#what a conversation to come back to jfc

[kuiinncedes]

bro

[punkshort]

Roommates | 10. just us two

Pairing: (ex)pornstar!joel x f!reader

Chapter Summary: You and Joel settle into your new lives together.

Chapter Warnings: language, alcohol and food consumption, massive quantities of fluff, smut (18+ MDNI), unprotected piv sex (reader is on BC), oral sex (f!receiving), spanking, pussy pronouns, multiple orgasms, some sex tape action 👀

WC: 7.1K

A/N: Okay, we've reached the end of the road for these two! I can't believe I'm wrapping up another fic, jfc. Thank you so much for sticking around and expressing so much love and excitement for this story. It means so much to me that I'm able to share this part of myself with people who are just as happy as me about these characters. This chapter wasn't really necessary, most loose ends are already tied up but they deserved to be happy, so this entire chapter is just love and fluff and smut. Shout out to @txtattoostark for listening to me yap and for the watermelon moonshine inspo. Enjoy, and thanks again ❤️

Series Masterlist

One Month Later

Joel smiled to himself as he watched you in the kitchen with his mom from his spot in the living room. The old radio next to the sink, dusty and missing two buttons, was softly playing jazz music while you both worked on dinner. It wasn't the trailer park he grew up in. The small ranch house his mother bought with the life insurance money she received after his father passed away wasn't too bad. He begged her for years to let him give her some money, to buy her a place closer to town, to pay for new appliances at the very least, but she always refused. Instead, he found himself visiting her whenever he had a few days off so he could fix the sink or the washer or cut the grass.

He didn't mind. It was a good excuse to come visit. He enjoyed catching up and spending time with her.

But now, with you? Watching the way you seamlessly moved around the kitchen, laughing with his mom and stirring things in pots while swaying your hips in those tight denim shorts... yeah, this was different. This was much better.

"Hey, brother," Tommy said from behind, startling him out of his rosy daydream. Joel stood with a smile to engulf Tommy in a hug once he kicked off his shoes.

"You look tan," he remarked, then reached for Maria and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

"New Orleans was sunny," Tommy said, holding some bottle of clear alcohol in his hand. "Brought back some moonshine. Watermelon. Mama's favorite."

"Oh, Tommy! Maria! You're back!" their mother cried from the kitchen before wiping her hands on a towel and hurrying over to the front door, her worn out blue slippers catching on the rug as she walked. "How was your honeymoon?" she asked after she squeezed them both within an inch of their lives.

"Amazing," Maria said happily. "We had such a great time. Have you ever been?"

Mrs. Miller shook her head. "Maybe James will take me one day."

"Is he here?" Tommy asked, handing his mother the liquor.

"No, he's visiting his daughter out of town this weekend. Come on, I have some snacks out."

The four of them entered the kitchen and you swiveled around with a big smile. Setting down the wooden spoon you were holding, you threw your arms around Maria's neck, then Tommy's.

"How was it?" you asked them, your eyes sparkling with excitement.

You and Maria fell into an animated conversation about some haunted ghost tour when Tommy cleared his throat and propped his hands on his hips.

The pair of you stopped talking to look at him questioningly, then realization dawned on you. You smirked and shook your head before digging into your back pocket to pull out a folded bill and slapped it into his palm.

"You were right, Tommy."

He laughed and tucked the money into his shirt pocket.

"Thought you mighta forgot."

Joel frowned and looked between the two of you curiously, but Maria seemed to know exactly what was going on because she was already chuckling to herself.

You glanced over at Joel, who was eating a cracker with cheese, and your expression softened. "Best hundred bucks I ever lost."

"The hell you givin' him a hundred bucks for?" Joel asked incredulously, but you just slipped your arms around his waist and rested your chin against his chest with a smile.

"I lost a bet," you told him.

He practically melted into a puddle under your touch. He couldn't get enough. After a year of denying yourselves or sneaking around, it felt so good to be open. He refused to ever take it for granted, so he tilted your face up and pressed a tender kiss against your lips. He felt your mouth twitch into a smile when Tommy groaned in fake disgust.

"Thought we were the newlyweds here."

You broke the kiss to shoot him a look over your shoulder.

"Try and keep up."

Joel tossed his head back and laughed, then released his hold on you so you could return to the stove. Maria washed her hands and picked up a knife to chop vegetables and Tommy reached for the bottle of moonshine their mother left on the counter.

"Let's crack into this," he said, and Joel nodded. He weaved through the kitchen to open up the cupboard where the glasses were kept, grabbing five tumblers. You were swaying again with the music and you gently knocked into him with your hips, just enough to tease him, and he sucked in a sharp breath.

"Watch yourself, baby," he warned with a wink before placing the glasses down next to Tommy so he could pour.

Joel couldn't remember a time he had seen his mother look so happy. The five of them sat around her dining room table, a table made for four but you all squeezed in, knees knocking together underneath, arms brushing against one another, and it felt perfect.

He leaned back in his chair after finishing his food, one arm draped along the back of your chair, his other hand loosely holding his glass of moonshine and he smiled. He tried to pay attention to Maria and his brother tell stories about their honeymoon, but he had a hard time looking away from you. Eventually, he stopped trying. His gaze slid down your face, admiring your smile and the way your eyes crinkled when you laughed.

He was so fucking lucky.

Tearing his eyes away to bring his glass to his lips, he caught his mother watching him across the table with a knowing smile. She winked at him before giving Tommy her attention once again and Joel felt his face warm.

Once dinner was over, he and Tommy stood to clear everyone's plates. A habit that was formed early on in their lives. Whoever didn't cook had to clean up.

After the dishes were done and the leftovers were packed away, the two brothers refilled their glasses and wandered out to the back porch where their mother, you and Maria had ended up.

Maria and Mrs. Miller were strolling around the yard, their mother pointing out plants and flowers and telling Maria some long winded story about each. The deer hate this one. Cindy up the street cut a chunk of this out of her garden for me, can you believe how big it is now? I got this from Home Depot on clearance half dead, look how good it's doing.

"Better go save her," Tommy murmured before jogging down the steps. Joel plopped himself next to you on the porch with a sigh and clinked your glasses together.

"Lucky you already got the flower tour earlier," he told you.

You bit your lip and chuckled. "She really loves her garden."

The two of you sat in silence for a few minutes. The sun was setting and you could hear the crickets coming to life all around you. Birds swooped anxiously overhead, rushing back to their nests for the night. A cool breeze floated through the air, rustling your hair and making you shiver.

"C'mere," he murmured, patting his thigh. You smirked and shook your head but put your glass down and stood to perch on his leg, wrapping your arms around his neck lovingly and giving him a chaste kiss.

He hummed in approval and licked his lips. "Taste good."

"Like watermelon?" you asked, fingers twisting around the long strands of hair on the back of his head.

He nodded. "And you."

You kissed him once again, lingering a bit longer that time so you could fully appreciate the softness of his lips between yours and breathing in deep the scent of soap still stuck to his skin.

Then voices began to grow louder behind you, indicating your alone time was coming to an end.

Tommy stumbled on the stairs leading up the porch and you turned around on Joel's lap. He wrapped his arms around your waist, keeping you right where you were, before teasing his brother.

"Better take it easy. You been out for two weeks at work, you ain't callin' in tomorrow 'cause you're hungover."

Tommy rolled his eyes and took your abandoned chair.

"Yes, boss."

"How are things at the bar, Joel?" his mother asked, sitting down with a sigh. "I'm so glad you found some work I can actually tell my girlfriends about without lying."

You stifled a giggle and glanced at Maria, who was also trying to hold back her laughter.

"Good, Mama," Joel said, ignoring her other comment. His chin came to rest over your shoulder as he spoke. "The remodel is done. Opened up the room so there's a place to dance. Easier for customers to move around. Everyone's been real excited to see the changes. Been busy."

"He's been working so hard, too," you added, twisting to your side so your fingers could lovingly rake through the hair on the back of his neck. "Some days I don't even see him."

Mrs. Miller gave you a sympathetic look but you could tell she was proud of her oldest son for venturing outside his comfort zone and applying himself.

"So you're all moved in, I take it?" Maria asked, and you nodded.

"Didn't really have much. Most of my things were still packed from when I moved out."

"She's been sprucin' up the place, too. You oughta see it," Joel said fondly. "Got pretty lookin' art on the walls, fluffy pillows and blankets for the couch. Actually got some food in the damn fridge, too."

Tommy laughed heartily. "That mean you'll stop swipin' fries and shit from the kitchen?"

"Hey, I'm payin' for those fries. I'll take 'em if I want 'em," he said with a scowl, then looked up at you, his eyes softening. "But it's nice to have dinner waitin' for me at home," he added, bringing a smile to your face.

"You were always terrible at cooking," you teased, tugging on his earlobe playfully between your fingers.

The night dragged on, the stars lit up the quiet night sky and Mrs. Miller eventually began to yawn, indicating it was time to head home.

Home.

It felt so right to think of it that way. It was where you belonged. But you knew it wasn't simply the house. You could have been living in a shack and you would still be just as happy because it was with him.

Joel gripped your thigh while he drove his truck with one hand on the steering wheel. The windows were down, the wind whipped at your face, tangling your hair when you turned your head to gaze over at him.

"See anythin' you like?" he teased when he spotted you admiring him from the corner of his eye.

You giggled and felt his fingers squeeze your bare leg.

"You know what I want?"

The corner of his mouth tugged upwards and his eyes darkened with excitement. "What's that, sweetheart?"

You seductively ran your palm up his arm, sighing at the way his muscles twitched under your fingertips.

"I would really, really love... a vegetable garden."

You laughed at the way his face fell in mock disappointment.

"I'll build you a vegetable garden," he finally said as he turned onto your street.

"Really?" you asked with a huge smile. He nodded and shot you a wink.

"'Course. Whatever you want, baby."

Joel stayed true to his word. About a week later you woke up on Saturday morning to the distant sound of a hammer beating a piece of wood in the backyard. Stretching a lazy arm out to your side, you pouted when you found Joel was missing.

Then the pieces slowly clicked together.

It was a rare weekend off for him. You had been talking about it for the past few days. He was looking forward to Tommy returning to work so he wouldn't be so short staffed and he could relax with you for two whole days. You didn't come up with any plans except laying in bed, ordering takeout and watching movies, content to just spend time together. But Joel sweetly surprised you by waking up early, something he absolutely detested, so he could build you the vegetable garden you asked for.

You lightly padded down the steps still clad in your tank top and shorts to grab a mug from the cupboard. The coffee pot sizzled with heat when you plucked it from the burner, half the liquid already gone. Once you fixed it the way you liked, you walked out onto the back deck and leaned over the railing, your mug cupped in both hands, to fully appreciate the sight before you.

Joel had his back to you as he crouched over a simple rectangular wooden frame on the ground. You could see the sweat collecting on the back of his neck and it made your mouth water. As your eyes traveled lower, you noticed the dark patches in his shirt forming at his collar and between his shoulder blades, making your thighs clench together while he worked, completely oblivious to you watching him, listening to him grunt and sigh when he lifted a new piece of wood.

You swallowed thickly before taking a sip of your coffee, your eyes never leaving his form while he stood to stretch his back. He lifted his hat from his head and wiped his brow with the back of his forearm and you sunk your teeth into your lower lip. Something was so fucking hot about him getting all sweaty and worked up, but on that particular day? When he was making you something, sacrificing his rare down time just for you? It lit a fire inside you that couldn't be tamed.

Before he noticed, you scooted back inside to fill up a glass of ice water. With your hand hovering over the door handle, you got an idea that sent a jolt of arousal right through you. Without giving yourself a chance to overthink it, you pulled down your shorts and underwear, kicking your panties off to land on the couch, and shimmied your shorts back on.

Your pulse was fucking racing with excitement when you stepped outside once again, but this time you made sure to make a little noise so Joel would hear you. When the door clicked shut, he turned around and grinned before setting down his tools and stepping into the shade.

"Thank you, darlin'," he murmured when you handed him the water.

"You're welcome," you replied, your hands clasping behind your back as you practically vibrated in place with nervous energy. His eyes flicked down your body curiously right when he was finishing up his drink.

"Sleep okay?" he asked, sensing something was off while he set the glass down on the deck.

"Mhmm," you said, a nervous grin spreading across your face. "Missed you, though."

He chuckled and wiped some sweat away from his face with the bottom of his shirt. Your mouth went dry and your eyes instantly locked onto his tanned stomach and the dark smattering of curls that led below his waistband. The sleep shorts you were wearing were thin. If they were a lighter color, you could probably see right through them if you really looked. As it turned out, they were also terrible at absorbing moisture because they were sticking uncomfortably to your inner thighs while you waited for him to notice.

"Huh?" you said when you realized he was speaking.

He shook his head and dropped his shirt back down. "I said, I'm makin' you the damn garden you wanted."

You inched forward and took his hand in yours. "Well, do you think it can wait? Because I need to show you something inside that needs your help."

Somehow, he was still not picking up what you were implying.

"Baby, I'm on a roll. I just need another hour, maybe two-"

You tugged the hand you were holding between your legs and his eyes widened when he felt the wetness waiting for him there.

"Sorry. Got tired of being subtle," you told him with a playful smirk. He whipped his head around, checking to see if any of the neighbors were out tending to their lawns or enjoying their morning coffee on their patios while his fingers hooked around the soaked material.

You saw in his face the exact moment he realized you were bare underneath your shorts. It was like his brain was buffering, desperately trying to calculate how long he allowed you to stand there practically begging to be fucked while he rambled on about a goddamn garden. The surprise in his features slowly faded into the hazy, lust filled gaze you were so familiar with, and you smiled triumphantly.

"Get your ass inside right fuckin' now before I do somethin' that'll get us both thrown in jail," he growled, something primal shifting in his face while his body flooded with arousal, his need for you dripping heavier in his veins with each steady beat of his heart.

You squeaked and covered your ass when he swat at you from behind, then you hurried past him, back into the house.

Looking back on it, to think you would have made it upstairs to your bedroom was comical. His hands grabbed your hips halfway up the carpeted steps, pulling you down as you laughed giddily and pretended to try to fight off his attack, clawing fruitlessly at the stairs while he smiled into your lower back where his mouth was alternating kisses and bites across your skin.

"You wanted attention, you got it," he mumbled before yanking your shorts down and sinking his teeth into the flesh of your ass. Not enough to really hurt, but enough to make you yelp in surprise and leave a few linear indents in your skin.

Joel usually took his time with you. He preferred it that way. He liked to watch your face as he tormented you between your legs. He liked to see what new sounds he could pull from your throat when he changed an angle.

But not that day.

No, that day he yanked your shorts all the way off, tossing them over his shoulder and down the steps before grabbing your hips with his hands, all rough and sweaty from working outside.

You braced yourself for the inevitable stretch, the welcome yet slightly painful intrusion that you yearned for, but what happened next shocked you.

Your eyes widened and you gasped when you felt his mouth descend on your pussy from behind, his tongue immediately setting an intense pace, which was a change from the way he usually ate you. But speed and passion weren't the only variation. He never, ever went down on you from behind before.

"I- J-Joel, what are... oh," you moaned, eyes fluttering closed as he lapped eagerly at your core. Instinctively, you spread your hips and sunk down further onto his mouth. Your cheek was rubbing harshly against the carpet and your lips were parted, allowing a small trail of drool to trickle down your chin. If you had any awareness left, you might have cared, but the pleasure he was building between your legs left your brain completely numb.

"Oh, fuck yes, Joel - keep going, just like that," you groaned, reaching behind you blindly to grab a fistful of his hair. "Fuck you and that fucking mouth," you gasped when his tongue flatted against your clit. He chuckled against your core but didn't stop. His hand slid up the back of your thigh and gave your cheek a firm jiggle before smacking his palm down across your ass. You jolted forward, your forehead bumping up against the next step, and cried out for more so he did it again, but on the other side.

"You like that?" he panted, pulling away from you for just a moment to catch his breath. You arched your back, giving him a generous view of the mess he left between your legs and he was afraid for the first time ever that he might come completely untouched. He inhaled sharply and pinched the bridge of his nose when he saw your cunt pulse, calling to him like a goddamn siren at sea. "Fuck, so beautiful," he growled before closing his eyes and picking up right where he left off.

His thumbs spread your lips so his tongue could tease your entrance, scooping up your arousal and rutting his hips against the stairs, eating you like he was about to go off to war.

"I'm... oh, shit, Joel!" you exclaimed, pulling at his hair roughly so he wouldn't dare try to stop when you were so close to your climax. And he could sense it. He was good at that. He knew what you needed sometimes before you even knew. So once again, he brought his palm down sharply across your ass, a little harder that time but not too much. Just enough to leave a few seconds of sting, electrifying your nerve endings and pulling you over the edge.

Two tears rolled down your cheeks when you came. The little bit of pain from his hand and the carpet digging into your cheek and knees mixed with your pleasure in such a way that it left you breathless.

Finally, once he felt your legs begin to tremble and whimpers fell from your lips, he pulled away with a deep gasp. His eyes were pinned to the way your pussy looked; all drenched with a combination of his spit and your release, and he cursed under his breath.

"She looks so fuckin' good, baby, wish you could see what I see," he murmured, mesmerized as he continued to stare without any shame. You hardly had any of your senses. Your breath was ragged and your throat was dry but still, you tilted your chin and whispered, "show me."

A wide smile stretched across his face and his eyes lit up.

"Yeah? You'd let me take a picture of this pretty pussy?" he asked, but he was already digging in his back pocket for his phone. You nodded, eyes still closed.

When both his hands left your waist, you arched your back a bit more and spread your legs, presenting yourself to him. You heard a deep groan rumble from his chest and he whispered, "fuckin' natural, baby," before you heard the shutter on his phone. One, two, three times at least you heard the familiar little click, click, then he leaned over your slumped body and slid his phone in front of your face.

"See? Look at you. Look at what I get to see," he murmured into your ear. Your eyes opened and widened as you stared at your wrecked pussy on the screen.

"Oh, wow," you breathed, not expecting at all to find it sexy, but you did. You fucking did. "Look at what you did to me," you said, craning your neck over your shoulder. His eyes flickered with heat and his mouth crashed down onto yours.

"Just wait til I split you open on my cock," he said, his voice rumbling against your back. "Have you all stuffed full with my cum. Now that's a pretty sight."

You groaned and shakily pushed yourself up.

"I'm begging you, please, Joel... do not fuck me on these stairs. My knees are killing me."

He laughed and helped you stand, legs wobbling just a little.

"Nah. I got an idea and we can't do it here."

You laid underneath the covers in bed, your lower half still bare and your tank top still on while you nervously chewed on your lower lip, watching Joel at the foot of the bed tinker with a camcorder he had buried somewhere in his closet that he swore up and down he never used with anyone else.

Never wanted to before, he had said when you eyed it suspiciously after he explained he swiped it from a set when it was used as a prop in one of his films years ago.

"Battery's dead but I'll just leave it plugged in," he said, then he flipped out the little screen tucked into the side of the device and swiveled it around so it was facing out. He set it on his end table and adjusted it until he was satisfied with the angle, then looked over his shoulder with a grin.

"You sure?" he clarified again. Your eyes flickered from him to the camera, then back again.

"Yeah," you squeaked, your voice very clearly betraying you. His gaze softened and he leaned across the bed to press a chaste kiss against your forehead.

"We don't gotta do this," he assured you. "I don't wanna make you uncomfortable."

"No," you replied, shaking your head. "I want to, I'm just nervous."

He scoffed and readjusted himself so he was lying next to you, blocking the idle camera.

"Nothin' to be nervous 'bout. It's just for me 'n you," he murmured before cupping your face and pressing his lips tenderly against yours. When his tongue swiped over your bottom lip, you sighed and looped your arms around his neck, melting into his embrace and deepening the kiss. His hand slid down from your cheek to squeeze your breast, groaning a little when he pinched your nipple through the fabric of your tank top.

His lips dragged down to your jaw, his teeth grazing your throat until he found a spot he liked and latched on while pushing the sheets from your body. The anticipation bubbled up while his hand continued to travel lower, your legs instinctively falling open for him. You finally relaxed when he successfully distracted you with his fingers through your folds and gasped as he slid two inside you with ease.

"Oh, yeah, you're ready for me," he moaned into your neck, his erection bordering on painful. He exhaled shakily when one of your hands wrapped around his length and began to gently stroke him, your palm so soft and warm that he almost forgot about the camera.

"C'mon, baby, sit up f'me," he said, pulling his hand from between your legs and leaning back so he could kick his jeans off. You scrambled to sit, your breaths coming in shallow pants as you watched him tug his shirt over his head. When he reached for the hem of your tank top, he paused and turned to tap the record button on the camcorder. Instantly, your limbs went rigid and your hands fell to your lap, covering yourself, but when he turned back to you he pinched your chin in his fingers, pulling your nervous gaze from the camera lens.

"Eyes on me," he told you, his voice low and deep, sending a shiver down your spine.

You nodded and raised your arms so he could peel off your tank top. He tossed it onto the floor and sat back on his heels to admire the way your tits sat exposed to him, his eyes darkening when your nipples hardened with arousal. He lunged forward and took one in his mouth, his hot, wet tongue lavishing your pebbled skin before switching to the other one. You tipped your head back and moaned, mouth open as you stared up blankly at the ceiling, your fingers rising to get tangled in his hair.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered, planting little kisses all over your chest and circling his arms around your ribs, tugging you closer. You wrapped your legs around his waist, trembling when his cock pressed between your bodies, his erection sliding through your wet heat and suddenly you couldn't breathe.

"I-I need you," you whimpered, weakly lifting your hips into his lap.

"I know, baby, I know," he hummed. One hand dropped to cup your ass so he could reposition his legs underneath you, then flexed his hips so the tip of his cock lined up with your opening. "Want me to fuck you just like this? Sittin' in my lap?"

You nodded, your eyelids heavy with desire as you tightened your grip around his neck. The second he pressed into you, you gasped. He watched with adoration as your eyebrows pinched together in concentration, breathing deep and slow as you relaxed and slowly took him.

"Joel," you whispered, jaw slack. "Joel, I love you."

He moaned and pulled your hips flush with his, forcing you to take the last few inches all at once. "I love you, too, baby. Christ, you're incredible. Fuckin' look at you."

Look at you. His words made you remember the camera. Your eyes flickered over to the little rectangular screen, the outline of your bodies perfectly centered, and you swallowed tightly.

"Pretend like it's the mirror," he whispered in your ear as he began to gently rock in and out, "just like the mirror at the hotel, okay?"

You nodded and sighed, your shoulders loosening and your muscles relaxing as you began to roll your hips in rhythm with his. He tightened his grip around your middle, his body engulfing you in warmth. You rested your head on his shoulder as he continued to fuck you nice and slow, stretching you out around him, reaching depths that had you reeling.

This was it. There was nothing else outside those four walls. You had everything you ever wanted right there. The way he kissed you, touched you, made love to you always left you feeling so safe. Deep down, you always knew he was the missing piece in your life, the mysterious thing you kept searching for in others and were always left disappointed. Because nobody else ever loved you and cared for you the way he did.

"I'm so lucky to have you," you told him, your tongue dragging up his neck, collecting the dried sweat with a moan. You began to bounce in his lap a little faster and he immediately matched your pace with thrusts of his own.

"I'm the one who's lucky," he said through clenched teeth. He exhaled heavily through his nose and tucked his chin to his chest so he could watch himself disappear inside your cunt. "So soft. Softest pussy. So fuckin' warm and wet, you feel so good. Goddamnit, every fuckin' time..."

You smiled to yourself as you listened to him ramble. "Maybe we're both lucky."

He chuckled and you gasped when his cock brushed up against that one spot that made you see stars. You feverishly grabbed his face with both hands and bit desperately at his lower lip, pulling it between your teeth and making him groan.

Your body was loose and pliant now, so with more confidence you quickened the roll of your hips, relishing in the way his cock felt dragging in and out of you, how your clit rubbed against the coarse hair at his base, in the noises you managed to pull from his throat each time your skin slapped together.

"Yeah, that's it, baby. Show me what you like. Oh, good girl," he groaned, hands sliding up your back to hold you as you began to lose yourself. He could see it in the look in your eyes and the way your fingers dug into his shoulders.

It was the most beautiful fucking thing.

Your body moved perfectly in tandem with his, your sharp gasps and his deep groans filling the room, the camera long forgotten by now.

"Oh, god, I'm close," you whimpered as you felt the heat that had been building begin to quickly creep up and spread through your stomach. "Oh, fuck. Oh, god... Joel, don't stop, please..." you begged, your breath coming in ragged gasps as your vision began to blur.

"I ain't stoppin'. C'mon, give it to me, lemme feel you," he growled. He snapped steadily into you now, each thrust punctuated by a grunt while his eyes locked on yours, watching with pride as you crumbled and fell apart, your walls squeezing him so beautifully as you came that it nearly pulled him right over the edge with you.

It happened fast. One second you were in his lap, your body tingling with the aftershocks of your orgasm and the next he had pulled out of you and flipped you onto your hands and knees. Only when you felt his thick cock slide back inside did you fully realize you had switched positions. And shit, taking him from that particular angle always was so much more intense, but combined with the fact that your new view included the camera in the corner of your eye made everything so much more powerful.

You could fucking see him now and you couldn't look away, completely entranced with the way his face looked as he slammed into you. His mouth hung open as he looked down at you with what could only be described as complete and utter desire. You could feel his hand running up the length of your spine but you could also see the look of worship in his eye, the way his face twisted in pleasure when he watched your ass ripple from the force of his hips, and you felt a heavy wave suddenly crash over you once again.

"Oh, fuck!" Joel groaned loudly as he watched another orgasm shoot through you. His hands grabbed at your waist to try to keep you still, but you were trembling everywhere and you couldn't hold yourself up any longer.

You fell onto your elbows, the side of your face pressing into the bed while he held up your hips, fucking into you harder now that he could tell you were spent. "I'm gonna come, baby, I'm -" he cut himself off with a desperate whine, the buildup from the past hour or so becoming too much and causing his release to intensify.

Your bodies finally stilled and he pumped you full of his spend, his groans getting caught in his throat as he pulsed inside you. He watched in a daze when his cum started to leak out even though he was still inside, and without thinking, he snatched the camera from the bedside table so he could get a close up.

"Fuckin' hell, baby," he whispered hoarsely, chest heaving and hands shaking as he held the camera at his chest, pointing it down to where you were connected. "So glad you're back on the pill. Fuckin' beautiful, all full of me like this. Shit," he muttered, swiping a finger to collect some of his release to rub it over your clit. With a whine, your body jolted forward and he chuckled before dropping his hand, knowing you were too overstimulated.

"Joel," you whispered tiredly. Your eyelids were heavy and your thighs were shaking from the effort of holding yourself up.

"I know, baby, just one more thing and then I'll clean you up," he promised. He took a deep breath and steadied the camera before slipping out of you.

He made a pained noise in the back of his throat when he watched through the lens the way your body leaked of him, your pussy all swollen and stretched out, completely fucked, messy and used.

"Jesus," he croaked, wishing he could keep filming but your body sagged forward and he stopped the recording before tossing the camera onto the other side of the bed so he could check on you.

"You alright?"

You nodded, eyes closed, lips bitten raw, hair a complete mess but you still wore a satisfied smile.

"Tired. I think I'm gonna just..." you yawned and stretched out your shaky limbs. "Just gonna close my eyes for a sec."

He grinned and stood up to go to the bathroom, plucking a couple clean washcloths from the linen closet and wetting them both under the faucet so he could clean himself up with one and take the other back to you.

"Did you eat?" he asked softly as he gently and carefully dragged the washcloth through your thighs. You shook your head, eyes still closed. "I'm gonna go make you somethin'. Gotta eat, honey," he whispered before kissing the top of your head and covering you with the sheet. But by the time he came back upstairs with a bagel and cream cheese, you were fast asleep.

So you're getting married, then?

Well, he hasn't really asked me, not in so many words.

Four, you mean?

Huh?

Well, that's how many it takes: will you marry me?

Your eyes fluttered open when you heard two familiar voices reciting an even more familiar dialogue from the television, the volume turned down so low, you could hear the neighbor's dog barking from four houses down.

Joel shifted in bed next to you as quietly as he could, unaware you had awoken. You peered up at him, hair all messy, chest still bare, and you smiled when you caught him stifling a laugh at Audrey Hepburn.

"Hey," you said, voice coming out rougher than you expected, so you cleared your throat. He immediately muted the television and turned toward you, grinning as his eyes raked up and down your sleep-addled face.

"Hey, yourself," he said softly. He pushed the hair off your face, letting his thumb linger on your cheek while he continued to examine you closely. "Feelin' okay?"

You nodded and yawned, stretching your sore legs out underneath the blankets. "You fucked me into a coma."

He laughed heartily and rubbed his palm over his chest, embarrassment flushing his bronzed skin.

"But I guess that's what I get for shacking up with a pornstar," you added with a giggle. He tossed his head back and laughed even louder at that and you couldn't resist, his happiness too infectious. You inched forward and nuzzled into his side, his arm dropping to wrap around your shoulders.

When the laughter died down, he gazed lovingly at you and, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear, reminded you, "ex-pornstar, but I suppose old habits die hard, huh?"

"Mm, maybe, but that's okay," you said, tracing light, invisible patterns on his stomach. "It's nothing I can't handle."

He cocked an eyebrow at you and smirked. "Careful, or I might have'ta hold you to that."

"Bring it on, superstar," you whispered before leaning up and pressing a gentle, soft kiss against his mouth. You licked your lips and hummed before looking up at him through your lashes. "Cream cheese?"

"I made you a bagel, but you fell asleep," he admitted, "but figured we could relax the rest of the day. Order in, watch movies... just like we said we would."

"I don't remember saying we would do all that naked," you teased.

"Thought that was implied, baby," he said with a frown. "You shacked up with a pornstar, what'd you expect?"

What did you expect? Did you ever imagine your life would turn out the way it did? Sitting in bed with a sheet wrapped around you, eating Chinese food and watching a Turner Classic Movies marathon with the man of your dreams? You always wished for it; before you met, after you became friends, while you were carrying on an illicit affair, and even when you weren't on speaking terms, you always, always wished for it. But did you ever really think it would come true?

You couldn't really remember, and at that point, it didn't matter. Because you didn't care how you got there, just as long as you were together, you were happy.

You did exactly what he said you would do. You stayed in bed until the sun began to set, wasting the whole day away curled into his side watching old movies and pointing out your favorite parts, exactly the way you used to.

It was around nine when Joel suggested going out for ice cream. Let's get out, stretch our legs and walk along the river, he had said after vowing to finish your vegetable garden the next day.

And on your way out, your hands fused together even while he struggled to lock the door one handed, you looked at the chairs on his porch and smiled to yourself.

"What's that for?" he asked, tapping your cheek lovingly while you walked side by side to his truck.

"Nothing, it's stupid," you told him with a shrug.

"Ain't nothin' you got to say is stupid to me."

You sighed when he let your hand go so you could round the truck and hop into the passenger seat. After you clicked your seatbelt into place, he put the keys in the ignition but waited to turn it on. Instead, he looked at you expectantly with his eyebrows raised.

"Fine," you mumbled, "I'm gonna sound fucking crazy, but... fine."

"Oh, well now this I gotta hear," he said.

You gave him a look before turning in your seat to face him. "The chairs on your porch." He nodded.

"So far, not crazy."

You rolled your eyes. "Remember when I came by to drop off the shirts for the Jack and Jill party?"

He nodded again and you could feel the self-consciousness begin to creep up.

"We weren't on great terms back then. I had just found out you bought a house. I felt like I hardly even knew you anymore. And I was so damn nervous, I didn't want to fuck things up even more than I already had, but when I saw you had two..." You paused when you saw the flicker of understanding cross his face. "I thought you maybe found someone else. I know. It's crazy, like I said."

Joel smiled and reached his hand across the seat to lace together with yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles.

"Got the second one for you."

Your eyes snapped up to his in surprise.

"What?" you breathed.

He gave you a shrug and tilted his head bashfully. "I was just waitin' for you."

Tears welled in your eyes as you fumbled with the seatbelt, unbuckling yourself so you could stretch your body over to his seat and pull him into a deep kiss.

"I thought I lost you," you whispered against his mouth, and he chuckled.

"You didn't. I was all yours that very first night, sweetheart."

You didn't even try to deny it. He was right. It seemed so obvious now. Why didn't you see it back then? But before you began to mentally chastise yourself for being so bullheaded, you stopped. You couldn't change the past, something you've been learning to accept in therapy for months now, but what you could do was focus on your future. And while you sat next to Joel as he drove towards your favorite ice cream place in town, windows down and stars twinkling in the sky, you smiled because your future together looked pretty damn bright.

[zarnzarn]

the angsty prequel to this (ik there's plotholes now but shh I'll fix it in a bit) that i accidentally made after getting possessed and writing for 3 hours straight for what was supposed to be a short hc post jfc. angst ahead (brain damage talk, temporary mcd), but there's a happy ending!

-

zeus saying he's going to make athena's "kingdom fall" doesn't make sense unless you consider. the lightning bolt she takes to the face gives her brain damage.

no one notices at first. Athena brushes it all off, goes to odysseus, oversees their long-awaited reunion. stays in their house after- because it's not like they'll be around forever, after all. and she can do her work just as well from down here- there's no need, to be honest, to go back to Mount Olympus. anyone who needs her comes to Ithaka, and she's content, for the first time in a very, very long time.

and then one day odysseus comes across her seizing on the floor.

she doesn't know the details of what happened- only remembers the first terrified scream of horror, remembers warm hands on her face and being carried to a bed, remembers Penelope's voice shaking as she drags a wet cloth across her forehead. comes to confused and mute minutes later, wandering around and stumbling into walls, unresponsive to the voices begging her to stop, to rest.

finally, she reaches a familiar room with a familiar face, and she touches Telemachus on the cheek lightly before collapsing onto the nearest chair. panicked voices chatter above her and calloused palms lift her face up to meet her own grey eyes, worried and scared, and it finally dawns on her that something has gone terribly wrong.

(later she will find out odysseus held her and sobbed the whole night, knowing more than anyone else what had happened to her and what it meant; he'd taken the throne at thirteen for the same reason, after all)

(later she will find out that penelope wrote to every ally they had within the hour for healers and literature; letting more than half their cleverly planned schemes fall through in exchange for it as she begged)

(later, she will find out that telemachus went running barefoot through the market, banging on doors and shouting for the healers and making the alarmed roused villagers sing prayers for her even though it was the middle of the night)

she recovers under the attention; court abandoned in favour of emergency, odysseus proclaims when he bullies her into placing her head in his lap so he can massage her aching head, not having left her side for six straight days in a row. penelope comes in every few hours, feeding her the olives from the wedding bed she lies in, unable to move, and brushes out her hair. telemachus barely shows during the days, but he comes in every evening without fail, curling up by her side and hugging her tight.

but it happens again. and again and again, and each time she regains consciousness in one of the royal family's arms, no matter where she was at the time. she never remembers it, only has the disgusting taste in her mouth and dried spit on her chin and tears in the eyes of those around her to know it happened.

she loses time as well- has no idea how long it's been happening until she becomes aware of the sound of Odysseus' calm, steady voice dragging her out of a trance, gentle fingers tracing her palm as they stand next to an unassuming tapestry. she'll be walking one moment and be lost to everything around her the next, staring at nothing.

Odysseus has done this all before, she realises one day, when he seamlessly pulls her out of another relapse and ropes her into a cheerful, easy conversation about goats that Athena keeps having stilted replies to.

"Do you know how to do this because-" She murmurs, and his eyes go wide and then grieving.

"Yes," He murmurs sadly, and Athena feels guilt settle in her belly at making him go through this again. He massages at her temples, and she closes her eyes, listening to the smile in his voice. "But there is no hardship, Pallas Athena. The sadness is that you have to go through this, not for the taking care of a cherished one."

"And anyways, Laertes suffered madness in the wake of a terrible fever and the stress of a famine," Penelope says without looking up from the newest scrolls they'd received. Athena feels the guilt worsen at the sleep bags under her eyes, when she knew the reason and just didn't have the courage to- "Your sudden collapses could be due to this one witch curse we found, or perhaps a-"

"It was Zeus."

The room falls silent as two heads slowly turn to look at her.

"What?" Odysseus says quietly, with barely withheld rage.

Athena takes a shuddering breath. "I am sorry, my Penelope, that I didn't have the courage to tell you before." Penelope leaves the desk to cross the room to her, and Athena feels tears prick at her eyes as the queen takes her hand. "But when I petitioned the court of Olympus, Zeus did not take kindly to everyone agreeing to me over him- and such was his punishment. To make-"

Her breath hitches in a sob and she notes with surprise that she's crying. Penelope and Odysseus are both crying with her, staring down in horror.

"To make my kingdom fall, he said," Athena whispers, shoulders jerking oddly as she forces it out, acknowledges what he'd done. "But my kingdom is the mind and-"

Odysseus lets out an animal cry of sorrow and descends on her, pulling her to his chest as she breaks down into shivering tears, the fear running through her as she realises the scale, the enormity of the consequences. Penelope stands by the bed and trembles with anger for a full minute, before she crumples too, crawling into their bed and pressing Athena tight between them.

"I forget things," She confesses in a whisper, shaking. "I blank out during fights, cannot recall certain strategies- I- I do not know how much worse-"

"Easy, darling, easy," Penelope whispers in a rush, stroking her face. Odysseus really is so lucky to have her as a wife, she thinks disjointedly, pressing into the gentleness. "Don't say that. It won't get worse."

"And even if it does," Odysseus continues, pressing a kiss to her cheek, where the lichtenberg scars cross her right eye, to her brow. "We will write down everything you know, copy it a hundred times and keep it safe. So you will never forget."

"And we will find you a Lytrakas owl, to keep you safe when we are no longer here to do it," Penelope murmurs, lips brushing Athena's neck as she speaks. She relaxes finally under the combined reassurances, at the solutions and possibilities that would work, finding a content she has never achieved before in their embrace. "We will keep you safe, our goddess."

And they do. When she teaches the children of Ithaka sparring, at least one of them is there, ready to intervene smoothly if they sense something wrong. They make the books they promised her, and she sends it to her realm, so she doesn't lose them. They cannot come with her when she has to travel- she wouldn't ask it of any of them- but Telemachus is always humming a hymn when she's away so she remembers where to return. When she dissociates in the middle of talking, Penelope guides her over to the loom so she can weave until she feels better, muscle memory kicking in enough for it to help the gradual lift of the fog.

Odysseus always somehow knows when she's about to have a seizure, in the forty years after that they spend together. In all her time in Ithaka, she never woke up from one without the familiar gravely cadence of Odysseus singing under his breath above her, head in his lap and Telemachus perched on her thighs or Penelope by her shoulders.

-

But it can't last forever.

Odysseus kicks her out of the room when he dies, Penelope's breath already slowing on the bed behind him, peaceful in the way that means she won't survive the night. They all know Odysseus will go with her, and Athena feels herself tremble as Odysseus gently guides her outside.

"You are not watching us pass," He tells her firmly, as she opens her mouth to scream at him. He's an old man now, but his eyes are the same, and the different versions of him flash in front of her eyes as he gives her a crooked smile. "I will not have you watch, are you crazy?"

"Odysseus," She chokes out, gripping tight onto her spear.

"My beautiful, wonderful goddess," Odysseus murmurs adoringly, leaning up to press their foreheads together. She sobs. "Thank you. For everything. And know-" His breath hitches. "-know that, for the rest of your existence, remember it- that you were loved."

"How can I ever forget?" She smiles back through the tears. "I will never be the same."

"My Athene," He whispers, swaying them back and forth. She closes her eyes, trembling, and pulls him into their last embrace, last touch.

"You will always be my favourite," She confesses, half-laugh, half-sob.

Odysseus smirks at that, a trace of smugness, then turns to a sobbing, chuckling Telemachus, who's also been kicked out, pulls them both in a hug. "We will meet again, my son," he murmurs. "But Penelope is waiting for me now. Goodnight."

He closes the door, two bright last flashes of smiles aimed at them as it shuts and Athena and Telemachus both fall to pieces.

Telemachus takes twice the care of her than his parents did, somehow juggling ruling the kingdom and spending as much time as he can with her as he can. His wife is sly and mischievous, more fox than owl- but Athena loves her too, just as she loves their children. Telemachus goes with a smile on his face and an arrow in his heart, having taken an arrow for someone else, holding Athena's hand as he laughs for the last time.

It is horrible and she wanders around desolately for days, grieving. But then she sees bright eyes spying on her from behind a bush, carefully watching her to see if she's alright and Athena smiles and goes back to continue the legacy.

-

For 500 years, Ithaka does not fall- when it does, she makes sure the grey-eyed children all make it off the island, scattering on the mainland as at last, her job is done.

Which means there is nothing left for her here, and it is time to go back to Mount Olympus.

She's met with teasing quips and pointed comments, but general ignorance, no one bothering to ask where she was. After almost six hundred years of care, it feels untethering and strange, but the grief of losing Ithaka makes her relieved for it, even if she has to lie down sometimes, press her face into the roots of the olive tree scattered about in her realm and pretend there are three sets of hands in her hair, a familiar voice humming above her.

How did you do it, she wants to ask Penelope. How did you survive knowing what you were missing, she wants to ask Odysseus. Will you sit with me one last time, she wants to ask Telemachus.

Eventually, she can no longer bear the quiet, and one evening she sets out and crosses the pantheon floor to go gently sit down in Apollo's room.

Artemis is there, slouched on the floor with mud in her hair and an arrow in her eye as Apollo chides her. They both look up when she comes in, bowing and worriedly asking if something was wrong.

"Nothing," she says, ignoring the pang of sadness that that would be the only reason she was here. But the idea of leaving back to the books written in Odysseus' horrible chickenscratch penmanship is worse, and she takes a tentative seat in the corner. "Continue your work."

They do so hesitantly, conversation slower and interspersed with bouts of asking her if she wanted ambrosia or a new dish or something while she was here. She declines.

She feels awkwardness radiating off all three of them as she leaves an hour later, but it doesn't stop her from coming back again, stubborn. She will hold a conversation this time- it has been two decades since Ithaka, but that is nothing to her, and she cannot have forgotten how so soon.

Apollo seems to have prepared for the same thing this time, lighting up with a pleased grin like he wasn't sure she would come. "Enter!" He says cheerfully. "Come here, give me your wisdom on this piece I've been composing- I know, I know, owls are not songbirds, but just see if you can help, it's driving me mad-"

Athena closes her mouth and listens to the melody quietly. Thinks about how Telemachus' third daughter would have spun it, added her Ithakan folk style to it, interspersed the perfection with carefree, imperfect beats.

"May I?" She asks, holding her hands out, and Apollo's mouth drops, even as he scrambles to hand her the lyre. She concentrates, trying to pull the melody out from the strings. "Here," she says, manifesting her spear and shield and handing it to an increasingly wild-eyed Apollo. "Bang them together. Create a tempo."

They create something of a passing song in the next few hours until Athena's headache makes its way to the forefront and she has to retreat. Apollo accompanies her across the floor to her room, pressing herbs onto her even as he chatters a mile a minute, excitedly going on and on about new ideas and begging Athena to come by again. She smiles, briefly, and promises to return when she is free, going back to her pallet under the olive trees.

(She cannot bear to sleep anywhere else.)

The next day, Apollo is busy creating new songs and she knows better than to disturb him. She turns and goes to his twin's realm instead, shedding her armour for bark and a bow. Artemis and her women look as equally terrified as Apollo did at the start, looking at her like she's lost her mind, but they all straighten up when Athena raises an eyebrow and silently descend on the night.

"You must teach me!" Artemis enthuses at the end of it. She does not do anything other than scowl often, but she looks more like her twin than ever now, as she beams up at her. "I never knew there were so many strategies, how much smoother-"

"Peace," Athena chuckles, amused. "I will teach you, sister. Next fortnight?"

"Aye," Artemis says, hair matted and covered in filth, eyes sparkling.

"Here," Athena says, taking out her own ribbon- one of the many she has from Penelope, braided in her hair from all those years ago- and turns Artemis around to tie her mess of a mane out of her eyes. "Do not impede your vision in the name of wildness."

"Okay," Artemis squeaks quietly, and Athena snorts and squeezes her shoulder as she departs.

She sits in Aephastus' forge next, watching him create weapon after weapon, with the best of each round being blessed onto a blacksmith in the mortal world.

"Come to see if my work is up to par, Pallas Athena?" Aephastus says self-deprecatingly, a flash of resigned hurt in his eyes.

"No. I wish to learn," Athena decides suddenly, pushing herself up and removing her helmet at the blast of heat that comes from the forge as she nears. "It is shameful, I think, that I know not how my own tools are made."

Aephastus stares at her with surprise, then his kind eyes crinkle into a smile. "Only if you let me replace that," He nods to her admittedly rather dented helmet. "I have been wanting to fix your armour to something respectable for centuries."

Athena laughs.

Of course, once it is done, she has to use it. It fills her with excitement she had almost forgotten, the idea of a good, difficult spar, and she barges into Aphrodite's realm and bangs on the edge of the bed with her new spear, making the occupants screech and jump in fright.

"Good evening," She nods at Aphrodite, who looks to the side and then back at her as if she'll find an explanation somehow, stunned. She turns to her brother, and tries on a grin. "Ares, my brother. Would you care to spar? Aephastus has gifted me this new set and I find myself eager to test it out."

"...Are you fucking possessed?" Ares asks her, flabbergasted, and she clicks her tongue and smacks him upside the head.

"Yes or no?" She says, crossing her hands.

"Y- yes, yes!" Ares blurts out, straightening up. He looks something approaching disbelieving excitement, a small, tentative grin appearing on his face. "You are... not joking, right?"

"Do I look like I joke?" Athena jokes, smiling. Ruffles his hair in a bout of fondness. "You are the only one who will actually give me a good fight, as erratic as you are. I look forward to it."

"What did I FUCKING MISS?" Aphrodite shrieks after her as she goes. "Wha- Athena, get back here, you better have not fallen in love while I wasn't looking-!"

But Athena's not ready to face Aphrodite just yet, so she takes advantage of their height difference and strides back to her realm as her sister chases her, shouting.

The next day, they meet in the arena, and Athena feels herself freeze up as soon as she steps in. Sees the lightning scorch marks on the ground she had almost forgotten, and cannot move.

"ATHENA!" Ares booms, snapping her out of it. "TODAY YOU WILL MEET YOUR DEFEAT AT MY HANDS AT LAST!"

"WHY ARE YOU SO ANNOYING," She shouts back automatically, and Ares bursts out in a peal of laughter, surprised out of him. She knows he has three aspects- the boyish glory-seeker, the soldier filled with bloodlust, the hardened warrior- but Athena thinks the first one suits him best.

He readjusts his grip on his sword and grins. "Begin!"

-

She continues this, finding a strange happiness she never had before in meeting all the other gods, major and minor. She'd never known how intimidated they all were by her, but they open up readily enough, bringing her peace for a little while as she sits with them.

(She avoids Aphrodite, who is getting increasingly more frazzled by the day as she fails to find a hidden lover that does not exist and then switches to trying to find Athena a companion when it is clear that there is no one, in a comic game of chase around the realms that is a great source of amusement to everyone else.

She avoids Hermes too, because it hurts too much to see him. But she leaves him a book of riddles once in a while, when he's away, and he always takes it.)

Hera walks in her room one day, with her train of peacocks and attendants.

"God-Queen," Athena bows, setting her weaving down.

"Athena," Hera nods back. "I hear you have been visiting your siblings."

Athena nods, confused. "Yes?"

Hera studies her and Athena shifts, wondering what she's seeing. "The Pantheon is no longer silent, you know. The Olympians meet in the court almost every day, sharing their gifts with each other. Something I have found out is because of you."

Athena has no idea where this is going.

Hera shifts closer, opening her mouth to say something, then her eyes catch on the weaving, widening in shock. "What is that?"

Athena looks down, also unaware of what exactly she'd made. Then her heart skips a beat in fear.

"No, no, no, no," Athena snaps to her feet, shaking her hands out in dismissal, trying to stop the impending damage. "This is not what you think it is."

Hera's eyes are getting wider and wider, a manic grin on her face. "Athena! A wedding veil? Do you-"

"No!" Athena interrupts. "No, Hera, it's nothing like that, please-"

"Nonsense!" Hera says, grabbing it from her and holding it to the light, grinning wider than Athena has seen from her in years. "You must have made it for a reason. Do not worry daughter, I know you are shy, I will handle it all."

"Hera, it really is not like that!" She pleads. "I was simply weaving- I made a fisherman's garb the other day as well, it does not mean I want to get out into the sea!"

"Have you made the rest of the outfit as well?" Hera says excitedly, ignoring her as she moves to the wardrobe to rifle through. "Oh, Athena, how beautiful! Is this what you would like to wear?"

She pulls out a men's wedding outfit and Athena stops protesting to stare in disbelief. When had she made that?

"I must go announce this to the others," Hera squeals, bangles jangling. "Oh, I had almost given up on you, dear, but you have made me so happy today! I would have arranged something for you so long ago, why didn't you tell me you were interested?"

"Because I am not," She groans, pulling her hands down over her face. "Hera, please, I do not even have anyone-"

"Easily remedied," Hera dismisses her with the wave of a hand as she strides off. "Oh Aphrodite, you won't believe what I just found in your sister's closet! Look!"

A deafening din rises from the crowd there and Athena is forced to tackle Hera to the ground.

She laughs, surprisingly, and tosses the outfit over to Aphrodite, who snatches it up with a scream of excitement. Athena is immediately flanked by a crowd of screaming gods, each talking over the other, and Athena has to bellow at them all for two hours before the misunderstanding is cleared.

"Oh, but you really have outdone yourself with this one," Aphrodite gushes appreciatively as she lands next to a panting Athena. She turns it back and forth. "So soft, and such patterns! The Ithakan style, yes?"

Then her smile drops like a stone as she hears her own words and freezes, and Athena's stomach swoops, heart skipping a beat as she stops breathing. Aphrodite turns to her slowly, cold horror in her eyes, realisation solidifying at the terrified, raw, pained expression on Athena's face.

"The Ithakan style," She repeats in a whisper, horrified grief creeping into her voice. "Athena-"

Athena snatches the outfit from her and closes herself off in her realm, breathing hard in the dim blue light of the olive tree orchard. She suddenly realises she's holding the robes against her chest and unfolds it hurriedly to look at them.

It is the Ithakan style. It is, in fact, a mix of Penelope's and Odysseus' wedding outfits, in her size.

She throws it into a trunk and screams.

-

She does not know if Aphrodite tells Hera, but the latter does not stop coming by every day to pester her for details of an imaginary wedding.

So now she has three gods to avoid.

-

But of course, the effects of her affliction cannot be hidden forever. She gets up one day from the Pantheon floor to retrieve the threads from her room to be used in the game they are playing, and feels the room swim in a familiar, hated manner, and she only has a moment to feel dread before she tilts sideways and falls.

When she regains consciousness, she feels for a moment the delicate hands on her cheeks, the weight of a young man on her belly, the gravely singing above her- and then it dissipates and she becomes aware of shouting all around her.

"Can you hear me? Athena, can you hear me?" Hera says, shaking her. "WILL SOMEONE FIND APOLLO?"

Athena moans and pushes off the hands on her body, bruising in their panic. She pushes herself up, ignoring the dizziness. "Do not bother."

"Athena, what on Gaia was that?" Ares demands, ashen. "Have I injured you? What-"

"It is of no concern," Athena snaps, getting to her feet and glaring at them, mortification blazing through her. "All I need is rest. Goodnight."

They shout after her, but she's already at her room, closing the shields back up. It nearly knocks her out again to do so, and she barely drags herself to her bed before she collapses.

"What are you staring at?" Hypnos asks her the next day, confused. Athena blinks and realizes she's standing between the thrones, facing an odd patch of wall and losing time.

"Nothing," She sighs, and hefts her spear and walks away.

She fends off all other questions, curt and snapping, and the others uneasily let it go. She has not forgotten her purpose, after all, and will not do anything less than a perfect job, even with this impediment.

Yet-

"Athena," Aphrodite shakes her, and Athena blinks as she comes to herself. It is night, Pantheon bathed in blue and both of them in their nightclothes. Aphrodite is crying and Athena's face is wet.

"What-?" She murmurs.

"You were calling out for Odysseus," Aphrodite whispers, sounding stricken. "Asking him to stop hiding from training. Then laughing with nothing and telling Penelope to stop tormenting your allies."

It hits her straight in the sternum, making her gasp with grief that hits her so hard it feels new, and oh, she misses them, she misses them, she misses them so.

She sobs, and Aphrodite brings her close, holding her as she shakes.

"What is happening, sister? Why is this happening? Please, tell us," Aphrodite pleads. "We only want to help." She pushes her back to stare at her. "It cannot be just for them- something else happened to you."

Athena cannot reply for weeping, and Aphrodite's face crumples on seeing her tears. "You loved them." She says, her own voice catching tears. "You loved them so much, didn't you? That's who the dress was for. Them."

Athena sobs louder and doesn't reply.

-

Zeus' eldest daughter has not talked to him for over eight hundred years.

He still burns with anger some days, on remembering her insolence, her disrespect for his orders. Yet, now it has cooled off and he rather misses her quiet presence, her wit. She is angry with him in turn, cold and formal when they talk, never meeting his eyes.

"How fares Athena?" He asks casually one day. Hera stops removing her earrings and looks up at him sharply- she's been frosty with him since that day as well, disapproving of his actions. "I have not seen her in quite some time."

"That is of your own design," Hera replies blandly. "She spends time often with her siblings now. I am quite proud of her for it, actually- it is no mean a feat to get the entire Pantheon to sit down and indulge in few games without bloodshed."

"Games?" Zeus frowns. "With the others? Why is this the first I'm hearing of it?"

"Well, if you left your realm ever, you would know." Hera says distractedly, shrugging as she takes off her necklace. "They gather in the courtroom, usually."

The wind blows in, blows out.

Zeus ponders on this in silence, thinking of what to do next. Perhaps he should extend the first hand, since she had followed all the rules. He remembers her on the ground, beaten and burning, one hand extended to beg him to let that insolent hero she had pinned all her hopes on leave Ogygia. Frowns again in discomfort at the memory.

Her gamble paid off. Even as the Greek Pantheon declined in power, the story of her hero persisted to give the gods power, to keep them remembered.

Wise Athena, he thinks fondly. Smarter than him, he can admit now.

Zeus is just about to ask Hera if Athena would appreciate a spar when the rustle of fabric past the door of their realm catches his attention.

"Who is there?" He calls out, and Hera turns as well to look. No one enters and they both look to each other with a frown.

Quick footsteps sound out and both of them push themselves to their feet immediately, armed and tense as they rush to the door.

"Athena?" Hera calls out, confused, as they look down over the empty courtroom, Athena pacing erratically silently alone in the middle, no lights on. She does not reply. "Athena!"

Zeus feels foreboding creep up on him as they carefully walk down. "What are you doing up, Athena?" He calls out, voice authoritative. Hera glares at him, and he amends his tone, gentling it. "Is something the matter?"

Athena does not stop walking, at that same hurried pace, turning around at the end of the hall and continuing back towards them, ignoring his words. Zeus feels irritation spark, but the sudden glimpse of his daughter's eyes makes the words die on his tongue, unseeing and glazed over. She does not have her armour on, and her hair is tangled and open, he suddenly realises, along with the growing certainty that something is wrong.

And then Athena drops to the ground and starts seizing.

"ATHENA!" They scream as one, and all the gods of the Pantheon come awake, lamps catching fire as they all come stumbling out of their rooms and realms. Zeus reaches out and holds her hands down as she starts clawing at herself, drawing blood. The others start shouting and crying around them, Athena's head snapping back and forth gruesomely, eyes bleeding ichor. "Athena, gather yourself!" He shouts at her. "Cease this- cease this at once, you are stronger than this!"

"She cannot hear you!" Hera cries, falling to her other side, trying to straighten Athena out from the fetal position she is curling into with painful, stuff jerks. "She never does- she doesn't-"

"This has happened before?" Zeus bellows, outraged. His answer comes in the form of Ares pulling her weapons off her body, the ones who can't help holding onto each other and hiding their faces in each other's shoulders or staring at Athena with fear as they sob.

Her arm slips Zeus' grip and swings at him erratically before he can grab it again. It nearly knocks him down, so powerful in its animal madness that he actually feels his aspect waver to half its size for a moment- but he is her father and he pulls himself together enough to stay standing, pinning her down again.

"No, let her go!" Apollo shouts as he sits down besides them in his night robes, flipping through an old book of some kind, barely holding in his own panic and fear. "Don't hold her down, give her space."

Zeus grimaces but lets her go, feeling nausea and fear rise within him as she writhes and twists, unhearing of Hera's desperate sobs for her to stop. "What is happening to her?" He demands, unable to watch. He is furious, lightning blazing in his hands as he itches to find the culprit, to find who dared to do this. "Who did this to her?"

"I do not know," Apollo says horrifically, lips pressed thin, eyes flicking up to her and then back down to the book. "But I found this in her realm- she apparently is aware of it, this is some sort of book of instructions on the affliction-"

"Give me that," Zeus growls, snatching it away, and flipping through it. "Go get a bed," He instructs, the other Olympians springing up to do so immediately, desperate to help. "Olive- olive branches, she wakes to branches. Get water- no, get ambrosia, get a cloth to wipe her face. A change of clothes. A cold compress, if she has fever. It will stop on its own, let it run its course- Muses, what is this?"

"A lullaby," Euterpe says, pulling the book down to scan it. "From old Ithaka, if I'm not mistaken."

The gods all stop and stare at her. "Ithaka?" Zeus repeats, flipping to the front of the book. "Who has written this-"

"PENELOPE!" Athena screams suddenly, making them all jump in fright. Her back arches to a painful degree, spit running down the side of her mouth as her eyes roll back in her head. "PENELOPE, TELEMACHUS-"

Aphrodite puts her hands over her ears and squeezes her eyes shut, just as Athena takes a deep breath in and screams louder than before, "ODYSSEUS!"

(In life, he had only failed her once. But now he is dead, and cannot come.)

"Odysseus, please," She moans, in the old Greek that has not been used in decades. "You promised to help, please- Penelope, where are- where is- Telemachus, please-"

Zeus feels his heart break as proud, strong Athena breaks down on the floor, calling for mortals clearly much dearer to her than they thought. But it's not the end of it- he flips through the book again, desperately searching for something to stop this, a cause, an enemy- and then he sees his own name.

Curse proud Zeus, may his life never be happy, may his legacy forever be tainted, Odysseus has written, the letters harsh and burning with fury, even though the curse means nothing from a mortal, even though he risked the ire of the gods writing it. Below it, in what must be Penelope's neat handwriting, an equally furious and clipped diagnosis is penned- brain damage, extensive but occasional, caused by a lightning bolt to the face, that targeted her realm's power and left her with seizures, memory loss and dissociation.

A lightning bolt to the face.

Zeus stands there numbly, as the Pantheon scrambles and chatters worriedly around him, hesitantly singing along to the lullaby in the book as Athena continues to shake, unresponsive. His fault. It is his fault that she is like this, that she is left reduced to calling for dead mortals, crying blood over her siblings' feet.

He did not mean to, he thinks, feeling small and pathetic and monstrous. He did not mean for this to happen- only wanted to teach her a lesson, keep his pride; had not meant for her realm to sustain damage for so long. He thought she'd healed. He thought she hadn't been hurt, past the scar on her face that he'd felt vaguely guilty about, from time to time.

How stupid he was.

"Athena," He whispers, aching to reach out, but she screams again and it's drowned out completely. His daughter. All his own, no longer his- because she was never angry at all, these past years; she simply no longer saw him as her father. And why should she, when he has done the unforgivable, when he has done what no other had managed to do, and broken her.

What has he done?

"We are here," Hera says desperately, taking Athena's head in her lap. Ares sings creakily next to her, offtune and shaking. "We are here, love."

"Odysseus," Athena wails, unseeing. "Penelope, Telemachus."

Zeus steps back to let the others rush in, each providing their own solutions, some calling to Athena entreatingly to guide her back to herself. He is not needed here- he does not deserve it, and knows not what more damage he will wreak.

I am sorry, he wants to tell her, as froth escapes her mouth like a rabid dog. I am so sorry, I beg forgiveness, my daughter, please let me fix it.

But she cannot hear him and Zeus raises his head to look for Hermes instead. The messenger god is standing at the very back, well out of view, with a blank face as he meets Zeus' gaze. He feels a surge of fury at the lack of caring, before he remembers that Athena's hero and his son were descendants of Hermes- and sees past the facade to see the other's gods multiplied distress at that fact, unable to come forward to help without possibly making it worse with the likeness.

Zeus inclines his head and then tilts it towards Hades pointedly. Hermes twitches in surprise, then nods determinedly, running off.

Zeus exhales and looks back at Athena as she finally calms, breathing hard. Shoulders slump in relief, frightened muttering taking its place- this wasn't supposed to happen to gods, to Olympians.

Zeus steps forward and brushes her hair out of her eyes as Athena loses consciousness, as they pull her onto a makeshift palanquin and prepare to take her to her room.

"I am sorry," He whispers to her, but it is far, far too late.

[kithtaehyung]

busted (3tan) (m) | myg

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

-

-

Here goes nothing and everything.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

However. 

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

A lesson that people are more like seasons than flowers.

They change with or without you. 

And they pass by.

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

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

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

“Okay.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A voice peeps from behind your tense shoulders,

“You okay?”

Fuck. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You sure?”

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

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

It’s weird to say it. 

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

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

“Oh, god.”

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

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

“Who are you seeing?” 

“Kook…” 

“I wanna know.” 

“Why?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You did.”

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

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

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

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

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

Because they are still the same.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know.”

“Do you really?” 

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

And you’re going to.

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

His nostrils flare while eyebrows flinch. 

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

“Is it true that you even loved me?”

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

Did.

“I still do.”

Liar.

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

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

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

“I’ve regretted it every day since.” 

“Bullshit.” 

“I have!”

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

“No, I—”

“All those calls you never made.” 

“I wanted to call!”

“You wanted nothing to do with me!”

“No! That’s not true—”

“Liar!”

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

“I’m not lying!”

“You are!”

You thought it would feel better seeing him cry. 

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

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

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

“What the hell’s going on in there!”

Shit, your brother. Were you both yelling? 

…Were you both that loud?

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

“Open the door.”

“No.”

“You better be serious—”

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

“…Okay.”

And then it’s completely silent.

But you know he hasn’t left. 

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

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

“Dude, I said I’m—”

Oh, fuck.

Yoongi’s right there with him.

And your heart fucking lurches.

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

“The fuck are you doing making them cry?”

“Wait, it’s not like th—”

“You come into our house after years—”

“Stop!”

“And pull some shit like this?”

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

You and your brother have a thousand differences. 

But one thing you two have in common? 

He’s just as stubborn as you are. 

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

“I’m not—”

“Hey—!”

“The fuck—”

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

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

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

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

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

“Why should I.”

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

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

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

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

“…So it’s like that?”

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

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

“The fuck it isn’t—” 

“It is! Fucking hell, dude...” 

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

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

You hope Jungkook understands that you’re done. 

You hope your brother understands that you’re tired. 

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

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

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

But they don’t have to do anything. 

Except let you do this yourself. 

“Please.” 

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

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

“Trust me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yoongi was a surprise.”

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

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

“Right.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You loved me?”

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

“What?”

Fuck. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He laughs again. So do you. 

And the both of you break all at once. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Reminiscing over everything that doesn’t matter anymore.

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

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

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

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

Still, Jungkook moves in. 

Leaning to kiss just next to your lips instead.

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

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

“I promise.” 

“Only alright? I have a chance then.”

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

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

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

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

“I’ll be okay.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He said he still loves me.”

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

“Dom…”

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

“He said it was a mistake.” 

“It sure as fuck was.” 

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

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

“I know.”

“Now.”

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

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

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

“What do I have now.”

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

Huh?

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

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

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

“K.”

Wait, what.

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

His name is molasses on your tongue.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But it’s true.” 

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

“Makes me wanna take you home.” 

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

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

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

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

“Take you home?” 

“Mmhmm.” 

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

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

If you didn’t have to wait. 

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

But why does he seem so—

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

And the air suddenly shifts to something alarming.

“Listen.”

“Hmm?”

“I know we said we’d say something.”

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

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

Huh.

What does he mean by—

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

You freeze. 

So does time. 

A minute is no longer enough.

“Yoongi, please—”

“Can you do that?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Babe?”

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

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

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

Sacrificing seconds just to say goodbye. 

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

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

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

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

“Doll, let me know because—”

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

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

“Anything for you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If people are like seasons… 

Which one will Yoongi be?

Fuck.

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

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

“Yoongi, I—”

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

“I know.”

His name rattles around your mouth.

“It’ll be okay.”

You wanna believe him.

“Okay?”

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

“Fuck.” 

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

It’s not fair.

None of this is fucking fair. 

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

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

And now you’ll be farther apart than stars. 

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

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

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

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

Because you know him well enough.

He was committing your every feature to memory. 

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

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

And you hear them all through your door.

Unmoved from the spot everyone left you in.

Idiot🙄 [1:34am]: Hey

Idiot🙄 [1:34am]: You up or nah?

You [1:40am]: yeah

Idiot🙄 [1:40am]: Help me clean up

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

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

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

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

You🙄 [1:46am]: ok

Idiot🙄 [1:46am]: 👍

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

A plate. A bowl after that. 

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

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

And unluckily for you, there are plenty of both.

“Hey.”

You hum.

“Do I need to beat his ass?”

Well, that didn’t take long. 

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

“And I’d deserve it.” 

You pause.

“But I still wanna know.” 

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

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

Your lip stings under your teeth.

“And I can’t just let that go.”

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

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

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

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

All these pretend scenarios mock you from all sides. 

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

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

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

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

“...Why didn’t you tell me.”

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

Silence. 

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

“I always worry.” 

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

Shit, that was close. 

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

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

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

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

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

An apology.

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

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

This can’t be it. 

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

“I know. But I’ll try to be better.” 

He’s gonna what? “Why?”

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

“…Oh.”

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

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

What the hell happened after he left your room?

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

Alright, he’s definitely drunk or a clone. 

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

“Until they realized we kept going alone.” 

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

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

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

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

“Very,” he agrees. “But who isn’t.” 

True. “It could be worse, I think.” 

“How?” 

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

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

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

Together. 

“They could’ve left us somewhere else.” 

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

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

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

“Oh, really.”

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

Wait, he did what now?

…You didn’t know that. 

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

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

The pause he makes weighs a ton. 

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

So… He… 

Holy shit. 

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

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

…Is he paying loans? 

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

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

“So were you.”

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

“It’s whatever.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What.”

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

“I like it here, though.”

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

“Empty?” 

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

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

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

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

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

And regret others. 

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

“All the time.” 

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

“Hmm.” 

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

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

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

Truthfully, you feel a little better instead.

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

So you tell him. “I mean it, thou—”

“I’m sorry.”

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

“For what I did. I was outta line.”

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

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

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

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

But that doesn’t make it any less true.

“Love you, too.”

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

…Calling should be okay, right?

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

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

Yoongi: Outgoing Call

It’s ringing.

Still ringing.

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

Fuck. 

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

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

This hollow, aching, painful feeli—

Yoongi: Incoming Call

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

“H—”

“Sorry, I was showering, fuck.”

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

“Shouldn’t I be the one asking that?”

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

“Why would I be if you aren’t? Ow.”

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

You hear a low grunt before he responds. 

“Just hit my fucking knee getting out.” 

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

“It’s not that bad. Just stings.” 

“Okay.”  

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

“Spoke to Kook.” 

Shit.

“And the guys.”

Oh. About work. “What’s up?”

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

Ah. No finish line in sight.

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

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

“When you get it.”

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

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

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

“See? Claiming shit already.”

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

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

“Yoongi.”

“Fine.”

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

“Just work stuff.”

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

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

“What.”

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

“…I see.”

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

“Huh? Don’t be.”

“You sound mad.”

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

“Not at you, doll.”

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

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

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

“Mm.”

“Honestly, I didn’t expect that.” 

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

“I was there first, doll.” 

He what?

“Wait… You were?” 

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

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

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

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

“So… You both heard—”

“Nothing until the yelling.” 

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

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

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

Information. Realizations. Guilt. You’re spiraling. 

Run.

“I’m, umm. I’m gonna get off now.” 

“You okay?”

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

“Wait—” 

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

“Babe, talk to—”

“Bye, Yoongi.”

And you immediately hang up before your dam floods.

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

Yoongi: Missed Call

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

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

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

And you’ve been through hell.

Yoongi: Missed Call (2)

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

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

Yoongi: Incoming Call

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

And his greeting sends a pang through your chest.

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

Sniffling, you say his name so, so softly.  

“You didn’t let me say bye.”

When you don’t respond, he trudges on.

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

Huh? 

“And no hanging up this time.”

What the heck does he… mean… 

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

Every second he doesn’t say goodbye.

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

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

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

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

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

Your brother was outright flabbergasted you even asked. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How’s Jimin?”

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

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

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

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

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

“How long has it been?”

Ah. That’s a good start. 

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

“A month.”

“...Damn.” 

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

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

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

“That’s good, at least.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you mean?” 

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

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

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

“Mm.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Huh. “Me? How?” 

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

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

“Not even denying it. I like this.” 

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

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

“Break? Or what do you feel like?” 

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

“Mmk.” 

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

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

Yoongi [5:03pm]: Can’t talk now but

Yoongi [5:03pm]: Letting you know

Right.

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

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

“You can definitely be upset.” 

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

Only warmth. And understanding. 

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

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

Him? Being more upset than you?

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

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

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

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

Taehyung’s honeyed voice brings you into the present, 

“What are you gonna say?” 

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

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

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

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

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

They’re lighter. 

How is that possible? You’re still sad. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yoongi [5:15pm]: Thanks doll

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

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

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

But the yearning still packs a fucking punch.

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

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

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

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

“You will.” 

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

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

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

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

“Oh? The luckiest then.” 

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

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

“Maybe you’re right.” 

One week turns into three. 

Then two more pass.

And Taehyung might be less correct than you thought. 

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

“It’s okay.”

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

“So?”

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

“You got a heating pad?”

A what? How does he know about— 

Oh. Right. 

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

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

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

“Go get it, doll.”

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

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

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

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

Yoongi’s too quiet for your tastes. 

“I’ll figure it out tomorrow.” 

Eyes closed, you’re silent for eons. 

“Okay.”

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

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

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

Soon.

Soon and Almost are somewhat similar.

Both can give people a bit of hope. 

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

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

“Going to Yoongi’s.”

“K.”

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

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

“K. Have fun!”

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

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

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

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

It’s perfect.

And completely useless for the time being.

Calls have been the one thing getting you by.

But over time, even those have virtually stopped.

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

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

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

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

You accidentally spill your drink.

And you sob. 

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

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

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

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

Painful.

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

If you forget this one on the railing, too…

Will he finally show up to hand it back? 

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

Three months. 

Ninety days.

Eight million seconds. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Has he been perfect otherwise? Sickeningly. 

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

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

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

But that night in his kitchen… 

It’s getting harder and harder to stay positive.

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

You can’t.

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

Your finger moves a bit closer.

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

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

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

Hold on, it’s an incoming call?

Oh fuck, it’s an incoming call.

Your throat sears as your eyes shut tight. 

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

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

You can’t even say hello.

“Hey.”

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

“Hello?”

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

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

Because it plummets.

“Where are you.”

There’s quick shuffling and a door opening.

“What’s wrong.” 

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

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

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

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

“Babe, tell me. Now.” 

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

“Gimme twenty. Can you do that?” 

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

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

“K. Go back inside and grab a bag.” 

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

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

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

“I am.”

You freeze.

So does time.

And the next three seconds are enough.

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

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

And your chest has never felt lighter.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fucking hustler.”

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

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

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

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

And you suddenly know Yoongi is summer.

Endless. 

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

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

“Anything for you.”

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

“You still have to gimme chips.” 

Maybe not quite everything.

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

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

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

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

“You’re the smartass.”

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

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

“I just… You read.” 

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

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

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

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

“Em”—you cough—“Embarrassed?”

“Proactive.”

“Huh? For what?”

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

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

“You soaked—aish—my whole apartment!”

“That was you!”

“No?”

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

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

And you glitch when you realize why.

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

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

Way too familiar.

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

No no no. Why is he taking you there? 

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

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

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

“I don’t care.”

“I was only gonna bring you back.”

“Baby, please.”

“He’s home—”

“Do you still miss me?” 

He freezes. 

Which gives you a chance. 

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

Almost everything.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yoongi’s still way too quiet. 

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

“Stop.” 

You do. 

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

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

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

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

“Shouldn’t be fucking doing this—” 

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

“Please what.” 

Everything you want. 

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

“Huh?”

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

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

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

“The fuck.”

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

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

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

“Babe—”

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

“Are you su—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“This.”

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

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

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

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

“Holy fuck.” 

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

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

“So fucking filthy...” 

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

“Don’t do that.” 

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

“Fuck!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m fucking you with them on.” 

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

You know your panties are soaked. 

You know he’s gonna wreck your shit. 

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

Perfect. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So fucking perfect.” 

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

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

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

“Almost made me come.” 

“Be for real.” 

“Damn serious.” 

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

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

“Fuck me like you missed me.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I said. Don’t move.” 

“But—Yoongi!” 

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

“Uh uh.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Suddenly.

He stops. 

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

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

“What’d you say?” 

“Plea—Baby!” 

“Huh?” 

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

And again.

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

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

“This is what you wanted, huh.” 

Your breath hitches with a whine as you nod.

“You gonna be a good little slut?” 

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

“Then fucking beg.” 

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

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

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

“Need you, too.” 

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

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

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

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

Because his eyes speak volumes. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Now swallow.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” 

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

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

It’s not. 

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

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

“Feel so good—”

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

What is he— 

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

What’s—

Oh fuck, are you on his desk?

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

“Yoongi—”

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

“Uh uh. Stay like that.” 

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

“There you go.” 

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

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

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

“Goddamn.” 

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

Oh, fuck!

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

“Come here.” 

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

And you think your soul just left your earthly vessel. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes!”

“Good.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Let’s go then, pretty bitch.”

“You already fucking know.”

“Show me what I’ve been missing.”

“Don’t fall in love.” 

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

“Fuck.”

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

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

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

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

“It missed you, too.”

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

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

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

“Yoongi!”

“Uh huh.”  

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

“You gonna come?”

A frantic nod.

“Then come.” 

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

“Again.” 

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

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

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

“Again.” 

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

Oh, if they could witness you now. 

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

One breath.

Two breaths.

Two hearts.

One night is enough.

“So fucking perfect.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, shit!

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

This man leaned right into the whole thing.

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

“First off.”

“Uh huh.”

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

Yeah. Stuff like that. 

“I’m her favorite.” 

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

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

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

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

Does he feel at home, too? 

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

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

Then you pull away.

Wondering why he’s not smiling anymore. 

“Come here.”

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

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

“How are you gonna get home?”

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

“K.” 

“Did I keep you from anything?”

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

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

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

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

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

“S’ok.” 

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

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

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

“Maybe try that one more time.”

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

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

“I always do, babe.” 

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

“Miss you.”

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

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

“That’s my fault.” 

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

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

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

“You gave me tonight.” 

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

“A little longer is nothing.” 

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

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

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

“Really?”

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

Us.

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

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

“What’s the fun in telling you?”

“Ass!”

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

“We have a game next week.” 

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

“Mmhmm.” 

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

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

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

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

What’s he doing?

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Huh? Tonight?” 

“Yeah.” 

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

Whoa, what the fuck? “Me?”

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

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

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

“Ah, I see.”

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

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

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

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

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

And you start to hum.

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

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

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

“Shit, was I too loud?”

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

“Not at all.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

For him, you can do anything. 

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

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

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

—

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tbc. :) 

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

A/N: i’m so swirly-eyed that i don’t even know what to say here other than i’m sorry for throwing that ending at y’all! busted pt. 2 is gonna be its own huge part at this point so i had no choice but to end it here (originally it was gonna end before they went back to yoongi’s but i love y’all too much dlkfjdsklf)  A/N 2: gonna say this again: enormous thank you to everyone supporting this whole journey, whether that’s liking/commenting/reblogging/messaging, recommending this series to people, telling me how it makes you feel or what it means to you, or even wanting a physical copy of the series like😭 that’s surreal to me and makes me wanna keep working harder.  A/N 3: as far as feedback, i would absolutely love any type y’all wanna give. this chapter took all of my brainpower and the next one is gonna take just as much haahahahdksfks so any encouragement would be wonderful!  ++ feedback box: ⇥ of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated! ⇥ for the ones that are too shy to reblog with a review, comment on this, or send a message, i went ahead and made another anonymous form where you can send in what you think! ⇥ no emails collected, no need to put in a username. it’s literally just a comment dropbox :D feedback can be as short/sweet or as long as you’d like! ⇥ here! ++ more links: ⇥ three tangerines masterlist ⇥ masterlist 

[freelancearsonist]

Whole

Steve Harrington x fem!Reader

Rated MA for the most long-winded poetic smut i've ever written jfc 🤦‍♀️ slow burn fluff with a couple sprinkles of angst for flavor, reader uses fem pronouns and is described as having female parts, it's dirty y'all but at least they use protection

7,470 Words

A/N: you all know my mo by now i disappear for a year and then come back and lay down some god damned PORN. this fic is no exception to the rule. @shakespeareanwannabe requested this back in july and she literally just asked for a cute moment between steve and dustin, sorry you got 6k words more than you bargained for 😂 but also thank you for betaing and the constant validation you're the best ily 🖤

Steve’s not sure how it even worked.

He can still remember the look on Robin’s face when you agreed, how she was speechless for almost ten minutes because she couldn’t process what had just happened.

Steve’s reaction was about the same as hers, in all honesty. He’s gotten so used to striking out that asking people out has become something of a game to him. He knows he’ll get a no, and he knows Robin will laugh her ass off at him. But what can he say? He likes putting a smile on his best friend’s face.

Needless to say, you’ve shaken him. In the best possible way. Because your answer was three letters instead of two.

And now, he's a little bit in over his head.

Or, to be more accurate, a lot in over his head.

It seems like it’s been ages since he’s gone on a date, even though it’s only been a few months at most. He feels lost, like he’s completely unlearned everything he ever knew about girls.

He hates it, despises it with every fiber of his own being, but he also knows it’s true; he needs advice. And although he’ll never admit it to the little shithead’s face, there’s no one better he can think of going to than his very own protege. Who better to remind him of his own prowess than the person who learned everything they know from him?

One look at Dustin’s smug little face and Steve almost regrets it. Almost.

“Just can’t stay away, can you?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Steve rolls his eyes and gives the younger boy a little shove, camouflaging it with an affectionate pat on the back. “This is strictly business, Henderson.”

“Oh, is it now?” The younger boy’s voice takes on a smug tone as he folds his fingers together and leans back in his chair. “Well then, why don’t you have a seat? Step into my office.”

Steve rolls his eyes and slides into the booth, shooting a smile and a “thank you” to the kind waitress who delivers two milkshakes to their table.

Dustin takes his time and makes a meal of unwrapping his straw, feeding off of Steve’s clear impatience Steve’s fingers tap against the table, reminding himself that patience is necessary when you come to someone for a favor. It’s just that it’s Dustin, and Dustin knows exactly how to get under the older boy’s skin in the most annoying-yet-oddly-endearing fashion.

“So…” Dustin finally says after a lengthy sip of strawberry milkshake. “What brings you so humbly to me?”

“I’ve got a date.”

And Dustin, the little bastard–he laughs. A deep, rumbling belly laugh, so pure and unfiltered that the three other occupied tables in the diner pause their conversations to get a look at the boy clutching his sides.

Steve’s a little embarrassed by the attention, but even more embarrassed that Dustin’s reaction is so genuine. The fact that the idea of him having a date is so laughable is a bit of a punch to the gut. It hasn’t really been that long, has it?

When Dustin’s laughter finally dies down he realizes Steve’s face is completely serious, and it makes him giggle even more.

“Wait, you’re actually serious? Who on earth did you manage to pull?”

Steve’s nearly bashful as he says your name, and even more bashful when Dustin’s jaw visibly drops.

“No fucking way. I’d believe anyone else, but her? She’s like… hotter than Phoebe Cates. There’s no way you wouldn’t strike out with her.”

Steve’s immediately on the defensive. Is it really so hard to believe that he, former king of Hawkins High, could pull the most gorgeous girl in town?

But that’s just it. There’s really no one like you, not in his eyes. He’s admired you since freshman year and never once even tried with you because he knew he wasn’t worthy. You were always in the background–a beautiful, kind, smart, funny girl just out of his reach. Part of the reason he even asked you out was because he was so sure he would strike out. In the end, losing his confidence was exactly what he needed to pull the girl of his dreams.

And that’s why there’s so much riding on this. You’ve always been his biggest “what if”, the girl he wonders about when thinking that maybe not trying has been holding him back. And apparently, it has.

“Look, I don’t even know how it happened, okay? But she said yes, and… and I really don’t want to blow it.”

“Well duh. You’ll have to leave town if you blow it with her, you know that, right? If she doesn’t think you’re worth it, no one else in this town ever will again.”

“That’s exactly what I’m afraid of!” Steve groans, slouching down so far in the booth that Dustin can just barely see his poor, overwhelmed face.

“Steve, listen…” Dustin’s voice takes on an almost fatherly quality, an omniscient tone that gives off the illusion of great hidden knowledge. He gets like this sometimes, and Steve’s not always sure that it is just an illusion. “Don’t let this go to your head, but you’re, like, one of the coolest guys I know. If she doesn’t like you… that’s her problem, not yours. Okay?”

Steve straightens in his seat, a little shocked to hear such kind words from a friend that he’s used to being mercilessly teased by.

“No, no, no, it’s going to your head. I take it all back. Forget I said anything.” Dustin’s hearty giggle makes Steve smile as he sets a wad of bills on the table and slides out of the booth.

“You’re not so bad Henderson, you know that?” He gives the younger boy’s full head of curls an affectionate ruffle. “Thanks, kid. I’ll radio later.”

Not that Steve didn’t have total faith in his young protege, but it’s still a relief that the pep talk turned out to be exactly what he needed to hear. Dustin’s right, after all. Steve’s worked hard to become the man he’s always wanted to be. He may not be dripping charisma or sex appeal the way he used to, but he’s much more comfortable in his own skin. That’s what counts, right?

And you really are his dream girl. The opportunity to take you out tonight, even if it ends up being your first and only date together, is an honor. He’s much less focused now on all the ways he could screw up, hyper-fixated on putting the effort in to make this the best night of your life.

That effort comes out in the carefully selected suit jacket he dons over his white button-up, the extra spritz of cologne, the careful touch-up shave to vanquish his five o’clock shadow, the extra ten minutes using the perfect amount of product in his hair so that it stays in place yet is still soft to the touch.

By the time he gets to Enzo’s (half an hour early, mind), he’s practically vibrating with nerves and anticipation. He’s never been much of an overthinker, but he sure is tonight. Is this place too much for the first date? Would you rather do something lowkey, like catch a movie or go for a walk in the park? He has to remind himself a couple of times that you agreed to this, that you wouldn’t have said yes if you weren’t interested in the arrangement.

To say he’s prepared for this is putting it lightly. He’s run through every possible scenario in his mind, gone over conversation starters and questions he wants to ask you over and over again until he knows exactly how he wants to phrase each thing.

And still, nothing could prepare him for when you walk through the door.

He has to physically restrain his jaw from dropping because in the moment he sees you, every well-planned thought and all etiquette is flushed down the proverbial pipes. You’re nothing short of breathtaking in a dress that hugs all the right curves and shows just enough cleavage to have him imagining what else there might be to see. Your hair is pinned back out of your face, eyes framed by just the slightest bit of makeup to make the color of your irises pop. He swears he’s never seen a shade quite like them. It’s like you move in slow motion as you approach him–he sees the entrance of the smoking hot love interest in every romantic comedy, complete with smoke and fireworks, as you move towards the table.

And then some sense of decorum returns to his addled brain, and he quickly shoots up so he can pull out your chair for you like a proper gentleman. He catches just the slightest whiff of your perfume, and he’s a goner. He’s ready to sign his life away to you, to yank his own heart out of his chest to offer to your careful hands.

He has to give his head a shake to compose himself before he goes any further off the deep end. No one’s ever thoroughly shaken him the way you have, and it’s been a matter of thirty seconds. It’s almost intimidating, the effect you have on him.

“You look… incredible,” he fumbles as he takes his seat across from you. “I mean, you always do, but… wow.”

The shy giggle you emit tugs at a heartstring he didn’t even know he had.

“Thank you,” you tell him with a genuine smile. “You clean up very well yourself.”

“I do like to put in some effort every once in a while.” He flashes the most charming smile he can muster, and just like that he’s back. His resolve to impress you is reinforced tenfold. You’ve shaken him, and it’s such an unfamiliar feeling that he’s practically bumbling. He wants to shake you just as badly.

The food’s delicious, and the conversation’s even better. He has a track record for taking out a more–for lack of a better term–bimbo-y type, and that’s definitely not you. You’re smart, you’re witty, but you don’t make him feel like an idiot. He’s so taken with you that he doesn’t even notice that three hours have passed until he looks around the room and notices that every table is now empty and bussed.

The waiter delivers the check, and Steve notices you gnawing on your lip.

“What’s on your mind?” He asks, trying not to be too prying.

“I don’t want this to be over yet.”

Steve smiles. He’s got you; hook, line, and sinker. He’s never been so sure of anything, and that surprises him. He’s used to dates who are easy to read and even easier to take home, and those aren’t the impressions you’ve been giving him. To know that you’re feeling exactly what he’s feeling is a huge confidence boost.

“I don’t either.”

Your hand is so small compared to his. That’s all he can think about as he strolls next to you, his fingers intertwined with yours. He’s always considered hand-holding to be child’s play, it’s never excited him before the way it does in this moment with you.

It’s pitch black in the park and he can hear the overlapping chirping of summer cicadas and grasshoppers, the perfect background noise now that the conversation has died down. It’s less about getting to know each other at this point and more just basking in each other’s presence, prolonging the inevitable because neither one of you can bear to call it a night when it’s been such a good few hours.

You’re shocked, to say the very least. Steve certainly has a reputation, and it’s not for being a romantic. Yet everything tonight has flown in the face of all the rumors you’ve been hearing since junior high. You figured he’d be a fun fling, and probably only one night at that–you’d made your peace with the idea. To find that he’s kind, considerate, funny, and can match your intellect and quick wit… it’s a very pleasant surprise. And that’s what has you out well past a decent hour, giddy over simply holding his hand like you’re a damned school girl all over again.

“I should probably let you go home,” Steve sighs wistfully. He hates to be the one to bring it up, but you’re on your fifth lap around the park and about to circle back to where your car is parked so now seems the best time.

You’re chewing your lip again, a thoughtful habit that makes his heart pound just a little bit harder.

Here’s the thing: you’re really not the bold type. You act confident, sure, but in practice it’s a lot more difficult for you. So no one’s more surprised than you are when you say, “You could come home with me. If you want.”

Steve’s definitely shocked, too. Less shocked at your proposition and more at the fact that he’s tempted to decline. Because no matter how much he’s been running through the back of his mind what you might look like under that gorgeous dress, he doesn’t want this to end there. For the first time in his life, he wants to find more meaning than sex out of a relationship. He doesn’t want to take you home and never see you again. He wants to take you out again, and again, and again, and again after that. He sees a future, for once, that doesn’t look dim and hopeless. That fact alone scares the shit out of him.

He realizes he’s waited way too long to reply and fumbles for an answer. “Of course I want to. I’d be an idiot not to. But…”

You chew that cursed bottom lip of yours again, and Steve has to focus on the obvious cue you’re giving him rather than the fact that he wants to be the next set of teeth around that lip.

He stops in his tracks, gently pulling on your hand to face him so he can take your other hand in his free one. “It’s not a bad but. I mean, I’m going to go home kicking myself for saying no because I really honestly do want to… well, y’know. But… I want to do this right with you. I want to take you out again. I want to get to know you and see where this goes. I can’t… I don’t want this to end tonight.”

He’s eternally grateful for how dark it is as he feels a flush consume his face. He can’t remember a time he’s been so honest and open, especially on a first date; but the look on your face tells him he’s done something right.

“Okay,” you tell him, squeezing his hands in yours. “You… honestly have no clue how nice it is to hear that.”

“Of course,” he continues, “if you just want me for my body, no hard feelings.”

You laugh at that, genuinely laugh, and Steve thinks it’s the best sound he’s ever heard.

“No,” you reassure him. “No, I… I wanna see where this goes, too.”

You’re stopped only a few paces from your car, and Steve knows with a twist of his gut that this is the end of the night. It makes his gut turn with disappointment, but also with anticipation of when he’ll see you next. Already, his mind is flooding with ideas of where he can take you and what you’ll do together.

You drop one of his hands so you can walk but keep a tight grip on the other until you get to your driver’s side door, hesitating outside because you’re still not ready for this to be over. It takes every ounce of restraint he has not to kiss you, unsure of if that would be moving too fast.

Thankfully, you make the call yourself. Leaning up on your toes, hands against his chest for balance, you press your lips against his and he has to summon every mite of strength not to moan. No one’s ever tasted so sweet, molded against him so perfectly. His hands drift from your shoulders down your arms, coming to rest on your waist as he pulls you just a little bit closer. It’s a fight of will not to overstep, to break off the kiss before it can become too heated. His mind is spinning by the time you break away. He’s aching for more, and he hopes you are too. 

“Goodnight, sweetheart.”

“Goodnight, Steve.”

Your sweet voice replays in his mind all night, long after you’ve gotten into your car and driven away, long after he’s returned to his own vehicle and pulled the radio out from under the driver’s seat to check in with Dustin, long after he arrives home and soaks in a cold shower for longer than he probably should. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get your voice out of his head, and he couldn’t be any less upset about it.

He practically counts down the minutes until he sees you again. This time, he has a little less restraint. He greets you with a kiss–a sweet peck and a hand on your waist that leaves you aching for even more.

It’s a movie this time, a chance to enjoy each other’s company on a night you’re both too tired from working to engage in heavy conversation and getting to know each other further.

It starts with sharing popcorn, then holding hands, then somewhere along the way the film is completely forgotten in favor of your lips meeting his. His breath grows heavy as his hands hold your face, committing you to memory while resisting the urge to explore further. Your hands, meanwhile, are firmly on his thighs, gripping tightly to keep yourself steady as you do everything you can to keep yourself from crawling into his lap.

He whispers your name, and your grip on him tightens.

“W-we shouldn’t…” he murmurs, then gives up on the futile attempt at finishing his sentence so that he can pull you even deeper into the kiss as his tongue sweeps across your bottom lip.

It takes everything in him not to moan when your lips eagerly part to accept him.

Needless to say, once the credits start rolling you’re both more than a little hot under the collar.

“Let me buy you dinner,” Steve suggests as he woefully unwinds himself from you. Declining doesn’t even flicker through your mind as a possibility.

It’s not Enzo’s this time, but it doesn’t have to be. He could set a soggy peanut butter and jelly sandwich in front of you at this point and you’d still thank him for it. This time around, you’re not really as interested in the cuisine as you are just simply getting through this meal to what’s next. Because what’s next is all you’ve been thinking about since you walked through the doors the night of that very first date and saw Steve Harrington wearing a blazer for you. It’s a level of effort he’s definitely not known for–in fact, he’s built a reputation for putting in so little effort that it nearly made your jaw drop to see him trying. And it certainly made your heart skip a beat.

But then again, the Steve before you carelessly wolfing down his bacon cheeseburger seems very different from the Steve you knew in high school, even if you didn’t know that iteration as intimately as this one. That one was cool, collected, snarky and pompous and maddeningly desirable.

This Steve, your Steve, is nearly an exact foil. Much less cocky, a little less confident but more self-assured in the ways that actually hold meaning, less worried about what the people around him are observing of him than what you’re observing of him. He seems happier, more carefree, more eager to please others than simply himself. He’s grown so much in such a short amount of time, and you feel proud just for having the honor to witness it. Significantly more proud to be on the receiving end of his affections now that they hold the kind of value you’ve always wished they would.

He looks up and notices you staring at him while lost in thought, a small smile spreading across his lips as your eyes quickly dart away.

“What’s on your mind?” He questions as he licks a stray bit of ketchup from his thumb.

“Just… happy I’m here. With you.” It brings heat to your cheeks to admit it, but you don’t want him to go unappreciated in this moment.

It’s the right thing to say, because his smile grows even wider. “I’m happy too,” he admits. “I… I’ve wanted to ask you out for a while. Could never work up the courage, I guess.”

“Steve ‘the hair’ Harrington was intimidated by me?” You say it with a mock gasp, but your shock is more genuine than you give off. Never in a million years would you have thought that he, the man who could have whoever he wanted, would be worried over you saying no to him. It’s almost comical, especially considering the way you practically threw yourself at him on your first date. Of course then, you had no clue how much he’d developed as a person. You’re almost ashamed of your behavior now, as if you might’ve inadvertently been taking advantage of the new and improved Steve who isn’t just into you for a hookup.

He shrugs, nearly bashful at your teasing. “Never figured I was good enough for you. So I didn’t bother to try.”

You’re genuinely curious now, leaning in a little closer and brushing your fingers against his hand resting atop the diner counter. “What made you change your mind?”

“Honestly? I was so sure you’d say no that I asked just to give Robin a chuckle. She loves watching me get shot down.”

That makes you frown, and he’s quick to backtrack. “I wanted to! I just… I’ve had a bad track record lately. And you’re… you’re you. You’re the last person I should be worthy of.”

His eyes are quick to avert from your gaze, bottom lip tugged between his teeth as he contemplates whether he’s said too much.

“Steve…” you properly grab his hand now in the hopes that it’ll bring his eyes back to you, and it works. “You’re the only person I’ve deemed worthy in a long time, honestly.”

Steve Harrington is scaldingly warm. It’s one of many sensations forcing your mind into overdrive as he lays you delicately across the backseat of his beemer, one hand cushioning the back of your head while simultaneously deepening the already heated kiss and the other balancing his weight to lean over you in the cramped space without completely crushing you.

Your fingers tangle themselves into his soft brown locks, tugging ever-so-slightly as his tongue slips between your parted lips. He’s an eager explorer and you’re more than happy to let him take the lead, to show you all the skill you’ve heard so many whispers about.

You let out an involuntary moan as he wedges himself even closer to you, his body heat soaking through all the layers of clothing between the two of you and warming you all the way to your very bones.

You’re practically aching, ready to beg, and he knows it the second you wrap your legs around his waist in an attempt to get him even closer. If there’s one thing Steve Harrington’s good at, it’s assessing your needs. He pulls away just the slightest bit to adjust his position so he can get closer, wedging a knee between your legs to press right against your core, and it makes you jolt back against the car door at the same time his head hits the roof just a bit too hard.

You both pause for a moment, the reality of your situation hitting you simultaneously, and then you’re laughing. It’s light and edged with unresolved want, but it’s enough to fracture the tension of the moment.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “Shouldn’t have gotten so carried away. This isn’t how I want to do this.”

“No?”

“No. You deserve way better than this old beater,” he chuckles, then leans down to kiss you. This kiss is lighter, no longer edged with tension and lust. He kisses you just to kiss you–there’s no end goal to it this time.

“What could be better than a BMW?” You tease lightly, trying to reassure him that you’re less disappointed than you really feel.

“You know. Something romantic. A proper bed, rose petals, maybe a few candles…”

“I don’t need all that,” you try to tell him.

“I think I do,” he admits. And that’s enough to pull you back, to remind you that you need to be patient and grateful that he values you so much as to want to do this whole thing properly. That his affection is something to be cherished, not taken for granted.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I didn’t mean to be pushy.”

“Please don’t apologize.” He hesitates to untangle himself from you, even though he knows he needs to. “I want this just as bad. I just… I need it to be right.”

“As long as I have you, it’ll be right,” you reassure. “I hope you know that.”

He presses his lips to yours again, a slow and passionate kiss that he hopes communicates every bit of adoration he feels for you in this moment.

“It’ll be perfect. I swear,” he vows. You’ve never believed anything more whole-heartedly than you do this promise. 

~~~

“Wait, you’re telling me that you literally had her under you and you stopped?” Robin’s halfway through chewing a mouthful of popcorn and the absolute carnage inside her agape mouth makes Steve give her a light shove.

“It’s not polite to talk with your mouth full, y’know.”

“It’s not polite to blue-ball either!” She shoots back in utter disbelief.

“How do you think I felt? I was this close,” he holds his thumb and index finger barely millimeters apart, “to sealing the deal.”

She just shakes her head. “You, Steve Harrington, are a genuine, bonafide idiot.”

She’s not telling him anything he doesn’t know. It’s been three days since the aborted fling in the backseat of his car, and he’s barely thought of anything else. Especially since you’ve been away from home both of the past nights when he’s called. He’s starting to worry you’ve gotten the wrong impression, that he’s not interested or that he’s toying with you. It’s the exact opposite. He wants nothing more than to know you in the most intimate way he can know you. But he needs it to be flawless. He needs it to be well thought-out and precisely planned, the most romantic event in the history of copulation. He won’t settle for anything less, not with you. You deserve perfection, and he won’t give you anything less.

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” he tries to explain. “I want to more than anything. But if you’re gonna go to town on a goddess, you need to do some worshiping, y’know? I don’t feel like I’ve done enough.”

Your heart pounds in your chest as you hear this admission. You weren’t sure what to expect–worried that maybe visiting him at work was an overstep–but hearing him call you a goddess certainly wasn’t on your radar.

“You’ve done more than enough, Steve.”

The sound of your voice makes Steve jump and whirl around, oblivious to Robin’s sly smirk and mumbled excuse of needing to attend to something in the back room.

“H-hey!” He squeaks, then clears his throat in an attempt to get his tone back to its normal octave. “What… what’re you doing here?”

“Oh, just came to pick up a tape,” you tease. “But mostly I came to see you.”

“Me?” He takes a moment to ground himself, loosening his too-tight grip on the counter. “I mean… I tried to call you last night. And the night before?”

Your brow furrows. “Really? I didn’t get your message.”

Because he didn’t leave one. He clears his throat and says, “I just figured you were busy.”

“Oh, well, I volunteer at the animal shelter on Wednesdays, and last night was my friend’s 21st birthday. I’m sorry I missed you, though.”

He can tell that you’re really remorseful, and it makes his heart squeeze in his chest a little bit. He plays it off with a dismissive wave of his hand. “No, it’s fine, it’s… are you free tonight?”

You giggle at the abrupt redirect, but he’s played directly into your hand.

“Yeah, actually. I was hoping maybe you could help me pick out something for us to watch tonight? If you’re free too, that is.”

His dark eyes blink slowly, wondering if you’re aware of the implication behind your completely innocent words. You. Him. A movie. Alone. It’s enough to make his head spin. 

“I’ve never been freer.”

Conveniently, you’ve come in close enough to the end of his shift that by the time you’re done combing through Family Video’s vast selection for the perfect film to use as background noise, Steve’s ready to clock out. And since you walked over after finishing your own shift at the local dollar store up the street, it works out perfectly that he can give you a ride straight to his place.

You only glance in the backseat once, but it’s enough to get your mind churning. Remembering the feeling of him, of what could’ve been. Anticipating what will be.

“Parents home?” You ask as he pulls into his driveway and parks, trying to sound casual and utterly failing.

“Nope,” he answers easily. “Took a detour to Cabo on their way home from Hawaii.”

“Sounds glamorous. You opted out?”

“I’d rather be here in Hawkins with you than on a beach alone anyday.”

He must know the effect his words have on you. Surely he can hear the way your heart picks up pace as he looks at you with those dark, affectionate eyes.

“So… this is home.” He waves a hand around the entrance hall like it’s a shabby nightmare, not the grandest house you’ve ever been in.

“I’m starting to understand why they used to call you King Steve.”

He’s almost embarrassed at the mention of that old high school nickname. “Trust me, this isn’t why.”

“Well, a palace does befit you,” you tell him with a smirk.

“Stop, you’re gonna make me blush.” The wink he shoots you makes your gut erupt with butterflies, a sensation that would normally make you a little uncomfortable. With Steve, you’d take the butterflies all day long.

He gives you a cursory and oversimplified tour of the ground floor before leading you upstairs, and suddenly he’s sheepish. It’s been a few moons since he shared his room with a girl, so the nerves are justified. But that’s too simple an explanation. You’re not a girl. You’re his dream, his muse, his–to re-quote himself–goddess. No one he’s ever cared about more has stood where you’re standing, and it terrifies him.

He hides it well, though, busying himself with making a comfortable nest for you in his bed before setting up the television set on the dresser against the far wall. If ever there was a time to regain his confidence, it’s now. He curses whatever god there is that he feels like a fumbling virgin in this moment when nothing is even happening, when just the anticipation is enough to make his hands tremble.

There’s no more stalling once you’re comfortable and the tape is set to play. His heart pounds to the steady and frantic rhythm of one of those heavy rock songs Dustin listens to now as he sits next to you, hands itching to take a hold of you but also eager not to move too fast.

Almost as if you can sense his hesitation, you reach over and take his hand. “Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“Kiss me.”

And so he does, and the second his lips slot to yours all the worry and anxiety is gone. He’s Steve Harrington, and he knows what he’s doing. You’re you, and he’s wanted this for so long. After years of being lost, he deserves to finally find the love he’s been looking for. He’s never been so sure of anything as he is, in this moment of initial clarity, that he’s in love with you.

He can’t say it, not yet. He’s sure it’s too soon, and the last thing he wants is to scare you off. But he’s determined to prove it to you, and the only way besides words is action.

He can handle action.

There’s no more restraint or hesitation behind his touch. This is it, this is what you’ve both been waiting for. There’s no way in hell he’s not going to deliver now. He’s desperate for you, and it shows in the heavy way his hands drag along your curves whilst committing you to memory; the way his tongue languidly swipes across your bottom lip; the way he shifts effortlessly to hover over you even while deepening the kiss.

He’s overwhelming every single sense of yours in such a sudden fashion, and you wouldn’t want it any other way. Especially not when his hips meet yours in a deliciously slow grind and you finally get your first little taste of what’s to come.

He keens at the little breathless whimpers that leave your mouth, reading every single signal you provide him with and accommodating each. Moaning? He continues what he’s doing, intensifying if deemed necessary. Whining? He adds something, because he knows it’s hard to use your words when you’re wanting so badly. Squirming? He pays attention to the direction of your movement and pulls away or presses closer depending on necessity. It’s down to science for him; he only really cared about extracurriculars in school anyway, and this was certainly his favorite.

But then he comes to his senses–while he doesn’t pull away completely, he needs to clear his mind and he does so by letting up a bit, allowing the kiss to become languid and the heat to extinguish a bit. It only makes you whine more, and Steve curses his damned formula. You shouldn’t be part of an equation. You’re everything he’s ever wanted, and every aspect of your relationship so far has been a new experience for him. He needs this particular activity to be different too. No formulas or calculations. Just you and him and whatever happens naturally.

Clearly you can hear the cogs in his mind turning. You pull away with a concerned look on your face and ask, “what’s on your mind?”

Now’s not the time to hide anything from you, he reasons with himself. He wants to be authentic with you, and part of that means telling the truth, even if it’s not something particularly comfortable.

“I’m… falling into a routine. And I don’t want to,” he admits. He sighs and leans back, one hand dragging through his shaggy and disheveled hair, sure that he’s going to ruin the mood if he carries on like this. But he refuses to back away from the truth now. “This… it’s always been like…. Like a series of checkpoints. Boxes to check, y’know? Kiss you, take your clothes off, make you come, fuck you, say goodnight. And I don’t want… I can’t let it be like that with you. I need this to be… real. Not just some list to cross shit off of. I don’t–”

Steve takes a long, shaky breath before he can ramble on anymore. Never has someone so thoroughly gotten under his skin. He’s never felt so insecure, so unsure. It’s terrifying. The most terrifying part of it all, though, is that he likes it. He loves the feeling of the unfamiliarity, of doing this right. In a way, it’s almost like he’s doing all of this for the first time all over again. You’re his first date, first kiss, first time. All because he’s changed so drastically, because he’s not even remotely the same person he was just a year or two ago.

Your hands are so gentle as you cup his face, tenderly forcing his eyes to meet yours.

“Steve… we don’t have to do this, not if you’re not ready. I want to be with you, not just for this, but for everything. Everything that comes with you… that’s what I want. There’s no pressure. I would wait a hundred years for you to be ready so long as I could still have you.”

Steve’s breath shakes a little as he comprehends the gravity of your words. There’s nothing he can say that can properly convey the gratitude he holds for your words, so he says nothing at all.

In his silence, you continue. “You’re more than a body, you know that, right? You’re funny, and kind, and smart. Yes, smart, don’t look at me like that. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted to be close to. I just… I want to spend time with you. I want to watch stupid movies and eat diner food until we get sick and laugh at your stupid jokes… and maybe make love with you, sure, but that’s pretty low on the list as long as I just get to be with you.”

He doesn’t notice the tears until it’s too late–by the time you’re wiping them from the apples of his cheeks it’s far too late to take them back or hide them. With anyone else, he would be angry; at himself, for allowing himself to be so vulnerable. For allowing himself to be so emotional. With you, though… with you, his emotions make him feel strong. 

For the first time since you walked into his life, he’s not scared of losing you.

“I love you,” he tells you. His voice is firm, as fierce as the kiss he presses to your mouth, as powerful as the waves of emotion vibrating through his very soul. “I love you so much.”

He barely gives you a chance to reply, as keen as he is on physically proving his love to you through myriad passionate kisses that leave you breathless. But when you finally get the chance to use your voice after a barrage of kisses that start to trail down your neck, you whisper, “I love you too.”

Four words, and they’re all he needs to quell every worry or fear he’s had over doing this relationship properly with you. Why should he have to worry, after all, when he’s already succeeded? 

“I love you,” he whispers as he trails down your neck and to your chest, leaving tender love bites on the tops of your breasts once he’s properly liberated you from your shirt.

“I love you,” he mumbles through sucking a mark a few inches north of your navel.

“I love you,” he murmurs when his lips meet your waistband. His fingers make quick work of your pants as he scatters kisses over your stomach, unable to part his mouth from your skin for even a moment.

“I love you,” he affirms as his mouth meets your hot and waiting core.

There’s no more checklist. Because this isn’t simply sex, as it always has been for him in the past. This is love-making: the kind of sappy shit they talk about in all those Hallmark movies that he rolls his eyes at the sight of. It’s like losing his virginity all over again.

He understands the old adage of “the other half” now. You’ve ripped him to shreds and sewed him back together with strands of yourself. The end result is better than the original ever could’ve even dreamed to be. He’s sure he couldn’t possibly live without you now, that losing you would be like ripping out fresh and unhealed stitches.

You’re not sure how long he camps out between your trembling thighs, but it’s long enough for you to lose count of the number of times he pulls you apart–first with his languid tongue; then his long, curved fingers; then a combination of the two. It’s like he loses himself completely in your pleasure, not a single thought in his head except what he can do to bring you to the edge again, and again, and again.

You’re trembling with oversensitivity by the time his own needs overtakes his desperation to unravel you. So out of it that you feel drunk, like Steve’s laced you with absolute bliss so pure you can barely stand it.

You’re hardly present enough to appreciate the adonis before you when he finally undoes his own jeans, and that’s a damned shame because he’s so damned pretty. Long and thick, flushed at the girthy tip from his hitherto unacknowledged arousal. His lean thighs are pure muscle, and the dark thatch of hair that trails south from his navel makes your mouth water. He’s everything you dreamed he’d be and so much more.

“Steve…” You don’t know what else you can possibly say. All you can do is vainly hope that one whine of his name can convey all of the heat, frustration, tension, and above all longing, swirling through your head in the moment.

He breaks from his lustful reverie for a moment to smile as he leans in for another heated kiss; you think it’s safe to say you’ve gotten your point across.

He slows from his mania for a few moments, lips tender as they explore against yours once more. These kisses are languid, slow, yet no less heated. Even now, he’s trying to prove his love to you. As if you could somehow not believe him after everything that’s happened, every small moment you’ve spent with him witnessing how hard he’s trying for you.

Somewhere in between kisses he manages to wrestle a condom out of his nightstand, miraculously without ever breaking from your lips.

Now is where you cut in, finally fading out of your over-pleasured fugue and back to reality. You take the little foil packet from his hands and tear it open, eager for this small chance to finally get a hand or two on him.

He lets out the most gorgeous noise you’ve ever heard as you roll the rubber down his length; a deep, earthy, diaphragmatic moan just from the simple touch of your hand. You want to touch him even more, to wrest out more of those sounds from him; to see what other undiscovered responses you can pull from him as you pleasure him. But you know that now, he needs to set the pace. He believes he has something to prove, and you’re more than happy to let him prove it. There will be plenty of other opportunities to have him completely at your mercy, anyway.

There’s no way to describe the feeling as he slides into you. It’s more than bliss, more than euphoria, more than earth-shattering toe-curling mind-altering pleasure. It’s nothing more than feeling whole. Of never knowing you were missing a part of yourself until it’s suddenly returned to you. Of never knowing what home felt like until this exact moment.

Maybe it’s overdramatic. Maybe it’s outlandish and outrageous and a million other adjectives to feel something so overpowering and overwhelming from such a seemingly simple physical act. But in this moment, you know you’ve never felt anything as right as being connected to Steve in this way.

His lips hardly leave yours while he rolls his hips against you, easily finding the perfect angle to make your breath hitch and your hands scrabble for purpose.

It admittedly doesn’t last long, but it doesn’t have to. Once you start to tighten and pulse around him, he’s a goner–deep purposeful thrusts turning to hard, arrhythmic plunges in desperate search of release.

You’re still shaking from your high when he slowly pulls out of you. He keeps you close, arms linked around your waist and dragging you to lay on his chest as he flops back against the pillows. 

You’re not sure how long you lay like that, with Steve whispering sweet nothings into your hair and pressing absentminded kisses to your face. All you can really focus on is one all-consuming, life-changing fact.

“I love you, Steve Harrington.”

“I love you too,” he whispers back. He kisses you again, just a simple peck on your lips, and you know that he’s telling the truth. It’s an eternal truth: one that can’t be changed or altered in any way. Steve Harrington loves you with every fibre of his being, and he will for the rest of his life–even if you’re both blissfully unaware of it for now.

THE END

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[thetriumphantpanda]

i'm not the only one | joel & tommy miller

Summary | You have your baby. You have your family. But can you really have everything you want? Can you really have your cake and eat it too?

Warnings | Fluff, mentions of breastfeeding, small children (in my world they need to come with a warning because ew), let's say it one more time for old times sake: TOMMY GETTING CUCKED BECAUSE HE LOVES IT, dirty talk, fingering (f) and allusions to other smut.

Word Count | 1.9k

Authors Note | Wow. I just wanted to take some time to say a huge thank you to everyone who has read and supported me through this little fic. What started as a filthy little one-shot has become something super special to me. I'm so proud with how this turned out and I really hope that you love this ending as much as I do. I need to say a massive thank you to the JFC - @cavillscurls @dinsdjrn @morning-star-joy @cupofjoel @tightjeansjavi @sinsofsummers for continuously losing their mind over this fic with me and helping me come up with the ending where no-one gets their heart broken, I love you girls more than I can express 🧡 Thank you to each and every person who has read this, has given me their love, interacted with me and generally just made me the happiest girl for deciding to come back to fic writing. You're all awesome and I love each and every one of you. Please let me know what you thought of this, either by commenting, reblogging or sending me some love in my ask box, and if you'd like to support me with a donation, you can do so over on Ko-Fi.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

The late September sun is still warm, even as it begins dipping below the horizon, painting the sky a beautiful mix of pink and orange. The beer in your bottle is lukewarm, but you finish it off anyway, attention dropping to your son, sat on your knee, as you bounce it up and down to keep him occupied at the table. He’s just turned two and is a much better table companion at Joel’s birthday cook-out than he had been last year. He’s starting to show a little personality, babbling along when Sarah tried to talk to him, teasing Tommy when he hands his son a toy, throwing it to the ground because he already knows he’ll pick it right back up and play along. 

Everyone else has long gone by this point in the evening. This year’s celebration of Joel’s birthday being held at your house because he’s having his garden landscaped. It’s just the five of you, the people who matter most to you in life, sat around, finishing drinks and just enjoying each other’s company. Sarah yawns to your left, the day finally catching up with her. 

“You tired, bug?” Joel asks, smoothing a hand over her hair. 

“I’m not tired.” But she yawns again, chuckles erupting from the table. 

You poke at her arm, “Your room is ready whenever you are.” It had already been agreed that Sarah and Joel would stay here tonight, so he could have a drink and enjoy his birthday without worrying about driving home. 

To her credit, she lasts another hour sat at the table, but once Joshua starts fussing as well, it’s clear it’s time for everyone to call it a night. Joel kisses Sarah on the forehead, wishing her a goodnight as she heads inside. Tommy takes Joshua from your arms and presses a kiss to the top of your head, leaving you and Joel together for the first time that evening. You reach out your arm across the table, palm up to the darkening sky, Joel’s own, much larger hand, slipping into it. 

“Shall we go?” You ask, the smile across your face mirroring his own. 

“I think we should.” 

As you’re walking through the neighbourhood your mind drags back to this time last year and the conversation with Tommy as Joel’s birthday loomed on the horizon. 

“What do you think we should get him for his birthday?” Tommy asked, flipping through the catalogue of construction gear that comes through the letterbox every few months, “He was saying his toolbox is too small these days, maybe we can get him a bigger one?” 

Joshua is cradled against your chest, suckling as you feed him. You’d always wondered how the other women you knew could multitask before he’d been born. One of your best friends could breastfeed her child, cook dinner and talk to her older daughter all at the same time. Now, standing in the kitchen feeding your son, two pans on the stovetop as you cook, holding a conversation with Tommy, you realise it just came naturally. 

“I mean, we can,” You throw over your shoulder, “But I think that man deserves more than a toolbox for his birthday.” 

Once Joshua has finished feeding, you hand him to Tommy, along with placing a rag over his shoulder – you fed him, Tommy gets to burp him, that’s the deal. 

“I just feel bad,” You comment, going back to pushing the steak around the pan, “Do you not feel like you’ve kinda just abandoned him a little?” 

“What do you mean?” Tommy asks, patting his son on the back. 

You sigh, trying to focus on cooking as you speak, “I just mean that he did this for us, gave us this life we have now, and what are we going to do to thank him? Give him a toolbox? Just seems like we don’t care.” 

“Well, what would you suggest?” He asks, you're quiet in response, trying to think of how best to put this, "You miss him, don't you?" He finally asks.

You turn around, leaning against the counter to the side of the stove, “I do miss him,” You say simply, not afraid to admit it, “You said before Joshua was born that you understood the connection we have, I just want to give him something good.” 

Tommy has Joshua cradled in his arms now, trying to get him to go to sleep so he can lie him down and enjoy dinner with you in peace, "You wanna fuck him for his birthday?" There's a smirk on his lips, just like there was when you'd needed Joel before Joshua was born.

“Hey, language!” You chastise, pointing to his son in his arms, “Don’t say it like that either, you know you come first, you always have, I love you Tommy, but can’t we just give him one time, once a year, where I can really show him how grateful I am for what he gave us?” 

You can see him mull it over in his mind as he bounces his son in his arms before he relents, “Okay,” He’s smiling, and it reaches his eyes, so you know he really means it, “If that’s what you want, I’m happy.” 

You smile, walking over to kiss him, “I don’t deserve you,” You murmur against his lips, “I love you so very much, Tommy Miller.” 

Joel thinks, as he walks hand in hand with you back to his home, that he really didn’t need this. He didn’t need thanking for what he’d done. He remembers walking into your hospital room with Sarah after Joshua had been born – she’d insisted on picking the biggest and brightest bouquet of flowers for you and had been so excited to finally meet her nephew. He’d pushed open the door for her that day and had been overcome with a strange sense of satisfaction. 

You were propped up in bed, Joshua cradled in your arms, his tiny hand clutched around one of your fingers, Tommy stood, hand brushing your hair as he looked down at the both of you with pure adoration. He knew he’d given you everything in that moment, that he’d managed to make the two of you the happiest people ever, and that was enough. A fleeting moment in time between you and him, that had created the most beautiful baby boy he’d ever laid eyes on, he’d been happy to let it lie, to wait and see if you wanted more and came back to him down the line. 

He hadn’t expected that on his birthday last year, you’d have cornered him and kissed him with such passion that he wasn’t sure he’d survive once he pulled away from you. Then you explained, one night a year, he could choose when, where you could show him how thankful you were to him. A night just to yourselves, without Tommy’s eyes trailing over you both. Secret and sacred between the two of you. 

Once Joel has unlocked his front door and brought you inside, he wastes no time. He craves this, has spent the last year thinking of the moment he gets to fuse his lips with yours. It’s soft, as his mouth opens against yours, slow as your tongues meet, he doesn’t have to rush with you anymore, he gets you to himself for the whole night. He pulls away, pressing his forehead to yours. 

“Hey.” You smile softly. 

“Hey, pretty girl,” He’s smiling, palms resting at your hips, “You want me to take you upstairs? 

You bite at your bottom lip and breathe out, “Yes.” 

He leads you up the stairs, your hand clutched in his own, through the threshold of his bedroom. He settles himself on top of his sheets, head propped up on his pillows as he motions you to join him. You clamber onto the bed, crawling up his body on your hands and knees until you’re straddling his hips with your mouth back on his. 

As you grind your hips down onto him, his hands coming to cup your ass under your dress, you can feel him growing hard for you. All you want is to strip him down and put your mouth on him, but it seems he has other ideas, and since this is all for him, you let him take the lead. He slips his hands under the waistband of your panties, warm hands on your flesh as he pulls them down as far as they’ll go in this position. 

“Lie down for me, babygirl.” He whispers against your lips, you oblige, settling yourself down on your back as he pulls your underwear off fully, shucking the hem of your dress up to your hips. 

He’s got one of his arms under your head, his lips at your ear as you spread your legs for him, letting his fingers slip through your folds to gather the slick that has slowly been gathering there all evening as you both watched each other, knowing what was coming. 

“So wet for me, pretty girl,” He breathes into your ear, taking the lobe between his teeth to nibble as he slips two of his fingers into your tight pussy, “Been thinking about me?” 

He drags those fingers from your core, up to your clit where he begins to play soft circles across it, it’s so gentle that your breath catches in your throat as you arch yourself into his hand, “Couldn’t stop,” You admit, turning your face to kiss his lips, “Thought about you all day.” 

He dips his fingers back into your cunt as he kisses you, you can feel him smirk against your lips when you grind down to meet his fingers, “I’ve been thinking about you all year, hot mama, couldn’t wait to get my hands on you.” 

He brings his slick fingers back up to your swollen bundle of nerves, showering it with attention as you whimper for him, arching your back and bucking your hips, fingers gripping at his arm as he works you to the crest. You come for him, moaning into his mouth as he kisses you, his fingers making sure they work you for every ounce of your orgasm. 

Joel has you more times than he can count that night. He brings you over the edge over and over again until you can do nothing but sob, beg for a reprieve but beg him not to stop. You let him put you in positions you didn’t know possible, his cock thick and heavy inside you, brushing that spot within you that makes you sing and scream for him. He fills you up with his cum, protected by the pill you take each morning, and then, when the sun is rising and the beginnings of the day break through his drawn curtains, you lie on his chest, fingers drawing patterns on his skin, slick with sweat. You’re both sore, both spent, and both happy, most importantly. You know that within the hour you’ll have to start the walk back to your own home and it’ll be like nothing ever happened. Sarah will think her dad slept on your couch and you were in your rightful place, in bed next to Tommy, and that's how it will continue to be for another year, happy with the man you love, but safe in the knowledge that you still have this slice of heaven each year. The play will continue for another year – the doting uncle and niece, the happy family with their growing son, and you’ll be happy, because this is all you’ve ever needed. 

“I love you.” Joel whispers, lips pressing a kiss to your forehead as he brushes the sweat slicked hair from your face, his eyes mapping every inch of you, claiming this scene as his own, committing it to memory so he has one thing he can think of, in the depths of his nights, when he feels the loneliest. To remind him that he’s not lonely at all, because even if he can only have you once a year, at least he can have you. He’s a simple man and he’s happy to take this one moment with you, until you decide you want more from him, if that’s ever the case. 

“I love you too Joel.” 

[nectardaddy]

full throttle | sakusa kiyoomi

chapter eight | no faith | 🏎️

masterlist

Neither party could find much to say in the morning, even after getting coffee. A thick, almost tangible, tension in the air that was hard to miss and neither could really work themselves around.

A tension to him that was suffocating, riddled with anxiety of the upcoming tandem mixed with never knowing exactly what to say. For her, completely deafening, determined to only look out the window. Both telling themselves, I'll talk if they do, being the complete collapse of conversation all together. Tension that remained for the entire trip, 30 minutes of dreadful silence completely overshadowing any meaningful conversation that was had the day before.

Shifting his car into neutral and pulling the parking break, he let out a breath before looking over to her. "Sorry," mumbling an apology before continuing, "I'm pretty nervous today, actually."

Even still she flashed him a small, nervous smile, "you'll do great, I know it."

"The whole reason I did well yesterday was because you said I was the best driver you'd ever seen and I couldn't get it out of my head." Blurting out the words before quickly closing his mouth, mind reeling as he didn't register what he wanted to say. The words just came out. "Fuck, I'm sorry, that was weird," desperately trying to back track the conversation. Cheeks flushing as he saw her eyes widen from his out burst.

"No," she corrected. "Not weird at all," letting a nervous chuckle pass her lips as a pause entered once again. "It's sweet, I didn't know it would mean that much to you."

Finally, the man felt as if he could breath again. Listening to, only part, of what Komori had suggested he say paid off. "Thanks for coming today, I'm happy you're here."

"Of course," the nerves leaving her smile as it turned pure. "I'm happy I came with you. Plus, I can't wait to see you kick everybody else's ass."

jfc the first message from "baby got track" was atsumu saying if you think we wouldn't notice you blushing getting outta that car you're WRONG (technology actually hates my very existence today)

double feature again bc I didn't feel great about that last chapter

omi was thinking of telling yn that the entire way there but pawned it off as being nervous for tandems

as much as they get on his nerves, those 3 ARE his friends and it was only a matter of time before he told them how he felt

he just had to mentally prepare himself

suna just lives to annoy yn

but other than noya, he's probably the most ride or die friend

he's also the best at running from cops

if omi doesn't win now he will die of embarrassment, he's taking "kick everyone's ass" to heart

taglist under cut

@wyrcan @hilichurl-lover @neuviloved @mayariviolet @wqnsho

@chosugarplum @dontmindtheevie @ilyless @phoenix-eclipses @kitnootkat

@azuremyst99 @wolffmaiden

[celabi]

It's your local fungi with a horny thought. We had our sports fest at school today and I played badminton for my section. I went to the bathroom after my match and was all sweaty and shit (Tennis shorts and all that wink wonk.) But also secretly wishing Scara would see me and take me in one of the stalls. That was hours ago, I spent the whole time since, trying to not lose my shit over being sexually frustrated. Expound on this please I will kiss you if you do <3

Gym class with Scummy Scaramouche! ☆彡

Blublublublub hiiii I don’t think they do pe in college but take wtv this is *bites lip seductively* mwa (it’s short$) tbh this is kinda not what you asked but it’s also similar at the same time lol sorry!!

Scaramouche used to absolutely despise P.E class. Because no matter what sport the teacher made them participate in, almost everyone tried to target him some how, y’know, cause he’s a loser and stuff. People using all their strength to peg a dodge ball at him, going out of their way to trip him over him track, being the last one picked in group activities… yeah, it was kinda rough. So naturally, as he got older, he tried to put his past behind him as much as he could— wether that be lying to the professor and saying that he had a bad knee (sometimes he’d make Ei write him a sick note to make it more believable… this is a grown man everybody), or just skipping out on the lesson entirely (by cramming himself in a bathroom stall and playing on his phone). Basically just doing anything to get out of it— but that all stopping when you came in.

Coming in with that tight gym uniform that he thinks hugs your body figure just perfectly— watching as it slightly raises when you bend down to do all those different physical activities. The way the sweat that drips off your face and down your neck made you look almost if not angelic… and if he had a jar, he’d ask to take a little sample from you jfc I’m so sorry. How your tits bounce every time you jump up the catch the ball, you’d have to literally shake him back and forth for his attention to leave them (but even then he’s looking down and watching them jiggle lawl). The small shorts that let your cute little butt peak out from under them … he quickly grabs his bag and places it in his lap to hide his boner.

Um anyways, he scrambles up from the floor and slowly walks over towards you— momentarily stopping you and your friends conversation, which you smile and they groan about. “Hi Scara, need something?” So cute, he thinks, his feet padding across the ground until he’s finally, fully in front of you, while also trying to secretly scoot your friend further away. “Yes, you…’re help with something, can you cu— come with me? Please?” You smell even better then he thought. Scaramouche hums happily when you agree, and reaches out for your hand to pull you along and away from everyone else. Your friend tries to pull you back, but he shoots them a deathly stare over his shoulder and tightens his hold on your hand, a silent head shake in warning, they roll their eyes and let you leave.

Scaramouche thinks gym class is not that bad, as he locks the door to the stall and turns around, where you’re standing there, unaware (or aware, maybe who knows) of the effect you have on him, and looking at him questionably. “You… want me to help you pee, or something?” He blinks, and lets a little, amused chuckle fall from his mouth.

“… no I— i uh. Can you turn around really quick?” A strange request, but you comply nonetheless, and turn around until you’re facing the wall. There’s a quick shuffling sound coming from behind you, as well as Scaramouche letting out a few curses under his breath— before you feel his body pressing up behind you. “Thank you… you don’t know— know what you’re doing to me, do you?” His arms wrap around your torso, hands sneakily slipping under the fabric of your shirt and landing on your bare skin— which he shamelessly prods at. And when you look down, you can just barely see something poking through the gap of your thighs… it’s the tip of his cock, it’s angry red and leaking cum already :( “you look so beautiful wearing this, so— so perfect. I hate that everyone else can see you.”

Humming, you reach down and tease your fingers over the slit of his cock head, making him drop his head into the crook of your neck and whine pathetically— before he slowly starts to rut his hips into you. “So good, so good…” even through your clothing he can feel the way your pussy rubs against his cock.

“The lesson ends soon… we’ll have some fun, yeah?” (A threat not a question) your voice is so heavenly, he squeezes his eyes tight shut, and moans into your skin. “Yes… yes please.” He feels your hand leave his cock, and your arms raise up to pull off your shirt, and he gulps. ‘..finally.’

Err the end bye 🫡

[gravehags]

dream (a little dream of me)

Pairing: Aether x f!Reader

Rating: Explicit, 18+ ONLY MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Tags: somnophilia (with consent), dry humping, Copia briefly cockblocking, plus size reader, quintessence magic

Words: 1,664

Summary: It's been a long, successful day for you. Perhaps a nighttime visit from a certain Quintessence ghoul will be the cherry on top.

a/n: Hooray for the first fun thing I've written in like a whole ass month jfc!! Once again, a concept that came to me in a dream. A Satanic portent if you will. I am the pythia of the Ghost ministry. All my cirrus x aether x reader lovers...i hope you enjoy that ending lmao

divider by @ghuleh-recs

You don’t remember the last time you were this tired.

You’re already stripping as you push the door to your quarters open, dropping garments on the floor. Making your way into the room, you groan as you remove your bra and fling it somewhere where you think it knocks something over but you’re too exhausted to care. Leaning against the wall you unlace your boots and shimmy out of your trousers and underwear until you’re standing in the middle of the room stark naked and staring lovingly at your bed. You know you should shower, should remove your makeup at the very least but the soft covers of your duvet and fluffy pillows call to you like a siren’s song. Sathanas, what a day. You spent most of it cleaning the chapels and attending Papa Copia at mass, your most favorite task. Your devotion to the Olde One ran true, and attending services always moved you deeply whether you were participating or merely a devout spectator. Vaguely you recall something about Aether texting you earlier in the day, asking you to check in with him when you got back to your room so you fumble around in the pockets of your discarded pants for your phone.

I’m here, very sleepy. Coming over?

You think of the towering form of the ghoul, the way his strong arms encircle you when you bury your face into his chest. The rumble of purrs that come out of him when you rub your hands along his broad back. The sounds you can tease out of him when he’s at his most vulnerable, large hands gripping at your hips and his wonderfully thick cock pulsing inside you. Your lips curl up in a soft grin as you await his response, a rush of warmth spreading from your belly to the apex of your thighs. Before it can truly grow into anything more, your brain reminds you how exhausted you are and you feel the edges of your vision start to blur with the need for sleep. You hesitate only a moment before typing out an additional text.

Gonna go to bed. If you want me you can have me…

He responds right away and you nearly laugh at his eagerness.

On my way over right now

Walking over to your bed with a smile, you plug in your phone to the charger, fling back the covers and crawl in, sighing deeply when your head hits the pillows. The cool sheets and comforting weight of your blankets immediately sets you at ease and before you know it, your heavy eyelids shut and you drift off to sleep.

Twenty minutes have passed since you sent Aether the suggestive text and he is finally at your room after being waylaid by Copia in the hall who, in his peculiar way, began complimenting you and your devotion during the service that day. The conversation went on for far longer than Aether wanted, but finally Copia let him go with a wink and a little elbow-shove about how you’re probably waiting for him. Aether tried not to look too eager when he walked away from Papa, but Copia looked at his retreating back with a suggestive eyebrow waggle all the same. When he opens your door, he’s met with dim lighting and nearly trips on your discarded items of clothing strewn in a trail from the entryway. He smiles fondly when he spies you, bundled up in your blanket and softly snoring, and he immediately begins to strip. When he’s fully nude, he slips in beside you, groaning at the cocoon of warmth you’ve created. He wraps an arm around you and pulls you flush against him, a purr rumbling in his chest when your naked flesh meets his. He gently leans in and nuzzles your hair: you smell like the incense Papa uses in his masses and the unique, sweet, intoxicating scent he’s come to know as you. Unconsciously, his hips shift forward and his half-hard cock brushes against the curve of your ass. You’re so kind, so good to him, always giving and loving. He thinks about the text you sent earlier and a flood of warmth begins to rush through his veins.

If you want me you can have me

He can’t lie, he’s often thought about having you like this. Fucking against you or into you as you sleep, watching you shift and moan even through the haze of slumber. Slowly, he slides one of his large hands up your side, squeezing the meat of your hip briefly before moving over your belly and up to your breasts. When he cups one, thumb brushing over the nipple, you make a small noise in your sleep and shift your hips backwards against him, causing him to groan. He lowers his lips to your shoulder and begins mouthing at the warm skin there, tongue tracing up the curve of your neck as he gently pinches your now hardened nipple between his thumb and forefinger. His cock, now profusely leaking precum onto your skin, ruts against you slowly, every roll of his hips in sync with the movement of his mouth on your flesh. He pulls you closer, if that’s even possible, and with steady, firm movements begins to fuck himself against you. His breath stirs the hairs strewn around the side of your face and his hand abandons your breast to grip at your hip.

“So good for me, even in sleep,” he growls lowly, face buried in your neck. “So fucking soft.”

You’re providing so much pleasure for him, he thinks, but receiving none in return. That simply won’t do. With his hand wrapping around your body to cup the curve of your belly he concentrates his quintessence on your sweet cunt, making you feel the presence of his cock within you even as he ruts against you. He’s sure he’s woken you from your slumber when you let out a long, low moan but your eyes remain shut even as your breathing becomes unsteady. With every thrust, every drag of his cock along your skin he imagines being inside you, stretching you just how you like, the way you clench so tightly around him. He visualizes hitting that glorious sweet spot within you and when he slides his hand down to the juncture of your thighs, he moans loudly when he finds you sopping wet. Even as his phantom cock thrusts inside of you, he toys with your swollen clit, making you whimper and your eyes dart around behind your eyelids. Your breathing comes out in soft pants punctuated with beautiful little mewls as he presses his forehead to the back of your head, concentrating on your softness as his hips begin to jerk forward with more fervor. 

“Fuck, my love,” he groans, fingers sliding through your slick to rub at you, “fuck, you’re perfect. So perfect just - ah! - just for me. My sweet girl.”

He imagines how you must feel, mind drifting through subconscious thoughts even as you’re filled with the stretch of him. He wonders what you dream of, if it’s of him. His thrusts become shorter and faster as you tip your head back against him, mouth hanging open. With a gasp, you moan one word with your back arching, hips bucking into his touch.

“Aether!”

It’s all he needs to drive him over the edge and suddenly he’s coming, hard, all over your ass and lower back. He barely notices that you’re stirring, cheeks flushed and eyes blearily looking at your surroundings as he fucks himself into overstimulation against you. He only stops when your hand shifts behind you and grabs at his hips, stilling him. Sweat slides down his forehead as his seed cools on your skin and you hold him flush against you.

“I’m sorry,” he pants quietly, hoarsely, “I’m sorry I woke you.”

“Mmmm don’t be,” you say sleepily, pushing your own hips back to brush against his softening cock. “That was gorgeous.”

He smiles against your hair and tells you not to move as he gets out of bed and heads to your small bathroom. After a moment he returns with a warm, damp washcloth and tends to the mess he’s left on your skin. Half of it has slid off you and onto the sheets - a problem for tomorrow.

“Thank you,” you murmur as he discards the cloth in your hamper. Reaching out, you make a needy grabby hand gesture, beckoning him back to bed. When he slides back in alongside you, you roll over to face him.

“How’d you do that?” you say with a yawn, sleep clearly falling upon you once more.

“Hmm?”

“How were you inside me while…not being inside me? That was…wow.”

“Ah,” he says, leaning forward to kiss your forehead, “quintessence magic.”

You waggle your eyebrows suggestively and reach up to stroke the base of his horn while his tail pulls you closer under the covers until you’re nestled against his chest.

“Felt amazing,” you whisper, fingers carding through his chest hair, “like being fucked on a cloud. You were so close but still far away. Weird feeling.”

“But you liked it?” Aether asks, looking down on you with his brow furrowed.

“Mmm fuck yes.”

“You’re not upset with me?”

“Love, the only thing I’m upset about is you not using that magic earlier. You were holding out on me.”

Your eyes are shut but your lips are curled into a mischievous smile and he strokes your hair.

“I’ve got all kinds of tricks up my sleeve. Maybe Cirrus and I will show you…”

You make one last noise - a mix of intrigue and contentment - before sleep overtakes you once more. Aether holds you close, the spade of his tail drifting up and down your leg under the covers.

Before his own eyes slide shut, he reminds himself to thank Papa for including you in his mass today. Maybe he could tire you out more often.

[hippolotamus]

Listen, yesterday my angsty wife @bidisasterevankinard said ‘what would Buck get from Eddie? Just the will?’ and jfc here we are. Mostly under the cut for length and mentioned past suicidal thoughts. I apologize in advance. (Please let me know if I’m missing any important tags)

“Jeez, Eds, you really gotta clean out your junk drawer,” Buck calls from the kitchen.

Eddie huffs a little laugh to himself because he knows if he lets said drawer go long enough Buck will inevitably clean it himself. He always does, always has. The messiness of Eddie’s junk drawer always gets to him eventually.

“Aha!” Buck exclaims.

“Find it?” Eddie calls back. Buck is searching for a notepad to keep score. Chris is coming home in a few weeks, for the start of school, and Buck wants to brush up on Scattergories before he does.

“No, but I did find the missing Yahtzee pencil.”

Eddie shakes his head fondly, listening as Buck continues sifting through the contents, like a woodland creature making a nest.

“Finally! I didn’t think it would be so hard finding a note…pad.”

Buck’s voice trails off into silence. No sounds of the gentle giant bounding through the house. Nothing until the shaky ‘E-eds?’ so quiet Eddie almost doesn’t hear it.

He hurries to the other room, curious what could have made Buck sound so upset. But as soon as he sees his friend he knows. He recognizes the lined notebook, hurriedly hidden there months ago. Shoved in the darkness and now in Buck’s trembling hands, open to a page that was never meant to be discovered.

“Eddie,” Buck says, lifting his gaze to reveal red-rimmed eyes that dull the beautiful endless blue Eddie’s used to. “What- Is this-”

Eddie swallows, steeling himself for this conversation he wants to have even less than telling Chris he was letting him go. He manages to calmly cross the room, gently taking the pad from Buck. He stays in Buck’s space, one hand hovering over his shoulder, unsure if he has the right to offer anything soothing right now. Eventually Eddie withdraws, keeping to himself.

“It is,” Eddie confirms. “It’s exactly what you think it is.”

“But- why?!” Buck’s words are so broken and Eddie doesn’t know that any reasoning will be good enough. “Why would you- Eddie you were planning to kill yourself! And this- this is addressed to me. Was I meant to find you?! What about the rest of the team? Our family!”

Eddie can see the hurt building to rage. And he gets it. He does. He’s been on the other side of this, too. He offers the only explanation he can, even if he knows it’s piss poor and inadequate.

“Buck, the only reason you’ve never seen this before is because you did find me. It was right after Chris left and Gerrard took Bobby’s place. Everything was messy as hell. I just didn’t see the point anymore. And I thought- I thought even if Chris did come back, I wasn’t fit to parent him.”

“Eddie-”

“But you showed up. Just barged through my door like always. Because I swear you must have some kind of sixth sense. So I shoved the note away. We had beer and pizza, and you told me we could talk about Chris or anything else if I wanted to not think about it. And Tommy FaceTimed from Harbor while he was on shift, and I saw you being all gooey and gross together.” Eddie laughs, remembering how lovestruck Buck was even then. “You stayed over, slept on the sofa and something changed. Made me start to realize there might be something left for me after all. First thing the next morning I called and made an appointment with Frank.”

“O-okay,” Buck start, hesitantly. “That still does explain why this is written to me. Why not a generic note or something for Chris?”

“There was one for him, too. But when Shannon died, she left a note for Christopher. Something to explain why she was gone in case she never came back.” Eddie’s throat becomes clogged with emotion and hurt, demons he’s still fighting. “She left one for him. But nothing for me. Nothing to explain why I had to go on and live life without her. And I couldn’t do that to you. As the only other person that close to my son, I couldn’t let you wonder. I couldn’t let you waste years of your life questioning. Yes, you’re in my will, but I couldn’t leave you with only that. Like you were some arbitrary footnote meant to take care of Chris if something happened to me. I needed you to have the closure I never got. That I was never given a chance to hear.”

Between one breath and the next, Buck tackles Eddie in a tight embrace, holding on for dear life. He clutches and sobs into the crook of Eddie’s neck while Eddie clings right back, wondering how he let the darkness of everything convince him he could die without leaving a trail of hurt in his wake.

They cry together, a conversation of a million unsaid things in every wretched, anguished moment.

“Eds, please. You can’t-“ Buck’s muffled voice comes from where he’s trying to burrow further into Eddie. “You just can’t.”

“I know. I’m so sorry,” he whispers, carding his fingers through Buck’s hair. “So sorry, Evan. I won’t. Ever. I promise.”

[murfpersonalblog]

IWTV S2 Ep3 Musings - Loumand

Last post, I promise; I needed another nap; this ep's a freaking rollercoaster. And these two queens nearly gave me a stress ulcer!

DEBATABLE, Louis. I can think of FAR worse vamps than you, love.

Why're y'all having this whole conversation where anyone can hear?

They got Sartre's wall-eyes down; good makeup this season, team! 👌

DreamStat's a Loumand bed-death truther, jfc. 😭

I wanna know EXACTLY what Armand sees--or "feels"--whenever DreamStat pops up in Lou's head. Cuz he clearly knows precisely where Les is; he looks right in his direction. But does he HEAR Les too? (God I hope not, this song would've had me SEETHING--Back to Hell with you! 😅)

"Oh dear" indeed; I was HOLLERING.

SAM WAS DEVOURING THIS SCENE HOLY GOD GO AWAY DEMON

Armand looked PISSED, I was scared for Louis' life! And he DOES know, actually, yes Lou. I can almost GUARANTEE that he knows PRECISELY where Lestat is AT THIS VERY MOMENT, yes Lou.

If only you knew.... 😬

Claudia's suffered more than Christ. And nice cut to Daniel sneaking around with Raglan James as Armand talks about Furies punishing "human wrongdoing." It's really interesting that Armand told the lawyer that LOUIS is the owner of the paintings. Is he the owner of the penthouse too? HOW MANY DEEDS DOES HE HAVE, ROLIN?

I wonder what AMC might be saying about Loumand's art collection, not just wrt what we know about art heist!Armand (which we'll likely see a nod to in Ep4 at the Louvre); but also wrt what we know about Dubai's godawful neocapitalist hellscape economy, and Loumand's "moralizing" about Parisian black markets in S01E02.

I wonder if that's the excuse Armand'll give the coven when Louis shows up for dinner in Ep4--very much NOT dead; and rips out Santiago's tongue.

WILD voice-over, cuz you KNOW that's what Santiago was thinking, too, LOL. (You wish, Francis.) But yes: Louis' finna end your whole career. XD

Another TERRIFYING jumpscare from the coven, like in Ep2 with Annika. Louis, I am shocked & appalled--can you not HEAR all these vamps planning your bloody murder around you? CLAUDIA! WTF!?

But this is how you know Armand's true personality--he hates getting his hands dirty. He kills all the time, but he makes his victims' deaths pretty. He'd rather sit back & let Lestat/Louis come in and wreck his whole coven, even though he has the power to just light those mofos up all on his own! I wish AMC emphasized a bit more that Armand not only writes/directs the plays--he's an ACTOR, too. And istg he's an expert at PRETENDING to be helpless, meanwhile he's the strongest vamp that's NOT one of the Children of the Millennia (thanks to how well Marius made him).

Armand, that is LOW; waiting until Claudia's stuck under the oaths b4 you tell her she's guilty of breaking Great Laws she doesn't even know about yet. WTF?

How TF you gon' hold Louis accountable for following the Laws when he wasn't even allowed to be in the effing room when they were read!? He's not even a member! WTF! (I get it--any rogue vampires are subject to death, yadayada; we know it's a stupid policy.)

I love how he plans to leave by himself here--it had nothing to do with picking "another one" over Claudia. He just didn't want to hold her back anymore. And his presence was causing problems. 😭 It's so cute that Louis' stipulation about London was that if it's "too large" he'd leave and go to Ireland (?!?)--he's become agoraphobic or something? He just wants to be alone in his hermit hole--MOOD. 😭

Good to get confirmation that the Fire Gift here is Armand and blessedly NOT Santiago--so why's he zooming around in the sewers?

Look, sometimes folks make terrible first impressions--Lestat was being hella racist, Louis' always playing defense, Armand was finna kill Louis in a gay public park. It happens.

Foreshadowing like crazy, as usual.

WILD thing to say. I'm gonna cry, please stop.

(What kinda hypocrisy is that, when you were made young your dang self!?) She's already 30+ years old--maybe she'll last a little longer if y'all (read: sexist, racist, ageist, ableist, etc society) don't eff around tryna make her life even harder! But AMC's deliberately cutting Claudia's life in half, compared to the books, cuz misogynoir's real and Claudia gets NOTHING out of vampirism, not even a fair chance. And y'all let her into the coven KNOWING how much she loves y'all, and KNOWING y'all were gonna kill her. EFF THIS WHOLE COVEN, ARMAND INCLUDED. (Lemme calm down--this kind of betrayal is exactly how Lestat must've felt in S01E07; I get it; they're getting a taste of their own medicine. But LESTAT EFFING HAD IT COMING. The coven should've just told them: y'all got til sunrise to GTFO our territory, you're not welcome here. This whole bit's unnecessary.)

THE PARALLELS ARE PARALLELING

SKILL ISSUE. Cuz Louis' got the least power, and he's finna clear that whole bish out in just a couple episodes. 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

Louis, love, ARMAND DON'T GIVE A EFF ABOUT RAISING SOME OTHER MAN'S OFFSPRING. This is the call of the wild, as Alphas KILL the children their stolen Omega brides had for other Alphas/Betas, so he can restart the gene pool with HIS DNA instead. I know y'all had National Geographic back then already--READ A BOOK, Louis, it's what you're best at.

Incredible. After all of that Louis said Lestat never broke him. BENT BUT NEVER BROKEN, that's right! 💪😤

Boy, we're not talking about some little (unrequited) CRUSH over a man you only knew for a few months (which you've CLEARLY not gotten over yet). Louis was MARRIED to the man for 30 YEARS. This is his MAKER. Lestat knew his whole family; went to the Black cookouts and everything! They literally built a home AND business together! They raised a child together! WHATCHU KNOW ABOUT THAT!?

And that's LESTAT'S DAUGHTER TOO--how much can you possibly love EITHER of them while planning to knock her off!? I can't listen to too much more of this. *hands Louis the torch and scythe*

Beautiful end of this STACKED episode. Incredible work, AMC! Jacob acted his PANTS off; he excels at the trembling voice, agonized facial expressions, and utter mental breakdowns. He's pulling DEEP within him, holy god; it's so raw, it's almost hard to watch. EMMY WHEN?!

[msmarvelouswinchester]

If We Love Again

Summary: Whatever problems we had back then don’t exist anymore. It’s why we have this second chance, and we can’t throw it away. -Michelle Maddow

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Y/N (Reader)

Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Reader

WC: 1942

Warnings: Angst with a happy ending. Post-canon where DEAN IS ALIVE, kinda sappy, body-shaming (not by the boys), hugs and kisses

Square Filled: Your hands are tough, but they are where mine belong ( @taylorswiftbingo )

A/N: Alright. Alright. Hello you people! Jfc, how long has it been? A lot of things happened (personal matters and fandom problems too) so I took a break. Kind of gave up writing for a bit. Then two boys - Alex and Henry (RWRB fandom, I'm looking at you) got me back to writing! And of course I had to write for my baby, Dean Winchester!

And I've also lost my taglist. So sorry for not tagging anyone in this.

Completely unbeta'd. All mistakes are mine.

“What’re you doing here?” The usual routine of the bunker had been thrown off-kilter when Y/N had appeared, looking…frazzled. Maybe a tad smile but her eyes shone with unshed tears. And she was drenched to the bones and panting like she had run a mile to get to the bunker. The man welcomed her inside, saying, “Come in first, you are fucking wet.”

The words slipped and the man’s eyes widened, expecting a snobbish remark from her about the word and its placement in the sentence but soon enough, he frowned because Y/N didn't comment on the…apparent opportunity of turning the entire conversation inappropriate. Like she always did. But today, she wordlessly accepted the man’s gratuitous welcome and headed inside the old establishment.

Once at the end of the stairs, she said, rather whispered, “Hey Dean. Can you do me a favour? I need a hug.” If Dean didn't know what heaven looked like, he would have guessed he had ascended to heaven at Y/N’s request.

Dean, who had sprinted down the steps, looked at her and nodded, opening his arms. Y/N stepped into the hug and wrapped her arms around his torso, hands finding the nape of his neck. Dean’s hands had also instantly found their shelter around her body. They stayed in the position for a while. Y/N inhaled deeply quite a few times. The unforgettable scent of cinnamon and gunpowder hitting her and she let the tears fall as she let her guard down for the first time that night and Dean’s hold around her tightened. The sobs that left her, wrecked his heart. Each wail was like a dagger to his chest. He hated seeing her sad. He rested his chin on the top of her head, the familiar smell of her shampoo gave him whiplash as the memories of…everything queued up inside his head. But he still didn't know what had prompted her to show up at her place. “Y/N, sweetheart, can you look at me? I need you to look at me,” Dean murmured, “please.”

His voice washed over her and the sobbing turned into sniffles. She sniffled against the now wet, snot-covered spot on Dean’s tshirt before her red-rimmed, puffy eyes found his worried green ones. “‘M sorry,” she whimpered.

“Hey, shh, what're you sorry for? For ruining my shirt? Oh, I'll just bribe Sammy to do the laundry,” Dean grinned but the worry never left his eyes.

“I just—Dean, I'm sorry for…s-showing up tonight unannounced…I shouldn't have…what was I even thinkin’? Dean, I’ll—uh…see myself out.” Y/N said, and fidgeted in Dean’s grip but he was reluctant to let go. Not when she had just shown up a few minutes ago and broke down in his arms.

Dean said, “Stop, Y/N. Stop. It's alright. That's what best friends are for.” Nope, not letting you go this time.

“But…” Did you forget the part where we dated and broke up and vowed to never see each other again because it would break our hearts even more?

“No buts,” Dean said, as if he could read the thoughts in her head, “Whatever happened…happened. You were my best friend and you still are. If you need me, in a heartbeat, I'll be there for you. Do you understand that?” He glanced up, Jack if this is your doin’ because I pretty much dreamed about second chances last night then thanks, buddy.

Y/N nodded.

“Now let's go sit down. I'm gonna go find Sam and let him know you're here. And then we can go and kick some asses.” Dean gently guided her to his room in the bunker and sat her down on his bed, asking if she needed anything to drink, water or beer or anything to eat, knowing all they had was pie and a greasy two-days old burger in the freezer. They really needed to stock up their fridge more now they have started to live normal lives.

Y/N, though just asked for water.

Dean winked and said he would be back in a minute. And he was, with Sam in tow who had scooped her up in a giant hug. Oh, she had missed them.

“Hi, Sam. You look…different.” Y/N giggled at Sam in his formal clothes instead of the layers of plaid she was used to seeing on him. She had heard that the Winchesters had retired from hunting but seeing them bask in their post-retirement glory was astonishing.

“Yeah, had a makeover sorta, got myself a job and everything—”

“And a girlfriend,” Dean wiggled his brows and his brother blushed furiously. In between the conversation, Dean had handed Y/N a glass of water and sat down beside her on the bed.

She sipped on the water and hummed thoughtfully, “Who would have thought? Our little Sammy, all grown up!”

And for the first since her alarmingly sudden visit to the bunker, Y/N smiled.

“Oh shut up. Enough about me. Dean said something to me about kicking someone's asses. Do we have to bring out our hunting gear?” Y/N’s eyes widened at the question.

“No! Jesus, no guns. And no violence.” She warned the Winchesters.

“Can’t promise on the violence part, sweetheart!” Dean smirked. “So what happened?”

“Honestly. I think I'm good. It was a moment of…sadness but I'm oka—”

Dean cut her off, saying, “Y/N you were wailing. That was not nothing. Come on, tell us, we swear we'll be good.”

Y/N hesitated and Sam decided to put her out of her misery, “Whatever Dean says, if you don't feel comfortable in telling us. Don't tell.”

“Oh…” Dean sighed, “Yeah, I…I didn't want to make you uncomfortable. You seriously don't have to tell us, if you're not up for it.”

“It's just not that,” she swallowed hard. It should be easy to tell them, right? They were her best friends. She took a deep breath and said, “The guy, I am…or rather was dating—” She felt Dean tense up beside her and Sam side-eyed his brother but she continued “-well, he was an asshole. A dickhead. A fucking son of a bitch.”

Sam chuckled. “That's quite a description.”

“Yeah. So I applied for this job in NYC and well…I got it—” her heart soared in her chest as she watched the brothers’ faces split into a huge grin “-but this moron of my ex-boyfriend decided to throw my insecurities to my face because he didn't want me to go to NYC.”

Now looking back, Y/N didn't know why she was sad. She was angry. No, she was pissed because how dare a pathetic little man order her around about whether or not she should work in New York. “He was worried that I wasn't too pretty for the NYC girls, that I was too soft to survive in a big city like New York—”

This time Dean chuckled. Because Y/N wasn't soft, she was a hunter. Born into a hunter family only to give it all up because she wanted a quieter life. But she knew how to fight, how to wield a gun. And she was pretty. Too pretty and even after four years of breaking up, Dean’s heart still skipped a beat when she called his name, looked at his face and he was still enamoured by her very existence.

“So I told him that I would leave his sorry ass,” Y/N’s lips trembled, “and he said it was going to be the best thing because I wasn't worth enough for him to fight for because I…I am ‘too much’ and I…I don't put an effort into being the woman a man wants, no…needs. And in that moment, I got so sad, I needed to see you. Because I missed you guys so much. I missed this where no one judged me or at least didn't use to until…well, I…yeah. So, this is how I showed up here.”

“You're always welcome here, Y/N. And I'm sorry, things haven't been…good for a few years but don't think for a second we will judge you or not let you back into our lives,” Dean’s hands had snaked back around her waist, pulling her closer while she continued, “Well, he was kinda right. Don't you think? I talk too much. Sometimes I go on a ramble. I don't watch my diet—”

“That son of a bitch body-shamed you?” Dean was seething.

“Yeah. And he said, I was too much of a work to stay with. I have always been told that I'm too much of a work but it still hurts—”

Dean said, “Well the guy is an idiot. You aren't too much of a work, sweetheart.”

Y/N, this ain't gonna work. You want me. I want you but you don't want this hunting life while THIS hunting is my life. This relationship is going to be so much of a work and with Cain on the loose, I don't think I can put that much effort in this. Y/N gave Dean a soft smile, “I don't want to bring up old memories but you also said that, pretty much four years back.”

Sam’s mouth fell open. “What the hell, Dean?”

“W-I? I was under the influence of the mark, Y/N and you knew it. I pushed away so many people. Letting you go was my biggest mistake. And I regret it because I still fucking love yo—” Dean’s mouth snapped shut.

And for the second time, Sam exclaimed, “What the hell, Dean?”

“Yo–love…what?” Y/N whispered.

Dean turned towards his brother, “Sammy.”

“Yeah.” Sam quickly stepped out of the room.

“Y/N. Letting you go was my biggest mistake and never calling you up was my biggest regret. I should have called because I still need you. And now I have this life. You know I start a new job next week? It's a construction but yeah. And it got me thinkin’ about you. Yeah. I was thinking how I fucked us over and never got to tell you the truth. I never got over us, you. I…I never wanted you to go—”

“I remember very clearly you throwing me out of the bunker and telling me never to contact you again. You know what, showing up tonight was my bigges—”

“Son of a bitch, I can't believe I'm fucking doin’ this,” Dean murmured.

“Wha–” The rest of the question turned into a squeak and Dean’s lips crashed into her. And then the thoughts crashed into him. Fuck.

Dean immediately jumped back from her. “I'm so sor—”

“If you dare to say sorry for this, I am telling Sammy to shoot you in your dick, asshole,” Y/N panted, “Fucking come, kiss me, you moron!”

“You sure? You just had a breakup and…”

Y/N looked at Dean, “I know. But Dean, I had kept loving you all along and maybe by some, heaven’s grace—”

“Jack’s grace.”

“Who’s Jack?”

“God. Well, new God. Jack had been living with us…its a long story for another time.”

“Yeah so, by Jack’s grace, maybe it's my second chance at being with you. Loving you.” Dean’s breath hitched at her words, “Your hands are tough, but they are where mine belong.”

So he walked up to her, and pulled her into a loving kiss. It was soft, eager and…just like old times.

They separated but their foreheads touched as they panted for air. “Second chance?” Dean asked

Y/N nodded, “Second chance.”

He smiled, “This time I'll leave no stones unturned to make this work. Because Y/N, sweetheart, you are worth everything.”

Oh boy, I'm kinda rusty XD

Let me know your thoughts! Comments are highly appreciated!

[eggybug]

guess what time it is! its end of season 4 thoughts time!!!!

they are going to be a lot more insane and outta order than in the past

1. the entire season they were yelling at us that lilith was the final seal and it pissed me off jfc

2. i forgot what it was like to lowkey hate sam, i hate it.

3. so cas was in love the whole time, right? RIGHT. like i know ive been ranting about it all season but are you KIDDING me

4. ruby is a bitch and i hate her so bad. but she was in it for the long game thats for damn sure

5. im REALLY not looking forward to the whole "sam gets haunted by lucifer" bit

6. i love cas, i really do, but he looked right in deans eyes, knew that he was doing this shit to him, and did it anyway. like he was probably tortured by the legions of heaven, but goddamn it

7. when i start making cain and abel comparisons all next season, i don't wanna hear shit about it. itll be my bout of insanity and i apologize in advance

8. i fuckin LOVE bobby

9. no body liked john winchester, they loved him, but they hated the son of a bitch

10. i never got to the point where chuck became TRULY the worst guy ever, but i know we as a fandom hate him, so i hate him.

11. i think demons eat babies and i don't know how i feel about that

12. i don't know who i hate more, uriel or zachariah. maybe im glad cas killed all the angels

13. like i get it but HOW did it take dean so long to realize heaven wanted the war too. they disappeared for weeks while lilith was breaking seals like a bull in a damn china shop

14. they keep doing that thing where one of the capital A angels does something shameful to dean, or dean questions his faith in the "Plan" and the camera cuts to cas looking like a sad puppy

15. ik ive said it 1000 times but goddamn those stupid lil boys need therapy

16. GABRIEL WAS TRYING TO WARN THEM, HE WAS TRYING AND HE COULDNT. THEY COULD NEVER MAKE ME HATE YOU GABEY!

17. hey, in the last episode they killed a bunch of nuns, which like damn

18. back to sam, his dumbass really fell for the devil on his shoulder bit jfc

19. like i understand camera work, but two straight men don't stand that close to have a conversation. they just don't.

20. hey sammy, you throw a lady in a trunk, you stop being the good guy

21. at any point did they just consider... not doing that. maybe perhaps, waiting a week?

22. there was a thing with the mirrors and zachariah in the last ep, wasn't there? like that wasn't unintentional. mirrors are notoriously terrible to work with, that can't be unintentional.

23. i love that biblical fanfiction always somehow ends with an angel, a demon, and a human coming together to stop heaven and hell playing out a war on earth.

24. spn just proved you can't leave a bunch of corporate assholes in charge of a planet.

26. im really not looking forward to sam whining about starting the apocalypse for a whole season.

27. dean fighting tooth and nail for cas to see the truth in humanity. to find faith outside of heaven. cas seeing that and it breaking his morale a little bit more and more every time. cas repeatedly seeing dean, perfect vessel, perfect soldier, dean be willing to lose the promise of heaven, of peace for his little bit of humanity. it broke cas. and dean keeps begging cas to see it too. and they're going to drive. me. INSANE.

28. "we're done" those were the exact words dean said to cas.

29. so cas and dean can talk without saying anything, and i hate to say that means they're in love... but thats exactly what that means.

30. cas did it! he broke his faith, he sacrificed himself for dean. and now they're gonna kiss (ik they don't kiss but a boy can dream)

31. have i mentioned that sam pisses me the FUCK off! like yeah i blame ruby but goddamn.

32. this season was hell in a handbasket, jfc (no ounce intended)

omg! season for is done!! woooo! onto the most annoying and lowkey painful season ever! my takes and thoughts for season 5 are going to be annoying, so be prepared !

[treble-maker1212]

How I would've handled American Satan and Paradise City if I was in charge: a not so short, incomplete list.

Have some build up to Johnny's addiction cause weed to HEROIN is wild😭

Make it clear that Lily is bi and lied about being a lesbian to get in the band because "iTs iMpLiEd" isn't good enough for me

Show the build up of the attraction between Johnny and Lily. They showed some but I want moreeeeee

Either change Johnny and Lily's first sex scene completely or ACTUALLY ACKNOWLEDGE IT WAS ASSAULT

Like seriously, Johnny's spiral would've made so much more sense if it was written as him unable to cope with the trauma, gaslighting and victim blaming. And him turning to Lily because in his own warped justification, she is the only one who "cares"

More stuff with mama Faust's cancer cause they flew by that shit.

More supernatural stuff in the show or none at all. The middle ground bs was confusing for even people who watched the movie

MORE VIC RELIGIOUS TRAUMA

More about the Mavens and a lot more about Sheva because her character was so interesting????

More of a note for the fans but STOP ACTING LIKE GRETCHEN WAS A BAD PERSON FOR MAKING JOHNNY GO TO COUPLES COUNSELING???

More honest conversations with Gretchen and Johnny about their relationship

Not kicking Lily out of the band because that shit was stupid and made things worse

Having Lily and Johnny actually work through things

Maybe have Lily come to a counseling session

Lily needed therapy jfc

If we go with the assault angle then maybe have her realize that it was assault(it feels like she either was too high to realize what she had done, or rationalized to where it was still "her fault" but it was consensual

More interaction with Johnny and Vivian

More dad Faust

ACTUALLY TELL GRETCHEN ABOUT FAITH JFC

Character development for Johnny pls. It kept going back and forth and it was like Ash couldn't decide if he wanted Johnny to be a good person or not

MORE STUFF ABOUT JOHNNY'S SOBRIETY!!!!!

I want to see Johnny struggling, maybe even see him almost relapse.

More studio stuff, and pls for the love of God make it more realistic

LOSE THE SHITTY ACCENT, ASH. THAT WAS CRINGE

More sex

No freezing jizz cause first of all that kills the sperm so wtf you gonna do with it??? And secondly tf were they gonna use it for in the first place????

More Vic stuff

#biVic

We know Vic is in love with Johnny, acknowledge it

It would be so messyyyyyyyy

A flashback to Vic kissing Johnny while Johnny was high so he remembers it, but Johnny doesn't so tension

MAKE VIC AND SHEVA A THING

PLS

Tbh do more with the Simon storyline cause that felt lackluster

[saltofmercury]

Realistic

Pairing: John Price x f!reader

Author's note: I wanted to write a little bit for Price, but jfc I think I'm a König girl till I die and I don't see what y'all see in Price. Also I will not be writing a part 2 to this. >:) unless..

tags: @sofasoap, @bunky101, (sorry bunky I know you're a guy) the main thirsty people for Price on my dash.

"Realistic"

Heat crept up in your ears. His cheeks flushed with pink. There's a mesh of bodies between you two, not sure who belongs to who. Large hands come to cup your face, smoothing your lip with their thumb. He holds your face, sighing into complete bliss. You’ve got your hair matted behind you, but your breathing normal again.

“I’m not sure I’ve experienced that before, pet,” he sighs again, smiling softly into your face, fanning you with some of his breath.

You feel some heat rise into your tummy, and your cheeks, thankfully it won’t give away. The pet names were something you needed to get used to, so you offer him a small smile, and roll your eyes shut.

He groans as he gets up, but it’s not due to age, but because of pliability. He’s not used to such strange positions. He’s used to jumping out of planes, crawling around sketchy places, and being in extreme temperatures.

At Price’s age, everything is different.

So when he’s tangled in bed with you, the positions you're yelling at him, come at a rapid speed you’re begging him to move into. He’s on his knees, on his back, towering over you, pulling your legs up, and the temperature in his body is the only one that rises.

Because of his wise years, he’s learned to take his time, really be in the moment with you — his bird. He relishes his time with you, glad that he was able to meet you right after his previous mission.

You had stumbled upon him at a pub, visiting a friend. Sat in the middle of the bar, you sipped on your pint, when an older gentleman sat four stools down — could not keep his eyes away from you. You felt his gaze on you for the past 30 minutes, you were sick of it. You snapped your head his way, giving him a death glare.

He laughed, continued to sip on his drink, 

“Whoa there pet did not mean to trouble you.” 

Pet. The small name made you soften up a bit, realizing he was just innocently sitting by himself sipping on his drink, he hadn’t even said one word to you to disrupt you.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled, “My friends have been running late, it's already been 30 minutes.”

He grumbled, “Any of my men caught coming in late, I would assume they’re being insubordinate.”

“Your men?” You questioned. Who was this guy?

“Military…we’re used to being on time if not early.”

“Ah…” you said quietly, then turned to the door once more. Great some fucking patriotic old man was trying to hit on you.

“Don’t tell me I’ve lost ya, pet.”

You blush again, the goddamn name, filling your head with softness. You did not want any part of that. First he was clearly older than you, you weren’t sure as to why he would see anything in you, and now he had just revealed he was in the military. Next thing you know he’s going to admit he’s married while blatantly hitting on you.

“Didn’t lose me,” you lie. “Just wondering where my friend is.” You purse your lips and make eye contact with his paperwork then back at him.

“You just look busy.” You address the files he’s got on the bar, hopefully giving him a nudge towards his paperwork and to leave you alone.

“Nothing I can’t finish tomorrow,” he states, closing the file and packing it away.

Your friend didn’t end up showing, and before you knew it you were about one stool away from him now, chatting up about weekend plans.

You stare at him— he’s got an impressive watch, his clothes– mundane, basic, and patternless. You stared at his shoes for too long wondering how on Earth he would walk in those hiking boots around here. 

However, aside from judging him on outer exteriors,

His conversation is fun and light. You assumed it would be him talking down to you, but surprisingly he’s not one to make you feel smaller, or younger than him, he’s lovely and charming, and loves to ask you questions on your boring little life.

Yes, he’s got a weird mustache that blends into his beard, but his hair is combed nicely to the side, and he’s ordering one of the most expensive bourbons this bar owns. He’s just mature, is the way you want to convince yourself about him. He probably invests in stocks and has cash flow for a rainy day. While you barely scrape by and have moved to a different company twice this year. 

It doesn’t matter because you’re not going to see him ever again.

Or not.

By the end of the night it’s you who ends up giving him your phone number, worried that he might call instead of text you. 

Five dates later, you’re in your apartment now pinned beneath him. He’s a big softie, but when it comes to making love his military ego comes out making sure you’re following his every order. 

“Say it, pet”

“I….”

He takes a hold of your two hands with one of his, rubs down your neck, breasts, and stomach until he’s at the top of your clit, he puts his thumb in his mouth to wet it, then back on you. He plays with you, making you gush with fireworks inside your stomach, and warm colors in your head.

You groan, your eyebrows push together as you bite your bottom lip. You’re unsure of what’s about to happen next, and you don’t, won’t cave so easy to this man. Even though he’s making you feel so so so good.

“Say it, pet” he’s removed his thumb from you and moved it to your mouth now, playing delicately with your bottom lip. He’s thrusting so slowly, tenderly inside you, slipping in and out making you squirm even more. How gentle he is with each stroke.

Your emotions are being played with, which only ignites a harsher warmth in the pit of your stomach, staring at the man on top of you, biting your bottom lip, smiling, and happy you’ve met him. You’re grinning from ear to ear, when you close your eyes and say what he wants to hear.

“I love feeling you inside me.”

He’s smiling now. But that’s not going to make him stop. You didn’t say the word cock, which is what’s inside you.

“What do you like feeling, pet?”

Fuck. He’s onto you, he knows he won’t stop teasing you until you feed his ego.

“My fingers pet? Is that what you want inside you?”

You groan knowing that even if he did replace his cock with his fingers, he knows every curve and every nerve on you, begging you to bend at his will.

“I– uh..I love feeling your cock inside me.”

And there it is.

He is relishing in the fact that he’s got a cute little bird like you, that he’s still got the touch to make you squirm and moan beneath him. He wasn’t a man of one night stands, which explains his current company for the past few weeks, and he’s willing to make it official.

You both finish, and you’re back where you started, him complimenting you on how vibrant and alluring you are in bed. You love to hold onto this small euphoria between you two.

That is, until you mention his job.

It’s an innocent question, you ask him one night while you’re curled on the couch, trying to peek at him at your dinner table filling out reports.

"What are you working on?"

“That’s classified, pet.” He dismisses you as he has before.

Then one night you’re at his place and you see the tactical vest he’s got in the closet.

“What’s this?” You ask innocently, touching one of the pockets, until he’s shoved you aside and closed the closet door.

“I don’t want you touching my things. Is that clear?” He’s got a different tone to his voice and it bothers you because you’re not one of his men for him to be speaking to you like that.

“Don’t talk to me like that. I’m just asking a question.” You spit back.

“I’ve told you not to pry into my job, it’s classified business.” 

He pushes you further away.

You chew on your lip, unsure of what to say, the man acts like he’s the fucking president when you ask about a vest. 

The third and final time it sends you over the edge. 

You hear his cell phone ring, and it’s one of those old phones that probably uses the numbers on the pad to text.

It rings and rings, he’s in the kitchen grabbing water, you pick up the phone and bring it to him until you see the name “Laswell” on it and it brings uncertainty.

He’s sighing when you hand over the phone, answering it outside on the balcony.

When he enters the room again, the name, it eats you alive.

“Is Laswell a friend?” You ask, curiosity piercing your head.

“That’s classified, pet. I don’t want you touching my phone.”

“I’m sorry?”

“You should’ve let it ring.”

He turns his back, pulling a shirt on.

“Fuck John, can’t you just answer a simple —“

“I already told you I'm not answering any bloody damn questions.”

He stalks over to you, towering over you, making you feel smaller, wishing you could’ve just kept your mouth shut.

“I’ve asked you already to stop peering into my work life, and you insist on doing it. It’s like dating a goddamn child.”

It stings. In the back of your head you always assumed he saw you as an equal, but now the mention of comic books, Disney movies, and your favorite cartoons brings embarrassment and shame to your stomach. 

“I’m sorry” is all you can really say. You don’t want him to talk down to you anymore.

“I think it’s best you just go now.” He says.

And it hurts you, getting tossed out like this, you never expected it from him. But were you really going to expect anything less from someone who kept his job so secret?

You leave your things there, and show yourself out. Hoping it was just a bad day. Hoping you can get them tomorrow. Tomorrow.

A toothbrush, some hair ties, some lotion, pajama pants, and socks. All things Price has stored away at the bottom of his closet.

Regret still floods him for talking to you harshly that night—but pragmatically, he knows that he took this job and his job always comes first. 

He keeps the picture he took of you with the camera you brought. He snapped away at you holding a sandwich he made you. Your face is happy and glowing, you’re sitting on his couch.

There are times he misses you, he misses you so much that he dreams about you, but he’s not going to drag another one of his birds into this mess he’s dealing with. He’s going to stay on top, stay hidden away, and keep you safe. 

Tomorrow never comes for you.

[blooming-violets]

Shit I forgot to put this in my rb but I wanted to ask what do you think would happen to reader if Peter actually went through with it? I'd like to be a but optimistic and say she surely but slowly recovers from it all but I'm not so sure. How would Aunt May react to that? Becoming a widow then a grieving mother in the span of a few years? Sorry I don't mean to be pushy but like I said I loved the way you beautifully crafted this story from an ask

Trigger Warnings!!!!: it's all about suicide and talking about it and discussing it, it is not something everyone feels comfortable reading or conversing about so please don't continue if it is too upsetting for you, Peter Parker kills himself and I write about it, Gwen's death ptsd is explored and he sees her as a rotting corpse version of herself who talks to him before he dies, the grief of losing someone you love to suicide is also talked about, it's all depressing but if you love depressing angst shit then come on over and join in (not join in on the killing yourself part jfc I mean joining in on the talking about this story) READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION only you know what you are capable of handling when you read. I can't help you any further than explaining the warnings.

Previous posts where this is all discussed:

[first part] [second part] and I rewrite this drabble from two years ago to fit this story but you can read the original here if you feel like it (it ends with less death that this one).

One of my darker, more angsty headcanons is that Peter kills himself by throwing himself off the same clock tower Gwen died in. It takes a few years for it to get rebuilt back to it's former glory. Peter patiently waits those years until it's finally finished. Almost a quiet, stoic sort of patience. A little scary with how composed he is. Like not given any indication of his plans. He wears a beautifully composed mask until the day it happens because he is so sure in his plans and doesn't want a single person to sway him from them. He's stubborn and set in his ways and this is what he feels he needs to do. This headcanon doesn't exactly fit into the story I wrote as that version of Peter is much more unhinged in his actions, and I don't think clocktower Peter could ever let himself get into a relationship because he's too obsessed with Gwen still and knows he's going to die so he's not going to bring anyone else into that mess, but it's just a little random headcanon I always had so I thought I would share since this is suicide talking hour. Maybe I can rework it a bit to fit with this story better.

Let's say unhinged Peter (as I'm calling him now lol) does let the ghosts win. What happens to our Reader character would entirely depend on when in the relationship he went through with it. If she's too far gone and too far down the hole after Peter, then I sort of fear for her future. Unless she has someone really important in her life who would help her, I think she would just keep sinking until she ended up back on that ledge, except this time there's no Peter to catch her. And I personally don't think she has anyone that close to her, especially after mentioning that all her friends stopped texting her or asking her to hang out. They all kind of gave up on her so, when she's at her lowest, I really don't think anyone would be the wiser due to the isolation they both put themselves in.

I want to rewrite something I wrote two years ago that either wasn't that great and people didn't like or it just slipped under the radar (because it wasn't about an x reader or love or anything, it was just Peter's ptsd taking over and sometimes people don't give a shit about a fic if it isn't tagged with x reader). It fits really well in this new story to help show what could go on in Peter's head with how terribly Gwen still sticks with him and what exactly it is he's "seeing" that would push him to throwing himself off a building.

Cut to me pausing to frantically google if Peter Parker could survive a fall off a building or if his super powers make him strong enough to withstand it...

Okay maybe falling isn't the best plan of action but I really like (like isn't the right word but I'm going with it) that idea of him mimicking Gwen's death because he's so haunted by it. He would want to feel what she felt. He would want to go the same way. So for the sake of this story, he's can't withstand that fall.

“Leave me alone!” Peter shouted into the dark shadows of the clock tower. He sat huddled against the newly built glass wall that domed up over his head. The bright, white light of the moon hung in the sky above him and casted wavering shadows around him to mess with his vision. The turning of grinding gears below him haunted his memories of the night Gwen died. Eight years and she still haunted him every time he dared to fall asleep.

He couldn't take it anymore. His head was a mess. His thoughts were spinning.

He was just so tired.

He had fallen asleep here accidentally. Maybe if he went to the source of the problem, she would disappear. It was a stupid plan

It only made her stronger. This was where his ghost of her was most alive.

Maybe that's why he really showed up. He wanted to see her. He wanted to finally confront his demons. She was calling to him and he had to answer.

He had slipped a crushed up sleeping pill into his girlfriends water during dinner. He carried her bed, tucked her in, and kissed her soft and gently. She didn't need to see this. This wasn't for her. She needed to be free of him. He needed to let her go before it was too late. She wouldn't understand at first but, maybe, with time...

What had time ever done for him except make Gwen stronger?

He slipped an envelope onto the bedside table beside her. One for her. One for May. He wasn't sure if he would make it home this time. His mind could still change. He could still make it back before she woke up.

But they were.

Just in case.

He couldn't leave them with nothing.

She was here now. Ready to haunt him like usual. Ready to take over and ruin him. Night after night. Day after day. She was always there. Gwen never left. She walked beside him through it all.

Tonight, she was angry. Furious. This was where he had let her die. Of course, she would be the most powerful here.

He no longer had his girlfriend to help soften Gwen's blows. There was no one to intervene. Only him and Gwen. Stuck in a staring contest. Sizing each other up.

The sunken in face of his dead lover glared back at him from just below his edge of his of his perch, trembling from the sight under him. She was standing on top of a giant gear, watching him, judging him. A large smile grew across her pale, bluing lips. It was too wide. Too big for her face. Her teeth looked rotten and jagged inside of her mouth. A trickle of blood slowly trailed out of her nostril.

“What’s the matter, Peter?” She taunted. Her sickly voice swirled around his head like a swarm of mosquitos. “Did you miss me? Is that why you came here? To see me clearly again? Well, here I am. Look at me. Dead. Putrefied. All for you. Aren't I beautiful? This is what you've done to me.”

A loud sob shuddered through his chest and ripped out his throat. He brought up a hand to wipe away the snot flowing freely out his nose. This nightmare was too familiar. He knew this too well. He didn't feel like he was dreaming this time. He never did.

If it wasn't a dream then his mind was truly gone. Distinguishing between reality and fiction was something he no longer had control over.

This was as real to him as anything.

“Please, Gwen. Please,” he pleaded with her. “Go away. I can’t do this again. Please. You have to let me go."

She tutted her tongue in annoyance and shook her head with disbelief, “Oh, Peter. I have to let you go? Do you think I want to be here?” She became climbing up the gears and the scaffolding towards him. She looked more like himself as she climbed, enhanced and spider-like, taking the movements straight out his brain until she was perching on the ledge beside him. “Do you think this fun for me?”

Peter whimpered in response. His tears were blurring his vision but he was afraid to wipe them away. He was terrified of what might happen if he took his eyes off of her, like watching a snake in the grass, it's better if you can see it in your sights instead of letting it hide and able to strike.

Gwen walked with slow, purposeful steps towards him until she stood directly over him as he cowered backwards on all fours. Under the pale moonlight hanging above them, her skin turned yellow, painted with purpling hues and blacks, and rotting away around her cheekbones to show parts of red, bleeding muscle under the pulled back skin. Her, once vibrant, blonde hair now hung in patchy strands from her head. Most of her hair had fallen out leaving her balding and sickly. When she smiled, browning, broken teeth shone back at him, they hung lose in her jaw, rattling around when she spoke.

She was a walking, decaying corpse sent to haunt him every time he closed his eyes.

“Look at what you’ve done to me!” Her shrill voice echoed off the glass walls. She spun around to show him the back of her head. Her skull was caved in. Parts of brain matter clung to her hair and blood stained what was left of the blonde a deep red. She turned back to face him, leaning in close so she was mere inches away. He could smell the heavy scent of freshly dug dirt and wet grass clinging to her rotting finger nails like she had clawed her way straight out of the ground to find him.

She snarled, “You did this, Peter! This is your fault!”

Peter flinched and scrambled backwards to get away from her, “No! Please, I’m so sorry. I’m sorry. I didn't know...I didn't know...I thought I could catch you. I thought I could save you. I'm sorry. Please, Gwen. Please. I'm so sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t change the fact that I’m dead,” she smirked, eyes darkening, enjoying his torment. She sunk down to her hands and knees to crawl over him, pressing her skeletal body against him, until he was laying flat against the ground with no where else to go.

"Look at me," she whispered into his ear. “I was going to go Oxford. I was going to be a scientist. I was going to change the world. The only way I can change the world now is by letting the worms feast through my flesh until there is nothing left. Something tasty for the bugs. That's all I am now.”

Peter whimpered, turning his head away from her and flinching into himself.

He heard her sniffle like she was about to start crying. He hated hearing her cry.

"Don't you love me anymore, Peter?" She whined. "Don't you care about me? Why did you find someone else? Why did you forget me so quickly? I loved you so much and you left me for the worms. Only they kiss my skin now."

His heart sank and guilt flooded him. Slowly, he turned his head to face her, blinking up at her. For a moment, she looked just like he remembered. Beautiful. Whole. Healthy. Alive.

Peter gave a shuddered, shaky breath, whispering in awe, "Gwen."

She beamed down at him. There were no rotting teeth, no blood, her hair was full and luscious. She was glowing under golden light with happy tears in her eyes like his memory of her on top of the Brooklyn Bridge.

"Kiss me," she whispered against his lips. "Like you used to."

Peter's eyes slipped close. His heart ached.

"I can't," he mumbled back. "I love someone else now. I love her like I loved you. She..."

He needed to get back to her. She needed him. He needed her. He should have never left her tonight. He had to leave.

A wailing growl shot ice through his veins as Gwen let out a shriek of pain as if she had read his mind. She was back to her decaying corpse. The sight terrified him.

"You will not leave me! I won't let you! You're mine, Peter! Mine!"

Peter kicked up his feet to shove her off of him. He scrambled backwards away from the haunting vision.

"I can't, Gwen," he pleaded. "I can't be with you anymore."

He frantically shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut, in an attempt to make her disappear. Usually by now, his girlfriend would hear him screaming. She'd be here to block Gwen from his sights. She'd be there to force her away until he was safe.

Tonight, there was no one but him.

"This isn't real," he muttered to himself. "She's not really here. She's dead. She's buried underground. Locked in a coffin. This isn't real. When I open my eyes, she'll be gone."

He peaked an eye open. A sense of relief washed over him. He was alone in the clock tower. There was no one here but him.

He could still go home. He could still make it back to her before she woke up and rid her bed side of those letters.

She would never have to know.

Peter took a deep breath, half way through exhaling it when he felt a tap on his shoulder.

Gwen's decomposing face poked into his peripheral vision as she whispered menacingly in his ear, "Boo."

He screamed, jumping away, to the sound of her taunting laughter.

"I'm still here, Peter!" She cackled. "You can't get rid of me that easily! I am always going to be here. I am always going to follow you. I will never let you go." Her voice softened. Almost sweet. Sad. Longing. "Because I'm your path, Peter. I am always going to be your path. Follow me everywhere just like you promised. I want you to follow me. I need you..."

She reached out her hand for him to take. The skin had rotted away around the tips of her fingers leaving nothing by bones reaching for him.

This wasn't his Gwen. His Gwen was dead. She was buried in the ground surrounded by fresh flowers. The thing in front of him was nothing but a product of his own twisted mind. Birthed from his guilt and excruciating pain. A monster of his own creation.

"I can't," he choked out through his tears. "Someone else needs me now. I'm sorry. I love you. I will always love you. But I can't follow you. Not yet."

Anger flashed over her darkened, bloodshot eyes, “No! You promised you’d follow me anywhere. Follow me to the grave, you liar!”

Peter cringed at her harsh words. Tears blurring his vision. He had promised.

"Gwen, please," he begged. "Let me go."

Her face softened. He watched her grow back into old self again. Her rich purple dress. Lace tights. Knee high boots. Pale blue jacket. All highlighting her perfectly beautiful face. Large, bright green eyes without a blonde hair out of place. Always so put together. Always nothing less than perfection.

"You want me to go?" She asked, turning around slowly for her to take him in. There was no crack in the back of her skull. No blood.

His breath caught in his throat. He tried to reach out for her, to draw her closer against him, but she stepped away. Just out of his reach.

"You want me to go so I'll go." She whispered. "But you'll have to watch. Again and again and again. You'll have to listen to the sound of my skull cracking against the pavement. Hear my spine snap as your web jerks me upwards. Smell my blood pouring from my open, split open head." A trickle of red blood started to leak out her nose as her eyes closed. "Only you can make it all stop. Only you can make me go away. You know exactly how to do it, Peter. All you have to do is follow me. Just like you promised. Follow me and it will all end."

He blinked through his tears, taking a slow step towards her.

"Follow you," he muttered in a trance like state. "I'll follow you anywhere you go. You're my path. I'll write my love for you across the Brooklyn Bridge so everyone in New York can see it."

She smiled, soft and sweet, "Follow me. Don't leave me alone. Stay with me, Peter. Forever."

"Forever..."

Her arms out stretched to her sides and she leaned back, stepping off the ledge and sinking out of sight past the giant gears, hurdling straight towards her death.

"No!" He shouted.

Without thinking, without caring, Peter leapt after her. He had done this move so many times in his nightmares. He had obsessively walked through every single second of her death. Again and again just like she said. He knew it better than he knew himself.

He jumped on instinct. He leapt after her like he always did.

Keeping his promise. Following her down any path she took.

I know you asked how May and Reader would respond to such a thing afterwards but that's like one topic that's just a little too hard for me to write about. I know it's weird that I can talk about Peter throwing himself to his death and I can write about depression and suicidal ideation and self harm and ptsd and guilt and feelings of worthlessness but writing about someone like May (who I relate far too much to my own mother) finding her boy dead is just a hair too much for my heart to take haha. I was originally going to write a scene of his funeral but then I was like nah too much for even me. I can't watch May cry over her dead kid.

I will say that he would be buried next to his parents under the same gravestone which sits besides Ben's. It's a few rows down from Gwen so Peter can always be near her.

I don't even think I actually answered your original ask but I got carried away with Peter in the clock tower!

Also May puts matching flowers on both Peter's and Gwen's graves every time she visits. hahahaha i gotta stop writing fuck me