#*slaps fic* this bad boy can fit so many kinks in it

[pseudohades]

WAITER. I ordered kinky porn without plot. there appear to be themes of religious guilt and repression and trauma and overwhelming, almost reckless trust despite that in here. What do you mean that's how it's made? Can't they just fuck? Can they not just slonk one another silly style like sloppy swag? It's not even kinky yet. This is twelve thousand words; Bard was supposed to be eating elf butthole and Thranduil was supposed to be begging Elbereth for forgiveness about it and losing his religion by now but instead I'm writing about Thranduil's chronic pain and Bard's childhood. Elven cultural Catholicism/sexual mores are tearing this marriage apart because they both have so much horny and very few things they're "allowed" to do with it. Thranduil is being Neurotic As Hell About Wanting Things. Bard is being Weirder about his hands than Thranduil is, somehow. And they're napping. They're napping and having morning cuddles and there isn't even any morning wood humping. In MY porn without plot. Tell the chef he's shit at his job.

[patrochillesvibes]

E | 10.7k | Knife Play, Blood Play, Breath Play, SM, Possessive Behavior |

Summary: Achilles got him riled up that morning and Patroclus has been fantasizing all day. Now having returned from a raid, he can’t wait any longer.

“So,” he began as he tossed his golden curls over his shoulder, his words nearly condescending, “you mean to tell me you’ve spent all day standing by my side, manning my horses, throwing spears with me, and all the while you’ve been thinking about bending me over and fucking me? And you did not think to say-” “Well,” interrupted Patroclus. “I wouldn’t exactly say I was specifically thinking about shoving my cock in one of your holes to shut you up.” And he grinned, pleased with himself.

CW: Additional tags listed on Ao3. Be mindful of the tags.

Read on Ao3

[losersimonriley]

*slaps the roof of Antarctica fic* this bad boy can fit so many kinks in it

[sanguine-tenshi]

*slaps roof of fic*

This bad boy can fit so many kinks.

[nyxronomicon]

*slapping the top of my latest fic* this bad boy can fit so many kinks in it

[sanisse]

An Unusual Request | Thranduil x Lindir

For @medusas-hairband per a bunch of different conversations we’ve been having and a particularly interesting ask they dropped in my inbox. “Thranduil and Lindir. You pointed out they're an explosive duo, so maybe we can put consent play in here? I asked about it some time ago (and am glad you include discussions beforehand, and aftercare!), I thought just now that it could happen in Mirkwood - or on the slopes of the Misty Mountains, if you're feeling adventurous - and oh if Lindir wants to get out bruised. Scratches on his face and hands, small bruises on his hips and backside from the other's grip, bite marks all over; the whole package. Also, I see L wanting to know that the other is T, as some sort of power play.”

This concept really has me no thoughts head empty and has been pinging around like a microsoft screensaver. So I had to get this out on paper. Lindir/Thranduil is such a spicy rarepair and this is such an interesting kink for them. 

🚨⚠️ STRONG CONTENT ADVISORY: this fic contains depictions of consent play between two consenting adults that some readers may be sensitive to or find upsetting, meaning there will be consensual dub-con veering into consensual non-con with social power imbalance in play. This fic contains depictions of kink negotiation, setting up of boundaries, use of a safeword, and aftercare. Please stay safe and consume your online content responsibly 🚨⚠️  

Spice Level (1-5): 🌶🌶🌶🌶🌶 🌶🌶🌶🌶🌶 how many warnings can I put on this fic that this is intense & not for the faint of heart. 

Pairing: Thranduil/Lindir (background Elrond/Celebrían/Lindir/Thranduil polycule) 

Warnings/tags: rough sex, oral sex, impact play, restraints, servant/master dynamics, power imbalance, possessive behavior, praise kink, degradation kink, hair pulling, subspace, *slaps roof of fic*, you can fit so many kinks in this bad boy. 

⚠️One last CW for consent play. Please consume this content responsibly⚠️  

No Lindirs were harmed in the making of this fic. He’s having the time of his life and he gets loads of aftercare at the end of the fic. 

This is quite a bit longer than I normally do but that’s because of the consent-aftercare sandwich necessary for the subject matter. 

Minors DNI. Your media consumption is your own responsibility.

AO3 link in case anyone wants to read more comfortably or easily bookmark 

-

The thought won’t leave him. He turned it around, considering it over and over again the whole journey to Mirkwood. Thranduil’s hosting the Autumn Equinox festival this year-- and perhaps it’s a bad time, he must be so busy and Lindir would never want to be an imposition. He wouldn’t dream of being an imposition...

But he doesn’t know who else to ask. Thranduil can be a rough, demanding, adventurous lover like so few can. Something tells Lindir that maybe his instinct isn’t too far off. Maybe, just maybe-- he won’t make a fool of himself.

He approaches Thranduil’s chambers when the moon is high. His hands are shaking. The door guard lets him in because they assume that Elrond has sent him on some important errand. They don’t ask why he’s here. Lindir is grateful that he doesn’t have to lie.

Thranduil is standing alone at the mantle of the great fireplace at the far end of the room, silhouetted in red flame, tall as an oak tree. The firelight glints off his hair. He has a wine glass poised in his hand, his body wrapped in one of those black, elegant dressing gowns he so favors. He is so beautiful. Linder always feels like a mouse next to him. Completely undeserving of attention. 

When he spots Lindir, there’s a flicker of surprise.

“What does Elrond want with me at this hour of the night?” 

Lindir winces, wrings his hands, glances at the door.

“My lord did not send me, my king. I--I came on my own.” 

Thranduil waits for him to elaborate and mulls his wine in his glass.

Lindir takes a nervous step forward onto the rug and just as quickly rescinds it. Hazards a glance at the door, considering just leaving. This is so foolish-- 

“I--” he flushes red. “I must confess that I-- I greatly enjoyed the last time you joined my Lord and my Lady and I in Imladris and-- I should-- I should very much like to do it again. If...it would...if my king would have me.”

The silence that stretches between them is deafening. Thranduil regards him, gaze sharp and curious and almost...

“Sweet thing,” he mutters fondly into his wine glass. He takes another sip. “I do not think you would enjoy my games, Lindir.” 

Lindir colors an even darker shade of red. He chews on his lip and ventures: “It is your games that interest me, my king.” 

Thranduil eyes him over the rim of his glass, then says: “I would devour you.” 

Lindir shivers. Wets his lips and parts them. Takes one emboldened step toward Thranduil. “That is what I came here for. I-- I want--” he swallows. His nostrils flare as he sucks in a sharp breath and then says: “I want to be fucked.” 

He thinks he sees Thranduil’s eyes glimmer in the firelight. 

“As I recall,” Thranduil begins, “Celebrían fucked you quite thoroughly. Elrond, too. So I cannot imagine that you have waited all this time simply for me to wreck you. So tell me, sweet thing: what is it you are really asking for?” 

The question hangs between them. Lindir swallows. He isn’t sure how to ask.

“I--” he wets his lips again: a nervous habit. He shrinks. His voice is small and shy when he goes on. “I--I wish...I wish to be taken.” 

A delicious shudder slides down his spine as he says it aloud. Thranduil’s eyes glitter again with something akin to surprise, then fascination. He still waits for Lindir to elaborate.

“I wish to be taken the way...a king--” a significant look cast Thranduil’s way. “Might take a servant.” 

Thranduil cocks his head. He sets his wine glass down on the mantlepiece and closes the space between them in three easy strides. He towers over Lindir, a full head and shoulders taller than him, staring down at him. Lindir can feel his breath ghosting across his hair, imagines pressing his palms to the flat, strong planes of Thranduil’s chest. He’s remembering the way Thranduil’s mouth feels dragging down his neck. The sounds he makes when he’s fucking Elrond into their mattress for Celebrían’s amusement. The pure, whipcord power that infuses his every movement. If Lindir’s honest he’s been fantasizing about this for quite some time. He has always had these...unusual desires, but they had never worn a face until now. 

Thranduil studies him. He seems to be thinking very hard. Lindir hardly dares to breathe. 

“A king might not ask before taking what he wants,” Thranduil says carefully.

All of the air rushes out of Lindir at once. Relief. Excitement. He isn’t sure which. “A king should not have to,” he whispers back. “The servant would know his place. The servant would take whatever he was given, no matter the discomfort. No matter the insults rightfully cast upon him. No matter how humiliating.”

He hopes that Thranduil understands.

That hope is confirmed when Thranduil rumbles a half-feral sound in response. If Lindir isn’t careful, he’s going to get hard from this conversation alone. 

Thranduil presses a hand beneath his chin, prompting Lindir to look at him. The expression in his eyes is so intense that Lindir feels he might swallow him whole.

“I am not gentle, Lindir. I can be. But I will not be in this.”

Lindir shivers again. “I am not fragile, my king.”  

“Thranduil,” Thranduil insists. 

“Thranduil,” Lindir corrects. It feels strange in his mouth. 

“In this conversation we are equals, Lindir,” Thranduil says. His voice is stern, firm, still imperious, but there’s a touch of concern to it too. “I would know that you truly want this. I would know that you would tell me if at any time you wished to stop.” 

Lindir swallows. Nods frantically. He can hardly believe Thranduil’s even considering this. That Thranduil might want him. 

“Shall we use the signal Elrond and Celebrían use?” Thranduil asks. 

The set of colors. Lindir is very well acquainted with them. He nods again. “Red to truly stop. Orange to take things a little slower. Green means that I am enjoying myself. In this scenario--” his eyes flick to his shoes. He’s blushing again. “Even if I ask you to stop I-- I don’t want you to. Only if I say red.” 

“Elrond would not do this with you,” Thranduil muses. 

It isn’t a question. Lindir still nods his agreement. That’s why he’s grateful for this rare constellation the four of them have. Lindir would never ask Elrond for such a thing. He already knows the answer would be no. Even Celebrían would struggle with such a role. 

“When?” Thranduil asks. 

When? Lindir had been hoping Thranduil would set the time. Lindir is busy, to be sure. Thranduil is infinitely moreso. “Elrond has no need of me in the capacity of a steward tomorrow,” he offers.

The corner of Thranduil’s mouth turns up in a half-smirk. That glimmer is back in his eyes. 

“Then you shall hear from me in the afternoon. I shall not give you the exact time now.” 

Lindir breathes a sigh of relief. It’s really happening. He can’t believe it’s really happening. “Thank you.” 

Thranduil takes his chin between his thumb and forefinger and dips to kiss him. Soft. Dripping with passion. “Until tomorrow, sweet thing.” 

-

True to his word, Thranduil summons Lindir around mid-afternoon. Or rather, the word comes: Elrond has summoned him to Thranduil’s chamber. They’re having a conversation. He wishes Lindir to bring a certain map Elrond had safely packed away in their luggage.

Elrond has no such map. Lindir pretends anyway, grabbing the nearest map he can find and following the guard down the hall to Thranduil’s chamber, his heart thundering away in his chest.

When he is let in, the room is empty save for Thranduil. The door shuts behind Lindir and he hears the bolt slide into place with a click that makes him jump. He’s locked in. The realization hits him with a sharp, twisting chill-- like jumping into an ice-cold lake. He’s shaking, he can hardly contain his excitement. 

Thranduil waits. Giving him a chance to back out. Lindir takes a deep breath and fidgets with the map in his hands and says: “Lord Elrond wished for his map. Where is he?” 

A slow, wicked smile slides its way across Thranduil’s face which makes Lindir’s heart race. Thranduil starts for him, takes the map from his hands and sets it aside.

“He is not here.”

“Then-- I should--” Lindir falters, thinking of what he would say, if this was not a game. “I should go to him--” 

“Stay.”

The command is icy, sharp. All of the warmth has leached out of Thranduil’s expression and instead he simply looks ravenous. Lindir chews on his lip.

“I apologize--” he breathes. “I do not understand.” 

Thranduil crowds him right up against the door. Leans down into his space so that their noses almost brush, and hisses: “Elrond wastes you.” 

He is so much bigger than him. Barring him easily. If he really tried, he could slip out from between Thranduil and the door. He doesn’t want to try. Instead, he bites back a moan and remembers his character at the last second. Lindir squirms, tries to hotly say: “My king-- I should go-- I shouldn’t be here--”

Thranduil strikes like a snake. Closes his fist around Lindir’s throat. “I think you should. Would you correct your king?”

“No--” Lindir chokes out. He’s starting to ache between his legs. Can’t stop thinking about the way Thranduil’s towering over him. About how it’s going to feel with Thranduil finally pins him down and fucks him. “--I would never dream of it--”

Thranduil pushes Lindir’s head back, exposing his jawline. He nips at it, sending pinpricks of delicious pleasure-pain spiraling down Lindir’s spine. “Such a pretty little thing,” he hisses. ���With such pretty little holes. Do you know, I asked Elrond? I am nothing if not considerate of another lord’s things.” 

Lindir makes a choked, surprised, horribly aroused noise in the back of his throat. Thranduil watches him. Studies him. Makes sure he hasn’t gone too far. Lindir’s just desperately hanging onto this new piece of the fantasy Thranduil’s spinning for him, shuddering under the hand that’s pinning him to the door by his neck, hopelessly turned on and trying not to turn into jelly. 

“Yes,” Thranduil says when Lindir makes no protest. The grin that spreads across his face is wolfish. “He assured me that you know how to serve your betters. You’ve got such a sweet little mouth on you. You know your place.” 

Lindir melts. 

The thought of Elrond giving him to someone else to use is scrambling his brain. It adds an extra layer to this dynamic, this delicious feeling that he is nothing more than a toy to be batted between greater men. He feels so hot he might combust and Thranduil’s hardly touched him yet.

“Please--” he whispers. He means to ask please fuck me, but that would hardly be in character. Instead, he swallows it back, pretending he was about to ask to be released and then thought better of it, because he is a servant and he would never dare to think for himself.

He’s sinking into that sweet spot he so likes: the spot where things go a little hazy. Where he can stop thinking about all the things he has to do. When he is no longer Lindir with all of his responsibilities and schedules and ledgerbooks. Just a hole. He so loves to be used.

He lets his body go slack in Thranduil’s grip. Lets his eyes fall submissively to the floor. Who is he to struggle? To deny a king? 

Thranduil’s chuckle is dark. He swaps his grip to Lindir’s hair and simply drags him away from the door, down toward his bed, and yanks on Lindir’s hair so hard his legs buckle and he has to kneel.

The rush that hits him at the position is intoxicating. Lindir whines in excitement again. Looks up at Thranduil with unfiltered adoration. Thranduil soaks it in before snapping: “Open your mouth.”

Lindir does without hesitation. Thranduil pulls himself out of his trousers in one deft motion and plunges straight into Lindir’s mouth up to the hilt. There’s no preamble, no pause before he starts to use his throat, holding Lindir’s head in place and fucking him. 

The best part is that he doesn’t even look at Lindir while he’s doing it. Thranduil’s gaze is hazy with lust. He’s fully focused on how fucking good it feels having Lindir wrapped around his cock and he uses him as a tool to masturbate with, and it’s all Lindir can do to try to breathe, stay conscious, and not come all over Thranduil’s boots.

Thranduil finally takes mercy on him and pulls out. A trail of Thranduil’s own fluids and Lindir’s spit ties them together. Thranduil collects it and pushes it back into Lindir’s bruising mouth. 

“All that time serving your lord, and still you have not learned how to properly suck cock?” Thranduil scolds coldly before driving back down into Lindir’s throat.

Lindir mewls, chokes, half-apologizes and tries to suck. It’s just that Elrond is so rarely this aggressive about it. Lindir doesn’t care. He’s so hard, leaking into his trousers, because it’s so utterly delicious the way Thranduil’s playing this and Lindir’s completely over the moon about it. He wants Thranduil to wreck his throat. 

Thranduil comes down his throat without any sort of warning, filling him up. Lindir chokes on it, writhes, squirms, eyes pricking with tears at the way his throat constricts and his stomach rebels and his lungs scream for air. Thranduil just pins him there until Lindir’s vision blurs and flashes white and he’s floating. 

When he comes back to his body, he’s still on his knees on the ground. He’s come straight into his trousers. He’s wet with it. Thranduil is circling him, cock already starting to harden again-- if he flagged at all.

The question comes to his mind, bright with sunlight and green growing things. 

Color? 

Thranduil. Lindir reaches out to say: Green. Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.

Thranduil dives like a falcon and pushes him to the ground. 

Lindir tries to crawl, to beg: “My king, please-- please. I have served you, let me go. I must return to my lord--” 

He loves the way his voice sounds fucked-raw and weak, even to his own ears.

Thranduil drives his boot down into Lindir’s shoulder to stop him, pinning him to the floor like a butterfly to a corkboard. It’s going to bruise, Lindir thinks in delight. It’s going to bruise.

Thranduil says: “Oh, I am not done using you yet, pet.” 

If he hadn’t come earlier when Thranduil was fucking his throat, then he could have come from this alone. Lindir shakes and presses his head to the carpet to muffle the intoxicated moan that slips out of him. 

It’s even better when Thranduil keeps him there, immobilized on the rug on his stomach, and climbs on top of him. Lindir’s heart is racing so fast he can’t think, too possessed with lust while Thranduil all but rips his clothes off and finds the toy Lindir’s prepared himself with.

He took his time that morning, working himself open with as many fingers as he could fit. Filling his hole with lubrication. Working it in. Plugging it up. He wanted the fantasy: wanted Thranduil to simply take him. To shove inside without any care for Lindir’s own comfort. 

Thranduil moans in his ear and pulls the toy free, and Lindir trembles, keeps squirming as something blunt and large presses against his hole. 

Color? The question comes again.

Green! Lindir all but shouts back. Please. Please fuck me. 

Thranduil covers his mouth with one large hand, pinching his nose shut, cutting off his air, and then shoves inside of him.

Lindir cries out into Thranduil’s hand: a sharp, delighted, tortured sound. Thranduil groans and sinks his teeth into Lindir’s ear as he starts to fuck him.

“You really are made for this,” he moans out, “See how your body sucks me in? It knows what you were made for.” 

Lindir mewls and lets his head fall forward, screaming into Thranduil’s hand with each thrust Thranduil gives him, fingers curling in the rug just for something to hold onto. When Thranduil lets him go in favor of cuffing him by his hair, yanking his head back until the curve of his spine is almost painful, Lindir lets out another ruined whimper and manages: “Please-- ah! Please, my king--please-- it’s too much. It hurts--” 

He feels Thranduil pause for just a millisecond. To reassure him, Lindir pushes his hips back toward him, driving himself back onto Thranduil’s cock.

Thranduil takes the hint and gives him a particularly rough thrust that wrenches a scream from Lindir’s throat.

“Do you think your pleasure matters to me?” 

“No,” Lindir babbles back, bubbling with ecstasy because this is exactly how he imagined it-- but it’s so much better, so, so much better. “No, no I would not dare to presume--” 

Thranduil bears his full weight down onto him. Smothering him. Wrapping a hand around his throat and squeezing. “You are nothing,” he hisses out. “You’re just a toy. Just a sweet little set of holes to be used. You like that? You love it. Of course you do, you filthy wanton little creature.” 

He hits that spot inside Lindir that makes stars burst across his vision. Makes his fingers go white-knuckled in the rug. Hits it again and again and again until Lindir dissolves into one boneless, endless cry of thank you, thank you, thank you and please come, please come inside me-- because he’s too far gone at this point to hold the scene. He’s so happy he could die. In this moment, Thranduil owns him, nothing else matters. He lets himself go limp, lets his mind blank out, becomes nothing but a  sleeve for Thranduil to use until he comes. It’s what Thranduil deserves. He’s a mighty king of power, and Lindir knows his place.

The pleasure is starting to overtake him. Hot and unforgiving and perfect. His cock is trapped between his body and the rug and Thranduil won’t stop hitting that place inside of him, gripping him with fingers that are going to leave bruises in the shape of Thranduil’s hands and Lindir will be honored to wear those marks. 

When Thranduil bursts inside Lindir a second time, that’s enough to tip Lindir over the edge into his next orgasm. Thranduil smothers the scream that follows, clamping his hand over Lindir’s mouth again and fucking him straight through it until Lindir’s writhing, shaking, and the friction is verging on pain. 

Orange, he says. 

Thranduil slows. Circles his hips. Nips the back of Lindir’s ear. He just stays like that a minute longer, seated inside of him, softening.

At last he pulls out. Then he spreads Lindir’s cheeks apart, inspecting his handiwork. Lindir moans and turns his head to the side, resting it against the floor, trying to imagine what it looks like: his hole dripping with Thranduil’s spend. He lets out another ruined sound. Elrond is going to see the marks later and it’s going to make him so possessive. He hopes Elrond will cover them with some marks of his own making. 

“So pretty,” Thranduil muses. 

Lindir’s fucked raw. Sore. Limp. He’s not sure he can scrape himself off of Thranduil’s floor even if Thranduil commanded him to.

Thankfully, Thranduil doesn’t. He peels Lindir upright himself and carries him straight into the royal bed like he doesn’t weigh a thing, drawing back the covers, tucking a pillow beneath his head. Then, he sits on the edge of it and traces a line over Lindir’s cheekbone with the crook of his finger.

The touch is gentle and infused with warmth. Lindir leans into it.

“Was I good for you?” he asks softly, voice hoarse. 

“You were very good, sweet one,” Thranduil says softly. “You took it so well for me.” 

Lindir makes a soft, euphoric noise in the back of his throat and lets his eyes flutter shut. He’s so happy. 

“Thank you,” he murmurs. 

“I must admit I enjoyed myself,” Thranduil says with that same almost wicked, fond half-smirk. “Thank you. You are such a divine creature. I do so enjoy making a mess of you.” 

Lindir melts at the praise, hardly able to believe that Thranduil --of all people-- would say such a thing. “I want to do it again,” He mumbles sleepily. Not now, obviously. But he can already imagine how the scenario might go a second time. He’s already aching for it.

“Not now.” Thranduil sounds amused.

Lindir shakes his head in agreement. 

Thranduil leaves him for a brief moment. Returns with a glass of water and a damp washcloth. He hikes Lindir upright and has him drink some water while he wipes him down, and it feels strange-- having a king look after him like this. But he supposes Thranduil really meant it: in this, they are equals.

He rests his head in the crook of Thranduil’s neck. Thranduil sets both the glass and the washcloth aside and holds him, stroking the curve of his spine. 

“You did so well,” he reassures.

Lindir sighs, exhausted, too happy for words, body still humming from pleasure, blissfully sore in certain places. He opens his eyes and reaches down, tracing the shape of Thranduil’s handprints on his hips. 

Thranduil’s hand joins his, soothing over the marks. He kisses Lindir’s hair, his cheek, then his mouth. Each kiss is soft, more tender than Lindir could imagine him to be.

Lindir drifts off to sleep still buttressed against Thranduil’s chest. The next thing he’s aware of, he’s clean. His hair has been braided back for him, and Thranduil is wrapped back up in one of his dressing gowns and setting a tray with some hot chocolate and various snacks on the table.

Lindir sits up. Thranduil shoots him that same smug smile. “Elrond mentioned you liked hot chocolate. Here,” he takes the steaming cup and passes it to him. Lindir takes it, sips, lets it warm him from the inside out. When he’s through with that and munched on a scone, he curls back up into Thranduil’s side. 

Thranduil holds him without complaint, and lets him sleep. 

[zealoushound]

Those Thighs Though...

Summary: Seeing him in his MuscleTech gear, you can’t resist Henry. Or his thighs.

Pairing: Henry Cavill x reader

Word Count: 1265

Warnings: RPF, thigh kink, thigh riding, brief descriptions of bodily fluids, dom!reader, sub!henry, orgasm denial, bratty moments, slight exhibitionism

A/N: @cavillsthighs post inspired allllll of this. I don’t own Henry Cavill, still hurts no matter how many times I write it I don’t own muscletech or the pic used here. I stole it from Tori lol.

Disclaimer: FEEL FREE TO REBLOG IF YOU LIKE THE STORY! Writers live off reblogs! Do not copy any portion of my material to claim as your own. Do not repost my work, or any portions of my work on any site and claim it as your own. Like all my other fics, this was written on my phone and not beta’d.

***

You’re waiting for Henry to get changed before the photo shoot in MuscleTech’s makeshift dressing room.

It’s not a huge room, but it has a cozy setup. Bathroom to the left of the mini fridge and table. Television on the wall in front of the couch you currently occupy. Inspirational workout photos on the walls and fitness magazines on the table in the middle of the room.

Playing on your phone you hear Henry come in but pay him no mind as you hear the photographer call out, “Just change into this, and meet us in the gym in 20.”

“Ok!” He answers, closing the door behind him. As he walks by you he playfully slaps the bottom of your foot off the pillow it was resting on.

“Hey!” You whine, annoyed with him messing up your concentration.

“Look alive, beautiful.” He smiles at you going into the bathroom with his clothes. You smile back as you shake your head.

“What are you changing into?”

“Ah. Shorts and a tank?” He doesn’t bother shutting the door so you lean to sneak a peek.

“I see London. I see France. I see Henry’s underpants!” You taunt.

He laughs heartily causing you to laugh with him. A few moments later he’s changed and ready to go but still has 15 minutes to kill.

“Gimme some room.” He paws at your foot again. You groan, moving to let him sit. Then you see what he’s wearing.

Black tank. Short black shorts. His curls were particularly unruly today. His muscles were bulging in all the right places, taking over your entire being.

The uncontrollable noise that escaped you must have been louder than you thought because he looked at you, eyebrows raised, cocking his head to the side.

Your immediate thought was ‘mine’. A primal urge took over you. You were feral.

“Sit.” You commanded. Your breathing had gotten shallow and it was all you could do to keep from baring your teeth to your poor unsuspecting boyfriend.

“What?” That smirk on his face said he had heard you, but he was tempting you.

Your eyes widened, your nostrils flaring. “Henry. Sit down. Now.” Your heart was racing, your body was on fire. Shit, you’re kinda glad you missed the morning portion of the shoot. He wouldn’t have survived this long.

“Make me.” He smirked. Oh, you cocky little shit.

You get up, crossing the short distance to him. He doesn’t put up a fight, he wants you just as bad. You reach down to feel him though the thin fabric of his shorts. He’s about halfway there but getting harder with each pull across his clothed member.

His eyes fluttered. “You wanna cum? Good boys get to cum. Now sit. Your ass. Down, Henry.” You wanted him so damn bad that you put your hands on his shoulders and shoved him down onto the couch.

He grunted softly as the wind left his lungs. He stared as you worked your leggings off and shucked off your shirt, leaving you in nothing but your bra. You needed to feel his hands on your bare skin.

His hands reached to pull you on top of his lap. “No. You wanna be a brat? Now you get to wait.” He lets out a low growl that you feel deep in your soaked core. “Hold that thought.” You say before climbing onto his thigh.

He pulls the leg of his shorts up towards his hip giving you more access to his thigh.

“You wanna cum?” He doesn’t speak, just grunts and nods a meek yes to your question. You chuckle softly, “mmm”.

You moan as you rock yourself against his hard muscles. Gripping his shoulder you start to thrust yourself against him. Henry’s huge hands tugged on your bra, threatening to break it in half.

It wouldn’t be the first bra he’d torn or broken. He loves seeing your breasts, no matter the cost. He cups them, squeezing them in his huge paws and swipes his tongue in between. Roughly he sucks your nipple into his mouth. Letting go, his other hand grips your ass, coaxing you to go faster.

He flexes his thigh underneath you. “Ah, Henry. I’m so close.” Your body jolts at his actions as your clit glides across his hard flesh. He waits for just the right time to do it again.

When you're panting, gripping tighter on his biceps he knows you’re right on the edge. He keeps waiting. He knows you need just a little push. He loves watching you. Loves seeing you like this, your wetness spreading over his leg. More and more and more as you cum.

Your mouth is open. Your hips are rolling over and over, faster and faster. Head tilted back, eyes shut tightly, frustration on your brow. This will get him back in your good graces. He knows it.

He flexes.

Once. The risk of getting caught by god knows who all those people are, right outside your door, the thought of them hearing you. “Oh God!”

Twice. The way he makes you feel so fucking wild, and his damn thighs! You can never last long riding them. “Fuck!”

Boom!! You see stars on the third. “God! Henry! Yes!! Oh!” You cum so hard for him. Digging your nails into arms you hope you don’t leave a mark, but ‘fuck it’, you thought, ‘this is mine!’ You shout his name over and over as your hips stutter and quake with pleasure.

You lay across his chest feeling your heart wanting to beat free from its confines, panting hard as you come down from your high. You raise up and place a kiss on his neck.

Getting up you fix yourself back inside your bra, grab your shirt and walk into the bathroom. Coming back out you toss him a towel. Pulling your leggings on as he cleans himself up you hear a soft knock at the door.

“Um. Mr. Cavill,” poor guy definitely just heard all of that yet still had to do his job and fetch your boyfriend. “They’re, uh, they’re ready for you. Sir.”

Henry was staring at you. He didn’t speak a word. He stood, readjusting himself to make his prominent member less... noticeable.

Still saying nothing he strode up to you. His thumb grazed your cheek just below your eye. Bringing his finger down he tipped your chin up so your lips met in a gentle kiss. Your heart skipped. He leaned back.

“Tonight?” He was asking in a way that didn’t quite reveal his true intentions. He was really asking if you would be so kind as to let him make up for his mistake. Make his journey over to the gym slightly less painful.

“Tonight.” You generously answered. He smiled. He flung open the door to the dressing room and you saw the little man that had come to collect MuscleTechs biggest spokesman. He was short, a little on the smaller side. He was kind of cute, in an adorable kind of way. He wore wire rimmed glasses and reminded you of a younger Rick Moranis.

You smiled at him. He adjusted his glasses and stood a little straighter as he smiled back.

Henry walked past him, smile no longer in place. He was about to take all that frustration out in this photo shoot.

“Not unless you wanna be walking funny, lad.” You laughed at how scared the poor guy looked as he looked away, not realizing what Henry meant was having to force his colossal cock underneath the waistband of his shorts.

***

Tag list: (As always if you want on or off please let me know!)

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[writefightandflightclub]

Disarming (Santi x fem!reader)

Summary: you and Santi - good friends- are Best Man and Maid of Honour at Frankie’s wedding, and guess what? There’s only one bed!

What is this? This is 5/10 one-shots/blurbs for my “friends to lovers” event. The prompt is “We can share a room, right? It’s only for a weekend”, requested by @woakiees​. Another double trope extravaganza! Hadley, I’m so pleased you suggested Santi for this one, as he immediately came to mind when I was writing this prompt :D Thank you so much for requesting! <3

If you’d like to  read/keep track of the other fics, I’m keeping an up-to-date friends to lovers list in my pinned post.

Author’s note: Apparently I get carried away EVERY time I write Santi. WHY AM I LIKE THIS?! :-/

Word count: 7.5k. I’M SO SORRY. PLEASE FORGIVE ME.

Rating: 18+ ONLY (minors out, please, do not read or interact)

Warnings: it gets angsty in the middle. Reader has nightmare- comfort offered. Mentions of reader being “hurt” in the past but vague and unspecified. They have a fight. One or two alcohol mentions- no actual consumption. Food mention. Swearing. Steam leading into smut but not explicit- mentions of masturbation, erections, making-out, one brief allusion to choking kink. Let me know if I missed anything.

Tagging: @isvvc-pvscvl​ @casifer-is-king​ (loads of the tags aren’t working :-/)

GIF: @nathan-bateman​

From the first moment you met Santi, you had simply fallen into step with him. It was effortless, and so, as soon as you found yourself by his side, you stayed there. What’s more, that’s exactly where he wanted you to be.

Despite the man’s hard, no-nonsense edge -which you also appreciated- he was warm and charming. It was easy to connect with him, in a way it hadn’t often been for you. For him too - or so the boys told you - the way you surpassed his defences was a rare thing. It shouldn’t have worked, perhaps. Usually, he was slow to trust and you were quick to love, but on this occasion none of that seemed to apply, the two of you tumbling squarely into a fast-friendship; one deeper and more intense, perhaps, than its duration might suggest. Still, despite the boys’ inferences that you would quickly become an item, and Santi’s continual attempts to blur the lines between this and… something more, “friends” is what you have remained.

You had felt it immediately with him. Something different. You simply... flowed. You fit. It was immediately evident, even on that first night, in the way you orbited around one another, setting up an impromptu beer pong of all things. You moved together with a fluidity and a precision that seems almost tactical- as though you too had run countless manoeuvres in the field with him. You could read him and understand him as though you had drilled his habits and patterns and idiosyncrasies over and over; learning him. However, he was never that much effort - the two of you came naturally to each other, little learning required. You knew each other with your gut.

At that fateful party, when you each escaped to the back porch steps for some air at a serendipitous moment, the conversation had immediately flowed, and not only as a result of his natural, disarming charm. The silence even came easily rightaway – a comfortable thing, the space between you stuffed with contentment, rather than the feeling of a gaping vacuum, needlessly filled. It turned out his best friend was dating yours (the pair to be wed this very weekend) but that almost seemed like the cherry on top, rather than the thing bringing you to each other.

Safe to say, what was true then is true now. You get on so well. You find him fun and easy and generous and you love the man dearly.

…Most of the time.

Those other times, though? Santiago “Pope” Garcia can be a pain in your ass. But that’s another reason you love him, you guess. Keeps things interesting.

“Please don’t kill me,” Santi says sheepishly, and it’s obvious to you he’s laying on the charm - actively trying to be as disarming as possible as he saunters over from the reception desk. For a moment, despite all his training, he looks as though he believes you could pull it off, too.

Your annoyance is already prepped; locked and loaded, as he pads squarely towards the banquette where you are sat - amidst a sea of luggage. You’ve been observing his attempts to charm the desk clerk with interest (his efforts, you surmise, at least partially effectual), and judging from the slight level of desperation in his efforts, you can already tell he fucked up somehow.

“What did you do?” you say impatiently, even as a smile twitches at the corner of your lips.

“I booked all the rooms we needed, for all of the wedding guests, right? 13 rooms here, and all 10 at the hotel across town. 4 more in guesthouses,” he recaps. “Got Frankie and Mila a great deal too, remember?”

You remember. And yet, you fold your arms across your chest, looking up at him incredulously. Okay then. Rolling with your attitude, the man takes a different tack. He sits next to you. Smiles. Leans in. Pats your thigh. He’s trying to disarm you too, you realise. It’s going to take more than that - you’re not some flimsy desk clerk who will form a puddle and bat your eyes at the first sign of his charm.

“Well, funny story. I may have forgotten to book our rooms,” he blurts.

Oh? Oh, great. Yeah. This is a grand fuck-up. The whole damn town is booked-out. It’s a small town. No longer amused, your nostrils flare in annoyance as you tug in a slow breath, schooling your tone just a little before you speak. “You what?” Okay, you didn’t manage to school it all that much.

“Look, I already sort of fixed it,” he smooths. That explains the flirting with the clerk. Although, you think, glancing back at her. She’s pretty. That partially explains the flirting with the clerk, then, you mentally correct. “There’s just one, teeny-tiny issue.”

You raise your eyebrows and widen your eyes. Well?

“We’re gonna have to share a room.”

You blink at him a few times, in surprise. Well, it’s not ideal. For a number of reasons. But you can think of worse things, truth be told. And he’s not wrong. It is a solution. Still, on his reveal, a succession of emotions and micro-assessments are bounced back and forth between your eyes and his, until you land on resigned annoyance, exhaling a long sigh. That is, until Frankie appears in the lobby, swanning in like he’s walking on air. He probably is, given that he’s getting married this weekend. His face splits with a smile so wide you reckon it should be painful to maintain, and you stand to greet him as he heads over.

You’re glad he’s happy. It means that you and Santi, as Maid of Honour and Best man, respectively, are doing a fantastic job of deflecting all of the stress away from the happy couple. Indeed, that assessment certainly feels true – you do feel stressed. Still, the two of you immediately paint your faces with masking smiles; though, in fairness, it’s hard not to smile while looking at Frankie – his obvious joy is infectious.

Frankie wraps you both in a hug, then rubs his palms together like an excited kid. “I don’t have much time. Just gonna say a quick hello to my parents. Apparently, my mom’s already started crying? Can you two sort some extra tissues for the ceremony or something? Oh, and is everything okay with the rooms?”

“With this guy? Are you kidding?”, you say before you think, throwing your thumb towards Santi. Immediately, his eyes submit a powerful plea to you to keep schtum- it is written all over his face that he doesn’t want to let Frankie down. Not even in the smallest of ways.

Frankie would find his little error funny, probably. But he can find it funny after the ceremony. “Everything is A-OK! This guy? He has every single detail taken care of.”

Frankie grins, his eyes narrowing proudly at Santi as he slaps him on the back, laying profuse thanks on the two of you; then, he floats away again, as if on a cloud. Santi’s brown eyes are big with gratitude when you look at him again, and you can’t help but weaken. You’ll admit, it’s really not that bad of a fuck-up. Besides, you’re tired. Between the drive out here, the wedding rehearsal, and a never-ending list of errands, the day has been long. You just want to get to the room, and maybe even clock a snooze before the rehearsal dinner tonight.

“Fine,” you agree, albeit through gritted teeth. “We can share a damn room.”

Santi looks visibly relieved, and squeezes your shoulder in thanks. You’d even been nice enough not to bite his head off. “Yeah. We can share a room, right? It’s only for a weekend.” Suddenly, he doesn’t sound quite as certain.

“Sure. I mean, what could possibly go wrong?” you smile nervously.  

He returns your smile and swivels, heading back towards the desk.

“Oh, wait!” you call after him. “Is it a double or a twin?” you ask in horror. Sharing a room is one thing, but sharing a bed?

He turns, looking over his shoulder. “Doesn’t matter!”, he winks. “Whatever it is, we’re gonna have to take it.”

Oh. Oh dear.

You’re inclined to agree -you don’t have many options- but when you catch yourself stealing a glance at the man’s shapely butt as he walks back to the desk, you begin to chew your bottom-lip nervously.

Right. Ha.

What could possibly go wrong?

**********************

It turns out, sharing a room with Santi is resoundingly not bad at all. In fact, at first, it’s as easy as everything else is with him - even between your hurried preparations for the evening, unpacking, shuttling items to the relevant members of the wedding party, and calling down to reception several times to check the logistics for the rehearsal dinner. Even getting dressed, you find an easy flow as you each flit in and out of the bathroom, dancing around each other with ease and only a hint of friendly bickering.

Santi’s respectful too- always knocking and announcing himself before entering a space, and averting his gaze when he needs to, given that you’re rushing around and undressing. You even manage to ignore the fact there’s only one bed for the longest time, parking that specific panic for later. Even then, he has already made reception send up extra pillows and blankets, forming a barricade in the middle of the bed so you two can comfortably separate.

Thankfully, you are so busy that the idea of sharing a bed with Santi doesn’t even cross your mind until you’re finally ready, dressed in your finery. When you step out of the bathroom, Santi -sat on the edge of said bed- stands up, thrusting his hands into his suit trousers as he takes the sight of you in, pulling the material taut -in a rather pleasing way- across his hips and thighs. He ends up slightly slack-jawed for a moment as his eyes trail over you, brewing with a gentle, self-conscious heat. “Fuck,” he says softly, his voice gruff. “You look…” a little gulp trails down his throat as you give him a little twirl. “…hot”, he says, his eyebrow ticking up on the last beat.

“Wait until you see my bridesmaid dress,” you smile, and he returns it easily, those gorgeous creases appearing around his eyes.

Unconsciously, you lick your lips. You can’t help but wonder, vaguely, what it would be like to push him down on to the mattress. Maybe straddle him. Fuck, you should have known this would be a bad idea. A heat rising in your face at that thought of that, you distract yourself by lifting his suit jacket from the back of the chair, holding it out for him as he slips it on to his shoulders, and feeling the luxurious texture of it beneath your fingers.

It’s a grey suit, tailored, and it hugs him in all the right places. The cool colour is perfect against his warm-toned brown skin, and brings out the salt in his salt-and-pepper curls, and in the rough rasp of grey flecked through his stubble.

You try desperately not to notice how good he looks, but this may be your greatest challenge yet.

“Come on,” you encourage, nodding towards the door. “We better head down.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, half-heartedly. The way his eyes are subtly roving over you, though, he looks like he has something entirely different in mind for dinner.

“You’re probably going to spend all night being chased by the single bridesmaids,” you add casually as you collect your purse, and apply a final dab of lipstick in front of the mirror. You’ve already clocked a few members of the wedding party eyeing him up, and you don’t exactly blame them for being thirsty. Besides, Santi is a huge flirt; so perhaps he’ll be the one doing the chasing. You wouldn’t be surprised if he ended the night with his tongue thrust deep in someone’s throat, which -you assume- is typical Santi fashion.

“Isn’t it traditional, anyway,” he smirks cheekily, applying a splash of cologne, “for the Best Man to hook-up with one of the bridesmaids?”

Lord, does he have to smell so… edible.

“Got news for you, man. You fucked up. You can’t exactly bring a girl back to your room now, can you?!” you tease, nodding back towards your shared bed, a wall of pillows already arranged down the middle. You mean it to come out in good-humour, but you can’t scrub the hint of jealousy from your tone entirely.

You feel so silly for being jealous of whomever he may hook-up with. After all, Santi is always the one testing the boundaries of friendship with you. It’s not like he’s ever made a secret of the fact he’s attracted to you- and you are the one here will a firm line in the sand. A line you simply won’t cross with him. Can’t cross. You want to - of course you do, but after being hurt in the past, you have simply built-up far too many defences; or, more accurately, just the right amount of defences, you think, to protect you. So, no matter how disarming the man is, you simply have to keep your guard up; because if he breached your walls, you know everything else would come tumbling so easily down.

You had fallen so easily into friendship with him, and you are certain that you would fall just as recklessly in love with him.

You’re not ready for that.

You can’t take being hurt again. Besides; Santi? He’s an incredible friend. He’s tenaciously loyal and dedicated to his squad. But when it comes to love, and sex, you doubt whether serious is even his thing - and you’re too afraid to ask.

“You ready to do this?” he asks, with a wink.

“Yep,” you nod. “Let’s roll,” and with that, you turn, heading for the hallway.

“Princesa- that dress really highlights your ass,” he praises as he tags along behind you.

“Thank you, it’s true,” you smile devilishly, already beginning to let your guard down, just a little. He’s simply so disarming. “Speaking of, Garcia – did you get your trousers a size too small on purpose?”

“Oh, you noticed?” he retorts, smugly, guiding you through the door with a hand on the small of your back.

Okay. Sometimes you flirt back. After all – look at him.

Especially in that damn suit.

***********************************

The rehearsal dinner goes swell. Frankie and Mila are a picture-perfect, loved-up couple, and they grin their way through the evening as if they slept with coat hangers in their mouths. The speeches are well-received, including Will’s, thus setting a high bar for you and Santi tomorrow. (You may be biased, but Santi’s is ten times funnier, and it’s going to kill, in your opinion.) There are no dramas through the evening- logistical or familial, and thanks to you and Santi overseeing everything with a military precision, it looks as though -so far- it is shaping up to be the perfect wedding weekend.

Finally, once your duties are over for the night, you are able to let your hair down a little, so to speak, and enjoy the food and company on offer. Still, with a big day ahead tomorrow, things wind down relatively early, and -having lost track of Santi at some point- you find yourself back at the shared room a little while before him. You usually burn out more quickly than he does in social situations, but even taking that into consideration, you begin to fret about where he has gotten to. With the way he was flirting his way through the party, though, it doesn’t take a genius to guess what (or who) might be keeping him up.

You try to sleep but you can’t, your mind going to the worst places, so, by the time Santi does return -softly cracking the door, and padding in with his shoes in his hands so as not to wake you- you have stewed in your own thoughts long enough to have become a little cranky. A little… green-eyed.

“Hey,” he greets in surprise when he enters, immediately noticing the soft lamp glow, and seeing you still sitting up in the bed, mindlessly watching the flicker of the tv on mute.

“Hey,” you return, your voice noticeably strained. “Have a fun time?” You find yourself wishing you weren’t sharing a room, then you wouldn’t have to know what he got up to.

“Yeah,” he replies softly, slipping off his jacket and laying it over the back of a chair. “Did you? How come you’re still up? Thought for sure you’d be wiped out by now.”

So, he did think of you, then?

“Couldn’t sleep,” you reply neutrally, fixing your eyes dead ahead as he begins to slip out of his trousers and shirt too, until he’s dressed in only his tight black boxers. Next, he takes off his watch and sets it at the bedside, and you notice that he smells of perfume. A cloying, floral scent that makes you feel a little sick.

“Just gonna have a quick shower and then I’ll slip in with you, okay?” he says, his voice slow and deep and muted, matching the soft light.

You still don’t look at him. You can’t.

“Do what you want. You usually do,” you bite, the words tasting bitter as soon as they have left your lips, and tears of regret pooling as your anger dissolves.

You don’t blame him if he was with someone – you really don’t. You’re simply angry at yourself; because you wish you could be that person, and you can’t for the life of you seem to find a way.

“Okay. What was that for?” he bristles, reacting defensively, turning towards you. And perhaps it’s because it’s late and he’s tired, or because certain demons feel safer coming out under the cover of darkness, but he doesn’t stop there. Especially when all he gets from you is a stony, pointed silence. “You know what? Actually, no. You don’t get to do this”, he hisses, and it is the first time you’ve ever heard him direct any genuine anger at you.

It doesn’t half sting.

“Do what?” you ask, but you already know the answer.

“You don’t get to be mad when I give my attention to someone who actually wants it,” his voice is hushed, but his words rattle through you as if he had yelled them. “I don’t have to explain myself to you. Guess what, I’m not yours.”

“That’s not fair”, you snap back, and then things are quickly escalating.

“Isn’t it?” he asks, rasping a hand over his stubble in distress. “I mean, come on. Shit. You know that I want more but I…” he exhales a disgruntled laugh. “You shoot me down, which is your prerogative, honestly, but you can’t have it both ways. You can’t knock me back all the time and then be pissed off when I look elsewhere.”

You meet his face, the planes of it shadowed and angled harshly with anger, suddenly so unfamiliar to you, and it causes your eyes to bloom with tears. You two look the opposite of Frankie and Mila; of a picture-perfect couple. But you’re not even a couple at all, are you?

You see him try. To blunt the emotion which is bubbling up. To soften. But he has uncorked something he now can’t put back in. “Fuck, I just wish that….” he pinches his lips together and shakes his head, planting his hands on his hips and looking at the floor. “If you don’t want me, just put me out of my fucking misery. Just say it. Just fucking tell me.”

Your heart shatters into a thousand pieces at the thought you make him miserable. At the way his voice breaks. At the way he thinks you don’t want him. Maybe you were wrong, thinking that you could be friends at all. Thinking that could be enough for him.

Your lower lip trembles, and your fingers clutch the edge of the blanket. “I… I can’t tell you that. I can’t tell you that I don’t want you, Santi.”

You can’t because it isn’t true. It could not be further from the truth, in fact.

He puffs out air, an exasperated sound, his hand raising up to tangle in his grizzled curls. Raising his voice a little more. “Let me guess. You can’t tell me the other thing either?”

“I.. I..” You try, but no words will come. You simply shake your head, swallowing a sob, your eyes almost brimming over.

He nods. He nods, his mouth slanted down. “Great. Got it,” he huffs.

You hate this. You hate how much you’re hurting him.

“Santi,” you breathe weakly, but it is too weak to blunt the force of his emotion. To halt his trajectory, and so, resigned, he turns towards the bathroom, grabbing-up a fresh white towel from the counter. Before he closes the door, he turns to you once more, now speaking softly, his eyes as sad as yours. “You know,” he says, his index finger sawing back-and-forth over the stubble at his chin. “For the record, I wasn’t with anyone else. I can’t even fucking think about anyone else but you. I was late back to the room because I couldn’t face it.” His voice becomes small and pained. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to just curl up next to you and act like I don’t care.” His eyebrow ticks up, and he adds, with a final flourish. “Guess I should have taken a lesson from you.”

Oh, how it stings, pain flowering in your chest like a bruise, but you hold yourself together until he’s out of sight. Then, when he’s gone, you immediately cave in on yourself, falling on to your side and screwing your eyes shut, clamping your hand over your mouth so that he can’t hear you crying as wet tears spill onto your pillow.

When he comes back into the room, after a long shower, you simply screw your eyes shut and pretend to be asleep. You hear him sigh heavily, and mumble something to himself under his breath, before dragging a few pillows and a spare blanket down on to the floor.

A few more silent tears roll over the bridge of your nose.

You guess you wouldn’t be sharing a bed with him after all.

***********************

You wake panicked in the night, sitting bolt upright in the bed. A cold wash of sweat over your skin chills you, even though you feel like you’re burning-up.

Immediately, you reach for him, for Santi, calling his name even as your fear strangles the sound in your throat. Your heart is thudding, and your breaths are sawing in and out of you, but your grasping hands find nothing to your side but pillows and blanket.

Unfortunately, you are used to this occurrence, and you quickly realise it was “only” a nightmare. Still, the feelings and images it conjured linger in your body, and around you in the shifting, seemingly fluid shadows of the room.

With a release of tension, you whimper, leaning forward and cradling your head in your trembling hands, and you try to ground yourself. To steady your breath and your heartbeat, like you’ve practiced. As you do so, the shadows to your left shift and change, and, even in the pitch-black you can feel him, a safe and warm presence, instantly travelling to your side, his weight dipping the mattress. His soothing, sandy voice filtering through the shadows and cutting back the tendrils of your nightmare like a Disney prince hacking through cursed vines.

You vaguely remember that he’s mad at you - but you can’t help it. Can’t help asking. “Hold me?” you plead, desperately afraid that he won’t.

Still, without questions or hesitation, you feel the wall of remaining pillows coming down, the defences around you quite literally being dismantled – a figurative wall between you shifting away along with it. He shushes you, and you focus on his voice, until he is close enough that the scent of him wraps around you, before his arms follow closely after.

You reach for him in return. You reach for him in every way possible.

“It’s just a nightmare,” he soothes. “I’m here, baby. I’ve got you,” and there is pain in his voice on your behalf, as if he tries to bear the burden of it for you.

“Closer,” you plead, and before you know it, he is shifting you on to your side, slotting his sturdy yet soft body around you, not caring that you feel clammy and hot against his bare skin. He simply loops his arms and draws your back, closer to his chest, becoming your big spoon.  

He calms you, hands enveloping yours and bundling them against your chest, his nose nuzzling into your hair, and his deep steady breaths slowing your breathing as you let his calm and his rhythms overcome you. He holds you, until the feelings pass, not caring how long it takes – and with any anger from before apparently forgotten.

This pain is all too familiar to him, you know. It something that Santi understands. It is your own and it is not the same as his, true, but you know it is familiar enough that he will feel the ache of it echoing in his own chest. You know that he is accustomed enough to bearing his own pain, that when yours is too heavy to carry, he will help you hold it for a while. And so, he holds you, while you are a tender thing, bruised and afraid, and he keeps you safe; with all your walls down, all of your defences collapsed, he becomes your fortress.

You never thought that letting yourself be so vulnerable could allow you to feel quite as safe as this.

As you lie together, Santi continues to usher soft reassurances into your ear, his words like charms and incantations to ward off the ghosts which haunt you. And, after a series of slow, stretched moments, you become more settled, and Santi feels you relax against him.

After a few moments more, he eventually whispers a small question into your hair. In the dark, the question feels safe to come out, perhaps.

“Do you always call for me when you…?” he trails off, thinking better of it. “I’m sorry- forget it, you don’t have to answer that.”

You don’t. You know you don’t. You don’t even truthfully know the answer. It’s likely that you do call for him, though how would you know, when you’re usually alone? But, there is something else you can tell him, while it is safe to come out in the dark. Something you want to tell him, before you build your walls all the way back up.

“Santi,” you begin, timidly, and his fingers skim softly up and down your arms, encouraging you to go on. “I-I’ve been hurt before. And, I want to be with you. I want to let you in but… I’m. I’m not ready. I’m trying so hard but I… I can’t.”

There is a long beat, and you realise he has held in a breath only when he releases it all at once, fanning hot across the back of your neck.

You are afraid. Afraid of what he might say, in response – what he might feel, but you think, maybe, it might be something like relief? And, Santi squeezes you, just a little tighter. A little closer. “Don’t worry about that now, okay?” he soothes, his voice feather soft. “Just… know one thing, okay, Princesa? Whenever you are ready? I’m waiting.”

This time your heart fills with a different emotion, all the spaces in it flooded with contentment, Santi’s words followed by a perfect, happy silence.

A soft smile blooms on your face.

It was not a confession of waiting impatiently, you understand, but an invitation to take your time to arrive at him. He’s not trying to bring down your defences at all, is he? He’s waiting for you to open the door, and invite him in. He’s waiting until you are ready. He simply needed to know that you are on your way, even if your footsteps are getting you there slowly.

For now, though, the thought of it is too much. More than you’re ready for.

So, you simply let him hold you.

To disarm you further.

To walk yourself a little closer toward where you want to be. With him; by his side.

****************************************

In the morning, you wake up tangled around each other, Santi’s arm wrapped securely around your back and your head settled on his chest. He is still snoring lightly – cutely - when you awake, and so, as the night prior comes flooding back to you, you hastily try to extricate yourself from him; even if his bare skin feels so good against yours that you never want to move. You’re apparently not so subtle- or he’s a helluva light-sleeper – as, just when you pull away, Santi wakes up, quickly rushing to prove his innocence.

“You had a nightmare,” he croaks, still trying to peel his eyes open. “You asked me to- “.

“-I know. I remember,” you reassure, sitting up in bed, the blankets tugged to your chest. Santi shuffles, opting to assume the same position on his own side, mirroring you, rubbing his eyes.

You’re still not sure whether to apologise to him or thank him. Or maybe even to wait for an apology from him? Christ. Maybe all of those things or none of them, who even knows? You mentally spin a wheel and land on a casual “Uh. Thank you, for…. You know.”

“Anytime,” he says, turning his head to the side and looking at you earnestly. As if your bickering -your jealousy and his outburst- is all but forgotten. What’s more, you know that he means it.

Admiringly, your eyes wander over him, enjoying a side of him you’ve never quite seen before. Apparently, he’s even more handsome in the morning, with an even thicker, darkened brush of stubble, his grizzled curls dishevelled, and his swooping eyelids still heavy from sleep. Combined, it gives him a sultry, bedroom look. Feeling an involuntary rush of heat in the pit of you, your gaze drops to his corded neck, where, given the special occasion, he has substituted his dog tags for a silver chain, drawing your gaze down over his smooth, brown chest.

Your skin now cooling in the conditioned air of the room, you long for his body heat again, recalling how it felt to be held by him and wishing you had lingered a little longer while you could. Even with your interrupted sleep last night, you have somehow woken feeling refreshed, as though you had slept unreasonably deeply in his arms, reaching a whole new level of contentment - as though you just fit together, perhaps. As though it comes naturally for you to be held by him, and for him to hold you.

There is a silence and it isn’t awkward exactly; more… pregnant, with possibilities. Possibilities you see brewing with a gentle heat in his eyes. So, tearing yourself abruptly away from that line of thought, you lift your phone up from the nightstand, and note that there isn’t long before your alarms sound anyway.

Operation Wedding Day is go.

That should be enough of a distraction for you, shouldn’t it?

“You ready for this, Best Man?” you ask him, with a gentle quirk of your lips.

“Sure. Are you ready, Maid of Honour?”

Ready. Are you ready?

Thoughts of last night swirl in your head.

Well – as Santi flashes you a tentative, disarming smile, with hooded eyes, you certainly feel like you’re getting there. Like soon you could be ready.

“Sure. Let’s get this show on the road.”

“Atta girl,” he encourages, folding his arms behind his head as you jump out of bed.

You suddenly don’t care that you’re in nothing but your underwear, as you stretch out your body and track towards the bathroom. “I’ll shower first?”

“We’re sharing a bed,” he teases. “Sure you don’t want to share a shower too?”

You scoff, flashing a mischievous smile right back at him. You’ve always had a soft spot for his flirting, but you feel like -after all that transpired last night- you truly see if for what it is now. You realise why it has never felt like he’s pressuring you - not once. He’s simply reminding you, that as soon as you call for him, he’ll be there. That he’s waiting, when you’re ready.

Reminding you, that as soon as your walls drop, he’ll be your fortress.

“I don’t think you’re gonna get quite that lucky this morning, Garcia.”

You do linger in the doorway, just a little longer than necessary though, so that he can get a better look at you. He’d never look without permission – he proved that yesterday, when you were in various states of disarray- but this time, sensing your invitation, his eyes graze over you slowly, keenly. So, when he strategically moves his hands from behind his head to hide the tenting covers, you don’t mind at all.

You smile devilishly as you slip into the bathroom, closing the door behind you. You’re not sure if he will… take care of himself out in the room – how could you know? But, feeling inspired, you certainly do so in the shower, and it’s a pretty great wake-up call before you face the wedding day.

Maybe sharing a room isn’t so bad. Maybe you could even get used to it.

*********************************************

Frankie and Mila get hitched without a hitch.

Santi goes to the ends of the earth to make sure that Frankie has the best day possible- and at some points, he goes even further than that. His speech was moving and flawless, and pretty fucking funny; even if you are a little (or a lot) biased. Not a dry eye in the house, just as you predicted.

The man adores Frankie with his whole heart, and you could barely hold back the glow of admiration as you listened to him, feeling like it might burst from your chest like a beam of gold sunlight. You felt it especially strongly every time his eyes met yours during the course of the speech, and you couldn’t help but smile yourself stupid each time he did so. And, of course, you were overjoyed to see your best friend have the day of her dreams, with the man of her dreams. If you do say so yourself, you think your speech was pretty killer too.

Suffice to say, you ate until your belly was full, loved until your heart hurt, laughed until your sides ached, and danced until your feet ached.

Tonight, unlike last night, you and Santi retire to your shared room at the same time, your arm linked into his, and your shoes carried in your hand to spare your sore feet – there’s a reason you never normally wear shoes like this. Without your heels though, you keep tripping over the hem of your dress almost every few paces, causing you to giggle and Santi to steady you with a warm, rich chuckle, sometimes throwing you an extra hand to assist you.  

You look over at him, furtively, as he recounts some of the more choice moments from the day, immensely enjoying the simple pleasure of hearing him talk and smile and laugh. Seeing him happy. Of course, enjoying how he looks too, you have to admit - even more handsome than he did yesterday (somehow) in midnight blue dress pants, and a white, crisp shirt, now tieless. He’s only grown sexier as the evening drew on too, now with a wide open-collar and rolled up sleeves to accommodate all of the dancing; or, at least, as much dancing as his knees could handle, until he’d simply opted to sit to the side and watch you boogie, his eyes apparently transfixed on you and only you - the advances of the other bridesmaids be damned.

There is something that hits different about the way he looked at you today. His admiration shining deeper than usual. Less like a casual lust, and more like something… serious. You’re not sure why you doubted it before, exactly. Why you have been so inordinately afraid that he might hurt you. You broadly figured him for a smash and dash type of man, which is fine, but you have every reason to believe that he wants more with you.

After all, Santi can be deeply and tenaciously loyal. He has dedicated himself to things deeply and unwaveringly several times over in his life. To his country, to his missions, to his morals, to his squad. And there’s something about the way he looked at you today, you think, that suggests he might dedicate himself to you with the same tenacity. Something far deeper than appreciating how you look in this bridesmaid dress (and oh boy do you look hot). It’s more like the way he looks at Frankie. A little different to that, obviously. But you’re realising he looks at you like he’d never let you down. Not even in the smallest of ways. Like he’d rather go to the ends of the earth -or beyond- than do that.

At least… you think so.

You are sure about one thing though. The way he looks at you? It’s thoroughly disarming.

And so, you arrive at your shared room, utterly wiped out from the day (and night), yet still somehow buzzing with an energy. A gentle suffusing heat under your skin as you watch Santi walk inside and kick off his shoes at the end of the bed, before turning back towards you.

You have entered a few paces behind him, after nearly tripping on your gown all over again by the door, but now, you are quite steady on your feet - aside from that slight, nervous tremble in your quaking legs as he looks at you like that. As Santi looks you up and down, eyes skimming over the contours of your dress and hence everywhere it hugs your figure. Evidently, he likes what he sees.

“Wow,” he breathes, his brown eyes shining as if he’s looking at you for the first time that day, even if his gaze has barely left you all night. “I know it’s the bride’s day, but you look fuckin’ smokin’, sweetie.”

“You think so?” you ask humbly, suddenly feeling unreasonably shy. Flustered even.

“Yeah. I think so,” he nods, positively certain. “Shit, you’re so beautiful.”

You look at him. You look at him in a way which suggests an answer in your eyes instead of a question. A clear intention in your body, instead of uncertainty. But he doesn’t push you. He doesn’t assume. He doesn’t make a move. Instead, his mouth tugs up into a lopsided smile, offering you a lazy flash of teeth, and he shoves his thumbs into his belt loops.

“Well, we’re officially off the clock now, so I’m calling it. Well done, Maid of Honour. Think we nailed it? Made a pretty damn good team?”

A smile lights your face. You did. You flowed. You fit. It was easy.

Fuck. It feels so easy. Why had you ever thought this would be hard?

You nibble on your lip, eyeing him with intention, and a hard swallow trails down his throat in response.

“Off the clock, hmm?” you say breathily. “No more titles or duties? Huh. That’s a real shame.”

“How so?” he asks, his eyes devouring you alive, but his body fixed resolutely in place. Transfixed to the spot.

“Because it’s traditional for the Best Man to get with one of the bridesmaids, isn’t it?”

A slow, disbelieving smile inches over his face, and he looks at his feet, a little bashful. “Gross tradition. Kinda sexist,” he says, and your gaze fixates on his full, curving lips. On his hands, poised and broad at his belt.

“So, you don’t want to make out then?” you ask in your most sultry voice, mere breath.

The man huffs out a quick, broken exhale. “Fuck me. You know I do, sweetie. But only if you’re ready.”

Ready. Are you ready?

“Santiago,” you say, with conviction, your eyes dancing between his. “I’m ready.”

Santi searches your face one last time, just to be certain. He’s sure, of course – has been for a long time, but he needs to know that you truly want this. That you want this now. So, he looks at you, and he finds nothing but permission. Even so, after so long, he still can’t quite believe it. He would go to the ends of the earth to keep you safe – or beyond – and, so dammit, he will ask you again.

“C-can I..” he begins, and his voice already sounds choked; hollowed out with need. “Fuck, Princesa, can I kiss you?”

Too long. Too long without moving. Without touching. Too long.

If you were suddenly ready, his kiss becomes even more suddenly overdue.

“You’d better,” you encourage, feeling like vapour. “Unless you want me to do it first.”

With permission granted, you expect him to be on you, with a surge. All at once. But Santi has been patiently waiting for you long enough. He can wait just a little longer, and, when he subtly tips his chin up, ever so slightly, and when he near growls “come here then, honey,” somehow, it is perfect. Somehow, it is a thousand times hotter that he makes you come to him.

You lift the hem of your dress, and you pad delicately towards him, feeling like you are wading through molten honey to get to him, the air thick and sweet.

“That’s it. Come here, baby,” he encourages, with a curl of his index finger beckoning you to him, his voice curling in the pit of you, making you feel weak in the best way possible. Making you feel spent before he’s even done so much as brush you with his hand or his lips.  

You close the remaining distance with your steps, the anticipation too much, and your legs feeling so weak from the reckless lust and the light, liquid softness in his eyes. By this point, you are begging for his arms to reach out and clasp you- to hold you up; make you secure and safe in him. You are begging for his lips to sink down on to yours. But he makes you wait, through a few more slow, stretched moments. Makes you inch your mouth closer and closer until your lips are almost skimming his. He makes you wait until you are moaning his name into the air before he has even touched you.

“Santi.”

And, if there’s one thing you know for sure, it’s that when you call for him, he is always there to take care of you.

You know he will take care of you.  

With that, his name a plea, he swoops his broad, large hand up until he is holding you, his fingers closing around your jaw and your throat, trailing down your neck. His touch is painfully gentle, but in a way that makes you want him to squeeze, a little harder. In a way that makes you push yourself ever so subtly into his hand. A way that draws a silken moan from deep in your chest, and Santi is moved to dip the pad of his thumb into your mouth, where it meets your wet and willing warmth. When your tongue skims him, humming as you taste his saltiness, that seems to be the final straw, a wrecked groan sounding from his throat, and finally he surges on to your lips, leading with his tongue, thrusting into your open mouth and drinking down every sound and moan he can draw from you, his stubble rough against you. You don’t care if he leaves you raw.

It’s tender, and it’s gentle, but Santi knows all about control, and you can tell he’s holding back. His hands are lethal, and he knows just how to kill you softly; but, you are certain, that if you want more of his power, he’ll give it to you. That he’ll take care of you however you like.

So, he kisses you more deeply, harder, and you go near limp against him until one of his arms wraps at the back of your head and one at the small of your back, making you feel a feeble thing, waning in his arms as his large hands support you. Except; you’re not feeble though. You’re not by a long shot, and you know exactly what you want.

“Santi,” you suspire, letting him walk you back against the wall, pressing his bulging arousal into you as more wrangled sounds and little grunts slip from his parted lips.

“Yeah, baby?” he asks, already sounding wrecked for you.

“There’s only one shower. Wanna share?!”

Even as he releases an endlessly eager, disbelieving breath, his eyes keenly search your face, checking you are ready. He watches, enraptured, as your lips curl into a deliciously sinful smile.

“You know. We don’t have to rush this,” he insists, even as he shivers with need, closing his eyes and biting his lip when you angle your hips to brush the tenting bulge at his crotch, ever so fleetingly, his hips bucking into you immediately in pursuit of more pressure.

“I know,” you say coolly, your body an undercurrent of frenzy, but your mind calm and sure. You push him back, with your palms to his chest, making room for you to about-turn into the bathroom, shimmying off your dress as you go and letting it waft to the floor like a sigh. Looking at him over your shoulder, with lust-blown eyes, you leave Santi stood there, entirely dumbfounded, as you reveal all of yourself to him.

You retreat, but once the water is running you call out to him, wondering where he has got to. “Take a hint, Garcia. If you’re ready? I’m waiting.”

And, he doesn’t waste another second before joining you.

THE END

(BONUS: Outfit inspo, if you wanna imagine him in the suits a lil better 😉)

[softlyjiminie]

nine months from now | m.y.g

⇢ pairing(s): boss!min yoongi x reader, mentions of vmin + namjin.

⇢ word count: 16.5K.

⇢ rating: 18+, mature.

⇢ genre: smut, angst, fluff, un-expecting parents!au, parents!au.

⇢ summary: his was not supposed to happen. this was never in the plan. a sudden, unexpected turn of events leads you into a world of baby bottles and baby grows, it just so happens that the cause of this mess is your boss...min yoongi.

⇢ warning(s): please read! mentions of infidelity, insecurity, unexpected pregnancy, light!description of birth ( pain, water breaking ), soft smut, dom!yoongi, sub!reader, unprotected sex ( please wear protection ),  mentions of one night stands, mentions of drunk sex,  phone sex, oral sex ( female receiving ), masturbation ( male + female ) , light!praise kink, pregnancy kink, daddy kink, dirty talk and swearing.

⇢ author’s note(s): hey everyone! this is a kinda late birthday fic for our wonderful boy min yoongi! i love parent aus and i just got to thinking about how yoongi would be the most amazing dad and boom dis bad boy popped out. I hope you enjoy reading and as always, feedback is greatly appreciated!! also thank you to my wonderful gigi ( @fantasybangtan​ ) for this beautiful banner, love you so much :(

one month. two blue lines.

this was not supposed to happen. this was never in the plan. you were supposed to work your ass off, show off your skills, get promoted and live a comfortable life. there was no time in your plan for this.

no time in your plan for a baby.

you feel as if the whole world has been drained away as you sit on the edge of your bath tub, your chest rising and falling with panic —you hadn’t even noticed, not until it was too late. your period had always been irregular, is it was easy for you to miss the signs. it couldn’t be happening. it can’t be happening. “how can this be happening?” you whisper to yourself, the lump in your throat makes your voice sound hoarse and weak.  

“well, when two very special people love each other..” your roommate, yura, begun as she rests her head on your shoulder and grabs your trembling hand. she had always been a joker, much to the chargen of your half brother, seokjin.

“she knows how it works, yura! it’s the sex that got her there!” your sibling yells, crossing his arms over his chest and looking down at you with a scolding disappointment. you’d never seen him so angry before, face red and the vein in his neck on the verge of bursting. you could tell he was trying to reign in his temper and you knew it was more than just rage he was feeling. seokjin had never known his farther, your mother was too ashamed to ever tell him and so he spent most of his life living with a hole in his heart. “do you even know who the father is?” 

you flinch at his sharp tone, knowing it was only his self inflicted conflict that was so venomous. yura’s head snaps up to glare at seokjin, lips parted in shock at he continues his rant. “how irresponsible could you be, YN? getting pregnant at this time in your career, how could you be so stupid?” 

“seokjin, enough!” yura snaps furiously, standing up with her hands resting comfortingly on your shoulders. she stares him down, rendering him silent and huffs. “YN is a grown woman...twenty-four years of age, meaning, you can’t scold her like a child anymore. it’s her body, her life and she’ll do as she damn well pleases. “

the sounds of their voices fade to nothing but static as they bicker back and forth about you. it’s almost as if you’re not even there, mind a million miles away. the mere thought of a life growing inside you has you spiralling and it’s not until seokjin puts a hand on your shoulder, that you look up.

“do...you know who the father is?” yura asks you quietly and avoids your gaze at his flits between hers and seokjin’s face.

“i do,” you twiddle your thumbs nervously, thinking back to the only occasion you can remember. you rub your eyes as they slowly begin to water, your brother and best friend nuzzling into you to help calm your nerves. “i know exactly who it is.”

seokjin and yura share a look, worried for the name about to pass your lips.

three months.

the walk to the top office is a brisk and daunting one. thousands of scenarios occupy your mind but you remember your brother’s advice and try to keep a steady head. you relax your stance as the elevator doors close in front of you, letting out a breath you hadn’t realised you were holding. a hand comes to rest on your lower stomach, reaching for the bump that was barely visible. 

you’d been to various different appointments over the last few weeks, blood tests, ultra-sounds and a paternity test. groaning, you remember the face of the assistant, her pointed nose tilted up in disgust when you begged her for any disgarded coffee cups the executive had lying around. all you needed was the tiniest trace of saliva to confirm your suspicions.

reaching your desired floor, you step out of the lift, and the sudden feeling of exposure crawls up your spine. patent heels click and clack against the smooth marble floor as you head to the front office. the light shines through the glass panes but it doesn’t lift your somber mood.

“i have an appointment with the executive?” you smile politely to the receptionist behind the desk and hand over your ID badge. she’s surprised, to say the least, when she checks it over and you can tell she’s unsure of how someone of your position would get an appointment on such short notice.

she lets you through regardless, mentioning to the executive that you’ll be up soon and too expect you. your once calm and collected walk is now weak and wobbly at  your ankles, you shake as you knock on the door and quiver when a deep voice beckons you in.

the room is bright, illuminated by natural light that shines through the glass panes directly onto the office. it’s sleek, black accents run through out the room with shades of whites and yellows and greys for contrast. a long desk, also black in colour, sits in the middle of the room, in front of the largest window that looks out onto the busy streets of seoul. you wonder if people ever look up and try to imagine what would happen in a room like this. the though of what’s about to happen sends chills down your spine. 

your patent heels sink into the carpeted floor, the softness and uneven ground do nothing to help your quaking knees. 

MR. MIN YOONGI 

the letters are engraved into the golden placement with thick, bold letters and reading it makes your heart race. the man himself is oblivious to your entrance, once deep red and burgundy hair having faded into his natural jet black roots. he wears a navy suit, tailored perfectly to fit his shoulders and his tie sits promptly around his neck, not a hair is out of place.

he hadn’t always been this perfect, you of all people would’ve known that. min yoongi was notorious in your company for his simple two step manoeuvre; flirting and fucking. whilst you had yet to fall victim to his charms, you knew to steer clear of him at company parties. yoongi had been a simple project manager at the daegu branch of your company, The Red Label, an up and coming fashion brand in south korea— before being unexpectedly promoted to executive to the seoul branch. you heard the last one had quit from heart break caused by the man himself. 

you, yourself were a new fashion designer, fresh out of college when you joined. you were happy to say that your designs had been worn by many idols since you started your job, including the infamous jeon jungkook.

you remember meeting yoongi at the annual anniversary party, drunk memories of the night suddenly becoming more and more clear. 

“yes?” he asks, looking up from his papers with a thin-lipped smile. he’s trying to be polite, you can tell, but you hate the way his black eyes watch you with discontent. you doubt he recognises you, remembers what went down a few months back. 

“hi...” you breathe, the anxiety from your thoughts rushing in. yoongi simply stares you down, his dark eyes watching as you shuffle under his gaze. he leans back in his desk chair, boredom etched into his features.

“look ms. kim,  i’m a busy man and have plenty of meetings to attend to today... so id prefer it if you didn’t go wasting my time.”

heat flushes through your veins and tingles at your fingertips, the words you had chanted to yourself in the mirror as practice have suddenly gone astray. you look to yoongi, his impatient stare boring holes into your very soul and you can tell he’s growing irritable. 

yoongi opens his mouth again to start a simple attack. “as i have stated already, ms. kim, i am a busy man with many duties to attend to today, so if you don’t mind-“ 

you hate this, you hate him. you hate how he thinks he can talk to you like you’re beneath him. especially after what he did to you. 

“i’m pregnant.” you blurt out, your rigid frame becoming lax as you realise what you’ve done. you watch as yoongi’s face contorts with confusion, what does this have to do with him? he must me thinking.

“why-?”

“it’s your child,” you snap back, suddenly gaining the roaring confidence seokjin had instilled in you many years ago. you march your way over to his desk, slapping down a file of all the tests you’d gotten, this paternity test with his DNA and his name in thick bold letters standing out on the white pages. “the documents are all here, if you don’t believe me.” 

the colour drains from yoongi’s face as he realises the severity behind his once careless actions, he never thought this would happen, he always thought he’d been, “safe? didn’t we use a condom?” he mumbles quietly, embarrassed and ashamed. 

“you insisted that we didn’t need one, you were too intent on getting your congratulations for your recent promotion.” you explain curtly, wrapping an arm protectively around your stomach. 

it was only then that yoongi noticed, the small curve of your stomach that was carrying a life that he had helped to make.  whether he wanted it or not, yoongi was going to be a father and he could tell by the fire in your eyes that you were going to do everything in your power to provide for this child. 

he sits back in his chair and runs a hand over his face, letting it cup his chin as he thinks. “okay....okay, fuck. what do we do now?” 

“well, i...” you hesitate, opening your mouth in a silent gasp. you step back from the desk and start to twiddle with your thumbs as you huff, nervous. “i don’t want this baby, my baby to grow up without a father. i’ve seen first hand how painful that can be. i also understand that, considering our circumstances, it might not be the best idea but i still believe you should take responsibility of a father and help look after them as well.” 

your answer is thoughtful, none of your words are fuelled by malicious intent. you want the best for the baby, your baby, his baby. yoongi’s heart clenches in his chest, his baby. 

“when’s your next appointment?” he asks in a whisper, a million and one thoughts rushing through his head at once. you look surprised, expecting yoongi to try and pay you off and keep quiet.

“next monday.” 

“good, i’ll be there.” 

three months, one week.

“is there any particular reason in which you’re not letting me attend today?” your brother hums, your only thought from then is to only roll your eyes as you pack your bag. phone, keys, purse. seokjin watches as you flutter about, fluffing your hair and straightening the sweater you wear, so it sits over your small bump just fine. 

shaking your head, you attempt to hide the nerves that crawl up your throat in fear of spewing them all out onto the floor. you’d blame it on early morning sickness. your older brother eyes you suspiciously, dark brow arched perfectly as a finger rests on his top lip. he knows you like the back of his hand, everything there is to know about you. he knew you were excitable when it came to things like new music or watching re-runs of americas next top model. he knew you were shy with physical contact and intimacy. he knew that sometimes you got so anxious and scared, especially with deadlines that your words became jumbled up and you’d forget your name. 

he knew why you were being so quiet today. 

you ignored him nonetheless, looking ever so slightly flustered once you’d finished getting yourself ready. you hadn’t felt this way since you’d submitted your first design to the Red Label. 

“are you sure? i know you hate all the machines and the gel the put on your tummy-“ the elder rambled and watched you collapse onto the couch beside him, you clasp your hands over his knee and sigh at him. clearly exhasperated.

“yoongi is coming,” you grumble eventually, curling in on yourself with a large pout. seokjin narrows his eyes, ever since finding out and confirming that yoongi was the father, he had been far from happy. seokjin remembered referring to the man as a pompous piece of poop, except more foul language was used. “i know you don’t like him, but we decided to try this co-parent thing? i’m just nervous that he’ll want to drop out as soon as he sees the baby-“ 

frowning, your brother shuffles over to you and presses a light kiss to your forehead as an attempt to comfort you.  “and if he does, we’ll figure it out together. promise.” 

you nod in affirmation, leaning into seokjin’s touch. he gets up to check the door a while later, calling out for you confusedly. “YN, there’s someone here to see you?” 

following his voice, you find yourself side by side with your brother, facing a man about your age if not younger. he’s dressed formally, in a black suit and white shirt, a bow tie around his neck. he offers you a boxy grin and you frown. 

“who are you?” 

“ah, you must be YN.” 

“yes, she is, but who are you?” seokjin cuts in before you can open your mouth, moving stand protectively in front of yourself and the baby. confused, you’re eyes widen and you shuffle back in the doorway to protect yourself further.

the man’s enthusiastic grin drops slightly as he readjusts his tie, coughing and holding his hand out to your older sibling. “taehyung, kim taehyung...” he introduces himself and falters when seokjin doesn’t take his hand. “i’m mr min’s driver, he sent me to collect ms. kim for her appointment today.” 

“driver? collect my sister? why i oughta-“ 

you set a palm on your brother’s chest and push him back lightly, smiling at taehyung as you do so. “jinnie,” you warm him and ignore his angry stare before addressing the driver. “i’ll be ready in a moment, taehyung.” 

quickly, you run back into the apartment to grab your bag and coat, returning fully dressed and ready to go. taehyung is already waiting with the door open by the car outside. you turn to your brother and hum. “i’m mad at him too, for sending a driver, but at least let me rip him a new one myself.” you say, breathlessly.

“with pleasure.” 

“a driver, really, min yoongi?” 

you storm past the man himself, anger flaring up within you at just the sight of his stupid designer suit and stupid pointed leather shoes that were probably imported from italy. he‘s a stupid man. who even wears a suit to a hospital appointment? 

yoongi stands flabbergasted, hands up in defence whilst taehyung only shrugs his shoulders and mentions he’ll be parked in the private area. the executive quickly follows you, surprised that you can even walk that fast with growing life inside of you and bends over with palms on his knees when you stop at the receptionist desk.

“i didn’t think it was smart of me to delay the appointment by meeting you at your own home, ms. kim.” 

rolling your eyes, you lean up to the receptionist, ignoring the way your name rolls so greasily off of yoongi’s tongue. “appointment for YN kim? 2:30.” you beam down at the man behind the desk, who’s eyes light up when they notice you.

“YN! lovely to see you again, you’re right on time!” he hums and checks you in on the computer as you spare a quick glare to the man behind you. the receptionist follows your gaze and leans in to whisper. “is this the baby father?” 

a light chuckle wafts past your lips and you nod as you tie the appointment slip from him. “why yes hoseok, he is.” 

“how unfortunate that his personality doesn’t match his looks.” 

you giggle and bid hoseok goodbye, walking down the hall to your doctors office for your ultrasound. yoongi mostly follows and stays quiet, sensing the anger and resentment you have for him, building. he sighs in the waiting room, knowing that he has to find some way to get a long with you and change your impression of him for the sake of his child. 

“miss kim for her ultrasound? oh and is that dad?” your doctor asks as she leads you into the room, helping you onto the bed and allowing you to push up your jumper for the jelly. yoongi feels a pang of guilt resonating in his chest, knowing that he should be the one helping you, but stands awkwardly to the side nonetheless. 

shuffling up on the seat, you look to yoongi expectantly to introduce himself and he jumps up, fixing his suit as he leans forward to take the doctor’s hand. “min yoongi...uh... dad.” 

“dr park, or you can call me dr jihyo,” she smiles, getting ready to apply the jelly to your stomach. “you know the drill YN, it might be a little cold,” yoongi watches quietly as you nod in confirmation, flinching when the cool substance comes into contact with your tiny bump. “alright! good job mum! let’s get you all set up.” 

it takes a few minutes for dr park to set up the monitor, using a device that yoongi doesn’t recognise to scan for what he assumes is the baby. yourself and the doctor chat idly, and yoongi realises how scary it must’ve been to do these things on your own for the first time. his train of thought is cut off by the sound of a steady, tiny heartbeat filling the room. 

that’s his baby, your baby. 

“your baby sounds nice and healthy,” dr park hums happily, tilting the device to get more of a view of your little peanut. she points her finger on the screen and turns back to smile at you. “here they are, hiding from us.”

you giggle happily and for a split second, beam over at yoongi as you witness the life you’ve created together. “is that our baby-?” yoongi half whimpers, taking a step forward to take your hand in his. you jump at the feeling, his change in attitude but appreciate the support nonetheless, on the edge of tears yourself.

these last view weeks had been daunting, life changing, but seokjin and yura had been there for you every step of the way. holding your hand and coming with you to check ups. 

“yes sir! i’m going to print out some pictures of the scans for you both, while we’re here, would you like to know the gender of your baby?” she asks politely and taps away on her computer.

“no, thank you.” 

“yes, please.” 

you send a glare yoongi’s way, fired up inside as he matches the look. 

“yes!”

“no!” 

the tension thickens in the room, so much so that a knife wouldn’t be able to cut through. dr. park stands from her chair, arms up to ease you both and coughs for your attention. “how about i print those pictures and you two can decide when i come back?” she suggests as you rip your hand from yoongi’s, who feels the walls build up around you again.

“that’d be great, thank you doctor.” he hums, watching as the doctor leaves the room before turning to you with a deepest scowl. “what was all that about, ms. kim? you were acting like a petulant child.” 

you growl deeply, sitting up and wiping yourself clean of the cold jelly. you pull down your sweater and turn to look at the man with a dark frown. “me? a child?” you tsk, looking him up and down. “i didn’t see you taking any initiative when it came to the baby until wanting to know its sex! as far as i’m concerned, mr. min, you’ve acted as nothing more than a sperm donor i actually have to see,” you spit, ignoring the pang of guilt you feel when yoongi visibly flinches at your words. “and for the love of god, it’s YN.” 

“well, YN,” he starts to argue, brushing off the hurt. “this is a first for me too, and if we’re going to make it work we have to compromise. i get it, i haven’t been much  help or support but i am trying to get better, for you and the baby.” 

you falter, you know that you have been tough on him but he is also making an effort by even showing up at all. sighing, you look to yoongi thoughtfully. “you’re right and I am sorry for lashing out, but this is one thing i won’t change my mind on. we have many decisions to make together, but this one i need for myself.” you say, rubbing your arm sheepishly.

“that’s fine, we can make that work.” yoongi smiles softly, to which you can’t help but return.

five months.

some would be shocked at the progress yourself and yoongi had made, having a baby really changed people. yoongi was much sweeter now, having dropped most of the formalities in favour of your ‘beautiful’ name, or so he called it. the executive brought you lunch almost everyday, left snacks and sweet notes to aid your cravings and ease your hormones. 

yoongi even offered to send you money for groceries, claiming he wanted the baby to have a healthy lifestyle from early on. of course you refused it, whilst you loved the support you were getting from him, it sent chills down your spine at how fast he’d changed.

“but what’s so wrong about that?” yura asks you one night. the pair of you are both cuddled up under heaps of blankets, your feet on her lap as she munches on the kale chips yoongi had given you that day. she inspects the green crisp for a moment, blinking before popping it on her tongue and crunching happily. “free food? comfier clothes? a driver? sounds like the life to me, YN.” 

you snatch the bag of chips away from your roommate, knowing it’ll spoil her appetite before your brother brings over dinner. peeking into the bag yourself, you swipe a few of the healthy snack for yourself, grimacing at the taste. what kind of sane person combines kale and chips? who? and it didn’t help that your cravings had kicked in. 

“there’s nothing wrong with it, i just don’t want money spent on me.” you whine and pout, shoving the chips away from yourself. 

yura only rolls her eyes and flicks your forehead. “but the moneys not for you it’s for miss yura junior over here!” she coos, raising her voice by a few octaves to talk to your bump. you watch with furrowed brows and a slight grimace as your roommate continues to make sounds horrifyingly similar to breeding cats.

“please, stop.” 

“nono, she loves it.” 

just at that moment, seokjin makes his entrance with bustling bags carried by his poor boyfriend- namjoon. you push yura away from your bump in order to make an effort in reaching namjoon but he leans down and kisses your forehead.

“you mean, he,” your brother comments and settles himself in the kitchen to prep you a meal. “i can already tell, that little critter in there is a boy and none of you can convince me otherwise.” he insists loudly, causing namjoon to roll his eyes.

“maybe YN’s results will...” yura turns to you with a mischievous glint, itching her fingers up your side knowing full well how ticklish you were. you’d probably sock her in the face with how much you wriggled. 

“and there’s not a chance that either of you will find out, i’m under strict instructions to keep the results from you. all of you.” namjoon interjects pointedly, sagging into the seats and rubbing his arms from all the shopping your brother made him carry. yura sticks her tongue out at him. “now what’s this about baby daddy money?” 

pulling the blankets up to your chin, you sigh, pouting over at namjoon. namjoon was like a second elder brother to you, quiet and helpful much unlike seokjin. you suppose that’s why the pair made such good partners, they balanced each other out well. “yoongi has been sending things over to help take care of myself and the baby but, it’s too much!” you huff and throw yourself back into the couch, sinking in and away from the world. “he even moved my desk at work, closer to his!” 

joon tilts his head, looking at you with a knowing smirk and taps his nose. “sounds like this yoongi guy has a thing for you.” 

“nuh uh, never, nada...nope!” you counter, shaking your head. there’s no way in hell yoongi could possibly feel that way about you. your hook up was a one time thing and you didn’t quite match up to the other girls he hooked up with at the office. “never in a million years. not possible.”

“you never know, YN,” he hums back, shrugging nonchalantly.  “yoongi could be everything you least expect.”

you lose yourself in namjoon’s the words, thinking deeply as seokjin starts to being out the dinner trays.

“can you believe, min yoongi put a baby in her?” 

“i want to know how his dick even got up just by looking at her.”

your skin crawls with discomfort as you enter the break room, your co-workers instantly silencing. this was common, for them to make you the subject of their idol chit chat. of course with your sudden pregnancy and yoongi’s newfound favouritism for you during meetings and overall, it only made sense for everyone to put two and two together. 

jealous female coworkers didn’t like the idea that min yoongi didn’t want to hook up anymore, he wanted to focus on the one thing more important than his job. 

he wanted to focus on you. 

so now you were YN KIM, the red label’s pregnant whore. katie’s words, not your own. she was a new international relations employee from overseas, working with your departments new collection to debut in the US market. 

you loathed her. 

“good morning, YN,” she beamed, flicking her bleach blonde locks over her shoulder and pursed her lips the tacky barbie pink lipstick on. her insect eyes shift up and down your frame, making you curl in on yourself uncomfortably. “you’re looking a little bloated today.” 

you bite your lip in an effort to stop it from quivering, holding your bump protectively as you wait for the kettle to boil for some tea. “i’m pregnant.” you mumble quietly as a line of defence, wincing as katie and her minions let out high pitched, squeaking laughs. 

“are you sure? it seems like you’ve put on a few.”

gasping, you drop the mug you were using for tea and bite your lip, desperate for the tears not to fall. as quickly as you can, you shuffle out of the dreaded break room and ignore the ugly chuckles of your coworkers, making a break for the bathrooms. 

bursting into the room, you brush past whoever’s about to leave and dash to the taps to splash cold water over your hot, tear stained cheeks. you hope to god that no one is here to see your snotty faced, crying session but your biggest nightmare only comes true when a warm hand settles on your shoulder. 

“hate to break it to you sweetheart, but i don’t think this is the little ladies room,” you pout through your tears as you turn to face the voice, absolutely mortified when you notice them to be jimin. the blonde offers you a small smile that drops when he notes your sniffling, immediately replacing his expression with a look of concern. “ah! YN? are you alright?” 

clearly not, you think but allow jimin to grab you some tissues and dab at your tears. jimin was a sweet boy, a fresh face around the company since he was hired to replace yoongi’s assistant (she had quit for undisclosed reasons.). the boy was smartly dressed, always in a blazer and woven sweater. he wore circular specs that always slid down his nose, but his golden weaved hair was always pushed back in away that had the ladies drooling.

“what happened?” jimin asks quietly, helping you fix your makeup to a presentable state. his touch is gentle as he dabs under your eyes, looking at you earnestly.

“promise you won’t tell yoongi?” 

“pinky!” 

you sigh heavily when the man steps back, offering him tired smile with puffy eyes. “the inernational relations girl has turned every one of my coworkers against me, ever since she found out that yoongi was too committed for hookups...” you mumble sadly, gesturing to your bump as jimin follows your gaze. 

the blonde steps forward, grabbing your hands and holding them tight as he shakes his head. “they’re just jealous!” he exclaims, making you jump slightly. “i would be too if i was one of them, you’re a beautiful girl YN, with a beautiful baby coming along. if they’re going to be mean about it, they can fuck themselves because yoongi sure ain’t.” he finishes with a triumphant smile, looking down at you.

jimin is a sweetheart, and having only seen him around the office you know that you have someone trustworthy on your side for now. “thank you jimin, so much for your kind words.” 

the blond only tilts his head, offering you a crescent moon eyed smile. “anytime, YN! now let’s get you back on that office floor.” he beams and takes your hand, leading you back to your desk, much to the dismay of all the other girls.

“repeat that again.” 

“i fired her.” 

yoongi punctuates every word, teeth grit as he spits them out. it’s almost as if thinking about the incident makes him angry, which of course it does, grown women bullying the mother of his child. 

you sit straight faced in yoongi’s office chair, the doors are locked and the curtains open widely. the pale light of the clouded seoul sky brightens up the dark scowl on his face, as it caresses the curve of his pink lips and slope of his nose. shaking your head, you watch as yoongi fixes his suit and makes his way over to you. his steely, copper eyes are locked on your smaller frame as he flattens his palms out on the desk before you. 

he really is mad and you can’t blame jimin for telling yoongi the truth. 

“why?” you gasp with parted lips, looking up at yoongi with innocent eyes in hopes of ridding him from his scowl. 

the man himself leans down close to you, his face within an inch of yours and his lips deathly close to your own. his breath is warm against your top lip, and you force your gaze upwards into his dark, liquorish eyes. “you know why, YN. there’s no way i’m going to have the women in this office harass you for my actions, for carrying my baby.” he seethes, tone contrasting with the forefinger and thumb he uses to gently tilt your chin up so you face him. 

“if that’s the case, then you should have fired the whole floor.” you say meekly and gulp, this was the most yoongi had ever touched you since that night you spent tangled in each other’s arms, while he passionately ground his hips into- YN! you’re getting sidetracked! of course, aside from the occasional hand at the waist or on your bump to guide you. 

“i would, for you.” 

the line sends shivers down your spine and you bite your lip, lowering your gaze.

yoongi smirks down at you, letting you go gently and you’re left wondering how much power he really has in this company. the executive pulls up a chair beside you, grabbing your hand after a beat of silence. “YN, I’ve been doing some thinking, and i believe it would be best for you and the baby to move in with me in my penthouse down town,” yoongi explains simply, as your brows furrow in confusion.

“of course we’ll get a bigger place when he or she arrives, but i’ll take care of that and in the meantime i think it would also be in our best interest for you to quit your job here.”

“excuse me?” 

yoongi hums absentmindedly. “i asked you to-“ 

“no i heard what you said, it’s absolutely ridiculous yoongi!” you cry and tear your hand from his, the deep set frown on your face growing into an ugly glare. the man simply sits back in his chair, confused. “you think just because i have your child inside of me, i’m going to do everything you say? quit my job? i worked hard to be here, i sacrificed days and hours for this position and i’m not going to leave my hard earned job because you have money and because you can get want you want.” 

he stands, pushing a hand through his dark hair and stepping towards you. you weren’t going to let this man intimidate you. “YN, i’m simply making a few suggestions that will make this pregnancy easier.” yoongi growls lowly, feeling the anger boil up inside of him. why couldn’t you see that he just wanted to help?

“christ, yoongi! why can’t you see that i have a mind of my own as well?” you mutter, the hot rage coursing through your veins becoming a muted frustration. anger isn’t good for the baby and you know yoongi only means well. defeated, you pick up your bag and nod over to the man before you. “i appreciate all the help you’ve given these last few months, but i’m not a doll like your other girls, yoongi, i’m human too.”

you mumble the last part, adding that you’ll take a few days off if it pleases him. as you leave the office, yoongi is left with the lingering feeling that he’s disappointed you yet again,  wanting more than anything to fix this. 

“YN, sweetheart! YN...please wait!” 

your frown deepens and shoulders hunch over the kart at the sound of yoongi’s voice. if only you weren’t pregnant— maybe then could you run a little faster. the executive calls your name again, following after you as you turn the corner into the baby isle. all you wanted to do was shop, for your baby— undisturbed. 

rolling your shoulders, you push the kart at a faster pace and try to focus your attention on the adorable little baby grows with a range of soft pastels. “YN...” you cease at yoongi’s whining tone, biting your lip as you start to count to ten. “YN, please.” one, two, three—

“please-“

“what? what yoongi?” 

yoongi throws his hands up into the air in defence, blinking shortly. you sigh in defeat and stop the kart in front of the teething toys and give the executive a lazy once over— his fit is different to what you would typically see him in, aside from his gucci and dior fabric suits. today he dons a tight fitting black t-shirt and casual black jeans that hug his thighs deliciously. breathing in deeply through your nose, your eyes flicker back up to meet yoongi’s sheepish honey ones, you nod to him to continue. 

“i’m sorry,” he breathes hesitantly, debating whether or not he should reach out and touch you. “i’m sorry for making you feel like i was taking your career away from you. i know how much this job means to you and also how hard you worked for it...” the executive bites his lip and watches earnestly as you quirk you’re brow, cocking your hip as if to say ‘oh really, min yoongi?’. the man himself knows that you mean business and chooses his next words carefully. “what i’m trying to say, is that i was out of line. just because we’re having a baby together, doesn’t mean i have a right to dictate your life.” 

the brunette looks down, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. you hum happily and take a baby grow off of the shelf, smiling at the words embroidered into the soft white fabric. ‘daddy’s number one fan.’

“you can make it up to me by pushing around this kart,” you wink and dump the tiny clothing into the object itself. “it’s heavy.” 

yoongi smiles gratefully, lifting his head and gripping the kart. “anything for you, darling.” 

seven months.

“so what kind of gender reveal are we doing? cake, balloons—ooooh! confetti!” 

eyes rolling, you  set the small box of collectible doohickeys on the smooth glass tables of yoongi’s fancy, four bedroom apartment. it was a place uptown with views of cotton candy sunrises, baby blues and pinks that swirled with light oranges just above vast greenery. yoongi had bought a year or two again with no use but now it was being made into a space for you, himself and the baby— right after you agreed to move in with him. 

yura is perched in the plush leather couch, fur blankets draped over the backs that you eye suspiciously— you’re sure that when the baby comes, they’re something that you’ll have to replace, in fear they’ll be stained with baby fluids. “YN...” she sings with her pen between her teeth, she’d been planning your baby shower since you’d been too wrapped up with OB appointments and settling in with yoongi.

as you blink, you pick up a small snow globe from one of your family vacations with seokjin— tilting your head with a sly smile. “you know there isn’t going to be a gender reveal,” you put the globe down. would go nice with the kitchen? you’d have to put it out of the little one’s reach, though. “not until the baby is born, yura.” 

“what’s happening to yura when the baby’s born?” 

“you guys are so lame.” the girl in question scoffs, kicking her feet in defeat as she gives you an exaggerated sigh. yura pokes an unsuspecting yoongi in the chest as he enters the room with one of the final boxes before; she skips out to help your brother and his boyfriend with the rest. soaring a glance, you notice that ‘kitchenware’ is scrawled across the brown cardboard in the executive’s messy chicken scratch— something about the man that you’ve come to adore over the last few months. yoongi had done many things for you and the baby, so you knew moving in with him would give him some sense of security— and it made you feel much better.

yoongi looks up at you, confused as you start to giggle— moving to help him unpack the pretty marbled dishes you’d picked out with him. “why are we the lame ones?” he says with a pout, whiny tone like music to your ears. 

“she’s still not over our decision to keep the baby’s gender a secret,” you raise your brows in a knowing look, reaching over and grabbing the executive’s hand sweetly. “she wanted to do a gender reveal.” 

“we still could,” yoongi teases you playfully, as he uses your intertwined hands to twirl you into his chest so that he could hug you from behind. you shake your head with a bubble of laughter at the dark haired man’s antics— only quieting down when his hands slip down to your bump. a comfortable silence sweeps over you both, nothing but the sounds of your anticipating breathing filling the little space between you. another beat of silence passes before you feel the light tremor of feet and hands from the bump. “there they are.” 

the pair of you spend the next few moments wrapped up in each other’s arms, waiting for your little treasure to kick and push at your tummy— but to your dismay, yoongi makes a quick departure after receiving a call from the board. for you, work had been slow and difficult as your pregnancy progressed whilst yoongi’s grew busier and busier as the season deadlines approached. you’d decided to take your leave, finding it harder to keep on your feet while your ankles begin to swell and your joints became sore— yoongi of course, was relieved. 

“you two are getting affectionate.” namjoon comments, sliding into the room after your boss has left. you roll your eyes and make a move to sit on the plush couch, your little one becoming too excited. 

the elder male quickly rushes over, taking your hand as he helps you to sit— you smile gratefully as thanks. “we’re just friends.” 

“friends who‘re having a baby together.” 

biting your lip, you pause your actions as an uneasy feeling spikes up within your chest. yoongi couldn’t possibly see you both as more than friends— he was in this for the baby and so were you. it didn’t matter that he sometimes kissed closer to your lips than normal or that he had a habit of making you blush. it didn’t matter that he called you sweet names, held your hand tight and was protective over you because mon yoongi wasn’t falling for you. was he?

or could it be, that you were falling for him?

namjoon’s brow creases with worry when your silence boarders on the edge of uncomfortable— making him take your hand in his, once more. “YN, are you okay? did i say something wrong-?” 

“n-no i’m just...i’m just scared, joon,” you whisper, throat drying at your sudden realisation. the whole world feels as if it’s about the slip away from under your feet, the words you’re about to say— foreign on your tongue. namjoon looks up at you, the fear in his whiskey eyes reflecting your own. “i’m scared.”

“of what, YN?” the latter mumbles, concerned. 

“of falling,” you say, voice barely above a whisper. “of falling for min yoongi.” 

min yoongi had come to realise that parties were never really his thing. 

they were easier to enjoy when people were drunk off their minds and didn’t know what was up or what was down. but observing the gathering from the edge of the room— completely sober and nursing a glass of baby champ had shown min yoongi that he’d never really liked parties. 

there were too many loud noises— the squealing from your friend and chatter from excited guests— and too many people, bodies closely packed in a tight space. at least when he was drunk, he was too out of his mind to care, but he was going to be a father now and taking care of his little humans meant taking care of himself. 

after all, drinking is what brought him is little gift in the first place. 

the only thing that makes the night more tolerable is the bright smile that you have plastered on your face. the executive grins when his gaze finds yours, you give him the sweetest of beams before turning back to conversing with one of your childhood friends. yoongi loves the way you look tonight; you’d settled on blush pink dress— one from a collection you’d designed yourself. he remembers how hard you’d worked to finish the designs before taking your leave, so he was adamant that you would wear the dress, the first of its kind.  your hair frames your face perfectly, each curl falling perfectly into place— caressing your soft cheeks that are lightly dusted with a warm blush to compliment the shadows that paint your eyelids. 

“you’re drooling, hyung...” 

the dark haired male jumps at the smooth voice from behind him, a scowl replacing the loving smile that once tickled at his lips. yoongi spins on his heel, adjusting his tailored jacket as his driver, taehyung slips an arm around his shoulders. the two had known each other for longer than it might have seemed, the younger being one of the few people yoongi actually trusted. they’d met back in college, before yoongi had become a big hot shot, before he fell into the world of sex, alcohol and money.

they’d lost touch when yoongi moved from deagu to work in seoul, seeing taehyung working there as a driver had been a pleasant surprise. the royal blue haired boy hasn’t changed a bit, the only thing being that he’d started dating the printer boy, jimin— who the executive ended up promoting because he loved the two so much. they were a trio, a little circle of trust and yoongi’s home away from home. 

but that didn’t stop the executive from cursing out his long time friend. “what the fuck taehyung?” yoongi hisses, pushing the driver lightly. he gives a brilliant laugh in response, as bright and as colourful as his head full of  “do i look like some kind of fucking dog to you?” 

jimin appears on yoongi’s left, wrapping his own arm around the older’s shoulder and linking his hand with his lover. oh god, the terrible two. who knew what mischievous they would get up to when together. “you do look like a puppy in love,” the blonde comments, tapping yoongi’s nose with his small pinky. he’s only a little bit tipsy, probably because of the whisky yoongi had caught them sneaking in. “woof woof.” 

“if hyung was a dog, what breed would he be?” 

“probably a chihuahua, small but...deadly.”

yoongi sighs, gaze switching between the two lovers as they squabbled over dog breeds excitedly. one, two, three, four— “do you need something?” he asks the pair, praying to heavens that they don’t and that they’ll leave him alone. 

jimin giggles, the sound bubbling from between his lush lips. “we’re here to give you a pep talk.” 

“you should tell her how you feel,” taehyung mumbles, clinging onto yoongi. affectionate and drunk. “you love her, everyone can see it.” 

“no they can’t��“ yoongi protests, but it’s far too late. the intoxicated pair of lovers are already pushing him in your direction and he can feel his heart beating violently in his chest as he nears you. since when were you able to make him nervous? perhaps his long time friends were right, the executive had felt himself grow fond of you— almost like his world revolves around you. he was with you not just for his child but for something much greater than himself. yoongi rolls his shoulders, his fingers barely touching at your own as he does his best to grab your attention, but then you turn around— glittering eyes shining even brighter at you look to him, the wisps of a greeting painted on your pink lips. “YN... i—“

his thoughts race a million miles a minute, just staring down at you makes yoongi’s heart stop. you barely have time to greet each other, before a loud nasally voice cuts through the buzzing electricity between you. “ahhh, mr min! the man of the hour, i’ve been dying to meet you.” 

“mum,” you whine with a shy smile, linking your arms with yoongi in an affectionate manner. “play nice.” 

“am i ever anything but?” 

taking the time to look between the two women, he notices the endearing similarities between you and your mother. like the crinkles under your eyes when you grin and the little tilt of your head when you listen intently. he can’t help but wonder what little habits your child will pick up when they’re a little older, will they be more like him? or like you? yoongi hopes to the heavens that your baby turns out like you. 

the man is so lost in thought that he almost forgets to introduce himself. “yoongi is just fine ma’am.” he smiles brightly, holding out a hand for mrs kim to shake— kissing it sweetly when she does so. he can’t help but blush under the intent gaze of your mother, squeezing your arm with nerves as he brushes through the terrains of his dark locks sheepishly. 

truth be told, meeting your mother was the most daunting part of the evening for yoongi. you had painted a picture of regal woman, to yoongi, mrs kim with deepest eyes that were warm and soft— seemingly   yes, he had faced celebrities and big bad CEOs but this was the grandmother of his unborn child. the woman who had raised and brought you into the world— he needed to prove himself worthy, especially since he’d impregnated you outside of marriage. yoongi wanted to show your mother that he could take care of you. 

“what a charming young man, YN, darling,” mrs kim chuckles, batting her lashes up at the executive. yoongi only chuckles shyly, feeling his heart rate increase at the compliment. he was never good at taking those. “you never told me he was this attractive, you’ll make handsome children.” 

“mother!” 

“ah but mrs kim, i’m sure that if our child does turn out as handsome as you say— it’ll all be due to YN and you of course.” yoongi grins cheekily, ducking his head when you swat his shoulder playfully. the rose tint on your cheeks tells yoongi that his words have done their job in making you flustered and of course impressing your mother too. 

the woman in question gives the executive a quick wink. “ever the flatterer too, hm?” 

“yes ma’am.” 

the conversation lasts for a minute or so longer before you’re rushing off to stop a slightly intoxicated jimin from stripping on the snack table as yura and taehyung cheer him on from below. affectionately, you lean up and kiss yoongi on the cheek before hurrying off with the help of your brother— leaving him alone with the intimidating presence of mrs kim herself.

moments pass without a word and yoongi wishes that he had stolen the liquor from tae so it’d at least soothe the adrenaline coursing through his veins. “i believe you’ll make a great father, min yoongi,” your mother announces, eyes trained on the daughter that she raised. “the way this baby has come about may be unconventional...but seokjin tells me you’ve stepped up to the plate, that you’ve come a long way.” she pauses, taking a breath as if she’s evaluating her words. “i know that you’ll take care of them, my daughter and her baby but i fear you’re not being one hundred percent honest.”

“i’m not?” the executive questions, lips forming a pout of confusion. whilst he was glad that seokjin had spoken highly of him and that despite the circumstances, your mother supported you both— he feared that if he’d lost your mother’s approval, you would take his child and not look back. 

mrs. kim shakes her head fondly, a light chuckle filling the air between them. “oh don’t look so afraid child, i mean, you’re not being honest with yourself.” she chides, rubbing yoongi’s forearm as his brows furrow further. still confused, a question forms on his lips but the executive is silenced by another tsk from your mother. “you’re in love with my daughter, it’s clear as day and i‘m afraid that if you don’t tell her now or ever— she’ll grow fearsome herself, fail to commit and...” the woman takes a deep breath, casting a gaze over to you that yoongi can’t help but follow. “she needs someone like you to take care of her when she doesn’t want any help. i trust you to do that for me, min yoongi.” 

the dark haired male takes a deep breath through his nose, watching as the elder woman takes her leave in favour of helping you calm your friends. he knows in his heart that she’s right, he loves you. he loves everything about you. 

and there was no better time to tell you, than now. 

the drive home is comfortable, quiet. yoongi steers with his eyes on the road and his hand intertwined with you over the console. he’s not watching you, but he knows that you’re counting the raindrops that slide down the tinted windows and merge with one another, you’ve told him that it was a habit you picked up as a child. 

the baby shower wrapped up just after eleven p.m, when you’d started to complain of sore feet and the baby begun kicking to their heart’s content. like the loving brother he was, seokjin offered to help clear up whilst joon packed a drunk, snogging jimin and taehyung into his own car to drop them home. you’d thanked them endlessly, only playing nice because yoongi had promised you a foot massage when you’d returned home. 

pulling into the driveway, yoongi turns off the ignition and lets the car fall into rest, the drifting hum of the car helping to steadying his nervous breathing. “we’re home,” he mumbles, more so to himself than you— biting at the skin of his lower lip. you’ve stopped counting the raindrops now, turning to face the man with a brow raised in confusion. 

“yoongi, is everything alright?” you ask, squeezing his hand tighter now, it feels weighty in your own— reassuring to hold like an enveloping warmth that touches your heart. even though the car is dark, you can still make out the lines of worry that crease in his forehead, he’s never usually this quiet, uncomfortably quiet. “please... you’re scaring me...”

“i’m in love with you.” he says after what seems like years of deafening silence, finally meeting your eyes with a steeling gaze. you gasp, jumping back in shock but yoongi doesn’t dare let your hand slip from his. you feared this, the day that he told you such a sweet little lie. because how could he ever love you? you were just a girl from an office party with nothing special about you. min yoongi didn’t care for you, is what your thoughts forced you to believe but your heart knew better. “and i...i know that you’re scared, i am too. but YN, i can promise you now, that i’ve never been so sure of this, of loving you than i have about anyone...”

yoongi takes both of your hands this time, dark, stormy eyes fluttering across your face earnestly. you know in your heart that you love him too, you’ve felt it for a while but he continues, giving you all the more reason to trust in his words. “you’re beautiful and kind, and these last few months i’ve realised that you’re more than i ever deserve,” he pauses, looking away shyly as he opens up to you. “and i love you, so much i-“

“just shut up and kiss me, min yoongi.” you whisper in response, cupping his cheeks and pulling him down for a sweet kiss. your lips meld together perfectly as your hands move into the oblivion sea of his hair, gripping the locks tightly while your tongue finds his— engaging in a battle of passion. memories flash behind your eyes of the night you spent with yoongi, the one that gave you your gift. his hands sneak down to your waist as you kiss him eagerly, pouring a million and one emotions into it. 

you don’t remember making it inside of the apartment, yoongi mumbling something about ‘not here’ in terms of taking you inside of the car. there’s a clash of tongue and teeth as you stumble up to your shared bedroom, pushing off clothes and letting out whimpers of one another’s names but when you reach the bed, rushed kisses become slow and steady, tender touches to your face and hips. “i want you,” yoongi says lowly, fingers tangling in your hair. “i want to take my time with you.” 

you nod slowly as he pecks your lips once before kissing a sweet trail down your body and to your ankles. yoongi silently pulls of each of your shoes, massaging your swollen ankles as he smooths over your skin. you let yoongi take off your jewellery and smooch at your wrists, let down your hair and finally— unzip your dress. instinctively, your arms wrap around yourself like a protective barrier, shielding your body from yoongi’s moonlit gaze. of course, you weren’t ashamed to be carrying life inside of you but your body was in no way what it was before. you had stretch marks from your growing bump and swollen breasts that started to lactate here and there— you weren’t ashamed just shy. 

“yoongi...i-“ you cant seem to find the words, gasping as the executive leans over you and pushes you down onto the bed. his slender fingers capture your wrists, gently pinning them above your head as his lips hover teasingly over your own. 

yoongi tilts his head, allowing the moonlight seeping through the curtains to illuminate his features— the slope of his nose and the dip of his cupid’s bow. the darkness in his whiskey eyes and the black flecks that paint them. he’s beautiful. “you’re beautiful,” he whispers, staring deep into your eyes. “you’re glowing, pregnant or not i still find you stunning. please don’t hide your beauty from me.” 

a small smile tugs at the curve of your lips as you nod silently, the man above you taking it as a sign to continue further. yoongi skilfully unclips your bra as his own lips find your neck, sucking on it diligently while your quiet whimpers fill the air like music to his ears. he litters your blank skin with shades of midnight blue and night sky purple as you arch your back into his chest but it’s not enough— you want to feel his skin against yours, the warmth of his body tangling with your own. 

“off,” you mumble, pushing at his shirt while his calloused hands rub circles into your bare hips. “take it off.” yoongi obliges, pulling away from you for just a brief second to strip off his button up— his suit jacket and tie having been thrown off as you stumbled into the house. his skin is milky and pale, only dotted with light patches of freckles and scars fading with adult hood. “you’re beautiful too.” you add, looking yoongi deep in the eye.

he shakes his head fondly, kissing you again but only briefly. “i love you,” he utters into the quiet night before moving down to peck your bump. “i love you too.” you wait a moment as your baby delivers a small kick, seemingly tired out for now and share a gummy smile with yoongi. from there, your lover makes quick work of your panties, pulling them off in one swift movement as he takes to spreading your legs. 

his touches are feather light, kisses like wise as the drift across your inner thighs and avoid where you need him most.  “please, please yoongi.” you chant his name like a mantra, his warm breath making you even more sensitive than before.

“what is it that you need sweetheart? tell me.” 

you chest heaves as yoongi smooths over your thighs, enjoying your responsiveness to him. “you, need you to touch me! god, please yoongi.” you whine, legs beginning to tremble with need. the executive only chuckles at the mention of his name, using his large hands to spread you open again, a single digit traces the outline of your heat, causing your hips to twitch up and follow the source of your pleasure. 

 “you’re so wet for me sweetheart and i haven’t even touched you yet,” yoongi coos, collecting your nectar with two fingers. he moans at the taste, leaning into your dripping heat with his tongue and swiping at the rest, making you whine and writhe in satisfaction. you had no idea why you were so sensitive and needy for his touch— blame it on the pregnancy hormones— it was almost as if yoongi had set alight a fire under your skin, scorching you with a hot desire as he spread your lower lips and tongue slipping past your wet hole.

fingers grip at his hair while you open up for him like a flower, hips rutting into his mouth as his plush lips sloppily kissed at your pulsing clit. “god, yoongi!” you cried, eyes rolling back as he slipped a digit past your entrance, curling it along side his tongue causing more of your hot slick to gush down your thighs, urging yoongi on while he moaned into your mess. the vibrations sent chills up your spine, making you arch your back and scream into the night, arousal spreading through your body and coursing through your veins. “please.” 

“please, what?” the man in question asked, pressing your hips down as he looked up at you, evidence of your arousal painting his cheeks and chin. “tell daddy so he can help his baby.” yoongi cooed, replacing his tongue with two fingers, the stretch becoming a satisfying burn as he prepared you for his cock. 

you writhed as the title slipped carelessly from between his lips, squeezing your tightness around his fingers as you struggled to keep your thighs apart. you were his baby and he was going to spoil you rotten. “wanna...wanna,” you fumble over your words as yoongi curls his fingers, pressing them into that spot that has you wriggling in the sheets—desperate for release. “wanna cum,” 

“oh baby, you can only cum when daddy’s filling you up, yeah?” he speaks softly, all the love in the world intertwined with his quiet syllables. yoongi lazily draws circles on your clit, pressing his forehead to yours as she whispers sweet praises against your lips— they don’t stop when he pulls his fingers from your swollen heat nor do the kisses that come as he sheds the remainder of his clothes and aligns his hardened cock at your entrance. 

you bite your lip harshly, eyes rolling with pleasure as yoongi’s hands find your own— his length pushing between your folds teasingly. you squeeze at your intertwined fingers, a sign that you’re ready to take him, that you don’t want to wait anymore. yoongi looks to you lovingly, lips hovering over your own, barely touching but saying every word and then some— you feel it, you see it that in this moment he loves you and for those to come, he loves you. 

with a silent nod and another squeeze of your hands, yoongi pushes past your entrance, nestling his cock within the heat of your soaked walls. together, your share a gasp— finally being united as one. this time feels like your first together, no drunken hook ups, just you and yoongi and all the love in the world, between you both. his warm breath fans over your face like an ocean breeze as he sets a rhythm with his hips, slow at first with easy rolls of his body against  yours— only speeding up with every octave that your moans rise in. 

“yoongi...feels so good,” you mumble breathlessly, freeing one hand from his and burying them deep in his oblivion hair. yoongi only smiles down at you in response, bucking his hips a little feverishly as he drags the tip of his cock against your velvet lined walls. you jolt with pleasure, beginning to grind your hips back, in wanton— finding your hand slipping down to cup the man’s cheeks, letting him peck your finger tips that rest near the corners of his mouth. “so...so good...” 

yoongi leans down, being mindful of the bump as he presses his chest to yours, your intertwined hands finding purchase in the silk of your sheets while he bottoms out inside of you. the room becomes filled with a vivid heat, the scent of passion twisting with the air leaving a lingering touch on your skin.  “yeah? you like that sweetheart?” his voice is a light whisper, sending shivers down your spine as you arch your back into him. “love seeing you like this, angel,” he praises too, nosing your cheek as you fall into another pitfall of pleasure— a symphony of your sweet moans playing on repeat. “so swollen and full, carrying my sweet baby. love how big you’ve gotten for me.” 

the silver words that slip from yoongi’s silver tongue have you throwing your head back, light perspiration licking at your skin as he takes the opportunity to ravish your neck once more. “got me so worked up, thinking bout those beautiful tits,“ his words start to slur as his free hand grips your breast squeezing them hard, so hard that you’re fearful they might start to leak. “can’t wait to taste that sweet milk, that you make for my baby. mine.” 

yoongi ends his sentence in a grunt, cock thrusting mercilessly into your weeping hole, as he takes you over and over. words barely form on your lips, drowned out by the sound of skin slapping on skin and the moans that urge each other on.  he drops his head to the junction between your neck and shoulder, hot breath tickling at your skin while you tug at his hair, his thick length pumping in and out of you, dragging you closer to the edge.

“yours, im all yours,” you whimper and clutch him closely as the tip of his cock brushes over that spot. tears spring in your eyes, yoongi’s hips rocking back and forth inside of you— the knot in your stomach becoming tighter and tighter. “i’m so close, please yoongi—daddy.” 

he draws himself from your neck, pressing his forehead to yours once more as he mimics your pants, chest heaving with yours as you both draw to a close. 

“cum with me sweetheart, i’ve got you...d-daddy’s got you—“ his breathing stutters, the feeling of you clenching around him becoming too much for him to bare as his thrusts become sloppy. “let me pump you full of my seed, give you another baby—“ 

“ohgod, yoongi!” 

he pants out the last part, desperate to bring you to release. you know that his words are impossible, but the steer you on nonetheless, a blinding light flashing behind your eyes as a wave of goosebumps rise across the planes of your skin. you stumble into your orgasm, releasing onto his cock and fall into yoongi’s arms, spasming as he whispers cotton candy words into your ears while he chases after his own high.

“fuck baby, you’re so good for me, my beautiful girl.” he stammers out, tripping over his words as he fills you up with the seed of his orgasm. with trembling arms, yoongi collapses to your side, lips bright red and swollen, glass milk skin bruised and bitten. he looks beautiful like this, hair slightly frazzled from your exploring fingers as his chest rises and falls. he’s extraordinary. the executive shuffles, pulling you into his chest and kissing into your hairline with a small smile to his face. “you’re staring.” 

“i love you-“ you blurt, mind cleaning from the post orgasmic haze. you know that the words have been said already, before you tumbled into the sheets with the man beside you— but this time it feels different, feels more real. you love min yoongi with all that you have, from this nose scrunch when he laughs, to the creases between his brows when he concentrates, everything about him is something that you love. 

“i know,” he whispers, bumping your nose with his in an eskimo kiss. 

you blink back, lacing your fingers. “no yoongi, i’m in love with you—“

“i know,” yoongi chuckles, taking your hand in his before brushing his lips against your knuckles sweetly. “and i hope to god that the heavens know how much i’m in love with you.” 

nine months.

“strip.” 

he utters the command, simple— yoongi bends your will to suit him best. he loves having control over you, making you follow his every wish. you’re his little pet, and he’ll do with you as he pleases. shuffling, you pull off the his shirt that you wear— revealing that you’d gone bra less in favour for comfort. the executive let’s put a deep groan that has your nipples hardening just by the sound,  helpless whimper escaping your lips. 

“look at you baby, all swollen and leaking for me... daddy wishes he was there to punish you himself.” 

you pout heavily at his words, like you had when yoongi left two weeks into your third trimester for a three day business trip in the states. it was important, you knew that, he was finally closing the deal to debut The Red Label over there— he has big plans for the label and making you realise then, that your lover cared for the company more than you initially thought.  

“miss you, daddy,” you gasp, writhing under his gaze through the facetime camera— adjusting it so he could see your rising bump. “both of us do.” 

your third trimester was easier than expected, despite the aching feet and the constant desire to pee at the most inappropriate of times— the last few weeks of your pregnancy were on track to going well. your newfound boyfriend, yoongi, made sure to take care of you too, with sweet massages and passionate kisses, possessive touches to the waist and keeping your pregnancy hormones in check. 

ever since that night you couldn’t help but jump yoongi’s bones at any chance you got— not that he minded, he always said that being with you was like being together for the first time again. even if it was late nights before bed or five minutes before yoongi was due for a meeting, he still was tender with you, loving with you. he still loved you. 

your friends and family had instantly detected the shift in your relationship too, seokjin and namjoon giving your boyfriend the ‘you hurt my little sister and i’ll-“ talk. you know that they meant well, after all, who could imagine how far yoongi had come since the start of this all. he had begun your pregnancy as a disinterested asshole, who only cared for money or himself. he had no intent of bringing a child into the word but he really had stepped up since then, proven himself a worthy father to not just the baby, but yourself. 

“you look gorgeous, so round and full...” he whispers, tired eyes watching you through the screen. his milky skin reflects a warm orange hue from the hum of the hotel lights, his hair ruffled from the stresses of the day. you close your eyes, biting your lip as your boyfriend lets out an amused chuckle— shaking his head. “wanna fuck you good, keep you pregnant. love how you look carrying my baby.” 

“yoongi...”

“yes, sweetheart?” 

“please...”

your boyfriend tilts his head, running his tongue over the roof of his mouth before leaning back in his chair as if he’s deciding what to do with you next—you know that you’re at his mercy, even if you’re a thousand miles apart. “touch yourself for me...but don’t you dare cum until i say so.” the man before you tuts, grinning evilly. “start with your nipples, sweetheart, i know they’re sensitive.” 

you follow his words, keeping your eyes on his as you guide your fingers to your hardened buds— swirling them in circles with a quiet whimper, eliciting a similar sound from your lover abroad. “more...want more...” you gasp, feeling on edge from the stimulation. 

“go ahead angel, touch yourself like daddy would.”

following his voice, your finger tips drift across your skin with a feather light touch, nothing like yoongi’s— but it will do for now. slowly, you move your laptop onto the sheets, giving your lover a clear view of the flower you hide between your legs, watching him shiver at the sight of your glistening hole. with shaky breaths, you start to rub shy circles into your clit— drawing patterns and figures of eight just like yoongi would.  pleasure tingles at every tip and joint in your body, trickling through your veins as your wetness drips down your thighs, just from the thoughts of yoongi watching you. 

“eyes open for me sweetheart,” he reminds you, guiding you gently to push two fingers past your entrance. you thrash in the sheets, desperate for more, to touch what only yoongi could reach— your hips buck up involuntarily at the thought of his large hands spreading you apart, fingers curling as the walls of your cervix pulse hotly around him. “that’s a good girl, doing so well for me, hm?” yoongi praises you, leaning into the screen. 

“mhm, your good girl...” you respond breathlessly, pumping your fingers in and out of your pussy as you spasm and twitch with arousal. a beautiful mess is what yoongi would call it, your slick paints your thighs with a glossy essence— illuminating your skin as you curl your digits in search for that special spot. “god please please please!” you chant as yyour thighs shake with delight, the feeling only heightened by yoongi’s constant praise, your hips move desperately to catch up with your fingers that run at their own pace.

“slow down angel, don’t you wanna be good for daddy?”

you want to roll your eyes at your boyfriend, but knowing him— he’d only extended your punishment. “no,” you mumble, almost sternly, picking up the speed and curling your fingers, dragging them across your walls as you let out a high pitched squeal. “wanna cum.” 

yoongi pauses and that’s when you know that you have him wrapped around your finger. a few pleases here and there have him nodding in permission for you to cum. your whole body shakes with delectation while yoongi coaxed you through your orgasm— stars twinkling behind your eyes as your released splashed out and coats your fingers. 

“fuck baby, you did such a good job for me— put on such a pretty show for me...” the executive curses, shifting in discomfort. you can tell by the look on his face, parted lips and a crease between his brow, that he’s struggling to hold down his arousal. while left shaking and heavily pregnant, you some how manage to shift into a comfortable position— giving yoongi the puppy dog eyes. 

“did daddy cum too?” 

“no baby,” 

a beat of silence and a grin from you. “please daddy, wanna see you cum too...”

a broken moan escapees from the confines of yoongi’s cherry lips, making you hum in satisfaction from across the globe. within an instant, the position of your boyfriend’s camera has changed— tilted down so you can get a good view of his cock springing free from his tight grey joggers. yoongi fists his length, hissing at the sensitivity, he’s bond turned on at this point. his cock stands at full attention, bright red tip burning in desperation as clear precum oozes heavily from its centre. throwing his head back, he begins to pump his girth, thick and wide, which makes your mouth water at the thought of it filling you up and stretching you open again.

“cum for me, yoonie,” you whisper, he’s barely three or four strokes in— too pent up to wait any longer, you have no idea how long he’s been holding it for. yoongi cums then and there, chest heaving with his dark hair matted to his forehead. thick ropes of his hot seed coats his knuckles, a shade much paler than his own skin. 

you smile brightly when your lover comes to, busying yourself by pulling his shirt back over your head and inhaling its scent— firewood and pine, reminding you of him. yoongi smirks lazily as he uses a tissue to wipe up his mess before tilting the web cam up to his face for a better view, he chuckles deeply and shakes his head like before. “god, YN, the things you do to me,” he muses, rolling his eyes at your antics. 

you mirror his smile, pressing a kiss to the screen as if he was really there. “you love me.”

“i do, so much.” 

“and i love you, even more.”

although yoongi was meant to be returning today, you hadn’t been expecting any guests. 

the jingle of keys in the lock captures you’re attention, the re-run of ‘real house wives’ not doing anything to interest you. you weren’t expecting your lover for another few hours but perhaps this was his way of apologising for leaving so suddenly. yoongi had seemed stressed this morning when you called after your OB appointment, showing more pictures from your scans with dr. jihyo park— he’d shown little excitement towards the life you’d created together, which was highly unusual for him.

nonetheless, you adjust yoongi’s sweater around you and wrap your arms around your baby bump protectively, moving from your comfortable position in the depths of your couch in search of your lover. 

what you don’t expect, is the click of high heels against your marble floor.

what you least expect is the woman paired with them.

anyone with a pair of working eyes, or even less would know how beautiful of a woman she was. her skin was golden, dipped in honey and kissed by the gods of the above— unblemished and untouched. she had sharp features, cat like eyes, the colour of molasses paired with thick lashes and eyeliner that could cut diamonds. obsidian black and curled locks tumbled carelessly down her shoulders, framing her face perfectly whilst her ruby red dress hugged the dips and curves of her body— matching the blood red painted onto her lips. 

she was stunning. 

the stranger, however, seems too comfortable in your home. she knows exactly where to hang her keys and to put her jacket— she opens a letter that you know must be addressed to yoongi and simply tosses it aside as she struts through your home like she owns the place. it’s not until you’re standing out in the open for her to see, that she stops her actions, tilting her head into the air as if it’ll answer the questions in her puzzled mind.  

“i wasn’t aware that minmin had hired new staff, i’m joohee.” she introduces herself, clear voice echoing across the hall. 

you frown, rubbing your arm at her words. “who’s minmin?” 

“your boss? min yoongi.” joohee answers confusedly as she approaches you, handing you her luggage expectantly. a pitiful smile crosses her plump, devil lips as she eyes your bump— making your skin crawl and coddle it protectively. “you’re pregnant? how far along are you? such a shame that minmin didn’t give you any time off. his values can be pretty off-“ 

you drop joohee’s bag as you listen to her blabber, her voice becoming patronising and sickly to your ears. she looks as if she’s about to have her way with you, tear into you like a lost little lamb but you won’t dare be disrespected in your own home. “listen lady,” you seethe, hating that you look like the pregnant angry lady. “i don’t know who you are, or what business you have with my boyfriend but i am not the help. now if you don’t mind, i’d like you to leave my home before i cal” security.” 

the women before you lets her lips part with shock, quickly adjusting herself as if she’d been a doll in repair. her midnight eyes look you up and down while a cruel smirk as she takes her sunglasses from her air and toys with them between her perfectly white teeth. 

“ah, i see, yoongi’s been out to play while i’ve been away. you’d think he’d be loyal to his wife— wouldn’t you?” 

“w-wife?” you stammer, heart plummeting in your chest. you hadn’t noticed the diamond ring nestled comfortably on her ring finger— as if it had been there the whole time. 

joohee smiles again, one that could be on the front cover of vogue. “three years and counting, darling, who could have guessed.” her words are like bullets to the chest, taking you down one by one. your heart burns with an unfamiliar sensation— heartache? betrayal? you can’t tell. everything seems foggy, all lies with smoke and mirrors. you had to have known at some point that it was too good to be true. “some water, darling?” 

you shake your head at joohee, not realising the hand that claws at your throat. panic and pain crawl through your chest and hide in the ridges of your throat as you struggle to find the words to face the devil dressed in red satin. “no... i just, i just need a moment—“ you whisper, fiery tears burning in your eyes and threatening to scorch at the apples of your cheeks.

“take all the time you need, dearest.” 

you move swiftly from there, running to the nursery and grabbing the hospital bag you’ll need for the baby’s delivery before heading to yourself and yoongi’s shared bedroom. you stare at the room with disgust and hatred, you’d shared too many loving moments with this man for it to be true. he lied to you, lied to her most probably. 

you realise now that you were just another pawn in the game of chess called min yoongi.

through broken sobs, you manage to pack enough of your clothes to last you until you have time to come back. and so with trembling hands— you dial the phone and listen to it ring once before it picks up. 

“hello?” 

“seokjin?” 

“yes, YN— what’s wrong? are you... are you crying?” 

“please...come pick me up...” 

there are no more words as the line goes dead, a little piece inside of you— dying as well. 

yoongi had known something was off that night when he came home. a seventy-two hour stay in the states was more than exhausting— dealing with press and foreign interviewers who only wanted to hear about ‘american inspirations’ the debut collection. the executive had wanted to tell them proudly, that it had been you leading the design team, his YN but he stuck with his simple answers of gucci and dior to appease the crowd. all he wanted now, was to curl up with his darling girlfriend and their unborn child. 

except... something was off. 

the house had been dark when he came in, a new set of keys by the door and an unfamiliar suitcase. yoongi knew, if there was anything to go by, that you would have the hum of real house wives on and the smell of those salted kale chips he made you eat— wafting through the air. but instead, the sultry tones of old, familiar jazz oozed from his living room accompanied by the soft sounds of glass on glass and wine pouring. 

wine.

“where is she? you bitch.” yoongi never swore at a woman, his mother raised him better than that but he heated the way joohee leisured on his couch— the couch where he lay with you for countless nights— sipping at a bottle of red wine. “answer me!” 

joohee barely flinched at the raise in the dark haired male’s voice, simply choosing to pour another glass of the fruity liquid for the man himself. “she left minmin, who wouldn’t after finding out their little boy toy is married.” she teased, each word she spat like poison from were sweet lips. 

“divorced, joohee, fucking divorced.” he heaved. “what the fuck did you tell her?” 

“correction, divorcing and only what she needed to hear.” 

yoongi remembers how fast he’d moved across the room, slamming his fist down on the coffee table so hard that it had almost shattered the glasses. that time, joohee had jumped, never had she ever seen yoongi so mad, so angry. “get the fuck out, walk out of the door and out of my life. it’s what you’re fucking good at.” 

joohee left not a minute later, leaving yoongi alone in the dark of his home. your home. the home you were supposed to share with one another, build a life in. he hadn’t wanted that with joohee, not after she ruined him and broke what soul he had. you were the one to have brought min yoongi back to life, but now, he had lost you.

min yoongi hadn’t cried in a long time, but tonight would be the first since then. 

“YN...he’s calling again.” 

you look up briefly from folding freshly washed baby blankets and grows, to stare down at the phone that sits between yourself and yura before going back to the task at hand. 

“ignore it.” 

yura sighs, hitting decline before resuming her own activities— munching on the snacks yoongi had packed in your baby bag. ever since that night, seokjin had made sure you were guarded by at least one of your friends or family members. since you’d moved back in with him, either he or joon would watch you throughout the night, holding you while you cried your heart out. seokjin swore that the stress wasn’t good for the baby and that he’d  kill min yoongi if he ever saw the ‘fucker again’ but you couldn’t help it, the man that you loved so deeply, the one who’s child you carry lied to you and tore your heart in two. 

how could anyone lie about something like that?

moments pass before the phone rings again and you quickly reach over to hang up once more. “you really should talk to him YN. not for your sake but for the baby’s..” yura mumbles after a while, sucking the salt from her fingers as if she’s worried you’ll burst out mad at her. “maybe it’s not what you think—“ 

“how can it not be? he had a wife yura, he’s married! there’s no explanation for that!” you almost yell, clutching one of the grows to your chest tightly as if it’ll protect your heart. 

“but maybe—“ 

“stop trying to defend him!” 

“i’m not!” 

“then shut up, shut up because you don’t know anything.” you add sternly as your bottom lip starts to wobble, you breathe heavily trying to calm yourself down. the slight twinge in your lower belly doesn’t distract you from the pain in your heart. “you don’t know what it’s like to fall for someone like this, to think you have it all and then—“

yura looks at you patiently, one of her greatest traits. she didn’t lose her temper with you or fall into screaming matches when your hormones got the best of you. she may have been slightly ticked at you, but she knew better than to show it. “the what?” she comments, brow raising in interest. 

“nothing... i just, im sorry, i shouldn’t have yelled.” you bite your lip, putting down the small item of clothing and running a hand over your face. your roommate only shakes her head fondly, rubbing your shoulders, she knows this entire thing has been hard for you. you’d never planned to have a baby this early on in your life, you wanted big things and had major plans. 

and you gave it all up for yoongi. 

your friend smiles sadly, letting you go before heading to the doorway. “it’s okay, YN... i’ll give you some alone time.” 

she does just that, giving you room to breathe as a million thoughts and what ifs cross your mind. what if you’d never met yoongi? would you be the same person you are now, back then? would you want this? would you— a burning sensation spikes in your lower back, making you double over in pain, this hadn’t been like any pain you’d experienced before, nothing like the braxton hicks you’d been warned about. and then, there’s a light gush between your thighs— panic soaring in your chest. 

“y-yura-!” you gasp, steadying yourself on the nearest surface as the pain subsided unlike the fear and nerves that cloud your mind. “a-are you still there?” 

the girl scoffs playfully from the hallway, making herself known. “of course i am, i’m your babysitter remember? i wouldn’t actually leave you.” she mumbles, tone quietening as you whine with the next oncoming contraction. “YN...are you alright?” 

you squeeze your eyes shut, gripping the dresser so hard your knuckles turn white with the force. “yura... i think— i think my water just broke...”

“oh shit.” 

this, this was pain. 

yura whispers praise into your hairline while nurses flurry in and out of your room— she’d called your brother not long ago who was on his way from his last shift at work. you didn’t want to be alone. “why, why did i go through with this?” you whine, hair plastered against your forehead with sweat. people are surrounding you, telling you to push and then not to, everything is too overwhelming and all you want is the baby out of you. 

everything that could possibly go wrong, was going wrong. an ambulance had been unable to pick you up from your brother’s home, the delivery plan having been registered to yoongi’s house— meaning that your roomate had to drive you all the way to hospital herself, getting lost on the way. now you were being wheeled through the hell hole, on the way for your delivery.

“because you wanted this baby and you wanted it him?” yura suggests, squeezing your hand tightly— only wincing when you squeeze it back with the start of a contraction. “would now be a bad time tell you that i called yoongi?” 

“you what?” you screech, barely having time to be mad as another wave of pain hits burns at your waist. god, did you even think this part through? you barely register the door opening, another presence instantly by your side. your body responds naturally , calming in response to the man that’s now beside you. 

yoongi grips hand, and if you weren’t in so much pain you would have torn away— your heartbeat ceasing in your but you know that you need him here. the time to talk will be later. “im sorry,” he mumbles quietly as they prepare you for the delivery room. “im sorry i did this to you, that i hurt you and i know that you don’t want me here right now, but im not going anywhere. not when you need me.” 

curling in on yourself at the student wave on pain, you take a chance and stare up into his eyes— searching for the truth, for an answer. “okay,” you breathe, unsure of what you’ve uncovered behind yoongi’s dark eyes. “okay, lets do this.” 

the executive nods at the nurses to make a move for the private delivery rooms he’d booked earlier on in your pregnancy. he squeezes your hand with a promise to yura that he’d take care of you, while you brought new life into the world. 

“she’s waiting for you, y’know.” 

yoongi doesn’t dare to look up, choosing to focus on the scuff on his shoes as a distraction from the conversation that is to come. it’s been hours, three or four, since the delivery— the birth of his child smooth sailing from the moment he took your hand but through all the screaming and cursing at him, yoongi couldn’t help but think of what he had lost. a family, a life with you. 

but now, your room was packed with the family you had built before him, namjoon cradling you’re infant in his arms as yura cooed away— playing with tiny fingers. the executive didn’t feel like he belonged, like he didn’t deserve to be in there with you. 

seokjin clears his throat with a roll of his shoulders before taking a seat next to the latter. as much as your brother despised yoongi, he knew in his heart that you were meant to be together. he’d seen you both grow from cold, isolated human beings into the warmth that a child needed to be in the world. seokjin would do this for you. for you and the baby. 

“look,” the elder starts, elbows on his knees to support himself as he rubs his hands together, ordering over his next choice of words. “i never liked you, i knew that you’d break her somehow—“ yoongi scoffs, cutting the other kim sibling off, as the words nick his heart. “— but i also know that she gave a lot up for you because she loves you. that mother in there, YN, is going to need all the help she can get and christ be damned that i’m going to give it to her but that baby... that baby is going to need a father. so either you step up and prove to her that you’re still in this or you take your leave now.” seokjin warns, this time— sparing a dark glare to a now intimidated min yoongi. “because the last thing they now need, is another let down.” 

the executive blinks, taking a moment to ponder your brother’s words. “i understand, thank you.” 

seokjin nods, moving into your room to round up your family— giving yoongi the space he needs to explain himself to you. when he enters, you have the baby swaddled in your arms with a look that says it all. that your entire world is right here with you. a look that makes yoongi fall in love with you all over again. 

“he’s beautiful,” you whisper, having heard the male come in— sparing him a short glance before looking back down at your baby, afraid that if you look away for too long, he’ll disappear. “don’t you think?”

the dark haired man can’t help but nod, approaching you slowly to admire his son— a small little thing with beautiful eyes to match your own and a head full of curls, just as dark as yoongi’s. “we made a beautiful little thing.” he comments, leaning down to brush his thumb over little min’s cheek. yoongi looks up, not realising how you watch him with tenderness, this was how it was supposed to be. “YN...i-“

“yoongi.” you breathe, turning back to focus on your baby. 

“i’m sorry, i should have told you— about joohee— about my marriage with her, which is over by the way...” yoongi hates how you flinch at the mention of his ex, reaching out to grab your hand. he breathes a sigh of relief when you don’t pull away like he expected you too. “we’re getting a divorce.” 

you gasp, all of your emotions flying at you at once. joohee had failed to mention that fact to you, something you might have heard if you’d heard yoongi out. “but she said—“ 

“i was with her a long time ago, back when i was working in daegu and she changed. the industry changed and she did too. joohee became manipulative and rude and—“ the executive closes his eyes, taking a moment to reflect. he’d never opened up about this before, but he needed you to understand...maybe forgive him. he needed to be in his child’s life. “and we weren’t working anymore, giving each other what we needed. i wanted white pickett fences, a dog, a family but she wanted all the money in the world and i couldn’t give her that.” he breathes, and you squeeze his hand. “but i met you at that party where i felt so free,”

his words come out as jumbled, becoming a ramble causing you to shake your head and grip the man’s wrist tighter. “yoongi.” 

“and then this happened and  i knew that i wanted all of that with you and our son and i’m so sorry that i put you through all of that pain, for not telling you—“

“min yoongi—“

“and i just miss you so much that it hurts, i want to be with you...”

“god min yoongi just shut up and kiss me!” you repeat your words from early on, using the hand that held his to pull him closer, pressing his lips against yours in a forgiving kiss. you pour all of your words and emotions into the movement of your lips against his, your love, your pain, your passion. you love him, you do— with all your heart and soul, the pair of you being mindful of the baby between you as you hold each other near and dear. “i-i love you,” you stammer, pressing your forehead against his. yoongi smiles, lips hovering over your own, he’s about to lean in for another kiss when your little boy gurgles between you. “and i love you too baby.” 

“does he have a name yet?” 

“i was waiting for you...”

yoongi smiles, letting your baby boy wrap his tiny fingers around his own. your body lights up with joy, if someone had told you— nine months ago, that you would end up with the worlds most beautiful baby boy, a man that you loved and a family that supported you... you would have laughed but now you’ve seen, that sometimes life has unexpected twists, good and bad. 

but luckily for you, you’d had a good one. “joonwoo,” your lover hums, kissing the top of your babies head before giving you the very same kiss. “that should be his name.” 

“joonwoo, meaning protection,” you mumble in a wordless agreement, observing your family. joonwoo had been a name you picked out with yoongi one night during the early stages of your pregnancy—you were surprised that he’d even remembered.  “it’s perfect.” yoongi would have your white pickett fences, your dog and your family home but for now, you would enjoy the moment— enjoy the time with your boys and wait for what the future would hold. 

you couldn’t wait to see where you’d be in another nine months from now. 

“ahaha! look, they’re kissing! what did i tell you guys? thats twenty bucks… each!” taehyung exclaims happily, removing his face from the glass as he watches the happy family through it. jimin only rolls his eyes from behind his lover, arms aching slightly from the abundance of gifts he holds in them. 

yura rolls her shoulders, having half a mind to shove the blue haired male over but she knows you’d give her an earful if she did. “fuck you,” she groans as she passes over the cash.

“i do that already!” jimin chirps from behind. 

that’s when seokjin sweeps in, taking the money from taehyung with a happy smile. much to the disdain of the latter. “but i called it! he’s a boy.” the elder smirks, counting the bills. taehyung pouts in response, clinging to his boyfriend who only rolls his eyes at the group’s antics. 

“but y’all are forgetting, the most important thing...” namjoon adds, taking the money from seokjin and smirking smugly at the shocked faces he receives. “i won the bet cus they’re getting married.”  the brunette reveals in a sing song tone, pulling the ring box that yoongi entrusted him with. namjoon only chuckles as the group descends into chaos.

this baby was in for one hell of a family.

⇢ author’s note(s): thank you all so much for reading!! please let me know what you think and have a wonderful day or night <3

[19tozier]

polaroid boy (richie tozier)

request:if/when requests are open (if this is okay bc idk your request rules) could you write an angst fic for reddie based on the song polaroid boy by nicole zefanya, it can be from either persons pov i think that decision is more of a personal one based on who you think fits the song better

warnings: angst, swearing, allusions to sexual things, i tried out some stuff w tense so hopefully it still makes sense lol

[losers + reader are college aged (20/21)]

there is an exquisite beauty in falling in love. in feeling your heart quicken at the sight of their smile, or feeling your cheeks blush at the sound of their laugh. in letting yourself tumble off the edge of the cliff because you are certain they will be there to catch you.

there is an exquisite pain in hitting the ground after they fail to do so.

you want to curse yourself for having stepped off the edge. you aren’t sure you’d have been able to stop yourself from falling anyways, but you did it with no hesitation. you didn’t just trip over the cliff, you leapt off of it. no parachute, no net, no caution. and now you’re the one paying the price for it.

it started, innocently enough, in your first lecture fall semester of your sophomore year. you were still drudging through your gen eds, doing your best to stay motivated through endless classes that weren’t at all related to your major. the lectures made your eyes glaze and your head pound, but you were getting through them. nothing exciting ever happened in them but that was fine with you.

until, of course, richie tozier sat next to you in the middle of a half-empty history lecture, fashionably late and a devil’s smirk on his pretty face.

you’d done your best to ignore him at first, furiously writing down anything and everything the professor said. just because a beautiful boy had sat beside you didn’t mean you would compromise your education. class first, dick later, you thought.

but richie, still wearing that gorgeous smirk, had leaned into your side and murmured, “you look a little tense there, doll. want some help with that?” and his left eye had dropped in a wink that sent prickles down your spine.

fuck, had you wanted to slap him for such a suggestive comment. did he always go around propositioning random girls? you were certain the answer was yes, and yet... part of you loved the attention, and another part of you wanted to keep those blue eyes on you at all times.

you’d scowled, glaring at him, refusing to rise to his bait and give him the response he so obviously wanted. you’d pointedly turned back to your professor, ignoring richie for the remainder of the class.

you’d expected him to give up the chase, maybe find another girl who’d take kindly to his attempts at seduction, but he’d stayed by your side while you packed up your bag and walked out beside you, body in a long loose sprawl as he asked—no, begged—you to let him take you to lunch. and were you really going to turn down a free meal? he may be irritating, but you weren’t stupid.

and oh, had he irritated you. it felt like he had been drawn straight from your own personal hell to drive you crazy, but there was something charming about him. something that drew you in despite your earlier reluctance.

he’d leaned across the table at lunch, smirk softened into something sweeter, and brushed his thumb along your cheek. “you’ve got somethin’ here, love,” he’d murmured, his eyes smoky.

“thanks,” you'd rasped, subtly crossing your legs and praying he didn’t notice your blush.

you’d caved and given him your number at the end of your maybe-date. you were still operating under the idea that he wouldn’t want to see you again, so hey, you’d figured, what the hell?

but he had. he’d texted you that night, a simple hey there sugar ;), and against your will your heart had started pounding. your hands shook as you carefully typed out we’ve known each other for a day and you’ve called me how many nicknames?

you’d laughed, irritation be damned, when he had responded almost immediately: i can add on a few more. put it on my tab, toots.

you found, slowly but surely, that richie was charming and funny and obnoxious in a way that made you want more. he was crass, yes, and sometimes he made you want to gouge your own eyes out, but he was softer and sweeter than you’d ever have thought to give him credit for. and it was horrible for you, really, because there was nothing to stop you from developing feelings.

but there were nights where you curled up with richie in your dorm room, squished together on your too-small bed, your roommate blessedly gone for the night, watching shitty movies on your laptop with takeout scattered around you. nights where you were certain that everything you felt for him was reciprocated.

he had pressed his lips into your hair, his glasses digging into the top of your head. “this movie is something else, doll,” he’d murmured to you, tilting his chin towards where you were forcing him to watch the room with you. “not sure i know what’s going on anymore.”

you’d laughed, twisting your head to kiss his jaw. “that’s the point,” you had grinned. “this movie is so bad that it’s fantastic.”

he’d snorted, the tips of his fingers sliding under your t-shirt and tracing circles into the bare skin of your back. “not quite the word i’d use but sure, toots. i’ve definitely lost the plot though.”

you’d frowned, reaching to pause it to look up at him. “i can rewind it if you want?”

he’d smirked, reaching gentle fingers to cradle the curve of your jaw, turning your face towards him. “i can think of something better to do,” he’d purred, and his lips and his body had silenced any objection you could’ve had. not that you did, really.

he’d had that effect on you. time and time again, he had turned you into a bumbling idiot, a lovesick fool, a damned clown. you were the court jester in his kingly eyes, the puppet beneath his talented hand, the doll to sit high on his shelf. people thought it was he that was the bozo, but no; he played you like it was his job and you were too stupid to ever realize how masterful he was.

you’d giggled to him, stretched out in the quad with your head in his lap. he’d been leaning against a tree, one hand absently stroking through your hair, the other holding up a book for class. you had been fucking around with the polaroid camera your friend had bought you for your birthday, taking pictures of the trees and the students around you but mostly of richie himself.

“what’s up, sugar?” he’d murmured, glancing down from his book. his glasses had nearly slid off of his nose.

you’d reached up to correct them, smiling at him. “nothing, nothing. you just look cute. very photogenic.”

he’d rolled his eyes, bookmarking the page he was on and setting the book aside to fully give you his attention. “cute? me? damn baby, maybe you need these glasses more than i do.”

you’d scowled at him, as annoyed as ever that he never seemed to understand how gorgeous he was. “you take that back right now, asshole.”

he had laughed, grinning down at you. his palm had slid along your stomach, warm and secure against your skin, and his eyes had shone in the sunlight. “you always say the sweetest things, doll,” he’d teased.

he’d ducked to kiss you before you could respond, slow and deep and searching, and you had melted back against the grass. it was rare for him to initiate something like this in public, enough that you had kissed him back and not had a single other thought. when he walked you to class, he didn’t reach for your hand; when you met him for lunch, he didn’t kiss you hello or goodbye; when you studied together in the library, he never sat close enough to touch. at the time, you had simply thought he was reserved with his affections.

those polaroids you had taken were the first of many, proudly hung up on the wall of your dorm next to your bed. they weren’t all of richie: some of you and your roommate, some of your friends from your classes, some of the friends of richie’s you had met only once. but most of them had been of richie, because you were smitten and you couldn’t do anything about it.

every time he came over, every time he saw them, his face had done something complicated that you had never understood—a frown to a grimace to a smile that he forced on.

looking back, you wonder about every sign that you had missed. could you have saved yourself the heartbreak if you had simply paid attention? could you have gotten yourself out with your dignity?

it had never even occurred to you to define what you and richie were. you were stupid and young and content to just be able to love him, even if you hadn’t known him long. you never thought to ask him if you were dating, or if he was your boyfriend or not. you really fucking wish you had.

it came to a head not long after. richie had come over like usual, a spring to his step and a bite to his words that had been there for weeks now. he’d been a ghost of himself, eyes flickering around to see who was watching whenever you saw him on campus, not responding to your messages for hours, jumping whenever he saw you. you had just wanted him to relax for a bit.

you’d curled into his chest, laughing along with him to the stupid horror movie you were watching. “it doesn’t even look real,” you’d giggled, pointing to the spray of blood from on-screen.

richie had snorted. “‘cause it’s not real, it’s probably chocolate syrup.”

you had rolled your eyes, poking at his chest. “i know that, smartass. i’m talking about the effects.”

“i’m talking about the effects,” he had mimicked you, pitching his voice higher and sticking his tongue out at you.

you’d scowled, pinching his side. “you’re annoying and one of these days i’ll murder you.”

“oh, is that a promise?” he’d grinned, lopsided and too damn sexy for his own good. “not one of my kinks, i’ll admit, but damn, what a way to go.”

“oh, for the love of—” you’d lunged forward, knocking him onto his back and almost pitching the two of you off the side of the bed. he’d grabbed onto your waist to hold you steady. “i want to strangle you! with my bare hands!”

“that’s hot.” and he’d laughed, the motherfucker, like the sound of it didn't live inside of your ribcage and swim through your bloodstream. every inch of him was something specially designed to get under your skin and make a home there.

it still has a home there.

you’d growled, whaling on him with gentle fists that he did absolutely nothing to combat. he’d just kept laughing, holding your wrists in his big hands, glasses skewed. “you’re awful and i really fucking wish i didn’t love you.”

all at once, it had gone silent and he had gone tense. the expression on his face had not been the elation you had been hoping for; it was horror, plain and simple, and the shock of it had pitched you sideways off of his lap.

“you love me?” he’d asked through trembling lips, looking anywhere but you.

slowly, you had nodded. your voice had disappeared. and he’d nodded back, one short frantic movement, and then vaulted himself off of the bed.

“richie—”

“i didn’t think we were that serious,” he’d said, yanking his shoes on. “i thought we were just having fun.” like it was nothing. like you were nothing.

tears had welled in your eyes and your chest had ached with the force of it. your heart, which you had thought was safe in richie’s hands, was being crushed and ripped to shreds and you could do nothing but watch.

“richie, wait—”

but he had shrugged you off, forceful in the way he had pushed you back. the look in his eyes was wild and terrified and you didn’t recognize him anymore.

he hadn’t looked back at you, in the end. he had just shouldered his backpack and grabbed his phone and disappeared out the door. he hadn’t paused when you sobbed out his name one more time. he hadn’t even faltered.

foolishly, oh so foolishly, you’d held on to hope that that wasn’t the end. that you’d simply overwhelmed him and he just needed time. but as the days stretched into weeks and your texts and calls had remained unanswered, your hope had died the same way your heart had.

you had taken that fatal plunge; the ground was hard when you’d hit it.

you still have the polaroids. you’d taken them down after a few weeks, too hurt to see yours and richie’s smiling faces when he had disappeared from your life. but you still have them, in the shoebox you keep under your bed. and there are nights like tonight where you pull them out to stare at them.

your chest aches, the tears in your throat choking you. you should be all cried out by now but you aren’t that lucky. it seems every reminder of him is destined to detonate something inside of you.

you can still feel his smile on your lips. you can still taste his laughter. you can still hear the stupid voices he’d do to make you giggle. you can still feel him in your heart.

richie hurt you. god, had he hurt you. he’d hurt you so badly you don’t know if you’ll ever be able to smile again. but you’re still in love with him and you don’t think it’ll ever go away.

he’ll forever be the boy in your polaroids, the one that made you feel on top of the world and the one that made you feel like you were six feet under. you won’t ever be able to hear his favorite song without hearing it in his voice. you won’t ever be able to love again without feeling his imprint in your heart.

there’s something magical about falling in love. you won’t take that back. but on nights like this, you wish you never fell.

[clareguilty]

Yeehawgust Prompt 1

Here is my first fic for Yeehawgust! and what a better way to kick it off than with some Daddy kink and smut.

Dutch van der Linde/male!reader Rating: Explicit ...we’ve been here before | Daddy Kink, spanking, oral sex, the works Word Count: ~1300

No matter how slow you went, you couldn’t delay your return to camp forever. The thought was tempting -- running away. But you didn’t have the willpower to stay gone for very long. You would always come back to the gang. Back to Dutch.

Your stomach flipped at the thought of the gang’s leader. You had betrayed him. Let him down. Dutch had trusted you to make money for the gang, and you had failed him.

With shuffling steps, you headed towards the large white tent. Dutch was alone inside, and you ducked under the flap, cheeks already burning with shame.

“There you are, son,” Dutch smiled and set his book aside, pushing to his feet so that he towered over you. “What do you have for me?”

You shook your head, fists clenched at your sides. “I’m sorry Dutch.” You couldn’t meet his eyes, staring at the scuffed toes of your boots.

A large hand rested on your arm. “What happened? Are you alright?”

He was asking after you. His concern only twisted the knife of guilt.

“I lost the money, Dutch. I got too cocky- there were these men… playing poker. I thought I could sweep them, you know I’m a dirty cheat. I bet everything, and I lost. I don’t have anything.”

You stumbled over your words as you rushed through your confession. At least you could face your punishment now. Dutch could beat you or starve you or whatever he deemed fitting for your disappointment.

Your throat felt tight. Dutch still hadn’t said anything.

His knuckles brushed your jaw, and you braced for a hit. Instead, he lifted your chin to meet his eyes.

“How much was it?” His eyes were narrowed, but it wasn’t the same look he usually wore when he was angry. He probably hadn’t decided how furious to be. He didn’t even know how much you had lost him.

“About sixty dollars. I shouldn’t have bet all of it. I shouldn’t have played at all. I know it doesn’t make a difference now, though.” You were babbling again, heart beginning to race as Dutch watched you carefully.

He stopped your rushed apologies with a finger against your lips. It was such a light touch… you nearly shivered.

“Sixty dollars?” He licked his lips. You couldn’t tear your eyes away. “It sure is a loss…” he nodded, as if he were deciding something. “But it’s not the worst. If only you knew how many times Bill has let me down.”

You felt lighter. Dutch was disappointed, but he wasn’t going to starve you. The worry that had plagued you the entire ride to camp was subsiding into something smaller, easier to carry.

“Of course…” You froze. “We can’t let your recklessness go unpunished. You should know to be more responsible.”

Bracing once again for a hit, you squeezed your eyes shut.

“Kneel.”

You chanced a glance up at Dutch. His expression was stern, but still lacking the fury that you were expecting.

“Kneel, my dear. I’m not going to ask again.”

You slowly lowered yourself to your knees, sitting back on your heels and staring at Dutch’s boots.

“Now…” Dutch smoothed a hand over your hair, “we all make mistakes from time to time. But you still need to be punished for your foolishness. The camp really needed that money, and it’s only fair that you pay it back.” He wound his fingers in the strands and pulled, forcing you to meet his eyes. “Do you understand?”

“Yes sir,” your face was hot, throat tight and eyes burning with shame. You just wanted to make things right, you would do whatever Dutch asked of you.

“That’s a good boy. You can start by showing me that you’re sorry.” His other hand went to the fasten of his pants. He pulled his cock free, stroking it slowly.

You knew exactly what to do -- didn’t even need to be asked. You leaned in, wrapping your fingers around his length and kissing down from the tip to the base, nuzzling against his hips before wrapping your lips around the head and working to please Dutch exactly as he liked.

He groaned and wound his fingers tighter in your hair, but he didn’t pull you off his cock, letting you set your own pace as you sucked him off.

“You’re such a good boy for Daddy,” he praised. “We can get more money. You and me. We’ll go out on a job -- just the two of us. Would you like that?”

You moaned, trying to take Dutch as deep as possible. He was offering you a chance to redeem yourself, to make things right. You wanted so badly to make things right, to impress him, to please him.

Just when your knees began to ache on the hard ground, Dutch let out a breathy groan and pulled you deeper on his cock. “I’m close, darling.” He began moving you on his cock as he pleased, no regard for for you as he thrust deeper and deeper.

You moaned and whined as he fucked your face, coming deep down your throat. When he finally released you, you fell against his legs, gasping for air.

Once you had your breath back, you reached once again for Dutch’s softening cock, cleaning him with your mouth. When you looked up for his approval, your stomach flipped at the heat and adoration in his gaze.

“Such a good boy,” he cupped your cheek, wiping your lips with his thumb. “Up now, dear, I’m sure that isn’t very comfortable.” He helped you to your feet, supporting you when your knees were unsteady.

“Now,” he led you over to his bed, sitting on the edge. “You do still need to be punished.” The words made your heart stop, but you were so dazed you let Dutch pull you to him. You registered your suspenders being slipped of your shoulders, jumped at the tug of his fingers at the fasten of your pants. Whatever punishment Dutch had in mind, you weren’t sure you would find it so bad after all.

Except for when he pulled you over his lap, tugging your pants down to your knees and running a hand over the flesh of your ass. You could feel his rings, the callouses on his palms.

He brought his palm down. You registered the sound before the pain.

The second slap hurt more, and you whimpered.

“I know, my dear,” he murmured. “It will be over soon. Daddy’s got you.”

Another hit. It was humiliating, spanked over Dutch’s knee, yet your cock was hard against his thigh, leaking onto the rough material of his pants.

Every twitch of your hips, every jolt after the impact of his hand, you were practically rutting against him. You couldn’t see his face. You wanted to know.

Just when you thought you couldn’t take anymore, Dutch landed one final slap across the back of your thighs. He smoothed his hand over the hot, aching skin.

“You did so well for me.” His voice washed over you and you shivered. How could one man do this to you? “Let me show you how good you are.”

Strong hands lifted you by your hips, turning you and laying you gently on Dutch’s bed. You wondered if he could hear your racing heart. This was Dutch’s bed. He pinned you beneath him, kissing you deeply, trailing his lips over your jaw and down your neck to suck a bruising mark into the soft skin -- too high for your collar to cover.

His hand wrapped around your cock.

 “Ah- Du- Daddy,” you moaned. “Please…”

“I’ve got you,” he promised. You watched him settle back, stroking your cock lazily, swiping his thumb over the tip with every pass. Just as your eyes began to flutter shut, he leaned forward to take you in his mouth. Your hips bucked and you cried out as he wrapped his lips around you.

He pulled off for just a moment, meeting your eyes with a carnivorous smile. “You’ve still got plenty to pay back. I’m going to take good care of you, darling.”

Masterlist | Ko-fi | Paypal

[arofili]

saved post, ignore this

(don’t reblog this)

Smut4Smut Prompts

I didn’t intend to write an actual letter, I just wanted to paste my prompts into the description box for this exchange, but then I got long-winded (as usual) so here are the prompts that were too long for AO3 to handle! If the prompts did fit into the box they’re not going to be here, and I am not restating my DNWs/Likes/etc; that’s all readily available in my AO3 signup.

~~~

Canon Russingon Prompts

(These are optional - if you have a different idea, go for it!)

This is my “Russingon in canon” request, though if you’ve got a canon divergence AU, be my guest.

BDSM - A doms B into being nicer to/taking better care of themself: This just screams Russingon to me. Maedhros asking for Fingon to be cruel to him and Fingon using kindness as the greatest cruelty because Maedhros hates himself so much...

Character Bottoms Who Normally Tops, Character Tops Who Normally Bottoms, Role Reversal: I’m a sucker for role reversal, especially with these two. I lean toward Maedhros bottoming more often than not, but however you prefer their dynamic is completely fine.

Can't Stop Thinking About It - A Accidentally Sees B Naked, Can't Stop Thinking About It - A Hears B Masturbating and Moaning A's Name: I think I’ve written both of these scenarios for these two but I would LOVE to read another take on them! Mutual pining in Valinor? :)

Characters mutually pining finally get together and have amazing sex, Filthy Sex With Feelings,: I just love this in general, and Russingon having filthy but extremely loving sex is my very favorite thing <3

Characters Experiment With Sexy New Ways To Use Detachable Body Parts: Maedhros’ prosthetic. Enough said.

Characters React To In-Universe Smut Written About Them: Listen, someone has GOT to have written some Russingon smut in-canon, that’s just statistically likely. The sillier and less accurate it is, the better, especially if it’s countered with them having the kind of sex they prefer in...protest? Or maybe trying out some of the dumb things, lol.

Cock Slut, Slut Praising: bottom!Maedhros tbh.

Crown kink, Fealty, Throne Sex: The “Fealty Kink” tag is literally half Silm fics, and half of those are Russingon fics. Add some more?

Dom/sub - not 24/7 but reflecting RL power roles: Very much related to the above. Liege/vassal kink? Yes please!

Domesticity - Sex In Bed Before Sleep: Just. Soft married Russingon. ;-;

Devotion: THEY JUST LOVE EACH OTHER SO MUCH AND WOULD (AND DO) DIE FOR EACH OTHER. AHHH.

First Time: I am SUCH a sucker for first times. Could be their first time together at all, or their first time doing a specific sexual act, or their first time in a certain situation (post-Angband, post-rebirth, etc...)

Getting Together: Another thing I really really love in almost any form, especially if there’s been mutual pining before this.

Fluff and Smut: Russingon just loving each other SO DAMN MUCH...bonus points if there’s some baby Gil-galad fluff involved before/after the sexytimes?

Hurt/Comfort Sex: Their lives are so depressing that there’s so many times this could apply. Right before Formenos? Right after the Darkening or the First Kinslaying? Post-Angband/Ice? Post-Bragollach? Or any other time things get angsty (aka all of canon)?

Magic - using telepathy to cause other person to orgasm: Soul bonds. Dom Fingon. Yes please.

Morning After (Incredible Sex the night before): Fluffy good times. Maybe after their first time, back in Valinor?

Mutual Masturbation With Intent to Watch Each Other in Lieu of First Time Sex: Another fic I have definitely written before but would LOVE to see again! This would make the most sense in a LaCE context, I think.

Mutual Pining: I’ve mentioned this a billion times already, you get the idea.

Praise Kink: Maedhros has a praise kink, that’s just canon. This can be fun and slightly embarrassing in Valinor...or really intensely emotional post Angband. Or post-rebirth...oof.

Pregnancy - Sex to Conceive Heir: Just where DID Gil-galad come from, hmmm? (Trans mpreg is wonderful; I’m not interested in cis mpreg. Either one of them could be trans, I enjoy both.)

Reunion Sex: They’re basically in an LDR in Beleriand, give me some Fingon visiting Himring or Maedhros visiting Dor-lómin and just how horny and desperate they are for each other after being separated for awhile.

Scar Worship: Finno post-Angband finding Mae’s scars Extremely Sexy?

Secret relationship between members of feuding families: This is literally just canon. Lean into the Romeo and Juliet style Valinor shenanigans!

Sex After Taking Revenge on Someone Who Wronged Their Partner: Husbands who murder orcs together and then fuck while still all nasty from battle :)))

Sex Toys - Character Fucks Themselves on a Dildo While Performing Oral Sex: I just think Mae giving Finno a blowjob and fucking himself at the same time would be really hot, okay?

Size - Size Difference: I do love bottom!Maedhros, but I also love size queen!Fingon, and I think they both really enjoy the size difference :))

thank god you're/we're alive sex: I bet this happened SO many times after battles in Beleriand. This could also apply to right after the Darkening, and would be just HEARTRENDING right after the First Kinslaying...

Soul Bond - Sharing Physical Pleasure Through Soul Bond: I am very fond of this trope! Also like. Them feeling how much they are loved through each other’s eyes. Ahhh. But also like, Mae getting off on how good he’s making Finno feel. Or vice versa.

Character A hurts Character B (at their request) during sex but Character A immediately regrets it, Character Thinks Rescue Has a Price Tag, Sex gets paused to deal with PTSD then maybe returned to, panic attack during sex: These are some angstier options! I would love a fluffy/happy story (or a hurt/comfort story) but if you wanted to go a bit darker route here’s some ideas. Just. Post-Angband Mae with no self worth and/or consent issues, Finno having a hard time dealing with Mae being masochistic, Mae flashing back to Angband...all of these are some really juicy ideas.

~~~

Modern Russingon Prompts

(These are optional - if you have a different idea, go for it!)

This is my “Modern AU Russingon” request - though if you see a tag here that you think could be applied to canon, that would be awesome too.

Trans Male Character: Lots of these tags would have at least one of them being trans, which I’m also super happy to see in canon-compliant fic, but I know for me it feels a bit easier to me to write about trans stuff when I don’t have to worry about terminology not fitting the setting, so I put them here.

Cunnilingus to relieve period cramps, PiV With Trans Male Character, Sex Toys - Character Fucks Themselves on a Dildo While Performing Oral Sex, Sex Toys - Giving a Blowjob to a Dildo or Strap-on, Sex Toys - Strap-On: Just all some very excellent stuff if you want to go the trans route. I imagine the strap game would be next level with these two.

Characters mutually pining finally get together and have amazing sex, Filthy Sex With Feelings, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Getting Together, Morning After (Incredible Sex the night before), Mutual Pining, Praise Kink, Size - Size Difference: I requested all these tags for the canon prompt too, this is just the same stuff but modern, where they get to be dorky about how much they’re in love, minus most of the angst.

Character with Low Self-Esteem has Self-Worth Affirmed Through Tender Sex: ...but not minus ALL the angst. Just. Mae having had bad experiences in previous relationships and Finno being extremely tender and loving to him, AHHHH.

Getting off on how much partner trusts them: And this could be the other side of the previous request - Mae is trusting Finno even after all the bad stuff he went through and that’s very sexy to him.

Good Boy/Good Girl Kink: This could apply in canon too but if you want to do the trans thing, it could also be a gender affirmation thing.

Impact - Friendly ass slap unexpectedly turns character on: Mae is mortified that he’s into spanking, Finno is delighted.

romantic sex: This didn’t fit into the previous request but YES PLEASE. Just. They love each other SO much.

~~~

Russurgon Prompts

(These are optional - if you have a different idea, go for it!)

OKAY wow I love this ship, it’s so incredibly fucked up and angsty, hell yeah. This is one request where you really don’t need to bother with anything fluffy or a happy-ish ending, just go full on angst mode, please! Basically, I just think it would be very fun and horrible if Mae seduced Turgon for political reasons post-Nírnaeth when they’re both grieving Fingon :)))))

Character Bottoms Who Normally Tops: I can see Turgon having a hangup about bottoming...which Mae is fine with but one day they get into a Very bad argument and Mae like, puts Turno in his place. (No non-con though. Dub-con would be okay here.)

Characters about to kill each other decide to fuck instead: Kinslaying averted by sex!

Dirty Talk - Character A Gets Off on B Relaying Their Sexual Exploits: Just. Mae growling in Turno’s ear all the filthy things he would do with Fingon and Turgon HATING it and especially hating how hot it is.

Enemies to enemies who fuck, Enemies With Benefits, Frenemies with Benefits, sex between enemies, Sex between rivals: Basically all the same thing. These guys do NOT like each other but they’re fucking anyway.

Fucked with the hilt of a weapon: Look idk man just. Turgon being really mean to Maedhros after a post-battle argument or something?

Grudging/Horrified One-Sided Attraction To Someone Who Annoys You Deeply: I think this would be funny if Turgon realized he was into Mae (honestly, at any point in time, not just post-Nirn?) and that maybe the reason he was so mad about Fingon dating Mae is because he was jealous...lmaooo

Hate Sex Turns Unexpectedly Tender: Like. A moment of understanding between them. That they both refuse to talk about after it happens.

lord/retainer, Political Alliance Confirmed with Sex, Political Debate as Foreplay, Sex as a Negotiation Tactic, Sex As Part Of Diplomatic Negotiations: POLITICAL SEX. It’s showing that they’re serious about this alliance...nothing else, just that...right?

sex as self harm, Sex as Unhealthy Coping Mechanism, Sex as Grief Processing: This could work for both of them but I think it especially works for Maedhros. He unlearned a lot of fucked up shit with Fingon after Angband, but now Fingon’s dead and it’s all coming crashing back down on him...and Turgon hates him so much that if he can tell, he doesn’t care.

A using B as replacement for C who is not present: This is exactly why Mae would fuck Fingon’s brother.

~~~

Anairë/Fëanor/Fingolfin/Nerdanel Prompts

(These are optional - if you have a different idea, go for it!)

OKAY so I don’t like sibling incest EXCEPT for Fëanor/Fingolfin, pretty much, just because the love-hate stuff with them is SO juicy. But I also hate how most FëaNolo fics depict their relationships with their wives, so I would just love it if they were all a polycule or had a foursome or something that didn’t end up with Fëanor and Fingolfin leaving their wives.

Bisexuality: They’re all very hot and they’re all very into each other. Gender who?

Breeding Kink - as dirty talk without risk: Look Fëanor and Nerdanel had SEVEN kids, I think there was probably some kind of breeding kink there...Fëanor applying this to Fingolfin, though? That’s hot. Or maybe he’s dirty talking with Anairë while Fingolfin is Right There.....yesss. But again, no risk, because elf pregnancy is always very intentional.

Character A and Character B Mutually Pine For Each Other While They Fuck Other People Together: Fëanor and Fingolfin just absolutely refusing to acknowledge their feelings even when they’re having sex with each other’s wives.

Double Anal Penetration, Double Penetration - Vaginal and Anal, Double Vaginal Penetration: I just think it’s hot. You can mix up who’s penetrating who, give the ladies some strap-ons or mess around with gender, if you like.

First Time - Getting Pegged: Fëanorians get pegged, it is law, so probably not Fëanor’s first time but... Nerdanel pegging Fingolfin? Or Fëanor and Nerdanel showing Fingolfin and Anairë how it’s done? OR since let’s be real Fingolfin ALSO probably gets pegged regularly, Anairë and Nerdanel fucking each other while their husbands watch, and it’s their first time with another lady.

First Time Having Sex Postpartum: I imagine Nerdanel is unfazed by what pregnancy does to the body, but maybe Anairë isn’t, and her lovers all get together to show her how much they still love her after like, Argon is born?

Fucking Someone While Being Fucked By Someone Else: All the fun things you can do with multiple partners...

Grudging/Horrified One-Sided Attraction To Someone Who Annoys You Deeply: I must admit I missed the “one-sided” part of this when I picked this tag - but maybe they think it’s one-sided but it turns out that it’s not? Regardless, this is exactly how I see Fëanor and Fingolfin if they’re in a ship situation.

Sexy Shenanigans at a Masked Ball: Anonymity allowing a secret relationship to be slightly less secret!! Everyone is like “wow who is that tall fellow dancing with Prince Fëanáro?” or something like that!

~~~

Taeglin Prompts

(These are optional - if you have a different idea, go for it!)

Now this is my rarepair that I completely understand why it’s a rarepair, but also like MATCHING CURSED SWORDS. I generally think of this ship in the context of a “Túrin goes to Gondolin with Tuor” AU, BUT it could also be a “Aredhel and Maeglin go to Himlad, and then follow Celegorm and Curufin to Nargothrond and stay after they get banished” AU, but that’s a bit more convoluted. Or you can have them meet each other on one of Maeglin’s journeys away from Gondolin, or whatever other take you’d like to explore.

Both parties are pining for someone else: Túrin missing Beleg? Or both of them being in love with Idril and upset about her choosing Tuor instead, lol.

In Captivity Together, Bad guys think they made them do it but they really just enabled them: Túrin gets captured alongside Maeglin...or maybe Maeglin gets captured earlier, at the same time Túrin is after Amon Rûdh? (In that case it would probably just be “Bad guys made them do it” without the qualifier because they haven’t had the chance to Pine.) Basically, they finally have an excuse to fuck, and it’s not ideal, but hey they’re gonna take it.

Realizing romantic feelings mid-sex: “Oh FUCK I actually like this guy. Shit. Goddamnit.”

Mating Cycles/In Heat: Maybe heats are an elf thing, and Túrin remembers how Beleg would get, so he knows how to help Maeglin...and it’s not like Maeglin was going to ask anybody for help, he was just planning on suffering through it (again?)...

~~~

eta: an anon asked about smut likes and i was like oops i didn’t make that list so here’s some stuff i enjoy. otherwise just see the kink tags i requested

anal sex, vaginal sex, oral sex (basic but yknow)

fingering

frottage

very romantic sex (especially for russingon)

nonromantic sex (i like aro takes on characters)

trans characters whose gender is affirmed during sex

trans characters without much physical dysphoria

reunion sex

first times!!

hurt/comfort sex

political sex

fealty kink, liege/vassal dynamic

mutual masturbation

double penetration

russingon stumpfucking

dirty talk

healing from trauma through tender sex

dealing with trauma through rough sex

teasing, begging

dramatic miscommunications that get cleared up (such as mutual pining, very brief worries about consent, etc)

praise kink (especially for maedhros)

size kink (especially for fingon)

telepathy/osanwe

dom fingon/sub maedhros

hair kink

possessiveness but ONLY for russingon

sharing a bed

maedhros getting spanked......

role reversal, switching

[garbage-human-bean]

i want BIG BELLIED KEITH CONTENT

there’s literally close to nothing out there including tummy kinks for keith. there’s so many hc’s to build from and opportunities missed... the 3 followers i have would know i love just about anything that gives a character a tummy.

keith doesn’t know that galran biology means males can get pregnant in litters. for the first six months he’s horny and moody and gaining for what he thinks is no reason. turns out he has six kits in there that are just a little bit too big for his small frame. he spends the next for months moaning at the sheer size he’s grown to. mmmm those huffs of air when he has to heave himself up, stuffing himself silly because he’s hungry a l w a y s, tummy rubs, allat good shit. where is it y’all? no where :((.

keith getting stuffed really easily. he’s always been scrawny, lean muscle being the only thing holding him up. it probably got even worse in the desert. so now, just a little bit of food goo can make his little tummy protrude. maybe the team is stopped at a planet for diplomatic purposes and a common curtesy on the planet for outsiders is to prepare feasts. it’s considered extremely rude to not finish your fill. so while the other paladins are happily getting a little bit more than their fill, allura makes keith finish his. he makes these little kitten moans and hiccups when the food goes down his exposed abdomen(the planets traditional garb was somewhat like a crop top and flowy petal shorts.) by the time he’s finished multiple soups, drinks, meats, pastes, and extremely filling greens, he looks like he’s gonna pop. his stomach would be warm and pink, down to his knees while sitting. he couldn’t tuck in his seat anymore. he would be releasing quiet burps, kneading his poor tummy with his small hands. eventually, he’d just cross his arms over his stomach and lay his head down, whispering incomprehensible words muttered with his kitten moans. the team watches in slight disbelief when he stands up, the gravity change making his stomach hang low. he has to waddle back to the castle ship, one hand supporting his hard, sloshy belly. he’s the type to get all whiny and soft at his achy stomach. “oof... my tummy hurts so baddd”, “mmm, so heavy”, “oh fuck i’m so full”, etc. s o c u t e. he would be unknowingly turning a few heads for naughty, naughty reasons.

keith’s real rival is lance, you know? lance and keith? neck and neck? maybe they have a chugging contest with what lance dubs “space soda”. keith’s all ruffled after a few jabs, so he goes for it full heartedly. they’re both given a 3 gallon(ish. space measurements, am i right?) container to chug. no one expected them to finish, so what was the harm? well, keith usually defies expectation, so in one session, he packs three gallons of bubbly soda in him. lance hadn’t even finished a third, so as you’d expect, he throughs a small fit. in the background of his little rage, a gurgle emerges and exhales in a large “BRAAAAAAAAAPPPPPPPP~” he slaps his hand over his mouth in embarrassment, but couldn’t help the loud burps that escaped his thin fingers. his unoccupied hand would cradle under his gut. when he moved you could hear fizzing and splashing. he couldn’t stop the burps from bleating out of him. lance would tease him until he realized keith could use some assistance.

maybe the team had a dinner with a new ingredient, unknowing of the strange side affects on galra. imagine his confusion as to why his pants were a bit too tight the next day and the HORROR when he sees a tubby boy in the mirror the next morning. he barricades himself in his room until the swelling went down. it left him a little bit chubbier as a long term affect, but if anyone noticed, no one said anything.

stuffed/pregnant/big tum hcs im too lazy to separate:

-he’s extremely verbal. he moans and whines a lot when his tummy is upset

-he doesn’t intentionally do it until he realizes it’s a bit of a kink

-he gets really embarrassed about his stomach in public, so there’s a lot of blushing

-may i interest you in: “*loud moan*mmm....i ate too much”, “ohhh my stomach hurts so bad”, “it so heavy, fuuuuckkk”, “that feels... kinda good?”, etc.

-keith rushes out into battle with bloated stomachs all the time

-he definitely rubs his stomach often. he moans and burps the whole time

-this is becoming a self indulgent mess at 4:45 am.

in conclusion, more belly kink keith fics/art/hc’s

i also urge you to alert me if you spot any

[ziggory]

Riverdale Liveblogs 3x07 - 3x13

Instead of making you all suffer through six separate liveblogs as I was catching up, have them all in on post!

3x07, “The Man in Black”

Remember when Jughead was the biggest woobie ever with a bunch of sad shit happening to him. Fun times. Honestly, Jughead’s just really taking advantage of finally being on the roadtrip he was denied

Justice for Jingle Jangle. Why did we need a new drug? Or I’d be fine with it complementing the other but NOooOooOOOO. It’s trying to shove JJ out of the spotlight!

Elvis’ granddaughter could’ve just drugged the eggs but instead she chose to nearly give Archie a concussion. Hiram might chop her head off if his Archiekins gets permanent brain damage

Let Archie kill a man!! Jughead got to skin someone who was fucking up his life. Why can’t he let Archie take his shot!? I can’t hear you about consequences

Your business is failing because trading away the final piece of the Soutshide to open a vanity project in the form of a dry speakeasy was not a great idea. Also, gamers can give you business. I’ve seen it!

The show can make Veronica say all these supposedly empowering lines, but I’m never going to forget that she supported a for-profit prison

MAYBE MY DAD’S NOT SO BAD!!?!?

This voiceover was completely unnecessary. Honestly, it’s sort of a slap in the face to Lili’s acting as if they didn’t think she could convey certain things without some hand holding

I’ve seen movies. They make you swallow that shit on the spot

So many negative thoughts being awkwardly confirmed

Honestly, this is what happens when you keep exploiting the place for abuses to help your investigations but never fucking shut it down

3x08, “Outbreak”

Does Moose need drugs to get it up? He said Midge liked to get wild, but methinks he liked it of his own volition as well. And just what I wanted. Shadowy makeouts while high on drug laced childhood candy

Kevin needs to find out who put a curse on his dick. ANOTHER hookup interrupted by bodies in danger

I don’t know why a group of high school boys acting like typical jackass high school boys with loud laughing is cause for thinking they’re all high.

“good people like Archie” 

Gladys being a Jarchie shipper is pure. I will not stand for this no homoing

Wait, Cheryl did actually get to be Student Body President? I thought they were just going to let that circle the drain and disappear

MY FAVORITE INCOMPETENT EDUCATIONAL ADMINISTRATOR

THE PRISON WAS A FUCKING COVER?!?!? So all of S2 was just…oh my fucking god, I’m going to do drown myself

“good looking shortsatck” Love it. Goddamn, I love Gladys

Do they know that the way they write Hiram and Veronica feels like it’s been dipped in ten layers of incest? He talks to her like she’s the mistress he wants to bed

The affection the Jones women have for Archie is cute

The Gargoyle King being a hallucination is the most disappointing thing

TABLETOP RPGS ARE NOT FUCKING BORN OF MADNESS. Ugh, my inner geek is angry with rage

Oh, now you care about the kids in conversion therapy

So I guess they didn’t go to Toledo for Christmas??

Lili should get a raise for this Griffin Queen shit

I’m more emotional than I would usually be over these Fred scenes given Luke Perry’s recent condition

PROTECT THAT FUCKING DOG WITH YOUR FUCKING LIFE!! THROW YOURSELF IN FRONT OF A BEAR

I missed alcoholic Hermione. And lmao this Watchmen realness

I love Silent!Kevin getting nothing to say in that office! Just fucking great

we need to know more about this fucking Governor. Racist piece of shit who gets upset about vandalized statues of genocidal war criminals, AND he’s under Hiram’s thumb.

3x09, “No Exit”

Will someone get bit by a monkey? I can only hope

Oh fuck off with the Star Wars reference. IT DOESN’T FIT

Stealing from the rich to give to the rich. How very one percenter. And Toni, all your friends are living in tents by the river

KEVIN. WHY THE FUCK DO YOU ALWAYS JOIN THE WORST GROUPS

While the implication of Jughead sleeping over is nice, what the fuck was the point of last episode’s cliffhanger. This timeline makes no sense

I’M GETTING FIREWATCH VIBES

They’re so fucking low budget that they couldn’t even show the bear, LMAO

I forgot what Fangs sounded like. Didn’t FP retire? ARE THERE EVEN ANY ADULTS LEFT IN THIS FUCKING JOKE OF A GANG. But Damn, Fangs is good at crying. So pretty

Aww, I actually missed the hammy ass warden

Every time Joaquin’s name is mentioned, another dagger in my heart

The fact that the sisters have been fake nuns this whole time is just…what the fuck. AND THE FUCKING SOCIAL WORKER KNEW AND JUST LET THEM KEEP OPERATING!?!? LET THIS WHOLE FUCKING TOWN FALL INTO A HELLMOUTH

Remember when Jughead was outraged about the Serpents being paid security at the Pickens festival thing? Time is a flat circle

CHERYL, WHY DON’T YOU JSUT KILL HIRAM THEN

“SAVED”!??! REALLY NANA ROSE!?! IS THAT WHAT YOU CALL THE CHILD GROOMING YOU DID!? And uh, Fred and Sierra should know about that sordid piece of Penelope’s past

Damn, Veggie is hot as fuck

You know who else could’ve gone undercover for the Serpents to infiltrate the Gargoyle gang?!????? I HATE YOU FOREVER, RAS. ANOTHER AU FOR THE DRAWER

3x10, “The Stranger”

LMAO that they tried to make us think Archie died

Being attacked by a bear in Canada means not having to suffer through crippling debt because of the hospital bill for the rest of your life

Sidenote, but I really thought the painting of Veronica would have a bug or something. The fact that she just kept the painting instead of burning it says something

Oh so the core four are THOSE type of friends

Betty’s money >> those kids

Claudius just doesn’t want to do actual work

They let a kid pass the first grade when he couldn’t read? So the educational system has always been rather shit

Hey there, Silent!Kevin! Just sitting silently with your slowly developing biceps

Does Reggie know what PTSD is

I spy with my little eyes Kevin in the corner putting his PE clothes away! Once again robbed of a shirtless scene

FUCKING TALL BOY!?!? Lol, this is really good for my drawer fic actually. Keep sounding like a spiteful man! It’s semi feeding me

Wow, they really crammed in two Varchie sex scenes

Hiram deserved this and every agonizing second of pain he felt

Raw milk, huh? Yeah, that’s all you need to bait Kevin into this cult

Bye Claudius, no one will miss you

I want Hermione/FP to fuck

Jughead throwing a party to make things better is the biggest twist this series has ever done

Archie the alcoholic, eh. If this lasts more than one episode, that’d sure be something

3x11, “The Red Dahlia”

This is the noir episode, isn’t it. I’m…really bad with noir so an episode from THIS team is going to be…very trying

Awww, FP mentioning Joaquin is an extra pang. I wanted to know more about their relationship

I’d love to see the notes on this draft when Jughead tries submitting it to a publisher. Unless he goes the self pub route

Who even runs the newspaper now?

Betty, you’re like the last person to talk about black and white morality

Archie sounds like the protagonist of Office Space at the end when he finds his calling in construction

ELIO HAS SPOKEN MORE THAN MELODY EVER DID. EAT SHIT, RAS

I still need Jughead and Veronica arguing about classic cinema

I wonder where Penelope learned those crocodile tears, Nana. Like I never need a scene of her criticizing her ADOPTED DAUGHTER again

Cheryl is pretty forgiving of the uncle who sort of helped with her institutionalization

Have these boys never watched an episode of Breaking Bad? Put that body in a barrel

So has Veronica had a change of heart about Daddykins? I’m so confused

SMITHERS!?!? YOu’RE STILL ALIVE!? Protect this man

Remember when Betty was a camgirl for ten seconds and watched all of her fake brother’s porn videos

Josie’s voice is pure butter, and the show needs to stop pretending that we want to hear anyone else sing

Why doesn’t Toni have a job at Veronica’s dry speakeasy? She used to be an actual bartender!

“Kevin’s dad boxes at the gym” being a line from Josie is the most beautiful line in this episode

Well at least they explained the seizures.

YYYAAAAAASSSS, KELLY RIPPA!!

What is even the point of Minetta having faked his death just to be Hermione’s kept man

Well, damn, I really didn’t see this FP reveal coming. I wish he was the sheriff Hermione was fucking. And given all the things Jughead used to say and aim at Keller, it’s interesting to see him have to deal with his dad being somewhat in Hermione’s pocket

PULL THE FUCKING TRIGGER, ARCHIE

Lmao at this Bad Boys line. I see you, synergy

Honestly, how dare Archie shoot the person who was going to kill Hiram. I guess that’s one way to bury the Archie/Hiram grudge

Hermione’s trigger finger is life goals

3x12, “Bizarrodale”

So first off, fuck that title and everything it implies.

Second, this is the episode where I’m supposed to finally get fed, eh? FINGERS CROSSED

I forgot what Kevin sounded like after not talking for four episodes

WHEN CAN WE MEET KEVIN’S MOM!?!? I HAVE MANY FANCASTS

Veronica watches Netflix confirmed, and yet I guess she just scrolls past Orange is the New Black every time it’s recommended to her

Why are Kevoose makeouts always in shadow? Is it to disguise the fact that when they makeout it’s with their lips sealed shut

The actor who plays Major Mason followed me back on my burner instagram

Awww, Sweet Pea is a relationship guy with a gooey little heart!

Sierra pegs Tom confirmed. Love these two kinky fuckers

The way Tom says “Gargoyle King” goes straight to my nether regions

So does Britta have a kink for people outing others against their will? I swear this is a plot point in Ship It too

I feel like these issues are something they should’ve talked about way more. Making Moose’s coming out be an ultimatum is pretty gross

How DARE they not let us hear Josie sing?!??! Ohhhh, if we’d heard Josie sing then we would sent death threats to the fake Juilliard board. I never want to hear Josie’s teary little voice again because it hurts my feelings

Lmao, this is the second time a parent has been judgmental of how the Lodges involve Veronica in their business

Remember that time Moose and Cheryl made out? I’m forever traumatized by that

Hiram and Hermione strolling in like a fucked up Gomez and Morticia

I’m sure that Dilton would approve of his friend from another lifetime using his secret bunker to pop his cherry. But only Moose. Yes, I ship comics Dilton/Moose

Oh, HeeEYEEEEEEE, IT’S LIKE A BUNCH OF MY FIC DREAMS COME TO LIFE. Wow, I finally got pandered to. Kevin being in dagner is like…the basis of the majority of my drawer fics

I’M FUCKING PSYCHIC X2!!!! Well huh, this puts that earlier diner scene in a new light

Yesss, please keep calling him Tommy and talking about how Kevin looks like your old friend with that sad, wistful tone. Please feed my fic bunnies

Christ, Ashleigh has such a fucking amazing voice. I can actually bear KJ’s singing

Moose having to leave makes sense. ALSO MAKE SURE YOU WATCH CODY”S SHOW ON NETFLIX TO MAKE THIS WORTH IT

I never want to see Kevin cry again. Fucking Maramaduke

Gladys can step on me, and I’d apologize

3x13, REQUEIM FOR A WELTERWEIGHT

I’M FINALLY ALL FUCKING CAUGHT UP

I don’t think that bacon is fully cooked

So Veronica just decided to not move back out because the path of least resistance?? And she’s back in her Daddy’s clutches because....he got shot???

The Serpent with the awesome dreads is still there! Can he be an actual character with a name? He deserves it

Between last episode and this one, I am being fucking BLESSED with Daddy Keller content. 

VERONICA IS a FUCKING REPUBLICAN CONFIRMED. I guess we all know who scrolled right past 13th on Netflix! 

They’re really trying to sweep up their awkward plot mistakes from last season, eh

I need a flashback of young Alice in this ugly fucking wedding dress

This is some Rocky and Mickey shit. Hopefully Keller doesn’t have a heart attack while confronting Mr. T

YES, GLADYS!!! CALL OUT THAT LEADERSHIP!

San Junipero water, huh. 

Why is Archosie so perfect

Ehhhh, the last time they talked was eight episodes ago. Will this scene be about how Kevin’s recovering post-Moose?? Of course not. My hopes for investigative Kevin are once again yanked away. Though of course remember that time she got him to catfish a murderer without telling him that Chic had killed someone?? Fun times

“cute gay farmies”

Veronica is the opposite intimidating ESPECIALLY in the face of Gladys who we all know has actually fucked up a bitch

The monstrous Freeform ate Malachai, eh. Ghoulie jackets are still the best jackets

I’ve never watched Apocalypse Now so this scene is wasted on me

THUNDERDOME!!?!?

Keller looks like he gives good hugs

How the fuck did Jason learn about The Farm?

This is Polly’s revenge for being sent to the Sisters

It’s awkward how Choni just sort of disappeared from the episode

Damn, Archosie has everything going on

Hermione, you should’ve just killed Hiram when you had the chance

PROTECTIVE BIG BROTHER JUGHEAD!

Gladys doling out gang advice is just everything I wanted from her

[warmbeebosoftbeebo]

I totally agree about being more vanilla and certain asks being a hell to the no. I’ve been with the same man for 4 years so we’ve tried almost everything but nothing gets me off more than a man (/idea of) worshipping you with his words while you enjoy each other’s bodies. I feel like people in these types of relationships are seen as boring by society because time together doesn’t involve hurting your partner ect. I CAN confirm that those in vanilla relationships can/still do have great sex

Also same anon as previous, but a PS that your style of writing and the way you write about B x reader (the way he behaves / talks to/ treats the reader is exACTLY my style. Nothing is hotter than a man who knows how to use his words in all the right ways. You fuck ya girl into next week but if you don’t know how to work me up with your words mixed with a super loving/ caressing touch it’s not gonna happen. You know what IT is ;)

i’m often confused as to whether i’d be considered vanilla or not, or at least if my fic would be considered vanilla or not. i remember an ask from a while ago saying i was into some kinky shit n i was like “bwuh?” n figured i’d be considered hopelessly vanilla  by most (as if vanilla is bad/isn’t fucking delicious: the smell, the taste…fucking lovely. plus it got b sniffing ryan’s armpit haha n telling him he smelled good :P). are things like vibes n other toys, pegging/anal/prostate stumulation, diff kinds of tribadism/frottage, b in panties, b being pretty arguably “submissive,” etc vanilla or “kink”? 

dasfljgf i love yr wording of “worshipping you with his words while you enjoy each other’s bodies.” i think there’s a major desensitization going on, and it’s starting by 10-11 years old. people with little masturbatory experience (or none), and no partnered experience beyond curious more than sexual exploration when quite young (that they may not even remember) or none at all, getting fucking whammied with brutal porn right off the bat. and that being most to all of what they see in sexually explicit media for years on end, seeing it in unprecedented levels with the internet both re age of first exposure, how often/how long they view it, how girls as well as boys are growing up on it. seeing brutal contacts for years, mixing arousal, masturbation and orgasm with fear, pain, cruelty, faked arousal and orgasms, violence, harm, etc and often feeling rough touch (eg overt obvious sexual assaults, sexual situations that are assented to but not wanted, sexual situations that start out wanted and become painful, scary, thinking you want and will like something only to have it feel scary, painful, unarousing, feeling broken because you didn’t like it, etc) before feeling a consistently soft touch, hearing sexy words that are kind, having all these mythologies about sex esp piv told to you in n out of porn and romanticized outside of porn (eg that all women come during it, that it’s the best sex ever, that sex=piv=sex), that that is simply what sex is and what men and women do together, erasing so much of what can happen heterosexually to the point you don’t even think it possible or thinkable, etc. 

porn is about the visual too, how things look (and sound) on camera in specific ways (eg focus on repetitive penile thrusting into an orifice, make up, heels, faked porn moans), not how things *feel* emotionally or physically. how your skin rubbing on someone else’s feels. how a kiss, lick, caress, suck, squeeze, feels and how these feelings change depending on firmness n skill, emotional connection (including friendship), level of arousal, etc. how it feels to touch someone else. how it feels to stroke over their genitals. how it feels to feel intensely aroused, or to let arousal build slowly, or have it wash over you in waves. to need someone at that moment, to wrap your limbs around them and squish them to you. how it feels to feel safe and loved and comfortable and horny and full of want vs scared, detested, uncomfortable, in pain, whether or not this is mixed with arousal. you don’t get into how the people in porn feel–what is really going on in their heads? what are they feeling emotionally? how does what’s happening actually feel to them? why for all the theatrics, performing, acrobatics, etc is there so little feeling?

within a generation we’ve gone from knowing men could go months and even years without looking at porn, and having many men who did just that, and most boys and some girls furtively sneaking peaks at their dad’s or a friend’s dad’s playboy or even penthouse, maybe a softcore vhs (rip soft core porn; it isn’t made anymore by pornographers, now it’s mainstream media, eg ads, game of thrones. not that soft core was fine and dandy, but much of it is quaint in comparison to what we have now), or pornographic or smutty books to thinking that if one doesn’t look at porn regularly they’re either asexual or lying or inhibited n need to free their mind n get on that porn, and that porn and masturbation are synonymous (eg that one can’t masturbate without porn). 

i remember reading one guy writing about how the sight of a girl’s pubic hair peeking out of her bathing suit would get him hard quick as a boy; now pubic hair is disgusting, and men and boys generally only find hairless vulva appealing. that’s a less extreme example of what i’m talking about, but you can imagine (and come across) the spike in interest in daddy kink, men strangling and choking women, the hetero male obsession with pia with females (and it’s connection to sadism/injury in both the advertising of it, what happens to women in porn and women and girls in relationships), etc. 

and the view that porn just let’s us find out what we naturally, truly like?!? that we’re only turned on by it if it represents our True Sexuality? ha. you really mean to tell me that millions upon millions of girls were champing at the bit to call their boyfriends, husbands, male community members/mentors/teachers, celeb crushes, etc daddy throughout the millennia? that millions upon millions of women have lain awake at night, over the millennia, mourning the fact that their husbands would not strangle them and call them worthless whores and fantasizing about it endlessly, craving it? 

do we really think human males as a class (as a whole) are born wanting, or needing, or truly longing to strangle, choke, shove, engage in piledriving thrusting, slap, beat, namecall, control, possess others, have sexuality centred around them and their sadism, and females as a class are born wanting/needing/longing to have that done to them, service whatever desire men have, no matter how cruel or violent, and indeed, we want it, or at least deserve it, no matter how cruel or violent? that males are born sadists and females masochists, and that is what it means to be male or female? (and if you don’t fit that mold, you’re not a real man/woman?) that all those sweet boys and willful girls are really longing to hurt and be hurt respectively (maybe with the caveat that if they are the rare exception that they are really the other sex inside)? 

this is not denying psychopathy in a small per centage of males, which is largely inborn and more likely in males than females due to genetics and usually expressed more extremely (physical and sexual harm to others, rape, serial murder) in males due to greater physical strength from testosterone and gender socialization, but i hardly think most males are born psychopaths, and honestly, psychopathy and sociopathy, and serial killers, come to mind when looking at mainstream internet porn. i’ve been meaning to make a list of quotes by bdsmers and pornographers alongside serial killers without sources, asking “top/dom/sadist/porn or serial killer?” then revealing who said what, if it doesn’t already exist (been meaning to look). i do not think we, either sex, are born like this as a whole. and this is leaving aside the fact that “nature” neither means right nor inevitable. we decide how we want to live, act, treat others, can counteract how our sexuality is being shaped. 

i consumed porn directed at straight men from 8-12, and it absolutely shaped my sexuality then, although since we’re talking about 1995-99, it mostly revolved around and got my sexual thoughts revolving around piv (eg thinking that’s how all women came, how i would come even though i masturbated clitorally/by humping my blanket or sweater or my hand between my thighs) with some more varied sexuality between women on the side. a couple friends of my dad had magazines–one of which had a magazine that claimed to be child porn of a 15 year old btw–that i would sneak peaks at n quickly/furtively masturbate, and i’d stay up late at night watching the ppv porn that we had one of those descrambler boxes to watch for free. i honestly don’t even remember seeing pia in any of those. now, you can’t escape it. 

so back on track: i’m glad my writing hits your sweet spots in more ways than one wink wonk :P i’m digging the compliments folks :D i know what IT is with a capital I and a capital T, eh?