#its been like almost three years since i got into it. man

[littlebigplanet]

every so often i get hit with the urge to reread homestuck. and then i don't because it's so much work

[gojonanami]

❝ 𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐄𝐌𝐎 𝐁𝐎𝐘! ❞

❝ COME ON, FUCK ME, EMO BOY!! ❞

✧ pairing: emo boy! choso kamo x f!reader ✧ summary: saw this boy at the mall last week. got the kind of look to make me freak. wanna fuck in the back of the hot topic? ✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, so much smut, emo boy! choso, sex toys (vibrators, clit sucker), multiple orgasms, semi-exhibitionism, public sex (sex in the back of hot topic, sex in a changing room), fingering (f! receiving), oral (f! + m! receiving), big dick choso (but honey, that dick was 11 inches), also mahito + yuji make appearances, art by @/SS_utr3n. ✧ wc: 5.3K

It had been a while since you had stepped into a Hot Topic (a while meaning three days or three years, take your pick). But this had been the third time this week you had been to this specific Hot Topic, and now you were sure the manager of the place had your badly taken picture and description scrawled in some notebook as a potential shoplifter. 

But it wasn’t the merchandise you were looking to pick up. 

It was him. 

You saw him when you were browsing the clearance rack, knelt down, evaluating whether you needed another blind box item that will inevitably not contain the character you were looking for (but on the plus side, it was on sale?), when you heard a deep voice speak. 

“Excuse me,” you glance up as you spot him — and you swear your breath gets stuck somewhere between your windpipe and your lungs, because you don’t breathe while this man kneels down next to you to place more items on clearance. Spiky black locks tied up messily on either side, fringe bangs falling in front of his face as he bent down, a tattoo across the bridge of his nose and was that — dark purple eyeshadow around his eyes — and his eyes — god, his eyes were gorgeous, a deep dark brown — and you swore, was that a hint of purple in his irises? 

He was everything that your teen self had wanted — the same guys whose profiles you had looked at growing up and thought were so hot. You caught a glance at the My Chemical Romance t-shirt as he stood, in black jeans, as he catches you staring, “Can I help you find something?” His tone was casual, but he was curious — probably curious why you were staring at him with wide-eyed saucers. 

“No, no, sorry, I—” no, don’t tell the hot Hot topic worker that he is hot — first of all its confusing, second of all— “I just wanted to say, I like your t-shirt,” 

Fuck. out of all the things to say — I like your style, I like your fit, I like your hair — you had to pick the most generic ass comment. 

He only nods, but you catch the barest upward twitch of the corner of his lip, “thanks,” 

And that’s all it took — you now needed to see him smile. 

Over the next few days innocently shopping at Hot Topic, you find out his name is Choso from one of the other workers, Mahito, calling his name. His hair is usually in those buns, but one of the days his hair was down, and you heard him complain that his hair ties had snapped. 

And his hair looked so good down, his long inky locks fell past his shoulders, but this was your chance to talk to him — “i have some extra hair ties, if you want them,” you offer him a few hair ties, “I overheard you talking with the other worker, I hope you don’t mind,” 

And he shakes his head, his lips quirked in that almost smile that makes your heart squeeze. 

Fuck. 

“Not at all, thank you,’ and his fingers brush yours as he takes the hair ties, and you turn to leave, but his voice stops you, “what was your name? I didn’t catch it last time,” 

You tell him, smiling, “Your name is Choso, right? I saw it on your nametag,” and he’s biting his lip, tilting his head in question, as you flush, cheeks burning, “I’ve noticed you a couple times when I’ve come in— not in a weird way, I just—” 

“I’ve noticed you too,” and finally he’s smiling — and you know he’s got you, you know you’re fucked. 

And you do get fucked — in the back of Hot Topic during his break. 

It had been a few weeks of you two talking and flirting, until finally, during his break he’s got you snuck into the back to show you the merchandise they haven’t put out yet. And you scoff when you come across a bullet vibrator, “you guys sell these?” 

He shrugs, “They started to in the last few years, not a lot. They don’t want the parents to become too outraged, but just enough,” And you snort, turning the bullet over in your fingers curiously, “have you never used one before?” 

And your cheeks burn, as you bite your lip, “No I never have,” and the next question stumbles out as a joke, “why? Wanna help me learn?” And you want to bite your tongue, but you’re too busy with the foot in your mouth to do so, and before you can apologize he speaks. 

“I would,” 

And your eyes snap to his, and you realize how close he’s standing, his eyes not filled with humor but something else — lust? — and his lips curled in a small smile. 

Fuck. 

“You’re gonna have to be a little quieter, love,” he’s murmuring in your ear, pressing kisses to your neck, as you’re pressed between his firm chest and the metal storage rack, fingers laced as you held on, the vibration between your thighs the only thing ringing in your ears. 

But how can you be quiet? 

The bullet vibrator is pressed right against your clit, and his thick fingers are parting your folds, so close to sinking into you, his deep voice whispering in your ear, hot breath against your neck. 

And the coil in your stomach is only growing tighter and tighter, and your squeals only grow more and more insistent. His fingers sunk into your mouth, “suck,” he ordered, and your cunt twitches at the demand, as you do, sucking and licking messily on his fingers, “good girl,” 

And he clicks the button of the vibrator again, increasing the vibration, making your eyes widen, a gasp around his fingers, “so responsive,” he groans, as your legs grow weak, and he’s stepping forward to steady you, but it also settles his dick between your ass. 

He’s huge. 

The bulge presses into you, drawing a hiss from his lips as you lean back against it, “Trying to tease me, sweetheart?” And he’s pulling his fingers from his mouth, a string of spit connecting from his fingers to your lips, “don’t forget who’s teaching you,” and he sinks his spit soaked fingers into your needy cunt, making your back arch into his body, “so tight, despite the vibrator,” he hums.

“Choso, please—” and he starts to fuck his fingers in and out, the squelch of your cunt ringing in your ears mixing with the buzz of the vibrator — you’re already so close, “I'm—” 

“Cum for me,” he’s grunting, as his fingers reach even deeper inside you, dragging against your walls as he curls them, finding that one spot that has you seeing stars. And your moan as you cum is stifled against your own palm, as he only maxes out the vibration and fucks you through your orgasm, “one more for me, pretty, you can do it,” 

“No, no, Choso, please too much, can’t—” and he only presses sweet kisses to your neck, and how are you already close — you just had orgasmed, but the coil in your stomach is growing tighter by the second, and you’re nearly crying when you cum again, your slick dripping down his fingers and the vibrator as he eases it from you, and then splatters onto the dirty tile floor of the backroom of Hot Topic.

“Good girl,” he murmurs as he’s tilting your head back and around for a kiss. And you catch a glimpse of the glint of your release on his black painted nails as he presses the pads into your mouth, your tongue swirling around his digits and sucking them clean, “that’s it, clean up your mess f’me,” and his other hand is wiping the tears from your eyes, “so pretty when you cry — can’t wait to make you do it again.”

Your cunt twitches at the thought, your cum still dripping down your thighs, “Again?” and he’s pressing another sinful kiss to your lips, “You didn’t think this would be our only lesson, did you?” 

And it wasn’t — the next lesson was spent in the fitting rooms, during a particular dead early afternoon in the store — and he had you spread on the fitting room bench, your black jeans pulled down to your ankles, as his head found its way between your thighs. You could barely hold back your whimpers as he pressed all too hot kisses to the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, burning already with his warm breath. It was too much. 

He was too much. 

“How’s that feel?” dark eyes flicking up to meet yours, half lidded with lust, as he watches your panting face, your head against the wall of the fitting room, “use your words, love,” 

“Too good, Cho-so,” the last syllable of his names escapes your lips in a gasp, as your cunt twitches as his lithe fingers tease you through the soaked material of your panties, “please, please, need you,” 

“What do you need?” and his fingers pull away, as his lips press a kiss to your puffy clit, pulling a whine from you, “what do you want me to do?” 

“Please, just—” and he’s tugging your panties aside, cool air rushing over your all too hot pussy, “please just touch me — with your fingers or mouth—” 

And his tongue drags over your messy cunt, and god, it feels too good — but a twinge makes you pause, and when you feel it draw a circle around your clit, you realize what it is — he has a tongue piercing. Your fingers thread their way in his black locks, resisting the urge to grab at his hair buns. 

He grunts, vibrations against your wet cunt, as you pull him impossibly closer to where you needed him most, his nose bumping against your clit, “you smell so good — how’s that possible?” and your eyes squeeze shut as his hands press your thighs further apart. 

That’s when you both hear the click of the entrance, and the door swinging shut — shit, the door — he forgot to lock it. Forgot when you had pulled him into a kiss right when he was ready to take a lunch break, all other thoughts had flown out of his brain once he let those doors swing shut and your lips had met his — well, left his brain and flooded southward. He also didn’t think a customer would be persistent enough to try the door and wander in when the doors were shut and the closed sign was hung up. 

“Choso, should we—” and the footsteps draw closer — and fuck — did you get wetter? And tighter — his moan is muffled against your walls, “Choso, stop, we—” 

“You don’t mean that,” he whispers, dark, half lidded eyes look up at you, your essence and his spit soaking his lips and dripping down his chin. And the footsteps are receding, the sounds of the shuffling and clinking of clothes hangers on racks in the distance, but all you can hear are the sounds of the wet, needy squelch of your cunt, “you aren’t being honest — but you are down here,” and his lips find your clit, sucking lightly, making your head jerk back, “want them to know how good I make you feel,” his lips leave your clit with a small pop, before murmuring against the soft skin of your thigh, “be quiet for me, baby,” and his tongue slips back into your cunt. 

He’s nearly slurping your juices up, his tongue tasting every inch of you, deliciously dragging against your twitching walls with his piercing, as your toes curl and your mouth parts in a muffled moan, one hand clamped over your mouth, and the other digging into his scalp. How could the person not hear you? How couldn’t they hear the wet squelch of your cunt as Choso fucked it with his tongue? How couldn’t they hear your badly swallowed moans and the sounds of your heart pounding out of your chest — and if they did, they certainly didn’t care enough to stop browsing through the fucking store. 

And you’re close, so fucking close, and you don’t hear the footsteps drawing close to the fitting rooms because your ears only can hear the wet suck of his mouth against your clit or the press of his tongue in and out of your folds, your thighs twitching under his grasp, fingers pressed into your flesh, “Choso, I’m so—” 

“Cum f’me, need to feel you cum around my tongue,” he sucks on your clit hard, teeth grazing the sensitive spot, and you cum, hard, your hand forsaking your lips to find purchase on his head, squirting all over his face as you did, soaking him along with the bench of the fitting room. And you can’t help the whimpers and moans that left your lips, as he lapped up your release without a care. 

And you slump against the wall of the fitting room, body still buzzing from your orgasm, as he finally pulls his tongue out, glancing up at you. Your chest heaves as you watch him lick your cum from his lips and chin, before wiping the rest away, and your eyes drift downward to the erection he was palming. And your fingers unconsciously reach for it, when your hear a door slam shut making your both jump. 

You cover your mouth — the customer, and Choso’s eyes meets yours, as the two of you break out in a laugh, “Fucking lock the door next time,” you sigh, covering your burning face with your hands, as Choso chuckles, lips curled in a smile.

“So there’s going to be a next time?” he tilts his head, and you flush. 

How could he go from eating you out like a desperate man without water to this innocent puppy? “Not if you don’t lock the door,” 

“It’s their fault for coming in when the doors were closed and there was a sign that said closed in big letters on the door,” and you shake your head, as he draws closer, “now, I have twenty minutes of lunch left — so where were we?” 

And you push him towards the changing room door, “Go lock the door first,” and he relents, chuckling. 

“Just for that, I’m going to look for the clit sucker I couldn’t find before.” 

~~~~

The two of you had fallen into a pattern. 

And you had become a regular at Hot Topic. You hung around him as he stocked the shelves, did inventory, price re-labeling, and even as he spoke to customers. You watched other customers speak to Choso, even flirt with him, but he never cracked a smile. Two girls were very persistent, but they deflated as he walked away after answering their questions, brushing past you, his hand brushing against your ass discreetly. Heat rushes to your cheeks, your head snapping to him as his lips curl when your eyes catch his gaze. But even so…

You still were just as clueless of where you stood with him as you were when this started. 

“You two have been pretty hot and heavy lately, huh?” you nearly jump out of your skin, as Mahito smiles knowingly at you, leaning against the counter with a shiteating grin. 

“What are you—” 

“Please, like we don’t know what goes on in the back during breaks?” he raises an eyebrow, as you bite your lip, “plus, never have I seen that gloomy guy smile, much less as much he does with you,” 

“Really?” your eyes find him again, as he crouches and lines up blind boxes on one of the shelves — but you can’t help the nagging question circling in the back of your mind — why hasn’t he asked you out yet? The two of you have hooked up, in and out of the store, but he still hadn’t asked you on a date. Even in the last few weeks, the two of you hadn’t even spent any real time together, except for your visits to the store -- he hasn't even taken you into the back. For all you know, you’re one of many people he’s bedding. Even if he doesn’t seem the type. 

“What? Trouble in paradise?” Mahito pulls you from your thoughts, head tilted and all too eager, “what’s wrong?” 

“No, it’s—“ he cuts you off with a look, and you relent with a slight pout, “he just hasn’t asked me out yet, I’m just wondering what he’s thinking—“ 

“Well, I definitely don’t think he’s seeing anyone else,” he hums, “but he does tend to go straight home a lot when you’re not around. Maybe something is going on at home?” And then he’s pushing you towards him, “no time like the present to find out,” 

“Mahito—“ 

“Choso! How about you and your favorite regular go for a quick walk and get us some drinks from the food court?” He grins, offering some money,  “be a doll, won’t you?” 

Choso sighs, “Fine,” and he brushes past you, taking the cash, before glancing back at you, “you coming?” 

You glance between the two of them, before following him out of the store. You both walk in relative silence, slipping past customers, as you reach the food court. Choso orders, paying with the cash Mahito gave, as he passes you one of the drinks, “Choso, can I ask you something?” 

His eyes slide to you, “Of course,” and god, his eyes stop your thoughts in their tracks — he’s so unfairly gorgeous, funny, sweet — you didn’t want to screw this up. You open your mouth to speak when you hear a voice. 

“Big bro, that you?” A rush of pink hair and energy is wrapped around Choso all of a sudden, “I didn’t think you got off until later,” it’s a teen boy, maybe fifteen or sixteen, his arm wrapped around Choso, and a varsity jacket on — this was Choso’s brother?

Choso cracked his rare smile, “I don’t get off until later, Yuji, but I came to grab a drink for Mahito,” and Yuji’s gaze slides to you. 

“Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t see you there,” he smiles a thousand watt smile, “I’m Yuji Itadori, Choso’s brother,” and he’s glancing between you and his brother, before his mouth falls into an ‘o,’ “are you his girlfriend?” 

“Yuji—“ Choso starts, a hint of a blush across his cheeks, as you stifle a laugh, “I thought you said you were going to study at home with Fushiguro.” 

“I wanted to see you when your shift got off — I thought we could have dinner together,” Yuji pouts, and Choso cracks in an instant, his lips curling. 

This boy had his brother wrapped around his finger. 

“Ok, but don’t goof off. Make sure to study,” and Yuji nods. 

“Nice to meet you,” and he leans in to whisper, “treat my brother good, ok?” And you flush, before nodding, as Choso raises an eyebrow, out of earshot. 

“I will,” 

“Cho, tell Mahito to fuck off for me,” and he’s off again, gone as fast as he came.

“Sorry about that,” Choso sighs, still a smile on his lips as he watches his brother in the distance, claiming one of the food court tables for himself and his friend, as he sits down next to a black haired boy, assumedly Fushiguro, “didn’t know Yuji would be here,” 

“I didn’t know you had a brother,” and he bites his lip. 

“It’s relatively new — we’re half brothers, but he just came back into my life. He doesn’t really have any other biological family. His grandfather just passed, and he’s staying with a teacher whose decided to foster him,” the two of you begin to walk back to the store, his gaze fixed downwards at the tacky mall carpeting, “he’s been staying with me for the last few weeks, while his foster father went on a vacation to Malaysia,” 

And now the pieces were clicking into place, “And that’s why you’ve been going home a lot lately,” and his dark eyes find yours with a tilt of his head, “I mean, you just haven’t had a lot of time lately,” you can’t meet his gaze, “it must be a lot to have a teenager staying with you.” 

“Yeah, he eats everything in the house, and he’s staying in my living room, which leaves little in the way of privacy,” and you can still feel the prickle of his gaze on you, “but I could use a break,” and you finally look and see a soft expression on his face, the same insecurity you had reflected in his gaze. 

No time like the present, right?

“Well, should we maybe go on a date?” and his cheeks flush a pretty red, all the way to the tips of his ears, “we’ve done plenty of other things that a couple would do, like—” 

And he’s shaking his head, “I know, I know!” he’s the one who can’t meet your eyes now, chewing his lip, “I’d like that — I get off my shift tonight at eight, I told Yuji we’d hang out, but I’m sure he wouldn’t mind postponing—” 

“We can always do it tomorrow, I don’t want to keep you from your brother,” and his lips curl into a smile, “he’s a good kid,” 

“He is,” and his fingers find yours again, “I can tell Mahito that I’ll lock up tonight, and maybe after I do, we could—” 

“Have another lesson?” 

And eight o’clock rolls around far too slow, but Choso definitely isn’t moving slow when it’s only the two of you. 

He’s pulling you into the back again, the door swinging shut behind the two of you, his fingers tight around your wrists as he’s pulling you into a bruising kiss, forcing your lips to part with a gasp, his tongue flicking against yours. The smooth surface of his piercing grazes against your tongue. 

And his fingers find the back of your neck, deepening the kiss impossibly, as his other hand slips down the curves of your body, pulling you against him, his clothed cock brushing against your aching cunt. 

Fuck. You had almost forgotten how big he was. 

And when you hear the zipper of his black jeans, you nearly melt against him, “Choso, please—” 

“I have to get you ready first, love,” his fingers find their way to the front of your jeans and undo the button, tugging the fabric down to your ankles. Cool air raises goosebumps across your skin, the pads of his fingers press against the wet patch of your panties, and he’s groaning, “but maybe I don’t,” 

“Fuck, so wet for me, aren’t you?” he murmurs, as he’s walking you backwards, into one of the racks, his fingers press into the soft flesh of your thighs. And two fingers hook around the waistband of your underwear, joining your jeans, pooling around your ankles, “nearly ready now, but I still have to loosen you up,” his fingers tease your outer lips, dripping with your release. 

One of his finger’s slips in with practiced ease, making your hips jolt against his hand, your fingers curling around the metal bars of the rack in front of you. His finger was so much thicker and longer than yours, his digit toyed with your walls, teasing and stretching until he drew a soft groan from your lips. He was the only one who could make you this desperate, his lips pressed against your neck, the heat from his body has your mind reeling with pleasure. 

“Mmm, Choso, more—" and he’s adding another finger inside your still all too tight entrance, making you whimper, as the intrusion is all too much after a few weeks of not having him inside you. 

“So greedy,” he murmurs, the wet squelch of your cunt ringing in your ears, “you’re practically sucking me in, but it’s still not enough for you, is it?” his tongue drags against the outer shell of your ear, his piercing against your skin, before his mouth envelops your earlobe and sucks. 

His fingers are fucking you open, your eyes screwed shut as the tips brush against that spot, heat flooding your body. And you don’t hear the shuffling of his other hand through a box, until you hear the sound of sucking, “Choso—“ and he’s pressing the sucker against your clit, your mouth falling open as pleasure rips up your spine, the sucking sensation with the lewd noises of your pussy being finger fucked is too much. 

You cum all over his hand, your hand clamping over your mouth so no one hears your moans — and your legs quake as you come down from your high, as he eases his fingers from you, “so pretty,” he murmurs, and you can feel his dark, lidded eyes on your drenched cunt, watching your sticky release cling to his fingers, purple painted nails glinting in the low light. 

And he’s leaning forward, kissing down your back, as he turns you around gently, so your back is pressed against the rack. You kick off your underwear and pants. You’re still panting, chest rising and falling as his fingers press to your chin, lifting it so you meet his gaze, as he sucks his fingers clean of your cum. Heat pools again, as his fingers undo the leather belt and he’s tugging his jeans and black boxers down to his knees, his erection springs out, slapping against his stomach. 

Your mouth runs dry. 

Fuck, he’s even bigger than you thought. 

Ten inches? No, maybe eleven. How was that even possible? That shit would break you — but fuck — your cunt twitches — you kind of want it to break you. 

“Like what you see, Princess?” you lick your lips in response, and in a trance, your fingers are reaching for him, curling around the base before you slowly start to pump him. You’re rewarded with a moan, a noise that goes straight to your cunt, as your fingers move faster, trying to find the right rhythm. Pre-cum leaks from the top, as you tease his tip, before stroking back up the length of it. 

And he’s a beautiful mess, his pale features flushed a gorgeous red, as he presses his hand against his mouth so his moans wouldn’t resonate. And his pre-cum drips all over your fingers, slipping down your wrist even, as you lean forward to lick it off your own skin, while you meet his gaze. 

His head lolls back, eyes screwed shut now, and your fingers drift to his sack, stroking and teasing while your lips find the tip, sucking lightly before your tongue drags over the length of his cock. And god, he’s going to blow his load now, if you keep doing that, from the way his hips rock against your touch. 

His fingers weave into your hair, nails digging into your scalp, “Baby, ngh, it’s too good—fuck—” he’s so close, twitching in your mouth as you suck him from tip to base, tracing his slit with the tip of your tongue, “shit, I can’t—” and you suck hard on his cock, massaging his balls, and he’s gone — he’s pumping his cock into your mouth as his cum spurts down your throat, as you swallow it all too greedily. You pull away with a pop, a string of cum and saliva connecting you to his dick still, before you wipe it away. 

He’s leaning against the rack, chest heaving as he watches you with lust blown out eyes, sweat sheen on his face, “Haa, baby, s’good f’me,” and somehow he’s still hard, as you rise to your feet, thighs pressed together, your eyes fixed on his cock, “you don’t have to—” 

And he’s still so sweet — his eyebrows knit together as he’s examining you with concern, but you’re only shaking your head, as you press a sweet kiss to his lips, “I need you, Choso, please,” and he’s nodding, lips meeting yours in a heady kiss that steals your breath, and he’s made you brace yourself against the rack, fingers curled around the cool metal. 

Your folds are exposed to him, slick and dripping, even wetter than before, “You liked sucking me off that much, love?” he murmurs, kissing your neck, before he’s dragging the tip of his cock against your needy cunt, “I’ll go slow,” he assures you, as you nod. 

He’s sinking into you inch by inch — and not even halfway, you already feel like you’re ready to burst, “So big, Choso, I—” and he’s murmuring quiet reassurances, as he’s parting your folds, the pain drawing a gasp from your lips, as he finally bottoms out. 

“S’good, baby, so tight,” he’s moaning, You’re taking deep breaths, pain ebbing with each second that passes. Choso pressing sweet kisses to your neck, his hands slipping under your shirt to tease your perked nipples, mixing pain with pleasure. Tears burn at your tear ducts, as you breathe shaky breaths, and finally pain ebbs away, and pleasure grows in its place.

“S’full, so big,” you pant, growing more needy by the second, he’s reaching places you’d only dreamt of — his leaking tip kissing your cervix, “move, p-please—ah!” 

And he does as you say, pulling ever so slowly out before pushing back in, grunting as he does as your tight cunt adjusts to his size and length — bullying your insides in a way no toy could ever compare to. You swear you can feel every inch, every curve, every vein as he rocks into you. 

“So pretty f’me,” he’s moaning, stifled by his bitten lip, as your walls only seem to pull him back deeper each time he pulls out,  “so perfect, take me so well,” he’s murmuring, as he teases your tits between his thumb and forefinger, “pretty cunt made just for me, isn’t that right, Princess?” 

“Yes, yes, Choso,” and his pace only grows faster, just as his groans grow louder. 

“No one else can fuck you like this, make you feel this good, can’t wait to feel you cummin’ around me,” he’s panting, his fingers tweaking your nipples, squeezing, as he fucks you deeper and deeper, his tip hitting your cervix deliciously again and again, “feels s’good, so wet and warm for me—” his hand comes down on your ass now, making you gasp, your cunt squeezing around him. 

Drool slips from your mouth, as you get closer and closer to cumming — the telltale flutter of your walls, “Choso, I’m coming, I can’t—” 

“Cum for me, let me fill you up,” and his fingers reach around to press a vibrator to your clit, and you’re cumming, falling apart on his cock, as he continues to fuck you through your orgasm. The squelch of your cunt and the way you squeeze him has him falling apart, spurting and painting your walls. 

The two of you slump forward, your legs nearly buckling, as you cling to the rack, before he’s easing both of you back onto a bench in the stock room. Your quiet pants fill the silence of the room, as he eases himself out, groaning as you both watch your mixed releases leak out of your cunt. 

“I don’t think I can walk after that,” and he chuckles in your ear, pressing a kiss to your neck. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll carry you,” and you laugh, his favorite noise in the world, as you slowly turn, making him groan as your soaked pussy grinds against his dick. 

“So then you can lift me up when I drop it?” your lips are curled in that same smile that had him hypnotized from the moment he saw it, and he can only reply with a bruising kiss, his tongue slipping into your mouth, as you sunk yourself onto his dick again. 

God. He needed to buy you tickets to Warped Tour. 

~~~

The next time you show up to Hot Topic, you weren’t showing up to buy any merchandise. 

“Hey emo boy!” you call out, making Choso turn with a smile on his lips — the one especially reserved for you. 

“Hi baby,” he murmurs, kissing you softly, his arm around your waist, “I’m almost done. I just have to punch out.” 

You lean in, words whispered against his ear, “And then you’re gonna come fuck me?” 

You were picking up your boyfriend. 

He smiles, wrapping an arm around your waist, before kissing you again, “You know I will.” 

note: i couldn't find who made this incredible art that i used after searching and searching, so if anyone knows, please let me know so i can credit them above in the description. this fic has been a long time coming since that silly blurb i wrote after watching one too many thirst edits of choso. edit: i found the artist: its @/SS_utr3n on twt!!!

tag list: @uroldall, @jlovesfrogs, @existential54321, @staryukis, @samistars, @chosoilysm, @astroholic, @emii4evr, @rose1238, @butterflieskeepcominback, @divinely-yourz, @fishii28, @seresukuin, @misalsmistake, @xkaidaxxxx, @cappric, @famebydefinition, @theatergeek, @sousblogga, @averagelonelypotato, @timesnewreader, @chrvstxl, @darylthekidd, @merelydaydreaming, @notafan77, @naughtygobbo, @smiley-babe, @butterflieskeepcominback, @entirelytoooobsessed, @acenanxious

[txrii]

But Daddy I Love Him - Tyler Owens

Pairing: Tyler Owens x fem!reader

based on the song but daddy i love him by taylor swift

word count: 2,131

warnings: mentions of storm/tornado, like one swear word, also not edited at all lol

summary: Tyler Owens has a reputation around town for being reckless. People call him wild for going into storms the way he does. They think Y/N is just as, if not crazier, for falling for someone like him. Her father is no different than them, fearing his daughter may one day be hurt or even killed by Tyler's wild excursions. That is, until he has a change of heart when he does just the opposite.

a/n: it's been such a long time since i've wrote, especially x reader. over three years! shoutout to @bright-molina for letting me spout off fic ideas until i finally decided to actually sit down and write one. also, my knowledge of tornadoes is very very slim, so i’m not sure how accurate my portrayal is. i hope you all enjoy!

The adrenaline was coursing through her veins. The chase had gone well, and Tyler and his crew had been able to pull off their latest wild stunt with ease. As Y/N looked over to the driver’s seat of the truck, Tyler still had a huge smile plastered on his face. She could tell he felt the adrenaline as well. He always did, no matter how many chases he had gone on. 

Y/N wished they could stay like this forever. But, as they turned into the downtown square of her hometown, she knew what awaited them. Eyes turned immediately to the truck as it made its way down the road. Tyler had a reputation in this town. Everyone knew what he did for a living, and they thought he was crazy for it. When they found out Y/N had fallen for him, they thought she was even crazier. 

As they pulled into the long driveway of the farmhouse Y/N called home, a man was seated in a chair on the porch reading a book. Y/N sighed as she looked down at her fingers intertwined with Tyler’s. She knew what was to come when she got out of the truck. She knew her father didn’t like Tyler, and he made sure to make it clear. When the truck reached the end of the driveway, Tyler got out and headed to the passenger door. He opened it and Y/N hopped out, fingers once again intertwined with his. She smiled as she reached up to plant a kiss on his cheek. He bent down to plant one on the top of her head, whispering, “See you later, sweetheart.” Y/N dropped Tyler’s hand as she made her way to the porch. Tyler glanced over at Y/N’s father who was still sitting on the porch, tipping his hat in his direction as he moved to get back in his truck. Y/N’s father gave no response other than pursed lips. 

Tyler pulled away as Y/N made it to the top of the steps. “Hey, daddy,” Y/N said with a smile as she faced her father. He let out a sigh, setting his book on the porch table, “When are you going to let that boy go, huh?” Y/N pursed her lips. She sat down in the empty chair next to him, feeling defeated, “I really wish you’d give him a chance, daddy. It’s been almost a year. He’s not as bad as the town makes him out to be, really. If you just got to know him -” 

She was cut off by her father’s sharp reply, “I know all I need to know about him, Y/N. Come to your senses and see what’s really going on. He’s crazy with all these stunts.” Y/N smiled slightly. Everyone said the same thing. She tried again to get through to her father, “I know he’s crazy, but he’s the one I want. I just wish you’d just have one conversation with him, then you’d see he really isn’t that bad.” Her father was not having this. He stood up angrily, “Y/N, you’re going to get hurt, or worse. One of these days you’re going to go out on one of these chases,” he emphasized “chases” with air quotes, “and you’re not going to come home. I wish you could see just how dangerous this really is.” Y/N stood up to face him once again. The adrenaline from the chase was still running hot through her veins. Tears began to form in her eyes as she yelled, “Daddy, I love him! I wish you could see that!” As the tears began to fall, she made her way into the house and to her room, putting her father’s pleas behind her.

Tyler had a reputation around the town before the two had even met. Everyone knew of the infamous “Tornado Wrangler” and the crew that followed him around. Being from an area where storms were common, they made multiple appearances in local bars and motels to celebrate chases and rest up after them. That was how the two met. Y/N bumped into him - quite literally - as she was leaving a restaurant next door to a bar he and the crew were just entering. He invited her along for a drink, and the rest was history. When someone found out they were together, the news spread around the town like wildfire. No one could believe it. Y/N Y/L/N was a quiet, introverted local girl; Tyler Owens was chaos, he was revelry. The two were polar opposites, and according to this small town, that should never work. Whenever that red, overly-modified truck rolled into town there were whispers and stares, and they were only amplified when Y/N began appearing in the passenger seat. But the whispers couldn’t be heard over the loving stares and the screeching tires of the truck.

The news of the storm scheduled to hit in a town about an hour away was plastered over every news station. They said it was supposed to be one of the biggest the town had seen in a decade. This just piqued the interest of Tyler and the crew. And, of course, Y/N wanted to tag along. She darted through the house, getting a small pack of supplies ready for the chase. It didn’t take long for her father to catch on to what she was doing. He stood in front of her in an attempt to block her from packing any more, “Y/N Y/L/N, don’t tell me you’re seriously thinking of going out there.” Y/N huffed as she slipped through an opening between the man and the wall. “Daddy, I’ll be fine. You may not realize it, but Tyler wouldn’t let anything happen to me. He wouldn’t get us into anything he knew he couldn’t get us out of.” Her father turned to face her once again, crossing his arms. “Y/N, I just want what’s best for you. I’m tired of hearing about this boy and his stunts…” The girl tuned him out as she could hear the familiar purr of the engine pulling up the drive. She grinned and hoisted the bag she was packing up onto her shoulder, headed down the stairs. Her father, of course, followed her, voice becoming more frantic. 

Y/N swung open the door, and there he was, the man she loved, standing at the bottom of the porch steps. He grinned back at her, once again tipping his hat at her father. “I’ll take good care of her, sir,” Tyler said, hoping to ease the man’s mind. It, of course, did not. He once again tried to plead with his daughter, but began directing his anger toward Tyler when he realized she still wasn’t listening. Tyler gave a subtle sigh, pursing his lips, as he extended his hand toward Y/N, who followed him to the truck. When the two were settled in, Tyler turned to Y/N, “You ready, baby?” Y/N gave a grin, “Floor it, Ty.” And then they were off.

The news channels got one thing wrong, the storm was much worse than they had expected. The crew were only a couple miles outside the town they landed in when they realized it. They turned right around, they had to make sure they got everyone they could to safety. They split up when they got back, in order to cover as much ground as possible. Tyler would not let Y/N out of his sight; he promised her father he’d keep her safe, and he knew her father would never forgive him if anything happened to her. He wouldn’t be able to forgive himself.

Tyler and Y/N had gotten everyone they could to safety, now it was time for them to get there themselves. They ran towards one of the shelters they had ushered people into. The closer they got, the more the wind picked up. Objects began to fly left and right. Tyler did everything he could to block them from Y/N, earning himself a few cuts and bruises. Finally, they made it to the shelter. Tyler helped Y/N in then climbed in himself, shutting and securing the doors behind him. Y/N was shaking as she lowered herself to the floor and took cover. Sure, she had been in storms herself, but nothing to this extent. She squeezed her eyes shut, hoping that would somehow make time go faster. Tyler, who had just taken cover next to her, reached out to try and give her some sort of comfort. He pulled her close, trying to give her more protection with his own body. They listened to the roaring sound, like a train was passing right above them. After what felt like hours, but was probably only a few minutes, the sound quieted down. It was over, they were safe. Tyler gave Y/N’s shoulder a squeeze, planting a kiss on the top of her head. “You can open your eyes now, sweetheart. It’s done, it’s gone,” he whispered in her ear. Someone had already opened the shelter and light streamed in. Only a few buildings still stood, the rest diminished to a mass of rubble. Y/N and Tyler shared a glance before finding the rest of the crew and getting to work helping however they could.

Tyler and Y/N drove home nearly in silence. Y/N was still extremely shaken up, and Tyler knew that. He would try to make conversation here and there, but he knew Y/N was probably not in the headspace to make jokes. Halfway through the drive, Y/N spoke over the soft country music playing in the truck, “What are we going to tell my dad, Ty? You heard what he was saying before we left. There’s no way I’m going to change his mind about you now.” Y/N had tried to call her dad numerous times, but was unable to pick up any service. Tyler sighed, reaching his hand out for her to grab, “I’m sure he’ll understand, sweetheart.” As Y/N laced her fingers with his, he lifted their hands up to place a kiss on the back of hers. 

Y/N’s father had never once been happy to hear the roar of the engine of that truck pulling into his driveway. But today, he knew that only meant one thing, his baby girl was okay. He burst through the door just as Tyler had made his way to the passenger door to let Y/N out. The man ran down the porch, almost stumbling and falling, and wrapped his daughter in the biggest hug he had ever given her. There were tears forming in his eyes as he exclaimed how happy he was that Y/N had come back safe. She laughed a little bit as he let go, “Hi, daddy.” Tyler was standing off to the side, wanting to give the two some space, but also preparing for what the man might say to him. He was well aware Y/N’s father did not care for him much. Tyler saw Y/N gesture his way, and her father’s eyes found him, gesturing for him to come over. Tyler approached, ready for whatever may come from the man. To his surprise, however, the man reached a hand out for him to shake. Tyler shook his hand, relieved. He’s once again caught off guard, however, as Y/N’s father wraps him in a hug almost as big as the one he gave his daughter. He kept muttering thank yous as Tyler stood there, shocked and stiff as a board. Y/N giggled at the sight. But, hey, at least her father finally properly met Tyler.

A few weeks later, after Y/N had almost shaken off everything that had happened, she took Tyler and her father out to lunch. The sun was warm and beautiful, not a storm in sight. Turns out, just as she had thought, her father loved him as soon as he got to know him. The townsfolk looked at the three sitting on the restaurant patio, dumbfounded. Y/N looked at them and giggled, adjusting the strap of her dress that had started to fall slightly, “Oh my God, they should see their faces!” Tyler and her father joined her in laughing, and Tyler reached for her hand. The two laced their fingers together. Tyler gave a glance at their audience and then back to Y/N, “Fuck ‘em. You’re my lady, and that’s all we need.” He placed another kiss onto the top of her hand. 

Y/N smiled back at him, “Me and my wild boy.”

[kithtaehyung]

broken, pt. 1 (3tan) | myg

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

-

-

Words abandon you.

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

All of those moments shattering into dust around your heels. 

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

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

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

“Course I do.”

Huh? Wait. Why does he sound so—

“I was there.”

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

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

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

“I was.” 

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

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

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

It’s just not the right time. 

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

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

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

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

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

All the words around you just as speechless. 

Just like that, you’re gone again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And a little bit of summer rain. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

After three months of questioning his existence. 

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

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

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

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

The fuck.

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

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

And he doesn’t see your name.

Dumbass: 1 New Message

But your brother’s.

What the hell does he—

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

…Shit.

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

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

Shit. 

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

Why can’t he fucking move? 

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

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

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

“Hey, you coming?”

“Huh?”

“We have that session in thirty.”

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

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

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

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

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

Dumbass [7:40]: Heading over

Fuck!

“You okay?” 

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

“Nah, come now.” 

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

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

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

Yoongi [7:42]: Going to the studio

“On time? You better!”

Goddamn, he’s juggling too much right now. 

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

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

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

“Shit, I know.” 

“We can’t keep doing this.” 

“Dude, relax, I get it.” 

“Do you? Cus this is… Fuck.” 

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

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

“The… The overhead mic for the drums.” 

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

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

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

Dumbass: Incoming Call 

Of fucking course. 

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

“Wait, where are the—”

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

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

“Don’t leave yet, I’m coming.” 

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

“Don’t lie. Y’all are done, right?” 

Don’t lie. Yoongi feels like hurling. 

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

“Shit.”

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

“Okay, fine.” 

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

Delusion is a great place to stay.

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

“I just… Tch. I can’t even say it.”

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

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

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

“Everything, Yoong.” 

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

So, so far away. 

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

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

“Just lemme know when you get back.”

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

“No running.”

“K.”

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

“How did that sound?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey.” He turns. “You’re good.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Kidding. Only a little.”

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

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

Choosing not to say what he wants to. 

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

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

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

“Do the chorus again.” 

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

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

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

Done. He said it. 

And the response that follows puts complete silence to shame. 

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

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

Huh. They’re gonna take that? 

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

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

“Mmhmm.”

“Yeah, we can try that.”

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

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

“Sammy would’ve thought of it.”

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

“Let’s see how it sounds.” 

“K.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay, we’ll take ten after this.”

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

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

“Nothing.”

“You sure.”

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

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

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

Hustler: Incoming C—

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hustler: Outgoing Call 

Straight to voicemail? Shit.

Hustler: Outgoing Call

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hustler: Outgoing Call 

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

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

Shit. How much of that did he witness?

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

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

“Don’t wanna commit anymore?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s the food next door, huh.”

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

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

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

And Yoongi can only stare somewhere else. 

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

Stare, and stare, and stare some more.

“Hit it until it breaks.”

Because he’s already aware. More than anyone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And the whole arctic starts to seep into his bloodstream.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I went to Jimin’s last night.”

…What. 

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

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

“Care to share what’s been going on?”

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

“Why her, Yoong? Hmm?”

Fuck! 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can’t fucking believe you.”

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

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

Oh, fuck that. 

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

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

“Say it—”

“Stop fucking your ex, dude!”

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

…Motherfucker, what?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So everything I heard was a lie?”

“Huh?”

“He told me!”

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

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

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

“You gonna say anything or what?” 

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

Even if it kills him.

“No, I, umm…” 

“No?” 

Just hurry up and fucking do it. 

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

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

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

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

“You sure?”

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

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

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

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

His ex? 

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

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

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

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

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

“Domestic?”

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

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

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

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

A sudden crack splits him through.

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

The clunk of his phone hits the table very hard. 

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

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

And hatred paints his heart another shade darker.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I think she feels all alone.” 

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

“And it sucks not knowing what to do.”

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

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

“I’m heading out again.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

On the run.

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

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

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

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

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

Yoongi almost fucking confesses.

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

“You think so?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” 

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

Unprecedented.  

“You’re the best out of all of us.” 

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

And they both share a drink in respectful silence. 

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

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

“You still are.”

“Says you!”

“I still am, too!”

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

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

“Break up with her, Yoong.” 

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

“Yeah?” 

“It’s over now.” 

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

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

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

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

“You sure it’s over?”

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

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

“Then get rid of that fucking guitar.” 

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

Get rid of it? He’s been trying. 

For three. Fucking. Months. 

“I might.” 

“…K.” 

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

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

Keeping his shadow exactly where it stands. 

Yoongi knows he needs to talk to you.

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

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

What time is it? 

All that greets him is darkness. 

Nothing new, but darkness all the same. 

Why was she mentioned? What does that mean? 

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

Her? You. His sheets still smell like you. 

Inhale. Breathe. Inhale. 

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

And the darkness pulls him back under. 

Without even telling him the time. 

Buzzing. 

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

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

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

Hustler: Missed Calls (6)

Dumbass: 1 Message

Hustler: 3 Messages 

Chim: 7 Messages   

Chim: Missed Calls (3) 

Holy fuck. 

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

“Oh, fuck. There you are.” 

“Mm.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m an idiot. I’m sorry.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He told you?” 

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

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

“Ah.” 

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

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

“That it’s done.” 

A hum. 

“That’s very true.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Where’s the fun in that?” 

“Knowing the answer.” 

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

“You’ll know it when you see it.” 

“Annoying.”

“Love you, too!” 

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

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

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

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

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

“K. Same time tomorrow?” 

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

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

“Relax! You will like it.” 

“Chim, I swear—”

“You’ll thank me later bye!”

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

Exactly where he always ends up. 

Exactly where he doesn’t want to be. 

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

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

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

Yoongi clutches his phone a little tighter. 

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

That sounds like fucking bliss. 

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

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

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

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

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

Fucking hell.

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

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

All he wants to do is see you, too. 

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

After all this time. All these days and nights. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Something that isn’t broken. 

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

What. No way. 

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

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

Hustler: Incoming Call 

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

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

“Are we… is this over?” 

Fuck.

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

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

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

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

“Oh. Shit, I really thought—”

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

Your sniffle sinks the ship with his heart inside. 

“Are you? With me?” 

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

“No way in hell, doll.” 

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

“Okay… I’m just. It’s been a day.” 

That’s okay. 

Because he’s had a day, too. 

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

Please keep going. 

Please don’t leave him alone. 

“Talk to me.” 

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

You’re so good at that. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck, really?” 

“Yeah.” 

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

“What did he say?” 

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

“Oh, thank fuck.” 

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

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

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

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

“Me, too, baby.” 

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

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

“I’ll figure it out.”

“You will?”

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

“Just a little longer.”

He has to.

“Okay.”

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

“Thank you.”

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

“For putting up with me.”

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

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

“Really?”

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

“Boo.”

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

“A ha… Yeah.” 

“What are you still talking to me for?” 

“I miss you.” 

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

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

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

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

“Why?” 

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

“Fuck.” 

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

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

“I hate you.” 

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

“Ha ha.” 

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

“Nu uh! You hate me, too.” 

Wait. Did you…

Did you just pout? 

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

“Wait, huh? Why!” 

“Nothing.” 

“I swear to god—” 

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

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

The smallest smile graces his face. “Guess.” 

“Kitchen.” 

The hell? “How’d you know?” 

“You’re always in there.” 

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

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

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

“The world said let them cook.” 

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

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

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

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

“You better sleep, too.”

“I will.” 

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

Because of you. It’s always you. 

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

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

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

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

“Okay. Good night, baby.”

One more heartbeat to get him through the night. 

“Night, doll.”

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

Right towards the corner that stares back. 

It’s been five days.

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

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

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

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

…So what in the fuck was that?

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

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

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

This is so hard. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tonight.  

This man.

I got the next one.

This wonderful, charming man. 

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

Goddamn it, Min Yoongi. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tonight. He’s gonna cook for you?

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

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

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

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

Yoongi: Outgoing Call 

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

“Hey.” 

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

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

“Hello?” 

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

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

He simply huffs a quiet laugh.

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

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

“You sure?” 

“Yeah! I got big girl money now.” 

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

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

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

The groan that seeps through your car should be illegal. 

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

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

“Do better.” 

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

“What? Who said anything about dessert?” 

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

“I’m starting to regret this.”

“Regret what?”

“Everything.”

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

“I am.”

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

“That’s a given, though.”

“Excuse you.”

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

“Mm, babe. One more thing.” 

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

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

“I think we’re out of condoms.” 

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

“Wait. Or are we?”

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

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

“Yeah. That’s why we’re out of—”

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

“Nah, you don’t have to.”

“Oh. Found some?”

“No.”

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

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

And you want that to be the case forever. 

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

“Yeah, you’d be annoying as hell.” 

“Damn!” 

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

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

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

“It’s gonna happen, doll.” 

You clutch the wheel.

“Cus I want that, too.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You could’ve asked somebody.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Uh huh.”

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

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

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

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

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

Your turn to blink.

“And I needed food.”

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

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

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

“Eat.”

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

“Mm.”

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

“Just a bite then.” 

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

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

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

“I don’t mind.”

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

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

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

“Nah.”

“Why not?”

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

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

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

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

“Everything.” 

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

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

“It’s okay,” you whisper. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“…Yeah.” 

Fuck. “About what?” 

“That you’d hate me.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You do?” 

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

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

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

“Hmm?” 

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

“Always, doll.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Where we’re going.”

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

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

“Then why—”

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

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

“You comin’?”

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

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

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

“Yoongi!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So I shouldn’t bust in?”

Huh. “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

What is it with him and keys? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So fucking long.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re so cute.”

“How,” you ask just as softly.

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

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

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

“Eat.”

“Huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks.” 

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

“You’re perfect, you know that?” 

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

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

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

“Good. You bored?”  

“Huh?”

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

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

You could do this for eternity, too.

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

This man. 

“Forever might be a stretch.” 

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

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

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

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

“It was kinda hot.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And why is that?”

“Cus of what I’m wearing.” 

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

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

“Okay.”

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

“What.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Uh huh.”

“I’d make you cry what the fuck!” 

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

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

“It’s mine, I just ran out—”

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

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

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

“Uh huh.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Careful, doll.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck it, we’re leaving.” 

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

“Fuck this. I’m taking you home.” 

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

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

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

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

Fucking hell, Yoongi was right.

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

But team jerseys? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Me?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Why me?” 

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

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

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

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

Ah, you were right. “I like it.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. 

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

All you can do is stare back. 

And without even realizing. 

You’re already rubbing your arm.

-

-

tbc. :((

-

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

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

[kiame-sama]

this is so stupid but im currently cracking up the idea of yandere lilia totally forgetting that his (somewhat new) object of obsession has not been informed of his actual age yet and trying to hit on them only to get like.

"Uh huh kiddo, what are you, fourteen?"

and just being stuck going 'no i swear to god im like 400 its a faerie thing please stop laughing i am a father of three-'

What Are you, Twelve? (Yan!Lilia x Reader)

(Changed from 14 to 12 because that is my usual go-to age to guess when kids (under 21) try to hit on me (over 25))

Warnings; Yandere, yandere relationship, yandere behavior, yandere temper, age confusion, Silver/Sebek/Malleus have to vouch for Lilia, old man trying to have game,

~~~~~~~~

"You know, (y/n)," you wanted to sigh when you heard him start up again, knowing the odd lad from Diasomnia was back at his usual antics, "I certainly wouldn't mind a moonlit tousle through the grass with you any night... Or any day, for that matter."

Part of you wanted to laugh and part of you wanted to scream in frustration. This had been ongoing since you met the oddly young vice-housewarden of Diasomnia, Lilia. He was a cherub-faced pallid creature with pointed ears that made him look like an elf, and he was obviously quite interested in you. Problem was, you weren't interested because you were almost certain he wasn't even old enough to attend Night Raven College, let alone be hitting on you in such a direct way.

You would give credit where it is due, Lilia often spoke as if he were an old man and he could occasionally speak as if he were wise beyond his years. Still, that didn't change the fact that you were almost certain he was a child who got in to NRC due to an older sibling. You viewed the black and pink haired boy the same way you viewed Ortho; as a child. Hence the problem you now faced as that same cherub-looking boy shamelessly made a pass at you for the fifth time that day.

It was easy to ignore when you were in class despite how the young boy tried everything in his power to get your attention. However, you were now in the cafeteria and just wanted a bit of peace and quiet. You had been spending time by the table Diasomnia students often occupied because others avoided it, but now you may have to rethink the strategy as Lilia would come bouncing over the moment he saw you.

"Lilia, I just want to eat lunch."

"I would love to eat too! Perhaps later I can have a taste of you?"

Enough was enough. You tried to not snap at others- especially housewardens and vice-housewardens- but this kid was not getting the hint and you were getting annoyed. It had to be something his older siblings put him up to, as even now you could see the Diasomnia students watching the interaction keenly. You hadn't had much time in classes with these magically-gifted students, but you knew enough about them to know which student was likely Lilia's caretaker.

So without a word to Lilia, you stood and marched right over to the table the typical Diasomnia students frequented. The one with white hair- who you knew to be NRC's own 'sleeping beauty' Silver- and stood directly in front of him with a hand on your hip.

"Call off your little brother."

"... Excuse me?"

You pointed to Lilia- who had happily joined your side- with an exasperated sigh.

"Your little brother, call him off or explain to him that children shouldn't flirt with others who are several years their senior."

This made an odd choking sound escape the green haired one sitting next to Silver. Though you didn't know that one's name, you knew enough to recognize he was the one most often yelling in any class he attended. Before he could respond, the slow rumbling lilt of the housewarden of Diasomnia hummed out.

"Lilia is not Silver's little brother."

"Okay," you gave an exasperated shrug, "then whichever of you is supposed to be keeping an eye on him, teach him some manners. Trying to sleep with someone older than him will not end well for either party."

"... Child of man, enlighten me, how old do you believe Lilia to be?"

"Too young to be chasing me."

It was then Lilia spoke up, his usual playful smile gone and replaced with a more contemplative frown.

"I'm old enough."

"Kid, what are you, twelve? I am way too old for you."

The lasting moment of silence almost made you wonder if your assessment of the boy's age was incorrect as those sitting at the table all shared a look. Lilia was no longer the bouncing excitable boy he typically behaved as, straightening up as if he were offended by your assessment.

"Twelve years-? Ah, it seems I've forgotten to inform you of my true identity. I am not human, (y/n). I am Fae. We age differently compared to humans-"

"Okay, so you're several decades old, but you are mentally tweleve. I'm still too old for you."

"... Silver is my son. I raised him, Sebek, and Malleus from infancy or near infancy."

"And I'm the Queen of Hearts. Lies are still lies, Lilia. No matter how well you spin them."

"No, I'm being serious. I am basically a father of three-"

"Lilia, I'm being serious as well. Stop chasing people older than you. It's not alright to ask someone older than you to sit on your face, okay? You shouldn't even be thinking about these things until way later in life."

You walked from the table, content that you had made your point clear as you went back to your own lunch. Lilia was beside himself with surprise and he couldn't help but look to his three sons for some kind of aid or assistance.

"I am not twelve."

"Father... I've told you, if you insist on acting younger than your age, humans are going to believe you are actually young."

"Then you talk to them, Silver. Or I may have to drag Crowley into this. My youthful appearance should not interfere in my attempts to gain their affections. That would explain why they look at me so oddly whenever I try to proposition them, though. Still, you don't want your dear father to end up a lonely old man do you?"

"Of course not, Father, you would be an excellent match for anyone-"

"Exactly my thoughts! So be a good son and wing-man for your father."

"... This is going to end poorly."

[rboooks]

The bakery is a front!...right? Part 3

Danny carefully finished the last details on a special order cake done by his newest and likely most crucial customer should the man like his pastries.

Bruce Wayne's butler was to arrive in twenty minutes for his youngest son's birthday cake. It was a staking tower and three smaller stacks, each depicting a cow on a farm, and a cat sleeping with a dog in the middle of a leap. Damian had asked for a cake that showed all his pets but was vegan.

It was an honestly fun order even if he didn't quite understand the special instructions.

"Damian's school friends mention a fun new "suger energy" coming from this bakery. I want him not to be seen as someone out of touch, so please make sure to add that in," Bruce Wayne said over the phone to a shocked Danny a week prior. If he got Wayne's attention, then soon his bakery would be the newest hot spot in Gotham!

It would be the perfect cover for bringing over more funds from his Ghost Vault and expanding. He could help many more people with employment without bringing the pesky IRS on his head for having unexplainable cash.

Sometimes doing everything by the book was a headache and a half, but if there was one thing Fentons knew how to do, was make their business significantly legal. How else would his parents file taxes for "ghost hunting?"

Handsome possible mate is near. Phantom purred in his mind while Danny spun the cake one last time to ensure everything was in order.

Sure enough Alvin appears at the kitchen door, not quite within the room, staring

. Danny has no problems with who is in his kitchen, but Andres insisted only kitchen staff needed to be back here. Apparently, they didn't have enough legroom to add more people, taking up unnecessary space.

And Andres had a strange urge to keep all their recipes a secret. It was not uncommon in Gotham for big corporations to send in spies and cause small businesses to go bankrupt when selling their secerts.

Danny, knows he's a good baker, has since he was a child. Even before his move, he could convince other ghosts Rogues to stop mid-fight for a snack break because his creations were tasty. While his original recipes falling into the hands of greedy rich men made him squirm, it was primarily due to someone taking credit for his work rather than any funds lost to them.

So after a while, he agreed to Andres' demands and promoted him to store manager. It was easier to have someone from Gotham run a Gotham shop. It left Danny with more time to bake and keep a eye on the community's recovery.

He was so happy to see that overdoses had gone down by nearly sixty percent since he opened. The homeless population had decreased by forty percent, and overall crime in his area had been a good twenty percent.

It was good to see how he was protecting his haunt.

"Danny" Alvin called after a moment. "Do you need help?"

Now, Alvin is a great guy, cute too but he couldn't decorate a cupcake to save his life. His bother was a better hand in the kitchen.

Bring him to our nessssstttt Phantom urged with a shocking wave of want, almost having Danny tumble over. Ugh, his mating season is getting out of hand.

He had seen Frostbite last week about it, but the yeti told him it was perfectly natural for ecto-beings. He would start to stabilize soon, and hopefully, Phantom would no longer be tripping over its tail to get a significant other and start a family.

His nesting problem only grew recently. Now Danny owned every building on the block- primarily due to the facilities being old businesses that went bankrupt years ago and made it super cheap after sitting there for years collecting dust. He had realized that kids didn't feel safe with adults, so a new building went up for homeless adults on his other side. Then he realized that they could benefit from a laundry place which happened to be one of the businesses that went under.

He got that remodeled and threw more goons into it. Scarecrow's old goons had gotten the word out that Danny paid well, gave excellent benefits, and working for him had the less likely chance of getting their face smashed in. Then a homeless kid asked Danny if he could borrow his bathroom because the temporary ones in the side buildings were small and cold, and the kid really missed splashing around in a tub instead of a shower. He realized he also needed to offer that. So one of the buildings was turned into a bathhouse, with rentable personal spa rooms for regular citizens. Now a community laundromat and bathhouse were open at all hours, helping stop the spread of diseases with good hygiene.

Of course, Danny had to make it seem like the money for all of this came from somewhere. He contacted Vlad, whose status as a billionaire made it easy to wire him the funds. When asked, Vlad would only mention trying to get into his step-kids good side.

He still had plenty of street kids doing bakery deliveries for him, but now he had more space to give them a actually apartment. He of course never ask for commitment and they never gave it to him.

He had a few families approach him to rest out the other buildings for business and he was excited to see different restaurants and cafes blooming to life around him. This whole street, once a dead sad thing, was becoming colorful because of him.

'I'm fine thank you Alvin" Danny says shooting the younger man a grin. Alvin face heats up and Phantom is practically beating its head against a wall. Screaming, crying as Alvin plays with bit of his hair at the bottom of his neck.

Danny swallows down the urge run his fingers through it, focusing on his human side as hard as he could.

"Is that the cake with the special ingredient? The one you send the street kids on deliverieswith?" Alvin asks after a moment pause.

"Sure is. Hopefully, we can get the Wayne's hooked on it. It'll be great for business." Danny smiles. There is a split second where Alvin's face tightens around the mouth like he's angry before it's gone.

"Yeah, I bet. Though with the help of Masters, we won't have to worry about funds for a while, right?"

Putting his tools in the sink to soak, the baker shrugs. "Vlad will help but only after he sees potential in something. The set up I have going got his attention cause of our special ingredient. He's dabbled with it before, you know? That's how he got rich"

Alvin jerks his head in his direction. "So he's an expert?"

"More than an expert. He's the main reason we have so much of this stuff to push. I wouldn't be able to get it on my own without his help," Danny says, absent minded. He's busy trying to beat Phantom back with a stick as his ghost side whines for a child of their own.

He's not going to date any of his employees. That's a weird power imbalance that Jazz would never approve of.

Maybe he should take some time away from the bakery for a while. Danny couldn't find true love if he was always working. He'll ask Tucker and Sam to come to some clubs or something. It could be fun.

I want a baby! Phantom sneered outrage that his demands have been ignored.

Soon Danny promised I'd eat two whole bagels later in the meantime.

"Masters is our leading supplier, and he just lets us manage his goods without instruction? Isn't that a bit unorthodox?

Danny blinks " I guess? Vlad's always done some unorthodox deals. His giving me complete control will likely keep him out of the picture once someone catches on. Gosh, sometimes I wish I got out of the family business as my sisters did, but one of us had done this, or our parents would be unbearable."

Alvin Draper looks sadden "Your parents pushed you into this life?"

"Raised me in it," Danny corrects "My dad and I made his special Fruge for the first time when I was three. Been hooked ever since."

Just then Peter is there looking horror stuck "Your old man got you hooked at age three?"

"Yeah?"

"Why do you keep doing it then?"

"The baking? Well, it's ugh part of me now. I'll die of I stop- er die completely. "

Alvin snatched his hand to tug him close, and wow, he was stronger than he looked for a nineteen-year-old. Phantom woofs as the man practically lefts him off the floor to set him on the counter and stare into his eyes. "You don't have to live like this anymore. Let me help you. Let me protect you"

Both Danny and Phantom chock on their shared spit at the best flirting method anyone could use against a protective spirit.

The promise of protection was like someone whispering sweet nothings in his ear during love making.

"I got to go!" He screams jumping away from the brothers to run out of his own bakery in a panic.

Goodness. I need a vacation. Maybe my sisters would be down for some ectoplasm collecting in the Ghost Zone?

(Jason and Tim take the cake for Damian back to the cave, swearing when the test come back as a regular vegan cake. Had Tim stepped in too early and stop Danny from adding the drug?

Jason was angry that Danny was just another kid the adult around him failed. But now Danny was one of those adults, and it's killed him to admit it, but he would still shoot Danny in order to stop the cycle.

Bruce, after confirming the cake was delicate, shared a slice with his youngest, who adored the flavor. It was the best cake he's ever had. Such a waste of talent on crime.

At least the Bats had a new lead. Vlad Masters and his mysterious rise to wealth. They would get him and Danny off the streets.

Danny is miles away, fanning his blushing face as his sister demands more information of the cute baker boy that knew how to flirt with protection ghosts. )

( Part 1) (Part 2), (Part 4)

[underdark-dreams]

Tiefling Bachelors - Tail headcanons [pining + in a relationship]

Some tail thoughts for Rolan, Dammon, & Zevlor [reader is gender neutral, non-Tiefling]

For anyone who doesn't follow already-- @forgeofthenine creates amazing Tief content! Their headcanons for these three are VERY delicious, including some genius tail HCs that I have been rereading all day!🖤

Pining:

Rolan:

When he's extra annoyed or excited by something, the tip of his tail will twitch side-to-side behind him slightly like a cat’s

Turns out the same thing happens when he’s got a crush on someone

He can control it with enough concentration, but it could still give him away if you catch him off guard or heaven forbid touch him in an unexpected way

It’s no secret from Cal and Lia—the three of them teased each other ruthlessly about the littlest flirtations back in Elturel, as teenagers do, so they’re used to picking up on all of each others’ signs

The minute they catch Rolan’s telltale (tell-tail?) move while he’s talking with you, you can bet those two will not let it go until you’ve moved in. Probs not even then honestly

If you get friendly enough with Rolan to have long talks about magic or the Weave, his guard will lower and he’ll let his tail do its thing (within reason)

He lies to himself that it’s just because he finds your conversation stimulating. Really, it’s everything about you

Dammon:

If you’re a non-Tiefling, Dammon might comfort himself with the knowledge that you probably don’t recognize the significance of how his tail moves when you’re near

He’s good at keeping his words to you measured and polite. The way his body reacts around you is a bit more instinctive and hard to control

He’s goddamn touch-starved to be honest, this man is practically married to his hammer and anvil & he’s been living alone for years

Whenever he makes you laugh, he finds his tail curls forward toward you a bit—wishing he could touch or hold you with it

Dammon always tells himself he needs to be a bit more careful when you come around the forge. But somehow it goes out the window every time

His tail will sway gently back and forth when you talk to him, not quite wagging, but definitely actively engaged

A fellow Tiefling would immediately recognize the gesture as interest and flirtation

Zevlor:

Zevlor thought he was a pro at this: controlling the tail movements, the ear twitches, generally suppressing his Infernal tendencies at all times

But it's been so long since someone made him feel like this. Handsome, desirable, everything

The first time you overtly flirt with him, and especially the first time you touch his arm or shoulder, his tail wags behind him

He stiffens immediately, alarmed and taken aback by his own reaction to your touch. Prays you haven’t noticed

If he can smoothly get away with it, he might excuse himself from your presence to try and collect his composure

He’s very conscious of his role as leader/authority figure among the other Tiefling refugees. He’d be mortified if any of them caught him eagerly tail-wagging like a youth after just a casual gesture from you

From that point Zevlor refocuses his control whenever you’re near, making sure to keep part of his brain aware of his posture around you. The way you keep seeking him out and standing close to him during conversation doesn’t make it any easier on this poor man

Relationship:

Rolan:

More than hand-holding, Rolan prefers to hold you with his tail

Let him loop it around your calf when you’re standing beside each other, or rest the curve around the small of your back

He finds it profoundly comforting to keep in contact and touch you that way

Rolan would love if you let him gently bind you with his tail, whether it’s your hands behind your back or one of your legs pulled open for him

He often wraps it around your waist while you’re topping or riding him

Rolan also likes to drag his tail between your legs while you’re going down on him and he can’t reach you with his hands

It turns into teasing almost every time—Rolan trying to see if he can finish you with his tail before you can finish him with your mouth

Rolan’s tail gets super sensitive when he’s close to coming. Gently tug on the tip, or God forbid suck on as much of his length as your mouth can take—Rolan will come hard with a loud whimper

Dammon: 

Finally getting with you is a relief for this man; he was struggling to control his body’s reactions around you anyway

Dammon is very cuddly and touchy with you in general, but he especially loves the freedom to finally touch you with his tail

Naughty man loves to slide it up over the curve of your ass when you’re kissing—even when you’re both standing in his open-air forge where a passerby on the street could glance over and see

He’s super into you, why would he hide it? Unless it makes you uncomfortable in the slightest, of course, in which case he'll do his best to restrain himself

It would turn him on so much if you asked for tailplay in the bedroom

Let him hold you with it, spread you, spank you, help you grind and pleasure yourself with it—anything you want, he’s down bad for

Watching his tail get you worked up super super does it for Dammon, and he will be sure to tell you just how much

Zevlor:

Once you’re together, Zevlor won’t hold back from using his tail to caress you

It’s usually when you’re already kissing or embracing each other. His tail will curl behind your knees, or perhaps wrap once around your waist to gently hold you close

He still keeps the gestures mild, out of habit and out of some lingering concern that it might come on too strong for a non-Tiefling. Zevlor also just tends to be reserved when it comes to PDA in general

When he’s bedding you, Zevlor’s tail may wrap around one of your legs in the heat of the moment—it’s a sign of deep affection and trust, and a bit of possessiveness (good luck getting him to admit to that one though)

Beyond that you will have to ask, beg, and plead to get this man to use his tail actively during sex

Despite his chivalry, Zevlor has been around the block and seen pretty much everything during his Hellrider days. But those were different times: here now, with the person he cares for most in the world, everything feels new all over again

Asking him to slip the tip anywhere inside you will render him speechless for a moment

You’ll have the best luck if you’re already naked on top of him when you ask

If you want to give Zevlor his hardest orgasm in a decade, tug and play with the very base of his tail while he’s inside you. He will practically sob against you and finish in record speed

[ahhnini]

real man - rafe cameron x reader

you’re tired of rafe keeping you a secret

a/n - hi everyone pls send in requests!! <3

warnings - angst, secret relationship, arguing (?), not proofread!

you can’t handle it anymore. it’s been over a year. a year since you two got together, and a year since you’ve been hiding in his shadow. you sit up from your bed, staring out the window, fidgeting with your locket. today was the day you were gonna break up with him.

you didn’t mean to do this while you were on the clock, but your emotions ran high. your planned confrontation was distracting you from doing your job, almost crashing your beverage cart in one of the trees. picking a stray leaf from your hair, you texted rafe to meet you in the janitor’s closet down the hall of the club.

you wait for him in the dusty closet. the room where you two had many private moments, but this would be your last. he knocks three times, and you open the door to see his towering frame. he shuffles into the closet before he closes the old wooden door. long arms wrap around your waist as he pushes his lips against yours, your body flush against his. you gasp, shoving him away and wiping your lips with the back of your hand. giving you a confused look, rafe holds your chin in between his thumb and finger, slightly tilting your head to the side. “why’d you call me over here, baby?” he runs a thumb over your lips. looking to the side, you let out a deep breath, “i’m tired, rafe.”

“you’re tired? do you want me to go talk to your boss or something? I don’t get—”

“no, i’m tired of our relationship.”

his eyebrows furrow, and he lets go of your face.

“what do you mean, y/n?”

“i’m so tired of hiding. i’m so tired of having to pretend like we don’t know each other!” you flail your arms in the air, causing some cleaning supplies to fall down from the shelves.

“hey—calm down. let’s talk about this when we get home, okay?” he pins your arms down your sides.

“no! for a year i’ve been waiting for us to go public, for a year i’ve been waiting for you to show me off to your friends and family,” tears brim in your eyes, “do you know how much that hurts, rafe?” you sniffle, wiping a tear, “its stupid. i’m stupid,” your voice shaking. rafe blinks at you, not saying a word. his mouth falls open as you rip off your golden locket, throwing the dainty metal at his chest.

prying open the door, you look over your shoulder before exiting the room, “we’re over.”

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[jaylver]

4 TIMES JAY ALMOST PROPOSED + 1 TIME HE ACTUALLY DID

SYNOPSIS: Failed proposals and a determined mind challenges Park Jong Seong as he manages through tumbling ups and downs in order to successfully propose to the love of his life.

PAIRINGS: non-idol!jay x afab!reader

GENRE: established relationship au, romance, fluff

WARNING(S): profanities, snake (?)

WC: 2671

AUTHOR NOTES: hope y'all will enjoy this one! rushed it a bit so i'm sorry if there's anything lacking! please give some feedbacks, it'll be greatly appreciated <3

masterlist | © jaylver 2023 all rights reserved

i.

It has been almost six years since you and Jay have gotten together. 

From being friends to going on casual dates to moving in together, you knew this was it. You were very sure Jay was the man for you. It was a no-brainer that Jay felt the same too. He always knew all along and you didn't need any reaffirming from him either.

Marriage was a topic you and Jay had discussed each year and the opinion seemed to have never changed, you two were fine with the idea of marriage and were open to it. It wasn't the matter of yes or no, it was when it would happen. As years passed, the thought of a serious future together was an unspoken confirmation between you two. It was also a theme frequently asked during family dinners or friend gatherings and you would just wave it off, though secretly wishing and looking forward to it actually happening.

What you didn't know was that Jay happened to be already one step ahead, like how he always was. Now, the problem was struggling to propose and not knowing when to do so. He's got the perfect ring, the best words he picked out to say, the faint  idea of where he wanted to propose, but he just didn't know when. Could you believe that?

His three best friends were there to give him a pep talk, helping him plan the proposal and in the meantime, he made sure to go all the way to your parents to ask for their permission, to which they said ‘yes’ to almost immediately, absolutely elated and welcoming Jay to the family before he even officially popped the question, that was how much they loved Jay and no one could blame them for it.

With the help of your’s and Jay’s parents and his best friends, they planned a special private dinner by a restaurant on the beach you loved going to and having the proposal on the sandy beach with lighted candles. It was a simple idea but he knew you wouldn’t mind it from the countless proposal ideas you’ve once shared. Not to mention, it was the place where you and Jay shared your first kiss, making it much more memorable. He had a feeling this would be the perfect spot for a proposal.

Your boyfriend’s nervousness and anxiety were only getting gradually higher as the date got closer. He wondered how it managed to go such under the radar, playing it off as a normal Saturday date night and you were totally oblivious to it, gushing about returning back to the spot where you two shared your first kiss.

The small box which had your engagement ring inside was tucked into a compartment of Jay’s expensive suit, his hand occasionally flying to the spot and patting it to make sure it didn’t magically disappear. He swore he was going insane, and you noticing his jitters wasn’t making him feel better either.

Over dinner, you were there cracking jokes and laughing at the ridiculous puns he made, but all he could was focus on you, the crinkles of your eyes whenever you smiled, your smile, your laugh, the way your hair swept past your shoulders, lord he was whipped and he just needed to put a ring on your finger quick! Fast forwarding to after dinner where his anxiety reached its height and his foot tapped anxiously on the floor, he was waiting for the bill to arrive and it was a challenge to not burst out screaming.

“Here’s your bill, sir—” finally! “—it’s raining outside, would you like an umbrella?”

It’s WHAT?

“R–raining? O–outside, on the beach?” Jay croaked out, there was no way this was happening.

“Yes, sir,” the waiter nodded, slightly confused at Jay’s sudden surprise.

You tilted your head, peering over at your boyfriend with a questioning expression. “Is there something wrong? We could go to the beach another day, honey, we always do anyway,”

“Right,” Jay breathed out, nodding slowly and trying his best to not blow his own cover. “We’d like to borrow the umbrella please.” he said to the waiter, tucking the bill into the compartment inside his jacket, and with one last pat of the box tucked snuggly in another compartment, he let out a sigh and held onto your hand waiting for the umbrella. 

Almost.

But almost was never enough.

ii. 

Ironic it was that you and Jay happened to be at a wedding.

Upon hearing the failed proposal, everyone was disappointed but still remained resilient, racking their brains to think of a fresh idea. But now, you had wedding duties to attend to and your lovely boyfriend was dragged along. It was your friend’s wedding and you spent the day going around congratulating the pair, drinking here and there and dancing with Jay, basically having the time of your life.

“If weddings are usually this fun, I really want one too,” you sighed to Jay, leaning onto his shoulder. 

If only you knew.

He hummed in response, wrapping an arm around your shoulder as you two watched the stars of the event have their first dance together. In Jay’s eyes, he was wishing it was you and him instead.

Towards the end of the wedding, the bride announced for a bouquet toss enthusiastically, and all the unmarried women in the room formed a cluster behind the bride as she got onto a short stool. You were among the bunch, joining in for the fun without taking it seriously. That was until the bouquet had shot into the air, flying towards you and your hand reached out in a natural instinct, catching it instantly.

You caught the bouquet. This meant that the catcher was getting married next. Were you? The ladies all cheered and clapped, but your eyes wandered off to Jay, where people around him gave him claps on the back or handshakes, his gaze landed on you as well, a big grin wide on his face. You broke into a smile, waving the bouquet excitedly.

Once the wedding had officially ended and you were walking hand-in-hand to the parking lot, swinging the bouquet in your other hand, your mind filled with some questions. “Do you think this is a sign?”

“What sign, darling?”

“You know how people say when you catch the bouquet you get married next?”

Jay had red alarms blaring in his head. “Really?”

“Yup,” 

Jay wished he was able to get on one knee in this random parking lot at that moment, a place where it was empty and quiet, no one to bother you two, though severely unromantic but Jay’s patience was wearing thin. He knew it wouldn’t change anything between you two if he proposed now or later, but he wanted to call you his fiancee already. 

“Y/N—”

Will you marry me? 

“Hm?”

“I love you,”

You poked his side, raising an eyebrow at him. “Out of the blue?”

“Can’t I express my love for my girlfriend?”

“Of course you can, idiot, I love you too.”

Oh, how he longed for you to not be his girlfriend anymore but instead his fiancee.

iii. 

A few weeks rolled by and Jay was feverishly looking for an empty slot at all your favourite restaurants. Thanks to it being Valentine's week, all of them had none. Zero.

Jay wanted to give in and propose to you right there and then, whenever you were in bed or even on the couch, he didn’t care. He knew you didn’t care much about a proposal’s fanciness, just hoping it wasn’t a public one, but he couldn’t help to go all out to make sure you liked it. That was the length Jay would go for you. 

It wasn’t a surprise Jay was getting increasingly frustrated that the proposal was dragged later and later. But all he could in front of you was play it off as not getting seats for valentines.

“We don’t need to do anything big for valentines, Jay,” you reassured, rubbing his back softly. Of course you didn’t, he loved your simpleness. 

“I know, my love,” Jay smiled at your efforts of calming him, you were the one who knew him best.

The romance movie you had playing in the background was showing a proposal scene, the female lead gasping in shock as the male lead got onto one knee, the typical thing. You laid your head on Jay’s shoulder, snuggling closer to his side with his arms around you, eyes trained on the screen, but your boyfriend’s head was swarmed with more internal screaming at the sight. Luck was needed on his head.

“This is so cute,” you referred to the scene, deep down wishing for the same. 

“You think so?” Jay said quietly, rubbing the side of your arms. 

“Very much so,”

“What if I proposed …one day,” he quickly added the last part, being as careful as he could.

“What do you think I’ll say to that?” you patted his jaw, seeing a small smile form on his face.

“I hope it’s a ‘yes’,”

“Of course it’ll be one, I’d be such a big idiot if I said otherwise,” you squeezed his cheek, a grin tugged on your lips. “But that’s never happening,”

“Yeah?”

‘Marry me?’ Was what rang through Jay’s mind endlessly and he wished he could run into the bedroom to grab the engagement ring hidden in his bedside table.

“Yeah. Obviously.”

He knew it was forever and always.

iv. 

Jay had many stupid ideas in his life and this was one of them. He blamed that one TikTok video. 

In that video, the man and his girlfriend went on a hike, his friend on an undercover mission at the top of the cliff filming the reaction. It was cute and the reactions had Jay almost in tears, which gave him the idea of planning a hike, one where a ring was involved.

Out of you two, Jay was the more adventurous and active person, constantly bringing you to hikes and runs, so this wasn’t your first rodeo and it definitely didn’t surprise you at all. 

Jay knew he had this in the bag, with you oblivious and his plans turning out well, his stress was decreasing, thank heavens. Just like the video, Jay had Heeseung arriving at the top of the cliff minutes before you two did, hiding behind a bush with a camera already recording. 

So, on a Sunday morning, you and Jay hiked up a usual track on the cliff that you were familiar with. There were little to none people, and you got to roam freely, talk and joke loudly as if it was only you and him in the world.

“I’m tired,” you complained, taking your final steps and reaching the top, thankful that you were able to rest and catch your breath for a while before having to head back down. 

“The view is great,” Jay pointed towards the sky, and he was right. The clouds were painted in different shades of pink, orange and red, the sun was up and the morning sunlight provided warmth.

“It is,” you turned your back towards him, and that was when Jay realised it was time. He spotted Heeseung and gave him a thumbs up, he got the box from the back pocket, ready to get on one knee but—

“What the fuck?” Jay jumped, literally. His whole body basically jumped and backed away, there was a snake. A snake managed to ruin his proposal this time. First it was the rain, and now a snake? Was nature ever going to leave him alone?

“What?” you were obviously startled, rushing to your boyfriend’s side and huddled behind him. 

“There was a snake,” his voice wavered, though it was now gone, there was no way he could just propose like everything was normal. The rush was gone and his confidence was poof, gone.

“What?” you shrieked, tugging onto Jay’s sleeve. “I think we should leave,”

“Yeah,” Jay, evidently shaken, could only nod and keep the ring back into his pocket. He made sure that Heeseung got the memo and left, a heart broken and an ego continually punched.

Another time’s the charm!

+i. 

Despite the many unforgettable failed attempts of a proposal, Jay never backed down. This was going to be the last time, and it was going to be a successful one. 

As per Jay’s promise to bring you back to the beach, you were now having a candlelit picnic by the shore under the night sky, some slow music playing distantly in the background. Everything reminded you of that night during the start of your relationship, and you found yourself reminiscing, amazed at how far you two had come. 

“I can’t believe we’re here tonight,”

“Really?” Jay asked, you two had been here countlessly, the sudden sentiment had taken him off guard. 

“This was where it all began, wasn’t it?” you gazed at him, love and affection in your eyes. “This place is special, I don’t know how to describe it,”

“I get it,” Jay assured, laughing a little.

“You always do,” you smiled, reaching over to squeeze his hand lightly. “Wanna dance?”

Jay couldn’t resist and nodded, slyly taking the box from under the picnic blanket and slipping it into his pants pocket. You were too busy switching the music to notice, and once you had your favourite song playing, you rushed towards your boyfriend, practically crashing into his arms.

“Hello, pretty lady,” he said softly, his arm around your waist and your hand on his shoulder, rocking side to side. “‘Can’t take my eyes off of you’ huh?”

“It’s one of our songs, I can’t help it,” you laid your head on his shoulder, biting back a chuckle. 

This was peace. In the middle of a quiet beach, it was just you and him, bare and transparent, listening to him humming to the song, the cool night air engulfing you and him both. There was nothing you wished for more than this. 

“You’re just too good to be true…” Jay sang along, and you removed your head from his shoulder, giggling as you locked eyes with him. “Can’t take my eyes off of … you,” 

It happened too quickly. Jay had gotten onto one knee, his hand never left your hold. “Ever since I’ve met you, it really didn’t take me long to realise that you are the one for me,” one hand reached for the box in his pocket. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you, I want to stand by you no matter what,” he opened the box, the ring shone bright in the night and you gasped. 

“Will you marry me, Y/N?”

Jay couldn’t believe he was uttering those words. You were in disbelief this was happening.

“Yes! Of fucking course, yes, yes, yes!” you caught his face with both hands, pressing a long kiss on his lips, feeling him smiling against yours. The moment you pulled away, he slipped the ring onto your finger and you were starting to tear up.

You were marrying your forever best friend. The love of your life.

“I love you,” you pressed another kiss on the corner of his lips, pulling him close.

“I love you more,” he kissed you on the lips in return, knowing you would rebut and say you loved him more instead. “You have no idea how happy I am,” he wiped the tears away from your cheeks.

“I’m the happiest woman too, I’m so lucky to have you,”

“Obviously,” Jay joked, and you scoffed, punching him softly. “Joking. I’m a lucky man too,”

“I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you.”

“You’re going to have to put up with me for life now, my love.”

Safe to say the wrongs finally turned right for Jay in the end. Married life was going to be new, but before that, wedding planning was about to take him out first.

[evertomorrowart]

Best of YouTube 2023

Yes, I did spend the first week and change of January on this. I wish I could have had it done for New Years, but too many people came out with incredible work in December, so waiting turned out for the best.

What these creators do are a huge influence on my life, I would honestly have difficulty doing what I do without them. That isn't to say that my favorites of the year are *only* on this image--It was almost impossible to narrow down my favorites. Many creators I wanted to include couldn't fit on a single page, and too many of them made more than one video I wished I could draw too!

But, to all of you, thank you for what you do. You're an inspiration.

For those who don't know, further is an explanation.

At the bottom center is an artistic masterpiece by Defunctland: "Journey to EPCOT Center: A Symphonic History." Over the last several years, Defunctland has risen from delightfully-entertaining commentary on decommissioned theme park attractions to occasionally dropping profound statements on the creation of art itself. "Journey to EPCOT Center: A Symphonic History" is worth treating like the cinematic experience it is: No second screen, you sit your ass down in front of a TV, set down the phone, and then you *watch it.* Any Disney, theme park, or independent film fan needs to pay attention to this one.

Bottom left is Caelan Conrad with their piece "Drop the T - The Deadly Consequences of Gay Respectability Politics." While I do think they've done more visually or artistically-daring pieces before, "Drop the T" is one of the most important videos released on YouTube in today's current climate of hate. We as queer folk (and our allies) need to understand how integral every identity of the queer experience has been since the start of the Civil Rights movement (and before!). While we are not identical, we *are* inseparable, and we deserve having our real history easily accessible.

TERFs and other conservative mouthpieces need not reply. Your opinions are trash. 😘

I cannot stop watching and rewatching this video by @patricia-taxxon, "On the Ethics of Boinking Animal People." It's not just a defense of furry fandom and its eccentricities, it's a thoughtful and passionate analysis of what the artform achieves that purely human representation can't. Patricia goes outside of her usual essay format to directly speak to the viewer about the elements that define furry media (the most succinct definition I've ever heard) and just how *human* an act loving animal cartoons really is.

As an artist who can draw furry characters, but never really got into erotic furry art, this video is a treasure. Why did I choose to have her drawn as a Ghibli character, hanging out with one of the tanukis from "Pom Poko?" Guess you'll have to watch, bruh.

Philosophy Tube continuously puts out videos that I would put on this list--I'm not even sure that "A Man Plagiarised my Work: Women, Money, and the Nation" is the best work she released in 2023. However, this video got many conversations going between myself and my partner, and the twist on the tail end of the video shocked us both to such a degree that I had no choice.

At the very tail end of the year, Big Joel released "Fear of Death." On his Little Joel channel, he described it as the singularly best video he's ever done, and I'm inclined to agree. However, for this illustration, I ended up repeatedly going back to a mini-series he did earlier in the year: "Three Stories at the End of the World." All three videos are deeply moving and haunting, and I was brought to tears by "We Must Destroy What the Bomb Cannot." While it may be relatively-common knowledge that the original Gojira (Godzilla) film is horror grappling with the devastation America's rush to atomic dominance inflicted on Japan, Big Joel still manages to bring new words to the discussion. Please watch all three of the videos, but if, for some reason, you must have only one, let it be "We Must Destroy What the Bomb Cannot."

Y'all. Let me confess something. I hate football. I hate watching it, I associate seeing it from the stadiums with some of my worst childhood experiences, I despise collegiate and professional football (as institutions that destroy bodies and offer up children at the feet of its alter as a pillar of American culture)--

I. L o a t h e. Football.

But.

F.D. Signifier could get me to watch an entire hour-plus essay on why I should at least give a passing care. AND HE DID IT. I might think "F*ck the Police," the two-parter on Black conservatism, or his essay on Black men's connection to anime might be "better" videos, but this writer did the impossible and held my limited attention span towards football long enough to make a sincere case for NFL players--and reminds us that millionaires can *in fact* be workers. That alone is testament to his skill.

Sit down and watch "The REAL Reason NFL Running Backs Aren't Getting Paid." Any good anti-capitalist owes it to themselves.

CJ the X continuously puts out stunning, emotional videos, and can do it with the most seemingly-inconsequential starting points. A 30 second song? An incestuous commercial? Five minutes of Tangled? Sure, why not. Go destroy yourself emotionally by watching them. I'm serious. Do it.

Their video Stranger Things and the Meaning of Life manages to to remind us all why the way we react to media does, in fact, matter. Yes, even nostalgia-driven, mass-media schlock. Yes, how we interact with media matters, what it says about us matters, and we all deserve to seek out the whys.

Folding Ideas has spent the last few years articulating exactly why so much of our modern world feels broken, and because of that his voice continuously lives rent-free in my brain. While the tricks that scam artists and grifters use to try to swindle us are never new, the advancement of technology changes the aesthetics of their performances. Portions of Folding Ideas' explanations might seem dry when going into detail of how stocks work in This is Financial Advice, but every bit of it is necessary to peel back the layers of techno-babble and jargon and make sense of the results of "Meme Stocks."

Jessie Gender puts out nothing but bangers, her absolute unit of a video about Star Wars might be my new favorite thing ever, but none of her work hit so profoundly in 2023 than the two-parter "The Myth of 'Male Socialization'" and "The Trauma of Masculinity." There's so much about modern life that isolates and traumatizes us, and so much of it is just shrugged off as "normal." We owe it to ourselves to see the world in more vivid a color palette than we're initially given.

Panels drawn after Kate Beaton and "Ducks: Two Years in the Oil Sands."

"This is Not a Video Essay" is one of the most intense and beautiful pieces of art I've ever put into my eyeballs. Why do we create? What drives us to connect?

I don't even know what else to say about the Leftist Cooks' work, it repeatedly transcends the medium and platform. Watch every single one of their videos, but especially this one.

The likelihood you are terminally online and yet haven't heard of Hbomberguy's yearly forrays into destroying the careers of awful people is pretty slim. Just because it has millions of views doesn't mean that Hbomberguy's "Plagiarism and You(Tube)" isn't worth the hype. Too long? Shut up, it has chapters and YouTube holds your place, anyway. You think a deep dive into a handful of creators is only meaningless drama? Well, you're wrong, you wrong-opinion-haver. Plagiarism is an *everyone* problem because of the actual harm it creates--the history it erases, the labor it devalues, the art it marginalizes--which you would know if you watched "Plagiarism and You(Tube)".

Watch. The damn. Video.

In fact, watch all of them!

Thanks for reading this if you did.

[red-riding-wood]

PSA - Community Predator

Over a series of months, myself and other Tumblr users -- fic writers, gif makers, fans of created content -- have been victimised by @mrkdvidal1989, who has extensively lied about who he is, preyed on multiple women and denied involvement -- therefore ruining friendships, reputations and feelings, and promised me life-saving medical treatment that he never followed through on.

More information including mine and their stories under the cut.

The reason I am going public with this is twofold:

A) To protect others from being hurt. He is known to reach out to many tumblr users, especially young women in the Cillian Murphy fandom -- but he may have a wider reach beyond this circle. B) Since his "disappearance" three weeks ago and the unravelling of his lies, this man has ruined my life and the only hope I had of obtaining treatment for a condition that has been plaguing me for four years.

Killian Vidal is the name he has chosen to give us, and has claimed to be both a officer commander and general in the mobility troop in the SAS (the general rank does not even exist), has beaten cancer a while ago (but said to another mutual that his "time was running out" and he is currently struggling with it), and a plethora of other life experiences and general knowledge about him that varies in consistency when talking to different people and is questionable in its validity. He has also shared pictures of "himself" that when reverse image searched, belong to different people.

I got to know Kill when he reblogged one of my fanfics (as the story seems to start with a lot of his victims) and he reached out via DMs. We quickly became close friends who called nearly every day on Discord and when I told him about my health issues, he immediately offered to pay for my medical treatment wherever I could find willing doctors.

I was hesitant to believe this at first since all of this seemed too good to be true (and was). He claimed to be very wealthy, enough to afford private jets like it was nothing and to rent me an apartment in the UK in the same building as him. Over time, I grew to trust him because he felt like such a genuine person and friend, which was made all the more believable by the fact that he has such a huge following on Tumblr and was, at the time, part of a vast social network of fans and friends (one of which he even claimed to know IRL -- who will remain anonymous unless they decide to speak out). I decided to ignore the little red flags because I was so desperate to receive this treatment that for me would be life-saving.

For four years, I have been plagued by an array of (mostly) undiagnosed digestive issues that have made my life almost unbearable and have on numerous occasions nearly killed me due to malnutrition. I've spent months in hospital, endured years of malpractice and misdiagnoses, undergone heart surgery, and have tried absolutely everything I can to get better. In the winter of 2023, I was told by my doctor that I was refused in the TPN program (a treatment that may have slowed or stopped my weight loss) and that with or without it, I was looking at mortality. Refusing to stop fighting but having exhausted the public health care system in Canada, I went into 2024 not really having much hope of anything anymore.

So, when Kill came along, that changed. He promised -- and I mean, from the bottom of his heart, promised -- that he would help me get treatment, that he would get me out of my abusive home and fly me to the UK, that he would be there for me as my friend, etc. I was beyond grateful, and as my trust with him built, so did my hope.

The travel plans kept getting put off; originally, he would fly me out as soon as the apartment became available, which was the 11th of Feb, 2024. He kept finding excuses to not book the jet. Finally, it seemed as if around the 15th/16th I would be flying. My health had been declining rapidly and the situation was becoming all the more urgent, and he said he was in contact with a pilot and would send the ticket soon and call me.

That was the last I heard from him. The 16th.

Initially thinking he had ended his life (he had discussed thoughts of suicide with me prior to this), I was beside myself with worry not only thinking one of my closest friends was gone but also that my chance at life was. I reached out to his other friends, and I made several calls to the UK authorities and emergency services and ended up requesting a welfare check be made to see if he was even alive.

They reported that no one under the name Killian Vidal was in the records of the building name he gave me -- the same building that I was meant to live in within that week.

After reaching out to my now beloved friend @kittenonpluto (A.K.A., Cas) on Tumblr, I learned that Kill was in fact alive, and had told her that he was in hospital for digestive issues in Indianopolis, United States (though again, no record of his name in their medical system). He still wouldn't talk to me, but told her to tell me that he would reach out when he was out of hospital.

Cas and I compared information he'd told us (her story will be attached to this post) and looked into the mystery more. He constantly dodged confrontation and questions about the fake photos and information he'd sent her, and seemed to use his completely fabricated hospitalisation as an excuse to not fulfil his promises to myself and her, as well as a means to garner sympathy.

It was quite obvious that he didn't know how the American medical system worked, and he even incorporated elements of my actual story and used them in his. When asked about his treatments, he responded with medically false information. He reported digestive issues, reflux, and having both an NG tube and TPN -- both of which I have experience with -- and let me say, I am beyond disgusted and infuriated that my real life trauma was used as a ploy in all this.

How do we know for a fact this is false? I checked the police case for his welfare check again, and they said that they confirmed him being in the UK at the same time he had told Cas he was in hospital in the States.

After a final confrontation from both Cas and myself (and a desperate final plea for the medical aid he promised me), he was never heard from again from either of us or our friend circles.

I'm now having to pick up the pieces he's left me in and to be honest, I have little to no idea of what the hell to do or how to save myself. The fact that he strung me along for a month and built up my hope that I was going to live only to abandon me without even a word is deplorable to me.

And mine isn't the only story. I've heard from four women on Tumblr (who, again, will remain anonymous unless they choose to speak out) who he has been romantic or sexually involved with (and lied about his involvement, made them out to seem insane or toxic, created rifts in our friendships, toyed with their emotions, and made false promises to of relationships, marriage, and finances).

And that's not including the ex-wife who came back to Tumblr to claim that her and Kill had never met nor married. She was promptly silenced by a "lawyer threat" that we have strong reason to believe was a bluff.

At the end of the day, there are so many lies, half-truths, inconsistencies, etc. this man has wrapped himself in and we don't know for the life of us what his motives are, but from the information that we do know is false, he isn't genuine. He toys with people. He hurts them. Myself and the others that have been affected by this want that to stop.

And at any point, he has the ability to make a new account, and take on a new persona, pretend to be someone else. Tumblr is a wonderful place and I have met so many cool people on here, but please be careful about who you interact with and what you share, because aside from making this post, it is beyond my power to stop him from doing what he does. But after what he did to me, I could not remain silent.

Other Stories

If you have an experience or story with Killian that you would like heard, please reblog it on this thread or make a post. With your consent, I can include a link to it below.

kittenonpluto's story

aurorag98's story

everyoneisawhore's story

your-nanas-house's story

hllywdwhre's story

Final Note

Lastly, if you have read this far, thank you.

If you want to reach out to me about this issue -- whether it's to anonymously share your experience, ask questions, ask for evidence (of which I can back up these statements with), or anything at all --, please do not hesitate to do so. <3

For those who may be worried about the potential legality of this post, everything that I have stated as fact is fact and it is not my intention to slander or spread false information.

[vivwritesfics]

The Bad Luck Boy

This is the story of the bad luck boy and the two people he loved.

2.3K

LeStappen x reader

This is the story of the Bad Luck Boy.

The Bad Luck Boy was a nice boy. He was polite and sweet, making those around him smile.

The Bad Luck Boy was a hard working boy. His career was his everything. Well, almost his everything.

The Bad Luck Boy was a handsome boy. Everybody knew it, including his teammate and his biggest rival.

Y/N L/N had known the Bad Luck Boy since her karting days. They raced each other, pushing each other off the track. Together, they moved into Formula Three. Together, they moved into Formula 2. When Charles won the F2 championship, he graduated up into Formula One, while Y/N was still stuck in F2.

She herself won the championship in 2018 and, by 2019, she was racing alongside Kimi Räikkönen in Alfa Romeo Racing. Two years later, after proving herself and scoring a podium in the Alfa Romeo car, Y/N L/N was offered the second seat in Ferrari.

When they were kids, Y/N and the Bad Luck Boy raced in karts alongside Max Emilian Verstappen. Max had always been an aggressive driver, but Y/N loved the challenge. Unlike with Charles, she didn't move through her career with him, instead following in his footsteps. When Y/N moved up into F1, Max was already racing at the front of the grid; she only really got to race against him when he pitted.

The Bad Luck Boy loved his job. His job treated him like shit, though. Y/N herself struggled weekend after weekend in the SF-23, but there was nothing worse than watching the Bad Luck Boy struggle in it.

The SF-23 got Y/N around the track at least in seventh, but the Bad Luck Boy was barely making it around the track. There was one race where Y/N didn't even make it onto the track, unable to start because of the car. But watching Charles wrestle with it, hearing him on the radio, was painful enough.

The Bad Luck Boy had one thing going for him. He was in love. Better than that, he was in love with two people. His teammate and his rival.

Yes, the Bad Luck Boy had some good luck. He loved two people and those two people loved him. But it wasn't without its complications.

Y/N stood beside Max as he drank his can of Red Bull, further down the paddock, Charles was completing an interview. "Shouldn't you be down there with him?" Max asked, offering her a sip of his drink.

Y/N shook her head, refusing the drink. "Unless we're doing our challenges or media duties, I'm staying away from him," she answered him. "I can't be shouting his name across the paddock or saving him seats for the drivers parade." Her tone was somewhat bitter as she kept her eyes on the pavement.

Letting out a laugh, Max finished his drink. "Oh, come on. It's not that mad. You're standing with me now, and nothings happening."

"Because I'm not your teammate, Max. Nobody thinks there's anything going on between us, but also because they're convinced I'm trying my absolute hardest to sleep with Charles. I've seen the edits of the two of you, grabbing each others waists with blushing smiles, but I don't get to do that. If I go near Charles, I'll be called a slut and accused of trying to distract him from the race. You don't understand how badly I want to kiss the both of you but I can't."

"Kiss me, then," answered Max.

Y/N stared up at him, her eyebrows furrowed. "All this winning has gone to your head because you're losing it," he said and shook her head.

"No, I'm serious. If you kiss me and everybody thinks we're going steady, they'll leave you alone about Charles."

"And then I'll be accused of sleeping with you because you're winning."

It really was a complicated situation. Y/N could be seen to be close with Max, but nobody thought they were romantically involved. But they were wrong and Y/N loved Max more than anything.

But she also loved Charles. Her teammate. The man she was being accused of sleeping with. Which wasn't strictly a lie. But it was more than just sleeping with him, she was in love with him too.

Max let out a sigh, but he placed his arm around her, anyway. "I'll blow you a kiss when I lap you later," he said and walked away.

Their relationship was rather... depressing. They could only be together when they were alone and that was heart breaking enough. Y/N watched Max walk away, walk back to the Red Bull hospitality unit.

Letting out a breath, she strode forward, walking towards her teammate. She passed him, and Charles' eyes moved across from the interviewer, looking at her. Y/N smiled, a smile that was surely captured by cameras, and continued on, making her way towards her drivers room.

As soon as Y/N got into her drivers room, she threw herself down onto the sofa.

Y/N loved her job, she loved being a driver. But it was getting harder and harder. If driving in the SF-23 wasn't bad enough, she had to avoid one of her boyfriends at all cost. One of them she could only briefly talk to. It really fucking hurt.

***

For once the Bad Luck Boy was having some good luck. He was at the front of the grid, fighting with Max and Lando.

Y/N, though? She was struggling.

The car wasn't handling well. She'd had an okay qualifying the day before, landing her in P5. After a good start she'd ended up in P3, driving with her boyfriends. If things kept up like this, they'd all be on the podium together.

But then Y/N had ended up with a shit pit stop. They'd called her in without having the tires ready and completely fucked up her race.

Y/N managed to complete two laps after that until the car began to malfunction. The hydraulics failed and she ended up in the wall.

Nothing serious, just a lot of frustration. "Fuck, shit, fuck!" Y/N shouted into the radio as she climbed out of her car.

And then it was Charles' turn. In the next race he had engine failure.

And then Y/N had engine failure.

All of that, on top of keeping their relationship a secret, Y/N was struggling. She was really, really struggling.

It was a whispered secret, something she said to Max and Charles in the late hours of the morning, when all three of them were half asleep.

While Charles and Max slept somewhat soundly, with Charles in the middle (most of the time. It was either him or Y/N. Max insisted on sleeping to the outside of the bed, closest to the door), Y/N thought. She thought a lot, about their relationship, about whether the stress was really worth it.

As soon as these thoughts came, they left. Y/N had shaken them away by the time she woke up.

She hoped they didn't know anything, but, of course, they did. Max and Charles were all too aware. They knew exactly how she was feeling, and it hurt.

Max wanted to say something, he wanted to talk to her, but Charles wouldn't. "Max, she loves us," he said. "She's with us, and she loves us."

And, of course, Y/N really did love them. She still does. But she'd been pulling away.

Where they'd used to spend all weekend every weekend together, Y/N was suddenly sleeping in her own room without the boys snuggled up against her.

The turning point was the Mexican grand prix. The race was going well; Max was P1, with Charles and Y/N racing close behind. When all three of them managed to cross the finish line, they were ecstatic. Maybe the Bad Luck Boy didn't have that much bad luck after all.

They couldn't keep their smiles from their faces as they spray the champagne over each other. It was something of an amazing night for the three of them. They celebrated and spent the evening together, sharing a bed and each other.

But then things started going down hill again.

Y/N used to stay in Monaco. She used to spend all of her time between races going between Max's apartment and Charles'. But lately she'd been returning to her own home in Switzerland.

Max was at a breaking point. He couldn't do it anymore. He couldn't sit around feeling anxious because of how distant his girlfriend was being. Charles felt the same, which was somewhat comforting. They needed to do something, they needed to speak to her.

Max was going to do it, Max was going to speak to her, but Charles wouldn't let him. As much as he tried not to be, Max was aggressive, and Charles couldn't see things ending well if he was the one to speak.

So, Charles took the reins. He attempted to cook them dinner (with Max and Y/N having to help a lot), and sat her down at the table.

Dinner was peaceful. It wasn't how things used to be between them, but it was peaceful. Still, it didn't feel as though Y/N was all there, and that left a horrible feeling in the pit of Max's stomach.

After dinner, Max began clearing things away as Charles took a hold of Y/N's hands. They were soft in his own, and he ran his thumb over the back of her hand. "You know Max and I love you, right?" He asked, staring into her eyes with his lovely green ones. "You know that Max and I would do anything for you, right?"

Swallowing the lump in her throat, Y/N nodded her head. She knew. Her boys were amazing, the most amazing people she knew.

"Then tell us what's going on, please."

She sucked in a deep breath and pulled her gaze away from Charles. "I love the two of you," she said. "But I hate having to hide us. I hate the comments I get whenever I'm pictured with either one of you. I hate that I can't kiss either of you when any of us end up on the podium. I hate that we can't go on traditional dates and we can't hold hands when we're walking through the paddock," she admitted.

Nodding his head, Charles leaned forward and kissed her forehead. "I understand, chérie. Maybe we should think about coming out with our relationship publicly."

As Y/N and Charles had been speaking, Max had been busy doing the dishes. He loved mundane little things like this, something he didn't often do. As he listened, he shook his head. That wasn't the whole issue, not at all. It might have been a large part of it, but Max knew it wasn't the whole story.

With the towel over his shoulder, he walked into the room and leaned against the door. "Spit it out," he said to his girlfriend, his voice with a particular edge. Charles sent a glare in his direction.

"Fine," Y/N said shortly and let out a huff. "I love driving for Ferrari, but the car is dogshit. Charles, imagine how many more times we could have joined Max on the podium this year if the car wasn't a pile of crap. We could have actually beaten him! The car, with everything else I listed, has pushed me to my breaking point," she whispered and pressed Charles' hand to her forehead.

Max let out a laugh. The bastard actually laughed! He pushed away from the wall and walked over to his partners. "Schat, you're ridiculous," he said and pulled Charles hand away. "I want nothing more than to kiss you when I'm on the podium. Charlie and I want to take you out on dates and hold your hand. If we were doing that, would you feel better about how terrible the SF-23 is?"

Y/N nodded her head. "Can someone please kiss me?"

The three of them attended the next grand prix together. They walked through the paddock, hand in hand in hand. Everybody seemed to be silent as they came past. Cameras flashed, but they didn't care.

Walking past the Red Bull hospitality unit, Y/N and Charles kissed Max goodbye and kept going, on to the Ferrari hospitality.

The gossip surrounding the three of them went on for weeks until Y/N, Max and Charles posted their announcements.

maxverstappen1

liked by username, charles_leclerc, y/nl/n95 and 199,453 others

maxverstappen1 She's a princess

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danielricciardo finally! Sick of pretending I don't know y/nl/n95 but you didn't know? danielricciardo didn't I?

charles_leclerc

liked by maxverstappen 1, y/nl/n95 and 188,329 others

charles_leclerc my kind of race weekend

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pierregasley congratulations to you three! y/nl/n95 thanks pierrrrre gasllllley! (i officially prefer you to daniel) danielricciardo hey!

y/nl/n95

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y/nl/n95 losers

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maxverstappen1 that's not very nice charles_leclerc but she won't share the moments where she games with us y/nl/n95 i don't game because I'm not (guess what) a loser like you two

By the end of this story you would have realised that the Bad Luck Boy wasn't so unlucky after all. He had two people who loved him more than anything and, finally, he could show the world he loved them.

[madamechrissy]

Dirty Little Secret

ꕥ Pairings: Toji Fushiguro x Fem Reader

ꕥ Warnings-MDNI-explicit sexual content, dirty talk, Toji calls reader 'doll, ma, slut (Toji and Doll just work lol) Age gap- reader is 21, Toji is 39. - This chapter-cunnilingus, fingering, overstim, spitting (it's Toji so that's its own warning lol)

ꕥ Word Count- 6,239 

ꕥ Summary- Toji Fushiguro is your dad Shiu's best friend for years. You've known him most your life. You come home for spring break to relax, and who pops up at the fucking doorstep? Toji. He's nasty, annoying, perverted and... Sexy. Hot. Built. And makes you think, maybe your first time shouldn't be with some college boy? But with this buff dude who can tie a cherry stem with his tongue and a scar on his damn lip. You just gotta hope your dad doesn't find out.

Masterlist

ꕥ Chapter 1

Spring break was finally here, and you were blissfully Netflix binging with your favorite plushie, back at home to visit. You enjoy getting away from the craziness of the dorms and partying. You start to doze off just a bit, when an unexpected knock on the door jolts you like a shot of espresso. You roll off the couch and stumble over to the peephole, squinting to make out the blurry figure on the other side.

Fucking Toji Fushiguro!?

The last thing you expect to see is your dad's best friend, Toji Fushiguro, standing there with a duffel bag slung over his broad shoulder as you open the door. A smirk on his face, not quite meeting the scar on the corner of his lip. He’s in a skin tight spandex black shirt and loose gray gym shorts, that reveal literally everything on his muscular body.

Fuck.

You know Toji from the many times he's visited over the years, since you were a kid, his laugh echoing through the house, his deep voice telling stories that make your dad's eyes light up. The two of them heading off to horse races and bringing you along still burns in your memory, of Toji giving you sips of beer as a teen, he had been like the cool ‘uncle’ type.

But seeing him here, now, after not seeing him since you were barely eighteen? So like, almost three years… it’s doing insane things to your sleepy mind. He's got that kind of presence, a man who fills up a room just by existing. You've heard the whispers about him, that he’s a whole man whore, you’d heard he was a complete asshole in fact… but he looks so fucking…

“Oi little doll, just gonna stand there, hmm?” His deep voice breaks you out of your reverie, you yawn a bit, wiping the sleep from your eyes and tugging open the door.

“Shit, I’m so sorry, I’m so tired. Hey Toji.” Toji's grin is wide and easy, but there's something in his eyes, when they look you up and down, and you realize you’re wearing a cropped tank and fucking hello kitty shorts.

"Hey, kiddo," He says, ruffling your hair like you're still eight years old. "Surprise! Your old man said I could crash here for the week."

Your dad, Shiu, ever the enabler, appears from the kitchen with two beers in his hands, grinning at you both. “Toji fucking Fushiguro! It’s been ages.”

Toji places his bag down on the couch, popping open the beer and drinking it then, you watch his Adam’s apple bob in his throat, studying those veins on his stupidly strong neck that pop out. “Shiu! Ah, so good. Missed you, fucking dick.”

“Fucker.” They play fight, like they’re children and not like forty, well your dad is in his forties. Toji was like almost forty? You think… he hadn’t ever changed though, he looks the damn same, just bulkier.

He swipes his hair, you notice the inky black locks are in a bowl cut now, and it flatters his angled face. He looks over at you now. “Spring break is here, so she’s staying for the week.” Shiu says, coming up and putting an arm around you.

“Not partying? No Cabo? Cancun?” You shake your head.

“Not her thing. She’s a good kid.”

“Not a kid, dad. I just turned twenty one.”

“Still a kid.” He pats your head too, and you realize just how damn short you are, your dad is well over six foot and so is Toji.

“Well, can the kid have a beer?” Toji asks, winking at you with a crooked grin, his scar made it that way, and it’s even more attractive.

“She knows she can. Do you want one, angel?” You nod, and your dad looks surprised for a moment, then he heads and grabs you one too, handing it to you. You take a sip of it, humming a bit.

“It’s not bad.”

“She’s growing up on me, Toji.” Toji smirks again, dark green eyes digging into you, like they’re looking right through your outfit.

“Hello Kitty shorts though? Nah, still a fucking kiddo.” You glare, and your dad laughs.

“Fuck you, Toji.”

“Oh! She got that mouth huh?”

Your dad snorts in laughter. “She takes after her mom.”

“Fuck where’s she been?” They go back to talking, and you huff a bit, heading off to the couch, sipping on the drink and texting your best friend Nobara.

You: Fucking Toji is here. Ugh.

Nobara: Oh shit, hot DILF Toji? Gumi’s dad!?

You: That’s the one. I’m in Hello Kitty shorts, KILL ME.

Nobara: Aw bet you’re cute though!

You: How is Florida?

Nobara: So fun babe, wish you were here! But shit… actually Yuuji is puking now omg. Drank too much!

You: Oh no, please be safe!

Nobara: Don’t worry, no one is driving. K, gotta deal with this, you know… you’ve been a virgin a long time, yeah?

You flush.

You: Nobara wtf!

Nobara: Would be a hell of a first time babe.

You: Oh God what? He’s… I… Shit, really Nobara!!

Nobara: Bet he can throw it down. Gotta go baby!

You: Text me later!

You start reading some story you’d been reading earlier, but it’s pure fucking smut, and now you feel it, tightness and pressure in your tummy. As you peek over and watch Toji out back, the patio doors open, standing over by the pool. Your dad is showing him all his cool things he’s put up in the backyard, and your throat goes dry when Toji lifts his shirt.

Just for a fucking moment, to wipe the sweat off his face, but… his body is chiseled within every inch of your life. He has more muscle in like one abdominal than your thighs, which were decently muscular from working out on the weekends with Nobara, Kickboxing.

But his abs…

You eye the V cuts, and then suddenly his eyes catch yours. Your dad is just blabbering away, and Toji just looks at you, and it’s so different. Yeah, he’d looked at you a bit as a teen, but he never crossed a line with those looks. He’d say you were pretty or something but…

Now you’re grown.

He winks at you, the fucker winks!

You run off to your room, peering at yourself in the mirror, and then eagerly stripping off your clothes, your damn shorts were soaked from just looking at Toji’s damn muscles, at the outline of his cock in his shorts. You weren’t even someone who really looked at men like that, mostly you kept your head in school and romance novels that ruined you for men.

Toji was no romance guy.

You hear a knock, and freeze. “Getting dressed!” You call out, and hear a deep little laugh.

“Ah, your dad said he’s grilling out and wants to know if you want anything?” Toji’s voice comes, you hear the door creak a bit with his weight, he’s leaning on it isn’t he?

“Ah… I’m fine with chicken or whatever. I’m getting in my bikini.” You flush then, why were you telling him?

“Your bikini hmm.” The way he purrs his damn words. “Noticed you’ve filled out quite a bit, doll.”

You glare then, at the door, he can’t see you, but you’re sliding on a sunflower bikini, one of your old ones, and sure enough, your tits are nearly falling out. SHIT. Why didn’t you bring one? You sigh, looking for another, and it’s Hello Kitty. It’s a little bigger, so you’re stuck with it, but your breasts are spilling out of this one too, at least it’s not full underboob though.

You hitch up the bottoms, a little tight, as for some reason you blossomed in late high school, you hadn’t had hips till recently, now they were in sharp contrast to your smaller waist. They go over decent, digging in just the tiniest bit, you frown as you realize they’re making your hips squish, and you pop a couple stitches.

“Everything okay, doll?” You gasp.

“You’re still there!?”

“Hmm, I’m curious to see this bikini. Is it Hello Kitty too?” You scowl, realizing you were just gonna have to pour out of this damn Hello Kitty suit, hoping it would loosen up in the pool a bit.

You stomp over, grabbing a hair tie, and opening the door, he pauses then, and there is no more smirk, there’s pure fucking hunger. He leans back, so tall over you, shadows casted along the sharp planes of his handsome face, eyes glittering when they go to your breasts, and you suddenly feel..

Powerful?

The fuck?

“It’s Hello Kitty.” You grumble, then you put your hair up, right in front of him, tits bouncing in the top. He grips the door frame so hard you see his knuckles whiten, as his lips, glossy, part slightly.

“Well, fuck .” Is all he manages, and you smirk then, to shut up someone like Toji? Yep, an accomplishment.

“It’s from high school, I’ve gained a little since then.” You mumble, and his eyes slowly trail down your body.

“It's all in just the right places, ‘ma.”

“It’s all the ramen.” You tease, he snorts at that, rolling his eyes, and you peer down his body too, then pause, when you see it.

His cock outline.

Shit.

He notices your eyes, but rather than hide it, he steps closer, just grinning down at you. “Something got your eye, doll ?”

“Something got your eye, old man?” He laughs darkly, taking your ponytail out of your hair then.

“Sure the fuck does. Filled out was an understatement.” He murmurs, then yanks your hair just a bit. “Turn around, your ponytail looks like shit.”

“Whatever.” You roll your eyes, turning, but then when his big hands are in your hair, pulling it, you feel wetness start in your eyes and between your thighs. “Need a hair brush or something?”

“Or something.”

“Let go.” He does, and you walk over to your dresser, this man follows you, and your eyes meet his in the mirror, he’s so tall, so big and broad compared to you, it dwarfs you. And it’s…

Hot as fuck.

“Gimme that, brat.” He chides, yanking your brush, you scowl at his reflection, he just smirks. “Still cute as fuck when you’re all angry.”

“Shut up, old man.”

“Old man, huh?” You cross your arms, but your eyes close in pleasure as he brushes your hair, oddly very gentle. “Open those eyes, doll.”

“Why?” You do so then, as he’s tied your hair up in a high bun, all poofy, and then he leans forward, pressing you against your dresser, and you feel him, hard and hot on your mid back. You gasp, eyes rushing to him in the reflection, and he’s got his chin resting against your shoulder, whispering in your ear.

“I look fucking old to you, doll?” You shake your head then, and he inhales your neck, like some freak. “You smell so damn good. Bet you taste even f’king better, hmm?”

“Shit.” Is all you manage, a whole whine, as he inhales further, then he freezes as your dad shouts from downstairs.

“Yeah, shit.” You turn and watch him adjust himself, blinking rapidly, he just raises his brows. “Tucking it in the waistband.”

“In your waistband? How…”

“How big am I? Doll, what would Daddy say if he knows his daughter is asking such a slutty fuckin question, hmm?” You shove at him then, hands on his stupidly muscular chest, he just laughs.

“Not even close to a slut, old man. I’m a… you know, fuck you.” You push him more and he pauses.

“C’mere, doll, don’t be all sad and shit.” He pulls you a bit, you just smack at his hands. “I said slutty question. It’d be hot if you were a slut f’me but I don’t think you’re a slut.”

“You’re a slut I hear.”

He snorts at that. “I have been a slut. How many college boys have…”

“None. Okay?”

He pauses, brows raised, then his eyes narrow, looking down at you, tilting your chin up. “You lookin’ like that, and no one has tried to eat this pussy or nothing?”

“Eat this… yeah, no. Nothing. I could if I wanted!”

“Well no fucking shit, looking like Playboy magazine.”

“You’re so old, Toji. No one jerks off to magazines.”

“I would jerk off to just a fucking selfie in this.” You gasp again, and your dad is shouting once more. “Fuck, let’s go.”

He grabs your arm and you hate how good that big grip feels, so you smack his arm away, shoving past him and walking down the stairs.

“That ass nice too, doll.” He purrs, catching up, and you smack at him more, he seems to take it with amusement, your dad catches you two, laughing a bit then.

“Nothing’s changed, huh? You smacking Toji and wearing Hello Kitty.” Toji and him both laugh and you roll your eyes.

“I’m grown, thank you!”

“Mmhmm, sure doll. Learn how to swim?”

“I… shut up!”

They laugh more, and play some music that you actually like from their college days, but you wouldn’t admit it. You help your dad start to cook then, and offer to chop veggies and make a pasta salad, getting you away from them. You all have an outdoor kitchen, your dad invested a ton in his home, so different than your itty bitty dorm with your air fryer and burner.

You kinda missed home.

Soon, your dad has more of his old friends come over, and they’re all getting quite tipsy, grilling out and arm wrestling? Men.

Toji’s eyes never leave you though, even as you try to ignore him, and you catch him looking, and when you do, instead of looking away, he just fucking grins over at you. You hate it, but fuck it feels good…

The night wears on, and the air gets heavier with the scent of BBQ and alcohol, and some of the men are finally leaving, your dad is thoroughly sauced and high as fuck, so you end up helping him to bed, leaving water and tylenol by it. Toji leans in the doorway, smiling at you.

“You’re a good kid.” You sigh, kissing Shiu’s forehead, then shutting off the lamp and walking out, gently clicking the door, leaving you and Toji alone.

“I try to be. How’s your kid doing?”

Toji pauses for a moment, sighing. “Last he wrote me he’s visiting Florida, with his friends.”

“Yeah that’s what I heard too.” Toji hadn’t been in Megumi’s life until he was in high school, though he’d been your dad’s friend much longer, it was a complicated relationship. Toji took a long fucking time to grow up you could say.

“Why didn’t you go with? Aren’t you all friends?” He asks, and you sigh, walking past him and to the fridge, you’re hot and sweaty from being outside all day, and you never did get in that pool.

“I am a little boring, I guess. I like to come home on breaks and relax, read a book or something. I don’t know. I don’t have dad’s adventurous streak. You want me to mix a drink?” You stand up and gasp a bit when you see him leaning back against the counter.

He’s got his fucking shirt half off as he wipes his face with it again, you are up close with his ridiculously chiseled body. You see each ab glistening with sweat, and you’re half tempted to lick it off, an obscene, stupid thought. Toji’s grinning at you now, making you flush.

“How virgin are you? Ain’t seen a naked man, doll?” You glare.

“Of course I have. I just… you work out too much.” He snorts in laughter at that, sighing.

“You making a drink or what, doll?”

“Why do you call me that? So annoying. Old man.” You bust out the vodka then, and sprite, putting in a little grenadine and cherries. He looks at it like it’s fucking awful, scowling at it, you scowl at him. “What?”

“What kinda little bitch drink is this shit?” You snort, stirring it, and handing it to him. “It’s fucking pink!”

“Aww, don’t want my cherry huh?” You tease, and then gasp at yourself, covering your mouth with your hand. “Ignore that, please.”

“Uh-uh. I’ll show you what I’d do with that, doll.” He leans over then, taking a cherry out of the cup and biting it. How the fuck was everything he did so fucking obscenely sexual? Then, he puts the stem in his mouth, in you feel your entire body overheat.

“Wh… wha?” You can’t manage to speak or think, as Toji moves the stem around in his mouth, concentrated look on his face, thick brows drawn together. Then, there it is, tied into a damn knot, he sticks it out, holding it by his teeth. You nearly fall the hell over, catching yourself on the counter. “Did you just…”

“Sure did, now what were you running that mouth about?” He hands you the stem, and you’re just bright red, red as the damn maraschino cherry. You sigh, taking it and looking up at him, eyes wide, his eyes were narrowed, sliding down your body leisurely.

“You talk a lot of shit, Toji. Try the drink, it's yummy.” He snorts, taking a sip of it, making a little face.

“Damn, it is good.”

“See!” You make yourself a drink as well, then head outside, and fucker follows you out. “Shouldn’t you get some sleep?”

“I’m not tired. Isn’t it past your bedtime kid?”

“Fuck off Toji.” You sigh, getting in the pool, shivering a bit as the cool water laps over your body, bringing goosebumps, making your breasts taut, nipples tightening in the spandex of your bikini. When you lean over the pool wall, you see him, taking his damn shirt off, your throat goes dry, at his ridiculous muscles, every fucking inch of him.

He hops in the pool, diving in the deep end, and swims across and back in just a minute, before pinching you under the water, swimming up and grinning. You splash water at his face, and he picks you up, literally tossing you, you come up sputtering, and he’s got his shit eating grin.

“Fucking dick! Ugh.” You brush your soaking wet hair out of your face, splashing on him again, he laughs, and then yanks you up, carrying you deeper. You freak out then, clinging to him. “No, no!”

“Need to learn to swim, brat. Uncle Toji will teach you.”

“Gross, don’t call yourself that, yuck!” He laughs a bit, and you’re gripping his neck with your arms, legs wrapping around his hips as he walks further, where you sure the hell can’t stand. “Toji, shit!”

“Stop freaking out, would ya? Can’t handle you wiggling on me like that, fuck.” His voice gets hoarse, whispering in your ear, you tremble in his hold, leaning back then, realizing what was happening.

His dark green eyes hit yours, little reflections of light from the pool waving, showing on his handsome features, and you feel it, your pussy throbbing, pressed against him like this. You want to scooch away, but his grip on your hips is tight, bruising, fingers pressing in deep.

“Want me to teach ya, brat?” You shake your head.

“Nope sure don’t. I will just stay over in my shallow end. Now, take me back, big brute.” He laughs at you, husky and deep.

“You’re so demanding. Nah, doll, I think you need a lesson.” You freak out more now, as he keeps walking you, you cling to him tighter. “Maybe not a swim lesson though, feels like that cunt wants a different lesson.”

“The fuck, Toji!” You gasp, looking at him, and now he’s got you pressed against the pool wall, one arm gripping your thigh, the other resting on the other side of your head, pressing harder against you, then you feel it… “Fuck.”

“Yeah, fuck.” He whispers, sliding you down his hips, until the huge outline of his cock presses against your pussy in your bikini bottoms, making you pulse around absolutely nothing. He groans, leaning down then. “Your cunt is burning hot, doll.”

“That’s not… it’s just…” You trail off, and suddenly, whether it’s sexy ass Toji, your drinks, or years of being a virgin, you say fuck it, and rub against him, he hisses, holding you still for a moment. You smirk. “You’re the one rock hard. For your best friend’s kid huh?”

He licks his lips, stopping on that scar, and you want to fucking lick it too, as he pushes against your cunt under the water, leaning his face so close you can taste the liquor on his breath.

“You ain't a kid anymore, doll. Whole fucking woman.” He slides his hand up, cupping one of your breasts, you can’t stop the whimper that comes out. “Making those sounds just from this? How desperate are you f’me brat?”

“Not at all, you’re the one hard from just this.” You wiggle again, and he groans, slamming you hard against the wall. You feel a strange wicked thrill at it, grinning then, seeing you have power over this… fucking god of a dude. “Aw, Toji, is it the Hello Kitties turning you on?”

“Fuckin’ brat. I should shut this mouth up.” He leans down then, and pauses there, and you pause. That line?

Crossed.

When he slams down his mouth on yours, it’s nothing like you’ve ever felt, not the sweet kisses from Yuuji when you both were in school, the passionate cute kisses from your ex Yuta, both of whom you never went too far with. That was about the limit of your experience, and now… Toji owns you, his tongue hot and sloppy as it pushes the seams of your lips open.

You gasp, and he takes that as an entrance, now dominating your mouth, sucking on your tongue, flicking around it over and over, his hand grabbing one of your breasts, squishing it roughly in his big hand. You cry out, tongue rubbing against his, fighting with it, he bites the fuck out of your lower lip, now his fingers pinch your taut nipple, making you arch your back.

“Taste so fuckin good.” He whispers, pulling back, bending down and licking a trail to your chest, yanking the top down, revealing one of your breasts, he licks his lips, hungry. “Perfect fuckin tits.”

“Mmh…” Is all you manage, and he looks up at you.

“Anyone sucked on these yet, pretty little doll?” You sigh, shaking your head, and he chuckles, lifting your tits and squishing them together, pulling both out. “It’s my lucky fuckin’ day then.”

“I… Toji! ” You whine it out softly, and then his mouth is on them, sucking one pretty peak into his mouth, then the other, back and forth between them, then biting your nipple hard. “Ah! Fuck…”

“You sure like that, don’t you doll? Wearin’ shit like this, like you want me to fuckin stare.” You tense, shaking your head. “No? You don’t like me starin’?”

“Shut up, Toji.” You whisper, he bites your nipple hard then, and you feel wetness hot and sticky against your bikini, grinding on him, making him moan.

“Shut up? You’ve got a bad little mouth, brat. Should shut it the fuck up.” He takes his hand, finding you, over your bottoms, and you moan outright, and his rough touch, pushing up into your hood, where your clit is throbbing for him. You cry out, and he moans. “Why ya sounds s’fuckin sexy for?”

“Toji…” You whine out the words, pathetic.

"I want to hear you say it, doll. Tell me what you need."

You swallow hard, the words sticking in your throat. "I… I need…"

Toji doesn't wait for you to finish. He presses his mouth to yours again, his tongue delving deeper, as his fingers find the wet heat between your legs. His touch is rough, calloused fingers pressing hard, up and down your folds, but it’s oh so good, and you can't help but moan into his mouth.

"You're so fucking wet f’me," He murmurs, his voice a gravelly growl that sends shivers down your spine. "Do you want me to make you cum, doll?"

“I… fuck…” You can’t say it, you can’t.

“Want me to eat that little pussy out, doll?” He’s kissing you, so fucking sloppy, as you helplessly grind against his fingers, gasping when he slides one in, so goddamn thick it hits some spot that makes you nearly black out. He groans. “So goddamn tight, this little cunt just screaming for Toji.”

“How… in a pool… eat…” He chuckles at your helplessness, crooking that thick long finger in your dripping cunt, walls tightening around the invasion, and he begins to fuck you with it, in and out, till your mouth is dropped open.

“Not in the pool, doll. C’mon.” He’s hoisting you up on the pool wall then, and you nervously look at his gorgeous muscular body, dripping with all the pool water falling in rivulets. He grins, that scar making him look even hotter. Your cunt is pathetically wet from him.

“T-Toji…” You whisper.

“T-Toji…” He mocks, and you glare, standing on shaky legs, backing up, but he follows you, wet body dripping onto the concrete beneath you, until he’s got you picked up, your cold, wet skin against his somehow burning skin.

“We’ll get caught, idiot!” You hiss, and he just grins, picking you up, grabbing your ass and wrapping your thighs around his hips.

“Keep that mouth quiet. Not gonna fuck you… yet. Just eat this little pussy out, make ya cum all over my face.” He’s got you in your room way too quickly, and he’s stripped your bathing suit top, untying it, tits bouncing out to his hungry eyes. He moans at the sight.

“Toji…” You cover yourself for a minute, then he yanks your hands down, cupping your lush breasts in his big fucking hands.

“Perfect fucking tits. So fucking perfect.” He moans, shoving you on your childhood bed then, it creaks as he does with the springs bouncing you, and his mouth is trailing down your still damp tits, lavishing a nipple with a hot kiss.

“Fuck!” You cry out, gripping his damp hair, and he looks up at you, as he’s swirling his tongue around one of your peaks.

“Need ya to shut up, doll, don’t need your dad seeing you like this.” You flush at the thought, biting your lower lip to suppress a moan as he sucks on your other nipple now. “Mmm, would love to hear ya call me daddy.”

“You’re nasty as fuck, old man.” He growls then, sliding a hand up your throat then, taking two fingers and opening your lips wide.

“Nasty huh? Was being sweet with ya. I’ll show ya a little nasty then, pretty little fucking slut.” You gasp, but then he’s spitting in your mouth, his handsome face in a stupidly happy grin, and you stay there, mouth wide open. “Swallow that, doll.”

You stay there, stupidly open, but then he shoves your mouth closed, and his fingers open your mouth again, repeating, all while his other hand slides to your cunt, dripping wet and sticky against your bikini. You cry out, and he’s spitting in your mouth, dragging it along your lips, before shoving his fingers in, nearly choking you as they shove down your throat.

“Suck these, little girl.” He’s licking his lips as you do, gripping his wrist, swirling your tongue along his thick digits and bobbing your mouth up and down. “Good girl, such a good girl f’me.”

“Mmmnh…” You moan around his fingers, as his words make it worse, then he’s got your bottoms off in one quick motion, down your trembling thighs, and he’s shoved those two fingers you sucked in deep, making you scream.

“Shut the fuck up, doll.” He orders, and you cover your mouth, struggling as he’s scissoring you with his fingers, scooching you up the bed, until he’s between your thighs, spreading them, salivating. “Jesus fucking… got the most perfect little fucking cunt I’ve ever seen.”

“You… hmm… like? I…” You can’t fathom a word, and he grins, kissing the insides of your thighs, spreading 'em, dark eyes drinking in your pussy, spreading the puffy lips wide and spitting on her, landing on your clit.

“Such a perfect little pussy, doll. So fuckin’ pretty. Look at this…” He spreads his spit all around your clit, moaning, and your hips buck up at the sensation, as he bends down, licking the flat of his tongue up your aching slit, making you scream then. “Taste so fuckin’ good, girl.”

“T-Toji!” You can’t keep quiet, you just hope your dad is knocked the fuck out, you’ve never felt anything like this, like his tongue as he digs it in deeper, now finding your clit and flicking it, you’re gushing all over his face. “S’good, s’good…”

He’s moaning against it, grabbing the fat of your ass and dragging your cunt up higher to his hungry mouth, then he’s just.. Fucking devouring you. There’s no other word for it. He’s lapping all your wetness up, as you soak him, more and more, burying his whole face in your cunt, and you’re throbbing inside, pressure in your tummy clenching, till you can’t take it.

“Fuck… cumming, cumming!” You whisper, as quiet as you can, and he moans, easing up and grinning at you, his face glistening with you.

“So easy for me, girl? Can’t put up a fuckin fight?” You scowl, but he’s fingering you now, and your eyes roll back, drool pooling out the side of your face as he’s sucking your puffy clit now, shooting pleasure so hard you can’t see.

“Toji! Toji!” He moans, leaning up, looking at you, though it’s hard to see him with your tits in the fucking way. He grins, white teeth glinting, inky black hair falling in front of his forehead.

“Call me daddy when you fuckin cum.”

“No!”

“Then don’t cum, fuckin brat.” He slides his fingers out and you start to cry, tears down your cheeks. “Do it, girl.”

“You’re… awful.” You huff, but then he eases his head up, and you yank it back down, shoving your hips up. “Make me cum, please…”

“Got something to say, doll? Say it.” He spits on you again, and then smacks your cunt, making your hips snap up, shocking you. “Fuckin like that, don’t you? Gonna be a slut just for me.”

“Fucking hell. Get me off, Daddy , please.” You whisper, then his eyes look fucking drunk, sexy lips parted.

“Anything for ya, little doll.” He’s down there again, tongue sliding inside your cunt as his big hands spread your thighs, fucking you with his tongue as his fingers grip your legs brutally. You’re shoving your hands on your face, screaming into them, as you pulse around his tongue, then he slips it back to your clit. “So fuckin wet, want your daddy to drink ya?”

Fuck he’s awful.

He’s so good.

“Drink me, Daddy, pleassee!” You whine the last word, and he’s slurping you up, sounding ridiculously obscene in your little bedroom, on your bed with all your old hello kitty stuffies, he’s drinking you. And you’re calling him- “Daddy!”

“That’s it, cum f’me. Now, girl.” He orders, and you do, yanking on his hair and falling apart, as your orgasm runs through your entire body, you’re gushing so much you had no clue your pussy could even do that. And he’s lapping you the fuck up, unrelenting, until you’re twitching, tears down your cheeks.

“Sensitive… too much!” He laughs, hot breath against your cunt, as you’re throbbing from cumming so damn hard.

“If you’re gonna take this dick some time, imma need ya to work on that stamina, doll. You can cum again for Daddy, huh?” He spits again.

“You don’t need spit, I’m soaked! Freak.” He laughs at you, and the sound is dark, as he comes up, kissing you.

“Not fuckin ya tonight, not your first time. And you think I’m nasty, I’m being a whole gentleman and shit.”

“You just spit in my mouth.” You glare, and he grins, kissing you, oddly sweet, and you melt.

“Better, little prissy bitch?” You sigh, nodding, then he’s shoving two fingers in your mouth again. “Cum one more time f’me.”

“Mmmh…” He’s back down there, and now he knows your cunt somehow, hitting spots that you have never found, sucking on that clit, moans vibrating it, you’re soaking the bed, his hands, his face.

“Fuck my face, doll, fuckin do it.” You greedily grind on his handsome face, and he moans more, shoving his fingers deep then, and you cum again, as you’re gripping his hair, pulling it, as if to take it off, but no, he won’t stop.

He’s lapping you up, sucking on your lips with loud pops, then drinking every bit of your wetness, with his tongue that must be some fucking demon. He is relentless, until you’re cumming again , and this time it hurts, you’re closing your thighs around his head, but he won’t stop, still eating every inch of you.

“T’much… can’t…”

He doesn’t listen for shit, he’s got your thighs against your breasts, and he’s tongue fucking you, lapping up every bit you had to give. Your entire body is numb, chest heaving, pressing on your thighs, ears fucking ringing. You can’t take anymore, as every flick on your clit makes you twitch, makes you cry, wriggle.

“One more, doll. Let me fuckin’ drink you.” You struggle as he sucks on your abused little clit, so hyper sensitive you think you’ll just fuckin die , but he drinks you, licks you, spreads you wide, until you’re almost ready to faint, seeing black and stars only, voice hoarse.

Then, and only then, does he let your pussy go, and just the air alone hits it, making your tears fall even more, he slides up your body, wet swim trunks pressed against your thighs, looking down at you. For once, not a shit eating grin, no, he looked drunker even, pupils blown out, lips parted.

“Taste ya on me, doll.” He kisses you then, and you’re licking yourself off him, messy, dirty fucking kiss, mostly slobber, drool, tongues and teeth. You grip those strong shoulders tight, and he groans. “How ya feel doll?”

You sigh, gulping, trying to think of a word to describe any of it.

“Fucking… amazing.” He grins, licking his lips, licking that scar, and you run your fingertip down it, kissing it, making him tense a bit. “Sorry…”

“Don’t apologize, doll.” He brushes your hair back. “You’re so fuckin beautiful… I…” You both pause at that.

“I am?” You whisper, and he rolls his eyes.

“Course you are, ya stupid or something?”

“I… that doesn’t seem like you to say.”

“Maybe ya don’t know me for shit.”

“Maybe. Maybe you don’t know me.”

“Know how that pussy tastes now.” He kisses you again, then eases off you with a grin. “Soaked your whole blanket, doll.”

You whimper, closing your legs, as he just laughs at you. “That’s your fault, not mine!”

“Next lesson…” He yanks you up, by your arms, and you’re at level with the stupidly hard bulge in his soaked shorts. “Ya sucked a cock, doll?”

“No.” You admit, blushing, he grabs your cheeks, smushing them.

“I’ll let ya sleep, gotta get some energy for next time I get ya alone.” You nearly squeak, and he laughs. “I’ll eat that cunt too, don’t worry, doll, I’m not selfish.”

“That wasn’t my… We’re… the fuck are we doing, Toji?” You whisper then, and he just shrugs, standing you up, raking hands down your curves, until he gets to your bare ass, moaning.

“Imma make you my lil slut, doll. That’s what.” Your eyes go wide as he grips your ass cheeks in each hand, kissing you, sloppy, messy, biting your lower lip so damn hard you think it’ll break. “Get you ready for this cock.”

“You think you’ll fuck me first, huh?” You whisper, tiptoeing, and he glares down at you then.

“I’ll punish ya for that mouth tomorrow.” He turns then, leaving you, naked in your childhood room, and you look in your dresser mirror, you’re completely naked, red marks all over your body, eyes blown out, hair a dripping wet mess.

Your bed? It’s fucking soaked, with your cum and Toji’s soaking wet shorts, and the blankets are yanked off and scrunched.

Toji just ate your pussy…

No.

He devoured your cunt.

Nasty ass Toji, your dad’s best friend, the man you’ve known most of your life, had just ate your pussy in your dad’s house?

And worst?

You wanna suck his cock, wanna choke on it, wanna see his dirty gucking grin as he fucks your throat. Want him to spit on you again, you want more, want him to fuck you senseless, fill your cunt up. You’ve never wanted something like this, it’s like you don’t even know who the fuck you are.

You struggle to get dressed with shaky hands.

Toji Fushiguro was some pussy eating demon.

Your cunt hurts.

And you really hope your dad didn’t hear.

Chapter 2

Fic also on Ao3 https://archiveofourown.org/works/57496135/chapters/146283262

[sapchat]

We Are Not Our Fathers

Azriel x Reader

Summary: You get summoned to your mate and Cassian whilst they are on a mission, only to find out there was a surprise at the end of it.

Warnings: mentions of a fight, children, and an argument between two lovers.

Words: 5k

Part 1: You are here! Part 2

Fun fact: this is technically my third fanfic now, cuz I’ve got a part one for something else and I’m writing part two, I just got this idea yesterday while listening to this playlist and was like “I need angst, azriel, his mate and a child.”

Azriel and Cassian had been at one of the Illyrian camps investigating rumors of… something. You hadn’t been paying attention when your mate told you why, he’d been getting dressed while telling. So, you could see the distraction at the time. It had been at least two hours since your mate had left and you got summoned down the bond, and a shadow seemed to tug at your hand.

So, following the bond you appeared in a typical Illyrian Steppes living room, with Azriel at the top of the steps.

“Hey, we uh, need you up here. We thought we were done but Cass found someone.” Azriel said meeting me at the bottom of the steps and grabbing a hand, rubbing his fingers on my wrist. He picked the habit up a few years into our bond, he says it keeps him grounded, especially after or during missions like these. Nodding my head, I followed the narrow steps behind him to see Cassian standing in the doorway of one of the rooms, there was a smidge of blood on the side of a wall, so I wasn’t sure what I was going to walk in on.

A little winged child was not what I was expecting. Cassian looked at me sheepishly then nodded to the side so the three of us could talk.

“So, I’m going to assume we didn’t know there was a child here?” I asked leaning against the wall.

“From what we could tell there were no reports of a child when we first started getting reports of the retaliation happening. My shadows also didn’t pick up on a child when we got here, so either he was just hiding really well because of the guests in the house, or he snuck in.” Azriel responded.

“Any idea how much he heard? Or what does his parental situation look like?” I asked, I needed to know how bad this situation could be. Especially if this child doesn’t have a family because of its father’s or mother’s choices.

“For the most part, some of them went easy. Only three of ‘em put up any real fight, hence some of the blood there by your head,” Cassian started.

“Ew, thanks for telling me that one.” I’ll just shuffle to the side.

“As for a possible guardian, he hasn’t answered any questions. He did call me a bastard though, so I guess he has listened to something while around them.” Cassian finished. He seemed almost more stressed than I. I assume because he’s become quite partial to being babysitter for Nyx in the last few months for Feyre and Rhysand to be able to go out.

“What do you think, he’s probably what four, maybe five. You have more experience in working with kids, and with Madja, what do you think his outcome is with what he’s been dealt.” Azriel asked, dragging a scarred hand down his face.

“All children are different. One could experience something awful like the death of a parent and not remember anything about it. Others could never recover from it and grow up acting out the rest of their lives. It’s just a matter of how they get help. And knowing this camp, they probably won’t get much mental help at all. You two should know that” It’s not what they wanted to hear I imagine, but it was the truth. “So, what’s the plan? I assume if you have summoned me here you want me to go talk to him?”

“Yea actually, that’s exactly what so thanks for offering that so we don’t have to ask.” Cassian states rubbing the back of his head. Little shit.

Sighing, I turn my eyes to my mates, who just shrugged. I’ve been left here with the two most awkward people when it comes to random kids. Such a surprise came from the man-child Cassian himself. I roll my eyes, but send something to calm down the bond, and turn to go into the room.

The child is on the smaller side, evidence of the winter that’s still in the mountains so it’s evident his family doesn’t have much money for food. He’s got some dirt on his clothes so he’s either been out playing today or he just doesn’t have many clothing options. His wings were on the smaller side for what we assume his age group is, so he either is just going to have slightly smaller wings, or he’s developmentally delayed for his possible age. Probably due to the lack of food and hygiene.

I step slowly into the room, trying to make my slightly tall frame smaller. “Hi there. What’s your name?”

The little boy looked at me with wide hazel eyes, a twinkle in it that I couldn’t tell meant he was scared or intrigued by my presence. “Hawthorne.”

“Hawthorne huh?” You ask, then tell him your name, “Are you okay Hawthorne?” I ask him, he sits up just a little taller, a twitch in his bat-like wing following after.

He nodded his head in response, and I nodded back in understanding. “I was wondering who you were here with buddy? It’s okay if I call you buddy, right?”

“I was with my daddy. and I don’t know if you can call me buddy. Daddy’s usually the only one that does. Daddy said it’s cause we’re friends, but I don’t know you.” He answers sheepishly looking around my body towards the end, telling me I have a shadow, likely two of them.

“Well, if I tell you something about me, and then you tell me something, then we would be friends, wouldn’t we?” He hesitates, thinking about the question then nods his head quickly.

“Okay, well you know my name already,” I say then move to sit on the corner of the bed and make it seem like I’m thinking about my fact, “One of my favorite things ever, is getting to go and watch the sunrise or sunset as it comes up or down, and it shine on the soft snow. It’s really pretty.” I say, his head perks up a little at what I tell him.

“I like that too! I also like it when it storms, 'cause that means I don’t have to go out and I get to stay inside with my daddy.” He says. I smile at his enthusiasm of getting to share something we both like.

“I’ll tell you another secret then.” His eyes get really wide, and I feel a questioning brush through the bond. “I also like it when it storms. Because that means I get to stay inside with my friends.”

“Are they your friends?” Hawthorne asks looking at Cassian and Azriel behind me.

“Yeah, those are my really good friends, Cassian and Azriel. They… came to talk to the people that were downstairs. Did you know them?” I ask, glancing at the two males behind me, who are trying to seem small, but with the size of Cassian and Azriel’s wings. They’re failing.

“It was my daddy and their friends. I heard lots of yelling. And that they called your friends bastards. So, I did when they came up here. Where is my daddy?” I looked at Azriel for an answer, he looked down and then at Hawthorne.

“We took your father somewhere so we could talk with them. Do you have a mother we could take you to? Or anyone else.” Azriel answered the child.

Hawthorne shook his head no, “Daddy says mommy died when I was little, even smaller than now. And daddy says I’m the only thing he has left. But I think that’s silly 'cause we have neighbors!”

I sigh and look at my mate and Cassian, I then look back to the hallway and back to the child, “Hawthorn I’m going to go talk with my friends really quick, are you okay here?” The boy nods his head and watches as the three of us leave the room.

It’s now my turn to rub my hands down my face. “What do we do with him? I assume mom either died in childbirth or from sickness. And now we’ve got dad where he’s going to probably be punished for what they’ve been planning.”

Cassian almost winces at the last part, “His father was one of the people to put up a fight. We’ve got him in Hewn City right now, one of the others said he’s the ring leader for wanting to try and get rid of Rhys, and ‘go back to the old ways.’”

“Gotta love males and their ever-needing reason to be on top,” Azriel said laying back against the wall across from me, one of his feet resting between my ankles.

“We asked Rhys what he thought. He thinks it should be up to you.” Cassian said.

I processed the question for a second. Thinking about the options that are available. If Hawthorne stays, he’ll be homeless, wandering the streets like Cassian did; and based on how he looks already, he probably wouldn’t last long. Or taking him with us. To Velaris and trying to find him a place there. He could stay in the House of Wind until we find somewhere or someone.

I look at Azriel and he nods, knowing what I’m going to decide. If I had it my way, there would be no children wandering the roads here in the camps. But the orphanage idea has been slow, Devlon the only one wanting to even entertain the idea.

“Take him with us. He’ll be better off in Velaris, and until we can find somewhere permanent, he can stay in the House with us all.” I say, Cassian nods knowing I’m making the decision based on what he’s told me of his past before Rhys and his mother.

“Looks like you’ll get a friend Cassian, I’ll be sure to set up playdates.” Azriel says pushing off the way and patting his brother on the back.

Cassian had a shocked look on his face, eyes following Azriel as he followed me back into the room Hawthorne was patiently waiting in.

“Hey, Hawthorne? How about you come with me and my friends for a little bit, until we can see if your father gets into trouble, okay?” I asked going in and sitting on his bed, angling my body to be eye level with the winged boy. He seemed to sit and think about it for a second, then spared Azriel a questioning look before looking back at me.

“Will I still get to do my training?”

My eyes widen just a tad. Training at five? I look over my shoulder to Cassian and Azriel in question.

“Yeah me, and Cassian can help with that. We’re both really going at flying so we can help you learn some.” Azriel told the child, putting a lot of emphasis on them being so good at flying. This seemed to make the boy happy.

“Okay then. I guess I’ll come with you. But I get to bring my toys!”

“We wouldn’t expect you to leave them behind buddy. Now where are your clothes?” I said standing from the bed and ruffling my fingers through his dark brown almost black hair.

Hawthorne jumped from the bed, his little wings flapping as he did, and ran to the dresser in the corner of the room. He pulled open a drawer almost at eye level and grabbed what little clothes sat in there. “Here they are!” He ran back over and handed them to me. He only had two shirts and another pair of pants, plus only a few pairs of undergarments.

I looked in the direction of my mate and he nodded at what I was thinking. We’ll have to get him some more clothes. I held my hand out and Azriel summoned a bag from the shadows and handed it to me. I usually use it for the farmers market, but I’ll just get a new one.

“Okay, bubs, come here and I’ll hold you while Azriel takes us back to the house.” The boy hopped over with a questioning look on his face.

“He’s going to fly both of us to your house?”

“Nope! He’s going to do something called winnow, which means,” I sat for a second thinking how to explain this to a child, “he’ll grab my and Cassian's hand, and then we’ll disappear and then reappear in the house!” Yeah, that was a great explanation.

Hawthorne seemed to question it for a second, then came over and all but crawled up into my arms. I moved the bag to my shoulder and then joined Azriel and Cassian. The three of us all looked at each other as if questioning what I’d decided.

And into the shadows we went, only for Azriel to then grab onto me tighter to glide us down to the balcony of the House of Wind. Hawthorne gripped my neck tighter looking around at all he could see of Velaris. And I knew I had made a good decision for the boy.

Feet touching the ground Hawthorne all but leaped from my arms to run and look over the balcony, pulling himself up by using his feet on the spindles to gain leverage to look out. Mouth opening by the second, I leaned back against Az watching the boy. He’s never seen so many people at once living in such a beautiful place.

“Hawthorne, wanna go get a quick snack before we get you cleaned up in a tub?” I asked leaving my mates front to join the boy at the railing. He looked up at me with wide eyes before looking back out towards the Sidra. “It’ll all still be here when we’re done. And if you’re not tired then you can even see it once the sun goes down. It looks even better.” He turned back with a slightly toothless grin and nodded enthusiastically, jumping from the side, and gripping my hand swinging from it.

Walking into the sitting room I walked the boy towards the kitchen. Already sitting on the counter was a little dinner for the boy, the House instantly knowing what was needed of it. I helped him up onto a stool he quickly dug into his dinner.

“Easy now, don’t want to eat too fast and make yourself sick,” I advised brushing a finger across his back. I walked around the counter and grabbed a small cup and filled it with water so he could drink as well.

Once he was done eating, he quickly gulped down the water and brushed his mouth on his hand, then proceeded to wipe the hand on his shirt. Boys. I grabbed him before he had a chance to run off and walked him up to mine and Azriel’s bathing room where Az sat pouring a few drops of bubbles into the bath.

I set Hawthorne down on the ground and allowed him to undress so he could climb in the bath and gave my mate a quick peck on the cheek in thanks. Admiration flowed down his side of the bond as I leaned over and started wetting Hawthorne’s hair. He splashed around a little playing with the bubbles as I washed the grime off of him.

Once I was done, I grinned and grabbed a handful of bubbles and placed them on his head. The little Illyrian quickly looked up at me and proceeded to grin. And without a moment's notice he flapped his wings in the water spraying water all over me.

We both sat in silence for a little bit, me in shock and him with a look that said, ‘Uh oh’. Then I started laughing, and Hawthorne quickly realized he wasn’t in trouble for getting water over me.

After his bath, and the fight of drying him off, and the battle of getting him dressed. I did as I had promised and walked him back to one of the balconies so he could watch the ending of the sunset and all the lights of Velaris come on. We sat quickly, him in amazement, me writing down some reports to send to Rhys in the morning.

It was in the middle of the night I was awoken to one of Azriels shadows, Azriel rousing from sleep himself and moving a wing off of me to see what was happening. Then I heard soft padding down the hall, and a shuffling of wings. I then heard the door move a bit as someone jumped and grabbed the doorknob, and the door quietly moved open.

Raising our heads, we were greeted with Hawthorne sniffling as he waddled into the room. He looked up at the two of us from the foot of the bed, glancing back and forth. I glanced at Azriel and silently asked if he’d allow the boy in the bed with us.

Azriel looked at me, then flopped back on his stomach and grumbled “Once you feed them and let them sleep in the bed, they end up staying. Look at Cass.”

I lightly slapped his arm and raised up more and nodded to my side of the bed. Hawthorne quickly shuffled over and climbed his way into the bed and my arms. “Wanna talk about it?” I quietly asked.

He shook his head and placed his wet face into my neck. I hummed an okay and moved the blankets back over us and went back to sleep, Azriel’s wing shifting back over as he moved around.

In the morning I awoke to an empty bed, not unusual with Az doing morning training, but I distinctly remember a little boy crawling into the bed in the night as well.  

Climbing out of bed, a shadow greeted me happily and started leading me in the direction of the living room; and was greeted by Cassian holding the boy in the air telling him to get ready, and Azriel sat in a chair drinking tea.

“If he breaks something Cassian, you get to tell Rhys.” I said, walking further into the room and joining Azriel on the armrest, his hand wrapping around my hip and patting it. Azriel tilted his head in a way saying, ‘That’ll be fun’ and went back to his morning readings.

“Hey, we learn to fly by being dropped from different heights, I figured you prefer it in the living room, where he could land on the couch.” The general replied, letting go of the boy and allowing him to flap-glide his way to the couch in question.

I let the two continue and looked down to my mate, “Wanna join me in the kitchen, so we could talk about H-A-W-T-H-O-R-N-E’s F-A-T-H-E-R?” He nodded his head and took my hand to lead me in the direction of said room. Already on the counter was my breakfast, courtesy of the house which I thanked, and a steaming glass of coffee.

“I went earlier this morning. He’s not wanting to give us anything. Rhys wants to make an example of them.” Azriel said going straight to the point. I looked up from putting jam on my toast, my eyes trailing to the sounds of the child’s laughter and Cassians' praise.

“What about Hawthorne?”

Azriel sighed, already knowing I wasn’t going to let this go without a fight. Either with him or our High Lord. “Rhys is going to leave that up to you. His recommendation thought was to find someplace around Velaris so he wouldn’t be in a camp where issues may arise in the future. When he’s older.”

I looked sharply up at what he said. “What is that supposed to mean?” I made sure to keep my voice somewhat low so as to not raise attention to us.

“We both know what he means. He’s just trying to cover future bases because he has Nyx now.” Azriel tried to calm down, resting a hand on top of mine. I pulled it back from him immediately.

“No Azriel I don’t know what you mean. He’s a child what are you two trying to say?” I was angry. He’s five, if that. What was there to possibly worry about to ‘keep an eye on him in the future.’

Azriel said your name then continued, “His father was plotting to get a group of people to kill Rhys. Maybe worse.” Azriel almost seemed angry at the position I had taken, in defending this threat against his High Lord. But the threat was a child.

I glared at Azriel and all but snarled when I said, “Sons are NOT their fathers Azriel. You of all people should know that.” I even pointed in his direction for emphasis on my statement, his hazel eyes going wide in surprise at it. Shock and hurt flowed down the bond, and I pushed my feelings of anger towards him.

Turning I leave my breakfast to go join Cassian and the deemed threat in the other room to watch him stretch his wings.

It was later in the evening, after playing with the child and having Cassian take us down to the shopping district so he could have more clothes that I had finally let myself think about the argument from earlier in the day. I had already put Hawthorne to bed almost two hours ago and was down in the kitchen sipping wine. Setting the glass down on the counter I ran my hands down my face in frustration, and then came some shuffling.

Turning my head, I expected Azriel but found Hawthorne. Bleary-eyed from what little sleep he got. “Hey, what are you doing back up, it’s late.”

The little dark-haired child rubbed his eyes, his other hand gripping a little black cat stuffed animal he begged to have. “I have trouble sleeping in the bed. It’s super soft.” His eyebrows furrowed together and then he said, “The shadows also keep me awake by playing with my hair.”

A few of Azriel’s shadows had taken a little liking to the boy, much unlike their master, it seemed. “Well. Since you’re awake, want some hot chocolate?” I asked, the boy seemed confused at my words and asked what hot chocolate was. “Hot cocoa?” He shook his head in confusion again.

“Come on, I’ll make us some cups and you can try it,” I said lifting him up to sit on the counter and wiped my finger at some of the dried drool on his cheek.

Turning to a cabinet, I grabbed two mugs to set beside him and continued to pull supplies out to make the cocoa. Hawthorne watched every move I made, measuring out the ingredients, putting them into a pot to warm up, and even helping stir every now and then. Once it was done, I moved it over to the side to allow it to cool a bit more before putting the drink into the mugs.

“Now here’s the fun part. I like to add some extra things to mine.”

Hawthorne seemed interested in whatever it was I was going to add.

“I like to take this white stuff, called whipped cream, and put it on top, then add this stuff here called cinnamon. Do you wanna try mine and see if you like it for yours?” I asked, Hawthorne seemed to think deeply about it, furrowed eyebrows, and all then eagerly nodded his head. I carefully handed him my cup and he took a little sip, whip cream getting on his upper lip and nose, then made a loud ‘ahh’ sound after gulping it down.

“I’d like some please!” The boy eagerly handed my mug back and watched me add it to his smaller mug.

We sat side by side sipping at our drinks, Hawthorne’s eyes drooping more and more as he drank before he set his almost empty mug on the counter and yawned.

“Ready to go back to bed?” He seemed a little hesitant and then said something that broke my heart.

“I don’t wanna sleep by myself, I’m scared someone’s going to come and get me.” He didn’t want to make eye contact.

I looked at him a little inquisitively, “Why do you think someone’s coming to get you?”

“Well, I really liked being with Daddy, even if I didn’t get much food. And then you guys came and took my daddy and me, because daddy was being bad. But you have been really nice, and Cassin has been helping me fly, and even though Azzie don’t like me he still lets me play with his shadows, and you guys have food and it’s warm-“ I stopped him before he could continue working himself up.

“Hawthorne, you don’t have to go back to the camp if you don’t want to. You know that right?” I said rubbing his hand in a comforting way.

He seemed sheepish as he nodded then asked, “I would get to stay here with you? And Cassin and Azzie?”

I sighed trying to think of an answer, “I don’t know if you’d get to stay with us. You could go to another place that would love you very much.”

Hawthorne didn’t like that answer. Tears forming in his little hazel eyes, lips wobbling, and I knew I needed to backtrack.

“Hey, how about this buddy?” He sniffed and ran a hand over his eye, “How about we pause this conversation, and me and you go sleep? Then we can talk when I get some answers.” Answers only the Inner Circle could answer.

It took Hawthorne only 20 minutes to fall back to sleep in his room and me another hour lying beside Azriel. It was early morning when I awoke to Azriel getting up himself.

“Think you could call a meeting about little bits?” I asked rubbing my hands down my face.

Azriel sighed and sat back in the bed beside me. “You shouldn’t get attached to him; you know that. And it’s not that I think that he’s going to become his father or that I hate him. I heard you guys’ last night, and what you both talked about.” He sat there for a second licking his lips as I cringed knowing he heard us, “I do like him. He’s a sweet kid, and I’m glad he’s had a better life than most Illyrians-”

I stopped him, “I didn’t mean what I said yesterday. I know you’re not your father and I should’ve never. Ever. Compared you to him.”

“I know. You were angry and believed you had to defend him. I’m proud of you for that. But if you really want to discuss what happens with him, then I think we should talk.” Azriel said, grabbing my hand and holding it as he laid back across my stomach.

I nodded, and we started talking. About all outcomes for Hawthorne. What would happen to him, how he’d be raised, all of it. Then we went to the River House. And I joined the Inner Circle as we talked about him. Rhysand’s concerns, Amren’s and Mor’s surprise, Feyre’s support in what would happen, and how it would all be dealt with.

At the end we had an answer.

It was later in the day that I asked Hawthorne if he wanted to go walk around town with Azriel. I was slowly walking behind as Azriel walked somewhat awkwardly with the boy, talking with him as Hawthorne was eagerly pointing around at different shops.

Hawthorne’s eyes widened and grabbed Azriels’ hand, the older Illyrian tensing up at the innocent little child grabbing his scarred hands and dragged him over to a bakery to press his face into the window and stare at the sweets.

“Can we go in there?” Hawthorne asked eagerly looking between Azriel and me. Azriel looked to me for some guidance, letting me control the situation. Nodding my head, Azriel led the three of us into the bakery and let the boy pick what he wanted and got me my favorite treat too.

I led Hawthorne back outside so we could eat, take in the sights, and talk to Hawthorne like we needed to.

“Hey Hawthrone, remember the conversation from last night? Can me and Azriel talk to you about it?” Hawthrone seemed more downtrodden at the reminder of last night but nodded his head.

“Hawthorne, I got to visit your dad before we left, and I just wanted you to know that he isn’t going to be able to come home. And because of that, we need to find you a good home.” Azriel started out, not telling the boy his father wasn’t going to come home. Rhys did have to make an example and couldn’t just pardon him because he had a son.

“Azriel and I have been talking with some people, and we’re wondering what you want to do,” I said, handing the boy a napkin to clean his face as he ate. He glanced between Azriel and me, then down at the table.

“Where would I go if Daddy can’t take me?” he asked shyly.

“Well, we could find you a loving home here, in the city. Where you would be cared for and get to learn all kinds of things with kids your age and everything. Another choice is we find you a home back at your camp, somewhere that’d be able to care for you, and you’d get to be with other Illyrians your age.” Hawthorne seemed to think the two options over. Then Azriel looked at me and I nodded.

“Or” Azriel started, “You could stay with us, and we could raise you. Then you’d stay with Cassian and us, get to meet the High Lord and Lady, and all our friends, while going to school here in Velaris. And in a few years, we’d take you to a camp called Windhaven and you’d train to be a warrior.” Hawthorne’s eyes got wider and wider as Azriel continued, looking back and forth between us two, his grin starting to match mine.

“So. Which would yo-“ Azriel didn’t finish as the tiny Illyrian lunged over the table into both of us.

“YOU I WANNA STAY WITH YOU!” Hawthorne yelled excitedly, gripping the both of us as I laughed.

Azriel looked at me, love flowing down the bond and him receiving the same back from me at the new addition to the family.

[lilblackcheezits]

fresh out of jail - E.Jaeger

your worst fear had came true, Eren had got caught dealing weed. He got three years in prison, three fucking year in jail, three year u had to be away from your boyfriend. It completely crushed you, how were going to be alone for 3 years?

Now Eren on the other hand was heartbroken, he missed his baby so fucking much it hurt, and it was all his fault, not being careful of what he was doing. He thought u we’re going to leave him, he didn’t think you would wait on him, but you loved Eren so much you would wait, cause he was worth waiting for.

1 year later

Eren was on his best behavior, hoping they would let him out early, and spoiler alert he gets out next week. He hasn’t told you about his release but he’s dying to see you, to hold you, to kiss those sweet lips of yours, do all those things he hasn’t done in a year. Him being in jail has been doing his biceps wonders, And you started going to the gym with all the free time you had, and gurlllll that ass was getting bigger(if that was even possible🤭) you look good if you do say so yourself.

That last week in jail never felt to longer, Eren just wanted to be home with you. Finally Monday was here and Connie came to pick Eren up, he just couldn’t wait to surprise you. The whole 30 minute drive to y’all’s house, Eren was just thinking about u. The effect you had on that man was crazy.

You were at home sitting on the couch, a throw blanket one your fresh showered body that smelt like coco butter, u had vaseline on ur lashes, chapstick on ur plump lips, the windows were cracked so the fresh air could flow through the house. Some romance movie was playing on the tv while you we scrolling through insta.

Finally Connie pulled into the driveway, they said there goodbyes and Eren started walking to unlock the front door as Connie pulled away. You we so deep in your phone you didn’t even hear the door open, Eren walked in taking his shoes off. He heard the tv so he walks towards the noise and he see you scroll through ur phone, man you looked like the prettiest thing on the earth.

“mama…” he says almost a whisper, you look up at him and your jaw drops “eren..” you stand up and he runs to hug you, “Eren oh my god- I’ve missed u so fuckin much” you say into his neck. “how are u here I thought u had 2 more years-hmm” he cuts you off with a kiss he’s been waiting so long to do again, and let me tell u this kiss was full of passion and lust, you both pull away because ur out of breath and that when you get a good look of Eren, and DAMN that’s man was ripped. The way his biceps were busting out of his shirt made u want to bust.

Eren noticed u taking a good look at him, and he liked it, he knew he got bigger and he just couldn’t wait to show u. “u look good ren” u say as u look up at him, just for him to by staring right down at u, giving you that smile he knows u love so much, “yea? how good?”

Now to be honest you don’t know how you got here.

“Fuckkkk ma” he smacks her ass “throw that shit on me” he groans. “yesyesyes don’t stop” u drag your words “u got so much fuckin tighter” he say throwing his head back “fuckkkk” he hissed

He’s just pounding into you and he doesn’t care, he misses you and this pussy too much to care. “you like that mama? u like when fuck you hard like this?”

your brain was to foggy to comprehend what he was saying so u we’re just nodding at everything he was saying

he pulled ur hair back so you can look at him in his eyes “i asked you something” “yes i- I love it when you fuck me like this” your honestly just babbling

“I- hngh i missed u s’much ren” “I missed u so much more baby i promise u i will never leave u again, i want to spend the rest of my life with you baby- fuck”

“me toooo ughhb ren imcummig imcumming holy fuckk im cummingg”

“yeah? make a mess on this dick cmon”

“yesyesyes oh my godd” ur practically screaming at this point its been so long since you had sex

Eren cums right after you still fucking his cum into you “ren m’sensitive” you say tiredly trying to push him away

he just smiles at the sight in front of him, his beautiful girlfriend looking all fucked out all because of him

he pulls out and gets up to go grab a warm rag and a blanket

When he gets back he sees y/n passed out on the couch, he wipes her up and puts the blanket over her sleeping body, then goes upstairs to change his clothes

He comes back downstairs to lay on the couch with her and eventually ends up falling asleep too

Eren couldn’t be more happier with being back home with his little mama

authors note!

im sorry if there misspelled words this is my first time writing something like this so i hope yall like it! - vaeh💗

[phantomrose96]

Savit-e

My host mother is a woman with long twirling hair and more floral-patterned sundresses than I’ve seen in my entire life. She throws open the closet each morning to flick each dress along its hanging rail, sharp squeaks. “What can I even wear?” The dresses sway like summer willows. I sneak in behind her and grab a t-shirt and jeans from my tiny pile at the bottom.

She loves earrings that swing and she loves stain-glass windchimes which clink and muse while she pours me the bitterest cup of tea I’ve ever had in my life. I fill it with sugar and she chides me. I remind her of all the spicy dishes I make that she cannot eat, and she says, “Okay, I’ll let it go this one time.” She sips her tea black. The birds titter at her joke. We’ll have the same conversation tomorrow.

My host mother is Jira and I wonder how closely we might be related every time I catch that glimmer in her eyes like my mothers’. Jira is too tall to be my mother and her hair is not quite dark enough, but I like to believe I see it. I like to believe Jira’s country and mine are related, that maybe her great-great-grandparents and mine were friends before the records were scorched and the lines were redrawn. Or maybe our countries bore no relation to each other. Maybe they were friends anyway. Maybe they were enemies. I’ve heard every opinion.

Jira has a worry-face like my mother, but she uses it for different things, like plum prices at the market and rain clouds blundering through like clumsy creatures. It used to surprise me, since my mother reserved her worry-face for only the dourest things in her mind. I saw more and more of it from my mother before I left. “Baby maybe you should spend the summer home. Maybe you can get your money back.” She said she’d been reading things in the news. I told her not to worry. I would be safe in my travels. I feel stares pressing into my back while Jira leans over the plums. I notice Jira receives the stares too.

She hums a tune and busies herself in the kitchen in a dress I’ve never seen. She’s been in a great mood since her daughter came home this morning. I didn’t get a good look at her daughter at first because Jira swallowed her right up in her arms. But I got to see her better when I helped bring her bags in. Savine is lithe, baby-faced and a head shorter than Jira, and her eyes carry the same arch and slope as Jira’s. She has the same dimples and she moves in the same way, tilted forward, as if to let gravity do the work of carrying her momentum.

Savine is napping from her trip, and Jira seems to have forgotten all the slow and patient syllables she usually saves for me. She speaks in her rapid pace and I jog to keep up. Too many words slip through my grasp. One in particular I hear too many times. Savit-e.  

“Savit-e?” I ask.

Jira puckers her lips as if to think. Her eyes rove. Footsteps tap gently closer behind me, and Jira’s eyes light up as she looks past me.

“Savit-e!” she says, motioning forward as Savine rounds the counter and pulls her mom into another hug. Savine is only 10. She’s been away almost 6 months for school, according to Jira.

A nickname, I note. Savine wears earrings like windchimes as well.

…

Jira has offered to charge me no rent if I babysit Savine for the summer and cook dinner in the evenings. Savine’s summer classes are early and short, as are mine, so I pick Savine up every day at noon. “This is Reb. She’s my mom’s friend this summer,” Savine tells her school friends. I gather that Jira does something similar every year, taking in an au pair while she works the summer.

There is a park Savine likes in particular, with the tall slides and the cold water fountains and all her friends. It takes me a few days to realize her friends are new to even her. Any child at the park becomes her friend by nature of needing two to play the teeter-totter. I meet parents and I practice my clumsy language with them. They don’t stare strangely at me like the man in the plum aisle.

Three times over the summer, I hear a parent at the park ask me. “Who is Savit-e?” I point to Savine every time. I don’t think too much about it, because they always like the answer, nodding along. Savine’s friends do not use the nickname, but I experiment with it here and there. Savine lights up when I do. “Savit-e,” I call to her from the school lawn, and she squeals and bounds forward to wrap me in the kind of hug she gives her mother.

I pick up a copy of the newspaper from the corner store every day on my way to pick up Savine, and I read what I can of it at the park. The newspaper is not a person, and it does not stilt its vocabulary to be simple and clear the way people do when they notice me struggling with the tongue, so oftentimes I gather just the concepts from articles. It is my fourth week of doing this when one article stops me. I see the spelling of what Jira says out loud so often.

Savit-e.

The article is hard, but I recognize the word for murder, and the words for three men. Three men murdered, and Savit-e. I would ask Savine, but I’m afraid the article may be something upsetting.

I ask Jira that night, after Savine has gone to bed.

“A man killed three others,” Jira says, brow slightly scrunched as she skims the paper and distills its contents to simpler words I know. Her eye creases are deep by the evening lamplight. “He is not charged with a crime, because he was protecting his Savit-e.”

This sinks in slowly, and a red flush of embarrassment makes itself known on my cheeks.

“Savit-e… as in ‘daughter’?”

I use my own word for it, since I don’t know Jira’s word for daughter. Or at least, I did not know, until now.

Jira’s brow scrunch tightens, which she does whenever I’ve used one of my words she doesn’t know.

“Like Savine is to you. Savine is your daughter.”

At this, Jira nods slowly, then more quickly as she lets the meaning sink in. “Yes… Savine is my Savit-e… my daughter.”

I thank Jira for the explanation. I lie awake that night thinking too much about the parents at the park who think Savine is my Savit-e.

…

I start to dislike the newspaper. I’m not sure if it’s the summer heat sewing aggravation, or some deeper unrest, or maybe my own growing vocabulary, but more and more I notice articles that leave me unsettled. I read about the arrest of a man who looks like the man in the plum aisle. Maybe there’s no resemblance at all. Maybe any man with those piercing eyes in a mug shot feels like the man in the plum aisle. There are still many words I don’t know, but country and nation come up often. And Savit-e. More articles of someone acting in protection of their Savit-e.

My mother isn’t here to protect me. I walk more cautiously when I’m alone at night, as a woman, as a Savit-e with no parents here to protect me.

I’m in the kitchen with a knife shunking through the angled cuts of scallion. The pot for the noodles is boiling and I’ve halved the spices as I do every night for Jira and Savine. I don’t even hear the front door kick open.

I do hear Savine scream.

My heart is in my throat and my blood is cold, and I move, because in the moment I have forgotten I am a Savit-e far away from home. All that matters is Savine’s scream.

And my sockless feet are light as I snake through the dining room and round the corner to the living room, entering from the same door as the two men who now stand there, backs to me, both eagerly teasing the handles of a gun. One has Savine in a chokehold, and the men stare at Jira, pressed flat against the wall. I realize Jira does have a worry-face she reserves for the truly awful things.

And the men with their backs to me are plum-men, in ways I understand without knowing what fast and clipped words they’re shouting at Jira. The one holding Savine presses the barrel of his gun against her ear, and the windchime titter of her earrings is drowned under her scream of fear. The plum man barks a demand at Jira, and she watches with moon-plate eyes.

He barks it again.

Jira raises a trembling hand. And her digits curl, and her palm pulls inward, and her earrings clink with the slow stuttering shake of her head. She points her index finger firmly against her own heart, and she declares ‘Savit-e’.

Jira runs out through the second living room door.

“Mooooom! Savit-e!!” Savine screams, and her words choke, and she wriggles under the hold of the man. And suddenly sense returns to my body at the sound of Savine’s screams.

I am still holding the scallion knife.

I don’t remember what I do next, but the knife does.

…

There is a drawl of radio static that seems to dominate my ears. The sirens and flashing lights are background noise to me now. They’ve taken Savine away with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. They’ve assured me I’ll be able to see her, but later, once she’s been looked at, once she’s calmed down, once I’ve been spoken to.

“You are not in trouble,” the detective tells me in my own tongue with a slight accent rounding her words. She’s the only one who speaks my language. They called her in when it became clear I didn’t know enough of theirs to give a report. “You were protecting your Savit-e.”

I flinch, a little bit, somehow still capable of embarrassment with a mind that’s gone completely numb. “Savine isn’t my Savit-e.”

The woman detective frowns. I remember we’re in my own tongue.

“I mean, she’s not my daughter. She’s Jira’s daughter. She’s Jira’s Savit-e.”

The woman’s frown lessens some. “Your daughter, no. Your Savit-e, yes.”

I hold my hands near my face. They still smell of garlic and scallions. “The pot’s gonna boil over. I have to go turn off the stove,” I say, urgently, and unhelpfully, as the thought suddenly strikes and I push myself standing.

The woman’s hand is on my shoulder, and she presses me down. “The pot is not boil. The stove is off. It is okay. Who is Savit-e?”

And the question sits weird. I realize she asks it like those parents at the park.

I don’t answer. The detective chews her lip, and I see her eyes searching for a word she can’t find. “Who is your… The Most? Who is your The Above? Who is your The Most of All?”

“My most what?”

“Who is your Protect Over Everything?”

And from her face I can tell she is frustrated with her own words. There is more she is saying that I cannot know in my own language.

Protect Over Everything. I think about the scream that pulled me from the kitchen.

“I think… Savine… is my Protect Over Everything.”

And this satisfies the woman. And she nods the way the parents at the park do. “You are not in trouble. You always protect Savit-e. You must always. There is no trouble for what you did. Good job, that you protect your Savit-e. You will have her back soon.”

I go stiff.

“Jira needs her back, not me. I go home in a few weeks. I only started—” I falter. “Savine is Jira’s Savit-e.”

The detective shakes her head. “Jira is Jira’s Savit-e. Jira does not come back.”

…

I postpone my flight home. I tell my mother it’s because my studies are going long. I’ll tell her more, later, when I’m ready.

I pick up Savine every day from school as always. She doesn’t smile, and she pulls me into a hug that is too tight and lasts too long. She doesn’t want to go to the park. She comes grocery shopping with me, because it’s better than being left home alone. I look over my shoulder whenever I grab the plums.

I cook dinner and I eat with Savine, and we do this at the counter because when I sit us at the kitchen table, Savine looks too long at Jira’s empty place. I tried calling Jira once, after Savine went to bed. Her phone rang from the next room. I watched it ring until it cut to voicemail.

There’s an article about me in the paper. I can’t read most of it. Or maybe I just don’t try to. I see Jira’s name. I see the plum man words. I see Savit-e written 14 times.

I don’t know what happens to Savine if I leave. I’ve tried asking and I get too many words I do not know, and no one who can explain them better to me. But their expressions stay with me. Like the looks of plum-men and worry-faces and now this new look, which is rooted in something deeper about a country which I know too little about. It’s a sad look. It’s something I can maybe understand without the words attached. I tell my mom I might like to extend my study through the fall.

Savine has started calling me “Savit-e.”