#<-still can’t think of a better AU title for that so it’s staying

[33max]

max wins his fourth championship

red bull turkey dinosaurs au, 1560 words

The moment Gianpiero sees Max’s crinkly-eyed smile and fluffy hair plastered across every TV screen in the paddock, he knows Max is going to drop. Maybe not yet, but soon. It’s obvious to GP now, especially because he’s had 4 years to start recognising the signs.

Max has dropped after every championship win. GP doesn’t know if it’s the relief of finally claiming the title, or Max allowing himself to celebrate exactly how he wants to, but either way, the team love celebrating with the little guy. There is nothing better than his unbridled childlike wonder and squawking giggles filling the garage after a win.

“You’re going with Max,” Christian tells him, he’s sat a couple of seats down on the pit wall – his headphones still on after congratulating Max.

“Am I?” GP asks, surprised. Max won the title, but he only placed P5 - he’s not going on the podium. Why would GP be going with Max?

“There’s a car ride to the Bellagio,” Christian says, then softens his eyes and insists. “You go with him in the car.”

He gets it now. Christian is worried Max will drop too soon, and if he does then GP needs to be there with him. He doesn’t need to be told twice.

The walk to Parc Ferme is chaos. There are bodies everywhere. The pit lane is full of people celebrating, mechanics trying to get to their cars, photographers, journalists, and paddock club members swarming. But he makes it through.

The moment he sees Max, he starts running. His driver has just won their fourth championship in a row and he can’t wait to throw his arms around Max. They knew the win was a possibility today, but GP didn’t think it would happen, especially not with a DIY rear wing. But Max always surprises him.

“You were amazing!” GP screams as he gets close enough for Max to hear him. He acts on impulse, maybe because Max looked so soft on the TV footage, or maybe because GP can feel how much Max needs a hug. Either way, before he knows it he’s bending down and lifting Max up like he does when Max is small, holding him so tightly as Max giggles loudly.

“You did exactly what you needed to, mate!” GP says, “You knew who our race was with and you made it happen.”

“Only P5,” Max says, shrugging, as GP puts his feet back on the floor. GP hates how hard Max is on himself sometimes, even with a championship win today Max considers P5 the fourth loser.

“It was the best we could have got from the car today, Max.” GP affirms, “More than the car deserved actually.”

Max smiles, cheeks turning a little pink with the praise.

“My world champ!” GP says, refocusing Max on the huge positive. He puts a hand on Max’s shoulder and shakes him a little, so damn proud.

They’re ushered into an obnoxious Rolls Royce with fairy lights on the ceiling and far too many buttons that Max immediately starts pressing.

“Look,” Max says, shyly indicating what each button does.

“Yeah, cool isn’t it?” GP replies, going along with it. He suspects Max has already started to drop, usually Max isn’t so enamoured by buttons.

“Jeep, I won,” Max whispers. Maybe the microphones can pick it up and GP will have a new nickname in the paddock tomorrow, or maybe they can’t and the name Jeep will still be reserved for only Max to call him – it doesn’t matter either way.

GP looks over to Max, leans back in his seat, and smiles fondly, “Yes, you did. How are you feeling?”

“Thirsty,” Max says.

GP hands him his water bottle, filled with a fruity electrolyte drink, the long bendy straw is tied up so GP unties it and hands Max the mouthpiece.

“Tank you,” Max says through his slow sips.

The next few hours are full on, but GP stays close to Max, making sure Max doesn’t drop too deep. He ends up lingering just outside of the TV pen, following Max to each interview, and standing next to him in the group photo.

“Jeep,” Max whines, after the team has thoroughly drenched him in red bull and champagne. He’s tugging on the sleeve of GP’s jacket rather insistently, trying to drag him back towards the hospitality building.

GP knows immediately that Max has dropped fully, that he’s probably around 3 or 4 years old now mentally.

“What is it, Maxy?” GP asks gently, “What do you need?”

“Sticky.” Max flaps his arms. “No no no.”

GP nods, he leans down and scoops Max up onto his shoulder. A fireman’s carry. One that doesn’t look immediately strange if there are any photos of this online.

“Come on then, time to get the world champion in the shower!” GP laughs, running towards the building.

“No Jeep!” Max squeals, “No shower! BAFF!”

So, a bath it is then.

Rupert, almost magically, has the blow-up bathtub ready for Max when they get back to his driver’s room. There are lots of bubbles and three rubber ducks floating on the top, a daddy, a mummy, and a baby duck. Max’s little duck family travel to every race with them.

“Well done, buddy,” Rupert says when they barge into the room. He takes Max from GP, holding him on his hip and giving him a quick bounce. “We are so proud of you.”

Max nuzzles into Rupert’s neck.

“Rupy, baff,” Max points. “Sticky.”

GP and Rupert work together to get Max out of his clothes, he’s got so many layers on to combat the cold Vegas night. They both chucklenwhen they pull off one sock and then there’s another one right underneath.

Eventually, once Max is free of all clothes and socks, GP lifts him into the tub.

He splishes splashes, happily babbling to his ducks.

“You going to call Dan?” Rupert asks quietly. The elephant in every room. Daniel isn’t here. Nobody can blame him, either.

GP nods. “Yeah, I was waiting for a quiet moment alone. I think it would have been too much for Max earlier, he would have dropped deep in front of everyone, and that’s not fair to him or Daniel.”

“Yeah,” Rupert agrees. “I’ll leave you guys to it while you call him, don’t worry about the bath, I’ll clean up in here when you’re done.”

Rupert gives Maxy a quick kiss on the head, and Maxy brings baby duck up to peck at Rupert’s cheek. “Bye Rupy!”

It makes GP’s heart swell, how lovely and innocent this version of Max is. How sweet and kind. How delicate.

“Maxy, shall we call Daddy now?”

Maxy looks at him with huge, adoring blue eyes, nodding desperately.

“Ok,” GP says, calling Daniel on FaceTime.

He hands Max the phone as it’s ringing.

“Try not to drop my phone in the bath, Maxy,” GP tells him, “Do safe hands, okay?”

Max is just about to reply when Daniel answers, and the screen fills with his big smile.

“Daddy!” Maxy beams, flapping a little. Daniel probably can’t see him very well.

“Oh, baby,” Daniel says, eyes wet. “You’re small already?”

Max nods, bringing his baby duck up towards the camera to peck and kiss at the phone screen. GP has to look away, it’s so sweet that it feels like it should be a private moment between the two of them.

“You were so good today, baby.” Daniel sobs, “You won and I am so proud of you.”

Max nods again, happy, but GP can tell it’s not the championship he’s happy about now. He’s happy because he’s talking to his Daddy.

“When Daddy come?” Max pouts. “Daddy, what about my night night bottle? And story time?”

“I am coming, baby,” Daniel says, panning the camera around to show Max the airport lounge he is sitting in. “I am coming to give you your bottle and a really big cuddle. Is that okay?”

“Yes!” Max splashes in excitement, and GP worries about his phone.

“Okay, Daddy will be there in two hours,” Daniel tells him, “I’m coming, Maxy.”

GP watches as Max babbles and giggles on the phone to Daniel until eventually Max’s eyes droop a little and Daniel has to get on the plane.

“Alright Maxy, tell Daddy you’ll see him very soon,” GP says, prompting Max to start saying his goodbyes. “See you soon, Dan!”

“Bye Daddy,” Maxy yawns, “See you soon.”

Once GP has hung up the call, and his phone is back to safety on the dry desk, he begins to lift Max out of the bath.

Getting him dry is always a challenge. Max twists and turns to avoid the towel as it tickles his tummy, and he absolutely does not let anyone near his ears so GP has to be extra careful when drying his hair. But eventually, Max is dry and in his pyjamas, a footed onesie with dinosaurs on it.

“Very handsome,” GP says, kissing his forehead as he lifts Max up and onto his hip. “Shall we go and see the mechanics before Daddy gets here? I know they’ll want to see you.”

“Okay,” Max says softly, laying his head on GP’s shoulder.

Max is asleep before they are even out the door of his driver’s room, but that’s okay, GP has him.

[lemonwrap]

Hey srry if this is a bad question 😅 but I really like your work and have been keeping up with your AO3 for the past while and it hasn’t been updated in a bit if you aren’t continuing any of those fics that’s fine I just wanted to my sure my old phone wasn’t going out or smth. I really love the way you can write something so perfect without any sort of mediocrity 💕

It’s not a bad question! I’ve just unfortunately been busy and struggling some with a writer’s block :( I’ve basically checked out of writing my oldest WIP and tbh, Silver Soul is in essence abandoned (sorry), I just haven’t edited the description on Ao3 to reflect that yet.

Like usual, I put wayyyyyy too much on my plate and am now reaping what I sewed 😅 However, I haven’t abandoned Call It Fate/the robot Ghost AU, I’m just highly considering revamping it and have been slowly trying to figure that all out. I’m determined to finish I’ll Take A Quiet Life/the permanent mask AU and my unpublished WIP for the brainwashed dog Soap AU, though!!

[kithtaehyung]

broken, pt. 2 (3tan) (m) | myg

title: broken (pt. 2) pairing: 3tan!yoongi x reader(f) series:masterlist | three tangerines | fireworks | house party | basketball | stay | sidewalk talk | friends | dalo | like that | anytime | sundress season | yoongi’s interlude | forfeit | flutter | video call | busted | broken (pt. 1) rating/genre: m (18+) ; angst , fluff , smut ; brother’s best friend au, implied age gap au summary: the championship game lights up... and everything goes down. note: not too much to say other than thank you. this part is definitely another very, very close one to my heart. please buckle up and enjoy the ride. warnings: [spice warnings under the cut] language, angst, tension, alcohol mention & consumption, fights, basketball!yoongi🧍‍♀️, cocky!yoongi, jimin😳, tense situations, did i say angst?, long hair yoongi, crying, bro😀, reader is a real one i don’t make the rules, arguments, the chains stay on(???), …bad boy yoongi😀👍, saying softhours puts some of this lightly, bro🥲, blood/wound mentions, hurt/comfort, there’s just a lot in here y’all idek, taehyung being the best ever, …angst. drop date: february 9th, 2024, 10:37pm est word count: 17.7k my god

smut warnings: cursing, choking, light slapping, breast play, angry s*x a ha ha, crying, multiple explicit scenes y'all istg don't perceive me lol, c*nt slapping, penetrative s*x, brat!reader, protected s*x, edging, consent king ofc :), rough s*x, b*cksh*ts and a lot of them, ...unprotected s*x (yeah it's here and y'all better be responsible or so help me!!!), f*ngering, or*l (m/f rec), brat tamer!3tan yoongi!!!, reader loses themselves for a sec, but yoongi is a king, pain k*nk whewwww, kissing, so much kissing lmfao, c*m play, slight bond*ge (yoongi hands), spanking, aftercare ofc :'))

-

-

There’s no way.

How the fuck is he here? When did that horrible excuse of a guy even join a team? Had he been playing intramurals this whole time? 

“No fuckin’ way.”

Your eyes find your brother standing rigid at your side, wrists tensed to hell and shoulders spiked. Did he not know he was playing, either? Judging by his smoldering question, you’re going to guess he wasn’t aware. 

“Were they always on this team?” 

“No.”

“I don’t remember them being on any teams.”

They? Them? So they recognize more from the court on that day you try to not think about. Shifting your vision, you start gauge reactions under sounds of the growing crowd. 

It’s Yoongi that looks at you first, eyes lowering to the hand you still have on your arm damn it you should be okay about that night already. But you can’t seem to let your limb go, your fingers covering it in a weak attempt at protection and resilience. 

The blaze in his eyes makes you shake. Even as you swallow your pleas for everyone to just go home, he doesn’t look away. Instead, he walks over to stand in front of your knees, motioning for you to scoot over one so he can take the end seat.

Normally, you would slightly question why he wouldn’t just sit next to you. But this time, you’re hyper aware of what he’s doing—and why. It’s so obvious that you wanna reach out and grip his sweaty hand. 

Yoongi absolutely sat there to shield you.

And your heart burns and burns.

If only he could do more, be more, show more. Because with a rattled ego and tainted mind, you’re already yearning for his touch, wanting him to whisk you out of here and bring you back to the comfort of his home—just like he did that night. 

God, he makes you dizzy doing absolutely nothing. 

“What’s the plan,” he asks, eyes on the court and palms between his knees.

“Dunno yet.” Your brother shakes his head before looking back, eyes narrowing at the laughs on the other bench. “But I might get my ass thrown out if we—”

“Play.” 

Immediately, all three of them snap their heads your way. Fuck, your arm is still… 

One person cannot have this hold on you. There’s no way you’re going to let him control your every waking moment, and your determination bubbles into your commands. “Play the game and beat his ass,” you seethe, holding yourself together and aiming daggers everywhere. “Just make it quick.” 

Yoongi gives you a look before Jimin snags him with an eyebrow raise. 

“And you’re paying me double.” 

Looking at the man beside you, it’s almost comforting seeing his attention fully on your face. If it weren’t for your ghost on the other side of the scoring table and your brother standing there, you wouldn’t hesitate to kiss him. 

But you only nod, getting a huff and a lopsided curve in response before you watch him lock eyes with your brother, “What do you wanna do?” 

After a long, resigned sigh, your sibling finally relents, “Fuck this shit up.” 

Good. Yes. This is what you want—for you and them. “Exactly.” 

Scanning around the tight circle, you notice that you have everyone’s attention. 

But one person seems to send a question without any words at all. In kind, you answer the same way, wings battering your stomach when all of them send thunder to the court with lightning in their eyes.

Yoongi scoffs through a slant, carrying the air of someone you never want to mess with in your fucking life. “The fuckin’ nerve.” 

Jimin hums, sliding a finger along his flexed to hell jaw. “Bold,” he adds. And his voice drop sends shivers when he turns to you,

“Don’t worry, love.” 

You stare.

“This will be over soon.” 

-

-

The game is… just a game. For now.

No one’s taunted hard other than a few smirks and winks, and right now it seems as if both teams are just being competitive more than antagonistic. Which relaxes you to the point where you’re cheering from the bench with the other players—and their coach that arrived late—jumping and yelling and clapping when things go in their favor.

Your brother’s slamming down dunks. Jimin’s been playing amazing defense with his quick reflexes and high stamina.

And Yoongi? Has gotten sickeningly sharp. All those late nights at the rec center are paying off in this championship and, when he scores a hard shot, the pride you feel launches you to your feet. 

“Nice job, b—” Oh fuck you almost shout something that should never be public knowledge. Holding your tongue, you quickly switch it up with a hasty, “Let’s go!” 

That was close. Way too close. 

Get it together. 

But you cannot help it right now. Seeing Yoongi facing off against the man you both wanna square up against? And making it look easy? The fluttering you feel in your belly grows double. Triple. Tenfold. His gestures, the way he acts like it’s nothing, his shrugs at their failed attempts to stop him—everything’s making you scratch proverbial walls and kick bench chairs. 

And it’s not just him—the whole team has been playing excellently. Each play seems intentional; every pass and movement is strategic. If you didn’t know this was a casual rec game, you would think they’re gunning for a real, prestigious trophy. 

However. 

When it’s starting to be very clear who the better squad is, that’s when things start getting more than tense. 

On a foul call, both sides start getting in each others’ faces. And you peg that as normal until someone on your team gets shoved and your brother immediately gets between the action. 

Both you and the coach shoot up from your seats. 

Shit, shit, shit. If there’s one thing your older sibling’s gonna do in this game, it’ll be finding any excuse to deck that man in the face. And once that happens, there’s no telling how many injuries are gonna walk off polished floors.

Thankfully, everyone separates without a ruckus, and timeout is called on your side. The crowd starts to yell in favor of either team, and that’s when you notice that Taehyung has been joined by Shiv and your friends. From the looks of things, all five of them are laser focused on you. 

You hold a quick thumbs-up before you’re covered by hot and sweaty men huddling around the bench. And you immediately agree with their coach when he barks, 

“I need you all to calm down.” 

“No can do, coach.” 

“Not if they aren’t.” 

Shit. All of them look fucking livid, not giving any shits whatsoever if they’re willing to talk back to their leader. What’s really been happening on the court? Has it been even more tense than you perceived? 

Oblivious to the context behind this matchup, their coach keeps yelling, “Look, I don’t give a shit if you have something to settle. Play the game and leave it on the floor. Understood?” When there’s charged silence, he yells it even louder. 

And a smattering of agreement comes out before all of you hear an even bigger yelling session booming from the other bench. When you look over, it’s quickly noticeable that they’re getting reamed over there, too. 

Jimin watches before speaking, and it seems like your coach’s pleas fell on deaf ears, “Fifteen went for my legs.” 

“Saw that. Let’s switch cus he can’t guard me.” 

“K.” Park swivels his head to address someone else. “You good to keep playing?” 

Your brother responds with a nod, wiping his never-ending sweat. “Yeah, I’m good.” 

Huh. Even though you know he’s mad, the man seems… Calm. Eerily calm. It’s reminding you of the way he acted after you came home from Yoongi’s. 

And you don’t like it one bit. 

But the timeout is over, and both teams eye each other on their walk back onto the court. As it continues, the gym erupts into life again, with a bit of back and forth shots racking the scoreboard up. 

And Yoongi keeps scoring. And scoring. And scoring. 

Which lands him in a bit of trouble when the same idiot from Dalo pushes him during a layup. After he manages to make the shot, Yoongi immediately flicks him off—which gets a whistle blown. Which also means he has to sit on the bench for a second because his coach is pissed. 

Ignoring the scathing remarks being thrown, he dumps himself next to you. And you immediately feel the heat roll off of him in waves, trying hard to focus on the game. “Don’t be stupid,” you jut out. 

“What?” 

“Don’t be stupid. These guys aren’t worth it.” 

“After what he did to you?” 

The way those words leave his mouth ice you over, flares spiraling through every fiber of your being. Your reaction is so visceral that you can barely get your response out, “Yeah, but…” 

Leaning on his knees, Yoongi wipes his forehead with a crinkled to hell jersey, excess sweat pinging onto his sneakers. The crowd is loud and the buzzers even louder, but they aren’t enough to drown out his bite,

“I can’t let that shit go.” 

“Yoongi.” 

“Sorry, doll.” 

“Please just—” 

Yoongi leaves the bench before you can finish, and you whip your head in a rush, hands jutting out in a desperate attempt to hold him back. 

Only for him to be just out of reach. 

-

-

After halftime, it’s a whole different game. 

From an outside perspective, it’s as if everyone was using the first half to sniff each other out, circling around each other before deciding how and when to go in for the kill. 

And Yoongi isn’t the only one that you’re starting to worry about. Jimin, your brother, and even Rohan and the other guys are on edge, playing hard and doing everything they can to keep their scoring lead. 

Both you and their coach know you can’t stop whatever’s going on out there. And you’re starting to feel yourself getting angry at how your brother and them are egging the guys on. 

Why are they taunting? What the hell is making them so bent on making the other team pissed? Yes, all that went down with you, but nothing else had happened since then. And they clearly aren’t listening to anyone telling them to calm down.

If they end up starting shit you are going to—the fuck! 

Yoongi gets straight shoved again as he goes for a layup, and you shoot up in your chair as he hits the back wall with a thud. While the players at your side are yelling and everyone on the court starts grouping in shouts, you stay rigid, solely watching Yoongi eye his attacker—the same idiot from Dalo.

Fuck everything, you wanna rush into the fray and throw hands yourself because that looked painful.

The only thing that’s stopping you is the chilling fact that Yoongi is… Grinning. 

Wiping his curved lips, he waits while the refs break up the squabble, still looking triumphant as he walks to the line to shoot his free throws. When both of them are made, he stares directly at your assaulter—as you finally call it like it is—and doesn’t stop even when the coward looks away.

A whistle blows, and the game continues to be close. Too close, too close, too close. A couple more timeouts let you see just how laser-focused everyone is, and you’re a little shaken when it feels like they forgot you were even occupying their bench. 

What the hell is being said on the court? Even Jimin is brimming with anger. 

But after a few back and forths, Yoongi passes to your brother for a hard dunk, basket ringing from his throwdown and shaking when he lands. 

Thank god. Those points are enough. They’re gonna win. 

All the pent up anxiety you’ve harbored all game releases as everyone starts cheering, and your pride soars as your boys stare down their opponents while the clock winds down.

It’s over. The game is over, nothing too serious happened, and you can all go the fuck home to eat dinner and celebrate. 

Your eyes catch Yoongi throwing a rudely lopsided curve across the court. Even when Jimin comes up to push him back in excitement, his expression doesn’t change. 

And you find that wildly, unfathomably attractive. 

Then, as it goes, your brother comes up and they all share quick daps, eyes ablaze and not letting the losers out of their sight. 

Well. All of them are infamous for a reason. You would guess their energy altogether certainly contributes to that. Because the aura you feel oozing from them fills the gymnasium all the way up to your knees. 

And the sigh you let out mingles with their coach’s shake of his head.

-

-

Things are still tense as they all shake hands—or at least offer hands to shake—with the other team. The atmosphere is even a little iced when they receive their trophy. 

But the way you’re currently being surrounded as your guys converse hides you from plain sight, so you feel heavily protected. Even Jimin, who’s usually cheerful even when exhausted, wields sharp eyes as he keeps glancing over his shoulder. 

Honestly? You wouldn’t know what to do without them. Both your brother and all his friends, good pasts or not, are great people. They didn’t need to shield you like this. But they’re doing it anyway, because they won’t give that lowlife another reason or chance to approach you. 

Yeah. Your older sibling knows how to choose his circle.

It’s making you wonder if��� 

Nah. 

That’s still too big a reach. 

When it seems like all of them and their cheering squad are gone, everyone starts making their way over to the bleachers—and you’re acutely reminded of what went down under similar looking ones the other night. 

Your shivers are overshadowed by Yuri’s telltale screams to Rohan, “You were so good, baby! Are you okay?”

Reia and Dom shake their heads before focusing on you, the latter being the spokeswoman, “So what was all that for?”

“Don’t ask,” you sigh, knowing exactly what she’s referring to. “I’m just glad they won and that we can go home.”

“You’re not coming to Yuri’s?” Reia asks. “I thought we planned on that, no?”

Ah, shit. Earlier this week, you did make plans with them without really thinking about what day they were gonna fall on. But now you’re so mentally drained that you kinda just wanna go—

“Is anyone else starving? I’m hungry as fuck!” 

Right. Food. Adrenaline made you forget you were starving. Glancing towards your brother, you quickly remind him, “Yeah, me. And you’re paying.”

“Ah, shit, that’s right.” As he lets out a hard groan and deals with Jimin and Yoongi’s comments, your sibling relents, “Alright, where are we going.”

“Up to you,” you shrug, stealing a little look at the man you want to kiss like hell for his performance tonight. 

God, Yoongi’s so handsome. As Jimin leaves his side, he silently wipes his forehead of any excess sweat, hands and shoulders shining in the lights wait wait wait. Hold on. 

Walking over, you toss any care about who notices you out the window. And as he eyes your approach, you murmur with care and concern, “Is your back okay?” 

Blinking once, twice, the man nods. “Yeah, it’s all good.”

“You sure? That looked…”

Of course he decides that now is the perfect time to rake his sweaty locks back. Speaking so low that only you can hear, Yoongi reassures with a fist full of hair, “I’m fine, doll.” 

Motherfucker. 

Pinning down your urge to reach out and smother him, you only breathe relief. And before you move away to put some distance between, you whisper, “Thank you.”

Yoongi looks your way again. “For what?” 

Swallowing what’s left of your anxiety, you sigh. “For not getting into it out there. I was about to get mad as hell, but.. Looks like they were all talk.” 

“Mm.”

Honestly? It’s a miracle. The game’s over without any hitches or brawls? More relief starts blossoming in your chest, prompting a smile to grace your features. “You looked so good out there, by the way. I almost called you ba—”

“What are y’all talking about over there!”

Your mouth snaps shut as soon as you see your brother watching, but Yoongi is quick to fire off an insult, “The way you always take so long to pick something.”

“I picked already!”

“Then let’s go then.”

Laughing, you join the whole crew as you’re all the last ones to walk out. Your friends and Shiv parked in another lot since one side was already full, so you tell them you’ll meet at the restaurant.

Some other teammates decide to join, with jerseys being shucked off as everyone heads out the door. Immediately, body odor swoops into your nose, making you welcome the crisp, fresh air of night. 

Scratch that. You smell oncoming rain. 

Conversations cease, which only leaves the sound confirming your observation: booming, rolling thunder. Stopping at the edge of the gym’s awning, multiple heads turn up at the rumbles, watching lightning crack the sky. 

In front of you, Jimin shifts his head to the side. “Still?” 

And when you look at who he’s asking, you see Yoongi nod. 

Weird. 

But it’s not raining just yet, so all of you make your way into the lot and to your cars. As you do, you check your phone while making your way over, aiming a question at Tae, “You know where we’re going?” 

“Yeah, it’s not far,” he responds, fishing out his own device. “I think we’ve been there before.” 

We? Looks like things are progressing nicely over there. Since you’re lingering behind the guys, you start to take a small jab, “We, huh? Cute.” 

Lips spread as tight as his eyes, Taehyung parries. “Cute? Look who’s talking, miss whipped.” 

“You’re whipped.” 

“No, you.” 

“No, you,” you giggle out, reaching out to tickle Tae’s side and laughing as he flinches away. You chase him for a few seconds before you see his whole body freeze completely, asking a small question before going quiet.  

And when you slowly follow his line of vision, your heart freefalls to your gut, smashing it so hard you feel bile sting the back of your throat. 

The man from Dalo. And all the guys from the court plus some. 

Surround both Jimin’s and your brother’s cars.

Fuck. Oh, fuck, there’s so many of them, standing and waiting and unflinching in the bursts of thunder inching closer and closer what the fuck are you gonna do— 

“Taehyung.”

Your eyes shake. 

“Get her out of here. Now.”

And you’ve never screamed so loud. 

Every word rips out of your mouth before you’re promptly shushed by large fingers, icicles pinging around your heart and holding it down, “Don’t fucking do thi—!” 

To your horror, Tae’s already hauling you back, voice low and firm in your ear, “Come on.” 

“No! What the fuck—” 

“We’re leaving.”

“Please—!”

There are so many of them. So, so many of them. Panic drowns out your words and excess leaks out of your eyes, your own storm preventing you from seeing that your best friend is just as torn apart. 

“Babe, we have to go now.” 

“No, let me go!” 

They’re outnumbered. What if they have weapons? What if the police are called? What if something happens that you aren’t prepared for?

You’re screaming. Curses, their names, or whatever whatever you don’t even know what the fuck you’re saying because your toes are kissing the edge of madness. 

Dragged a good distance away, your yells devolve into incoherency, your nose and eye sockets smashing into Taehyung’s solid forearm so hard it hurts. 

Make it out, make it out, make it out. For the love of everything in the fucking universe and beyond it, make it out alive. 

Some movements and backs straightening are the last things you see before getting pulled around the corner.

And when Yoongi calmly rolls one of his shoulders, you feel a wick of your soul burn out.

Panic. Worry. Panic and more panic. The car ride that Tae paid for is the blurriest muddy water you’ve ever waded through.

Truthfully, you don’t even remember blankets being pulled over your shoulder. Where even are you? Oh, you’re in a bed. Whose bed are you in because this isn’t yours. But what does it matter anyway what does anything matter anyway nothing matters there’s nothing you can do you gotta get up and go back over there get up get up go—

As soon as you yank his bedroom door open, Taehyung is there, holding you back and pushing your frantic energy back inside. “Tae, if you don’t let me—”

“Do what!”

“I’m going back!” Wrestling out of his strong hold, you bolt down his hallway, head clanging as your shoulder bumps into a wall. “We need to go back—”

“Stop!” You hear running as you burst through the living room, whizzing past the glowing television. “We have to stay here—”

No no no. There’s no way you’re staying here when you need to be back at that lot. Who the fuck would call for help if anyone needs it? When they’re gonna need it? Your vision proves so blurry you can’t even find your shoes—

Arms wrap around your waist and you fight back with a scream, “Let me go!”

“Stop and just think for a second—”

“Why aren’t you with me on this, they’re—”

“Dumb as fuck!” 

Your friend’s quick comment is so sharp it cuts your breath. As you still in his firm but comforting hold, you finally stop to breathe. Breathe, breathe, breathe as you’re turned to level a look with his eyes.

Eyes that are red-rimmed and so, so raw. “They’re idiots,” Taehyung grits out. “But they will be alright.” 

From the shake of his voice, you find that neither of you think that for sure. 

“I need to.. To…” Your breaths are ragged, energy spent and head dizzy from your quick exit from his bed. As you come down from your volcanic high, every weight the world places on your back proves too much. 

“You need to relax,” Tae advises, guiding you further back inside. And you don’t speak as he leads you past the couch, past the pictures on his hallway wall, and into the dark of his bedroom.

Maybe it’s over. Right? Maybe someone will answer if you ring them up. “Call. I need to call…” 

“Shh,” he soothes again, walking you backwards away from his door. When the bends of your knees hit his bed, Taehyung lets you down slowly until you’re sitting. “I’ll do it.” 

Brain fried from hyperactivity, you can only nod. 

Your friend steps away to fiddle with his phone, the light illuminating his beautiful features in the night. When he holds it to his ear, this is when you hear rain and the television in the living room, noticing that it’s playing a movie he watches for comfort. 

Shit. He’s going through it just like you are, and yet he’s still finding energy to calm your nerves? What have you even done to deserve him?

Guess you know how to choose your circle, too. 

Going unanswered, Taehyung lowers his hand, thumb rubbing the homescreen before gripping the device hard. 

Both of you are in the same boat. So steer when he can’t do it anymore. Soft but assertive, you rise to your feet, offering your embrace while calling his name, “..Tae.”

When he turns, the man wastes no time in dropping his phone to bring you in close. “It’ll be okay,” he murmurs, and you hear his words on your head but feel the trembles in his chest. “Okay?”

Feeble fingers grab at his soft shirt, and you bury into his scent while soaked and tired eyes shut. 

You want to believe him. You do. You do. 

But hope may be a bitch. 

So you don’t. 

-

-

Forever passes while you both lie still in his bed, with Taehyung holding you close and keeping you subdued with notes of honey and wood. You both try to have conversation, but it’s disjointed and manufactured, so giving up is a group effort. 

You’re about to give up on a lot of things before you both jolt at Tae’s phone vibrating. 

The world shifts quick as you both sit up, the call immediately being accepted and a low greeting whooshing at your side, “Hey.”

With bated breath, you hear Jimin on the line. “Hey.” 

“You okay?”

“Yeah, we’re all alright, but…”

We. We, we, we, all of them thank the fucking world. As your breath is held, Taehyung’s voice is solid, “Say it.”

“My eye is pretty fucked. Yoongi’s face is cut up and he’s got some nasty bruises on his—” 

You don’t even remember yanking the phone to your mouth. “Where is he.”

Jimin audibly pauses on the line before having the audacity to chuckle. Irked and feeling ire bubble back to the surface, you seethe, “This isn’t funny, Park. Where the fuck is he?” 

“With us.” Us. Shit. “In the car.” 

Oh. 

“Your brother’s here, too.” 

“Ah.” That means they’re all there. They’re all heading home. “Am I on speaker.” 

“Umm.. Yeah.” 

As much as you’re relieved they’re all okay, stockpiled anxiety transforms into anger, your limit striking the thundering sky. “Actually, you know what? Good. Now I can say you’re all idiots and immature as fuck.” 

It’s your sibling that responds first. “Hey, wait a damn minute—” 

“I waited long enough!” you scream, ignoring Taehyung’s wide eyes. 

You know you need to relax. But you can’t help what’s happening right now and all you feel is pain. “I know this shit isn’t new to y’all, but really? You didn’t need to do this.” 

“He was gonna—”

“All you had to do was play the game! Why’d you have to make them mad? Do you even know what could’ve happened back there?” Damn it, you weren’t supposed to cry during this part, not when you just want them to know they fucked up. 

And the response is dead silence. Because of course it is. But if they won’t answer you here, they’re gonna answer another, “Just tell me one thing,” you plead. “Is this gonna happen again?” 

That one your brother answers with finality. “They won’t be coming around anymore.” 

Gulping, you give Taehyung a glossy-eyed look before staring at his lit screen again. Trying not to let your voice waver, you accept his response, “Okay… Are you okay?” 

“Me? Yeah, the hits I took were weak as fuck. I’ll get home soon so if you wanna order in tonight we can.” 

“Fuck that.” 

“Huh?” 

What an idiot. “Bro, you don’t even know how fucking mad I am,” you accuse through gritted teeth. There’s no way in hell you wanna deal with their bullshit. Ignoring your pleas and staring harm in the face? Forget it. “I’m going to Yuri’s.” 

“What? Nah, come home tonight and we’ll talk.” 

“I just—No.” Taehyung has to grip your shoulder before pulling you into a hug. And you’re still steel in his arms because you haven’t been this upset in ages. “I’m not talking to any of you for awhile.” 

And you mean that. 

“…Fine. But go asap then. I don’t want you out late on your own.” 

So you gotta listen to what he wants but when it comes to what you say, it’s crickets? Goddamn, you’re furious. “…Of course you don’t.”

And you hang up before anyone can say anything else. 

-

-

You open the front door to your brother leaning against the hallway wall.

Both of you eye each other, one of you with a perfectly fine face and the other that isn’t so lucky because he’s a fool.

And no words are exchanged as you trudge your frustration to the kitchen. 

-

-

Ice. Bandages. Dinner. Anger propels you through it all.

Whipping up a quick but hearty meal, you let your brother patch himself up after demanding he showered. The smells of comfort food waft through your nose as things sizzle on the stove and, through the whole process, you don’t think about anything except how upset you are.

They’re all okay. But like Taehyung so abruptly put it, they’re all stupid. 

As you turn off your burner, you transfer everything to a bowl, sighing so loud it seasons the top with fire. When you approach the bar, your actions speak pretty damn loud—the dish clank shoving out a question from your sibling,

“Is there something you wanna say to me?” 

“There’s a bunch of shit I wanna say to you.” 

“It’s about Yoongi,” he asks, the absence of hesitation making your insides squeeze. “Isn’t it.” 

But luckily for you, your rage is so potent that it overruns your fear. As soon as your brother stands up and starts to repeat his question, your correction clangs through the room, 

“It’s about all of you! You say you wanna be there for me but what the fuck will doing this shit do?” 

Freezing, the man waits in shock as you keep going, “Yes, that guy deserves hell. I was so scared when he grabbed me at the club.” You stop to swallow. “But I had them both there and we left.”

Fuck, this is hard. Having to relive that shit is difficult but you need your brother—and all of them, for that matter—to know how hurt you feel right now. Mustering up enough bravery to get to the goddamn point, you finally squeak out, 

“If I lose them? Lose you? Because of something as stupid as a fight?” Your eyes search his, and your heart cracks when you see glassy sheen amongst his bruises. “What would I do then?” 

You expect silence. And silence is what you get. It’s drawn out, loud, and telling. “We know.” 

“Do you?”

“Yes,” he whispers, eyes lifting to meet yours with sincerity. “And we’re sorry.”

Another moment passes between the two of you, the food you made left uneaten on the counter and the rest sitting still on the stove. But you know your sibling will eat it all tonight, whether you’re there or not. 

And you step forward at the same time he holds his battered arms out. 

Freshly showered, he still smells like rain and exertion. But his heart beats under your chest, he’s present, and back home—things you need to stop taking for granted. 

But you’re still mad. And getting things off your chest has only made you tired, so you decide that it’s finally time to go before you circle back to other scary territory brought up tonight. “I’m leaving now,” you announce as you step away. “But just think about that.” 

“I will.”

“I’m serious.” 

“I will.”

Staring, you take note of his cuts and injuries, wondering how the others are faring even though you don’t wanna deal with anything else. Because it hurts too much, and if you see who you’re thinking about, there’s no telling what you’d do if you were like this with your brother. There’s no telling how you’d…

No. You choose to go the easy route this time. Everyone can simmer in their sore, swelling consequences while you have a night of de-stressing with your friends. 

So you leave to go pack without another word. 

It’s raining. 

Hard.

And even though your car is heading to Yuri’s, your heart is beating backwards. Tugging you somewhere else and not letting up. 

With a ping of chill, you can’t shake it. Braking at a stop sign close to your destination, you sit in silence, letting the rain pelt every side of your vehicle and wondering what the hell to do. 

Truthfully? Your brother looked like shit. But your body isn’t telling you to go back to the house, which can only mean one other place. And you know for a fact you don’t wanna talk to him, either. 

So fucking upsetting. They did all that for what? You can barely keep your thoughts in a row because they keep yelling at jostling each other just like everybody did on the court. If anyone had to fight the dipshit, it should've been you. 

Fuck! Your head connects with the wheel, an inner monster rumbling with the thunder because you’re so fed up with everything that happened. 

Your brain is the one yelling. But your heart is begging for it to listen. Go to Yuri’s? Go to Yoongi’s. Find shelter in that warm bed of hers and sink in her plushies to comfort you? 

A sigh. Maybe you can at least call him to tell him off one more time. He needs to hear what you told your brother because if you ever, ever lose him—

Your eyes burn. 

Yoongi: Outgoing Call

No answer.

Yoongi: Outgoing Call

Pick up. What the fuck.

Yoongi: Outgoing Call

…Turn the fuck around shit, shit, shit.

Curses flying, you whip your vehicle in a flash, heart pounding so loud it’s blocking out the storm. Which is morbidly impressive considering how horridly it’s pouring. 

Thinking in leaps, you pivot and make another decision. Tell her and make it all quick. 

Yuri: Outgoing Call

“Hello?”

“Hey, I’m not coming.”

“You okay?”

“I’m going to Yoongi’s.”

“Yoongi’s? Why?”

Ah, shit. Oh, fuck. She doesn’t know. 

Banging the steering wheel, you smash your teeth, stressed as hell from braving the rain in the dark and now snitching on yourself to someone else. 

Damn it. What do you say? What can you possibly even say when you’re so mad and stressed and conflicted and worried—

“Hello?”

“Because he’s the one,” you whoosh out, your vision quivering twice as much as it should. “And things went down after the game and now something feels wrong.”

“Oh, shit. Is that why y’all didn’t come to—”

“Yes.” When you say all this out loud, now it has weight. Horrifying weight on your chest and a block pushing down on the gas. You hear a bit of shuffling on the line, and you’re starting to get so anxious that you blurt, “Please don’t say anything. Please.”

“I won’t. Not about this.”

“Thank you.”

“Hang up, babe. Make it safe.”

“Okay.”

Go, go, go. Please, just get there. 

Letting up, you change your speed, hoping to everything good in the world that this feeling you have is only a feeling and nothing more. 

Yoongi: Outgoing Call

What a strange emotion, wanting his reason for not picking up solely being because he doesn’t wanna talk to you. That is an answer you can deal with. 

But you still can’t fight off the jagged pulses telling you it’s something else. 

After an agonizing drive, you finally see his complex, tensing harder the further and further away you have to park. 

Whipping into a spot, you screech into it before hauling your bag out, popping the trunk and desperately grabbing a plastic box you always keep inside. 

And the mad dash drenches you long before you seek cover, your bones shivering shivering shivering from the chill.

Yoongi has to be home. His car is here. 

But he still won’t pick up the fucking phone.

Skidding at his door, your knocks are rapid, knuckles singed from the ice cold wraps.

Answer, answer, answer. For fuck’s sake, he better answer. 

After a haunting moment of silence, you decide to call one more time, head wet and bones shivering as you press the phone to your damp ear. 

Finally. “Hello.” 

“Open the door,” you jump into commanding, hearing nothing other than a voice that sounds so crushed and low that it crumples you inside. 

“You’re here?” 

“Yeah, let me in.” Fuck, your teeth are clattering against each other, whether it’s from the rain, the cold, or anger, you can’t tell. 

But the reply you get is the coldest thing imaginable. And it sets your whole body aflame. 

“Not tonight.”

Hell no. Hell fucking no Yoongi is not going to get rid of you that easily. Not when you have a boatload of things to say and only one dock to dump them all on, “Yoongi, I swear to god—” 

“Not tonight—”

“—you don’t let me in I’m—”

“Go home—”

“I’m fucking staying out here until you open the goddamn door!”

Oh, you’re pissed. You’re so fucking pissed because this all could’ve been avoided if none of them were stupid. Or prideful. Or whatever the fuck boys decide to be when they can’t let something go. 

And this man still has the audacity to give you the stiff arm, silence on the line before he rasps out another short, “I’m serious.”

“No.”

“Go home.” 

“No!” 

He says your name. So, so softly, before a gut-wrenching, 

“Please.”

Breath shaken, you rest your forehead against chilly wood, hoping it quells the fire you feel rising from your rib cage. 

You can’t give up. Not when you have so much to say. Not when you have to check on him and make sure he’s fine. 

Not when you give into the strongest premonition that you need to be nowhere else but with him tonight. 

You will stay. Stay, stay, stay. Even if he doesn’t want to see you. 

Voice trembling in rage and concern and everything in between, you feel your eyes sear through when they close, mission boiling down to one more desperate choice, 

“…No.” 

You’re cold. And wet. But you will stand out here for as long as it takes him to let you inside—a night, a day, no matter what.

And for a moment. Or a few. You think he’s dead set on making you prove that. 

But you finally, finally, finally hear a sigh before a lock turn, and you try to prepare yourself for what you see but he opens the door and his face comes into view holy shit he looks like a wreck—

“What the fuck,” you grit out as you rush in with vision swimming, digging into your bag for the medkit you hastily stashed and swinging off your sandals because you gotta get something in the—

A hand grips you hard, tugging you back before you even register what’s happening.

As your feet stumble back onto linoleum, your gaze snaps to the ground. 

And your breath cuts like it’s your last. 

Shards. 

Pieces.

Thousands of wood and glass chips litter the entire open area of the living room. 

And realizing where they came from strikes like lightning. 

Fuck. Oh, fuck, what did Yoongi do?

“I told you, doll.”

You choke on a sob.

“Go home.”

Your breaths return before you straighten, tears flowing freely as you don’t know whether to start cleaning up the chaos or finally facing the one who caused it.

No, no, no. Get rid of it. 

Throw it out, all of it, all of it. 

A new fire roars to life, forging your steeling commitment as you wrestle out of Yoongi’s hold.

What did he do, what did he do?

Revving with smoke out of your ears, you burn a path to the kitchen, grabbing a trash bag before marching into the wreckage. Up go the biggest pieces first, chucked into plastic before the smaller ones follow.

Throw it all. This one, this one, and this one.

Yoongi isn’t even wearing shoes. He can cut himself up even more if this all stays where it is. 

Shit, this is everywhere. 

When you realize you’re gonna need a broom, you storm back into his laundry closet to yank one out and keep going. When you go to sweep, the sharpest voice cuts through your fingers.

“Stop.”

Your grit grips the tool even tighter. Because you won’t. Don’t dare look into his expression, either, because you know that one glance will melt every scream on your tongue. So you stay resolute and shoot rejection to the ground, “No.”

“Just go, please.”

“No.”

This hurts. 

This really, really hurts. 

Yoongi has never, ever said these things to you and it feels like a knife jabbing into the same spot over, and over again. You almost prefer three new months of no contact over whatever the hell this is.

But you have to keep going. Eyes clenching, lips wobbling, you must keep going. 

Because you came here for a reason other than this mess. And he’s gonna have to do better than this to kick you back out into the rain. 

“I got it.” 

“Let me do it.” 

“Your brother needs you.”

“Yeah, well, I already tore the fuck into him and I’m gonna do the same to you.” You harden your fist on the sweeper, tugging it more towards your shoulder with finality. And you gather all the energy you need to leave no more room for arguments, because Yoongi is going to listen, “So sit down.”

It hurts.

He wants to say shit. You know he wants to.

But he only breathes hard with eyes closed, following your orders and carrying his dark clouds to the dining room. 

When he finally leaves you alone, this is when you look his way. 

In sweats and a shirt, he appears fine. But with a deep pang, you notice he’s slightly limping. Judging from those knuckles, you wonder if they’re red from the fight or from hitting another wall of his apartment. 

Or from whatever the fuck happened around your feet.

Shit.

While he dumps himself at his table, you clean up the pieces of his rampage, mentally noting that one plan of yours has now changed. 

This one. These, too. A string here. A metal piece there.

You don’t know how long it takes you. All you know is that you’re burning inside, determined to clean everything and sweep this chaotic energy away. 

One more. Two more. Another one here.

As soon as you’re done, you lug the trash bag out of the front door and don’t give a shit what happens to it now.

Keep going. There’s more that you need to take care of.

The fuel inside of you rages on, anger conflicting with anxiety and past worries and sadness for something that didn’t even happen. As you spin, you vow yourself to keep pushing until you can’t anymore. 

Sniffling. Shivering. But staying strong because things could’ve gone a lot worse. 

Yoongi meets you by the table, messy, damp hair shielding his features. “You’ve done enough.” 

“I still need to—” 

“Just.” He looks away. “Go home, doll. I can’t do this tonight.” 

“Do what? I’m helping you.” 

That’s what you do for each other, right? You both help each other. But now you’re not so sure because Yoongi comes back with not an acknowledgement, nor a way of relenting. 

But ice. 

“Who said I needed it?” 

And in all the time you’ve spent with this man, this is the first time you’ve felt downright cold. “Yoongi, what?” Your eyes travel across his face, chest caving in when there’s barely any hints of vitality. “Are you serious?” 

“You think I’m joking?” 

“You’re kicking me out? What happened to saying you’d never do that, huh?” 

“I say a lot of things.” 

…Oh.

That hurt. That… That physically couldn’t have hurt any harder. 

Nodding, you look away, shaking your head in disbelief because you are on the verge of losing it. “You know what? You do say a lot of things.”

Walking away, you start rearranging pillows on the couch pushed askew. “Like how perfect I am.” Picking up his books from the now non-existent coffee table. “And how there’s no one else.” 

As you give the volumes a new home on his intact tv stand, you turn to face him again. “Those are just words, too, huh?” 

Yoongi kicks his head back with a smile, one that cuts instead of mends. “Nah… Not tonight.” 

“Not tonight what.” 

“We aren’t doing this tonight.” 

“The fuck we aren’t.” It’s his turn to walk away, with a slow head shake that you really don’t like. “Where are you going?” 

“Nowhere.” Yoongi shifts his head to the side, but not enough for you to fully see him. It’s almost as if he doesn’t want you to. “But you’re going home.” 

Something’s off. There’s something completely off but all you feel is sadness and rejection in your ribcage. “So this is how it happens, huh. Now I’m just like everyone else.” 

He finally faces you, miles away even though you’re just rooms apart. “You’re gonna go there?” 

“I am.” 

“Wow.” 

That’s what he comes back with? This is gutting you from the inside out and you have no idea what’s happening but now rage is flaring into your mouth, “You think I wanted to come here? After what all of you did?” 

“Do you even know?” 

“No! But how the fuck would I? You don’t tell me shit!” 

“That’s cus—” 

Your response sears over his floors, “I can take care of myself. But none of you told me about that dude from the court. None of you.” Breath shaken, you continue dumping out all your thoughts and previous concerns, “If I had known? That whole Dalo thing could’ve been avoided and I would’ve ran.” 

For a person that you’ve come to know as so warm, Yoongi’s entire aura freezes you over as you keep talking. “And today? You know how fucking scared I was? If I… I…” 

All he does is stare. Why isn’t he doing anything else? Is he really flipping the switch and choosing to legitimately let you leave this time?

Fine then. 

“You know what?” Giving up, you laugh—harsh, and breathy, and without any joy at all. “Forget it. You’re not even listening anyway.”

“I swear to—I just said not tonight.” 

Frustration from the game, fear from the ambush after, anxiety from not hearing from them. All of it coalesces into something you can’t even control anymore. Your buffer shuts off, the monster you created seizing the reins, “No, I get it. I do! You want me gone. Sure. See you in three more months.” 

Stunned, Yoongi huffs in disbelief, jaw working overtime. “Are you serious?” 

“Yes, I am. Trying to help you but it looks like you don’t even want that. So good fucking bye.” 

And it looks like he has a beast of his own because his next response to your last attempt has you reeling back in shock, 

“Who asked you?” 

Dark liquid drips onto your soul. 

You can only stare, unblinking and feeling like you’re in an entirely different universe. “Who asked me? Who asked me.” 

“That’s what I said.” 

Forget the question of who asked you because… Who are you even talking to? Who is this person standing in front of you because it’s not the Yoongi you know. It’s so jarring and hurtful and strange that you truly feel thrust into the middle of a nightmare. 

You’re gonna do it. You’re actually gonna leave this time. 

“You know what? Kiss my ass, Yoongi.” 

God, it hurts. It hurts. It hurts.

It hurts.

You don’t even know where this is all coming from. All you know is that you’re angry and there’s no stopping the hot magma bubbling in your center. 

Silence fills the room.

And it rains. It pours.

But finally, you hold a sob back before burning a shaky path to his door, wrestling with the lock before yanking it open—

Only to have it shut back in your face, so thrown when you realize you’re getting spun. Air whooshes out of you before your shoulder blades connect with wood—  

And this is the goddamn breaking point. The walls you haphazardly built to keep you upright collapse and tumble. It’s so potent and blinding that you don’t even realize your hands are connecting with his chest in the weakest, saddest ways and you are outright screaming. 

“God, what the fuck! I told you to—We didn’t hear from you for hours and I—I didn’t know if you were okay—” 

“Whoa, hold u—” 

“I thought the worst and I—didn’t even get a chance to—I finally told you want I wanted and you—Fuck—” 

“Just listen—” 

“Don’t ever do that again! I don’t wanna lose you and today was so fucking scary and I’m not, fucking, leaving—” 

Your lips are smashed to hell, his lips bruising so hard you feel it in the back of your skull. And it’s a whole storm as Yoongi pins you against the door, leg wedging between yours and his hands gripping you like a vice. It’s intense. It’s overwhelming. 

“I swear to—” 

You don’t know what to do. What to do what to do what to do, and all your madness jangles as you’re yanked and slammed against another wall, breath leaping into his open mouth before you tug at his hair, digging anger through his shoulders. 

“Can’t fucking listen, can you?” 

“No,” you rip from your throat, shoving him back only to gravitate right back and lock lips again. 

And he rips at your clothes, tearing the front of your shirt so far your chest emerges on full display. Before you can even react to the cuts on his face, Yoongi’s hand clenches around your throat, making you gargle just how you fucking want to right now. 

“Shouldn’t even fucking be here.” 

“When has that ever stopped us.” You groan as you get rapidly led back into something hard, and you realize it’s the dining table digging into your ass. 

“He’s still home.” 

“So?”

“Shouldn’t you—”

“Then kick me out!” you taunt. “For real. Let me go. Fucking do it then.” 

Yoongi works his jaw before gripping tighter, making you groan and your gut flare into something primal. Nostrils flaring, he moves to grip your head hard enough to make your stomach flip but not firm enough to scare you. 

Never to scare you. “You aren’t gonna leave me alone.” 

Your eyes are ice. 

“Are you.” 

You solely watch in determination, breath harsh from your nose and billowing out like steam. Drilling your answer into his eyes, you charge the surrounding air enough to spark like the flashing sky outside. 

And Yoongi cracks like lightning. 

“Goddamn it.” 

Everything happens at once and in quick succession. Teeth grit to hell, Yoongi pulls you upward before fast stepping you to his bedroom, slamming you through the door before you shove him right into his desk. 

Things teeter and shake and clang with each impact, your storm disrupting everything in its path and creating a tornado of desire and thoughts in your brain. 

Something swirls and twists between your souls, tightening and condensing into emotions darker than midnight. And as angry as you are, it’s slipping into a dangerous mania, and you’ve never been this excited for anything in your life. 

“Stubborn.” 

“Coward.” 

Your back stings as you’re pushed back into his door, the wood smacking into the spackle of his wall. Rough lips smother yours as you claw at his shoulders, neck, hair, and you hear him growl into your mouth, 

“Want me to kiss your ass? Suck my dick then we’ll talk.” 

“Fuck you. I give better head than you anyway.” 

His words rival the deepest growl, “Prove it.” 

“Make me.”

Whirlwind. Storm. Tempest. At this point, it’s a whole goddamn high. Your body is thrumming and the only way to feed your anger is to channel it through actions. 

And truth be told, you need this. You both do. With all the high strung emotions that had nowhere to go until you collided?

This is liberation. 

You’re shoved onto your knees before Yoongi dives into his pants, and you’re already hungry and impatient enough to help him shrug his sweats down before he can do it himself. 

“Choke on it,” he commands, holding his dick and watching as you note how hard he already is. When you waste no time taking him in, you elicit the deepest groan you’ve ever pulled from him when you fling spit onto his length. 

Maybe his reaction is to your face. Because you’re still mad as fuck and you aren’t done letting him know that. 

With a passing thought, you realize that this is all new. But you’re welcoming it because it’s working. Only Yoongi can bring out this passion even in anger, or maybe the two of you were going to get to this point no matter what. 

“Fuck.” He steadies the bottom of your chin while you suck him off. “Uh huh. Got anything else to say?” 

You flick him off, and he hums with a rumble, his cock reacting and hitting the back of your prideful throat. 

“Fuck you, too, doll.” His talks devolve into hisses, grunts, moans when you slobber all over yourself, and your cunt is already dripping with your own slick. “There you go. Gonna take it all? Or are you gonna keep running that mouth?” 

And you pop off before taunting, “Find out, pussy.” 

And you’re swallowing him before he shoves you all the way forward, your body arching up in a gag but filled with him him him, your nose flat against his pelvis and his dick squeezing tears from your eyes and your throat overstuffed to hell and there’s no way he’s gonna forget this moment. You’re making damn sure of it. 

Another middle finger raises as you’re tensing around him, and you can barely hear him above you but you do know he’s massively pleased. Tears stream down your eyes when you’re yanked off, gasping for air and being pulled off the ground. 

“Holy fuck.” 

Throat hoarse, you attempt speech but it doesn’t matter anyway, because his lips steal them all. And your cunt is slapped with a whole palm, making you flinch and shoot out a whine into his kiss. 

Before you know it, your body hits the bed before he joins you, arms bulging as he rips your top open completely. You can’t even think straight as he teases your earlier efforts, “I’ve had better.” 

“Oh, you fucking—Shut the fuck up,” you growl, a moan leaving without permission as he palms your cunt again. Just when you think he’s gonna top you, Yoongi hauls you up, hastily leading you around the bed until your back connects with another wall. 

You love that shit. And you’re starting to think Yoongi is very, very aware of this fact. 

“Take those fuckin’ pants off,” he orders. “And hands on the wall before I put them there.” 

“Can’t make me do shit—”

Fingers grip your chin before Yoongi gets right into your face, primal instinct making you go on full alert. As his tongue prods his cheek, your whole lower body quivers. “I can. And I will, if you don’t behave.” Tapping your jaw in a warning, he hums. “Now do what I fucking say.” 

Holy shit, he’s not playing around. Which only heightens your desire to peaks previously unreached, and you’re shucking your bottoms off while he yanks his drawer open for condoms. Hurrying, you fling your clothes away before planting—

Yoongi smashes his whole front against your back—pinning your whole body against the cold, rough wall—before intertwining long fingers with yours. “Good girl.” 

Hitching your hips back, he sticks your ass out as you slip, and you feel his cock tease your entrance. Groaning, you grip your hands into fists as he continues to rub your cunt but never enter. Denying, denying, denying. Smacking your pussy and still not letting you feel him inside. 

And it’s maddening. “Please!” 

“Please what,” he asks, giving your ass a spank that has you flinching into the wall. 

And, without any shred of mercy, this goes on for longer than he’s ever held out. It’s so sickening that tears start flowing from your eyes, and you devolve into saying anything to get him to fuck your brains out. Between spanks on your ass, slaps on your tits, and aggravating kisses on your back, Yoongi doesn’t let you phase him for minutes. 

It’s when you choke on a sob that he finally, finally squeezes inside of you, checking for your nod before wrecking you completely. 

“Oh, fuck—” Your eyes shut tight as you try to keep yourself upright, hands pushing against the wall as your legs shift with every thrust. 

“This ass. Fuck.” Yoongi’s pace is relentless, hands bruising your hips and your cheeks smacking into his pelvis over and over and over. “It’s a goddamn problem.” 

You’re trying so hard. So, so hard to stay on the wall. But your hands are too sweaty; they're starting to slip with each attempt. “Bed,” you command. “Bed now.” 

And he obliges immediately, pulling out and yanking you back. Mouth to your ear, he both checks in while making your legs jelly, “You tapping out?” 

“Break my fucking back,” you rasp in return, hearing him growl in satisfaction before burying you facedown into his bed. As he plunges inside again, you grip at his sheets, driven to the brink and reveling in all the things he’s saying to you while feeling him in your stomach. 

Suddenly, you feel your arms pulled back, and you yell into his mattress as he buries himself even deeper. Everything you’re screaming makes no sense, but the phenomenal sensation you feel as you go limp renders you speechless anyway. 

Yoongi knows exactly what he’s doing as he pushes his thumb into your asshole, because you clench so hard around him that he chuckles darker than dark. Careening into space, you kiss the edge of euphoria before he inconveniently pulls out, launching a sling of insults from your mouth. 

“What was that?” 

“I said fuck you!” 

“Thought so.” 

Not done in the slightest, Yoongi hauls your thighs so flush against him that you have to use your fingertips for support. Just as you’re about to argue, he rams into you from a new and impossibly enticing angle and holy fuck it feels so good you want to weep.

“Put that fucking hand down,” he growls, smacking away the fingers you didn’t even know were on your mouth. “If you wanna talk shit.” 

“Fuck—!” 

“Uh huh. Let it out, baby girl.”

You’ve never felt this out of control. This wild. This out of body. Your head is yanked back, your back pressing into the front of his shirt before you feel him so far into your guts that you quiver. 

Now at the mercy of his tongue in close range, you hear his gravelly tone in your ear, “What’s my fuckin’ name.” 

“Asshole—” 

A hard smack to your tits has you crumpling with a whine. “Say it.” 

“I’ll say it if I wanna say it—” 

Another spank to your inner thigh and you’re gone. Eyes roll as he tweaks your nipple, and your words are almost garbled when he grips your chin from behind. “This what we’re doing? Hmm?” 

You laugh breathy before you taunt, “Uh huh.” 

“Mm…” Despite your laugh, you shake. “I wouldn’t do that, doll.” 

“Make me. Bet you can’t.” 

Tensed and veins angry, Yoongi grips both your tits before snarling, “That’s enough.” 

Swiftly, he shoves you down into the sheets, muscular frame pinning you as he strokes up into you just right. Again. Again. It’s all too slow and too effective and you’re trying to stay mad but all you can feel is perfection, your back arching at his thrusts and mewling at his low growls in your ear. 

“You wanted this.” Another thrust. “Talking shit.” Your jaw goes slack. “Pissing me off.” 

Your groan is downright erotic. Why why why? Just knowing you’re making him this mad flutters your cunt and, from the sinister chuckle shooting into your neck, Yoongi definitely felt that. 

“Fuckin’ thought so.” 

When he reaches to grab your breasts, the last thrust has you crying out in a flurry of pleasure. 

Every single thought is Yoongi, from beginning to end in a biblical cycle of debauchery. Exertion leaves you slick, sweat coating the expanse of your skin only to press into his bed, your mess your mess your mess. At his hands. The smacks of his cock. The rolls of his hips. Are you gone? Are you here? If he’s bruised then you feel like you are, too, and you welcome the temporary pain as Yoongi’s fingers dig ever deeper into your waist fuck one’s now pinning your head down. 

The moans you let out are unending, and your thighs shake when all you get in response is a laugh of condescension. 

“Look at you. Can’t even stay mad.” 

“Fuck you!” You’re close, you’re close, you’re close again. Release is at your fingertips, but Yoongi yanks himself out to rip it away from your outstretched fingers. “No!” 

“What, doll.” 

“Please!” 

“Nah.” 

Body sore, you’re flipped over with no mercy as something else presses against your cunt. 

Fucking hell, he’s eating you out now? Shaking, you feel Yoongi’s tongue swirl around your thrumming clit before he sucks, edging you to the point of tears and heartbreak. And it proves too much as you grab at his head, yank at his hair, because he lets up when you’re close. 

Every. Single. Time. 

Your madness spirals into your curses, and he relishes in your despair, continuing to lick and suck and slap your thighs with patience. “What do you say?” 

“Please!” 

“Mm. Not loud enough.” 

“Yoongi, please.” 

“Oh, we’re saying names now?” 

Fuck, fuck, fuck, it aches. It’s starting to borderline hurt. “I’ll be good,” you barter, beg, plead with a head spinning off its own axis. “I’ll do anything.” 

“Do it yourself then.” 

Later, when you look back on tonight, you’ll be embarrassed and shy to hell. But right now, you’re so over any shyness that you don’t hesitate, reaching down to rub at your clit and moaning when it’s so sensitive.

And Yoongi gets a front row seat. 

His groan is gutteral. And it doesn’t take you long to quicken your pace, bucking your hips and whining to the ceiling. You’re so so so close it’s right there—

Your hand is smacked away. And after you try to wrestle out of his grip, you are a flat out, blubbering mess. “Yoongi… Please…” 

“Nah.” 

This is torture. And you’re frightened at how much you’re enjoying it. “I’m so close.” 

“You’ll come when I say you can.” 

“Please! …Please..”

“You done being a brat?” 

“No! Fuck. Yes!” If you weren’t so far gone, you may have deciphered a tiny smile of amusement. But it won’t be for months later until you’ll realize that you were wrong. 

Because the menacing flash of teeth you see is much too wide to be anything other than pride. “The fuck did I say? Use your words.” 

You know you’re still upset. You know Yoongi is still upset. But for some reason, you feel closer to him than you have in awhile, and you wonder if lust and madness are two sides of the same coin. “Let me come. Please.” 

Yoongi finally obliges with something he hadn’t pleasured you with yet. And your vision blanks as you yelp at the sensation, his slick fingers pistoning into your folds so fast you’re arching so taut. From between your quivering legs, you hear one final command, 

“Then fucking come.” 

And you burst, so hard you almost feel like something threatens to spew from your cunt. But all you can do is shake and thrash under his grip, so erratic that you feel like Yoongi’s starting to pin you down. Gone, gone, gone, you’re sure the veins of your neck threaten to break through your sweaty skin. 

Then you feel his cock thrust inside of you, and you whip your head forward only to get your airway cut off. “Again,” he calmly repeats, flinging you back to the last time this happened. 

Only this time, there’s even less room for you to make any other choice. 

“I said again.” 

Your body cannot fathom disobedience, pulsing and milking his perfect fit. Over, and over, and over. You hear rumbling from a dragon above, feel breaths of steam whooshing as it watches you come undone. 

“Yoongi—” 

A light slap to your cheek is your only warning before your chin is tugged, lips smushing into yours to swallow your straining sobs. Fuck, fuck, fuck, your body is still thrumming, inundating around his cock until your emotions spill from your core. Toes. Fingers. Everything is straining and locking in place. 

“So fucking hot.” He rips your soul right out. “Shit.” 

You fly through time and space, gathering emotions and feelings and spiraling spiraling spiraling. Crying. You’re crying. Full on crying you’re so overwhelmed with everything truly you were so mean to him you upset him holy fuck you should’ve left when he told you to—

“Baby.” 

But you cannot stop crying, choke choke gasping on sobs. 

“Babe.” 

“I—I—” 

Your name stabs you with a crisp shot, coupled with a firm grip on your chin, snapping you back to lucid. And Yoongi’s eyes are frantically searching your own. “Look at me.” 

You do. Do you? You do. And his eyes… 

They’re not angry at all. It’s pure concern. Steadfast concentration. And something reflecting your soul. “Breathe.” 

“Oh, shit,” you whisper, coughing and reaching for oxygen you didn’t know you were denying. Air rushes back into your lungs as you inhale. 

“There you go. Keep going.” 

You do, gulping down air and hiccuping a breath or two. Your cheek is being caressed, you think. And with another pass, you know it is. 

“Relax for me.” And you hiccup a sob. “Breathe, babe.” 

You do, you do, you do. Yoongi kisses your forehead, your cheeks, your nose, and you breathe more and more through it all. “You with me?” 

“Always,” you answer, filter off because you are hanging by a thread and he’s holding the top. “Please don’t kick me out ever,” you hiccup. “Please, baby, I’ll do anything for you but I—could—never handle that—” 

You’re tenderly hushed before lips slide over yours, attempting to swallow your thoughts and your sobs and your oncoming tears. As you flood his bed with apologies, Yoongi keeps wiping them all.

“I’m sorry.” 

“Nothing to be sorry for.” 

“I’m really sorry.” 

“Babe.” 

“You told me so many times—” 

“Breathe, angel.” 

You blink at the change in name, and it makes you focus just a bit stronger. Floating down from the precipice. 

“I wasn’t kicking you out,” he slowly explains, kissing sweat from your forehead. His words feel like a calm, rock-filled river over your eyes. “I felt like an idiot and hated you seeing me like this.” 

“Like what?” 

“Just… Like this.” 

“You’re perfect like this,” you hitch out, not caring about what flows out of your mouth. “So perfect. Always to me. I just wanted to help you, baby, I’m so sorry—” 

He hugs you so tight more tears squeeze out. 

And so do more confessions, “I… I care about you. I think a little too much. If I lost you, I wouldn’t—be able—” 

“I’m here.” 

“So please don’t push me away.” 

“I won’t.” 

“I know you don’t make promises but—” 

“I promise.” Without an ounce of doubt, Yoongi places a firm, lingering kiss on your temple. “Promise. Fuck.” As he holds you tight, you feel him shake before you hear the tiniest sniff at your ear. 

Oh. He doesn’t need to be like this, too. You try to move your hand up between your bodies to comfort him, but your whole limb feels gelatinous. So you simply whisper, “It’s okay, baby.” 

You can’t tell how long you lie like this, with his beautiful weight on yours. But time is irrelevant when your mind is unwinding from hours of whirring, starting to finally accept the fact that everyone is okay and you don’t have to be angry anymore. 

“Come on,” Yoongi rasps, voice cracked and airy. “Let’s go.” 

“Hmm?” 

“Shower.” 

“Oh. Okay.” 

You’re so thrown and dizzy from what just happened that even getting to the bathroom is a blur. What you kinda feel is Yoongi holding you upright when your legs buckle, but you don’t remember when he leaves your side to turn the water on. 

As he flips on the light, your eyes squeeze until they adjust, and you watch as he tests the water while fully clothed. Air conditioning starts to give you a chill, but the shower warms up just in time because he reaches out to guide you inside. 

Wait. Is he not joining you? Bleary, you grab at his shirt when he steps away, eyes pleading. “Are you coming in, too?” 

Yoongi stops before he gives a shake of his head. “I’ll take mine when you’re done,” he says through a slight smile. “We’ll take care of you first.” 

That doesn’t make sense. Even in your depleting haze, you know something doesn’t add up. “You can join me now. I don’t mind.” When you try to lift his shirt, Yoongi visibly flinches when you brush over his ribs.

And all the murk around your head vanishes in a snap. 

He kept his shirt on that whole time. Not once did your positions allow you to see his upper body fully. And now he’s not gonna get in the shower or take his shirt off? 

Your voice lowers two octaves when you reach full clarity. “Let me see.” 

Unblinking, Yoongi tries to back away, “Don’t worry—” 

“Let me see it, baby,” you command, breath cut until he finally allows you to lift his shirt up holy fuck those injuries look so painful tears prick your eyes. “Oh, my god, Yoongi—” 

“I’m fine.” 

“You’re hurt.” You feel these wounds deep in your ribs, and you tell him to get your kit what the hell he fucked you while feeling those? 

Attempting to alleviate your stress, Yoongi decides to strip fully and step into the shower, ignoring your pleas to grab your med kit and promising you can take care of him when you’re done washing up. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yes, doll.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Promise.” 

And when his arms wrap around you, this is when you finally let go. Huge, chest-wracking sobs echo around tile, and Yoongi stays quiet through your cathartic release. 

There’s another reason you were so upset. And it has nothing to do with any of them, but with yourself. The main reason you’ve been so riled up and frustrated is because… This is technically your fault, too. 

But, unsurprisingly, he won’t let you take any blame whatsoever. 

“You got hurt cus I said to play.” 

“Nope.” 

“I wore the outfit that day.” 

“Doesn’t matter.” 

“And lost my friends at the club.” 

“No.” 

Sniffling in quick succession, you think about one other option. Some form of closure that can double as compromise. Voice soft, you suggest the last resort you have, 

“How about we share it.” 

Yoongi blinks twice before he clarifies, “You wanna share the blame?” When you nod, he huffs through the tiniest smile of confusion. “Mm. Then it’s our fault.” 

“Okay.” 

After shaking his head, he closes his eyes, molding his forehead with yours. “What are you doing to me.” 

A sniffle. “Wrecking your water bill.” 

His laughs join yours as you barely get your sentence out before giggling, and to feel him so close and present and here makes your worries slink down the drain. 

Hands trace down your arms, walking along falling rivers before creating ponds with your fingers intertwined. “Gonna clear me out someday.” 

“Duh.” 

He’s himself again. 

And after a whole night of chaos, you feel like yourself again, too. 

That’s all you both need to feel peace. 

-

-

You keep that tranquility carrying you through his room, peeking into his closet to grab the biggest shirt and sweats you can find before drying your head. 

But no matter how much water you can dry, your body will keep being washed in relief. And it’s the calmest feeling, watching as Yoongi does the simplest things near his bed. 

Your lips curve when he pulls up his pants; your heart beats when he grabs a tee. It’s in this moment that you admit that these outfits of his are your favorites, and you gravitate to him as he slips cotton over his damp head. 

“Come on,” you softly offer as you turn. “I’ll make food and get you some ice.”

Again, Yoongi just stares with a faint smile. But his eyes are alive again, so you’re more than fine if he just follows your lead without a word.

In the kitchen, you pause amongst the appliances, the cabinets watching as you utilize your phone to find a good recipe. “What shall we eat… Stew? Or, wait—” 

Looking up, you eye him in thought before choosing to focus on something else. “Actually, let’s figure you out first.” 

Opening yet another tab to add to your hundreds, you type away before selecting a good starting point. “Okay, let’s see. You’re breathing fine, so no bruised ribs. Umm…” 

Scroll, scroll. 

“It looks really bad there, though. You sure you can move right?” 

Despite asking, you go right back to your phone before Yoongi can even respond. Scrolling and clicking and reading again. 

Scroll, scroll. 

“Okay, so no bruised ribs, and according to this you don’t have any broken bones. And nothing fractured, either, thank god—”

“I love you.” 

Time bursts.

Your chest glows. 

Everything starts to beat, beat, beat in slow motion. 

And you don’t even feel like you’re in the room anymore. “…What?” 

You need to hear it again. You need to need to need to, because if you heard him wrong, you will check yourself and bolt right out the door. 

His eyes. 

Despite the battlefield on his skin, they are dripping, and sparkling, and full. The whole world suspends as he stares right into your soul, caressing it with his wounded hands and cradling it in his bruised arms. 

No matter how hard the moon will try—for years, and years, and years more—it will never outshine this single, shaken, solidified admittance. 

“I love you, doll.”

You don’t know what to do. You don’t know what to fucking do. 

Why is Yoongi saying this now? Why is he choosing now of all times to make you the happiest person in the universe? 

No. 

Happiness isn’t even close to what you feel and you’re pretty sure you’re crying but nothing makes sense and your vision plunges under sunlit waters. 

“And you don’t have to say anything. I know I don’t deserve to.” 

What?

“I can’t be everything you want. Or need. Or whatever the fuck I’m trying to say. But I just needed you to know because I can’t fucking fight this shit anymore—” 

You lunge forward before he offers his last syllable, careful to avoid his wounds and not mush his face because he would do the same for you. 

And it’s all too much tonight. The lingering fear, the dying anger, the floods of relief, the joy. You can’t stop your sobs from coming out in bursts, your whole body wracking with overwhelming emotion as he grits into your skin,

“Goddamn it, I—”

“Yoongi—”

“—so fucking much.”

Yoongi loves you. He’s here. He loves you, loves you, loves you and the beats of your heart pulse orange and blue, blue, blue. 

Nothing will ever compare to this moment. Nothing. You will bottle this one up in a jar to place next to all the others you have stored, and when you are lonely, or hurt, or even when you’re doing just fine, you will uncork it to surround yourself with this memory and know that everything will be okay. 

He loves you. 

Fuck, he loves you? 

You choke out his name with a sob, and he squeezes you even harder. When you can’t reply with anything else, he buries his face in the crook of your shoulder, his tears taking root and blossoming into beautiful vibrant fruit all along your rib cage.

He loves you.

Why can’t you seem to say it back? What the fuck is wrong with your tongue?

Maybe it’s because saying it doesn’t feel like enough. Like it’s laughable that there are words for this feeling because they don’t nearly represent what you harbor in your very being for this man. 

There’s no way any words are enough. Not for him. Nor for you. Because right now, Yoongi needs something more. And you’re going to give him more than everything. 

“Yoongi, I—”

He captures your lips in his, and you let him push you against his counter and consume you everywhere he wants to. Between his claims, your sobs have room to breathe. Which makes for a horrible showing of your attempting to say what you want to. “I… I can’t… Yoongi—”

Fingers press into the back of your head, a forehead smushing into yours and shutting you up completely. “I’m sorry,” he says, words rolling down the tracks your tears have walked. “I won’t ever be able to say that enough.” 

“Baby,” you hiccup, resting a hand over one of his. “It’s okay.” 

“It’s not.”

“It is.” You squeeze his hand, feeling the lovely digs of his knuckles in your palm. His scent wafts around you like an embrace, and you know there’s nothing quite like it. At all. “You’re okay, so I’m okay.” 

After he plants a warm kiss on your temple, you feel his hands ball into fists at your ears. “I just—fuck.” 

There’s no telling what he’s thinking about in that brain of his. But you need him to know that there’s nothing more for him to be sorry for. All you care about is that he’s present, responding, and himself. 

“Babe,” you whisper, still not believing those three words coming out of his mouth. “I’m here.” 

“I know.” He sighs, smushing into your lips and holding you so tenderly, yet so tight. As he laps at your tongue, you’re more than sure he can taste your rainfall. 

None of this is real. Because you can’t believe it at all. Even as Yoongi continues his journey across your neck, your shoulders, your jaw, your face, you still can’t piece together that this is truly happening.

When you feel him hard on your pelvis, you remember that he didn’t get the same release you got earlier. But you’re not gonna be the one to suggest going again, all of this will be what he decides. 

And what Yoongi decides is to pull you closer, breathing you in while you do the same. His kisses are never ending, and your hands roam languidly along his shoulders, his hair, stretching across the expanse of his back. One that has held the weight of the world and then some.

His name leaves your mouth in a sigh, your back arching as softly as the kisses being planted along your breasts. 

“If you only knew,” he whispers, laughing to himself as he wraps an arm around your side.

“Knew what?”

“Nothing, babe.” You gasp into his next rough press to your lips. “You’re so—fuck.”

You said you’d let him lead. But as Yoongi starts to walk you into his bedroom again, you think about his injuries and feel more concerned after knowing they’re there. So you quietly stop him as you reach his bed, “Are you sure?” 

“I’ll be alright, doll,” he whispers, lowering you down and smiling so tranquilly your heart lurches. “As much as I think you enjoyed the first time, this time will be better.” 

Giggling, you fight the heat from searing your cheeks as you smile. “You enjoyed it more than I did, I think.” 

“I don’t think so.” Yoongi smirks, getting up. “Lemme get a cond—” 

“It’s okay,” you halt him with a hand, and he freezes. 

Full stop. No movement. Not even a breath. “...What?” 

“We don’t…” You swallow, stomach fluttering at his expression. “We don’t have to this time.” 

Because Yoongi’s eyes have not left your face. “You sure?” 

Then something causes you to smile. Knowing that if there’s anyone you want to do this with, it’s this man right here and now. There’s genuinely no one else in the world with whom you would wanna share this experience, and the fact that he’s still asking makes you emotional.

Cradling his face with the most tender touch you can imagine, you confirm, “Just for a little bit.” And you add something you think he needs to keep hearing. “I trust you.” 

Gulping down any extra emotions spilling from your heart’s chalice, your words come out a little wobbled. “And I want to, if you want it, too.” 

“I want what you want, doll.” 

“Then it’s okay.”  

Clothes on or off, you still feel so shy underneath him. 

But this time, you vow to shove those feelings of unworthiness to the side. Because you are fully invested in this moment above all others. And Yoongi deserves more than you can give. 

When he slowly tugs his sweats from your legs, you’re already choking back tears. As he climbs on top, you await the connection you never in your dreams would’ve imagined. 

And when Yoongi stares at you one more time, you know exactly what he’s asking. 

“Yes, my love,” you wisp into his skin, craning up to kiss him and swallowing his last slice of doubt. Knowing you’ll say it again and again and again. 

His brows pinch as he kisses you—slow, purposeful, understanding. Then he positions himself, and you can physically feel his hand brush your cunt as he does so. If he ever asks if you felt him shake, you will deny it. But only for a year or two. 

As soon as you feel him—only him, solely him—you swell with a current of emotion. And it pulls you all the way under when he’s fully sheathed inside. 

“Holy fucking shit.” 

“Yoongi—” 

“Fuck.” 

Simply having him inside, with no barriers or obstacles in between? You’re already close. There’s no early explanation, but you already feel overwhelmed enough to come. 

No no no. You want this to last forever, so you wait for Yoongi to gather himself because he appears to be fighting, too. 

Chuckling, you ask, “You good, baby?” 

And your lover snaps his gaze to your face, bangs sweeping across your cheeks and eyes unblinking. “Yeah, just...” He stares at your inquisitive expression before whooshing out a harsh breath. “Just this is about to make me bust.” 

You burst into laughter before admitting you were just thinking the same thing, and his slow grin makes you want to cry. “We’re not good at this.” 

“No. You’re too good at this. I can’t even move.” 

“Yes, you can,” you whine. “You wreck my shit all the time.” 

Feeling a twitch more prominent than ever, you giggle as Yoongi puffs out pained amusement. “Doll, if you keep talking like that, I’m pulling out.” 

“Okay, okay,” you surrender, loving how out of sorts he seems. He’s fighting for his life and you’re enjoying the hell out of it. 

“You’re a little too perfect right now.”

Maybe one day you will agree with him. But that day is far from reach, your head shaking in quiet disagreement.

“You are.”

“Nowhere close,” you whisper.

His nose brushes against yours. “Say that again and see what happens.”

“Is that what you tell all the others fuck!”

His shove up your cunt makes you see stars. “What did I fuckin’ say?” 

“What—”

Another launch has you careening through space, lip bitten and suppressing a hearty whine. “You think there’s someone else?” Again. “Hmm?” 

Again. 

You’re so dazed and mind-fucked to pieces that your speech is barely audible. But your chin is grabbed as you’re snapped straight, and your eyes try their hardest to focus on slitted ones above. “You’re gonna regret saying that.” 

You just laugh, whine pinging sharp into the ceiling as he shoves forward so hard your whole body shifts upward. “Oh, yeah?” 

Yoongi doesn’t respond with words, thrusting up again and sending you twisting and winding towards the edge unbelievably fast. “Uh huh.” 

“Make me then,” you gasp out. “Make me really sorry.” 

The sound Yoongi makes comes from deep within his stomach, the rumbling hum shooting right into your veins like liquid fire. 

And the full-on attack he bursts into renders you completely speechless. Everything Yoongi does pulls you deliciously in all directions—his thrusts, his chain hitting his chest, his grip on your wrists, the way he snags your chin. Everything. 

“Taking me so well like this.” 

“I—”

“So fucking tight.”

Fuck fuck fuck it’s habitual for you at this point, and you unhinge your jaw a split second before he smacks the side of your face. Desire lowers your lids halfway as you feel empowered, and you don’t even recognize your voice as you order him on the spot. “Do it again.” 

Yoongi doesn’t stop his pace as he keeps his eyes on you. 

“Do it again,” you growl, fully limp and a groaning mess when he does exactly what you want. 

Fuck, the pain feels good. So good that you reach up and choke him out. But the back of your head is grabbed before you feel hungry lips smash into yours. You feel your wrists pinned again by one large palm, air chilling for a moment before a hot mouth captures one of your nipples. “Oh, fuck, Yoongi!” 

“Uh uh.” 

“Please—please—” 

You’re still tensing as he devours your chest below his shirt, strokes now slower but just as powerful. 

Your arms still haven’t been freed, but there’s something about being under his control that has you loving this position. Without question. Maybe it’s the fact that you can see him now, losing himself just as he saw you washes in the throes of passion. 

And he licks, sucks, lolls his tongue all over your tits, whispered praises sinking through your bosom as he keeps a grip on your wrists. 

“Baby,” you gasp. “I’m close, I’m—” 

“Shit.” Air whooshes over you before you feel your arms freed and him yank himself out, and you freeze as he unloads right on your stomach, a sharp cocktail of pride and shock in your gut. 

Holy fuck, Yoongi was that close? Did he hold out as long as he could? Shit, he’s breathing so hard his jewelry shakes as it dangles. 

You’re still so surprised that your arms are still locked into bends, and he glances up at you from his kneeled state. “Fuck,” he laughs, and is that… Is Yoongi shy? “Thought I could hold out.” 

“No, no, it’s fine,” you assure through your own tiny chuckle. “Oh my god, I promise.” 

He leans down to plant a heart fluttering kiss on your lips, but you hate how he looks pained on the way down. 

Those hits he took… Now you kinda understand his perspective. Because now you want to avenge him in five hundred thousand ways—almost half as many ways as you want to show him how you feel. 

“Stay there, beautiful,” Yoongi orders as he moves to get off the bed, wincing in passes. “I’m not done with you.” 

Damn. He looks even more exhausted than before. “Baby, are you sure?” 

But Yoongi walks right to his bathroom to retrieve a towel, and your eyes may as well transform into hearts when you watch him come back to you. So handsome, even now. Even when he’s simply holding a washcloth, hair completely mussed, soul sparkling and face bruised. 

As he sits to clean your face before moving to your stomach, you can only observe his eyes. So experienced. Calm. At peace. When they drift to yours, it’s instinct that has you shying away. “What, love.” 

Another reason to crumble inside. “I just… nothing,” you whisper. 

And Yoongi finishes with the cloth before tossing it somewhere. “Tell me,” he says, lying down on the ribs with more damage. “I wanna know.” 

“Come on this side,” you tell him, and he obliges without a word. “It’s a secret.” 

“A secret?” 

“Mmhmm.” 

Yoongi settles before lifting your chin, rubbing an affectionate thumb over any tears still persevering on your cheeks. “I can keep those, you know.” 

Smiling, you fold way too easily. “Okay, I’ll tell.” 

When he leans in, your nervousness and excitement to tell him almost spoils your ability to do so. Like someone gifting a present while wanting to say what it is before it’s even opened. 

“I love you, too,” you whisper, tears sprinting to your ducts as Yoongi freezes. When he looks at you, you can’t help but choke on a sob seeing his eyes get as red as the marks on his cheek. “And you deserve more than I could ever give.” 

His eyes hold the heavens and the seas. 

You’re right. Just saying it isn’t fucking enough.

You’re already liplocked again before you can think, saltwater on your face and you don’t even know whose eyes it came from.

Determined, Yoongi starts kissing a trail from your lips to your jaw, and you start to cry as he makes his own journey down the expanse of you. 

All of you.

Is this what it feels like? Is all of this actually, genuinely real?

You hope so, because you feel devotion in each press of his lips, and every touch will be remembered in its own right. Its own pocket of time.

Every single stop.

It almost feels divine when his mouth reaches your folds, lapping at your essence and swirling around your clit. When you say his name, Yoongi says nothing, instead palming your thighs and eating you out like he has all the time in the world. 

Swelling, you already feel close. 

But the way he gets you to fantasia is so natural that you slide into your quivers seemlessly. The transition into your heaven flows like a stream, and your waves engulf his tongue and coat his mouth without trouble. 

This is what it feels like. What it feels like with Yoongi. 

And you wanna keep making love until only sleep can take you from him.

Your hands jut into his hair, gasping as he keeps his pace, and no matter how you squirm he is dead set on holding you down until holy fuck you’re coming again. 

How? What’s happening to you? This constant stream of release is shocking you to the point of crying out, and Yoongi groans into your orgasm and prolongs it with the whole press of his tongue.

“Holy fuck, baby—!” Another wave overcomes the next, and you outright quake in his hands, eyes rolling and vision blinking white. Muscles lock as you can’t keep up with the pleasure, and you’re mercilessly let go only for lips to descend on yours.

Your tears spill into your ears as you kiss him back, wrapping tired arms over his shoulders and raking in deep. 

“Fuck.” And you feel his cock lodge against your entrance, and you’re amazed how hard he is again. 

Does he want what you want? Is he ready again? 

As Yoongi quietly gets up to get a condom, you’re amazed that he wants to keep going after everything that’s transpired. But, if he feels like you do, he’s ready to keep going until the sun comes up three whole times. 

When he sits next to you, your better half appears shy as he bites the wrapper. “Don’t take this the wrong way.”

“Oh, I already know.”

“K. But god, I fuckin’ want to.”

You bite your lip to hold back your smile, remembering what he said a long time ago and bringing it back full circle for the next thing you both wanna try. “One day.”

Yoongi only grins. 

And for the next hour, your lover, your secret, your home gives you everything he has, and you come for him more times than you ever have in your life.

Every time, he drags your pleasure out, expertly tearing you down with his movements and building your confidence up with his words. He tells you you’re perfect, and he disagrees when you disagree. When you find tears on your face, he kisses those away, too. When you feel along his silver, he simply watches you in silence. 

No sadness, doubt, nor anger to be found. 

After you physically can’t do any more, Yoongi lies at your side, silent as you play with his hair. You do your best to stay still, not wanting to accidentally push into any of his injuries that you’re gonna beg him to get checked in the morning. 

Once he’s healed? That’s when you’ll never let go. Because you want to crush him into you completely. Mold into him, just so he can feel the brevity of your highest affection. 

“I’m sorry for yelling,” you finally whisper. “But I really was so mad at you. All of you.” 

“I know.” 

“I don’t wanna lose you.”

“It won’t happen again.” 

“That’s what you said last time.” 

Yoongi stares, seeming to withhold something from you before he palms your cheek. “They were gonna follow us home if we didn’t, babe,” he reveals, snapping your heart back in two. “We all knew that.” 

“Oh, fuck.” Everything hits you at once: why they stayed, why you and Taehyung had to leave. Why Tae didn’t bring you straight back to the house. And the burns at your eyes match the searing in your gut. “I didn’t… I didn’t think about that.” 

When you start to cry, Yoongi sits up and hangs his head between his sweats. “You don’t need to think about shit like that,” he murmurs, sounding defeated as ever. “But we talked after you told us off. We won’t hide that from you anymore.” 

Sniffling, you whisper out a thank you. But you don’t want Yoongi to feel like he has to distance himself, so you untangle him—slowly, gently–-before bringing him into your chest. 

After dealing with all that and the tempest in his living room, this man still let you in. From the looks of things, there’s a lot that he had been fighting, and you’re more than appreciative that he opened his door. Not knowing how to put these feelings into words, you say the first things that come to mind. And for some reason, they feel heavier on the way out, 

“Thank you for letting me in. It was raining really hard.” 

Yoongi stiffens hard before holding you closer. 

“Babe?”

No response. Just another batch of weighted quiet. 

Worried, you tilt your head. “Hey. Look at me.”

If he stays right where he is, you’ll have to respect that decision. But he ends up pushing himself up, and as soon as you see moonlight catch on a falling tear, all your instincts reach for him, “Oh, fuck, come here.”

You surround him with everything you have, wanting every single bit of warmth birthed from his love to fill his space instead of yours. Whatever he needs, you will give. “It’s okay, baby,” you whisper, holding him so close but not nearly close enough. 

Never close enough.

His face is buried in the crook of your neck, and you will let him live there whenever he needs to. “I’m not mad anymore, okay?” God, you hate how he’s still so silent. You get it, but you hate whatever made him default to this state. “I’m just glad you’re alright.”

After light rain fills the room, your soul breaks at a sniffle, and you crush your love even tighter.

“This isn’t about that, doll,” Yoongi finally whispers, burying wet eyes further into your shoulder. “It’s just…”

It’s what? What’s he thinking about? Hopefully it’s not anything—

“It’s so fucking better when you’re here.” 

When you choke out a sob, his body locks, words pouring from nowhere and everywhere. “I sleep better. Eat better. Fuck, I even feel better even if nothing else changes.”

“Yoongi…”

“It’s true.” Sighing, he sniffles again before letting his weight drop onto you in resignation. Or relief. “I mean that.”

“Then… Those three months…”

“One day, I’ll tell you everything,” he offers, making you wonder what the hell he’s been through in the past. And if it has something to do with that guitar he smashed to pieces. “But from now on, you can be here whatever you want.” 

Many things have shifted tonight. As if an earthquake had upturned everything between the both of you, only peace has settled in its wake. A peace you had never felt before. As you brush fingers through his hair, you joke, “So I can come to those parties you host, too?” 

“Those weren’t my idea, by the way. Jimin made me.” Kissing your shoulder, Yoongi continues to admit, “He was worried. And hoping you would show.”

Oh. That’s news to you. 

“I knew you wouldn’t. But.” He exhales before nestling in further. “I did hope to see you, too.” 

“It’s okay.” You rub the back of his neck, your fingers feeling nothing but warmth and the softness of his clothes. “It would’ve been too obvious.”

“What would’ve.”

“That I wanted you all to myself.”

“You already have that.”

When you stiffen, your words are tiny. “You know what I mean.”

Yoongi laughs soft, taking one of your hands in his and bringing it up for a kiss as you blurt, “My brother was the one that invited me. To come to those, I mean.”

The way he blinks is comical. “Huh.”

“I know.” It’s your turn to bring his hand close, kissing along his knuckles before you stare out the window behind him. “It makes me wonder if he knows.”

“What if he does?”

You snap your eyes right to his. “Does he?”

Yoongi watches your lips linger on his fingers before he tells the truth, “No.”

“Okay. But you’re sure I can stay?” 

“Who do you think you bought those groceries for?” 

Oh. Wait. “What?” 

Grinning so sly, Yoongi reveals the plan he had all along, “I get you for a week, right?”

Oh. Holy shit. You cannot quite possibly deal with what this man is saying. That whole time you were shopping for his list… No wonder he was already done with dinner when you got there oh you’re gonna get him back for that. 

Light bursts from your center as you grit out through a grin, “You sneaky little—” Pulling his tilted mouth in for another kiss, your heart pulses little pink stars as he leans in with a laugh, and you meet lips again and again until he slowly, reluctantly stops. 

“One day,” he murmurs out of nowhere, and you flick your eyes to his. “I’ll be better.”

Of course he will. You have no doubts. But, just like he always does for you, you’re gonna start offering the same reassurance out loud, even if he knows it’s there. 

And you can’t contain your little laughs at your own joke, despite him just staring into your face right after you crack it, “Don’t make it just one day, silly.” 

Even if you’re very serious, it’s in your nature to lighten things up. Especially after hearing such wonderful news for what’s coming. Clutching a little bit of his shirt, you whisper with complete devotion, 

“We’ll make it as many as we can.”

You hate how you feel him freeze, knowing what that means, what plaguing little thoughts are embedded in that tiny shift. 

Yoongi’s still hesitant to accept.

Because you are, too. In many ways. But this man has been picking you up and making you stronger day after day—in both his presence and absence—that you can’t help but fight to do the same. 

Does he ever think about you? Does he know that you’ll always be with him? No matter how close or far apart you are? You hope so. Because it’s so true that your heart is searing that promise into your soul, branding it as a reminder to reciprocate all this genuine love you’ve never been given before.

He loves you?

You still can’t accept that as fact.

…Maybe one day.

You chuckle to yourself, deciding to keep talking because Yoongi is still so very quiet. “At least. Until the day I get to meet my cat,” you huff in triumph. “Then I’m running away with her.”

It’s a perfect strike of a match. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.” You pretend to pout. “But I’m starting to think she ran away already and you won’t fess up.”

Yoongi laughs so suddenly you flinch. After a playful scoff, he tries to make you feel better, “She’s still here!”

“Lies.”

“How much are you betting, doll.”

“How much are you willing to lose, babe.”

“This much,” he finally says, pinching your sides and hissing laughter when you scream. “Maybe I’ll make you leave after all if you’re gonna be a problem.” 

“You did threaten to kick me out before.” 

“Huh? When?”

“That day I showed up,” you remind him through a chuckle. Thrown back to that first night, you start to see all the parallels between then and now. And how vastly different things have become. “Said you were gonna kick me out for hustling you.” 

The glorious laughter from the depths of his belly makes you grin, and you cringe when his brows pinch in both laughter and pain. “I should’ve!” 

He needs to get those hits healed. “You really should’ve.” 

“Played me from the very start. You happy with yourself?” When you nod, Yoongi shakes his head. “Course you are.” 

“You love it.” 

“I do.” Your eyes meet, which proves dangerous for you because he bites his smirk before pulling you in for a kiss. “Thought I was gonna say it, huh.” 

“No!” You lie. Because no, you certainly were not! “…Maybe.” 

“Guess what.” 

Suddenly paranoid, you give him a look, already expecting to be tricked again. 

But Yoongi captures your lips without warning, curling your toes into sheets you’re now achingly familiar with. After a few passes, he shifts above, planting a hand at your side and letting his chain slide against your chest as he slots a leg in between yours. 

Yet again, you think about that first night, that first time. The first of apparently, surprisingly, wonderfully unexpectedly many. 

Who would’ve thought rain and a broken ego would bloom into something good? Who would’ve believed a person so close to your roots would be your home? 

As he lets up with one last slow stroke of his tongue, you whisper, “What were you gonna say?” 

At this, Yoongi spreads closed lips, taking his time planting a peck on your nose. “I just fucking love you, doll.” 

Oh. He’s a menace and the most annoying tease on the planet. 

When you can’t do anything but flee into his chest, Yoongi immediately laughs, forcing you back out of your little shell. “You can’t hide now, babe.” 

“I can!” 

Leaned forward in your struggle, you give him no choice but to swoop his head into your neck. Which backfires on you immensely because he decides it’s the perfect time to rasp deep against your ear, “I love fucking you, too.” 

His name flies out of your mouth in disbelief and embarrassment, and his heightened amusement puffs into the burning column below your chin. 

This is the moment something comes over you. Slams into you. Washes you in present nostalgia like lingering footsteps on a balcony. 

And it hurts. It really, really hurts. 

Instead of laughing along, you come down from your high, squeezing him like the pillow that couldn’t replicate his warmth for months. “I miss you.”

After a second, Yoongi questions, “How? I’m right here.”

You know that. You do. But with every hello there’s a goodbye, and you don’t want that this time. Especially now that your heart knows that his beats the same. 

Breathy and shaken, you rest your head in his chest, hoping he doesn’t hear but does at the same time, “I still miss you.”

Strong fingers weakly press into your sides, and while you can’t see him, you know for a fact that his smile is gone. Because he also knows goodbye is coming again, and you can’t stay here forever as long as this is all a secret. 

You feel a sigh wisp over your head before words that make no fucking sense follow it out, “I can’t do shit like this anymore.” 

…What?

No. No no no he can’t be done just like that you both just confessed everything you need to fight say something anything anything—

“I wanna do this the right way.” 

Oh. 

Yoongi’s chest… It’s shaking. 

Pushing yourself up, you search his eyes for answers. “What are you saying?” 

When he looks at you, there’s a fire in his eyes that wasn’t there before. Or maybe it has been there all along, and he only needed a spark to set it ablaze. “I’m saying I’ll tell him, doll. Just me.” 

Oh. Oh, shit. Didn’t he say not yet? Didn’t he say he needs more time? He said he’d figure it out what is with the sudden…

Your tears are automatic as Yoongi roams his gaze from one eye to the other, and he’s swallowing before taking a step. A step you didn’t think he’d make. One you didn’t have the courage to take yourself. 

When he utters the words, your soul lets rain fall just as the storm resides.

And right as moonlight shines through his blinds.

“I’ll tell him everything.” 

-

-

tbc. :)

-

so... how did it go! | join the server!

a/n: so. here we are, over two years and 250k+ words later. thank you for sticking with me if you're still here, and thank you for being the most amazing readers a writer could ever, ever ask for. if you can interact or let me know what you enjoyed/like, i would be eternally grateful. these two parts took all of me, and i'm gonna take a break for a little bit before starting on the next part. a/n 2: thank you for also being here despite the highs and lows! things have really weighed on me for awhile, which prevented me from working on this part forreal. but my mental feels a lot lighter now, and i am ready to keep running with y'all. so thank you for your support and encouragement, no matter how you show it! ++ feedback box: ⇥ of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated! ⇥ for the ones that are too shy to reblog with a review, comment on this, or send a message, i went ahead and made another anonymous form where you can send in what you think! ⇥ no emails collected, no need to put in a username. it’s literally just a comment dropbox :D feedback can be as short/sweet or as long as you’d like! ⇥ here! ++ more links: ⇥ masterlist  ⇥ three tangerines masterlist

[ventismacchiato]

O4 stuck with you — screaming and fighting !

scaramouche x gender neutral reader

You and Scaramouche were dragged backstage and away from prying eyes, faces flushed and chests rising as the adrenaline from the argument on stage had yet to wear off. The dressing room was still, only filled with you both throwing insults at one another. The rest of your group members shared sheepish looks with one another, deciding to let you both get it out of your system.

As soon as the door was tightly shut you whirled around to face Scara.

“You just always have to get the last word, don’t you?” you asked, stepping closer to him.

“You’re the one who started yelling at me, I was just defending myself,” Scaramouche replied, his tone equally heated, but his posture was much more composed than you. 

“You’re the one who told me to give up,” you accused. 

“Yeah, give up the trophy so I could hold it,” Scara sighed.

“Yeah, as if you deserve to hold it.”

“Now that you mention it, I do deserve it more than you.” 

“You don’t know what it’s like to actually work for something,” you glared, voice laced with contempt, “You probably get everything handed to you by your mom.”

He glanced away, abruptly uncomfortable. “You shouldn’t talk. Your voice is even more unpleasant when you’re whining.” 

Naturally, you kept talking

“That’s the only reason you’re even here with the rest of us,” you continued, letting your jealousy cloud your senses, “I can’t be the only one who thinks that.”

Scaramouche’s face hardened. He scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Whatever," he muttered, shoving his way past you to leave the dressing room before turning around one last time.

“Nobody even knew she was my mother until I became a trainee. I used a different name on the application forms. But if hanging onto that little fact makes you feel better about being so pathetic then be my fucking guest.” 

And with that he slammed the door behind him.

You hated the way he could make you inexplicably self-conscious. It used to be a foreign sensation, one left behind long ago in insecure adolescence.

You stood there, breathing heavily, as the door swung shut. The room was silent, everyone stunned by the intensity of the confrontation.

Lumine stepped up and placed a comforting hand on your shoulder, slowly guiding you outside to cool off. 

“We’re also gonna head back,” Aether awkwardly laughed, grabbing Childe and Kazuha by their collars and dragging them out.

“So, that just happened.”

“Shut up, Venti.”

“We really need to broaden your vocabulary, Y/n. Your insults could be better.”

“You too, Fischl! Zip it!”

stuck with you!

masterlist — prev | next

begging u guys to let me use ur usernames as fans in this au pls let me make u a crazy stantwt user xx but pls comment on the masterlist so i see it

also everyone saying scara keeps eating yn up w insults is sending me 😭😭

title from the way i loved you by ts it suits scarayn so well

synopsis — after the disaster that was the live award show, where you and scaramouche got into an argument on stage after both of your groups got a tie for top artists, your guys' PR teams have been in shambles trying to scrape up your mess. that's when the idea to send you both off with some other idols to a remote location for a survival dating show to mend your public image comes up. before you know it your bags are packed and you’re on a plane to a remote island. the only obligation is you need to end up with scaramouche at the end of the show, whether you end up liking him or not doesn’t matter to your managers as long as the show’s ratings stay high. whatever you do in between to get there is up to you!

notes — 👍 leave me comments and asks instead of begging for updates pleek i need motivation to post more

taglist — @na1lea @cindywasneverhere @lunavixia @aestherin @mlaakai @camvrin @retiredmommylover @iheartpieck @jangyung @cartierfiles @loveariel @silly-ez @mochipls @pomeiu @chuuismylife @flowerypesky @creammpuff @justanothertiredreader @boxdisappeared @kissmiere @kissingkzuha @webbywill @kazusboyfriend @s3xpistolss @pjsucks @bunns-wonderland @lordbugs @localgirlywithnolife @kosumos @danfelions @featuredtofu @pinxeajin @herebyaccident0 @haeunoo @scaradooche @pglt19 @chemiru @childesbabygirl @simonisferal @shutingstar @vxcmx @domimiki @ttalgi @esuz @tokkishouse @kitsuvil @scarasmood @ihearttori @nomurahayami @starringyau @androxphobic

[ukiiseikou]

don't mess up, my lucky charm, my last chance.

wanderer x gn! reader. figure skating au.

synopsis: your pairs partner just ghosted you, but no worries! your coach manages to replace him with the next worst thing - wanderer. a/n: hi! making this a series called complementary figures, a figure skating au universe. stay tuned for other characters ^^ thanks for reading

“hi, i’d like to report a missing person’s case.”

ayaka looks up from unlacing her skates, giving you a sympathetic smile, “any news?”

“he’s gone gone, like, poof! i’ve been calling him ever since he disappeared two weeks ago but it’s like he never existed. i even called the police, and all they could say was ‘he’s still alive’, like buddy, i hope so.”

ayaka stands up, offering you a quick hug, “i’m so sorry, it was an asshole move for him to ghost you like this in the middle of the season.”

“it’s fine. i guess it’s all over now. still kind of in shock, but whatever.”

you sigh, sitting down on the bench and kicking off your sneakers as you pull your skates out from your bag. you weren’t even sure why you were here, your partner had up and left you in the middle of the competition season and you can’t perform a pairs routine by yourself. you were content to just wallow in self pity and refreshing instagram to see if, miraculously, any available pairs guy would contact you and ask to try out. in fact, you had been doing exactly that for the past few week and a half, but yae asked you to come in today, saying that you ‘needed to reconnect with the ice’.

you wave bye to ayaka as she walks away, leaving you to your own devices as you start pulling on the strings of your laces.

“y/n.”

yae appears before you, and you strain to get a look at her, a familiar grin on her face.

“hi, coach, what’s up?” you finish tying up your skates and stand up. with your skate, you tower over yae just a little bit, but you always felt like a little kid before her - she’s been your coach since you were little anyway, alongside your former partner.

“no news?” 

you shake your head, and she sighs.

“disappointing, but no matter, we move ahead.”

she beckons you to follow her, and you trail behind her as she steps onto the ice gracefully. you’ve been off ice for about a week now, and you really feel it. there’s a bundle of nerves as you slowly follow her in a lap around the rink, is this where yae tells me my pairs career is over?

“what do you think about getting a new partner?” she stops suddenly, and you nearly crash into her, lost in your thoughts.

“um, if there’s someone out there who wants me?” you offer awkwardly.

she laughs, “well, he better, you’re his last chance.”

“wait, you’re saying someone asked to partner up with me?”

she taps her chin, “it’s more like - i offered and no one else wanted him, so we’re his only choice.”

she finishes with a self satisfied grin, “don’t worry, y/n dear, he’s won a few medals.”

“yeah? like what?”

“world championships, world cup finals,” she lists off a bunch of titles, including national champion.

wait, national champion?

“are you talking about, uh, wanderer?” you interrupt her.

“is that the kid's name? ah, i forgot. he always hissed at me and ran away whenever i went over to ei’s house.”

while yae launches into reminiscing about her shared history with his coach, your mind goes a mile a minute.

wanderer, national champion, current world champion, former junior world record holder, and current world-renowned asshole.

no one can deny his talent and skills, but also that comes with a major attitude. you’ve heard changing room horror stories about him scaring off potential partners; people leaving in tears; a world record in the number of partners dropped; and if he drops you in the middle of a lift it’s not his fault - it’s yours.

“yae, why in the world did you offer to pair me up with some asshole?” you blurt out, “yae, i thought you liked me.”

 “oh look, they’re here!”

yae pointedly ignores your comment and pushes past you, making her way to the edge of the rink. you can feel the drilling stare, even with your back facing him. you just prayed to whatever archon is listening that he didn’t hear you, and you would at least leave this temporary partnership with your ego and self-confidence intact.

“ei! long time no see,” yae stops at the boards, as you slowly turn on your blades and skate towards where the pair is waiting.

“this is y/n,” she beckons you, and you pick up the pace, gliding into place next to her.

“hi, uh, it’s nice to meet you!” you’ll try your best to leave a good impression on his coach, at least.

“likewise,” ei nods and holds out a hand to shake, which you take.

“kunikuzushi,” she angles her head towards you, “say it.”

“hey,” he says curtly, avoiding your gaze. awkward silence settles over the group before yae claps her hands.

“i see. kuni, then? i see your skates are on, good! get up here. y/n, sweetheart, can you get my phone please? i would like to film this, thank you.”

you sigh, moving to grab yae’s phone on the other side of the boards. you watch the boy pull off his skate guards and step onto the ice out of the corner of your eye. you can’t deny it - you can tell by the way he holds himself that he’s far more elegant and well-trained than half of the guys you’ve seen come in and out of the rink door. the two of you make eye contact and you quickly fumble with yae’s phone, placing it near her hand.

ei and yae are chatting, leaving you to awkwardly follow wanderer, or kuni, or kunikuzushi, you weren’t really sure what to call him anymore.

“can you even skate?” he sounds irritated, and you bristle.

“of course i can, can you?” you retort.

“i’m the current world champion. of course i can. are you dumb?” he whirls around to face you.

“yeah? try doing that again without a partner,” you fume.

“i don’t need a partner to win.”

“it’s called fucking pairs.”

he snorts, “and you think your mediocre skills can keep up with me?”

“sorry, but i happen to hear you switch partners every season? you need me. admit it, i’m your last chance, because nobody else is stupid enough to partner up with someone like you.”

“someone like me? it’s okay! you can just call me an asshole again, just to my face. go on.” 

you stop, skates slowing to a halt, you can feel your face heating up at the reminder of the less-than-kind comment you made only a few moments ago. ah, fuck, he heard me.

his eyes narrow at your silence, and he whirls around again and kicks off, throwing ice in your direction and he leaves you behind.

“y/n, honey, you’re supposed to skate with him! don’t tell me you forgot after a week already!” 

you hear yae call from the boards, and you roll your eyes.

you race to catch up to him, but he ignores you. 

“okay, fine! i’m sorry! but like - prove me wrong!”

he turns at you with a strange look in his eyes that you can’t really place. before you can get a closer look, yae yells at you to ‘do a spin or something!’

he grabs your hand, grumbling something under his breath as he slows to match your strokes.

“do you know how to do triple salchow?” he questions over the sound of blade scratching ice.

“side-by-side? i mean, i can try!”

he rolls his eyes at you, but he releases your hand, “you go first, i’ll follow.”

wait, shouldn’t we talk about this?

you nearly stop your momentum but you catch how he’s staring intently at you. your insides squeeze together, your partner could never do a salchow properly, so you haven’t done it in a long ass time.

okay, fine.

you adjust your position, and you can hear his skates against the ice as well, perfectly mirroring your position as you launch yourself into the air.

there’s a foreign feeling in your legs, and next you know it, you end up hitting the ground, legs giving out as you slip and land. wanderer snickers as he slows to a halt next to you, and you just know he landed that triple salchow perfectly.

"not only did you double it, but you also fell on your ass? some skating skills you have."

you fell a thousand times before, but this one stings. you wince as you hang your head, trying to figure out if the dull throb in your leg is anything serious.

"are you crying? archons, i can't believe i have a crybaby of a partner." he sighs, but twists to get a better look at your face. you turn away from him.

"i'm fine," you say, pulling yourself to your feet, there's a shit-eating grin on your face, "let's try that again, partner."

he scoffs, "should've known you were pretending. can't deal with crybabies. you're lucky i'm giving you a second chance."

"watch this one. their debut internationally, the new wonder pair from inazuma. their chemistry is electrifying, and their technical content is one of the best!"

you let out a dry laugh of amusement at the commentators as you splay out across the couch, taking up all the space. wanderer hisses at you to 'get off me' but makes no move to shove your legs off his lap, instead, he grabs the remote from the coffee table to fast forward through the gushing that takes place before you've even entered your beginning pose, eyebrows drawn in irritation.

the two of you watch intently, the bright lights of yae's TV cutting through the darkness of the night combined with tightly drawn curtains. wanderer lets out a snort when you nearly crash into the ground as you land from your throw lutz, only saving it with a ridiculously bent knee that keeps you upright.

"still not used to the height?" he smirks.

"shut up, you're lucky i saved that," you spit. it's true, despite his shorter stature, he's hiding some serious muscle, enough to throw you into the air with height that looks like 'he's trying to send you to the moon' - as the commentators put it. your former partner never threw you that high up, and when you first did it, you felt as if you were in the air for an eternity.

"hah! no. you're lucky i held back."

"let's just call it even," you sniffle, turning back to watch the replay. after months of skating together, you know his little quirks, and when you shake with mock tears he stiffens, and you know you've actually got him wrapped around your finger. when you first actually cried in front of him (after a particularly ugly fall that felt like a broken bone), he spent his time saying that you 'looked ugly when you cry' and holding up tissues to your nose, but you can tell by his eyes his worry when the tears won't stop coming despite his irritated sighs and non-stop shaking of his head.

"whatever," he pats your ankle with a sense of urgency, the sofa creaking as he throws off your legs to stand up, "keep those ankles of steel safe, lucks, you'll need it."

you watch as he moves to ransack yae's fridge, and he sticks his face into the cool air in a desperate bid to stop the red crawling across his face. you're left quiet on the couch, an indescribable feeling racing up your neck at the nickname.

you tune out yae's usual pep talk as you survey the crowd - the arena's more packed than usual, and you're feeling the pre-program jitters. 

wanderer's hand finds your's, giving you a tight squeeze.

"you ready?"

you turn to smile at him, and he returns a rare one, "with you? always."

he snorts, but turns his head away as red tinges the tip of his ears, "don't mess up."

(and, by the way, thanks for giving me a chance back then.)

maybe i will write one where wanderer meets your ex-partner anyways, ♡ or ↻ if you enjoyed, support your writers, thank you!!

[n-i-m-u-e]

In the sequel to my bodyswap!AU, the scene that I actually dreamed about and started this story in my head

Lucerys’ hands trembled. He stared at the text in the folio, realizing that they could perform the ritual as soon as today. Already today, they could fall asleep each in their own body again!

'We can leave everything as it is now!' he blurts out faster than he can bite his tongue.

Uncle frowns and looks at him with complete incomprehension in his eyes. In both eyes!

Luke begins to explain, confused:

'You said yourself that I don't deserve what I have. That I wouldn't be able to handle the Velarion legacy, and that's… that's true. It is. And I also won’t be able to… I can’t… Aemond, imagine, you’ll have both eyes, and Vhagar will still be yours. And you’ll no longer be just the queen’s second brother without a title or inheritance — you’ll get Driftmark. We could come up with some plan… Yes, I know my body may not be as trained or handsome, but it’s still growing. Jace grew nearly two feet in the past half year, and I…'

Aemond closed the tome so loudly that it crackled and a cloud of dust rose into the air. His uncle stood up from the table and leaned over Luke, who was still sitting.

'Did you hit your head somewhere, and we didn’t notice?' Aemond's voice was unsettlingly calm, and Lucerys wanted to defend himself against uncle's sarcasm.

'That's a good suggestion! And, as I said when I apologised, I have now realised how much I owe you.'

'Luke, you owe me for the an eye, but not…'

'I'm offering you the eye. Both of them!'

'And your fucking life to boot!'

'You would have handled this so much better. Because you're so much better at everything, and you'll finally get what you deserve!'

Aemond blinks and opens his mouth in disbelief. There is silence between them for a moment, and then uncle erupted into such filthy curses that Luke thought he had never heard anything like it, not even from the sailors on his grandfather’s ships. And hearing something like that from a prince of the realm, let alone from a man like Aemond Targaryen, is quite shocking, to say the least. And given that Aemond Targaryen now has his, Luke's looks…

'…seven hells and an eighth one with dung!'

Aemond pinched the bridge of his nose and walked to the window, throwing it open. For a moment, he breathed in the mix of sea and sulfur that, during windy weather on Dragonstone, became even more intense. After a while, he turns around and walks towards Luke with a strange expression on his face.

At the start of the exchange, despite their obvious difference in height and strength, Luke was still afraid of his uncle, and if Aemond had approached him with such determination and fiery eyes a couple of weeks ago, the boy would have considered running. But now, he stayed seated, not resisting when his uncle grabbed him by the collar and shook him with a force Luke didn’t think his own body was capable of. Aemond even lifted him slightly from the bench, but for some reason, this didn’t worry Luke at all. Until—

'You foolish, foolish child! DO YOU EVEN UNDERSTAND WHAT YOU’RE OFFERING!?'

Now Lucerys felt indignant and a bit offended, because yes, he did! He understood he was not a child, and in general—

'WHAT ELSE CAN I OFFER TO STAY FRIENDS?'

Aemond froze, loosening his grip, and staring at Luke for a full minute. Then he unclasped his fingers, though his hands still lingered on Luke’s chest. He cleared his throat and, in a strangely cracked voice, asked:

'What?'

After all that had been said, only now did Luke start to feel truly uncomfortable. He averted his gaze, replying almost in a whisper:

'I just want you to stop hating me. No one will lose anything, because in the end, I’m no more a Velaryon than you or someone else in our family are. And everything I’ve offered… it’s only fair...'

But he didn’t get the chance to finish, because Aemond suddenly yanked him by the collar again, pulling him up to his eye level and abruptly pressed his-his lips to Luke’s. And in that moment, everything inside and outside of Luke went utterly silent for a while.

[jessilynallendilla]

SHAZAM/CAPTAIN MARVEL FIC REC

TITLE/LINK RATING COMPLETED-WORD-COUNT SERIES

let me know if the links aren't working and feel free to suggest any

We Have Nothing To Fear Except Ourselves  T 1,773 SERIES 

"Superboy will be staying at Mount Justice for now," Bruce says. He doesn't look at Clark as he says it. Clark doesn't look at him either. 

". . . Mount Justice is a cave," Captain Marvel says, clearly even more bewildered. "And Superboy is solar-powered. Isn't that kind of . . . I don't know . . . mean?" 

"'Mean'?" Clark repeats in disbelief before he can think better of it. 

Captain Marvel And The Shadow Demon  G 952 SERIES 

He floated down, knelt on the ground and extended the back of his hand toward the creature. The creature cautiously padded out of Superman’s shadow toward him and sniffed his hand, before rubbing it’s head affectionately against it.  “Heh… you aren’t nearly as scary as everyone makes you out to be.”  “Mrrrrp” the creature replied, still head butting his hand 

Super Reporters AU: That One Time A Half-Kryptonian Visited Fawcett City  G 8,185 SERIES 

Clark and Lois had a predicament, on one hand, Clark had some League Business offworld. On the other hand, Lois had to go undercover for a scoop on an underground crime ring, both can’t take care of 5 year old Jon, luckily for Clark, his honorary little brother, Billy is willing to accompany him in the peculiar Fawcett city. 

Super Reporter Billy Batson  G 19,114 SERIES 

Little Billy Batson has just been transformed into a grown man - the superhero Captain Marvel. Thrown into a crazy new world of super heroics, the little boy embraces his new life and the responsibilities that come with it. 

STRIKE A VIOLENT POSE.  G 2,376 

There is something about Shazam that Clark really doesn't get, until he does 

A Christmas Peril  M 

The ghosts of Christmas past present and future have fallen upon the Wayne household when three mentally and physically abused children come to stay. Its horrible enough that Jon has been isolated due to the destructive capabilities of his powers. Or that Billy has been left orphaned and homeless. But when Batman learns what Talia has been putting his son through. It might just push him over the edge. This leads to an overly publicised custody battle between Gotham's billionaire playboy and the wealthy religious socialite with a cult following and an assassination hobby. 

The Outsider  T 

Damian’s mission was simple. A routine drug bust that just happened to take place in Fawcett. Easy stuff. But while there, he runs into a kid with a heroic streak and a look that’s a bit too familiar. That meeting ends up changing his entire life. 

As Atlas Holds The World On His Shoulders  T 22,016 SERIES 

Billy was doing fine. Not great, but fine. He definitely didn’t need some billionaire from Gotham City of all places to throw at least 13 wrenches in his plan 

The Butler's Apprentice  T  

Billy Batson, fiercely independent and a homeless part-time superhero, finds himself in the streets of Gotham with no money, no food, and no voice. Unable to transform into Captain Marvel (Shazam), he gains unexpected help in the form of a polite and respectable butler. 

The One With The Bat's Son  T 3,405 

“Batman has seven kids.”  Wally blinked. “You’re shitting me.”  “Not even a little, I just overheard him and Supes talking.”  “Oh my god,” he breathed, staring at Hal incredulously. “You don’t think -?”  Hal nodded, slowly and seriously. “Batman could be Captain Marvel’s dad.” 

The Time Lost In Between  T 34,780 SERIES 

Everyone knows Batman knows everything about everyone, no matter how secretive they might be. What everyone doesn't know is that the Dark Knight knows nothing about Captain Marvel, no matter what he does to try to. And now, he thinks he might just have a lead, a lead that would finally let him tear apart the puzzle that's troubled him for so long. The only complication? Captain Marvel is wearing a dead man's face. 

Billy Accidentally Gets Kidnapped  NR 3,794 

Bruce needs some sleep, all the black haired blue eyed kids are starting to look the same to him. Billy just wants to do his job. In other words, I love the idea of Bruce accidentally kidnapping Billy, it happens in my other story too 

A Natural Progression  NR 92,427 SERIES 

Billy's in a bad place. Consistently on the run from bullies and the like, unable to eat or find a stable place to sleep for more than a week Sure, he's Captain Marvel, but he'd never use his powers for his own gain. Thankfully, Alfred Pennyworth comes to the rescue. 

Billy Batson And The Troubles Of Work-Life Balance  T SERIES 

No one in the League could rightly say they knew exactly who, or what, Captain Marvel was. Billy Batson did not have any plans on changing that status. Maybe he should stop feeding into the rumor mill, then. 

Captain Marvel's Adopted?  T 8,504 

When Captain Marvel sends out a distress call, the only League member available is Batman. Bruce comes to his aid, but he finds out that Billy is a 10-year-old homeless orphan with black hair and blue eyes. Obviously, he makes the only logical decision and adopts Billy. Because it's Bruce—who's allergic to revealing life-changing information—the League is left in the dark. 

From The Shadows  T 88,074 

All Billy Batson wanted was to survive a particularly rough week living on the streets of Fawcett City. The last thing he was looking for was a new family. All Bruce Wayne wanted was to learn a bit more about his upbeat teammate under the guise of official Wayne Enterprises business. But he could never turn his back on a child in need. Especially one as surrounded by mystery as Billy. OR Billy gets adopted by the Batfamily while trying to deal with a strong magical enemy. 

The Marvelous Adventures Of The SuperBat Family  T 

Batman's suspicions that Captain Marvel is autistic snowball out of control and before he knows it he's playing father figure to an impressionable homeless kid along with Superman. There's nothing wrong with panicking and accidentally taking care of another kid, right? Now if they could just figure out why everyone seems to think that they're dating then they should have everything figured out. Right? 

Of Gods And Bats  T 

After Billy Batson gets attacked by something he doesn't understand, he decides to call Batman to help him find the source of the attacks. Little does he know, this sets up a series of events that will change his life forever. Billy has always been an orphan and has learned to take care of himself – but can he learn to accept help from others and really let someone know him? 

Like Going Through Hell On A Sunday  M 54,568 

Jason Todd has to bring Damian to Gotham for his protection, meets Billy along the way and just doesn't know how he's supposed to keep these kids safe while dealing with his trauma (aka killing that damn clown) 

Billy Batson And The Phantom  T 

When a video goes viral of a teenager, who looks strikingly like the superhero known as Captain Marvel, having lightning powers and fighting shadowy enemies, it results in a lot of rumors, theories, and worst of all, conspiracies, that the teen might be the Captain's illegitimate or secret son. Billy Batson, the person underneath the Captain Marvel transformation and a teenager at the tender age of fourteen-years-old knows there is literally no way that this teenager could be his child. Nonetheless, Superman encourages Captain Marvel to help aide in the search for the teenager in order to find out the true happenings of that night in the woods. Billy goes along with it, fearing that if he pushes too hard, he might reveal his secret identity and most of all, his true age, to the Justice League. Besides, how hard could it be to find one teenager? Billy really should have taken his own experiences to heart because as it turns it, the answer to that question is: very hard. 

Who's Old Now?  T 36017 

what happens when a twelve year old masquerading as an adult superhero calls his guardian, an adult who can also turn into a child superhero, on speaker phone, in front of the Justice League. 

[sapphires-and-silver-linings]

JJK Fic Ideas

I made this as a reblog on another post of mine but I think not many people saw it so I'll post separately here as well lol.

Okay, I’ll add a few of my ideas. All of them have chubby reader inserts because I said so. Also a few of them have dark content.

1. Trainer!Gojo

This one is more canon divergent than an actual AU. This one has a lot of backstory lore. Reader is a foreigner in Japan, she and her boyfriend get attacked by a cursed spirit, her dormant powers get triggered, Gojo saves them. She finds out why her powers were never triggered beforehand and Gojo convinces her to come to Jujutsu High. She’s an adult so she can’t exactly be a regular student, so he makes her his teacher’s assistant. He trains her, they get close, she forms a crush on him and he’s attracted to her to the point it becomes distracting. They start an ill-advised friends-with-benefits situation and it’s very… messy. But they admit they’re in love with each other. Might have a happy ending, might have a bittersweet ending, idk.

2. Neighbor!Nanami

Self-explanatory. This one is also more canon divergent than a full AU because he’s still a sorcerer. The reader is his sweet new neighbor who keeps bringing him baked goods. They’re attracted to each other, but he doesn’t want to get a regular human involved in his dangerous life. She asks him to go out to dinner with her on a whim (as friends), and he accepts despite himself. They slowly get closer over time, end up hooking up against his better judgment, and he keeps her at arm’s length after that. Things work out, they fall in love. It’s cute.

3. Roommates!Gojo and Geto AU

This one is also self-explanatory. Gojo and Geto want a third roommate after Shoko moves out, and reader is the lucky gal who they accept. They both think she’s cute. We get a throuple situation with lots of hijinks.

4. Neighbor!Toji and Kid!Megumi AU

Toji is a single father to 6 year old Megumi and is constantly gone for work (no sorcery in this one but he is a hitman lol). Megumi is alone a lot because of this, and one day he forgets his key while Toji is gone and gets locked out of the apartment. The reader comes home from work to see him sitting there and decides to let him stay at her apartment until his dad gets home, which isn’t until very late. He’s pissy about it at first, but when he sees how well taken care of Megumi is, he chills out. And then shamelessly flirts with her, but she rejects his advances. He doesn’t plan to ask her for help, but ends up needing to. They slowly become friends while Megumi opens up and gets attached to her as a mother figure. She discovers Toji has a dark secret but sticks by him and they end up starting a fling, which eventually turns into more. It’s very sweet.

5. Yakuza Clan AU

Sukuna is the boss, Geto is his advisor, Gojo is his second-in-command, Nanami is the treasurer, Toji is the enforcer, and Choso is head of surveillance. Now some of these aren’t like official titles or anything, more so what he wants and needs for his inner circle. I did some research on how the yakuza works but not like… extensively cos this is still fiction. Reader is sold to them by a human trafficker and she becomes their plaything (this one is really dark). The ending won’t exactly be happy regardless of how it turns out.

6. Vampire Coven AU

Sukuna is the coven leader, the other five are just members of the coven. The reader becomes their “pet”, aka their blood bag/toy (also very dark). Now this vampire one has grown extensive lore with lots of coven/clan politics. I went apeshit on the world-building with this one and tbh I’m the most excited to potentially write this. All the main 6 guys have extensive backstories on how they joined the coven and despite being a dark fic, there’s lots of tender moments and it will have a “happy”(?) ending.

7. Incubus!Sukuna AU

Sukuna finds the reader, thinks she’s cute, then proceeds to torment her. No real plot for this one (yet). Might just be a one-shot. Also dark. Obviously.

8. Ex!Geto and Friends-To-Lovers!Gojo

This one is gonna be real sad because it essentially follows the plot of JJK. Reader was with Geto when they were young. Geto leaves for his twisted ideals, and she and Gojo are left to pick up the pieces together and end up falling in love. Just very bittersweet and tragic all around. Season two ruined my life.

[thetomorrowshow]

Whumptober 26 - Nightmares

title: almost unintentionally

fandom: hermitcraft smp

continuation of days 8 and 23, the sleep cycle au!

~

They’re holding him down.

They’re always holding him down, tying him up, hurting him—

They snap a muzzle around his face and he thrashes, he can’t he won’t, they can do anything to him but not this—

He can’t see, blinded by fear, but he knows, somehow, that he’s in the room with the burning floor. He gets a moment’s respite, a moment to claw at his face with mittened hands, before he feels the floor begin to heat up beneath his bare feet—

Ren wakes with a gasp.

For a moment, he thinks he’s still back there, on that stupid folding table with those idiots coming for him, ready to hurt him and restrain him and for what?

He snarls, and snaps his teeth, and raises his hands to defend himself—

But there’s no one there.

He’s alone in his bed, the sheets wrapped tightly around his body. The shadows around his bedroom are innocuous, and none of them hold the faces of his tormentors.

That’s . . . what, the sixth nightmare in six days? He needs to get a grip.

Ren kicks his legs free of the sheets and sits up, pushes his sweaty hair out of his face. It’s still dark, which means he should probably try to get back to sleep, but he feels sticky and overstimulated and a shower sounds really nice right about now.

He strips quickly, his soft pajama pants dragging like sandpaper against his legs. Really overstimulated, then. He might need to break out the weighted pillow for this one.

He picks up his communicator, but doesn’t check it. He just carries it with him, in case someone needs to reach him in an emergency.

Ren leaves the light off in the restroom when he limps in (his feet are still recovering from their burns, curse them, and each step is less than pleasant), just turns the shower on and waits for the water to heat up until standing is uncomfortable, then steps into the tub, settling into the shower chair that he’d borrowed from Scar.

The hot water falling onto his shoulders and head feels heavenly, switched to the highest pressure possible so that it practically drums into his skin. Ren sighs and melts under it, runs one clawed hand through his hair.

They hadn’t even wanted him. Not really. He was just bait, bait for Doc and Tango to follow.

Bait.

Ren’s fingers clench in his hair.

He’d gotten off easy, all things considered. Some bumps and bruises. Scratches on his face. A broken rib, quickly healed by a potion. Some burns on his feet that kept him on bed rest for a couple of days, but nothing major.

(Nightmares, every night, reliving the captivity.)

Better than Tango, who hasn’t spoken to anyone since.

Better than Impulse, who had been tortured the entire week and forced to stay awake.

Better than Mumbo, malnourished and trembling, left there for two months, no one searching for him.

Better than Doc, his entire goshdarn arm missing, his horns shaved down to nubs, his mechanical eye mangled, his molars pulled and more.

Xisuma wants them all to go to therapy. Probably for the best, but Ren feels a little like a baby, pulling up with his tiny problems compared to the others. So what, he’s got a couple of lousy nightmares. That isn’t the end of the world. That isn’t worth wasting some professional’s time.

Cleaning himself would probably be a good thing to do in the shower, so Ren grabs some shampoo and squeezes it into his hand, massaging his scalp aggressively. He didn’t check the bottle, but when he smells roses he realizes that he grabbed Bdubs’s shampoo. Good, it’s better for his thick hair.

He likes the smell, too. It makes him think of Bdubs, of his tight hugs and chipper smile. It smells fresh, not too overwhelming.

It’s calming.

He rinses it out, eyes closed to allow for the suds dripping down his face.

He hadn't bathed during his captivity. His body had grown grimier and grimier, sweat staining his days-old clothes, his usually well-trimmed beard getting scratchy and stubbly. He'd hated it, hated the feeling of his clothes against his sticky skin, hated that he couldn't do anything about it.

He rubs a bar of soap along his skin now, as if cleansing himself of the memories. The shower chair makes it a bit awkward to wash everything, honestly. He should get around to returning it to Scar soon, now that he's no longer in the phase of needing to wrap his feet in plastic to keep the wounds dry for every shower. He's pretty much recovered, six days after the ordeal.

He spent longer there than it took for him to heal.

Isn't that weird?

Isn't it weird that this whole thing elapsed two weeks, and nothing more?

Ren shakes himself—physically, even, his hair slapping against the wall of the shower. For him it lasted two weeks. Impulse is still having trouble sleeping, Tango hasn’t been seen by anyone. Doc won't be alone. Mumbo doesn't talk.

He doesn't even have it bad.

He wishes he could fall asleep under the spray of the shower. He feels calmer here than he has in days, worried over nothing serious.

But he can’t hide in the shower forever.

Even so, he takes a couple more minutes, just sitting there and basking in it, before he reluctantly switches off the shower, the last couple drops bouncing off his chest. Then he stands, grimacing at the wet seat against his bare skin—fine while the shower was on, unbearable now that it’s off.

He rubs his wrists while he towels off. There’d been divots in the skin there when he was first rescued, but they’ve filled back out with a health potion and time. They’re still a bit bruised, but no longer tender to the touch.

Barely anything.

He limps back to his bedroom, grabs a fresh pair of boxers out of his dresser. It’s the last pair—he’ll have to do laundry. Might as well do it now, seeing as he doesn’t exactly plan on going back to sleep. Heck, then he’d have a nice, toasty, good-smelling pile of laundry to flop onto. That might lull him into sleep.

Knock-knock-knock-knock.

Ren scrunches his eyes closed for a moment. What time is it? Is it still early enough to reasonably ignore visitors?

He squints at the wall clock—three in the morning. Yeah, it is.

But he won’t do that.

He grabs a t-shirt out of his dresser and pulls it on over his head, clumsily sticking his arms through the holes. It’s a little bit small—probably belongs to Scar. Then he makes his slow way out of his room and to his front door, which he opens without checking to see who might be there.

It’s Doc.

Doc, his horns missing, his arm unfinished, shadows of bruises still painting his face.

Doc offers him a half-smile. “Hello.”

“How’d you know I was up?” Ren rasps, and he suddenly realizes he hasn’t drunk any water since getting up, making his voice still heavy with sleep. 

Doc lifts his communicator (in his organic hand, his mechanical arm not entirely reconstructed). “You stopped being AFK. Did you move your communicator?”

Ren doesn’t think about how that means Doc was already awake, watching the server list. He just shrugs, turns around to head back to his room, leaving the door open in his wake.

Doc follows him in, his footsteps heavier than Ren’s, all the way back to his bedroom, where Ren starts grabbing the various articles of dirty clothing strewn about his room and throwing them into the half-full laundry basket in his closet. Doc doesn’t move from the doorway, simply observing.

“Did you just shower?”

“Mhm.”

“Mind if I use your shower? Scar said you have his chair.”

Is that what Doc came over for? Ren shrugs.

“Go for it, dude.”

Doc leaves, and a few moments later Ren hears the sound of the shower running again, so he finishes gathering up the clothes and throws them all into the washer.

It’s too early to be doing chores, but Ren’s already started, so he picks up the dirty dishes in his room and takes them all to his kitchen sink, where he starts scrubbing methodically.

There aren’t too many. He finishes it quickly (though not quickly enough, his feet aching where he stands) and finds himself sitting on the edge of his bed, staring at the dark floor.

He’s tired.

He’s been tired since they got out, and it doesn’t seem to be letting up any time soon.

The shower turns off.

Ren sighs, runs a hand down his face. He needs to shave. It can wait until morning proper, but he doesn’t like the stubble on his cheeks.

How long will the laundry take? Probably thirty minutes. Have thirty minutes passed? No, it would beep its freaking head off to let him know.

He’s so tired.

After a couple of minutes of staring at the floor, he hears the restroom door open. He listens idly to the rustling of Doc making his way back to the room, then the way the floorboards creak under his weight as he crosses the bedroom.

Doc rummages through Ren’s dresser without asking, pulling out a shirt and throwing it on awkwardly, his half-completed robotic arm still wrapped in dripping plastic. The shirt is one of Doc’s own, and he growls frustratedly as he shoves his arm through the sleeve, then tears off the plastic and balls it up.

Doc misses the trash can when he tosses the plastic, but he doesn’t try again. He just comes round to the other side of Ren’s bed and rolls in, shoving the blankets away.

“You need to sleep,” Doc grumbles. “Lie down.”

Ren sighs.

Then he complies, slumping back against the pillows. He only resists a moment before leaning into Doc’s slightly damp shirt.

Doc takes it one step further, wrapping his good arm around Ren and holding him there. The heavy weight of his arm feels nice, and Ren buries his face into Doc’s shoulder where the neckline of the shirt has slipped slightly, letting him shove his nose into Doc’s fur. It smells like citrus, orange and lemon, good and clean.

“Keralis,” Ren mumbles.

Doc hums. “Couldn’t find my bodywash.”

“Probably just as good. He’s always bragging about how expensive it is.”

“Rich bastard.”

Doc’s chest rumbling against him is comfortable, homey. Ren’s eyes droop; he yawns.

“Haven’t been able to sleep so well,” Doc admits quietly, in the darkness of Ren’s room. The washer whirs somewhere in the distant background. “Nightmares.”

Ren’s been having nightmares, too, but he can’t help but feel guilty. They can’t be anything compared to Doc’s.

“About what they did to you,” Doc continues, and Ren freezes.

What?

“What?” he says aloud, pushing back a bit to see Doc’s face. “I—but I was fine!”

Doc’s eyes are closed, his brows furrowed. “I saw you,” he says, after a long moment. “They showed me you. With—with that muzzle on. I know you hate those things.”

“I—”

“What they did to me hurt,” Doc says. “What they did to you hurt, too.”

“It’s . . . it’s different,” Ren says weakly.

“I don’t think so.”

Ren sighs. “I don’t want to argue about it, dude. I’m too tired.”

Doc shrugs. “Okay. We’ll talk in the morning. But you went through hell, too, dude. You don’t have to feel bad for us just because you think we had it worse.”

Typical. Typical Doc, always guessing exactly what he was thinking.

Ren doesn’t respond to that.

He just snuggles back up against Doc and lets himself fall asleep.

When he wakes up a couple hours later from another nightmare, terrified and ashamed, he’s still in Doc’s warm hold.

So Ren lets himself doze. They both deserve a lie-in, he thinks.

The laundry can wait until later.

[writemekpop]

Home Alone | Kim Jongin (Kai)

Summary: Your husband Kai accuses you of not trusting him with your baby daughter.  

Genre: New parents AU, domestic, angsty, house hubby Kai

Word Count: 0.8k

You were trying to balance the dangerous job of straightening your hair while buttoning up a onesie for your one-year-old. The hot blades wavered ever closer to the soft blue cotton.

That was when you got the call. You threw down the phone. “My mother’s sick! She can’t take Jasmine!”

Your husband Kai sprang up. He had been kneeling on the floor, building a house of cards in the pristine emptiness of the living room you had just cleaned. The house collapsed with a sigh.

“I’ve got to leave,” you groaned, lifting your baby daughter Jasmine into your arms. “Hey Jazzy, have you ever been to a board meeting before?”

The baby giggled.

Kai stepped forward, running his hands through his disheveled hair. “Hey, I can take her!” He frowned. “It’s not like I’ve never looked after Jazz.” He paused, his face falling blank. “Actually… you have never asked me to look after Jazz. How come?”  

Your heart rate was increasing just hearing his words. Everything came into sharp focus. Kai’s odd combination of Hawaiian shorts, a silk shirt and flip-flops. The cigarette butts still smouldering in the ashtray on the balcony he thought you didn’t know about.

The sound of your phone alarm, titled, LEAVE THE HOUSE BITCH, began to buzz like an angry wasp in your ear.  

“Um, yes, sweetie, of course I want you to look after Jasmine, it’s just-“ you scrambled for a lie. “You’re… too… busy! I don’t want to get the way of your fancy actor work!”

He frowned. “But baby, you know shooting hasn’t started yet.”  

You needed a better excuse. “But your lines. You have to learn them. I would rather than die than keep you away from your lines.”

You could almost hear the drone of the station announcer: “Last call for the 8:05 train. Last call…”  

Kai grinned in disbelief. “You’re saying I can’t look after Jazz… because I have to read a script?” He frowned. “Do you not trust me to look after our daughter?”

“Oh, Kai.” You squeezed your temples. “I don’t have time for this. Fine You want the truth?. No, I don’t trust you with my child.”

“Our child.” Kai scoffed. “And you can’t say that! How could you?”

You gestured to the pigsty that was the apartment. “You’re irresponsible. You’re untidy. You’re out partying every night-“

You were about to say more, but you stopped yourself. Some things were too true to say. Everybody deserved a few lies to cling onto.

Kai sighed, and you hated how well he knew you. “Go on. Say what you’re thinking.”  

You sighed. “Oh… and acting is not a real job!”

Kai bit his lip, pain flashing over his handsome features. “So, what was your big plan? Keep her from me for the next eighteen years?  

You tried to deny it, but fell silent when you saw the pain in his eyes. “N-not eighteen. Maybe… ten.”

And suddenly, you felt like an awful person. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. You- you’re a great father, you just… don’t have the skills yet to look after her. The knowledge.”

Kai sighed. His voice was very quiet. “I know that she naps between eleven and one. I know that Fuzzy is her favourite toy. I know that she can’t sleep on her tummy, or drink cow’s milk, or have too many baths.”

“How did you…” you started. “I read those parenting books that you aways leave lying around,” Kai said, crossing his arms.

You stepped towards him, smoothing your hands over his face. “I had no idea…”

You pressed your lips to his, and in the shape of his firm body, his scent, you almost lost yourself.

Kai gently pulled away, crooning, “Go. As much as I’d like you to stay, your genius is needed at a board meeting. I’ve got her.”

You smiled, picking up your bags. “Okay. But I am FaceTiming you in an hour. Every hour, actually.”

Kai grinned, that lopsided grin that made you giddy when you were still nineteen and an extra on some unknown TV show. You may have given up on acting, but you never gave up on the boy of your dreams.

You left a little piece of your heart with Kai and Jasmine, then shrugged on your blazer and stepped out into the brightening morning light.  

—

MAIN MASTERLIST

Let us know what you thought in the comments or on anon! 💋

[jooberry]

title : middle of the night 

next part : part II

pairing :  hyungwon x female reader 

genre : smut, friends with benefits, idol!au

word count : 3,5k 

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━   

It’s raining heavily outside. Raindrops crash against the windows in loud cracks, thunder reverberates menacingly, and trees sway and vibrate along with the wind. You were supposed to spend the night catching up on some work stuff, but your attention keeps coming back to the strings of lights cutting through the sky, on the violent rumbling shaking the city. You usually find comfort in the melody of rain knocking on glass, but tonight it makes you restless. Thunder reminds you of Hyungwon now – you’ve first met on a thunderous night like this one, and the memory of this makes you crave his presence every time. You reminisce about how he had told you that you were too old to be afraid of thunderstorms but had still stayed up with you all night. 

You’d lived through countless thunderstorms before meeting him, and you had a pretty solid routine to ease your mind on a night like this one; a good jazz record, noise-canceling headphones, your favorite cup of tea, and a cozy sweater had always seemed enough for you to get by until today. Today, you feel like something is missing. Hyungwon not being there to share his questionable music taste, to listen to you ramble on and on about your favorite books feels odd...almost sad. Him not being there to make you lose yourself in his touch feels so foreign. 

It dawns on you that you could text Hyungwon, ask him to come and hold you through the night – he was there, you knew that because he had posted about this coffee place he loved earlier today – but something, the distant murmur of a feeling that you have yet to identify is making you think twice about doing that. Hyungwon was the one to reach out every time, and it felt better that way; you liked the idea of him thinking about you, missing you, and having to bend to your schedule. Disturbing this fragile balance would be an admission of missing his presence and you don’t feel yet ready to let him know that – even though, there is no way he doesn’t know that you cherish those moments with him. 

Of course, Hyungwon knows. It’s so obvious. Everything from the way you’re always playing so hard to get, to the way you fold at the slightest of his touch screams that you’re enjoying those moments with him. There is no point in playing those games and putting up those facades when the truth always comes out when your bodies collide. You reach for your phone, but to your surprise, he has already beat you to the chase.  

HW, 01:37 

I know you’re afraid of thunderstorms   I’m coming to save you  

You can’t help a smile, the kind of those you always try so hard to hide in front of him – the distant murmur of unidentified emotions was progressively becoming louder in your mind recently. At first, there was nothing, just an unescapable attraction that you hadn’t tried to suppress, then it became a burning sensation in the pit of your stomach every time Hyungwon showed up at your door, and now it felt like a fire – a beautiful and comforting thing, but also something dangerous and impossible to control. You know better than to play with fire, yet here you are, expecting not to get burned.  

You, 01:41 

I’m waiting for you then 

You get up, taking the headphones off your ears. You were listening to one of Hyungwon’s songs anyway – one of those where you couldn’t help but ask yourself what it was all about. Was it only a fragment of his twisted imagination? You? Someone else? You had thought about asking him about it, but there was simply no way to ask him this question without bringing up a bigger issue that you want nothing to do with. It would either mean overexaggerating your importance in his life and thus exposing some sort of delusion he would have no choice but to squash and thus breaking something in you – or exposing yourself to the revelation that you were just one of many girls who had found your way into Hyungwon’s bed, and thus breaking something in you; and who could tell if what was broken today could be recovered later?  

Well, Hyungwon‘s songs were explicitly talking about love, and whatever was between you and him was not love, you knew that much. There was lust and desire, a whole lot of it, and possibly appreciation, some form of friendship, but love? That was ridiculous. As you set to fix your appearance before he arrives, you let your mind wander on a question that is making your heart beat a thousand times per second: what will you do if you’re not the only one? What could have led you to believe that you could have been the only one? You were obviously not the only one sensitive to Hyungwon‘s charm. If you were ready to compromise a job and shit ton of money over a night with him, what were others willing to sacrifice? The realization is terrifying, and by the time you’re done getting ready, all that you can feel is bewilderment. While you were originally wearing the sweater he had forgotten the last time Hyungwon was at your place, you ended up throwing it in the pile of dirty laundry.  

You only have time to get the kettle going before your doorbell rings twice. Sighing, you make your way to the door to open it, and without surprise, it’s him. All the upheaval you were feeling towards him disappears when you see how drenched he is, and how he doesn't seem to mind as he smiles at you in an oddly cute way. You watch him take off his beanie, before ruffling his equally sodden hair. Hyungwon‘s jacket is dripping water on the floor, but he casually takes it off before shoving it into your clothes dryer.  

“You didn’t have to come,” you say, as he bends down to take off his shoes. You can see his body shivering slightly from the cold, as he rubs his hands together to warm them.  

“I was nearby” Hyungwon replies, following you into the living room area. “I only got caught in the rain when I got off the car, don’t worry” he smiles again, checking something on his phone, before putting it away on the coffee table. You always ask that of him every time he comes, and it’s funny that he’s been here enough times already to have picked up this habit. 

“You were at the studio?” you ask, not able to shake off the fact that you want to know what Hyungwon‘s doing when he’s not working and he’s not with you.  

“Yes” he replies, running his hand through his hair “I spent the day trying to finish that one song, but nothing came. I ran out of ideas”Hyungwon crashes on the couch next to you, grabbing a cushion before closing his eyes. 

“Is that why you wanted to come?” you ask, scooting closer to him so you can play with his still-damp hair. He doesn’t reply, and for a moment, you think he has fallen asleep.  

“No. I just wanted to see you”Hyungwon says, relaxing into your touch. You hum at his response, and it hits you then: you will never have any insight into his day-to-day life. You’re bound to take his word for it and believe whatever he tells you. For all you know, he could have spent the day with another woman, and you’d be none the wiser. 

“Am I supposed to believe that?” you ask, massaging his shoulders. He chuckles, turning his head towards you. 

“Why not?”Hyungwon asks, massaging your thigh.

“We both know that’s a lie” you whisper, straddling his lap. You’ve made a mistake by introducing this topic, and the only way to get him to forget about it is to give him what he really came for. You pull on his hair to make him tilt his head back and kiss him. Hyungwon kisses back immediately, grabbing you by the waist to press your body tighter against his.  

You can feel the fire you were picturing in your mind earlier burn your skin, and your whole body ignites. It’s been countless days since the last time you’ve seen Hyungwon, and it’s not until he touched you again that you realize how much you had missed this. His cute and chill attitude was only a façade because in no time he has you on your knees and ordered you to suck him off. You’re happy to follow his orders, relieved that he chose to get rid of his frustration rather than entertain your silly little feelings. You make quick work of his jeans, which he kicks under the small stone table in front of your couch, and immediately back to your task. Your eyes meet as you take as much of him as you can in your mouth, but it’s not enough – Hyungwon  grabs your hair and presses your head on his cock so deep you can feel him in your throat. You barely have time to adjust to his size and he starts rocking his hips against your mouth, you can barely breathe and your eyes feel with tears. 

He lets you go as you moan, and he falls back groaning against the couch. You go back for him, and this time he doesn’t have to do anything; you’re chasing the feeling so hard he hits the back of your throat every time. Hyungwon grips your hair a little softer this time and orders you to look at him. Once again, you follow his order, looking at him through teary eyes full of adoration, while he completely devours you with his gaze. His desire is so deep, so dark, that you can’t help but fear for what he’s going to do to you this time – he always manages to do the craziest things to you, to bring you places you didn’t even know your body could go. But tonight, Hyungwon has no time to play. He’s annoyed and frustrated, and your body is the perfect outlet to vent all those emotions. He gets up and throws you where he used to sit on the couch, then drags your shorts along with your underwear down to your ankles. He doesn’t even bother taking them off your body and plunges right into you. You gasp at the intrusion, your vision blurred by the sudden rush of pleasure; the grip Hyungwon has on your neck is painful and breathing is a little hard but coupled with the way he’s already fucking you so hard, it feels so good.  

You’re lost in his eyes, as your mind gets cloudier and cloudier, and the pleasure gets too much, too soon, and that apart from your hand over his, from your nails against his chest, there’s nothing you can do. Hyungwon starts asking you how good he feels, how deep you can feel him, how much of a good girl you are – and it drives him absolutely insane when you do this, when you try to speak but can only form high-pitched moans and incoherent cries. It drives him insane how deep your voice gets the harder he goes; he lives for this. Hyungwon feels you clenching around him, and starts to rub your clit with his thumb, fast-charging the orgasm that was building up in the pit of your stomach for a while. It only takes a few minutes for you to gush all over the couch and on his face with a loud scream; body shaking uncontrollably off the couch – he’s pushed out of you but immediately comes back to pin you down and starts eating you out. 

You’re way too sensitive for this, but Hyungwon doesn’t care, his strength is enough to lock you in place as he gives your body way more than it can handle.   Your head is buzzing, and you can’t focus on anything but the feeling of his mouth sucking on your clit like his life depends on it. The pleasure is consuming and overwhelming, and yet you keep craving more, you make sure that his head is pressed against your core as hard as possible, which prompts him to insert two of his fingers inside of you and to start pumping. It’s enough to push you over the edge once more. This time you’re gushing so hard you can feel some of it spill on your face, and even with his two strong hands pinning you down, you’re shaking off the couch. When you look down at Hyungwon, the lower half of his face is covered in your juices, as well as the tip of his hair.  

“Please” you start begging, but you barely manage to open your mouth that he’s back between your legs, devouring you so hard you’re fighting for your life to push him off you. You’re screaming and pushing back against him so hard, but Hyungwon remains unmovable, and with the fatal dance of his tongue and fingers, you’re overwhelmed by pleasure yet again. He manages to grab your legs before they give up on you and put them on his shoulders, you’re begging again – voice weak and tears filling your eyes, but he whispers a quick “shh” and slowly slides inside of you. 

The moan that escapes from his lips is so beautiful, so deep, you can’t help but bite into your hand to muffle your screams. You want to hear him, only him. His pace is fast and punishing, but you want to hear and see him, no matter how hard it is. Hyungwon bends down and kisses you for the first time tonight and you can taste all of yourself on his tongue, on every part of his mouth, and just the thought of it drives you absolutely insane. You push a strand of black hair away from his face, as your gaze is lost in his; half-lidded eyes too afraid to look away, to lose the beauty of his face when he looks at you like this – like he absolutely hates every single thing about you, like he wants to destroy you. You want to be destroyed, though, so you grab one of his hands and place it around your neck.  

“Faster” you beg, which makes him smile wickedly. Hyungwon closes his hand around your throat and picks up his pace. Your mouth forms a perfect o, and keeping your eyes open becomes impossible. You can feel him so deep it feels like he’s all up in your guts; you can’t suppress your moans anymore, and neither do you want to. He must know how good he makes you feel. “Faster” you repeat, even though you already can’t handle his current pace.  

“You’re such a fucking slut” Hyungwon spits with a wicked grin, pressing his palm harder against your windpipe. “Begging for more of my cock when you can’t even handle this much” you put your hand over his, mirroring the smile on his face. Hyungwon keeps going, pressing his forehead against yours.  

He’s caught off guard when you close your other hand around his throat, before ordering through batted breaths “I said faster.”Hyungwon chuckles, pushing your legs further onto the leather, he reaches deeper inside of you and starts fucking you even harder than before. You scream, so hard it resonates through the entire living room, and probably through the entire apartment as well. Had the floor not been yours, neighbors would have probably been knocking on your door and calling the cops by now, trying to save you from whoever was trying to hurt you. They wouldn’t know this was exactly what you wanted, being brought to this place where pleasure and pain met to form one overwhelming sensation – something you couldn’t help but crave each time you were laying with him. Your breath was stuck in your throat, and your body was right on edge, ready to fall headfirst into the most crushing orgasm since that last time in his studio. Just then, Hyungwon reaches down and starts rubbing on your clit, giving you just what you needed to sink for good. 

This time there’s a deafening silence, during which your body is limp, unable to move except for your nails digging hard into his hand and his neck. You feel out of time and space, unable to think or to stand on your own. Hyungwon picks you up and makes his way to your bedroom, where he drops you on the bed before sinking two of his fingers back inside of you. You moan at the burning sensation, before gushing all over the sheets only after a few thrusts. He plunges right back, and resumes his fast, deep, punishing pace from before; you’re nothing more than a ragdoll at this point, submitted to the extreme violence of his desire without being able to push back against it – not that you wanted to. You couldn’t look at anything other than him, and how he was so focused on making you cum over and over again until you couldn’t take it anymore; until all that was left was pain. 

When you start to shake uncontrollably again, Hyungwon flips you on your back and dives right back, fucking so deep and hard that your body is sinking into the mattress – he has to push you against the headboard because you keep running from him. It’s overwhelming, him inside of you, his groans mixing with your screams, his hands slapping your cheeks, his heart beating against your skin; too much at the same time. You have no idea of how long you were doing this at this point, but you just wanted to take what he was giving you. Hyungwon grips your hair, forcing your head back against his chest, before grabbing your neck with his other hand. By the way he was breathing, you could tell that his end was close and that he was giving you everything he had left. Your arms gave up on you though, and you fall back on the sheets, but instead of picking you up, he lays on top of you.  

Hyungwon nuzzles his head in the crook of your neck, breathing hard against your skin before stopping after a few more thrusts. You feel him coming and grab his hand, as you feel his cock twitch inside of you. The moan he lets out is the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard from him, it sent shivers down your spine, and you moan as he slowly fills you up. You try to turn over to lay on your back, but Hyungwon pushes your arm and starts kissing your neck and your shoulder. You stayed like that for a while – you couldn’t tell how long, but you were slowly drifting in and out of sleep when he finally got up. You finally turned over just as he’s back in the bedroom, holding a glass of water and towel in each hand. He puts the glass on your bedside table before kneeling before you on the bed. It’s the first time Hyungwon is cleaning you up, and it feels oddly intimate yet incredibly awkward; you grab the glass when he exits the room again, hugging your knees against your chest.  

To be fair, Hyungwon has never come inside of you like that before – even though the contraception topic had been dealt with early on in your relationship. But what really bothers you is why you grabbed his hand earlier? It had felt so wholesome, so warm that you could almost think that it was lovemaking and not fucking. He startles you out of your thoughts when he comes back and slips under the sheets next to you.  

“You okay?” Hyungwon asks, bringing you against his chest. His heart was still beating relatively fast, but so is yours so you don’t think too much of it. You hum in response, awkwardly holding your empty glass as if you were afraid of moving. You stay like that for a while, listening in on each other’s breathing without a move. You thought you could just fall asleep like this and rest until he had to go in the early morning, but his voice broke the silence.  

“I was being serious, you know. I really wanted to see you tonight” Hyungwon starts, putting his head on yours. “The thunderstorm reminded me of you” 

“Forget about that, I was just joking around” you sigh, running the tip of your nails along his skin. “You don’t have to justify yourself” Hyungwon furrows his brows, puzzled at your reaction, but he lets you talk nonetheless. “This was never meant to be more than just sex, so let it be just that...let’s not complicate things”  

Hyungwon purses his lips and pretends to ignore the complex mix of emotions clouding his mind at your words and plays along. You look up at him, and he fakes a faint smile; when you nuzzle your head back in his chest, he starts playing with your hair, nursing you to sleep. When your breathing finally slows down, he sneaks out of your bed and puts on his clothes before disappearing without a word.  

[al-astakbar]

☆ The Gift -- Thrawn x reader ☆

> title ☆ The Gift ☆part 7/?

> summary ☆ As congratulations for his recent promotion to Grand Admiral, Emperor Palpatine gives Thrawn a gift -- a young woman who has been trained as a pleasure companion.

> pairing ☆  Thrawn x reader ☆ word count [2.2k] ☆ warnings for this part ☆ sex, mentions of bondage > series warnings ☆ dubious consent; sexual slavery; concubine/ sex slave AU; will add more warnings as more parts are posted

>series navigation ☆ part 1 ☆ part 2 ☆ part 3 ☆ part 4 ☆ part 5 ☆ part 6 ☆ part 7 ☆ part 8 ☆ part 9 ☆ part 10

> posted on ao3

author note!! To be very clear, in this story reader is a concubine against her will and is gifted to Thrawn, but there is at no point any noncon between Thrawn and reader. Reader is never noncon with anyone, either referenced or explicitly, and there is never any explicit noncon. However, this is a darker take on Thrawn and he doesn't really have many hangups about putting his gift to use...

When you get back to his quarters, he puts you over his desk and gives you a slow, thorough fucking. Compounded with how you had denied yourself the night before, he leaves you tender and aching with need. 

It need not be like this every time. 

He cleans you up again. Gentle attention that you think the schedule of a Grand Admiral should not have time for. He does it as intently as you’ve seen him do everything else, a lingering touch as he wipes his spend from your thighs. You can’t help a quiet moan nor the quiver that goes through you when he runs the cloth over your labia.

“Would you like to be alone?” His voice is low, soft, his expression knowing. 

Damn him, you almost--almost-- say yes. “No.”

/////

For you, the rest of the day is quiet. You stay in the small sitting area, reading on the datapad, or else looking at the art or out the viewport at the blue stream of hyperspace.

If this is a template for how your days will be aboard the Chimaera, you suppose you will have to get used to monotony and loneliness. In the time Thrawn is at his desk, he hardly acknowledges you. After a lunch without conversation (he eats nothing), he goes into another room of the suite that is locked to you and does not come out for several hours.

By dinner you are restless, and almost glad for his company.

Two serving droids bring the meal and lay out two place settings at the small dining area next to the huge viewport in his main cabin. 

When the meal is cleared away, Thrawn’s plate again untouched, he tells you that you may spend the rest of the evening reading. That is better, you suppose, than what was permitted during your training in the cloister on Coruscant, where you couldn’t access the holonet. Still, you miss having embroidery to work on, and nameless, faceless friends to whisper to while doing chores.

Several times, you glance up from the datapad to find Thrawn looking at you appraisingly, as if trying to decide what to do with you. 

/////

The rest of the trip to the Outer Rim passes in much the same way. You were expecting the passage of time in space to feel strange, after so long planet-side, but for the most part it doesn’t. The ship maintains its own day/night rhythm. The lights cycle on and off. The crew work in shifts, though there isn’t much to do yet, this early in a deployment. 

Thrawn wakes you at the same time every morning, you go to the bridge with him and observe silently from a corner. Ronan, to your frustration, continues to pretend like you don’t exist. 

You find little ways to annoy your new master: leaving your clothes all over the floor, blowing bubbles in your drinks, persistently asking him questions while he’s trying to work. More than once you push him too far and he strips you naked, ties you kneeling beside his desk. Sometimes a gag if he particularly wants quiet. Every time he does, you sit there fuming, petulant and humiliated, but you never fight him on it. Not really. You’d never admit it to him, or to anyone, but the restraint is almost calming.

Thoughts of your time on Coruscant linger in your mind most days, especially with little else to occupy you. The datapad, you’ve found after more searching and testing, has limited accesses, so you can’t get much new to read or watch. Thrawn’s art collection, while interesting at first, becomes familiar and mundane. By this point you think you could name each piece in order with your eyes closed. 

“I miss my friends,” you say aloud one evening. You don’t even really mean to say it to him, he’s just there, as always, reading quietly. 

He looks up. “Your friends on the city planet?”

You nod, suddenly a little shy. He actually sounds interested.

“The two who were with you at the ceremony did not seem friendly.” 

“Not the ones you saw. Mirri and Solis. They weren’t-- they weren’t nice. They were always there, they made sure we didn’t misbehave.”

Something flashes in Thrawn’s eyes-- perhaps he has something to say about the ineffectiveness of their methods when it comes to your own behavior. But instead he just asks more about what it was like, and you find no reason not to tell him. You were not supposed to use your own name, or anyone else’s. Your face was nearly always covered, so you had never really known what any of the others being trained looked like-- only brief glimpses. Shadowy impressions, a beautiful girl with light hair and eyes, a boy younger than you with curly brown hair and full lips, countless others.

None of you were supposed to acknowledge each other in any way that could remind you of your individuality, but you had still talked to them. Learned who they were by their voices and brief glimpses of exposed hands. You could tell a lot from that. From the skin tones and length and number of fingers. Not all were humans. You had seen other skin tones, like blue and green and yellow and orange, and some you could tell had to be Twi’leks from the way the hoods draped over their heads and lekku. Some wanted to be there, thought it would raise their social standing. Some were like you, unwilling and defiant. Some were broken, with no voice. 

They were all strangers, essentially. You had traded stories in hushed whispers, of others who had come before you, and their fates with cruel or kind masters. But most who left the cloister just disappeared. You would have no way of finding them again. 

“They were still my friends,” you add, a little defensive.

Until now, Thrawn has listened intently as you tell him all this, but offered no comment or reassurance. “I have no doubt,” he says softly.  

In his quarters, he fucks you efficiently and regularly, driving you closer to madness and relief every time. He knows what he is doing to you. He tells you he can feel how slick and tight you are, how good you feel, your lovely cunt takes my cock so well. He knows how his voice affects you, he feels you push your hips back to meet his when he murmurs obscene praise against your neck. He knows you still deny yourself pleasure, even as you moan his name and spread your legs to take him deeper.

At meals, you eat methodically while he watches you and eats nothing. Not even a sip of water, caf, nor the emerald wine served with supper, which is delicious. It makes you lightheaded, since you haven’t had alcohol since before arriving on Coruscant, over a year ago. The food is much richer than you’re used to as well. You mention both of these things to him one evening, instead of accusing him of being a creep for just sitting there staring at you. 

“It’s the standard meal served in the galley,” he explains. “Breakfast and lunch, too. Other than these accommodations and my pay, I claim few privileges. I eat the same as my crew does.”

You snort, taking a pointed sip of wine. Was that pronouncement supposed to win you over? “I’m sure the crew appreciates your humility and all the sacrifices you’ve made.”

“Perhaps.” 

“I’m willing to bet they don’t get a wine ration either.”

“They don’t,” he confirms. 

You have a moment to feel smug, having gotten him to admit some small hypocrisy. 

“You speak as if you’ve been in their position,” he says. “Have you served aboard a starship before? Prior military, perhaps? Or mercenary work.”

You freeze, glass halfway to your lips. For a moment, you consider denying it, but he misses nothing. Your reaction has already given it away. But if he guesses anything more specific-- it’s something you’d really rather not admit, especially to a Grand Admiral. “How’d you get that from wine rations and humility?” 

“You aren’t particularly… cordial… with officers. You know enough about ships to be impressed with the Chimaera-- on the approach the other day,” he specifies. 

“Anyone would be.”

“You have a sense of how ships function, how information flows among the crew-- “ he pauses with a slight frown. “My apologies. There is a word for it in my native tongue. I do not know its equivalent in Basic.”

“Gossip?” 

He shakes his head. “It is slang for the spread of rumors among the junior enlisted, as both an information network and a pastime.”

“How do you say it in your language?”

Thrawn hesitates. You think you might see some odd reluctance in his expression, but he masks it quickly, and answers. “Csarrob.” 

You try repeating it, but can’t quite form your lips and tongue to mimic the sounds. “The ships I was on called it the underground. Or the mafia, depending on what ship and what part of the galaxy.”

Thrawn goes quiet for a moment, the type of quiet you’ve come to recognize as the times he is thinking, and about to say something inconveniently perceptive. He sits back in his chair, one arm crossed over his chest, his other hand touching his chin. You’ve seen the same pose on the bridge-- with a dangerous edge to his usual even tone, he says one word that makes your heart drop. “Rebel.” 

There’s no way he could have known, nobody could have told him-- coming to the cloister, everyone’s identity was wiped clean. No one there had known, there were no records. You’d been given a new name, a new chain code. 

“You served on Rebel ships,” he presses.

You swallow a large gulp of wine and nod. 

His eyes seem to glow brighter. “And your position? Not very high, I would imagine, given that you’re here.”

Your mouth feels too dry. “Yeah, I was-- I was nothing, really. I was nobody. I served meals and mended uniforms. Fixed radios, cleaned blasters. Anything that needed to be done.” And though you’re loathe to admit it, your time so far with Thrawn has been luxurious compared to your short stint in the Rebellion. You had barely thought about it for so long, you’d almost forgotten. It had been buried, deep, and you’d never even thought to worry someone might find out.

“And you believed you needed to conceal this from me,” he says. “Explain your reasoning.”

“Other than…” you gesture at him. At his uniform. His rank. He gives you a level stare, as if to say ‘continue.’  “Fine. Well, I wasn’t trying to hide anything. It’s not a very exciting story. I was captured. Eventually sent through the ISB system. They interrogated me and then recommended me for the training.”

“So. You’ve been… domesticated.” He puts a sly twist on the word, suggestive in a way that makes arousal knife through you.

Your instinct is to glare at him, but you only manage to sound petulant. “Should I be kneeling at your feet during meals?”

“Perhaps. You might find that you enjoy it.”   

This sets your mind spinning, and it’s all you can think about the rest of the evening as you try to read on the datapad. He has unbalanced you so easily. The incisive deductions about your past -- ‘Rebel’ in his smooth, modulated voice replays in your mind over and over-- though he does not seem angry about it, or hateful, like you would expect of an Imperial. Only intrigued. 

As for the idea he’d put in your head… kneeling at his feet. During meals, or maybe while he’s working. He already makes you do it while restrained, but to settle there at his side by your own choice… Somehow the thought of it is calming, almost a fantasy. Sitting on the couch, you steal a glance at Thrawn, who is engrossed with something at his desk. You take a deep, slow breath. He might let you lean your head against his leg. Stroke your hair idly as he occasionally reads aloud from whatever he’s working on, his voice cool and soft. He seems to like your hair. He often touches it when he has you over his desk, brushing it off your face or combing his fingers through it as he fucks you and fills you over and over. 

Later, through the night and the following days and weeks, you try to keep yourself at a distance from him. It doesn’t really help. You find yourself unable to keep your eyes off him. Even in the privacy of your own thoughts, he holds this power over you.

You sit up attentively when you hear the hatch opening which signals his return. You listen when he speaks, though that isn’t often. He rarely chooses to share with you, and it only makes you more curious for information about him, his thoughts-- anything. In the meantime, you watch him, observing carefully, entranced by his quiet manner and his utter command over himself and his ship. 

Noticing that he was attractive before that was different, you rationalize. Anyone could see that. Just as anyone could pass a particularly attractive person on the street and notice them, but not spend the next month falling under their thrall. And each time you spread your legs for him, you tell yourself it’s because you agreed, because he convinced you that all the alternatives were worse. Not because you might, just a little, like his attention.

☆ link to part 8 ☆

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[aetherdoesthings]

HANAHAKI!READER X ROBIN PART TWO

forethoughts: i think i'm getting better!!! that's a lie i've been coughing all afternoon. oh welp. also lowkey i feel like i'm kinda been teaching y'all about absolutism in some sense through the fic. idk.

notes: fem!reader, hanahaki au (it's in the title), modern au, high school, swearing?

The next day at school, you avoided Robin like the plague. You wore a mask, making people think you were just sick, not batshit crazy for coughing up flower petals. During lunch, you hid in the library, a place you rarely saw Robin in since she was always on the podium eating lunch with other juniors. You were fine throughout the entire day; you didn’t see Robin, you didn’t hear Robin, or ever mention Robin once. 

You had decided to keep a small journal with you ever since you had ‘fallen in love’ with Nico Robin, the goddess herself. You wrote down every moment you coughed, keeping track if your symptoms were getting worse or not. You kept the notebook to yourself, keeping it in your bag. It was also one of those notebooks with those stupid padlocks they sold to kids when you were younger, just so that your secret was well hidden.

Robin had started talking to you on Instagram. Whenever your phone suddenly turned bright, you held your breath, checking the notifications to see if it was Robin. When it was, you’d be happy and jump up and down for a solid minute before finally responding. Your god awful disease seemed to go away whenever you talked to Robin via text too; maybe there was a way to keep your disease under wraps after all.

But there was one key thing that foiled your plan to stay immune to Robin forever. The attendance sheet. You can’t just skip History, the only class you had with Robin and had a goddamn group project with. So you walked into the classroom, taking your seat next to God herself, who was busy talking to her other comrades. You tried not to look at her, staring at the clock, the floor, that mold on the wall that seemed to keep growing. There was 60 minutes to this class. 60 minutes of purgatory. Your heart thudded, trying to leap out of your chest and look at Robin, wanting to express your love to her in the cheesiest way. Your mind rebelled, battling all the thoughts about the Goddess away. No. You had spent the entire day trying to figure out what triggered your coughing and made your throat want to kill itself. Right now, you were sitting next to Robin, and your heart was trying to think of her and daydream about you and Robin making out and having--

“Oh! Y/N! I didn’t see you there.” You nearly jumped out of your seat at her voice, as you whipped your head towards her, that sensation in your stomach burning out. Holy shit her smile was so much more beautiful than you had imagined. The corners of Robin’s lips curled upwards, forming a gentle arc. It was warm and inviting, like a blade of light in the darkness dungeons. Her face seemed to have lit up the moment she saw you, as her cheeks flushed pink, but so faint you needed the sun to see it clearly. You wanted to bask in the radiance that shone from her smile, wanting to feel it and experience it in its entirety.

That’s why you let out a harrowing cough, ducking your head and moving away from Robin. The petal moved up your esophagus, landing in your mask. You left the petal there, as you turned your head towards Robin again. Your stomach dropped when you realized her smile had disappeared. A frown replaced the smile, her eyebrows were furrowed and disappointment in her eyes.

“Oh. You’re still sick.” Robin sighed, a small smile on her face. “Well, I do hope you get better before our presentation. Is it a cold?”

“Y-Yeah, cold.” You nodded your head.

“I see. Do feel better soon, I don’t want our grade to plummet if you can’t present well.”

That sentence drove a knife into your heart, as you looked at your desk. “I hope I do too.”

While Robin wasn’t looking, you reached your hand into your mask, grabbing the petal and shoving it into your pocket. You drummed your feet against the ground, waiting for the lesson to start.

45 more minutes. The teacher had just given instructions on what to do and announcements. Everyone started to pull out their laptops the moment the teacher stopped talking, including Robin. You placed your laptop on the table, opening it and signing in, opening the document you and Robin were working on, as well as the slides.

“Okay, progress seems good. We have three more days until the presentation and we’re already halfway done. We just have to find a modern day example for Elizabeth I for extra credit, and we’re good.” Robin said.

“Yep.” You replied, wanting to limit your speech as much as possible. You had a bunch of tabs opened from last night, but your lovesick mind was too busy drooling over Robin to try and close some of them.

“Do you have any ideas about what modern day example we should do?” Robin asked, looking over at your screen.

“Um, the obvious answer would be Elizabeth II, but she was more of a constitutional monarch than absolute, so maybe we can do Elizabeth II, and just compare personalities and accomplishments.” You responded absentmindedly. When Robin didn’t respond, you looked up from your screen, looking at Robin. Your heart immediately dropped, as your finger scrambled on the trackpad, closing all your tabs you had open since last night.

“You saw nothing.” You simply said after a cloud of silence fell upon the two of you.

“Definitely. Let’s get back to work.” Robin replied, looking back at her screen.

Your cheeks were red, your fingers shaking as you tried to type one word on the slides. If the whole room was absolutely silent, everyone would’ve heard your heart thumping, roaring loudly. You spent your night trying to find out how to cure your hanahaki disease, or at least not trigger your symptoms. Tired and absolutely drained, you closed your computer and just went to sleep, not closing your tabs at all.

Does Robin know I have that stupid love disease? Does Robin know I have a massive crush on her? Does Robin think I’m weird? Does Robin know? Shit. Shit. Fuck. I think she knows. Oh fuck, I’m fucked. Robin knows. She knows I have that stupid love disease. Your mind raced with thoughts, all negative and solidifying your doom. Robin definitely saw the tabs of you researching hanahaki, and now she knew you were in love with someone to the point you coughed up flower petals because of a person.

She doesn’t know it’s her. She doesn’t know I like her. She doesn’t know I love her. I’m fine. I’ll be fine. I’m not going to die if she knows I have a massive crush on her. You took a deep breath, holding onto those words like it was your life line. Robin didn’t know it was you, she just knew you were in love with someone.

But she’s smart. She’s going to know. 

No she’s not.

Yes she is.

The two voices wrestled in your head, growing louder and louder, shutting down all your other actions. You were certain Robin was talking, maybe to you or to someone else. Your fingers stayed put on the keys, not a single letter being typed out. All you could focus on was the voices arguing about your fate. It felt like drills digging into your skull, piercing through the bone and turning your brain into mush.

You abruptly stood up from your seat, closing the lid as you walked up to the teacher, telling him you needed to use the bathroom. You stormed out of the classroom, making a beeline to the stalls. You chose the farthest one from the door, turning the lock so fast it should’ve flown off. With your back against the wall, you sunk down to the ground, bringing your knees to your chest as you dropped your head, letting your forehead rest on your knees. 

You hated this feeling. You hated feeling helpless and hated having your well being dependent on a person.

You never wanted to fall in love with Nico Robin. You never wanted to have this feeling in your heart, this constant need to see her and hear her voice.

Now this? 

Why did you have to fall in love with Nico Robin? 

There were two ways to get rid of the stupid love disease. You had to tell Robin you loved her, and if she loves you back, you’d stop coughing up flowers. If she rejects you, you’re done for. 

You let out a sniffle, knowing which option would become reality. 

Nico Robin was going to kill you, whether you told her or not. She would’ve never liked you back, not in a million years.

Your fate was sealed the minute you saw her on your first day of junior year.

You were going to-

“Y/N? Are you in there?” You lifted your head so abruptly, the back of your head hit the concrete wall, causing you to wince. Robin? From the gaps on the bottom, you could see Robin’s shoe slowly approach your stall, the tip of her shoes pointed towards you.

[lucienarcheron]

Boner for You [Elorcan]

Prompt: Fake Dating College AU where Lorcan just wants Elide to be his girlfriend for a party and Elide wants to pretend she isn’t thrilled about it. |

Genre: Fluff/Humor Rating: SFW despite the title lol. Recommended listen: Born by OneRepublic Author’s note: Inspired by this gifset here. I saw it and it screamed Elorcan. I just had to find a way to fit it in and what better way than fake dating?

She stood scowling, rooted in her spot.

If it was up to her, she would stay rooted to this spot forever rather than step into that frat party and have to embarrass herself for him.

Elide’s eyes shifted up to glare at Lorcan who was glancing down at her with a smirk.

“Scared?”

“No.” she scoffed. “More annoyed with myself for letting you put me in this position.”

He grinned at her and brought an arm around her shoulder, pulling her closely into him. “Now now, you agreed on your own. All I did was ask.”

“Desperately.” Elide gritted out and his grin widened.  “You asked very desperately.”

“And then you agreed to come to this party with me.” He said, leaning down to meet her gaze. His smile was wicked and Elide wanted to reach up and choke him. “You agreed to come with me to the party and be my girlfriend so that my ex would leave me alone.”

“Pretend. I am pretending to be your girlfriend.” Elide emphasized then pointed at him with narrowed eyes. “And what if your crazy ex-girlfriend decides to turn her crazy on me, hm? What happens then?”

“Don’t worry. I’ll protect you, kitten.” he replied, his voice low and he playfully tried to bite her finger which she retracted immediately with a growl.

“I’m not your kitten. Don’t call me that.”

“I didn’t say my kitten but I see how you like the possessiveness of the term.” he replied, grinning at her and she scowled again. “I’ll make sure to call you that in front of people so that they know what my girlfriend likes.”

“I’m going to punch you in the face if you don’t stop.”

“You can’t reach my face, kitten.”

Elide pulled away from his arm and used every bit of strength she had to yank him down by the front of his shirt until they were inches apart.

“Yes, I can.” she replied, glaring. “Don’t push your damn luck, Salvaterre.”

“Feisty. I’m hella turned on right now.” he said, grinning obnoxiously and Elide nearly did punched him right then and there.

“Lorcan.”

“Elide.”

“I hate you.”

“Yet, you’re still here.”

Elide groaned and shot him another glare then pointedly gestured towards the door. “Let’s get this over with, you giant barbarian.”

It had been so stupid of her. So stupid.

Did she know that this would happen when she agreed to tutor his stupid ass in their Calculus course? No.

Did she think she would start crushing on this giant jock with a handsome face and really nice body while she was tutoring him? Definitely not.

Despite how annoying he was now, Lorcan was actually a good student. So when he spent the majority of their last lesson completely zoned out, she snapped at him until he confessed. He had caught her completely off guard when he asked her to go with him to a party that Fenrys was hosting. She had gotten invited alongside all her friends but hadn’t planned on going — she had even forgotten about the whole thing, until he asked.

It had taken every ounce of willpower in her not to blush and not to get too happy about it.

-Two days ago-

“Why?”

“Why what?” he had asked her confused.

“Why are you asking me?”

He shrugged. “I need someone to play my girlfriend for the party.”

“And you thought of me?”

“Yeah.” he had replied. “You’re smart and hot. Plus you're tiny and it makes me look bigger than I already am.”

Her expression flattened. “So you want me to go with you because I help inflate your ego?”

“Yup.” he smirked.

She squinted at him then said, “No.”

“Come on,” he insisted, attempting a pleading look. “I know your friends are going and it’ll be fun.”

“You think I want my friends to see me pretending to be your girlfriend?”

“They’d love it.”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“What if I told you it was because my ex was there and I really don’t want to deal with her?” he asked and Elide pursed her lips at what seemed to be a genuine expression. As if Lorcan Salvaterre couldn’t handle his ex-girlfriend.

“So you want me to play buffer between you and your ex?”

“No. When she sees you with me, she won’t approach at all.”

Elide snorted. “I doubt Maeve will be intimidated by me at all, if that’s what you’re hoping for.”

“Oh, Maeve will never see you coming. She’ll be too shocked.” Lorcan replied with a small smile.

“Shocked that you’ll stoop low enough to date a girl like me?” she asked, glowering at him.

“Shocked that a beautiful, smart girl like you would even look at a guy like me.” he corrected with a grin and Elide had wanted to punch herself for blushing.

“Well...there’s so much of you, you’re not exactly hard to miss.” she muttered, intensely gazing at her textbook. “Giant beefcake.”

Lorcan burst out laughing at that and Elide shot him a dirty look.

“If you haven’t already put that as my name on your contact list, please change it to that.” he said after it took him a few minutes to calm himself in which Elide thought of multiple ways to stab him to death with her pencil.

“I already have you down as ‘Annoying asshole’. I think it suits you better.” she huffed and he smirked at her.

“Fair enough.” he had replied, leaning closer to her. “So will you go with me? I’d be honored to have you as my pretend girlfriend.”

After a few moments of silence, she had finally agreed, on the condition that no intimate gestures would take place.

He laughed for another ten minutes at that and then Elide almost really did stab him with her pencil.

~

Currently, Elide wished she had stabbed him just to avoid stepping into this jungle.

Music was blaring, people were drunk all over the place, not to mention all over each other. Elide grimaced slightly. Lorcan’s gaze fell on her expression and he smirked before turning back to face the hallway, maneuvering them through the bodies.

“So which room do you want to start in first?”

“We will not be going into any rooms at all.” she snarled. “Open spaces only.”

Lorcan turned suddenly, causing Elide to crash into him. She staggered for a moment but Lorcan’s arm easily came around her waist, holding her tight against his chest. “Why? You’ve been in a room alone with me before, Elide.”

“That was the library. We’re never really alone in there.” she said, her arms crossed over her chest, glaring at him with flushed cheeks. “I already told you no funny business!”

Lorcan laughed and brought his face down to the crook of her neck, nuzzling his nose there before moving to her ear and speaking quietly, “Trust me, Elide. Business between us would be anything but funny.”

Her whole body heated at his words as he pulled away with another one of his wicked smiles and Elide let out a breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding.

“You giant animal.” she hissed and he snickered.

“You know kitten, you keep mentioning how much of a giant I am.” he purred. “I’m starting to think you’re hella attracted to how much of me there is. You like that I dwarf you, don’t you?”

Elide could almost feel the steam coming out of her ears as she glared at him but he only laughed and winked at her.

She wanted to run at him and pound his face in. Elide was well aware he was making fun of her and yeah she was attracted to him because he was really handsome. And tall. And beefy. She did like that he dwarfed her. In her low moments, she often wondered what it would be like to actually have his giant body on hers.

Despite how annoying he was, she had to admit, he had charmed her in one way or another. The time they spent together working on calculus was ridiculous and he infuriated her to no end. But then he also brought her a cup of coffee and a snack for every tutoring session. He pissed her off but he made her laugh too. Lorcan was nice to her, even when he was being annoying.

Sighing, she followed him. Elide would play his girlfriend. Maybe she’d enjoy it. In fact, maybe she’d be the one to surprise him. With a determined expression on her face, she followed where Lorcan was now heading towards his friends.

What Elide didn’t know was that Lorcan was giddy as hell on the inside. He had taken a risk asking her that day but he’ll be damned if he didn’t at least try with her. This wasn’t about Maeve at all. That bitch wasn’t even at the party but Lorcan was willing to use her as an excuse if only to get Elide to come with him. Tutoring had been the first excuse so he could get her number. He was crushing on this tiny girl so badly, it made Lorcan want to dig a hole and die in it. She was too good for him. Way too pure. But he saw the way she looked at him sometimes. And he saw the way she blushed at the things he said and that had given him hope. Also, it gave his imagination a lot to work with.

“Elide! You CAME!” Fenrys half screamed, already drunk. He came and threw himself on her and Elide yelped at his weight.

“Hi, Fenrys.” she choked out and Lorcan quickly yanked his giggling friend off Elide.

“Don’t crush my girlfriend. I haven’t tortured her enough yet.”

Elide shot him a glare and Fenrys let out a loud gasp.

“YOU GUYS ARE DATING?”

“Yup.” Lorcan replied, grinning obnoxiously at Elide, the glare still in his direction.

“Nope.”  She countered and Lorcan raised a brow.

“SINCE WHEN? UGH FINALLY LORCAN.” Fenrys continued, leaning against the wall for support and it was Elide’s turn to raise a brow.

“Finally?” Elide asked and Lorcan smirked.

“Don’t worry about it, kitten.”

Elide narrowed her eyes then broke out into a devilish smile. She leaned closer into Lorcan, bringing an arm around his waist. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’ve been pining over me all this time.” she said and it was Lorcan’s turn to narrow his eyes at her. “If I didn’t know you were truly clueless at calculus, I’d think it was an excuse to spend time with me...babe.”

Lorcan blinked and prayed his body wouldn’t betray him because Elide was touching him all on her own and he felt that death was near. Her delicate hands were on his body and he felt both blessed and cursed. Fenrys giggled drunkenly.

“SHE CALLED YOU BABE. AW SHIT. YOU’RE IN DEEP LORCAN.”

“Is he now?” Elide asked, looking over at Fenrys. “Do tell.”

“Shut up, Fenrys.”  Lorcan snarled softly and Elide’s mischievous grin returned.

“Oh please, Fenrys, tell me.”

“PFFT, HE’S HAD A BONER FOR YOU FOR LIKE — MONTHS NOW.”

“Does he now?” Elide asked sweetly, lifting her eyes to meet Lorcan’s, pulling away from him and he scowled at her.

“YEAH. LIKE — HE NEVER SHUTS UP ABOUT YOU. HE ALWAYS STARES AT YOU LIKE A CREEP.”

Fenrys clearly wanted to die today. Lorcan’s scowl deepened but it was mixed with a slight panic and he bopped his friend on the side of his head causing Fenrys to yelp in return. He wanted to tell Elide he liked her. But not like this and certainly not through Fenrys.

“He’s drunk. Don’t flatter yourself and believe him.” Lorcan muttered to her, attempting the bravado he had when they first came in.

Elide blinked, her lips forming a small pout and she saw his eyes flash for a moment. “Well, geez, relax beefy.” she said quietly. “I already know you wouldn’t stoop for a girl like me. You’re the one who insisted I come with you.”

“That’s not what I meant.” he quickly amended and surprise colored Elide’s face at the red staining his cheeks. “I just — don’t listen to Fenrys — he’s being stupid —”

Elide waved a hand and cut him off, trying not to let the way her heart dropped at his words show in her expression. “Don’t worry about it. You should go get your girlfriend a drink.” she said, looking anywhere but him. “I’m going to need several if I have to keep pretending to like you.”

She could’ve swore hurt, then regret, flashed in his eyes before he reluctantly left her side to find the drinks. Elide watched him as he left and let out a sigh then her eyes scanned the room for any of her other friends.

“You know — hiccup — he really does like you.” Fenrys said, still rubbing the spot where Lorcan hit him. Elide turned to him with a raised brow.

“Does he now?”

Fenrys nodded then winced, rubbing his head again. “He just has a s-shitty way of showing it.” he slurred softly. “Maeve was a manipulative b-bitch. She totally — hiccup — fucked him up.”

Elide’s eyebrows furrowed and a small frown came on her face. Maybe Fenrys was right but that was certainly too much to hope for. Sure, he flirted with her nonstop and she had been attracted to him but Elide wasn’t really experienced and he most certainly was and —

“You’re overthinking it, t-tiny one.” Fenrys said with a drunk chuckle. “I can see it on your pretty face.”

Elide rolled her eyes but her cheeks heated nonetheless. “You’re drunk. You don’t even know what you’re saying right now.”

“Listen, I’m drunk cupid.” he said with a hiccup. “You got a b-boner for him like he has one for you. Just DO IT.”

Elide winced as he yelled the last two words, the blush deepening on her face before she waved Fenrys off. “Stop it. If he comes back just tell him I went to find the girls.”

“When you guys bone, I w-want a gift in exchange for this encouragement!” he called out after her and she flipped him off, causing him to laugh.

Elide’s eyes took in the mess of the room around her. People making out, people dancing, people laughing and drinking. She really wasn’t big on parties so she only came from time to time and each time, she was sure it would be her last.

“Well, it certainly isn’t a Fenrys party unless he’s getting flipped off by multiple people.” Aelin’s voice came from behind her and she turned with a wide grin to find her close friend.

“There you are! I was just starting to look for you and the girls!” Elide said, hugging her. “Where are they?”

“Manon and Dorian ran off doing things I don’t want to think about and Lysandra is kicking Aedion’s ass at beer pong.” Aelin replied with a laugh and Elide grinned.

“What about you and Rowan? I’m surprised you’re not all over each other at the moment.” she teased and Aelin gave her a smirk.

“We break up our intense make-outs and inappropriate touching into sessions so we don’t miss the party. You missed the first two times.” she replied with a nonchalance shrug and Elide burst out laughing.

“I’ll try to avoid any further sessions, thanks.” Elide said with an eye roll, her eyes scanning the room again, and fell on a current arm wrestling match going on between Rowan and Gavriel. Her eyes fell on the hulking figure of Lorcan intensely cheering the two on, the drink he was supposed to be getting her still in his hands.

“Forget about me...what about you?” Aelin asked and her tone made Elide meet her gaze. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

“What do you mean?”

Elide knew what she meant. Her cheeks heating on their own indicated she knew exactly what Aelin was asking and the way Aelin’s smirked at her made Elide want to run from this stupid party.

“You walking in with Lorcan? Lorcan having his hands all over you when you first came in? His face buried in your neck? You having your hands all over him moments ago? Fenrys screaming something about boners and for you two to just do it?” Aelin rattled off and Elide groaned. “I mean, Elide, when were you going to tell me you guys were boning? Everyone has been taking bets on how long it’ll take for the two of you to go for it.”

Elide’s expression turned to horror and Aelin started laughing hysterically. “I-It’s not like that!” Elide quickly explained, her face burning. “I — we — it’s not like that! I’m just pretending to be his girlfriend! I’m doing him a favor!”

“Elide, Elide, Elide.” Aelin tutted, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. “I may dislike Lorcan because he’s an annoying pig, but the heart wants what it wants. I will support you. And cut his balls off if he does anything stupid.”

Elide was about to protest again but Aelin pulled away to give her a look and she let her eyes wander back to where Lorcan was.  As if feeling her gaze, his eyes flickered to hers and Elide tried not to let his expression unnerve her. She braced herself as he started walking towards her and slowly handed her a drink.

“Sorry. I got distracted.” he said quietly and Elide took the drink, their fingers brushing as they had many times during their tutoring sessions. She curled a loose strand of hair behind her ear and gave him a thin smile.

“It’s fine. You guys look like you’re having fun.”

“Yeah.” he replied and his free hand came up to rub on the back of his neck. He shot Aelin a look before looking back at Elide and leaned closer to her. “I’m sorry. About earlier too. I didn’t mean what I said.”

She raised a brow at him. Lorcan’s expression was that of a scolded child. She almost laughed.

“It’s fine.” she repeated. “I get it. Fenrys riles up everyone.”

Lorcan chuckled then his expression turned serious again as if weighing his next words carefully. His eyes flashed to Aelin again but Aelin only crossed her arms, rooted to her spot and watched earnestly. Lorcan scowled and Elide bit back a smile then brought a hand to his chin, bringing his attention back to hers.

“What’s wrong?” she asked and Lorcan’s jaw clenched when she pulled her hand away. Elide had no idea what was going on in his mind but his eyes gave away to the hurricane which were his emotions. He cleared his throat and took a step back, taking the drink he had handed her moments ago then finished the entire cup in one go.

“I just wanted to say…” he began, then licked his lips. “Fenrys wasn’t wrong. He’s...he’s right.”

Elide blinked, looking between her empty hand and his earnest face. “W-what?”

“He’s right. I do. You know.” he said and Elide saw color heat his cheeks as he waved his hand, looking anywhere but at her. “Have a boner for you or whatever.”

Her eyebrows shot up as Aelin snorted behind her but the two ignored her.

“What I meant — I mean — that isn’t how —” Lorcan growled then stopped himself, crushing the empty plastic cup in his hand. He cleared his throat and then locked eyes with her. “I like you. I’ve liked you for a while. It doesn’t mean you have to do anything about it. I’m just — I’m being upfront with you.”

Elide stared at him. She heard the words he was saying but she wasn’t sure she could comprehend it. Lorcan watched her expression of shock and swallowed.

“So uh. You don’t have to pretend to be my girlfriend anymore. Maeve was just an excuse for me to ask you to the party.” he said and gave her an embarrassed smile. “I uh...I’m just going to go. Have fun with the girls.”

Elide blinked again and watched him go. Her body lurched forward after him but then she paused, turning to Aelin with a dumbfounded expression.

“Did he just —?”

“Yup.”

“Does he really —?”

“Yup.”

Elide’s whole body flushed and Aelin burst into giggles.

“I can’t believe he actually likes me.” she mumbled and Aelin squinted at her.

“Why wouldn’t he? You’re amazing, El.”

Elide shook her head. “I just...never thought I was his type.”

“You are very much his type.” Aelin confirmed and Elide looked at her curiously. “He’s whined to Rowan about you before when he doesn’t think I’m around. Jokes on him, Rowan tells me everything anyways.”

Elide’s cheeks flushed and she bit her lip. “So...so this is real? He isn’t...playing a game or anything?”

Aelin shook her head with a smile. “Definitely not. He knows you’re the real deal.” she said and Elide’s eyes flickered back to where Lorcan had returned to an even more intense arm wrestling match than before. He was seated in the place of Rowan, giving his opponent a menacing look as they got ready to go.

Elide watched him. She watched the curve of his body as he sat, barely putting in any effort to knock his opponent down. The corner of her lip went up when he started sniggering at the poor fellow clenching his arm and at the two who took his place. Idiots. She thought. He was a giant beast, none of them would actually be able to beat him.

“Jeez, Elide. Get a damn room.” Aelin said with a snort. Elide shot her a look.

“That’s rich coming from you.”

Aelin grinned. “Maybe. But at least I’m usually in his lap when I stare at Rowan like that.” she said then gently pushed Elide. “You should probably move along if you would like the same fate.”

“You think he’s annoying.” she said incredulously.

“Yes, he is and I would love to stab him if pulls anything.” Aelin said and then shrugged. “But he's not a total loser. What can I say? I’m a sucker for love.”

Elide blushed then bit her lip. He had been upfront with her. Maybe it was time she returned the favor.

Taking one last look at Aelin, Elide moved. She weaved her way through the bodies, her eyes locked on Lorcan and his bulging muscles that easily knocked over the two opponents across from him. She watched him laugh at his success but the laugh quickly died in his throat when Elide slid into the seat across from him.

She heard the murmur of confusion that her move had caused but her eyes were locked on the male across from her as he gazed at her with a raised brow.

Elide rested her elbow on the table and held her hand up, in position for the silly arm wrestling game he’d been playing. She gestured with her chin to his arm and with a tilt of his head, he slowly reached out to clasp his palm in hers.

“What are you doing?”

“Did you mean what you said?” she asked quietly, her heart racing at their linked palms. She really did like how his hand completely enveloped hers.

Lorcan held her gaze and she saw the sincerity in them when he answered. “Yes.”

“You have a boner for me then?” she asked with a small smile and his lips twitched.

“I do. A big boner.” he replied, a grin spreading on his face now. “Both emotionally and physically.”

“That’s good.” she said and leaned her body across the table, planting a quick kiss on his lips. His eyes widened in surprise and Elide took that moment to bring his arm down, giving her a cheater’s win in the arm wrestling match. “Because I have a boner for you too.”

At that moment, with him gaping at her stupidly, it felt like the rest of that room had vanished. It was just the two of them and a thrill rushed through her body. Lorcan stared at her for a few seconds before his head leaned back and he barked out a loud laugh.

Cheeks burning, Elide pulled back with a grin of her own.

“You owe me a date, Salvaterre. I expect you to deliver.”

He leaned back in his chair and gave her a look that made heat flood low in her belly. Oh, how she hated him.

“I owe you several dates and I plan to deliver on every single one of them.” he replied smoothly.

“Don’t expect me to go any easier on you during our tutoring though. I’m a dedicated instructor.” she said and leaned against the table, crossing her arms over her chest. His eyes lingered there a little too long before meeting her gaze and leaning forward against the table as well.

“I wouldn’t expect anything less from my girlfriend.”

“Actual girlfriend now, huh?”

“Mm. This plays into so many of my fantasies.”

“Does it now?”

“I’ve been a very bad student, kitten.”

“I honestly cannot stand you.” she replied incredulously, but the knowing grin he gave her had her toes curling and cheeks burning again. He held his palm open to her.

“Wanna get out of here?” he asked quietly and she slipped her hand into his. She really liked how much he dwarfed her.

“I most definitely do.”

[rorywritesjunk]

I can’t tell where the journey will end But I know where to start

Prequel to my Kid Buggy fic, set about 11-ish years before that story.

Buggy meets you by chance when he needs his buttons sewn back onto his jacket. He’s young, up and coming, and he thinks everyone should cower before him wherever he goes, but all you do is smile at him.

Rating: PG-13ish just for some swearing. Warning: Buggy’s in his early 20s. I also gave him some anxiety and stuff because while he’s in love he doesn’t believe someone could love him back. He just has a lot of uncertainty with romance. Mawwiage happens. Alcohol is mentioned. Everyone's having a good time. Two pirates have a heart to heart in a way. A/N: This is second to last chapter so it may feel rushed, sorry! This was only meant to serve as introducing them and their relationship. Though it's funny because I've already made an AU for them featuring an OC for Buggy having an older sister that I've also been writing little fics for. I plan to get the epilogue out this week.

Title comes from “Wake Me Up” by Avicii.

TAGLIST: @lostfirefly @ane5e @kingofthemfingpirates @the-angriest-angel @tiredemomama @valen-yamyam16 @i-reblog-fics-i-like @plethora-of-fickleness @uhnanix

Chapter 1 + Chapter 2 + Chapter 3 + Chapter 4 + Chapter 5 + Chapter 6 + Chapter 7 + Chapter 8 + Chapter 9 + Chapter 10 + Chapter 11 + Chapter 12 + Chapter 13 + Chapter 14 + Chapter 15 + Chapter 16 + Chapter 17 + Chapter 18 + Epilogue

Chapter 18

“You don’t have to have an officiant.” Windy told Buggy that night on the ship while you and Blue prepared dinner. After words with her sister, Windy collected her husband, some rum, the rings, and headed to the ship to have words with the two of you. “Everything Stormy said was wrong. Snow married a pirate but he didn’t leave her like that. He goes off for six months and stays home for six months. They make it work.”

Buggy looked at the glass of rum he had. It was better stuff than he normally had. You had managed to make him feel better after your aunt insulted him, spending time with him as you told him all the reasons why you loved him, why you wanted to marry him, and to ignore that bitch of an aunt and her horrible words. Buggy did feel better and he knew you meant what you said, but there was sometimes still that little voice in his head that said there was no reason for you to love him or take care of him the way you did.

“I just told my Captain to say me and Blue were married and he did. That was good enough for us.” Windy chuckled as she sipped her own drink. “You two can exchange rings and just say you’re married. Who’s going to come asking for papers in the middle of the sea anyway?” She glanced over at Buggy. “You seem like the type to just do what you want anyway, Buggy, so if you two don’t want an audience, just exchange the rings. Hell, don’t even do that. Just say you’re married.”

“She wanted a ring.” Buggy shrugged. “And flowers. I gave her both.”

“You’re a romantic pirate, aren’t you?” She laughed as Buggy scowled at her. “You’re so cute. I’m not surprised Sunny fell for you.”

Buggy’s cheeks burned and he looked away from her, gripping the glass tightly. He wasn’t ‘cute’ but it was a little nice to hear that your mother seemed to approve of him. He wasn’t a romantic either, even if he had a picnic ready for you when he was going to tell you how he felt about you, or that he wanted to bring you every bouquet of flower he came across but didn’t because what if that was too much? But now he didn’t care, he would steal an entire field of flowers for you if he could.

“Let’s go check on’em.” Windy tossed her drink back and headed to the kitchen and Buggy followed after. He was feeling a little off, the doubt coming back as he wondered if he should have done more for you to show you how much he really loved you. There was still time for you to tell him this was a mistake, that he should just leave you behind on the island and sail away far from you. There were other suitors who would be better for you anyway, not some stinky clown who couldn’t go a meal without staining his shirt. You had to be tired of him by now, right?

The table in the kitchen was set. You and your dad had pulled together a delicious beef stew full of meat and vegetables, as well as a fresh loaf of bread. Buggy had to stop and watch you for a moment, seeing how much you were smiling when you saw him and that you stopped what you were doing to go over to him, giving him a kiss before leading him to the table to sit. He needed to stop those thoughts in his mind. There was no way you didn’t love him with the way you were beaming at him. 

“Buggy, we should just exchange rings.” You told him once you were all seated at the table. Buggy missed the look your parents exchanged. “I don’t care if we have someone here to say we’re married. We’ll be living on the sea, it doesn’t matter if we have someone saying it or not.”

“Wait, really?” He frowned, looking between you and your parents. “Are you sure?”

“Of course!” You beamed as you reached over to take his hand in yours. “I don't care about having a wedding at all. We can do whatever we want.”

He actually … liked the idea. He didn't want to stand up in front of your family to tell them something that they already knew: that he loved you and would be with you forever, no matter what. He just needed rings. He glanced at your parents, at you, then back at them before pounding his fist on the table.

“We're married, got that? No one can tell us otherwise!” He announced loudly.  “Where’s the rings? She needs a ring so no one messes with her!”

“Aw, our baby is married.” Windy chuckled as Blue pulled out a small box and handed it over to Buggy. He took the box and looked at you, a wave of nervousness slamming into him that he almost forgot what he was going to do next, but he shook it off and opened the box. 

“See, we’re married! We have rings!” He told you as he showed them to you. “Y-Your parents made them for us because I couldn’t find anything better.” He took one out, showing you the design your father etched onto it. It was of Buggy’s jolly roger. “That way others know who you’re married to.” 

He took your hand in his, suddenly nervous once again as he started to slide the ring onto your finger, his hand shaking as he did it. Your parents were watching, he didn’t want to mess this up, but he breathed a sigh of relief when the ring slid onto your finger and you leaned over to kiss his cheek. 

“I love you, Buggy.” You smiled as you took out his ring, pausing for a moment to study it. It was his jolly roger but around one of the eyes looked like a sunburst. You grinned when you saw it, turning it over in your hand to study it for a moment before taking his hand in yours and sliding it on his finger. He held his hand up and looked smug, glancing at Blue and Windy, both who gave him a thumbs up. 

“Ha! It’s official!” He said proudly as you kissed him on the cheek again. He was holding his hand up to your parents, looking quite smug while the two of them looked amused.

“We have a pirate for a son-in-law.” Blue chuckled softly, shaking his head. “And he’s a captain. Wait til the family finds out.”

You looked up at that, holding Buggy’s hand in your own. “Okay, but wait until we sail off before telling them. We don’t need someone storming the ship because they’re mad they weren’t here to see this.”

“That's fair.” Your mom nodded. “Stormy wasn't pleased with our conversation but she may still try to insist on something. If you two kids want, sail off tonight and then we will tell them tomorrow. No point sticking around unless you absolutely want to.”

“Yea? I'm okay with that.” You agreed before turning to your now husband. “Do you want to do that? Do we need any supplies before we leave?”

Buggy shook his head. He was suddenly very quiet, his brain now processing that oh, he was married to the woman he thought was the most amazing person in all of the East Blue. You chose him out of everyone you ever met, brushed off all those other men who tried to flirt with you, ask you to lunch, everything and yet Buggy was the one who you wanted to be with in the end. Not that scary man, the handsome swordsman, or even that sharply dressed Kuro. Hell, you'd turn down Shanks for Buggy; he felt confident now in even thinking that and as far as he knew you never even met Shanks! 

“Honey?”

Your voice brought him out of his thoughts. He looked over at you as you held his hand, giving it a squeeze. He looked down, seeing the ring on your finger, the one your parents designed and made for the two of you. His mind was racing, his heart started to pound, and his palms were sweaty. When he looked back up at you, seeing the look of concern on your face, he just grinned and started laughing.

“I'm married!” He announced, looking quite pleased with himself. “Ha! Bet no one expected that! Tell that aunt of yours to shove it, Sunny!”

He almost regretted saying that, but your mom snorted before she burst out laughing while your dad nodded in agreement. You shook your head and leaned over to kiss his cheek. “I love you, Buggy.”

He turned red but grinned, looking quite proud of himself for a moment. He put his arm around you, tugging you closer to him as he leaned in to give you a kiss. It was kind of sweet to see the sudden change in his demeanor moments after the two of you put the rings on. You didn't think he'd ever do such a thing like this before, but now that you two were married, maybe he didn't care. He was yours and you were his, maybe he wasn't so worried about losing you to someone else.

~

The ship did set sail later that night after Buggy and Windy had a few more drinks to celebrate. Blue escorted his tipsy wife back home after plenty of goodbye hugs and tears, but you knew you'd see your parents again. Your mom insisted the two of you visit sooner rather than later, and she was pretty sure you would end up commanding the ship over Buggy some day.

You managed to get your tipsy husband to bed with little trouble, he wasn't as drunk as you'd seen in the past, but he was definitely loudly saying what a wonderful wife you were, that he would make sure you were always happy, and that he was the luckiest guy because he had the sexiest wife. You were fine for him to sing your praises as you helped him change into comfy sleep clothes and tucked him into bed.

Once he was flopped onto the bed, arms spread out with the biggest grin on his face, he lifted his head up just enough to watch you change into your own sleep clothes. You caught him staring and smiled at him as you pulled your nightgown on.

“What?”

“Nothin’. Just happy because I got the most beautiful girl to marry me.” He looked quite proud of that fact. “You chose me out of so many guys.”

“I did.” You smiled as you laid yourself down beside him, kissing his cheek as his arms went around you. “And I got the most handsome pirate to ask me to marry him.”

Buggy blushed at that, closing his eyes as he rested his cheek against the top of your head. “Oh hush.”

“I did! I'm so lucky, Buggy.” You told him as his arms held you close. “You're so sweet to me and I'm going to make sure you are the most powerful pirate. Everyone in the East Blue will know your name.”

His cheeks were burning as he listened to your words. He opened his eyes and lifted his head to look down at you as you gazed up at him. He didn't say anything, just tilted your head up to kiss you. He was the lucky one, never thinking he'd meet someone like you, fall in love, eventually marrying. It wasn't in his plans at all, but he couldn't help falling in love when he first met you, experiencing your kindness first hand like that. 

You smiled at him, reaching up to twirl a lock of his hair around your finger. “Get some sleep, honey. It's been a long few days.”

[quantumelepant]

Hi, since THE POSTING of the band!au is close (dare I say impending?) I give to you Black brothers angst, in snippet form. Good deals, here.

(these are colossal, enormous, immense words from someone who has yet to choose a title and dreads the day the introduction will have to be written, but we live in the now and I'm 60k in and an exhibitionist so the date really is close and dependant on my weak self control)

The thing's unedited

“You think you can go around doing whatever the fuck you want?” Sirius turned around quickly. “Oh, so you talk. Cat didn’t get your tongue.” It was cold, he didn’t plan to stay outside too long, he had only gone out for a smoke. “You had no right to choose for me,” Regulus got closer, he was an entirely other person. “You don’t get to speak in my place, not even when you sing my songs. You’re giving a voice to my words.” Sirius was overcome with a deep urge to see him scream, cry, beg, be more than whispered threats and featherlight existence. “Well, I’m not just a tool you use whenever you see fit,” he got closer, had a speck in Regulus’ irises revealed something, he couldn’t miss it, it was a weapon or a plea. “What did you think you were doing today?” “I was helping you!” Sirius shouted, arms open, let a comet come down and smash their heads together, brains mixing, maybe then they would speak the same language. “I was giving you a chance to see them for what they are and then I was giving you a chance to leave for good.” “Who told you that that’s what I want?!” Regulus raised his voice, too. Just a little. Not enough. “Who asked for your help?” “This is a public street,” Peter had come out of the bar at some point. James was right behind him, watching. “It’s for the better. Why can’t you see it? You don’t belong there.” “And where do I belong, huh?” Now they were close, boring into each other’s skins, looking for weaknesses, tectonic plates ready for a quake. Regulus sneered. “Here? With you? You’re good at one thing and one thing only, Sirius. Destruction. You ruin every single thing you touch. The oldest intact thing you have is still a ticking time bomb,” he finished in a whisper. Sirius looked at his face, he wet his lips a bit, then a single roll of laughter escaped them, breathy. “Shit,” James said, milliseconds before Sirius hit his brother.