#you are dragging yourself and others down into a hateful spiral and in the end no one's happy

[silencingspellsongs]

begging people to adopt the idgaf mindset i think if we all just developed a lil idgaf energy it would lead us to nirvana

[mariasont]

hi hi hi!!! i know you’re working on the bau sleepover buttttt i was wondering if you could write a aaron hotchner x reader fic where like what happened to garcia, reader gets shot and she’s in hospital and they don’t know if she gonna be okay and stuff. her and hotch have this mutual pining for each other and when she gets shot he kinda spirals. after being released, hotch takes her to her apartment and stays with her until they catch him and stuff. i know this is really long, thank you!!!

Some Profiler You Are - A.H

a/n: hi hi hi thank you so so sooo much for requesting <3 i kind of took this a more fluffy route and focused more on the recovery so let me know if you like it :)

masterlist

‧₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧

pairings: aaron hotchner x fem!reader

warnings: reader was shot, comfort, angst like a teensy bit, fluff, changing of bandages, kinda shitty ending per usual

wc: 2k

"Do you want to sit down?"

No, you really didn't. After spending the last six hours in a state of near-motionlessness, sprawled across various surfaces, the last thing you wanted was to do was sit down. Your legs had taken on the consistency of overcooked noodles, so you made the grave mistake of misreading the quiet of the house as Hotch's absence, a mistake punctuated by the garage door's sudden rumble.

You should have known better than to assume he would leave you alone for even a second. Now, you were face to face, his scrutinizing eyes boring into yours, arms crossed across his wide chest. He was in a casual zip-up--a rarity that you never imagined him wearing before practically moving in with him. But you really did enjoy this relaxed side of him, he wore it exceptionally well.

Taking work off was a concept you knew was foreign him, yet here he was, not at his desk, hovering over you like a concerned parent. The entire office, yourself included, gaped at him as if he had sprouted a different head when he told them. His next move was even crazier--he insisted you stay with him while you recovered.

You protested. A lot. Shocker. But he wouldn't take no for an answer. Again, Shocker.

You winced as you stepped forward, your hands automatically gravitating to the bandage that spanned around your thigh.

"You can't baby me forever, Hotch," you murmured, though your conviction wavered under the dull throb in your leg.

You braced yourself against the counter, trying to mask the discomfort you were sure was etched all over your face.

Filling the shoes of the communications liaison for the FBI post-JJ's shift to profiling, you signed up for a life of managing the media narrative, being the conduit between local and federal levels, and choosing the cases. You provided assistance in ways that aren't glaringly obvious.

What you didn't sign up for is getting shot.

The movies, the stories, even the firsthand accounts from coworkers--none of it could brace you for the raw, blistering pain of a gunshot wound. It fucking hurt. And the recovery? It was a different kind of torture, and you'd even argue that it was worse.

"It's not babying, it's common sense," Hotch countered.

He was frustrated. You had that effect. He stepped closer, his hand dragging down his face. "You took a bullet. It's still in your leg. It's perfectly rational for me to want to prevent any unnecessary strain on you."

"Feels dramatic," you shrugged, but he was right, like always.

Your grip on the counter tightened, knuckles growing white as you struggled to keep the pain under wraps. His brows lifted in response.

"I'm fine, really, Hotch. I hate this. You're probably dying to get back to work--don't let me be the reason you don't. Despite popular belief, I'm quite capable of fending for myself."

"I'm aware," he said, his attention briefly shifting to your bandaged leg. You were wearing shorts, a choice that felt less than appropriate, but practicality trumped formality under these circumstances. "Work will survive without me. I'm not sure I can say the same about you."

Your laughter was short-lived, swiftly turning into a stifled grimace as your footing slipped. Hotch's reflexes were quick, his hands steadying you--one against your ribs, the other just shy above the hem of your shorts.

"Point in case."

"Poking fun at a wounded woman? Shame on you, Hotch," you chided, your lower lip jutting out in a pout. His eyes darted to it momentarily.

He didn't move, his hands staying put, stirring a gentle, jelly-like feeling inside of you.

This was an odd sort of comfort, the kind you're not supposed to feel with your boss. You shouldn't be talking to him like this, shouldn't be in his kitchen, and certainly, his hands shouldn't be where they were. But the ache in your heart didn't seem to care about shoulds and shouldn'ts.

Hotch's presence was hard to ignore. He was reducing the space with every word.

"You're hardly acting like a wounded woman," he pointed out. "You should be in bed."

You tilted your head, sliding onto the barstool to carve some much-needed space between you. The scent of his cologne was intoxicating, and you needed distance to gather your wits before you did something that HR would definitely not look kindly upon.

The action was a mistake, a fact that became painfully clear as the feeling of something stabbing into your leg took hold. You tried to muster a smile, but you were sure it came across as a snarl. The last thing you wanted was to inflate Hotch's ego by showing that maybe, just maybe, he was right.

"Shit."

You followed his line of sight, landing on the fresh red seeping through the bandage and staining your shorts. Oh. That's not great. Don't think you can fool him with this one.

Hotch didn't hesitate, his response outpacing your own surge of panic, which was incredibly fast, because you were panicking and frankly not that great with blood. His hands were on your skin, easing the hem of your shorts upward to lay bare the wound you had stupidly  underestimated.

You're never going on a date again.

I mean, the only reason you even went was to get your boss of your mind. Since the first day, you'd been hopelessly drawn to him--how could you not be?

But there are a couple factors to consider.

Firstly, he was your boss, and the whole notion of a coercive relationship dynamic seemed problematic.

Secondly, there's the age difference; it had never been an issue for you--perhaps a reflection of your daddy issues--but you knew it would raise some eyebrows.

And thirdly, he didn't even like you back. That was, of course, the biggest issue. If not for this, the other concerns could definitely be overlooked. 

Before this whole incident, he barely acknowledged you beyond was professionally required of him. You knew you hadn't been part of the team long enough to bond--though you weren't sure Hotch did bond in the usual sense, but the point was made.

You were fairly sure you hadn't made much of an impression on him.

"Hold still." That was a tall order, considering it hurt more than a mother fucker.

You found yourself glaring at him--not that he was to blame, but you needed to anchor your frustration on something, or someone. Unknowingly, your grip had latched on the fabric of his zip-up, but he seemed unfazed. He grabbed a clean cloth from the drawer, pressing it against the wound, only furthering the colorful vocabulary going on in your head.

"Fuck, Hotch."

You didn't make a habit of cursing in front of your superior, but the sharp sting forced tears to the brink, your body going rigid as you snapped your eyes shut. 

His other hand found its way to your uninjured thigh, giving it a firm squeeze--a clear attempt to divert your attention. It worked for a second. "I'm sorry, just keep this pressed here, okay?"

He motioned toward the cloth, and you complied, too drained to consider otherwise. Your brows knitted, and you bit into your lip until you tasted something metallicy, your mind desperately racing trying to think of anything other than the blood flowing freely from your thigh.

"Where are you going?" You knew how panicked you sounded as he turned away, stepping towards a cabinet. 

He rummaged briefly before holding up a first aid kit. Catching the brief alarm in your face, he quickly returned to your side, his hand finding the crook of your neck as you instinctively clutched at his shirt once again.

"If you dare say I told you so, I swear, Hotch, fists will fly," you ground out through clenched teeth.

He laughed, and now that did distract you, your eyes zeroing in on his perfect teeth. It was a rare display, and it only served to aggravate you further. Of course he had perfect teeth.

"I didn't say anything."

"I could feel you thinking it," you said, your voice rough as you willed the moisture in your eyes not to fall. "Maybe I should be a profiler."

"Definitely."

"Sarcasm doesn't suit you." You were lying. Everything suited him. He stepped back, and you reluctantly peered at the wound, only to find a neatly sutured leg. "Where did you learn to do that?"

"In this job, you learn to be handy with more than just a gun.”

You’d love to know what else he’s handy with.

He pulled your leg up to rest on his as he took a seat on the opposite stool.

Your body was buzzing, from the closeness, from his hands on you, and also from the pain, but you were trying to ignore that. He grabs a new bandage from the counter, hands trailing up your thigh so slowly you thought you might pass out. He was so gentle. There was no other word for it.

"How's it feel?"

You paused. Eyes fully locked on his precise movements as he wrapped you up. You were closer than you realized, practically sharing the same breath.

"Fine."

"Yeah?"

You nodded, and he finished up his task, his hand lightly patting your thigh to show he was done. You didn't move your leg from his lap, and he didn't move his hand.

"I couldn't sleep for three days."

"What?" Your brows were furrowed, your focus sharpening on his face as the words left his lips.

"When I found out you had been shot." He cleared his throat, his thumb making gentle rotations on your calf. "I couldn't close my eyes without seeing red for days. I wanted to kill the son of a bitch who did that to you. I almost did."

You weren't sure how to process this information, or why he was telling you. "You and me both."

"I'm serious." And you could tell he was, his eyes narrowing slightly as his hand firmly encircled around your leg. You felt a lump in your throat form as heat rose from your neck to your ears. "Do you know what that was like? I felt like my heart stopped."

"Why?"

"Why?" It was more a scoff than a word. He blew out a breath, his fingers pinching into the space between his eyebrows. "Is it not obvious?"

Your heart was beating a lot faster. You wanted to say something, anything but your throat was dry and every time you opened your mouth you found it snapping shut.

Hotch's expression softened ever so slightly, his voice low and bouncing off the walls as he spoke. "Because I'm in love with you."

Your breath stalled, as if every ounce of oxygen had been vacuumed from your lungs. The air felt heavy, almost tangible.

You stared at him, heart skipping a beat.

"That's not funny," you said. It wasn't. You weren't in the mood for jokes, and your brain couldn't comprehend he might be telling the truth. "You...you don't even notice me."

He shook his head. "I notice everything about you." His thumb stilled on your calf. "I'm your boss," he said, as if that explained everything. "There are rules, protocols. I couldn't...I still shouldn't..."

The confession stripped the room of its warmth, leaving a raw aching silence in its wake. You searched his face.

"When you got shot," he continued, "I realized that if I lost you, I'd regret not telling you how I feel for the rest of my life."

"Hotch, I..."

He leaned closer, causing your words to catch in your throat. His hand moved from your leg to your face. You were speechless, the world narrowing down to the man in front of you, to his eyes, the warmth of his hands.

"Say something."

"Are you kidding me?" Your heart was pounding like it was trying to escape from your chest. "I've been in love with you since I started. How could you not see that?"

He looked taken aback, as if your words were the last thing he expected. "Well—,"

But you didn't let him finish. "Some profiler you are."

You were practically climbing into his lap, hands framing his face, pulling your lips to his.

He chuckled against your lips, the sound vibrating through you. "Easy," he murmured, "don't make me fix that bandage again."

You laugh, the sound muffled by his mouth. He tasted like cinnamon and coffee. "Shut up, Hotch."

taglist: @hotchhner @khxna

[simphornies]

Can I please request Vox x Female Angel Reader (PS: Vox doesn't know what was happening to him ever since he met Reader just like in quote he ask himself "Why is my heart racing whenever I'm with her? Why am I short circuiting? And etc)

A/N: Wondrous idea! This one's been brewing for a bit though it is shorter than my other ones. There are two requests for this so for the other person that requested it, worry not! It is on the way!

Word count: 2k (2,041)

Fallen for you [Vox x Angel!F!Reader]

You made the choice to sneak into hell during the extermination. Amongst the chaos you carefully ran around rubble to rubble. Your angelic powers allowed you to heal angels, mortals and sinners alike to which you used to salvage those who could be salvaged.

You kept yourself hidden from the exorcists so they could't drag you back up to heaven on their way back from the massacre. But you didn't could't keep yourself hidden from the VoxTek cameras that roamed and covered the area.

You ran into the nearest building that had three V's plastered on the top, making sure your wings were tucked away. You look around, everyone in the building seemed to be in a trance, their eyes filled with spirals. It creeped you out a bit. You kept your head down as you roamed.

"Well, who do we have here?" A voice came from behind you, the suddenness causing you to jump. You freeze in your tracks, it certainly wasn't an exorcist's voice so you slowly turn around. Your head stayed lowered, "Pardon the intrusion, I'll leave now." You respond.

You tried to walk around the tall figure in front of you but he quickly blocked your way, neon blue shoes stepping closer. You look up slowly, a little scared. You were met with a grinning demon, with a television for a head? You couldn't help but cock your head in confusion.

He chuckles in response, "You must be new here." His hand reached out to you, you shook it, "Vox! Nice to meet you, stranger. And who might you be?"

"It's Y/N." You awkwardly, and nervously, smile at him, "It's a pleasure to meet you but I'll be taking my leave now! Hah..." You pull your hand away but he grabs it back, not allowing you to take a step.

"You're definitely not from around here, sweets." His eye spirals at you. You feel yourself fall into a bit of a trance, "Let's continue our conversation in my office." You weren't able to stop him from dragging you to his office.

When you came to, you found yourself sat on a chair. In front of you is Vox, watching you intently. "I haven't caused anything out of the ordinary. I'd hate to waste your time, this is not necessary-" You try to explain.

A screen comes down next to him before he speaks. "You're not from here." He speaks in a low, distorted voice. The screen shows clips of you flying down amongst the exorcists, wings in plain view, followed by you sneaking around. "You're an angel and you're in my building." His voice sounded threatening. "What business do you have here and why are you helping hell."

"I..." You sigh, "Look. I snuck out of heaven. I don't want to be there anymore and with the exorcists leaving, they most likely have noticed I left for hell. I'm bound to be a fallen any day now and I honestly could care any less. Look, I'll...I'll work for you!" You pleaded, "Please just don't let anybody else know."

.

It's been a while since you struck a non-binding deal with Vox. You two got close after a couple months of him being on guard around you. Well, he's still on guard around you no matter how much you've tried to get his walls down. He kept his end of the stick, reasons unknown to you and told nobody about your secret. You chose to share it with the other Vees though and they were more than glad to have such power on their side.

Vox watched as you conversed with the two, his mind racing as quick as his heart. He didn't understand why in the fuck, his words, he couldn't compose himself properly around you. Your smile alone could make hims heart pound out of his chest. For a while he was convinced it was some angelic power but it was quickly debunked by you. You always smiled and your smile warmed his cold heart, constantly making him short circuit.

He was so lost in thought that he didn't realize you were in front of him, repeating his name over and over. He genuinely thought it was all in his head since his mind was constantly filled with the thought of you. You repeated his name over and over until he snapped out of it.

"Vox? Vooooox?" You repeated until he finally set his gaze on you, "Vox, are you okay? What's going on? You were kinda wonky there for a second. There's sparks coming out of you."

"Y/N! I'm fine. Appreciate the concern," He lied, "I'm just...thinking." He turned away from you so you couldn't see his screen glitching. He pretended like he was just looking out the window.

"Anyways," You looked out the window, admiring whatever he's looking at, the sharks you assume. "Vel and Val said we're going out tonight. And they told me to tell you to dress up, or something."

"Thank you. I'll get ready soon."

"Hey." You place a hand on his shoulder. He finally looks at you, staring into your eyes that hypnotized him better than he could hypnotize anybody. "If you need anything, I'll help you. You know that, right?" Your words received a small smile from him.

"Thank you, angel." Angel became a nickname of sorts from him to you. You smile sweetly at him and head out to get ready.

.

Vox was an absolute mess. He was the last to get ready for once and not Valentino. He wanted to look his best and though this usually wasn't a problem for him, it was now. For some reason he couldn't understand he needed to look his best around you.

Velvette bursts into his room while he's frantically trying to pick a bowtie. "What the fuck is taking so long with you? I expect this shit from Valentino but not from you."

He groans, "I can't pick a damn outfit!" He glitched.

"Why in the dead fuck do you care?" She scoffed, putting his outfit together for him with a swipe of her hand.

"I..." He took a deep breath, "I don't know. I feel like Y/N has some weird angelic power on me. I just can't stop thinking about her ever since I met her. She always short-circuits me, making my fans go on overdrive and-"

"Woah woah woah. Slow the fuck down." Velvette laughed, "You are such a fucking dumbass! You're so stupid." She was now on the floor, cackling at him.

"What?!"

"You like her. You're so dense. Oh my fuck." She gets up, wiping tears off her eyes, "I'm so gonna tell her."

"NO." He yelled, voice distorted and eye spiraling. "I'll do it. Later."

"Bet you won't, pussy."

.

You arrived a little bit after the Vees. You had something, or rather someone, to take care of. Ever since you were officially fallen from heaven, you've gotten quite accustomed to death and the whole "fighting for your life" thing.

Vox was impatiently awaiting your arrival, constantly fidgeting in his seat which earned him a kick or two from both Valentino and Velvette. Velvette caught Valentino up on Vox's situation and he wasn't hearing the end of it for the whole car ride.

He heard heels clicking and he turned a bit too quickly at your arrival. "Y/N! You've fi-finally arrived!" He glitched a bit again at the sight of you. He was never a fan of angels and frankly never understood the whole rave about their beauty but the moment he saw you his mind changed completely.

There you stood in front of him in a blouse and a skirt that hugged your curves right. Eyes were a staple detail in all of your outfits and it showed. You had rings on, few of which had red eyes. Your necklace, a gift from Vox, was his signature spiral eye. It doubled as an alarm for you in case you were in danger, not like you needed it considering you still had angelic powers, much stronger than any overlord but less than Lucifer and his daughter.

He had his arms out for a hug for you, a rare gesture from him. You gave him a tight hug and you swear you felt his circuits warm up again. He was smiling brightly at you, honored to have you in his presence and his life.

"Sorry. Had to deal with a couple sinners. You know someone tried fucking one of Val's employees on the street? For free?" Val almost flipped the table, "It's okay! It's okay. He's locked up in your room."

Val chuckles evilly, "Thank you."

Vox pulls your chair out for you before sitting himself down. The four of you talk business and you took notice of how much Vox kept staring at you. You got a little flustered, constantly fiddling with your hair.

You and Vox kept notice of each other but both of you remained unaware of the looks you received from Valentino and Velvette. They just needed some popcorn and they'd be set. Velvette made up an excuse to walk out to give you both space, dragging Valentino behind her. She placed a hand on Vox's shoulder and whispered, "$500 if you don't do this shit, tonight." She plastered a smile before leaving, "Kisses, darlings! So sorry we couldn't stay."

It was now just the two of you. Vox's heart was pounding loudly and his face was slowly getting brighter. You were pitching him an idea for the next release in VoxTek but you stopped when you saw his screen quite literally not there anymore.

"Vox? You've been glitching a lot lately and I'm getting worried..." You scoot your chair closer to him, "Do you need any parts? I can put them in for you or reboot your system." You put you hand on the side of his screen which jolted him back.

"No! I'm fine. I just," He clears his throat, still glitching out with sparks flying everywhere. "I have a lot on my mind."

"You can talk to me, I'm here to listen." You hold his hand for comfort but this just further heated him up. You feel him clutch your hands for once.

He takes a deep breath in before looking at you, "I have a confession to make. To you." You looked at him worried that he's having business problems, or something. "I like you." Vox felt like a weight has been lifted off of him but now he was filled with an overwhelming sense of fear that you'd reject him.

"Oh, Vox..." You spoke softly, holding his hand closer to you, "I like you too. Is that why you've been glitching lately?" You had an empathetic look on your face.

"You do?" He was in shock. His demeanor was new to you, he was vulnerable.

"Vox. You took me in and kept my secret with basically nothing in return and I am eternally grateful." You smile sweetly at him, "Vox. You didn't need to keep such a thing from me for so long to the point where you glitch and short-circuit. I was so worried."

He let out a sigh of relief, "Oh thank fuck." He felt as if he hadn't been breathing this whole time. He gave you a kiss on the back of your hand, "I will give you everything you ever ask for. I will protect you no matter what. You're such a...a breath of fresh air. I thought you had some angelic power hold on me."

You laugh at his statement, "Angelic power hold, Vox? Really?" You were giggling uncontrollably at this point.

"Shut up!" He said in embarrassment, "Anyways! Y/N, will you be with me for the rest of eternity?"

You gave him a kiss on his screen, "Gladly, Vox."

While you two were cuddling it up in the restaurant while talking about business endeavors, Vox got a text on his phone from Velvette. She had sent him $500 with a text saying 'Treat her right or I'm putting her in my show.' after it.

[rainforest-daisies]

Day 12|strap-ons

Character: Hazel Callahan x fem!reader

Tags: strap-on use, praise,

A/n: i love this little queer woman right here

kinktober masterlist

Where did you get that thing?” a grin rose to your face, eyes trailing across her body, noticing the hot pink silicone strapped against her pelvis. The ribbed fabric that indented her gym shorts remained in place as she swung the dildo around, giggling at its motion. “I found it at Spencers.” her hands pulled at the straps, beginning to pose in an attempt to make you laugh.

You had been at her house, watching old horror movies, when she suddenly hopped out of bed, using the explanation of “gotta piss.” and shocking you when she came back with that over her shorts.

“And you just…bought it?” flexing her arm in front of you, putting on a serious face, she replied, “Uh…yeah.”

“I mean, I was kinda hoping we could use it.” her voice turned raspy at the end of her sentence, voice quieting in embarrassment as she moved back to a regular standing position. “I wouldn't hate using it…especially since it's strapped to you.” your words made her eyes light up. “really? I mean we don't have to, not that I don't want to! I really, really want to.” your body lifted from her bed, Hazel walking closer to you, hands meeting your waist. the feeling of the silicone pressing against your thigh made you giggle, prompting Hazel to do the same.

A sigh left her lips after the fit of laughter, parting her lips to speak, “Can I kiss you? And while I still have self-control, can I touch you too?” you answer her question by kissing her, and clutching her hand to drag it down your torso. her hand grazed the hem of your dress, pulling it up slowly, distracted by the sweet taste of your lips. yet, her fingers were quick to pull your panties to the side, the swift movement feeling like whiplash. “This okay?” she mumbled between kisses, “Mhm.”

Her skilled fingers toyed with your clit, dragging your hand up to press it against her chest, as if it kept you grounded, kept you from floating away in pleasure.

“C’mere, let's get up on the bed. get on my lap, honey.” her voice hypnotized you, nodding at her, desperate to get her lips back on yours. your hips met her abdomen, “do you think you're ready?” you quickly nodded, grasping the cock in your hands and positioning yourself to slide down on it.

The sharp sting of fullness in your cunt made your hands fall against her shoulders, “Go on, baby. You're doing so good.” your hips sank onto the silicone cock, lips parting to let out the cutest whimper Hazel had ever heard. ”so good.” her eyes were transfixed on your tits bouncing in your dress, holding herself from the urge of kissing you again, just to stare at them.

“Oh fuck- right there.” her hands guided your hips down on the plastic cock, unknowingly grinding the base of it against her own clothed clit in the midst of your desperate pleasure. her thumb trailed itself down to your clit, rubbing circles, following your body as it pushed itself up and down. “you close? yeah? I can hear those pretty moans getting louder.” her voice sweet-talked you, bringing you closer to your impending climax. your hips began to rut down harder, grinding harder against her, causing a drawn out moan to leave her lips.

Your impending orgasm soon came to its peak, clasping onto Hazel's shoulders as you moaned into her ear, hitting the perfect angle on her clit, sending her spiraling into orgasm with you. you held each other, listening to the heavy breaths of one another, hazel pulling away to kiss your forehead.

Your body rolled off of hers, chest heaving while trying to catch your breath. “Thank you for buying this stupid piece of plastic, I had fun.”

“Thank you for letting me use that stupid piece of plastic on you, i had fun too.”

[wosoragebaiter69]

they’re idiots

patri guijarro x fem!reader

request: here

A/N: i love patri sm, and again naturally if my writing needs to improve just gimme a shout

TW: mentions of panic attack

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The game was won, it was a very nice win. A comfortable 9-1, and that was fine. What wasn’t fine however were the fans after the game. In one area in particular they just kept throwing shirt and anything for us players to sign. I see Patri, my girlfriend getting frustrated at everything that’s happening and it doesn’t take a genius to see how overwhelmed she is.

Over the past few weeks it seems that the hate towards her has become obscurely large. How could anyone hate her? Especially now that she’s just gone and scored two. As much as she likes to say it doesn’t bother her I know it does and I hate to see the way she loses confidence over meaningless peoples opinions.

I walk over to the section in which fans are screaming, at this point i’m not sure how we can call them fans if they act like this. Alexia and some of the others are kicking game balls into the crowd. I stand right next to Patri, placing my hand on her lower back. She looks surprised, but continues with the overwhelming amount of fans who came to watch.

Around 5 minutes later, I can’t stand to watch her practically near a panic attack. So I say goodbye to the fans and drag her into the tunnel with me, leading her toward an area where no one would be for the time being.

“Patri? Amor, can you look at me?” I whisper, touching her forearm softly. She hesitates and looks up.

It’s then that I can see how conflicted her eyes look, how they’re slightly covered in a layer of tears, how it looks like she’s struggling to breathe. I immediately know what’s wrong.

“Hey, hey. Sit down on the floor with me. Come on.” I guide her making sure her back is rested against the wall. She looks straight up at the ceiling, trying to keep her tears at bay. My heart breaks a little.

“Amorcita, breathe with me. Feel my heartbeat got it?” I take her hand and place it on my heart as I start making exaggerated breathing patterns to help get her back to reality.

“There you go, just like that. You’re ok, they can’t see you. They can’t harm you. It’s just me.” I notice by her movements that she’s coming back. Something which I smile lightly at.

“Gracias” She says so lightly that I can barely hear her. All I do is smile.

We sit against the wall, no words need to be said. Until Alexia in all her glory strides down the hallway in her white fit.

“Hola.” She greets with a smile coming to stand in front of us.

“I suggest you two get back to the changing rooms. Nearly everyone is there, they sent me looking.” She then shifts her focus to my girlfriend.

“Patri, I’m sorry you have to be dealing with all of this stuff. It’s not easy. Just try not to get too worked up. Only makes it worse for yourself.”

“Thanks Ale.” She looks up at the captain who smiles before heading back to the change rooms.

“Well, we should probably go. After our showers, we’ll go back to the apartment and I’ll take your phone.” She looks at me questioningly. “So you don’t go into a spiral of bad thoughts. I know how you are. I won’t let that happen. Ok?” She nods and I pull her up heading back into the changing rooms. The girls all look happy but also worn down, I can empathise with that from all the trainings and games we’ve done.

Still there is a slight buzz in the air after the impressive win. Even if some exhaustion is the cost.

- - - - -

When Patri and I arrive back home, I stick to my word and she hands me her phone reluctantly. I put both of our phones in my bedside drawer and arrive in the living room to be greeted with Patri on the couch, two glasses of water on the coffee table and one of the Hunger Games movies starting to play on the tv.

I walk over smiling and sit down on the couch cuddling into Patri who only smiles. This is a good way to end the day all things considered.

“Te amo, Patri.”

“Yo también te amo, cariño.” She kisses the top of my head, turning her focus back to the screen.

[beegalactica]

the power of positive self-talk

The words we speak hold so much power. Our words can enforce our positive self-concept, or drag us into endless spirals of self-doubt. The way we talk to and about ourselves is important more than ever in a world where others' opinions, beliefs and expectations are constantly being forced down our throats.

It is so easy to get stuck in a fixed mindset, where you catastrophise every little inconvenience as if it's the end of the world. You know it's not, but at the moment, it feels like the worst thing to ever happen to you. Here's how to tackle those negative emotions and affirm yourself through the art of positive self-talk:

Rewrite the narrative. You are the author of your own story. Instead of "I don't think I can ever recover from this", tell yourself "I don't know how or when, but I will get through this."

'Fake' it till you make it. I hate this quote generally because I believe that new things will feel foreign and strange at first, but this doesn't mean that it's a fake practice. Do whatever you need to do, to get you to believe, but don't lose sight of yourself. It might seem strange at first, but one day you'll be able to say that you'll be okay and actually believe it so keep moving towards that moment.

Practice the art of consistent practice. Learn to catch yourself when you find yourself growing in negativity. Try to reaffirm yourself, and metaphorically swim back up to the surface. Some days, it will feel like the tides are against you, but catastrophising events in life can lead to a whole host of physical, emotional and mental side effects.

Allow yourself to feel. Positive self-talk should not be misconstrued with toxic positivity. You are allowed to be sad. You are allowed to sit in bed and bawl your eyes out. You are allowed to feel your emotions. You just need to be able to acknowledge how you feel, and still be able to bounce back.

You are your own best friend. If your best friend was having a bad day, would you tell them that they're pathetic and they deserve it, or would you try to show them just how loved they are? If you'd put them down, then you need to rethink what a friend is. If you would try to uplift them, why won't you do this for yourself? Instead of blaming yourself, comfort yourself. Be that friend and tell yourself those words of encouragement that you would give to someone you love and care about.

At the end of the day, you should be someone that you love and care about.

[takes1]

Hi!!! I saw the Osamu x Reader post and as a Suna girlie it breaks my heart just a lil for Suna (very good stuff for Osamu and Reader tho, that was divine) but I was wondering maybe a slight part 2 for this where Suna gets his own happy ending? I say slight part 2 cuz Suna still has his heartbreak from the Osamu story but ends up with a different reader, perhaps? In my head it was Reader's relative who's much more of his type (relative part for slight drama, iykyk) but I'll leave that up to you!! For NSFW I'll also leave that up to you!! If that's not your cup of tea, you can ignore this ask, thanks a lot!!

hi!! thank you!! i def tried to take this in a slightly diff direction, just bc i was a little confused, but i kept the themes the same and the general prompt true to form! i hope this is alright! thanks for the request!!

warnings. sfw, alcohol consumption

info. angsty / hurt/comfort / timeskip!suna / very sad!suna / heartbreak!suna / previous relationship / suna not getting over breakup / misunderstandings / miscommunication / suna checking you out / happy ending / implied needy!suna / __ words

haikyuu collection. more here.

more links. my ao3. masterlist. requests open!

"Old-fashioned. Please," The man beside you was quiet. Raspy, in a young way, but carried an age's worth of reservation in what were so few words.

He was wearing a nice, linen shirt. Orange and yellow danced off of his Harry Winston watch, but it didn't compare to the glint in his eye as he turned to look at your equally classy style.

The name that breezed off of your lips a little too easy.

"Rintarou?"

Other voices from around the rest of the bar fell away. White noise to you- a loud, gray static to him.

His fingers felt ice cold despite not nursing a drink, a decision he regretted not partaking in sooner with the rest of his team, now.

The knot in his throat kept him from responding.

"Wanna start a tap?" The bartender slid his drink towards him. He eyed you when Suna didn't take it right away.

A brief glance between this tense scene was all it took to understand.

He offered his card between two fingers and took the seat next to you without a word.

"This isn't going to work out."

Three years. So many victories, so many trials-- gone. You swore up and down you never felt anything, even after you watched him break down into tears for an hour.

Your passive stare, completely impartial to whether he lived or died, was all the solace he got.

He must've cried for days. He almost didn't show up for graduation.

The twins thought he died.

Suna held an empty stare forward at the glossy counter- fingers circling the mouth of his glass, sometimes twirling it.

Drowning in vat of ice-cold water would be a warmer feeling than this eternal torture.

The memory of you walking out of the gym, holding yourself because you knew what you were doing, and now you had nobody to comfort you for your cruelty.

A shaky sigh fogged the cool glass on his bottom lip before he took a necessary sip.

Something kind, finally.

The heat that crawled down his throat eased your next words enough for him to bare through it.

"What are you doing here?"

Your sad attempt at trying to make conversation set him off.

His nose scrunched with the effort it took to try to pull himself together. Just your voice dragged him so far back into that deep, never ending spiral of insecurity and uncertainty.

His similarly-dressed team taking up space and sound on the other side of the bar was the first thing anyone was bound to notice. After winning a game, they usually went out for drinks- but just like every other time he was dragged along, he found himself not having as much fun as he ought to.

He grew weary of their energy and insistence that he get a girlfriend to cheer him up.

This quiet separation from the pack, his sulky demeanor, and the pain he wore on his brow was evident to even the bartender. He knew you could see it and hated himself for it.

"Celebrating," His voice was so quiet it took you seconds after to completely register it.

Watchful eyes waited for your expression to shift. It made you as uncomfortable as he wanted, but he couldn't keep the fortitude to enjoy it. He opted for his glass in time to watch his ice cube drop, shift in his drink. It looked fuller, now.

He brought the bitter thing up to his lips and handled it astoundingly well.

Your pretty eyelashes looked prettier when you looked away from him. Longer and fuller when you weren't facing him. That flawless makeup, caressed by the soft, warm light of the bar must've taken you hours.

You were different. He tried not to notice.

"How have you been?"

It wasn't an apology. His fingers slipped on the gathered condensation and he hesitated to take another sip so soon.

"Busy," He looked at your glittery shoulder when you faced him again, "You?"

There were a few moments of silence that he didn't notice. His low-lidded study of your little dress was soothing the burn in the back of his throat, a painful mix from needing to cry and the strength of his drink.

Part of him was relieved you hadn't let yourself go. You were a divine gift that any man would be glad to have, and his opinion, should be willing to break himself over.

The dress honored his useless devotion well.

Part of him would never forgive you for not throwing yourself into a pit of despair for your heartless words. His eyes hardened at once, now at the curve of your thighs that stayed crossed under the bar.

"Can you look at me?"

When his eyes shot up to meet yours, it felt like you were staring down a wounded animal.

The full weight of your decision dawned on you and you realized, all at once, that you had been wrong for years.

You hadn't spared him the way you convinced yourself that you had.

Something reminiscent of fear flashed across your face. He left you to think and chugged the rest of his whiskey. His ice clinked in the glass when he set it down and flagged the bartender.

"I didn't mean to hurt you," Slipped out, a little too early, as you both watched the glass refill with golden-brown color.

He squinted down and you were grateful it wasn't a look directed straight at you.

"That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard," He snapped as soon as your company left.

With more time spent sitting next you, basking in your presence for the first time in so long, and his inhibition slowly fading, he felt himself start to get belligerent.

"I was-," You sighed, trying to control the frustration in your voice because you knew it wouldn't help, "I was trying to give you more options."

It was quiet for a long minute.

The hateful stare he kept on his own hand told you he was not convinced.

"I knew it would be tough on us, with you travelling for the team."

A tough brow softened, just a little. His thumb slid against the rim of the glass, thoughtful, about a better time. When he had something else to look forward to other than practice, or games.

"I didn't wanna put you through that. I didn't want- to make you choose."

His life was empty beyond the court. He couldn't imagine any scenario that would've played out to be worse than this. His face stung when he spared a sideways glance at your pretty face.

"So you chose for me," He rolled his cloudy eyes.

His words were like acid.

You couldn't swallow the lump in your throat. You turned from him, angry that he wasn't doing well, guilty that it had to do with something you thought was a good decision.

A big breath through your nose.

"And I'm sorry," You bit the inside of your cheek when he froze, "I really can't express how sorry I am."

The apology wasn't something he could rationalize as anything other than genuine, and heartfelt.

Confusion ran through him, made much worse by his buzz-- his eyes burned and he furiously wiped one eye. He had convinced himself you were secretly an emotionless, terrible person for doing that to him. The fact that you could possibly atone for it made him wildly uncomfortable.

His chair scraped when he pushed himself up to stand and face you. He kept one arm on the bar.

"I wanted to make it work!"

His version of loud was by no means actually loud, but it still startled you.

"And- you didn't," He was already back to a soft mutter, but it was wobbly when he kept talking, "I don't know what else I could've done, to be enough for you."

"You were enough," You instantly argued, "I just-,"

Another frustrated, teary sigh, "I didn't think I was."

It must've been muscle memory. Suna didn't realize he was wiping a tear from your face until his hand was already back down by his side.

He hated seeing you cry so much that it trumped his own lingering, maladaptive thoughts. Especially when you looked so good.

Your small, sad smile at his chivalry eased the weight in his chest.

He felt like he could breathe for the first time in years.

"You were everything to me," You admitted.

He had to take his seat at that. Closer, this time.

masterlist.

requests open.

[ghostykapi]

ruination and breakfast

im nayeon & idol!fem reader // filth <3 minors dni

had it been another day, you would probably reject her advances for the nth time. had it been another hour, you would have averted your gaze from the woman that resides in the deepest part of your heart. had it been another minute, then you would have been sleeping soundly in your cozy bed.

it wasn't another second though that did you find yourself mewling and grasping her clothes, with primal desperate need to be claimed. her teeth finding it's way to your neck and her hands tearing apart your clothes on her bed.

pause.

how the fuck did you get here?

it's no secret that you're one of the more outspoken idols, the lack of head to mouth filter making you constantly the topic of how the industry is changing. you find your name trending at least once a week for something you said in an interview or with those stupid stalkers following your life around.

some say you're one of the horrible ones who bring the bad image of an idol, because idols were supposed to be prim, proper and quiet. you loved to be messy and outspoken just to piss them off, your words ready to send someone in another childish fit of rage in social media.

some praise you for who you be with or without a camera, people constantly reporting on what you do or say. you knew that well and grasped that concept well, so you constantly used it to help amplify not your voice but others with your influence.

that's what the public thinks, what about the industry?

oh that's another whole situation that brings your head into another headache spiral. so you refuse to think about it for more than a minute

but you can’t deny the small amount of idols you actually managed to befriend with your demeanor. maybe you need too lose the rest bitch face, but that’s what got a couple of other people clinging onto you like they’re your golden retrievers and you’re the black cat

take your friend rosé from blackpink as a good example. you swear she was probably tipsy or something when she managed to mistake you for lisa and talked your ear off that night. that was the start of your blooming friendship with the four piece group.

another example was when you were younger, in the last stretch of your training years you met yeri of red velvet. she managed to convince you to stay true to your outspoken personality and to help her shop for clothes. both worked and now she’s one of the only people who can drag you out of bed and into another outing.

you also ended up befriending itzy’s youngest, sweet sweet yuna who you help in practicing her dance routines. sure you were a bit scary when you started to help her but you never really pushed her boundaries or scolded her like the previous ones who did, so she ended up getting close to you within the next couple of months. next thing everyone knew, both of you would always go to arcades together during her free days.

so the industry didn’t all hate you, but it was still shocking to many to see only so much people that are friends, or even acquaintances with you.

that's not a shock to you. the only shock [and the source of your daily annoyance] you have had in this industry is a persistent twice member who won't back down.

even after the hundreds of rejections over the months for something more than friendship, she's always within your earshot, her laugh bouncing off the walls of wherever you two can possibly meet. her texts flooding your phone more than your own manager. her gifts always making it's way to your front door of your apartment, which you refuse to acknowledge to her, that brings a smile to your face.

you know you can’t handle it anymore so that’s why it’s true that im nayeon is a force to be reckoned with. that's why tonight you managed to crack from your stubbornness as she finally managed to slither into your heart.

it was another idol's party, which you were invited too as a plus one by yeri. she had told you last minute by barging into your apartment, ruining your homeboy plans for the day.

"would you like to explain why this is very last minute?" you complained as you fixed up your outfit, all while yeri sits by the bed "i was looking forward to staying home tonight"

"i know you" she's on her phone, snapping pictures to post on her private instagram "you would say no and make 10 other excuses why you don't want to go out, ultimately mute your phone, lock the door and sleep the weekend away before i can convince you otherwise"

"i hate that you're right" you sigh as you smoothed down your skirt, feeling a bit anxious on the party "but do i have to go?"

"yes" yeri deadpans as she stands up, structs over and fixes your crop top "it's been weeks since you've got out of your house. the last time you even did leave the house for not work was for a family errand"

you hum in acknowledgement, twirling around to double check your outfit.

"you look hot but we are running out of time. chop chop let's go" yeri tosses you your bag, drags you out of door and into the night. ready to get drunk and have a good time

you don't mind mingling in the party, but with the way almost everyone had to do a double take when they see you by the door had you wanting to go back home. why bother staying in a party when half of these people probably have assumptions about you?

"yeri!" someone shouts above the music and both of you come face to face with another idol, their energy bouncing off the walls "you made it, and you brought a friend!"

"hi" you coolly state, hand out for a handshake which they gladly take "i'm y/n, yeri's friend"

"minatozaki sana, also yeri's friend" sana’s smile is bright and the mischievous glint is present in her eyes “also im nayeon’s braincell. would you interest in avoiding her or indulging with her blabbering by the living room?”

of course you couldn’t really escape her can you?

“uhm” you hesitate for a moment, eyes looking past sana to see a pair of eyes already staring at you “i don’t think i have a choice”

sana doesn’t even get to ask why when you’re pulled inside, hands on your waist and her smirk making your knees a bit weak

“hi hot stuff, come here often?” nayeon isn’t always this greasy with her pickup lines but with the time you’ve learned about her, she would only say those to you

“only when stubborn people force me to” you reply, eyes taking in her very bold choice of outfit for the night “trying to impress someone im?”

“trying to impress you” she’s so close to your face, and you swear you can kinda smell the booze on her “is it working?”

“barely” you scoff, but she doesn’t take any offense to that, only as a challenge “you have to do better than that to impress me”

“really now?” you don’t really notice it, but she’s got you cornered in an empty hallway that no one is in “what do you propose that i should do then?”

nayeon moves her hands to your shoulders and neck how, tracing random lines and shapes to any open skin she can feel. you can feel you heartbeat racing from this action but your face doesn’t move from a neutral reaction at all

“tell me” she drops her voice to a low purr, which you haven’t heard before, that brings shivers to your back “what can a woman do to make you be impressed hmm?”

you don’t answer her, only looking up to stare into her eyes as a challenge. your hands finding its place on her waist you can feel the exposed skin getting goosebumps from your touch

“tell me baby” her lips are close to yours, only distance between it is by a few centimeters “tell me”

you couldn’t take it anymore, pulling her into a kiss that she’s glad to reciprocate. your walls finally crumbling down as she invades your scenes, while kissing you senseless

and nayeon? she’s on cloud 9 right now finally kissing you after months. yeah she can be annoyingly persistent but she can see that she’s cracking bit by bit to get to you. now she’s got you around her finger, ready to show you what’s she capable to do

“you’re mine now” she whispers into your ear, after dragging you away from the party to her place with two knowing pairs of eyes watching your figures leave “and i’m gonna show you how much i love worshipping a goddess like you”

and when she’s got you underneath her? she’s got your back arched, hands clawing the sheets, thighs shaking and your mouth moaning out profanities.

so yeah that’s how you got there, with nayeon fucking you down into the mattress with her fingers plunging deep inside of you.

“you look so gorgeous for me like this” both of you are already free from any kinds of clothes and your eyes drink on her amazing form that send your mind reeling “so pretty and so ruined”

you can’t reply to her when you can feel her fingers stretch you out from the inside, your thighs twitching from every movement she does.

“sensitive?” you can barely nod when she kisses your cheek and finally pulls out after the two mind blowing orgasms she gave you “maybe we can put your energy into good use for something else”

your eyes perk up with the idea that’s she implying, and you use your arms to lock into her thighs as she carefully sits on you, her center right in front of you

“you know what to do baby” she coos, threading her finger through your hair as you start to eat her out, your arms and hands making sure she just stays right on top of you

it’s heaven when you can hear her moans go into a higher pitch when you suck on her clit or plunge your tongue deep inside of her. you can barely care for the lack of air when you can taste her like this and have her shaking on top of you

“baby” nayeon moans out, lightly tugging on your hair as she grinds onto your face “you’re gonna make me cum”

you can’t help but go faster with that, effectively making her moan and whine even louder as you bring her to the egde. her thighs crushing you a bit as she struggles to stay upright from the feeling

you don’t stop however, your arms still effectively locking her in and bringing her head fast to another orgasm ,that brings out the most profanities you can hear her say.

“sensitive?” you ask from below as you make a show of sucking her clit that brings a jolt of pleasure across her body “good”

“sensitive and spent” she gently pushes your face away from her center and bringing you into a cuddle, feeling the afterglow soak into your skins “you better be ready for the best breakfast you’ll be able to eat tomorrow y/n”

you hum in reply, your arms wrapped around her as you let her tuck her head against your neck “i hope you won’t burn the toast”

“you wound me”

[uraharasandals]

uhhh so I was giggling about aventurine with a friend and it kinda spiralled out of control so have this teehee

I tried to make them hate fuck the whole time but I got stuck so this ended up being slightly...healthy? (I know, shocking for me) But I'm excited for Ratio to drop and honestly Aventurine too

Main source of inspiration: Aventurine looks like a power bottom

pairing :: dr. ratio x aventurine word count :: 1.4k warnings :: r18/nsfw content (minors don't interact pls), hate-fucking, unprotected sex, mild ooc ratio, written before 1.6 update

CAT GOT YOUR TONGUE? (NO, BUT YOU DID)

“Not so proud of ourselves now, are we?” There it is again, that absolute shit-eating grin that Ratio itches to slap off his face, that remains plastered all over his fine features despite being pinned down like a butterfly to a board, and dissected as much under his hands. And yet. “Come on, don't be shy, say something. Veritas.”

A delicious shiver runs down his spine as Aventurine speaks again, and Ratio swallows. It's the way his name rolls off the blonde's tongue, almost like honey - except it's dangerous, obviously a trap. Velvet-laced knives, mayhaps. 

Beauty with a jagged edge, like the stone he takes the name of for his pseudonym.

Ratio swallows again, then hisses as Aventurine tightens around his cock, shoved deep into him. “Don't do that.” He tries to sound authoritative, but it comes off weak, trembling. Aventurine takes it as a cue to clench again, making him let out a small gasp in spite of himself. 

“Do what?” The blonde tilts his head at him, almost innocently, as if he wasn't underneath him and flushed with arousal. “You need to be clear, Veritas.”

There it is. That wretched enunciation of his name, dragging through his lips. And was he hallucinating, or did that bastard moan it? 

Saliva runs dry in his mouth, leaving him nothing to swallow the third time.

Aventurine notices his silence, and chuckles. He slides his fingers into the dark purple locks curling against the base of his skull and pulls, slotting their mouths together. Ratio lets him have the kiss, their lips moulding together naturally and more like two men in love and less at each other’s throats (though one could argue that is attractive in its own right), and when Aventurine pulls away, there's almost a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes, clarity in the hazy lavender. “I can ride you, if you’d like.” 

And there it is, his way of checking in – despite the nature of the offer, there was no saccharine seductiveness in the statement, only a matter-of-fact tone laying an invitation on the table. In a way, it’s strangely reassuring, how he doesn’t treat him as something fragile or like glass, how he maintains the snake-like hold on him even though they’re on bed, skin against skin, laid bare open. It makes the real Aventurine less attainable, which is good. That means he is still allowed the leisure of concealing his true emotions behind a mask, because despite the vulnerability, that is one thing he refuses to do, the one agreement he made to himself. 

It keeps things casual, distanced. With an air of fantasy surrounding it, almost as if he was playing make-believe. 

“Tempting.” Ratio regains his footing on the edge, smirking down at him. “But I think I’d like to try something else today.” He rolls his hips forwards experimentally, and relishes on the widening of Aventurine’s eyes as he gasps, a delicious shiver running through his entire body. “Especially since a certain someone decided to be so generous today.” 

Aventurine shrugs, nonchalance laced in the action, but his flushed features – likely from arousal – makes it hard to believe, especially with the sultry glance still evident behind the long golden lashes. “Suit yourself. Don’t cry about it afterwards, though.”

Ratio scoffs, hooking a hand around his pale thigh, before arranging his leg so it props on his shoulder, stretching him open further. “Don’t worry. The only person who’s going to cry tonight is you.”

“Oh, going to scold me like one of your students, are you, Doctor?”

Before Aventurine can get another word in, he responds by leaning in, pressing his lips against the other man’s mouth so he could shut up, for Aeon’s sake. The yapping coming out of him quickly turns into a series of delightful moans, the blonde gasping and whimpering as Veritas fucks him, slamming his hips against the other’s and hitting that spot inside of Aventurine that makes him make those pretty noises again, over and over until his cock leaks precum. He smirks in appreciation as the wet sounds of skin slapping against skin fills the room, more slick forming between them as his cock leaks more precum, almost as if he wants to fill Aventurine up.

“Why, does that turn you on?” He asks, almost in disbelief, as he continues to pound into Aventurine’s hole, but the other man was already gone in the throes of his own pleasure, and Ratio finds himself mesmerised by the display in front of him as he pants, blonde hair sprawled across the pillow like a halo. He looks like an angel this way – he thinks to himself – except that is true only in the literal sense of the word, but the deception is easier to fall for when he's like this, spread open on sheets and without his flamboyance, just himself. And right now, this view is only for Ratio's eyes, which only makes him more aroused. “Talk to me, Aventurine,” Ratio taunts, relishing in how easily the man underneath him is being taken apart. “Do you like this?” 

The blonde nods, gasping as he hits his prostate again. “Feels good…more, please. More, Veritas – “

“Well, since you’re asking so nicely – “ With a small grunt, he slams back in again, stretching his hole further. Aventurine turns his neck as he moans, trying to squirm away from the overwhelming onslaught of pleasure, but a firm grip on his wrist against the headboard stops him from escaping, and he whines. Ratio could feel his cock throbbing harder, and impulsively — against his own logical instincts, frankly – he surges forward, biting roughly on the pristinely pale expanse of skin on Aventurine’s neck. 

The blonde moans loudly again as his teeth grazes on the skin, catching and surely leaving marks. For a moment Ratio loses control of himself, overcome with the thought of making Aventurine his own, and nothing but his own, attacking his neck with renewed fervour. The blonde squeezes his eyes shut, and with a sense of satisfaction, Ratio notices moisture gathering on his eyelids, and he decides to lean up to kiss them away. Aventurine hisses at the contact, but does not push him away, merely guiding his hand to his own cock, and Ratio complies. He silently relishes in the pretty noises that Aventurine makes in response to the additional stimulation. “I - I’m close, Veritas, I’m close - ”

“Good.” Ratio gasps. “Cum for me.” He watches as the blonde shudders, mewling as he comes undone, white spurting all over his fingers as the scholar continues to stroke, his hole fluttering around his cock, milking him. A hoarse groan escapes his lips as Ratio’s hips stutter, fucking him through his orgasm. He is briefly aware of how slender and small Aventurine is underneath him, shaking from the aftershocks and whimpering from the overstimulation as he continues to thrust into the heat. “Hold on – ”

Ratio ignores the desperate sounds coming out of Aventurine as he chases his own high, slamming his cock into his hole again and again until he groans, the pleasure causing stars to dance in the back of his eyelids as he buries his face into Aventurine’s neck, moaning against the sweat-drenched skin. He’s briefly aware of his cum spilling out around his cock, soiling the sheets underneath, and the thought fuck, we have to change them dances across his mind before Aventurine’s scent demands his focus again, and then it’s Aventurine, Aventurine, Aventurine all over again.

For a moment, the room is silent as they slowly come down from their highs, though broken as Aventurine pulls him down for another kiss, this time sloppy and wet. Ratio returns it hungrily, letting the blonde nip and lick at his lips greedily, almost to devour him. “You taste good,” Aventurine manages to say, finally catching his breath.

Ratio scoffs, but it’s all in good nature. “First time?” 

Immediately, the blissed expression on the blonde’s face drops, and he almost laughs. Aventurine is like a cat at times, Ratio thinks to himself, the way he pulls away and gets affectionate completely at random intervals, and right now it’s one of those times as he bites on the inside of his wrist as some sort of comeback, successfully making him wince out of surprise. Aventurine grins, looking like a cat who just finished a bowlful of cream.

“Cat got your tongue?” Ratio prompts, enjoying teasing Aventurine when he’s fucked out like this, the only time his flowery language doesn’t make an appearance.

“No, but you did,” is the only warning as the blonde pulls him down for another kiss again, this time slightly more gentle as he grins against his lips.

[theharrowing]

Collateral 19: The only lifestyle I have ever known

Your ex-boyfriend gets in over his head working for the local mafia, and Boss Min has come to collect his payment: You.

But was it simply a matter of being in the wrong place at the wrong time? Or has he always had his sights on you?

PREVIOUS | INDEX | NEXT

🗡️ Yoongi x Female Reader x Namjoon, Jungkook x Female Reader, Jungkook x Taehyung

🗡️ word count: 18.6

🗡️ mafia au, strangers to lovers, graphic violence, major character injury, poly, smut, angst, fluff, nsfw, explicit 21+ 

🗡️ warnings: tickling, semi-public quickie, handsy creep makes mc spiral, playful possessiveness, feelings as messy as mc's panties are after letting 3 men cum inside her, threats from a fresh face, graphic violence and gore (gun fire, mc wields a gun and a knife, man's head go boom-splat, major character injury, panic attack & blind rage, mc's body count increases from 1 to 2, yoongi gets his scar.)

🗡️ note: these warnings are serious!!! heed them!!! take them seriously!!! on a lighter note, pretend everyone's hair is correct in the mood board ok lolol also yes that is Bibi, who is called Hyungseo in this chapter.

🗡️ beta read by @neoneunnajimin! and shout out to @colormepurplex2 for putting some blood on our kitten's face for this mood board!! i appreciate you both!!! 💜

🗡️ posted on august 2023 | read on ao3

Waking up between Yoongi and Namjoon again is akin to waking from a dream only to find yourself in an even better dream. You roll onto your side toward Yoongi, who sleeps on his back, and you nuzzle into him, wrapping every limb around his body as tightly as you can. Yoongi grumbles and tenses before he relaxes, and then he turns onto his side and tangles his limbs in response, reaching a leg and arm past you to the sweating body on the other side. 

You used to hate it when partners would try to hold you in the morning, ripping you from blissful unconsciousness into the waking world with their stinky breath and sweaty skin. With a grumble and a shove, you would always break free and twist to your side, wrapped in your blanket alone.

But Yoongi and Namjoon are your home. Their heavy bodies and warm morning breath ease you into the day, wrapping you in a loving embrace that you hate to have to break free of. 

And just when you close your eyes and sigh into the feeling of Namjoon curling against your back, outlining the shape of your body perfectly with his, a phone ringtone blares, causing the three of you to groan and sign in tandem. 

"Fuck," Yoongi mutters, leaning to kiss you on the forehead before slowly dragging his limbs away from the tangle, muttering lowly as his shrill ringtone disturbs the peace. 

"Who the fuck is already calling you?" Namjoon complains against your shoulder, wrapping around you tighter as Yoongi's warmth disappears.

Yoongi's response is incomprehensible raspy nonsense, and then the sound ends just as he mutters, "Yes?"

After a pause, Yoongi grumbles, "Seokjin-ssi, I am offended that you thought I would forget. Of course, we will be there tomorrow evening. Alright, talk to you later."

The sound of the phone clattering against Yoongi's nightstand follows a sigh, and Yoongi rolls back into his rightful place, wedging your face against nude pecs while he reaches over you to give Namjoon's lifted face a kiss. 

The two of them groan, squeezing you between firm, increasingly hot bodies, and you begin to shove at Yoongi's shoulders, fighting for your life, grumbling, "You're suffocating me, you idiots!"

"You're just jealous Joonie got the first good morning kiss," Yoongi teases, backing up before bending down to plant his lips against yours. 

"No morning breath kisses!" you attempt to complain through lips pulled tightly together, shoving Yoongi away despite loving the soft press of his mouth against you. 

"Was Seokjin reminding you of the gala?" Namjoon asks just as Yoongi decides to begin tickling you, which has you screaming and pushing him away with flailing limbs. 

"He was," Yoongi grits as you manage to plant both hands firmly on his chest and shove hard enough to topple him momentarily back. He pounces once more, flinging his entire body over yours, and Namjoon manages to get your left hand held down, then reaches over you to pin down your right arm, filling your senses with his delightfully stinky musk. 

"You monsters!" you scream with your arms awkwardly pinned beside your head, uselessly flailing your legs while Yoongi sits and dances his fingertips over your ribs. "I'll kill you both!"

"Awe, our little wolf is threatening us with murder," Namjoon teases, "as if she has it in her to kill another man."

"Especially two as handsome as us," Yoongi adds, lightning up on tickling enough to make you open your eyes and watch him waggle his eyebrows. 

As soon as Yoongi's fingers touch down on your ribs once more, your eyes squeeze shut, and you squeal, "Your looks won't save you from my wrath if you don't release me!"

"Awe your wrath," Namjoon teases, and his hot, stinky breath wafts as he leans close. "How adorable."

"I watched you torture a man, I know how to do it, now," you grit through your teeth, swaying your body left to right hard, hoping to throw Yoongi off. "Maybe Taehyung will teach me how to use his katana."

"Graduating from dagger to katana," Yoongi drawls playfully. "How quaint."

Namjoon adds, "But our sweetheart has never seen me with a sword before," piquing your interest despite how you fight for your life. 

Each breath heaves from your lungs, pained laughter coming out in exhausted bursts against your will; if you could control your laughter to not give these jerks the satisfaction, you would. Nothing about the hellish feeling of being tickled is actually funny. 

In a burst of genius, you scream, "Sakura!"

Yoongi sighs and halts his fingers, and when you open your eyes, he tongues the inside of his mouth. 

"That was a dirty move but also a wise one," Yoongi mutters, clearly as amused as he is annoyed. "Nice work, darling."

"So, did you forget about Seokjin's event?" Namjoon asks as Yoongi leans forward, caging your head with his hands and smiling sweetly at you. You attempt to catch your breath, still panting from the onslaught. 

"I did," Yoongi responds, grinning. 

You roll your eyes and begin to laugh, and Namjoon releases your hands finally and wiggles back into a laying position beside you, laughing as well. "I want to sleep more," he grumbles as he throws a leg over your legs and snuggles up to your side, close enough to your armpit to make you jerk when he speaks because every tiny sensation still tickles. 

"More sleep sounds nice," Yoongi mutters, leaning close, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, then to your eyebrow, and to your temple, before laying back down. 

You begin to grumble that you would also love to sleep but that Yoongi has woken you up with all of his rambunctious behavior. But as limbs settle over and around you, and you become sandwiched once more between the two of them, heaviness claims your eyelids, and you begin to drift off. 

When you wake up again, it is from Namjoon peeling out of the tangle. You grumble and roll toward him, attempting to reach out and bring his warmth back to you. Yoongi wraps around your back, humming something unintelligible into the nape of your neck before his breathing evens out and he is back asleep. You close your eyes and allow yourself to drift once more, stirred only by the feeling of Yoongi peeling away. 

The sun is bright by the time you wake up for good, flooding into the room, causing you to squint as you stretch and yawn, slowly flailing your limbs in the large, empty bed. 

"Where is everyone going?" you grumble, peeking one eye open to find a tuft of dark, wavy hair sticking out from the closet. Yoongi's smile is almost as bright as the afternoon sun, tugging at your heart. 

He responds, "Work, darling," with a smirk, then disappears back into the closet.

"Ugh!" you complain, petulant. If Yoongi and Namjoon go to work, who will be around to hug and kiss and spoil you? "Work is stupid!"

"You should go to Paradise!" Yoongi calls from the closet. 

You should go to Paradise. It has been several nights since you last visited, and you miss Jimin and Hyejin. And, if you are being perfectly honest, you miss Jeongguk. Jeongguk will certainly give you plenty of attention to make up for what you are missing from the other two, but you worry just a little that desiring and receiving it from him may make you greedy. 

"You just want to shove me off onto Jeongguk," you whine, teasingly. 

Yoongi chuckles as he exits the closet, buttoning a black shirt that is tucked into black slacks. "Are you upset about that?"

With a pout, you sit up and whine, "I guess not," making Yoongi laugh so hard that he stomps one of his feet. Since coming home, there is a lightness to Yoongi that you are certain you have never seen before. He laughs so openly and with his whole body, sometimes flinging himself all the way to the floor, onto his knees. It is so nice; he truly seems happy. 

"Namjoon and I have a meeting today that may take several hours," Yoongi begins as he approaches, still smiling but no longer laughing. "Then I have to take one of our potential clients to dinner and for drinks. She is an old investor and was a good friend of my mother, and she has her sights on one of my hotels. After we schmooze and convince her to open her pocketbook, we will come by the club. Sound good?"

You hum and nod, considering what you might wear to Paradise while scooting toward the edge of the bed, wearing only one of Namjoon's oversized shirts. 

"What if Jeongguk seduces me?" you ask with a raise of your brow, biting back a smile when Yoongi gives you an incredulous little smirk of his own. 

He gets close, resting his hands on the edge of the bed, caging you in. Yoongi is musky and sweet, and you lean in close, holding firm eye contact and basking in his bouquet. 

"Do you want to fuck Jeongguk again?" he asks low and curious.

Goosebumps cover you, sending a thrill along your spine, and you bite your lip, batting your lashes while pretending to consider his proposition. 

"I don't know," you say, attempting to sound coy. "Maybe."

Yoongi hums, deep and slow, leaning close enough that his breath is warm on your face. "Well, then if he seduces you, you should let him have you." 

"You don't mind?" you ask softly, genuinely concerned about crossing some sort of line, should something happen while he is away. 

"As long as you are happy and communicate openly, I do not mind."

Unsure what to say, you hum in response. You want to kiss Yoongi until you are dizzy, but you worry about your breath being sour and keep your lips closed tight. Yoongi leans and kisses you on your temple, eyebrow, and cheek, then straightens out. 

"If you wanted to shoot me a text and let me know, I would not object," he says with a waggle of his brow, making you giggle. 

You lift a hand and gently shove at his shoulder, teasing, "You just want to picture me getting fucked, you pervert."

"Of course I do," Yoongi rasps, pressing one more kiss to your forehead before standing up straight. With a wink, he adds, "Don't be shy, pretty darling." 

The moment you step foot into Paradise, Jimin prances over with a warm smile and his arms open wide. He wears a satin black shirt tucked into black slacks, and his boots click-clack in a familiar song.  

As soon as he wraps his arms around your neck, he begins to jump, and you do your best to jump along with him, feeling stunned that he is this happy to see you. "I have a surprise," he sing-songs, drawing the word long and happily, and you do your best to reciprocate his hug before he pulls away. 

"You can't see it until your birthday, but I have been working hard on something," he continues, still hopping around now that you are no longer embracing. 

Although your approaching birthday has been in the back of your mind, this is the first time it has felt like a tangible event. You blurt out, "How did you know my birthday is coming up," feeling anxiety and excitement swell behind your ribs. 

"Oh, please," Jimin mutters, rolling his eyes. "Yoongi has not shut up about it for over a month. He has been very insistent that we throw you an extravagant party; why do you think renovations on this place happened so fucking fast?"

Stunned and so dreadfully in love, all you can do is stare at Jimin as the words sink. You cannot believe that Yoongi has been in cahoots with the guys for over a month, and he has not let it slip at all to you. This means that even before the trips to Paris and Hong Kong, he must have been beginning to plan something.  

"Renovations—" you mutter, mouth opening and closing until all you can say is, "Wait, what?"

"You silly little dove," Jimin teases, booping you on the nose with one of his manicured fingers. "You really have no idea what you have done to this man, do you?"

You knit your brow and slowly shake your head, and Jimin's smile widens. 

"Being with you has changed him. It's noticeable."

Stuck like a deer in headlights, you stand and stare at Jimin, attempting to process his words. Sure, Yoongi was a little gruff and not always the most friendly person to be around when you were first brought to the mansion—even in moments when he was being kind—but you had assumed he behaves that way any time new people are brought around. 

Jimin giggles, leans in, and plants a glossy kiss on your cheek. Then he walks away, clearly amused, and you continue to stare for another moment until a familiar floral musk breaks your spell, alerting you to the presence of a certain someone. 

Truth be told, you have been a bit nervous in anticipation of seeing Jeongguk again. Especially since Yoongi has given you the green light to play around with him—provided Taehyung has done the same. Rather than turn around and greet him, you take a fortifying breath and wait for him to make the first move; it never takes long for him to. 

"Dollface," his voice greets slow and deep and so close to your ear that you actually gasp despite already being aware of his proximity. "My, do you look ravishing this evening."

Warmth floods your cheeks; you dressed in a black mesh corset top tucked into fitted black slacks tonight specifically in the hope that Jeongguk would get an eyeful and want to bend you over Jimin's desk. The black material that covers your breasts is thin, and embroidered into the ribbed black mesh of the top are little black dragons that remind you of Namjoon's tattoo. It leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination.

Tilting your head toward his voice, you mutter, "Thank you," surprising yourself by just how shy you suddenly feel.

"There's something I need to discuss with you," Jeongguk says. The feeling of two warm hands gently gripping your bare forearms causes you to let out a shaky exhale. "Come to one of the private rooms with me?"

The private dance rooms are all equipped with cameras, making your anxiety spike higher, but you nod and allow him to give you a gentle push through the club, to the hallway. The sound of his and your black leather boots clacking against the floor is surprisingly loud under the bass-heavy club beat, ricocheting through your mind while the music thrums just under your skin. 

Once the two of you enter the hallway, you turn your head, finally getting a glance of black satin almost entirely unbuttoned, tucked into black slacks. You attempt to sound innocent as you ask, "What is it you would like to discuss?" 

The chuckle that greets you in response is sardonic and inviting, and you continue to look ahead until Jeongguk places a hand on your arm and guides you through a door on the left. 

The room is rather small, with a round mirrored table and metal dancing poll taking up most of the space. Surrounding the table is a deep green velvet horseshoe couch with thick, rounded arms and backrest. You walk over to stand near the side of the couch and lean against it while the door closes and locks behind you. Instinctively, you glance up at the camera and stare, wondering if it is a coincidence that there is no little red light flashing; it must not be recording, after all. 

"Don't worry, doll," Jeongguk says with a grin as he approaches, "I shut that camera off."

"Is that so?" you ask with a slight tremble in your voice.

Jeongguk is stunning with his dark hair coiffed off his forehead. He has a light dusting of black powder around his eyes accentuating just how dangerous they are, and as your gaze travels down to the mess of silver chains draped around his neck, and lower, to the exposed valley of his chest, you do your best not to swoon. 

"Yoongi hyung sent me a very interesting text this evening," Jeongguk responds with a lift of his pierced eyebrow. 

You attempt to sound as if you have no idea what he might be talking about as you ask, "He did?"

Jeongguk hums and closes in slowly, causing your pulse to quicken gradually with each step he takes. "He did."

You swallow thickly, tilting your head. "And what did it say?"

The grin returns as Jeongguk slides a tattooed hand into his pocket and pulls out his phone. He thumbs around one-handed for a moment, then reads, "Our little darling has the green light to play around with you," He glances up and adds, "Discreetly, of course."

"Of course," you mutter softly. 

Jeongguk slides his phone back into his pocket. "How are you feeling today?" he asks, voice sweeter than you expect.

Unsure exactly what he might be asking, you fumble, saying, "G-good. I feel good."

Jeongguk lifts his hands and places them on your biceps, then slowly rubs down to your elbows and back up. "Not too sore?"

Ah, of course, that is what he is asking. You did feel the aftermath of him fucking your brains out when you woke up this morning, but it eased throughout the day. Although you are certain that if he slid his thick, pretty cock back inside, your walls would ache. The thought alone has you fighting the urge to squeeze your thighs together. 

"No," you respond, wetting your lips and watching as Jeongguk's eyes follow the movement. 

Jeongguk's hands slide down past your hands, then he hooks both index fingers into the waistband of your slacks and says, "We have to be quick, but I could be gentle with you, just in case."

He leans in and stops with his lips so close to yours that the slightly sweet whiskey-hinted scent of his breath joins his already enticing fragrance. You want to close the gap and claim his lips, but you wait, staring into his deep, round eyes. 

"I don't want you to be gentle," you whisper, gaze falling to his lips in time for them to curl into a smirk and close in. 

You moan as Jeongguk kisses you, wasting no time licking over the seam of your lips, begging for entrance. As you open your mouth and dance the tip of your tongue over his, Jeongguk hastily undoes the fly of your slacks, yanking your hips to rock against him as he figures out the clasp and pulls down the zipper. 

He shoves the garment to the floor, and as soon as you lift your right foot to free it from the pant leg, he takes your thigh and lifts it, spreading you wide to rake his clothed erection over you. The friction is just enough to make you whimper, and you angle your hips in an attempt to press yourself against him even more. 

"Matching mesh panties," Jeongguk groans as he reaches between your bodies and cups your cunt with his palm, squeezing and rubbing in firm, long movements. 

"Fuck," you whisper, feeling a burst of arousal quake down your spine. 

He leans close once more, lips against yours as he grits, "You drive me fucking crazy."

In a rush, you reach for Jeongguk's pants and begin to undo his button and fly, swallowing every hiss and groan as your knuckles graze his erection. And as much as those sweet sounds urge you to drop to your knees and swallow him deep into your throat just to hear a symphony of his pleasure, you need him to fuck you right now.

Jeongguk takes over and pushes his pants and briefs down, and you shift around to sit back on the wide, velvet arm of the couch, leaning on your elbows and spreading your thighs wide. The look on Jeongguk's face is one of desperation, and you bite your lip at the sight of his pretty cheeks blushing. Knowing you have this kind of an effect on the man who had absolutely nothing nice to say to you for the longest time has your ego inflating to great heights.

"You are so fucking sexy," Jeongguk groans as he pushes your panties aside with one hand while dipping two fingers into his mouth and reaching down to rub the pads of his fingertips over your clit and down to your entrance. You gasp in tandem as he circles your hole and presses broth fingers inside. "Always so fucking tight."

"Please," you whimper, feeling just as needy as he looks. "Please, Jeongguk."

Jeongguk nods and removes his fingers, then spreads your arousal onto his length as he pumps himself a few times, closing the gap between you. Without a word, Jeongguk sinks his cock in deep, giving you no time to adjust to the stretch as you bow your back with a moan and take every inch he has to offer. Your walls ache just slightly enough for the pleasure-pain to make you dizzy.

"Fuck, doll, that's it. You take this cock so well."

You mutter, "Holy shit," punch-drunk from how good he feels, letting your head loll back. 

"Eyes on me," Jeongguk instructs, and you lift your head and meet his gaze, watching his mouth fall agape, mirroring yours, while he pulls his hips back and slams them forward. 

Jeongguk spears you open so deliciously, you struggle to keep your head lifted and eyes open. And he wastes no time picking up a pace that has you moaning and crying his name. 

"Probably shouldn't be so loud," Jeongguk groans as he places the fingers that had been shoved inside your cunt moments ago in front of your lips. You open your mouth and accept his offering, sucking your taste from him as you attempt to stifle your moans. 

He fucks you hard and fast, and you squeeze around him, matching his rhythm and working yourself toward orgasm quickly. Eager to cum—knowing that there is no way this quick and dirty hookup will last too long—you reach your hand between your legs and begin to touch yourself. The velvet of the couch feels rough against the one elbow that anchors you, but the hint of pain adds to the overwhelming pleasure, pushing you closer to the edge. 

"That's it, cum on this cock," Jeongguk urges, sweat glistening over every inch of skin that you can see. 

The twirl of your fingertips matched with the unrelenting drive of Jeongguk's hips has you plummeting past the edge of sanity. And his words certainly help. All you can do is whimper and sob around his fingertips, and your eyes flicker closed before widening as pleasure trembles and quakes through each inch of you. 

"Want to fill you with my cum," Jeongguk groans, pressing his fingers against your tongue hard enough to make drool pool in the edges of your mouth. "Want you to walk around feeling me drip out of you. Want my hyungs to find your panties soiled and sticky. That sound good to you, dollface?"

Although you know you will come to regret this choice as soon as the afterglow fades, you do love the idea of Yoongi and Namjoon touching you and feeling Jeongguk's dried cum in your panties. It is filthy in the best possible way, and you yearn for it. 

You mutter, "Mmhmm," and attempt to nod your head while sucking greedily on Jeongguk's fingers. 

Jeongguk fucks impossibly harder, attempting to stifle his moans through grit teeth, sounding absolutely heavenly as his low voice lilts high and pretty. You should not feel so smitten by Jeongguk when he is balls deep and filling you with his cum, but he is absolutely stunning, and it is impossible to ignore. 

As his hips tremble and still, he drops his fingers from your lips and leans close, supporting your legs with both arms as he lays you back and kisses you deep and hungrily. The two of you moan and whimper, gnashing lips, teeth, and tongues as if your lives depend on this exchange. 

Jeongguk breaks the kiss and leans his forehead against yours, panting heavily. His skin is warm and glistening with sweat, and you lift your arms to wrap them around his shoulders. 

"This is dangerous," Jeongguk mutters, and you tilt your head ever so slightly, humming a curious, "Hmm?"

"How will I keep my hands off you now that I know how amazing you are?"

This soft, sweet side of Jeongguk still takes you by surprise, and you find yourself feeling shy once more as you mutter, "Shut up," at a loss for anything else to say. 

"I mean it," he says, pressing his lips to yours and moaning when you lean into the chaste kiss. "I don't want anything as serious as Namjoon has with the two of you…this is strictly physical. But you really are amazing, doll; you know that, right?"

"Stop," you respond, attempting to shove Jeongguk away. He remains firmly nestled inside you and crowding your personal space, and although you enjoy his presence, you are beginning to feel somewhat claustrophobic. 

You know that this is strictly physical—you wouldn't want it any other way. So why does him saying it aloud make your heart feel just a little too heavy? 

The fact is, you are only in a romantic relationship with Yoongi and Namjoon, and you know that you would not be able to handle it if you and Jeongguk became anything more than two friends who bicker and fuck. But in these moments when he is caring and sweet, there is a tiny part of you that thinks you would like a little more between the two of you. 

"Alright," Jeongguk says with a soft chuckle, standing straight and pulling his softened cock from inside you. "I have to get to work."

Jeongguk looks absolutely disheveled and fucked out with blush-reddened cheeks, covered in a sheen of sweat, and you cannot help but laugh as you imagine him returning to the club with a straight face, going about his business as if nothing has happened. You wonder if he cued Jimin in on the fact that he would not be on the floor for however long this little tryst lasted or if Jimin might be searching for the two of you at the moment. 

"Good luck with that," you tease, sitting up and immediately attempting to stand, doing your best not to allow any of Jeongguk's and your cum to drip onto the velvet couch. 

Jeongguk reaches out and lightly grabs your elbows, steadying you as you bend out of his grasp and begin shuffling your leg back into your slacks. With a series of small hops and wiggles, you are back in your clothing, and you clasp and zip the fly, then run your hands down the front of the tight mesh corset top. 

"What are you wearing to Seokjin's event?" Jeongguk asks, stepping close and using the pad of his thumb to wipe under your right eye, where you assume a little makeup has smudged. 

"I have no idea," you admit, imagining Yoongi will want to shop for something bespoke tomorrow morning. "I usually let the boss dress me. He seems to enjoy it."

"Gross," Jeongguk responds with a playful crinkle of his nose, muttering to add, "Please tell me you do not call him boss in bed."

You swat away Jeongguk's hand, which has hovered beside your cheek as you break out into laughter. Jeongguk pretends to be affronted, holding his hand close to his chest as if you have wounded him. Once the laughter dies, Jeongguk reaches both arms to drape over your shoulders, forcing you to step close. 

"Well tell the boss I request something with a nice long slit up the thigh for easy access. Maybe something that really hugs all your curves."

With a scoff, you search Jeongguk's face for a hint that he is joking, and although he is behaving playfully, he truly does seem serious. 

"So bossy. You forget who I am supposedly engaged to, hmm?" you tease, cocking your head to the side and batting your lashes. "Because it is not you, Jeon."

Jeongguk steps closer, forcing you to tilt your head to look at him. He leans until his lips are a hair's width away. 

"I'm aware of who you are pretending to be engaged to, dollface," he spits in a tone that could be mistaken for anger if you could not see the smile and glimmer in his eyes, even this close. "That does not mean I won't be pulling you into some secluded room to fuck you while your boyfriends have to stand idly by and wait for us to return."

"And why would you do that?" you ask, already knowing the answer. 

Jeongguk gently sucks and nibbles at your lower lip, causing you to gasp and whimper, then he pulls back with a smirk and says, "For fun."

You roll your eyes and shove Jeongguk back, causing him to lose balance just enough to stumble. Then he opens the door and mutters, "Ladies first," holding his hand out as your invitation to exit. 

The music playing in the club is loud and upbeat, and although it had been coming through the speakers of the private room, you had been too distracted to really notice it. As you make your way down the hallway, past the dancer's green rooms and Jimin's office, the bass reverberates through you in a rhythm that is intoxicating and overwhelming. You would love a drink right now.

Although you are sure it would not matter if you returned to the main room with Jeongguk, you decide to hang back a few paces and then veer off toward the ladies' room in the opposite direction of the bar, not looking back to check whether Jeongguk notices. And as soon as you step into the small brightly lit space and check your reflection, noticing small tell-tale signs that you definitely just had sex, you take in a deep breath. 

This whole situation with Jeongguk is fun, but there is a sense of trepidation that surrounds it, now that you have had a little time to let this entire situation settle. Both Yoongi and Namjoon have given you enthusiastic consent to fuck their best friend, yet you still fear that eventually, at some point, they might change their minds. And although you know that you would absolutely, without a doubt, agree to stop fucking Jeongguk if they asked you to, you already fear that emotionally, it could tear you apart. 

You definitely crave Jeongguk's attention. You appreciate how different it feels to be flirted with by him than it feels with Yoongi and Namjoon. You enjoy the thrill of knowing that all of it has to be done in secret when it is not done at someone's home—and Jeongguk has already proven to be the type to like secret, semi-public sex. Being claimed and used by him is thrilling in a way you have not experienced much before.

As you dry your hands and exit the restroom, you curse yourself for continuing to have the same train of thought stuck on repeat. You are far too sober to ignore the fact that already the thought of being something more than a fuck buddy for Jeongguk has begun invading your mind. Already you are asking yourself why you are so dead set on trying to talk yourself out of even humoring the idea. 

And it is not as if you can walk into the main room—or anywhere, for that matter—and fully ignore his presence, or try to block what just happened out. With each step you take, you can feel the mix of body fluids squelching just inside your cunt, threatening to drip out. Even if you tried to wipe yourself off, there would be no way to fully cleanse yourself of him. 

Perhaps it is not even him you would wish to cleanse yourself of; perhaps you are simply reconciling the idea that you are capable of becoming attached to people rather quickly, and you know just how fucking dangerous that can be. 

You make your way to the bar for one whiskey sour and then two. Hyejin is out sick for a few nights, meaning Jeongguk is busy. Jimin seems to know what the two of you were up to just based on the judgmental upturned-eyebrowed gaze that follows you whenever the two of you are even briefly within proximity of one another. 

By the third whiskey sour, two familiar men walk into the building. You spot Namjoon first, wearing his black shirt unbuttoned to the center of his chest. His short brown hair is styled off his forehead, and he wears a thin black choker around his neck. Rather than wearing his standard black slacks, he has black skinny jeans that almost appear shiny, outlining each curve of muscle in his thighs. 

And then Yoongi follows, and something in the air feels as if it shifts. Yoongi on a normal day is breathtaking—pretty in ways that make you stop what you are doing to watch him. But tonight, his hair is messy and wild, and he wears a shiny bomber jacket with hints of gold and burgundy that shimmer in the club lights. A leopard print scarf is tied around his neck, and he wears a black shirt with a low, rounded neck, tucked into very tight black jeans. 

Yoongi scans the room, eyes landing on you first, and you clench tightly to the cold, damp glass in your hand as he makes his way over slowly, like a beast on the prowl. Namjoon follows, dimples creasing his cheeks as his gaze rakes over your form. As they approach, you catch hints of black ink on Namjoon's honey skin peeking from his shirt, and notice both of them are wearing a dusting of black eyeshadow. 

"Darling," Yoongi greets with a smile, lifting his arms up, beckoning you to hug him. You shift to the side just enough to set your drink on the bar behind you and to your left, and then you step forward and allow Yoongi's arms to engulf you. With his lips pressed to your temple, Yoongi softly rasps, "You look absolutely stunning, tonight."

"Thanks," you mutter as your heart pounds, and you lift your hands to his hips. Yoongi's musk is more floral than usual, and you close your eyes and bury your nose against his neck and the scarf tied around it, then drag your lips over the soft, warm skin. 

When you finally take a step back, you rub your hands over the fabric of his jacket, which appears almost metallic, feeling rough tiny sequins lightly scratching against your palms. 

"I like your jacket," you say as your eyes move from the pretty, inviting material to Yoongi's even prettier, even more inviting face. 

"Then it's yours," he responds with a smirk, causing warmth to flood your cheeks. 

"I like it on you," you clarify with a lift of your brow, then you push at the material enough to lift it and have a peek at his bare shoulders, realizing that he has a tank top on, adding, "Although I suppose I would like it off of you, as well."

Namjoon approaches on the right and leans an elbow on Yoongi's shoulder. His gaze is dark and hungry—piercing, almost—and there is a bloodshot quality to his eyes that suggests he is either high or he has been drinking. 

"This jacket truly does look lovely on the floor," Namjoon says with a wink, turning in time to watch Yoongi roll his eyes and crack a smile that shows off his gums. Namjoon chuckles, and the sound is deep and pretty and makes your heart pound. 

You are curious about so many things, including what drove them to get so dressed up tonight, and how their meeting went with the possible hotel sale. But you open your mouth with the intention of finding one of those topics to ask about when Jeongguk steps into the peripheral and wraps an arm around your waist. 

"Hey, hyungs," he greets in a playful tone that gives you goosebumps. 

Yoongi and Namjoon nod to Jeongguk, but their gazes flit between the two of you, and to the hand that holds you just under the ribs. 

You expect one of them to tease you—it must be obvious that you fucked, or that you have become closer in some manner—and you are a bit surprised when Yoongi cocks his head toward Namjoon, eyes still on you, as he says, "Aren't the two of them gorgeous together?"

Namjoon hums and nods, and suddenly, you want to squirm away and create space between you and Jeongguk. You feel scrutinized in a way that is unfamiliar but that you liken to parents meeting a romantic partner for the first time. It is not Jeongguk's presence that embarrasses you, but the way they acknowledge his presence, making you feel like an insect trapped under a magnifying glass. 

Namjoon keeps his elbow on Yoongi's shoulder as he glances around the space, eyes slowly trailing around. "You, Jimin, and Hyejin are doing well, it seems."

"Business is booming," Jeongguk responds as his hand gently rubs small shapes against your side, fingertips playing lightly with the threading and ribbing of your corset top. "Jimin is the genius of the operation; Hyejin and I merely do what he tells us to."

"Well you seem to be doing it well," Yoongi says, holding his chin high with a proud glimmer in his eyes. 

The hand on your side tenses then relaxes, and you turn your gaze to Jeongguk, who looks at you with a shy smile, then turns back to Yoongi to mutter, "Thank you, hyung."

"You seem happier," Namjoon adds, dropping his arm to his side, then stepping in to play with Jeongguk's satin collar. "This style suits you, and your attitude has improved substantially."

"Hyung," Jeongguk whines, attempting to step away from Namjoon but hitting his elbow against the bar. 

This makes Yoongi chuckle, who teases with a playful, "Our little Ggukah is all grown up."

"Ugh," Jeongguk complains, dropping his hand from your side before walking away, making the three of you laugh. 

"He's so easy to rile up," Namjoon jokes, to which Yoongi says, "Too easy."

The three of you settle at the bar with drinks. You finish your third, and they slam a few shots to catch up. By the time you are setting down the fourth drink and excusing yourself to the restroom, both men are handsy and whining about letting you go.

"I have to pee," you complain, yanking your wrist from Namjoon's eager grip. 

"Fine," he groans with a pout and puppy dog eyes that have you scoffing and shaking your head. 

You are surprised by how much you stumble through the club on your way to the ladies' room. To be fair, you were more excited to dress up and get pretty this evening and barely touched any food before heading over here—something the three of you will need to remedy before heading home. The light of the bathroom is too bright, and you sit just a little too hard on the toilet, squeezing your eyes closed to try to focus them a little better when they open, causing the stall to be nothing but a tan and red blur. 

After washing up and checking your drunk but agreeable reflection, you make your way back through the club. But before you can reach the bar, a customer—some older man you have never seen before—grabs you by the bicep. 

"Are you available for a dance?" he slurs, filling your chest with anxious trepidation, which you attempt to swallow down while yanking your arm uselessly. "I see you here all the time, but you're never on stage."

"I don't work here," you respond through grit teeth, pulling your arm from his grasp and stumbling two steps backward.

The man frowns and opens his mouth to shout something slurred and incomprehensible, and in a blink, you are surrounded by Yoongi, Namjoon, and Jimin. 

"Do we have a problem?" Yoongi asks in a firm, direct tone that is as intimidating as it is sexy.

"Boss M-Min," the man stammers, eyes moving between Yoongi, you, and the others. "No, sir. S-sorry."

Jimin pipes up, "If I see you lay a hand on another woman in this club—employee or not—I will have you kicked to the curb," causing the older man to stand tall, suddenly appearing offended. But he does not respond with words; he merely nods his head and turns away, returning to his seat at a small round table facing one of the side stages.

"Sorry about him," Jimin says, stepping close and placing his hands on your shoulders. 

Only now, when you finally have a chance to breathe, are you aware of the panic that fills you, squeezing at your chest like thorny vines snaked between your ribs, threatening to make you collapse. 

"I need some fresh air," you mutter quietly as you turn out of Jimin's light hold toward the back exit and struggle to move your feet more than three steps. 

Namjoon wraps an arm around your waist and assists you with walking to the exit. "Does that happen often?" he asks low and sweet, voice as comforting as it is concerned. 

"No," you mutter, shaking your head. "Never."

Frankly, you are shocked that it has taken this long for a man to accost you—a thought nobody should reasonably have. But considering the atmosphere and your proximity to it, you have come to expect some of the customers to be a little sleazy. Sure, men have whistled, shouted, and made lewd gestures before, but nobody has ever grabbed onto you. 

Once the back door is open and the cool night air hits you in a somewhat uncomfortable burst, you tense up and curl into Namjoon's chest, having to somewhat waddle sideways as you fully step out and maneuver both bodies beside the door. You shiver, but a second and third body close in on you. 

"Want me to throw him out?" Jimin asks, burying the other side of your face against his chest. 

"No," you mumble.

"Alternatively," Namjoon suggests, "I could bring him out here and gut him like a fish. Paint the street with his blood and fill the night with his screams."

The tone in Namjoon's voice is so dead serious that it makes your stomach churn. "No thank you," you mumble, burying your face into his soft shirt and softer skin in an attempt to block out the mental image. 

At moments like this, you remember the men you love are part of a no ordinary civilian men. Has Namjoon gutted someone before? Does he enjoy the way it feels to pierce and slice flesh with a blade? Can he stomach the smell?

"I have to get back in there," Jimin states with a sigh, hugging the group of bodies tight and practically suffocating you in satin before backing out of the bunch. "If you change your mind about that guy, let us know."

Jimin steps back, and you hear the door open, followed by the loud burst of upbeat club music before it closes, muffling the noise to nothing more than bass reverberating through the walls. Yoongi wraps himself over your shoulders, chest pressed into your back, and you rest against Namjoon, closing your eyes to the gentle sound of the two of them kissing. 

"Jeongguk mentioned he left us a gift," Yoongi drawls after a quiet moment, and you gasp. 

You had somehow forgotten all about what transpired between you and Jeongguk earlier, but now that it is at the forefront of your mind, the damp cloth between your legs feels somewhat cold and uncomfortable. 

Before you can say anything, one of Yoongi's hands begins to travel down between the press of your and Namjoon's bodies, fingers grazing over the thin material covering your breast, making you shiver as your hard nipple is lightly touched. As his hand moves lower, you take a slow, fortifying breath and hold it, eager not to give yourself away too much. 

Just the gentle graze of Yoongi's fingertips passing over your waist and hip has your eyelids fluttering. And when he reaches between your legs, presses against your soiled slacks, and groans, you let out the breath in a shaky exhale, gripping onto Namjoon's shoulders, lest you collapse. 

"My, my," he groans, making Namjoon hum in question. "She's soaked, Joonie. Is this all you, darling? Or is it him, too?"

You huff an embarrassed sigh and attempt to relax your grip on Namjoon as you mutter, "It's him, too."

Namjoon reaches between your legs and touches eagerly—almost roughly. You whimper and take a dizzy step back; if it weren't for the tight proximity of bodies, you may have fallen into Yoongi. 

"Naughty, naughty," Namjoon teases, cupping his hand over both your clothed cunt and Yoongi's wandering fingers. "What do you think, hyung? We can't just let some runt stake claim on our pussy without having it for ourselves." 

Yoongi chuckles deep and sardonic, and you bite back a smile of your own. If it weren't for their eager touches and inviting tones, you would be laughing over the mental image of three dogs pissing on the same hydrant to claim dominance. Only, instead, they are your sexy boyfriends and their equally sexy best friend, and their little rivalry involves wanting to fill you with their cum. 

"I know a spot," you all but moan, looking up to find Namjoon staring at you hungrily. 

"Oh?" Yoongi asks playfully, pressing his fingertips against you in a slow circle. 

With a nod and a whimper, you say, "Just so ha-happens there are rooms in this very building, meant for that very thing."

Yoongi steps back, taking his warmth and hand away, and your skin feels almost shocked by how cold it is. 

"Lead the way," Yoongi suggests, and you fumble a couple steps back, still holding onto Namjoon's shoulders, before turning toward the door.  

As soon as you walk back into the building, the music is loud and overwhelming. You take Yoongi's hand and lead him to the hallway, making a pit stop at Jimin's office door, which is ajar just an inch. You knock, and hear his soft, "What is it?" then peek your head in. 

"Anyone in the executive suite?" you ask nervously, biting your lip. 

Jimin squints then grins and shakes his head. "It's all yours, dove. Have fun!" 

The sing-song manner of Jimin's tone makes your cheeks warm, and you mutter, "Thanks, Jimin," as you step back and return the door to its almost closed state. 

Namjoon takes your other hand and rubs his thumb over your knuckles, and it does very little to calm your pounding heart, but you are still a bit on edge, unsure of what to expect. Neither of them seems upset, but there is still that fear in the back of your mind that it could change. 

You know that you should give both men a little more credit; Yoongi and Namjoon have been nothing but open, curious, and honest with you about their desire to share and experiment. This threesome only exists because of their experience and eagerness to have this kind of relationship. So why do you worry so much?

Past the private dance rooms, the hallway takes a left turn. Changbin sits on a chair in a small enclave that is black from floor to ceiling and looks like a dead end. At your approach, he straightens out and stands, then bows. 

"Boss," he says, standing tall and strong and stepping aside to pull back a curtain to reveal a black door with a small keypad. "All rooms are empty, so you can take your pick."

"We plan to use the executive suite tonight," Yoongi says with a gentle squeeze of your hand. "Jimin has already been made aware."

"Of course," Changbin responds with a bow of his head. "Enjoy."

Everyone who has access to the lower level has their own eight-digit code for the keypad. This way, Jimin is able to track who goes where, and stragglers cannot simply find their way down there. Not that the door is ever left unmanned. 

You punch in 19931994 and listen for the mechanism to whine and click, then you press the door open with your palm. It is heavy, and the moment the three of you are through, it closes tightly behind you, though Yoongi reaches back to push against it anyway. 

The stairwell that snakes you down under the building is lit in fuchsia, and the music is slower and more sensual—some R&B track you cannot identify with a singer whose voice alternates between soft and breathy, and quick and raspy. As you reach the bottom of the stairs, a long fuchsia hallway greets you, and Namjoon releases your hand and walks ahead to the end of the space. When he reaches the door just a few paces before you, he turns and crosses his arms over his chest. 

With a stern voice and sterner expression, Namjoon says, "I want you to undress and position yourself exactly how Jeongguk had you, understand, baby?"

You respond, "Yes, daddy," without hesitation, and although Namjoon's eyes widen ever so slightly, his stern expression does not falter. 

Namjoon steps aside, and you enter your passcode on another keypad and walk into the dimly red-lit space, past the bed, to the white leather sofa. The arms of this sofa are not quite as wide as the ones on the green velvet couch, but they are wide enough.

Wordlessly, you strip your slacks off but keep the left leg still hooked in the fabric, then you sit on the sofa arm and rest back on your elbows. 

"Didn't bother to undress you," Yoongi practically snarls as he takes his place before you and undoes his belt buckle and fly. "Just a quick and dirty fuck, huh?"

"Yes, sir," you respond through a somewhat shattered breath. 

"I'm guessing no foreplay?" Namjoon asks, taking his place beside Yoongi with his arms once more crossed over his chest. 

"No, daddy."

Yoongi tsks and shakes his head. Namjoon chuckles. 

"Poor girl," Yoongi teases with a pout, sliding out of his pretty shimmery jacket, which Namjoon takes and places neatly aside, on the bed. "I was really looking forward to tasting you."

The thought of being denied Yoongi's tongue fills you to the brim with frustration, but you let your eyes rake over his toned, bare arms as a distraction. Yoongi is far more muscular than he appears under the long-sleeved shirts he wears, and even a glimpse of his bare skin drives you wild—has you thanking the fashion gods for tank tops. 

"He groped me over my panties," you inform Yoongi with an innocent smile. "Cupped his hand over me, rubbed and squeezed a little."

Yoongi steps forward and grabs your cunt firmly with his palm. "Like this?" he asks, and you gasp as your head lolls back, whimpering a soft, "Just like that."

"What else?" Namjoon asks. 

"He spread and lifted my legs," you mutter as Yoongi palms roughly at you, pressing moist mesh against eager nerves. "He held my right leg with his arm."

Yoongi removes his hand only long enough to lift and spread your legs, yanking slightly to get you into position. Although Jeongguk is a little taller, you line up with Yoongi just right, and you attempt to swivel your hips in search of friction, but Yoongi's palm returns. 

"He pushed his pants and briefs down, and pulled my panties aside," you continue. "Then he licked two fingers and touched me a little."

With a lift of his brow, Yoongi brings two fingers to his doll lips and wets them with his tongue. 

"He only touched my clit briefly, but he did finger me," you specify.

Namjoon wraps his arms around Yoongi's hips and finishes unzipping his pants, then he pushes them, along with his briefs, to the floor. The sight of Namjoon's arms around Yoongi, while Yoongi stands hard and leaking, makes you dizzy, and you lick your lips, watching Namjoon step back and pull his arms away, wishing Namjoon would continue to touch him—longing for the way Yoongi falls apart just for him. 

Yoongi reaches between your bodies and pulls your panties aside, then swirls over your clit once, twice, three times, building your arousal quickly, only to make it dissipate before his fingers dip inside, and you groan from the feeling. 

"Messy, messy cunt," Yoongi teases, lips parted as he plunges deep inside. "But still so fucking tight."

"Please fuck me, sir," you beg, absolutely needy for Yoongi's cock.

"Is that how you begged him?" Yoongi asks, pulling his fingers out and stroking his hard length. 

"Yes, sir," you admit, panting. 

"And did he fuck you, darling?"

"Yes, sir. He fucked me hard and deep."

Yoongi closes the minuscule gap between you and sinks his cock all the way in one fluid motion, pushing a moan from deep within your chest and lighting your body on fire. Yoongi feels thick and familiar in the most dizzying way, and you scrape your fingernails against the sides of the leather armrest in an attempt to hold on. 

"Did he kiss you?" Yoongi asks, leaning close and pulling his hips back, only to slam them forward. 

Some part of you wants to lie and say no, he did not kiss you, but you swallow thickly and admit, "Not during sex."

"After?" Yoongi asks with a smirk, pulling back and slamming forward once more. 

You sob through the word, "Yes!" and Yoongi's sharp smile grows bigger. 

"Did he do anything else?" Namjoon prompts, and you huff out a sigh, wishing Yoongi would set a pace and fuck you, already. 

"While he fucked me, I was being too loud, so he put his fingers in my mouth," you admit. 

Yoongi pulls back and slams forward again. "Being too loud, hmm?"

You whimper and nod, saying, "We weren't down here. We were in one of the private dance rooms."

"He couldn't even bring you down here to fuck you?" Namjoon teases, cocking his head. "Aren't there cameras in those rooms?"

Finally, Yoongi sets a pace and begins to fuck you, and as you attempt to say he turned that camera off, all you can do is moan a broken, "He t-turned," losing the rest of the sentence. 

Yoongi lifts his hand and slots his fingers between your lips before you can attempt to say another word, and you suck hard, doing your best to keep your eyes on him. The taste of your arousal on his fingers is different from the taste you left on Jeongguk's—a bit subdued but still just as heady. 

You whimper and babble uselessly around Yoongi, drool falling from the sides of your lips while you suck. Although this is meant to be just a quickie, Yoongi does not rush; he has nowhere else to go. By the time you lift your hand to touch your clit, you are already fast approaching orgasm.

"Did you touch yourself while Jeongguk fucked you?" Namjoon asks. 

You nod, and Yoongi removes his fingers for you to say, "We had to hurry, and I wanted to cum."

"Greedy girl," Namjoon teases with a wink and a smile, making you smile in return.

Your head bobs as Yoongi fucks you, and he says, "Well, then, touch yourself, darling," before returning his fingers to your lips. 

Just one pass over your clit has you crumbling, and you suck hard, squealing. Yoongi's pace quickens, and the hand on your hip grips bruisingly. 

"That's it, darling; cum for me."

As you clench around him, chasing your high, Yoongi's head rolls back, and he groans deep and pretty. The sight of his dark, messy hair and sweat-slicked neck is so inviting, you continue to clench just to push him over the edge as your high begins to crash. 

You reach for Yoongi's leopard print scarf to pull him close for a deep, hungry kiss—much like the one you shared with Jeongguk, only softer. Yoongi does not gnash and nip as if this is the last kiss you will ever share; Yoongi sucks gently and licks firmly, filling your mouth with his sweet, needy moans. 

It is not long before Yoongi's hips are trembling and stilling. And your grip on him is so tight that you feel him twitch and empty inside you. 

"Fuck, baby, your pussy is heaven," Yoongi groans against your lips. "Absolutely perfect."

Overcome with emotion, you continue to grip tightly to his scarf and lick into his mouth. Yoongi chuckles lightly and hums as you tease his lip, indulging you before pulling back and straightening out. 

"Did you kiss him like that after?" Yoongi asks, cheeks tinted with blush and hair messy. 

"No, sir," you admit, letting your head dip downward while keeping your eyes up and on him. 

The smile that graces his lips is pretty and loving, and he stares for a moment, catching his breath despite being the breathtaking one. 

Yoongi bends to pull up his pants and get himself situated, then steps back. You feel his release dripping from your cunt, and you almost begin to sit up when Namjoon approaches and begins to undo his belt.

"Think you can handle one more?" Namjoon asks with a grin that dimples his cheeks. 

"Don't think I have much of a choice," you respond with a bite to your lip, eager to feel him inside you.

Namjoon's smile falls, and his hands drop to his sides. "Of course you do," he says sadly, making your heart clench. 

"I know that," you insist, sitting up quickly, instinctively reaching your hands toward him. "I was just being cheeky; I know you would never do anything that I don't want."

Every feature on Namjoon's face is sweet and soft, and his lips tug into a smile once more. "Sorry," he mutters as he steps close and leans forward. "I get in my head sometimes."

You reach out and take Namjoon's shirt just as you held Yoongi's scarf, and Namjoon stumbles forward before bending closer. "You're sweet," you say as you slot your lips together and hum. Namjoon is pillow soft with hints of whiskey, and you sink into the feeling, eager to drown. 

Slowly, you pull from the kiss and say, "Fuck me, daddy," watching as his lips upturn. 

"So bossy," he teases as his hands reach for his slacks and begin working open the button and fly. 

"Please," you add, releasing Namjoon's shirt and leaning back on your elbows, spreading your thighs wide. "Make me forget what Jeonggukie did to me."

Namjoon practically snarls as he shoves his pants and briefs down, and he somewhat forcibly cups your wet, used pussy, sending a shiver of arousal through you.

You hardly have a chance to breathe with the way Namjoon kisses you—hot and rough and demanding. And although he follows the same formula Yoongi had, with very little instruction given, the pace and ferocity with which he fucks you has you momentarily forgetting even your own name. 

For Seokjin's event, Yoongi has bought you a simple black satin evening gown with a plunging v-line and spaghetti straps that cross over your exposed back. The back v-line dips dangerously low, and, much to Jeongguk's excitement, there is a high slit up the right thigh. 

You stand in Yoongi's closet, staring into the mirror along the far back wall while Jimin finishes getting all of your hair pinned up. Yoongi wraps various delicate silver necklaces around your neck in search of the perfect one while Namjoon and Jeongguk chatter lowly in the bedroom about something or other, and you swear you hear Taehyung's deep voice at some point, as well. 

Yoongi finally decides on a dainty silver chain with no charm for you to wear and begins to search the drawers in his closet's island for a matching piece for himself. Meanwhile, Jimin exits the closet, and Jeongguk steps in. 

"I hope you don't mind, but I wanted to give you your birthday gift early," Jeongguk says.

Surprised, you glance at him through the mirror before turning to regard him fully. Jeongguk is in his typical Paradise garb—in fact, all of the family men wear black satin and black slacks, with black and silver accessories. Jeongguk's hair is styled away from his forehead with a freshly short chop and sharp undercut. 

"After that guy touched you at Paradise, I thought you should have it," Jeongguk continues. "Especially since we'll be at the casino tonight; there's no telling what kind of seedy characters might be there."

Taehyung pops around the corner, holding onto a small, rectangular box, and Jeongguk nods for you to take it. You reach for it, and Taehyung says, "From both of us."

"Of course," you respond with a smile, feeling your heart burst as your fingertips rub over crushed velvet. You have a feeling there must be some kind of weapon inside, based on Jeongguk's hint—a knife, judging by the size of the container. 

As you open the box, Yoongi leans in close, and Namjoon takes a step into the space, glancing over Jeongguk's shoulder. 

"I, uh—"Jeongguk begins as you crack it open, and you halt your movement to look at him. "I hope it's not too insensitive, given…well…you'll see."

You hesitate a moment, then continue opening it, gasping at the sight of the gift. Nestled against what appears to be black lace is a switchblade. The handle is black lacquer with mother-of-pearl decorations of flowers and birds. It is gorgeous and dainty, and when you lift it, the weight is surprisingly heavy. The blade that springs out is thin and appears to be very sharp, and you twirl it in your fingers as your eyes well with tears. 

"This is beautiful," you say, finally looking at Jeongguk, then to Taehyung. "Thank you so much, you guys."

"It's sharp as fuck," Taehyung says with a grin. "And if you ever need it to be sharpened, just stop on by."

"There's a strap, too," Jeongguk adds somewhat shyly. "Hence why I thought…"

When he trails off, you giggle. Clearly, Jeongguk knows about your method of killing Seungri all those years ago, and it is a sweet thing for him to consider. 

"I love it," you say before he can spiral, and when his features turn soft and his smile brightens, warmth rises to your face. Somewhat sheepishly, you add, "And I like it a lot more than a gun." 

"Well," Namjoon urges from over Jeongguk's shoulder, stealing your attention. He winks as he says, "Try it on."

You set the box down on the island and pull out the bundle of lace, which happens to be a thigh garter. With a scoff, you turn to Jeongguk and teasingly ask, "Is this why you wanted me to have a thigh slit tonight?"

As everyone's attention turns to Jeongguk, he visibly balks, rolling his eyes. "I can have many reasons for wanting the things I want," he huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. 

You unfurl the thigh garter and step into it, attempting to ignore all the eyes that watch as you bend and hike it high up your leg. Once it is in position just under the top of the dress slit, you grab the knife and attempt to decide where on your leg it might be most secure. 

Taehyung steps in and asks, "May I?" holding his hands toward your thigh, and although you cannot begin to fathom what he is asking for, you are flustered enough to nod and say, "Yes."

"There is a little piece of elastic inside," Taehyung says as he squats and delicately begins to snake two fingers under the band and feel around. Thankfully, he finds it quickly at the front of your thigh, and he gently begins to rotate it until that part is resting on your outer leg. Holding his palm out, he says, "Knife."

You hand Taehyung the knife, and he slides it into the band, securing it in the elastic bit. As he stands, you reach down to feel it. It only takes a few adjustments of the band's height and position on your thigh before it is perfect. Granted, when you look in the mirror, the entire weapon is visible in this particular dress. 

"Stunning," Yoongi says in a tone that is dark and rich with desire. 

"I agree," Namjoon adds, and you glance up to smile at everyone through the mirror before turning your attention back to your reflection. 

"And a perfect accessory for tonight," Yoongi adds, making you look up at him. "That paired with the engagement ring will tell everyone loud and clear just how deadly our little darling is." 

Ah, yes. The engagement ring. 

You look down at your empty hand and mutter, "Right, I should go get the ring," before turning and waiting for the wall of men to part and let you pass. 

At the thought of the ring—and Yoongi's statement about you being deadly—your heart feels heavy. Anxiety fills you as you pad barefoot through Yoongi's room, past Jimin, who sits on the bed, scrolling through his phone, glancing up with a soft smile. 

In the mansion, there is a light clattering of voices. Members of the family security team are downstairs waiting to escort you to the event, and Yoongi’s cooking team is in the kitchen finishing something sweet and full of carbohydrates, the smell of which wafts throughout the large mansion. 

Time seems to slow as you walk to your room—a room you hardly visit anymore. The familiar and unfamiliar sights and sounds are as comforting as they are daunting, and all the connotations of being part of this gentle but looming chaos fills you with dread. 

Do you want to be deadly? The prospect feels heavy. 

And after Yoongi's heroin relapse and stint in rehab, you worry about the prospect of being more entrenched in this lifestyle than you already are. Getting further involved in this business can only put you more at risk. And if Yoongi plunges off the deep end over losing one of his men, what could become of him should something ever happen to you?

Sure, you are merely playing a role tonight—dressing in a way that sends a message, and wearing a ring that symbolizes something fake. But your position at Yoongi's side is anything but fake, and standing there publicly is a huge hazard to your safety. 

You heavy-blink and realize you are standing in your dark bedroom, staring toward the bed. Light filters in through the windows, but it is the faint and golden glow of a setting sun. A particularly loud laugh echoes through the mansion, snapping you fully out of your trance, and you gaze around for the ring box, which sits Tiffany-blue on your bedside table. 

With a sigh, you approach and grab the ring box, snapping it open and stopping to stare at the giant rock inside before pulling it out and listlessly tossing the open box onto your bed. The ring is heavy as you slide it onto your finger, and your heart clenches at the weight. There is a part of you that hopes one day for this weight to support something real. But can you really become a mafia wife?

Although you hear soft footsteps approach, your gaze lingers on your hand and the ring that adorns it. Yoongi's soft voice asking, "Darling?" causes tears to well in your eyes, and you take a deep, fortifying breath before turning to regard him. 

Yoongi is gorgeous, leaning against your door frame with his brows gently tugged into a concerned frown. As he studies your eyes, he stands straight and slowly steps forward. Both of your hands are clenched in front of your stomach, and he takes them in his, rubbing his thumbs against your palms until your grip loosens. 

"Care to tell me what you're thinking?"

A chuckle works its way from your tummy, and you gaze down sheepishly at your conjoined hands, then back at Yoongi's face. "I don't know where I would even begin," you admit, feeling the urge to cry and swallowing it down.

"You look a little overwhelmed," Yoongi says, and you scoff, nodding. 

"I think I am."

Yoongi licks his lips and hesitates before asking, "Does it have to do with the ring?"

You swallow thickly. "A little," you admit. 

Yoongi's grip on your hands tightens then releases, and he wraps you in a hug, pinning your arms to your sides. "Well, you do not have to tell me right now if you don't feel comfortable, but just know that I always value whatever is on your mind. Especially if it is stressing you out."

"I just…" you begin, closing your eyes and nuzzling your forehead against his neck, doing your best not to rub away any of the makeup on your eyes. 

With a sigh, you change your path, voice weak as you say, "I love you. And Namjoon. You're both amazing and you have been so good to me."

As you swallow thickly, feeling anxiety rise, Yoongi prompts you, saying, "But…"

"But this lifestyle terrifies me," you admit, voice trembling. "And this ring is so heavy and what it symbolizes is so huge, and I…I don't know, Yoongi. I don't know if I can handle all of this."

Yoongi says nothing, but he does sigh. His arms squeeze tighter, and the silence that drags causes you to ramble. 

"I know Namjoon said that the only way out of this lifestyle is death. And I can't…my heart aches imagining all the horrifying possibilities."

"Namjoon told you that," Yoongi mutters, sounding as disheartened as you feel. 

"He wasn't trying to scare me," you insist, lifting your arms to return Yoongi's hug and forcing his arms to slide up to your shoulders. "We were just discussing you, and us, and…all of this."

"It's true that there is a target on my back," Yoongi says, sighing, sounding more resolved than before. "But I am protected. I employ the strongest and smartest on this peninsula. I don't want you to worry about me, or Namjoon, or yourself."

"How could I not?" you practically sob, feeling tears rise and squeezing your eyes closed. 

"Shhh," Yoongi whispers, rubbing his hands on your back and taking a step out of the hug. "We should talk about this soon, but now isn't the time for worries like these, darling. Jimin will kill you if your makeup smears, and Seokjin will kill both of us if we arrive late."

The playful tone makes you laugh, and you sniffle, nodding your head and looking Yoongi in the eye, taking in his warm, almost sad expression. You know that Jimin would be nothing but sympathetic to your tears, and that Yoongi is only joking, but the image of Jimin's angry little snarl flashes in your mind anyway, making you laugh more. 

As if on cue, Namjoon arrives, looking over Yoongi's shoulder with a wide smile that falls into a concerned frown. "Everything okay?"

"As a matter of fact, everything is not okay," Yoongi says, turning to Namjoon with a faux glare that makes him widen his eyes with worry. "Why are you filling our darling's pretty little head with images of us dying."

Namjoon gasps, looks at you, and then back at Yoongi, asking, "When did I ever—"

"You told her the only way out of this lifestyle is death."

Recognition hits, and Namjoon sighs, stepping in and slinging an arm over Yoongi's shoulder, forcing him to turn and face you once more. Namjoon leans to the side, low enough to say softly into Yoongi's ear, "I told her that while you were in rehab and she was lamenting over how badly she wishes you could leave all of this behind."

When Yoongi blinks, his gaze hardens and then drops. "I can't just do that," he says with bitterness in his tone. 

"I know," you respond. "It was selfish of me to—"

"Loving someone is never selfish," Namjoon interrupts nicely, then he squeezes Yoongi's arm. "And you know damn well that she has every right to find what you do horrifying, Yoongi. Be gentle."

"I am gentle," Yoongi pouts, eyes still on the floor.

"Alright," Namjoon says, "Shall we? Seokjin will kill us if we're late."

Unable to hold back a smile, you nod and say, "Let's go."

"This conversation isn't over," Yoongi says in a tone that makes you nervous before softening as he says, "but I appreciate you telling me what is on your mind. And I don't mean to get defensive, this is just…well, it's the only lifestyle I have ever known."

To a certain extent, it is also the only one you have known. Only you were at the behest of powerful men and used as a plaything, and even a weapon, in lowly ranks, hoping for a way to escape to a better life. Sleeping in the bed of powerful men and standing at their side is something else, entirely. 

The casino is packed, and you already regret having to wear high heels on the carpeted floors, feeling each step sink slightly. Cigar smoke and the stench of an amalgamation of types of alcohol permeate the air, and the barrage of sounds from various betting machines blaring over shouting voices overwhelms. 

Yoongi leads you through the center of the casino, and you attempt to keep your head held high and your focus on nothing ahead of you, allowing all the flashing lights to bokeh into spots. When you finally blink everything back into focus, Seokjin is at the center of the room surrounded by a crowd of men. 

Try as you might, you have no idea what the hell this event is for. Each time you ask, you are met with a vague response and conclude that this must simply be a celebration of Seokjin and his beloved House of Cards. 

About an hour in, you are buzzed from whiskey and champagne and find yourself stumbling to the restroom near the bar. Although you are not quite intoxicated enough to be bumbling around, these heels are doing you no favors, and you find yourself griping about it under your breath. The stalls are all empty, and you sit longer than necessary on the toilet just to have a breather somewhere quiet and off your feet. 

When you exit the stall to wash your hands, a woman in a blood-red evening gown with her hair tied high on her head smiles at you through the mirror. You smile back, mostly just to be polite, and wash your hands before turning toward the exit. 

"Quite the rock you got there," the woman comments, making you stop in your tracks. Her voice has a sort of practiced shrillness to it, like she is only pretending to care. "What kind of man can afford a ring like that one?"

Unsure whether you are interested in having this conversation, you turn your head, smile softly, and respond, "A powerful one."

The woman hums and says, "I guess so."

You turn back toward the door and exit. 

As soon as you return to the bar, you notice that Yoongi and Namjoon are no longer there, but Jeongguk is, so you approach him. His eyes brighten instantly, and he downs his drink, then stands up straight and approaches, taking you by the elbow and spinning you in the opposite direction. 

"What are we—"

"Boss Min asked me to escort you to the second floor," Jeongguk responds a little too loud, and you bite back a smile. 

"Right," you respond, not buying his ruse. 

But he does lead you to the elevator, up to the second floor. Only everything is locked and dark, and there is no one around. 

"I can't take it anymore," Jeongguk mutters as he leads you into the banquet room—which he has the access code to—and through the long, vacant space, to the coat check closet where Yoongi first dropped the bomb that he was going to propose to you. "The dress, the knife…you are so fucking hot, dollface."

You say nothing as he closes the door behind you and then switches on the light. There is a low wooden countertop below a partial door, which is closed, and you kick out of your shoes and lean against it. If you are going to let Jeongguk fuck you, you need to do it in a position that is comfortable for both Yoongi and Namjoon to do the same. 

Jeongguk is on his phone, thumbing around while smiling, and you almost berate him for giving someone else your attention while you are standing here waiting for him. But then he turns off the screen and slides the device into his pocket with a devious grin.

"Let's see how far we get before my hyungs arrive," he mutters while sinking to his knees. 

You are drunk by the time you leave, used and satiated, feeling the squelch of cum between your legs. Jeongguk stares longingly at Taehyung from the passenger seat, but occasionally his gaze flits back to you, making your cheeks warm.

Yoongi sits to your right with Namjoon to your left, and although the vehicle is spacious, Taehyung had insisted on everyone strapping into a bulletproof vest, adding bulk to your bodies. Being that this event was widespread and it is likely that Ryujin's team could have caught wind, he rambled about being safe rather than sorry. Plus, there was mention of someone showing up to the event…some woman whose name you do not remember, who made everyone suspicious. 

Ahead of you is the vehicle containing Seokjin, Hoseok, and Jimin, as well as two members of the security team, one of whom resembles Changkyun, though you are unsure whether it really is him. They are leading the way to Paradise, where Jimin insists on having an after-party. 

As you drive through the city, a plume of dark smoke rises into the air, causing you to sit up and bend to better look out the windshield. "There's smoke ahead," you mutter, feeling worry in the pit of your stomach.

Just then, Yoongi's phone rings, shrieking and anxiety-inducing, and you sit back, staring ahead at the billowing smoke. 

"Yes?" Yoongi says as he answers, then says, "Jimin, speak slower."

"Is that Paradise?" Jeongguk asks as you get closer, and you feel panic rise. 

"She what?" Yoongi asks at the same time Taehyung says, "Looks like it's right across the street."

As the vehicle approaches, you realize that Paradise is not on fire, but the building directly across from it is. The building in question is part of a group of warehouses that, as far as you know, have recently been vacant.

"We're right behind you," Yoongi instructs. "Fire workers should be on their way, but we'll assess Paradise for any damages." 

The street is eerily empty as Taehyung pulls into the alleyway beside Paradise and shuts his lights off. Although this area is somewhat recently developing nightlife, slowly tearing down all the warehouses like the one currently in flames, there are still usually people littering the streets. Seeing nobody is concerning, even with Paradise closed for the night. 

"Strap up just in case," Yoongi instructs, and Jeongguk opens the large glove compartment and begins pulling out handguns. 

As everyone removes their seatbelts, Namjoon turns and gets onto his knees on the seat. He reaches back into the trunk, and you hear the sound of velcro parting. Then he hands you and Yoongi handguns, which you take with shaking hands. 

"Remember what you learned," Yoongi says as you stare at the weapon in your trembling palms, feeling its cold steel and familiar weight. "Take in a deep breath, line up your shot, and squeeze the trigger as you exhale."

At a loss for words, you nod, then swallow thickly. This is the absolute last thing you want to be holding in your hands tonight. Luckily, you switched your heels for ballet flats once you got to the vehicle, at least. 

Taehyung and Jeongguk exit the vehicle first while Yoongi and Namjoon stay put. You sit forward anticipating having to leave, and are a bit surprised when they do not. Through the rearview mirror, you watch as the two of them walk to the street with their guns tucked into the waistbands of their pants and glance around. Then Taehyung turns and waves for the rest of you to join him. 

"We should take the side door inside," you say, and Namjoon hums in response, though you are unsure what the nature of his hum is, exactly. 

Yoongi opens his door first, and Namjoon follows suit. "Go with Namjoon," Yoongi instructs, and you shift, then turn slightly to your left, waiting for Namjoon to exit.

Yoongi walks toward the street and Namjoon follows, but you hesitate. You do not want to be on an eerily silent street in the middle of the night while the building across from yours is billowing with smoke. This matter should be left to the fire department, and your family men should get the fuck home.

"Sweetheart," Namjoon softly calls, making you gasp, realizing the space between the two of you as you scurry ahead to catch up.

"I don't like this," you mutter, shoulders scrunched to your ears as you glance around the street. The sides of the bulletproof vest are rough and scratchy against your bare arms. "We should leave this to the professionals and go home."

"We are the professionals," Namjoon responds as you turn the corner and begin to walk toward the entrance of Paradise where Seokjin, Hoseok, and Jimin are all congregated. Jimin tenses as you approach, then sighs and relaxes when he sees that it is you. 

"Suited and strapped?" Seokjin teases, despite having a handgun tucked into his waistband. Hoseok has a fucking shotgun resting against his shoulder, and his smile is so blindingly bright that you struggle to reconcile the sight. Beside them, Changkyun and another man stand with what appear to be semi-automatic rifles in their hands.

"Safety first," Jeongguk slurs, clearly wasted despite how steadily he stands. 

"Any whispers?" Yoongi asks, and Seokjin blinks a few times then shrugs, saying, "None."

"Hmm," Yoongi taps his fingertips to his bottom lip, long fingers dancing as he speaks. "This is certainly a tactic to get our attention…but why? Where are they?"

You are not eager to find out who the message comes from or where they are, and you approach Double Seok and Jimin, sliding in close beside them. 

"Do we think this has anything to do with the sudden appearance of Hyungseo?" Taehyung asks. "There had been whispers of her helping in Busan."

Yoongi shrugs. "What could it mean? Unless she really is working for Ryujin, I can't imagine what her place in any of this would be. And why would she be setting one of Lady Choi's buildings on fire just to get our attention?"

"Why don't I take our dove inside?" Jimin suggests, and Yoongi turns his attention to you. 

You must look as terrified as you are, because Yoongi nods and says, "May as well. I don't need either of you getting hurt."

"Why don't we all get inside?" Jimin suggests. "We can assess the situation at a safe distance."

"Through what window?" Hoseok asks, and he is correct to do so; Paradise has no windows. 

"Stand in the fucking door, then," Jimin snaps, "I don't know."

From the distance, the siren of a fire truck screams, and you sigh with relief. The sound is piercing as it approaches, but it is a reprieve from the haunting silence and it fills you with hope

As soon as the truck pulls up, workers pile onto the street and begin to put out the fire, minding your group no business. It takes a while, and everyone watches as hoses hooked to hydrants do their work. 

Although it probably lasts around a half hour, you and everyone stand transfixed. Once everything is under control, the workers pack up and leave without a word to any of you, as if they were never here at all. 

Eerie silence returns and is met with the smell of burnt wood and plastic. You feel sick to your stomach staring at the corpse of the building before you, partially caved in while bits of a frame stand amongst the wreckage, scorched black. 

"What is the message?" Yoongi asks. 

"Shall we go inside and wait it out?" Namjoon asks. 

"I'll stay and stand watch," Hoseok says, dancing his fingertips over the handle of the shotgun. 

"Me too," Jeongguk slurs, and you feel the urge to insist that he does not. 

Jimin turns and pulls a ring of keys from his pocket and uses several to open the various locks. Then he opens the door wide, holding it for you to approach and step inside. Namjoon begins to follow suit, for which you are thankful, and he looks over his shoulder to say, "Yoongi. You should join us."

Yoongi takes two steps toward the building, and the sounds of heels loudly clacking against concrete can be heard, pulling everyone's attention. You look up to find the person approaching is the same lady who commented on your engagement ring at the casino restroom, and she is coming from beside the building to the right of the one that had just been on fire. 

The woman has changed from the blood-red evening gown to what appears to be an equally blood-red leather bikini top and denim mini skirt. Her hair is down, hanging to her breasts, and it looks wet, as if she were among the flames as they were being put out. 

"Now, now, gentlemen," the woman calls from across the street. "Retreating so soon?"

"Hyungseo," Yoongi calls, crossing his arms over his chest. "What are you doing here?"

The woman, who you surmise is called Hyungseo, walks across the street, swinging her arms loosely to her sides as if to a song that nobody can hear. As she gets closer, you can see that her makeup is smeared in black smudges, and there is a somewhat crazed look in her eyes. 

She pouts as she approaches Yoongi, fixing him with a curious stare. In her heels, she is nearly as tall as he is, but there is an intimidating aura to her otherwise lithe frame that makes her presence feel gigantic. 

"I come on behalf of my team, asking for a truce."

"Your team?" Yoongi scoffs, cocking his head. "What team?"

"Didn't you hear? Your pretty little ex has stepped down."

At this, Yoongi and all the other men straighten their posture. Yoongi is the first to respond, asking, "She what?"

Under his breath, Taehyung mutters, "So the whispers are true."

The smile that graces Hyungseo's lips is sharp and devious, and she glances around at all ten of you, then back to Yoongi. "You're outnumbered," she drawls in a teasing tone, elongating each syllable as she cocks her head slowly. 

"What kind of truce? What do we care if that building is burnt?" Yoongi asks. 

"That building," Hyungseo somewhat mumbles, rolling her head listlessly to the side to glance at it, "belongs to a very powerful woman who will no doubt have your head on a pike when she finds out you burnt it down."

"We didn't burn it down," Namjoon responds angrily.

Hyungseo shrugs. "Sure you did. And she is going to be very confused as to why you did, considering you so generously high-balled her for ownership of one of your less flashy hotels."

"Go on," Yoongi says with a sigh.

"You see," Hyungseo continues, "Lady Choi is very well-connected and has family in our organization. I wouldn't be surprised if she wanted to buy a hotel in Seoul in order to keep an eye on you guys. A keep-your-enemies-closer kind of situation, if you will."

"So she owns some shitty, vacant buildings, and you set fire to one of them to frame us?" Seokjin asks with a laugh in his tone. "You realize this building is covered with security cameras, and that your little ruse will be easily discredited."

Hyungseo shrugs and says, "We'll see about that."

Jimin already appears to be pulling the footage up on his phone, and you watch as his brows knit. "Boss," Jimin says nervously, "this man…he looks a lot like you from behind."

"Except I was at the casino all night," Yoongi responds, rolling his eyes.

"Hmm," Hyungseo responds, "are you sure about that? Because my team noticed there was about an hour and three minutes during which you were nowhere to be found. You and your right-hand man, in fact. And how strange that this fire happened to start around the exact same time. She smirks as she adds, "Where were you, Yoongi?"

Yoongi sighs. "I was fucking my fiancé."

"Your fake fiancé," Hyungseo corrects, causing Yoongi's shoulders to square once more. "And what about Namjoon? Was he also fucking her?"

"The nature of our relationship is none of your business," Yoongi responds, to which Hyungseo holds up a hand as if telling him to stop. 

"Don't worry, darling. Ryujin has told me all about the nature of your relationship. And the thirty-seven minutes during which your pretty little whore and Jeongguk went missing before you and Namjoon disappeared? Should I not question the nature of their relationship, too?"

Jeongguk pulls his gun and cocks the hammer, filling you with fear and dread. As he lifts it level with Hyungseo's head, you gasp and squeeze your eyes closed. 

"Down, boy," Hyungseo mutters listlessly, rolling her eyes. "No need to get so defensive."

"I think we've heard quite enough," Yoongi says, holding out a hand to Jeongguk and lowering it. Jeongguk follows the command and drops his arm down, pointing the barrel of his gun to the ground.

"So…" Hyungseo drawls, appearing bored. "Truce?"

"Fuck your truce," Yoongi responds sharply. "You're just trying to frame me, and I am not playing your games; we can arrange a meeting with Lady Choi and settle this like adults. She happily set the price she wanted for the hotel, but I can always ask her for less. And I can buy that burnt mess your team made if it assuages her worries. Regardless of the so-called family she has on your side, she and my mother were old friends; I'm not afraid of her or of you."

"Hmm, I'm afraid we can't do it that way," Hyungseo says as she scratches her head and begins to walk backward to the street. "Lady Choi may have had an allegiance with your family back in the day, but now your mommy and daddy are dead. She could give a fuck about the Min runt—her words, not mine."

Jeongguk lifts his gun again, and this time, a shot is fired from across the street, appearing to narrowly miss him as he ducks out of the way. You gasp, feeling terror take over so abruptly that your legs tremble and you nearly fall, gun gripped uselessly in your fist.

Everyone but Jimin reaches for the guns they have holstered just as another shot is fired and the men begin to scatter, taking cover. You run into Paradise, making way for Jimin, but he hesitates by the door, calling for Yoongi, who rounds the corner into the alley. 

Men charge from around the burnt building across the street, and although it is safe to say your men are outnumbered, if this really is everyone, they are not outnumbered by a lot. Still, fear quakes through you, and you nearly sink to the floor, holding the door cracked open.

"Jimin!" you whisper-shout until he finally snaps out of his daze and enters the building, closing the door tightly behind him. 

"What the fuck are they doing?" Jimin mutters, trembling fearfully. "Why didn't any of those idiots take cover inside?"

A fist pounds on the door, causing you to scream. From outside you hear, "It's Kyun. Let me in." 

Jimin holds his gun up with a shaking fist and cracks the door, then steps back, pulling it open wide. 

"You two retreat," Changkyun instructs. "I'll watch this door. Is there an alley door you can watch in case the men try to enter from there?"

"Yes," Jimin says, nodding his head somewhat maniacally with a distant look in his eye. "I can go to the back door."

Jimin turns and runs toward the back exit, and you stand in place, unsure whether you could will your legs to move if you wanted to. Despite calling it the back exit, it is along the nearby left wall, just past the main floor.

Gunfire is heard outside, along with shouting. You walk to the left wall and stand with your back against it, attempting to take deep breaths. Each exhale comes out in a sob as tears begin to pour. You cannot fathom anything happening to one of these men, and the prospect is horrifying. 

You wish they would have all come inside when you could take cover in a back room or even in a basement, but even you are not foolish enough to think any of those men would turn down the chance to kill their opponents instead.

Changkyun opens the door, and you watch with wide, horrified eyes as he rapidly fires bullets through the crack, then slams the door shut. Some shots from outside are much louder than others, making you flinch and jump with each sound. Gunfire rages on, causing tears to spill as your shoulders are held high and tense around your ears, making them ache. 

And then, suddenly, it is quiet. 

"Do not open this door for anyone," Changkyun instructs. "I am going to get the men back into their armored vehicles and return for you." 

"Okay," you mutter softly, nodding. 

"Lock it behind me and then get away from it, just in case. Everything is armored, but the walls are safest."

You nod some more, humming in understanding. Changkyun exits, and you shuffle over quickly to turn all five locks, then back away before turning toward the back exit. 

Each breath you take is loud in the large, empty building. You turn to locate Jimin, who should be standing near the back exit, and fear spikes when you do not see him. Had he gone outside? You feel a pull to go investigate but stand still, eyes wide and staring toward the closed door. 

And then, it flings open, and you watch as a man you have never seen before comes charging in, weapon drawn. You begin to back up but hit the wall, and he spots you, lifting his weapon. 

Panic pulsates through you, and you lift your gun far slower than you should to defend yourself. The man smirks and opens his mouth to speak when suddenly his head jerks to the left and explodes, sending blood and brain matter flying against the hardwood floor and a nearby round wooden table. You scream at the top of your lungs and fall against the wall, sliding to the floor as Hoseok steps in, shotgun still lifted. 

"We gotta get out of here!" Hoseok shouts, but try as you might, you cannot lift yourself from the floor, and you shake your head, feeling your body tremble so hard it makes your head ache.

"Sweetheart," Namjoon's voice calls. You search for him, but the edges of your vision are black, and all you are able to make out is a form of black that is vaguely human-shaped approaching in the dim room. "Come on. We gotta go."

Strong arms lift you, and you scream, struggling to comprehend anything but horrific fear. You are stood onto your feet and hugged tightly. Slowly, the scent of Namjoon's cologne comes to the forefront, but so does the brassy scent of blood, making your guts churn. 

With Namjoon's help, you begin to walk, and as you step past the man who has painted the floor red with his blood, you close your eyes tight. Cool night air hits you and snaps you harshly back to reality. You have to swallow down the urge to vomit, shivering violently in your scant evening gown, feeling sweat that has pooled beneath the thick vest start to cool.

"Jimin, just get into our trunk," you hear Yoongi insist, and you gasp happily at the sound of his voice. 

"Fine," Jimin sighs. "I don't want to walk back to our car, anyway."

Bodies litter the street, sidewalk, and alleyway of men dressed in black and holding guns. On the hands of those you can see is a tattoo of a black dagger, the tip of which is red, dripping with a single drop of blood. You wonder if they belong to a gang that marks all their participants in this manner. 

The trunk of the sedan is opened, and Jimin rounds the vehicle to get inside. Just then, Seokjin pulls up in his vehicle, and Hoseok runs over, jumping into the front seat. Jimin hesitates and must decide that, since his ride is here, he will just get in with them, because he closes the trunk and takes off running toward the vehicle. 

Jimin reaches the sidewalk and abruptly turns to the left, pulling his hands over his head and ducking. Hoseok shouts, "Fuck!" as he flings his car door open, but he is too slow. You hear a gun fire just as Jimin jerks and then crumbles, hitting the pavement. You are so filled with rage and fear that you begin to run toward Jimin. 

All you can hear is your own heart pounding in your ears as you turn the corner and find a man standing with his gun lifted. Hoseok and Seokjin stand from the open vehicle doors and raise their weapons, and you do the same. 

In a flash, every ounce of fear in your body transforms into anger, hate, and adrenaline. The world seems to screech to a halt as you pull the trigger in tandem with the other two and shoot. The man whose smoking gun points to you—to where Jimin stood—falls back, crashing to asphalt seconds after his brains splatter, and you advance, unconcerned about your surroundings. 

Voices shout around you, and you fire one more shot into the man’s head, which lurches uselessly from the ground and then crashes back with a squelch of blood and brain matter. And then another shot, walking until you are straddling his ribs with your ballet flats, firing again, turning his head into bone and sinew mush. Again and again, until click, click, click, your gun is out of bullets, and you scream bloody murder—enraged, as if one more bullet wound will undo the harm this battered corpse has caused. 

You raise your arm high in the air, intent to smash the butt of your gun into what is left of his face, but are stopped by a strong, immovable force. You hardly register the solid, warm arms that wrap around you, and as you are pulled from the man, you kick your legs and scream, furious with the world. Your heart continues to pound dizzying and loud, and you are certain that you would rip every last man to shreds with your bare hands if you could—god, if only you could. 

Incensed screams rip from your chest as you are dragged backward, feet hitting the asphalt, unable to keep up with the movement. The scent of flowers and springtime greets your nose in waves, bringing Namjoon’s calming voice into the forefront for only a moment, though you cannot, for the life of you, make out what he is saying; shouting and the overwhelming scent of blood takes over too strongly, tugging you between heaven and hell. 

In a surge of anger, you reach for the switchblade at your thigh, grip onto the handle, and pull it free. You know that the man is dead—there is nothing recognizable left of his face—but the urge to slice him open and tear out his insides is palpable and unforgiving. You will not be satisfied until his bleeding fucking heart is in your fist. 

Namjoon's grip on you loosens, and he shouts something incomprehensible as you attempt to lunge forward, only to be caught again in his grasp. You press the small lever on the side of the knife as hands reach for your weapon, and in a fit of panic and rage, you flail your arm, desperate to keep a tight hold of the knife and continue on to your battered target. 

And then, things blur and slow down. Your arm is yanked back, and as you rip it forward again, you feel the knife catch, but you are too caught up in the movement that you do not stop—all you can comprehend is blinding rage at the man whose brains are splattered on the ground. Screams and shouts are deafening, and although you can make out certain words—Yoongi…face…blood—nothing fully makes sense. 

The knife is ripped from your hand at the same time the arms around you release, and when you turn to scream at Namjoon for keeping you from attacking the man whose bullet stole something precious and sacred from you, you find Yoongi standing a foot away, hands up to his face, with blood seeping from between his fingers. 

"Sweetheart, don't—" Namjoon begins, blocking your view with his arms held out around your sides. But you are frantic, and you do not understand what has just happened; how the fuck is Yoongi injured?

Taehyung wraps an arm around Yoongi and spins him, ushering him away to a sedan, and you panic, desperate to go with him. Faintly, you think you see Jimin on some kind of stretcher with his neck and head braced, and you wonder where that came from. Did Taehyung have something like that handy? Can it actually fit in one of the vehicles? 

The fighting all around you was so chaotic that now, even as it seems to be over, your adrenaline is too high for anything to make clear and perfect sense; no sound registers and every light trails in a dizzying spell before your eyes. 

"Yoongi!" you scream, and Namjoon holds you tighter, keeping you from the one other person you need to be with the most. You scream, "Let go of me, fucking let go of me!" attempting to claw Namjoon's arms away from your middle as Yoongi is helped by Hoseok into the back of the same large black vehicle that Seokjin and Taehyung are lifting Jimin into the back of. 

Jeongguk steps in front of you, face stern and streaked with tears, and he firmly—roughly—grabs onto your shoulders, gritting his teeth as he holds you steady.

"You've done enough," he says sharply, piercing into your heart, and hot streaks pour down your face and cloud your vision as you fail to make sense of what the fuck is happening. 

"Yoongi—" you mutter, jaw clattering as your body trembles in the cool night air, shaking your head and getting onto your toes in an attempt to see over Jeongguk's shoulder. "What happened, where is he going? I need to go with him, please, I need to go with him!"

"You need to calm the fuck down and breathe," Jeongguk retaliates angrily.

"Jeongguk, what happened?" you ask, quaking with adrenaline and searching his face for answers. His anger is understandable, but you cannot figure out why it seems to be directed at you.

Behind him, Namjoon's face falls to his hands, and gripped tightly in his fist, pointing outward, is your open switchblade. 

"Namjoon," you whisper, finding your voice wrecked and unable to project. 

"Let's get you into this vehicle," Jeongguk sternly says, steering you toward Seokjin's sedan. 

"But they—" you begin, watching as Namjoon walks away and climbs into the very back of Taehyung's vehicle. The seats appear to be down, and Yoongi is sitting beside Jimin's stretcher with his head tilted upward, holding something over his face. 

"They have to receive medical attention," Jeongguk says. "And you need to go with Seokjin hyung."

Changkyun and the other man are in the back seat of Seokjin's vehicle, and Hoseok sits staring ahead as Jeongguk ushers you into the one empty seat, behind Hoseok. 

"You're—" you begin to ask, and Jeongguk interrupts, saying, "I'm going with them," before slamming your door shut and walking back to Taehyung's vehicle. 

You attempt to open the door, but the handle moves uselessly, keeping you trapped inside. 

"Seat belts!" Seokjin sing-songs with a hint of exhaustion in his tone. 

"What happened to Yoongi?" you ask, frantically watching Seokjin, who glances into the rearview mirror with a frown. 

"What do you remember about everything that just transpired?"

Searching your memory, you shake your head. It all happened so fast, and Yoongi was behind you, so there was no way to see how he was injured.

"After we sh-shot…" you stammer, unable to finish the sentence, "I pulled out my knife to stab…" you trail off once more and squeeze your eyes closed, realizing now how ridiculous it is that you wanted to continue attacking a man who was already dead. When you open your eyes, Seokjin is still frowning, eyes on you through the rearview mirror. "And then Namjoon took my knife away. So then…what happened to Yoongi?"

Seokjin continues to watch you for just a moment, then he sighs with a light shake of his head, turning his gaze from you to the road. And you want to demand answers, but when he puts the vehicle in drive, the words die on your tongue. You still do not understand, and you spiral, asking yourself the same questions over and over. How could Yoongi have gotten injured? What could have happened to him?

"Seems you got a little carried away and don't fully remember everything," Hoseok says from the passenger seat directly in front of you. "It happens, especially during emotionally intense situations like this. Let's get you home and prioritize the others getting taken care of, and then we will all touch base with what happened." 

"Wh-what do you mean by got a little carried away?" you ask, shaken.

Hoseok hums and responds simply, "The rage you seemed to experience, shooting the man repeatedly despite him already being dead and then attempting to turn the brunt of the weapon on him, followed by pulling out your knife…it was a very irrational but very typical drive to continue punishing the man for what he had done." There is a chuckle on his voice as he adds, "I remember my first blind rage."

"Me too," Seokjin responds calmly, eyes on the road.

The unnamed security guard hums mmhmm as Changkyun says, "Me too."

Your eyes well with tears as you attempt to recount everything, but you only remember it in fragments. Jimin crumpling to the ground, you running and lifting your gun, Namjoon lifting you kicking and screaming, and, finally, Yoongi bleeding. 

"I don't…fully remember…" you mutter, eyes unfocused on the black leather seat ahead of you. 

"Although we do not recommend charging into battle around a corner like that, you may have saved me," Hoseok says with a chipper tone. "My shotgun was empty, and I had been reaching into the glovebox for another gun, but you were quicker on your feet than I was with my hands."

"You only had one gun?" Seokjin asks, turning briefly to Hoseok before looking ahead at the road.

"I know," Hoseok responds with a laugh. "Uncharacteristic, huh? I came out with a glock on my thigh but gave it to Namjoon mid-fight when his clip ran out. Seems none of us were fully anticipating what was to come."

"For once, I had no insider news," Seokjin laments, and you think you hear a pout in his tone. "I miss having someone on the inside."

Although you are sure Seokjin means no offense, there is a very blasé manner in which he seems to be mentioning the death of Hyunjin that makes you stiffen—makes your stomach churn. 

Conversation dies down, and you close your eyes with your head tilted against the window. And suddenly, you are coming over the hill with the mansions in view. Yoongi's home has its lights out—save for the security lights outside—and there are no vehicles in the drive. You assume that everyone is at Taehyung's place, and the thought of going home to Yoongi's cold, empty bedroom is daunting. 

"Would you like to come with us for the time being?" Seokjin asks, and it takes a few seconds for his words to sink in. You glance up with a start. "I'm not sure how long the others will be, but we have a spare bed you can rest in."

"Or you can attempt to distract yourself with some television," Hoseok suggests.

You nod, unsure whether either of these options sound good, but eager to do anything but return home alone. "Alright," you mutter, swallowing down the overwhelming urge to cry.

"We'll make some hot cocoa and give you a change of clothing," Seokjin recommends, and you nod listlessly, heavy-blinking.

With a sigh, you stare out as Seokjin pulls into the very start of Yoongi's driveway and does a u-turn. Although you have never been to their home, you remember Namjoon telling you that it is on the opposite side as his, meaning their driveway would have been before Yoongi's. And, sure enough, when they pull into the driveway, past the loud metal gate, it is nearly a picture-perfect replica of Namjoon's home.

Hoseok is gentle as he guides you out of the sedan to his front door while Seokjin walks ahead and unlocks it. Although you are surprised by how gelatinous your bones seem to have become, Hoseok appears to have anticipated it, holding you steady around the waist. 

Their home décor is nothing like you would have imagined, and you wonder what Victorian-age vampire prince decorated. Everything is crushed velvet with hand-carved accents and gold leaf, similar to Yoongi's home but with more tones of blood red and emerald green. The wainscoted walls are littered with paintings and sconces, and everything is dark wood with upholstery in he same deep shades.

Hoseok runs up the stairs two at a time and quickly returns with a set of black pajamas—a button-down shirt and pants. You change in the downstairs bathroom, which is all gold and black marble, then return to the living room to the smell of hot chocolate and find Hoseok on the nearby chaise clicking through streaming services. 

It is not long before you curl up and fall asleep to the soft sounds of low chattering while some drama you have never heard of plays in the background. Twice you wake up screaming to the sight of watching a man's head explode before giving up on sleep and continuing to watch TV while the sun slowly begins to rise.

i'll keep it a secret 비밀로 할게

your corruption and sin 네 부정과 죄

reveal everything 전부 드러내

friendly reminder: there is no major character death tag!!!

only 3 chapters left 😬😬😬 how are we feeling??? everything is going to spiral to the end, and then there will be a sequel (i know i say this a lot but it seems i need to remind some!!! this is not the end the end, but we are building to an end.)

if you would like a laugh, while searching for an ot7 pic that includes yoongi with long hair, the only one i really found with everyone's hair almost correct (jk and sj aren't quite accurate) all i could find was this years festa pics:

imagine the collateral family men in pastels hehe.

also, yoongi wore this outfit to Paradise:

woof woof bark bark bark imagine him in this fit with his long hair and current muscle bulk.

anywayyyyyyyyy thank you so much for reading!!! comments and reblogs make the world go 'round!!! and likes are appreciated!!! stay hydrated, i love you!!!

tag lists will be on separate reblogs! they've gotten too big to contain as one!

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Collateral is copyright 2022-2023 theharrowing, all rights reserved.

[sstormyskyess]

To See Another Day

author's note: soap it up challenge fic #2!! i like to think i'm best at hurt/comfort so this was very fun to write [used prompt 19 "it's not over" for this one!]

cw: canon typical violence, hurt/comfort

word count: 1800+

John "Soap" Mactavish x GN!Reader

You were a bit of a pessimist. You liked to say that you were just being realistic, but you were proven wrong time and time again, mainly because your team was highly proficient in getting out of hairy situations just by the skin of their teeth. It seemed like the task force had some sort of supernatural ability to weasel their way through missions, narrowly dodging danger by playing limbo with the red tape that restricted their operations.

So, once you got taken prisoner by your latest targets, you tried your hardest to trust in your team’s capabilities; the five of you had been in worse situations before, it couldn’t be too different this time around, right?

It was getting harder and harder to convince yourself of that. If you were calculating right, it had been about a week since you got whisked away by a group of soldiers in the pocket of the Las Almas Cartel after returning to the city to wrap El Sin Nombre up, once and for all. You’ve certainly seen better days, that’s for sure; you were battered, probably sporting a black eye, maybe a broken rib or two.

Various people had entered and exited the room, some ignoring you and some roughing you up just for the hell of it. The one person that surprised you was the man that came in with a second chair and set it down opposite you. A seat for a new interrogator, maybe? Odd, since no one else had a chair to sit in as of yet. You try to shrug it off, since unpredictability is typical with these kinds of things.

You certainly would’ve never predicted the person that ended up sitting across from you, though. This was far out of the range of your imagination.

When Soap got dragged in and had his limbs tied to the armrests, you were positively floored, your eyes wide and your jaw dropped. The door slammed shut as your captors left and you were left with him.

“Soap, what the hell are you doing here? What did you do this time?” Your mind was running a mile a minute, your eyes darting all over his form, checking for any injuries. “Where are the others? Are they here too—”

“Stop, bonnie. Breathe. Everything is fine, we’re getting out of here.” His voice was stern, grounding you enough for you to stop spiraling for a minute. You look at him with wide, unfocused eyes. Something about seeing him here with you fills you with a strange mix of relief and dread. You’re glad to have someone with you, of course; knowing that the one with you was someone you care so dearly for, someone you always hate seeing hurt, is the part that made your heart drop into your stomach.

Soap is about to continue saying his piece, but the door opens roughly, and a few soldiers stalk into the room one after the other. You look at Soap and he looks back giving you a small nod, his blue eyes telling you not to worry.

Tears fall down your cheeks as you watch Soap get his head pulled up by his mohawk, his face covered in purpling bruises and his lips covered in blood from his broken nose. They had been whaling on him for almost an hour now, trying to get him to tell them all the information they were looking for. He, being the stubborn, headstrong man he was, has managed to stay silent aside from all the taunts he was spitting at them, provoking them.

“Soap, stop! Please!” You beg him, writhing in your restraints even though you know full well you aren’t going anywhere. You just want to save him so badly. You wanted to pull the people hurting away from him and put them six feet under for hurting your partner. But he just keeps egging them on, and he keeps getting pummeled, all right in front of your eyes.

You couldn’t turn away even if you wanted to; there was someone holding you by the scruff of your neck and chin, forcing your gaze forward. Another sob rattles your chest and you thrash against the grip on the back of your neck when you see one of them reel the fist back, ready to hit Soap across the face again.

Another splatter of blood streaks across the floor when a gloved fist hits him across the cheek, the blood from his nose and mouth being painted across the concrete floor. He grunts in pain, shooting an icy glare at the person connected to the fist. "You're not getting shite out o' me." He growls slowly, each word said with purpose.

You sniffle, still trying to wrench yourself away from the firm grasp on your face. “Stop hurting him, please stop hurting him—” Your voice cracks, crumbling away and leaving you weeping. You curse yourself inwardly, shutting your eyes tightly and trying to stop the tears from flowing. You’re a highly-trained special ops operator working on one of the most critically acclaimed task forces in the entire world, for God’s sake. You’re supposed to be stoic, you’re supposed to be able to remain calm in situations like this. You’re supposed to be strong, like him. You’ve been in this position many times before, so why couldn’t you hold yourself together this time? Why?

“I’ll do what you want, I’ll tell you what you want to know, just stop hurting him!”

That line gets Soap’s attention immediately, his eyes wide as his glare softened when he looks at you. His face quickly went from pitying to stern in the blink of an eye. “Do not.” He barks, making you flinch. “It’s not over. Do not give them a fucking word.” He hisses.

Your breathing starts to steady a bit as he pins you down with the firm look in his eyes. “You’re better than this, you know you are—” Another blow to his cheek cuts his sentence short and the chair you’re in starts scuffing along the floor as your efforts to escape the hold on your neck and the hand now squeezing your cheeks to stop you looking away. You are better than this. You’re not a sniveling child—you’re strong. You are strong.

You’re strong enough to finally notice that the ropes on your right arm are loosening. You’re strong enough to tug harder and harder against the ropes, your arm wiggling free slowly but surely. You’re strong enough to break free of the ropes and grab the hand on your face, pulling it to your mouth and biting their fingers as hard as possible, ripping a yelp from them.

They jump away from you instinctively, allowing you to pull the ropes on your other arm off, shoving the soldier that tries to restrain you again hard enough to send him toppling. You quickly untie the thick cables off of your ankles, standing up.

When one of the people torturing Soap lunges for you, you grab the back of the chair and use your experience getting into bar fights with your partner and best friend to strike them in the shoulder and head, sending them flying as well. You bring it down on their prone body again, hard enough to smash the chair to pieces.

The person you bit comes for you next and you snatch the arm that goes to grab you, heaving them over your shoulder and taking him down as well. You kneel on their back and rob their combat knife from its sheath, plunging it into their neck before pulling their gun from its holster and shooting the rest of the hostiles, their bodies going limp.

Your chest heaves and you brace your hands on the bloody concrete to catch your breath. When your breathing has evened out, you wipe the sweat off your forehead with the back of your hand, standing up. It takes some effort since the adrenaline has left your system, making you realize just how tired you were. Your limbs shake, making you stumble a bit when you make your way over to Soap.

You fumble with the ropes tying him down until they were all strewn around the chair and collapse to your knees, resting your head in his lap, chest tightening up again. It’s still not over; you have to get out of here, but you relax for just a moment when his hand gently lands on your head, running across your scalp and down your neck to your shoulders.

Soap pulls the covers on his bed back to let you climb in and you cuddle up next to him almost immediately. He wraps you up in his arms and pulls the sheets tight around you, effectively bundling you up to the point you can barely move. You appreciated it, loving the feeling of his warmth surrounding you.

You lay in a comfortable silence for a while before you feel the need to address the elephant in the room. “I’m sorry.” You mumble into his chest, burying your face into his shirt. “Why are you sorry?” He pulled away to look at you with a confused look in his icy blue eyes, an eyebrow quirked. You shake your head with a frown on your face. “You know why. I almost told them everything.”

He sighs. “Y’know I would’ve done the same.” He kisses your forehead, running his hand up and down your back. You purse your lips into a straight line. “That’s not true and you know it.” You huff, tightening your arms around him to pull him impossibly closer.

“It’s true. I love you so damn much,” he says in-between kisses on your cheeks, “I can barely stand seeing you get hurt out there.” You look away, cheeks warming under his attention. “Don’t know if I could’ve stayed quiet for as long as you did.” He nuzzles against your face and keeps peppering your face with kisses and ending with a slow, intimate kiss on the lips. “Y’saved me, dove. In so many ways, y’know that?”

“What do you mean?” Your voice was muffled by his shoulder, where your face was buried. You know that you saved him today, before the task force got you both out of there. Something just came over you when Soap reminded you of yourself, brought you back from the brink.

He chuckles, rubbing circles into the muscles of your lower back. “They probably would’ve beat me to a pulp if I kept mouthing off. I just couldn’t stop myself, but you did; y’made me realize I’d have died on you.” He feels you shiver in his arms at the idea of him being gone and his hands run up and down your back to comfort you. “I couldn’t do that to you, dove.”

He kisses you again and holds your cheek, his thumb running across your cheekbone. You smile a bit. “I love you too, John.”

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐬𝐨𝐚𝐩 𝐢𝐭 𝐮𝐩 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞

[fandomz-brainrot]

Serial Savior (Stu Macher x Male Reader)

Lowkey a vent fic ngl 😭

TW: drugs (weed), panic attack, mentions of gore and murder, mom yells at reader :(

---

The killing of Casey Becker had just been announced, and your mother couldn't be more over protective. As soon as it made the news, you were locked in your house. The school hadn't even shut down yet, and you were trapped. You sat on the couch as she searched your room, as for some reason she was suspecting YOU. Your clothes were strewn across the floor, all your little hiding spots ransacked. She marched down the stairs to where you had curled up. She shoved the items she was holding in to your face; a pack of cigarettes and a small bag of weed. Shit.

"What is this?!" She asked angrily, and you swore you could see a vein bulge in her forehead. "Why the hell do you have this kind of stuff in MY house! Do you want to end up like your father, hm?" She lectured. You clenched your teeth to try and control your fear and anger. You closed your eyes and gave her a weak shrug. She scoffed, crossing her arms. "Go to your room." "But-" "NOW!"

And that's where you are now. Locked in your room. Trapped. You pressed your back against your bed frame and dragged your palms down your face with a groan. You looked around your destroyed room, upset by the mess but with no motivation to clean it up. And the words she said-- she made you sound like the devil for just having fun. It's not like you were hurting anyone; you just liked to smoke and have fun, that was all. Made life a little less boring...

...Well now the rest of your senior year is gonna be a total drag. And boring. Miserable, even. You let your head hit the frame with a soft thud, fidgeting with the hem of your shirt as your breathing quickened.

Oh my god. She's going to lock you in here forever. You won't be able to see your friends, you'll fall behind on school, you probably won't even graduate this year, you're going to be so bored and so goddamn alone, but you're always alone, right? "Forever alone Y/n", that's what you say to yourself. God she's never going to trust you again, she hates you, everyone FUCKING HATES YOU-

Your longer-than-you-thought spiral was interrupted by a small tap on your window. You wiped a tear from your face with shaking hands and looked over at the alarm clock next to you, moving a clothing item that your mom had thrown out of the way so you could see the time; 2:00 a.m. Jesus Christ.

Two more thuds, slightly louder than the one before we're heard from the window again. What the hell could that be? Your thoughts start racing again as you shakily stand. You slowly walk closer, more taps and thuds being heard. You squeezed your eyes shut as you anxiously opened the window. It's going to be the killer, I swear he's going to get my attention and as soon as I open the window he's gonna stab and gut me just like Casey Becker and then my name will be on the news as everyone views my bloodied corpse--

"Why do you look so freaked out, man?"

Well that certainly wouldn't be the voice of the killer.

Your eyes shoot open as you stare down from your window. Standing below is none other than Stu Macher-- known for his unhinged personality and killer parties. Looks like you're safe after all...

You had known the guy since freshman year. You spent some time with Stu and Billy outside of school, occasionally going over to Stu's to watch horror movies with the two. You've even gone to a couple of parties, usually being the one to supply the booze and weed. Not to mention the small crush you've had on the guy since the year you met. What could you say, he was cute and goofy, so what more could you want?

So, you definitely felt safe with him. Didn't change the fact that he was apparently throwing pebbles at your window like some cheesy movie. At 2 in the morning.

You sighed in annoyance placed your face in your hands. "Stu, what the hell are you doing here?" You asked, your voice muffled by your hands as you drag them down your face.

"To rescue you from your prison, of course!" He said with a lopsided smile, rustling the handful of pebbles in his palm before dropping them. "Besides I needed to make sure you weren't gutted, ya know--" he clicked his tongue and made a slice gesture over his throat with his thumb "--throat to groin, insides on the outside, that kind of thing." He said, his smile never dropping.

You shut your eyes tight, pinching the bridge of your nose as your annoyance only grew. "Ew, man, gross, terrible visual." Stu's smile faltered, narrowing his eyes at you. Something about that made your hair stand on end. His gaze was more uncomfortable. "But I mean... you love all that cheesy horror movie gore, right? So what's the difference?" You looked at him with wide, uneasy eyes. His words didn't sit right with you. "That's... that's a lot different. That's a movie, man. This is real life. We KNEW her. Quite honestly it's terrifying." You said slowly, crossing your arms over your chest.

A look you can't describe crossed his face before quickly disappearing. He smiled at you again with a shrug. "Whatever man, just hurry up and get out here." He said, beckoning you with his hands. You leaned hesitantly out of the window, an eyebrow raised. "Is it really safe to go out this late? I mean... how do you know that I'm not the killer?" You said with a smirk. His grin only widened, and he rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I highly doubt that. Plus, no one will hurt us with me around, I'm too intimidating." He looked back at you while flexing his lanky arms.

You chuckled, shaking your head at him. "Yeah yeah whatever, just make sure to catch me when I jump out of here." You said, beginning to climb out the window. He held his thin arms out for you as you fell from the window. He stumbled as he caught you, your larger frame knocking the wind from him slightly as he nearly fell. The jump was far from graceful, but at least you didn't make too much noise or break your legs.

Stu tried to steady himself, since his thin frame wasn't well equipped to support yours. "Jesus Christ, just crush me while you're at it, huh?" He said sarcastically, earning another eyeroll from you. "Whatever, it's not my fault you're a literal twig."

"It's hidden strength, okay!"

You gave him a dead stare as you wrapped all of your fingers around his slender wrist. You couldn't quite tell in the dim lighting, but his face seemed to tint a dusty pink. "Get your hands offa me!" He whined, prying your hand off with a chuckle. "Just- get in the car before we get caught." He said with a grin as he dragged you off to where he had left his car. "Since when were you worried about that? Did I knock some common sense in to that little skull or something?" You teased as you ruffled his hair. He swatted your hand away with a quiet "shut up" coming from his lips.

You smiled fondly as he dragged you along. A couple houses down, in some random driveway, Stu had left his car. He opened the door for you with a dramatic bow. You got in with another roll of your eyes (If you had a dollar for every time you had done that tonight...)

"You're such a gentleman!" You said sarcastically. He gave you a playful wink as he got in on the driver's side. "I try, I try!" His tone was light, and the joy in it was infectious. You let yourself grin-- a genuine, full, happy smile-- and leaned back in the seat as Stu started the car.

You were free. Maybe only for a few hours, but still...

You were free.

---

You had only been in the car for around 5 minutes, and it had been surprisingly peaceful. Stu had started playing his mixtape, and you were just... relaxed. Your eyes were closed as you just enjoyed the freedom, feeling the wind on your face and in your hair from the rolled down window.

Then Stu broke the silence.

"Sooo..." He started slowly, tapping his slender fingers against the wheel. "Why were you locked up there like a prisoner?" You sighed, not opening your eyes.

"Well, there was a double homicide on the news dingus."

"Yeah, I'm aware, but you were in there crying for a while--"

"Were you watching me?! Ew, dude, what the hell-"

"Well it would be kinda weird to interrupt you!"

"How long were you even out there man?"

His eyes widened slightly, as he glanced at you quickly before returning his eyes back to the road. He rubbed the back of his neck with an awkward smile. "Uhhh... no comment?"

You looked at him with a face of playful disgust as you gently swatted his face. He glanced at you again with even wider eyes than before as he gently shoved you away. "If we crash, its not my fault."

You smiled at the brunette again, before leaning back once more. "Fine. If you HAVE to know..." you exhaled slowly, buzzing your lips as you stared at your feet. "My mom found my drugs... and she said a lot of really like... hurtful things... pretty scary..." you pursed your lips. Ugh, now the vibes feel ruined... You click your tongue, looking back at Stu. "So yeah, not very cool, BUT--!" You point at him with a lopsided smile. "Being here with you IS actually cool."

He chuckled, a small smile on his face. "Thanks for the flattery, really good for my ego!" His tongue poked out from his mouth, and despite the playful expression he showed, you saw his knuckles turn white as he put the steering wheel in a death grip. "But I do now have a personal issue with your mother." You let a small, amused "hmph".

You noticed where your knight in shining armor was pulling in, quirking an eyebrow in confusion. "Uh, why are you pulling in to a gas station, you don't need gas right now?" You asked, tilting your head in confusion. He parked, turning to face you with a huge grin. "Becauseeee I have a gift for you that'll make it all better, buddy!" he said enthusiastically. You crossed your arms, but couldn't fight the smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. "Oh boy, what is it?" You say sarcastically, watching as Stu slings half of his body in to the back seat, rustling around for God knows what.

After a bit of searching, he pulls out two items with a proud "aha!" before presenting them to you; a glass bong and some weed that he had already grounded. "Now you can smoke again!" Stu announced with a wide grin.

You felt your lips tug in to a large, toothy smile. You looked back at him. It may seem stupid, but this meant a lot. This was how you coped, and he was willing to share his precious stash with you. And just you. It felt... personal. To you, this was peak intimacy.

"Dude... you- you don't have to, ya know?" You said, fingers brushing against the glass of the bong. Stu raised an eyebrow at you, already beginning to pack a bowl. "Uh, I want to though? I just wanna give you a good time man." He stated plainly, fishing a lighter out of his pocket when he was done. You leaned back in the seat, a content smile on your face.

Stu turned back to you, bowing dramatically the best he could in these cramped conditions before he presented the bong to you like it was a trophy. "First hit for you, my liege!" His words were laced with a shitty English accent. His eyes looked at you through his lashes, a huge toothy smile full of sharp canines gleaming up at you. His tongue poked from between his teeth, as he bit it to prevent himself from laughing at his own antics. He looked absolutely ridiculous. It was enticingly adorable.

You tilted your head at him, ruffling his short hazelnut colored hair. "Thank you, my knight." You replied, the same shitty accent coating your voice. You could've sworn his face darkened slightly as you took the bong and lighter from him.

You held out your fist to him, sparing a glance at the car's clock. It was 2:30, but it felt like the middle of the day, you just had so much energy and excitement. So much joy. You held out your fist to him, a smirk on your lips. "Cheers. This'll be the start to a great night, I'm sure." He bumped his against yours, letting your knuckles rest against his for a few moments as he met your eyes again. "Cheers, man."

---

(Word count: 2212 words)

I'll prolly make a few more parts, I just wanted to get something out soon lmao

I had this idea rattling around in my brain for like ever and I just didn't know how to make it in to writing so sorry if it's bad :(

[augustinetwo]

🦇 Long Cold Front Analysis Incoming ᝰ.ᐟ 🦇

(Under the cut for convenience!!)

What I find so great about Cold Front is how easy it is to get attached to Augustine and Winnie. They feel so real, despite being relatively simple characters in a simple story. When you play it, you can mostly guess what's going to happen, but it didn't pull at my heartstrings any less. So, what about them makes them so relatable?

Both Augustine and Winnie are experiencing the bittersweet process of growing up and maturing. Coming of age is something that everyone goes through, no matter how they cope with it. The two of them both exhibit more juvenile traits and mindests, while still feeling more mature and not exactly childish. A lot of people in their late teens and early twenties, maybe even later on, might feel like they're in the body of an adult with the mind of a child.

The two of them want to move on from their childhood, to grow and overcome these things, but in a way, they are still clinging onto their past. They're eternally tied together, because they've been the center of each other's lives for years, and when you're close with someone at those ages for such a long span of time, they become a part of you. (Maybe even so much so that you share a dreamlike coma of sorts.)

Augustine was originally an outgoing, rambunctious kid who was rather extroverted and extremely blunt. His boisterous and upfront personality gained him many friends when younger, mostly since that's how most kids are. But, over time, his spark dulled, and he became bitter. Jealous.

He's a hypocrite. He knows that, and he hates it, but still, he can't seem to help it. Augustine spirals into a swirling mess of self hatred and dissatisfaction. He grows to destest himself and Winnie, because Winnie is everything he wants to be. Yet, at the same time, Winnie nearly embodies everything his past self was, and longed to be. It sickens him to see Winnie basically become what he sees as himself. And yet, he also sees himself as disgusting and is never content with what he's like.

Shadow Winnie, or whatever it's called, is just a manifestation of Augustine's insecurities. It just relays to him what he thinks of himself. Winnie doesn't even remotely hold any of those sentiments, but because Augustine thinks of himself like that, he assumes Winnie does, too. Because he assumes that everyone thinks he's worthless and pathetic, since compared to Winnie, he's "nothing."

His barrier to growing into an adult mindset is to stop assuming what others think of him, a mindest he introduced Winnie to as a child, ironically. I'm not saying that isn't difficult, because it definitely is. Humbling and dragging yourself out of a pit of self hatred is probably one of the most difficlt things you could do.

By the end, we can see that Augustine has grown and matured since he still admires Winnie but doesn't put himself down at all despite that. Not only that, but he's reopening himself to his old qualities, especially bluntness (as in being open about his feelings) and a more cheery attitude. He obviously has things he still needs to work on, but he's trying and getting his way out of that hole, slowly but surely.

Winnie, it seems, is kind of understood by a majority of the CF fandom ... He might seem to be the more outwardly "childish" one, or the one who's better off, but he and Augustine are in a relatively similar mental state. Winnie has trouble understanding boundaries and feelings in general, it seems. More as in, he can understand the feelings internally, but he can't exactly outwardly express it well. (Maybe because he's pretty blunt and direct.) This doesn't, however, mean he doesn't know what's going on. In fact, he seems to have a feeling that something is wrong, but since he doesn't know for sure that the incident was the root of the problem or exactly what Augustine is feeling/thinking, he doesn't bring it up.

What Winnie fears most is losing Augustine. Augustine was originally the one who drew him out of a spiral, so it saddens him to see Augustine putting himself down and being so negative. It reminds him of his younger self. He would hate for one of his longest, genuine friends to hate him for some obscure reason he doesn't know.

From his point of view, Augustine started growing distant from him when he began succeeding. That Augustine didn't intend on staying close friends, and Winnie clinging to him and trying so hard to keep him was pissing him off.

He prides himself on his skills, yeah, and he might just have a bit of trouble with social cues, (Racheldraws said he might be autistic, so that might be where the Winnie infantalization comes from) but still, Winnie is someone that cares so deeply. Augustine has been the one constant in his life, and he's just as scared as anyone else over growing up and moving on and leaving home. While Winnie is well liked, Augsutine has a biased perspective, and likely sees Winnie as more popular and loved than he actually is.

What Winnie needed to learn was to better respect people's boundaries, and let go of his past. Things can't stay the same forever. People change and grow, you change, and people can part amicably over time. And that's okay.

I also love how the miscommunication isn't one-sided and both people have done something wrong. A friendship, any relationship, really, is like a symbiotic relationship. You give, and they're supposed to give in return. Winnie and Augustine, over time, lost sight of what they were meant to give, and then were upset when the other stopped giving their part of the friendship.

That is because over time as they became older, their priorities and goals changed. And that's perfectly fine! The main problem was that they didn't adjust the friendship to fit their growth and age!

Sorry for yapping or if this was all stupid my cf and studio investigrave brainrot is really bad

[queenofthekings]

𝓲𝓬𝓮 𝓹𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓬𝓮𝓼𝓼.

Summary: Eddie's been trying to pluck up the courage to talk to you for weeks and Dustin has a perfect plan after watching you ice skate.

Author's note: I just wanted to write something short and cute lol. I've wanted to write something ice skating related for the longest time so here we are lol

CW: Just a whole load of fluff, no use of Y/N, some dirty jokes towards the end but they're not too bad, a couple drug deal references

Word count: 1.1k

Any hate will not be tolerated, constructive criticism is welcomed.

“Dude, just ask her out already,” Dustin groaned, hitting his forehead on the rink barrier. “You drag me here every Saturday to freeze my ass off while watching a girl you’re too chicken to talk to, skate around like Tonya Harding for two hours and then hear you for the rest of the week talk about how pretty she is.”

Eddie shook his head, taking a long sip of his soda as his eyes were fixated on you. “She probably doesn’t even know I exist.”

“Trust me, dude, she knows you exist, it’s pretty hard not to.”

Eddie had been crushing on you for months but had never worked up the courage to even talk to you, anytime he tried, he’d just freeze up and word vomit about something before being dragged away by one of his friends. He found out through a drug deal that this was where you spent your Saturdays, skating around for the best part of an hour by yourself before being an assistant coach for the rest of the afternoon.

It was not stalking, no matter what anyone says. Eddie just enjoyed watching you skate and came every Saturday to do so, usually dragging Dustin along with him, under the promise of buying whatever he wanted from the burger joint next to the rink.

Dustin took a large bite of his burger that was almost the size of his face, sauce and juice dripping onto his plate and all over his fingers. “At least just talk to her, man, what’s the worst that could happen?” he asked through his mouthful, licking his fingers.

“She could hear me,” Eddie muttered as he stuffed some fries into his mouth.

He watched as you skate towards the barrier, your friend handing you your water bottle and you more or less devouring half of it. Is it possible to be jealous of a water bottle? He could’ve sworn you looked at him as you finished drinking, causing his heart to skip a beat and look away quickly.

You, of course, hadn’t looked at Eddie and went back to skating, being careful to not crash into any kids as you practiced a few spiral sequences before doing a spin. Dustin had become interested as you began to spin, an idea popping into his head.

“Eddie, today is the day you’re doing to talk to her.”

Taring his eyes away from you, he looked at Dustin utterly horrified. “What do you mean?”

Ten minutes later, Eddie was forced into a pair of hire skates and pushed out onto the ice, swearing endless profanities under his breath as he tried to keep his balance. “Henderson, I’m going to kill you.”

Dustin gave him a sarcastic smile from the barrier. “Trust me, you’re gonna thank me for doing this for you. Now go over to her before you chicken out as usual.”

Eddie rolled his eyes as he pushed himself off the barrier and tried to skate towards your completely oblivious form. His toe pick was constantly catching on the carvings left by other people, causing him to trip every time he took a step. He was so focused on his own feet trying to not trip over that he didn’t see you in front of him and collided into your back, causing both of you to fall over.

You let out a surprised yelp as you fell down, quickly putting your hands down to break your fall. You turned to see who’d collided into you, finding Eddie faceplanting on the ice. “Oh god, are you okay? I’m so sorry I didn’t see you!” you instantly began helping Eddie to his feet, guiding him to the barrier.

Eddie winced from the pain of hitting the ice so hard but tried his best to hide it in front of you. “That was all me, sweetheart. Ironically, I was trying to not trip over.”

You couldn’t help but smile while watching him be honestly, just so adorable. “Ice skating is a lot harder than people think it is, I’ve fallen over so many times so it’s okay to fall… it’s Eddie, right?”

Eddie froze, his eyes going wide for a moment as his mind was trying to process just how much he loved hearing his name come out of your lips. “Uh, yeah, we have History together.”

Nodding, you thought about all the times you seen him in class; you’d caught him staring at you a couple of times but you always brushed it off as him trying to see the board or to look at another classmate. You’d noticed him coming to the rink too, but you’d never quite put it together that he’d possibly came to see you. You’d always assumed it was to do a drug deal as it wasn’t exactly a secret that drug deals happened in the parking lot of the rink, but come to think of it, you’d never seen Eddie really leave the rink almost until you did.

Both of you couldn’t think of what to say next, enjoying each other’s presence but also desperate to say at least something. It was finally broken when Eddie spoke up again. “Listen, uh, you’re allowed to say no but I was wondering if you could teach me how to skate.”

You were slightly taken aback by his request, you raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t picture you as the skating type.”

“So, is that a no?” he looked almost disappointed, looking down at his fingers.

Shaking your head, you grabbed his hand and began leading him around the rink. “I’ll teach you to skate, if you give me your number,” you let go of his hand once you’d arrived in the centre of the rink.

Eddie looked like a deer in headlights, stuttering over his words as he tried to look in his pockets for his phone while also trying to retain his balance. “Yeah sure! Did you want it now or?”

You laughed holding his hands to stop himself from falling over. “Give it to me after, you’re gonna end up falling over again.” You laughed as you began to slowly skate backwards, guiding him around the rink again.

“Can we have a whole class of you just doing this? Falling over is too embarrassing.”

Shaking your head, you let go of his hands and began skating a large circle around him. “Hell no! You’re gonna be gliding by the time we’re finished.”

“Or,” Eddie smirked, grabbing your arm as you passed him. “We call it even and I buy you a burger.”

Raising your eyebrow, you licked your lips as you shook your head again. “No gliding, no phone number, no burger. Get your ass around the rink, Munson.”

He chuckled as he let go of your arm, awkwardly trying to move forward on the ice. “I think I like it when you’re bossy, ma’am.”

You skated ahead of him, rolling your eyes. “You’re a dead man, Eddie Munson.”

“And you’re an ice princess, sweetheart.”

[thetorturedpoetsintern]

The longest summer in our life

Note: This was inspired by a tiktok @alwayssevvy sent me and it has themes from Gone With The Wind, hence the gif. I hope you'll enjoy my first Severus x reader oneshot 💜

Warnings: To avoid spoilers I'll only tell you one thing: TISSUES

It has been more than four months since you last saw him. He dropped you off to a secluded house in the middle of nowhere, warded every single corner of it and then disapparated as soon as he could detangle himself from your hands and lips. He didn’t even see your first tear starting to roll slowly down your face. You understood the urgency of it, the importance of your safety for him. You wouldn’t forget yourself though for not telling him while you still had the chance to about the small life growing inside of you. But you couldn’t actually bring yourself to it, to burden him even more than he already was.

That was in late April. It is September now. You’ve heard of what happened at Hogwarts and your heart broke into a million pieces at the news of Nagini’s attack on Severus. If it wasn’t for the hope of seeing his baby, a miniature him, running in the backyard of your fortress he made for your safety, you would have fled from it and tried to find him at any cost. Merlin only knows it took all the effort you could gather to make your mind into staying where he left you.

May and June were chaotic months. Uncaught Death Eaters kept causing trouble whenever they could, their attacks without any reasoning, just for their pleasure. Every newspaper and magazine had a page dedicated to the victims of the war. Dead wizards and witches who were only now found or who passed away recently in the last surge of the remaining Death Eaters’ attacks. Though his name never appeared  there, no matter how much you checked and double checked that last page. You couldn’t get your mind over what that actually meant. 

Is he dead? Harry’s declaration suggests just that. And if he’s dead then why didn’t they find his body? Is there a body left to be found? Did Voldemort hide his body? Did the other Death Eaters maim him beyond any recognition? Or is he alive? But if he’s alive why isn’t he coming to you? If he were to be alive he wouldn’t leave you without a clue of his survival. He’d send you an owl or someone will come to you to tell you he’s fine. Or even he’ll come and drag you out of the dark place your mind kept swimming to.

No owl arrived, no person to give you the news of his death or survival, no trace of him either. You were in a limbo. Waking up, checking the daily newspapers, spiraling again at the absence of his name on the last page, getting out of this state thinking of your unborn child, rinse, repeat.

August was the month where the Ministry of Magic declared the wizarding world safe once again. You couldn’t be happy about it. Instead you chose to resent it. Because if the world was declared safe, there will be no special page with the dead, no search for the still missing persons in the war, not a chance to find out what happened to Severus. It was selfish, you hated yourself for pouring your acid words on innocent people.

You took off the wards on the home Severus took you merely three months ago and for the first time since he left you there, you started making it your home. It was clear by now he wasn’t coming back, but your baby needed a place to call home.

The pregnancy started to show a little and you hated the pitiful looks on others eyes when they saw you. Like you were some poor helpless widow unlucky enough to have no one helping her during times like this. So you took on wearing dresses. The larger and flowier the better. As long as it hid your growing bump it was good. 

Another habit you developed was sitting each afternoon in a chair by the porch in front of the house, sometimes a long time into the night, watching the road ending somewhere beyond the horizon. Sometimes reading, sometimes just sipping your tea, or even talking by yourself and caressing your growing belly. It was a fruitful activity. You invited any witch or wizard who happened to pass by for a cup of tea and interrogated them about the war. There weren’t many, there were actually more weeks where not even muggles seemed to step foot on the land the house was in than the number of guests you had that month, but there were enough to calm you and put your mind at ease.

It seemed there were more missing witches and wizards than they publicly admitted. Every one of your guests had a relative, a friend, or knew someone who went missing during the war. You weren’t alone in your grief, and even though you started to accept his death with each passing day, you were more than relieved to find out everyone had good words to say about your Severus. He had shown his true self to the world with his final moments, and that was more than enough for your child when it was born into the world. 

And that’s how you end up now too, in September. A light green dress flowing out of the chair you sit in, your hands on your bump trying to feel your baby kicking as the mediwitch said it will soon, your mouth talking nonstop about Severus. You did that for a while now, talking about Severus. You reached the part of him proposing to you. Another thing the war kidnapped from you: the chance to call him your husband.

The sun is beginning to set and you can feel the chill already. Autumn really is enveloping the country little by little. You exhale, imagining what this scene would be like if Severus was alive. He’d sit beside you, a hand on your belly, reminiscing about nothing in particular. And that’s when you notice a flicker of white light in the distance and then a black figure popping in the field. Your hand instinctively grips your wand in your pocket and you sit up in a fruitless attempt to recognize the silhouette. 

It doesn’t do much, it merely sits there and watches you standing on the porch. But then it starts limping toward you, and even though its walk is barely a walk at all, you’d recognize that posture everywhere. Those shoulders and hands balancing his limp, those dark locks hidden in a ponytail fluttered by the evening breeze.

Your heart wants to believe but your mind denies it. There is only one way to figure out if you’ve gone insane or the world did a flip and brought you back your lover. You step out of the porch, steady but small steps at first, wand still gripped in your hand. The more you approach it, the more its features become more familiar. Tears begin to well your eyes with every step you take, until you stop in your tracks and your heart seems to stop for more than a second. It is him. It is Severus. He came home to you. He’s alive. He’s alive.

You drop your wand in your pocket, hands going to lift your skirt high enough for you to sprint to him. Severus instead stops in his tracks, arms opening to accommodate you once you get to him. He dropped walking the minute he saw you run to him. It was painful enough to walk even now, and with your speed you’ll get to him faster than his five torturous steps he got to make ever would.

Nothing matters anymore as you get closer and closer to him. The wind has no power. You make the wind with each movement, hair and dress all over the air due to your speed. Your lungs burn. It starts to become difficult to breathe, and you feel your heart beating in your ears and yet you don’t stop. You have to get to him. And you do.

By the time you feel his big palms on your back bringing you closer to him, you have to push him back slightly because air won’t enter your lungs, as your face seems to burn from the inside. And still one hand of his clutches on the back of your head and leans forward in an attempt to kiss you. Your palms go over every centimeter of him you can reach to make sure he’s real, that he’s there. Your eyes notice the bandage around his neck, the slightly bluish veins protruding from under the bandage, and you want to ask him what happened but you can’t momentarily. You want to kiss him with all your body, your heart thumps wildly in anticipation, and yet you can’t. The sprint took its toll on you and he doesn’t look well enough for the long kiss you both seem to be wanting, needing for what feels like eternity.

Severus sighs, understanding. He’s content only to hold you in his arms and never let you go, and he resigns in bringing both his hands and grabbing your face between his palms, trying to make his fingers remember each and every contour of it. His breath smells like medicine, and that is the culminant point in deciding you’re not insane, he’s just alive. He survived. You unglue one of his hands from your cheekbone and trace it down your body until it reaches your bump.

“This is our child, Sev! We’ve both been waiting for you to come home,” you manage to exclaim through your tears. You feel his hand tense as his eyebrows scrunch into a look of unbelievable happiness you’ve never seen on his face before. The little one moved for the first time the moment it felt his father’s touch. Severus felt it too, you can tell from his eyes who seem to search far beyond for an explanation, trying to put all the pieces of the puzzle together. But suddenly a harsh croaked and yet very recognizable voice escapes his chopped thin lips, “You never told me…” His words, of which he used to be so proud, are  failing him for the first time since you’ve met him. 

You seem locked in place for eternity and you don’t want the moment to end. Feeling Severus’ heat again against your body, feeling his breath on your face, his hands all over you as the proof of him aching for you, his dark eyes taking you in, trying to grab your essence and lock it deep within his memories, your noses caressing in the only kiss you can manage for the moment. 

“Love, let’s go home. I don’t want my two most important people in my life to catch a cold because I finally managed to get on my feet and come to you.”

[cherryeol04]

Clean

➻ Pairings: Jisung x Reader

➻ Genre: slight!angst, romance

➻ Additional: comfort, hurt/comfort? (not sure if this qualifies)

➻ Word Count: 1K

➻ Warnings: implied mental health struggles

➻ Author’s notes: This story is cross posted on multiple sites under the same username!

You wanted nothing more than to just go to your room and hide from the world. Work had been crazy and you were so emotionally spent trying to have good customer service that you couldn’t honestly fake a smile much less give a rats ass about things happening at home. And on top of that, you were missing your boyfriend, who was out of town on a business trip. 

So when you walked in and saw the kitchen a mess, the floors still dirty and no dinner cooking, you wanted to scream. Bless your mother, you loved her dearly but you hated the fact that she was working from home and still couldn’t keep up with housework while you went out everyday and worked in an office.

Granted, working from home was still a job, but it was only part time and she started in the afternoon. She had plenty of time to do some light cleaning and get the crockpot started for dinner before going to work. But she didn’t. She never did and normally it would only mildly irk you but today it just put you in a spiral. The tears were already welling up as you dragged your feet down the dark hallway to the back room, your lamp light shining underneath the door because you once more forgot to turn it off in your haste to leave the house that morning. 

Salvation!

Opening the door, your head tipped down to watch as you dropped your bag next to your desk before kicking off your shoes, feet screaming in relief. Shuffling into the room, you pushed the door closed before lifting your head, eyes widening as you froze in place. Sitting on your bed was your boyfriend, Jisung, lounging back with the tv remote in one hand, the other behind his head, looking so at home. Which was strange because you purposefully kept him from visiting your house due to its state. You were embarrassed by it and didn’t want him to come over and think that you and your family were slobs. 

Well you and your mom weren’t. The idiot that lived with you was and he refused to clean up after himself, despite being the one that caused the most mess. And of course the constant mess was hard for your mother to deal with mentally and you were pretty sure she was in a depressive sort of state and you sure as hell didn’t want to clean when you got home from work. Even though you usually did because no one else was gonna do it. But juggling work life and this life was just as taxing and on some days you just said “fuck it” and let it be. And now here he was, in your house - in your bed, as if he lived there. 

God, you could only imagine what he must have thought about you and the house. Horrible things. You wouldn’t be surprised if he ended up breaking up with you over this. That thought alone was enough to have you sobbing. 

“Babe?”

It was stupid to think he hadn’t seen you. Your room wasn’t all that big and the door made ample enough noise to alert anyone that someone had entered. But somehow your brain was trying to convince you that you still had a chance to leave up until that point and now it was ruined. “Baby, come here.” Through your tears you could see Jisung sitting up straight, arms outstretched towards you. Your feet moved on their own and in a few short steps you crossed the room to your bed and climbed on. You made yourself comfortable in Jisung’s lap as he wrapped his arms around you tightly. Your sense were flooded with the musky scent that was your boyfriend, so potent that you wouldn’t be surprised if he had just recently sprayed himself with his cologne. 

It was warm and comforting and after nearly a month apart, you were so glad to be back in his arms, but not at this cost. Not with him coming to your place like this. Any times prior he had simply dropped something off or had come to pick you up for a date. You never had invited him and now here he was, exposed to your shame. You felt so horrible - so disgusting and worthless. 

“Y/n,” he called gently, fingers running through your hair. You refused to look at him, shaking your head as your buried your face further into his chest. He chuckled and leaned back against the headboard. “Love, please stop crying. You’re gonna make me cry.” He whispered. “And then we’ll both be a crying mess and I don’t even know why we’re crying!” You giggled at his exasperation, but the momentary giddiness was short lived. Eventually you pulled back, sniffling as you stared at him with your red rimmed eyes. 

“Baby.” He whispered once more, thumbs wiping your tears away gently as he cupped your cheeks. “What’s wrong?”

“I-I didn’t want you to see this place.” You struggled to get out, choking back on your sobs. “I’m so ashamed.”

The confusion was evident in his eyes, but you didn’t have the capacity to explain. Because if you explained it made the situation even more real and you weren’t sure you could take anymore stress and sadness than what you were already feeling. “What are you ashamed of? Your house is lovely.”

Lies!

You shook your head vehemently. “It’s not! It’s gross and disgusting and I’m disgusting and-“ You actually did choke this time, coughing harshly. “I never wanted you to see this.”

You expected Jisung to mock you or even lie to your face more. Something other than pulling you back into his arms and rocking you gently. “There is nothing to be ashamed of.” He assured you. You tried to protest and tell him that he was wrong, but he shushed you. “Nothing.” He reiterated, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “I love you for you. Not how your house looks. Besides, we can clean together. It’ll be a great bonding experience.” He joked, trying to lighten the situation and it worked. You smiled and nodded, clutching at the front of his shirt. 

“You promise?”

“Promise.”

You were silent for a moment, thinking his words over carefully before finally replying. 

“I love you too.”

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