#can we get back to the regularly scheduled fluff now?

[kithtaehyung]

busted (3tan) (m) | myg

title: busted  pairing: 3tan!yoongi x reader(f) , jungkook 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 rating/genre: m (18+) ; angst , fluff , smut ; brother’s best friend au, implied age gap au summary: when things go a bit south at your house party, decisions between you and yoongi have to be made. note: well. here we are, y’all. it’s been quite a long time, but we are back to regularly scheduled programming :’)) thank you to everyone that has supported and encouraged me throughout this whole process – and series, for that matter. i couldn’t have done this without y’all and the next part is already in the works. also i cried a lot writing this lol have fun! note 2: happy birthday, hedgehog! and to colourless and nicki and whoever else had birthdays recently, consider this my gift to y’all! warnings: language, the amount of content itself fck i’m so sorry, parties, alcohol consumption, tense situations, shoving, abandonment mentions (parental), obligatory yoongi on the phone, ch*king, head/hair pulling, reader has a pain kink and it shows oops, angst, overthinking :((, penetrative s*x, chains but come on now, protective s*x, cowgirl, or*l (m/f rec), edg*ng a ha ha, thro*tf*cking, kissing :’))), kissing D:, did i say angst?, bro😵‍💫, but also bro😭, jungkook gets a warning too, yoongi’s jeans are as ripped as he is heyo, hitting from the b b back, yoongi king of consent sheesh, multiple org*sms, spitting lmfao, sl*t/wh*re mentions, yoongi jfc lol, the aftercare y’all i–😭, the ending🧍  drop date: june 9th, 2023, 7:17pm est  word count: 18.8k gdi

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Here goes nothing and everything.

It was fifteen years ago when you first met Jungkook. When the sidewalks in your neighborhood were fewer and the occupancy in your house was higher. 

A tiny boy, he was immediately ready to stay by your side, despite the limited amount of time he got to hang around before his parents corralled his energy back inside their car. 

Later on, he would tell you that had something to do with them not wanting him influenced by your brother and his group. But you didn’t know that at the time. 

Ever since the two of you met, you became the best of friends. And as you grew older, it was only natural that feelings bloomed with everything else. 

In the midst of an ever changing garden, you found something that never wavered, vibrant in color and immovable at its root. 

Which was strange. You’d never compared people to flora before him. 

But, because of Jungkook, you couldn’t help but see everyone as such—lilies, buttercups, the ones that trap to survive. 

And he was the prettiest, strongest flower of them all.

There was rain. There were storms. But with them came hope, and a pair of cheap rings that the two of you bought nestled nicely in boxes, waiting to be unearthed when you were ready.

However. 

What also came was a lesson. One that you would learn again when two of every seat remained unused in your household. 

A lesson that people are more like seasons than flowers.

They change with or without you. 

And they pass by.

“We can go somewhere quieter if you want,” Jungkook offers. And you know he’s going to suggest your room before he even utters the words.

But of course he adds a small, “If I’m allowed in there anymore.”

When he laughs, your smile is as slow as your head shake, a few memories of old tasting bittersweet on your tongue. “We can.”

“Okay.”

When you make your way to your room, you hear the thumps of music and rhythms of conversation—both casual and loud—echoing throughout the house. Some people are sharing laughs, others are scooting just a bit closer, and a lucky one is cackling before demanding that everyone hand over their money. 

All of them oblivious to the fact that you’re about to rip off a piece of your heart.

Well. That may not be the case. But based on the conversation that you had with Jungkook before your interview, this wasn’t going to be an easy one in the slightest—not for him, nor for you.

But if he’s gonna keep pushing forward, this is a stop you need to put up regardless.

During a party isn’t what you had in mind, though. Much less one in your own house.

You don’t know if anyone sees you open your door for Jungkook to pass through, or if they notice the slump of your mood, but you figure no one will care anyways. 

Until you see someone out of the corner of your peripheral.

And the skip of your heart tells you who it is.

Occupying one of the hallways a ways away, you can tell he’s very aware of you despite being in the middle of a chatty group.

But what’s on his mind? Is he worried? Is he gonna ask what this is about?

Damn it. You’re just gonna have to tell him later. You can’t exactly do anything now. 

A voice peeps from behind your tense shoulders,

“You okay?”

Fuck. 

Turning, you nod to the boy in your room before shutting your door, giving one more look to the man whose last text you couldn’t read.

And the way he stares makes you wanna bolt from everyone entirely.

When your door clicks shut, you slowly swivel, only the bass of your brother’s music pushing the walls in closer. 

Jungkook’s doing exactly what you knew he’d do, wandering around your room and either leaning in to observe, or lightly touching things that he remembers. 

The soft puff of a laugh snaps you into focus. “I can’t believe you still have all his medals up.”

Ah. He even remembers the way you have all your brother’s trophies and achievements displayed—all because you liked seeing them shine, and he didn’t want them in his room.

Sweeping your gaze along two of your walls, you let out a tiny sound of amusement while agreeing, “I can. Too lazy to take them down.” 

“I can do it,” he immediately responds. “If you need me to.”

If it had been five years ago, you would’ve been enamored that he even offered.

But five years ago is when he shattered any hopes you had for the two of you, so you turn him down yet again. “It’s okay.” 

“You sure?”

“We’re here to talk, not decorate, Jungkook.”

He stares before nodding in dejection, eyes finding something other than you. “It’s still weird to hear you say my name.”

It’s weird to say it. 

But you can’t let him know you agree, so the sound you make is half-cautious and weakly lighthearted. “You think so?”

“Ah, yeah.” He flashes a smile that still squeezes air from your lungs. “I’d gotten too used to all the names you had for me.”

“Oh, god.”

“But I guess someone else gets to hear them now.”

Goddamn it. He’s not gonna give up, just like he said right before your interview. 

“Who are you seeing?” 

“Kook…” 

“I wanna know.” 

“Why?”

He walks over to your nightstand, picking up a picture of you and your friends from years back. 

And your heart pangs at how big his back has become. 

Without turning, Jungkook lifts his head to stare at your ceiling. And if he’s wondering whether the glow stars he stuck all over it are still there or not, you don’t know if you’d admit that you never took them down. 

“So that I’d know if I still have a chance.” 

“You already had yours,” you whisper. “Remember?”

And when you look up, he’s already staring at you with regret. 

Memories start to come back, but you shove them away with force, trying to empty your sinking boat with a teaspoon. 

Every time he had walked back from school with you, every time he would make you laugh when you felt alone, every time he stayed at your place when your brother had to be out—all of them competed with each other to punch you in the gut and push you to your knees. 

“I do,” is all he says before softly placing the frame on your bed. “I fucked that up, didn’t I.” 

The times he said he’d be there when you needed him, the times he said it was gonna be okay when you struggled with your seemingly deepest darkest secrets. 

All the times you knew you’d have a long future with him. 

“You did.”

Everything leading up to the time he said you should break up before you left for university.

Right before you were going to tell him you loved him.

Your heart hasn’t beat in awhile, but you don’t notice until Jungkook starts walking towards your planted feet. Was he really so far away? How did he cover the distance between so fast?

With a sigh occupying your chest, you muse that he looks so different, but also not different at all. 

And just like the time you saw him downtown, your brain doesn’t know how to separate the Jungkook you knew from the one you see in front of you. 

Because they are still the same.

You don’t budge as he stands resolute, inches away but encasing you in his familiar presence. When his hand comes up to your face, he almost touches—but the slight hesitation has you holding your breath before he surrenders his hand at his side. 

“I was an idiot,” he admits, throat seemingly small and making yours the same size. “I never should’ve… I can’t believe I…” 

You watch as he flips his head up, and you hate how you know exactly what he’s trying to hide. 

But your soul still remembers the wound it was dealt. So while you don’t want him feeling this way, you’re perfectly okay to fight back. 

He doesn’t get to cry when he’s the reason for all those tears. 

“And yet you did,” you remind him, proud of how stable your voice leaves lips that used to seek his. “And you left me so fucking confused.” 

“I know.”

“Do you really?” 

He flickers regretful eyes your way, giving you all the room to talk. 

And you’re going to.

“Do you actually know, Kook? How fucked up that made me feel right before going where I knew nobody. No one.” 

His nostrils flare while eyebrows flinch. 

You expel a tough breath, everything that happened before bubbling up to the surface. The nights you spent wondering what happened, the days you spent feeling unwanted, the times you felt so fucking alone.

“Is it true that you even loved me?”

“Yes,” he finally shatters, face contorting and eyes welling at their rims. “Of course I did.” 

Did.

“I still do.”

Liar.

“I thought I was the only one.” You search his eyes, hating how you would comfort him in an instant if this were any other circumstance. Hating, hating, loathing that this is how you find out your love wasn’t unrequited. “Why did you push me away?” 

“I didn’t—I didn’t mean to…” He turns, unable to handle the loud silence streaming from your bones. Voice shaken, he flounders, “I don’t know. I’ve—” 

When he pauses, it’s to keep his lips from shaking. You just know it. 

“I’ve regretted it every day since.” 

“Bullshit.” 

“I have!”

“Really. So all those texts you never sent were full of regret, too, huh?” 

“No, I—”

“All those calls you never made.” 

“I wanted to call!”

“You wanted nothing to do with me!”

“No! That’s not true—”

“Liar!”

He digs palms into the soaking divots of his face, tense at all angles and making you so, so angry that this is what the both of you have come to. 

“I’m not lying!”

“You are!”

You thought it would feel better seeing him cry. 

But it’s not, it’s not, it’s not. You hate this. 

Because Jungkook made sure your tears were short-lived. Made sure to chase them away every single time—

There’s a rapid twist of your locked doorknob before you hear a shout,

“What the hell’s going on in there!”

Shit, your brother. Were you both yelling? 

…Were you both that loud?

“We’re fine!” you shout back, embarrassed that your fight somehow managed to outperform the aux. “It’s okay.”

“Open the door.”

“No.”

“You better be serious—”

“Promise!” You look toward the shouts. “We’re okay.” 

“…Okay.”

And then it’s completely silent.

But you know he hasn’t left. 

Fuck, he can’t hear the rest of this. He shouldn’t have heard any of it in the first place, and you can feel the heat of his questions coming later tonight. 

Which, you are fine answering when it’s just the two of you. But you cannot have anyone hovering right now so you go to open the door and tell him off, 

“Dude, I said I’m—”

Oh, fuck.

Yoongi’s right there with him.

And your heart fucking lurches.

Fuck fuck fuck they both see your tears and you’re getting moved aside before you know it now there’s—

“The fuck are you doing making them cry?”

“Wait, it’s not like th—”

“You come into our house after years—”

“Stop!”

“And pull some shit like this?”

Alarmed, you squeeze yourself between him and a very wide-eyed Jungkook, having to wrestle an angry wrist off a captured bicep. “Seriously, relax!”

You and your brother have a thousand differences. 

But one thing you two have in common? 

He’s just as stubborn as you are. 

A strong swipe moves you back so fast that your feet can’t keep up, and you find yourself stumbling until firm hands and familiar cologne keep you upright, voices springing up all at once.

“I’m not—”

“Hey—!”

“The fuck—”

“What’s wrong with you?” you question, commanding attention and snagging both your brother’s and Jungkook’s stares.

Barely even caring if they see where you are and who’s holding you. 

Because this is all stupid. It’s not fucking high school and you aren’t some kid that needs their useless, shitty, good-for-nothing parents to stand up for them. 

Resisting Yoongi’s grip until he lets go, you stalk up to rip your brother’s hand off your ex’s arm, voice darkened and sharp, “Get out.”

Breath hard, the reply you get is directed more at Jungkook than your own pinched brows, 

“Why should I.”

“Cus it’s fine,” you shoot out, sparing a glance at Yoongi and regretting it immediately. 

Because he’s not looking at you. He probably wasn’t ever looking at you.

No. Based on that look alone, he’s been eyeing Jungkook with an energy that sends chills straight through your veins.

It’s so unmoving, so infernal that your throat dries, forcing you to swallow before laying more reassurance on three pairs of tense shoulders. “It’s alright, okay? We’re just talking.”

“…So it’s like that?”

Jungkook immediately replies to your sibling with a monotone, “Of course it is.”

To which he moves forward again before you stop him with a hand and a shout, 

“The fuck it isn’t—” 

“It is! Fucking hell, dude...” 

You force an exhale, hating how your room is overflowing while you’re still drowning in the conversation prior. 

Because now one talk is gonna sprout into three, and you already dread what each one is going to look like when it develops. 

You hope Jungkook understands that you’re done. 

You hope your brother understands that you’re tired. 

And, above all the others, you hope to any high power out there that Yoongi understands that you are anything but finished. 

When the tension doesn’t budge, you sigh and shift your weight.

“Look. We’re just talking. But I need to speak to him alone.” You breathe with finality, eyeing your sibling and his ride or die—hating and loving how ready they are to do whatever they need to, together.

But they don’t have to do anything. 

Except let you do this yourself. 

“Please.” 

After a moment, they both look over your shoulder before your brother watches your face again. 

But Yoongi seems to have finally caught Jungkook’s attention, because his eyes haven’t broken their lock until you say something,

“Trust me.”

Two weighty seconds pass before both men nod. And they leave without a word, emotions toppling on each other as soon as your door shuts. 

When you walk up to lock it shut, you stare at the knob in silence. 

While that was massively uncalled for, it could’ve gone much worse. You can already think of over a hundred outcomes, because that’s a look you’ve seen on your brother many times. 

However. That’s not what has you lost in thought.

What keeps you frozen is the fact that you have never seen Yoongi like that.

It almost scared you, but somehow comforts you all the same. You can still feel the way he subtly squeezed you in assurance, pressing you into him when you really didn’t fall that far. There’s a jittering in your chest that hasn’t simmered, and it makes you feel like you’re halfway floating back to where Jungkook stands.

But you’re promptly grounded when you rejoin him, voice soft when you ask if he’s okay. 

“He hasn’t changed,” is all he whispers. 

And you look at the door with a sigh of disappointment. “He has a little. Still uptight as ever, but. At least I can leave the house.” 

“Yoongi was a surprise.”

Oxygen abandons your lungs before you quickly catch yourself. “They’re best friends.”

Jungkook glares at the floor in thought before exhaling, and his silence seems charged. Almost off.

“Right.”

…Well, what the hell is that supposed to mean?

Is it because he saw when Yoongi caught you? Or the fact that he showed up at all? 

“Hey,” you whisper, hoping to rope him away from whatever scary things he could be pondering. When he flicks his attention to you, it takes a lot to not flinch at his watery eyes. “Ignore them. We aren’t finished here.”

“I know. I’m sorry,” he murmurs, and your conversation jumps right back to where it was. “For everything.” 

“I know.” You close your eyes before sadness lowers your gaze. “But it’s gonna hurt for awhile.” 

Even if you get this closure, it can’t cover all the years he made you doubt yourself. Made you feel like everything you went through was a lie and that love was something you just didn’t deserve. Confidence vaporized as a result, leaving nothing but issues and manufactured intimacy for years. 

Maybe that’s why everyone said you were a bad lay before. Because you actually were. 

Through your thick haze, you hear a faint, broken, 

“You loved me?”

“I…” Don’t say it. Don’t tell him. “I still do.”

“What?”

Fuck. 

It’s true. While he broke your heart first, he still cared for it more than anyone else after him had—until recently. The only grief he gave you was the breakup, which was why it threw you for an absolute loop. 

As you grew up, though, you started to rationalize that the split was a good decision. He was moving, and you were leaving for college. How would you both have fared with the long distance? It probably would have ended one way or the other anyways. 

So while the resentment burned your heart, it didn’t quite rid you of affection. What you feel as a result is similar to before, but so very, very different. Subdued. Faded. Like jeans you wore constantly but haven’t touched in years. 

In all honesty, what broke you the hardest was losing a dear friend. 

“I do,” you finally admit, not looking at him because of your next words, “But not the way you want me to.” 

Jungkook doesn’t respond, letting the outside world bleed into the room like a bitter interlude.

When he still makes no sound, you lift weary eyes to check on him.

And your chest constricts at the way he looks utterly and totally lost. 

When you call his name, his gaze doesn’t leave the floor. When you whisper it again, the tear that falls makes you weak. “Kook, what’s wrong?”

He finally looks up, and you feel your eyes quickly reflect his. “I was so stupid,” he sniffles, wiping his nose. “I really didn’t know. Honestly, I knew that was impossible.” 

For some reason, this makes you chuckle, and a new mood starts to paint the walls. “Why?”

“Because you were so cool.” His smile hasn’t changed. And that’s what cuts the deepest. “And I was just there because I always was.” 

“What?” You start to join him in bittersweet recollection, albeit from a different perspective. When you reach forward to point at his necklace—because you will not touch the ring—you softly laugh. “Then what were these for, silly?” 

When he sighs, you can feel the cracks in his curve. “I’ve been told that I’m clueless.” 

“You are,” you say with a sagging grin. “Extremely.” 

He laughs again. So do you. 

And the both of you break all at once. 

He’s crushing you in a hug and you’re crying into his clothes, hands gripping at his jacket and shoulder feeling the weight of his world. 

While he repeats that he’s sorry, you choke out that you are, too. When he says it was never your fault, you cry even harder. 

You fucking hate this. Now that you know the truth, it hurts that much worse. You hate, hate, hate that this is what everything came to. Everything that you both went through, destroyed by one mistake at the bitter end. 

But you need to move on. You need to sacrifice the past for the future. 

“I still love you,” he whispers, and you tense when he tightens his arms. “And I’m still sorry.”

“You idiot,” you cry into his chest, and you hear him hold back a sob before burying his head again.

And the two of you stay like that. One last embrace that you both needed.

Reminiscing over everything that doesn’t matter anymore.

When you both calm, you feel like it’s been hours. 

But you move to step away first, confused at the way he doesn’t let you leave. 

What’s he doing? Why is his mouth hovering over yours? You need to move. You need to move away. 

But all you can do is plead, “I can’t.”

Still, Jungkook moves in. 

Leaning to kiss just next to your lips instead.

What once would have lit your soul on fire now feels like a tempered flame, the smallest light of a candle before it burns out. And you’re grateful that he respects you enough to not push in a time of weakness. 

You move away again, and he lets you go this time. But not without last words, “Promise me this person is alright.”

“I promise.” 

“Only alright? I have a chance then.”

“Kook.” When you give him an empty glare, dying stars still linger in his eyes. “Friends?”

His lips give away his breaking heart before he nods. “I’m not leaving you again.”

Swallowing, you spread a thankful smile. “You better not,” you sniffle. “I need to decorate.” 

He huffs, giving you one more teary stare. “If they ever hurt you, let me know.” 

“I’ll be okay.” 

After a noncommittal nod, he stands until you politely tell him you need a minute. When he leaves, you wait until the door shuts before wiping nothing from your cheek.

Wondering why this closure doesn’t make you feel better in the slightest.

You don’t know how long it’s been. Time doesn’t exactly flow when you’re caught between the past and the present. 

But when you open your door, Dom is watching you with pure, unadulterated focus.

And your face scrunches in pain before she ushers you back inside.

She doesn’t say anything as you sit on your bed, offering her shoulder even though she doesn’t prefer physical contact.

While you’re grateful—so, so thankful for her presence—intermittent sniffles are the only sound you’re capable of. 

Until you stabilize and come up for air, fishing words from your river of grief, “Remember what I told you. When he broke up with me.”

Anger simmers in her reply as her shoulder moves under your chin. You assume by the movements that she’s typing something on her phone—or prepping for revenge, either one of the two. “I do.”

“He said he still loves me.”

Your first thought is proven correct as a device plops onto your comforter. “Bullshit.”

“Dom…”

“What? Like he loved you then, too?” She scoffs. “You were the one that loved him and he cut you out. He needs to get over that.”

“He said it was a mistake.” 

“It sure as fuck was.” 

“I dunno. Something just doesn’t sit right.” You swipe at your nose. “He looked so.. I just…” 

“Uh uh. It’s too fresh.” She gently lifts your heavy cloud off her person, firm fingers squeezing out rain. “You gotta get out of your own damn head right now.” 

“I know.”

“Now.”

You break into another sob, hiccuping before nodding. “It just sucks, Dom. I d—”

“Look, I get that. But everything you’re thinking about already happened. It’s done.” A glance is thrown behind her back before she swivels around. “Focus on what you have now.” 

In your moments of weakness, you ask the dumbest things, 

“What do I have now.”

As always, Dominique is quick and to the point. “A man that’s waiting outside your door.”

Huh?

Your eyes flash up to hers as she stands. “Wait, what?”

What did she say? What does she mean? How does she know that what’s going on— 

“One minute,” she warns, far away and not to you. “Then you’re on your own.”

“K.”

Wait, what.

You don’t even realize you’re vacating your bed as you see him walk in, nodding back at Dom closing the door before regarding your wreck of a face. 

His name is molasses on your tongue.

What is he doing? Isn’t the party still on? Why is he walking closer? 

He’s not supposed to be in here he can’t be here and you’re telling him that but he pulls you in so tight that the rest of your tears rain down in sheets. 

“Fuck,” is all you can manage now, and he crushes you in even harder, as if he wants you pressed against all of him forever like a keepsake leaf on a journal page.

Your voice writes words into his clothes, silence his only reply but the only one you need. 

Even if you only get a minute, this is enough. It’s enough, not enough, enough.

When he holds you at arm’s length, his question comes out a bit fast-paced, “What happened?” 

Damn it. As much as you should probably tell him, you use precious seconds to pause, not really knowing if you want to or not. 

“Don’t sweat it,” he quickly understands, kissing your forehead just as chaste. When he moves again, you catch the tension in his shoulders, notice the ruffles in his hair. “You gonna be okay?”

“Yes. No.” Fuck, he kinda looks as rattled as you feel. What is happening right now? “I just, umm. I need a minute.”

“You don’t have to go back out there, you know.”

“But you do,” you counter. “And I just wanna see you.” 

Finally, Yoongi stops, and his whole upper body relaxes at once. A beautiful sound to your ears, amusement huffs out his nose before he mutters, “You can’t keep saying shit like that.” 

“But it’s true.” 

His chuckle is light, and mischievous eyes find the ground before they lift to yours,

“Makes me wanna take you home.” 

Well. You swiftly realize why he doesn’t want you to keep saying certain things. The zing of emotion through your body was definitely uncalled for. 

Any other day, you would want this type of conversation to keep going. And maybe you’d be a little coy about it. 

But right now, all you are is tired, and your barriers are crumbled enough for a truth to escape. 

Resigned, you step closer to wrap his waist in your arms, not caring if he can feel the rapid beats of your heart. “I want you to do that,” you admit, breath warming your face on his already warmer shirt. “All the time.” 

“Take you home?” 

“Mmhmm.” 

Yoongi runs fingers along your arm. “You know I’d do it if I could, doll.” 

If you were someone else. If you didn’t have to hide. 

If you didn’t have to wait. 

At least you don’t have to wait for much longer. Definitely can’t say anything to your brother tonight, but you and Yoongi agreed on after this party. So things will be better from here on out. 

But why does he seem so—

You’re spooked by a warning knock on your door, and you flicker eyes to see his filled with something you don’t like. 

And the air suddenly shifts to something alarming.

“Listen.”

“Hmm?”

“I know we said we’d say something.”

Oh. You shake your head, already on the same page and liking how in sync you are. “There’s no way. At least, not tonight. Jungkook—”

“It may need to be a bit longer than that.”

Huh.

What does he mean by—

“So you probably won’t see me for awhile.”

You freeze. 

So does time. 

A minute is no longer enough.

“Yoongi, please—”

“Can you do that?”

Your heart slams against your ribcage, banging and banging and screaming that what he’s asking is not possible.

Because he isn’t asking what you want to do. He isn’t even asking how long you can wait. 

There’s a reason why he’s risking all sorts of shit to say this in person. Why he seems so restless. 

And you’re already missing him so hard it hurts.

Truthfully? You can’t do this. Not now. Not when your heart is bleeding out on your own bedroom floor. There isn’t even enough time to process Jungkook’s talk and now you need to deal with this?

“Babe?”

But despite what you feel, even if your throat is seizing and your chest is caving in, your answer will be what he needs. 

Because seeing Yoongi look like this—torn and frayed at the edges—renders you powerless and protective all at once. For fuck’s sake, he looks slightly panicked and this is the second new side of him you’ve seen tonight.

And yet he found a way to be with you one last time. 

Sacrificing seconds just to say goodbye. 

So you give up something, too. Your wants and needs because you don’t think you can do this, but it seems way too important to him to not try. 

You get it. That whole confrontation probably snapped all sense back into him. He doesn’t want to hurt his best friend. Or disrupt his work environment. Or both. Whatever whatever whatever. You should’ve seen this coming.

If distance is what he wants, you’ll give it. Instant karma because you just told someone else to give you some, too.

Of course you lose someone as soon as you gain back another.

“Doll, let me know because—”

“Anything,” you rush out, and yearning taints your voice on the descent. “I’ll do it.”

He pans from one eye to the other, and you weakly reveal a crack in your resolve,

“Anything for you.”

That answer was a lot more than what you meant to say. And the next look he gives rips you into shreds. Shreds of the bigger truth you just told him with moments left of his time.

“For us,” he corrects, swooping in to give you one more soul-shattering kiss.

And with that, he pulls away, turning to retreat into the real world that proves absurdly cruel. 

You don’t know when you’ll get to be alone with him again. It could be a day. Or months. Or even longer.

But watching him go, you know you can get through this. You know you can do it. 

Because this is nothing new. Just another person leaving. You’ve gone through it before and you’ll go through it again and this time will be different, right? Right? He’ll come back. Of course he will. 

And yet there’s still a part of you that questions.

If people are like seasons… 

Which one will Yoongi be?

Fuck.

Your body is moving before the rest of you does, and you propel forward to tug him in, flooding his lips with saltwater and longing and a deluge of reluctant trust. 

And he responds in an instant, swallowing you in an embrace you’ll cherish forever and willingly giving in to your desperate tugs on his jacket.

“Yoongi, I—”

You hear another insistent knock before he slings you into the nearest wall, and he grips the back of your head so hard you sob into his mouth. 

“I know.”

His name rattles around your mouth.

“It’ll be okay.”

You wanna believe him.

“Okay?”

But you only nod, eyes filled with oceans but gaze unwavering. Because you need to see him. Because you need to see him. 

“Fuck.” 

He smashes his lips on yours once more, capturing every soft plea for him to stay and holding you so tightly that your heart splinters. And while you know this is his way of telling you everything will be okay, you have a sinking suspicion that he is fighting to believe it himself.

It’s not fair.

None of this is fucking fair. 

If he was anyone else, if you were anyone else, if your brother wasn’t the way he was, if Jungkook wasn’t in the position he’s in now. 

It was just nights ago that you cradled all his moonlight in your palms.

And now you’ll be farther apart than stars. 

Yoongi finally pulls away right as Dom opens the door, and a myriad of emotions slosh into your brain when his eyes never leave you. 

“I got us,” he vows, finger on your chin the sole thing keeping you afloat, and you suspend in disbelief that someone you know is witnessing his lips press your forehead in real time and no explosions or helicopters are crashing onto the scene.

Just a panicked “Hurry up, for god’s sake!” to indicate your friend is not amused or phased.

Yoongi finally steps away, slowly backing up before slipping out, and the door closes with only you inside—hand clawing deep into your chest. 

Because you know him well enough.

He was committing your every feature to memory. 

And the desperation in his reddened eyes hunches you forward in pain.

The rest of the party goes on. Music booms, people laugh, conversations sparkle.

And you hear them all through your door.

Unmoved from the spot everyone left you in.

Idiot🙄 [1:34am]: Hey

Idiot🙄 [1:34am]: You up or nah?

You [1:40am]: yeah

Idiot🙄 [1:40am]: Help me clean up

You scoff at your phone, letting it fall from your hand before resting tired eyes between your knees. 

When it buzzes again, you reluctantly read it with vision unreflecting.

Idiot🙄 [1:42am]: Left food for you, too

That you will leave your room for. You may have just cried out your weight in tears alone.

You🙄 [1:46am]: ok

Idiot🙄 [1:46am]: 👍

Cleaning is a quiet event, with you both doing the chores you’ve defaulted to over the years. While he clears the floors and deals with the trash, you steadily get through the dishes, scrubbing them as well as you can before placing them in the washer to dry.

A plate. A bowl after that. 

Two whisky glasses even though there were plenty of solo cups to use.

You needed this. Needed a way of going through the motions and letting your brain fly on autopilot. If you sniffle, the water drowns it out, and only the dishes get to see any lingering tears.

And unluckily for you, there are plenty of both.

“Hey.”

You hum.

“Do I need to beat his ass?”

Well, that didn’t take long. 

Frustration tears its way up your throat on all fours, “I should kick yours for what you did back there.”

“And I’d deserve it.” 

You pause.

“But I still wanna know.” 

Sighing, you shake your head, knowing that neither of you are angry enough to fight anyways. “No, okay? I was serious. We talked.” 

“I know you talked but he still hurt you.”

Your lip stings under your teeth.

“And I can’t just let that go.”

When he stops, you place another dish on its rack. “Let’s just finish and I’ll tell you everything in a sec.” 

He sets down the last of his trash before retiring in the living room, the thump of weary weight squeezing a sigh out of the couch.

And you eventually join him, water cutting off with a squeak before you shuck off your gloves. 

As you walk through the cleaned-enough rooms, you keep hearing afterimages of conversations, wondering how many revolved around your shouting match with Jungkook, or how many speculated who Yoongi is or isn’t seeing. 

All these pretend scenarios mock you from all sides. 

But the conversation you’re about to have with your brother is gonna be real. And a long time coming, quite frankly. 

You take a breath before crossing into a space that’s seen and heard many things. While you take residence in your regular spot on the sofa, your brother doesn’t deter his gaze from a television that’s not on.

But as soon as you blurt out your confession, he slowly closes his eyes. 

“He broke up with me. Before I left for school.” 

“...Why didn’t you tell me.”

Brows scrunched, you waste no time in pinning him with your response, “Did you see yourself back there? Imagine if you found out back then.”

Silence. 

“Besides,” you continue, deflating back into the cushions, “He was moving, remember? And you had enough going on. I didn’t want you to worry.”

“I always worry.” 

“It’s whatever at this point. I didn’t even know he was back until Yoo—you told me.”

Shit, that was close. 

“I shouldn’t have made it a surprise.” 

“Not your fault. What’s done is done.” When you observe the blank screen, you can see your brother aim a look your way. “Just made the whole uni thing miserable at first.” 

And the years after, too, but he doesn’t need the same details that Yoongi got. 

He sighs, hand scratching the side of his head before free-falling. When it’s quiet, you think he’s preparing for war. Prepping a vow to go after Jungkook and dealing with a problem that’s not yours anymore. 

But he doesn’t do that. What he says catches you completely off guard.

An apology.

“I’m sorry I’m always gone. Or not really here when I’m back.” 

Where did that come from? Are you already done with a talk you dreaded for years? 

This can’t be it. 

Blinking, your mouth slowly opens before you respond as level as possible. “It’s okay. I can pretty much fend for myself at this point.” 

“I know. But I’ll try to be better.” 

He’s gonna what? “Why?”

“Cus I feel… Uhh.” He moves his lips around in thought, as if the next sentence takes strategy to arrange. “I feel like we don’t really talk anymore.” 

“…Oh.”

You’re thoroughly thrown. Because who the hell is this person you’re talking to right now? What’s up with him? He doesn’t need to try anything better except calm the fuck down sometimes. And let you be an adult.

And frankly, you feel like you talk a normal amount anyway. At least, you didn’t think anything was off about it. 

What the hell happened after he left your room?

Suddenly, you see him laugh at the ground before asking it a question. “Remember when we’d go get our own food?” 

Alright, he’s definitely drunk or a clone. 

But you’ll take it. This switch in what you expected this conversation to be is a welcome one, and you softly entertain memories that aren’t supposed to be this funny. “Yeah. We’d get told to come back with our parents.” 

“Until they realized we kept going alone.” 

A memory makes you smirk. “You even tried dressing like a grown up.” 

He chuckles again, elbows resting on his knees as he watches your coffee table. “I really thought I did it, too.” 

“You did.” Thinking about all the shit you both went through, it’s truly a wonder how you’re both still here. Living and existing and doing big things. 

A rueful chuckle leaves your lips, floating to the floor. “We’re fucked up, huh.” 

“Very,” he agrees. “But who isn’t.” 

True. “It could be worse, I think.” 

“How?” 

You play with some of the frays on your sofa, wondering when this piece of furniture started to resemble thin lines of too-soft polyester at its edges. 

Did it start to give up around the same time your parents did? Or had their patience worn thin way before the threads on this cushion began to fade? 

Whichever truth remains, at least it’s still here—witnessing all the struggles and triumphs, the highs and lows, and all the times the two of you had sat in puffy-eyed silence. 

Together. 

“They could’ve left us somewhere else.” 

“Ah,” he nods, slowly shaking his head and twisting the watch on his wrist. “Nah.” 

Silent, your eyes find his side profile in due time. “No?”

And his glare burns the path ahead. Just like it always has. “I wouldn’t have let them.” 

“Oh, really.”

“I got them to leave us all this, didn’t I?”

Wait, he did what now?

…You didn’t know that. 

“Hold on,” you breathe slow. “That’s what happened?”

“We had a deal.” He sighs before leaning all the way back, hands joined at the knuckles on his stomach. “If I graduated with full marks and, uhh. Got a starting salary high enough, they’d pay for your tuition.”

The pause he makes weighs a ton. 

“And leave this to us when you came back.” 

So… He… 

Holy shit. 

You were just fucking relieved you didn’t have to pay any loans. For once, you thought your parents really had your best interests in mind and did something out of kindness before peacing the fuck out. 

But it’s all because your brother negotiated and pulled off the near impossible? 

…Is he paying loans? 

“I didn’t know any of that,” you whisper, finding yourself on the verge of tears again.

He simply shrugs, looking down at his cherished piece that he rarely takes off. “You didn’t need to. You were just a kid.”

“So were you.”

Your brother purses his lips, and you wonder what words he could be holding back. What thoughts he has that he won’t say out loud. If any of them are things he wants to say but can’t. 

“It’s whatever.”

He had to grow up fast so that you didn’t have to. 

And you don’t have the heart to tell him that university fast tracked that anyways. 

So, while grateful as hell and knowing you’ll be thinking about this conversation for years, you switch the subject. You’re already overwhelmed as is. 

And you suddenly understand what Yoongi might be struggling with, too. 

Because if he did all this for you, what lengths has he gone for his best friend? 

Shoving that thought into a far corner of your brain, you rest your head to mirror your sibling, letting your tears slide back to where they came from. “I, umm. Was wondering why they left us the house. But I figured they just didn’t wanna pay for it.” 

“It was already paid off,” he explains, seemingly just as happy to talk about something else. “Don’t ask me how I know this, but it’s how I was able to negotiate in the first place. They had four other properties, and a condo on some island.” 

“What.”

“That’s why they were rarely here. Work trips, my ass.” He scoffs before bouncing a leg. “And they had us in this place.” 

“I like it here, though.”

“I do, too, but…” You hear a shuffle of his feet before he stops. “I just. I dunno, it’s just us here. It feels...” 

“Empty?” 

“Maybe. More like something’s missing? I dunno, that’s probably lame.” 

You inhale before assuring him. “It’s not.” 

And with that, you’re both left to stare at the same ceiling, conversation stewing and simmering around the whole room.

Usually, this is when you leave. Because you don’t wanna talk about shit like this, or you simply feel like doing anything else. 

But tonight, you want to stay. You didn’t know these things about your brother and what he did, and it’s making you realize a lot of things. 

And regret others. 

A question rolls off your tongue before you can overthink it, “Do you ever wonder what we did wrong?” 

“All the time.” 

“When I think about it, I always end up thinking the same thing.” 

“Hmm.” 

You tilt your head his way. “We weren’t the adults. But neither were they.” 

And you both huff in tandem after he grins. “Damn.” 

You don’t know how the two of you got here. But it was much better than talking about anything else, and you silently thank him for not making you more miserable than you already were. 

Truthfully, you feel a little better instead.

He just needs to know for sure that you really are past the whole situation. Mostly. A healthy amount, at least. 

So you tell him. “I mean it, thou—”

“I’m sorry.”

“Huh?” You look over to see regret fill his side of the couch.

“For what I did. I was outta line.”

“Oh.” You swallow, surprisingly emotional that he’s even owning up to it. You know it only happened because he was being protective, but hearing this from him is huge. That had to be hard. “Thank you.”

“I just.. I love you, okay?” He turns to look at the ceiling again, and you quickly have to do the same because you know how that was even tougher to say. “You and my brothers.. You’re all I’ve got.” 

Liquid emotion runs down your cheek, never having been told that more than once in a single day.

It’s a shame how foreign it sounds when you say it back. 

But that doesn’t make it any less true.

“Love you, too.”

An hour later, you find yourself in bed, clutching your phone while a single question loops through your brain.  

…Calling should be okay, right?

Even if you can’t see him, or really be in the same room, this should be okay. At least, in the dead of night when even birds are asleep. When no one is awake to judge you both for lying to the people you... 

Your chest squeezes when you press down on your decision, the talk with your brother repeating in your ears.

Yoongi: Outgoing Call

It’s ringing.

Still ringing.

…And you feel your chest cave when you hear it go to voicemail.

Fuck. 

Maybe he’s sleeping already. Unforeseen circumstances like emotional turmoil tend to slow down your getting ready for bed process, so it took a lot longer than usual. Maybe he isn’t actively avoiding your calls and is just face down in a pillow you miss using.

And maybe you need to get used to this god-awful feeling as quickly as you can. 

This hollow, aching, painful feeli—

Yoongi: Incoming Call

Your chest booms when you see his name, and you try your absolute hardest to answer normally even though instant tears blur the screen.

“H—”

“Sorry, I was showering, fuck.”

His breath sounds so rushed, and you immediately wonder what he looks like if he didn’t take that long to answer. Imagining him in only a towel or less, you let out a pained chuckle before whispering, “You okay?”

“Shouldn’t I be the one asking that?”

Of course that’s his answer. “I’m not. Just wondering if you were.”

“Why would I be if you aren’t? Ow.”

Body alert, you only focus on that last syllable. “Wait, are you hurt?”

You hear a low grunt before he responds. 

“Just hit my fucking knee getting out.” 

Ouch. How the hell did he do that? “I’m sorry. You got ice, though, right?” 

“It’s not that bad. Just stings.” 

“Okay.”  

There’s some crunching sounds before you hear footsteps and hisses, and a thump before other noise crackles through. 

“Spoke to Kook.” 

Shit.

“And the guys.”

Oh. About work. “What’s up?”

“We’re gonna be busy as shit for the next month or two, so.. Guess that came at a good time.” 

Ah. No finish line in sight.

But he didn’t hide that information from you, so you appreciate the honesty. Better than him leaving you in complete darkness.

“Yeah, do your thing,” you support. “I need to prep for this interview anyway. And figure shit out if I end up getting the job.” 

“When you get it.”

You exhale, shy. “When I get it, yeah.”

“Where is it again? That blue building, yeah?”

“Mmhmm. But where I’ll be is like, third floor.”

“See? Claiming shit already.”

You realize right as he says it, but you meant something completely different. Your laugh is soft. “I meant for the interview.” 

“Mm. Well lemme know where you post up after they hire you.”

“Yoongi.”

“Fine.”

“Did you, umm. Did you and Kook talk about anything else?”

“Just work stuff.”

“Okay.” Your eyes lower. If he’s telling you everything, you gotta reciprocate. 

Even the stuff you don’t wanna mention. “He tried to kiss me.”

“What.”

Swallowing at his tone, you whisper, “I told him I couldn’t.” 

“…I see.”

Fuck. He does not sound okay with that in the slightest. Disappointed with yourself, you apologize, “I’m sorry.”

“Huh? Don’t be.”

“You sound mad.”

There’s another moment of silence, and you don’t think you breathe until he responds,

“Not at you, doll.”

Well, shit. You don’t wanna cause any friction between them, especially after the energy Jungkook gave off earlier. It’s still bugging you to hell. “Nothing happened, baby. But he felt really off after y’all left, so.. I dunno. Be careful.”

“I will. But that means I can’t talk when he’s around.”

You bury your head, watching the hours that you get with Yoongi dwindle away. Knowing Jungkook, he’s gonna immerse himself in whatever keeps him distracted. So he will most likely be at the studio just as much. “At least you were there today,” you whisper. 

“Mm.”

“Honestly, I didn’t expect that.” 

There’s a breath on the line, and you can tell he’s hesitant just by the way he moves his phone. So when he finally speaks, your jaw goes slack.

“I was there first, doll.” 

He what?

“Wait… You were?” 

He was at your door first? He has to know how that looked, right? Your brother clearly saw him if he was the one to shout, and yet there was no mention of it when the two of you spoke. 

Maybe that’s part of why Yoongi decided what he did. A decision to help you came with consequences he knew were coming. But he did it anyway. 

Your breath is suddenly short. And your head is starting to spin with information overload.

“The plan was to only check for a sec, but he had the same idea. Showed up right behind me.” 

“So… You both heard—”

“Nothing until the yelling.” 

They were there the whole time. Both of them. Yoongi first? Your brother joining him? 

Nope. This is too much. All of this is way too much for one night and your head is bursting at the seams. 

Just another reason why this separation could be a good thing. Other than the fact that Jungkook seems weird and you can’t see Yoongi at all and him and your brother really are more than friends and you wedged yourself right in between everybody—

Information. Realizations. Guilt. You’re spiraling. 

Run.

“I’m, umm. I’m gonna get off now.” 

“You okay?”

Say yes. Say anything but “No. I’m… I don’t know, I really don’t know—This is a lot and—”

“Wait—” 

“I get it and I’ll stay away for as long as you want—”

“Babe, talk to—”

“Bye, Yoongi.”

And you immediately hang up before your dam floods.

He doesn’t need to hear your grief over the past, your regrets of the present, your fear of the future. He doesn’t need to know how pained you really feel dealing with everything at once. How harsh his departure is because this is when you need him most. 

Yoongi: Missed Call

All he needs to know is that you’ll do this for him. Because he would do the same for you. 

And he’s done enough for everyone other than himself. 

But goddamn if this doesn’t hurt like nothing else you’ve experienced before. 

And you’ve been through hell.

Yoongi: Missed Call (2)

Why is he calling? Won’t this just make it harder?

Why does he keep trying if you need to stay away?

Yoongi: Incoming Call

With a heart so busted you don’t know where all the pieces are, you finally reach up to acknowledge his effort. 

And his greeting sends a pang through your chest.

“Knew you’d answer on the first try.” 

Sniffling, you say his name so, so softly.  

“You didn’t let me say bye.”

When you don’t respond, he trudges on.

“So now, you get to hear the longest good night ever.”

Huh? 

“And no hanging up this time.”

What the heck does he… mean… 

As soon as you hear the light strums of a guitar, your heart shows signs of life. And you let everything out while he gathers the scattered shards with every chord. Every note. 

Every second he doesn’t say goodbye.

A river flows into your pillow until it runs dry, and the Moon outside your blinds casts a silver blanket over your defeated shoulders.

And it’s only when you and your phone are dead to the world that the Sun steps in to peel it off with calm palms.

For the first time in a long time, you plan a sleepover at Taehyung’s. 

And after getting a rundown of what happened, he completely agrees that you both need it.

It’s been a minute since you slept over there, and rolling onto his driveway makes you remember the first time it happened. 

Your brother was outright flabbergasted you even asked. 

But after some arguments from you and very clear energy from Tae, your brother waved you off and just demanded no funny shit better happen. 

And you’ve spent so many nights over there since then that Taehyung’s one of the people he calls if he’s looking for you. 

Being reminded of something else interesting, you think back to the first time you went to Yoongi’s, spending enough time there that he ended up on the list of people to call about your whereabouts. 

As hot as he was picking up with a cheeky arm around you, it was surprising he was on that list in the first place. 

Well, maybe not. They’re best friends. But why would he—

“You just gonna waste gas in my driveway or what?” 

Snapping your head up, you see Taehyung looking bored, hands on his hips and wearing the most comfortable clothes you’ve ever seen. 

Your glare in return is empty when you finally get out, circling around to grab your stuff and take-out from the passenger seat. 

“You’re lucky I like you,” you joke as he goes to grab the food. Locking your car, you follow his grumbles into the house with a laugh, feeling a little okay already.

“How’s Jimin?”

“Still complicated, but that’s not what we’re here to discuss.”

You sigh before you poke your noodles, knowing you have quite the catch-up to get through. If only your attempt at procrastination worked.

“Eat,” Taehyung orders before taking a hearty slurp of his meal. “I don’t care if you’re sad, this wasn’t cheap.” 

“Excuse you.” He’s lucky you resist the urge to fling saucy food all over his shorts. “Also, I paid for it, the hell?” 

When your friend blows air through his nose, you scoff before silently doing as he says, pouting at the beginning credits onscreen.

“How long has it been?”

Ah. That’s a good start. 

As you peer down at your food, emotion and appetite abandon your palate,

“A month.”

“...Damn.” 

Taehyung already knows all about what happened. But even if he didn’t, you think he would’ve caught on to your increasingly depressing song choices. And the way you barely watched Yoongi during the last intramural game. 

“How’s the new job, though? Good distraction?” 

That you can talk about for hours. “Thank fuck it is.” 

“That’s good, at least.”

As your meal progresses, you continue to catch him up on everything, including the way night calls are the only thing keeping your hopes afloat. 

Because Yoongi was right. Ever since the party, weekdays have been radio silent, and you soon got accustomed to looking forward to his late texts saying he’s home.

And you’ve been okay with that. Landing the job and getting swamped with training has kept you busy, and your friends have been a wonderful salve for persisting wounds.

It just stings when you know the studio is close by. Because even though Yoongi extended invitations before, you avoid that area like the plague.

“But enough about me,” you huff. “Still complicated with him, huh.” 

If Taehyung knows you’re too sad to keep talking, he doesn’t show it. His response simply comes after a few chews. “Yeah. But”—he swallows—“Not in a way I’m mad about.” 

“What do you mean?” 

Taehyung settles back into the sofa right as a ball of fluff hops on, and you watch the movie roll by while he gently orders him to get down. “He’s not as flaky. We just haven’t really labeled anything yet.” 

That’s surprising to hear. Tae doesn’t strike you as the labeling type at all, so your question is genuine, “Do you need one?” 

A huff is what you get in return, and you can hear the smile in his tone. “He seems to want one more than me. Which is why I don’t get the hesitation.” 

“Mm.” 

That makes more sense. Knowing what you know about Jimin, you aren’t shocked he would be conflicted about something he really wants. 

Why he’s skirting around the point is the question. It’s clear to you that they would be so cute together. And sickly annoying in public. 

“Maybe that’s a good sign,” you blurt, roping your friend’s gaze and attention. Spotlight on you instead of the characters bustling about his television, you smile. “It’s like he’s scared because he cares about your feelings.” 

Not unlike what’s happening between another pair of friends you know.

Taehyung blinks, and you’ve always liked the way curiosity widens his eyes. 

But he’s so quiet that you shift. “What?” 

He keeps staring before biting an incoming smile. Before you can question him again, something brightens his expression. “You’ve changed, you know that?” 

Huh. “Me? How?” 

Your friend just grins before resting his head on the top of his cushion. “I’ve always known you were amazing. But now you look like you know that, too.” 

All thoughts fizzle out before your jaw dips. When you try to present arguments, none materialize, and Taehyung laughs at the way you physically buffer. 

“Not even denying it. I like this.” 

“Shut up,” you finally pout, embarrassed and shy when he laughs again. 

The rest of the film continues with nothing else but your commentary, and Taehyung clicks out of the queue screen before another one can start. 

“Break? Or what do you feel like?” 

You feel Yeontan’s fluff at your feet. “We can keep going.” 

“Mmk.” 

Both of you contemplate which one to pick when you feel your phone vibrate a ton. And when you see the notification, your heart leaps before crashing back down to the ground.

Yoongi [5:02pm]: Just got booked for another week

Yoongi [5:03pm]: Can’t talk now but

Yoongi [5:03pm]: Letting you know

Right.

You slowly let your hand drop with a sigh, and you can feel Taehyung’s pitied stare without moving.

“I know,” you whisper. “I shouldn’t be upset.” 

“You can definitely be upset.” 

You lift weary eyes to see that your assumption was very wrong. There’s no pity evident at all. 

Only warmth. And understanding. 

“Cus knowing him? He’s probably more frustrated than you are.” 

There’s a pinch in your chest, a sharp one that cuts your breath for a small second in time. 

Him? Being more upset than you?

You only thought about that possibility once, but you quickly dismissed it. There’s no way. 

But hearing Tae say it from a guy’s perspective—and someone that knows how Yoongi can be—gives you pause. 

It just didn’t make sense before because he sounds fine when you call, and he doesn’t really talk much about his own shit unless you ask. Which is strange considering he was fine doing so after your huge breakthrough at his place. Granted, it was mostly about good things.

Does he only hold back when it’s about stuff that stresses him out? That’s not ideal. You’ve told him before to tell you what’s bothering him, so if he’s still hesitant to let you in…

Taehyung’s honeyed voice brings you into the present, 

“What are you gonna say?” 

Blinking, you push your lips together in thought before looking at your phone again. 

If Yoongi really is more upset than you are, then you should tell him something that you would wanna hear from him. Even if you aren’t feeling so hot. 

You [5:07pm]: how’s ur back feel from carrying everyone so hard🥴 

You [5:07pm]: jk its ok<3 you’re getting recognized and it’s about time 

When you send those, something strange happens to your shoulders. 

They’re lighter. 

How is that possible? You’re still sad. 

But your mind seems to clear some junk out, instead feeling a little okay about the whole thing. 

Hopefully Yoongi receives them well. If he doesn’t, you’ll figure something else out. 

Yoongi [5:09pm]: Lmaoo I’m saying. They better run me my check and cover my hospital bills.

You laugh with teary eyes, soul feeling like it’ll live despite plans being pushed back again. 

The lingering sadness remains, but it’s dwindled for now. An afterthought to the slight happiness you feel from lifting him up instead of dragging him down.

Another message slides into the thread before you click your phone shut, so when Tae gets more food, you catch what it says. 

Yoongi [5:11pm]: Fuck I miss you

And your heart beats extra loud, mouth slightly curved and wobbly because you agree but it’s okay, okay, okay. You can both do this. 

You [5:12pm]: i miss you too.. but focus now and tell me all about it later

Of course you want to cry. Of course you want to curl up into a ball and sob. 

Yoongi [5:15pm]: Thanks doll

But just like there’s strength in being strong, there’s just as much strength in being gentle. 

Because as upset as you feel, it’s better if you don’t show it. While you aren’t completely resolute, you push forward in silence. Even if you can’t see the finish line.

The lingering feeling of anxiousness remains; the what-if’s batter your mind from the inside. But you choose to stay optimistic for him, and even you have to admit that’s admirable.

But the yearning still packs a fucking punch.

Your shoulders must be slumping to hell because you feel a warm presence settle against you, slinging an arm around and holding you close. 

The only sound you make is a quick sniffle, but you don’t move as Taehyung reads the thread on your phone. 

“You see what I see, right,” is all he whispers. 

And when you slightly shrug, he leans his head against yours. 

“You will.” 

Nodding, you feel more tears follow the paths of their predecessors, and you don’t move to wipe them away. “You’re a good person, Tae.” 

His chuckle sounds like a hearth, and you welcome Yeontan’s sniffs on your legs.

“Jimin’s lucky you’re even giving him a chance.” 

“Ah.” After squeezing your bicep, your friend reaches down to pick up his baby. “He’s lucky I gave him more than one.” 

“Oh? The luckiest then.” 

“You can do this,” he murmurs. “He’ll be ready before you know it.” 

With heavy eyes, you glance down at your still unfinished food. 

“Maybe you’re right.” 

One week turns into three. 

Then two more pass.

And Taehyung might be less correct than you thought. 

“Fuck,” you groan, clutching under your stomach. “Sorry, I’m a mess.”

“It’s okay.”

“At least you don’t have to see me this gross.”

“So?”

“You better stop.” Another eruption of pain shoots through your lower body, and you exhale into your pillow. “This is only making it worse.”

“You got a heating pad?”

A what? How does he know about— 

Oh. Right. 

…You probably shouldn’t tread waters you don’t know the depths of. 

“Yeah. But it’s too far and I’m lazy.”

He laughs in pity but doesn’t show any in his words,

“Go get it, doll.”

Because being reminded of his last relationship also makes you wonder why it ended. And wonder if that also has anything to do with his decision. 

Now hurt in multiple ways, you childishly retort, “You get it.”

“I would if I was there. But I’m not, so you’re gonna.”

“Fine.” You huff into your pillowcase, knowing you’re gonna get up because his perfect mix of support and command is annoyingly attractive. “How much longer?”

Yoongi’s too quiet for your tastes. 

“I’ll figure it out tomorrow.” 

Eyes closed, you’re silent for eons. 

“Okay.”

To your confusion, you get a food delivery at your office the next day. 

Inspecting the contents of the bag, you’re cautious until you notice a takeout box of mandu under some sweets and a few all too familiar fruits.

And at the note inside, you promptly proceed to the least used bathroom to compose yourself.

Soon.

Soon and Almost are somewhat similar.

Both can give people a bit of hope. 

But they can also be the most dangerous words to play with.

Because soon is hilariously arbitrary, and you almost believed it meant something good. 

“Going to Yoongi’s.”

“K.”

“You wanna go? He’s having a few people over.”

You bite down so hard your jaw hurts. “Nah, I already have plans tonight.”

“K. Have fun!”

When the door closes, you keep your eyes on the television.

Arms falling at your side because you know you aren’t going anywhere. 

On a random Tuesday, you finally get a package you’ve been waiting on for what seems like months, and you rush to your room to check if it’s exactly what you wanted.

When it looks so beautiful, and feels smooth to the touch, you clutch the material in sorrow.

It’s perfect.

And completely useless for the time being.

Calls have been the one thing getting you by.

But over time, even those have virtually stopped.

It can’t be helped. He’s working far too late into the night for you to stay awake, and is passed out by the time you need to wake up. 

Spending time with friends helps distract from the drift, especially when one of them keeps snapping you into the present, but they’re getting busy, too. 

However. Despite all the obstacles, you keep waiting. A season has passed, yet you stay grounded. 

Hoping, wishing, choosing to believe that Yoongi’s not gonna do the same.

You accidentally spill your drink.

And you sob. 

One chilly night, you take more of Taehyung’s advice, going to Jimin’s determined to have a good time. 

But despite the manufactured confidence you had while getting dressed up and the way you were totally fine walking in and conversing with people and the admittedly perfect vibes of the party…

There’s a hole in your chest that won’t decrease in size. 

No matter what you feed it—food, drinks, the compliments of others—it refuses to budge, and this emptiness holds weight. Heavy. Melancholic.

Painful.

As you suddenly find yourself on Jimin’s windy balcony, one with a slightly different view than the one you’ll remain on forever, dull eyes lower to your solo. 

If you forget this one on the railing, too…

Will he finally show up to hand it back? 

A sharp ache spreads as the hole expands, new tears too powerful to ignore. You know your vision swims, but you don’t move to stay afloat at all. 

Three months. 

Ninety days.

Eight million seconds. 

It only took sixty for you to miss him. And it only took sixty-one for you to feel something else. 

How many more will you end up counting? How long until you get to count down instead of up? 

You keep asking yourself that. When you know for damn sure that you don’t want to know the answer. 

A breeze wraps around your limbs as you sip, the chill cutting through your dress and making you teeter in your heels. 

Because it seems like Yoongi doesn’t know, either. 

To the point where it’s starting to scare you. 

Has he been perfect otherwise? Sickeningly. 

But something in you keeps wondering why the wait keeps extending, anxious that he could be flat out stalling. 

Prematurely saddened by the possibility that he’s reconsidering entirely.

It makes sense. At least, more sense than him actually wanting something with you. Maybe this time apart has given him the clarity to realize how rose-tinted this whole situation has been. How unrealistic and laughable.

But that night in his kitchen… 

It’s getting harder and harder to stay positive.

On the verge of defeat, you hold out your phone, clicking around until your finger hovers over a certain Call button.

You can’t.

He’s working. Someone could see your name, if he has it saved as normal as you have his.

Your finger moves a bit closer.

What the fuck are you doing? Stop. Don’t screw up everything you’ve had to endure with one impulsive decision.

But your mind is fucking bad tonight and you have no clue why.

When the screen lights up with the call screen anyway, ice water rushes through because you totally didn’t mean to call and you need to end it now. 

Hold on, it’s an incoming call?

Oh fuck, it’s an incoming call.

Your throat sears as your eyes shut tight. 

How the fuck did he know? How the fuck does he always know? 

Tears burning, you try your hardest to calm the hell down before you answer, wondering why he dubs you his good luck charm when he puts guardian angels to shame.

You can’t even say hello.

“Hey.”

Fuck. Get it together. Gentle, silent, strong. 

“Hello?”

But you can’t. Not this time. Just hearing his voice for the first time in weeks has you crumbling, and that damn hole in your chest is unquenchable. 

As soon as your greeting is nothing but a weak sniffle, his change in tone seizes your soul and squeezes.

Because it plummets.

“Where are you.”

There’s quick shuffling and a door opening.

“What’s wrong.” 

Damn it there’s keys jangling and you can’t help but sob even harder knowing exactly what he’s doing. 

Goddamn it, Min Yoongi. He doesn’t have to go home just because you’re what, sad? Pathetic.

You feel way too many things for this man and it fucking sucks that eight million seconds have gone by after you finally acknowledged them.

However many you get with him now, whenever that may be, you’re not taking a single one for granted. 

“Babe, tell me. Now.” 

“Jimin’s. Outside,” you choke out, sniffling and wiping both cheeks. “But nothing happened, Yoongi, I just—It just—” 

“Gimme twenty. Can you do that?” 

Lowering your head and expectations, you huff in sad amusement. 

Of course you can. Twenty minutes is nothing to you now. You can wait until he’s free. “Guess so.” 

“K. Go back inside and grab a bag.” 

Huh? Knitted brows get aimed at your cup as you question him.

“Chips, doll. Jimin has some in the pantry.” 

That doesn’t answer anything, so you remain thoroughly confused. “I’ll be okay,” you respond after a moment, simply assuming he wants you to replenish sodium. “I’m not hungry.”  

“I am.”

You freeze.

So does time.

And the next three seconds are enough.

“But you better bring the good shit or I’m not letting you in the car.”

After camping in the only unoccupied bathroom, you finally get a text that he’s somewhere around the corner. 

And your chest has never felt lighter.

Texting Tae, you let him know that you’re leaving and that you don’t apologize to Jimin for raiding his kitchen. When he responds, that’s when you slip out, your departure a mess of crinkling and racing heartbeats. 

If anyone sees you walking out with chips, you pay them no mind. Because you only care what one person thinks.

And seven minutes later, when you see him doubling over at the bazillion noisy bags in your arms, you laugh along at the absurdity of it all.

It’s almost enough to distract you from what he’s wearing. 

But to your credit, you don’t exactly see the damn rips in his jeans until he opens a back door for you to throw your haul in.

As if the black top wasn’t already disrespectful enough. His hair has even gotten longer, and you really, really like the new length.

“Fucking hustler.”

No second is wasted as you grab his shirt, positively melting at the way he doesn’t resist or shy away at all. 

In fact, he does the exact opposite, crushing you against his warm car so fast he has to brace himself. You welcome the way air leaves your lungs, because you’re giving it all to him with each pass of his lips over yours. 

Both of you know you’re outside, in public, somewhere you can be seen. But, mirroring the last time you kissed under a starry sky, neither of you act like you give a shit.

Just like that, everything that has haunted you fades. The worries, the fears, the doubts. It doesn’t matter how many days have passed, because it feels like he never left. 

And you suddenly know Yoongi is summer.

Endless. 

“Get in,” he rasps through a smirk. “Thief.” 

With a grin spread so wide your cheeks hurt, you respond right as your foreheads meet,

“Anything for you.”

With nothing but the road ahead and him beside you, everything is right with the world.

“You still have to gimme chips.” 

Maybe not quite everything.

Smile ruining your attempted pout, you reach behind your seat to pick a random bag, settling on the easiest one to grab. “You really made me get these just for you, huh? Are you eating?”

“Yes, my love. And I never said that.”

Well. That first sentence will never, ever, ever be unpacked.

As you shakily open the bag, you hope his music hides your shiver, “Such a smartass.”

“You’re the smartass.”

“Don’t act like you aren’t smart, too,” you laugh, tugging down your dress because he has his car pretty cold tonight. “I know you are.” 

When Yoongi reaches to grab some crisps, his blatant stare on your thighs makes you squirm. “Why?” 

“I just… You read.” 

To your chagrin, he laughs in surprise, forcing you to look out the window. 

Which makes you miss the way he turns down the fans. “I’m smart cus I read? How do you even know?”

“You have books under your coffee table,” you answer without doubt as he digs for more chips. “And you don’t have decor just to have it, so…”

He cocks a brow before focusing on the road, licking his fingers and giving you grief. “I moved those, by the way.”

“Em”—you cough—“Embarrassed?”

“Proactive.”

“Huh? For what?”

He can barely contain his spreading curve. “The next time you decide to fuck up my place.” 

Your heartbeat skips as you gawk, and the current song is overshadowed by your playful shouts and tickle attempts. “Oh, bullshit!”

“You soaked—aish—my whole apartment!”

“That was you!”

“No?”

“Yes? I was nice and only got your head wet!”

Yoongi glances at you then, head tilted up in cockiness and wide smirk slicing through your every thought.

And you glitch when you realize why.

Settling back into your seat with arms guarding your shyness, you sniff upward. “Ugh. Whatever… I’m right.” 

He chuckles a bit before making a turn, and the scenery starts getting familiar.

Way too familiar.

Wait, he’s taking you back to your house?

No no no. Why is he taking you there? 

You got into his car fully prepared to go back to his place, consequences and shit be damned. Everything else be damned. One night is all you want right now, and there’s no way you aren’t going without a fight.

All sense of the current mood dissipates when you grip his forearm. “Not there.” 

He flicks his gaze, rolling to a stop at an intersection that’s frighteningly close. And his expression falls when he shifts into park with a sigh. “Babe… We can’t.” 

“I don’t care.”

“I was only gonna bring you back.”

“Baby, please.”

“He’s home—”

“Do you still miss me?” 

He freezes. 

Which gives you a chance. 

Eyes glossy, you use all the seconds you have to say everything you’ve kept to yourself.

Almost everything.

“Because I get it if you don’t. I do. But I really… I really fucking miss you. And not just because of, whatever. But I consider you a friend and fun as hell to be around, and I haven’t”—you inhale, hating how it shakes—“I haven’t been this happy in weeks. And we aren’t even doing anything.” 

Yoongi is completely silent. But that’s okay because you aren’t done. 

“I know you said I wouldn’t see you. But after getting to know you? The real you? …That sucks.” You can’t look at him when his hand slips from the wheel. “I’m not gonna make you change anything, just. Telling you what’s on my mind. Like you said. I’m gonna do that a lot more now.”

He doesn’t say a word as a tear cuts one of your cheeks, and you’re brave enough to look his way again. “But it’s been three months, Yoongi,” you whisper. “Is that still not enough for you?”

Time ticks as you hold your breath, oxygen depleting and lungs nearing collapse as you watch his eyes close. 

You laid everything out on the table. Your words, your thoughts, your pain.

Whatever he decides, though? You’ll respect it. You said what you wanted to say and you won’t take any of it back. If he wants to prolong this, you won’t stop him. If he doesn’t want this anymore… the home in your heart will need repairs, but you’ll live. Somewhat. You don’t know how but somehow. People are like seasons. You’re used to it.

Yoongi’s still way too quiet. 

So, giving up and getting the point, you reach up to open your door.

“Stop.” 

You do. 

And the way he flexes his jaw shoots magma through your veins before he wrenches the car into drive. 

The universe spins as you burst into Yoongi’s apartment, running, bumping, slamming into furniture until you get thrown against his bedroom door. 

Welcoming the pain, you devour his scorching lips, fingers digging into his hair with a desperation that frightens you. All you feel is him him him, barely recalling the manic drive over and the way he all but busted into his own place. 

If there were any lingering doubts to your question, they’re left out in the chill, not allowed to witness the way he hitches your leg up before pinning you firm with his pelvis.

“Shouldn’t be fucking doing this—” 

You moan at the way his jeans feel on your skin, shivers running rampant when you more than feel his hardness poke through. “Please,” you pant, sticking to your word and ready to tell him what you want. 

“Please what.” 

Everything you want. 

Tugging his head back, your admissions rub right against his mouth, “Choke me. Use me. I don’t care, do it all.”

“Huh?”

A breath whooshes out when he yanks you forward with a growl, and you cannot seem to stop, “Don’t be nice. Spit in my mouth. Make me beg like a fucking slut, I need it.”

All the other times, you’ve seen Yoongi break in different ways. 

But this is the first time you’ve felt him legitimately snap. 

“The fuck.”

Lightning strikes the dark as he slams you backward, teeth clinking against yours when he smothers you with saliva and lust. When he shoves his door open, you stumble back, more unholy plans in mind than he imagines. 

You don’t know what’s coming over you. 

Even as you force him sideways to shove into his rolling chair, the piercing look he gives is no match for your inner storm.

“Babe—”

Impatient, you drop to your knees, the pain nothing to you as your fingers twitch over his zipper. As you tug his pants down with force, Yoongi’s outright shock is another first for you.

“Are you su—”

“Let me do this,” you plead upward, and you feel highly motivated when he doesn’t do a thing except let out a low, gritty hum. 

Grabbing at his cock, you already moan at the way it feels in your palm…

Softly, oh so softly, a large hand closes over yours, and you hear your name in a whisper, haze temporarily receding. 

What’s wrong? Does he want you to stop?

When you ask without a word, Yoongi leans forward to capture your lips, and this gives you a warm sort of deja vu. “You drank tonight, yeah?” 

“Yeah…?” Oh. He totally tasted alcohol. And your frantic behavior. He thinks—Oh. 

Understanding what he’s getting at, you reach up and caress his cheek. “I’m not drunk, baby,” you chuckle. “I just missed you.” 

Again, he looks at your eyes, one after the other. When you say it once more for good measure, he kisses you in acceptance. 

“So are you gonna fuck my throat or nah?”

He falls back with a groan, raking his hair and legs spread wide. “What are you doing to me.”

“This.”

Without prompt, you dive head first, leaning forward to take his tip and swirl your tongue all around. Commanding his every drop of attention, you don’t let up as you tug your dress downward, breasts spilling out before you stand just enough to claim his lips. 

He takes full advantage with a devilish curve, smacking your tits before ordering, “Get the fuck back down there.”

And you obey with a proud smirk of your own, hoping he’s liking this new side of you, too. 

Back between his knees, you worship his length in earnest, swallowing him again and again and lathering him in saliva so your hands slide easily on him, too. When you feel his veins rub both your palms, you hear a symphony of lustful baritones.

“Holy fuck.” 

You quickly discover you can’t get enough. Lapping, sucking, sheathing your head on his cock so far your brain smushes upward. He feels so familiar at this point that you realize you missed him even here, knocking the back of your throat and burdening your tongue with heavenly, sinful weight. 

And you feel more familiar palms grip your head, eyes opening to see him staring down with reverence and something you can’t quite decipher. 

“So fucking filthy...” 

You chuckle, the rumble making him hiss and throw his head back against his chair. 

“Don’t do that.” 

You gladly disobey, laughing even harder around him before releasing with an expert pop to suck on his balls. 

“Fuck!”

There’s a slight squeak before he grips you again, and you can tell he’s slipping by the way his moans devolve into breathy, short hisses. 

Breaking, he pushes your head into his sack before slapping your cheek with his cock, and you hum as it slips back inside your grin. 

Yes yes yes. You want him to enjoy this just as much as you do, steal this time together and run with it, need him to hang on the brink of mania where you currently reside. Because even though he’s saying things, you can’t hear them over the wholly impure sounds slopping out of your esophagus. 

“Fucking hell, baby,” he praises, thrusting up slow as you keep him slathered. “Missed that fuckin’ mouth.”

You finally come up for air, gulping in air and letting him see you in all your panting glory. When you lock eyes, his lidded gaze is loaded, aimed only at your taunting stare.

Drool coats you in globs. Your chest, the floor, hanging from your lips as you stroke him with wet fingers before swallowing another time. 

And you think you can do this until your jaw falls off.

But suddenly you’re hoisted upward before being thrown onto soft sheets, legs roughly shifted to one side as you paint the dark with your hoarse giggles. Before you know it, his lips attack your chest, and he’s setting butterflies wild as you arch in record time. 

“Take this off,” he growls, tugging at your dress with sweaty fingers that you want lodged in multiple places. “No more hiding.” 

You mewl, undressing as fast as you’re able, tearing the garment off and flinging it away. But your heels are still on, and whether he’s just as deft at removing those, too, you’ll need to hit pause. “What about my—”

“Don’t,” he grits with brows pinched, and his next vow is absolute, pure sin,

“I’m fucking you with them on.” 

“Oh, fuck.” Your whine is high as you throw your head back, the next groan guttural as you feel a hand smack the side of your ass with force. Your jaw comes loose, soreness shooting through its curve as your legs are erotically parted to give Yoongi a view of everything. 

You know your panties are soaked. 

You know he’s gonna wreck your shit. 

But seeing him eye the whole mess on display before lifting his hungry gaze your way? You’re damn sure you aren’t gonna survive the night. 

Perfect. 

“Please fuck me, baby,” you let out with a tone so soft that you think he doesn’t hear you. 

He does. “I’m gonna do a lot more than that, doll.” 

You tilt your head, confused and wondering what he means. 

But he ignores your wordless question, sliding fingers along your ankle before holding your leg to kiss that same spot. 

The action alone is enough to rewire your brain, but it’s the way he looks so confident, so unbothered, so determined that has your insides churning with want. 

He plants lips there again before shifting his hand down to your calf, yanking your leg back wide and pulling a tiny help out of your throat. When he shifts to grip your other leg, he growls under his breath, 

“So fucking perfect.” 

“No, you,” you counter with a pout, and flinch what the fuck his slap to your cunt felt good. “Hey!”

“None of that,” Yoongi orders with finality. “Not after all that shit you said at the door.” 

“I dunno what happened there,” you admit, inevitably shy under his commanding presence. Your cheeks sizzle before your teeth grip your lip, temporarily brought back to normalcy at his confession,

“Almost made me come.” 

“Be for real.” 

“Damn serious.” 

The cheshire cat would be jealous of your grin. “Then I should keep going?”

“Uh huh.” He cups your whole cunt, and the possessive nature it exudes pushes a whine against your teeth. “Tell me.” 

“Fuck me like you missed me.” 

A groan rips through his room before he swoops down, lips bruising yours on the landing before he shoves his mouth against your neck. 

Tingles erupt over your skin as he laps at your throat, so hard that your entire upper body slides across his rumpled sheets. When you feel his cock rub across your thong and his jeans grazing your skin, his name flies out of your chest. Moans, sighs, everything in between. 

“Careful,” he warns low before another toe-curling lick. “You won’t leave if I did that.”

“I don’t want to,” you grit in return, reaching to sink claws in his hair and tug. “Wanna stay.”

Strong arms wrap around you before you feel him spread liquid fire up your shoulder, and he reaches to nip at your ear before deft fingers flick a nipple. 

His voice rasps against your cheek, but the words sound reluctant to even leave. “You shouldn’t even be here, babe.”

Fuck. You know that’s true but your heart is rattling like a monster starved. 

“Just tonight,” you plead your case. Because you don’t want to be shooed away before it’s over, but if this is all you get, he needs to do something now. “But if you really don’t want this then please kick me out before—”

“Fuck that.” After greedily tweaking your other nipple, he rolls his body against yours, making you fiend for the weighty cock wedged against you with only thin material between. “Fuck all of that.” 

He rushes upward before nudging your leg over with a strong hand, and you fixate on the way his chains hit his chest. Just like always. “Don’t move.”

You don’t even get to breathe twice as he drops from sight, and you yelp to his roof as soon as you feel teeth nick your inner thigh. At your flinch, you feel him grip your leg with force, ordering you even harsher,

“I said. Don’t move.” 

“But—Yoongi!” 

You don’t notice him yank your underwear sideways before flattening a hot tongue against your folds, sucking so good you have to back away from the stimulation. Immediately, both your legs are seized before he tugs you back to him. 

“Uh uh.”

And he keeps your legs apart before diving deep, and you’ve never devolved into a quivering mess so fast in your goddamn life. The way he licks, sucks, kisses just where you need—everything sends thunder through your chest, lightning across your cunt, rain into your eyes. 

You can do nothing but squirm, squeals and whines and high moans leaving arrowheads in his ceiling. 

Holy fuck, did you sound this loud when you worshipped him? Even now, spread wide and willing to give Yoongi the world, you find a moment to be embarrassed in the best way.

If the neighbors hear, you don’t care. They’re gonna know how well he’s feasting on you, how gorgeously corrupt you feel. How you’re his and his alone and ready to scream it to the rooftops. 

When you feel a finger alongside his tongue, the sound you make borders on inhuman. You think it’s his name, but even you aren’t quite sure. 

All you know is that you’re close. Your thighs are burning and your fingers swipe at his locks but he refuses to let you go. “Yoongi—I’m—”

Suddenly.

He stops. 

And every nice thing you have to say to him falls to the wayside. “No no no! Please, fuck—”

The light tap to your cunt makes you quiver, and your chest heaves when he chuckles without pity,

“What’d you say?” 

“Plea—Baby!” 

“Huh?” 

Every fucking time you speak, he taps again. And every time he gets you close, he edges with aggravating control. Again. And again. 

And again.

You exist between reality and fiction, somehow seeing yourself unwinding, winding, spiraling out of control. Words start to form abstract blobs of syllables, your mouth hanging open as he peppers lazy, unbothered kisses on your thighs.  

In your foggy vision, you think you see him stand. And you’re pretty sure he grabs his cock before he’s rubbing his thick head between your folds oh fuck—

“This is what you wanted, huh.” 

Your breath hitches with a whine as you nod.

“You gonna be a good little slut?” 

Oh, you’re gonna be whatever he fucking wants. So you nod again, not without a smile lopsided. 

“Then fucking beg.” 

He smacks his cockhead against your cunt, springing your back in an arch and tugging strings of incoherent speech from your depths. You make hard lines of his sheets as you grip them in both palms, and you don’t wanna know what you’re saying because the way Yoongi’s staring with a smirk has you blacking the fuck out. 

To the point where you’re nothing but a quivering, shaking, restless mess on his bed.

You somehow closed your eyes at some point, because they fly open when you feel his lips on yours, and you tug at his stupidly attractive shirt that he didn’t bother to pull off. “Please,” you whisper, brain floating oceans away. “I need you.”

“Need you, too.” 

He breaks away to grab a condom, and this is when you realize how intertwined you feel because even this distance is too much to bear. You’re spilling nonsense and breathing harsh and you attribute that to the sole fact that you crave release. It’s aching. Consuming. 

Yoongi’s already naked and prepped by the time he positions himself between your sore legs, and you give in without resistance again when he descends on your lips. 

When you whisper his name, he kisses it away, and you briefly wonder why his hands shake running up your sides. 

Finally, finally, finally, he gives exactly what you want, the initial connection stretching you sore because it’s been way too long. And you feel emotional when you don’t even doubt it’s been too long for him, too. 

Because his eyes speak volumes. 

They hold onto your every move, watch your every reaction, hesitate when you blow out air accommodating his size. 

But you lock yours with him when you relax, weakly grasping his jewelry before sliding fingers up his shoulders. When you nod, he pushes in further, both of you sighing in tandem. 

And as soon as you whisper you’re ready, all niceties fly out the window. 

You’re thrusted up his bed with a determined stroke before he sets a pace, and your head kicks back as soon as a hand captures your neck. 

“Look at me,” he commands, and he gives you a light pat on the cheek before squeezing your jaw. “Open up.”

When you do, spit flings from his mouth into yours, and you already sprint to the edge feeling the weight of your heels and the strength of his body. “Fuck!”

You get pat again—rougher this time—before Yoongi goes to choke you a second time. “What do you say?”

“Me?” you pant, tearing the first thought from your throat when he grits it again. “Thank—” 

Fuck, his dick is hitting every spot you need it to. It takes you a second to repeat your garbled guess in full, knowing it’s something you would’ve said anyway. “Thank you.”

“Now swallow.” 

As soon as he shoves inside, your obedience is your undoing. The skies open to welcome you as your body locks, thighs squeezing his taut sides as he moans through your release. Waves tug you unbelievably far, and you almost lose yourself in the swell before you crash onto shore again.

“Such a whore for me,” Yoongi praises, kicking you back to the very first night and making you melt. When you peel eyelids open, you notice his smile matches yours, and the shared, cherished memory smoothens your gravelly laugh.

“Love when you do that,” you admit, shaking your head at your own strange preferences. “Don’t know why.” 

“Me neither.” He spears you again with a cheeky lip bite. “But it’s so fucking hot.” 

Your grin can’t be contained, and this is where you wanna be. Right here. Nowhere else in the fucking universe. 

“I’m ready,” you pant, and he gives you a brief look of affection—which you shatter with force. “Fuck the shit out of me.” 

Yoongi twitches madly inside your core as he expels a pained, breathy laugh. “Goddamn, this isn’t good for me.” 

“What?” 

“Nothing.” He doesn’t waste a second gathering your calves while you ponder what he says. “Hold these pretty legs up for me. There you go.”

When you find the easiest way to do so, you marvel at how shaky and slippery your thighs are, wondering if the rest of you is faring any better. 

It’s not. 

But you can’t dwell on that now because Yoongi is holding on like he’ll lose you, resuming a delicious pace and smacking your hips into his with the most indecent sounds. 

Your whines soon join in, and his hums of satisfaction fuel your ever going flame. Heaven and earth could move and you would remain here, suspended in time as he fills you perfectly with every fast stroke. 

“Feel so good—”

When he leaves your cunt, you mewl before he grunts, “Fucking—Get up.” 

What is he— 

You’re hoisted upward so quickly that you see starlight, not even registering the clanks and shifts of items before he’s spinning to pin you down on a solid surface. Your heels find purchase on the floor but your knees prove unbelievably weak.

What’s—

Oh fuck, are you on his desk?

Your hands retreat until they find an edge to grab, and you moan outright when you feel his fingers slide up your cunt, shoving your thong farther over one side of your ass. 

“Yoongi—”

You feel full in an instant, jaw going slack as he shoves you backwards on his cock, praises washing down your back as he pushes down any arches you instinctively make. 

“Uh uh. Stay like that.” 

“I wanna—” Your words are cut off with a whine as you feel a sting on your ass. “Fuck!”

“There you go.” 

The rock of the desk is so strong that every bang against the wall booms loud, equipment sliding back and forth and making you briefly worry if anything will fall.

But this is the most turned on you’ve ever, ever felt, and you have no fucking clue why.

You wonder if he feels the same right before his dark laugh consumes you.

“Goddamn.” 

Your hands are grabbed before he shoves you forward, letting more of your body lie on the surface so that he can pin sweaty arms at your back. 

Oh, fuck!

Your moans glide across wood as he doesn’t let up, and you don’t even want to know how much drool will exist on his desk when you’re done. Maybe you’ll never be done. Maybe he really will keep you here forever, and you’ll soak his whole—

“Come here.” 

He gathers your wrists in one large palm before reaching to grip your chest, hauling you up and securing you against his body by the throat. 

And you think your soul just left your earthly vessel. 

Pressing you further into him, he grits in your ear, 

“Never fucking kicking you out.” His tight stroke launches you across space. “Don’t even think about saying that again.” 

When did you— You said— Why don’t you remember—

You go limp when he shoves into you again, but your heels wobble and you focus damn hard on staying upright. 

But Yoongi doesn’t give a shit. “You hear me?” When you let out a breathy confirmation, he still isn’t satisfied. A hand pats your cheek before he asks again, “Say it louder.” 

“Yes!”

“Good.”

He drops all talk, pistoning in from behind while you take it and take it and love it. Mercifully, he lets your sore arms go to pin you down again, gritted words and curses dancing with your high-pitched sighs. 

Fuck, his strokes are so deep that you see into the next universe, and you don’t think your mouth has been shut ever since you made contact with his desk. 

Maybe he was more frustrated than you were. He’s using you as stress relief like you intended, and his roughness is a fantastic surprise. 

It’s just what you need. Which kicks you into a whole other level of want and the beast inside you transforms yet again. 

When Yoongi yanks himself out, you’re quick to spin and shove him backward. As he flops onto the bed, he laughs like sin incarnate when you pounce, his hot hands grabbing at your hips and encouraging your behavior in the nastiest way.

“Let’s go then, pretty bitch.”

“You already fucking know.”

“Show me what I’ve been missing.”

“Don’t fall in love.” 

When you sink onto him, Yoongi’s already groaning. But when you start to swivel at a pace that will render you sore, he begins to lose it. 

“Fuck.”

His head kicks back, eyes shut and brows pinched to hell. After holding your waist, he has to slap his sheets to squeeze even tighter, chest marred with red under pretty silver. 

You make sure every rotation is full, slowly rocking with each circle you make and gritting teeth at how fucking big he is.

Soon, his hisses devolve into groans, and he snaps his head back up to slap your breasts—one after the other before gripping your hips so hard you welcome the pain. 

“Fuck, I missed this pussy,” he confesses with husk, and you whine in response as you lower yourself to kiss him deep. 

“It missed you, too.”

Coming back up, you dig one of your hands in his mattress while bracing on him with the other, and you close your eyes in bliss as you arch your tits toward his hungry lips. 

Just like you want, he chuckles in satisfaction as he suckles, lolling his tongue all around before giving your nipple  a hard suck. His noises remind you of lollipops, and you briefly think of a few fun things you could do with those for next time.

But a hand juts up to seize the back of your neck, forcing you to arch in place as he starts thrusting hard. 

“Yoongi!”

“Uh huh.”  

Before you can talk again, his other hand joins in to choke you just enough, and you find yourself teetering on a precipice. Holy fuck, holy fuck, you’re close again.

“You gonna come?”

A frantic nod.

“Then come.” 

As soon as you hear the words, you do exactly that, windpipe released just as you pulse around him incredibly hard. The waves prove tsunamis, and you dangle from their crests before plummeting and tumbling below. Your moan extends as he thrusts erratically through your quivers, encouraging you and digging rough fingers into your hips. 

“Again.” 

Somehow, that’s enough to make your body obey, and you cry out as you flutter around his trembling cock, hearing him talk you through it but not quite understanding what he’s saying. 

Maybe you also choose not to listen because of what you think you hear, and you don’t want to be haunted if you realize later on what you thought you heard wasn’t true. 

The world rotates up as Yoongi sits up, and you sling arms around him as he leans back on his hands. Your breath hitches at the new angle he’s filling you at, and your eyes swirl when he coolly, confidently commands, 

“Again.” 

You can’t you can’t you can’t but you can. Holy fuck apparently you can, and this time, it consumes you so hard your eyes roll back enough to see the past. Past you, insecure and meek and scared to say what they want. 

Oh, if they could witness you now. 

You shudder impossibly hard around him, coated with his deep chuckles and dashing, ego-ridden grin. It’s all you see before you slump against his chest, heartbeat pounding against yours when you can’t feel any bone in your body.

One breath.

Two breaths.

Two hearts.

One night is enough.

“So fucking perfect.”

“For you,” you wisp out, lost in galaxies. “Only you.” 

He can only kiss the side of your head in response, gently lowering you both onto spent cotton and helping you straighten out your muscle-locked legs. When he asks if you’re okay, you can only nod, and he plants another kiss on your temple before sliding off his protection. 

Both of you take time to calm down, breaths heavy from what felt like a marathon. But a much better marathon than the one you’ve had to endure over the last three months. 

When you lie against his chest, you silently thank him for giving you tonight. It’s the riskiest thing you’ve ever done with him, but you won’t worry about it. Not right now. Not when you feel more at home here than your own house. 

Your brother is right. Something is definitely missing over there. 

It’s when your pants have relaxed into soft breaths that you nudge your head against Yoongi’s chest, eyes shut in peace as he lazily draws circles on your back. 

And the first words he says in minutes inject sparkles into your eyes,

“I need to re-up this damn cat’s food.” 

Oh, shit!

Your outright squeal is surely coming out too loud but you don’t care. Don’t care don’t care don’t care not when Yoongi just gave away so many different things. 

This man leaned right into the whole thing.

“I knew it!” You proclaim in triumph, smacking his thigh while hearing a very elongated ‘shut up’ at your side. “Tried to hide it from me all these months? Somebody’s getting soft.”

“First off.”

“Uh huh.”

God. If only you both could go on one of those late night shopping trips he talked about before. Maybe you could’ve gotten plenty of things. Like some little cat toys, or extra storage cabinets for your clothes. 

Yeah. Stuff like that. 

“I’m her favorite.” 

Your scoff is immediate as you hoist yourself up, leaning on your hand and regretting the burn in your arm. “Only because you gatekeeped her.”

A soft disagreement precedes a more prominent, “Won’t even matter.”

Yoongi looks so at peace when you stare, and your voice calms to match as it floats down, “You took care of her.”

When he only smiles, you decide that this is how you want him to be all the time. Content and outright glowing, fireflies dancing in his eyes. 

Does he feel at home, too? 

“She was gonna be your surprise,” he finally murmurs. “For getting the gig.”

Heart and tear ducts full, you lower yourself to tenderly press lips to his. And, since it seems to work for you, his forehead is what you decide to kiss next. 

Then you pull away.

Wondering why he’s not smiling anymore. 

“Come here.”

You blink, lying back down to snuggle against his side. When his arm wraps around your shoulder, it's only then that you’re aware you still have shoes on. A clean person, you hope Yoongi doesn’t mind them touching his sheets. 

But maybe it’s a tad too late for that concern. 

“How are you gonna get home?”

Oh, right. You use his chest to scratch an itch in your nose before responding, “I’ll call a ride in the morning. He’ll be out cold until noon at the earliest.” 

“K.” 

“Did I keep you from anything?”

A puff flies out his nostrils. “Kinda late for that, huh.” 

“True,” you sigh, berating yourself for thinking a lot of things too late. “Sorry.”  

“But no, we were finishing up when I called.” 

“Okay… Did I scare you?” You lift your eyes then, because you need to know for sure. 

When he levels a look, you curse at his quiet confirmation. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.” 

“S’ok.” 

“I just… It hurt tonight.” Emotion washes over your face before you bury it. “Really hurt.” 

After a light squeeze, Yoongi gently rolls you over, resting his head exactly where your hand clutches your chest. When you move your fingers, he kisses that same spot, and your heart stops. “How about now.” 

Feeling the deepest pain you’ve ever felt in your life, you cradle his head with a whisper, 

“Maybe try that one more time.”

And he does, not looking at your tears as he sits up to peer down the bed. 

When he scoots down to the edge, your breath catches as he holds a heel in sure hands, his back beautiful even with the scars. While he works through leather straps, he starts to speak, 

“I always do, babe.” 

Blinking, you ask what he means as he slips your shoe off with ease.

“Miss you.”

As he tenderly holds the other, you gulp in oxygen to quell the sear around your eyes. “I just… Wasn’t sure,” you admit, voice wavering. 

His hair falls forward when he sighs, and his palms feel way too relaxing to just be taking your heels off. Even now, it feels like he’s revering you. And you truly don’t know how you deserve any of this. 

“That’s my fault.” 

Throat small, you���re swift to reassure him. “No, no. I need to just suck it up. I’m sorry.” 

After freeing your other foot, he rubs it without prompt, and you don’t know how to deal with someone giving you this level of care. 

“Just a little bit longer, doll,” he says, and you admire his profile when he turns. “I’m sorry.” 

“You gave me tonight.” 

When he swallows, you reassure him with all the support you can give, 

“A little longer is nothing.” 

A moment passes by before he finally moves, and you catch a hint of a smile right before he faces his disheveled to hell desk again. 

Deciding that conversation has concluded, you crack the atmosphere with a joke, “You liked whatever happened over there, huh.”

Immediately, Yoongi’s shoulders bob with a laugh before he admits, “Fucking you on my desk? I’ve wanted to do that for months.” 

“Really?”

“Yeah.” He leans forward. “There’s a lot of shit I’ve wanted us to do for months.” 

Us.

Thoroughly giddy and full of life again, you egg him on. “Oh? Like what?”

Finally, he looks over his shoulder with a grin, and you scoff in frustration at his answer,

“What’s the fun in telling you?”

“Ass!”

While you’re getting ready to shower, he leans against the doorframe of his bathroom.

“We have a game next week.” 

As you fetch a towel from his cabinet, you clarify, “The championship, right?”

“Mmhmm.” 

“I’ll be there,” you confirm, walking away to slip the thick cloth over its rack. “I can’t believe it’s still going.” 

“Same. But there’ve been a lot of delays, remember?”

“Oh, yeah.” Your hand feels out the water, satisfied with its temperature. “I meant your win streak but whatever.” 

And you squeal when he rushes forward, shutting the glass with a wobbly thud before he can get to you. When you stick out a childish tongue, you laugh under the spray, curve slowly, curiously, softly fading when he simply keeps staring.

What’s he doing?

You don’t move as he slowly slides the entrance open again, and you don’t dare breathe as he leans inside to kiss your wet lips.

When you tenderly take one of his wrists and pull, he obliges without hesitation, and you take another shower with the man that sets fireworks off in your soul. 

An hour later, filled with food and laughter—and slight disappointment when you couldn’t find your surprise near his door—you occupy his bed with full bellies and fresh minds. 

As he lies on your chest, you think this is better, because it gives you time to think about things. And tell him about others. 

You finally tell him what all happened with Jungkook, to which he listens without a single word. When you can’t seem to shut up about your job, he doesn’t stop you, and you adore the way he cuddles you under faint moonlight cutting through his window. 

“Oh, wait,” you stop, feeling like you’ve talked his head off by now. “What did you call about?”

“Huh? Tonight?” 

“Yeah.” 

“We finally have a confirmed date. For that album,” Yoongi rumbles against the shirt he let you borrow. “I was gonna invite you to the release party.”

Whoa, what the fuck? “Me?”

He chuckles soft, and you wonder if he can guess how shocked you look. “Yes, you. All of y’all.” 

At least it’s everyone. But at the same time, you still hesitate. “That won’t be weird?” 

“Nah. You can bring anyone you want, so. I was assuming you’d bring your friends.” 

“Ah, I see.”

You didn’t mean to sound disappointed. You truly aren’t. But Yoongi pushes up to comfort you anyway, planting kisses along your skin, your neck, and finally your lips. 

“It won’t be the only one,” he promises. “We got time.”

“Duh,” you giggle. “And I’ll be at all of them. Whether you like it or not.” 

Yoongi regards you before laying his weight back on your chest. And you find it strange how familiar his body already feels. How you’re already attuned to every way his legs fit against your own, or how you would know it’s him solely based on how his chest molds with yours. 

You start mindlessly caressing his hair, fingers weaving through a dark sea of strands before smoothing over its surface. 

And you start to hum.

It’s not really any song, just notes you start stringing together at random. You build up before you dip back down, staying in a comfortable middle range and dancing between similar tones. 

You stop from time to time, trying to figure out what would sound best next and changing up the cadence. Always coming back to a central theme because it’s what you deem best.

And you’re so comfortable that you completely forgot he’s lying right under your chin.

“Shit, was I too loud?”

He just shakes his head, arm pressing a bit more into your side. 

“Not at all.” 

So you keep going, humming more familiar tunes and phrases, softly giggling when Yoongi huffs at the way you drum on his head. 

And that’s how the night goes on, with you at peace and him in your embrace.

Never noticing how the shirt you're wearing collects rain.

When dawn breaks, you part with one final, heavenly kiss. 

Yoongi watches until you get in the ride he politely called for you, and you spend the whole drive with eyes filled with light. 

You can do this. Just a little longer, he said.

For him, you can do anything. 

But when you get home, your brother occupies the foyer as soon as you open the front door.

And you feel the world shatter and crash at your feet.

“I think,” he states, “There’s something you wanna tell me.”  

—

—

—

tbc. :) 

—

a ha ha... what do we think/like! | wanna support with a 🍊?

A/N: i’m so swirly-eyed that i don’t even know what to say here other than i’m sorry for throwing that ending at y’all! busted pt. 2 is gonna be its own huge part at this point so i had no choice but to end it here (originally it was gonna end before they went back to yoongi’s but i love y’all too much dlkfjdsklf)  A/N 2: gonna say this again: enormous thank you to everyone supporting this whole journey, whether that’s liking/commenting/reblogging/messaging, recommending this series to people, telling me how it makes you feel or what it means to you, or even wanting a physical copy of the series like😭 that’s surreal to me and makes me wanna keep working harder.  A/N 3: as far as feedback, i would absolutely love any type y’all wanna give. this chapter took all of my brainpower and the next one is gonna take just as much haahahahdksfks so any encouragement would be wonderful!  ++ 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: ⇥ three tangerines masterlist ⇥ masterlist 

[bad268]

kimi x toto wolffs daughter like fluff of their families and how they reacted and how they treat kimi

+ can you do a kimi antonelli oneshot where the reader is Toto and Susie's daughter and its when Kimi came to watch Jack's race (if you know what I mean) and him and reader are already together but it's just all adorable.

thank you!!

I've Never Lost (Andrea Kimi Antonelli X Wolff! Reader)

Fandom: RPF/F2/F3

Requested: Clearly (I combined these two, hope yall don't mind)

Warnings: None

POV: Second Person (You/your)

W.C. 1191

Summary: What started as a family outing has turned into a bet, and Kimi doesn't lose.

As always, my requests are OPEN

MASTERLIST // HITLIST

~~(^Pinterest)

Ever since you were teenagers, it was a tradition to go out karting with your family. It was standard procedure to go karting during the off-season or non-race weekends. Granted, you were never a driver, but once you started dating Kimi, he said he would drive you around the tracks. Before you and Kimi started dating, you would just watch Jack and your parents race, but now, you were finally able to join in the fun.

It was the middle of summer break, and Kimi was leading the F2 championship and ready to sign a contract with Mercedes for 2026. It was time for your regularly scheduled karting competition. 

This was the first time Kimi was going to be joining. You had told him before that you wanted to race with your family, so he made sure he would be able to go out with you and get to know your family as your family and not his boss. 

“I’m gonna win,” Jack boasted as he led the way into the karting track. Your mom and dad laughed, following hand-in-hand behind him. You and Kimi were just behind Jack, chasing him toward the entrance of the track. “I’m gonna bet you and Kimi and Papa and Mama because I’m the best.”

“I bet you are, Jacky,” You laughed as you caught up behind him and threw him over your shoulder. Kimi fell back a little as he chuckled at your antics with your brother. He knew this was what you two were like, but it was always funny seeing it in person. It only happened a few times around the paddock since you two were more conscious of your images in front of so many cameras, but in the track in the middle of nowhere, you two were free to be as rambunctious as you wanted.

Jack and your parents never complained. You didn’t have the most normal childhood with growing up surrounded by fast cars that could kill you. You had nothing holding you back out here, and Jack loved to mess around with his older sibling.

“You better not go easy,” Toto chucked as he and Susie walked passed Kimi who had stopped and watched you spin Jack around upside down from your shoulders. How he got in that position, nobody knows. Kimi’s attention snapped over to Toto at that moment in confusion at first before he continued his advice. “They’ll both be mad if they find out you went easy. They’re both extremely competitive. And this is Y/n’s first time in a kart after some time, so you should make it memorable.”

“You won’t be mad if we win?” Kimi countered with a smirk. He had grown up around Toto and Susie enough to view them as second parents, but he also had to remember they were his bosses. However, right now is a family outing, not a work event. It was everyone for themselves.

“You say that like your double seater is going to beat three single seaters,” Susie laughed when she came back into the conversation with passes for everyone to get on the track. “But go ahead and think you still stand a chance.”

“Oh bring it on,” Kimi challenged as he held his hand out for her to shake, “Why don’t we place a bet? Loser buys dessert?”

“Just you and me or if any of us beat you two?” Susie teased before agreeing.

“I’ll take my chances with all three of you,” Kimi replied with a smirk since he couldn’t keep a straight face. He gestured down to his outstretched hand again, “So, do we have a deal?”

“Consider it made,” Susie responded as she shook his hand before handing him the two passes for you and him to get the kart. Kimi turned around to see you and Jack still messing about, so he went over to tell you what was going on.

“Jack, come over here,” Toto called, causing you to almost drop him, but you gently set him down on his back on the asphalt. Jack jumped up and ran over to Toto, thinking something was wrong. “We need to strategize.” Toto and Susie then took Jack down to the track and started planning for how they were going to win.

“Did we do something wrong?” You asked as you walked in step with Kimi and took your pass to show the marshals.

“No, but I made a bet with your parents, so they need to strategize,” Kimi explained as he threw an arm around your shoulder while you sat trackside until the session before you were finished. 

“You? Made a bet? With my parents? Your bosses? Willingly? Who are you?” You joked as you placed the back of your hand on his forehead, checking for a temperature. “You don’t have a temperature. Are you sure you’re fine?”

“I’m perfectly fine,” He chuckled, pushing your hand away from his forehead and instead held it against his cheek. “You always say to let loose around them more. I’m just taking your advice.”

“You’re learning, I’m impressed,” You teased, moving your finger to tap his nose. “Next, you’ll be rough-housing with Jack and me.”

“I think I’ll stick with things that don’t hurt me,” Kimi scoffed with a smile as he pulled you closer into his chest while you watched the karts go around.

“Oh, and bets don’t hurt your pockets? I see how it is, rich man,” You joked as you leaned your entire body weight into him. “Do I at least get to know what the bet is before the race?”

“Loser buys dessert after,” Kimi chuckled.

“We’re in a double seater, dummy!” You exclaimed in shock. “They’re gonna be so much quicker than us! You made a bet you know you’d lose!”

“One, you underestimate my driving ability. Two, you think that wasn’t the point? Think how much harder Jack will try to win knowing there’s something at stake,” Kimi explained, and your jaw dropped. This reverse psychology was going to win your brother over in a heartbeat. “Plus, I know Jack and your parents are insanely competitive. I know you. They’re gonna do anything and everything to win, and it’ll be a real race.”

“You are crazy, but I love it,” You whispered as you left a kiss on his cheek before standing up and moving to the karts. You two put on your helmets and everyone took their places in their karts. Jack looked back at you and Kimi and signaled that he was going to catch you. Right as you sat down, you looked up at Kimi, who was still adjusting his helmet. “We’re not going easy on them though, right?”

“No never,” Kimi answered quickly as he took his seat in the driver’s seat. He fiddled with the seat and wheel for a second before the look in his eyes told you exactly what he was thinking. “This is technically a championship, and I’ve never lost. Buckle up because you’re not breaking my streak.”

You tightened your belts and braced yourself. This was the best (and only) way to get back onto the track.

~~~~~

© BAD268 2024. DO NOT REPOST WITHOUT PERMISSION.

[lethalchiralium]

Bigger Than The Whole Sky | Simon “Ghost” Riley x Wife!Reader

a/n: WE’LL GET BACK TO FLUFF SOON. is it a promise? yeah probably. sad stuff will be put on hold after this, we’re getting back to our regularly schedule good dad and husband after this chapter lol

warnings: MINORS DNI. Miscarriage, descriptions of medical treatment, medical inaccuracies, descriptions of medical abortions, depression, cussing, loss of a pregnancy. Simon knows how periods work because he is a good husband.

summary: It’s hard to get over something like this, it’s hard to feel like this. Loss is difficult.

PREVIOUS << | >> NEXT | SERIES MASTERLIST

“You are going through a miscarriage.”

It was like the world had collapsed into the void, a ringing in his ears as he felt your hand squeeze his. He squeezed back, looking to you but you only looked at the doctor. She moved her medical mask up her nose a little before she continued. “Since you weren’t too far along, it’s possible to pass the fetus on your own. We also have a medication that would help it go faster. If neither work after a couple weeks, we will have to do...”

Simon tuned out then, watching your face underneath a medical mask. He knew you would be biting your lip to try to stop the tears, but it was pointless - the mask was wet with the tears you had been crying for hours. His heart kept squeezing, tugging, and tearing. He’s never felt this pain before, and he had no idea how to make it fucking stop. You nodded to the doctor, hand squeezing his, making him tune back into the conversation.

“Mr. Riley, do you have any questions?”

He turned to look at the emergency room doctor, her clipboard held by her hip. He glanced back to you before looking at the doctor again. “What do I need to do to help her?”

It was apparent that the doctor was not used to the question, eyebrows twitched before she spoke, “Make sure she doesn’t strain herself, she needs to stay hydrated and fed. This is a lot for a woman, especially since this was her second baby.”

Was.

What a silly word, what a joke, he thought. That ‘was’ could have been my child.

She cleared her throat. “As soon as she passes the fetus, she will need to take a pregnancy test three weeks later to confirm that she is no longer pregnant. If it says that she still is, come back immediately.” She looked to his wife. “It’s imperative that if you feel you are in more pain than before that you come in immediately. Life-saving treatment earlier on in a failed home abortion can and will save your life.”

Simon’s other hand clenched his leg, out of sight. He pressed the balls of his feet into the floor, trying to stop himself from standing and leaving. He so desperately wanted to run out of here, disappear into the alleyway and scream his lungs out.

You nodded to the doctor, she left with a quiet condolence before the air in the room grew silent.

He couldn’t let go. He wouldn’t dare be the man his father wanted him to be, a horrible husband and father - just like him. He forced himself to sit there, to take the pain and stop himself from running like he normally would have.

Like he did when he learned about Winnie.

He didn’t let himself think on it for much more than that, seeing you distraught and in pain right now was hurting him more than losing what would have been his son. He was sure he’d feel the loss later, but he’d rather have his wife alive than a baby he hasn’t even met. He held your hand with care, moving it to his lips and pressing a small kiss to the shaking skin.

He had carried you back out to his SUV when you had been discharged, lulling your head against his chest as the medicine was making you tired. You were wrapped up in the blanket you had left with, your blood still on it and you needed new clothes to wear when you got home.

He didn’t turn on the radio when he began to drive home. He sat with one hand on the steering wheel, the other settled in between your hands. You kept his hand close to your chest as you gazed out the window.

He’s never done this before, never imagined that he would have to - especially with you. The wonderful wife that loved every shitty part of him, the person who woke him from nightmares that plagued his wicked mind. The light in the darkness, holding his treasures in your arms. He’s fixed things for you before like your grandmother’s necklace you wore all the time, the squeaky floorboard in the kitchen and repairing the water heater - all without real annoyance, only playful grumbles and a smile that you loved to kiss. He’s held you when you’ve cried about missing home, missing your brothers, kissed your tears when the postpartum depression got to be too much. There was no way he knew what to do to even ease your emotional and mental pain, but he desperately wanted to. He’d claw his way through Hell to make this easier for you.

He let out a breath, glancing over to you before saying, “I’m sorry.”

You didn’t even budge, small breaths escaping your lips. He glanced to the road, seeing that he was fine for just a second, before he moved forward to look at your face. Your eyes were closed, head leaned to the side of the headrest and his hand trapped in your clutches.

He let out a huff through his nose, looking back at the road and squeezed the steering wheel. “I’m sorry.” The words stay in the air, directed to no one. He let out a quiet, humorless laugh as he said, “Fuckin’ Hell.”

The lights were on in the house when he carried you inside, he could hear the TV going but he had no desire to investigate. He closed the door behind him with a kick of his foot, hand on the back of your head as your face was settled in his neck. His other arm kept both of your legs on the side of one of his hips, you were still crying. You had woken up in the car earlier, you hadn’t even stopped crying in your sleep. It made his chest tear in half.

“Simon.”

He looked to his right, seeing Price standing in the front room, little Mellie asleep in his arms.

Simon felt tears claw at his eyes, he kept his gaze with his friend. “Can you take the kids for a couple of nights?”

Price immediately nodded. “Yeah.” He nodded towards Simon’s wife. “Is she okay?”

Simon didn’t even look down at you, he shook his head. “Not now.”

He walked up the stairs then, letting Price go back to wherever he came from to get his goddaughter. Simon was careful when he entered the bedroom, he moved towards the bathroom so he could wash you up. He noticed that the blood on the floor was now gone, a towel sat on the side of the bathtub. He quickly sat you down on the side of the bathtub, keeping a hand on you as he turned the water on.

“I’m sorry.”

His eyes flickered to yours, red and full of tears. His hand rested on your cheek.

“No need to be sorry.” He wiped tears away with his thumb. “We’ll get through this, okay?”

“It was a boy.” Was all you managed, tears streaming down your face. “Our boy.“

Both of his hands rested on your cheeks, making you look into his eyes. “I would rather have my wife than a son. I don’t care if Mellie is my last kid, because I would still have you. Don’t ever apologize for something you can’t control.”

Your face immediately went to his neck, arms around it as loud sobs erupted from your lips. He held you close to him, pressing his lips to your hair.

The hard part was helping you bathe, you sat catatonic in the warm water. The tears had stopped minutes ago, he was now draining the tub of the pink water, helping you into a towel. Gently wiping off the water from your body, moving to grab some of your clothes from the bedroom before returning. He was quick to grab a pad from underneath the cabinet, he wasn’t unfamiliar to them since you had to keep using them when he had gotten home months ago because of Mellie. He put it in your underwear then kneeled in front of you. He guided your hand to rest on his shoulder, helping you step into them. He pulled them up, then helped you into a pair of his old sweatpants - tying them at your waist. He stood, pulling one of his old band shirts over your head and tugging it on.

He pressed a kiss to your forehead before bending down and picking you up into his arms, letting you wrap your arms around his neck. He let you cry into his chest, laying down on your bed and letting you curl into his chest. His arms around you, caging you into him as he tried his best to hold back his own tears.

“We’ll be okay.” He spoke into the room, right beside your ear. “You’ll be okay.”

“I want my baby.” Those four words stabbed his chest, ripping open muscle and exposing his rib cage to the biting wind of emotional agony. His hand buried into your scalp, pressing your head to his chest.

He pressed his lips to your head. “I know.”

The hands that gripped his shirt let go, now resting your palms against his chest. “No. I want my daughter, I want Winnie.”

Your husband was only gone a few minutes before he brought back his sleepy daughter, settling her right next to you. Your arms immediately went around the five year old, pressing kisses to her little face. She didn’t even grovel about it, just basking in the love of her mom.

“Be good for Uncle Price.” Your voice was surprisingly steady, the girl opened her eyes and crinkled her nose.

“I wanna stay home.”

Your hand gently pet down her messy curls. “I know, but you know when we had to sit down on the sidewalk after you skinned your knee on your bike?”

The girl nodded.

“And that I told you that you take the time to feel better and not to be scared of your bike. I told you that you didn’t have to ride your bike again, because you were scared to. Because you were hurt.”

“Yeah,” The girl whispered, hands going to rest on your arm.

“And you got on your bike the next day, even though you were scared but you had that time to feel better, and you felt safe again. I’m gonna do that.” You placed a kiss on her forehead, pushing a lock of dirty blonde hair from her face. “I just need some time to feel better, that’s why you’re going with your uncles.”

“Is Daddy going with me?”

You shook your head. “No, baby. He’s taking care of me.”

Her nose crinkled again. “Is Melsie coming?”

You nodded. “Mellie’s going with you.”

Winnie chirped, a smile on her face. “Can I eat ice cream when I go?”

You chuckled, nodding. “Yes. Tell Uncle Price that Mama said so.”

“Love you, Mama.” Your daughter moved forwards, wrapping her arms around your neck. You kissed her again, whispering your love into her ear before Simon pulled Winnie up and away. His five year old looked at his face with eyes that matched his own, her little hands settled on his shoulders. Her little eyebrows were furrowed, the look of a question on her face.

“Go on.” He encouraged, knowing that she would probably pester Price so much that he’d go into retirement.

“I want a brother.” The little one declared, her brown eyebrows furrowed. She reminded him of you. “Mama said I’m gettin’ a brother.”

One hand went from holding her to brushing her hair down, a frown on his face. “Not yet, my little love. He’s not ready.”

Winnie hummed before moving her arms around her father’s neck, resting her head on his shoulder. He glanced down at you, seeing your eyes on him.

“Maybe we’re not ready too.” He spoke. If it was someone outside looking in, it would’ve seemed like he was saying it to Winnie - but he was saying it to you. His eyes didn’t leave yours for a moment more, he then walked towards the door and down the stairs, leaving you alone in the massive bed.

Ibuprofen would help now, but you had no energy to ask Simon. Your fingers gripped the sheets, you curled into yourself in the middle of the bed. You needed to tell Winnie why she was going away, that you weren’t abandoning her. The girl already felt abandoned by her father, you could see it through the way she waits at the front door for him. The way she always checks to see if his car is in the garage, the way she leaves a little bit of water in her cup in case he comes home and is thirsty, even though he’s on deployment. Your hand hovered over your stomach before pressing onto it, pain radiating through your lower back and legs.

You had to come to terms that it wasn’t time yet. It wasn’t time for a little boy with Simon’s spray of freckles, a little boy with a smile like yours. It wasn’t time for a baby again, you figured.

Then why did it still hurt? Why did it drive a red hot spear into your chest, cracking open your ribs? Why did claws rip apart your lungs so you couldn’t breathe?

A large hand settled on your side, large legs settling just behind yours. His arm snuck underneath your chest, pulling your back into his front. The tears started again, red hot against skin you felt was cold. Your arms clutched onto Simon’s, his lips pressed a chaste kiss to your hair.

“It’s not your fault.”

“I know.” You whispered, still not sure if you believed him. “I know.”

“Baby…”

“Simon.” Your voice cracked, hands squeezing his large arm tighter. “Please. I can’t hear it anymore.”

You wouldn’t be able to see it, you couldn’t turn to face him, but his own tears fell down onto the pillowcase. Small tears, barely there in comparison to yours.

“I love you.” His words were steady, even if his heart felt like it was crashing and burning. You were ready for this one, he would’ve been after a while. He wanted what you wanted, and his heart twisted and contorted into painful positions when he knew it was being ripped away from you. “I love you.” He pressed another kiss to your skin, he then rested his forehead on your clothed shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

You let out a humorless chuckle. “I’m at fault here.”

“No, you’re not.”

“The baby was perfect at the appointment. I got sick and didn’t care for myself, so he-“

“Stop it.”

“It’s my fault, Simon.“

“These things happen, without rhyme or reason.” He pulled you just a little closer. “You’re a wonderful mother. If the baby’s not ready, it’s not ready. It’s simple. It will never be your fault.”

“But-“

“No. I’m not going to sit here and listen to you degrade yourself for something you can’t control. I can’t do it.”

“It hurts.”

He pulled the blanket farther up your bodies, up to your chin while he gently lifted his arm from your lower stomach. “That better?”

You pressed his arm into your stomach, curling your back into his chest again. You closed your eyes, trying to let go. Trying to let go of the chain you were holding in your open chest, trying to pull the weight at the end of it back up. Your hands kept slipping, the chain falling further and further into your chamber of despair. It wasn’t long before you had fallen asleep, dreamless and in pain.

Simon didn’t sleep.

He held you close to him, keeping your hair from your face. He memorized how your nose curved, the way your jaw defined your face, and how peaceful you were when you were asleep.

He felt his own pain, losing a child was not an easy feat. Simon felt acid-like tears in his soul, but Ghost had pressed his hand into them to make them hurt.

Simon would never have a son. He was grateful that he would never be like his father, beating his boys until he got bored. He was grateful that his girls were strong, loved; that their mother would never be hurt by his hand. He was grateful he would never have to fake his love for his girls.

Simon Riley was grateful he wasn’t going to have a son, so he didn’t have to stare a carbon copy of himself in the face and pretend that he loved him.

hi, i wrote this entire thing like weeks ago and the last paragraph almost made me vomit cause i was so upset

also, we’re getting a flashback for them because fluff and because i want to. i want to show how happy they were >:(

taglist: @sigynxlokiwifelover @lumpypoll @multitargaryen

Copyright © 2023 lethalchiralium. All rights reserved.

[whatsk-poppinhomies]

Pairing : Huening Kai x F!Reader TW : none ; big fluff ; Beomgyu making a suggestive comment ; Kai being adorable ; Word Count : 1.4k Request : nope! A/N : Hope you all enjoyed the snippets of life! This is the last one and then we're back to the regularly scheduled programming!

“I’m really glad you’re finally spending the night.” Kai said shyly, his hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie while your arm linked through his. “Don’t mind the guys, they’re kind of… Well… You know.” The rosy tint in his cheeks reached up to the tips of his ears, although you were sure he’d blame it on the chill of the late December air. “You can wear my clothes if you want… For sleeping… Or to just get comfortable. I don’t want you to feel like you have to wear jeans and stuff the whole time because I know that-” 

“Kai…” You cut him off, shoving your own hand into his pocket to give his hand a squeeze. “You’re stuck in your head, you’re rambling.” He sighed softly, lacing his fingers through your own, and his steps became gradually faster. One Kai step was about four or five steps for you though, and you found yourself breathless when the two of you finally reached the building. “Geesh…” 

“Don’t be nervous. It’s gonna be okay!” He tried to calm you, assuming that your heavy breathing and hesitation was due to nerves and not the fact that you felt like you had just ran a marathon just to keep up with him. Even still, the funniest part was the fact that he seemed to be the most nervous right now, his hands fidgeting in the fluff lined pocket of his hoodie, and he was the one hesitating to walk through the front door of the building. “Are you ready?” He asked, and you quickly nodded your head, wanting nothing more than to be inside and out of the winter chill. 

You were shivering inside the elevator that took you up to the dorm room where he and the guys lived, and Kai respectfully kept an arm draped over your shoulder while vigorously rubbing your arm to try to warm you up. “Are you okay with me staying the night?” You asked, feeling the nervousness radiating off of him in the confines of the elevator, and his head nodded so fast that you wondered if he was being honest or just trying not to hurt your feelings. “I can sleep on the couch if that would make you more comfortable. I don’t mind, really.” 

The last thing you wanted was for him to be uncomfortable in his own home, and although this was his idea, you wondered if maybe he was second guessing it now that it was truly happening. It’s not like you would be mad about it though, you had only been dating for 2 months, and while most people would have done something like this rather early on in their relationship, you both just wanted to take things slow and enjoy the fun of meeting up for dates and the thrill of just being with each other when time and schedules allowed. It kept the relationship lively and there was always something to look forward to. 

“No, no… It’s not that, seriously.” He ran a hand through his hair as he let out a slightly awkward chuckle. “It’s the guys and… With me being the youngest… I just know they’re going to tease me and… I don’t want them to make you think differently of me, that’s all.” You glanced up at him out of the corner of your eye, his bottom lip was pulled between his teeth and he shuffled his feet as the bell rang out and the doors slid open. 

“A little bit of teasing from the guys won’t alter my judgment. I like you for you…” You reassured him, wrapping your arms around his waist and giving him a squeeze before walking out of the elevator, leading the way even though you didn’t have a single idea as to where you were going. “I’m excited to spend the night… It’s gonna be fun. We can watch movies and play video games and-” Kai stopped in the middle of the hallway, right in front of a door that looked like all the others, but from the inside you could hear music being played loudly and boisterous laughter that you could only assume was coming from Beomgyu considering the other loudest boy was standing right beside you. 

“You think I’ll be able to sneak you past the guys?” His voice was soft, almost like he was worried they’d hear him through the door, but there was a chuckle building in his chest, although you weren’t sure whether it was from the nerves or whether he was trying to be funny. Either way, you shook your head no, the guys seemed to all be in the main room, like they were waiting for your entrance. It’s not like they had never met you before, it’s just that this would be the first time you’ve ever gone to their home. “Right… Guess it’s better to just get it over with.” 

“Like ripping off a bandaid.” You chimed, and you could hear him gulp loudly as he turned the knob on the door and pushed it open. Silence immediately filled the room, and your thoughts were proven correct as four heads lifted up and now eight pairs of eyes laid upon you and Kai as you both walked in. “Hey guys!” You spoke up, and within seconds you and Kai were rushed as the guys ran over to where you stood. 

“Are you guys gonna.. You know…” Beomgyu was the first one of the boys to speak, his eyebrows wiggling to emphasize the suggestive question. You didn’t even have to look at Kai to know that his face was burning up, you could feel it throughout his entire body, the heat radiating off of him like a space heater. 

Yeonjun scoffed, tittering with his hand over his mouth. “How would they? You know that he wouldn’t move his plushies for that. I don’t even know where she’s gonna sleep.” The oldest teased, and the secondhand embarrassment that you were feeling was horrendous, you could only imagine how Kai was feeling being on the receiving end of it. 

“I… I’d move them for her… I was planning on moving them.” He stammered, and it was cute, but also kind of sad to see him so shy, especially knowing that he was usually the loudest one of the guys, aside from Beomgyu. “Can you guys maybe like… Shut up though?” His shoulders shrugged as if the question was more of an offer, like they had a choice, but you were sure that once your overnight visit was over, Kai would let them have it for attempting to humiliate him in front of you. 

“I think guys that collect plushies are adorable, so hush.” You jumped to Kais defense, nuzzling closer to him as you smiled up to your boyfriend who was redder than a tomato at this point. “Do you wanna take me to the room? Maybe I can change into something more comfortable?” You asked, trying to find a reason to get the both of you out of the awkward bubble that the other boys had created. 

Kai was quick to jump on the offer, his arm snaked around your waist and practically dragging you to the bedroom and slamming the door behind him. “Sorry about them….” He muttered, and you could still hear the guys, cheering out in the main room as if something more were about to happen. “I knew they’d be like that… I can move the plushies if you want me to… It’s really not a big deal. I don’t know why they-” 

Your hands cupped his cheeks and you pushed yourself up to press your lips to his, silencing his panicked rambling. “I don’t care what they were saying. They’re like your brothers, they’re going to tease you. That’s what they do.” You assured him, your thumb stroking his cheek, watching the redness fade in his cheeks and then slowly reappear when your thumbs slid across them. “And I wasn’t joking when I said I think it’s cute… So how about… I change, and then you can introduce me to all of your plushies… I can pick my favorite one.” 

The smile that pulled at the corner of his lips had your stomach feeling warm and fuzzy, he was adorable, and you were happy that you could cheer him up and get his mind off the guys at least for now. “Alright, yeah… Just don’t pick my favorite because I don’t think I can share. You can pick any of the other ones though, I’ll even let you take it home to sleep with so you never forget about me.” 

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[reysdriver]

After Work | J.P.

Being an auror means James has to work odd hours, but you always wait for him to come home — james x fem!reader fluff

warnings: none :)

words: 0.6k

He tried to be as quiet as possible when opening the front door. It had been getting creaky lately, so he set himself a mental reminder to fix it later.

His job as an Auror meant a lot of unpredictable hours, but he did it because he loved it. He already had enough money because of his family line, and now he was generating money from a high-level job, so he insisted you didn't need to work unless you really wanted. Because of this, you only picked up odd jobs that you were interested in, but mostly you stayed home.

Most nights, especially those when you had no work the next day, you waited for your fiancé to come home before you went to bed. James always insisted against this. As much as he loved getting to kiss you goodnight while you were still awake, he didn't want you to mess up your sleep schedule.

He hoped you were asleep tonight, since it was closer to dawn than dusk at this point. He hung up his jacket, and walked up the stairs to your bedroom, sighing with each sound his feet made.

He pushed open the bedroom door and saw you sitting on the bed, rubbing lotion on your hands as you did regularly in the winter.

Your eyes lit up and a smile graced your face when you saw him.

"Hi, Jamie." You said sweetly.

James closed the door behind him and immediately started changing out of his Auror robes into his flannel sleep pants and an old tee.

"My love, what are you still doing up? It's practically the morning already." He asked as he took off his shirt.

"You know what I'm still doing up, I'm waiting for you. I couldn't wait 'til morning." 

He laid down next to you and pulled the blankets over the both of you. "Well, it wouldn't feel like waiting if you were sleeping."

"I only like sleeping when you're here with me."

He pulled you in, your back to his chest, his mouth hovering over your neck as he spoke. "Maybe I should just quit my job so you can have the rest you deserve."

You were both head over heels for each other, and you knew he wasn't lying. All it would take was one question and he'd be handing in a letter of resignation. But you knew he loved his job almost as much as he loved you, so you would never ask that of him.

"Don't quit your job." You told him, nuzzling closer to him. "Just cuddle with me so we can sleep."

"I would do it, you know?"

You hummed in acknowledgement of what he said, leaning to grab your lotion from the bedside table.

"What are you—" He started, but you shushed him lovingly.

You started massaging the moisturiser into his rugged hands, something he always forgets about. As you continued, he nuzzled his face into the nape of your neck. 

"So, how was work?" You asked him, letting go of his hands and spreading the last bits of the lotion around your own. 

His answer was muffled against your skin. "I missed you."

"You had Sirius." You pointed out with a little laugh. 

He shook his head, bringing it up from your neck. "Sirius doesn't cuddle with me when the day ends." 

You laughed again, then cuddled tighter with James to satisfy his desires. "No, I would hope he doesn't. I want your cuddles all to myself" 

[slytherinshua]

SMITTEN

genre. fluff. warnings. kisses. pairing. joshua x reader. wc. 635. a/n. i'm struggling with writer's block just a little bit, but hopefully i can still write and post regularly.

"Good morning..." You heard a soft, tired whisper into your ear while strong arms encircled your waist. You smiled as Joshua sighed in comfort, enjoying the hug and the warm cinnamon smell that came from the frying pan.

“How late did you get back?”

“Like… 3 am.” He said, eyes closed and head resting on your back.

“I’m making french toast.”

“So I smell.” He smiled.

“Maybe it’ll wake you up more.” You said, flipping the bread to see the beautiful golden brown colour on the other side.

“Maybe… I’m still half asleep right now.”

“You could go back to sleep if you want. You don’t have anything scheduled today.”

“But the bed is cold without you.” He whined, hugging you tighter.

You hummed, “That seems like a grievous issue… What about breakfast in bed instead? With me there, of course. Wouldn’t want to let my baby get cold.” You said. He nodded in agreement, but refused to leave the hug which made you giggle. 

“Are you going to keep clinging to me until I finish making breakfast?”

“If you let me.”

“You’re cute.” The comment made him smile, and you were completely enraptured by his sweet, sleepy state.

You finished frying the last 2 pieces of french toast, trying to manoeuvre around the kitchen to get plates and forks with Joshua still refusing to leave the hug. But you knocked him off eventually with the promise to take the food to your bed if he just let you prepare it without breaking something.

When you came into your bedroom with the food, you realised Joshua had changed his clothes. He was now wearing a pyjama set that matched yours and you giggled. Whenever he was this adorable, it took you by surprise.

“Here’s your toast, cutie.” You smiled, sitting next to him on the bed and placing the tray down.

“You’re amazing, Y/n.” He said, a smile blossoming on his face. “I love you.”

You turned to him, those 3 words still making your heart flutter even though you had said them countless times.

“I love you more.” You offered, giggling at the offended expression that Joshua gave you.

“You can’t possibly love me more than I love you.”

You shrugged, “Tough luck. That’s just how-” You suddenly felt his lips against yours, stopping you from finishing your thought. Blush spread on your cheeks from the action. Even after 4 years, Joshua Hong still had the same effect on you.

“I was just suddenly reminded of our first kiss, so I thought I would make it more obvious.” He said, fighting back a smile and starting to eat his french toast.

“But when we had our first kiss, we were fighting.”

“Were we not fighting just now?” Joshua asked teasingly. 

“It wasn’t the same at all.” You defended.

“It was, because I kissed you to stop you from talking back then too.” He explained, “Back then… If I had let you continue what you were saying, you would’ve won that argument easily cause you’re smarter than me. So I thought ‘What can I do to make her stop talking?’ and then I kissed you.” He laughed.

Your jaw fell a little upon hearing this for the first time, “That was the reason?” You asked in disbelief.

He nodded, “Just to shut you up. It was totally similar to what just happened.”

“I never really thought about why you kissed me that first time… I was too fixated on the fact that you actually kissed me.” 

“Really?”

You hummed, “I was so smitten by you back then, I thought you would only kiss me in my dreams.”

“Are you not still smitten by me now?” He asked, pouting.

You leaned in to kiss him again, “I’m still smitten by you. Always.”

He smiled, “Good.”

↳ svt taglist: @kangtaehyunzzz,, @yeonjuns-bluehair,, @syrxiee2

[secretlywritingstories]

"You look at my face a lot" | Phan one shot

Summary: Phil has a pretty new eyebrow slit but Dan decides that he could use a little make-up to highlight it. They end up in bed with Dan hovering close to Phil's face trying to do a good job while he's also trying not to ravish him or get (too) sappy.

Tags: 2024!phan, established relationship, domestic fluff, homoerotic make-up application

Word count: 3.8k

A/N: This fic is inspired by two things 1) Dan and Phil's birthday charity livestream where Dan manhandles Phil's face to give him the eyebrow slit and 2) this photo of lesbians doing each other's make up

Read on AO3 or below

The charity livestream for Phil’s birthday had gone much better than any of them had ever anticipated, even with all the technical issues. It was a good thing that their audience knew to expect chaos for them and hopefully found it endearing.

Still, Dan felt like he’d underestimated just how impactful their audience could be. He almost felt bad to have forgotten about it, when he got all wrapped up in his own head. But they’d reminded him so graciously in the last few months and tonight had just further cemented that.

He was happy to be back online, making videos regularly and he was hopeful for more live content too. Phil had dragged him back to the internet, and while he hadn’t been kicking and screaming, he had been digging his feet in. Now he was letting his heels rise and just enjoy it.

Last night had been fun and they’d both been riding that high for several hours afterwards. It had made it hard to get up for a tour meeting the following day, when he’d rather just stay wrapped up in bed with Phil or have a lazy breakfast together while they watched anime. Before he had slipped out of bed, he’d reached over to touch Phil’s face, and swipe a thumb across the new eyebrow slit. It really did suit him well, and Dan was quite excited to be matching with him soon.

He made himself leave the house. The we’re all doomed tour was important to him and it was time for the grand finale. It would be good. Less scary now that he’d dragged Phil into helping him with the live premiere. Unlike the other way around, there had been no need for dragging of any kind. Just a question and a quick agreement. Dan would never stop loving that aspect of Phil.

The meeting dragged on but he’d gotten a lot of questions answered and stuff planned. It had been months since the last show and he was worrying that the two shows would feel like starting over again. He was about to grab a taxi and head straight back home when he spotted a Sephora and had an interesting thought. A pull, if you will.

Something that might help bring Phil’s eyebrow slit the attention that it deserved. Give the blond hairs at the end a little bit of a lift.

He stuffed his purchase into his coat pocket and headed home to Phil. When he got home, Phil was in meercat mode, trying to avoid the never-ending builders in their home. Dan was very ready to have their home all to themselves, but they’d agreed to stick it out until everything they’d wanted was done. And between delayed materials and conflicting schedules for the workers, it had just taken ages.

“I’ve got a surprise for you later when we need to film later,” Dan had told Phil when he’d found him pretending not to be hiding in the office.

Phil had perked up. “Delayed birthday present?”

Dan had chuckled but shook his head. “Yesterday wasn’t enough?” he asked.

“You can never have too much birthday fun,” he countered and tried to wiggle his eyebrows.

It was about as successful as he was trying to wink, but it only made it the more endearing. It also drew attention to that eyebrow slit. Dan knew his eyes lingered on it.

“You really like it, huh?” Phil said, turning his head to give Dan a better view.

“Still a little emo kid at heart,” Dan muttered.

He did feel like that sometimes. As if he’d never really grown up, despite all that he’d done and all of the adulting he did now. So many responsibilities. Enough to overwhelm him at times. It was good that he shared most of those with Phil. It helped when they could share the weight.

“Should we be worried you’re entering your crisis twink era? About to break out the bleach?”

“I thought I wasn’t a twink anymore?” Dan teased. Phil had told him that last time he’d been on Dystopia Daily.

“Wasn’t that me?” Phil asked and there was a bit of a glimmer in his eyes.

If there weren’t builders in the house, perhaps Dan would have done something about it. Moved close and showed Phil that he was just as attractive as when they’d been young, if not more.

It was a gift seeing how they were changing. Phil letting his grey coming in should not have been as attractive as it was but Dan loved that he wasn’t hiding it anymore. In December when they’d looked back at themselves for the first decade of their relationship through the pinof videos, he’d not recognised himself at first. They were so different now, but they’d grown together. Hand in hand.

It wasn’t until their house was blessedly vacant of strangers, they’d devoured the Indian takeaway for dinner and they were about to set up to film a gaming video that Dan went to retrieve the item from his coat pocket.

“What’s that?” Phil asked, tapping away on the keyboard to bring up their recording software. “A pencil?”

“Yes,” Dan said twirling it between his fingers. And nearly dropping it. “Eyebrow pencil.”

That caught Phil’s attention and he moved up from his seat at the desk. “You bought an eyebrow pencil?”

He nodded and handed it over to Phil who was already making grabby hands.

Dan had felt wildly out of his depths as he’d stood staring at the rows and rows of make-up products. He didn’t know enough to make an informed decision but asking someone had also felt too daunting. He’d eventually caved and asked for help, only to be asked about the colours was of the person he’d be buying for.

He wasn’t confident enough to whip out a picture of Phil, so instead he’d tried to fumble his way through explaining the natural colours of Phil’s brows. It was a good thing that he had a lot of practice looking at Phil’s face. His eyebrows especially last night. Beautiful high arches, hair lightening from the middle out to the tails.

“Are you dissing my eyebrows?” Phil asked, removing the cap from the pencil and looking at it with suspicion.

Dan rolled his eyes, as if he’d ever diss anything about Phil’s face. Anything about Phil at all. It was his favourite face. He knew he was happy to wake up to it every day. He would however jest and play around nonetheless.  

“Not my fault your hairs are so pale,” he said with a smirk and then a hyena laugh escaped him at the mock offended expression on Phil’s face.

But he could see how Phil was studying the pencil with genuine interest and he was glad that he’d given into the impulse purchase. He loved when Phil was feeling himself. There was nothing hotter than when Phil realised that he was a fucking catch and looked good. Dan had known forever but it was different hearing it from someone who loved you and thinking it yourself.

“I’ll be right back,” Phil said, pencil clutched in his hand as he walked out of the room.

Dan took over at the desk, checking their camera was set up correctly and opened Steam on Poppy Playtime. They knew it would be a long video since they were going to do the whole chapter in one go. It was time to settle in for a long haul. Proper gaming YouTubers.

Phil was missing for longer than Dan had anticipated, so he went searching for him and he was surprised that he was in the bedroom in front of the big mirror rather than going to the bathroom and getting proper lightening.

“What are you doing?” Dan asked, leaning against the doorway to just observe. “That’s terrible lightening.”

“I think I’m going to mess it up,” Phil said, still staring at his reflection. “And I don’t like putting a pencil near my eye.”

A ploy. Phil wanted help. He wanted Dan to offer help. If his heart wasn’t so fond, then he’d perhaps laughed at him. He could just have asked but this was more of Phil’s style.

“You put contacts in at least a couple of times a week,” Dan reminded him as he walked into the bedroom. “Shouldn’t your fingers going into your eye be more scare than a pencil on your eyebrow?”

“Yes,” Phil conceded but he was already wearing his pleading expression. “But I have practice with that now, and the finger is not going into the eye. I hated it at first too. Might never have gotten used to it, if I hadn’t thought glasses looked too dorky.”

“I love your glasses,” Dan said, and walked up behind Phil to grab around his midriff. Pull him back against his chest and stare at their reflection together.

Phil snorted. “You didn’t see the first pair I got.”

No, he hadn’t. Whenever Phil mentioned something about himself that Dan didn’t know, or didn’t have been a part of, there was a little tug. Curiosity to learn more about him. Even after all this time, there was always more and he always wanted to know.

“I haven’t seen them in pictures?” he asked, hooking his chin over Phil’s shoulder and slumping against him. Just because he could.

“No, I think I made mum burn all of them,” Phil said and met Dan’s eyes in the mirror. “Help me with this?”

He wiggled the eyebrow pencil. And there it was. Dan had just been waiting for him to say it.

Dan hummed in agreement and grabbed Phil’s arm to drag him to the bathroom to get good lightening. He had almost pulled them out of the room before another possible location hit him. The bathroom was undoubtedly the most practical, but the other option would be more fun. Dan changed directions and dragged Phil towards the bed.

“I thought we were filming?” he asked, a laugh barely off his lips.

Dan resisted the urge to kiss it right off him.

“We are,” Dan insisted, even as he pushed Phil onto the bed. “Scoot up, head close to the headboard.”

Phil looked at him with narrowed eyes but complied all the same, moving the pillow up with him and lying down. Dan didn’t waste any time straddling his torso and he delighted in the way that Phil’s breath hitched. Just a little. Almost enough to distract him.

Almost.

He reached for the lamp above their bed and twisted it until it was all up in Phil’s face. He winced, shutting his eyes and throwing a hand over them.

“Warning next time? You just made me blind.”

“You were already blind.”

“Well, I’m double-blind now. I’m going to start to see black spots and rainbows,” he said moving his hand and turning his face away from the light as he started to blink rapidly.

“Black and rainbows, huh? You and me?”

“Shut up,” Phil said and slapped a hand against the outside of Dan’s thigh.

It was so easy to laugh and lean closer. He’d sat too far up on Phil’s torso to do this without breaking his back. He scooted down until he was sitting across Phil’s hips. Phil looked one second away from bucking him off judging by the playful expression in his eyes.

“Come here, you’re the one who wanted help,” Dan said and leaned down with the eye brow pencil poised.

“And this was the only way?” Phil asked, amusement in his face until the pencil came close to his eyes and he let them fall shut.

“It’s the only way,” Dan said insistently, as he reached for Phil’s chin to keep him from moving. Phil’s face moved under his touch, lips curving into a smile. “Stay still,” he ordered.

Dan didn’t really have that much experience with make-up either but he had dabbled here and there with his costumes. He always leaned into a more smudged on purpose look, but it was in part because he didn’t have the steady hand or patience to do anything too clean. And he knew himself, he’d be smudging it instantly anyway. It was fun but it was also an effort that he wasn’t sure he’d go through on a regular basis.

He was still happy when he thought about all of the hours that he no longer spent frantically straightening his hair. What a waste of time trying to conform and hide himself, even if he’d needed it back then. He hadn’t been ready but he got there.

He was gentle with the pencil at first, going to the eyebrow that hadn’t been slit. The employee from Sephora had said that the pencil shouldn’t be too dark, if the eyebrows were light, or it would look weird.

The colour was coming off, darkening the brows little by little. Dan focused on the end of the eyebrow where the hair turned the lightest.

“Aren’t you doing the wrong one?” Phil asked, eyes still closed.

Dan moved from grabbing his chin to kind of cradling his face as he gently moved Phil’s head to the side and back to see if he was happy with his work.

“It would look stupid with just one done,” Dan insisted, “you’ll have to do both.”

Phil’s eyes fluttered open and Dan hadn’t realised how close he was leaning in to be able to see properly. It really wasn’t fair that Phil was still able to knock the air out of his lungs after all these years, just as effectively as when they’d first fallen in love.

Dan hadn’t noticed that Phil had let his hand linger on Dan’s thigh, so used to having him close and touching but he noticed now when Phil’s other hand drifted up now in a mirrored position. Holding onto Dan on either side. A familiar look flickered in his eyes and this one wasn’t entirely playful.

“We need to film,” Phil said, even as his eyes darted down to Dan’s lips. It sounded more like it was a reminder to himself than to Dan. Just for that Dan wanted to lean closer and close the distance. But there was something about this too. The tension in the air between them. So close and touching but not there.

“I’m going to do the other one,” Dan announced, and he would have thought that Phil would close his eyes again but he was surprised when they stayed open. Attentive in a way that saw straight through him.

He was more careful now, mindful of avoiding the slit he’d shaved into Phil’s eyebrow just last night. It had been a little nerve-wracking to do it on camera, even if it was by far not the most stupid thing, they’d done on camera together. He’d wanted to make it look good, more focused on being precise and doing a good job, not even caring as he turned his back to the camera.

But this was different. There was no camera right now. Only the two of them in their home. In their bedroom. Dan really had brought this upon himself. There was no desire to perform to keep him in check.

He carefully swiped across the eyebrow on either side of the slit, watching the colour take. He did it gently with all of his focus, even if was much harder now that Phil seemed unable to look away from him.

Dan wasn’t entirely sure what Phil saw as he watched his face. Concentration. Determination. Love.

Dan had never quite been able to stop himself from letting it leak out whenever he was with Phil. He couldn’t even start to try and put it into words. He’d hit some pretty good metaphors for their relationships through the years but it was always just a little part of it. A quick glimpse into what they really were to each other. All of the different ways that they loved each other.

Phil still hadn’t been able to convince Dan that they were soulmates, because for that to happen soulmates had to exist, like something predetermined. He didn’t like that. They had found each other and fought for each other. He didn’t want to give fate credit for having them stick together.

No, that was all on them. He was sure of it.

Phil’s hands were warm on his thighs and he could feel him breathing calmly under him, moving both of their bodies a tiny bit with each inhale and exhale. Dan’s lower back hurt a little in this position, and he had a feeling the elbow he was leaning on was going numb but it didn’t matter.

They were suspended in that moment. Just the two of them, only the sound of their breathing and the gentle scratch of the eyebrow pencil.

He wanted to stay in the moment, but he wanted to do a good job more. He wasn’t going to overdo it. He pulled back, breathing deep for the first time in minutes as he tilted Phil’s head towards the light to survey his work.

It made a difference. The slit really got to have a moment to shine now that the hairs on either side was more defined.

“Good?” Phil asked, still lax in Dan’s hold.

“Yeah,” Dan said and his voice came out with a little grumble. He cleared his throat. “You look good.”

Phil was looking at Dan like he knew exactly what he was thinking. He let his hands trail up Dan’s thighs, going towards his ass. Dan was prepared for a grope. He was not prepared for Phil to grab his hips and toss him onto the mattress instead.

Dan let out an undignified squawk, bouncing on the bed while Phil got up, almost stumbling as he was laughing too much at Dan’s reaction.

“Traitor,” Dan grumbled, crossing his arms. “This is what I get for helping you!”

“You have to be nice to the birthday boy,” Phil said and walked over to the mirror.

“Your birthday ended yesterday,” Dan reminded him.

“We still have that party on Sunday, so it’s not over until then,” Phil reminded him, which really was only Phil logic. “Wow, it looks nice!”

And with that one comment, all of the fake annoyance at being tossed away rather than having his ass grabbed evaporated. Dan sat up and got up from the bed.

“Yeah?”

He hadn’t meant to latch onto Phil again, like he’d done before they’d gotten onto the bed, but it was instinct. If Phil asked, he’d just claim it was to see better, even if he didn’t need to wind his arms around Phil for that. Phil would see through it, but also allow it.

“Really good, I’m hot,” Phil said, with a grin and Dan snorted, trying to hide in Phil’s shoulder as he was shaking with laughter. “Don’t laugh!”

It didn’t stop Dan’s laughter but it did make Dan lift his head. “You’re always hot,” he said, breath hot against Phil’s neck just to be mean.

They really had to film but this was fun. Maybe Dan finally understood the inherent intimacy of doing someone’s make up. The couple of times that they’d been putting stuff on each other’s faces, they had usually been blindfolded and drawing cat faces or just slapping make-up on.

Though he guessed that when they were drawing whiskers on each other’s faces came close. Not exactly because they had been on camera and they were in the very chaotic mindset that those videos required. They’d drawn whiskers on each other for each TATINOF performance and removing them too, but that had been rushed, almost frantic while they were high on adrenalin.

Nothing quite like this. Quiet. Intimate. Between just them.

“You’re going to look good with one too,” Phil said, holding onto Dan’s arms around him, giving him a little squeeze. “I almost regret stopping you on the stream.”

“This alternate is better,” Dan said. “You get to have all the attention now, and I’ll get it on the 25th.”

“You were always going to get all the attention then,” Phil said with a soft laugh and he was swaying them a little from side to side. Like he was listening to a song only he could hear. Through their movements, Dan could almost hear it too. “It’s your big baby. Your show.”

Dan hummed. It had been his big baby and he had been happy about it. The tour itself had encountered issues here and there, things he’d rather not think about but he was happy with what he’d made and how the audience had reacted to it.

It had been exciting and he’d been looking to prove something for himself. He could do it on his own. He didn’t need Phil.

But he wanted him.

He wanted him so much.

The tour had only proved that further. He’d missed him at his side. It was maybe one of the reasons it had been easier to lean back into the gaming channel together. They were good. They’d always known that but to see that they hadn’t lost their touch was incredible. If anything, Dan felt like they might be better than ever.

They were out now. All of the gay jokes they’d previously passed up or edited out was included. There was a deep understanding with the audience. It was so much fun.

“Thank you for helping me,” Phil said, speaking so softly in the quiet room. Like he’d sensed that Dan’s thoughts had drifting off for a moment and he was gently bringing him back to shore before he drifted out too far.

Phil never needed to thank him for that. Dan would do anything for him.

“Let’s go film,” Dan said, reluctantly pulling away from the warmth of Phil’s body. “And then afterwards, I’m going to show you just how hot you look and get all up in that slit.”

He wiggled his own eyebrows and dodged out of the way as Phil pulled a disgusted face and tried to hit him. To pacify him, Dan grabbed Phil’s face in both hands and as expected, he went still at the touch. Let Dan hold him, even with the mirth still shining in his eyes.

Dan was never going to tire of looking at this face, even with every change it might go through. Aging, modifications, anything. Phil’s face and gazing into his eyes would always be home.

“Come on,” Phil said grabbing Dan’s wrist and then intertwining their fingers. “If you’re looking at me like that, we’ll not be able to film.”

Dan chuckled, shaking his head in disagreement, even if he knew Phil was right. The urge to toss him back on the bed ran deep and he should rein it in.

He let Phil drag him down the hall, as always trusting Phil whenever he dragged him anywhere.

[cosmos-coma]

Sick Days- Bucky Barnes

A/N: We interrupt your regularly scheduled chapter to say.... I'm sick AGAIN. Its been just about 2 weeks since I fully recovered from my cough (and almost 6 weeks since I first showed symptoms last time.) I've been under a lot of stress lately to find a job so I can pay my bills, but hopefully the recovery from this round is faster.

pairing: James "Bucky" Barnes x Reader

Words: 1472

Warnings: gender neutral reader (no pronouns), NO Y/N (just 'Doll'), Sick reader, just a whole lot of fluff and soft Bucky, passively edited.

Bucky Masterlist

______________________

It started as just a funny feeling in your chest, you couldn’t really describe it, but you didn’t let it worry you. 

Then, the next morning you spent 10 minutes coughing up the worst-tasting phlegm you’d ever imagined. Thinking that that was the last of it, you mentioned nothing of it to the team, the doctor, or your overly concerned boyfriend. But as the night went on and your throat began to dry, that little cough tip-toeing back in, you knew it would be worse than you had assumed. But you still ignored it for the most part; Nothing a good swig of NyQuil and some rest couldn’t do. You’d deal with it in the morning. 

But now here you were in bed, wool socks on, two sweatshirts wrapped around you, and piles and piles of blankets over top, yet you were still shivering as if you had just stepped outside naked in the middle of winter. You had tried a shower, but it only warmed half of you, the other half just standing cold and wet away from the spray. You had even tried your microwavable hot pack; it worked for a while, but its heat dwindled quickly with time.

An unproductive cough forced its way out of your throat, following itself up with a throbbing headache at the spike in pressure. “Fuuuuuuuuuck,” you groaned, but it only came out as an unintelligible groan.

Though your body shivered and your muscles ached, you still found bits to be thankful for. Your nose- while slightly pressurized- still let you breathe through it, and your throat had yet to feel any of its usual soreness; they were small victories, but victories nonetheless. 

However, as time passed and you lay awake listening to the sounds of the tower you were beginning to get disoriented. Was it lack of sleep? Or maybe it was dehydration? Or perhaps…. Wait, what were you thinking of again? Hm… oh well, must not have been that important. 

Anyways, where were we? Ah, right-

You waited patiently for Bucky to come back from the kitchen, now regretting asking him for tea instead of just asking him to lay with you. He had been so worried when he heard you say that you were sick that he immediately sprang into action. He knew you never really liked relying on people; you were always the one taking care of others- whether you wanted to or not- so when the two of you started dating it had been quite an adjustment to get you to sit back and let him do the work.

“Hey, Doll… Are you awake…?” He called quietly, nudging the door open with his foot as he carried a tray piled high. He made his way over toward the large lump underneath the blankets, dipping the bed as he sat, “Is this you or is this just a pile of pillows?” he asked with a poke. 

“No, it’s me. I’m up…” you groaned as you peeked out over the warmth of the blanket to look, and when you saw you couldn’t help but laugh weakly at your ridiculously loving boyfriend. His tray was piled high with everything you could need; a nice bowl of soup, some fresh fruit, cold medicine, tea, a hot towel- he had brought everything he thought might help you. 

“What’s all this..? I thought I only asked for tea…” you said with a nasally voice and a smile, braving the cold of the room as you sat up, “fuck, is it freezing in here to you…?” You pulled your knees to your chest in an effort to keep warm despite the way your aching muscles protested. 

Bucky’s brows drew together as he set the tray aside, “I thought I’d make sure you had all you needed. You’re still cold…?” Concern laced his voice as his metal hand rubbed up and down your leg, “Can we try some soup first? You need to warm up from the inside.” he advised. Gentle, loving hands helped you sit up further, even going so far as to feed you spoonfuls of soup. 

You snorted and rolled your eyes, but your smile betrayed just how much you loved it, “Bucky, I’m not a child. I can feed myself…” you argued, your smile dissolving into soft laughter as he began to fly the spoon around like an airplane at your remark.

“Ah, come on, Doll. Please let me take care of you…? ” he chuckled as he tried to play it off, but you could see in his eyes that he needed this, he needed to make sure you were going to be okay. Your heart squeezed pleasantly at the knowledge that you had someone so incredibly dedicated to you, and you nodded.

“Alright, Big guy...” you relented with a grin, downing the spoonful of soup, “Thank you… I don’t know what I’d do without you.” You swallowed with a hum, enjoying the way its warmth traveled through your body quickly. 

You breathed a sigh of relief, closing your eyes and savoring the love and spices that went into it. However after your 5th or 6th spoonful your stomach began to turn, churning uncomfortably as you thought about taking another bite. “Ugh…” you groaned, holding Bucky’s hand still before he could offer you another spoonful, “Wait, hold on….” 

“What is it? Is it not good?”He asked, “I tried to copy my mother’s old recipe but it’s a little fuzzy after 70 years on ice…” He looked down, sniffing the bowl quizzically, It didn’t smell perfectly like his mother’s, but it didn’t seem that bad either.

“No, no, it’s good… I just- I’m not sure my stomach is strong enough right now.” You sighed as you let go of his hand, looking away from the soup so your stomach could finally settle. “I’m sorry, I know you worked hard and -”

“Hey, no. Don’t be sorry,” he smiled softly as he put the bowl aside, “I know sickness does weird things to your appetite… but we need another way to warm you up now.”

You wasted no time pulling back the covers, your sweatshirt coming off in record time before you reached out to him, “Well, they say body heat is the best way to keep warm in emergency situations. It’s just science…” You reasoned as your fingers urged him toward you. You may have still been adjusting to having someone else care for you, but if there was one thing you’d cave to without fail, it was cuddling your super soldier.

“Ah, of course… and this is an emergency after all.” His grin spread warmth through you as he climbed in, peeling off a few of his own layers for maximum skin-to-skin contact. 

You settled easily onto his chest, your head tucked neatly into the crook of his neck, and as you lay against his super-heated skin you felt your whole body melt away. Relaxation and warmth crept along your muscles as his warm calloused hand glided down your back, squeezing and rubbing your aching muscles as he went along. 

“Wait, fuck- go back down… further… not there you pervert- up, now to the left…! Ooooooh, yeah. right there…” You moaned as he rubbed firmly into the small of your back. 

A gentle laugh rumbled through his chest and into you, as you called him out, his hand turning to massage his knuckles along the perfect spot and eliciting an even dirtier-sounding moan from your lips. 

“You jerk… Why are you so good at this..?” you sighed blissfully as your back cracked with a satisfying pop. 

“What? At making you moan..?” your boyfriend teased, “Just had a lot of practice I guess… You know how dedicated I am to my craft,” He laughed as he kissed your shoulder’s warming skin, and snuck his hands lower… 

You snorted, gently thwapping his arm… “Alright, big guy, behave yourself… I’m too sick for your kinda ‘cold remedy’ today “ 

A beaming grin spread across his face as he wrapped his arms firmly around your middle, his stubble rubbing against your face as he kissed your temple. “I’ll behave, I’ll behave..” he mumbled against your hairline, lips staying pressed against your soft skin. 

A quiet moment passed where you two lay with nothing but comfortable silence between you. All kidding and jokes fell by the wayside as soft kisses passed beneath the blankets from body to body 

A warm smile pulled at your lips as you closed your tired eyes, “Thank you for taking care of me today, Buck…. Always really. I can't imagine how miserable I’d be without you.” You laid your heart bare, appreciation evident in your voice. “I’m so lucky I have you,” you pressed another kiss to his stubbly skin, “I love you, Bucky.” 

“I love you too, Doll. More than you’ll ever know.”

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Taglist: @writingmysanity

It's been a while since I've written for Bucky (almost a year), so if I've missed you/you want to be added to the taglist, DM me to let me know!

[bellaxgiornata]

Do you have any tips for fast and efficient writing? I’m always impressed with how quickly and consistently you seem to churn out good quality chapters. Occasionally, I get “in the zone” and manage to really stay on top of my updates, but other times, it feels like pulling teeth. I worry that I sometimes sacrifice quality just to be able to put out an update. I want to stay consist for my readers, but that requires about 4000 to 5000 words a week, which is tough for me on top of a full time job! Any suggestions?

Oh, this is a good question! And thank you, I'm glad to hear you think my stories are consistent and of good quality! I will say that what works for me probably isn't always going to work for others, and I'm also aware that I'm in a unique position of being a stay at home mom. So when kids nap, I get free time to write. When my toddler starts preschool next week and the baby naps, if I've finished my adulting chores for the day, I get to write. Usually y'all don't have those opportunities at work--especially not daily. I'll also sometimes write in the evening before bed if I'm really feeling it (though while pregnant I had been too tired to do that for months). Honestly a lot of it depends on how much time you are able to write, and for me, I do actually spend quite a few hours a week writing and editing. Probably a lot more than people realize...

I'll put the rest of my response below the cut though because I know this is going to be long!

The first thing I did that really helped me keep churning out updates was to stop requiring myself to reach a minimum word count for them. I don't write with the pressure of needing to reach a specific amount per chapter, rather I focus on what needs to happen in an update. If the draft seemed a bit short, I'd come back later and edit in more detail or dialogue or another scene or something that fit and it usually filled things a little more without seeming unnecessary. Removing that pressure of reaching a specific word count really helps I think. And 4,000-5,000 words a week with a full time job is honestly a lot to plan out, write, and then edit consistently!

Secondly, I have multiple stories to work on. Now I definitely don't recommend this because then you'll get overwhelmed, but I do often hit a block in a fic sometimes and instead of just writing something I don't like and posting it or completely stepping away and not writing, I write something else. It keeps me in the habit of doing it so that I don't just suddenly stop. But obviously, I can't consistently update the same fics over and over, I tend to jump around. I think what might be better is maybe taking a step away and working on a one shot or something if you're struggling with a scene or a chapter. For me, sometimes what I need to write in a story is not what I'm feeling at the moment--angst, fluff, smut, whatever--and so I go write something I am feeling instead. Usually that helps unblock what's in my head, especially if I want to write smut for example, but the characters in the story I'm writing cannot realistically have me throw that in at that point.

Lastly, I think taking the pressure off of yourself to update on a schedule might be helpful. I know, it's hard to not update regularly and you might feel like you're disappointing readers, but we aren't getting paid for this. If you start pressuring yourself, you're going to burn yourself out and fanfic won't be fun anymore. It'll feel like work. And who wants to spend their free time working with no pay? So if you can get a nice long chapter up every week for a bit, but then suddenly you're struggling and it takes a few weeks for an update? That's okay. Your readers will still be here. And new ones will always appear if some have moved on.

Honestly I think as writers we put a lot of pressure on ourselves to consistently post, but it's not realistic. Like I said, I'm in a unique position of often finding moments to write because of what I do for work. That's not the norm for everyone. I struggle to update fics sometimes myself, which is why you might see some stories go months without an update, but I just update other things in the meantime. But if I only had one story, you'd definitely see me having weeks where nothing comes out because the words for that just aren't coming or they're not coming out right.

Hopefully some of this helped at all! But really, I think removing the pressure of writing is the biggest issue to tackle. Whether its your posting schedule or your word count, the pressure really gets to you. Especially if you're reaching the day you might usually post and you don't have something you feel is ready, then maybe you start to stress or panic and are rushing to get something done. That's just not fun though! Fanfic should be fun!

[nerdieforpedro]

Weekend Update 03/03/2024

Hello! This update will be a bit shorter than others. Due to school and other things I haven't written or read as much as I normally do. In fact, I'll need to push back one of my series because the outline for it doesn't look right at all. 🥸 I'm feeling more moody and my smut fairy is back. Not that I can't write fluff, it's just in shorter bursts. To sum up:

Two Hearts by the Ocean will be delayed by a week or two (hopefully I can get the outline to cooperate with ideas).

Roc & Doc is updated less regularly so it's not affected.

March Spring Prompts are ongoing. I've been keeping them under 1k so shouldn't be any issues there. I did several of them ahead of time so I'm working on the last 2/3's of the month. I think. There's 10 or 11 done currently. Ugh math.

Florida Heat and Foul Play are both smut so they're safe.

Weddings 101 with Dieter should be fine as well considering what I planned for the next chapter. Not sure when it will be out.

The Lake between us is still on schedule. (Out later today I believe and then bi-monthly.)

Diddle Disco Dieter is being beta read, so maybe this week.

Follow up to a Din Djarin one shot I did still pending. It doesn't have the right feel yet.

I'm also tinkering with a Javier Pena series and a Frankie Morales series as well.

Nerdie, you think maybe, you might have too many projects?

I'm not understanding what you're saying. 😙 Or maybe I do. I have been thinking about cutting back but then my brain says, 'No. Why? It's fine. Motivation comes and goes but your need to write is forever. Also, we can't just leave these ideas in here. They'll turn into cobwebs."

We...nevermind. Carry on.

Now for what you really came for, fic recommendations! 🥰 Make sure to check warnings before you read. 😎

Hot in the Hotel by @musings-of-a-rose Dieter Bravo with himself. (The mind is a wonderful thing. Also pro tip: accents). 😍

It's Leading me on every time we Touch by @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin (Poe Dameron x f. reader)

Aquarius by @magpiepills (Javier Pena x f. reader)

Private Chef Joel by @bluemusickid (Joel Miller x plus size f reader)

Hunger by @morallyinept (Pero Tovar x f. reader)

Hush by @dincrypt (Din Djarin x reader)

En El Mar by @magpiepills (Javier Gutierrez x f reader)

En El Mar by @magpiepills (Joel Miller x f. reader)

Lie to Me by @morallyinept (Javier Pena x reader)

Night Walks by @toxicanonymity (Joel Miller x f reader)

Feel Good by @charethcutestrory02 (Frankie Morales x Benny Miller)

Keep It by @jksprincess10 (Marcus Pike x reader)

Second Chances part 1 by @pedroscurls (Marcus Pike x f reader)

To the Flame chapter 6, chapter 7 and chapter 8 by @pedroshotwifey (dark Javier Pena x f reader)

Sorry by @secretelephanttattoo (Frankie Morales x f reader)

Bat & Al’s Hidden Treasure Fic Rec List by @magpiepills and @schnarfer

Stay safe and happy reading everyone! 🤗

Love Nerdie ❤️

[vintagesuga]

Surprise Shawty - K.Taehyun

Genre: fluff

Pairings: Kang Taehyun x Gn!reader

Warnings: none

a/n: Happiest of birthdays to pookie. Just a little something cute for his bday. I'm not entirely happy with the ending, but 🤷🏻‍♀️. Also, not proofread!!

“Happy birthday!” Your cheery voice immediately greets Taehyun. Although he would rather have you here in person, a call would have to do.

“Thank you, honey.” Even though he heard your voice yesterday, Taehyun couldn't help but smile so brightly.

Phone calls. That’s become a staple these past few months, and regularly scheduled facetimes. With you being in the States and Taehyun being in Korea, the time zones were the biggest hurdle. It was currently 5:26 pm. on February 4th in Seattle, but for Taehyun, it was 10:26 am. on the 5th. It took some time to process the difference, but honestly, he'd consider himself an expert by now.

“How are your studies going?” Taehyun shifted in his seat, finding the best spot to hunker down. He was in a meeting room, using it for privacy while you two talked.

“There all right. I finished that paper I was talking about yesterday.” He heard shuffling on your end. No doubt you are getting comfy in bed. “But that's boring. What do you have planned for today?”

“Dance practice, and I think the guys wanted to take me out for dinner.” His eyes scanned over the barren room, a frown forming on his face. “I wanted to spend the day with you, though.”

“I really did try Tae,” you were quiet for a moment, “all the earliest flights were filled.”

“I know. I’m not upset, we can just do something when you visit.” The two of you continued to talk for a while longer. Just mindless conversation about anything and everything.

“I’ll let you get to sleep, hon. It’s getting late over there.” Taehyun spoke softly. You’d been quiet for a while, so he thought you might have already fallen asleep. He heard you hum before saying goodbye. Taehyun sighed. The long distance was really beginning to upset him. He couldn’t complain, though. You were only going to be gone for another 3 months.

For the past 9 months you had been living in Seattle, Washington, your course offered you a chance to study abroad for a year. Taehyun had been the one to convince you to go, saying how it was a great opportunity for you. Now he was feeling a bit lonely, though. You had never spent more than a few months apart.

Taehyun walked back to the practice room, and his mood only slightly improved. Talking with you always had that effect on him, lifting his sour moods with ease. He took up his previous spot, catching up with the others quickly. Joking and playing around like usual, Taehyun let himself be distracted. His mind focuses on the dance patterns rather than the hole in his chest.

Suddenly, the whole practice room was plunged into darkness. Soobin is the culprit standing by the light switch with a huge grin on his face. Yeonjun and Kai started the tone deaf symphony, Beomgyu grabbing hold of Taehyun’s shoulders. The room was filled with a poorly orchestrated happy birthday song, one of the staff members carrying the cake in. He smiled, letting everyone crowd around him. Once they finished, he closed his eyes, blowing out the candles. When he opened them, they had yet to turn back on the lights, Beomgyu had moved from behind Taehyun to behind the staff member. He was shaking the poor soul by the shoulders while everyone stood around them. Kai was trying his best not to burst out laughing.

Finally, someone had turned the lights on, the room flooded by the bright fluorescent lights. Taehyun squinted a bit before turning to thank everyone. The boys all had similar looks on their faces, all of them grinning widely at Tae. He thought nothing of it until he turned to take the cake. He paused. Then, the most blinding, humongous smile broke out on his face.

“Suprise!” You said through a laugh. Yeonjun quickly took the cake out of your hands only seconds before you were crushed between Taehyun’s arms.

“You made it!” Taehyun’s words were muffled as he spoke into your neck. “But I thought you couldn’t catch a flight?”

“We bought their ticket a while back.” Beomgyu spoke up from somewhere behind you. A shit eating grin on his face. Kai had finally dissolved into nothing but incoherent noises on the floor, clutching his sides.

“You're welcome, by the way!” Yeonjun piped up from next to you both. A huge smile plastered onto his face as well. They all were just as happy to see you as Taehyun, but of course, his hugs came first.

Soobin had his priorities figured out as he munched on the cake. Sitting criss-crossed as he watched the cute reunion. Practice was soon forgotten as all six of you started chatting and catching up. Taehyun’s hand practically fused to your own, not letting you travel too far away from him. He couldn’t be happier. He had missed you, seeing you through a screen just not cutting it anymore.

He settled you into his lap as you continued your discussion with Beomgyu. His arms wrapped around your middle as he laid his chin on your shoulder. When Beomgyu shifted his attention to Soobin, Taehyun took his chance, placing a tender kiss on your cheek. “Thank you.”

“It’s them you should be thanking. Yeonjun bought my ticket, Kai made sure I got here safely. Beomgyu paid for my hotel room, not wanting to ruin the surprise by letting me stay at my place. Soobin is the one who got you the next two days off.” You turned your head in Taehyun’s direction.

“Why can't you stay at your place?” He chuckled an amused smile forming on his face.

“Dude I don't know. He gave me this big speech that, honestly, I wasn't listening to.” You laughed, leaning back into Taehyun's chest.

This was the best birthday present he could have ever asked for.

©️vintagesuga Do not repost.

[keouil]

we are each our own culture alive

it takes a village to convince oikawa to do a bake sale with shiratorizawa. 5k. seijoh/shiratorizawa. fluff. also on ao3.

“Absolutely not.”

Iwaizumi groans. “I’m not even done—”

“Nope! No! Negative!” Oikawa shakes his head woefully from side to side, stubbornly crossing his arms over his chest. “Absolutely not and under no circumstances and over my dead body and—”

“Oi Shittykawa,” Iwaizumi cuts him off harshly. “At least let me finish first, will you?”

“What is there to finish, Iwa-chan?” Oikawa blinks at him innocently. “Captain meeting adjourned! Morning practice commence!”

Except no one moves from their spot.

They all stay rooted in a circle around Oikawa and Iwaizumi, watching their two captains verbally spar for the past hour. Mattsun and Makki both looked three lifetimes done with it. The second years just look amused. The first years look like they’d rather bury themselves into a hole than be caught in their tug of war, fully knowing Iwaizumi is the logical, practical, safe choice if and when it comes to a divorce; but that Oikawa would also likely blow up the entire school if he knew his first years had favourites that wasn’t him.

He often liked wielding them against Iwaizumi sometimes, also knowing full well how particular Iwaizumi got in treating the first years with as much patience and delicacy as possible. 

Case in point:

“Kindaichi-chan,” Oikawa calls out suddenly, gesturing for the nervous first-year who’d so far been looking back and forth between them looking torn. “I think our Iwa-chan here woke up on the wrong side of the bed and lost all his basic comprehension skills. A pity, but what can we do. Can you read aloud the text I sent the team group chat before practice?”

Kindaichi looks like he’d rather shove rocks into his mouth. He glances around nervously for an out, making pleading eyes at Kunimi next to him who has damned him all to hell by finding the floor so damn interesting all of a sudden, until his gaze finally lands on—thank God—one of his other senpais. 

“M-makki-s-senpai—”

Oikawa is quick to end his lifeline with a too maniacal grin. “Oh, no, Kindaichi-chan!” he tsks, blocking his view, the hand on his shoulder gripping him a little too tight for comfort. “They can’t save you now. No one can. Isn’t that right, Makki? Mattsun?”

“Leave the kid alone, Oikawa,” sighs Mattsun heavily, far too like a middle-aged corporate slave than someone in their last year of highschool.

“How about you leave all of us out of this marriage spat you guys are having,” Makki levels Oikawa and Iwaizumi a scathing look. “Some of us just want to play volleyball for God’s sake.”

Oikawa ignores all of them. He just smiles at Kindaichi expectantly, gesturing at his phone, waiting.

The third years groan some more.

Kindaichi clears his throat once, twice.

“T-to my lovely S-seijoh,” he starts shakily. “A t-treason has been reported in A-aoba Johsai. I-I repeat: a treason has been r-reported—”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Iwaizumi swears under his breath.

“Be quiet, Iwa-chan!” Oikawa hisses at him. “Don’t silence the boy!”

Kindaichi darts his eyes back and forth between them for a moment before continuing, still shaky.

“I-I’ve just been informed t-that our once honorable and e-exemplary team now h-has a traitor in our m-midst. W-who, y–you might ask? Well, c-color your captain shocked, i-it’s none other than our p-precious Iwa-chan himself!” 

Kindaichi tries reading it with the same kind of villanistic enthusiasm he thinks Oikawa wanted to project, but instead it just comes across quite pitiful and floundery. Half the team can’t even look at him properly, Yahaba shaking his head dejectedly. 

“Y-Your dependable vice-captain, a good shoulder to cry on f-for when Yuda gets into a-another one of his regularly scheduled m-mental breakdowns a-and a reliable senpai for when K-kunimi inevitably fails another exam by sleeping right through it, i-is disappointingly, b-but unsurprisingly not as upstanding as we all thought he w-was.”

Kindaichi glances around the room nervously. Passive faces, bored faces, amused faces; and ever consistent, the same saccharine smile from Oikawa and the same leering expression from Iwaizumi. Clearing the lump in his throat, he continues in a clearer voice. 

“And I know, I know; everyone’s curious, you all have your questions. How can the great Iwa-chan who has known Oikawa-senpai all his life from basically the sandbox betray his trust so easily just like that? What ever could have happened?” this Kindaichi says with a dramatic infliction, earning him a thumbs up from Oikawa and a look of what could only be described as pure disgust from Kunimi. 

“Well, my lovely and adorable kouhai and Yuda, I’ll tell you what happened,” he continues. “The day your lovely captain had a physical exam scheduled and was absent for the day, someone from an affluent but assuredly fraudulent good-for-nothing-but-raising-horses school representative approached our coach for a potential collaboration. Coach Mizoguchi, obviously bearing no consideration and regard for me whatsoever since I accidentally spiked that ball into his face a few months ago, signed off on this potential collaboration and urged said representative to also get the captain to sign. Do you see where I’m going with this, my lovely Seijoh? Do you see the picture I’m trying to lay out for you all?”

Iwaizumi makes a noise of contempt. Kindaichi hears someone threatening him to shut his mouth, probably Oikawa, probably Makki, probably both.

“While your captain was out there being poked to death, your vice-captain just signed us off on a day of forced co-habitation with the very same people who have prevented us from going farther than we ever should. He has so liberally and without remorse, signed us all off to our deaths so now we’re not just forced to mingle with the thieves of our glory, but also pretend any of us have even the slightest idea on what the difference between a pastry brush and a paintbrush is. And so when you’re knee-deep in mixing sticky dough as we inevitably sweat to our deaths in the Tokyo heat like subway rats, I urge you all to remember, my lovely Seijoh: that it was your vice-captain that put us all there in the first place.”

Kindaichi finishes, breathless and a little ran through. Yahaba passes him a bottle of water, expertly maneuvering him away from the Oikawa-Iwaizumi Region of Marital Spat and safely tucked him behind Kyotani and some of the other second years.

Iwaizumi doesn’t even bat an eye at all this. “You done now?”

Oikawa huffs, repugnant and even more annoyed at the desired effect not reaching its target audience. “Tch.”

Mattsun is the one who pieces things together from the Shakespearean monologue, and once he does, looks unbelievingly at Iwaizumi. 

“A goddamn bake sale,” he deadpans. “We’re doing a goddamn bake sale with Shiratorizawa?”

Iwaizumi nods. “Just until we reach our goal for next year.”

“If the coaches already agreed to this,” Makki furrows his brows, glaring at Oikawa. “What are you still yapping about?”

Oikawa has his mouth open to retort and cry crocodile tears again, but Iwaizumi beats him to it. “Shiratorizawa offered us a ride on their bus.”

“Okay,” Kyotani nods along with the rest. “And what’s the issue with that?”

“The issue with that, Mad Dog-chan,” Oikawa almost hisses at him, unused to being silenced. “Is that not only do we have a perfectly serviceable bus available to us at any time here in Aoba Johsai, but that by riding in Shiratorizawa’s bus, it also means riding with Shiratorizawa.”

A beat of silence.

“I still don’t see what the issue is,” Kyotani presses.

“The issue is that Ushikawa is a soul-stealing, youth-ending, glory-thieving, absolute behemoth of a man! He’ll crush our spirits before we even get to Tokyo!” Oikawa insists, almost yelling. 

Makki picks up his phone. “Yes, hello, Shakespeare?” he says. “Your lead actor has been isekai-ed as Japanese.”

Oikawa doesn’t relent. “He probably doesn’t even know the first thing about baking!”

Iwaizumi scoffs. “And you do?”

“No, but you do, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa quips back easily, waving him off. “And we’re basically a package deal so remember to do good in representing us both. Yahaba and Kyotani can cook, too.”

“Ushijima was the one who extended the offer to ride with them,” Iwaizumi reminds him. “He didn’t have to but he did. He really doesn’t sound that bad.”

“To you,” Oikawa mumbles, looking away and huffing and pouting. “He’s not the president of the Oikawa Toru Is Not A Genius Fanclub for no reason…”

“We’ve debunked that like three times already,” Mattsun runs a frustrated hand through his hair. “That’s not and never was a thing. It’s all in your head.”

“It’ll be fine,” Iwaizumi assures him, clamping a hand on Oikawa’s shoulder. “If either of you end up killing each other, then that just means none of us are going to Nationals.”

-

The bus ride to Tokyo, however, is decidedly not fine.

As soon as the Shiratorizawa VBC bus sign came to view—Oikawa made Kindaichi stand by the entrance to wait in the sweltering Sendai heat, much to Iwaizumi’s annoyance—most of the Seijoh members’ anticipation had died down into a pale imitation of casual resignedness. The idea of sitting in an air-conditioned bus for eight hours was far more enticing than backing up their captain’s one-sided dispute with a rival team that is, for the most part, self-inflicted and unrequited. Most of them were cordial with the Shiratorizawa members, maybe even friendly.

Most of them except, of course, Oikawa.

“Oikawa,” Ushijima began as soon as they stepped on the bus, standing up from his seat to greet him. “Thank you for—”

“Hear something, Iwa-chan?” Oikawa looks around dramatically, feigning ignorance and very pointedly looking anywhere but the man literally standing before him. “Sounds like loser to me!”

Iwaizumi ignores him and tells Ushijima as much, “Just ignore him.” He glances around apologetically at the rest of the Shiratorizawa team as they make their way along the aisle. “He gets cranky when he doesn’t get enough sleep.”

“Oh,” Ushijima says, slightly frowning. “I am sorry to hear that. Adequate sleep and nutrition is important for athletes. I hope you get enough rest on this trip.”

Oikawa looks positively affronted at the words coming out of his mouth. But of course, he’s never going to acknowledge that, and so Iwaizumi does instead. 

“Thank you, Ushijima-san,” he says genuinely. “We’ll try not to make too much noise.”

Tendou, beside Ushijima, waves him off easily. “No worries, no worries,” he beams. “We don’t have a lot of first years for Goshiki to play around with, and truth be told, I think he needs to socialize with more people his age.”

Oikawa and Iwaizumi trace his line of vision to a few rows behind them. Goshiki was busy gesturing animatedly at something on his phone to Kunimi who was looking on in interest, Kindaichi enthusiastically nodding along to whatever’s on screen.  

Oikawa looks torn between softening that his first years are finally interacting with people outside their anti-social two-man bubble, and horrified that it just had to be with someone from Shiratorizawa. 

Instead he settles for a cough, still decidedly looking at anyone but Ushijima who looked uncharacteristically less intense looking back at their first years. 

“Well,” Oikawa raises his chin stubbornly. “I guess Goshiki-chan is the lesser evil of you guys.”

Iwaizumi smacks him over the head. “Don’t say that!”

“What?” Oikawa hisses back at him, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s true!”

“That’s not the point—”

Tendou raises a hand to stop them both. “It’s okay,” he says, voice still lilting and the smile in his eyes still present. “It’s true. Goshiki is the best of us. Even our ace here agrees. Right, Wakatoshi-kun?”

Ushijima, much to Oikawa’s utter shock, does exactly that. Nod his head along. Without a hint of malice or sarcasm or holier-than-thou attitude. 

Ushijima actually acknowledging himself to be inferior and responding to basic social cues? Oikawa notes all of this in alarm, this realization only leading up to one thing in his one track mind: The world is ending.

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa hisses under his breath, yanking him forward. “They’re plotting something. Grab the first years. We still have time. We can take the bloody shinkansen to Tokyo if we have to—”

“Oh good lord,” Iwaizumi just sighs, dragging him with him instead to the last few seats at the back and forcing him down on it. “Just shut up and get some sleep, Shittykawa. You will not be the cause of terror for anyone on this 8-hour road trip.”

-

“What do you guys think about a boyfriend rental service?”

“A what?” Semi shrieks, wrist-deep in cookie dough batter. 

Ohira slaps a face mask on him before flicking his forehead. “Safety first, you idiot!” he scolds. “Don’t get spit all over the dough!”

They’re in one of the community center’s various kitchens, baking and molding and kneading and cooking. Several of the members have been assigned different tasks, all of them scattered around the area like worker bees flocking from one table to another. Yahaba and Watari look skeptically into the bowl Semi was in charge of, none of them brave enough to point out that the lumps were still lumping after half an hour of Semi’s amateur and lazy kneading. 

Tendou takes pity on them and shoves Semi out of the way. “Sorry, what was that?” he turns to Goshiki. “A what service?”

“A boyfriend rental service,” Goshiki explains, using the back of his hand to wipe away the flour on his forehead. “I overheard some girls in my class talking about it at lunch the other day. It’s supposed to be an easy way to get cash as fast as possible, like those maid cafes popular here in Tokyo.”

“What do you know about maid cafes?” Soekawa asks at the same time Mattsun clicks his tongue disappointingly, “You guys let your first year watch too much anime.”

Goshiki blinks. “I—” he doesn’t even know where to start, who to address first. “I—”

“I think it’s a great idea!” Tendou pipes up, holding a bowl steady as Yahaba sifts through flour. “Tokyo has a good market for this too! We can do a buy-ten-get-a-free-date package deal! Or do an auction on who can pay the highest for one!”

Now it was Iwaizumi’s turn to get flustered. “Sorry, what's happening?” 

Semi considers this with a hand on his chin. “That’s actually not a bad idea,” he nods along, eyes lighting up. “One member each team then? Ours will have to be Wakataoshi, of course.”

“Of course,” parrots Ohira, and surprisingly, Mattsun. 

They all look towards Ushijima expectantly, leaning by one of the cabinets. He was still trying to level his breathing after carrying majority of the ingredients up five flights of stairs. He gives them a casual, one-shoulder shrug.

Good enough.

“Who are we pimping out, boss?” Kyotani slides an arm around Iwaizumi’s shoulder, overhearing the conversation and immediately dropping the stack of potatoes he was ordered to clean and pawning it off to Kindaichi. “I wouldn’t mind scoring a few dates myself,” he finishes, smirking.

Iwaizumi shoves his head away. “No minors,” he declares. “It will have to be Oikawa, then. He won’t mind.”

“That’s settled then?” Tendou peers around the room, murmurs of agreement and half-hearted efforts to volunteer themselves instead—namely Semi and Kyotani—all being harshly shut down by Ohira and Iwaizumi. Oikawa was somewhere by the front, reading off a recipe to Goshiki who was painstakingly following each step much to his amusement. “This is going to be good.”

“But, Tendou—” Ushijima turns to face him, frowning. “I’m—”

Tendou is quick to pat his back, smiling in that carefree way. “All good.”

Ushijima scans his face for a few seconds. “Okay.”

Iwaizumi, halfway through picking up a box of food coloring from the pantry, watches all of it unfold. 

-

“They’re making Tobio do what?”

Goshiki sputters a little, unused to the sudden attention. “Um—ah—” he begins, inching closer to Semi. “Hinata told me they’re planning to offer their first 30 customers a free picture with him. Or Kuroo. Still undecided.”

“But—” Oikawa frowns. “Tobio is like, what, twelve.”

“He’s sixteen, Oikawa, god,” Iwaizumi flushes, facepalming. “He is literally the same year as Kindaichi and Kunimi!”

“Who are also like twelve,” Oikawa gestures impatiently. “What's your point? They’re all children as far as I’m concerned.”

“Not to Kuroo,” Makki snorts in amusement, shifting the chairs around in the community hall. “That man puts snake oil salesmen to shame.”

“Their captain disapproves of this, right?” Oikawa turns to Iwaizumi, still frowning. “Sure his receives are shit and he’s basically raising the next generation of Satan worshippers, but he didn’t seem like the type to exploit his first years like that?”

Goshiki looks over at his phone again. “Hinata just texted me. Suga-san apparently put his foot down and, he quotes, There is absolutely no way in hell you are letting this child show a sliver of skin or so help me God, Kuroo, you will barely make it out alive when I’m done skinning yours.”

“Refreshing-kun?” Oikawa arches a brow, impressed. “Damn. Okay. At least someone in that team is using their head right.”

“I did not know you knew the Karasuno setter well,” Ushijima remarks offhandedly. “You appear concerned.”

Oikawa snaps out of it just like that. 

“I am not,” he insists, huffing as he storms his way back to the kitchen, ignoring all the amused looks from Seijoh and ordering Goshiki to follow him. “I don’t know that boy at all! I’ve never heard of a Kageyama Tobio in my life!”

Even Ushijima didn’t look convinced.

-

Tendou is, surprisingly, not the best at this.

“Iwa-kun~” Tendou coos, peering down at the glistening melon pans Iwaizumi just brought into the hall. “I didn’t know you were such a good cook!”

“Thanks, I think,” Iwaizumi places the tray on the table. “But no, I’m not a good cook. I’m just an only child who had 2 full-time working parents growing up.”

“Huh,” Tendou muses, strolling over to his side as they start gently transferring melon pans into containers. “What do you know? I’m an only child too.”

They were a few hours away from opening, just a few last minute touches left to iron out.

Oikawa and Ushijima were somewhere by the entrance, arguing about which strategy was best to entice as many auctioneers as possible. They will come either way, Ushijima argued. Easy for the Olympian to say! hissed Oikawa. Goshiki and Kindaichi were busy mopping the floor spotless, literally spotless, going so far as to get down on their knees to pick at every miniscule speckle of dirt that ultimately Ohira puts his foot down and drags them off the floor. Semi was decorating cupcakes with Kunimi, both of them amazingly adept at forming ribbon icings.

The rest of the team were existing in a surprisingly amicable fashion, none of them have so far threatened to kill the other over so much as breathing the wrong way.

With what Goshiki has been updating them from time to time about Karasuno and Nekoma’s bake sale the next building over, they were surprisingly off to a good—maybe even great—start.

Tendou gestures at one of the more deformed melon pans, from Iwaizumi’s earlier test batch with Shirabu that didn’t make the cut. “Do you mind?” he reaches for a napkin. “Goshiki’s about to get upset soon if he doesn’t get a treat around this time. Growing boys and their sweets.”

Iwaizumi gestures for him to go ahead. “My boys are the same,” he agrees. “Tobio once bought out an entire shelf of milk yoghurt and refused to share it with Kindaichi. We had to put them both on time-out for a week.”

Tendou raises a brow. “I thought that freak setter was in Karasuno?”

“He is, and Oikawa will never admit it,” Iwaizumi sighs. “But he basically taught the kid everything he knows. Next time you play against them, watch out for Kageyama and how he moves. He’s basically Oikawa’s protege.”

“Huh,” Tendou muses. “Well what do you know? Wakatoshi said the exact same thing.”

-

"Slowly, Makki! You're gonna gauge my eyes out!"

Makki makes a face. "Shut up! I'm not an expert in this!” he lines the eyeliner dangerously closer to his eye. “Aren't you the one with the sister?"

"There's only so many things I can do and am already doing," Oikawa drones on, bringing a small mirror up to his face and fixing his bangs for the nth time. Makki very nearly nicks him in the eye with all his constant shuffling about. 

"Just do it slowly,” Oikawa tells him. “And make sure to accentuate the wing. I hear cat eyes are all the rave nowadays, Goshiki-chan told me so."

Semi and Shirabu snap their heads at Goshiki, accusing.

“I did no such thing!” shrieks Goshiki, hiding behind Kindaichi, who had been holding up said vanity mirror for the past half hour his hands were starting to shake.

Semi shakes his head, shuffling his attention back to Oikawa and Makki perched on the makeshift vanity they set up in the kitchen. "Is that—" he gestures vaguely at the scene. "Do we also have to—"

"You think Ushijima-san is letting us put eyeliner on him willingly?" Shirabu shrieks.

“Does he even need it?” Semi asks. “He already looks intimidating enough.”

"Someone does need to coach him on what to say," Shirabu reminds them. "Or else he's just going to make a girl cry again."

Semi snaps his fingers. "Goshiki," he starts. "You're popular with girls, right?"

Goshiki wants to tell them that being able to hold a conversation with another human being that just so happens to be female and just so happens to not be related to volleyball is a very low bar for what constitutes as popular these days, but he so rarely had personal wins in a team as Spartan as his, and so takes the win whenever he can.

"I—" Goshiki steps out from Kindaichi’s shadow slowly, clearing his throat. "I-I get letters, yes." 

From family, Hinata, a middle school classmate he’s sure is only sucking up to him because of his close connection with Ushijima; but letters nonetheless. No one needs to know.

“Great,” Shirabu rounds on him, looking far too diabolical for his taste. “You get to be the one to school our captain on Social Etiquette 101 this time. And please don’t die before you do, we still need another ace for next year and Yunohama is still shit at receiving.”

-

They make their goal within the hour. Another half hour in, they’ve made it twice over.

Oikawa is only more than happy to be the center of such undivided attention, all the oohs and ahhs from nearly every corner of the gym aimed towards him just fueling his narcissism higher and higher.

Well. Nearly every corner.

“Ushijima-san!”

“Wow, an actual Olympian!”

“He’s even taller than I imagined! And that jaw!”

“Let’s get his autograph!”

Oikawa’s hold on the pen he was gripping was growing tighter and tighter, the smile on his face straining by the second. The girl waiting for his autograph was blissfully oblivious to his growing dissent.

“Makki,” Oikawa hisses under his breath, painstakingly writing out his autograph line by line. If the ink bled through the paper a little too much when he handed it over, the girl doesn’t notice and bounces happily away. “Blush. Give me more blush.”

Makki in turn is only too happy to assault his face with even more powdery, glittery, shiny things that by the end he looks more like a children’s doll given to a child that had a seriously disturbing and inaccurate image of what a doll should look like.

Iwaizumi eyes him knowingly.

“What?” Makki shrugs. “This is how my sister does it.”

“Your sister needs therapy,” Mattsun notes, peering closer into Oikawa’s face to look over his highlight. “Or Oikawa is just really, really ugly not even make-up can save him.”

Oikawa bats Makki’s hands away that were getting a little too pecky and not dabby. “Alright enough!” he hushes them. “Makki, I swear, if I look like that goddamn Annabelle doll your sister loves watching—”

“I,” Makki breathes out slowly, clutching the blush brush closer to his chest to resist the urge to poke someone’s eyes with it. “Am doing my best.”

“And how wonderfully you do it, Makki-kun!” strolls in Tendou all of a sudden, leaving behind a scent trail of freshly baked bread and apple pie. “Looking good, Oikawa-san!”

“Well that’s not good,” Oikawa remarks in alarm. “Not good at all. I’m not trusting the opinion of someone who dyes their hair red. Willingly.”

“He does rock the red,” Mattsun says offhandedly.

“That he does,” Makki readily agrees.

“Me now!” Oikawa cries out. “Attention on me! I’m the one in crisis!”

Yahaba sighs, already regretting having to ask, “How do you figure that?”

Oikawa looks at Kunimi. “Kunimi,” he says. “What’s the tally?” 

Kunimi rolls his eyes exasperatedly before bringing up a wad of paper, haphazard numbers scribbled in. “About ¥57,000 for you so far. Ushijima-san at ¥60,000.”

Oikawa gestures wildly, maniacally, unhingedly as if everyone was supposed to get it and be as infuriated as he was. Iwaizumi thinks he must’ve inhaled too much hair spray earlier and the fumes got to his head. Wouldn’t be the first time.

“See!?” Oikawa whines, voice rising an octave. “See what I mean?! We’re behind on our goal!”

“We’ve already made our goal, you glutton,” Makki pokes his head with the brush. “Twice over. You and Ushijima alone brought in enough money to last both teams a year.”

Oikawa doesn’t even care about that, and tells them as much, “I don’t care about all that,” he declares. “The goal is to beat Ushijima’s numbers. We’re getting that extra ¥3,000 yen or so help me God I’ll have all of you do suicide runs every day for a year.”

A number of groans are all he gets in response. 

None of it fazes Oikawa in the slightest.

“Am I at least prettier than Tobio?” Oikawa turns to face his team properly, hands on his hips. “Tell me honestly. I won’t be mad.”

Oikawa makes the mistake of looking at Iwaizumi first.

Iwaizumi makes the mistake of not hiding his grimace fast enough.

Oikawa gasps. “No,” he bemoans, whipping his head around to look for anything reflective. “No, no, no. Tell me I’m at least prettier than Tobio. Tell me that at least. Good grief, Kindaichi, bring the mirror.”

Kindaichi is jolted back into action, already making to sprint back to the community hall, before Mattsun and Makki plant a hand down each of his shoulders. 

“You look fine, you fool,” Makki rolls his eyes.

Kindaichi raises a hand hesitantly. “I-I think you look great, Oikawa-san!”

Mattsun promptly shoves it back down. “You also think his cooking is good,” he murmurs. “Nevermind all of us got food poisoning that one week he made us bentos.”

Iwaizumi hears another round of excited yelps in the distance and decides he’s had enough of this.

“Quit yapping,” Iwaizumi storms over to grab the back of Oikawa’s uniform forcefully, dragging them back to the activity area. A new group of girls were already making their way over to Ushijima. “You could wear a garbage bag over your head and these people will still think you’re the second coming of Christ with that K-pop hair. Now smile, pretty boy, we have Nationals to fund.”

-

The bus ride back to Sendai is surprisingly pleasant.

Iwaizumi expected, much like he does in matches, for the adrenaline that powered them through most of the day to die down as soon as everything blew over. For nearly 10 hours, they’ve been on their feet cooking and baking and entertaining and even sometimes acting as bodyguards for when some of the customers got a little too frisky with any of their captains. Goshiki and Kindaichi, in particular, took it upon themselves to trail after them like dogs with a bone. Ushijima looked used to it, while Oikawa in full knowledge Kindaichi was never going to let him out of his sight no matter what he did, begrudgingly let himself be followed. 

All of their efforts in totality paid off, and well, what a pay-off indeed.

“Nearly ¥280,000 in total,” Shirabu gushed at them while they were cleaning up, taking it upon himself to be their treasurer. “And that’s not counting private donations from today, too.”

Oikawa looked only to be too happy in that revelation, smiling confidently at the knowledge he was able to secure that measly ¥3,000 yen in the end.

“That is good to hear,” Ushijima said, his measured tone expressing absolutely nothing of the sort. “We all did good today.”

But it was enough for Shiratorizawa. They clung to that single piece of feedback like fishes out of water, grinning to themselves and clapping each other on the back. Tendou congratulated Ushijima for his patience in dealing with as much people as he did, and it’s only then they actually saw a ghost of a smile grace his face.

“It couldn’t have been easy for him,” Mattsun observed, stacking chairs on top of each other while the rest put away tables. “Ushijima-san strikes me as someone uncomfortable with too many people around.”

If he was, Iwaizumi thinks back on it, then Ushijima handled everything with as much grace as possible. Shiratorizawa seemed to function in full knowledge of this, too; if any one of them being miraculously present whenever huge crowds form around Ushijima was any indication. Tendou, in particular, was almost always within distance. 

Iwaizumi doesn’t think much of it until he finds himself seated next to him on the bus, Oikawa and Ushijima forced by the coaches to sit and strategize on how best to divide and spend their earnings. 

“So,” Iwaizumi says, looking over at Tendou munching on leftover meringue cookies. “What was that about earlier?”

Tendou pops another cookie in his mouth before replying. “What was what?”

“The boyfriend rental thing,” Iwaizumi snags a few cookies into his palm at Tendou’s offering. “Am I mistaken or did..” he pauses, choosing his words carefully. “Did Ushijima actually ask permission from you?”

Tendou huffs a little laugh, still sweet and light as saccharine. “Who knows?” he looks over at Ushijima a few rows in front of them, in deep and—thankfully—mild conversation with Oikawa. “He’s not the best at reading the room sometimes, so he always tends to ask way more questions than normal.”

“I see,” Iwaizumi hums. “But why’d he have to ask you about it?”

Tendou shrugs casually, before saying just as indifferently, “Probably because of the boyfriend thing.”

“What boyfriend thing?"

“As in, that we’re a boyfriend thing.”

“What do you mean you’re a boyfriend thing.”

“I mean, we’re boyfriend and boyfriend.”

Iwaizumi almost chokes on the cookie he was chewing, sputtering about messily. Tendou is quick to offer him a water bottle, gently patting his back after. 

“W-what—” Iwaizumi coughs once, twice. “Y-you mean you guys are—”

“In a relationship? Together? Boning?” Tendou supplies, amusement dancing in his eyes.

Iwaizumi nods unsurely, still trying to get his throat to settle.

Tendou thinks fondly on the question. “We don’t have a label,” he finally says. “Truthfully, I don’t think we love the same way other people do, or even think of romance the way you expect to see it play out in traditional relationships. I don’t mean straight or gay or anything like that… just, love, I guess. As a person. As consideration. As loyalty.”

At the confused expression on Iwaizumi’s face, Tendou explains further, gently.

“I’m waiting for him to figure it out, and granted I could be totally wrong,” he leans in, making also Iwaizumi lean in. “But I think Wakatoshi is aromantic. Maybe even asexual. Doesn’t matter to me either way. Love for me, I think, is knowing at the end of the day I’ll have someone accept me unconditionally.”

Iwaizumi feels tongue tied. 

He can’t think of a single thing to say, still letting the words flow over him and sink himself into the gravity of exactly what Tendou is telling him. At what he’s still trying to figure out himself.

“Thank you for telling me,” is what Iwaizumi settles on first, and most importantly, on. When he feels like the gears on his head working again, looks on earnestly at him, and says seriously and genuinely: “You guys look happy together.”

The smile Tendou gives him then is nothing short of breathtaking. “That we are,” he grins. “And isn’t that all matters in the end?”

There is a stripe of sunlight cutting through the bus, Iwaizumi notes, that lands softly at the side of Oikawa’s face and dousing it just golden. And as if Oikawa can feel him looking, like he always did, flickers his eyes just briefly so at him; and winks. 

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi says, breathless like the wind. “This is all that matters.”

[mysecretlittlelibrary]

Weekends Ft. A Flower

Pairing: Dilf!Bucky Barnes x Teacher!Reader

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: literally none

Genre: just your regularly scheduled fluff

Summary: A weekend date with your boyfriend turns into an afternoon with his daughter too

***

You hum along to the music you're playing as you drive to Bucky's house for the afternoon. You'd made plans earlier in the week and you're honestly just excited to see him.

"What are you doing Saturday?" Bucky asked, on his call with you after work like most days.

"Probably just some grading. Nothing interesting planned." You hummed as you crawled into bed for the night.

"We should go to the aquarium. Steve told me they've expanded in the last year or so."

"Really? I think the last time I went to the aquarium was on a field trip we had a couple of years ago. I'd love to go. You live closer to the aquarium than I do so I'll come to yours and we can leave from there."

"Sounds great, how's 2 o'clock?"

"Perfect. I'll see you then." You smiled.

When you pull into Bucky's driveway it's just after 2 when you'd planned to meet. You take a moment to adjust your sundress and knock on the front door. A few moments later Bucky pulls the door open looking a little frantic.

"Hi! Sorry- nice to see you." He smiles with a huff.

"Hi, is everything okay?" You chuckle.

"I'm sorry, I should've called about this- Steve was supposed to take Lily out for the afternoon but his car broke down and he didn't let me know soon enough that I could take her down there so she's still here, up in her room." Bucky explains, running his hand through his hair.

"Well, since we're just going to the aquarium, we can bring her along if you'd like. I don't mind her spending the afternoon with us unless you'd rather reschedule for when someone can watch her." You offer.

"Really? You don't mind? It isn't weird to bring my daughter on a date?" He chuckles.

"I don't know if it's weird or not but who cares? I mean I like Lily, so if she wants to come along bring her." You smile. Bucky lets out a relieved sigh and leans forward to kiss your cheek.

"You are the best. I'll go get her, come on in, make yourself comfortable." Bucky says. You step inside and shut the door behind you as Bucky runs upstairs. It takes a few minutes for Bucky to come back downstairs, this time with Lily in tow.

"Y/n!" She squeals rushing up to you.

"Hello little flower!" You say lifting her into your arms.

"Hi!" She smiles.

"Hi."

"Daddy said we're going to the aquarium." Lily says as you put her back down.

"We are! Are you excited?" You ask her.

"Yes. Uncle Stevie was supposed to hang out with me but his car is broken apparently." Lily tells you.

"Yeah I heard but now you get to spend the day with us so, it could be worse."

"Alright we should get going ladies." Bucky says. Lily grabs your hand and practically tugs you out the front door. Bucky helps Lily into her car seat in the back of his car while you slide into the passenger side. Once Lily is settled, Bucky gets in and pulls off.

"How is school so far Lily? Do you like Mr. Gatlin's class?" You ask her. Although the year started a few weeks ago, you haven't actually talked to Lily about how fourth grade is going for her, especially since her teacher is new to the school.

"I like Mr. Gatlin. He's funny. There's a boy who sometimes tries to mess with me in class so Mr. Gatlin moved him away from me." Lily says with a shrug.

"A boy is messing with you? What boy?" Bucky frowns.

"Was he in my class with you last year?" You ask.

"No he was in Miss Conner's class. Uncle Steve thinks he likes me." Lily says.

"You told Uncle Steve before you told me?" Bucky glances up in the rearview mirror at her.

"Yeah daddy you overreact." Lily says.

"And uncle Steve doesn't?" Bucky scoffs.

"Lesser of two evils." She shrugs.

"Lesser of two evils? What've they got you reading Lily, Animal Farm?" You chuckle.

"What's Animal Farm?" She tilts her head.

"A book you won't need to worry about until at least sixth grade. On another note, uncle Steve shouldn't be telling you this kid likes you because he's picking on you. That's never okay and it's good that Mr. Gatlin isn't encouraging him." You say.

"And if it continues, kick his ass." Bucky winks.

"Or don't because that might get you suspended, especially if you doesn't hit you first. But you can and should still enforce boundaries around this kid." You tell her.

"I do. That's why Mr. Gatlin moved him. I told him I wasn't comfortable sitting next to him." Lily says proudly.

"Good girl." Bucky smiles as he pulls into a parking spot at the aquarium. You get out of the car and wait for Bucky to help Lily out and join you at the front of the vehicle. Lily runs ahead of the two of you to the ticket stand, already talking to the man at the desk before you meet her up there.

"I take it you're the parents?" The man looks at you two. Bucky chuckles as he answers.

"Yeah, can we get two adult tickets and a child's ticket." He tells the man as he grabs his wallet.

"That'll be $32.50." Bucky hands the guy his card and after a few minutes the guy hands its back along with our tickets.

"Alright let's go." Bucky says.

"Time to see the fish!" Lily says marching towards the aquarium entrance.

"Lily! Remember your dad has your ticket, don't go too far ahead." You call after her as you and Bucky walk trail behind. When you get into the aquarium, you let Lily decide your path through the different habitats. She dictates that you have start with the turtles. From there you see some tropical fish, then frogs, following the her decided path through the jellyfish and deep sea fish. Lily stops to read all the infocards when you pass a series of crabs and then she insists you go through the shark tank where she tries see how many of the sharks she can name.

"I had no idea you were so into sharks Lily." You muse.

"My friend Dylan at school really likes them." She says absentmindly. "Daddy make sure to take lots of pictures here so I can show him okay?" She turns to him.

"Oh- alright sweetheart." Bucky pulls out his phone and takes a picture of as many sharks as she can get close to. You even help by hoisting her up on your shoulders to get closer to the ones she wants pictures with that swim near the top of the tank. You're in the shark area long enough to catch them getting fed which Lily asks Bucky to record for her. When she's satisfied with her pictures and videos she runs off to the nearest map to make sure you've seen everything.

"Thanks for letting her come along with us." Bucky says to you quietly.

"You don't have to thank me. I know you're a packaged deal, that's never bothered me." You shrug.

"I mean, you're a teacher- I can't imagine after spending five days a week with kids you wanna spend one of your two off days with another. Who expects to be looking after a child on a date?"

"Don't be ridiculous, I love Lily. Plus, all I expected was to spend time with you. I'm getting to do that and Lily seems happy so- two birds one stone." You smile at him.

"Have I told you how amazing you are?" Bucky's eyes hold such adoration you're almost caught off guard. In the almost six months since your first date Bucky has been everything you could think to ask for in a partner. Considering how reserved he was when you met him you're honestly surprised with how easily he seemed to trust you.

"Alright! I think we saw all the important things, except the gift shop which is up those stairs." Lily announces walking back over to you. Something tells you his trust in you has something to do with the little girl currently beaming up at you both.

"Did you wanna hit the gift shop Lily?" Bucky asks her.

"We gotta dad!" She tells him.

"Maybe we can find you a shark plushy for this Dylan friend of yours." You smile nodding towards the stairs.

"Wouldn't it be weird to give him a gift?" She throws a look over her shoulder as she walks up the stairs in front of you.

"It doesn't have to be. Friends give each other gifts all the time. At least, me and my friends do." You shrug.

"Well, if I see something he'll like I'll think about it." She says assuredly. You giggle to yourself.

"Do you think she likes this boy?" Bucky whispers as you walk into the gift shop. Lily's run off to look around on her own while you look through the overpriced knickknacks with Bucky.

"Well, it's certainly possible. I think fourth grade is a pretty normal time for kids to start exploring crushes." You shrug picking up little things and putting them down.

"She shouldn't be exploring anything." Bucky frowns.

"I didn't mean anything by it Buck- come on, the most they'd do at that age is hold hands. He might kiss her cheek, but it's probably all innocent, they're kids. Plus you don't even know if she likes him. She's probably just excited about a new friend." You laugh a little.

"But-"

"I'm starting to see why she told Stevie about the boy bothering her in class and not you." You joke.

"What do you mean?"

"Bucky, you look ready to lock her away like repunzel at the prospect of her liking a boy which you're only considering because she's taken an interest in sharks cause of a classmate." You muse. Bucky sighs.

"I just want to protect her."

"She's nine and so is he. The only thing she needs protecting from right now is falling off of the monkey bars or scraping her knee on the blacktop not boys." You tell him. "If it makes you feel better, I can talk to Mr. Gatlin about it?" You offer.

"Would you?"

"Of course, if it would ease your mind." You nod.

"Do you know this teacher of hers anyway?"

"Mr. Gatlin? Not well, I mean he's down the hall from me, but I've only spoken to him a couple of times. He seems nice enough. He's friendly, salt and pepper hair, nice smile- the others seem really charmed by him." You chuckle.

"And you aren't?" Bucky asks.

"He's good looking but my eyes are focused somewhere else." You smile with a shrug. Bucky places a kiss against your temple at that.

"Are you getting anything from here?" He asks you after a few more minutes of walking around.

"I don't think so. Nothing really grabs me for more than a couple of seconds." You shrug. He hums and nods.

"Lily!" Bucky calls out and his daughter pops out from behind a shelf.

"Yes dad?" She tilts her head.

"Anything you wanna pick up or can we head to lunch?" He asks.

"Oo let's get lunch." She says skipping over.

"So nothing caught your eye then?" You ask her.

"Nope. Can we go to that burger place with the really good milkshakes dad?" Lily asks grabbing his free hand.

"Sure princess, I think there's one up the street actually. We can walk to it from here." Bucky says. The three of you leave the gift shop and then the aquarium to find the restaurant in question. It doesn't take you long, it's actually only a block away so within minutes you're inside looking at the menu and placing your order.

"So Lily, do you have a favorite shark? Or are you not that into them to have a favorite?" You ask her while you wait for your food at a table.

"I like hammerheads. I think they look funny." She says and you laugh.

"They do look funny don't they?" You muse. Eventually, your food is called and Bucky grabs your trays and brings them back to you and Lily.

"Do you have a favorite shark?" Lily asks you.

"Oh I don't know enough sharks, I think whale sharks are pretty cool. They're really huge ones with spots." You hum.

"Did they have one of those at the aquarium?" Bucky frowns.

"No I don't think so." You shake your head.

"They didn't." Lily confirms.

"Would you ever swim with sharks Lily?" You ask.

"You can do that?!" She gasps.

"Well yeah, some people do it all the time." You tell her.

"No thank you. Sharks are cool when they can't bite you." She shakes her head furiously.

"Don't encourage my daughter to do life threatening things." Bucky jokes with you.

"No worries, she's not interested. I agree, they're much cooler when they can't bite you." You smile at her munching on a fry. You chat through lunch with both Lily and Bucky until food is done and eventually Lily starts to get antsy to go home at which point you head out and start the drive back to Bucky's house. When you get there, Bucky takes Lily into the house while you get out of his car and toss your bag into yours.

"Hey, sorry we had to cut it short-"

"Bucky, don't apologize for having to be a dad. To be honest she lasted longer than I expected. I thought for sure she'd tap out as soon as she stopped eating." You chuckle.

"I hope you had a good time today." He says. You lean forward and place a kiss on his cheek.

"I had a wonderful time." You tell him quietly.

"Yeah?" He blushes shyly.

"Yeah." You nod with a giggle.

"Cool- me too." He nods. "I'll uh- I'll see you soon then?"

"Of course you will." You smile.

"Good- great. Call me when you get home." He says.

"Okay. Have a good rest of your day." You tell him.

"Yeah, you too." He steps back enough to let you get into your car and watches you drive off. Only once your car is completely out of sight does he go back inside with a content smile on his face. Bucky's not sure he'll ever get tired of the light feeling in his chest he has every time he goes on a date with you. Every single date leaves him simultaneously thinking he could fly and yearning for the next time he can see you. A small part of him worries he's far too attached so early in the relationship, but with how well you do with Lily he can't help but imagine you as permanent for the both of them. How can he not want that when you treat his daughter so well? It's probably too soon to say this out loud but he's definitely falling in love with you and on your drive home you find yourself thinking you're well on your way to saying the same.

***

Tagged Users: @marvel-fandom23 @alana4610 @marvel-wifey-86

Anthology Masterlist

[cambria-writes]

happy spookmas everyone!

cranked this out at the very last second. shoutout to @anothermunsonsimp for encouraging this when i first brought it up (though i originally mentioned how pissed i was that the princess bride came out in 1987) and to @alovesongshewrote for being very enthusiastic about the concept of a halloween fic.

hope you're all having or have had a great day, regardless of current festivities! we will resume our regularly scheduled program on sunday. :)

rating: T warning: mostly just swearing, minor implied spoilers for ravenloft word count: 674

𝕴𝖙'𝖘 𝖔𝖓𝖑𝖞 𝕱𝖔𝖗𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖗

Halloween, 1986

You check yourself in the hallway mirror for what feels like the hundredth time in the span of ten minutes. You adjust the poofy sleeves for the nth time, fiddle with the hair pieces again, and make sure the necklace is well centered. You know you’re being ridiculous, but your blood feels like it’s full of static and you’re considering going back to the bathroom to wipe the blush off your cheeks. The heat in them makes it feel redundant. 

You rush into the kitchen to look at the time on the stove before noisily making your way back to the hallway mirror to fluff up you hair. It’s not really your hair; Maggie from Genealogy somehow just happened to have the perfect clip-on hair extensions for you, that also just so happened to be curled just the way you needed. You’re honestly still shocked and still suspicious, but if there’s one thing you’ve learned this year, it’s to not look a gift horse in the god damn mouth. 

When you check the time again, you huff and reach for the phone on the wall next to the fridge. You’ve just dialed the first three numbers when you hear the head-splitting buzz announcing someone’s arrived at the door downstairs. 

You run to the front door, stuff a handful of twenties and a lighter in your bra and run out the door. 

The stairs are an unexpected challenge—even when you grip as much of the gown’s skirt as you can, you nearly fall down  three flights of stairs about five times. 

When you finally manage to make it through the building‘s lobby, you have to take a second to just. Look at Eddie. Take him in, just for a bit. 

It had taken weeks of pestering, convincing, and literally reciting essays to Eddie to get him to agree. Not only to do a couple's costume—that's too cheesy, he said, I have an image and reputation to maintain, he whined—but to dress up as fucking Jareth. 

You're only human. It's not like anyone with a pulse can resist David Bowie.

And in this moment, staring dumbly at Eddie in a ballroom get-up, with straightened hair, you're not sure how you're supposed to resist him, either. 

When Eddie looks up at the glass door and, consequently, at you, you choke on your own spit. You can hear him burst out into laughter, and the sound shocks you from your stupor. You burst out the door. 

"Hey! I almost fucking died! Don't laugh at me!" You shout, smacking at his should with both hands. 

"I yield, I yield!" he cries out, still laughing. 

When he's finally recovered enough, and pulled you out of the way of the building's door, Eddie holds you at arms' length. It's his turn to stare at you now. 

And stare. 

And... stare some more. 

You shuffle nervously on your feet, and clear your throat. 

"H-hey, c'mon, you're making me feel like I'm doing something wrong."

"No," Eddie says, so forcefully and instantly that it makes you jump. "Shit, sorry, I mean—no, you're. You look..."

"Strange? Nerdy? Larger?" You emphasize the last word by patting down the many layers of your gown's skirts.

Eddie huffs at you like you've just said the most ridiculous thing. "Magical. You look magical," He says, quietly, moving his hands from your shoulders to your face. "Absolutely enchanting. Bewitching. Mes—"

"Oh god stop," you groan, slapping his hands away and hiding your face behind your own hands. "You've made your point, I'm sufficiently flustered."

"Perfect," Eddie replies, and you can hear the smug tone in his voice. When you peek through your fingers, he's wearing the most obnoxious smug grin and crosses his arms. "That shade of pink looks better on you." 

You make a gagging sound but pull at one of his arms to wrap your own around. 

"Come on, nerd. We've got booze to drink and teenagers to pretend we're chaperoning." 

Eddie starts walking first as he's chuckling. 

"Please, they're going to be chaperoning you."

[lea-andres]

This almost wound up in an unwitting person's asks, but I decided last second this probably stands better as its own post.

This isn't set off by anyone in particular, not even the person I almost yeeted this rant at unprompted. So I'm not mad at any one individual person, just at the fandom as a whole tbh.

It's no secret I love me a good villain redemption arc. A villain having some sort of moment that makes them want to switch sides and stop being so horrible, and all of the emotional hardships that follow as they struggle both to obtain the forgiveness and trust of the heroes they used to fight so bitterly with but also to find it in themselves to forgive themselves? And those moments of tension where something goes wrong and they slip up and some people point at them and go "See? They haven't changed, they can never change." And the anger, hurt, and feelings of betrayal that follow?

Ooh, that's the good shit. I'm a sucker for it. I've obviously got my thoughts on how it'd go for the Hooligans if we really REALLY wanted to focus on the emotional hardships of a full blown redemption arc (TL;DR: Bark has the easiest time with the transition from bad to good, Bean has "Harley's Holiday" style troubles where he's just a little too weird for the average person to stomach despite his best efforts to be good and nice, and Fang has the hardest time and hits the level I like to call "barely housetrained" where he's still a nasty piece of shit and barely anyone trusts him but at least he's not actively evil anymore? Yay?), but we're not getting into that again today.

No what we're getting into today is how SOME OF YOU like to just skip all the meat and potatoes and jump STRAIGHT TO THE END AND ONLY GO "LOOK AT HOW SOFT AND UWU THIS VILLAIN IS NOW!"

"How did we get here?" I ask eagerly, craving that sweet, sweet content.

"IDK, LOL" comes the response, followed by more soft fluff.

It makes me want to chew my hands off.

Even if you don't really want to focus on that part, even if you're not confident you could tell that story as well as someone else could, you should at least HAVE AN IDEA! You can begin with the end in mind, that's fine, but we need something connecting point A to point B! Even if it's just an awkward rambley SparkNotes summary! I'm crazy enough that It's better than nothing!

I'll spare you guys the same ship rant AGAIN, but some of the ships floating around here have the same problem. Yeah yeah, soft domestic bliss, you can set up Sonic characters on a dartboard, get two at random, and draw them sweetly canoodling. BUT HOW DID WE GET HERE???

Some of you skip over the real good part to get to the point you think is the good part and it drives me fucking bonkers. It's about the journey, not the destination, or something. IDK.

Alright, I'm done for now probably, back to our regularly scheduled bullshit. 😎✌️

[afreakingdork]

Greetings miss dork!

I had a thought, about things being "Donnie sized" or not, and he at least would need bigger mugs and plates, since he has a bigger stomach than most (and even if he didn't eat enough, I think that reader would definitely force him to eat now that they somewhat live together), and I'm just imagining reader being particularly hungry/thirsty and just stealing a mug/plate basically 2 times her head and just going "how nice, now I don't have to go get more food!" (At least, that's what I would do honestly).

The scene where we just go "oh damn my bf butt looks nice... *Proceeds to finger him and lovingly tuck him in* (we definitely kissed his forehead)"

Also I'm happy now that the angst is over (it is right??? At least for a little while???) and we can have a secret/doubt free (?) relationship

By the way, the weather now is better, it's raining and storming and stuff (even if we are in August, but hurray!) so I'm not sweating and melting anymore.... I'm free of wearing my fuzzy socks.

(oh and by the way, I noticed I never asked this, but how was your day? I hope it went great!)

-formal anon

Howdy-o, Formal!

Oh that's cute! I like the idea of one over-sized mug and they both fight over it. Donnie only had the one because why would he need more than one 😂

We absolutely gave him a little forehead kiss!

The angst is indeed over for now. We are back to your regularly scheduled fluff and smut rotation! Though, there are some interesting loose ends hm? 😏The relationship has, is, and will always be doubt-free! The fic was always supposed to be more an exploration of love when someone is evil. I always meant for reader and Donnie to be totally solid, while everything else is the difficult part~ Love can be easy if you open yourself up to it 💖

Oh! I am envious of your weather. It is hot as heck here and I despise it. Totally miserable! However, I just got off a turtle-tastic weekend with some friends so I am riding a high! Thank you kindly for asking! I your having a great time like the better weather~