#note: this is a kitchen in a house of change. they are still on the road w the party

[dihlylah]

A Wild Night

Summary: After being invited to your childhood best friend, Bangchan's house for dinner, you decide to stay the night. While hes taking a shower, you search his snack cabinets and find a box of chocolates. After eating them, the room starts to feel a bit hot. In a blur, the night, and your relationship, takes a huge turn.

|warnings!|: heavy smut, drugged(SAFELY!) user, oral (user receiving), protected sex, pet names used

WC: 1318

note: My bbsf helped me make this :)

It had been years since you two have had a night like this—just the two of you. Childhood friends, bonded by years of mischief and midnight talks, now comfortably slipping into old habits as if nothing had changed. But everything had.

Dinner at Bangchan’s apartment was warm, cozy, and familiar. The soft lighting, the low hum of the music, and the way he smiled at you across the table stirred something you hadn’t fully acknowledged until now. Maybe you had always felt it, just buried under years of friendship and careful boundaries.

When he offered for you to stay the night—it was late, and the trains were slowing—you agreed without hesitation. The couch was already laid out, blanket and all. It felt like home.

"I'm just gonna shower real quick," he says, heading toward the bathroom with a towel slung around his neck, hair already messy from the day. “Help yourself to snacks.”

That’s all the invitation you need.

You wander into the kitchen, guided by memory and instinct. His snack cabinet is exactly as you remember—instant ramen, chips, a few protein bars. But something catches your eye tucked in the back: a sleek black box of chocolates, way too fancy to be hiding among instant noodles.

Curious, you pluck it from the shelf and examine the label. No warnings. No instructions.

You unwrap one and pop it into your mouth. Rich. Smooth. There’s a faint kick—something warm and spicy that melts across your tongue.

And then the heat really starts.

At first, it’s subtle. A flush beneath your skin, a flutter in your chest. But quickly, the room feels warmer. Your breath shallows. Every inch of you is suddenly, inexplicably aware of itself.

You sit down, trying to gather your thoughts, just as Bangchan walks back into the room, towel now around his neck, hair damp and curling at the edges.

He pauses when he sees you.

“You okay?” he asks, eyebrows lifting slightly.

You meet his eyes and try to speak, but it takes a second. “I might’ve… eaten one of those chocolates. The ones in the black box.”

His face changes instantly—first surprise, then something between awkward and alarmed.

“Oh,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Uh… those aren’t regular chocolates.”

Your heart skips. “Then what were they?”

“Aphrodisiac truffles,” he says, voice sheepish. “It was a gag-gift. I forgot they were still there.”

You blink. The heat in your body now makes too much sense.

He’s still standing across the room, but the space between you feels razor-thin. Like the tension is pulling the walls closer. You laugh nervously, intending to brush it off, but then he steps toward you—and you stop.

His eyes linger on yours, unreadable. Your mouth is dry, your skin humming, but not from the chocolate anymore.

“Maybe I should go to bed,” you murmur.

He tilts his head. “Do you want to?”

The question hangs in the air like gravity. You nod. Barely. And then he kisses you. It starts soft—uncertain. But something snaps, and the kiss deepens. Urgent. Familiar and completely new all at once. His hands find your waist. Yours slide into his still-damp hair. The years of friendship, the laughter, the quiet longing—everything presses into that kiss like it’s been waiting. When you finally pull away, both breathless, he looks at you like you’re not just his best friend anymore.

He doesn’t ask again. Just takes your hand.

You follow him down the hall, and the door clicks softly shut behind you.

Inside the room, you were pressed against the door, smothered in messy kisses. Bangchan's hands roamed over your curves, exploring every inch of your body with a gentle yet determined touch. He lifted you up slightly, pushing you against the door, and you wrapped your legs around his waist without thinking. His hands slipped under your shirt, tracing patterns on your stomach and back, making you shiver.

You didn't know how long you stood there like that, lost in each other's brace, but eventually, Bangchan broke the kiss. His forehead rested against yours as he panted, his chest heaving against yours.

"God, I've wanted this for so long," he whispered.

You couldn't find the words to respond, your mind blank with desire. But you didn't need words when you felt this connected to him. You pulled him closer, kissing him again, deeper this time. Your hands roamed freely over his chest and stomach, soaking in the feel of his skin against yours. This was what you'd been missing all these years - the warmth, the passion, the undeniable chemistry that sizzled between you two.

Bangchan's hands moved to your hips, grinding you against his hardness, and you moaned into his mouth. He let out a low growl, his breath hot against your lips. He gently pushed you away, though, breaking the kiss once more.

"We should take this to the bed," he murmured.

You nodded, still catching your breath. He helped you step out of his embrace and onto unsteady legs. As you moved towards the bed, Bangchan's eyes followed every curve of your body, and you couldn't help but smile shyly. He watched you like you were the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen, and it made your heart swell with love and lust.

Once on the bed, you looked at each other, unsure of what to do next. But then Bangchan smiled, a devilish glint in his eyes. He undid your pants and slid them off, revealing your boxers. He took a deep breath, his eyes traveling up and down your body, before pulling your boxers down and diving down to take you in his mouth. You cried out, arching your back as he teased you with his tongue, making you see stars.

As Bangchan's lips and tongue worked their magic on your throbbing member, you couldn't help but lose yourself in the sensation. You moaned and writhed beneath him, your hands gripping the sheets tightly. He took his time, teasing and sucking, his hands roaming up your thighs, sending shivers down your spine. You couldn't believe how good this felt, how right it was.

Suddenly, he stood up, and you gasped at the loss of contact. He chuckled softly and grabbed a condom from the bedside table. You watched as he rolled it on, his long, slender fingers deftly manipulating the latex. He crawled back onto the bed, his eyes locked onto yours, and you felt a jolt of electricity run through you.

"Are you ready?" he whispered, his voice rough with desire.

You nodded, your mouth dry. He positioned himself between your legs and slowly pressed inside, inch by delicious inch. You bit your lip to stifle your moans as he filled you up, stretching you in the most pleasurable way. He started moving, his hips undulating in a rhythm that matched your heartbeat. You closed your eyes, lost in the feeling, as he pumped in and out of you. Your hands found his damp hair again, tangling in the strands as you pulled him closer.

"Chan..." you breathed, your voice hoarse.

He groaned and buried his face in your neck, nipping gently. "Tell me what you want, baby."

You couldn't form words, could only feel. So you arched your back and met his thrusts, urging him on. He picked up the pace, his body slamming against yours in a primal dance. You could feel the heat building inside you, the tension coiling tighter and tighter. You both reached out for the edge, grabbing onto each other, and then you felt it—an explosion of pleasure that shook your core.

You lay there for a while just enjoying the warmth of his skin against yours. Eventually, you pulled out of the haze and sat up, looking around the room.

"We should probably get some sleep," you said, your voice still husky from desire.

He nodded, smiling softly. "Yeah, we should."

[magic-shop-stories]

how would bts react to reader taking off their ring after an argument?

💌 Reply:

first (as always)... THANK YOU for this achingly human request. I hope these headcanons carried what you wanted 🥺 And I am so so sorry for the late reply!  Life decided to get wildly ironic... because I wrote this while sittin in our vacation house bedroom on bf's parents’ 25th wedding anniversary trip 😭 If this resonated (or hurt just right), my DMs are open. Always.... — c —🌙

BTS Reacting to You Taking Off Your Ring After an Argument

Pairings: BTS(solo) x reader Rating: PG (13) up to R (emotionally heavy conflict, marital strife, swearing) Genre: angst, hurt/comfort, romance, fluff Warnings: marital conflict, emotional breakdowns, abandonment fears, (self-harm implications), manipulative behavior, panic attacks/anxiety

KIM NAMJOON

HOW IT HAPPENS

after a brutal fight

= one of those rare but seismic clashes where your words land like stones

his rebuttals are too measured, too logical

that only fuels your frustration

you storm out to cool off

when you return hours later, you slip off your ring and leave it on the kitchen counter like a surrender

Namjoon notices immediately

HIS IMMEDIATE REACTION

Physical

his breath hitches

his fingers, which had been flipping through a book, still

the air in the room shifts (thick, charged)

Verbal

he doesn’t yell

he doesn’t even speak

just stares at the ring like it’s a puzzle he can’t solve

“You took it off.” 

his voice is low

frayed at the edges

it's not accusatory

just hollow

HIS THOUGHTS

First “Did I push her to this? Was I too cold? Too rational?”

Second “Is this it? Is she leaving?”

his chest tightens at the thought

Third “No. No, we can fix this. We have to.”

WHAT HE DOES NEXT

Retreats to His Study

tho not to ignore you

it's to process

he journals frantically

= pages filled with half-formed thoughts:

“Love isn’t a debate. Why did I treat it like one?” “I can’t lose her. Not like this.”

Leaves You Space

doesn’t chase

doesn’t bombard you with texts

doesn’t leave the house either

just lingers in the periphery

like a quiet presence

Note

slides a handwritten letter under your door

not as an apology

as a promise:

“I don’t know how to fight for you with words that don’t sound like lectures. But I know this: I’d rather lose every argument than lose you. The ring is just metal. You’re the treasure. — Joon”

HOW HE MAKES AMENDS

Ring’s Return

finds you curled on the couch at dawn

kneels in front of you

ring pinched between his fingers

“Let me?”

his voice cracks

if you let him, he’ll slide it back on

his thumb brushing your knuckle like a prayer

Changed Behavior

starts asking how you feel before diving into logic

leaves his debates for the bookshelf

Symbolic Gesture

buys a chain and wears his own ring around his neck

“So I never forget what matters.”

KIM SEOKJIN (JIN)

HOW IT HAPPENS

it starts over something stupid

maybe you accused him of forgetting your anniversary

plot: he didn’t; he’s just bad at hiding surprises, or maybe really good

his sarcasm escalates it

before you know it, you’re yelling

“You never take anything seriously!” 

he fires back

“Oh, I’m deadly serious... about how ridiculous you’re being!”

you rip off your ring mid-sentence and slam it on the coffee table

the metallic clink cuts through the room like a gunshot

HIS IMMEDIATE REACTION

Physical

his smirk freeze

his hands, which had been gesturing dramatically, drop to his sides

Verbal

sharp, humorless laugh

“Wow. Okay. Dramatic.” 

his voice is too tight, his jaw clenched

HIS THOUGHTS

First “Shit. Did I push too far?”

Second “She actually took it off. Is she… done?” 

his stomach lurches

Third “Nope. Nope. We’re fixing this.”

WHAT HE DOES NEXT

Deflection Mode

turns on the TV too loud

pretending to watch a drama

“Oh, this is a good part... look, the main couple is fighting too! See? Normal!”

Late-Night Surrender

at 3 AM

he barges into the bedroom

you’re pretending to sleep

flicks on the light

“Yah. Look at me.” 

his eyes are red-rimmed

his hair a mess

“You win. Just… put the damn ring back on.”

Peace Offering

drops a velvet box on the nightstand

inside a new ring

this one with a tiny diamond

“The old one was ‘pre-argument’ jewelry. This one’s post-argument. Upgraded.”

WHAT HE SAYS

Defensive “You’re really gonna let one fight undo years of my flawless husbandry?”

Vulnerable (Rare) “I’m sorry, okay? I’ll… I’ll be less me.” 

he doesn’t mean it

Playful (Recovery) “Also, the new ring is non-refundable. So. Legally, you have to stay.”

HOW HE MAKES AMENDS

Overcompensates

plans a ridiculous “re-anniversary” date

= horse-drawn carriage, rose petals,

“Happy Not-The-Day-I-Pissed-You-Off!”

Learns to Listen

starts asking stuff

“Wait... are we actually fighting, or are you just moody?” 

Secret Insecurity

starts wearing his ring even in public

MIN YOONGI (SUGA)

HOW IT HAPPENS

early in your marriage

maybe six months in

the honeymoon phase crashes into reality

Yoongi’s been buried in the studio for days

he is ignoring texts, forgetting anniversaries

even snapping when you ask for one dinner together

he came home at 3 AM to find you waiting

hurt simmering into anger

the fight is ugly

You: “You care more about your songs than me!” Him: “I’m working! Why can’t you understand that?” 

voice like gravel

eyes blazing

you yank off your expensive ring mid-sentence

slamming it onto the coffee table

the clink echoes like a gunshot

HIS IMMEDIATE REACTION

Physical

his whole body locks up

his hands curl into fists

veins stark against his pale skin

studio-light glare from his laptop paints his face in harsh shadows

Verbal

a sharp, wounded noise escapes him

speaks coldly

“Fine. Do that.”

turns away

his shoulders are rigid

HIS THOUGHTS

White-Hot Fury “She’s giving up? Just like that?” 

mad at you, at himself, at the damn ring for existing

Self-Loathing “I knew I’d fuck this up. Knew it.”

Panic

“Is this over? Is she leaving?” 

his stomach drops

WHAT HE DOES NEXT

Storm-Out

grabs his keys

heads for the door

stops halfway, slamming his palm into the wall

“Fuck.”

Studio Meltdown

drives to HYBE

trashes a demo out of sheer frustration

leter sits on the floor, head in hands

texts you: “Come get me. Please.” 

deletes it

sends instead thet he is at the studio

Breaking Point

when you do show up (because you always do)

he’s a mess

red-eyed, hair wild, voice raw.

“I don’t know how to do this. The… the marriage thing.”

HOW YOU BOTH COME BACK TOGETHER

you stand in the doorway

arms crossed

ring still absent

“You don’t get to run. Ever.”

he chokes out a laugh, wet and broken

“Yeah. Yeah, I know.”

he reaches for you

fingers trembling

“I’m trying. But I need you to... fuck...” 

his voice cracks

“Just. Don’t take it off again.”

you cry

he cries... YES

it’s messy and real and therapeutic

AFTERMATH

New Rules

he sets alarms for “Wife Time” on his phone

you agree to “No Ring Removal” as a nuclear option

The Ring’s Return

he slides it back onto your finger himself

lips brushing your knuckle

“Mine, even when I’m an idiot.”

Growth

starts leaving the studio at midnight no matter what

texts you lyrics instead of apologies

“You’re my bridge. Without you, the song falls apart.”

JUNG HOSEOK (J-HOPE)

HOW IT HAPPENS

fight starts over something stupid

maybe he canceled plans for work again

or you snapped about his relentless optimism when you just needed to vent

it escalates

for once, his sunshine dims

he shouts

you shout back

when the dust settles, you twist off your ring and set it on the nightstand with a quiet clink

he freezes mid-sentence

his expression drops like a stone

HIS IMMEDIATE REACTION

Physical

his hands fly to his mouth

muffling a noise that’s half-gasp, half-sob

tears well up instantly

= big, glistening ones that spill over before he can stop them

“Y-You… you took it off?”

Verbal

voice cracking

high-pitched with panic

“No, no, no... hey, hey, we can fix this! Please!”

HIS THOUGHTS

First “I broke us. I did this.” 

cue internal screaming

Second “How do I fix it? What do I do?”

his brain is short-circuiting into overdrive

Third “Anything. I’ll do anything.”

WHAT HE DOES NEXT

Breakdown

sobs into his hands for a solid minute

shoulders shaking

like a switch flips

he springs into action

Grand Gesture

floods the room with roses

like, obscenely many

every color

bed looks like a florist exploded

orders your favorite food

even if it’s 3 AM

he has to beg a restaurant to reopen

“Extra spicy, extra cheese... whatever she wants!”

spa mode

draws a bubble bath with excessive petals

lights every candle in the house

plays his “Chill Vibes” playlist

“Just... just relax! I’ll massage your feet! Your back! Your soul!”

Pleading

kneels by the tub

eyes red-rimmed

holding the ring out like a sacred offering

“I’ll be better. I promise. Just… put it back on. Please.”

WHAT HE SAYS:

Desperate “I’ll quit the tour. I’ll... I’ll retire! Just talk to me!”

he doesn’t mean it

he thinks he does in the moment

Raw “You’re my person. Without you, I’m just… noise.”

Hopeful “Let’s start over. Right now. Hi, I’m Jung Hoseok. Will you marry me? Again?”

AFTERMATH

Clingy for Days

fllows you around like a puppy 

“Do you need water? A hug? A song?”

Overcompensates

turns into a mind reader

brings you coffee before you wake up

texts hourly “I love you” updates

Real Change

starts asking things

“Do you need me to listen or fix it?” 

then diving into cheerleader mode

PARK JIMIN

HOW IT HAPPENS

the fight is ugly

you both say words like "You never listen!" and "I can’t do this anymore!" 

throwinf them like knives

he is usually so gentle

matches your intensity with his own

his voice cracking with frustration

you storm out

he doesn’t follow

you return hours later

you slide off your ring, leaving it on the nightstand like a white flag

Jimin sees it immediately

HIS IMMEDIATE REACTION

Physical

his breath stutters

tears well up instantly

he doesn’t wipe them away

just stares at the ring like it’s a grenade

"You... you took it off?" 

his voice is small, shattered

Emotional

whirlwind of guilt and fear

"Did I push too hard? Did I break us?"

WHAT HE DOES NEXT

Silent Breakdown

sinks to the floor beside the bed

knees pulled to his chest

presses his palms to his eyes

shoulders shaking

"Fuck. Fuck."

Relentless Texts (If You Left)

"Please come home." "I didn’t mean any of it. None of it." "I’ll wait all night."

Raw Apology (If You Stayed)

crawls into bed beside you

not touching, just to be there

voice raw

"I hate myself for making you feel like you had to do that."

HOW HE MAKES AMENDS

Ring’s Return

when you finally face each other

he cradles your hand

pressing the ring into your palm

"Put it back when you’re ready. Or don’t. But I’m not going anywhere."

Touch as Truce

brushes your tears away with his thumbs

"I’m sorry. I’m so sorry."

if you let him, he’ll pull you into his lap

arms locked around you like a vow

"We’re okay. We’re always okay."

Changed Behavior

starts asking "Are we good?" after minor spats

needs reassurance

leaves sticky notes: "Today’s reminder: I adore you. Even when I’m stupid."

KIM TAEHYUNG (V)

HOW IT HAPPENS

fight starts over something trivial

maybe you criticized his impulsive plan to road-trip to Busan at 2 AM

or he forgot (again) to tell you about a last-minute photoshoot

it escalates

words sharpening like knives.

he hates confrontation, especially with you

deflects with humor until you snap

“You don’t take anything seriously!”

that’s when you yank off your ring and toss it onto the dresser with a clatter

HIS IMMEDIATE REACTION

Physical

his entire body freezes

his playful smirk drops like a stone

he looks scared

Verbal

sharp, wounded laugh

“Wow. Okay. So we’re here now.” 

his voice is light

his hands are fists at his sides

HIS THOUGHTS

First “She’s really doing this. After everything?”

his mind flashes to lazy Sundays

to the way he always kisses that ring before leaving for work

Second “Fine. If she wants to play that game...”

it's his anger

= theatrical, all-or-nothing

Third  “…Wait. No. This isn’t a game.”

WHAT HE DOES NEXT

Grand Exit

grabs his keys and stalks out

slamming the door

drives to Han River and screams into the sunset like a K-drama hero

Symbolic Gesture

texts you a photo of his ring in his palm

captioned: “Should I throw it in the water? Be dramatic like you?” 

he won’t

he wants you to panic a little

Return:

comes home with two new rings

thicker, engraved with “Yours, Idiot” and “Mine, Dummy”

drops them on the bed

“Pick one. Or don’t. But I’m not going anywhere.”

HOW HE MAKES AMENDS

Apology

doesn’t say “I’m sorry.” 

he cooks your favorite meal (burning half of it)

plays your song on saxophone off-key

“Happy fake anniversary.”

= it’s not your anniversary; that’s the point

Promise

wears both rings on a chain for a week

“So you see I mean it.”

Growth

starts leaving Post-its with “I’ll be back at 8” or “Don’t wait up"

his little ways to say “I’m trying.”

JEON JUNGKOOK

HOW IT HAPPENS

the fight was bad, like ugly bad

= the kind that’s been brewing for months

maybe the marriage was rushed

= fans’ backlash, his chaotic schedule, your quiet resentment

when you finally snap and fling your ring onto the hotel bathroom counter

the clink echoes like a gunshot, even worse

Jungkook freezes mid-pace

muscles coiled

“What the fuck was that?”

HIS IMMEDIATE REACTION

Physical

he’s across the room in two strides

snatching the ring like it’s a lifeline

his knuckles whiten around it

“No. No. You don’t get to do this.”

Emotional

anger flares first

always, because fear wears his rage like armor

“You promised! We fought for this!” 

his voice is raw

HIS THOUGHTS

First “Was it the fans? The hate comments? Did I fail her?”

Second “I’ll delete everythinf. I’ll quit the group. Fuck it all.”

Third “Please. Not like this.”

WHAT HE DOES NEXT

Meltdown

kicks a chair (regrets it instantly)

texts his manager: “Cancel everything.”

Silence

disappears for hours

returns with red-rimmed eyes and a plan

Grand Gesture:

RE-PROPOSAL

Setting

rooftop of your first apartment together

fairy lights

no cameras

just him, shaking

What He Says

“I was an idiot. I thought marrying you was enough. But love’s not a ring, it’s every damn day choosing us.” 

kneels, holding out a new ring

= simple, sturdy, no flash, just forever

 “Marry me again. Slower. Louder. Better.”

[wildflowersandvibranium]

Muscle Memory : Chapter Two

Pairing: CHILDHOOD FRIENDS TO LOVERS Restaurant Owner Bucky Barnes x Cardiac Surgeon Female Reader Alternate Universe

Chapter Word Count: 3.5k+

Chapter Warnings: this one is on the heavier side!! it mostly contains flashbacks to show reader and Buckys dynamic and love when they were kids/teens. Contains scenes of abuse towards reader from her father and fiancé , mentions of blood , injuries , bruises , protective sweet bucky , panic attacks , kissing / slight makeout , suicide ideation if you squinttttt

If I missed anything let me know!

Author Note: here is part 2!! Again this little project is my baby and I’m so proud of it 🥹 This is my first series fic so please be kind and any comments or thoughts mean the world! i have all chapters wrote so this will be a completed fic when all posted! 🌷if you want on the taglist let me know and i can add you! enjoyyyy bbysss

Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three coming...June 11th

SERIES MASTERLIST 💖 MAIN MASTERLIST

She stepped into the apartment , the weight and stress of her day pressing deep into her bones. 

The smell of the older house and faint lemon cleaner she had used the night before , greeted her as she slipped off her tennis shoes , toes sinking into the plush white rug she’d picked out.

She was drained of all energy , every muscle and limb aching from the long hours of surgeries and rounds of consults , but she couldn’t just collapse into bed. 

Not when she knew Tyler would be just as exhausted as she was from his work trip in the next town over. She wanted to get his clothes for the work day tomorrow pressed and ready before the night.

She sauntered slowly to their bedroom, padding her sock covered feet down the little hall as she shed her scrubs and coat off , throwing them in the basket by the bathroom door. 

Changing into a pair of black worn sweatpants and a cropped band tee.

She walked to the small laundry room off the kitchen , pulling the warm , clean clothes from the dryer into the clean hamper. 

The soft hum of the machine and the warmth of the fresh load felt comforting and homey , like a quiet hug against the cold weight in her body. 

She moved to sit cross-legged on the couch , methodically folding shirts and pants into neat stacks , one stack of hers and one of his clothes. 

She contemplated turning on the TV as she worked but decided some peace and quiet would be best right now. There was already enough buzz and noise in her mind 

The repetitive motion was soothing , a small moment of normalcy she clung to with tired hands. 

Her mind drifted as she worked , eyes unfocused as she watched the pile in the basket grow smaller and the piles on the couch growing bigger.

A small shirt slipped out of the stack , it was one of hers , long forgotten at the bottom of the hamper and now shrunk to half its size after being mixed into loads and ran over and over. 

She picked it up , fingers brushing the soft blue cotton , her lips curving faintly despite the exhaustion still lingering. 

It looked like it could almost belong to a child now , something someone tiny and sweet would wear. 

The thought made her heart ache in a way she couldn’t help.

She had always wanted a family , a real family. 

One built out of her love and gentle laughter , where the kids ran barefoot and free through the kitchen without getting yelled at or scolded. 

Giggling as they tease their parents when they kiss or snuggle or make flirty comments ,  the kids laugh squealing  “stop flirting” instead of all she knew to say which was “stop fighting.” 

She pictured sticky fingers stealing fresh homemade cookies off cooling racks , pillow and blanket forts in the living room , tiny arms thrown around her neck in bone crushing hugs after work. 

She pictured warmth and safety , the kind of love that never left marks or swelling welps. 

But the dream flickered to an end , like a candle in the wind as reality pulled her right back.

She shook her head quickly wiping her tears that she hadn't realized slipped down at the daydream. 

Folding the little shirt and tucking it to the side. No sense in daydreaming about something that felt so far away , and oh so impossible. 

Because she refuses to bring a precious being into this world for its little heart to get crushed by the very thing that's supposed to build you up and love you endlessly. 

Everything she craved and did deserved but never got.

She forced herself to focus on the laundry again , on the clean towels and the scent of her lavender detergent.

Breaking the little peace she had , the white front door slammed , the echo cracking like thunder down the hall enough to shake the picture frame above the entryway. 

Written in gold lettering. “Our Happily ever After”

It was pretty , had a floral painted design and was gifted to them by the realtor when they bought the house. Except this home was anything but that promise scripted on it. 

Outside the home , its rose bushes and brick mailbox was picturesque like a little sliver of , heaven on earth. 

But inside–

Inside it was hell.

She flinched , the shirt slipping from her fingers as her heart stuttered in her chest. 

Her breath caught , and her gaze snapped to the entryway. 

Tyler was home. 

She knew the sound of his footsteps , heavy , uneven—and the smell of whiskey hershey to her nose , even before he came into view.

He was coming home drunk. Again.

The folded clothes blurred in her vision as she set them aside , steeling herself as he stumbled into the room. 

The air in the room, once pure tranquility – seemed to tighten around her , that fragile bubble of safety and warm laundry popped in an instant.

Tyler’s footsteps stormed through the house.

She had stopped checking the clock a long time ago—stopped wondering how long before his voice turned sharp or the whiskey in his breath started to sing.

“You didn’t start dinner,” he said flatly, stumbling in , a new bottle of the amber liquid in his palm.

She blinked from the hallway , still holding the folded laundry in her slightly shaking hands. As she began to stammar out a response.

“I—I was waiting to see if you’d be home early,” she said carefully.              “I didn’t want it to get cold—”

“Don’t play stupid with me girl.”

His voice was low , quiet, and that made it worse. The way his anger simmered like coals under water. Controlled. Calculated. Cruel.

“I wasn’t—Tyler, I’m not—” her stomach twisted and burned from fear.

The slap came so fast , so sharp , that she didn’t even register the pain before she was on the floor. 

Her cheek throbbed. Her elbow pulsing with pain against the freshly mopped hardwood floors.

For a second , the world tilted. Her vision danced with little white stars and swirls.

“I work all damn day and you can’t even manage one fu’thing?” he snapped , slurring heavily.

She touched her cheek with trembling fingers. “Please… I—I’ll make it right now, just let me—”

He grabbed her wrist and yanked her upward , hard. Her body slammed into the hall table , the corner digging into her lower back , everything on it sliding off  , shattering or snapping. 

She let out a choked cry and tried to pull away , but his grip only tightened.

“You always have an excuse,” Tyler growled , breathing hot and sour against her face. 

“You’re always so damn sorry—but it doesn’t stop you from screwing up.”

“I’m not trying to—I swear—Ty, please, I’ll fix it—”

“Shut up.”

His other hand raised in a fist  , and that was when her body locked.

Her brain disconnected. As she was met with black.

And suddenly—

She wasn’t here anymore. Not an adult. Not in her house.

The sound of the front door slamming still made her heart skip , even all these years later.

But back then—when she was only nine , her hands trembled so fiercely she could barely grip the edge of the couch. 

Her homework sat unfinished in front of her , she needed help with it and had no one to ask. 

A purple and green crayon broken in half across the pages. 

The TV was muted flashing a rerun on the screen. 

She stared at the floor like it would open and swallow her whole. Hoping.

Praying , it would.

The yelling started right on time.

“Worthless little brat—this is what I come home to?!”

Her father's boots thundered across the floor. 

Her mother never said a word. 

She never had in times like this. 

And that night—like so many before it—Y/N didn't make it to her bedroom fast enough.

The slap across her cheek was sharp and immediate. 

Not hard enough to knock her down , but that would come later , it always did. 

Her father’s breath stank of cheap vodka and cigarette butts. 

His voice boomed against the walls , and even when her mother tried to gently tug at his arm pleading , he just shoved her away with a curse.

“I should’ve never had a kid,” he snarled , yanking her wrist so hard it popped in the socket. “You’re just like your mother. Lazy. Useless.”

She didn’t cry anymore. Crying made it worse and made him angrier.

Instead , she waited for the minute he’d get bored of taunting and hurting her. 

The moment he’d kick over the coffee table and leave , muttering about “needing another drink.” , she ran. 

Every time. To the same place.

Barefeet padding through the grass and sticks , blood dripping from her knees , she ran through the backyard in the dark , through the neighbor’s fence in a slat that was loose , and climbed up.

It was muscle memory now. 

Up the crooked slanted boards , into the little wooden box that sat nestled in the tree behind the Barnes’ house.

Bucky's dad had built it for his kids , and it had become her safe place. 

The little wooden door creaked as she pulled it shut behind her. 

Her hands shook , and her lip stung from where she bit through it to keep from making noise and crying. 

She didn’t know that Bucky had seen her from his bedroom window.

So when the trapdoor opened just minutes later, she jumped hard shielding her body from another painful blow.

“It’s just me ,” came the soft whisper.

He was in pajama pants and a hoodie , a flashlight in one hand and a folded blanket in the other. 

His hair was messy , sleep still clinging to his eyes.

And then he saw her face.

His young pure heart broke at the sight.

Without asking , Bucky knelt down , wrapping the blanket around her shoulders and pulling her close. 

She didn’t speak , didn’t cry–not yet , just stared blankly at the far wall of the treehouse while he rocked her slowly.

“I hate him,” Bucky said , voice shaking. “I hate what he does to you.”

Her voice was hoarse. “Don’t say that.”

“Why not? It’s true.”

“Because if I hate him too , I won’t survive.”

The silence that followed was sacred. Heavy. 

Bucky didn’t argue. He just held her tighter and rested his chin on her head.

“You deserve better dolly ,” he whispered into her hair. “You deserve to not have someone who makes you afraid. You deserve to live with someone who doesn’t raise his voice or his fists. Someone who only wraps his arms around you when you need to feel safe.”

She trembled then broke down into sobs.

He laid them both down in the treehouse , gently pulling her with him until they were curled up side by side , her head on his chest , her fingers clenched in the fabric of his hoodie twisting the strings.

“I’ll be that person,” he whispered. “One day. I’ll take you away from all this. You’ll see.” 

She closed her eyes and let sleep takeover.

══✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿══

The soft hum of the floor lamp buzzed against the silence when she came to.

It was dim. Warm golden toned lighting surrounded her and the living room. Her head felt heavy , drenched in fog , every limb dragging like it had been dipped in wet concrete.

She blinked slowly. The plush couch cushions pressed against her back. 

Her neck ached. A faint pain throbbed along her cheekbone. 

The air smelled faintly of laundry detergent and cheap cologne.

Something soft brushed her temple.

"Hey, sweetheart," came a quiet voice.

Her gaze jerked sideways.

Tyler.

Sitting on the edge of the couch , his face gentle , his brows pulled into a concerned furrow. 

One hand was stroking her hair , the same hand that had struck her hours ago.

She stared at him , unsure whether she was still trapped in that space between dream and memory. 

Her heart thudded unevenly in her chest.

"You're okay," he murmured , thumb ghosting along her cheek.                "You hit your head pretty hard when you tripped"

She blinked. Her lips parted , voice barely above a whisper. "Tripped…?"

Tyler smiled softly , as if it pained him to say. “You were rushing and slipped. I found you like this. You must’ve passed out , baby.”

His words slid around her ears , sluggish and sticky. She wanted to argue—wanted to say, No, that’s not what happened, but her tongue didn’t move. Her throat was dry. Her body was still buzzing with confusion.

He leaned down and kissed her forehead. “Scared me to death. You should be more careful.”

Her body stayed still under his touch , but her stomach twisted.

“I brought you something for the pain,” he said, reaching into his back pocket.

She watched numbly as he pulled out a small orange pill bottle , shook two white tablets into his hand, and offered them to her with a glass of water.

“Go on,” he coaxed, his voice like honey. “They’ll help you sleep too. You’ll feel better in the morning.”

She took the pills wordlessly, hands shaking seeking relief from the ache and hurt. Her throat burned as she swallowed.

He gently brushed her hair behind her ear.

“I’ve gotta run out for a bit,” he added, standing and reaching for his coat. “Work call. Won’t be long.”

He bent down again , pressing a kiss to her temple.

“I love you,” he whispered.

She didn’t respond. Just blinked.

The front door clicked softly behind him.

And then… the silence settled in.

It wasn’t the kind of silence that felt peaceful. It was loud. Deafening. 

The kind that roared instead of whispered.

She curled her legs up onto the couch , trying to slow her breathing.

 Her body felt too hot. Her heartbeat was too fast. The pills were already working—making her eyelids heavy, her thoughts swimming.

The room blurred at the edges.

She clutched the throw blanket tighter around her body. 

And her mind slipped back into the past again as she let rest overtake her body and mind.

══✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿══

The door didn’t slam anymore. That’s how she knew it was worse.

When her father got quieter , he got meaner, more methodical and precise with his actions —she started planning her exits before he even got home.

At seventeen , she was old enough to leave , but not strong enough to run all alone. At least not yet.

That night , she failed to dodge a half full beer bottle to the back of her shoulder. 

Her mother’s cries came too late , and she was out the door seconds later , grabbing her jacket on the way not waiting out incase of another explosion of her fathers rage.

Bucky was already pulling up outside.

“I saw the light go out in the front room ,” he said simply as she slid into the passenger seat of his red ford pickup. “I figured…”

“You figured right.” she said clutching her shoulder wincing.

He didn’t ask to see. He never made her explain.

She knew her cheek was red , a raw jagged scrape across the bone. 

Her fingers ached from where she'd caught herself on the counter trying to escape. And the sting from the cut on her back was getting harder to ignore as Bucky drove away from her personal hell.

He didn’t tell her where they were going , the only obvious thing was the windows were down and the old mix CD in his truck stereo was skipping slightly as Johnny Cash crooned about freedom.

The summer night was warm and eerie , the kind of air that smelled like fresh-cut grass and a brewing storm rolling in. 

They didn’t talk for a while , just let the wind do the work at easing her mind and fueling his feelings.

They made it an hour outside the city before Bucky halted to a stop , the truck pulled over near a little hill that overlooked a wide , open field. Nothing but stars overhead and wildflowers that danced in the breeze.

Bucky shut off the engine. And turned to face her.

“We've never been here before?” She asked meekly looking around across the field.

“This is where I go when I feel like I can't breathe,” he said , stepping out.

She followed by nodding , going with him up the hill without asking any more questions.

At the top , the grass was so soft , the sky massive and silent above them.

She dropped onto her butt ,  stretching out wide. Bucky laid down beside her, shoulder brushing hers as he leaned back.

“God , it’s beautiful,” she whispered then hissed at a too fast movement to her shoulder. 

“What's wrong?” Bucky turned worriedly sitting up. 

She lifted her jacket off and showed him the now slowly oozing cut on her shoulder. “Apparently a beer bottle hurts worse than a fist” she whispered, teeth clenching at the night breeze making it sting. 

“Shi- Doll why didn't ya tell me ,  i gotta first aid kit in the truck hold on” He stood and ran fast to the truck and back sitting down the box.

“Here… I'll be gentle” he said, cleaning the wound and began wrapping it as he spoke.

“Y’know , I'm thinking about building a life here.”

She smiled softly watching him gently wrap her arm. “What kind of life Buck?”

“One where you don’t flinch anymore…” 

He began looking into her eyes 

 “…One where I cook every night and you come home from the hospital and throw your bag on the couch , and we just exist peacefully. Laugh. Dance. Maybe a kid one day. Or two. You said you wanted a yellow kitchen with , what was it– blue tiles , right?”

She turned her head to face him fully , eyes misting at his words.            “You remembered that?”

“I remember everything you say,” he said, voice low. “You used to say you wanted to put fresh daisies in the window sills, all fresh cut from your garden.”

Her throat tightened.

He shifted closer, propping himself up on one elbow.

“I’m gonna take you away from him,” he whispered. “Someday. I’m gonna get you out of this life where no one ever touches you like that again. A life where you feel safe even when you close your eyes.”

Her eyes burned, tears pooling. “People say stuff like that, Buck. And they mean it at the moment. But life happens.”

“Then let it. I’ll still mean it.”

Silence again. 

She slowly lifted her hand and cupped his freshly shaven jaw , he leaned into the touch and nuzzled his nose with hers making her laugh. 

She met him fully and connected their lips in a loving , searing way. Showing everything each of them mean and every promise they intend to make to each other.

He lifted his hand wrapping it around the nape of her neck pulling her in , deepening the kiss even more. Now all tongue and promise. All love.

She pulled back with a smile not leaving more than an inch in between them. She pecked his lips a few more times and shifted  laying her head against his chest like she had a hundred times before. 

But this time, she held on tighter.

He wrapped his arms around her and rubbed slow circles against her back. 

Their heartbeats were steady. Familiar. Safe.

“I feel like I’m made of glass sometimes,” she brokenly whispered.

He kissed her forehead gently. “Then I’ll be the one who never drops you.”

She blinked back tears exhaling deeply. 

“And what if I break anyway?”

“Then I’ll help you pick up the pieces.”

Her fingers curled into his t-shirt.

“You promise?”

“I swear it,” Bucky murmured , his voice a soft thread in the dark.

There , in that field , under the last light of day, she let the weight go. 

She closed her eyes to the sound of his heartbeat and the steady hum of crickets. She finally felt safe with him.

She fell asleep on his chest , held in the only promise that ever felt real. Dreaming of the life he promised and made up. All of it she wanted them to have. The kids , the tiredness , the laughter , the home she deeply craved.

And Bucky stayed awake long into the night , memorizing the way she breathed when she wasn’t afraid or hurting. Not wanting her peace to end.

He would keep every promise.

Even if it took him his whole life and then some. He would give the girl in his arms. His girl the world.

-end

Chapter Three Posting June 11th if you want tagged when posted message me or comment <3

Comments , Reblogs , Likes and Requests are always loved!

(although if you liked this fic please consider reblogging so it can reach a wider audience)

They let me know that you are enjoying what I'm publishing and gives me motivation to write more and more! :33

Series Tag List- @starstruckfirecat @vicmc624 @sebastians-love

[midnightquips]

What We Never Were

Jake Seresin x Reader

Summary: Y/N needs a fake boyfriend for her sister’s wedding. Jake Seresin, her childhood best friend, is all too happy to play the part—until pretending starts to feel dangerously real. One bed. Old feelings. A week of dancing around the truth. She thinks he’s out of reach. He’s just been waiting for her to see him.

Themes: fake dating, bestfriends to lovers, pining, slow burn, fluff

🔴 MINORS DNI 🔴 Warnings: 18+ content, eventual smut, dirty talk, praise kink, jealousy, soft aftercare, pwp, piv sex, unprotected sex, mild praise kink, foreplay

💫 What We Never Were Masterlist 📌 Sign Up for TAGLIST

Author's note: A LITTLE HONEYMOON PERIOD YAYYYY!

Chapter 5

Part I – Long Time Coming

Jake wakes before you.

He doesn't mean to. Maybe it’s the discipline trained in him but it also helps if it’s after a good sleep. And in his opinion, it can’t get any better than falling asleep with you in his arms.

Your head rests on his chest, one bare leg tossed lazily over his. His arm is snug around your waist, hand splayed across the dip of your back like it belongs there. Your breath is soft, even. He pushes away hair that’s fallen on your face and watches your face, peaceful and content, like you trust him even here.

She’s mine.

It’s not a possessive thought, not in the usual Jake Seresin way. It’s reverent. She’s mine, the way Texas skies belong to summer heat. The way gravity belongs to earth.

A feeling of contentment overcomes him for the first time in a long time.

He bids his time in bed and stays there with you. He doesn’t really want to wake you but can’t help faintly brush finger lines across your spine. He tries to sear the moment in his brain—the weight of you against him, the smell of your hair, how his shirt looks soft on you.

When you finally stir, he leans down to kiss your temple. “Mornin’, sweetheart.”

You blink slowly, confused at first. The memories of last night slowly coming back to you.

Your body against his. The way he touched you. The things he said. Oh god, the things YOU said.

He smiles down at you, like he didn’t have a worry in the world, and perhaps he truly doesn’t when he has you. He traces your jaw. “You sleep okay?”

You nod automatically, voice hoarse from sleep. “Yeah.”

He rubs your free arm. “Hungry?”

You nod once again, “Mhmm.”

You strive to remain composed when waves of overthinking start to hit you. Jake can see the reality of what happened last night dawning in your brain and knows he needs to approach carefully. 

You both get dressed and Jake takes your hand in his as you go out of the room, to go down & greet your family members who are already up and awake.

You separate when you enter the kitchen, letting him make coffee while you sit at the table with your parents. He hums like he does this every morning. He hands you your coffee mug and presses a kiss to your shoulder before taking a seat beside you. All warmth and casual intimacy.

You sip on your coffee quietly, eyes staring blankly ahead. 

Jake doesn't miss the tiny retreat. The contemplation.

She's here, but she’s slipping.

Still, he decides to not say anything. Just smiles and entwines his hand with your again under the table. It grabs your attention and finally, you give him a soft smile. 

I’ll enjoy this for now. You think.

The moment is interrupted when Jake turns to your mom, “Mrs. Y/L/N, I was thinking,” he says loudly, “before we head back, maybe Y/N & I could spend a night at the lake house. Just us. Little tradition before we go.”

“Why, that’s a wonderful idea, Jake. You guys used to love it up there.” she smiles, a little nostalgic

You stare at Jake at the mention of the lake house. It was something you would never have thought Jake would suggest, but your smile widens because despite the abruptness of it, you really did love the lake house. 

He looks at you warmly, knowing you were already on board, “What do you say, darlin’?”

“Yeah,” you say. “That sounds nice.”

The town square hasn’t changed much. A little more polished maybe, but still filled with cracked sidewalks. Familiar shops that smelled like cider were still standing and lined up, even the same diner Jake used to skip practice to hang out in.

You & Jake decided to drop by town before heading to the lake house to grab some essentials and food. You're walking beside him while holding a to-go cup of sweet tea. Your fingers brushing his occasionally. Jake steals glances at you when he thinks you’re not looking. He’s wearing that lazy, easy smile that used to make every girl in school sigh.

You want to lean into it. Just… let go. But a small voice in your head keeps whispering: This doesn’t last. This is borrowed.

You try to ignore it.

You pass the old pharmacy that’s now a boutique, when a tall brunette steps out.

You see her eyes widen.

“Oh my god,” she says. “Jake Seresin?”

He turns and recognition lights his face. “Christy?”

Recognition also settles within you when you realize it’s Christy McAllister, one of Jake’s ex high school girlfriends. 

She throws her arms around him before he can even fully answer.

Jake feels caught and awkwardly pats her back once before pulling away. You stand to the side, watching, trying not to watch too hard, but your fingers curl tightly around your cup.

“You look amazing,” she says, dragging her eyes over him. “I mean, I know socials are there and you’re in Top Gun now but wow.”

Jake chuckles politely. “Thanks. You look good too.”

Christy finally turns to you. Her smile falters for half a second.

“And this is…?”

Before you can speak, Jake’s hand slides into yours.

“Y/N Y/L/N, remember?” he says easily. “My girlfriend.”

You jolt.

She pauses for a second. “Oh. Wow.”

Jake smiles, sharp now. “Yeah, been a long time coming.”

Christy laughs, but there's something edged about it. “Well, that explains it. Everyone always whispered about you two in high school.”

You raise a brow. “Whispered?”

“Oh, come on. The way Jake always hovered around you? I thought for sure you were secretly married.”

Jake rolls his eyes. “Alright, alright. Good seeing you, Christy.”

He tugs you away, hand still wrapped around yours.

You walk in silence for a block before he speaks.

“Don’t let her get in your head.”

“I’m not,” you say too quickly.

But you are. Because suddenly you’re that girl again, watching Jake talk to the Christys of the world and wondering if you were ever someone people thought he’d choose.

Jake doesn’t press but he knows what you’re thinking. He always knows.

You just got back to the truck after getting what you needed. The silence was double-edged. A mix of comfort and restraint. Jake hadn’t pushed but he can tell the encounter with Christy definitely touched a sore spot.

You’re still buzzing, insecurity lingering after the encounter with one of Jake’s ex-girlfriends. How dare she pacify you when in reality Jake never even considered you back in high school.

“You okay?” Jake finally checks-in

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just the heat and all.” You excused poorly

Jake raise nods slowly in doubt, “Mhmm”

“Stop that.” You roll your eyes at him

“Stop what?”

“Acting like you obviously know I’m lying.” You glare at him

“But I DO know you’re lying. So just tell me what’s bothering you.” Jake presses

You mutter something incoherently which had Jake firmly requesting you to repeat again

“I didn’t like how she touched you,” you reluctantly admit

Jake glances at you, surprised.

“Christy?”

You try to sound nonchalant but failed miserably in the following rant, “She had her hands all over you. I mean she obviously saw you with a woman right? Why would she just assume she could hug random men she hasn’t seen in a decade suddenly?”

He smirks. “So you were watching.”

You puffed. “I have eyes.”

He pulls the car to the side of the road suddenly, turns off the ignition.

“Jake—”

He leans over the console and cups your jaw.

“I don’t want Christy. Or anyone else. I want you.”

You open your mouth, some sarcastic retort on your tongue, but he kisses you first. Rough. Needy. Tongue sweeping into your mouth like he’s trying to erase the last thirty minutes.

Your fingers grip his shirt, knuckles white. He groans when you tug him closer.

“You’ve got to stop doing that.” You scowl at Jake

He smirks smugly, acting oblivious, “Doing what, darlin’?”

“Randomly kissing me to shut me up.” You pout

Jake simply smiles, “You get jealous,” he murmurs, lips brushing yours. “God, I love that.”

You gasp, breathless. “Don’t be an asshole.”

He kisses you again, harder.

When you finally break apart, both of you breathing heavily, he rests his forehead on yours.

“Let me prove it to you,” he whispers. “Let me show you exactly how gone I am for you.”

You nod, throat too tight to speak.

And the car hums quietly around you as he starts it again—both of you a little shaken, a little wild, and very much not done.

TAGLIST: @kvmitchell @mrsevans90 @natureartisian @purplefluffycows @eolsens @lunatygerqueen @deadlybeauty16 @ronniesreverie @anony1080 @vicky199625 @teacupsandtopgun @dizzybee03 @stillinracooncity @7dreambaby @pogueprincesa @jackiehollanderr @cozyjess @mrsnikolestan @midnighttithe @Lynnevanss @laserpente @cheyrenee @malindacath @girlypopmymelody @antheiagoddessofnarnia @yellowjm @itllbefineeeeee @dancethroughthethunder @ravenmourningstar @coldmuffinbanditshoe @ifilwtmfc @AnglophileForLife @violet-loves-to-write @itsmaytimetosaygoodbye

[welostheplot]

── 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝 ᨒ↟☾.࿔*:･ 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: vampire!ellie williams / werewolf!abby anderson / reader

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: you didn’t expect much when your mom sent you to jackson to stay with your dad. but something about this place is off — and you’ve only just arrived.

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓: no major warnings needed here! just regular old world building introductory stuff.

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 1.4k

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: i'm new to this whole publishing fics on tumblr thing but this idea came to me after rewatching all the twilight movies for like the billionth time and i knew i had to bring it to life. i hope you enjoy reading it as much as im going to enjoy writing it!

𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 | 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄: "crossing"

THE PLANE LANDING HAD BEEN ROUGHER THAN IT SHOULD’VE BEEN.

if your mom had been there, you would’ve joked with her about how it was like even the sky wanted nothing to do with the place. the runway was cracked and frostbitten, and the first sight of the vast mountains behind it made your breath catch. you found your dad waiting by his cop car after you finally collected your luggage from baggage claim and stepped outside to the curbside pickup area, arms crossed over his jacket like he wasn’t sure what to say.

he didn’t hug you or even say hello. just jerked his chin in a greeting and asked, “you hungry?”

you said yeah, even though you weren’t.

the diner had smelled like burnt coffee and some teenage waitress poured you both a cup without being asked. you ordered something with eggs and didn’t eat it, entertaining stilted conversation with your dad about the weather. and roadkill. and these mysterious murders that had been popping up in nearby towns, putting his whole office on edge.

now, inside your new room, you sat on the bed and tried not to think about the fact that he hadn’t asked anything about school. or therapy. or how long you planned on staying.

you got the sense he was still working up to it.

you twisted a loose thread on the duvet (“purple. your favorite,” your dad had said — you didn’t have the heart to tell him it had changed to blue approximately four years ago) and tried to breathe through the dust in the air.

a knock on the door frame broke the quiet and you looked up to see him standing there, holding a stack of towels and a box of saltines.

you raised a brow.

he shrugged. “dinner won’t be ready for a while. and you barely touched your breakfast burrito earlier.”

you took the box.

“thanks,” you said.

he lingered in the doorway a second too long. like he wanted to say something. like he almost did.

then turned and walked away.

THE HOUSE CREAKED AT NIGHT.

not in a cozy, “it has personality” kind of way. no, these were the kind of noises that made your skin itch. you lay in bed that first night, staring up at the ceiling and wondering how long it’d take for this place to feel real. or maybe not real. just… normal. your phone screen burned your eyes in the dark of the room and your text inbox was void of any new messages. you scrolled through it anyway.

in the morning, your dad left a note on the counter that said: “back by 4. grocery money in drawer. don’t forget to eat.”

you made toast. burned the first slice. turned the radio on just to hear something human while the second cooked in the toaster. humming distantly along to the familiar tune crackling through the speakers, you stood in the small kitchen and wished the space felt familiar too.

your mom said this would be good. her new boyfriend had old money and a young soul that had immediately captivated her, and their plans of roadtripping around the country didn’t exactly provide the stability or consistency a teenager looking to graduate high school would need.

but jackson felt different than how it had when you’d visited as a kid.

it was quiet, but not in a peaceful way. the silence was tense. and the trees—there were so many fucking trees, covering the mountains and making the natural ‘walls’ that protected the valley feel so much grander, despite the fact that you were definitely much taller than you had been the last time you were here.

your dad had warned you not to wander too far when he’d caught you gazing at them through the window of the passenger seat.

“it’s not like other woods,” he’d said.

you asked what that meant.

he just replied, “stay near the paths.”

THE TRUCK HAD BEEN A WELCOME SURPRISE.

your dad said it so casually, like he was just handing you another box of saltines to hold you over till lunch and not a literal vehicle.

“someone owed me a favor,” he muttered, nodding toward the driveway.

you stepped outside, expecting something functional. you did not anticipate the massive, rust-colored tank parked at the curb. the thing looked like it had been built during the cold war and maybe won it.

the paint was chipped. the tires looked new-ish. and the driver's door groaned in protest when you pulled it open.

“does it work?” you asked.

“like a dream,” said a voice behind you, unfamiliar, low, and a little amused.

you turned and came face to face with a girl with hulking shoulders and sun-kissed confidence that made you feel like you’d never stepped outside in your life. she was in a worn flannel, sleeves pushed up to her elbows, and she smelled faintly of motor oil.

“abby,” she said, sticking out a hand. “i fixed it up for you.”

you shook it. a vein in her forearm bulged with her firm grip, and your stomach swooped. “thanks,” you said. “it’s… big.”

she grinned. “what else are childhood friends for?”

your dad raised an eyebrow from the porch but didn’t say anything.

THE LOUD RUMBLE OF THE ENGINE WOULD TAKE SOME GETTING USED TO.

but you were grateful it got you where you needed to go.

that afternoon, it got you to the gas station at the edge of town. the only one for miles, according to abby, who’d shown up again that morning with an excuse about how she was “just checking the alignment.”

you weren’t complaining.

she’d offered to ride with you for the first outing — “just in case the brakes do something stupid,” she’d said — and now she was outside the truck, sleeves rolled up again showing off those stupidly large muscles, pumping your gas while you sat in the driver’s seat trying not to stare. you were failing pretty miserably.

she glanced through the window and caught you watching. smirked.

you looked away with hot cheeks and cranked the window down a few inches.

“you want anything?” she asked, nodding toward the station’s small convenience store.

“i’m good,” you said. then hesitated, thinking about your father’s abysmal grocery haul from the other day (grocery shopping for another person in the house was clearly going to take him some getting used to). “maybe just… something cold? and some chips. i’m not picky.”

“on it.”

you watched her jog toward the store. cracked your knuckles. adjusted the rearview mirror. tried not to look like you were spiraling over the girl you apparently used to make mud pies with in your backyard when you were three.

and then —

movement.

you turned your head toward it. across the lot, leaning against a dusty black SUV parked under the shade of a tilted pine, stood a cluster of people you hadn’t noticed, probably because you’d been too busy ogling your new… friend.

five of them.

they weren’t looking at you, but somehow, you felt seen anyway.

your eyes caught on one in particular.

freckled. lean. and pale.

your chest tightened.

you blinked and there was abby again, approaching with a bag of lays and a bottle of gatorade clutched in one large hand and a twizzler hanging from her mouth.

“you good?” she asked.

you nodded too fast.

“yeah,” you said. “just… thought i saw someone.”

she followed your gaze.

the SUV was still there. the people weren’t.

must’ve gone into the convenience store, you supposed.

“who?”

you shook your head. “never mind.”

but your eyes lingered on the empty space where they’d stood.

SOME THINGS DIDN’T FEEL LIKE COINCIDENCE.

you didn’t believe in fate. you barely believed in astrology. but there was something about jackson that scratched at the edges of your instincts. you didn’t have any proof quite yet, just the weight of it. that gnawing, too-aware feeling you couldn’t shake.

your dad’s unease. the headlines in the newspaper. the eerie feeling you got looking at the woods.

and now them. the group at the gas station. the way the freckled one had looked without looking at you.

the way you’d felt it.

you told yourself it didn’t matter. that starting over meant letting things be what they were, not chasing after the weirdness or wondering what wasn’t being said.

but ever since you crossed the border into this town, it felt like you were being met with a decision of whether to engage in a story much bigger than you.

and you hadn’t realized you were already standing right at the threshold.

this work is mine. please don’t repost, copy, or publish elsewhere without permission. thank you!

[lilydaisylily]

When The Music Fades

Part 1 | Part 2

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Two months.

That’s how long it had been since you disappeared from Jihoon’s life.

Two months since your shared apartment became just a house. A quiet, lifeless space without the usual banter and laughter.

Two months since he heard your soft humming from the kitchen, felt your fingertips on his temples after a long studio hours, tasted the warmth you used to pour into every detail of your lives together.

But now you're gone.

And Jihoon was unraveling.

At first, he was angry—at you, at himself, at how easily you vanished without a word, or even a decent goodbye note. But deep down, he knew. He broked you. Crushed your spirit under the weight of his own pride and pressure. And now, the silence left in your place was louder than any song he’d ever written. And he had no one else to take the blame but him.

The members noticed the change.

Jeonghan saw it in the way Jihoon sat in the studio, unmoving for hours. Staring into space which he'll do when something is bothering his mind. The older one tried to cheer him up, but it seems like he's talking to a ghost instead of a living person.

Seungkwan saw it in his lack of appetite. Sure, his hyung is not that much of a foodie like Mingyu, but he'll still finish up a portion or two to replace all the energy that they used for a brutal dance practice.

Hoshi saw it in the way Jihoon stared at the piano but never played, although it is his favourite instrument to play when you came to visit just to show off his fingers skill.

And Seungcheol—he felt it in the guilt that gnawed at him every time he remembered Jihoon's words… and how your heart must have shattered hearing them the other day.

He should’ve stopped Jihoon that night.

The moment those cruel words left his mouth—"I wish she wasn’t my girlfriend"—Seungcheol felt something collapse inside him. He knew Jihoon didn’t mean it, not truly. Not deep down. But stress makes monsters of men, and Jihoon had been drowning.

Still, he should have stopped him.

Because he watched you freeze.

He saw your heart shatter in real-time—how your shoulders tensed, how your lips quivered before you turned around and walked away as quietly as you had entered Jihoon's life.

Seungcheol wanted to run after you. To tell you not to listen. That Jihoon was just tired, not thinking straight. But maybe it wasn’t his place.

So he watched you leave.

“She’s not coming back, is she?” Jihoon whispered one night after practice, voice hoarse from lack of sleep.

“You don’t know that,” Seungcheol said gently, eyeing his friend who's in despair, engulfed by a sorrow shadow of a broken men.

“I do. I looked in every place she could've been. Called every number that I could think of and yet she’s... nowhere. She doesn’t want to be found.” Jihoon blurted out his desperation to his eldest hyung.

"Have you seen her social media account? Any post in her feeds?" Seungcheol tried to persuade the younger men to keep on looking for her news online.

"None. Is it really the end for us, hyung?" Jihoon breathe out his frustration, wondering if this is the closing chapter for both of your love story.

“Don’t wait for the right moment, Jihoon-ah” Seungcheol said. “Make one. Go to her. Fight for whatever that is left.”

Jihoon didn’t respond, but something shifted in his gaze. A determination fueled not by desperation, but by remorse. He'll make this right. And he'll make sure that you know how much he loves you and how much of an idiot he is for even dare to talk about you like that. You deserved to be loved right, and he'll find ways to make up for all of his mistakes and bring you back home.

*

After two months, you weren’t the same girl who once stood quietly by Jihoon’s side anymore.

You are rising—an emerging star in the acting world, acclaimed for your emotional depth, poise, and ethereal charm. But offscreen, you carried an ache that no camera could capture.

Your smile never quite reached your eyes like it used to back in the day.

Your manager often found you staring blankly out the window between shoots, as if searching for something—or someone—that no longer existed.

Your weight also shows some changes that worries your manager and team. Your cheeks that once perfectly full turns hollow by your lack of appetite.

He once had to force you to eat a banana as your lips is as pale as a sheet during the shoot.

He even had to threaten you to finish it, or he'd tell the director to stop the shoot immedietly. Worried about your fellow cast member, you shoved all the food that they gave you down your throat and promised to eat on schedule from then on.

They can't really blame you. You clearly still loved Jihoon.

But love wasn’t always enough.

Especially not when the person you love is the one who broke you.

And just when you were starting to patch your heart back together, the world threw you another curveball.

Lee Minjae.

A rising idol-turned-actor who was charismatic, kind, and devastatingly charming. He co-starred in your newest drama and had made it clear—on and off set—that he was smitten.

“You deserve someone who chooses you every day, Y/N,” Minjae said one evening after filming, handing you a cup of hot chocolate. “Not someone who makes you feel like you’re too much.”

You didn’t respond. Your heart wanted to flutter, but it stayed still—quiet and loyal to someone who didn’t even know where you were at the moment.

Until now.

The marketing team of your upcoming drama has slowly started releasing news related to the cast lineup and it is now spreading like wildfire across the internet.

And the news certainly reached Jihoon, as if the universe had finally answered his desperate prayers all this time.

The news brings joy and relief to Jihoon, who has been a mess these past few months, missing you. However, his joy doesn't last long, as it comes hand in hand with a seed of jealousy—your rumored romance with Minjae is also in the spotlight.

[aliwritex]

dad!franco thoughts: night time chaos

notes: someone asked for more dad!franco like, two, three weeks ago. here you go!

It was way past their bedtime, but the living room didn’t look like it. You usually helped the kids tidy up before bed so you could wake up to something that didn’t scream toddler kingdom. But tonight, that’s exactly what it looked like.

Sofia was having a hard time falling asleep, crying her heart out — and you’d let Teo’s bedtime slide right along with her meltdown. Franco, unfortunately, was locked in his office with some late-night meeting. You still refused to believe how they could keep him that long at this hour.

The kids were already washed and changed. All you needed was for Sofia to stop crying. You were pacing the house with her in your arms, rocking her gently, but every time her eyes fluttered closed, Mateo managed to make a noise.

The final straw came after she had been asleep for two minutes — you were keeping track on the kitchen clock — when Teo decided to knock over his Lego tower.

Your patience was gone, you even forgot about Franco’s meeting and snapped. “Mateo!” you called, way too sharply, too loud.

He jumped, eyes wide. Sofia startled and started wailing again.

You cursed under your breath, setting the baby down in her high chair, already reaching for a bottle. “Teo, if you could just for one second play with a toy that doesn’t make so much noise. I’m trying to get your sister to sleep!”

He left the room with teary eyes. You saw it, but you were too busy to deal with it. You focused on making the bottle, praying it would do the trick.

Franco had just come out of his meeting by then. He found Mateo curled up, sniffling, by his room and picked him up with his teddy and blanket in tow. With the boy on his hip, he came looking for you.

If you weren’t so stressed, you would’ve noticed how good he looked. Hair messy, plain white tee, grey sweatpants, burp cloth on one shoulder, pacifier hooked on his finger — full-blown DILF dream.

“Bottle ready?” he asked quickly. You nodded “Then let’s go.” He grabbed the car keys.

“Go where?”

“A drive. They need sleep. Trust me.” He handed you Sofi’s bunny and scooped her out of the high chair without waiting for more questions.

By the time you got to the garage, Teo was already buckled in. Sofia was still fussing in Franco’s arms. You took her and climbed into the passenger seat, settling her on your lap to feed her.

And, miraculously, the plan worked. Within minutes, both kids were out cold. You looked back to check on Mateo just to find him already drooling. You and Franco let out matching sighs.

“Hey,” he said quietly, still watching the road. “I’m sorry the meeting took so long. I was going insane hearing her cries through the door. I can only imagine what it was like out there.”

“It’s okay. It’s not like you could do anything about it.” You paused, then added, “Was Teo crying when you got to him?”

“He was okay. Don’t worry about it. I know you feel bad when you snap at him.”

“Of course I do. He wasn’t even doing anything wrong, Fran. He was just playing. I think I saw him jump when I yelled.”

Franco glanced at you for a second before looking back at the road. “He won’t even remember it tomorrow. And you can always apologize when he wakes up.”

You nodded. He was right. The rest of the drive was quiet, just the soft suckling sounds of Sofia’s pacifier. When he finally parked, you hesitated to move. You didn’t want to risk waking either of them.

Franco got out first, walked around to your side, and opened the door. He took the bottle from your hand and shoved it into his front pocket. That made you chuckle.

“Let me get him out first,” he said. “You’re gonna need me to open the door anyway.”

You watched as he unbuckled Mateo and lifted him with one arm. The boy’s legs dangled sleepily, head lolling on Franco’s shoulder.

Franco helped you all the way inside — opening doors, turning off lights, switching on the baby’s sound machine. He didn’t need to be told anything. Putting Teo to bed was the last task before you both collapsed onto the couch.

“I’m guessing they didn’t clean up today?” he asked, looking around at the explosion of toys. You shook your head. “If this is the living room, I don’t even want to see the playroom.”

You scoffed, leaned over to steal a kiss, then curled up on his chest while he scrolled for something to watch.

[tgmsunmontue]

Build you brick by brick... 3/? (WIP)

A Hangster fic that starts with a Lego set...

Especially for @phisworld14...

PART ONE PART TWO

PART THREE

The next morning when he wakes, he’s got a headache, his mouth feels furry and sour. He stumbles blearily into the kitchen for some water. Knows he should have drunk water last night, but Natasha had definitely been encouraging him to make the most of having her as a ride home. Fuck. He’s not in his twenties anymore. He’s pretty sure she needed to undo his seatbelt last night and help him inside. That’s a little mortifying. There were definitely cocktails involved.

He blinks against the sun streaming through the windows, curtains long forgotten last night before he left, and again when he got home. He sips at the water and is fairly confident he’s going to be able to keep it down. As per his now standard morning routine he looks to his bookcase, smiles at the twelve little Hei Hei roosters. Then he realises that for the first time since he got all twelve he’s had one of the Daggers in his house. It was only Nat, but he steps closer, takes another sip of water and looks them over carefully, suspicious now.

Then he sees it. The yellow-gold circlet balanced precariously on the coxcomb of one of the Hei Heis and he knows that it’s meant to represent a halo. He glances at the Hei Hei he now considers as Phoenix and does a double take, peers closer, because the little nameplate that he would swear read Hei Hei yesterday, now reads Phoenix. Huh. He looks at the Hei Hei that has the cowboy hat still balanced on its head, lasso looped over one of it’s wings, looks at the name plate and it now reads Hangman.

He feels like he’s loosing his mind, goes and grabs his phone to look at the pictures he took and is relieved to see that originally, back when he’d first noticed, the names hadn’t been changed. He’s not that unobservant. Obviously they’re playing some convoluted game of tag, with trying to make alterations without him seeing or noticing whoever it is… even when he knows who did it and when they must have. He should have known Nat had ulterior motives last night in offering him a ride. And obviously now Halo has just been tagged, because while this Hei Hei is clearly meant to be her, the nameplate hasn’t been changed. Yet.

He chuckles softly, wonders at how weird the mind must be that thought of doing this elaborate long-game. At least he doesn’t have to do anything except be himself. And maybe make it a little more difficult to alter the Hei Heis he has on display. He could maybe get a locked glass cabinet and he grins as he taps out a message to the group chat.

>>Someone is vandalising my Lego collection. Think I need to put them into protective custody or under 24/7 surveillance.

Nat>> You should totally do that.

Hangman>> Show us the damage Rooster.

Bradley obligingly takes a photo of the halo-bedecked Hei Hei and sends it through, feeling pretty light-hearted and in a better mood than he has in a while.

Halo>> Damn. No doubting that one. Clever mysterious person that did it.

>>So mysterious. Definitely not the person who got me drunk and drove me home last night.

Coyote>> I just backspaced what I wrote. I don’t need to put that out into the universe.

Hangman>> But you didn’t see them did you? So the game’s still on?

>> What game? I don’t know about any game?

Hangman>> Every game needs it’s spectators Rooster. Just sit there and enjoy. You’re good at that.

Bradley rolls his eyes, even if no-one is there to see him. He doesn’t type out asshole, because it’s almost affectionate in his head and he doesn’t actually want Hangman’s ire again. Everything reverts to fairly normal for a week or so, and then a few more days pass and Bradley’s wondering if they’ve forgotten. Then he gets home and there’s a package waiting for him. It’s small, bubble envelope and clearly posted from local and he opens it carefully. A handwritten note falls out, stuck to it one of the little nameplates which this time has Halo written on it.

I’m not breaking any rules, but I’m sure this will no doubt get called into bending them. However if you could do me a solid and decorate one and name mine and then let everyone know… Up to you whether you want to say I mailed in, or you can pretend I broke in. But either way, you didn’t see me… which is the main rule.

Bradley grins, shaking his head as he drapes the tiny little blue scarf with it’s white Y around the neck of one of the previously unadorned Hei Heis. Then there is a tiny little cap with YALE across the front and he balances it carefully on the head. He has to give Halo points for creativity, because these look handmade. He snaps a picture and throws it into the group chat.

>>Yale, looks like you’re up.

Yale>> HOW???

>>It’s a mystery.

PART FOUR

[mongoosingisme]

I don’t know. I just love these goofballs

Title: Untitled Shelliott Ranch Shorts - Part 2 (Writing)

Word Count: ~950

Includes: Shane, Elliott, Jas, and time spent writing

Rating: G

Shane excelled in the world of the physical. If it involved his body and the way it interacted with his environment, he felt secure and in control. It’s why he shone when he played gridball, why he thrived in the work that came with living on a ranch. It’s why he loved it so much when he’d wake in the middle of the night with Elliott’s head pressed against his shoulder and his arm draped over his stomach. He loved Elliott’s words, yes. Loved the notes and the letters and the thousand different ways Elliott found to say “I love you,” but there were few things as deeply grounding to him as warmth and weight and breath tickling against his cheek.

At the same time, he liked watching Elliott write.

He tried not to make a big deal of it. He wasn’t even sure if Elliott knew he did it. Elliott spent most of his writing time in isolation, but every once in a while Shane would catch him scratching away at a notebook out where anyone could see. The kitchen table, maybe, on a snowy weekend morning, or out under a tree in the fall. Shane liked the way Elliott’s face, usually so animated, would become quiet and still.

It’d make Shane feel still too.

Shane’d try not to interrupt him, but sometimes the need for attention would be too strong. “How’s it coming?” he’d ask. Elliott would look up, his eyes focusing on him slowly, as though he was coming back from a long way away.

“Intermittently satisfying,” he might say. It’d take his face a minute to catch up, but then he’d break into that shining grin. “But not as satisfying as your interest! Shall I tell you what I’m dreaming up?”

And they’d talk, Shane watching the way Elliott moved as much as he’d listen to the words. Hands waving, face changing as he retold whatever story was flowing through his mind.

“What do you think?” Elliott would always ask when he was done.

Shane would shrug. “You’re the writer.”

“But _you’re_ who I’m writing for.” Elliott would be all serious when he said it, and Shane would never know quite how to respond, so he’d bullshit something and move the conversation along or just try to get out of Elliott’s hair and let him get back to it.

Because writing was what Elliott was best at, and Shane wasn’t quite comfortable with what it felt like to have someone give him their best.

But that’s what he tried to give to Elliott too, as much as he was able. Tried to look after him a little when his mind took over and overrode his body’s needs.

Sometimes when he’d start writing he’d find it difficult to stop. Shane would peer in through the crack in his office door, see his shoulders hunched, his pen flying, his face so set in concentration it made Shane’s jaw ache in sympathy.

So he’d make him a meal. Something easy to eat. A sandwich. A mug of soup to sip. Jas would help him sometimes, spreading the peanut butter or carefully carrying a plate of crackers and cheese to place on the desk next to him. Elliott would murmur an acknowledgement, but his eyes never fully returned to the present before his focus was yet again back on his papers.

That was alright. Shane and Jas would eat their own dinner, play a round or two of Uno, get ready for bed. Jas would miss Elliott then, sometimes, but a little extra story time went a long way and soon the house would settle into quiet sounds. Jas’s soft breathing. The scratch of Elliott’s pen. The creak of the floorboards as Shane made his way to the living room to play a video game and wait for Elliott to come back out.

Sometimes he didn’t. Sometimes the clock would reach midnight and Shane would stretch, peer into the office, find Elliott still leaning over his work.

Shane knew bodies. Knew that Elliott’s back would be screaming. Knew that Elliott’s eyes would feel heavy and raw. Knew that his hand would be cramping and his hips tight and his jaw tense from clenching. He’d enter the office slowly, cross his arms and lean against the wall until Elliott noticed him.

Sometimes it’d take a while.

But he’d always look up eventually, and his face would catch up with his gaze, a tired smile lighting his eyes no matter how dark the circles beneath. “Oh, hello,” he’d say.

“Hello yourself. Wasn’t sure you were gonna make it back that time.”

Elliott would laugh with a touch of self-consciousness, rub a hand over his face, sigh. “Time for bed,” Shane would say, and it was never a discussion. Elliott would go where Shane’s hands would guide him, offering no resistance as Shane led him first to the bathroom, then to bed.

“What would I do without you?” Elliott would murmur when they were both tucked in.

“You’d probably do just fine.”

But even though he’d brush Elliott off, the words would spark a glow. To care for a chicken is one thing. To care for a child is another. But to care for someone like Elliott, who sometimes needed help remembering how to find his way back to the here and now…

Well.

Shane lived his life in the plane of the physical. He couldn’t follow Elliott’s mind as it spun and searched and swung and swirled, but that was okay. He could still be an anchor, could still be a light, could still be a line for Elliott to follow that would always bring him right back home.

[dayasfilms]

Chapter Two - Crime Scene

Summary: You join Nancy and Fred in their investigation at the trailer park.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of Y/N, mentions of blood and death

Word Count: 2.2k

Note: We’re getting closer to knowing more about the reader’s backstory. If you have any theories, I would love to hear them! Feel free to send them through my inbox. I’d really appreciate some feedback so please send something in!!

Series Masterlist

ㅤ♡ ㅤ♡ ㅤ♡

Red. Blood. Gunshots. Fire.

It came out of nowhere.

The girl tried to run, tried to scream for help, but no one heard her. Strong arms grabbed her. A sharp prick in her neck. A syringe filled with something that numbed her limbs and blurred her vision.

It wasn’t supposed to end like this.

She woke up in a cold, empty room. Tied to a chair. She couldn’t move. Her head spun, her vision distorted. Muffled voices drifted in. She heard screaming–

You jolted awake.

Cold sweat coated your skin. Your breathing was ragged. You ran a trembling hand through your damp hair, wincing as a pounding headache throbbed behind your eyes. Groaning, you rubbed small circles into your temples, but the pain didn’t go away.

With a quiet curse, you pushed yourself out of bed and stumbled into the kitchen, grabbing a glass of water and rummaging through the cabinet for painkillers.

The house was quiet. It was still early. Karen and Holly were asleep upstairs, and Ted had already left for work after dropping Mike off at the airport. Nancy had mentioned she’d be at the school early, despite it being spring break, to write about the basketball game, but she’d be back before lunch.

You sipped the water, trying to shake away the headache. You know you couldn’t go back to sleep anymore.

You took a cold and long shower, hoping to wash away all of the thoughts. After getting dressed, you headed downstairs, flipping on the TV to distract yourself.

Slumped on the couch, you absentmindedly fiddled with the necklace Steve gave you that one Christmas. Even after all these months, you still wore it, tucked under your shirt, always hidden but never forgotten.

Then your head snapped up.

“We can confirm that the body of a Hawkins High student was discovered early this morning.”

Your heart dropped and eyes widened.

Your first thought was Nancy. You had no one to talk to about this. Panic surged in your chest. You grabbed your car keys from the hook and rushed out the door. You had to make sure she was okay.

For the first time in months, you drove your old car. You sped to Hawkins High, your mind racing just as fast. As you parked and made your way to the entrance, you spotted Nancy and Fred walking out of the building, both startled to see you.

“What are you doing here?” Nancy asked.

“I saw the news,” you said quickly. “I needed to make sure you were okay. I didn’t see you this morning.”

Nancy’s expression softened. “Oh God, Y/N. I’m fine, I promise.” She exchanged a glance with Fred. “We just saw the news too, and we were actually on our way to the scene now.”

You raised an eyebrow, arms crossing. “You do know that’s not allowed, right?”

Nancy gave you a sheepish grin, briefly forgetting that your mom was a federal agent and you were a law student. “I–We know. But no one’s giving us information, and I need to write this story.”

You sighed. “I get it, Nance. But is it really smart to meddle in a crime scene?”

“We’re not meddling,” Fred chimed in. “We’re just…gathering facts.”

“That’s literally the same thing,” you deadpanned.

Nancy stepped in. “Look, the police know you. They trust you. And you’ll be with us the whole time.”

You stared at her. Then glanced at your car. There was no changing Nancy’s mind.

“Fine,” you muttered, gesturing for them to follow you. “Let’s go.”

Nancy hopped into the passenger seat while Fred got in the back. You took a steadying breath before driving off.

“So,” Fred piped up, trying to break the silence. “When you and Jonathan investigated for the Hawkins Post…did you two ever split up?”

Nancy gave him a look. “Okay, first of all, you’re not Jonathan.”

“Clearly not,” he said with a shrug. “I’m here. Present and accounted for.”

You arched a brow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Jonathan–”

“Nothing,” Nancy interrupted quickly, eyes narrowing at him. “I’ve dealt with a lot of managing editors, okay?”

“Ooh. Somebody’s testy,” Fred smirked. “Curious.”

Nancy let out a sharp breath. “I’m annoyed he’s not here. Is that what you want to hear? Something’s going on with him. But that’s not the mystery we’re investigating today.”

Jonathan was supposed to visit for spring break with you. You both knew he bailed, using the excuse that he was waiting on his college acceptance letter. He didn’t tell you much, but it still didn’t sit right with you.

“A student is dead. The game plan is for you to let Y/N and I do the talking. You take notes. Follow our lead at all times. Is that understood?”

“Totally and completely,” Fred said with a mock salute. Then his eyes widened. “Shit. Slow down.”

You eased off the gas and made a right turn into the trailer park. Police cars were everywhere, and the road was blocked.

“Just act casual,” you told them.

“And follow your lead,” Fred echoed. “Got it.”

You pulled up beside the barricade and rolled down your window. “Hi, officer.”

The cop stepped forward, hand resting on the car door. “Can’t get through. Crime scene.”

You gave him a nervous smile. “Yeah, um…we were just going to see Max Mayfield. She lives here.”

Nancy and Fred both nodded along.

“We’re restricting access to residents only,” the cop said.

“It’s just that, her mom’s at work,” Nancy added. “We just want to check on her.”

“We’re basically her nanny. Er, nannies,” Fred tossed in.

The cop blinked, then frowned. “You okay, kid?”

You and Nancy turned to see Fred pale and staring straight ahead, like he’d seen a ghost.

“Fred?” Nancy said.

There was no response.

“Fred?” You repeated, more urgently.

He didn’t move.

The officer’s brows furrowed. “Hey, kid, you all right?”

Fred finally blinked, touching his face. “What?”

“I said, you all right, kid?” The officer asked. “You’re looking a little peaked.”

“I’m fine,” Fred muttered.

“He’s just…on edge,” Nancy explained quickly. “We all are.”

The cop sighed. “I’ll let you check on your friend, but be fast. Yeah?”

“Thank you,” you said, rolling up the window and easing the car forward. Once you were past the barricade, you exhaled sharply. “Okay, what the hell was that? I said act casual.”

“Yeah, it’s just…” Fred wanted to say something but decided against it, shifting uncomfortably. “Yeah…sorry.”

You and Nancy exchanged a look, both unsettled.

The three of you went from trailer to trailer, knocking on doors and trying to figure out what had happened to the dead student. But no one wanted to talk. Most of them just slammed their doors in your faces without a word.

You had knocked on Max’s trailer, but no one answered. That meant she wasn’t home. You just hoped she was safe, especially with everything going on.

You still didn’t know who had died, but you noticed the yellow crime scene tape blocking off a trailer at the far end, right across from Max’s. Nancy pointed it out, mentioning that it belonged to Wayne Munson, Eddie Munson’s uncle.

You couldn’t help but think about the other teens, including Lucas, Dustin, and Max. Since getting back, you’d only spoken to Lucas, besides Mike. You hadn’t gotten the chance to check in with the others. You made a mental note to call them after this. You needed to make sure they were okay.

You let out a sigh as Nancy told you and Fred to keep trying a few more trailers. But door after door, the result was the same.

Then suddenly, Nancy spotted a dog. She immediately crouched down to pet it, grinning. “Aww, you’re such a cute little thing,” she cooed.

You smiled too, waving at the dog.

“Hi, did you see anything last night?” Nancy asked in a baby voice. “You wanna tell us everything?”

“Nancy, Y/N, come on,” Fred called out. He looked nervous. “Let’s get out of here.”

You turned toward him. “We’re almost done here, Fred,” you said, but then your eyes locked on a man across from you, just outside the taped-off trailer. “Actually, hold that thought.”

Nancy looked up at you, then glanced at Fred before standing. “Stay here,” she told him, hurrying to follow you.

The two of you approached a man sitting on a picnic table, smoking a cigarette.

“Hi,” you said, catching his attention. He glanced at you both, then looked away again. “We’re friends of Max Mayfield,” you said, gesturing toward her trailer. “You’re Wayne Munson, right? Eddie’s uncle?”

“That’s right,” Wayne replied.

“We heard you were the one who found the body? The neighbors–”

“Like to gossip,” he cut you off. His voice cracked. “And I’m not interested in gossiping no more. Certainly not to reporters.”

Nancy offered a sheepish smile. “What gave us away?” She asked, hands raised slightly.

You and Nancy sat beside him on the table, trying to appear as non-threatening as possible.

“Look,” Nancy began, “I’ll be honest with you, Mr. Munson. The paper I write for is small. We don’t have the staff to keep up with the big guys. I’m just looking for something, anything really, about what happened last night.”

You admired how sincere she sounded.

“Why?” Wayne asked, glancing at her. “Far as I can tell, you all have it figured out already. My nephew’s a freak, and he killed that girl. Ain’t that about right?”

Nancy sighed. “Let me guess. You’ve been speaking to the Hawkins Post? Chuck Bailey?”

Wayne didn’t answer, but the silence said enough.

“Yeah, I used to work with him,” Nancy added. “That guy doesn’t know his ass from his elbow.”

Wayne smiled faintly, raising an eyebrow in reluctant agreement.

“Let me tell your side of the story,” Nancy said, holding up her notebook.

Wayne looked at you. You gave a small nod and offered him a sympathetic smile. He sighed, looked away, and cleared his throat.

“My nephew, he may look dangerous,” he said quietly. “But he didn’t do this. It ain’t his nature. No matter what anyone says, and they will say things. But this…this wasn’t Eddie. The man who did this, the one who killed that poor girl, he’s pure evil.”

“Man?” You echoed, leaning forward. “Do you have an idea of who it was?”

Wayne nodded slightly, eyes distant. “You ever hear the name Victor Creel?”

You frowned and looked at Nancy. She looked just as puzzled. You both shook your heads.

“I guess you’re too young. But back when I was a kid, everyone knew that name. Victor Creel. Lost his mind. Killed his whole family.”

You and Nancy stared at him, expressions tightening.

“Wife and kids. Took their eyes. Cut ’em right out.”

“God,” Nancy whispered, horrified.

“That poor girl I found this morning?” Wayne added. “Same exact thing. So I’m thinking…maybe he broke out.”

Your eyes narrowed. “Wait. Victor Creel is still alive?”

“Yeah, far as I know,” Wayne said. “He’s still there. That is, unless he broke out. Like that…What’s his name? White mask and killed the babysitters?”

“Michael Myers?” Nancy guessed.

“Yeah. Michael Myers. You ask me, Victor’s like that. He’s a real boogeyman.”

You sat silently for a moment, his words sinking in. This was a lot bigger than you expected.

Then Nancy tugged your hand, snapping you back to the present. She was looking toward the spot Fred had been standing just moments ago. He was now gone.

You both stood up immediately, scanning the area.

“Um, we’ll be right back,” Nancy told Wayne before you both rushed off to find Fred.

The dog from earlier was barking at the trees now, only adding to your growing sense of unease.

“Fred?” You called.

“Fred!” Nancy shouted.

You kept calling his name, but there was no response. No sign of him. Panic rose in your chest. He couldn’t have gone far. You left him right there.

You spent the rest of the day searching, daylight slowly fading into night. You and Nancy had split up, but neither of you had any luck. When you finally met back up, the look on her face told you everything.

“I can’t find him,” she said, voice trembling.

“Me either.”

You were breathing heavily, terrified. One student was already dead, and now Fred was missing.

You two spotted a cop nearby, the same one from earlier, and ran over to him.

“Officer?” Nancy called out shakily. “Officer!”

He turned sharply, clearly annoyed. “What are you still doing here?”

“Our friend from earlier,” she stammered. “We can’t find him.”

“What do you mean?” His expression shifted to concern.

“He was there, and then he was just gone and–” Nancy’s voice broke. You placed a hand on her back, steadying her. “Did you maybe see him leave with someone?”

“I told you kids to go home,” the officer muttered, frustrated. Then he turned away, grabbing his radio. “This is Glenn. We might have a situation here.”

You and Nancy stood frozen, staring at each other. The fear in her eyes mirrored your own. You hoped Fred had just wandered off. That he got lost.

But deep down, you knew something was wrong.

You should’ve stayed with him.

[lucabyte]

Not all who wander are lost. Some who wander, however, are extremely, extremely lost.

[helaintoloki]

A Favor

pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

warnings: lots of pining, eventual fluff, fake dating

notes: had to try my hand at the fake dating trope

summary: you pretend to be Bucky’s girlfriend in order to help his campaign despite your very real feelings for him

“You want me to what?”

Sam can’t hold back his laughter when you look at Bucky like he’s grown a second head after processing the question he has asked you. The man in question stands there with an unamused scowl and a growing sense of embarrassment while waiting for his friend to regain his composure.

“Are you finished?” He snarks sharply, grunting in annoyance when Sam heartily claps his back in his response.

“I’m good, I’m good,” he breathes after wiping away a tear, “go ahead and ask her again.”

“I need you to pretend to be in a relationship with me,” Bucky mutters while refusing to meet your gaze, wishing the floor of your home would simply open up and swallow him whole so that he’d be saved from the humiliation.

“You realize that’s a crazy thing to ask, right?” You retort from your place behind the kitchen island. When you invited the two men over for dinner you hadn’t anticipated being ambushed like this, and you were starting to regret ever getting yourself mixed up with the two heroes.

“I know it is, but Valentina says if I want votes I need to make myself more relatable. Some people still have a hard time separating me from the Winter Soldier, but if they can see me as a normal man with a loving partner they might change their minds.”

“And why can’t Sam be the loving partner?” You rebuff, prompting him to immediately raise his hands in protest.

“Nuh uh, baby. Are you forgetting I’m Captain America? I’m too busy to be playing house with Mr. Congeniality over here.”

“Y/n, you’re the only person that can do this,” Bucky insists, eyes pleading for you to understand, “it would be more believable if it was you since we’re already close.”

“Maybe too damn close,” Sam murmurs under his breath, but both you and Bucky choose to ignore his comment.

“I don’t know,” you drawl, still a bit hesitant to put yourself through a fake relationship, “it feels a bit scummy lying to voters like that.”

“Politicians lie all the time,” Bucky tries to justify, but it’s not very effective in convincing you. “Look, this is something that’s important for me to do, and I will owe you for the rest of my life if you help me. It will only be until the votes are in, and then we can go back to normal.”

Sighing, you let your hands fall onto the counter and gaze thoughtfully at the marble surface as you weigh your options. It really couldn’t be that bad, could it? You’re already fond of Bucky as a friend, so it wouldn’t be so hard to pretend to be in love with him for a few months. What was the harm?

You look up and meet his expectant gaze, and it’s hard not to say yes when the desperation is clear in his eyes. Bucky has always been good at getting you to fold, and this time is no different.

“Alright, I’ll do it,” you finally say, and the grin that spreads across his face almost feels rewarding. He immediately pulls you into his arms for a bone crushing hug and thanks you profusely, but his gratitude falls on deaf ears as you make eye contact with Sam over his shoulder.

The man says nothing, but he doesn’t have to when the mischievous smile on his face speaks for itself. You’ve gotten yourself into deep shit and he knows it.

You just hope you can keep up the facade without revealing how you truly feel.

~~~

Your arrangement with Bucky is simple.

While in public you are to act as in love with him as possible. You hold hands, share innocent pecks, look adoringly into each other’s eyes, and act as if your relationship isn’t a complete sham. When telling stories about each other you make sure to include some bits of truth to make it more believable and easier to remember when prompted. Your arrangement also includes public appearances to important social events, and that’s how you find yourself in your current predicament.

You wouldn’t consider yourself the most extroverted person out there, so you felt extremely out of your element as you donned the nicest dress you owned and accompanied Bucky to a cocktail party hosted by the local mayor. All eyes had been on you the moment you’d walked through the door on his metal arm, and you weren’t sure if you could handle getting this type of attention. This was only your first public appearance as his girlfriend and already were you starting to feel the pressure.

“You doing okay?” Bucky murmurs into your ear before flashing a smile to nearby onlookers.

“I’m starting to regret agreeing to this,” you answer honestly, prompting a genuine chuckle to leave his lips.

“Trust me, it gets easier being in the spotlight after a while.”

You sincerely doubt that, but you don’t get a chance to argue as you’re immediately swarmed by a group of journalists eager to get their questions answered. The lights of their cameras are blinding, and you feel like you’ve been tossed into the lion’s den as they immediately bombard you both with questions.

“Mr. Barnes, is it true you’re running for a position in congress?”

“It is,” he affirms with an easy smile before reciting the practiced lines Valentina had vehemently rehearsed with him. “I have great hopes for this election.”

“Mr. Barnes, may I ask who you have with you tonight?”

“This beautiful woman is my wonderful girlfriend,” Bucky replies while simultaneously pulling you closer to his side. “Y/n has been nothing but supportive of my campaign, and it’s with her support that I’ve found the courage to run.”

“Do you have anything to say to those who doubt Mr. Barnes’s capability to serve in congress?” A woman asks before shoving a microphone in your face. You freeze like a deer caught in headlights as all the focus turns to you, and it takes you a moment to compose yourself before finally willing yourself to answer.

“I think…” you start off with a nervous smile, mind racing as you struggle to come up with the perfect response. Bucky shoots you a subtle look, reminding you of what he’d advised you in the car before you’d arrived. ‘Just be honest.’ “I know that my James is a good man, a strong man who cares deeply for those around him. The American people can put their faith in someone like Bucky because despite all that he has been through, he has never once given up on himself or the people that love him. I have no doubt in my mind that Bucky could help our government for the better.”

More questions are thrown your way that you are happy to answer, but this causes you to miss the clear adoration in Bucky’s eyes as he watches you carry yourself so eloquently in front of all these people. You meant every single word you said, and so had he.

Unbeknownst to either of you, the lines between reality and fiction were already starting to blur when it came to your make believe relationship.

~~~

“So how did you two meet?”

You’re taking part in yet another press junket arranged by Valentina to help the public see Bucky’s humility and make your relationship seem more genuine. This is your third interview of the day, and all you want is to go home so you can put on your coziest pajamas and enjoy a pizza from the comfort of your couch. Public appearances are draining, but Bucky promises you that after this week you won’t be expected to appear on camera as frequently. You’re holding him to that promise because otherwise you might lose your sanity, and Bucky knows how scary you can be when provoked.

“Well, after the Thanos situation had ended and the dust settled, I moved into a new apartment for a fresh start,” Bucky explains truthfully before turning to you with a tender smile. “What I didn’t expect after moving in was to have the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen standing at my door with a plate of cookies to welcome me into the building. I think I thought about her smile for an entire week before finally working up the courage to thank her and invite her over for dinner.”

Though the story Bucky relays to the cameras is mostly true, you’re honestly stunned by the way he chooses to describe you. He must be really desperate for viewers to believe he’s a man in love with the way he speaks as if Cupid’s arrow had struck him the day you two met. You find yourself shifting almost nervously in your seat listening to him talk about how wonderful you are, and you can almost feel your heart trying to escape your ribcage. You know he means none of this, so why does your stomach flip every time he mentions how beautiful you are or how enamored he is with you?

“Would you say your experience was similar?” The interviewer asks, and it takes you a moment to realize they’re talking to you now. You dotingly place a hand on Bucky’s knee then gaze into his eyes with nothing but love and are surprised to see him already looking at you that way.

“From the moment I first introduced myself to James I knew he was different from anyone I’d ever met before. I think I was taken by his eyes when I first saw him, and I still sometimes find myself admiring them when I think he’s not paying attention.”

Though he doesn’t know it, your words are completely true. You could spend hours staring into his eyes and admiring the way they light up when he laughs or smiles. You have it bad for Bucky, really bad, and yet you’ve kept it to yourself throughout the course of your friendship. Despite Sam’s insistence to tell him the truth, you just can’t bring yourself to do it. You love him too much to risk losing his friendship, so you’d made peace with the fact that you’d never be more than just a companion a long time ago. You thought you could survive being his fake girlfriend, but with each day that passes it gets harder and harder not to fall into the fantasy.

“You doing okay?” He asks you after the night is over and you’re free to be yourself in the safety of his car. You’d been quiet ever since leaving the press junket, and Bucky knew you well enough to detect when your mind was becoming overrun.

“I think I’m just tired,” you answer truthfully, “it’s hard to keep up the facade sometimes.”

“I get what you mean,” he chuckles, prompting you to frown. You don’t think he does get what you mean or understand how suffocating it is to act as if your adoration and affection are just for show. “We just have one more event to attend and then we can go back to being friends.”

“Bucky?”

“Yeah, doll?”

You swallow nervously, opening your mouth only to shut it as you hold back the words you desperately wish to say. You don’t want to complicate things and ruin all of his hard work, it would be selfish of you to muck it up now when he’s so close to the finish line. So instead, you look to him with a halfhearted smile and suggest, “You want to pick up a pizza on the way home?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

~~~

You’re grateful for the fact that the last public event on your itinerary is a birthday party for your very own Captain America. All of the focus is on Sam, and the political journalists are much more interested in his relationship with Bucky than yours. You can breathe without having to worry about being perceived or disturbed, and you don’t mind being old news in the slightest.

Sam finds you outside the banquet hall in the garden gazebo staring contemplatively at the sky a few hours into the party, and he joins you with glasses of champagne in hand.

“I’ve been looking for you,” he notes with a kind smile before handing you your glass. “I’ve been dying to have a real human conversation all night, but these reporters are relentless.”

“You don’t have to tell me that,” you joke thoughtfully before taking a sip of the drink. You don’t particularly like champagne, but you appreciate the way the alcohol helps settle your nerves.

“You doing okay?” Sam prompts, genuine concern etched on his features. You know what he’s getting at, and you know he’s aware of just how hard this has all been on you. Sam had been able to shake you down into confessing your feelings for Bucky two years ago after noting your jealousy over the fact that he’d been on a date. He teased you relentlessly for having a crush on the Winter Soldier, but it was all in good faith. Sam had always rooted for you two, but neither of you seemed capable of ever making a move. It was exhausting to watch his two closest friends blindly pine after one another, but he knew better than to intervene and instead chose to be a supportive shoulder for you to lean on.

“After today I’m back to being just a friend,” you state with a wry smile, “and it’s back to square one.”

“You know it would be easier to just tell him how you feel instead of torturing yourself, right?”

“I know,” you sigh pathetically, swirling the remaining champagne around in your glass.

“So why don’t you? I know you never believe me when I say this, but I know for a fact he feels the same way about you. You’re both just too scared of rejection to admit it so you never even try to make a move.”

“I’m not a hero or a politician, and I don’t belong in your world. It’s by pure chance I ended up becoming part of your little team, so I don’t think I’m what Bucky needs.”

“Come on, y/n/n, give yourself a little credit,” Sam comforts while gently nudging your side with his elbow. “You’re an amazing woman with a big heart, and while Bucky may be stupid, he’s definitely not stupid enough to be blind to the fact.”

Laughing softly at Sam’s ability to seamlessly slide in an insult at Bucky’s expense, you nudge him back and say, “Thanks, Sam. You always know just what to say.”

“Trying to steal my girl, Wilson?” A third voice interjects, both of you turning to see Bucky approaching the gazebo with an amused smile.

“Not this time, Barnes,” Sam shoots back playfully before giving you a quick squeeze to his side. “I’ll leave you two alone, but be back inside within the next half hour for cake.”

“You got it, Cap,” you affirm with a salute while Bucky takes his place beside you.

“You ran off on me,” he points out in mock hurt.

“Well, I didn’t want to interrupt the love fest you and Sam were putting on for the reporters,” you jest only for Bucky to roll his eyes.

“You’re hilarious.”

You smile and return your gaze back to the garden, enjoying the silence and the comfort Bucky’s presence brings you. Despite the aching longing that settles in the pit of your stomach every time you’re around him, you appreciate his company. You’d stay his platonic friend forever if it meant always getting to keep him close like this without the risk of losing him.

“You look beautiful,” he says suddenly to break the silence, prompting you to look at him surprise.

“Thanks, but… you know you don’t have to say stuff like that when the cameras aren’t around.”

“I know,” Bucky reiterates softly while taking your hand in his own, “and I don’t need them around to tell you that.”

Your stomach does a flip, but you ignore the racing of your heart and let out a quiet laugh before asking him if he’s had too much to drink. His smile drops for a moment as he falters, but you watch with piqued interest when he lets out a quiet sigh and shifts so that the space between you lessens.

“I haven’t been honest with you,” he says with a repentant frown, looking down at your intertwined hands contemplatively. You swallow nervously and are unsure of where this conversation could be heading, but it seems like it’s serious.

“What is it, Bucky?”

“I didn’t ask you to be my fake girlfriend because it would be easier to pretend with you. I asked because… well, I knew that I wouldn’t have to convince everyone of something that was already true.”

The air feels like it’s buzzing around you while you process his words; you almost can’t believe what you’re hearing, and a part of you is convinced that maybe you’re just misunderstanding him, but the look of complete love and yearning on his face only solidifies the truth in his words.

“So you’re saying you mean it when you tell those reporters that you love me?” You utter in quiet surprise, eyes sparkling under the moonlight when you meet his gaze. “And that I’m the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen?”

“Every single word,” he murmurs softly, metal hand coming to rest on your cheek. “I have loved every minute of being your boyfriend, and I don’t want that to end after my campaign is up. I want us to be the real deal, sweetheart.”

You bite your lip to hold back a giddy smile and nearly melt into his touch when he brings your face closer to his own so that your noses brush together. He hesitates for only a moment before finally closing the space between you both and kissing you sweetly. Your arms find their way around his neck as he pulls you impossibly close against him and encapsulates you in his warmth. Underneath the moonlight in the garden gazebo, you and Bucky share your first real kiss.

You feel dazed when you finally break apart, your heart beating a mile a minute and only increasing when Bucky flashes you a grin.

“I’ve wanted to do that for ages,” he confesses earnestly before stealing another kiss. “I’m sorry it took me this long to finally tell you.”

“I would have waited forever,” you admit sheepishly, effectively outing yourself as a lovesick fool. You allow yourself to rest your head upon his chest while his arms move to wrap around your figure and encase you against him. The music from inside quietly drifts into the garden, and you hum in contentment as Bucky slowly sways you back and forth.

You know if you don’t move now you’ll miss the cake, but there isn’t a single ounce of your spirit that wishes to leave from this spot. Bucky is finally yours, and you can finally be honest about your feelings with the man you’ve been hopelessly in love with for years.

It seems your only worry now will be having to explain to Sam why you missed his cake cutting.

[luludeluluramblings]

Neglected!Pregnant!Reader x Yandere!Bat Family Part Three

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Part One ☁️ Part Two ☁️ Part Four ☁️ Part Five

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

A/N: Sorry for the delay. My motivation fled for a bit and exhaustion hit me hard right before thanksgiving. I had to buckle down and just finish this.

A/N: I really wanna answer all my ask, there’s some things in there that y’all have sent me that I want to do for an AU of this. There’s just so many ideas I wanna try.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Warnings: Yandere themes, possible non-con (I only say possible, because Reader was drunk when consenting), fem!reader, possible violence towards Jason, my own made up headcanons.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

When you told Stephanie you were going to find out the gender of your little bean, you weren’t exactly surprised she wanted to have a gender reveal party. Though you did talk her out of the party aspect. You loved your friends, but you hadn’t told them about your pregnancy. Mostly because you knew they’d either accidentally spill the beans about said bean to someone they shouldn’t or they’d freak out and pester you about the unknown father.

It’s a shame you can only faintly remember dark hair, loving touches, and the heat from that night. You’d like to at least thank the man for giving you such gift. Even if said gift was making you throw up nearly every morning, constantly tired, and craving the oddest things with heartburn to follow.

Overall, things were going.

That was it. Things where just going. You were still looking for an apartment, but you were getting sidetracked a bit by nurseries. You knew you would love your child regardless of what they are or who they are. But, the little swan lake nursery was precious and the air plane nursery was darling. Both made you cry and change your mind on apartments at least six times. Hormones did not help with house hunting.

But, the day came. You went to your ultrasound and had them put the gender in an envelop to give to Stephanie for her to plan your day. You had to fight yourself from peaking at the paper, but, still, you waited the three extra days until you would find out the big reveal.

Unfortunately, Jason fucking ruined it.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Jason had been poking around the fridge. It was common for him to dig around the manor for food when he was there. Bruce was rich and groceries were expensive. (If he was looking for some of the princess’s cooking? That was his business.) But, he spotted something that stood out from the usual expensive organic fruits and vegetables and occasional meat.

“Hey, Alfred. Why is there a small cake in the fridge?" He could tell from the packaging it was from some fancy bakery. Probably one on the shiny posh side of Gotham. Which meant it would either taste like overpriced shit or absolutely delectable.

"That would be the young Miss's. I believe Miss Brown purchased it as a surprise." Alfred had replied from where he was currently taking inventory of the pantry. Maintaining a well supplied stock of the after mission snacks to proper management after all. Still, he did eye Jason from where he stood with his note pad. Knowing that Jason had a slight habit of causing trouble.

"Those two have been really close lately." Jason muttered suspiciously, mentally debating on if the cake was worth it or not with Alfred watching him.

"Dick is right. You really are starting to sound like Bruce." Duke and Cassandra had been sitting at the counter. Duke, having just gotten off patrol, had been in the kitchen to refill his water. While Cass had been munching on some snacks that she had hidden from the rest of them.

"Can it, light bulb." Came Jason's snarky voice as he silently popped the lid on the much to fancy cake open and pulled it out of the fridge. Alfred to far across the kitchen to stop him. "You know… This is a pretty big cake…"

"Jason, no." Even Duke knew it was a bad idea. If you had just gotten bold enough to through tubberware at Jason, God only knew what you might do if he ate a gift you'd been given. Plus, Steph would be on everyone’s ass for it. She was stingy with her money and everyone could tell she splurged for that cake.

"I would advise against that, Master Jason. Miss Brown already informed the young Miss of the cake and I believe that they wanted to have the first slices when they got back from their outing." Alfred knew you would happily share the cake, but, while he wanted to defend your sugary gift, he knew that that cake had a secret and for once Alfred couldn't restrain himself from wanting to be the first to discover it.

That drew both Cassandra and Duke's attentions away from the crime that was about to be committed. Both curious. The two of you really had gotten close. Cass only slightly tilted her head in curiosity while Duke had been the one to speak.

"Oh, they went out?"

"For pedicures, I was told. They are due to arrive back here shortly. "

"Well, if you wait, they might- Jason! Seriously?!" Duke had looked back to watch Jason slice into the cake with a spare butter-knife. Thankfully with enough finesse to not completely ruin your cake.

"What? The princess can share her damn cake-" He defends himself, about to grab a fork when he notices Cass looking directly at Alfred. "Why are you looking at Alfred like that?"

When she says nothing, Duke and Jason look at the tearful expression of Alfred's face. "Alfie, what's wrong?"

It takes a moment for them to realize that those aren't tears of anger or sadness as Alfred tries to compose himself. It takes Duke a few seconds longer to look at the slice of cake to connect the dots with a swiftness that would put Tim's title as second greatest detective to shame.

However, the only words that stumble out of his mouth in his shock are, "Jason, that cake is blue."

"Yeah, I know. Which is weird, but it taste great. Steph picked something really fancy for princess’s taste." Jason says finally taking a bite. It was good, Steph picked a good bakery. Not as good as Princess's homemade goods, but good enough.

"NO! Jason, why would a cake be blue?" The realization of what exactly Jason just ruined filled Duke with panic. This was going to be so much worse than the tubberware if he was right. So much worse.

Even Cass was a bit confused about the massive deal with the cake. She was more interested in the joy she was reading off of Alfred since that cake had been cut. She'd never seen the man so giddy, despite the only sign of any change in him was the misty look in his eyes.

"I don't know- Oh, great. The princess has returned." The sound of excited footsteps were heard heading towards the kitchen while Duke looked at Jason with anxiousness. Even Alfred seemed to brace himself.

As soon as you and Stephanie walked in the smiles dropped from your faces.

"Jason…. Tell me you didn't…" Stephanie murmured as she glared as Jason. Inwardly, she was excited. She had guessed correctly and won her own personal bet with herself. But, she comfortingly put a hand on your arm as you stared at the blue cake you didn’t get to cut.

Just from your expression, Duke can tell he might have been right and starts looking at Jason with an expression that screams, ‘Plead for mercy, you idiot.’

Alfred, thankfully, had enough sense to come out of his joy the moment he watches you walk up to the counter and look down at the cake with a despondent expression. His words comforting as he tries to ease the budding tension. “I'm so sorry, young miss. But, on the bright side-"

"Oh, come on, princess. You and Steph weren’t going to be able eat it all. You can afford to share. Besides, you’ve been looking a little pudgy lately anyway. Really need to stop acting like you’re eating for two."

Everyone looks directly at Jason in horror at what he just said. Seeing the spark of rage in your eyes makes Alfred take a step back in caution and Cassandra warns an aghast Duke of what she sees about to go down.

“Duke, duck.”

“Where?” He says in terrified confusion before suddenly your cake is slammed directly into Jason’s face with your hands coated in frosting.

"OH SHIT!”

"MISS!"

"Are you fucking crazy?" Jason stumbles back from the velocity of the cake to his face while he tries to wipe the buttercream from his eyes as you start berating him. Throwing everything in reaching distance at him. The bowl of fruit on the counter, the snacks Cass had been eating, even a pot from the stove.

"You ruined it! You ruined it! Alfred, where's the cast iron? I'm about to knock the dumbass outta him.” You start looking for something heavy, moving to dig through the cabinets with sugary fingers that are shaking with anger.

“About time someone did…” Stephanie mutters while she hides behind the counter to hide from the onslaught.

Before you can complete your search, Jason reveals just how well he preforms under pressure. Realizing a little too late what he might have just right when your hands find the cast iron skillet and your taking a swing at him.

"Wait! Wait! I'm sorry!" He barely dodged the hit with the sudden click of the information settling into his brain.

"You about to be sorry! This is the last straw, asshole. You fuckin' ruined it." You go to take another swing at him, nearly slipping in some frosting.

Jason’s eyes go wide before he risk a skillet to the face to catch you.

"You're right! I- Put that down, you're going to hurt yourself." He struggles to pull the pan from your sticky grip, not wanting to hurt you. This isn’t something he imagined having to use all his skills and talents for, but he thanks fuck he has them.

"Don't you tell me what to fuckin' do." You snarl while trying to hit him in the throat with your fist, causing him to almost let you slip.

"Jason!" Duke shouts out, knowing how bad it’ll be if you fall.

Jason tightens his grasp on you to the point your practically immobile, trying to calm you down with apologies and a panicked tone.

"Look, I'm sorry! I didn't realize-"

"That doesn't excuse you acting like a dick." You hiss, causing him to go silent as he tries to figure out how to fix this situation.

"You're right. It doesn't. But…" he trails off, leading to an awkward moment of silence

"Dude, you suck at this." Duke says before popping his head over the counter now that the cake and kitchen utensils have ceased to be airborne. Stephanie popping up next to him to give Jason an icy glare of her own while Cass stares at her ruined snacks. Alfred sighing as he runs the bridge of his nose from the similarities between old memories and the current scenario in the kitchen.

"Shut up, twinkle twinkle." He snarls before looking down a very pissed and most likely very pregnant you with a wince. "I… I know I'm a jackass."

"Astute observation, Master Jason." Alfred mutters while he behind to search for some cleaning supplies for the buttercream incident.

"Damn, Alfred's roasting you." Duke quickly shuts up when Jason gives him a lethal glare despite your futile attempts a wiggling out of his grasp. "Shutting up now."

Eventually you stop struggling, heaving in exhaustion and pitifully fighting back tears at your ruined gender reveal.

"I… Shouldn't be acting like a such an asshole. To you, specifically. You don't deserve that and I'm sorry." Jason tries as soon as he sees your lower lip start to wobble. He knows he’s prickly, but this is a new low that he’s not proud of.

"Now, you wanna apologize?" You’re honestly too emotional to deal with this. But, it’s the fact that he’s actually trying to give a meaningful apology when hardly anyone else does that makes you listen. Even if you’re mentally tearing him to shreds with your teary eyes.

"Yes. Now, I want to apologize." He sighs, putting you down. It’s quite a sit. Him not only apologizing, but him also doing it covered in white frosting and blue cake crumbs. "I'm… I'm not going to give you a bunch of excuses. I'm a jerk. But, I'm not heartless. I took this too far."

"You took it too far when you ate my frickin' fried cornbread." Comes your deadpan tone as you cross your arms. The fabric of your hoodie moving slightly to reveal the faintest of baby bumps.

"You're still mad about- You know what, fair enough. Don't eat the pregnant chick's food. Lesson learned." He starts to say exasperatedly before changing course at your stare and realizing he needed to suck it up.

“But, in my defense, it was really good.” He pipes off quickly, as an appeasing compliment.

Judging from the way your eyes further narrow and the reigning silence, he can tell he missed the mark.

Instead he tries to change course.

"Listen, I know this won't make up for it, but… I did see some vintage baby stuff in the attic when I snooped up there once."

"Oh, you found Master Bruce's old thing." Alfred exclaims with slightly raised brows. Coming back with Clorox wipes and all sorts of other supplies for the mess you had made. (He blames Jason, however. Don’t fret, dear one.)

"Wait, pause. Did you say those were Bruce's old baby clothes?"

"Yes, Master Jason.”

“I thought those were little girl’s baby dress. They looked like something a goth Victorian child mixed with a pilgrim would wear."

“I assure you they are Master Bruce’s.”

Everyone suddenly has a collective thought and a mighty need. Cake forgotten momentarily.

"Alfred, are there pictures of him in those clothes?" You ask with barely contained mischief, all anger and sadness gone as delight fills you. Mood swings could be such a blessing and a curse.

“Why, I do believe so.” There was a hint of knowing in Alfred's tone. One that also was finding delight in the idea he knew was passing through everyone's minds.

Immediately, and with renewed vigor, your head whips to Jason.

"Help me find the pictures and get me some Jokerized fries-."

"And, throw in a foot massage." Stephanie adds before you can finish. The suggestion causing Jason's eyes to widen while Duke shudders.

"What?!"

“Eww.”

"I kinda don't want him touching my feet. Too weird." You say. Even if they do ache often your not sure you really want the guy who had made your life hell before touching you so much. Even if he was apologetic.

“Oh, thank god.” He mutters under his breath before Stephanie speaks up again.

"Then let me have one. I bought the cake and I was looking forward to it. I had to fight the temptation not to spoil the surprise."

"I feel like that was a pun." Duke mutters.

"It wasn't."

A lighter tone settles over the kitchen as Alfred starts to clean. You tried to help, feeling embarrassment at having made such a mess. But, everyone else had stepped in to pick up the slack on account for your condition as Duke called it.

"Did you ever figure it out, Cass?" You asked curiously as you sat at the counter. A bit surprised that she hadn't disappeared as soon as the whole things had started. You both had always been cordial with each other. However, you knew she preferred to be alone at times. Hence, your lack of interaction. You had assumed she would have fled by now.

"Thought you had a stomach bug. Not a baby. This is better." Comes her short response. There's a subtle hint of wonder on her face. She's gotten better at sharing her feelings with other's so it's nice to see such an expression.

"Am I the only one terrified of how calm she is after she just threw an entire cake at Jason and was about to cast iron him?" Duke says while he finishes wiping the frosting from the skillet you had wielded earlier. The question causes Alfred to chuckle when you give Duke a narrowed look yourself.

"I remember Miss Martha throwing a chair at Master Thomas when she was pregnant with Master Bruce, so this, I dare say, is quite tame."

That comment makes more than a few eyebrows to raise and Jason to let out a whistle, while also realizing that is could've been worse for him in the long run.

"Why'd she do that?"

"Bruce decided to grace the world with his presence in the middle of the night."

"Ha!"

"I always knew he had been more in the dark."

Snickers could be heard before Alfred continued to explain. It was rare he got to share such stories.

"And, Thomas made the foolish mistake of asking her if she could hold Bruce in until a more reasonable hour."

"Alfred, he was a doctor." Stephanie points out.

"In his defense. Neither had slept for that entire week from the anticipation of Master Bruce’s arrival. But, really should have kept quiet on the matter. We would still have that lovely cherry wood chair if he had."

A round of laughter could be heard. You had laughed so hard that there were tears in your eyes as you giggled your way up to the attic.

Things had been ruined, but things had gotten better. If only they could stay better.

Down in the Batcave, Tim had gotten a message in between a few of the cases he was currently working on.

"Jon and I will stop by tomorrow, my dude." He read while taking a sip of this third energy drink for that afternoon. He only nodded in acknowledgment before going back to his work.

Elsewhere, on the Kent family farm, Conner grinned excitedly at his phone before tucking it away and stretching. He'd be seeing his favorite person tomorrow. Hopefully when they saw him they'd remember the best night of their life. It was definitely his.

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A/N: As funny it would be to have Conner just be a sweet goof, I want him to be yandere for this. I struggled to include that last part to show it, but hopefully it works.

A/N: Also, this is the calm before the storm. I kinda wanna try to make it angsty next chapter. And, not gonna lie, it might be brutal. But, I wanna challenge myself so when I make an AU I can do a good job on it.

A/N: Thank you to everyone who voted in the poll! I had been planning on a girl for Reader, so I was a bit surprised. Might save that for the AU. Time to name pick, and if y’all want y’all can suggest nurseries. Can’t guarantee we’ll do polls for them, but it’ll still be fun.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Taglist

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[sweetlovepascal]

love notes

pairings joel miller x sunshine!reader

summary soft little pieces of his heart as little love letters tucked into your every day. he never asks if you found them. you always do. and he always knows. he’s always there.

tags lots of fluff, quiet love notes, domestic moments, and joel being sweet. set in jackson, post-outbreak. established relationship, and lots of gentle, everyday affection. love in the little things. acts of service as love language, he loves you in silence, quiet love notes, post-it note romance. gets spicier.

masterlist dividers by: @uzmacchiato

you groan as you shuffle into the kitchen, sleep still clinging to your limbs. the coffee tin’s half empty, same as your energy.

you pop the lid and something flutters out. a folded scrap of paper, taped to the inside.

you unfold it, his handwriting unmistakable.

“hope this makes your morning a little better. like you always make mine.”

you lean against the counter, smiling into the quiet, coffee forgotten for just a moment. he grumbles from the other room.

“you find it?”

you call back, voice warm. “yeah. i did.”

“good,” he says. “was worried it’d fall into the grounds.”

it’s laundry day. again. you’re folding socks when one of yours feels heavier than usual. you tug at it—and out falls a tiny square of paper.

“you wear the warmest things but you’re still the one keepin’ this place cozy.”

you glance toward the door where he’s chopping firewood, sleeves rolled, hair a mess. he doesn’t see you watching—but he pauses like he feels it.

you slip the note into your back pocket. you’ll keep it. like you keep him.

you’re brushing your teeth when you spot it. a square of paper tucked into the edge of the mirror behind your toothbrush cup.

it wasn’t there this morning.

you pull it free, toothpaste foam threatening to spill from your mouth.

“every time you smile into this mirror, i fall in love again.”

you’re still holding the note when joel walks by, pauses in the doorway. he doesn’t say anything and just watches you smile.

you rinse and mutter, “you’re such a sap.”

you open the fridge after dinner, just to peek. one slice of pie is left, barely hanging on. there’s a sticky note taped right to the container.

“left you the last piece ’cause you always let me have the first.”

you turn around to find joel pretending to be very busy wiping down the table.

you hold up the pie. “you’re trying to make me cry over dessert?”

he shrugs. “worked?”

you kiss his cheek. “might’ve.”

it’s late. you’re tucking an extra blanket into the corner chair, the one by the window.

something crinkles beneath the cushion — and when you lift it, a folded note slides free.

“this is the spot where i first knew you felt like home.”

you sit there for a while, blanket draped across your lap, eyes misty.

joel finds you minutes later, leans on the doorframe.

“you remember?”

you nod. “i never forgot.”

he walks over and pulls you into his chest, resting his chin on your head.

“me neither.”

you’re changing the sheets when you find it — a tiny folded note tucked deep in the pillowcase.

it must’ve been hiding there for a while.

“just in case you ever forget how much i love you."

your hands still. the quiet hum of the house fills the space where your breath used to be.

joel walks in, drying his hands on a dish towel. he sees you holding the note and stops in his tracks.

“you weren’t supposed to find that so soon,” he mumbles.

you smile, hugging the paper to your chest.

he walks over and presses a kiss to your forehead. “i’m glad you did.”

it’s pouring outside. the kind of steady, peaceful rain that softens the world. you’re curled up on the couch, blanket tucked under your chin, mug of tea balanced in your hands.

inside the mug’s handle, a little square of folded paper.

“you make rainy days feel like sunshine.”

you blink, surprised. then glance toward the kitchen, where joel is drying dishes with a quiet smile on his face.

“you hid it in my mug?” you ask, grinning.

“figured you’d need something sweet before the tea cooled.”

“you’re ridiculous.”

he taps your shoulder gently on his way past. “and you’re the light in this house.”

you wake up late, sun pouring through the curtains. joel’s not in bed but his warmth still lingers in the sheets.

on the nightstand is a note in his handwriting, folded neatly over a coaster.

“you talk in your sleep. last night you said my name like it was a prayer.”

you’re still holding the paper when he walks in with two mugs.

“you sleep okay?” he asks, gently.

you nod, eyes soft. “dreamed of you, i think.”

he hums. “guess we were dreamin’ the same thing.”

you’re getting ready for a short patrol, slipping your jacket on when something crunches in the pocket.

you dig around and pull out a folded napkin, wrapped around a crinkled note and two homemade granola bars.

“i packed the snacks you like. don’t tell ellie i stole hers.”

you laugh, pressing your lips together so it doesn’t escape too loud.

joel’s sitting on the steps, tying his boots. he glances up at you.

you lean down and kissed his lips.

“you’re sweet when you’re sneaky.”

you’re slipped into your coat for a walk, just to clear your head — the kind of quiet escape you’ve both learned to recognize in each other.

your fingers brush paper tucked in the pocket.

it’s small, folded once, his handwriting scratched a little messier than usual.

“you always know how to calm me down. even when i don’t say i need it.”

then you hear his footsteps behind you.

he doesn’t say anything, just lowers himself beside you. his thigh presses gently into yours. his hand finds yours.

it’s late, and you’re ready for bed.

a note.

folded once. the edges soft from fingers lingering too long. there’s a smudge of ink where his thumb probably pressed too hard.

you unfold it and read:

“i ain’t never been good at sayin’ things. but i hope you feel it anyway.”

it’s not long. it’s not fancy.

but it’s everything.

you slip quietly out of the room and find him in the kitchen, stirring sugar into a cup of tea.

he looks up, and for a second, he doesn’t say anything. just studies your face, like he’s trying to figure out what you’re thinking.

you don’t say anything either. you walk right up, wrap your arms around him, and hold him like he’s something soft.

and fragile.

and home.

he exhales slowly into your hair, the tension in his shoulders easing. his arms come around you like they were always meant to.

he doesn’t ask if you read it. he doesn’t need to.

you felt it.

late autumn, jackson’s first snowfall.

you wake up to the hush that only snow brings. outside the window, the world is blanketed in fresh white.

you went into the kitchen, chilled but curious, and find a note stuck to the coffee tin with a magnet shaped like a crooked heart.

“happy first snow. i remembered you said it’s your favorite.”

you smile instantly, remembering how you once told joel, offhandedly, barely even thinking that the first snow always felt a little magical.

behind you, the door creaks and he steps inside, boots dusted white, cheeks pink from the cold.

you laugh and launch into his arms before he can shake the cold off.

your one-year anniversary.

you’re not expecting anything. you’d said no fuss. just a quiet day, maybe dinner if the power stays on.

but when you open the drawer, a piece of worn paper flutters out.

“one year ago today, you looked at me and smiled. i’m still not over it.”

your heart stutters.

joel walks in behind you. he’s trying not to smile.

“turn around, sweetheart. ”

a bouquet of fresh flowers.

you step forward and rest your forehead against his chest. “i love you, joel.”

he presses a kiss into your hair, voice low and rough. “i love you more.”

“had a bad dream. didn’t want to wake you. just needed to know you were real.”

found under your pillow after you noticed the sheets were rumpled more than usual.

you sleep in longer than usual. joel was gone when you woke, though the sheets were warm, the air still held the weight of him.

joel comes in moments later, mug in hand, eyes a little tired.

“i didn’t mean to wake you last night,” he says gently.

he sits beside you.

“didn’t want to ruin your sleep.”

“you’re never a ruin,” you whisper, and rest your head on his shoulder.

the sun is warm. you’re humming in the garden patch behind the house, talking to the squash vines like they’re old friends.

“you talk to the plants when you think no one’s listening. they like it. i do too.”

found tucked into your gardening gloves.

you blink, unfolding it carefully.

you glance toward the porch, and sure enough. joel’s sitting on the steps, arms resting on his knees, watching you with that crooked half-smile that never fully reaches his mouth unless he’s looking at you.

“you’re spying again,” you tease.

he shrugs. “i am, and proudly.”

you wrap the scarf around your neck on the first chilly morning of the season. something falls out and flutters to the floor.

a note, tucked between the folds.

“didn’t think i’d ever like autumn again. then you came with your damn scarves and apple pie.”

found folded inside the knit scarf you always wear once the leaves start turning.

you smile, heart thumping. he’s out front, sleeves rolled, cheeks pink from the wind.

you walk out, scarf tight, and toss an apple slice his way.

he catches it mid-air. “you find it?”

“yup,” you say, cheeks warm.

he smirks. “only for you.”

you didn’t make it to midnight. neither did he. you both nodded off tangled under a blanket and empty glasses nearby.

the next morning, you find the note slipped under your glass, a tiny smudge of ash on the corner.

“you're the first person i wanted to kiss 24/7. still do.”

found under your glass on new years morning.

you walk into the kitchen, where joel’s already making breakfast, hair sticking up at odd angles.

you say nothing, just wrap your arms around him from behind and press a kiss to the back of his neck.

“mornin’,”

“happy new year, miller.”

the sun’s out for the first time in weeks. you’re on your knees in the dirt, planting the tiny new shoots you bartered for at the last jackson market. you reach under the flower box to adjust its footing and feel paper brush your fingers.

“spring makes everything bloom. you make me soften.”

found under the porch flower box when you’re planting the first seeds of the year.

you glance up, heart doing that fluttery thing again.

joel’s watching you from the porch, arms crossed, trying not to look obvious.

you hold the note up like a trophy.

“i’m gonna start putting you in a flower box if you keep saying stuff like this.”

he chuckles. “least i’d get some sun.”

you catch him red-handed.

you’re pretending to look for the cinnamon, but really, you’re watching joel from the corner of your eye.

he’s in the living room. thinks you’re distracted. he pulls a note from his back pocket. worn and folded just like all the others and carefully tucks it into your current read on the side table.

you wait until he leaves the room. then you grab the book and open it to find:

“you caught me this time.”

you smile, heart full to the brim, and tiptoe into the hallway.

he’s already halfway up the stairs. you call out, “joel?”

he turns. you hold up the note.

“i think you’re due for a kiss.”

he raises a brow. “that so?”

you nod. “caught you fair and square.”

he smiles wide, just for you.

you press it to your chest, eyes warm. “you don’t have to hide them, you know.”

he shrugs. “kinda liked the hunt.”

you grin and slip your arms around his waist. “then next time, i’m leaving you a note.”

his eyebrows lift. “oh yeah?”

“yeah,” you whisper. “but good luck finding mine.” you’re true to your word.

the next morning, joel is suspicious from the moment he wakes. his coffee is poured, breakfast warm on the table, but you’re suspiciously chipper.

grinning behind your mug like you know something he doesn’t.

because you do.

he pretends not to notice. you pretend you didn’t spend twenty minutes figuring out where to hide the note without him spotting you.

he checks his boots. his coat pockets. even lifts the lid of the sugar jar like maybe you got creative. nothing.

you say nothing. just kiss his cheek and remind him to be careful on patrol.

he kisses you back, lingers a second longer than usual.

when he came back, you found him hunched over the kitchen table, brow furrowed like he’s working a puzzle. he doesn’t even hear you walk in

“you looking for something?”

he glances up, caught again. “i might be.”

you hum, lean against the doorway, smug.

“maybe you just missed it.”

you step closer, brush a curl from his forehead. “want a hint?”

he tilts his chin, inviting. “hit me.”

you lean in and whisper against his ear. “page 237.”

and went outside.

you’d caught him rereading it late at night, the pages softened by time and thumbed-through affection.

he finds the note folded neatly at the page you marked, stuck between a paragraph about dust and distance.

"even when you’re quiet, i hear you. even when you’re gone, i feel you between my legs, in my chest, under my skin. you ruin me, and i want more. always.”

“jesus, baby…” he murmurs, almost to himself.

joel reads it twice. folds it once more, careful, and tucks it into his back pocket like it belongs there—like it always did.

by the time you walk into the room—barefoot and innocent like you didn’t just unravel him with one line. joel's still holding the note.

he looks up at you, eyes a little glossy, a little wide. stunned in that quiet joel kind of way. all softness and awe and love that has nowhere to go but into you.

“you tryna start something, sweetheart?”

you shrug, lazy and sweet. “maybe i’m just reminding you.”

his hand finds your waist. then your throat. gentle, possessive, reverent.

“remindin’ me of what?”

you lean in, lips brushing his jaw, whispering the answer against his skin:

“that i'm yours and you're mine. always.”

joel groans low in his throat. you swear you feel it echo through your bones.

“you ever gonna stop leaving these?” he murmurs, voice thick with something softer than sleep.

“not unless you want me to.”

he shakes his head, gaze pinned to you like you hung the damn moon. “don’t you dare.”

"you too."

“come here,” he mutters, already walking you backward toward the bedroom. “you started it, baby. now you finish it.”

and you do.

with nothing but quiet gasps, loud moans, the sound of skin coated with sweat slapping and the rustle of worn sheets and the sound of joel loving you.

[rainrot4me]

Return The Favor

Summary: Stumbling in on your neighbor’s chopped up body, an unlikely friendship forms between you and Toby. Striking a deal, you agree to help the killer and his friends, buying them necessary prescriptions. But when one visit turns to multiple, Toby becomes curious, finding a not so subtle love note hidden away.

Characters: Ticci Toby x Female Reader

SMUT WARNING MINORS DNI

TW: Mentions of death, explicit description of a dismembered body, decomposition, death, gore, obsession, vomit, throwing up, blood (non-sexual), blood (sexual), vaginal fingering, degradation, biting, overstimulation, squirting, creampie, vaginal, choking, gagging, somnophilia, rough, Toby literally goes insane about you, virginity kink, first time, desperation

Words: 9.4k

A/N: This shit long asl I'm so sorry... Characters in this story are not canonical!

It’s said that when there’s a dead body nearby, your body can sense it before your brain can. 

It’s almost like instinct, a survival nature programmed into your brain. It’ll start with goosebumps and chills running all over your body as if you were being watched, this uncomfortable sensation that you just can’t rationalize. Then the anxiety sets in, body aching and sweating for no apparent reason but it just knows there’s something wrong. 

Finally, when you’ve finally choked it up to just being your imagination, that’s when you’ll smell it. Throat instantly closing and nostrils flaring at the putrid stench of rot and gore. It’s incomparable, no amount of food poisoning or disease compares to the sickness you feel in your stomach at the smell of a human body decomposing. Every instinct in your body pleading and begging you to get out of there, run as far away until you can’t breathe anymore. 

You would know. And it seemed like the boy huddled in front of you did too. 

There was no real reason for you to even be in this house in the first place, but your all-too-good heart guilted you into it. You had just come home from work, mind tired and body sleepy as you unlocked your front door, tossing your bag onto the kitchen table inside. It was well past midnight, the diner you worked at closing way later than normal, but at least you made some good tips. 

Sliding into your bedroom, you changed into more comfortable clothes, tying your hair back before stepping into your kitchen. You gripped the tiny journal lying on the counter, cracking the worn pages open to where you left off, scribbling your thoughts onto the paper. It was your nightly routine, journaling things you saw or did, a coping mechanism suggested by your therapist. It wasn’t for anything intensive, just minor anxiety and self-image problems, always having negative thoughts about yourself. It helped. Glancing up, you looked through the tiny window above your sink, a clear view of your neighbor’s back porch, Mr. Higgs, an older man who made it very difficult to be friendly. He was a hateful guy, always nitpicking your choice of decorations or specific outfits he didn’t find appropriate. A real sweetheart, obviously. 

But compared to his usual eight PM lights out, the living room lamp was still bright, shining directly through his open back porch door. That was odd. As long as you had known this guy, it wasn’t like him to be up this late, let alone be outside. Every instinct told you to just clean up and go to bed, his angry ass probably scooting off a raccoon or something. But you just couldn’t pass up that nagging feeling, your kindheartedness overpowering you. So, sighing, you tossed a hoodie on and slid out your back door, stepping down the porch steps into the cool grass.

You flinched as a flash of brown passed your vision, small and thin against the dark grass. Cooing, you kneeled down, holding your fingers out as Mr. Higg’s old cat, Addy, sniffed the air around you, pressing against your bare legs as she purred. The man was way too protective of his cat. Something was definitely wrong.

Standing again, Addy pranced away, meowing loudly behind you as your bare feet became wet against the midnight dew, grass sticking to your ankles as you walked, arms hugging yourself against the cold. This would probably just end with you getting told to mind your business and stomping back to bed upset, but it was the thought that counted. Gripping onto the porch rail, you stepped up his creaky wooden porch, knocking against the wooden frame of the open door.

“Mr. Higgs? Everything alright?” You called into the room, refusing to go in. There was no response, you knocked again after a couple of seconds. Still nothing. You gulped, rubbing your arms against your sides, nerves wracking you. “Okay. I’m coming in. Don’t get mad 'cause you didn’t answer me.” You called again, pressing past the door and wiping your wet feet on the welcome mat. 

The house was quiet, the only light being the lamp sat on a coffee table adjacent to the old couch. All the furniture had an older look like something out of the eighties, it made you cringe. “Mr. Higgs, are you home?” You shouted down the dark hallway, all the doors shut except for one at the end which you assumed to be his room. Hugging yourself, your legs felt anxious, your mind racing with all the reasons you shouldn’t walk down there. There was no reason for it, this was all just probably some old guy who forgot to shut his door, but you just couldn’t shake the feeling.

Taking a step down the hallway, that’s when it started. Those feelings, like your body can feel shouldn’t be there. The air suddenly grew thick, a nauseating feeling setting in against your chest, pressing down like a conscious weight. But you shook it off, telling yourself it was just you scaring yourself with all of those crime shows, but you should’ve known better.

The door was cracked, moonlight from the open shades pressing against the doorframe, your hand flat against the wood as you pushed the door open. Then came the smell. It was stout, a putrid funk that wafted against the walls, souring the room. The room was dark, pupils blown wide as they fought to see, hand sliding against the wall and searching for a light switch. Your body was tense, senses on high alert against the dark, breathing ragged against the awful stench filling your senses. Your eyes were beginning to water, wondering what in the hell could be stinking this terribly, until you felt the switch, flipping it on.

Your first instinct was to throw up, throat constricting and stomach tightening, but you just couldn’t move. You were petrified by the scene in front of you. Mr. Higgs was there, at least, what you could recognize of him. His head had been cleaved from his body, intensive amounts of blood staining his beige bedsheets. His cheeks were bloated, a gnarly purple color as his veins poked against his forehead, skin wrinkled and soaked in blood as his eyes rolled into the back of his head. They were yellow now, dark veins contrasting against the orbs as puss leaked from every hole on his expressionless face. The rest of his body was scattered, chunks of muscle shredded from his arms and hands like they had been cut off, legs more or less the same. His wide stomach was completely visible, his skin swollen and dark, bloated against the same liquids spilling from his pores. The blood was the worst part. It was just everywhere. Splattered on the sheets, the nightstand, even the walls, specks reaching the roof. You were so lost in your racing thoughts, your heart pounding heavily against your chest as you gripped the door tightly, knuckles white on the frame. You could feel the cold sweat drip down your brow, utter fear chilling your body. 

You wouldn’t have even noticed the tall boy standing in the corner if he hadn’t flinched, eyes wide and locked on you. He was lanky, easily taller than you and pale. No, not pale, more gray. He had curly brown hair that fell in front of his eyes, his freckled cheeks flushed against the bandages across his jaw. A pair of goggles rested amongst his curls, a dark mask covering his nose and mouth. He wore dark wash jeans loose around his hips and a heavier brown hoodie that was stained with dark blood. Oh God. The boy didn’t look much older than you despite his bruise battered skin. But he wasn’t moving, wasn’t talking, he was just watching. 

His hands were behind his back, shoulders scrunched against the corner of the dark walls as you pressed back off the door frame, breathing ragged. “Who the hell are you?” You grimaced, tone coming across a lot more confident than you felt. The boy flinched, not out of fear, more like a bodily reaction. He refused to answer, eyes scanning around quickly until he pressed off the wall, sliding to the shuttered window and pinching the blinds open, scanning the night without explanation. That’s when you heard loud boots stepping up the porch steps, head spinning quickly down the hallway. “Shit.” You heard him, the boy’s voice panicked and rough, his boots stepping quickly across the hardwood and into your vicinity. Panic strained you, head spinning back quickly before your vision was filled with his arms wrapping around you, palm slapping over your mouth as he pressed you to his chest. 

You tried to fight back, mumbled pleas against his hand as you shouldered his arms, your back pressed firmly against him. He was dragging you into the room, your feet dragging as you struggled, clawing his arms away but he never budged, practically unaware of the scratches you were leaving on his hands. “F- Fuckin’ quit-” He growled quietly, pressing open the small closet doors and dragging you both in, quickly shutting the door as you heard the boots grow louder down the hallway. A sliver of light shone through the crack in the door, leaving you just enough room to see the gorey scene as you pressed off of him, his muscled arms refusing to let you go.

“Toby?” A scratchy voice called into the room, the figure stepping through the door frame and into your line of sight. At his appearance, you froze completely, your body tense against the boy behind you. His arms gripped tighter, bandaged fingers digging into your cheek as he kept you quiet. He was horrifying. 

This man was taller than the one in the closet with you, pasty skin a sharp contrast against his dark messy hair. His eyes were wide, pupils dark against his reddened scleras. He wore a white hoodie, dark jeans covered just the same with Mr. Higg’s blood. But the worst part, the part that made your heart pump in your throat, was his smile. It was etched in, flesh torn upwards into a mocked smile, teeth exposed from the side of his cheek. The area was mangled, seemingly unhealed as blood dried against the cut. He almost made Mr. Higgs seem not that bad.

“Twitch, come on,” He called again, hands shoved in his hoodie pocket as he strolled around the room, kicking Mr. Higg’s severed foot out of the way. “I’m gettin’ tired. This guy had some good beers and I’m tryna get back home and drink ‘em.” He snickered, turning back out of the room and back down the hallway, his loud boots stomping against the old floors. Who you presumed to be Toby didn’t let you go, arms just as tight around you as you gripping his hoodie’s sleeves tight. “Fine then! If you’re gonna play fuckin’ hide and seek then I’m leavin’ your ass here!” He called throughout the house, your body only untensing when you heard the back porch door slam shut, loud boots thunking down the porch and out of earshot. 

You both waited a couple of seconds, heart thudding in your ears as arms slowly released you, palm unclasping from your mouth. Panicked, you slammed out of the closet, turning around quickly and facing Toby, back pressed against the nearest wall as you searched for something to defend yourself with. “D- Dumbass.” He grit, pressing out of the cramped closet and facing you, tugging at the sleeves of his hoodie. The stench of the room pressed harder than ever, making your head dizzy as you pressed out of the room and down the hallway, Toby quick on your heels. “Whoever the fuck you are, whatever the fuck you want, I’m sure Mr. Higgs didn’t have it. Why in God’s name is he in pieces in his bedroom?” You hissed, gagging as the image replayed in your mind, turning into his kitchen and wracking the cupboards. When you found a small plastic cup, you ran water in through the sink, chugging the stout liquid down as you calmed your breathing. Toby stayed in the doorframe, crossing his arms. You probably shouldn’t have let your guard down, knowing full and well what he had just down to your neighbor, but you figured if he was going to he would have already.

“It’s none of y- your business. I don’t k- kill innocents, so you s- shoulda just stayed home, m- missy.” He growled back, stuttering through the words. You tossed the cup in the sink, the plastic clattering against the metal as you turned to face him, running your hands through your hair. “Hard to when you guys so obviously left his door open. The bastards hounded me for years, you’d think I’d be happy about his death, but not fucking like that.” You hissed, leaning back against the counter and crossing your arms, bare feet cold against the porcelain tiles. “I mean, Jesus. And I mean, thanks and all for the save back there, but how is killing him and saving me any different? It’s just favoring one innocent over another.” Toby shook his head, sliding past you and tugging a drawer open, shovelling through old receipts until he found the stack he was searching for. He passed it to you, paper crinkling as you skimmed through, old pharmacy receipts for prescription medicine. 

“H- Had the old bastard bu- buying our meds. Paid h- him off and everything. Un- Until he started g- giving us coun- counterfeits, sellin’ u- us out. He h- had to pay u- up somehow…” He huffed, shoving his mask down off of his nose and under his chin, his thin lips chapped against the bandages hugging his cheeks. And of course, he was cute. 

“So he gets shredded?” You had to breathe through that sentence, throat tight with nausea. Toby nodded, a small smirk crooking at the corner of his lips. You grimaced, pressing off of the counter and through to the living room, the old furniture seeming a lot less homey now. You were going home, filing a police report, and praying to God these fuckers didn’t come back to get you instead. 

“U- Uh, might wa- wanna clean up, t- too,” Toby chuckled from behind you. You paused, confused as you looked around, stomach twisting as you looked down. Bloody footprints trekked through the kitchen behind you, a trail leading to your bare feet as you lift your knee, gagging at the sight of Mr. Higg’s blood coating your soles. Toby was laughing, the noise muffled against the ringing in your ears as you hunched over, stomach convulsing as you puked on the hardwood floors, your lunch from work coming back up. Head straining, you panted, wiping your lips. “Oh, s- shit, okay.” Toby hissed, sliding to your side and raising you up, hugging you close to his side. He drug you through the door, stomach still churning as you watched your footprints faintly appear beneath you, purposefully dragging them through the grass to get the blood off. You felt disgusting, giving no fight as Toby brought you to your porch steps, helping you up. He was so bipolar, angry and distasteful for one second, then cautious and endearing the next. It really was like you were dealing with a teenager. 

Addy circled your ankles, her dense fur tickling your skin and making you jump, Toby gripping your arms tighter. “Oh, hi kitty.” You cooed, breathing deep as you kneeled down, scooping her up into your arms as Toby helped you up the rest of the steps. Without asking, he slid open your screen door, helping you both inside as Addy purred against your chest, Toby wary as he stared at her. You dropped her on the floor gently, Toby sliding the door shut as you hunched over your sink, cleaning your mouth and grabbing a rag for your feet. Toby still eyed Addy, fidgeting his nails as he followed her. “Ever seen a cat before? She was Mr. Higg’s.” You chuckled, cleaning the soles of your feet off and tossing the rag into the sink, still feeling unclean. Toby nodded, rubbing his arms nervously as he looked back at you, smiling awkwardly. “Yeah. Us- Used to have one. T- They kinda sc- scare me now.” Smiling, you scooped Addy up again, petting her soft fur as you brought her close to the boy, his neck twitching nervously. 

How could this guy shred a man to pieces, but petting a cat was too frightening for him? You couldn’t understand. Digressing, you gripped his wrist, steadying the twitches as you placed his hand on her back, rubbing gently as Toby flinched, breathing quickly. Addy purred, unbothered by the action as he became more comfortable, fingers playing with her fur before he pulled his hand back, breathing deep.

You were too nice for your own good, too easy at giving the benefit of the doubt. Of course, you would find the redeemable traits in a murderer, heart hurting for this boy who was more or less the same as you. Groaning, you dropped Addy, crossing your arms. “Listen. What you did, it’s… For my own conscience, I can’t let it happen again.” You grit, circling your countertop and sitting on a stool, your journal tucked in front of you as you fidgeted with the pages. “If we can agree, I’ll buy your meds. I have a friend who can write me prescriptions, no questions asked. But I need you to understand, under no circumstances, are you allowed to harm me. I’ll call the cops.” Like the cops could stop these lunatics. But, you needed some type of leverage. 

Toby thought quietly, eyes narrowed as he flinched uncomfortably against Addy rubbing on his shins, purring loudly. If you could hold your end, there would be no trouble, but he had to know he could rely on you. “Th- The meds aren’t for m- me. My f- friends, they need ‘em to function, m- mentally… You g- gotta realize this is- is serious.” Even stuttering his voice was stern, arms crossed as he thought, contemplating. You nodded, brushing your hair from your face as you groaned, realizing how desperately you needed to learn to set boundaries. “I can get them. But you have to keep your end, too.” You hissed back, pinching your fingers nervously. Toby smiled, crossing his heart, literally. Rolling your eyes, you nodded, rubbing your face as you groaned. What the fuck were you even doing? 

“I’ll have them by the end of the week. Come later at night, cops’ll be swarming for weeks thanks to you.” Toby nodded, sliding over to the counter and gripping your journal, tearing a page out as he wrote the list of prescriptions you would need to get. It was a hefty list, some of that shit intense. “Abou- About that,” He slid his mask up over his nose, sliding the screen door open as he stepped out, chuckling. “Do- Don’t go outside. Gonna ma- make it look like a g- gas leak.” You could hear the smile in his voice as he shut the screen, sliding his hood over his head and peeling down the porch steps. Finally taking a deep breath, you stared at Addy, wondering what in the absolute fuck you were doing. Rest in hell, Mr. Higgs.

-

He made it look like a gas leak alright. The house was on fire in minutes, the bright orange flames lighting your room as you heard sirens in the distance, your other neighbors gathered outside their houses as you climbed into bed, groaning your displeasure. Cops and firefighters swarmed for days afterwards, investigating the area thoroughly, but never finding any remains of Mr. Higgs, his body buried somewhere far away. They eventually grew restless, the city quickly cleaned up the charred remains of the house and a new plan for construction was set in soon. It went over smoothly, no one even suspecting a thing. 

The days passed slowly, nervousness building as the end of the week grew closer, feet shuffling as you stood in line at the pharmacy. You got the doctor’s notes easily, already called in and waiting to be picked up as you were handed a small paper bag, the pharmacist eyeing you closely as you hurried out. Once in your car, you rummaged the sack, eyes wide as you read the dosage instructions on each little pill bottle. You read each bottle carefully, cringing at the names of the contents: Thorazine, Prolixin, Haldol, and even Aripiprazole. They were all high-end antipsychotics, the list of treatments for schizophrenia and mania, along with treatment-resistant depression. The last bottle caught your eye, a quick Google search told you it was for tourette's. So his twitching wasn’t just nervousness, huh. Shoveling the sack into your bag, you sped home, Toby well on his way as the sun set low.

The first week was easy, Toby in and out without so much as a hello, nodding his thanks as he bolted back into the woods, eyes dark and heavy. It was easy for you, moving along with your life despite the one night of the week. You felt easier, the boy quick about his stops with some chat, but never hanging around for too long, eyes always scanning the tree line nervously. 

As weeks passed, he grew more comfortable, you learned that he was quick about stopping due to his friends, their curiosity about you making him nervous about losing his ‘dealer.’ You learned to leave his meds on the counter, sometimes not even present when he would sneak in at the late hours of the night, your job taking precedence over your sleep schedule. But with all of this money being spent weekly on medicine, you had to pick up more time at work, everything being paid for out of pocket not to raise suspicion. You were sleeping more, journaling and your hobbies taking less importance until they were practically nonexistent. It was hard, your serving heart refusing to let you rest, making sure Toby got his medication is the most important thing. You were strained, to say the least. 

However, surprisingly, after a couple of weeks, Toby wasn’t in a hurry to leave. He had slid in like he always did, you sat at the counter eating your dinner as you scribbled through the pages of your notebook, summing up the previous days. You were exhausted, Toby making you jump slightly as he shut the screen door, rummaging through the paper sack. “G- Got any more?” He grinned shyly, sliding his mask and goggles off and tossing them onto the counter. You nodded to the fridge, an extra container of leftovers from the diner quickly opened in front of him as he shoveled it into his mouth. “It’s better heated up,” You laughed, shutting your journal as you slid off the stool, gripping the to-go container from him and popping it into the microwave. You both sat there awkwardly, Toby kneeling down to rub Addy’s back as she appeared beneath him, soft purrs echoing. He was still nervous, never petting her for too long before standing back up, the microwave beeping. The food came out steaming, sliding open a drawer and handing him a fork, Toby continued to shovel the food into his mouth. You hissed, holding his arm as the steaming food sizzled inside his mouth, it had to be burning him. “Oh. Y- Yeah, I don’t fe- feel pain. Th’s good, tho- though.” He grinned, slurping up more of the food. He acted like he hadn’t had warm food in forever, stuffing his face and barely giving himself time to chew. You rolled your eyes, chuckling as he ate.

The stays became longer after that, his excuse being he was hungry, continuously raiding your fridge until you began to have food ready for him, prepping his meals along with your own. Thirty minutes turned to an hour, to two hours, and then eventually through the night. He would crash on your couch, Addy curled in his lap as the television blared some old movie. That was one of the only times you didn’t see him ticcing, the cat acting as an anchor against his restless body. He looked truly comfortable, using your blankets and pillows to his advantage, beginning to invite himself to stay the night after a while. 

You sat at the counter, Toby snoring loudly as he laid face first into the couch pillow, scribbling into your journal. It was the one thing you had time for, having to get up early for work as the soft glow of the kitchen light lit the pages. Toby was practically pushing himself into your life, his lack of manners and curious mannerisms leading him to take initiative. You were grateful for his friendliness, giving great detail of his missions with his friends and explaining that whole situation. Even still, you were wary. 

But against your better judgment, your relationship with the killer was becoming less transactional. He brought you things to make for dinner, talked with you through your mutual sleepiness, and even took care of Addy when you were too delusional after work. For lack of a better word, he was becoming a friend, showing up for more than just his medication, even sometimes forgetting the bag and having to chase him down. He was infesting your life, arriving earlier than he should and leaving later than you cared for. The end of the week was becoming optional, the screen of your porch door sliding open nearly every night of the week Toby didn’t have a mission. It was annoying but in a comforting way, like you both were becoming closer naturally despite your differences. 

As you heard his snores, you groaned, rubbing your tired eyes as you began to write, letting your pencil guide on the page numbly as you wrote your thoughts. It wasn’t directed at Toby on purpose, but the further you got down the page the further your heart sank, hand fisted in your hair as you rested your elbow on the cold marble counter. “Ah, Jesus…” You grit, scribbling the final few words as you lean back, rubbing your head. The words weren’t lies, more of a hard truth you weren’t willing to accept, chalking it up that you were just tired and desperate. The words could have been about Toby, or they could have been about anyone, you didn’t really care. Sighing, you tore the page out, folding it and shoving it into the back of the book, closing the pages quickly. Sleep sounded much easier as you flipped the kitchen light off, turning the volume of the television down as you trudged upstairs to your room, giving one last glance to the snoring boy and his matching cat.

-

Toby knew his mishaps with you, his moral compass long forgotten the more time he spent inside your home. He told himself it was just easier, food and shelter at his disposal whenever, but he knew better. It was so much more than just picking up medicine for Tim and Brian now, it was a solid relationship, a bond that was forming in his eyes. 

It had been almost four months since the unfortunate death of your neighbor, a smile creeping every time he saw the charred flecks of wood buried in the overgrown grass. You had begun to leave the back door unlocked, reasoning that someone breaking and entering would be less of a hassle than him. That was what Toby really hooked onto the most about you, your humor about everything. Despite your hardships and the emotions you had to overcome, you held a caring heart, compassion always lacing every action. He found it admirable, your humor through your busy life. And, likewise, he did feel bad for making you work so much, tired eyes always hurting his heart whenever you were around. But, it wasn’t like he could get a job, so he helped where he could, cleaning and learning to cook for your sake. He needed this medicine, for his friend’s and his own stability, even at your expense.

You were already nestled at your spot on the counter, writing your thoughts in that damn journal. You barely even looked up as he entered, diving for the fridge as he scooped up Addy with one arm, her purs a nice vibration against his shoulder. Popping the container in the microwave, he leaned in over your shoulder, trying to catch a glance at your scribbling before you shoved him off, closing the book quickly. “Ah, ah, mind yours.” You smiled, forking your own food into your mouth. “O- Oh come on, [Y/N], just a pe- peak.” He smiled back, gathering his food as he began to eat, sliding onto his familiar spot on the couch. It was routine now: where you sat, what he watched, what you both talked about. He explained his latest mission with Masky in more detail than you enjoyed, pushing your food away as you groaned, hiding your face in your hands. You both laughed throughout the night before you whisked your food into the fridge, calling your goodnights before heading upstairs. 

Toby continued to watch the television, brushing Addy’s back with his bandaged fingers as he sat his empty container to the side. His curiosity nudging him, he raised up, tossing his trash before he slid to the counter, you all too confidently leaving your journal there. Slipping back onto the couch, he began to flip through the pages, listening closely for your footsteps as he read your entries, smiling as they dated all the way back to your high school years.

It seemed as though everything you thought spilt onto these lines, emotions erratic between every page as he realized just how much of a people pleaser you really were. All through your recent years, it was nothing but service, acting through the goodness of your soul until it felt sickening, fake almost. He cringed, flipping quickly through but finding nothing juicy, no deep dark secrets that he felt were interesting. Sighing, he closed the journal, standing to set it back onto the counter, until a slip of paper fell from between the pages. Smiling, Toby leaned down, arms twitching as he slid the journal back onto the counter, leaning against the marble as he flipped the paper open, reading carefully.

“Sometimes, when I think about it too hard, I get all emotional about myself. I know I put on a front, like everything I do I’m in charge of and can handle, always putting everyone around me first. But what if I wanted to be put first? I do so much for the sake of others but it never seems to be returned, never compensated for the mental strain. Well, maybe I want to. Maybe I want to be loved like I see others, rough and real. I have no clue how I even would, I can barely handle touching myself before I'm overwhelmed. But I just want someone else to take the reins, show me that I don't have to work my brain so hard and can just numb out. That's not too much to ask, right? Just someone who can love me, not some creep or one night thing, someone who cares. If I never ask for anything again, that would be it. Someone who wants me for me.”

He could have died. The brunette’s cheeks dark as he re-read the crumbled page, excitement coursing through him. In his mind, he wanted to storm upstairs and just rattle you then, showing you how good he could treat you. It was like a bomb had gone off, Toby having to pretend like him having a crush on you wasn’t achingly obvious, convincing himself he just didn’t know how to act around women. But now it was clear, his mind racing with a million wants and needs, body spasming under the excitement. 

Convincing himself to leave, he slipped the note into his pocket, body buzzing with excitement as he slid out your door. He would be back, like always. But this time, he would show you what you truly needed, what only he could give you. 

-

Like always, Toby left a note for the medication you needed to pick up, it sometimes changing week to week. Everything looked normal, the usual combination of pills reading off. But as you scanned the bottom, you groaned, shoving the paper into your pocket. Trilafon, Saphris, and… Plan B. As if your desperation for some affection couldn’t have gotten much worse, your heart twisted, a lump growing. Whether it be for some girl he was laying or a girlfriend he already had, you didn’t care, all you wanted was to get the medicine and go. Crawling into your bed sounded like a much more exciting activity than dwelling on the brunette, heart saddened in all the way you knew it shouldn’t. 

To make your night even better, Toby didn’t show. It wasn’t unusual, for him sometimes not to show up for days due to extensive missions. But a part of you longed to see him, especially after today, just to help your mind with the whole morning-after pill situation. So now, instead of imagining him surrounded by his friends on a mission, you imagined him towering over a girl. Strong arms holding her, body contorting to fit against hers… You could’ve been sick, shaking your head as you ate quickly and pressed upstairs, barely petting Addy before you slinked into bed, hauling the covers over your head. 

It was lonely on nights without his presence in your house. But especially tonight, thoughts racing uncontrollably to the point of tears, thick droplets streaking down your face as your chest hurt, longing for a body, any body, to hold close to yours. Maybe you really were just a transactional thing. 

-

Toby smiled as he trekked through the familiar stretch of woods to your house, heart racing in his chest. He had it all planned out, exactly what he wanted to do, his cock already twitching in his jeans. 

He hadn’t shown up tonight on purpose, hanging back at the mansion to take the best shower he could, Ben teasing him about how good he smelled as he was leaving. You had to be well in bed by now, body tired after working all day just for him. He would take care of you, showing just how grateful he was for how much you were giving up just for his friends and him. Pressing past the tree line, he smiled, pulling his hood down as all the lights in your home were out, signaling your retirement. 

Pressing up the steps, he slid the screen door open quietly, careful not to alert you as he clicked it shut. Stripping his hoodie, he tossed it onto the couch, Addy purring light against the cushions. It was warm in your house, black t-shirt hugging his arms as he untucked it from his jeans, climbing up the steps, his mask and goggles quick to come off next. 

He was too excited for his own good, boots stepping quietly against the old hardwood as he slinked to your door, fidgeting with the knob. A rush of your scent blew into his face, your perfume stout in your small bedroom, eyes searching around in the dark space for your bed. It wasn’t hard with your breathing, quiet snores making him smile as he leaned against your mattress, admiring your unawareness. You looked so peaceful, his bandaged fingers tracing your cheeks and brushing your hair from your face, your skin flinching under his touch. “Hi, baby…” He whispered, the pet name sounding right against his tongue as he referred to you, tugging the sheets down. 

Toby always knew how nice of a body you had, you sometimes sauntering around the house with shorts and a t-shirt and making his eyes trail just a little longer than normal. But now, under his cold hands, you were even more gorgeous. You were wearing an oversized shirt, a slight tug at the fabric revealing that you only had panties on underneath, you slightly stirring as his nails brushed your skin. The brunette was excitedly jittering, kicking his boots off as he climbed onto the bed, kneeling at your curled body sound asleep. You shifted, rolling onto your back as you breathed deep, stretching your arms before settling back into yourself. Toby could have died, your legs stretching out to rest around him, his cock twitching with interest against your now visible panties. A quiet sigh breathed through your lips.

That was all the invitation he needed. Running his cold hands under your shirt, he felt your warm skin and goosebumps rising as you squirmed under them. Your brows scrunched but Toby pressed further, running his fingers along your waist and up to your tits, palming the mounds gently as he smiled. It was crazy to him just how soft your skin was, not weathered or bruised from missions or nature, perfectly smooth under his axe-calloused hands. Pushing your shirt up to your chest, he gasped at your round tits, the weight so perfect in his hands as he pinched at your nipples, rubbing the nubs gently. Toby was never very sure of anything, always brushing through life at the command of others. But the one thing he was sure about? His love for boobs, especially yours. 

Nudging closer between your legs, he rested your knees on his thighs, leaning down to your chest as he popped a nipple into your mouth, sucking gently. The nub was hard against his tongue, slowly circling as he massaged the opposite one in his palm, pinching your nipple gently. That’s when you began to stir, hands sliding against the bed and unconsciously searching for the cause of your sensitivity. Lazy hands pushed against his face, soft groans echoing in the boy’s ears as he popped off your nipple and moved to the next one. Your hands fingered through his hair, tugging lightly until your eyes were beginning to flutter, your mind slowly coming alive. Toby let off your tit, kissing along your chest and licking a stripe between your tits, humming as he watched your eyes slowly blink open, confusion rocking you. He kneaded your tits gently, tugging at your nipples as you realized what was happening, eyes slowly widening as you strained to sit up against him. “Toby? Wha-” Your voice was scratchy, ridden with exhaustion as the brunette kissed up your neck to your cheeks, pushing you back down as he slotted himself flush between your legs. Slowly realizing what was happening, your cheeks flushed dark, hands pressing against his chest as you squirmed, nervously babbling as your body was still half asleep. “Lay b- back, baby… You’re so ti- tired, let me take c- care of you…” Toby sighed, running his hands back down along your skin, relishing in the way your body nervously shook under him.

You physically could not believe what was happening. This had to be a dream, some sick trick your mind was playing as you felt cold fingers hook under your panties, sliding them down. Heavy eyes wide, you grabbed his arms, clenching your thighs together against his waist. “No- No, wait- I don’t even, I mean, I’ve never-” Toby was already shushing you, gripping your wrists together and kissing your palms before pushing them back down to your sides, resuming his tug down your thighs. “I’ve go- got you. Don- Don’t gotta worry about a- a thing…” He smiled, raising your legs up to slide your panties down the rest of the way, hooking them off of your raised ankles before pulling you down closer to him, pushing your shirt over your head. “Read y- your journal, you don- don't gotta act protective, ba- baby. I know this is what y- you want…” If you weren’t already panicking, you definitely were now. 

You wanted to hound him for snooping through your journal, mouth opening to tell him off. But as his fingers brushed against the inside of your thigh, dangerously close to your folds, you lost all train of thought. He was watching you, eyes excited in the darkness of your room as he swiped his thumb closer again, your thighs flinching shut. “Anyone else e- ever touched here before?” He mumbled, pressing his thumb against your plump lips and tugging them open, getting a nice look at the wetness that was already forming between your folds. Shaking your head, Toby lit up, cock pushing hard against his jeans as he had to adjust his position, using both hands to pull your lips apart, sighing at how pretty your cunt was. Just something about knowing that Toby was claiming his stake on you, imprinting his touch for the first time before anyone else could, made something deep inside of him burn. It wasn’t like the brunette got much play himself, hooking up with a girl here and there, but being your first? That already made this so much better than any other girl could even try. 

Sliding his fingers through your wetness, you gasped, hands clutching the pillow behind your head as he groaned, spreading your arousal across your lower abdomen. You whined, thighs begging to clench together as he purposefully slid your juices over your cunt, pressing his thumb down against your swollen clit and jolting your back off the mattress. You had only ever masturbated here and there, your body getting too overwhelmed after one orgasm and forcing you to stop, but would Toby stop? As he brought his fingers to his lips and sucked them into his mouth, you doubted his restraint.

“Please be gentle…” You warned, hands planting on the mattress as you sat up, resting on your elbows as you watched Toby bring his digits back down to your cunt. He rolled his eyes playfully, tugging your folds open with his opposite hand as he pressed the tips of his fingers against your entrance, pressing in slowly. “I’ll try…” He laughed, your fingers gripping the sheets tight as you watched his fingers sink in slow, stretching your cunt uncomfortably. His index and middle fingers screwed into your tight walls gently, twisting his wrist to draw a moan from your lips, digits spreading against your gummy walls and making your entrance ache. “Just i- imagine my dick in here…” He cooed, eyes darting between your nervous face and your pretty cunt fluttering around just his fingers, barely even handling them. 

Pressing his opposite thumb against your clit, he began to rub in small circles, dragging your hips further and further off of the mattress until you were practically rolling your hips against him. His fingers probed in and out of your cunt at a slow pace, just enough to make you comfortable with the unfamiliar intrusion, but his arms ached to go faster, curl his fingers until you spasmed. “Toby…” You sighed, his hands moving in time with other as he screwed his fingers inside of you, angling them just enough so they pressed against your tight walls. His name sounded like heaven against your aroused tongue, so quiet but so desperate, secretly drawling for more. “Tell me w- what you want, ba- baby…” The pet name made your face hot, your stomach fluttering as you pressed back into the pillows, running your hands down to your thighs and squeezing the flesh. “I want… more…” You sighed through your arousal, cunt clenching desperately around Toby’s cold fingers, sucking them back inside every time he drew them out. The brunette laughed, pushing his feet under him to push his hips up against your ass, your hips raising off the bed as he fingered down into you. You could feel his cock straining behind his jeans below your raised ass, twitching needily with every tug of his fingers and moan that whined from your throat. His size was overwhelming, making your heart pound as Toby began to curl his fingers, making your eyes shut quickly. 

His fingers pressed so deep in your cunt, curling against your sensitive walls and making your jaw hang, beginning to press against your walls at a steady rhythm. It was like a new fire had lit under Toby, fingers screwing in at a quicker pace and making your stomach clench, face screwing into an overwhelmed feeling. His fingers pumped in, knuckles sinking in through your wetness and gripped by your gummy walls, curling his fingertips just right as he got deep. It was so intense, so rough, just a mess of slick and your wet cunt sounding through the room with every squelch as he abused your clit, swiping left and right quickly. Your thighs twitched and ached with every curl, trying to close around his hand practically fucking you into sensitivity. Your hands wrapped around his forearm quickly, begging his wrists to stop curling abusively inside of you as you tugged your nails into his skin. Toby wouldn’t, continuing to pump his fingers as he stared at your flushed face, cunt squelching embarrassingly loud. “Just a l- little more… Co- Come on…” He groaned, nudging his hips against your bare ass as his fingers milked moans and whines out of you, his fingers glistening with your arousal every time he tugged them out. He couldn’t feel you clawing at his arms, loud groans begging him to let up as your cunt clenched, molding around his thick fingers. 

You could feel your orgasm rolling through you, Toby huffing as the veins in his arms popped, his shoulder muscles straining against his shirt as he watched your face carefully, picking up as your moans became louder. “Gonna come f- for me? Yeah?” He teased, clothed cock twitching against your ass, pushing your cheeks apart as he rutted against you. He curled his fingers quicker, mumbling his arousal as he watched your cunt swell around him, clit throbbing under his thumb. Your orgasm hit you like a truck, stomach tightening and forcing you to sit up, Toby was quick to let off your clit and wrap his arm around your back, holding you up as he pumped your through your cunt squelching, tightening around his digits. Your eyes rolled, teeth grit tight as he palmed your clit, slowing his pace to a slow thrust as you became undone against him. No orgasm of your own had ever compared to that, head light and chest heavy as you breathed quickly, gripping Toby’s shirt tight. 

Refusing to let you go, Toby leaned in, pressing kisses against your neck and licking at your sweat, relishing in the warmth around his digits. You whined, cunt sensitive as he tugged his fingers out, his skin raw and pruned against the wetness coating his digits. Your folds were absolutely drenched, Toby spreading his fingers through your lips and pushing his sopping fingers over your warm thighs wrapped around him. “God, y- you’re so wet-” He gasped, pressing his fingertips back against your clit as he laid you back, gripping your tit. Your mind panicked, cunt flashing with sensitivity as he began to rub against your clit, swiping left and right against the rub quickly. “Toby- Stop- Toby, please-” You cried, breath catching in your throat as your stomach clenched, his fingers pressing hard as he pinched your nipples, eyes trained on your wet pussy. “You e- ever squirt before?” He smiled, transitioning fast between digging his fingers into your cunt and pulling them back out to swipe against your clit. It was nauseating, cunt crying desperately for relief as he dug nails into your tits. Gasping loudly, you gripped his arms, knees screwing tight against his sides as you cried out, hips bucking up against his hands. 

Every time his fingers slipped into your entrance, they squelched loudly, fluttering around the intrusion before desperately aching as they tugged out and moved onto your clit. “Squirt li- like a whore, m- mkay? Quit fightin’.” He hissed, letting his hand off your tit and scooping under your left knee, pushing it back to open your cunt wider, spreading your legs further apart. Your head was dizzy, heart pounding as you gasped for air, panting at every push of his fingers. You were already quick to cumming, but it felt weird, not that normal clench you felt in your stomach, more of a strain against your cunt itself. You cried out, tears slipping down your cheeks as he forced your pussy against his will, ruining you. 

As he swiped his fingertips down hard against your clit, your entrance clenched, mouth opening wide as you cried out, hips bucking up as you felt your cunt squirt, thighs trembling hard. There was literally nothing to compare it to, mind hazy as you sprayed onto his black shirt, his fingers digging into your entrance and pushing more juices out of your swollen folds. Toby was smiling, moaning his approval as he rubbed your clit softly, pushing the last of your orgasm out as you strained against the mattress. “Gunna fu- fuck you dumb, baby…” He growled, tugging the soaked shirt over his head and tossing it as he unzipped his jeans, tugging them down and off his legs as his cock hung heavy against your drenched cunt. You couldn’t even react, head spinning as Toby gripped your hips, pushing you onto your side as he grabbed your ankle, pulling it onto his shoulder and straddling your other. 

Neck craning with excitement, he teased the tip of his swollen cock between your folds, slicking himself up with your ruined juices. “This is wh- what you wanted, is- isn’t it?” He smiled wildly, pressing his cock into your ruined cunt, groaning loudly as you swallowed him in, warmth gripping tight as he gripped your leg, other hand stable on your tit. You groaned, face turned into the pillow as he began to thrust deep, giving you no mercy as he tugged at your nipple, biting at your calf as he fucked into you. You felt so full, your body so exhausted already as stretched you further, your entrance burning against the sting of this new girth. You squeezed him so tight, cock forcing itself deeper with every tug of his hips as you began to cry, tears staining your pillowcase.

“Fuckin’ tal- alk to me, baby. Gunna mak- make me cum al- already.” He sighed, teeth chewing against the meat of your calf as he pressed your cunt wider, sweat dripping from his nose as his curls clung to his forehead. He let off your tit, left hand slinking up to grip your jaw and turn your face back to look at him, your eyes heavy as they blurred with tears. Toby looked so good right now, cheeks dark against his freckles as he towered above you, cock pushing against your gummy walls and making your mouth hang. “So pretty…” He smiled, slinking his hand down to your throat and squeezing, cock pulsing as your face tightened, mouth gasping out as he clamped tighter, refusing you air. There was something so orgasmic about cutting your airway, watching your body react as he fucked your virgin cunt, holding your life in his hands. He had to breathe deep to stop himself from cumming, his violent brain spasming out. 

He pushed your ankle over his head, pulling out roughly as he rolled you onto your stomach, you gasping from the wave of air hitting your lungs. Pushing himself against your ass, Toby swore, pushing his cock back into your cunt as he pushed your back down, making you arch against him. “Just a l- little more, m’kay?” He growled, wrapping a hand around the back of your neck and squeezing hard, pressing your face down into the pillow. With a new pace, he fucked down into you wildly, hand kneading your ass hard as digging his nails into your skin, little welts forming across the soft flesh. Your muffled cries sounded against the pillow, head light and static filled as you gasped for air, Toby’s cock ramming down against your g-spot. “Never s- seen a bitch so willing, so des- desperate for my dick you’d gi- give it up so easily.” He teased, growling as he let off your neck, neck sore as he leaned down, pushing your hair off your neck. Toby hadn’t felt like this before, wanting to mark you, fucking you so desperately he wanted to carve his shape deep inside. He couldn’t let you go without knowing exactly who you craved, corrupting you, ruining you, molding you to fit only him. 

He licked against your shoulder, sucking onto the skin before he pressed his teeth, digging both hands into your hips as he sunk them in, groaning at the pop as your blood soaked his teeth. You were crying, screaming into the pillow as your entire body begged for him, craving him, mind going blank as your blood dripped from his chin as he licked at the wound. He pressed on, nibbling into the crook of your neck and sucking revolting hickies into your skin, marking you like an animal. “Wan- Want you to come on m- my cock, baby. I got- gotta fill you full, want y- you ruined for everyone b- but me.” He mumbled quickly, cock begging to spill inside of your warm cunt as you reached around, gripping his hair as he sunk his teeth in again, walls fluttering around him. You pulled his hair, dragging his mouth off of your neck and to your lips, smashing your swollen, tear-stained lips against his as he groaned, kissing you roughly. 

You were cumming again, back arching onto Toby’s cock as you moaned into his mouth, walls holding him tight inside. He tried to move, to continue thrusting, but you were so tight all he could do was rutt his hips, begging for friction as his own seed spilt, his brows screwing tight as he came deep inside of you, warm cum seeping deep into your cunt. Your mind was blank, eyes rolled as you cried into his grasp, his nails digging into your hips until you were nearly bleeding. Your cunt squelched, milking his cock as he finally pulled from your lips, letting the last of your orgasms fizzle out before he pushed off of you, slowly tugging himself out as you whined. Looking back, his cock was soaked, glistening with your arousal and streaks of blood, Toby’s eyes wide. “Ah… Yo- You tore…” He hissed, wiping his soft cock with his shirt before pulling his boxers on, quickly trotting out of your room. You dropped your head back onto the pillow, cunt aching and body ruined as you sat in your sweat and each other’s cum, mind tired as you slowly blinked. 

Toby was back in seconds, a water bottle, a wet rag, and a small bag all in tow as he climbed back onto the bed, flipping your lazy body onto your back. You smiled, sipping the water bottle slowly as he began to clean you up, gently running the warm rag between your folds and against your thighs until he was satisfied, gently rubbing your skin. Finally, he grabbed the bag, your confusion evident as he tugged out the prescription bag, rummaging for the plan b he made you buy and popping one of the pills out, handing it to you as he smiled. Your chest welled, previous anxiety dissipating until you began to tear up, taking the small pill before reaching to wrap your arms around his neck, tugging him down next to you. Toby went easily, body cradling against yours as he kissed against the bruised spots on your neck, rubbing your bite mark gently.

As you began to doze, Toby mumbled something about your note, your mind too dizzy to hear the rest. The last thing you saw was a subtle flash behind your eyelids, sleep overtaking you as Toby held you close.

-

Morning came quickly, your body stirring, reaching for Toby but finding the bed empty. Confused, you sat up, eyes heavy and head still pounding but you pressed off the bed anyway, searching for the boy. Downstairs, on the countertop, laid his hoodie neatly folded, with a small piece of paper resting on top. Sauntering over, you reached for the top, sliding it over your head, it falling before your hips as you gripped the paper, reading its contents.

On a mission. Be back later tonight. Meanwhile, enjoy ;)

Flipping the paper over, you gasped, slapping your hand over your mouth. A small picture was taped to the back, a polaroid-type photo of the two of you cradled together, your bare body pressed against his, bruises and sweat on full display. Smiling, you tucked it into his pocket, breathing the scent of his hoodie deep as Addy circled your ankles, begging for breakfast. 

Staring out your back porch door, you made sure it was unlocked, always open for him. Killer or not, that boy was yours now, accepting his every mishap the same way he did yours. For the first time in a long time, you felt wanted. 

Rest in Hell, Mr. Higgs.

This was an anonymous request!

Comments and reblogs are appreciated! 𐚁₊⊹

[strwbyoons]

NO ONE ELSE

STARRING ... BEST FRIEND'S BROTHER!M. YOONGI X READER

WORD COUNT ... 10.4K

SUMMARY ... yoongi doesn’t know what you want from him, but he knows he wants you.

NOTES/WARNINGS ... slight angst. smut (18+/MDNI). i needed these two to fuck so bad. making them official because they mean the world to me <33 taehyung flirting with reader. jealous!yoongi. basically-lovers-but-not-really to lovers. fingering, p in v sex, protected sex. if i forgot anything let me know.

playlist : still into you (paramore), snooze (sza), kiss me (sixpence none the richer), so american (olivia rodrigo), pink + white (frank ocean), still the one (shania twain), runaway (the corrs), kiss from a rose (seal), are you bored yet? (wallows), here with me (d4vd)

you wake up to the sound of yoongi’s alarm vibrating against the nightstand.

it’s early. too early. the sky outside is still a soft shade of orange, and the only reason you’re even awake is because yoongi, in his infinite wisdom, forgot to turn off his alarm before rolling out of bed to use the bathroom.

and now it’s going off, loud and persistent.

with a groan, you shove your face deeper into his pillow, blindly reaching out to slap at his phone until it stops.

silence. finally.

except, now you’re awake. and now you’re aware. of the lingering warmth beside you, the faint scent of his shampoo clinging to the pillowcase, the way his blanket is still wrapped around you, heavy and comforting.

yoongi’s bed is dangerously comfortable.

it always has been, which is probably why you keep ending up here, despite all the logical reasons why you shouldn’t.

there’s an unspoken understanding between you. whatever this is, whatever you’ve let it become, doesn’t get talked about. doesn’t get labeled. doesn’t change anything outside the walls of his room.

the bathroom door creaks open, and you barely lift your head as yoongi walks back in, hair a mess, hoodie slung loosely over his shoulders, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"your alarm is annoying," you mumble, voice heavy with sleep.

"your face is annoying," he mutters back, dropping onto the bed with zero grace, exhaling sharply when his head hits the pillow beside yours. for a second, neither of you move.

then, yoongi shifts, turning onto his side, gaze flicking over your face like he’s searching for something. he must find it, because his lips twitch, just slightly.

"go back to sleep," he murmurs, tugging the blanket higher over your shoulders.

it should be weird. it should be so weird. but it’s not, so you do.

next time you wake up, yoongi’s side of the bed is cold and empty, and his bedroom door is open.

the house is quiet, save for the faint sound of the tv murmuring from the living room. you stretch, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, before finally dragging yourself out of bed, blanket still wrapped around your shoulders as you shuffle out into the hall.

yoongi’s mom is in the kitchen, flipping through a newspaper with a cup of tea in hand. she looks up when she hears you, barely fazed by the fact that you just crawled out of her son’s bedroom like it’s the most normal thing in the world because, at this point, it is.

“morning, sweetheart,” she hums, setting her mug down.

you blink, still half-asleep. “morning.”

her lips twitch slightly, and then she gives you the look.

the same knowing glance she’s been giving you for months now, the one that says you’re not as sneaky as you think you are but also i’ll let you keep pretending anyway.

heat creeps up the back of your neck, but you don’t acknowledge it, just tug the blanket tighter around yourself and step toward the fridge.

“yoongi up?” you ask, peering inside.

“mm,” she hums. “went out a while ago. said something about needing a new lighter.”

you roll your eyes, grabbing a carton of juice. of course. because god forbid he go a full twenty-four hours without replacing one of the dozen lighters he somehow loses in his own room.

you pour yourself a glass, avoiding his mom’s eyes, but you can feel her looking. assessing. thinking about whether or not she should say whatever’s sitting on the tip of her tongue.

and then, “just make sure you're using protection.”

you nearly choke on your juice. “what?”

she shrugs, oh-so-casual, turning a page in her newspaper. “just making sure.”

you gape at her. yoongi’s mom, the same woman who once scolded you and his sister for sneaking out at sixteen, now just casually suggesting that you and yoongi have been fucking each other in his room—which you've thought about, but in any which case is hardly any of her business.

before you can even think of a response, the front door swings open.

yoongi steps inside, looking obnoxiously unbothered, a fresh pack of cigarettes and a new lighter tucked between his fingers. he glances between you and his mom, brows furrowing slightly at your expression.

“what’s with you?”

you shake your head, gulping down the rest of your juice before setting the glass in the sink. “nothing.”

he narrows his eyes, clearly not believing you, but doesn’t push it. just tosses his lighter onto the counter and leans against it, watching as you continue standing there, blanket still wrapped around your shoulders, looking way too much like you belong here.

his mom, still smirking, picks up her tea again. “you kids hungry?”

yoongi shrugs. “i could eat.”

you exhale sharply, running a hand through your hair. “yeah. me too.”

his mom just hums, standing up and patting your cheek on the way to the stove.

yoongi steps up beside you soon after, close enough that you catch the faint scent of his shampoo, something fruity and familiar. he doesn’t say anything at first, just watches as you rinse out your glass, the weight of his gaze settling over you like a second blanket.

then an arm loops around your waist. it’s lazy, effortless. like it’s second nature to him now, the way he pulls you in, his fingers resting against the curve of your hip, thumb brushing slow, absentminded circles against your shirt.

you freeze, because his mom is still standing by the stove, very much aware and very much watching. yoongi doesn’t seem to care. instead, he dips his head, pressing a kiss to your temple, soft and fleeting, barely there at all.

he lingers for a second longer, like maybe he wants to say something. maybe he’s thinking about it. but then his mom clears her throat.

not pointedly, not in a hey get your hands off that girl kind of way, but in a so are you two finally gonna get your shit together, or? kind of way.

yoongi ignores her completely. just tugs you closer, resting his chin on top of your head, and sighs. “did you finish all the juice?”

“no,” you say, voice barely above a whisper. “there’s more.”

“good,” he murmurs, and that’s it. no teasing, no biting remarks. just this. his voice low and steady, his fingers still tracing idle circles against your side, holding you there like it’s nothing. like it’s everything.

his mom watches for a moment longer, sipping her tea. then, with a shake of her head, she turns back to the stove, muttering something about how she didn’t sign up for this bullshit but is too old to care anymore.

you should pull away. you really, really should. instead, you lean into him just a little more.

yoongi hums against your hair, the sound deep and quiet. “heading to the skate park later,” he murmurs. “gonna meet up with the others.” his fingers tap lightly against your hip, a slow, absent rhythm. “wanna come?”

you’ve been struggling to make friends in his sister’s absence. it’s not like you haven’t been trying. you’ve put yourself out there, made conversation, said yes to plans. but whatever you had going on with yoongi weighed enough guilt on your shoulders to sink you.

because replacing your best friend wouldn’t make you feel any better. wouldn’t fix the fact that she wasn’t here anymore and you had whatever you had going on with her brother.

but then again, if you had other friends, maybe you wouldn’t need to rely on yoongi’s presence so heavily. maybe you wouldn’t be here so much.

you were practically living with the mins at this point, rotating between yoongi’s room and his sister's, burrowing into the space she left behind like a stray cat that refused to be shooed away. as much as you loved being here, you also kind of hated it. hated feeling like a burden, like you were pushing too hard against the edges of a home that wasn’t really yours.

you’d only vanished for dinners with your own family after text after text about how they never see you anymore.

oops.

you shift, exhaling slowly, pressing your fingers into the warmth of yoongi’s hoodie. “who’s going?”

he shrugs against you. “jungkook, tae. maybe joon.”

you think about it. think about how nice it would be to get out of the house for a while. but mostly, you think about how you’re already too tangled up in yoongi’s orbit.

still, you murmur, “okay.”

yoongi doesn’t say anything right away. just tugs you in a little closer, fingers tightening at your hip, and presses another kiss to your forehead. lingering this time, sealing something in place. then, softly, “okay.”

he pulls back first, but only just. his hand stays at your waist, warm and grounding, making sure you don’t change your mind. “eat first,” he murmurs, gaze flicking toward the stove where his mom is flipping eggs. “then shower.”

you blink up at him. “are you calling me dirty?”

his lips twitch. “i’m saying you should shower.”

“sounds fake.”

he huffs, amused but unimpressed. “fine. smell like sleep and my hoodies forever. see if i care.”

you roll your eyes, finally stepping away from him, though you hate the way the absence of his touch feels so immediately wrong. still, you school your features into something appropriately annoyed as you grab a plate from the cabinet.

“can’t believe you’re bullying me first thing in the morning,” you mutter, grabbing a piece of toast.

yoongi snorts, swiping a slice of bacon off the stove before his mom can slap his hand away. “can’t believe you’re still talking.”

his mom groans. “i knew letting you two coexist was a mistake.”

you flash her a grin. “too late now.”

she just shakes her head, turning back to the stove.

yoongi bumps your hip with his before plopping down at the table, stretching his legs out obnoxiously under it. “shower,” he reminds you, mouth half-full of bacon.

you flip him off. he grins.

you roll your eyes, filling your plate with toast and bacon before sliding into the chair across from him. yoongi watches you with that lazy, knowing look, already knowing you’re going to stall as long as possible just to be a menace.

his mom sets a plate down in front of him, shaking her head. “if i hear either of you bickering before i finish my tea, i’m kicking you both out.”

“you love us,” you say, because it’s true.

she sighs, taking a sip. “unfortunately.”

yoongi snickers, stealing another piece of bacon. you don’t miss the way his mom flicks her gaze between the two of you, trying to decide if it’s worth saying anything else. but she just shakes her head again tbefore flipping open the newspaper.

you eat in comfortable silence, nudging at yoongi’s foot under the table just to be annoying. he nudges back. neither of you acknowledge it.

when you finally push your plate away, yoongi lifts a brow. “shower.”

you groan, slumping dramatically against the table. “why do you care so much?”

he chews, swallows, and says, “because you smell like my bed.”

your face heats instantly. “so?”

yoongi shrugs, reaching for his drink. “so people will think i’m obsessed with you or something.”

your heart stumbles over itself, trips and falls flat on its face.

“you are obsessed with me,” you blurt out, pointing at him. “admit it.”

he snorts, taking a sip of his juice. “nah.”

“liar.”

he just shrugs again. “go shower,” he says, pushing back from the table. “we’re leaving in twenty.”

you glare at him, but you still stand up, dragging your feet toward the hallway, making a show of how annoying this whole thing is.

right before you disappear into the bathroom, yoongi calls after you, voice laced with amusement. “don’t use my shampoo.”

you slam the door.

you knew yoongi liked to skate. it's been one of his most defining characteristics since the three of you were kids. along with his habit of being annoying and his penchant to get into trouble.

he'd showed you his collection of skateboards that day on his birthday, explaining how much he'd bought them for, showing you the designs he'd painted onto them himself, and telling you the tricks he'd done on them.

his hair had been blonde then. six months later, it’s a more minty color, faded at the roots. it suits him, you think. even if you’d never tell him that.

the walk to the skate park is quiet. comfortable. the late morning sun filters through the trees, casting warm patches of light onto the pavement, and the air still carries the crispness of early spring.

the path slopes downward, and you hesitate before saying, “i’ve been thinking about applying for an art course.”

“yeah,” yoongi says, kicking a loose rock down the path. “i heard you talking to my sister about it.”

you blink. “you eavesdropped on my call?”

he snorts. “you were in my room.”

fair point.

you nudge him with your elbow, ignoring the way your stomach twists at the idea of him remembering something so small. “so?”

he side-eyes you. “so what?”

you huff. “so, what do you think?”

yoongi rolls his shoulders like it’s obvious. “i think you should do it.”

it’s so simple. so straightforward. like there isn’t even a question in his mind about it.

you chew your lip, staring down at the pavement. “i dunno,” you mumble. “feels kind of stupid.”

yoongi stops walking. you get two more steps ahead before you realize and turn back, watching as he lifts a brow, expression flat.

“what?” you say.

his eyes flick over your face, unimpressed. “what’s stupid about it?”

you shift on your feet. “i don’t know. just... feels kind of late to be figuring out what i wanna do, i guess.”

yoongi stares at you for another long moment. then, without a word, he starts walking again. you fall into step beside him.

“you know namjoon didn’t start writing music until he was almost twenty?” he says eventually.

you frown. “that’s different.”

“not really.”

you glance at him, but he’s still looking ahead, expression unreadable.

“do it,” he says again, voice a little quieter this time. a little less teasing. “stop thinking about it and just do it.”

you exhale slowly, dragging your fingers along the strap of your bag. it’s so easy for him to say. but then again, yoongi has always done whatever he wanted, no matter how much trouble it got him into. maybe you should try it, too.

with that thought, your eyes linger on the side of yoongi’s face.

he’s always been like this. steady, sure of himself in a way that makes you envious. not in a loud, look-at-me way, but in a way that just is. like he’s figured out how to move through life without getting caught up in the little things that keep you stuck in place.

his gaze is focused ahead, brows drawn slightly, thinking about something but not saying what. the sharp line of his jaw softens when he chews at the inside of his cheek, something he does when he’s lost in thought.

you wonder what he’s thinking about. if it’s you, or if you’re just making it about you.

either way, you don’t look away.

maybe he feels your stare, or maybe he just knows, because after another few steps, he turns his head, catching your gaze like he was expecting it.

you don’t get the chance to glance away, to play it off.

his lips twitch slightly, the barest hint of amusement. “what?”

you shake your head, shrugging. “nothing.”

yoongi lifts a brow but doesn’t push. just keeps walking, hands still shoved deep into his pockets, that same small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth like he knows something you don’t.

and maybe he does.

you're familiar with some of yoongi’s friends. not in a close way, but enough that their names and faces aren’t completely foreign.

namjoon’s the oldest of his skater friends, the one who’s always been around in some capacity, showing up at the min’s house just as much as you used to. taehyung is newer, though still familiar. he’s got one of those personalities that makes you feel like you’ve known him forever, even if you’ve only spoken a handful of times.

and then there’s jungkook.

he was a year above you in school, and if that wasn’t enough to cement him in your memory, yoongi’s sister having the fattest crush on him definitely was.

you remember the way she used to sigh dramatically about him, how she’d make you wait outside the gym after basketball practice just to happen to be there when he walked out.

it was embarrassing.

the skate park is already busy when you arrive, full of guys who look like they’ve been here since sunrise, boards tucked under their arms, half-drunk bottles of gatorade left forgotten on the ledges.

yoongi barely glances around before spotting his friends near the bowl, plopping down on a nearby bench.

“you wanna sit and watch?” he asks, looking at you expectantly.

you hesitate, toeing at a crack in the pavement. jungkook, who’s already mid-conversation with taehyung, spots you first.

“oh, shit,” he says, grin spreading. “yoongi actually brought someone?”

taehyung turns too, eyes widening slightly before recognition clicks. “oh, wait. i know you.”

jungkook’s brow furrows, scanning you again. “yeah, you were a grade below me, right?”

you nod. “yeah. and yoongi’s sister used to be obsessed with you.”

jungkook groans immediately, dragging a hand down his face. “please don’t remind me.”

yoongi snickers beside you. “it was painful to watch, man.”

taehyung laughs, draping an arm over jungkook’s shoulder. “so you do have rizz.”

jungkook shoves him off. “shut up.”

you snort, easing onto the bench next to yoongi, feeling the tension in your chest uncoil just a little. maybe this won’t be so bad.

jungkook shakes his head, still grumbling under his breath about why does everyone keep bringing that up, but the conversation moves on quickly. taehyung says something about a new trick he’s been trying to land, and jungkook immediately challenges him to prove it.

yoongi stretches out beside you, one arm draped across the back of the bench, fingers tapping idly against the wood. he doesn’t seem in a rush to get up, which means you’re not in a rush to either.

“so, you actually skate?” you ask, nodding toward where taehyung is already flipping his board into his hands, preparing for his turn.

yoongi scoffs. “do i skate?”

you lift a brow.

he exhales, sitting up straighter. “i’m not just some guy with a collection, you know.”

“i dunno,” you tease, tilting your head. “i’ve never actually seen you do anything.”

yoongi narrows his eyes. “i showed you my boards.”

“yeah, but that’s like—” you wave a hand, “—showing off a bunch of guitars and never playing one.”

yoongi clicks his tongue, shaking his head. then, without a word, he stands, rolling his shoulders as he grabs his board.

“stay here,” he murmurs before stepping toward the bowl.

taehyung and jungkook are already watching as yoongi drops in, casual as ever, carving the curve of the bowl like it’s second nature.

and okay. fine. maybe you underestimated him a little. because yoongi doesn’t just skate. he’s good.

like, really good. smooth and effortless in a way that looks instinctual. you don’t realize you’re staring until jungkook nudges your arm, smirking.

“damn,” he muses, watching yoongi flip his board before landing clean. “you got a crush or something?”

your stomach flips. “shut up.”

jungkook just laughs.

yoongi moves like he’s been doing this forever. he doesn’t hesitate before dropping in again, knees bending smoothly with the curve of the bowl, shifting his weight just right before pushing into his next trick.

your eyes stay locked on him, unable to look away as he kicks his board up into a perfect flip, landing clean, not even the slightest stumble. he’s completely in his element. focused, sharp, like nothing outside of this moment exists.

you exhale, dragging your fingers across the edge of your sleeve.

“you’re staring,” jungkook teases under his breath, leaning close.

you glare, shoving him away. “i’m watching.”

jungkook snorts, clearly unbothered. “sure. whatever helps you sleep at night.”

but you don’t take the bait. not when yoongi lands another trick, smooth and seamless, and something tightens in your chest.

because damn. you never doubted that he could skate, but you didn’t expect this. the precision. the ease. the way he moves.

taehyung whistles low, impressed. “he’s showing off.”

you blink. “what?”

taehyung nods toward yoongi, who’s gearing up for another drop-in, his hoodie pulled up over his head now, mint-colored strands falling into his eyes.

“he wasn’t doing all this last time we were here,” taehyung muses, tilting his head. “probably trying to impress someone.”

you roll your eyes, but your stomach does a weird little flip anyway.

jungkook smirks. “wonder who that could be.”

you elbow him in the ribs.

yoongi lands another clean trick, kicking his board up into his hands before finally stepping off, exhaling through his nose as he pushes his hoodie back.

his eyes scan the park once before landing on you, and—

oh. he’s smirking.

a knowing little thing, subtle but there.

your face heats instantly, and you hate the way jungkook and taehyung both make noises of confirmation at the same time.

yoongi strolls over, board tucked under one arm, sweat gathering at his hairline. he stops in front of you, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

“so?” he says, tilting his head. “believe me now?”

you cross your arms, forcing your expression into something unimpressed. “eh,” you hum. “i guess you can skate.”

yoongi huffs, shaking his head like. he leans in slightly, gaze flicking over your face, voice quieter when he murmurs “you were watching pretty hard for someone who just guesses.”

"fuck off," you say with a scoff.

taehyung points a dramatic finger at you, his eyes wide with mock intensity. “my turn!” he announces, loud enough to catch the attention of a few other skaters nearby, “this is for you.”

you blink. “uh—”

before you can even ask what he means, taehyung grabs his board, squares his shoulders, and launches into what you assume is supposed to be an ollie.

except his timing is completely off. his foot misses the pop, his weight shifts too far forward, and then he’s face-planting straight into the pavement.

it happens so fast you barely have time to react. one second he’s in the air, the next he’s sprawled out on the ground, limbs tangled with his board, the dull slap of skin meeting concrete ringing through the air.

there’s a brief, stunned silence, and then jungkook wheezes. yoongi snorts so hard he has to clap a hand over his mouth, and you press your fingers to your lips, trying—and failing—to suppress your laugh.

taehyung groans, lifting his head just enough to glare at the three of you. “y’all suck.”

jungkook clutches his stomach, barely able to get words out. “bro, i can’t breathe—”

yoongi shakes his head, stepping toward you. his arm hooks around your waist, tugging you flush against his chest, your laughter cutting off with a small, surprised inhale.

his voice is lower, teasing but warm, as he murmurs, “that’s what he gets for trying to impress my girl.”

your stomach flips. the words settle heavy in your chest, something warm spreading from your ribs outward, curling into your fingers, making your breath hitch just slightly.

yoongi doesn't let go right away, his hold lingering, fingers flexing slightly at your hip like he’s perfectly comfortable keeping you there.

taehyung, still facedown on the pavement, mutters, “i hate all of you.”

yoongi hums, completely unbothered. “you’ll live.”

the skate park trip lasts another hour before the collective hunger settles in. someone suggests maccas, and there’s no argument. because really, there’s no better way to wrap up an afternoon of skating than cheap burgers and greasy fries, so you all walk.

yoongi’s close beside you, like he always is, hands stuffed in his hoodie pockets, shoulders relaxed. taehyung walks ahead, still rubbing at his scraped-up elbow, while jungkook pushes his board lazily along the sidewalk, rolling it forward with the tip of his shoe.

“so,” jungkook starts, voice full of something already obnoxious, “are you two, like… together or what?”

your reaction is immediate. “no,” you blurt, way too quickly, way too defensively.

yoongi huffs. it’s quiet, barely a breath, but you hear it. so does jungkook.

his brows shoot up, not expecting the level of urgency in your denial. yoongi, for his part, doesn’t say anything, but you feel the way his shoulders tense for a split second. the way his head tilts slightly, side-eyeing you.

you don’t look at him.

jungkook whistles low. “damn. that was fast.”

“right?” taehyung snickers.

your face heats. “because it’s not a thing.”

jungkook hums, unconvinced. “sure.”

taehyung nods. “yeah, totally. absolutely no thing happening here.”

you glare, shoving him as you walk past. yoongi stays quiet.

you don’t glance at him, but you feel his presence beside you, the weight of something tense hanging in the space between you. it doesn’t go away for the rest of the walk.

the mcdonald's is busy when you arrive, buzzing with the usual mix of skateboarders, students, and exhausted parents just trying to survive the afternoon rush.

the four of you shuffle into line, the overhead speaker crackling with some pop song that’s been playing on every radio station for months. jungkook and taehyung are still laughing about something behind you, but you don’t catch it. not when yoongi’s standing beside you, gaze straightforward.

you don’t know why you do it. maybe out of habit. maybe to see if he’ll react. but you nudge his arm, light, just a little bump against his sleeve.

he doesn’t move, doesn’t nudge back. doesn’t even look at you.

your stomach twists, something uncomfortably hot settling behind your ribs. yoongi doesn’t usually ignore you, at least not like this. not in a way that feels so intentional.

still, you don’t say anything.

the line moves forward. when you finally reach the counter, yoongi steps up first, rattling off his usual order without looking at the menu. and then he orders yours, too.

exactly how you like it. down to the make sure there's no pickles.

you blink, caught off guard, but before you can ask, yoongi beats you to it. “i know you don’t have money on you.”

you swallow, shifting on your feet. “oh.”

yoongi doesn’t glance at you. just hands the cashier a crumpled bill from his hoodie pocket.

“thanks,” you mumble, voice quieter than you mean it to be.

yoongi just hums. no teasing. no smug little comment. and that makes your chest ache even more.

you fidget with the hem of your sleeve, shifting closer before tilting your head up, peering up at him through your lashes. “… are you mad at me?”

yoongi exhales sharply through his nose. not annoyed, not exasperated. just something.

he tugs you against him. not rough, just a simple pull, his arm looping around your shoulder. his hoodie smells like faded detergent and cheap cigarette smoke and something unmistakably him.

“i’m not mad,” he murmurs, voice low, steady.

you don’t know what to do with your hands, so you just shove them into your own pockets, fingers curling into the fabric. “… promise?”

yoongi sighs, his grip tightening slightly before his chin rests against the top of your head. “yeah,” he mutters. “promise.”

he presses a kiss to your forehead. a silent reassurance. a quiet see? i’m not mad. “don’t worry about it,” he murmurs, voice low, steady.

and you nod, leaning into him.

the playground is quiet this time of day, mostly empty aside from the four of you and the occasional kid passing by with their parents.

jungkook lounges at the bottom of the slide, food balanced on his knees, absentmindedly sipping his coke. yoongi sits a little further off, at the edge of the sandpit, one leg stretched out, the other bent, balancing his burger in one hand.

you and taehyung are on the swings, feet planted in the sand, your bags resting on your laps. the metal creaks slightly as taehyung shifts, twisting just enough to face you, an amused glint in his eyes.

“yours any good?” he asks, nodding toward your milkshake.

you hum, taking another sip. “mm-hmm.”

he leans in, offering his cup, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “wanna try mine?”

you blink at him. “it’s the same flavor.”

he pauses, then laughs, shaking his head. “yeah, but maybe mine tastes better.”

you frown, taking his drink anyway, sipping through the straw before handing it back. “nope. exactly the same.”

taehyung snorts. “right. obviously.”

you don’t catch the way he watches you for a second longer than necessary, or the way yoongi’s gaze flicks over from where he’s sitting.

your fries are nearly gone when tragedy strikes. you shift a little too much, and what’s left of them topples straight into the sand.

you let out a groan, staring down at them in dismay.

taehyung doesn’t hesitate, nudging his own toward you. “here,” he says, tone light, almost teasing. “you can have some of mine. since i’m so generous.”

you smile, grabbing a handful. “thanks, taehyungie. you’re my favorite.”

taehyung blinks, not expecting that response, then recovers quickly, smirk returning. “oh, am i?”

you nod, popping a fry into your mouth. “mm-hmm.”

“better not let yoongi hear that,” he muses, leaning closer, voice dipping just a little lower. “he might get jealous.”

you glance over at yoongi, who hasn’t reacted at all. still sitting there, picking at the wrapper of his burger, expression unreadable. then you shrug, completely missing the way taehyung’s eyes narrow in amusement.

“he’ll live,” you say, reaching for another fry.

taehyung watches you for a moment, absently sipping his milkshake, before tilting his head. "so, you and yoongi," he starts, casual. too casual. "really not a thing?"

you pause. it’s a split-second hesitation, but it's there, and taehyung doesn’t miss it.

you glance over at yoongi before you can stop yourself, like your body reacts before your brain can catch up. he’s still sitting on the edge of the sandpit, half-focused on peeling the wrapper off his burger, but his jaw is tight, his fingers a little too still.

you swallow, forcing yourself to look back at taehyung.

"no," you say, a little slower this time. "we're not."

taehyung hums, he’s turning it over in his mind.

"so, hypothetically," he muses, stretching out his legs in the sand, "if someone, say, me, wanted to take you out—"

you blink.

"—you wouldn't be off limits or anything, right?"

your lips part slightly, confusion flickering across your face before you shake your head. "uh… no?"

taehyung grins, dragging a fry through his ketchup before popping it into his mouth. "good to know."

you don’t even have time to process that before he shifts again, leaning slightly into your space, his voice dipping just enough to make your ears warm.

he nods toward yoongi, then toward himself, smirking. "technically, you’re with me right now."

you scoff, rolling your eyes. "you wish, taehyung."

"oh, i do," he says smoothly, sipping his milkshake like it's nothing.

you shake your head, tossing a fry at him, and he catches it without missing a beat.

from the edge of the sandpit, yoongi exhales sharply through his nose.

the conversation drifts after that, slipping into something lighter. taehyung teasing jungkook about his tragic attempt at a kickflip earlier, jungkook firing back with a dig about taehyung eating dirt at the skate park.

you listen, half-engaged, but the weight of something still sits in your chest.

yoongi hasn’t said much. hasn’t looked at you much, either.

he finished eating a while ago, now idly toying with the straw in his drink, long fingers tapping a slow, absent rhythm against the plastic cup.

then, after a moment, “we should go.” his voice is even, casual, but something about it makes you straighten a little too quickly.

“yeah,” you say, standing, dusting sand off your jeans. “sounds good.”

taehyung flashes a grin, tilting his head up at you from his swing. “what, leaving me already?”

you roll your eyes. “yeh, i’m done with you losers.”

jungkook snickers from his spot at the slide, but doesn’t comment.

you move to fall in step beside yoongi like you always do, but when you do, he kind of shrugs past you. not harsh, not in an outright dismissive way, but pointed enough that you feel it.

your feet hesitate for a split second before moving again, catching up despite the slight hitch in your chest.

yoongi doesn’t look at you. doesn’t say anything else.

just walks, hands shoved in his hoodie pockets, gaze fixed ahead like there’s nothing to talk about. but you feel it. something in the space between you feels different. feels off.

and you don’t know what to do about it.

the walk home is quiet.

it’s not an awkward silence, not exactly, but it’s not the usual kind either. not the comfortable kind that’s filled with shared looks and nudges and stupid little comments that don’t really mean anything but still feel like something.

this silence is… something else. something heavier.

yoongi walks ahead, hands still shoved into his hoodie pockets, his pace easy, unbothered. you trail behind him, dragging your feet just enough to make yourself feel pathetic.

you don’t want to feel like this. don’t want to care that he’s keeping just a little too much distance between you, or that he hasn’t looked at you once since you left the playground, or that your stomach still twists a little too tightly when you think about the way he brushed past you.

but you do care. you care a lot.

you bite the inside of your cheek, arms crossed as you stare down at the pavement, forcing yourself to keep moving, to pretend like this doesn’t feel like some kind of punishment for something you don’t even understand.

when you finally reach his house, yoongi steps inside first, toeing off his shoes without a word before heading toward his room.

you hesitate at the entrance, shifting your weight between your feet.

technically, you don’t live here. technically, you could just turn around and go home. but you don’t. you never do.

so, with a quiet sigh, you step inside, closing the door behind you.

you linger by the entryway for a second longer than necessary, watching yoongi’s back as he disappears down the hall. he doesn’t look back, doesn’t wait for you.

so you swallow hard, shoulders curling inward, and follow after him anyway.

by the time you make it up to his room, yoongi’s already in the bathroom. the door isn’t closed all the way. just slightly ajar, steam from the sink curling into the dimly lit hallway. you hesitate for a second, fingers grazing the edge of your sleeve, before stepping inside.

he doesn’t acknowledge you at first.

just stands there, leaning over the sink, brushing his teeth with slow, methodical strokes, his hoodie peeled off and discarded somewhere on the floor. his hair is slightly damp at the ends, probably from splashing his face, mint-colored strands curling just slightly.

you grab your own toothbrush from the cup beside the faucet, running it under the water before squeezing out too much toothpaste. yoongi doesn’t glance at you, so you don’t glance at him either.

the silence is thick.

your shoulders brush as you move, barely, a light little thing that normally wouldn’t mean anything. except tonight, it does. tonight, you notice.

tonight, it feels like yoongi not nudging you back in the maccas line. it feels like yoongi shrugging past you instead of waiting.

you stare at your reflection in the mirror, at the way your brows are slightly furrowed, the way your mouth presses into a thin line as you scrub your teeth a little too hard.

this isn’t normal. normally, this is easy.

normally, you’d be bumping into each other, making faces in the mirror, shoving at his arm when he spits toothpaste too aggressively into the sink.

but tonight, he just brushes his teeth, and you do the same, and neither of you say a word.

when you finish brushing, you hesitate. just for a second.

toothbrush still in hand, you glance at yoongi out of the corner of your eye, watching as he rinses his mouth, spits, and swipes his hand across his face. he doesn’t look at you, just flicks off the faucet with a sharp movement and reaches for his towel.

your stomach feels tight. you should say something, but you don’t.

instead, you put your toothbrush back in the cup and turn toward his room, stepping past him without a word.

but before you can take another step, yoongi grabs you by the shoulders. his touch isn’t rough, but it’s firm. fingers pressing into the fabric of your shirt, stopping you cold.

your breath catches, pulse stumbling.

“what do you want from me?”

his voice is low, but there’s something frayed at the edges. something not entirely calm.

you blink, caught completely off guard. “what?”

yoongi exhales sharply through his nose, hands tightening slightly.

“what do you want from me?” he repeats, slower this time.

your heart pounds against your ribs. his face is so close, eyes dark, searching, his jaw clenched like he’s trying to keep his voice even.

“because i—” he swallows hard, fingers flexing against your arms. “i want you. wholly. completely.”

your breath stutters. his grip doesn’t loosen.

“there’s no one else in the world i want more,” he says, voice rough. “but i need to know if i’m wasting my time.”

your throat goes dry, your mind races. the air is thick between you, heavy with something you don’t know how to name, something you don’t know if you can handle.

yoongi’s eyes flick over your face, searching for something, for anything. and you don’t know what to say.

you swallow hard.

yoongi’s fingers twitch against your shoulders, breath warm where it ghosts across your face. he’s so close, too close, looking at you like he’s begging for something—an answer, a reaction, anything.

“what do you see when you look at me?” he asks, voice low, rough around the edges.

your throat feels tight. “yoongi—”

“because when i look at you,” he continues, cutting you off, “i see the girl i kissed in the kitchen on my birthday. the girl i’ve been sharing a bed with for the past six months.”

the words settle heavy in your chest, pressing down, down, down.

“the girl i’m—” he exhales sharply, jaw clenching for a beat before forcing the words out. “the girl i’m hopelessly in love with.”

your breath stutters. his eyes flick over your face, searching, desperate.

he’s shaking now, just slightly. just enough that you feel it, just enough that you know this is costing him something.

“so tell me,” he murmurs, voice quieter now, like he’s scared of what comes next, “what do you see?”

he’s laid himself bare. no more room to dodge, no more room to pretend. it’s your turn.

but your mind is racing, spiraling too fast, trying to catch up.

before you can think, before you can second-guess, before you can talk yourself out of it, you kiss him.

it crashes into him, hands fisting into the fabric of his t-shirt, fingers curling tight like you’re afraid he’ll disappear if you let go.

yoongi freezes. just for a second, just long enough for you to think you’ve fucked up, but then he moves. his hands slide from your shoulders to your waist, gripping, pulling, needing, mouth pressing firm against yours, breath hot and uneven as he exhales into the kiss.

it’s messy and urgent. six months’ worth of unsaid things spilling out all at once.

yoongi makes a noise in the back of his throat, somewhere between frustration and relief, like he’s wanted this for so long he can’t believe it’s finally happening.

and you don’t know why you ever tried to fight it.

yoongi’s hands are firm at your waist, fingers pressing into your sides, his body heat sinking into yours. he lifts you, hands gripping beneath your thighs, shifting you up until you’re perched on the bathroom counter, your knees falling open around him as he steps between them, slotting himself exactly where he belongs.

you gasp against his lips, hands flying to his shoulders to steady yourself, but yoongi just smirks, a slow, teasing thing as he exhales sharply through his nose.

his fingers squeeze at your waist, holding you in place, keeping you trapped against him.

then, voice low, amused, “deja vu?”

your breath catches, stomach flipping. because fuck.

the birthday. the kitchen.

his hands on your thighs, his body between your legs, the first time you let him kiss you like this.

your mouth parts slightly, but nothing comes out. you don’t know what to say, don’t know how to respond to the way he’s looking at you. your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, gripping tight.

yoongi’s smirk softens just a little, but his eyes stay locked on yours, sharp and knowing. “got an excuse to stop this time?” he murmurs, tilting his head.

you shake your head. “no.”

yoongi hums, pleased, his fingers flexing against your skin. “good,” he murmurs, before pulling you into him, mouth crashing back against yours.

yoongi kisses you like he’s starving for it, like he’s been holding back for months, fingers digging into your waist as he tugs you impossibly closer.

his hands move without hesitation. skimming up your sides, brushing beneath your shirt, teasing at the waistband of your shorts, testing how far you’ll let him go.

when you don’t stop him, when you only tighten your grip on his shirt, legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, he exhales sharply against your lips.

“yeah?” he murmurs, voice rough, barely holding back.

you nod, breathless. “yeah.”

that’s all he needs.

his hand slips past the elastic of your shorts, fingers pushing beneath the waistband of your underwear, pressing right there, just enough to make your stomach tighten, heat pooling deep in your core.

you gasp against his mouth, back arching slightly.

yoongi smirks, lips brushing against yours as he rubs slow, deliberate circles over your clit, teasing, barely enough pressure to satisfy.

“you’re already wet,” he murmurs, voice laced with something dark and pleased.

you bite your lip, hips shifting toward his hand, but he just hums, keeping the pace agonizingly slow.

“you like this?” he asks, like he doesn’t already know.

his fingers press down a little harder, circling just right, and you make a quiet, desperate noise. yoongi groans at that, his other hand gripping your thigh, keeping you open for him, his mouth brushing against your jaw.

“thought about this,” he mutters, lips ghosting over your skin, “so many times.”

his fingers move faster now, pressing, rubbing, teasing you to the edge, the heat between your legs burning beneath his touch.

“yoongi—” your voice breaks, head tipping back against the mirror.

his lips press against your throat, his breath heavy. he strokes over your clit again, pressing tight little circles that make your stomach twist, make your thighs tense around his waist, make your breath stutter out in sharp, quiet gasps.

yoongi groans against your skin, low and throaty, his mouth brushing along the curve of your jaw. he slides his fingers lower, pushing your underwear aside and teasing at your entrance, dragging them through your slick before pushing in.

a sharp inhale rips through you, your nails digging into his shoulders, his shirt fisting in your hands.

yoongi groans again, deep this time, his fingers sinking into your cunt nice and slow, stretching you open.

“fuck,” he mutters, mouth pressing against the corner of your lips, his breath hot.

his fingers curl, stroke, press into that soft, sensitive spot inside you, and your whole body tenses, a soft whimper slipping from your throat before you can stop it.

yoongi feels it, feels the way you tighten around his fingers, the way your hips jerk toward him, and groans, his forehead pressing to yours.

“yeah? you like that?” he murmurs, voice dark, rough.

you nod, breathless. “y-yeah.”

he exhales sharply, and his fingers keep moving. slow at first, dragging in and out, teasing you open, before pressing deeper, his thumb slipping up to rub your clit in slow, lazy circles. your thighs tremble around him.

“you always this wet, baby?” yoongi rasps, eyes flicking to yours, heavy-lidded, heated.

you don’t get the chance to answer, because then he’s crooking his fingers, pressing right fucking there, and all you can do is gasp, head falling back against the mirror with a quiet, breathless moan.

yoongi watches you. watches the way your body reacts to him, watches the way your lips part, the way your hands clutch at him, your whole body responding to him like you were made for his touch.

his breath shudders out.

“you’re gonna let me fuck you, aren’t you?” he murmurs, pressing his fingers deeper, harder, coaxing another whimper from your lips. his own brush against yours, not quite a kiss, almost. “tell me,” he breathes. “tell me you want it.”

your whole body reacts before your brain even catches up, hips rolling instinctively into yoongi’s hand, chasing the pleasure he’s pulling from you.

“i—” your breath shudders, voice barely above a whisper. “i want it.”

yoongi curses under his breath, his forehead pressing to yours for half a second before he drives his fingers into you again, pressing hard, and you squeal, the sound high-pitched and desperate. before it can fully escape, yoongi’s hand is covering your mouth, his fingers pressing against your cheek, his own breath coming out shaky.

“fuck,” he groans, voice thick with something dark.

his fingers don’t slow. they move fast and rough, pumping into you, curling deep, his thumb rubbing messy, urgent circles over your clit, dragging you closer and closer to the edge until your whole body is trembling, tightening around him, begging for it.

yoongi groans again, his hand still over your lips, muffling every soft, broken noise spilling from your throat.

“be quiet,” he breathes, voice strained, like he’s losing himself in the way you react to him, the way you feel around his fingers.

you can’t be quiet. not when he’s touching you like this, not when he’s looking at you like this. eyes heavy, jaw clenched, breathing ragged as he drives you closer and closer to the edge.

you whimper into his palm, your hands clutching at his wrist, your whole body tightening as pleasure crashes through you, sending a sharp, blinding wave of heat down your spine.

yoongi groans, watching the way you come undone around his fingers, feeling the way you squeeze down, hips stuttering against his hand.

he doesn’t move his hand from your mouth until the tremors in your thighs start to fade. when he does, he presses his forehead against yours, exhaling sharply, his fingers slipping out of you just as slowly as they slid in.

“we’re not done,” he says, voice low, utterly wrecked.

his breath is still heavy, his forehead pressed to yours, hands sliding back down to your hips, gripping. yoongi grinds against you, his hips rolling forward just enough that you feel him. feel how hard he is through his jeans, the way he presses right up against you.

your breath stutters, fingers tightening in his shirt, and yoongi groans, voice rough, barely holding himself together. “fuck, doll.”

your stomach flips. the name isn’t new. he’s thrown it around before, teasing, casual, just part of the way he speaks. but this is different.

his lips brush over your cheek, jaw, down to your throat, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses between his words. “you feel that?” he murmurs, voice thick, almost shaky.

you nod, swallowing hard, and yoongi hums, dragging his mouth back up to your ear.

“this is what you do to me,” he breathes.

he grinds again. harder this time, pushing against you, making you feel him. letting you know exactly what you’ve done to him, exactly how much he wants you.

his fingers slip beneath the hem of your shirt, grazing the bare skin of your waist, warm and possessive, gripping like he’s making sure you don’t slip away.

“gonna make you feel so good, doll,” he murmurs, kissing just beneath your ear, smirking against your skin when he feels you shudder.

his hips roll forward again, pressing just right, sending a spark of heat straight through you, and a soft whimper slips past your lips before you can stop it.

yoongi groans at that, his grip tightening. “yeah?” he murmurs, teasing. “like that?”

you nod frantically, breathless.

yoongi smirks, lips grazing yours. “good,” he mutters.

then he kisses you hard, hands gripping your thighs, pulling you even closer as his hips roll into yours again, again, again.

your fingers move down fumble against the waistband of his jeans, your breathing uneven, hands barely able to keep up with the urgency buzzing through your veins.

yoongi feels it. feels your desperation, your need, the way your hands shake slightly as you try to pop the button.

he smirks. "impatient, huh?" his voice is low, teasing, lips brushing over yours as he exhales, the warmth of it sending a shiver straight down your spine.

"take these off," you whimper softly, frustrated, fingers tugging uselessly at the fabric, and yoongi chuckles.

“here, doll,” he murmurs, his own hands coming down to cover yours, moving with an effortless ease, his fingers brushing against yours as he pops the button open, then drags the zipper down, slow and deliberate.

he holds your gaze the entire time, watching the way your eyes flicker, the way your chest rises and falls too fast, too eager.

"there we go," he murmurs, voice thick with something almost fond.

his hands shift, moving to the waistband of your shorts now, his fingers slipping beneath the fabric, grazing warm over your skin.

“lift your hips for me,” he mutters.

you do, without question, and yoongi chuckles at that, his lips curling just slightly, pleased, before he drags your shorts down, letting them drop to the floor.

his gaze dips, his fingers skimming over your bare thighs, and he hums, voice deep, teasing. "much better."

your breath is ragged, your body thrumming with anticipation, but somewhere in the back of your mind you manage to think just clearly enough to gasp out, “wait—do you have a condom?”

yoongi huffs, lips brushing against your jaw as he mutters, “yeah, yeah. hang on.”

then, before you can say anything else, he pulls away, stepping back with a sharp exhale, raking a hand through his messy, mint-tinted hair.

you watch as he disappears into his room, the absence of his warmth making you ache, leaving you cold in a way that has nothing to do with the air against your bare skin.

you hear the faint slide of a drawer opening, the sound of something shifting inside. then the drawer shuts, footsteps padding back toward the bathroom.

yoongi steps inside again, his gaze flicking over you. still perched on the counter, thighs spread, lips parted, chest rising and falling fast.

his tongue swipes over his bottom lip. then, without breaking eye contact, he lifts the foil packet to his mouth and tears it open with his teeth.

your stomach flips.

his eyes are dark, focused, his breath steady as he pulls the condom free. “gonna be good for me, doll?” he murmurs, voice thick, nearly a growl.

you nod, too breathless to speak, and yoongi smirks.

then he steps between your legs again, his hands warm and possessive at your waist, his mouth ghosting over yours as he mutters “good girl.”

yoongi doesn’t rush, doesn’t fumble.

his fingers move smoothly, easily, like he’s done this a million times before, even as his chest is rising a little too fast, his muscles tense beneath his skin.

he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his jeans, tugging them down in one slow, fluid motion, along with his boxers, just far enough to free himself, and your breath catches. he’s hard, aching and heavy, flushed at the tip, standing thick against his stomach.

yoongi exhales sharply, rolling his shoulders back, and then he’s sliding the condom over his cock, his fingers sure and steady, his gaze flicking up to yours through heavy-lidded eyes.

“you watching me, doll?”

your cheeks burn. “no....”

yoongi smirks, the corner of his lips curling, completely unbothered by your blatant lie. “sure you aren’t.”

his voice is amused, teasing, but there’s something darker beneath it. something satisfied at the way your thighs shift, the way your breath hitches when his fingers tighten at your waist.

the condom rolls into place, snug around the base, and yoongi gives himself a slow stroke, groaning under his breath before stepping closer, slotting himself between your legs once more.

his hands grip your thighs, spreading them wider, pulling you to the edge of the counter. his length presses against you, hot, throbbing right against your cunt, and you gasp, hands flying to his shoulders.

yoongi chuckes, but there’s something wrecked in his eyes now, barely holding it together. “still want this?” he murmurs, voice rough, hands squeezing at your skin.

your fingers curl into his shoulders. “yes,” you breathe.

yoongi groans, low and deep in his chest. “good,” he mutters. then he aligns himself and pushes in.

the stretch is intense. your breath stutters, nails digging into his skin as he pushes in slow but insistent, filling you inch by inch.

"fuck," yoongi groans through clenched teeth, his head dropping against your shoulder, his breath hot against your skin.

you whimper, your walls clenching down around him, trying to adjust to the sheer size of him, the way he’s stretching you open, making space inside you that wasn’t there before.

"tight—" yoongi grits out, his hands squeezing your hips, forcing himself to take it slow. his arms tremble slightly as he holds himself still, his chest rising and falling in deep, uneven breaths. "so fucking tight, doll," he murmurs, voice strained, lips brushing against the curve of your neck.

you moan softly, head pressing against the side of his. yoongi shudders against you, his fingers twitching where they grip your thighs, his body tense like he’s barely holding on.

"shit," he exhales, his voice wrecked, his forehead still pressed to your shoulder, breath heavy.

you’re both completely still, bodies locked together, hearts pounding in sync. yoongi grits his teeth, exhaling hard through his nose. then, his lips brush against your ear, voice barely more than a breath. "tell me when, doll."

your fingers tighten in yoongi’s shirt, legs trembling around his waist, your whole body thrumming with need, stretched tight around him but craving more, needing him to move.

you tilt your head back against the mirror, breath coming out in quick, shallow gasps.

"please," you whisper, voice wrecked, barely able to get the word out.

yoongi groans, deep in his chest, his hands tightening at your hips. "yeah?" he rasps, his voice low and gravelly. before you can even nod he snaps his hips forward.

the force of it knocks the breath from your lungs, sends a sharp, blinding spark of pleasure through your spine. yoongi curses under his breath, pushes in deeper before pulling back and slamming into you again and again, fast and hard.

every thrust sharp, his grip bruising, his breath hot against your neck as he groans against your skin, completely losing himself in the way you squeeze around him, the way you take him so perfectly.

"fuck, doll," he grits out, voice shaking, his fingers digging into your hips as he pounds into you. "so fucking good."

your hands scramble for purchase, gripping at his shoulders, his hair, his arms, anything to ground yourself as he drives into you, his pace unrelenting.

"wanted this," he groans, his lips brushing against the corner of your mouth. "wanted you for so fucking long."

your breath hitches, your body tightening around him in response, and yoongi feels it.

"shit," he groans, slamming into you harder, faster, deeper. "say it," he demands, his forehead pressing to yours, his breath ragged. "tell me you wanted this too."

your breath stutters, pleasure coiling so tight in your stomach it’s almost painful.

"i—" your voice breaks, another moan slipping free as he fucks in deep, his cock kissing that sweet spot, his pace just a little too much, just enough to make your thighs shake.

yoongi smirks against your lips. "c’mon, doll."

you clutch at his shoulders, nails scraping down his back, legs tightening around his waist as you finally choke out, "i wanted this."

his body shudders against you, a sharp exhale leaving his lips, his rhythm faltering just slightly before he picks it up again, faster, harder, driving into you like he’s trying to make up for all the months of waiting, of wanting, of not having.

"good girl," he breathes, his hand sliding up your back, pulling you closer and pressing his forehead to yours, his lips hovering just over yours, his breath hot and uneven. "so fucking good for me."

your stomach flips, heat rolling through you like a tidal wave, and you don’t know how much longer you can hold on. yoongi feels it. feels the way your body tenses, the way your legs shake, the way your walls clamp down tight around him.

"you gonna cum for me, doll?" he murmurs, voice dark, teasing, but there’s something almost soft under it, something needy, something that says he wants this just as much as you do.

you nod, breathless, your body already so close. yoongi groans, his pace punishing, his hands holding you exactly where he wants you.

"then be good," he rasps, voice breaking. "cum for me."

your head tilts back, mouth falling open as a sharp, broken moan escapes your lips, and yoongi reacts on instinct. his hand slaps over your mouth again, muffling the sound, his palm hot against your skin.

"shhh, doll," he groans, his forehead dropping against yours, his own breath coming in ragged, uneven pants. "you gotta be quiet."

his words barely register over the sheer pleasure that slams through you, waves of heat rolling through your body as you gush around him. your whole body shakes, thighs trembling, walls fluttering around his cock, the pressure between your legs snapping so hard you see white.

yoongi grits his teeth, his pace stuttering, his hand still firm over your mouth as he groans deep in his chest. "fuck, baby," he rasps, his voice low, wrecked, almost pleading.

his hips don’t relent, driving into you through the aftershocks, his pace growing more erratic, more desperate, chasing his own high as you pulse around him, your body still milking him for everything he has.

"so fucking tight," he mutters, his lips brushing over your damp skin, his breath hot, ragged. "tou're gonna milk me dry, doll. gonna cum so fucking hard—"

his words send another sharp, overwhelming wave of heat through your already-sensitive body, another muffled whimper slipping past your lips against his palm.

yoongi groans, his movements turning sloppy, his body tensing. and then, with a sharp, wrecked moan, he breaks.

yoongi slams into you one last time, his whole body tensing, a deep, wrecked groan spilling from his lips as he cums, hips jerking against yours, fingers digging into your skin. his breath is shaky, uneven, his forehead pressing against yours, his body trembling slightly as he rides out his high.

his hand is still covering your mouth, his palm warm against your flushed skin, muffling the soft, breathless whimpers still slipping past your lips.

it takes a second. a long, heavy moment where the only sounds in the bathroom are your mingled breathing, the faint hum of the overhead light, the distant creak of the house settling.

and then yoongi exhales hard, his body relaxing against yours, his grip loosening as he finally lets his hand drop from your mouth.

your lips are swollen, your chest rising and falling in deep, uneven breaths, your whole body still reeling from the intensity of it all.

yoongi leans in, pressing the softest kiss to the corner of your mouth. so gentle, so tender, reminding you that even after everything, he’s still him. "you okay, doll?"

his fingers brush over your cheek, his touch light and his gaze flicking over your face, checking. making sure you’re here, with him. making sure he didn’t just wreck you beyond repair.

you swallow hard, blinking up at him, your fingers still gripping the fabric of his shirt like you’re afraid to let go. "yeah," you whisper, voice hoarse, spent. "i’m okay."

yoongi hums, his lips twitching just slightly, a hint of something soft beneath the haze of pleasure still clouding his gaze. "good," he murmurs. "‘cause that was—" he exhales sharply, a small, breathy chuckle slipping past his lips, shaking his head like he can’t even find the words.

you laugh, quiet, breathless, your forehead tipping against his. "yeah," you murmur. "it was."

neither of you move right away. neither of you want to.

right now, it’s just you and him, breathing in the same air, existing in the same space, his hands still on your waist, your legs still wrapped around him, his lips still close enough that all it would take is the smallest movement to kiss him again.

and you want to. but before you can, yoongi snickers, shaking his head as he pulls back just enough to look at you, an amused smirk playing at the edges of his lips.

"well," he mutters, voice teasing, "guess we gotta shower now."

you groan, tilting your head back with an exhausted sigh, "can't we relax a bit first?"

but he just grins, leaning in to press another lazy, lingering kiss to your jaw. "c’mon, doll," he hums against your skin, lips curving as his hands squeeze at your hips.

"round two?"

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