oh. He’s a menace and the most annoying tease on the planet. 

When you can’t do anything but flee into his chest, Yoongi immediately laughs, forcing you back out of your little shell. “You can’t hide now, babe.” 

“I can!” 

Leaned forward in your struggle, you give him no choice but to swoop his head into your neck. Which backfires on you immensely because he decides it’s the perfect time to rasp deep against your ear, “I love fucking you, too.” 

His name flies out of your mouth in disbelief and embarrassment, and his heightened amusement puffs into the burning column below your chin. 

This is the moment something comes over you. Slams into you. Washes you in present nostalgia like lingering footsteps on a balcony. 

And it hurts. It really, really hurts. 

Instead of laughing along, you come down from your high, squeezing him like the pillow that couldn’t replicate his warmth for months. “I miss you.”

After a second, Yoongi questions, “How? I’m right here.”

You know that. You do. But with every hello there’s a goodbye, and you don’t want that this time. Especially now that your heart knows that his beats the same. 

Breathy and shaken, you rest your head in his chest, hoping he doesn’t hear but does at the same time, “I still miss you.”

Strong fingers weakly press into your sides, and while you can’t see him, you know for a fact that his smile is gone. Because he also knows goodbye is coming again, and you can’t stay here forever as long as this is all a secret. 

You feel a sigh wisp over your head before words that make no fucking sense follow it out, “I can’t do shit like this anymore.” 

…What?

No. No no no he can’t be done just like that you both just confessed everything you need to fight say something anything anything—

“I wanna do this the right way.” 

Oh. 

Yoongi’s chest… It’s shaking. 

Pushing yourself up, you search his eyes for answers. “What are you saying?” 

When he looks at you, there’s a fire in his eyes that wasn’t there before. Or maybe it has been there all along, and he only needed a spark to set it ablaze. “I’m saying I’ll tell him, doll. Just me.” 

Oh. Oh, shit. Didn’t he say not yet? Didn’t he say he needs more time? He said he’d figure it out what is with the sudden…

Your tears are automatic as Yoongi roams his gaze from one eye to the other, and he’s swallowing before taking a step. A step you didn’t think he’d make. One you didn’t have the courage to take yourself. 

When he utters the words, your soul lets rain fall just as the storm resides.

And right as moonlight shines through his blinds.

“I’ll tell him everything.” 

-

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tbc. :)

-

so... how did it go! | join the server!

a/n: so. here we are, over two years and 250k+ words later. thank you for sticking with me if you're still here, and thank you for being the most amazing readers a writer could ever, ever ask for. if you can interact or let me know what you enjoyed/like, i would be eternally grateful. these two parts took all of me, and i'm gonna take a break for a little bit before starting on the next part. a/n 2: thank you for also being here despite the highs and lows! things have really weighed on me for awhile, which prevented me from working on this part forreal. but my mental feels a lot lighter now, and i am ready to keep running with y'all. so thank you for your support and encouragement, no matter how you show it! ++ feedback box: ⇥ of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated! ⇥ for the ones that are too shy to reblog with a review, comment on this, or send a message, i went ahead and made another anonymous form where you can send in what you think! ⇥ no emails collected, no need to put in a username. it’s literally just a comment dropbox :D feedback can be as short/sweet or as long as you’d like! ⇥ here! ++ more links: ⇥ masterlist  ⇥ three tangerines masterlist

[bamsara]

what are your most favorite tropes? :3c

IM SO GLAD YOU ASKED:

Near death experiences

Emotional revelations due to said near death experiences

Enemies to Friends to Lovers

Mutual Pining but they believe its unrequieted

"you're my worst enemy but you're so important to me"

Drunk chapter where at least One fist fight happens

Bridal carry after someone gets injured

Slow Burn...of course

"i got you this gift because it benefits me and im not telling you how" (the benefit is seeing the other person enjoy the gift)

Force Alliances or Temporary Truces

"I don't like killing but I'll do it for you"

"I prefer to kill my problems but I won't, for you."

Or: "This person has no idea how many people I've killed in order to protect or provide for them and I'm going to keep it that way."

Mean or Villian Character is actaully a really good Sibling/Parent/Child,ect and has someone they care about

Or better, Villian character adopts child AND is a good parent

Everyone knows the pairing likes each other except for the pairing

Temporary (or non-temp)Amnesia

"I learn your favorite things because I plan to use them against you one day" (proceeds to not do that) (proceeds to get them food or items that persons likes just because they like them)

Breaking and Entering. Literally.

Person A is in love, Person B says they're not but they're 10x times worse actaully

Slip-of-the-tongue/Accidental confessions. Doesn't have to be love confessions but just "whoops i was not supposed to say that"

Biting as a love language

One is feral and bloodthirsty but is put in the position of 'protecting an idiot' because the other is also feral and has no self-preservation. Both characters must be badass, just equally stupid

Kiss on the head/cheek while the other person is sleeping

Bloodstained kiss

Heat-of-battle confession about something

Protagonist refusing to become villian or repeat villian mistakes, not in a 'owo i cant do that its bad' and more like 'fuck you you dont get to see what you wanted to make of me'

Signifier of 'this is my friend/family/lover'. Could anything between a ring, a jacket over someone's shoudlers or scent marking, anything

"if im immortal, then you gotta be too or we both dyin"

Knight x Their Charge

Human x Non-Human

Sunshine x Grump

Character that looks sooooo cute. Oh he's a little fucked up actaully

"ahhaha he's such a freak haha. i need him carnally."

They are mortal enemies. They are also best friends.

Hostage / Rescued trope plus Hostage / Doesn't get to rescue because the hostage killed everyone already

Plot info that's missing that's vital to the story and it's revealed that One of the pairing or someone in the group knew the info the entire time

"I said mean things to you because I hate you, so why am I feeling guilty now"

There was only One Bed

Really competent and scary character is really GOOD at a harmless and charming small hobby completely uncharacteristic to their public persona

Nightmares. And then sleeping in the same bed because of nightmares

Cultural differences / Language Barrier

Character gets so surprised flustered they trip over something or break something and it topples and it starts a chain reaction like a cartoon

There are more but these are some of which I can remember off the top of my head. I've written many of these myself in several of my stories and will continue to do so until the end of time, esp my faves

[heliads]

wouldn't you love to love her? - jack hughes

The New Jersey Devils have a new social media intern. Jack Hughes is determined not to care at all, except for the fact that he does.

masterlist

“We’re getting a new social media intern,” Luke remarks offhandedly.

Jack tries not to roll his eyes. He’s not sure he succeeds. For as long as he’s been at the Devils, there have been perhaps dozens of new social media interns, one after another in a chain of pretty girls shoving phones into his face. Every time, it’s always the same. Another girl, fresh from college or in between jobs, asking him and the others to learn dances or take part in trends. Luke will flirt with the intern. Dawson too, probably. Even Jack, when he gets bored. Then, the internship will be up in a month or two, and they’ll get another one. Prettier, maybe, or funnier. And the cycle will begin again.

It’s not like he can really blame them, either. The hockey industry is precious, even for people who aren’t playing. If these girls want in, an internship is a great way to start. Any entry post’s a good one if it gets you where you want. Only, social media’s a pain. Jack came here to play hockey, not be in a dozen new photos and videos a day. It drives him crazy sometimes, or all the time.

So, when his brother tells him they’re getting another intern, he really couldn’t care less. Luke, more prone to fits of passion over the latest girl in Devils red, is still staring at him wide eyed, waiting for a reaction, so Jack rolls his eyes and gives him one.

“Good,” he says dully. “It’s been too long since I saw a phone camera shoved in my face. Can’t wait.”

Luke groans. “Come on, man. They’re fun, don’t give me that bullshit again. Besides, I saw you trying to buy the last one drinks.”

Jack can’t argue with this. He had been trying. It was something to do. “Won’t do it this time. I’ll leave that for you.”

Luke heaves another dramatic sigh. Jack wants to do something to stop the oppressive judgment, so he does, snatching the hat off Luke’s head and shoving it towards his mouth. Luke, predictably, nearly falls out of his chair and starts squawking indignantly. Jack just chuckles and gets up from his seat, heading towards the door. They’ve been idling in one of the cafes in the massive arena where they practice, called there early for business stuff that ended up getting delayed. Meetings always run late, and now Jack has the rare feeling of tardiness not actually being his fault.

He heads down the hall towards the locker rooms, ready at last for practice. Luke follows a few paces behind him, still complaining, something about saving violence for the ice. Bullshit, obviously. Jack does what he wants, where he wants. Hasn’t Luke figured that out by now?

Jack steals a glance over his shoulder just to rub in the injury. Luke meets his gaze and glowers, still pissy from almost taking a nose dive off his chair, but all of a sudden his eyes widen at something in front of them. Jack whips around just in time to collide with someone exiting one of the offices.

It’s not an accidental almost-impact, either, this is a complete disaster. Papers go flying. Jack manages to keep his balance, but the victim of his distraction is worse off. He has to fling out both hands to steady them, catching at their arms at the elbow before they fall over. A dozen apologies rise to his lips, but Jack only gets through about half of them before he actually looks at the person he’s just bumped into– and look, indeed, he does.

Jack has just run into a girl his age, and a very pretty girl at that. He gets lost in her eyes without even meaning to, captivated by the way the light shines in them as she opens her mouth and says, “What the hell are you doing?”

Jack blinks in surprise, feeling like he’s just been abruptly pulled out of a dream. “Huh?”

The girl stares at him like he’s crazy. “Why are you holding onto me?”

Too late, Jack realizes he never actually let go of her when he was trying to steady her. He snatches his hands away, the sinking feeling settling in that he actually has no idea how long he was standing there, captivated. No wonder this girl thinks he’s insane. This random guy comes up, runs into her, then silently holds her in his arms for what’s probably more than just a second or two? Yeah, that’s crazy in anyone’s books.

“Sorry,” Jack says again. They look at each other warily for a moment longer, then collectively, both gazes drop to the papers spilled across the ground.

Immediately, Jack dives for them, trying to gather as many as he can. He springs up again, and, not trusting himself to say anything that isn’t stupid, just awkwardly holds out the papers until she takes them. The girl gives him one last disbelieving glance, then walks purposefully past him. Jack turns and watches her go, wondering why he feels vaguely disappointed that she hadn’t stopped to talk longer. He didn’t even get her name.

Raucous laughter breaks out the second the girl disappears around a corner. Belatedly, Jack remembers that Luke has witnessed the whole thing, which is just great. The last thing Luke needs is more ammunition for making fun of him.

“That was, like, the least smooth thing I’ve ever seen in my life,” Luke chokes out. “What the fuck was that?”

Heat flares into Jack’s cheeks. “Shut up,” he says, turning back to continue walking down the hallway.

Luke, however, is unwilling to let go of the horrific blunder. He trots up to walk by Jack’s side, regardless of how much Jack tries to pick up the pace. “I mean, Jesus. Way to make an entrance. Poor girl’s probably going to log that with HR.”

“Shut up,” Jack repeats through gritted teeth. “I’ve seen you do worse in front of fans.”

“We’re not talking about me right now, we’re talking about you,” Luke says happily. “I’m so telling Quinn about this.”

“You are not,” Jack warns, but even after many threats of serious violence, he’s not entirely convinced that his older brother won’t hear about this.

Jack almost manages to put the whole thing out of his mind until he and the others are hanging out in the locker room later that day. They’re all dressed, but their coach wanted a few words before they hit the ice, apparently something bureaucratic that Jack can’t wait to forget.

Instead of being introduced to a new friend of the owner or some wealthy donor, however, Coach announces that they’ll be meeting their new social media intern. Online presence is crucial for sponsors, apparently, and the Devils need to up their game. So they say. Jack thinks it’s a lot of nonsense, and is fully prepared to treat it as such until their coach beckons the new intern into the room and Jack realizes he knows her. This isn’t a stranger, someone he can ignore without another thought. This is the pretty girl Jack just ran into earlier today, and she’s the one in charge of most of his Internet footprint.

Great.

Across the room, Luke is grinning ear to ear. This is so not what Jack wanted. The coach is saying something about how they’ll all be pulled one by one today for introductions and a few quick videos that can be parceled out during the next week or so. Usually, they would ask Nico first, captain rights and all that, but they need him to advise on some drills, so they go for the next best– Jack himself.

They’ll be filming TikToks or whatever a few halls over so as to not distract anyone, so Jack makes his way over with no small amount of trepidation. She hadn’t seemed so excited to meet him earlier, but maybe she’ll have forgotten who he was. It was a fast exchange. Maybe this means nothing at all, and they will have a great meeting, and he could even get her number or something. Yeah, not a problem.

The girl is setting up a phone on a stand when Jack shows up. She glances once at him as he approaches, then nods. “Oh, we’re starting with Mr. Observant. Cool.”

Jack feels his face turn a bright scarlet. “I’m not– I’m sorry about that. Honestly. I just didn’t see you.”

“That’s fine,” the girl says with a listless wave of her hand. “It was funny. I just thought hockey players would have more reflexes or something, I don’t know. Anyway, what’s your name, again?”

This is a simple question. It really is. Yet for some reason, Jack finds himself bothered. He’s been with the team for a while now, had that A on his uniform for a while now, and maybe he shouldn’t, but he’s gotten comfortable with his reputation. People know who he is. He’s recognized on the street, asked for photos while he’s getting coffee, all of that. And now this girl– this intern– is pretending like she doesn’t know who he is, and insulting his reflexes to boot?

“Jack,” Jack replies tersely. “Are you going to tell me your name, or should I just guess?”

“Y/N,” the girl answers him. “What do you do on the ice except run into people?”

“I play hockey,” Jack deadpans. “What else do you want me to say?”

Y/N just smiles at him, the picture of innocence. “Your position? This is supposed to be an introduction, isn’t it? I have to make sure I have a good picture of the team.”

Fine. Fine. Jack can be civil. He’s going to play along and then he’s going to leave and make somebody else deal with her.

“Yeah, position. I'm an alternate captain, a center. Left wing. That matters.” He feels like he’s rambling. This is stupid. He’s stupid. He never does this.

“Sure it does,” Y/N says, one eyebrow raised. “Do you have to tell everyone you’re cool or just the interns?”

“Huh?” Jack asks. “I’m not– I’m just talking.”

Y/N nods. “I’m sure you do. Talking and hockey, that’s impressive. I can see why the Devils wanted you.”

“Your team spirit needs some work,” Jack notes. “Why’d they hire you, your winning personality?”

“That, and I’m wonderful at making infographics,” Y/N informs him breezily.

“I bet they’re terrible,” Jack says on instinct. “Clashing colors and all that. Can you even draw a straight line?”

Y/N cocks her head to the side. “I don’t know, can you shoot on goal without getting injured?”

Jack takes a step forward on instinct before he remembers that he cannot fight social media interns and backs down. Still, the anger simmers in his head so bad he’s not sure if the red all around him is for the Devils or just the film of rage clouding his eyes.

This isn’t good for him. His team needs him out there on the ice with a level head, even in practice. Jack forces a smile and says, “I guess you’ll see at our next game, won’t you?”

Y/N meets his gaze with a mirror smirk, which bothers Jack more than if she’d tried to one-up him again. He grabs his stick with more force than necessary, making himself step past her and onto the ice before he does something he’ll regret. Once he’s out there, skating broad loops to warm up, Jack can almost put the whole exchange out of his head.

Almost. 

Luke finds him after practice, because of course he does. Somedays, Luke swears that little brothers must be born with an innate knowledge of how to stick their heads into other people’s business. Fleetingly, he wonders what Quinn would think about that, then moves on before that lesson can settle in.

“I love our new intern,” Luke says happily on the drive back to their apartment.

Jack scoffs. “Sure you do. You love rubbing this in my face.”

Luke glances at him, surprised. “No, honestly. I think she’s great. Super funny, too.”

Jack turns to stare at him with disbelief so abruptly he almost swerves the car into a telephone pole. Veering to correct course, Jack spits out, “Y/N? You think Y/N is great?”

Once Luke stops pretending like they’ve almost died– which they didn’t, by the way, Jack had everything under control– he calms down enough to say, “Yeah, I do. She was super nice to me. I need to ask if she’s local so we can hang after the internship ends.”

Jack feels as if he’s been dropped into an alternate reality. “You’re serious. You really do like Y/N?”

Now Luke’s looking at him like he’s the crazy one. “Like I said, yeah. Why, what happened when you talked to her? Was she still mad about earlier?”

“You could say that,” Jack grits out, knuckles white around the steering wheel.

Luke chuckles. “That’s kind of funny, actually.”

“It is not,” Jack mutters, but Luke remains in high spirits the whole drive back anyway.

To the great amusement of his younger brother, Jack and Y/N continue to be at odds the next time the Devils have to film social media videos, and the next time, and the next. Even when they start off a meeting on relatively stable ground, something will happen to have them sniping again, and they’ll be at each other’s throats by the time they leave the building in the evening.

What makes it worse is that Jack is apparently the only one suffering from Y/N’s cold shoulder. Everyone from the captain to the rookies seems to have gotten along just fine with their newest social media intern, yet Jack feels like he walks around with a target on his back every time she’s in office. They’ve started to ignore each other instead of purposely tossing insults, but that’s as close as he’ll ever get to a truce.

Jack has started counting down the days until she leaves. He would love some peace and quiet. Maybe the next intern will be normal, or they’ll all be poisoned forever just because Y/N L/N showed up and changed Jack’s life for good.

God, he feels like she’s crept into every part of his world. He’ll be scrolling on his phone and the videos she filmed will appear on his For You page out of nowhere. Jack swears he can sense her in every quick cut, every box of text, every song selection. Walking through the arena, he sees her everywhere– ducking into a meeting room, discussing potential videos with some of the PR agents, tucked into the bleachers so she can watch them practice and snap some shots. Jack is starting to seriously wonder if there has ever been a time when she hasn’t been wound around him like a loose thread come undone from his favorite coat.

Even now, he can see her. Jack has finally left a late-night practice, breath fogging up in the cold evening air. He’s glad for the warmth of his car when he slides in. Luke went back with some friends, but Jack had wanted to hang around a while longer to practice some skills before the next game.

Y/N must have been working late too, because he can see her now, walking out of the parking lot and towards the sidewalk leading into town. Jack assumes she’s waiting for someone to pick her up, but Y/N’s steps don’t show any indication of slowing down. Is she actually walking on a night like this? Jack is cold just thinking about the weather outside. Y/N has a coat on, but it won’t be enough to discourage the bite of the wind.

Before he can even think about what he’s doing, he’s pulled his car alongside her. Y/N looks panicked when he comes to a stop, but relaxes somewhat when Jack rolls down the window and calls out to her. “Are you waiting for someone?”

Y/N shakes her head. “No, I’m walking back. Have a nice night.”

She turns back to the sidewalk, evidently expecting him to keep driving. Jack also expects himself to keep driving, but he doesn’t. “It’s awfully cold to be walking. How far is your apartment?”

“Not far,” Y/N says. “Twenty minutes, maybe?”

That settles it. “You’re not walking twenty minutes in the freezing cold,” Jack decides. “Besides, I thought you were dropped off. Isn’t someone coming to pick you up?”

Y/N pauses oddly, and it occurs to Jack that he probably shouldn’t be noticing how she gets to and from work each day. Still, when she speaks again, he’s pretty sure the annoyance in her voice isn’t directed at him, for once. “I was dropped off, but my friend canceled on me. Hence the walk.”

Jack’s mood immediately sours. That’s a shitty move for sure, and even if he doesn’t always see eye to eye with Y/N, he’d never leave her out here, shivering even after a few minutes of walking. And he won’t tonight, either.

“I can drive you, if you like,” Jack offers abruptly. He’s not sure why he does it. He never has before. They’ve never been in a position like this before, and maybe they won’t either. Still, he doesn’t take it back.

Y/N, apparently heedless of the gravity of this offer, just smiles and shakes her head. “That’s alright, I’ll just call an Uber. Thanks, though.’

Jack blinks and stares at her. It had taken such a rush to get the words out that it honestly didn’t occur to him that she would just say no. “Is this because you’re mad at me?”

“I’m not mad at you, Jack,” Y/N laughs. “I’m walking. You should get going soon, you’re going to disrupt traffic.”

“Fuck traffic, you’re cold,” Jack says disbelievingly. “Get in the car, Y/N. Please?”

She looks like she’s going to argue, but a particularly frigid gust of wind rips through that thin jacket and a moment later, Y/N is settling into his passenger seat. She turns to look at him, and Jack looks back at her, just a few spans apart. They’re close enough that he can see the flutter of her eyelashes as she blinks. Close enough that he could reach out and touch the slow bloom of cold on her cheek if he just tried.

“So?” Jack manages to pull himself together long enough to ask, “What’s your address?”

Y/N blinks, evidently startled out of some reverie, then pulls it up on her phone. Jack follows the directions, fingers drumming absentmindedly on the steering wheel. The car is quiet, and it weighs on him like a burden until he finally blurts out, “Why do you hate me, though?”

Y/N looks baffled. “I don’t hate you.”

Jack snorts. “Of course you do. You get along with every single member of this team but me, it’s a little hard not to take that personally. Come on, just tell me. Is it because I ran into you that first day?”

Y/N laughs again. It’s one of the few times it’s with him, not at him, and Jack lets the sound wash over him like sunlight. It’s a good sound. He wouldn’t mind hearing it again, maybe.

“That was funny. No, it wasn’t that. It’s just–” Her voice drops off, suddenly serious. “Do you remember Emma? She was your social media intern last summer. She’s the one who suggested I take this program, actually.”

Vague memories appear in Jack’s head. “Kind of? We’ve had a lot of interns.”

“Yeah, well, she’s one of my best friends, and the most important piece of advice she gave me before I started was to stay the hell away from you.”

Jack almost misses his turn. “What? Why?”

He risks a glance away from the road and towards her, but Y/N is keeping her head perfectly straight, not allowing herself to look at him in the slightest. “Something about you breaking her heart. She seems to remember you flirting a lot, buying her drinks, then dumping her for someone more interesting the second the internship ended.”

Jack winces. “That does sound familiar, actually. Sorry. I didn’t mean to–”

Y/N interrupts him with a wave of her hand. “Yeah, no, I get it. I love Emma, I really do, but she’s got a habit of moving quickly. Still, she was really hurt for a while. I figured anyone who could do that to my friend and not even remember was someone who didn’t need me to be nice to them.”

Guilt starts to pool in Jack’s stomach, icing him down to the core. “Still. I was a dick.”

“You still are, on occasion,” Y/N says, smiling slightly, “But I’ve been bad too, I think. I wanted to get revenge for my friend, but I’ve been more mean than needed. I’m sorry too.”

Jack comes to a slow stop in front of one of the notoriously long red lights of their shared city. As the scarlet of the traffic light washes over them, Jack takes advantage of the stopped traffic to hold out a hand to her. “How about a truce, then? If we’re both sorry?”

Y/N considers his outstretched hand, then nods at last and shakes it. “I’m good with that. Let’s start over.”

“Let’s start over,” Jack repeats. 

Her hand is still a little cold in his, even after the few minutes they’ve spent talking. It occurs to Jack that he could probably sit here for a while longer, warm her hands up with his, and then Y/N nudges him in the side and Jack realizes the light has turned green. He drops her hand hastily, turning back to the road in the hopes that she won’t notice the slow flush of heat to his cheeks.

The rest of the drive back is uneventful. Jack offers to walk Y/N to the door of her apartment complex, which Y/N jokingly calls creepy then smiles for real when he insists. They part with a promise to try harder next time, and Jack doesn’t think his feet have ever felt so light on the walk back from practice. He goes to bed that night like a little kid, practically giddy at the thought of the day ahead.

Looking back on it, Jack isn’t sure what he expected to happen with them after that. A celebration, maybe some fanfares? Or just a normal conversation in which she expressed how glad she was to see him and Jack could do the same? He doesn’t get any of that. In fact, they hardly see each other for most of the next few days. This isn’t too unexpected; although they love to complain, the players and media don’t see each other that often unless someone’s sworn on live TV or otherwise messed up their online presence.

Still, by the time Jack’s path finally crosses with Y/N’s, he’s really hoping for something special. He’s sort of crazy the whole time they’re filming videos, all raised eyebrows and hopeful glances, but instead of seizing the opportunity to make fun of him, Y/N just giggles a little and goes on with her life. It’s not bad, all things considered, but Jack– Jack wants more.

When hasn’t he, after all, wanted more? He wants to be better at skating. He wants to score more goals. He wants to stop getting brushed off by the commentators. He wants, more than anything, for some reason, for the pretty girl interning for their media department to do more than just look at him with a faint smile every now and then.

The sheer wanting starts to consume him. Jack goes out of his way to be exceptionally funny, astoundingly clever, practically fantastic in every way, yet nothing seems to wow Y/N. They’re just talking, which is certainly more than he had a few weeks ago, but Jack doesn’t want to just be talking to her, he wants to be back in his car again, with her leaning over and laughing at his jokes, her cold hands in his, telling him that maybe she’d misjudged him after all. Jack doesn’t just want more, he wants her, and that is making him insane.

Worse still is the fact that he doesn’t have her. Jack has spent his whole life, it feels like, hating the ‘pretty boy hockey player’ persona. He’s certain it’s cost him deals or trades or something over the years with the way people refuse to take him seriously. Yet now, Jack isn’t cursing its existence, but rather wondering why the hell it hasn’t worked. He’s still the same guy, same face. That stubborn acne patch on his chin has been clear for weeks now. He got a haircut, and people said it was good this time. Everything should be in his favor, looks-wise. So why doesn’t it seem to have a single effect?

It’s baffling, honestly. Jack cannot stand it. Worse still, the internship period is starting to slip away, and soon enough Y/N will be gone for good, leaving Jack to reel in her absence and wonder why he couldn’t make her like him enough to stay.

His mood sours whenever he thinks about it, which is often. Like now, even, in between Jack’s hours on the ice. They’re swapping out players in shifts, and Jack won’t be on for another five minutes or so. He’s sitting on one of the metal bleachers, hoping that watching the others will help keep his mind off things, but it’s not working too well.

Someone sits down right next to him, and Jack is about to start asking why they couldn’t pick anywhere fucking else to sit when he realizes it’s Y/N.

“Oh,” he says, trying desperately to sound cool and not bone-tired from practice, “Hey. D’you need another TikTok or something?”

“No TikToks,” Y/N says, smiling. “We can do a bonus one if you want, though, I know how much you love them.”

Jack chuckles. “They’ve been growing on me.” No reason why.

Y/N grins like she knows exactly what he’s thinking. “High praise. I hope you carry that spirit to the next social media intern, too.”

Jack sighs plaintively. “Do you really have to go? You fit in well, you know. You might as well stay a little longer.”

“That so?” Y/N asks, one eyebrow raised.

Jack looks away. “I don’t know. I heard some of the guys saying–”

Y/N cuts him off, lips twitching up into a smile. “I don’t care about the guys, Jack. What do you think?”

“I think you should stay,” Jack mumbles. He still can’t look her in the eyes. “With me.”

As soon as he says it, he knows it’s true. It doesn’t have to be through the Devils or not. He just wants Y/N with him for a while longer, to tease him when he’s being stupid and cheer for him during the games. He wants to hear her laugh longer than just the next few days. He wants to get coffee and buy flowers and match outfits and do a hundred things that would be special because he’d be doing them with her. That, more than anything, is what he wants.

A soft pressure on his hand; Jack looks up to realize Y/N has put her fingers over his, and squeezes slightly. He squeezes back by instinct.

“I want that too, Jack,” she tells him.

The smallest spark of luck is creeping back into his veins. “I thought you didn’t go for hotshot hockey players,” he says. “Especially not ones that flirted with the interns.”

Y/N rolls her eyes, but she’s laughing slightly, so they’re okay. “I wasn’t supposed to do that. The idea was that I would try to avoid it.”

Jack grins. “How’s that working out for you?”

“Surprisingly badly,” Y/N confesses. “I’m not too mad about it, though. Something tells me we’re going to make this work out.”

“It will,” Jack promises. He’s going to make sure of it. Looking at Y/N, the light in her eyes when she smiles, Jack knows that he’s going to do everything in his power to keep her. He rubs his thumb over her hand, still in his, and cannot help but think about how lucky he is.

Y/N looks like she’s going to start blushing. “Let’s talk about this when all of your teammates aren’t watching,” she says suddenly.

Jack glances up and realizes that he’s on the receiving end of quite a few curious looks from the Devils still on the ice. Luke, especially, looks like he has several questions he wants to ask. Jack groans, mentally preparing himself for the absolute nuisance his little brother will become on the drive home.

Still, it doesn’t faze him for long. “How about we talk about it this Saturday?” Jack asks. “I’ll pick you up at seven.”

Y/N is breathtaking when she smiles at him. Jack might have to keep looking forever, just so he remembers. “I think that sounds alright to me.”

Jack opens his mouth to say something stupid like how he can’t wait, but the coach blows a whistle to usher him and some of the others back onto the ice, and Jack is saved from himself. “I’ll see you then,” he repeats somewhat needlessly.

Y/N nods, and Jack turns to leave. He’s still got most of his senses intact, despite evidence to the contrary, and Jack does know better than to kiss Y/N in front of his whole team and coach in the middle of practice, but– well, there’s a difference between what Jack knows and what Jack does, and today, he kisses her anyway. It’s good. Really good. Good enough to deal with the teasing when he finally makes it down to the ice. Good enough to keep him hooked until their date, and the next, and the next. Good enough for forever.

hockey tag list: @locke-writes

all tags list: @wordsarelife

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

in which : you and your classmates surprise katsuki for his birthday !

day seven of the explosive birthday collab event hosted by @queenpiranhadon !

fem reader, i dog on kaminari a lot in this one lmfao sorry kami fans i promise i luv him, kissing, lotsaaaa fluff, mentions of food, mentions of drinking but its not specified to be alcohol or anything ! cuddling, teary eyed sentimental katsu, soft katsu for the soul, teary eyed reader, class A bein silly, lmk if i missed sum else !

a/n : HAPPY BIRTHDAY KATSUKI KATSUKI DAY GRAAAAAHHH-

and so, finally bakugou’s big 18th birthday party had arrived.

and you could absolutely not be more nervous.

you’d barely slept a wink, too giddy but also terrified as you kept on thinking about everything that could happen that you lost track of time. you'd checked and rechecked to see if the gifts you'd prepared where ready, checked with your classmates to see if all the decorations in gym gamma where still okay and checked the fridge five times to see if the cake was still intact aka if kaminari or mineta hadn't gotten their grubby little hands on it. tokoyami had told you not to “let the chains of anxiety shackle thy restless soul”, which you think meant you didn’t need worry yourself too much. you didn't quite get it at the time but you were thankful nonetheless.

you’re in bed now. nervous, sure. but you can’t help excitedly kicking your feet nonetheless. you were so excited to see katsuki’s reaction to the surprise and to your gifts, of course.

you check your notifications one last time, smile at your homescreen picture of you and your boyfriend, and turn on your side to finally go to sleep.

the day goes by with no hiccups. despite your friends wishing katsuki a happy birthday, with him grumbling in a sort of appreciation, he didn’t seem like he’d caught on. and he hadn’t noticed the sneaky mischievous glances you sent your friends every once in a while, everything was going off with a hitch.

you’d, of course, waken up extra early to be sure you were the very first person to send him a happy birthday message, getting ready at lightning speed to greet him at the door with a warm hug and plenty of kisses. which he reciprocated after quickly getting over his stupor.

the day had gone well, but now it was time for the surprise. and while you gather up the last finishing touches and finish bringing the food, operation : extract the payload was a go.

kirishima had been tasked to go retrieve katsuki and drag him over to the gym, claiming he wanted to try a brand new move and knowing katsuki you knew there was little to no chance he’d pass up training. but just in case, you’d encouraged kirishima to egg your boyfriend on a bit, that usually gets him going and you smirk proudly at your phone when you get a text from the red head himself.

“he took the bait ! the payload is on the way >:)”

and there you have it.

“alright guys, payload’s on the way !” you exclaim. your classmates start taking action, there aren’t many places to hide in the gym even with all of the changes you’d all made, but everyone had managed to find a pretty good hiding spot. some, like kaminari following others because they had nowhere else to hide and exchanging whispered complaints of “why’d you follow me ?!” and “ow, don’t step on my feet !” you giggle at how much your friends treat this like a game of hide and seek rather than a big surprise, before bounding away to find a hiding spot for yourself near the entrance.

it's so quiet you can hear a pin drop. denki clear his throat and yelps immediately afterwards, you assume someone must’ve punished him for the noise and you almost snort. until you hear voices approaching.

you recognize the loudest one clear as day. your heart starts racing when you hear the door open and kirishima and katsuki sounding impossibly close. katsuki’s complaining, as usual and it should be about time for—

“let’s hurry this up shitty hair, got other shit to do later.” you hear your boyfriend grumble.

“yeah, yeah i got it man.” kirishima replies “i’ve been working on this move for a looong while, so i think you’ll definitely be in for a treat.”

the trigger word.

“why’d you put so much emphasis on the—“

“SURPRIIIIISEEEE!!!”

bakugou’s next words get caught in his throat and he makes a little spluttering noise when all of his classmates pop out from almost every single crevice, nook and cranny in the room. his eyes are wide as saucers and his stance screams he’s on high alert, ready to fight, only to be met with his entire class screaming at him.

he stays frozen in his spot, eyebrows twitching and you all silently wait for him to react until denki shouts “kacchan’s shut down, guys !” in an instant time restarts its course and while you all burst out laughing katsuki splutters again.

“shut the fuck up dunce face !!” he shouts, but it doesn’t hit the same as it usually would, he’s just a bit quieter “w-what the hell is all this ?!”

“obviously it’s a surprise party.” sero sasses with a smirk, mina rubs it in by adding a snarky “duuuh !”

kirishima takes pity on his friend and places a hand on his shoulder comfortingly "we knew your birthday was comin' up, so we wanted to throw you a birthday party !"

"and actually keep it a secret this time.." kaminari snickered not so quietly. him, and the majority of the class side eyeing todoroki and mineta, the smaller boy immediately spluttering out excuses while the other only tilted his head in question.

katsuki's flabbergasted expression has settled just the smallest bit, his eyes shoot over to you and you offer him a sweet smile "18th birthday's are special, y'know ? they should be celebrated with class." you joke. the redhead next to your boyfriend nods aggressively fast. you feel a hand on your shoulder and turn to see kaminari again. you snort when he opens his mouth to speak again—does that guy ever stop talking ?

"i helped plan everything." he smirks, leaning against your shoulder and nodding proudly. only to wince when jirou materializes behind him, accompanied with a fist to his head. "we all did, idiot."

"hey, don't go taking all the glory for yourself !" mina chimes in a little further in the crowd, shoji places a hand on her shoulder in support.

you can't stop your lips from forming into a silly smile at your friends antics, and you giggle when katsuki only rolls his eyes, trying to hold back one of his own.

"you guys are idiots..complete fuckin' morons.." he mutters under his breath, shaking his head and rubbing at his nape almost shyly. he looks up at the red head next to him, then at the rest of his class with the faintest of pink on his cheeks, hand still pressed awkwardly on his nape like he doesn't know where to put it.

"i-i appreciate you guys..or whatever..thanks."

a beat passes. and then squeals resonates throughout the room.

"AAAWWWW—" kaminari and mina both squeal.

"aww man, you're blushing !" kirishima laughs, his cheeks also tinted pink.

"S-SHUT THE FUCK UP. NO I'M NOT—yer seein' things, you fuckin' weirdo.." katsuki spits, but his embarrassment and appreciation refrains him from insulting his smiling friend too agressively.

"aaand he's back.." sero quips, causing absolute choas filled with laughs and screams..the screams coming more from your boyfriend but you digress.

you're all smiles, this couldn't have gone any better for you and you feel a little silly for feeling emotional. katsuki's absolutely not the first person others would call sweet, but him actually putting in the effort and putting his feelings into words make your heart grow more than three sizes.

"alright, enough with the mushy stuff. let's party an' eat cake !" kaminari, always being the life of the party, exclaims. you're thankful that he's so aware and always able to set everything back on course so naturally, you almost envy him for it. you and your classmates excitedly cheer. between the cheers you lock eyes with katsuki, who was already looking at you. you smile at him brightly because you really can't help it and you feel your heart beat and dance around in your chest when he offers you a handsome smile in return. not his usual boastful one, the one only reserved for you. the one that makes your heart beat intensely, but more sweetly and makes it melt like liquid honey.

this is the best.

you're a few hours ( and a lot of slices of cake) later into the evening, when you lean against the wall to take a breather. you're cheeks hurt with how hard you've been laughing and you sigh happily, the noise being drowned out by the loud speakers booming as you take a sip of your favorite drink.

"yo." you turn to see sero right next to you, "hey !" you chirp loudly, trying to get him to hear you over the music. he smiles easily at you, taking a sip from his drink before he continues

"looks like blasty's havin' fun." he chuckled, pointing his cup to where your boyfriend had been dragged into an impromptu conga line. you burst out laughing, pulling out your phone to record. and while you're recording he notices and glares right at you, you offer him a taunting little wave and cheer him on. and his narrowed eyes need no words as his hands tighten on deku's shoulders in front of him. the green haired boy's eyes widen in surprise as his mouth open in surprise.

"you're gonna pay for that." you chortle.

"looks like this party was a succes, huh ?" sero utters softly, going to take another sip before leaning his red cup over to you. you laugh with a shake of your head.

"yep !" you agree, knocking your cup against his.

a warm hand wraps around your wrist. you don't know if you ever stopped smiling since the beginning of the evening, but you smile wider when his warmth practically engulfes you, his chest pressed to your back as he pulls you against it. you look up at him to see him trying to supress a smile, not well, but he's trying. "finally caught you." katsuki growls.

"you havin' fun ?" you sing. he scoffs "bein' dragged around playing limbo with those fuckin' cheaters ? yeah, plenty." the words come out bitterly at the memory of kaminari 'setting him up' during your game of limbo, competitive as always. you laugh at his sarcastic remark.

"i think you looked real handsome during the conga line," you sigh sweetly to sell the act, "so dreamy.." his words get caught in his throat and he pokes at your stomach in punishment to make you squirm around, then he's reaching to grab your hips shuffles around in your pockets while you try to keep him away. "i saw you recording me, freak ! gimme the phone."

"no !"

"give it !"

"leave me be, it's a m-momento for your 18th birthday !" you wheeze, giggling and shrieking as he takes his chance to tickle you. you hear him chuckle into your ear and he finally relents. "m'getting to that phone while you're asleep." you fake gasp in shock, wrapping your arms around yourself.

"you wouldn't !"

"don't test me." he snarks, throwing you a teasing grin. however, his expression morphs into a soft one, he shoves his hands into his black baggy jean pockets.

"heard you planned all this, huh ?" your eyes widen.

"no, no we all did."

"but it was your idea." he insists, and cuts you off before you can continue "don't bother, kirishima already told me." as thankful as you were for his help, you cursed kirishima in your head for throwing you to the explosive wolf like this. it's not like you were angry, but you really couldn't have done all of this on your own and it was definitely a team effort.

"well, i mean..yeah.." you admitted shyly, fumbling around with your hands. it's silent, then he chuckles at your humbleness and you're slowly, agonizingly slow at that, being backed up against the nearest wall. and his forehead maes contact with yours, you're tucked away into a corner of the gym where the rest can't see you, he places his arms against the wall next to your head.

your eyes dart from his to the floor "i just thought..it could be fun, you know..? m'sorry for lying to you about the bookstore.." you spilled, trying your best to stutter out an apology, until he stops you, raising your head up with his finger.

"you're really somethin' else, you know that ?" he smirks softly " i knew you were planning somethin', you were being too secretive. hanging out with my mom and shit, sneaky brat."

"i like hanging out with your mom !" you defending the older woman has your boyfriend roll his eyes "should like hanging out with your boyfriend first." he quips. you roll your eyes as well, but it doesn't take you long to burst into a fit of laughter and he follows quickly. your chest feels warm, tucked away giggling in this small corner of the bustling party, just you and katsuki.

"i have something i wanna show you." katsuki raises a brow at your sudden words. "oh, yeah ?" you nod. "but it's in my room." you offer him your hand shyly, and he smiles softly, huffing through his nose. grabbing your hand as you pull him out of the gym and walking silently into the night back towards the dorms.

"hey.." katsuki starts, you hum. "uhm, y'know—fuck.." he fumbles with his words and pulls you along when you stop walking to listen to him, wanting to continue so you wouldn't notice his embarrassed state too hard.

"thanks for this." your eyes widen and it's like he sensed you were about to speak because he interrupts you "yeah, yeah i know you all did." he mimicks your words, squeezing your hand in his warm one "but you thought it all up, so..thanks." he glances down at you " when i said i appreciated it, i really did. i really do."

your heart thump, thump, thumps against your chest, you feel it hammer in your ear. your hand squeezes his and he squeezes a second time. you don't know what you can say, so you smile at him. it's late at night and tiredness has finally started kicking in now that the music fades further and further away, but you're so, so happy and you think he can see it too. his smile slightly dimmer but still there and it makes you feel so warm and loved despite the slight chill of the outside. you wish you could see him smiling like this all the time with all your heart. and you hope he'll like your gifts and all of a sudden your at the entrance of the dorms. you make your way to your room in comfortable silence. your hand getting slightly clammy in his when you finally reach your floor and make your way to your room.

"what did you wanna show me ?" bakugou asks, closing your door behind you. you sit down on your bed and pat the spot next to you. he questions it with a raise of his brow, but doesn't any further and sits down next to you. you inhale, and reach underneath your bed to grab the gift and hand it over to him. his eyes widen, he narrows his eyes at you when your lips curl into a bashful smile.

"yn."

"i know.."

"i told you not to get me anything, stupid." he utters breathlessly, placing his hand onto your head and noogieing you. you reach up to stop him with a whine.

"i knooow !" you moaned "but just open it, please ?" you give him your best puppy eyes. he scoffs but finally relents. grabbing the thin box from your hands. he shakes it softly and you make a noise, reaching for his wrists.

"katsuki !" you giggle "don't shake it !"

"m'just trynna hear what it is."

"then open it !"

finally, he opens his the box. his eyes widen and he places it down on the bed to get a better look at the book you'd made for him. you perk up nervously when he inspects it thoroughly, running his fingers over the stickers you'd stuck to the front.

"i-it's a recipe book, see ? i know you love to cook so i figured you could add all of your favorite recipes in it." he flips the book open while you explain away, skimming over the pages " you can detach the rings too, so if you wanna add pages you can—"

before you know it you're interrupted and practically slammed onto your bed, a pair of warm bulky arms incasing you into your boyfriends chest. you shriek, but it melts into a giggle when he kisses all around your cheeks and nose softly, causing a ticklish sensation and when he lands a particularly wet kiss against your eyelid you laugh.

after moving his recipe booklet to your nightstand to keep it intact, he places you further onto your bed to kiss you again, obnoxiously loud at that, and you try to kiss back to the best of your ability but constantly huffing through your nose and smiling. he leans up to give you a break from his love attack, only for you to be hit dead on with all the love in his eyes.

"i'm gonna assume you're happy with your gift.. ?" he rolls his eyes at your joke, nudging his nose with yours.

"yeah, happy doesn't even begin to cut it. thanks, babe." he simpers, his eyes are bright and you make sure to commit his expression to memory. he leans down again, promptly kissing you deeply, you let yourself get carried away by his love and affection, kissing him back passionately but you remember your last gift for him.

"mm, there's—" he hums, continuing his flurry of kisses "there's something taped—" one more kiss cuts you off "—on the last page of your book, suki." one last loud peck and he pulls away to stare at you incredulously, you never stop surprising him, do you ?

he quickly retrieves it from your nightstand, and if his eyes widened before they practically bulge out of their sockets at the little holographic card neatly taped in his book. he carefully removes the tape and lifts up the card, looks at you, and looks back at the card in shock causing you to giggle.

"i remember how bummed you were after your card got all messed up during the war, so..." you're heart squeezes at the horrific memories of what had happened those few years ago, and how upset your katsuki had been when the card he'd kept close to his heart since he was a kid ended up crumpled up and bloody. he still has it, hidden in a box under his bed, but he never got to bring it to all might to get it signed. so you decided to do it for him and after racing neighborhood kids to get as many packets as you could get your hands on and a few packet of cards, you'd finally pulled it. you knew what you needed to do and the bewildered look in his eye was most definitely worth it.

"holy fuck..holy shit." he insists "how did you even—i—what ??" you burst out laughing at his disbelief, he could be so cute when he wanted to be.

"i just asked mr. all might if he wanted to, and he happily agreed, by the way." you answer simply with a shrug. however your smile fades just a bit when his eyes turn glossy.

"hey.." you crooned. quickly he shoves his head into his shoulder, furiously wiping at his eyes. he sniffles and grabs your wrist. you think he's about to pull you towards him only for him to crash against your chest again. you let out a 'oof !' sound, chuckling breathlessly. you don't say a word as you feel his arms wrap around you tighter, his face and hands heating up against you and the collar of your shirt growing wet. you don't mind, running your fingers through his hair until he's ready to speak again.

"yer gonna be the end of me, woman." his voice is just a little scratchy and he clears his throat, you giggle.

"this..i know i'm not the best at all this emotional stuff but—m'real thankful y'know.." he rambles against your neck, you nod "mhm." you urge.

"a-an' this is honestly more than i could ever ask for. ever." he looks up just enough to make sure you see his slightly red eyes "this is the best gift ever given to me. you're the best gift ever given to me, and i dunno what i did to deserve you, but i'm definitely not taken it for granted" he half jokes. you feel your whole body heat up and your eyes burn just a bit at the sincerety of his words.

"i love you, katsu. s'the least i can do." you sniffle. he leans up to kiss you almost immediately. it's soft and sweet and so perfect. it's just passionate and slow enough where you can practically feel the love he's trying to give to you, you know what he's trying to tell you without him even having to speak, because you love him and he loves you.

"i love you." he responds against your lips, you love him and he loves you, and you kiss him again. you hope he can feel how much you love him and how happy you are he enjoyed himself at his surprise birthday party. you hope you can keep seeing him smile like he did tonight and enjoy himself and his cake every year. you hope you can try every single recipe he adds to his recipe book and see the way his eyes light up at his signed holographic all might card every single year.

bakugou pulls away to look at you with all the love in the world and he thinks that any birthday he has in the future will be more than perfect if he can have you by his side for as long as he lives, every year.

aaaand it's done !! tysm to @queenpiranhadon for allowing me to participate in this event, and the last day no less ! such an honor ! i advise you go read my other collab partners chaps to get the context for this one, so please go read their parts as well, cus theyre all so good and so adorable, i had sm fun writing this and i hope yall enjoy <3 happy birthday katsuki !!

taglist *if your name is pink i unfortunately couldn't tag you :(* : @gina239 @mystic60 @meowze4r @icedemon1314 @bigsimpo343 @ah-mya @wheezdostuff @berryvioo @seonne @slayfics @food8me @katsuisbaby @azzo0 @kieran-rhoades @xnorthstar3x @le000xxgrd @tr-mha-fan

day one: you make a birthday gift for katsuki ! - @zanarkandskylines

day two: you invite all of class 1-A to the party ! - @xbabyd0lli3x

day three: you and mitsuki go shopping for decorations ! - @angels-fantasy

day four: katsuki tries to figure out what you’re planning ! - @starieq

day five: you set up gym gamma for the party ! - @lowkeyremi

day six: you bake a cake for the party ! - @queenpiranhadon

day seven: you and your classmates surpise katsuki ! -@cashmoneyyysstuff

[emmafrostdefender]

a fine line between god and animal | logan howlett x fem reader

chapter 1 - biting the apple | masterlist | read the prologue first

two new mutants arrive at the mansion.

i am churning this thing out and i have a very specific direction that i'm going to take it. the story does not really follow the canon plot because that would be boringgg. trust me, i know where this bus is heading. i hope you stay along for the ride! figuratively and literally! wink wink

warnings: cursing, religion, religious trauma, fighting, canon typical violence, 5.5k words

━━━━━━━━━━☆━━━━━━━━━━━

“Before you all leave, I want to give you food for thought. One of the heaviest themes of Frankenstein revolves around the idea of nature versus nurture. Is the creature inherently evil, or was his treatment by society what turned him into a monster?” You pose the question to your students as class comes to a close.

The similarities to your own existence is not lost on you. You hope the metaphor clicks in their minds as it did yours when you first read the classic novel. Charles made it assigned reading when he taught comparative literature at the school. When you were old enough, you took the job. And you were inspired by some of his lessons, of course.

“We will be discussing this theme next week, so those of you that haven’t done your reading…” You don’t finish your sentence, but make a face that communicates all they need to know.

Your students leave the classroom and you slump against your desk. Despite your outside calm, inside your thoughts are racing. 

Scott and Ororo aren’t back yet and you feel as if you could break something. Or a million somethings. 

The reasonable part of you knows that if something bad happened, Charles would know and tell you immediately. But the unreasonable part of you wants to drain your energy source to find them. To sneak your mind around the globe until you pick up on their footsteps crunching the ground or their signature heartbeats sending pulses into the air.

Before you can stop yourself, your feet are carrying you to the door that leads to the underground base of the X-Men. You’re going stir crazy.

Earlier in the day, before classes started, you assisted Jean in refining her powers. She wasn’t able to move a car with her mind, but she managed to start the engine without a key in the ignition. To you, that seemed more impressive. To the professor, it was exactly what he didn’t want. He wanted her to control her powers.

That word again. Control.

His reactions to Jean’s issues made you all the more wary to reveal your own struggles. With the recent revelation of Magneto’s scheme to abduct you, hesitancy bubbled up in your chest at adding anything more to Charles’ metaphorical plate. You would just be a burden.

Exiting the elevator, you enter the completely metal hallway, something of a labyrinth to newcomers. Your shoes echo against the metal and you look from left to right. No one else graces your path as you walk to the training room. There is another one upstairs that the students use when training with Scott, but you personally prefer this one. Far away from onlookers.

Your abilities don’t necessarily lend themselves to you having any physical prowess, but you managed to get trained up quite well in your years at the mansion. “The metaphysical is very much so connected to the physical. The health of your powers could very well depend on the health of your body,” Charles told you long ago. 

With nothing to do but wait, you change into the clothes from your locker and wrap your knuckles with tape. The large room is empty and you approach a punching bag. You begin. 

The rhythm you find is steady and fast. Hit after hit, blow after blow. The bag swings on its chain, bouncing back and forth between your hands. You punch and punch and punch, feeling anger build in your system. In your mind's eye, you see the bloody heart that was stolen from your chest. You see the chains holding you down. You see your mother’s face, staring at you in disgust. You see vines. Thousands of vines, each reaching to wrap themselves around your body, your arms, your legs, your neck. They rip the cross from your necklace, leaving a stinging brand there. You see your father’s lifeless form. 

And you feel your skull starting to split open when a voice says your name.

You nearly scream at the intrusion and your head flies around. “Holy shit, Jean! I could’ve killed you!”

“Yeah, I can see that,” she says with hesitancy. She’s looking at you like you’re a wounded animal about to lash out. Her eyes flit to the punching bag over your shoulder.

You look at it and gape at your handiwork. The bag ripped at the seams and sand spilled from the tears onto the ground. 

“Imagining Scott’s head?” She jokes, but it sounds strained. You hardly hear it.

You still stare at the punching bag, not quite sure what to make of this. You losing control was as infrequent as pigs flying, so…never.

A soft hand touches your shoulder. “Are you okay?” Jean asks so caringly.

You rip your gaze from the bag and look at her. You change your expression from one of near tears to one of slight amusement. “Must’ve gotten a little too enthusiastic.”

She analyzes you quickly, so quick you might’ve missed it if you didn’t know her so well. “I wanted to let you know that the jet is on its way back. They were able to locate the mutants.” You feel something in your chest relax. “Not in record time, though.”

You smirk. “Of course not. They didn’t have me.”

“Can you come help me prep the bay for when they get here?”

You nod. “Just let me change and I’ll meet you there.”

She turns to walk away and you watch her leave. Your gaze drops to your hands, where the tape did nothing to prevent the bruises forming around your knuckles. Looking at the clock hanging above the entrance, you realize two hours have passed. It’s nearly ten o’clock. 

As you enter the locker room, you swear you can still feel burning skin where your cross lays. 

You enter the loading dock of the jet in your regular attire and are greeted by Jean and the professor. They seem to be in deep discussion when you arrive, but snap their heads up the second they sense you coming. You can tell they were talking about you. 

You plaster a smile on your face and say sarcastically, “Looks like they managed to find them without me, after all.”

“They would’ve been here an hour after they left if you were with them, I’m sure,” Jean says with a playful roll of her eyes.

“Obviously.”

You shift your attention to Charles, who has begun using a computer to track the jet’s movements. Jean starts working the switchboard. You ask, “How many mutants did they pick up?”

His gaze does not move from the computer. “Two. A young girl and an older man. They were on separate paths until they met and started traveling together.” 

Your eyebrows furrow. “What made you think to bring them here?”

Charles has always been slightly particular when choosing the people to bring to his school. And even more hesitant to bring fully grown adults. At your question, his eyes shift to yours. “Why did I bring you to this school?”

You blink.

“To offer you protection. To offer you safety from a world that hurt you repeatedly. And to help you understand your abilities and use them for good. Not just to teach you Latin and calculus,” he adds with a smile. 

You nod, but still have a lingering question. “But why--”

He cuts you off, “Why am I bringing an adult man to our mansion as well?” He pauses. “Because he is extremely powerful. That kind of power can either be used toward the greater good, or harnessed for evil.”

By Erik.

“I see,” you say, hand mindlessly playing with your necklace.

Charles returns to the computer and says to you and Jean, “Get ready, they are nearly here.”

You are usually a part of the retrieval missions, making you less used to assisting with arrivals. However, you bring out two stretchers from the medical room and place them neatly by the door after getting a call from the jet. “They were in a rough fight with one of the members of the Brotherhood and the man is out cold. We think he has regenerative abilities so he isn’t badly injured, but the girl was with him when they got into a car accident. She’ll need attention. She’s jarred, but not unresponsive,” Ororo says.

Another of your jobs on the team is designated medic. You have innate knowledge of the human body and medical herbs because of your powers. It was never something you questioned when you were younger. If you scratched your arm or busted your lip open, you would skip into the woods and find something natural to heal yourself. Still, you begged Charles not to assign you to teaching biology. You despised the subject.

The ceiling of the hangar opens to reveal a velvety night sky. You feel the jet before you see it, the push it has on the trees around the mansion tingle your fingertips. The trees' movements stir your power source in your stomach, a warm, buttery feeling. The sleek aircraft lowers gently into the bay, your hair being pushed over your shoulders by the air movement. You feel relief at the sight of your friends returning from the mission; they exit the jet and you smile. Your grin droops at the sight of their expressions.

“We need you to look over these two, stat,” Scott says with urgency. 

You hurriedly bring the stretchers to the jet’s ramp and enter the main compartment with Scott and Ororo. Inside, they point you to a young girl, maybe sixteen years old, with brown hair and a soft face sitting in one of the seats. The two of them work to remove the man who sits slouched over in one of the front seats. The way they grunt, you’d think he weighs a ton.

The girl’s hands are wrapped tightly around the straps keeping her to the chair. When you approach, she jumps and stares at you with terrified eyes. “Hi, honey,” you say calmly. You introduce yourself. “I’m going to be taking care of you, okay? I just need you to undo these straps.”

She shakes her head tightly. “I can’t.”

“You can’t or you won’t?” You ask. 

She thinks between the two options and asks, “Am I safe?”

Your heart breaks. Upset coils in your stomach at the thought of all the people who have hurt this little girl. “Yes. You’re safe here.”

She seems to think this over and makes her decision. Her hands shakily unlatch themselves from the straps and move to unbuckle herself. You reach to help her, but she flinches. “Don’t touch me, please,” she says with desperation.

Your hands retract immediately.

“I just, it’s my…” she struggles with the words. “I hurt people when they touch me.”

You nod in understanding. That must have been a terrifying revelation for her. “That’s okay. We’ll get you all sorted out here. You are okay.”

She seems to relax a bit. You look over your shoulder and see your two friends lugging the man down the ramp and rolling him onto the stretcher. If this were any other scenario, you would laugh at Scott for struggling so much. 

You turn back to the girl and say, “And what’s your name?”

“Marie-- I mean, Rogue.” The way she says it makes you think she is still trying out the name for size.

“It’s very nice to meet you, Rogue.” You look her over and ask, “Are you able to walk or do you need help?”

She has undone the straps and sits a bit more forward in her chair. “I think I can stand.”

Rogue puts weight on her leg as she moves to stand up, but winces at the feeling and immediately sits back down. 

“Can I touch your clothes or is that also a problem?”

“You can. It’s just my skin.”

You sling her arm over your shoulder, careful not to touch any exposed skin, and help her out of the chair. “Just put your weight on me, hon’.”

She does as you say and leans against you completely. When you have exited the jet, you help her sit on the stretcher. The others have left, presumably to attend to the man. Charles is the only one left and he moves his wheelchair over to greet the young girl. “What is this place?” she asks after his introduction.

“It’s a place for people like you. And me. And her.” He points to you and you feel yourself smile. “It’s somewhere safe.”

Your gloved hand moves carefully over Rogue’s legs, feeling for any fractured bones or torn skin invisible to the eye.

She’s been relatively quiet for the duration of her examination, but she asks, “So, what can you do?”

You look up at her and grin. “I can do a lot of things.” You stand and walk to the shelves of potted plants on the wall to your right. You hold up one of the more pathetic looking plants and say, “See how this one is all wilted?”

Rogue nods. 

You pull your glove off with your teeth. “Watch this.”

Once your hand rests delicately against the plant’s stem, its wilting flowers perk up. A lush green color returns to its body, becoming perfectly healthy again. You look over at her and her mouth is gaping at the sight. “But why do you keep all the plants here if they’ll die without you?”

You put the plant back in its place and slip your glove back on. As you make your way back to the examination table, you say, “That’s exactly why. The professor used it as a tool to help me understand my importance here. To help me distinguish between the big parts of my powers and the smaller, more delicate parts.” You shrug as you grab some medical tape meant to alleviate and correct sprains. “I also like having company when I’m down here.”

“Company?” she asks when you kneel before her again to start wrapping her ankle.

“They talk to me,” you say, slightly mischievously.

Her mouth gapes again. “So, that’s your mutation? Talking to plants?”

“It’s a lot deeper than that. The Earth and I are like two sides of the same coin. Through our connection, I can track people if they are grounded. I can grow and heal things, but also kill them. I can create beauty, but also take it away. And I’m recently starting to realize I’m much more connected to humans than I thought.”

She considers this as you finish wrapping her ankle. 

You laugh a little. “Most of those are Professor X’s words, not mine.”

Charles arrives after a few minutes of comfortable silence, asking Rogue to come with him. You give her a small smile and tell her, “Make sure to drink those herbs with water once every day. It’ll help the pain.”

She gives you a tentative smile back. 

Before she leaves, you squeeze her gloved hand. “You’re gonna do great.”

Once the two of them are gone, you decide it's time to check on Jean and the man. She took him to the laboratory where digital scans of mutants’ brains and bodies could be completed. You walk down the hall and enter the door to the left, seeing Jean in her white lab coat. She is analyzing what looks to be brain waves on the monitor in front of her. “Oh, good,” she says when she turns to see you. “I wanted you to take a look at him. See if there’s anything I’m missing.”

You approach the table where he lays and take your first real look at him.

He is shirtless to allow the nodes and wires access to his chest. You scan over his body, seeing no obvious outer injuries. His face is calm in his induced state of comatose, but etched with what seems like a permanent line between his eyebrows. You have the urge to smooth it with your thumb.

“His name is Logan Howlett. He has extremely impressive regenerative abilities.”

Your eyes continue to study the ridges of his face. “Is that his mutation?” The thought of Charles saying he is a very powerful mutant crosses your mind. 

“That’s part of it. Once he wakes up, we'll give him a chance to tell us more. And then we’ll do a full body scan; Charles thinks there’s something else to him. He’s not wrong. Logan’s brain activity is far different from anyone I’ve ever seen,” she says in slight awe.

You continue to gaze at him. There is something else to him. Something you can’t quite place.

“Could you check his vitals for me? I didn’t notice anything strange, but I want to be sure,” Jean asks.

Hesitancy fills your body. For some reason, you don’t want to touch him. Some sort of dread pits in your stomach. Something will happen. 

Despite your body’s strange resistance, you nod curtly. You approach the table and lean over him. His scent fills your nose. It’s woodsy and smokey, all mixed with something metal that twinges your nostrils. You close your eyes and inhale, pressing your hand to his chest. In a second, you’ve been pulled to him, a vice grip around your wrist. Jean yells and starts pulling at your shoulders. Your body goes alive and you twist your arm around and headbutt him, causing him to loosen his grip on you. However, the moment your skull collides with his, you nearly pass out from the impact. It feels like he’s made of metal. 

“Oh, my God,” you groan, collapsing to the floor. Your head is throbbing.

Before you or Jean can react, he’s jumped off the table. It looks like he’s grabbed six knives and placed them between his fingers. “Where the hell am I?” he shouts.

Jean holds up her hands, but you’re still recovering on the floor, holding your forehead in your hands. Jesus, fuck. You hope He will excuse your language.

“You’re at Xavier’s School for Mutants in New York. We aren’t going to hurt you,” Jean says calmly. “Well, not anymore.” Her eyes flick down to you and you make a face.

“It wasn’t my fault he fucking attacked me,” you say with narrowed eyes. You glance at him, annoyance replacing the pain that had swept across your forehead. “What’s with the claws?” you ask, now realizing that what you thought were knives were actually thin metal spikes protruding from between his knuckles.

He stares at you, chest heaving. Then back at Jean. Fury clouds his eyesight, but you know there’s fear in there, too. 

“Look, we’re not going to hurt you. You’re safe here,” Jean says again. “I just need you to calm down and we can talk.”

The throbbing has eased and you make your way to stand. 

Something like a sarcastic grin falls on his lips. “Oh, sure, we can talk.” 

You position yourself, readying for a fight. “Get Scott,” you say to Jean quietly. 

“You sure?” she whispers back.

“Yeah, I’ve got this.”

She looks between the two of you for a moment, then runs out of the room. You hear her shoes echo in the hallway. 

“You really want to do this, bub?” he asks in a voice so quiet, you nearly miss it.

You watch him carefully. You know that you’ll never beat him, but you can keep him occupied until reinforcements arrive. “Do you really want to do this?” you respond with a grin.

Something lights in his eyes, something thrilling that makes your heart pound. He pounces, jumping over the table, his claws aiming for your throat. You dodge the attack, rolling to the side. You are back on your feet in an instant, crouching low to the ground. “Got anything else in you, big boy?” you tease, grin spreading wider at his fuming expression.

He yells, running at you with a speed you wouldn’t think him capable of. He shoves you to the ground with retracted claws and you grunt at the impact, but kick his legs out from under him, causing him to fall to the floor as you crawl away. He yanks your leg, making you stumble once more. You kick with all your might, but he won’t let go. Thinking you might be the stupidest person alive, you let him drag you so you’re pinned beneath him. “Sexy,” you say with a wink.

You can feel his steady heartbeat this close. "You're annoying," he hisses. You see his eyes drop to the cross around your neck and take that as your opportunity to kick him in the groin. He grunts and his hold around you weakens. You shove him off of you and stand to make a move for the door. You don’t think he’ll kill you, but you don’t want to take that chance.

Before you reach the door, an arm wraps around your waist and pulls you harshly against a solid body. You hadn’t noticed before, but he’s tall. Very tall. “Where do you think you’re going?” he whispers in your ear.

It sends a thrill down your spine.

“Are you always this friendly?” you whisper back, hand coming up to touch his arm. Your fingers hardly wrap around his forearm.

In the blink of an eye, he has detached himself from you, falling to the floor. Your fingers tingle from the use of your power, slowing his heart rate enough that he would go unconscious, but not enough to kill him. With his regenerative abilities, though, you assume he’ll be back on his feet in about five minutes. You hardly ever use that ability, finding it invasive. With this man, however, you think your actions are justified.

You nudge his leg with your foot when Jean and Scott come running in. “Holy shit, you took him out yourself?” Scott asks incredulously. 

“I just slowed his heart rate so that he wouldn’t break all the bones in my body. I appreciate your faith in me, though, Scott,” you say, wiping your brow.

He approaches the man on the floor, coming to stand beside you. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. He nearly broke my skull, though.”

Scott raises a brow. 

“How are we going to get him adjusted if he won’t speak to us without starting a fight?” Jean asks as she starts to fix the state of the room.

“I think our best bet is to leave him alone,” you say.

Scott looks at you. His visor blocks his eyes, but you can tell they are looking at you as if you are crazy. “Leave him alone? He’ll wreak havoc trying to find a way out.”

You shrug. “I think there’s someone who might be able to convince him to stay.”

“Better than getting a face full of claws,” Jean says, glancing at his limp body.

Exhaustion washes over you when you take the elevator back upstairs. It’s three in the morning and the events of the day are finally hitting you square in the chest.

You slump against the metal railing of the elevator, relishing in the silence. Jean and Scott stayed with Logan to put him in a state of deep sleep so that he wouldn’t go stalking around the mansion at night. You could imagine how some poor child would react to running into such a large and imposing man in the middle of the night. It would be terrifying.

You run your fingers through your hair and pinch the bridge of your nose. His smell lingers around you, crowding your space. 

What a prick.

Fighting you like that when all you wanted to do was help him? What was he going to do? Kill you?

A part of you wants to believe that he wouldn’t do that, but another part of you understands that he would’ve done anything to get out of here.

Logan.

You test the name out on your tongue. You wonder if he has another name, too. Something all of his enemies know by heart.

Deciding that that was enough thinking for the night, you shut your brain off and exit the elevator. You make your way to your bedroom and collapse on your bed, sleep hitting you like a bus.

You wake, body aching and head throbbing. Although you managed to escape the fight with no outer wounds, your body protests as you remove yourself from your bed. Thank God it’s Saturday.

Thankfully, your mind allowed you a break from the night terrors that plagued you so frequently, instead replacing them with dreams of walking through a forest. As you walked farther into the dank, the trees began to die, but you woke before anything else could happen. 

You get ready for the day and make your way downstairs. In the kitchen, you see Ororo sitting at the counter with a mug of coffee in her hands. Before you can voice your question, she says, “There’s some in the pot.”

You grin and pour the coffee into your bright pink mug along with the creamer that sits by the pot. Scott calls the shade an affront to the color pink. “So…” you start.

“He isn’t awake yet. Charles thinks he’ll be up in an hour or so.”

Relief slumps your shoulders and you take a seat across from her, moving the coffee around in your mug before you take a sip. “He is crazy strong, Ororo,” you scoff. “It felt like his skeleton was made of metal. And his claws…” You shake your head.

“Charles thinks he’ll be useful to us.”

“I know. I just hope he calms down a bit.” 

Ororo gives you a sheepish smile. “You have to admit, he is handsome, though.”

You laugh. “That’s the impression he gave you?”

She shrugs. “I might have a different one if I had to fight him.”

You contemplate her statement. You suppose he was handsome, but it didn’t startle you when you first saw him. It was the kind of beauty that creeps up and you don’t realize it until you’ve been staring at them for too long. He was rugged, yes, but there was something enticing about his looks. A boyish quality. You remember the smirk that donned his face when he challenged you to a fight.

You shake your head. “Yeah, he definitely made an interesting impression.”

The two of you leave the kitchen once some of the older students begin filing in, many making their own breakfasts instead of eating the provided meal with the other students in the dining room. ��Are we training today?” you ask as the two of you walk down the main hall.

“I think Charles wants us to wait until he’s spoken with Logan. Wants us to meet him properly.”

You roll your eyes. ‘Meet him properly.’ Tackling someone to the ground isn’t a proper greeting?

“Be nice,” you hear someone say behind you. Jean falls into stride with the two of you. 

“Jean! Don’t read my thoughts,” you say, pushing her lightly.

“But you think so loudly,” she complains.

The three of you make your way outside, deciding to steer clear of the mansion until Logan has had his conversation with Charles. “I really don’t want to run into him again. It would not be conducive to a healthy future relationship,” you mutter.

“He is kind of volatile, isn’t he?” Jean asks rhetorically. “I mean, he attacked with no real provocation.”

“Waking up in a room you’ve never been in with two strangers isn’t provoking enough?” Ororo asks, taking a seat at one of the lawn tables. You join her, leaning back in your chair.

Being in nature calms your nerves, but also sets them alight. Your senses come to life again and you hear the running water of the fountain, the wind whistling through the trees, and the small animals stepping in the grass. As Jean and Ororo continue their conversation, you close your eyes and lean your head back and allow yourself to connect. It is only the second day after the full moon, which means your sensitivity to everything around you is still high. You pull at the energy from the ground, letting it throb through your body. You feel the aching in your body disappear, feel your muscles rejuvenated, feel the blood pumping through your veins.

You hear the humming of a man’s voice, scratchy and slightly off-key. It’s a voice you haven’t heard in years. He’s humming something that only graces your ears in dreams. It scratches your scalp and kisses your forehead. Dad.

You steady your breathing, trying to latch onto his voice. You’ve never experienced this in the daytime; it usually only happens when you’re asleep or in a deep meditative state. The words of your friends fade away.

In your mind’s eye, you stand from the table and follow the humming into the woods. You stumble over fallen branches, but your unusual miscoordination doesn’t prick the logical part of your brain. All you can think of is your father. His voice roaming through the trees, taking you deeper into the woods. And suddenly, you are somewhere else.

The church. 

His voice is gone.

“No,” you whimper, turning into a young girl again. 

You feel the shackles of the past lock around your wrists, forcing you to your knees. A screech escapes your throat at a forcible yank of your hair backwards. You look up to see your mother staring down at you. Her eyes are pitch black. “Your father rejects you. Even in death, he will not visit your wretched soul,” she says with a sneer, pulling your hair farther back. It feels as if she is trying to rip it from your skull.

“He never rejected me,” you spit.

“Are you so sure?”

You open your eyes with a deep inhale. It wasn’t real. You remind yourself.

Jean and Ororo stare at you, waiting for your response to something. You subtly shake your head of the images conjured by your mind and ask, “Sorry, what were we talking about?”

You hope they assume your exhaustion from last night got the better of you and you simply dozed off for a moment. “Logan is ready to meet us,” Jean says, her eyes a reflection of worry. Not toward meeting Logan, to your dismay.

“Oh, great.”

Despite a desire to remain calm, your heart thunders in your chest. You worry your cross between your fingers. You have no idea what to expect from him; you fully believe he will pounce at you again. 

Ororo holds your hand as the three of you enter Charles’ study. Scott sits on the armrest of one of the chairs in the room, arms folded over his chest. Charles is behind his desk and sitting ever so casually on the edge of the desk, is Logan.

He wears a gray X-Men sweatshirt and the jeans he had on when he arrived at the mansion. His eyes fall to yours immediately, recognition filling his gaze. You break eye contact dismissively, going to sit on the other armrest of the chair Scott sits on. You keep your eyes strictly on Charles, but you feel Logan’s on you. Your heart doesn’t steady.

“Everyone, this is Logan Howlett. The Wolverine,” Charles says, gesturing to the man sitting on his desk.

Scott huffs a laugh. “Wolverine? Like the animal?”

You nudge him in the side. “As if Cyclops is any better.”

Charles clears his throat. “Please.”

“We are the X-Men, some of which you have already met.” Charles gives you a pointed look. You throw your hands up in defense. “I promise you not all of your introductions will be so…violent.”

Scott snickers. 

“Shut the hell up,” you hiss. Your eyes flick to Logan’s. He watches the interaction between you two carefully.

Charles goes around the room, introducing each of your friends to the stranger. When he gets to you, Logan’s stare bears into you heavier than it had before. It intimidates you, but doesn’t scare you. Charles tells him your name, following with, “Others know her as Proserpina, the Roman goddess of spring.”

You don’t expect him to say anything, but his voice fills your ears for the first time since last night. “The goddess of spring is who knocked me out cold last night?”

“It’s not just nature I can manipulate,” you say tersely. “Bub.”

His eyes narrow as his lips turn up in a smirk.

Charles finishes the introductions and tells the team that training will commence in thirty minutes. The second his spiel is over, you stand. Deciding to jump into the fire, you approach Logan. “Sorry about last night,” he says.

It takes you by surprise. You expected more of a fight from him.

“Uh, it’s okay,” you say, shaking your head slightly. “You gave me some much needed practice.”

You sense your friends watching your interaction from afar. Although they are conversing casually, you feel their eyes on you.

“Yeah, you seemed a little rusty, Pro.”

You narrow your eyes. “And you seemed a little overzealous, Wolverine.”

He grunts. “If that’s overzealous, then I worry for your boyfriend.” He points to Scott on the word boyfriend.

“Scott?” You laugh. “Now, that’s a good joke. You’re funny.”

A look of confusion crosses his face and you leave him like that, feeling content with how the conversation ended. Screw a healthy relationship.

━━━━━━━━━━☆━━━━━━━━━━━

i had to get this out of my brain or i was going to go crazy. i hope you enjoyed! im excited to keep writing them :)

[lainsshop]

Your Soul Is Mine, Remember That ౨ৎ

Pairing: Alastor x Reader

Tags: toxic(?), established relationship, hurt/comfort(?), angst(?) n probably more..

Warnings: Dark Themes(?)

A/N: I don’t know about this one.. but give feedback!

Alastor having your soul comes with its advantages n disadvantages.

He very much loves you, even if he doesn’t quite show it like everyone else through physical affection, he does care for you.

But not everything always has it happy endings.. you see Alastor is a nice person to you if you don’t get into his bad side, put on jazz n give him a strong liquor and he becomes a kitten, right?

Well.. according to Mimzy that is.. but you know Alastor would annoy the shit out of you cause he finds your reactions entertaining! He’s just teasing and being playful nothing too serious, right..? That’s what Alastor thinks anyway.

You two have known each other for God’s knows how long! He can read you like a book! He knows everything about you at this point. Of course y’all had some tiny arguments here n there but they weren’t serious at all but this time.. you were scared shitless.

You honestly don’t know how it happened, maybe you had a bad day..? Maybe you were jealous..? Maybe he was a bit protective this time..? But holy shit you fucked up, you brought up something Alastor clearly didn’t wanted to hear..

Normally, Alastor was super patient with you, he really was but you had crossed the line this time, he was a bit stunned when you mentioned that but he still kept smiling even if he was annoyed by that lil comment of yours.. he just had to remind you of your place.

And he really did.. he started to threatened you, he almost went into his real demon form but didn’t. Chains could be seen on his hands, he just wanted to remind you how if you do it again.. he would and can destroy your unworthy soul in seconds.

You and him know that he wouldn’t actually, he knows you didn’t actually meant that comment of yours, it was just a tiny mistake but.. that doesn’t mean he won’t hurt you in someway that will remind you of your place.

© LAINSSHOP 2024

[razzle-n-dazzle]

Could you possibly write some yummy dating headcanons for Lucifer 👀

ᯓ★ "They see right through me, can you see right through me?" Lucifer Morningstar / Reader | Headcanons

ᯓ Lucifer Morningstar, king of hell himself, the bringer of sin upon the mortal plan!- Was not exactly how you expected him to be. You had expected to be greeted by this tall, looming figure that took up the room like poisonous gas and made his presence known. This looming figure who could crush any sinner, or even Deadly sin, under his fist without remorse. Lucifer; someone who strikes fear where ever he goes. Yet, now he stood in front of you, not looming or crushing down the hotel, rather simply standing and having issues with Alastor for protecting his daughter.

ᯓ The king of hell himself was not as all as you pictured, even after seeing photos of him littered around the hotel from Charlie.

ᯓ Well, for one, he was short, much shorter than you had thought. And secondly he gave off this vibe that was not threatening in the least, if it weren't for his name and status you were sure no one would afraid of such a small man. He stunk of insecurity and anxiety, and a hint of depression, and you were sure he was going to break down any moment while he toured the hotel with his daughter.

ᯓ And yet, you found that oddly compelling.

ᯓ Who wouldn't be interested in the king of hell himself, and even more so when he appeared as least threatening as possible? You weren't sure if it was a facade or some sort of spell just to appear as 'human' as possible, maybe to keep from scaring people, but you had to find out. The curiosity just itched at you, and Husk pointed it out rather rudely as he noticed you were staring at the demon lord himself: "Don't fucking tell me you're falling for the king of hell!" Husk whisper-shouted to me as Charlie lead Vaggie, Lucifer, and a (reluctant) Alastor towards the rooms of the hotel. You would jump in your seat, quickly whipping your head around to stare at Husk. Embarrassed, you would whisper-yell back, "What? No! I just expected him to be more-" You paused, trying to find the words that seemed just at the tip of your tongue. "Threatening?" Angel Dust tried to finish your thought. "More of a Bad boy?" Nifty came in quickly after. "Your type?" Husky amused himself. "Yes, no, and ew!" You responded properly, glaring at Husk at his suggestion. He would simply shrug and walk off, going to grab some cheap beer from below the counter; his personal stash.

ᯓ What you hadn't known at that time was your curiosity was the beginning of a start of chain reactions. Isn't it so silly how one small interaction can completely change your life, forever?

ᯓ You didn't get to talk to Lucifer that day, he left before you even got the chance; Either way, you were sure he wouldn't give you much attention even if you attempted to. He was there to help his daughter, not talk to the souls that were trying to 'reform' and escape 'hell'... which now you think about could be a little insulting to the king of hell himself.

ᯓ The second time you would meet Lucifer is when he was helping Charlie rebuild the hotel after the Cleansing; Something you hadn't been apart of due to having to deal with personal business. To say you were shocked to see the hotel in ruins while being built up from basically nothing, would be an understatement.

ᯓ You were baffled.

ᯓ "Hey, up here!" Charlie would call to you from atop the hotel, helping her dad fix up some lights since the rest of the hotel was being worked on by Alastor and the others. "Glad to see you made it through the cleansing." "Charlie.. what the fuck happened?!" You would shout back, glancing around at the rubble from the old hotel that laid in rot. Your eyes would find their way back up to her, and subsequently her father. Charlie would only laugh softly, rubbing the back of her neck. She shouted something about what had happened, a brief summary, before asking if you wanted to help rebuild the hotel. Specifically adding how they could, "Use and extra pair of wings." Which seemed to make Lucifer stop in his tracks. At least, a little, you didn't fail to miss the way he jutted back a bit due to his wings from, what seemed like, shock. "Uh! I'll help down here, Charlie, if you don't mind." Nerves kicked up in you as she suggested such a thing. You hoped you wouldn't upset Charlie by offering to work down with Husk and Angel, yet she only grinned and gave you a thumbs up before handing Lucifer another light bub.

ᯓ You were quick to scamper away after that, attempting to cover your face with your hand as you did so. Though, even as you entered the hotel, you could feel Lucifer's eyes burning down at you.

ᯓ Sure, he piqued your interest and you wanted some of his attention, but his stare was something else and it made you want to sink and die into the floor. It was that intense.

ᯓ Luckily, you were able to help Angel and Husk on the lower levels in peace for quite a while. It was only when the Hotel was completely done did you run into Lucifer again. Actually, you quite literally bumped into him as you turned to go check on Charlie and he just happened to be right there. Right behind you. Standing there like he wanted to talk to you but didn't know how and wow did that make it awkward when you met his eye.

ᯓ And wow how Husk and Angel did not make the situation any better as they stared, before shuffling off like it was some sort of private moment between couples. You saw how Lucifer's eyes stuck to you, the slight panic that wrapped around his pupil as he tried to put on a confident front with a grin. Though no amount of smiling would ever over up the fact you were sure he hasn't socialized with anyone for a good few years. "Lucifer!.. Sir how can I help you?" You tried to act smooth, and somewhat calm for the both of you; Hoping to get this conversation either moving and over with, or at least started so you didn't have to sit in the awkward and tense atmosphere. Lucifer would stare at you in silence, and you were sure he was chewing over multiple wild thoughts in his head. Though the minutes dragged on and as you attempted to address him again, to get some sort of cog working in his brain, he would blurt out: "Did you fall from heaven?"

ᯓ Shit well that was personal and right to the fucking point!

ᯓ While you could lie to the King of Hell himself, you thought it would be best not to risk your life right now. Especially not when Lucifer was staring at you both like a curious kid and a murderous overlord.

ᯓ "Yes...?"

ᯓ For some reason, that was your common link. A shared experience of falling out of heaven, falling down from grace and into a world pooled with Sin, that set off Lucifer wanting to know you more. So small meeting at the hotel turned to longer meetings, turned to small meeting outside the hotel to longer meetings, and you weren't sure when or how it all happened at first. Yet, sooner or later, all you knew was that brisk, nervous hand touches turned to hand holding, turned to small and brief hugs, turned to longer hugs of longing, turned to you kissed Lucifer on the cheek one night as a goodbye...

ᯓ Eventually turned to him being, willingly, pushed up against your bed on the floor as you straddled him, kissing his lips with such passion you were sure Asmodeus would be jealous.

ᯓ And the events that followed such a kiss surely made the situationship a little more awkward in the morning. Especially since you woke up naked, covered in the dozens of blankets that were stacked on your bed, cuddled up to Lucifer. And it was even more awkward when he had woken up as well to your shared position.

ᯓ Upon catching Lucifer's eye for a short while, you were quick to let out a shocked sound and shuffle away from him quickly, raising the blanket up with you as you sat up on the bed. You noticed the way it squeaked, signaling a few springs had been loosened or the bedframe had became weaker. "Fuck.." You would mutter, raising a hand to your forehead as you stared down in conflicted parrel at your bedsheets. You could hear the bed squeak as Lucifer slowly sat up, and you were sure he was looking at you with their brilliant eyes; Those eyes you so very much adore but know couldn't be yours. It wouldn't be right. Charlie was helping you redeem yourself and you couldn't go and stab her in the back by sleeping and getting with her dad! Panic rose in you as you turned to Lucifer, keeping your blanket over your naked form, "Lucifer, please tell me we didn't!- We couldn't have..." You couldn't fail to notice the way Lucifer's eyes widened, shock mixing with the concern he had. The concern that had made him start to reach out for you, to ask if you were alright, yet the hand that also stopped short as you looked oh so terrified at him. Did he hurt you somehow and didn't know? Such a thought shattered his heart. "I.." Lucifer tried to find the words in his head, but they dropped short. He glanced away from you as a frown slowly inched on his face, and he really couldn't meet your eyes. "I'm sorry..."

ᯓ You would sit there, staring as Lucifer with complete horror as your eyes slowly shifted down to the bed and then the blankets again as you realized what you had done. You had hooked up with Charlie's father after everything she had done for you. You had been, quiet literally, going out on dates with him and falling in love with the King of Hell himself behind Charlie's back! How could you do such a thing to Charlie?! How could you be so stupid in meeting Lucifer more than what was required to explain that you had fell from the grace of Heaven and ended down here? How fucking stupid, how idiotic, how much of a cretin do you have to be to do something like that to Charlie?! You didn't notice how the tears began to form in your eyes until you felt Lucifer's hand upon your cheek. The feeling of his thumb brushing to clear your hot tears as he slowly turned your face towards him. Slowly made you look at your mistake. And yet, he didn't seem fearful at this moment. Even while you choked back your sobs, he simply only cupped your other cheek and drew your face to him to connect your foreheads. You would shake your head, placing your hands on Lucifer's wrists in an attempt to draw away from him in shame.

ᯓ And his insecurities inside him screamed at him to let you do so; They bombarded him with the fact that he had done something wrong and made you cry, something he swore he would never do. Yet why, even while his mind was screaming at him to let you go, did he still hold you to him?

ᯓ "Hey, hey.. it's okay," The whisper feel out of his mouth before he realized what he was saying, "We're in this together okay? I'm... sorry if I hurt you, but I can't help you fix this if you don't talk to me..."

ᯓ And his gentleness made you crack, a sob escaping your lips no matter how much you tried to choke them down. Your hands slowly slid down, away from his wrists, and held onto where his arms bent. It was oh so every hard for Lucifer to watch you sob in front of him, devastated by something he couldn't fix. Yet he was patient until you were ready to tell him; He held you close and cuddled you, not wanting you to feel alone.

ᯓ Not like he had.

ᯓ It was an awkward conversation, yet a much needed one that allowed for the two of you to start the process of becoming official. You both agreed upon telling Charlie everything before you went on with anything else. So, after clearing both your tears, and putting on proper clothes, Lucifer when to go grab Charlie and take her to a more secluded section of the Hotel to chat.

ᯓ Lucifer, as her parent, agreed to tell her everything and you stood right besides him for support; knowing this couldn't be easy for him. You would feel uncomfortable in his shoes too. Charlie would listen, confused at first, but then surprisingly became rather relived and esthetic.

ᯓ "Oh my Lucifer! Finally!! You know, I noticed you two had a thing for each other and I'm really happy you finally came and told me and that you're making it official!"

ᯓ Safe to say neither of you expected Charlie to be so open to the idea, and she noticed. She would explain how we was happy that you were making each other happy, and while she was kind of sad her parents weren't together anymore she was glad her father could find love again and be happy. She would give Lucifer a hug before giving you one, whispering a quiet "thank you" into your year. A thank you that you knew carried a lot of emotions, some being a mixture of heartbreak, gratitude, and acceptance. You nearly teared up again and squeezed her back.

ᯓ With Charlie's acceptance you and Lucifer began to officially date. Yet, kept it on the downlow as not to attract attention from any of the Sinners in hell, or god forbid anyone else from the Hotel that wasn't Charlie and Vaggie. But honestly, it made you both happy to have each other, public or not.

ᯓ You would move in with Lucifer six months into the relationship, and had to make up a fib story to the other hotel residents how you were going to try and travel Hell; just to see what it had to offer before you went. Only Charlie and Vaggie knew you went to move in with Lucifer and his collection of ducks. And god, did it take a while to help Lucifer clean up and organize his pile; Especially considering that he wanted to stop every 2 minutes when he found a special duck to rant to you all about it. But, you couldn't deny the fact that it was adorable to see him all excited about a rubber duck that was oh so common in the human world.

ᯓ Honestly, Dating Lucifer will be one of the most odd yet fulfilling and loving experiences you have ever had. He's quirky and not exactly in the right mind space, but neither are you, so you both help each other whenever you can. Even if it took a while for Lucifer to truly let you in, and let you see him at his lowest. He was always scared that if you saw him like that, it was cause you to panic and run away and leave him; And that he would never you again and... he just couldn't handle such heartbreak. He wants to keep you safe and protected from everything and anything, and he didn't want you to be forced to see him as someone who needed protecting because of an episode that got bad.

ᯓ Lucifer take a lot of careful work, peeling back the layers of himself that has been cocooned tightly, before you can see the true and raw Lucifer. And yet, you love him all the same, broken or together and whole. And honestly, when that day comes when you do see Lucifer like that and you stick by his side throughout the whole thing, being the shoulder and the rock he needed...

ᯓ That was the day Lucifer knew he wanted no one else as a partner in this immortal life other than you. Because he would be your rock if you are his, and he appreciates you more than anything in this world (maybe expect for Charlie, but you're close!). But honestly, he's so grateful that he manages to be able to go to sleep and wake up to someone like you. Half the time he believes it's some sort of dream that he'll wake up from when he falls asleep... and yet he gets to see your face every morning.

ᯓ It... fills him with hope that the rest of his days in hell won't be lived in a depressive isolation from everyone and everything else. And your presence alone comforts him more than anything.

ᯓ★ A little extra!

ᯓ Lucifer is 100% a cuddle bug, expect him to be around you constantly. Man will be trying to hold your hand, hold your waist, nuzzle into your neck, literally anything to be near and next to you. (Just so he knows you're there, and you're real.)

ᯓ Lucifer defends you with his literal life, like man has no chill when it comes to you and with Charlie. He got a call one day and heard your panicked shouting and was there in literal seconds. Scared the shit out of whoever was trying to fuck with you. Then he picked you up and took you home, literally pampered you for the rest of the day.

ᯓ 100% spoils you. After physical touch and quality time, his next love language is gifting. So expect little trinkets that Lucifer has made to appear somewhere you can see, or given to you by Lucifer himself. He'll also, at times, buy you gifts (expensive and not) if he goes out and sees something you've been saying you wanted for a while or something that just reminds him of you.

ᯓ Charlie begins to see you as a second mother. Of course no one could ever replace her actual mother, but she's glad she had you to go to for girl troubles or gossip tea times.

ᯓ Literally this is the sweetest man ever and he just wants to be love, LOVE HIM. PLEASE!! He will get so flustered and dopey if you sit on his lap and pepper kisses all over his face. He literally will think he's in heaven for a second like, he just loves your fucking attention and is a little bit of a whore for it.

Home | Masterlist

ᯓ★ All posts/fanfictions posted under this blog is owned by @razzle-n-dazzle. Please do not steal, copy, or plagiarize the works! Likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated.

[kitkatscabinet]

Kinktober -09: Forced/Fuck or die

Simon Riley x f!reader

Warnings: Here it is, what you've been waiting for. Based on this post. MUTUAL NON-CON, Dark Simon, Simon fighting with himself. This is the darkest thing I've written to date. Heed the non-con warning!

His mask is gone, it’s the first thing he notices when he groggily regains consciousness, the bare skin of his cheek pressed against the grimy cement below his body. All his tactical gear, shoes and shirt are gone too, though his pants thankfully remained on his person. 

The second thing he notices is you, curled up in a ball and still knocked out a few metres away from his person, the bare skin of your back on display. Fighting the lingering fatigue he pushes himself up, dragging himself towards you, only noticing the chain clamped around his ankle when it clanks against the floor. 

Luckily, he’s been given enough slack to make it to your side, large hand shaking your shoulder as he averts his gaze from your bare form to preserve as much of your modesty as possible. By the time you wake up, Simon has managed to regain most of his faculties and has thoroughly scoped out their situation. 

They’re in a cell of sorts, blocked off from the door by a set of iron bars that show no visible weak spots. There are no windows though light is provided by the glaring fluorescent white lights that hurt to stare at for too long, other than that there is a ratty mattress covered in stains that Simon doesn’t want to ponder too long on. 

You’re not restrained in movement by a chain like him, though you have been completely stripped bare and when you sit yourself up Simon makes sure to stare directly ahead. You seem grateful for the fact, though neither of you directly comment on your state of undress. 

Quietly, the two of you converse, unsure if there are any hidden cameras in the area. Together you manage to piece together the spotty bits of each other's memory leading up to waking up as captives. 

It doesn’t take long for you to start shivering, the frigid temperature of the room amplified by your lack of a barrier between your skin and the cold floor. You start to move closer to him and wordlessly Simon holds one of his arms out, allowing you to tuck yourself under his armpit, your legs crossing over his lap. 

His heart is pounding furiously in his chest at the feel of your skin on his, your breath shuddering against his side as your arms wrap around his torso. You bury your face into his side, both hiding from his gaze and hiding your own sight of him. Simon meanwhile, starts to expend a good portion of his mental function on not popping a boner. You’re so close that he can smell your hair, even over the musty air. 

At some point, you make the executive decision together to move to the mattress, trying to find the least stained patch instead of remaining on the cold unforgiving concrete. As if that had been some sort of invisible cue, the rusty door swung open with a whine, hinges protesting as it scraped against the floor. 

Pressed so closely against him, you feel the way his shoulders tense, the arm wrapped around your shoulders subtly tugging you further behind him. The man who entered was skinny, long black hair greasy and shining in the low lighting. His smirk feels even greasier than his skin, however, and the way his eyes trail over your bare skin makes a shiver run down your spine unbidden. Simon evidently notices this too, and the muscles in his arm flex as he subconsciously tries to pull you even closer. 

Unfortunately for you both, Simon’s reaction doesn’t go unnoticed, and the slimy man’s sickening grin grows even wider than you would have thought possible. “You’re finally awake! How are you liking the accommodations?” his tone is mocking as he leers through the bars, giving you the perfect view of the gun tucked into his waistband. 

Neither you nor Simon answer, simply glaring up at your captor with varying degrees of acid and wariness. “Not going to answer? That’s okay, I can speak enough for the three of us.”

“I don’t know what you’re hoping to achieve but neither of us will talk” Simon drawls, his chest rumbling pleasantly against your ear. The response he receives is a laugh, a mocking pitch that further fuels the deep unease brewing in your gut. 

“Oh? No skin off my back, I’ve no interest in any information you might provide.” He waves his left hand dismissively, reaching for the pistol tucked into his belt nonchalantly. 

Your unease evolves into something deeper, heart-thumping like a rabbit caught in a snare as you try to curl in on yourself even further. The warning signals in your mind are blaring at you to run, but there’s nowhere to go and as such you’re forced to just hunker down beside Ghost. Your mind is confident that your lieutenant will protect you, he always does. 

Slimy man drags a rickety old table close to the bars with an ear-piercing screech and you’re surprised that it doesn’t outright collapse when he jumps to sit on it. His short legs swing back and forth like a child on a ride, the gun laying loosely over his lap, his grin never once dying as he continues to stare eerily. 

If it wasn’t information he wanted, then what?

The question floats uneasily in the forefront of both of your minds as you await the man’s next move. The answer to the unvocalised question comes not even three seconds later and punches the breath from your chest in disbelief. 

“I want you” he points at Simon with the pistol, “to fuck her,” he moves the gun lazily through the air to point at you, his head leaning forward to rest on his free hand. You cringe when the gasp that leaves your throat is loud enough for him to hear and even Simon can’t quite contain his shock. 

Neither of you move. Neither of you speak. As if you’re both waiting for the cameras to roll out and for the man to announce you were being punked.  

Predictably, this doesn’t happen and your lack of reaction causes the first cracks in the man’s nonchalant mask to form. His grin finally dies down into a deep frown, his eyes filled with faux pity as he sighs loudly. 

The gun is still levelled at your head and your throat is so dry it hurts to swallow. Your heart roars loudly in your ears, thumping so hard you fear it’ll completely burst out from your skin. 

“I’m getting a little impatient now. I know you heard me the first time. So you better get to work man, or else I’ll kill her.” All of the perceived amusement has fled from his outward persona and you look up at Simon with wide eyes. 

Simon doesn’t look down at you, his jaw clenched so hard you can clearly make out the bulging veins as his skin reddens in anger. Looking up at him, you miss the click of the gun's safety and by the time you’ve noticed Simon’s suddenly panicked reaction pain is already flashing across the skin of your cheek as a bang echoes through the small space. 

Simon’s eyes are suddenly very desperate and focused on your face, his free hand cupping your jaw and his thumb running over your cheek. Wincing at the sting of weight against your injury you flinch backwards slightly as blood smears over your face and his hand. 

“That was a warning, but I’m reaching the end of my patience so you’d best get on with it unless you want me to kill her.” You whimper at the words, tears that you try to blink away rapidly filling your waterline as you try to keep your breathing under control. 

“It’s ok, it’s ok, it’s ok.” You find yourself muttering over and over again, looking into Simon’s agonised and sick-looking gaze, gently pulling him down until his bulk is trapping you against the mattress. 

He’s breathing heavily, panic, disgust, terror, regret, flit so quickly over his face that you can’t even begin to hope to decipher all the emotions running through his head. Though you think they likely mirror your own. 

One trembling hand clutched his cheek like a lifeline as you forced his gaze to remain on yours, unwilling to let either of you look at your tormentor. You’re trembling pathetically, your dominant hand struggling with the zipper of his pants as you try not to sob. 

“I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.” Simon is frozen above you still as you repeatedly apologise through cracks in your voice. You’re shaking so badly that you can’t manage to unzip his pants and bile rises in your throat as one of his large hands stiffly reaches down to do it for you. 

Due to the stress and depravity of the situation, he’s not exactly hard yet. You don’t want to touch him, not like this, without his permission and you freeze long enough that he decides for you, jerkily stroking himself as his eyes shutter closed with a grimace.  

It’s a few agonising minutes of silence, both of you attempting to mentally prepare or disassociate from the inevitable. He must be ready because suddenly the hand that isn’t holding him up slips over your pubic bone and you can’t stop the flinch. 

Instantly his hand darts away and his eyes scrunch even more closed. You bring your other hand up to his face, cupping his cheeks with trembling fingers as you urge him to open his eyes. He watches as you nod your head, breath trembling as you continue to spill apologies. 

His fingers flick back down to your understandably dry pussy, gently trying to prepare you a little, to make it less painful. You’re still apologising and Simon desperately wishes you would shut up. 

He should be the one apologising. But his mouth won’t move and he can’t wake up from the nightmare. 

He can’t hide the flinch this time when their captor speaks up once more with a lazy but impatient drawl, “I believe I said fuck her. Not finger her.”

He’d thought the situation couldn’t get worse but once again the ground had been shattered beneath him. It’s only your hands cupping his face like a lifeline that prevents him from reeling back completely. Simon has frozen again and the crushing guilt consumes his soul entirely when you have to force him back into action, wrapping your ankles around his lower back and pushing him closer. 

Looking briefly towards the unwanted audience it’s the sight of the gun, still primed and aimed towards you that finally spurs Simon into action. Leaning down on his elbows so his mouth rests near your ear, out of sight he finally whispers his only apologies as he slowly presses the tip of his cock into your unprepared pussy. 

He’s barely breached you, having been met with immense resistance and already you let out a slight whimper of pain. He tries to move as slowly as possible but he’s only halfway and you can’t hold back your tears anymore. They roll down your cheeks in earnest and your chest rattles with sobs as you clamp down like a vice on him. 

He’s only granted a few seconds to let you adjust before it’s made clear he’s not performing satisfactorily. When he pulls out only to slam back in you shriek, hands moving to grip at his back and leaving harsh scratches that are undoubtedly bleeding. 

He has to bite his tongue to prevent a groan of pleasure from slipping out and his nausea grows at the fact. 

He wants to be gentle, he tries to be. He swears, but he’s not allowed. Not when it’s apparent that this is supposed to absolutely shatter your body and soul. 

It’s not because you feel so fucking good, he swears. 

And you’re still fucking apologising to him. 

Gods. You’re so perfect his brain coos. So concerned for him when it should be him begging on his knees for your forgiveness. 

Even though you won’t risk saying his real name, Simon can’t even blame his actions on the Ghost, because without the mask that’s not who he is right now. It’s not the Ghost causing you such agony, it’s Simon. 

It’s Simon that’s doing this to you and it’s Simon that’s started to enjoy it. 

With the added stimulation to your clit your body has finally started to provide some natural lubricant, even if you’re still very clearly in pain. The slide in and out has become easier, letting him pound deeper. 

His skin slaps harshly against yours, sweat dripping from his forehead onto your limp body. His cheek turns and he noses at your skin briefly, inhaling your divine scent before his tongue darts out and laps at your tears. 

You look so pretty like this. Eyes glazed over and fucked out from his cock. 

At some point, his horror has turned into pure pleasure and any guilt that threatens to keep surfacing is quickly pushed back down by the dark little voice in the back of his head. 

You’d been the one to initiate. A part of you must have wanted this deep down, it whispers. 

His face returns to the crook of your neck, licking and sucking at the sensitive skin there as he continues to try and make this even the slightest bit pleasurable for you. Your pained whimpers have mostly died down, sobs reduced to slight sniffles and something in Simon preens in pride at that. 

He’s cumming faster than he would have initially predicted, filling you with thick ropes as his hips ground into you as deep as he can humanly manage. His muscles falter a little and he collapses on top of you, face still buried in your neck. 

It isn’t until there’s loud applause and boisterous laughter that Simon suddenly returns to his senses. Reeling away from you as if burned, chest heaving in revulsion once more as clarity sets in. 

You don’t move, shoulders still trembling minutely as Simon struggles not to vomit at the reality of what he’d done. The reality of what he’d enjoyed. 

The door swings closed with a thud and still you don’t move, eyes staring wide and blankly at the ceiling. Simon’s eyes dart between your legs, a mix of his cum and blood streaming down your thighs. 

Quickly but gently he pulls you back into his arms, settling you on your lap and flinching when you wince at the movement. It’s his turn to cry, shuddering breaths buried in your hair as he apologises over and over. 

“S’ok.” You simply reply, voice hoarse and a little too understanding for his liking. He spends what must be hours apologising into your hair as you tremble and apologise back, your tears marking his skin. 

Unfortunately, Simon knows that none of his apologies will ever be enough. Not when that twisted, vile part of his psyche had enjoyed fucking you, relishing in the free opportunity he may have never otherwise been granted. 

He doesn’t sleep. Remaining wide awake and battling himself long after you’d cried yourself into exhaustion. Because even now you still subconsciously trust him enough to do so!

His arms tighten around your body as much as possible as he continues to stare blankly ahead. He’s never going to let you go, not even if you both get out alive. You need him to protect you. To protect you so nothing like this ever happens again. 

It somehow doesn’t occur to him that perhaps he’s the one you may need protection from.

Tags: nigthmar3moon thychuvaluswife

[flamingpudding]

I have a new prompt idea and it's dark

So the Nightingale / Fentons are a pretty curse family and one of the curses is one where any Nightingale that tries to leave behind the family name will either greatly disappoint their family or Die because of being curious

It's a long curse starting all the way back to there great great great uncle Kingsley (Klarion) Nightingale because he was the sibling of the original Nightingale it started the The witch Hunt because he didn't get magic but Klarion he started killing which is one of them curses entire family not knowing that the rest of them were witches

Which cost to chain reaction to every Nightingale that tries to walk away from a family suffering a terrible fate like Thomas Fenton Nightingale who ran away and change his names in Thomas Wayne and was able to rebrand his entire but died with his wife after they got too curious of the Court Of Owls

Cursing his family for always being on the bad side of History cuz a few of his cousins were working with the court of owls

So when the original Nightingale started to finally pick off his family that was trying to run away from The Nightingales Kingsley was burned alive cursing the Nightingale Fenton name

Or Danny Fenton who died in the portal accident came back alive and disappointed his parents were setting with the ghost instead of hunting them

How this is all figured out is Constantine is checking over Batman for curses when he's like oh you have a family named curse and I like oh the lame one he's like no your father's real name he ends up finding out all of this information

Can you even affect Jason because he was adopted by Bruce making him technicality a nightingale and he died being mad at Bruce for not saving him and came back still cursing Bruce

So this could be a crack prompt or a really angsty one depending on how you view it because Batman is finding out that he's really into all of these people but he somewhat knows or realizing that he definitely affected all of his robins due to a family person to give no he actually had

Which continued

Interesting Idea... I like some of the premises... here and many ideas are really interesting!

> So i took a spin at this throughout several weeks. yes this has been sitting in my drafts for a long time and i added things slowly but in the end it still is a pretty short piece... sorry... writing really has been hard for me lately again...

Though I think i might have gone a little astray from what you originally had here though or didn't include it enough.

Hope you will still enjoy the following!

------------------

John Constantine sometimes really hated having to work with the Bat and not just because he was one of these spandex wearing goody two shoes heroes. Okay maybe goody two shoes was a stretch but Bats was one of the heroes that annoyed him still. There was also another reason. Something he had slightly noticed since the first time he had meet the man. But back then he had ignored it.

Like hell was he going to get involved more than necessary with the bat suit wearing hero.

Well with the passing years it more and more became something he couldn't ignore any more. Especially since whatever it was had a certain stink to it that John really hated right now. Not just because he was forced to sit in one of these many Boy Scout meetings because Zatana was busy. It tickled his mage senses, but not in a good way. No it was the way that really made him want to take a swing of his flask, he would take one if he wasn't running the risk of his flask getting taken away from him by one of these heroes.

"Yre fucking cursed to hell and back, mate." John decided to speak up instead anyway with a dead-stare at Batman and interrupting whatever else Sups was going on about. Okay so maybe in reconsideration, John should have waited until after the meeting to say anything at all, really. But in his defense, Batmans curse was stinking even more now. Like it had been freshly activated by something.

Great thing, whatever the meeting had been about before got completely forgotten as everyone focused on the fact that THE Batman apparently had managed to get cursed given his history with magic. Bad thing, Batman pressured John into investigating what kind of freaking curse stuck to Batman. And boy, can he say that explaining to Batman that he was stuck with a centuries old course that was pretty much affecting anyone he sees as family was not fun, nore was explaining that this wasn't a recent curse but one he had very much inherited from his father.

"Nightingale, the name ringing any bells Batsie? Curse is tied to that name apparently." Was what he ended is explanation with only to get a stoic stare and a grunt as answer. Sometimes John really wanted to wrangle that hero in particular.

"Can you trace it back?" John side eyed Sups who looked worriedly between him and Batman.

"Can you trace it back..." He repeated with a mocking mutter, who did they think he was? Of course John could trace it back, he wouldn't even need to sell his souls for the x-time to do that. Not like he would for Bats of all people, but then again, he had sold his souls for less before. "Of course I can trace it back, mate."

John took just a little bit of pleasure in the fact that he was in a position to demand something from Batman when he pestered the man for a bit of his hair or fingernail clippings to use as a medium to trace the origin back. It wasn't nice anymore when he traced it back to an area that was the magical equivalent of the Bermuda Triangle. Ground Zero. A No-Go. Do not Touch with a ten foot pole. The Do Not Enter of the magical world.

To say the heroes weren't impressed when they saw him taking a very needed swing from his flask was an understatement. Because seriously John needed a stronger Whiskey for this shit.

"What the hell do you have to do with Amity Park!?"

Danny meanwhile felt a shiver going down his spine, but he shock it off as he souped Skulker for the 3rd time this month. His eyes surveyed the area for a moment wondering what was going on before he once again choose to shrug it off. His legs turning into his ghostly tail as he flew back towards Fenton Works. Unaware of the storm brewing far away, while Clockwork was cackling in his tower contemplating if he should give his ghost child a heads up or not.

[cherubshert]

Genre: fluff, brother's best friend

a/n: reader is Jay's adopted sister, and is younger than hee. I hope you enjoy and find me funny haha.

"Jay couldn't pick you up?" Heeseung asks, starting his car. "No, he has a girlfriend now, he's practically glued to her." you answer leaning over to turn on the ac, a relieved sigh leaving you at the rush of cool air. "So you called me instead?" He teased, chuckling to himself. "You're the only other person I know that drives."

"Riki got his license." he reminds and you shake your head tilting your head to look out the window. "Barely. have you ever been in a car with him? I'm still shocked he passed before me." he chuckles again, peeking at you "That's what you get for asking Jay to teach you." You frown, reminded of the short period of your brother's teachings.

"I'm waiting for Sunoo or Minjeong to get theirs, they're the only one's that I learn anything from. " Heeseung pauses, focusing on the road, his lips pursed. "I could teach you." he recommends, " don't you have finals?" you turn to look at him "after finals, I have nothing else going on and I'm a great driver and teacher. "

"hmm, ok then. Thank you." you lean the back of your head against the car window, raising your phone to your eyes.

"Maybe after, when you get your license I'll take you on a date." "What?" your ears perk up, your eyes raising to look at him. "You know, as a reward for passing your test." he shrugs "Do teachers usually do that?" You ask, moving to sit up straight. "I don't mean it like that. I mean as Heeseung and Y/n, like two people that like each other. " "What? is... is this a prank?"

He stops at a red light, turning to look into your eyes. "No I'm being really honest. I like you, a lot." He takes in your reaction, scrunching his face in thought. "I guess this is not the best way to confess. " "No, no it really isn't. " he laughs, raising his hand to cover his face. "Sunghoon said i needed the element of surprise." "This is too surprising, it feels fake, forced." he leans over his steering wheel, still laughing. you pout, crossing your hands.

"is this a prank?" "no, I'm being serious." he finally says seriously, starting to drive again as the traffic lights change. "You don't have to give me an answer, you can also forget i said that."

As you pull into your drive way, you take hint of your brother's car. "I think I'll have time two weeks from now to start the lessons. Is that ok ?" he says with a smile, turning his car off. He leans over you when you don't answer, concern plastered on his face, a worried hand on your knee. "Y/n?" "do you really like me?" you shyly ask, staring at the chain dangling around his neck.

"Yea." you hesitate, your hand timidly reaching for the chain around his neck before pulling away, Hee's eyes following the movement. "I'll go on a date with you then. " he smiles. "that'll be great."

[typicalopposite]

And so maybe I have been thinking a lot about the clipboard!118 proposal… and looking at it from the other side of things.

Tommy has had the ring a couple months now. He maybe, sorta, kinda impulsively bought it after their last date left him 100% sure Evan was the one. He just hasn’t figured out how to go about popping the question.

Logically he knows he could just casually ask him over a morning coffee, and Evan would be as speechless and emotional as if it were the most extravagant proposal to ever be proposed. But as much as Tommy would prefer a more casual approach, he still wants it to be something special. He wonders what would be most special to Evan.

And then the idea comes so easy.

The 118.

He goes to Eddie, spins the idea of getting everyone to help with the proposal. Eddie thinks it’s an amazing idea and he FaceTimes Hen and Chim to share the idea. Hen is the one to suggest the clipboard. Tommy has questions, but they all just vaguely insist its an inside joke that he will definitely get and Tommy leaves it at that.

He goes to Bobby and Athena’s next. Bobby isn’t Buck’s dad — Tommy has already set aside a day to speak with him and Buck’s mom regardless of the tension in theirs and Buck’s relationship — but he is extremely important to Buck and Tommy (hell anyone who watches their interactions) can see the feeling is mutual. Bobby couldn’t give his blessing fast enough.

The day comes and Eddie is off to start what will be a chain reaction of Buck being bounced around from person to person. After Hen takes him from Maddie and Chim’s, Tommy comes out from the room he’d been hiding in to ride with them to the station.

“You ready?” Chim asks, eyes turning soft as he straightens Tommy’s tie.

“Of course,” Tommy replies. He is, he really is. Maybe more than he has been for anything else in his life, ever.

“You got the ring?”

“Right here.” Tommy pulls the box out of his pocket.

“Is the ring in it?” Chimney asks, face now serious.

“Uhhh… yeah, it should be,” Tommy laughs.

“Have you checked…”

Tommy blinks, but Chim’s eyes are focused on the box. Tommy opens it and reveals the band inside.

Chim’s face softens once again, a big smile spreading across it and he pats Tommy on the shoulder. “Alright then… let’s go get you engaged.”

[anjanahalo]

Potential DPxDC Prompt x3

In between their graduation from high school and the start of their college careers, Tucker and Danny collaborate on a small podcast where they mostly chitchatted about various topics from "Is a hotdog a sandwich?" to "Why the Justice League sucks." That last one upped their viewership, but most of that died off when the next three episodes were titled "The Best Eats in Nowhere, Illinois," where they trolled through Elmerton and Amity Park for the various chain and local restaurants, eating at and rating them with a very qualitative, subjective, and nonsensical scale, until they get to the Nasty Burger. The Nasty Burger gets an episode all to itself, describing the lore of how the "T" in the original "Tasty" fell off, the sign got tagged with an "N," and how, after it took years for the owners to fix the sign, they officially renamed the place "The Nasty Burger" because that's what everyone called it, even changing the menu and marketing that had stubbornly stuck to Tasty Burger all those years. (Tucker shows off his vintage Tasty Burger shirt as a flex of his loyalty). They order and eat every food item in one sitting (even the vegan ones), and rate Nasty Burger 20/10, the best local burger place you can find. After the drop off that came from reviewing places like "The Lucky Sombrero Irish Pub and Taquería," they didn't expect the clapback they got from the most unexpected place: Gotham, New Jersey. A small but very robust group of Gothamites were calling bullshit on the review, daring them to come to Gotham for their own local burger chain, The Batburger. Tucker and Danny sense a great challenge and a new episode idea, and Sam agrees to fund the trip when they declare the vegan options at the Batburger were far superior ("I funeded the separate grill myself at Nasty! Bet they cook their bean burgers in beef grease.") Of course, she's also coming along. So Tucker, Sam, and Danny hit the road with a teaser that they're taking up the challenge and coming to Gotham, and they'd be proving these uppity commentators WRONG. Meanwhile, The Batclan are a bit shocked to realize that their comments actually motivated the hosts of one of their favorite dumb podcasts, which appeared on their radar after the "JL sucks" episode, to visit Gotham. Wouldn't it be hilarious if they tracked them down and got to see their reactions in person?

[lunasdreamytreats]

Have a lil spooky hsr thirst to get it out of my head

Warnings: ⚠️ nsfw, fem!reader/jing yuan, spirit!dan feng and spirit!yingxing (together), VERY unrealistic sex (cause, yk, ghosts), a lil bit of exhibitionism at the beginning, multiple instances of double penatration, dan feng has two dicks, petnames (songbird, sweetheart), illusions to dan feng x yingxing, very little plot, slick+precum used as lube, verbal consent given, a literal chain reaction of cum and I think that's it lmk if I missed anything <3

Feedback and support are always appreciated <3

Imagine your having sex with your boyfriend jing yuan like normal, but tonight is Halloween night, and there's a local superstition that ghosts will come back to finish anything left unfinished from their lives. Neither you nor jing yuan ever really believed that, until now.

Jing yuan knew having fu xuan take yanqing trick or treating was a great idea, he'd been pent up ever since the two of you had your normal cuddle session interupted by the aforementioned master diviner. It was both payback, and a perfect opportunity to make love with you ❤️

However what neither of you could've predicted was the spirits of jing yuan's two long dead friends, Yingxing and Dan Feng, paying him a visit..... with his dick still buried inside the warm confides of your slick pussy!

You both saw the ghostly figures out of the corners of your eyes and even though you never met them personally, (jing yuan mentioned that he met you in your past life, so they probably met you too), you could feel the lustful nature in their gazes.... could ghosts have sex with mortals? C-could they even touch your body?!

Aside from jing yuan's, you could feel another pair of hands slowly gliding up your thighs. Cold and calloused, Yingxing's hand traced your bikini line before dipping his hand in between yours and jing yuan's bodies to touch your folds. The featherlight touch made both of you shiver, clenching to add more stimulation to jing yuan's cock.

"Shit.... she's so wet" Yingxing began rubbing slow circles against your clit as you felt dan feng push a claw-like finger into your asshole.

"With a little prep," dan feng began, curling his finger inside you before adding a second finger, making a scissor motion. "she'll be able to take all three of us... just like she used to."

"Think you can take that, songbird?" Jing Yuan whispered before kissing your neck. When you nodded, he lifted your hips slightly, allowing the mixture of his pre and your slick to run down his shaft. Yingxing gathered some of the mixture as it dripped down and brought it up to where dan feng was still fingering you. He rubbed the slippy substance over your hole as dan feng pulled his fingers out, only to push them back in with ease now you were lubed up. It was clear that they've done this before...

"There.... she's ready" dan feng's fingers left you with a loud squelch sound, but don't worry, it was replaced quickly with the feeling of three more cocks. Wait... three!!!

Jing Yuan felt your demeanour change when his friends rubbed their cockheads against you, so he shifted slightly in order to gently rub your back. (which will soon be blown out 🤣) yingxing also noticed this change and gently cupped your chin, guiding your lips to his in a hesitant but passionate kiss.

"She'll be fine yingxing," dan feng's voice sounded from behind you too, "she's taken this before, remember?"

"She was a different person back then, yinyue..." Yingxing reluctantly broke away from your lips, "but i have no doubt it'll come flooding back when we start." Jing Yuan held you up so you were hovering just slightly above the other three cocks, while his tip was still inside you. Yingxing and dan feng were behind you, with dan feng positioning his cocks towards your pussy and asshole, while yingxing was gently rubbing his tip next to dan feng's second one.

"Are you ready, sweetheart?" Dan feng's words were punctuated by the tip of his first cock leaking pre against your opening. You nodded frantically, already drunk off the mind numbing pleasure that was to come.

"You tell us if it's too much, ok sweetheart?" Yingxing questioned again, wanting to make sure you and jing yuan had a safe word in place.

"I will, fuck me.... please" with your verbal consent, the two spirits slid their cocks into your tight walls. The tight squeeze caused the three men to groan deeply, holding still until the pain you felt vanished.

The way your walls clenched around their dicks told them that you were perfectly comfortable, and that they could move. The delicious drag of their dicks against your gummy walls drove them mad, meanwhile their tips kissing against your sweet spot drove you mad as well.

Thanks to the previous stimulation and the foreplay, you quickly came, hard. Jing Yuan wasn't far behind you, jing yuan cumming triggered dan feng's release as well, groaning as you clenched hard on him. Dan feng's warm cum leaking next to him caused yingxing to throw his head back and spill his release inside you as their hips slowed to a halt, sighing heavily.

~

An: god it's been so long since I posted my writing anywhere ToT

[ktaerssoi]

Mmmm what about Kate with a partner who’s love language is gift giving, specifically handmade gifts.

Like just imagine Kate being gifted a bouquet of crochet flowers by her partner, I can’t get that image out of my head.

Also do you take anons? can I be 🐹 anon?

handcrafted

kate martin x fem!reader

summary: it was your's and kate's one year anniversary together, and to make it special you made your gift by hand.

(826)

you and kate have had a connection from the moment you met, you guys had ignored it until you finally confessed to her in the pouring rain, a story for another day, but a connection nonetheless.

you guys had made a deal on your six month anniversary that you wouldn't go all out for your one year, so you hadn't. recently, you had been trying to learn how to crochet, seeing some cute crafts that you wanted to make.

one of these crafts, a bouquet of crochet flowers, caught your eye one day while scrolling on Instagram. you looked up a tutorial and quickly got to practicing, thinking that they would make a nice, thoughtful gift for kate.

you had finally gotten the pattern down a few days before you were going to go out. you had made almost a dozen of them, untying and retying them all together until they were to your standards. you felt sort of weird making something so simple for such a big day in your relationship, but at the same time, it felt fitting for you and kate.

-

the day had come, you were woken up by kate bringing you breakfast, more like lunch, in bed.

the two of you had the whole day planned out, you were going to chill at home for a little, maybe hit up the mall, and then go out to dinner at a restaurant you guys had been frequenting more often. you were excited, to say the least, you had gotten ready two hours before you had to leave, wanting to look your best.

you were nervous too, you were starting to get self-conscious about your gift, thinking it was a little babyish. calm down, it'll be fine, it's just kate. you repeated those words in your head until you started to believe them.

you guys were having a great night, the food was great and you were laughing and talking the whole time. you guys had decided to do presents once you got home, feeling like it might be weird to do such a personal thing in a public setting.

you guys were wrapping up at the restaurant, the waiters and waitresses bidding you goodbye, knowing they would see the two of you again soon.

"c'mon y/n, I want to go home! I'm so excited to give you your gift, it's so cool" you smiled as you looked at kate, she was practically jumping off the walls to leave.

"my company isn't enough to keep you here?" you laughed as you walked out the door, watching her face contort to make an argument against your claim. you didn't hear the end of it till you got to the car two minutes later.

your leg was bouncing nervously on the way home, kate had noticed and grabbed your hand halfway there. it calmed you down, even if you didn't want to admit you were stressed in the first place.

you weren't totally sure why you were nervous, maybe it was the fact that you thought kate wouldn't like them, or that you felt like they wouldn't compare to whatever kate gets you.

-

finally, after both of you had changed and taken off your makeup, you were seated on the couch. both of you holding the other's respective gifts. kate had a tiny bag that seemed to hold something fancy. you were scared, to say the least.

you switched bags and to say you were shocked is an understatement. kate had given you a bracelet with what seemed to be hand-polished gems, she had held off on opening hers just to see your reaction.

you jumped into her arms, kissing her face to show your gratitude. "kate, baby, this is so cute, did you make this yourself? i love it so much oh my gosh." you had asked her to help you put it on, not wanting to ever take it off again.

you were sitting on her lap messing with the chain when you realized she hadn't opened your gift yet. "kate!" you gasped, a smile on your face as you reached for the bag, handing it to her. "open it! please? i know its not much but i learned how to make each one individually and it took me actual weeks-" you were cut off by kate kissing your lips, it was a slow kiss, one that expressed just how thankful she was for the present.

"they're amazing babe, im going to go get a vase to put them in." you got up, letting her walk into the kitchen to get a vase. you were still a little shell-shocked about that kiss.

-

the vase of handmade flowers sat on your coffee table for almost two years, only moving when you did. every year since your first anniversary you've added a new flower. every day, it's like walking into a reminder of just how much you two had been through together.

notes: erm chat?? new color?? but also yes, i do take anons! hi 🐹!! anyway chat.. i miss my gf.. YEAH GIRLFRIEND. I TOLD YOU SHE WAS INTO ME. (we've been on one date.) sos chat - kate

kate's gift to you

your gift to kate

[legendofmorons]

Misty! I gotta request for you! If you don’t mind taking it, ofc. Y’know how people get like, flustered or kinda giddy when getting called “sugar” or “baby” by an older black woman? Is it possible you can do a request where reader says somethin’ like that to the chain and their reaction?

I’m sending this with the little amount of confidence I got, but literally dw if you don’t wanna write this!

Reacting to being called Sugar/ Honey

Four

As soon as you call him sugar, he's blushing.

All you say is " Hey, sugar, you doing okay?"

It's mindless to throw in the nickname

Four can't describe the exact feeling but it's warm and pleasant

He really hopes you keep calling him Sugar or things to that genre

"I'm doing better than I was." Four says, because things aren't magically fixed but he feels less burdened.

Hyrule

Delighted!

He's smiling as soon as you call him 'Baby'

"You get enough sleep, baby?" You ask as you stretch your arms upwards

"Yeah." Hyrule says

He doesn't know how to ask you to keep talking to him like that. But he'd love it

He might start calling you sweet Nicknames too.

Legend

He's surprised at first.

"Are you feeling any better, sugar?" You ask as you examine his bandage.

He's a little pink.

He has no clue what to say

But he doesn't mind the nickname. He thinks he should

But he doesn't

He likes it.

He hopes if he dosen’t comment on it you'll keep doing it

Sky

He's got a grin on his face.

All you had said was, "Pass the salt, baby?"

"Sure thing, dove." Sky responds

If you get to make his heart swell turn about is fair play

He finds a way to bring it up so he can tell you he likes it

Time

"Hey baby, you're okay." Ypu soothe when he wakes from a nightmare.

He looks a little worried

He's a little confused, too.

He looks like a veteran. People don't call him baby.

Between that, the post slumber brain fog, and the warmth in his chest, he's got no response

But he likes it. It makes him feel like a real person and not a hero

Twilight

Twilight is the Most delighted

Takes it in stride though, probably the most used to such interactions

He starts calling you things like 'pumpkin' more often in retaliation

He really does love it though

Warriors

He just blinks at you when you call him sugar.

He's a whole commanding officer in the royal army

No one has ever dared to call him such things

But he actually likes it so he just pretends he didn't hear that part.

He doesn't know how to tell you he enjoyed being called sugar

But if you ask he'll be honest

He hopes you keep it up

Wild

He's laughing when you call him baby.

He thinks it's great!

But his laughter is mostly a response because he's a little surprised

He'll start trying to find you a nickname that has the same effect

Actually, he starts using the baby in his own vocabulary after a while

Wind

He thinks he should be offended when you call him sugar

He's not though

He decided you can call him that but no one else can

Probably starting trying to call you molasses so you match