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salemwritesxx · 3 years

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𝓯𝓪𝓵𝓵𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓯𝓸𝓻 𝔂𝓸𝓾.

𝕋 𝕒 𝕜 𝕒 𝕞 𝕚 𝕂 𝕖 𝕚 𝕘 𝕠 | ℍ 𝕒 𝕨 𝕜 𝕤

⇴ male reader [22, chubby, 194cm] ⇴ all characters are depicted as [18]+

↳ summary: [Your.name] is a chubby and tall man, someone who definitely didn’t fit Japan’s beauty standards. Safe to say, he wasn’t the most confident. However, during one group date, it finally all changes when he meets someone who is certainly very interested in him.

↣ rating: general audiences ↣ warnings: modern AU; self-deprecation; chubby, tall reader; reader’s “friends” being assholes to chubby reader; hawks and reader have a happy end tho; hawks is a simp for reader from the first minute on, ok?

part 2.

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“Come with us, they said. It will be fun, they said.”, you mumbled to yourself as you stood there. Awkward. Alone. Ignored. Too afraid the tiny bar stools would collapse underneath your big ass, hence why you chose to rather stand than sit.

Why did you let yourself get dragged into this group date? You wanted to say no in the beginning, but with your friends pestering you, you kind of agreed in the end. Though now, you knew all too well why you didn’t want to come.

As a chubby and very tall man, you weren’t the type that people, or rather, gay men, drooled over. At least you hadn’t had anyone show interest in you like that. Maybe it was because you were rather shy and thus not as loud as many of your fellow male friends, or you were the “wrong chubby”. Whatever it was, you were not attractive. Society made sure to tell you that at least once a day and sometimes those nice and kind people, not, were even going out of their way to tell you what a nuisance your were with your tall, fat ass taking up space. And in Japan, where everything was not really built to accommodate people like you, it was sometimes very hard to fit into things.

While you were sighing to yourself for the nth time and making sure to put yourself down as much as you could, you certainly didn’t realize how someone was always glancing at you. Hawks was one of the four gay men you and your friends had met today for said group date. Ever since he saw you, he had the urge to talk to you and get to know you. You were so tall and handsome and t h i c k. You could probably swing him around and break him like a toothpick. Just thinking about it made him grin.

However, it almost seemed like you had a shield around you he just couldn’t break through. He could guess why. Not only once had he seen people bullying the ones that didn’t fit the norm. Too fat, too skinny, too small, too tall – there was no end. People always found reasons to put others down. With how you stood there all alone, trying to make yourself as small as possible, Kei understood you tried to hide and you were uncomfortable. Even though you literally had nothing to hide. God, he wished he had met you sooner.

“Oiii Ta-ka-mi-san!”, his thoughts were rudely interrupted.

“What are you staring at Takami-san?”, then one of your friends, who was obviously interested in him, looked in the direction as well.

“Ah. [Your.name], huh? He’s like a car accident, right? You don’t wanna look but you also can’t really look away.”, your ‘friend’ laughed and Kei could have not been more disgusted by that behavior.

“God I wish I could just punch you, you fucking idiot!”, Keigo thought, furious and having to gulp down the anger.

Thus, he just smiled a little before he silently stood up to walk over to you, ignoring the calling of your ‘friend’. Instead, he got all nervous all of a sudden. Normally, he was the one being confessed to, not the one confessing or even initiating a conversation. Takami was used to people fawning over him, he was a rather successful model after all, hence why it was so hard to find someone who wasn’t just interested in him sexually or because of his money. And it did not help one bit that he found you so unbelievably attractive as well, his nervousness was at its peak.

“Hey. You’re… [Your.name], right?”, he tried to sound very casual as he leaned against the bar beside you. AND MY GOD, he was so tiny compared to you. He loved it. The way he had to look up so much.

You were rather surprised to get attention, especially from someone like Hawks. Like, he was so out of your league it was ridiculous to even think he would even BREATH besides you – yet there he was. Talking to you-

Oh. You knew what he wanted.

“Okay, look, let’s just skip all that polite small talk, the little laughs so we don’t feel awkward before you drop the question. Just tell me, which number do you want? Or should I just give you all three?”, you immediately cut to the chase. It had never been any different, so why would it be today? Especially when someone so sexy and pretty talked to you? Obviously he wanted someone from your much more handsome and well-trained friends.

Hawks was, however, rather surprised that THIS was your initial reaction to him talking to you. Though he could have not known how hard it would truly be to get to know you or get your number.

“Uhm… To be honest, your number alone would be quite sufficient.”, Keigo played it smooth. A handsome smile on his lips covered up his own nervousness – was he about to get rejected?

For a few seconds you stared at him, completely flabbergasted. Then you turned around and looked around… and looked around… and looked around some more until he finally asked, “Everything okay? You looking for an escape route?”

Keigo chuckled at the end, though he was not as calm as he pretended to be.

“No, I just…”, you then turned to him again, your brows furrowed, “… You can stop now, you know? Like, are you trying to prank me or…? Cameras anywhere? Like haha we got the fat guy. Look at him getting all flustered finally getting attention. Hahaha funny.”

At the end, you almost sounded a little angry, before you grabbed your drink and walked away from the bar. Saying Hawks was confused was an understatement. He just watched you for a moment as you walked away and squeezed into a lonely corner. God… How many people must have put you down for you to think he was pranking you?

“This is going to be more difficult than I thought.”

Running his hand through his hair, Kei had to calm down for a moment and reevaluate. Did you reject him because you genuinely weren’t interest or because you were self-conscious? Probably the latter. So… should he try again? Fuck yeah. As if he was going to give up so easily. He just needed you to know he really wasn’t pranking you, the rest… was up to Future-Keigo.

Clearing his throat and taking his drink, he then walked over to your corner. Standing in front of you he was so s m o l. It would probably feel great hugging you.

“Okay that was rough. Listen, I really don’t wanna prank you or anything. Just… get to know you… ya know?”, this time he genuinely smiled a little, hoping you wouldn’t just reject him again.

Raising one brow, you were still rather suspicious. AS IF someone like Keigo would want to get to know you. Something was not right, you could feel it in every fiber of your big, chubby body. Then again.. maybe the only thing that you felt was the insecurities that held you back from getting to know someone who might genuinely be interested in you.

So, you gave yourself a little push.

“Yeah… I guess… I’m not really used to…. You know, how about we just start over?”

Keigo thought he had finally cracked you, giving himself a mental high five for being persistent. Thus, with a small smile he nodded and reached out his hand.

“Sure, nice to meet you, I’m Takami Keigo.”

“I’m [Your.name], nice to meet you.”, you finally smiled a little as well. Oof, his heart just jumped. Why was he so smitten already? He literally just met you. Keigo definitely wanted to get to know you more.

“So, how about we go take a seat over there? I could do with another drink.”, he said while pointing in the direction of a free table.

For a moment, you hesitated, though after a few seconds, you nodded, “Yeah, sounds nice.”

Without realizing it, hours went by as you and Hawks sometimes were the loudest ones laughing. Your friends just glancing over every so often, obviously jealous you had gotten the most handsome men of all of them today. But for the first time, you didn’t care what other’s thought as you and Kei just had … a connection.

Hence why, when he glanced down to his watch and sighed, you felt a little sad.

“I wish this night wouldn’t end. But I have a model job tomorrow and I only was a backup for someone so I didn’t even intend to have so much fun today. Time sure flies with you, [Your.name].”, he gave you one of his best smiles that made your throat dry and your knees weak.

“I… really enjoyed myself, too. Thank you. And sorry for acting like that in the beginning.”, you smiled apologetically and a little flustered. He found it very endearing.

“That’s fine, don’t worry about it. Well…”, he then looked at his phone and stood up, “It’s 2 a.m. definitely missed the last train. I’m gonna make a quick call for a taxi.”

“Hm.”, you nodded and watched for a second as he went outside where it was a little quieter to call.

Looking between Hawks and your friends who were still partying with Keigo’s friend group, you wondered if you should bring him home. You were the driver, but… how often had your friends disappeared with someone without telling you? How often did you leave a party all by yourself? It was time to be a little selfish today.

So, you hastily stood up and walked outside the bar, watching as Keigo typed on his phone, ready to call.

“Uhm, Takami-san?”, you interrupted him.

“Hm?”, he was a little surprised.

“If you want.. I can drive you home. I brought my own car since I was planning on leaving earlier too and I only drank one cocktail right in the beginning and the rest was alcohol free stuff so… if you want?”, your voice became a little smaller by the end, not knowing if you were too eager. Was this okay?

“Really? That’s not a problem?”

“No! Not at all.”, you reassured him.

“That’s great! I only live like 20 minutes away if we take the car. Ahhh, you’re a life saver, [Your.name]! Thank you.”, Keigo beamed.

And so, you hopped into your car, the only place big enough for you, at least that’s what it felt like since you invested in a nice big one. Keigo was quite cute how he sat there in the big seat, being so small.

The drive to Hawks’ home was also filled with chatter and laughter, once again reassuring you both that you definitely had some sort of connection. And since he had been attracted to you before, it only gave him more reasons that he wanted to meet you again. Man… this could be the first time a group date turned out successfully – for the both of you!

When you parked in front of his apartment complex, Takami didn’t even want to go yet. Wishing that time would just stop, he sat there for a few seconds before turning to you.

“Thank you, [Your.name].”

“No problem, really!”

“You know, if it wasn’t that late I would have invited you to a coffee or another drink or something but alas…”

“It’s quite late…”, you almost said a little… saddened?

“Hm… It is… I’ll call you!” Hawks then said with a little bit of a grin, since you had exchanged phone numbers before.

“O-Okay.”, you didn’t know why you stuttered, it was just… really new.

“Oh, but you can call me too, yeah? Don’t be shy. Well, anyways.”, he jumped out of the car, turned one last time to grin at you, his golden eyes sparkling a little, making you even more flustered.

“Have a safe drive home and have a good night, [Your.name]!”

“Ah, you too, Takami-san!”

Then, you just watched as he walked up to his apartment complex. You didn’t know what suddenly got into you when you opened the door and jumped out, calling for him.

“Takami-san?!”, it was literally two in the morning, his poor neighbors.

Though Hawks immediately turned his head.

“I… really, really enjoyed myself today. Just… thank you.”

Oh my God, you were so cute. Such a gentle giant teddy bear, that’s what you were. Without thinking about it, Keigo rushed back, catching you a little off guard when he walked around the car.

“You know, I might be a little drunk, but fucking God – I want to kiss you SO. BAD. right now.”, Kei said without hold back. His golden eyes gleaming in the dark and his cheeks flushed, you didn’t know if it was because of the alcohol or if he was blushing.

You, on the other hand, were very flustered, yet you barely whispered, “Maybe you should…”

Which only made Hawks giggle and raise his arms. An almost… seductive grin on his lips.

“Then you should help me out a little here, Handsome!”

Was he a bit drunk? Possibly. Was he overly flirtatious because he truly liked your personality and found you attractive and DEFINITELY wanted to meet you again?... Probably. But someone as straight-forward as Hawks was exactly who you needed because of your tendencies to overthink everything. Especially when it came to your weight and thus attractiveness. (Even though the one didn’t have anything to do with the other though not when it came to society.)

And so, you accommodated him by leaning down. Takami himself standing on his tiptoes, thus, after he had hoped all night long, his lips finally met yours. His small arms wrapped around your big, broad shoulders and your big hand was placed on his lower back. That’s what he had wanted. And it really happened. To say Keigo was quite euphoric was an understatement. He was ecstatic, overjoyed, jubilant and so much more – and that from a little kiss. He surely fell quick and hard. Something he had never experienced before.

After a few moments of pure delight, you were the first to pull back, just to watch Kei bite his lip in such a sexy way it took all of your control to not grab him and pin him onto your car’s hood.

“Thank you.”, he just whispered, still with that grin on his lips, “I really enjoyed myself, too.”

Then, he let go and you did as well, this time really just watching when he turned around and walked into the apartment complex with one last wave. So you got back into your car as well, the last minutes replaying in your head over and over again.

With your hand covering your face, you had to hide your stupid, big grin. If all of that was just a dream, you didn’t want to wake up. Someone found YOU attractive. You had deemed yourself the most unattractive, undatable guy and that only because society had always told you that. But he didn’t care. He liked your “undatable, unattractive” body just the way it was. And not only that, after a rough start, you got along so well. You loved his little laughs, his beautiful eyes and those soft lips-

“God I have never felt like that before, what the fuuuck??”, you mumbled to yourself, still in disbelief that night even happened.

But as you drove away, you heard a little noise that came from your phone and as you looked up, you quickly scanned the text before looking back onto the streets – a wide smirk spreading across your face.

The message read.

“txet me wehn yruoe home so i konw yuore hmoe safe!”

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@salemwritesxx || do not repost, edit, modify or translate my works

⇻ salem.talks: let’s appreciate all shapes and sizes. being a short and rather stumpy man myself, ive been struggling a little with how i view myself ever since my relationship ended. ive been casually looking on apps but i think I am not ready for another relationship yet since my last one was rather messy. anyways. I know you shouldn’t rely on others to feel validated and loved but loving yourself is hard, bro so… yeah, its nice being desired for once, no? also this kinda makes me wanna write a part two but eh we’ll see!

part 2.

#salemswriting.#hawks #takami keigo #hawks x male reader #bnha x male reader #hawks x reader #chubby male reader #bnha x reader #bnha

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emerald-chaos · 3 years

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Daydream

**gif not mine! credit to the owner**

So, I couldn't help myself. This is a continuation of my previous Bucky fic Insomnia because I just really enjoyed the dynamic between Bucky and the reader. I had a lot of fun writing this part and I love building things up between the two of them. If you guys like this or are interested in seeing more - please let me know! I love talking with people and hearing their ideas and such.

Much love xo.

Pairing: Reader x Bucky Barnes

Word Count: 2079

Warnings: cursing, struggles with mental illness, mentions of sex (nothing entirely explicit but better safe than sorry), alcohol use, and really poorly written jokes lmao

Fingers threaded into hair.

Hot, opened-mouth kisses marking every surface of your neck.

Nails trailing down his back leaving raised, red lines in their wake.

“Oh my god,” you groaned as you let your head fall back and continued to rock your hips into the man in front of you.

Strong hands tighten their hold on your hips, sure to leave purplish-blue bruises for the morning.

“C’mon, baby,” he grunted, face buried in your neck as he helped your body to grind against his, “I got you. Let go, fuck, let go for me.”

A pair of slender fingers snapped in front of your line of sight, tearing you from your daydream and bringing you harshly back to reality.

“Hmm, what was that?” You blinked a few times before you turned your attention to the redhead who you, apparently, had been having a conversation with.

“Are you serious?” She laughed, “I’ve been talking for the past 10 minutes! I looked over and you had that far off, glossy look in your eyes. Not to mention you’re bleeding.”

A hand found its way to your lower lip and you realized she was right. You had been so lost in wet dreamland that you chewed a layer of skin off of your lip. You hoped she didn’t notice the heat rising in your face as you cleared your throat, grabbing a tissue from the coffee table.

“Sorry,” you muttered, pressing the tissue against your injured lip, “guess I got lost in thought.”

“Is it one of those flashbacks again?” She asked kindly, facial expression softening.

You nodded quickly, knowing fully well that the statement was a lie. Your gaze drifted over the woman’s shoulder to the subject of your previous thoughts. It would be easier to explain the common occurrence of your PTSD than it would be to explain that you were reminiscing on the hot, steamy, passionate sex you had the night before.

Bucky was situated across the room, leaning against the counter as he talked to Rogers and Wilson. The unfortunately tight, black, short-sleeve t-shirt he was wearing left nothing to the imagination. It accentuated every muscle of the body you had gotten to know so intimately not more than 10 hours ago. His muscular arms were crossed at his chest and he was sporting his signature scowl. Everything about the sight sent a shiver down your spine. You finally had a taste and you wanted more.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Your friend’s voice gained your attention once more.

A small smile found its way to your lips as you met her gaze again. Apart from Bucky, Nat had always been a good trauma buddy of yours. From the beginning she had been someone you felt like you could confide in and someone who would understand your troubles. Sometimes you wondered if a requirement of joining the avengers was to have a fucked up, tragic backstory.

“I’m okay, Nat.” You reassured, “Just got lost in my head again.”

“Whatever you say. Maybe the party tonight will help you get your mind off of things,” She mused as she pushed herself from the couch to stand up. She paused briefly before she turned to you again, “you are coming, right?”

“Yeah,” you snorted, “Tony actually threatened me if I didn’t go this time, so, I guess I have to.”

After the last party you skipped out on, Tony cornered you in the hallway and gave you quite the interrogation. Then he went on a spiel about how staying in your room all day and all night was bad for you and that if he didn’t know better he would think you weren’t appreciative of what he’d done for you and blah, blah, blah. Tony really was a good person underneath all that hair gel. All he wanted was to help you break out of your shell and give you the family he knew you were lacking. That didn’t mean he couldn’t be a pushy asshole.

“Good, I’ll see you there. I’m sure Barnes will too.” A devilish grin painted her lips as she watched your jaw drop. Before you had a chance to say anything she was off down the hallway.

Fuckin’ Natasha.

*******

A pile of clothes littered your bed as you slipped another dress over your form. Not once in your life had you ever been concerned about what you were wearing or what you looked like, but there was something about tonight that made you want to turn heads. Your eyes raked down your figure as you twisted from side to side, admiring the way the black dress hugged your body in all the right places. Not to mention the thigh high slit in the dress showed off probably the only body part you weren’t self-conscious about. Tony, being the theatrical and over the top man he was, once said that you shouldn’t show up to his parties if you weren’t dressed to court a royal or to bring a man to his knees. Guess you were shooting for the latter.

As you put the finishing touches on your look for the evening, you felt that familiar heavy feeling settling into your chest. Your body always had a tendency to go into fight or flight mode when you became too familiar with anything or anyone. It felt like every fiber in your body was screaming for you to retreat into sweats and stay in your room, to not allow yourself this opportunity to enjoy the people you’d grown so close to. You know what happens when you let people in.

Grief, trauma, coping - it made it really difficult to live a “normal” life. Everyday tasks are daunting, it can be next to impossible to have intimate friendships or relationships, and not to mention the intrusive thoughts that infect your mind on a daily, if not hourly, basis. Here you were, the happiest you’d been in years. You were finally in a place where you felt loved, comfortable, safe - and yet your mind was trying to self-sabotage again.

You took a moment to close your eyes and take several deep breaths. When you opened your eyes you locked eyes with your reflection in the mirror and made a pact with the girl staring back at you. The intrusive thoughts and self-doubt couldn’t continue to have a hold over you anymore. You gave yourself a small smirk and nod as you made the decision to throw caution to the wind and give the party a try. What’s the worst that could happen?

*******

Come to find out, the worst that could happen would be your competitive nature overcoming the rational, thinking part of your brain; which in turn would lead you to enter in a drinking contest. Thankfully a small portion of your pink, smooth brain was still functional enough to tell you when you’d reached your limit. Now you sat comfortably on the couch, legs tucked underneath you as you joyfully watched your friends argue.

“Dr. Banner, my friend, you are one of the most intelligent people I know. However, you are wrong.” Thor stated simply as he finished the rest of his drink.

“Thor, for the last time, water is not wet!” Bruce retorted, throwing his hands up in frustration.

You let out a loud snort before thinking, “Oh yeah, water. I should drink some water.”

Your feet planted themselves on the floor and slipped back into your pair of shoes. As you made your way to the kitchen you were pleasantly surprised by your balance and coordination, considering how much alcohol you’d consumed. Seems that drinking with Thor has done wonders for your tolerance.

While you were busy searching the refrigerator for a bottle of water, you were also oblivious to the soft sound of footsteps coming into the kitchen. After retrieving the beverage, you closed the door and turned to leave. Instead, you turned right into the chest of a figure that was definitely not there a moment ago. You yelped as you clutched a hand over your chest dramatically, your face filled with horror as though you’d just come face to face with the grim reaper.

“Jesus Christ, Barnes!” you scolded.

Bucky was holding his abdomen as he leaned back, consumed with laughter at your reaction. You huffed and wanted to be offended, but he looked so damn cute laughing that you couldn’t help but join him. You pushed his chest playfully and grumped as you hopped up to sit on the counter, opening the water to gulp about half of it down. Bucky couldn’t help but grin at your pouty state as he finished up his laughing fit.

“My apologies, sweets. Didn’t realize I’d be makin’ ya scream twice in one day.” He teased, grinning even wider as he did so.

Your jaw dropped at the comment, quickly looking around to make sure no one else was in the kitchen to hear what he had said. After seeing that the coast was clear you kicked your foot at him out of annoyance, only for his metal hand to catch it smoothly. The two of you locked eyes, motionless for a moment before he moved closer, sliding his hand from your ankle to your thigh. In the moment, you damned yourself for choosing this particular dress. The closer he got, the faster your breathing became. The contrast between his cold embrace and your flushed, warm skin sent a shiver down your spine. Abandoning the water bottle, you ran your hands up his abdomen and chest until they rested on his shoulders. Following a small nudge from his knee, you parted your legs to allow him space to stand between them. The heat in your face at an all time high as he pressed his flesh hand to your cheek.

“Haven’t been able to stop thinkin’ about you.” Bucky whispered as he stroked the apple of your cheek with his thumb. Each word that left his lips had you feeling way more intoxicated than any liquor you’d had all night.

As quickly as it started, his touch was gone and his back was turned as he opened the fridge. Before you had a chance to open your mouth to ask what the hell just happened, Tony was entering into the kitchen.

“Well, well, well. Surprised to see you here, Annie.” Tony beamed as he laid eyes on you.

Yes, Tony had nicknamed you after little orphan Annie. Yes, he also referred to himself lovingly as Daddy Warbucks. Yes, any person in their right mind would probably be offended, but you were just fucked up enough that you found it kind of hilarious.

“Wish I could say that it’s a pleasure, Tony.” You grumped back, upset that you’d been cockblocked and by Tony no less.

“Never lose that spunk, kid.” Tony winked as he turned to see Bucky retreating from the fridge with a beer in hand. “Inspector Gadget! Good to see you too.”

As much as you didn’t want to encourage him, you couldn’t help but laugh. Much to your dismay, Bucky simply raised his bottle to Tony as if to say “cheers” and padded out of the kitchen.

“He has such a way with words.” Tony teased as you rolled your eyes.

A sigh left your lips as you slipped off the counter and back onto the floor, muttering a “goodnight” before leaving the kitchen and heading back to your room. Although you wanted nothing more than to find Bucky and finish what he had started in the kitchen, you came to the conclusion that you were probably too drunk and definitely too tired.

Back in the comfort of your bedroom, you went about your normal nighttime routine. As you exited the bathroom, you couldn’t help but notice a piece of paper that had been slipped beneath your door. Grabbing the paper from the floor and plopping back onto your soft mattress, you opened it to read the note that was scribbled in black ink.

Never got the chance to tell you how gorgeous you looked tonight. Gotta say, I’m a big fan of that dress.

Sweet dreams.

- B.

When you finished the note, it felt as though you were floating on cloud 9. Even when you laid your head down and tried to welcome sleep, Bucky’s words were still replaying in your head over and over again - like they were lyrics to your new favorite song.

Turns out you were down for Bucky Barnes, and you were down bad.

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rcksmith · 3 years

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The sin you make me commit. — Five Hargreeves

Requests: “omg i’ve been reading everything in ur acct, i love ur writing sm! could you do fluff 27 and smut 6 and 95 for five?”

“hello, love. can i request five hargreeves with fluff prompt 50 and smut prompt 54 if it's alright with you? thank you 💓”

Fluff prompts:

27. “It’s late. Shouldn’t you be asleep?”

50. “She don’t compare to you. No one does.”

Smut prompts:

6. “do you think of me when you touch yourself?”

54. “Come sit on my face, let me show you how much I missed you.”

95. “What are you doing in my bed?!”

A/N: We not tolerate any pedophilia here !!

I write about Five with their 20s. I write the same about the characters of Harry Potter.

Thank you for requests💖 I hope you guys like💖 English is not my first language, so I so sorry if have a mistake.

Requests are open. Love you ❤️

Resume: You're Diego's best friend, but Five desires you to much.

Couple: Five Hargreeves/Fem!Reader.

Warnings: swearing, explicit smut, dirty talk, fluff too. Smut smut.

— — — — —

Liking Five Hargreeves was ... stressful. If you could define all the whirlwind of feelings and emotions, you would use that word. Okay, maybe you would use two words: stressful and exciting.

Exciting because Hargreeves looked like an angry young god. Always with a malicious smile, a penetrating look and an energy that made any environment submit to him. Everyone felt the intense vibration that emanated from every inch of that tall, slim and thin 28-year-old body.

The dark hair like sin and the white skin like alabaster brought a sublime contrast, making your mind sail through dangerous and turbulent waters. Everything about him turned you on like hell. The voice was hoarse and arrogant, the laughter boastful, the posture of all that tall body. It was too much for you.

But everything about him also stressed you out like hell. Five Hargreeves was unbearable. And just as he was aware that he possessed an overwhelming beauty, he also knew that he was exasperating. And Five don’t give a shit for it.

But it wasn't just the personality that took you seriously. It was the girls. Five had half the women of that city wrapped around him finger, at the mercy of whatever desire he had, giving himself up on a gold tray if he asked.

Jealousy. It was clear and perfect what you felt. Jealousy so visseral that you rolled your eyes every time you were in the Hargreeves' kitchen, drinking coffee with Allison and Diego, and you saw Five appear with a purple hickey on his neck.

You had to control every fiber of your being so as not to break the mug that you were holding, so strong that you squeezed the porcelain. It was unbearable. Unbearable because you wanted him madly. With every cell of your being.

It is unbearable because you couldn't have him.

Truth be told, an involvement with Five would cause a hubbub. You are a friend of Diego's for a long time. The two of you met at the police unit, when You were recruited after graduating from college at the age of 22. Diego had been assigned to be you partner and, although he was pissed off at first because he practically had to babysit, the two of you ended up becoming inseparable.

The years passed, the friendship became stronger and, when Diego was expelled from the police, you were there to help him in any way he needed. And that only boosted friendship even more. Diego Hargreeves was a strong, stubborn and very determined man. Somewhat possessive of the people he loved, since in childhood he never had many things to hold on to and love. So when any light went through the dark room that was his life, Diego clung to that light.

Because that, you know that any romantic involvement with any of Diego’s brothers would awaken the volcano in the knife man. He would be possessed if he found out that one of the brothers was fucking his best friend. Besides, unfortunately, Diego was smart and astute enough not to notice any changes from you with Five if you chose to do something hidden.

So it was better to avoid the drama.

But, avoiding the eruption Diego, was triggering an eruption within you. A very specific and atrocious fire.

And that was exactly what you were feeling right now. Seeing Five walking down the steps of the mansion, his hair disheveled, his clothes slightly rumpled and hickey marks around his neck. If that were not enough to denounce the wild night he had had, the woman who came down behind him would have been enough. Her black dress was wrinkled, her makeup smudged and she carried heels in her hands.

It inflated a colossal jealousy inside you, setting fire to all your nerve endings.

The girl was still beautiful. Stupidly beautiful. Even with the shambles of last night, her blond hair still retained its incandescent shine and her long catwalk legs were stunning.

You snorted, rolling your eyes and making your way back to the kitchen once again.

“I arrived.” You held out the bag of donuts to Diego, who hurriedly opened it.

“How much delay.” He grunted as he stuffed a donut in mouth and turned to the counter, returning with two mugs “Your coffee.”

It was a kind of ritual between the two of you. It started at the police station, when you were still working together, you offered donuts for him and Diego coffee for you. And as the years went by it ended up becoming a symbol of friendship. You brought the food and Diego the drink. Always.

When he was fired, the two of you moved the tradition to his home. That was when the Hargreeves brothers met you, and your presence at the mansion became so normal that you didn't even have to knock on the door anymore, just like Diego at your apartment. After four years of friendship, you and Diego were still there. Unshakable. And maybe that was one of the things that kept you from giving Five any openness too.

“Is it just me or are these donuts getting worse and worse?” Diego complained, and you rolled your eyes.

“You tell me that since our patrols.”

“Because it is true.” He stuffed another candy in his mouth.

“And you still eat all of them.”

“One day I'm going to make a machine donuts my bitch and make better donuts than these.”

You laughed and, when you answered, a blue flash flashed in the kitchen and Five Hargreeves was opening the refrigerator.

You held your breath.

“Don't you have anything decent to eat in this house?” Five grunted and turned to you and Diego, stopping eyes on the donuts

“Do not even think…”

Diego warned, but it was too late, Five had teleported to his brother and snatched the candy from his hand, taking a big bite.

“Bitch.” Diego grunted.

“Good morning, my dear brothers!” Klaus entered the room, smiling and covered in a black feather overcoat. “My brother's dear girlfriend.” He winked at you.

You choked on your coffee, or Diego, or both.

“She's not my girlfriend.” Diego defended himself.

“But I was not referring to you.” Klaus countered and this time it was Five who choked on a piece of donut.

You caught something in the air, something that went down your spine and injected an icy sensation into your heart. A feeling that there was something deeper in those words. Something you didn't know what it was about.

But from the way Five gave Klaus a look that contained the promise of apocalypse, you felt that the two brothers knew very well what it was about.

Diego frowned and looked at you, but you made a gesture with the shoulders and the eyebrows of someone who also didn't understand anything. Then he took it as just another one of the senseless things Klaus said and shrugged, turning to you again.

“Are you going to work on that case today?”

You agreed, drinking your coffee.

“Yes, I managed to find more clues about the dealer.”

“The ones in the alley, isn't it?”

You smiled, are nice and light the way Diego and you had the same line of reasoning, almost like an internal language. He could tell exactly what was going through your head. And all him siblings could see that, too.

Five could see that. And that was the main reason he fucked that blonde until he lost his mind. Discounting all the anger he had felt for months.

Five felt so wrong. So dirty. A bastard of the worst kind for lusting after his brother's best friend so... intensely. Only the devil knew how many times Five touched himself thinking of you, remembering your legs in that tight skirt and high heels, or the moments, like today, when you appeared with a white dress shirt, so tight that your breasts were so marked that it barely left work for the imagination.

Fucking hell! You are a fucking mirage!

“Exactly. I'll tell you later how it was today.”

You smiled at Diego and took your bag from the table, hanging it from the arm fold and drink the rest of your coffee.

Diego stuck another candy in his mouth and stretched his left hand towards you, saying with his mouth full:

“Your collar is crooked again.” He pointed and took his fingers to your collar, tidying up the white fabric

Five squeezed donut himself so tightly that he felt it break in his fingers. God! That was the worst part! When someone touched you. He knew that for Diego and you it was completely normal. Your friendship was very strong, but that didn't stop Five from burning inside.

“Thanks” You smiled and pulled a donut out for you while saying goodbye to everyone and left the mansion.

Diego left the kitchen seconds later, leaving only Klaus and Five there.

“If you made any move, she would be more with you.” Klaus scoffed as he pulled an orange juice.

Five rolled his eyes. Klaus was the only one who knew about his secret crush on you. It wasn't like he said it, but Klaus realized that he was looking at you much more closely, that he held breath when you were too close. And that he always drowned in a night of drinking and casual sex when he saw Diego much near you.

“Shut up.” He stuffed what was left of the candy in mouth.

“Why don't you talk to her? It's not like she's a seven-headed monster. ”

“She is Diego's best friend.” Five pointed out the obvious and Klaus shrugged.

“So? You two are adults, it’s not like you’re in high school.” He drank the juice “I bet Diego would fuck some of your a hottie’s friends if you had any. You two don't need him permission to have sex. ”

Five rolled his eyes.

“Even if I did that. And it doesn't mean that I will!” He pointed to his brother “But even if I did, Y/N never gave any indication that she wants anything.”

“Oh for god's sake” Klaus laughed “Didn't you notice how she looks at you? It is so intense. As if she was undressing you with eyes. It's very hot, actually. ”

Those words rang in Five's mind all day. All afternoon. Blundering any common sense he once had.

Was he so oblivious to your eyes? Five tried so hard not to catch fire when he was close to you that he might have missed the signs of how you felt.

What if he did make a move with you? What if you wanted that too?

It's not like Five wants to hurt Diego. Or if Five had chosen his brother's best friend just because he was a bastard. No, Five didn't wake up on a beautiful day and thought: “Hm, I'm going to fuck my brothe’s best friend.” Do not.

Five was human. And any human with good eyes and a little common sense would be overwhelmingly attracted to you. And besides, they were not children. Diego would be fine.

As Five placed a stone in the dilemma called “Diego”, a colossal wave of indecent images of you sank Five into the deepest ocean. Invading him entire system and injecting all those months of insane desire into his veins again. Now in full force.

Every night Five fucked senseless any woman, just to close his eyes and imagine that it was you. That it was your moans, that was your hot body, your broken kisses. So many months of high denial and physical torture would now explode like an atomic bomb in his system. It physically hurt not to touch you. It was like missing something he never had. Being addicted to a drug he had never tried.

But today Five was going to overdose.

It was one in the morning when Five Hargreeves made a decision. When his whole body burned with his own lustful desire, screaming for him to seek some relief. And it was one in the morning when Five teleported to your apartment, specifically in your bed.

Five didn't know what to expect by going there. He was so overwhelmed with his own emotions that he didn't stop to think about call you phone like a normal human being.

No. He needed to see you. Right now. A long time of self-denial mess a man's head.

Five Hargreeves considered himself to be a very articulate human being, a genius, unshakable. But as soon as he saw you come out of the bathroom, wrapped in a towel, he would never be able to say anything even if him life depended on it.

As soon as your eyes landed on you, you screamed, jumping two steps back and widening eyes.

“Five? My God, what a scare!” You tightened the towel around your body “What are you doing in my bed ?!”

He swallowed, mind too focused on you to think of any decent response. In fact, there was not one. Five was being as intrusive as possible, and he realized how much you messed with the reasoning in him. How much you messed up and played with him brain.

Five should have said something. Anything. But what he said was: “It's late. Shouldn’t you be asleep? ”

You laughed, a little shocked, a little puzzled.

“Answering my question with a question?" You laughed “Did you forget that I'm a cop?”

Oh no. He never forgot that. In fact, that title just made him want to turn you on your desk and fuck you until you shout him name. Five gave a smile at that thought.

"I needed to talk to you." Then he got up from the bed and went towards you.

Five noticed the exact moment when your breath evaporated. When your skin prickled, your chest rose and fell more intensely, pupils dilated. He was one inches away from your hot body when he saw the delicious blush spread over your angel cheeks. You had such a sweet face!

God, he wanted to break you!

"Wh-what did you want to talk to?" Your voice faltered, and Five realized that Klaus was right.

Oh yes, you wanted him too.

Five drew suspense, raising hand and brushing him fingers along your arm damp from the hot bath water, your skin crawling. You looked like a goddess like that. So disconcertingly beautiful.

"You are so Beautiful." He couldn't keep that thought to himself, and you blushed “I thought you were beautiful from the second I saw you.”

You lost your breath, clasping your hands on the towel, pressing it on your body, your fingers trembling just like your heart. Five's hand went up to your neck, touching your warm skin and running her palm up to your cheek.

“I have been wanting you for so long.”

“You do?” You sighed back, leaning over him touch.

“Every fucking day.”

To say you were shocked would be an understatement. Five found it funny, as if it were possible that there was some reality in which he didn't want you so badly. His touch on your skin became firmer, and he moved closer.

“Did you think I didn't want you?”

“Yes” You said “You never did anything, and you've always been with so many women.” Five noticed that you contained an eye roll “Like today's blonde.”

“She don’t compare to you. No one does.” Now he placed both hands on your cheek, gluing your two body, him height being much greater than you.

That seemed to be the right answer, because you responded by canceling the space between the two of you, sticking your mouth to his. Five sighed, as if he had taken water after years in the desert, pressing the touch. You tasted much better than he ever imagined, and when your tongue brushed him, he sighed again.

Five Hargreeves had all the women wrapped around his finger. But only you had he wrapped around your finger.

You put your hands up to his black hair, dropping the towel that collapsed on the floor. You thought that you would be the most anxious person there, that it was you who wished all this time with the greatest ardor. But Five proved you were wrong. The aching groan he gave when he touched your naked body was the greatest proof you needed to know that it was he who had been burning for months in a fierce fire.

Five memorized every bit of you as if it were going to be him favorite memory, rising his hands to your breasts and biting your lower lip as he squeezed your hot flesh. You groaned, or it was him. Or both.

“You are so fucking delicious.” He snarled in your mouth, dropping left hand down your belly, making you clasp your hands in him arms, needing more.

“F-five." You sighed, the core throbbing.

“Do you think of me when you touch yourself?” Five lowered his mouth to your ear, finding yours smooth folds and swallowing a snarl when he felt how wet you were.

"Y-yes." You sighed, wrapping your arms around his neck and rummaging around in his hand, desperate.

"Oh, what a dirty little thing.” Then he stuck a finger in your slippery entrance, and you screamed out loud, sobbing and clenching your nails in his flesh. But as fast as he entered he left, leaving you with a feeling of emptiness and a loud grunt “Patience, doll.”

Five pulled you onto the bed, climbing on top of her and guiding you. You went, and followed the commands when he lay down and pulled your waist to him face.

“I need to taste you, doll.” His hands traveled to yours breasts and squeezed them, eliciting a loud groan from you as you shook your head. “Come sit on my face, let me show you how much I missed you.”

"A-anything you want."

Those seemed like the right words, because Five snarled and stuck his hands on your hips, pulling you into him mouth. The warm lips grabbed your pulsing core, making you scream softly as he ate you like a hungry man. Five squeezed the ten fingers on your hips with absurd strength, leaving you not a single inch apart. He feast on your wet pussy, moaning against your necklace as you sobbed loudly and saw stars.

You dropped your hands into him black hair, curling your fingers as you arched your back, closing your eyes tightly as your mouth opened in a silent scream.

“Cum to me, baby.” Five snarled at her clit, and you couldn't control a desperate moan.

“Five!" You screamed when Five dipped his tongue inside you, activating your orgasms that came in long strokes, making you shiver in him mouth.

You don't have time to breathe, to reason, to get out of the cloudy wave of climax. Five pulled your hips to the side, throwing you on the bed and climbing onto his body like a hungry animal. He stuck his lips to yours, making you taste your own as you slid him hands down your thighs, pulling them to line up on him hips.

“F… five…” You gasped, sinking your nails into him back, following him mouth with yours when he pulled away, not letting the desperate kiss go away.

“Delicious little thing.” He snarled, dropping his hands to his belt as he quickly unbuttoned his pants.

Your hands went to him shirt, not having much patience to take care of each button, eventually pulling the cloth with both hands and breaking the remaining buttons.

“Someone here is desperate” Five scoffed, a malicious smile, but him hands worked so fast that you thought that if Five could now change his powers to make the clothes disappear, he would change without hesitation.

“Please." You pleaded, your eyes pleading to have it all.

Five snarled in an animalistic intonation, pulling his dick out of his underwear and lining up at your extremely wet entrance, going in at once, sinking to the bottom of the well, hitting his groin on your swollen clitoris.

You screamed, digging your nails into him skin and arching your back.

"Oh my God!” You moaned loudly, losing your breath for the strength that Five set up the thrusts.

He would hit your body on the bed, leaving you trapped between him body and the mattress, claiming everything that was yours as his. Five pulled a hand to your throat, squeezing there and sticking his mouth to the foot of your ear.

“It is not God, darling. It's me.” He snarled, hitting your walls more brutally.

The sounds in the room were purely pornographic, you and Five were moaning loudly, hitting the headboard against the wall aggressively and assiduously. You would definitely get a fine from the condo for the noise. But, fuck!

You brought your mouth up to Five's, swallowing him moans and muffling your own, wrapping your legs around him hips and pulling him deeper, hitting all yours hot, leaky walls.

Tears pooled in the corner of yours eyes, and Five felt himself ignite with that. He couldn't take much, fucking hell! You were fucking hot. Delicious.

"Such a good pussy!” He groaned on your lips, moving his fingers down to your clit and setting an intense rhythm, making your walls contract against his dick and you scream louder.

“I-I will… I will…!”

“You can cum, baby. I got you!” Five kept his movements and fingers on your clit, making you explode for the second time that night.

He pulled the air between his teeth as he felt your cum spread on his dick, sending all the rest of his sanity into space. Five stuck both hands on your hips, kneeling on the bed and fucking you with absurd force and brutality, shoving as deep as possible inside you and stopping there, pouring all the hot liquid into your deepest centimeter.

You sobbed, rummaging your hips slyly, making sure you took every last drop of it. Five let out a loud breath, coming back at you in breathless searches for air, allowing your hearts to calm down.

"Wow." You laughed softly, tiredly, and Five lifted his head and laughed softly.

“I have wanted this for so long.” He confessed, kissing you again just because he could, not leaving you yet.

“Diego is going to kill us.” You groaned, squinting.

"It will be our secret.” Five kissed down your neck, his hands roaming your body.

You sighed, your body relaxing in him hands. Five looked at you again before saying:

"So... do you want to have dinner with me tomorrow?"

You laughed out loud, putting your arms around him neck and nodding.

“Of course."

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arc852 · 3 years

Text

An Unlikely Duo Ch. 3

Warnings: Fear, panic and mention of treating a person like a pet

Word Count: 2426

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Read on AO3

________________________________________________________________

Wilbur spent the hours leading up to dinner looking through his laptop trying to figure out what song he should play for Tommy. He hadn’t meant for it to take that long and had actually wanted to play before dinner was ready but picking a song Tommy might like was a lot harder than he thought. Not to mention, the more he stared at his own sheets of music, the more he hated every single one.

He let out a sigh and shut his laptop, rubbing a hand down his face. He’d figure it out after he got back, he supposed.

He headed down to dinner, only to see that they were serving spaghetti tonight. Wilbur smiled a little at the chance to bring Tommy some warm food. He could even give Tommy some bread with it as well. A full meal instead of just some deli meats he found in the fridge.

He ate his portion of dinner, putting a forkful in a napkin and hiding it away in his pocket when the adults weren’t looking. He grinned to himself when they didn’t notice and then did the same thing with a whole roll of bread. The adults were none the wiser and when he asked to be excused, they let him go with no suspicions. Perfect.

He closed the door to his room and kneeled down so he could place the food underneath his bed. He bit his lip as he stayed there for a moment, looking at the wall that Tommy was probably still behind. He cleared his throat. “Hey, uh, I brought you some dinner. Some bread and spaghetti. It was really good so I hope you like it. If not, I can always bring you something else.”

He waited a moment, to see if Tommy might come out or answer him but when all he was met with was silence, Wilbur crawled out from the bed and stood up. That was fine, the little guy was probably still scared and Wilbur couldn’t blame him for that. So maybe some music would ease him.

Wilbur grabbed his guitar and sat on his bed where he propped open his laptop once again. He frowned when he realized he was right back where he was. Unable to choose a song to play for Tommy.

He strummed absentmindedly on his guitar as he thought over his choices. He could try the song he was playing when he first saw Tommy...but the problem with that was that it wasn't actually a song Wilbur had written. He had just been messing around on his guitar at that point. He can’t even remember what he was playing.

A thought suddenly struck Wilbur. Maybe that was it. Maybe the song didn’t really matter. Tommy seemed to like it when he was simply playing around with chords. Maybe that would be enough.

Biting his lip, Wilbur pulled up a blank music sheet. Maybe messing around and writing a new song was exactly what he needed.

And hopefully it would be enough to ease Tommy’s mind and pique his interest.

***

Tommy had been in the middle of bending his newly acquired paperclip into a hook shape when he heard the door to the human’s room open again. He had felt a lot more comfortable when Wilbur hadn’t been in the room. But of course, the human had to return eventually. Tommy expected that.

What he didn’t expect was for Wilbur to actually try and talk to him.

Tommy froze as soon as he processed Wilbur was speaking. Despite being muffled through the walls, Tommy had no trouble picking up on the words being said. He had been brought food, again. Part of Tommy, which he was pretty sure was his stomach, was happy at the chance to eat more food. The other part, the more rational part, was livid that the human would try it again.

He knew he shouldn’t have taken the food. Because now Wilbur had taken it as an incentive to keep doing it. To keep pitying him.

Well, Tommy wasn’t having it.

Overcome with anger and a sense of wanting to prove himself, Tommy marched out of the wall. He grabbed the piece of bread, ignoring the way the heat came off in fumes and the smell wafted around, making his mouth water. He ignored it all in favor of taking the piece of bread and coming out from underneath the bed.

The music had just barely started when Tommy decided to interrupt. Cupping his hand over his mouth in order to make sure he was heard. “Hey b****!”

Wilbur’s hand paused on the strings, his body tensing. A voice, Tommy’s voice, seemed to come from the floor. But that would mean…

Oh so slowly, as if anything faster would make Tommy leave, Wilbur put down his guitar beside him on the bed and then leaned over said bed, glancing down toward the floor. And there was Tommy, small as ever, with a familiar glare pointed right at Wilbur. Wilbur swallowed thickly, wondering what Tommy was doing out of the walls. “Tommy, what-?”

“I don’t need your f****** food, you giant prick! And I don’t want your f****** pity either!” Tommy yelled, all his anger put into the words. Wilbur, meanwhile, sat frozen, shocked at Tommy’s words. “I can do things just fine on my own! I don’t need you or anyone and I don’t need this f****** bread either!” And with that last yell, Tommy mustered up all the strength he had and threw the bread square at Wilbur’s face.

To the surprise of both the borrower and human, the bread hit its mark and hit Wilbur right beneath his eye.

The piece of bread fell onto the bed and Wilbur stared at it, not knowing what to do or say. He glanced towards Tommy, who was breathing heavily from anger.

But, as the anger slowly pulled out of his body, Tommy realized what he had just done. The anger quickly turned into an overwhelming sense of fear as the borrower realized how much he just messed up. He talked back to a human, not even that, he yelled and cursed and threw something at someone who was so much larger than himself. A being who would have no problem getting back at him tenfold.

Tommy wasted no time in scurrying back under the bed and towards the wall.

As soon as Tommy moved, Wilbur snapped out of his frozen state. “Wait, Tommy!” He got down from his bed and did his best to follow the borrower under the bed. He got under there in just enough time to see the tiny entrance to the walls close, with Tommy already in them.

Tommy pressed his back against the door, heart pounding and trying to keep his breathing steady. Seeing Wilbur follow after him had been terrifying. And even now, knowing Wilbur was right there, waiting outside his door made Tommy panic. There was no way the human could get him out of the walls...right?

Oh god but he totally could. All it would take is a hammer to the wall and Tommy would be exposed. Caught like the stupid borrower he was, why did he have to go out and do that-

“Tommy?” A voice cut through his panicked thoughts and Tommy tensed. The voice sounded close. Too close. “Hey, I’m not...mad or anything. I’m just a little confused. I gave you the food because I just want to help. Not because of any pity or anything. I don’t pity you, Tommy.” Wilbur’s words were gentle and calm but Tommy still felt his hands become fists at his sides.

“Why else would you give me the food? It’s because you don’t think I can get any myself.” Tommy spoke, proud that he managed without stuttering.

“That’s not true. I’m sure you’re plenty capable.” Wilbur said back and Tommy faltered a bit. “I just thought it would be nice for you not to have to go through the trouble of finding something. Besides, it’s cold. I figured maybe you’d want something warm.”

“You don’t know what I want.” Tommy spit out but it held less fire in it than before.

“You’re right. Maybe I shouldn’t have assumed but I couldn’t help it. And maybe part of it is because I...I feel bad for before. For grabbing you.” Wilbur admitted, looking down at the fibers in the carpet. Tommy blinked.

“It was incredibly rude of you.” Tommy said, the fire from his anger all but gone at this point. A laugh escaped Wilbur, causing Tommy to flinch but he soon relaxed when he realized what it was.

“That’s fair.” Wilbur said inbetween laughs. Tommy couldn’t help but smile a little but it quickly left his face when a question popped into his head. A question he had been itching to ask since it had happened, really. He supposed now was as good of a time as any. With the wall between them, Tommy felt a lot more comfortable talking to the human.

“What was the deal with the whole three questions thing anyway? You could have just...kept me and forced me to answer all that you wanted to ask.” Tommy didn’t know why he was bringing up the fact that Wilbur could have kept him. Could very much still catch him and keep him. But the question was already out in the open.

Wilbur was silent for a long time, to the point where Tommy was starting to get nervous. Did he just make the human realize his mistake? Was this where the hammer to the walls came in?

“Tommy, I...I wouldn’t…” Wilbur was having a hard time collecting his thoughts. “I was never going to keep you. I was curious, yeah, and I definitely reacted wrong but you’re clearly a person and that’s...no, yeah, I was always going to let you go. The questions...I did that so I could get something out of our meeting before you left.”

Tommy blinked, mind running with this new information. Part of him wanted to say that Wilbur was lying but at the same time...he did let him go. Was that enough to support what Wilbur claimed?

“I...I didn’t think it mattered, if I was a person or not. Cause yeah, that s*** is obvious but other humans don’t seem to care too much about that. They see something small and ‘helpless’ and think, mine.” He remembered the stories his parents would tell him, of borrowers being caught and kept as pets even after they revealed they could think and speak for themselves. It was awful and did the trick for little Tommy to stay far away from outside the walls for the longest time.

“...Well those people are right pricks then.” Wilbur spoke and the bluntness of the statement made Tommy laugh. Despite the underlying anger in Wilbur’s tone, he was pretty sure the anger wasn’t directed at him.

“Couldn’t agree with you more, big man.” The nickname slipped out without him meaning to but if Wilbur noticed he didn’t say anything. Just let out a quiet snort. They sat in silence for a few moments and in that time Tommy realized his heart wasn’t beating as fast as it had been. He was still terrified but somehow...less, now.

Wilbur stared at the little door, the one that blended into the walls so well he could barely even see it. Half of him hoped Tommy would come out and they could speak face to face but he knew that wouldn’t happen. And he couldn’t really blame him either. Not with Tommy’s line of thinking. It truly was awful though, especially since Wilbur knew full well that some humans were just that bad. It made Wilbur sick just thinking about it.

He stared at the small piece of bread that he had taken with him, the one that Tommy had thrown and gently placed it back with the small pile of spaghetti. “I’ll leave you alone now. I know it was probably a bit...much, with me chasing you underneath the bed. Sorry, about that by the way. Um, but yeah. I’ll leave the food here, just in case you want it. Not out of pity or anything.” Wilbur felt the need to reassure further. “But just because.”

Tommy didn’t say anything at that. But Wilbur smiled anyway. “And if you ever need anything, I’d be more than happy to help you out.” He let his words hang there for a bit, letting Tommy soak them up. “Goodnight, Tommy.” And with that, Wilbur crawled out from underneath the bed and climbed back on top of it.

He stared at his guitar for a moment before picking it up to put away. It was getting late anyway. He should probably get some sleep.

As Tommy heard Wilbur shuffling around, he couldn’t help but think about what had just happened. It had gone...better, than Tommy would have ever expected. He still wasn’t sure if he believed Wilbur or not but some part of him really wanted to. It was dangerous to listen to that part of him though.

As the noises out in the room died down, Tommy took a deep breath and opened the door. He half-expected to see Wilbur still under the bed, waiting for him. But of course, he wasn’t. Judging by the silence and how dark the room was, Tommy could only assume he had gone to bed.

His eyes drifted over towards the small pile of food, still steaming. Hesitantly, Tommy made his way over to it and picked up the piece of bread he had thrown at Wilbur. It wasn’t as hot as before but it still held some of its warmth. It was soft in his hands with a spongy sort of texture. Tommy had had bread before but that bread had always been kind of old and stale. It was never like this.

He took a bite out of it and tears immediately welled up in his eyes.

Tommy had never eaten anything warm before. It was an unfamiliar but welcome feeling all the same. The dull cold he always felt was, for once, warmed by the food. It was amazing and that was just the bread.

He wiped his tears away as he continued to eat.

And later that night, as he laid on the ground with his thin blanket and a full, warm, stomach, he couldn’t help but think about Wilbur.

#g/t #giant/tiny #mcyt g/t #dsmp g/t #borrowers #au #borrower!tommy #human!wilbur #an unlikely duo #part 3 #fic #my fic #tommyinnit #wilbur soot

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mggpleasedontlookhere · 4 years

Text

endgame

request: Can I request a Spencer Reid imagine in which the reader is dating him and is part of BAU? Before they’re called in for the next case, they have a bit of a disagreement about letting her come along on this one. She ends up not going and while they’re gone, she gets caught up in a bit of trouble. She was close by when a building was struck with a bomb, she suffers with only minor injuries and when word gets out to Spencer, he goes back for her to make sure she’s okay and helps to take care of her

for: @fandomofyourchoice-89

word count: 1,941 reading time aprox: 8 mins

masterlist

My legs swung side to side on the chair that I sat on, my feet appearing and disappearing underneath the seat, while Spencer was creating a geographical profile on the board. His eyebrows furrowed and lines were etched on his forehead as he peered into the whiteboard intently.

“You okay there bubs?” I spoke out, taking him out of his trance. He responded with a small smile, running his hands through his hair as he sighed. Deep purple bags were evident under his eyes and his hair was tied up into a semi man bun. “That bad?” I empathize, stretching my arms out to offer him a consolation hug.

He dragged his feet towards me, accepting my warm invitation, before collapsing on top of me. “Oh! Geez- Spence- you’re so heavy” I groaned, the entirety of his weight suffocating me all at once. I looked to the office windows of the police station we were in, grateful that Spencer had closed all the blinds before we entered.

“You love me on top of you” He murmured into my neck, his lips slightly brushing against the skin, sending chills down my spine. I proceeded to smack him upside the head, earning a snicker from him.

“Spence please get off of me” I groaned, pushing my quaint arms against his chest. But to no avail, Spencer continued to lay his dead weight against me. I sighed in defeat, wrapping my arms around his head while I stroked the back of his neck with my thumb. Silence engulfed the two of us until I decided to speak up again. “Did you get anywhere?” I asked, running my fingers down his hairline.

He shook his head against my embrace, lifting his head up to look at me with tired eyes. “There’s just something- I feel it- but I just can’t place my mind on it” He grumbled, wearing an eminent frown on his lips.

“Well what is it?”

“This unsub- his victims right? They were found…” He trailed off, getting up to walk over to the board. “Here, here, and here” He pointed out, my eyes watching as he dragged his long fingers across the board. “But our profile doesn’t indicate that any of them would be his kill zones- or matter of a fact- none of them indicate any signs of his endgame” He sighed, placing his hands on his hips in frustration.

“Well Spence, I’m sure it’s noth-”

Suddenly Hotch barged into the room in a frenzy of impatience, the rest of the team following him at the same pace. “You’ve got to see this,” Garcia said frantically, placing her laptop on the table and furiously typed away.

I looked to Emily in confusion, but all I received was a shrug and a similar befuddled expression. I laid my eyes on the rest of the team, scanning their appearances, yet none of them seemed to budge. Finally, I paid attention to Garcia’s presentation of the unsub.

Something was obviously wrong, her fingers shook as she pointed to the board and she couldn’t keep a coherent sentence. “Garcia, it’s okay” I reassured her, giving her a small smile. But instead of receiving one back, her eyes became dull at the sight of me, quickly averting her attention elsewhere. I opened my mouth to add on, but decided against it as I gauged her reaction.

I was in my headspace, thinking about how Garcia responded to me until the mention of my name snapped me out of my thoughts. I whirled my head around, noticing all of my colleagues eyes on me. “What is it?” I laughed nervously, afraid that there might have been a target on my forehead.

My fears seemed to be actualized the second I turned around, my face morphing into mortification as I saw a candid picture of me with a big red ‘X’ across the page. My mouth fell agape while adrenaline ran its course throughout my body.

“Is that-?” I sputtered, looking to Spencer for confirmation, but he was too focused on the picture that he hadn’t taken his attention away from it. His fists were clenched, his chest heaved in an intermittent rhythm, and he hadn’t let a sound slip from his parted lips. “The unsub?” I looked to my colleagues, watching their facial features morph into pity.

Hotch nodded at me with hooded eyes, confirming my fears. My heart stopped and my body rejected the feeling of dismay that began festering inside me, shuddering at any malicious thought that permeated my mind. “We’ll be traveling to his most recent kill in hopes to apply the profile” He stated, looking to the rest of the team.

“I’m sorry Y/N” Garcia lamented with panicked eyes.

“It’s- uhh, I’m going to- I need a moment” I stuttered, tripping over my words as I got up and stepped out of the room.

It wasn’t the first time that an unsub had targeted me or any other member of the team, but this one was different; this unsub was the epitome of evil. The things he would do to the women he captured was far worse than death itself. He would violate these womens’ bodies and slice up their body cavities starting from their genitalia while they were alive.

When I first arrived on scene, my stomach churned at the mere thought of the event, refusing to go to the morgue with Morgan and Spencer. I felt violated just by the knowledge of such an evil being possible; now it’s an evil that could happen to me. It almost angered me that anyone could have such a putrid mind to think of such a thing, to carry on and blend into a crowd with bloodstained hands.

I paced back and forth, repeating a calming mantra in an attempt to ease my mind, yet nothing was nearly effective. I received a few wandering eyes from the officers that ran the station, but I pushed the judgement out of my head as it was too busy being engulfed in distress and acrimony.

The office door creaked open, indicating that someone had stepped out of the presentation room where I was previously in. I turned my head swiftly, my attention landing on the worried expression that Spencer wore as he approached me. My lips curled into a sad smile, hoping he would reciprocate my gesture to lighten up the mood, but to no avail his expression stayed stoic and grim.

“You’re not going on with us,” Spencer declared, an icy tone laced with his words. He made sure the door was closed behind him, whisper-yelling his command at me so we wouldn’t attract any unneeded attention.

“Spence- but I need t-”

“Please don’t argue with me Y/N” He sighed, combing his fingers through his locks, untying the man bun he wore previously.

“Spencer you see what this unsub is doing to all those women, I have t-”

“No you don’t Y/N- just please sit this one out” He pleaded, looking into my eyes for any sign of submission.

“Look Spence, I’m- god- I’m scared Spencer” I admitted, letting the truth wash over our encounter. “I can’t just stay here, I need to be out there doing something” I justified, hoping that he could understand and empathize with what I was feeling.

“Y/N you could do the same if you stayed here at the station- you can help Garcia and-”

“Spencer you have to understand-”

“No! Y/N” He impulsively blurted out, clutching the ends of his sleeves, which was usually an indication for his frustration. “You’re not going- I’ve already talked to Hotch and he said” He began to explain until I cut him off.

“YOU WHAT!” I exclaimed, but afterwards felt self conscious about the volume of my words. “You what?” I repeated in a calmer voice.

“Y/N I already talked to Hotch and he said that you’re off the case” He finished, belittling me like a parent would at their petulant child.

“So now you’re calling all the shots now, huh big guy” I scoffed, tucking my hands into my elbows. “You have absolutely no right to-”

“No right to what? To protect you? To keep you out of harm’s way?” Spencer combated, pulling me into a secluded corner that was farther away from the door and the crowd of workers in front of us.

“Not only are you commanding me not to go on the case, you had the audacity to tell Hotch to kick me off?” I spat at him, feeling every bit of fear I had previously dissipate and transform into enmity. “You’re unbelievable!” I exasperated, throwing my hands up and turning away from him. I was about to walk away to join the rest of the team, but I was forcefully pulled back by my wrist.

“Where are you going?” Spencer fumed as I yanked my arm out of his grasp.

“Away from you and to get myself back on the case” I jeered. I knew trifling with Spencer wasn’t the brightest idea, but messing with my career was a force to be reckoned with.

“Y/N can you not?” Spencer huffed, stepping in front of me to cut me off.

“Spencer I can take care of myself” I nudged past him, pushing him against his shoulder to make a few strides towards the room.

A heavy silence followed after the heated argument, the clacks that my shoes made against the stone floors enhanced the forceful steps I took. I felt every fiber of my being ignite in embers while I tried to recollect my composure. I peeked at Spencer through my peripheral vision, seeing his chest rise and fall in exasperation, the veins on his forehead bulging and prominent, and his hands being furiously wiped against the side of his pants.

Before I had the chance to turn the doorknob, Spencer had stopped me in my tracks with the sound of his voice. “Do you wanna end up like her?” He scoffed, gazing at me with a frustrated, yet desperate expression.

I titled my head in confusion of his words, almost ignoring him completely so I could proceed through the door.

“Do you wanna end up like Maeve?”

My blood ran cold at the mention of her name, feeling my heart clench for Spencer. I gripped the doorknob, hoping to alleviate the haunting feeling that washed over me. “That’s not fair Spencer” I warned, shutting my eyes, unable to face him.

“You know what’s not fair? You getting yourself hurt- or even worse- because you were too damn stubborn to listen to me-” He peeved. “I don’t know if you realize Y/N, but frankly I’m trying not to end up with another dead gir-”

“That’s not fair Spencer and you know it!” I repeated, meeting the coldness that was present in his usually warm eyes. I gritted my teeth, letting go of the doorknob as he slowly made his towards me.

“Then what’s fair Y/N?” He mocked, shrugging his shoulders in a petty manner.

“I’m going Spencer” I affirmed, standing my ground. His face seemed to harden at my words, the anger and spite in his expression growing into an irrational state. He glared at me, bumping into my shoulder as he brushed past me.

I wish that was what we left on; where he would storm back into the room with an exacerbated stature. But he decided to leave our encounter with a few words that were left to linger in the back of my mind.

“Come back dead for all I care”

part 2

taglist: @rexorangecouny @howdycharlie @linthebinbag

part 2 coming soon

also, i’m in my first year of university right now so most of my imagines will be two part-ers because of all the school work- if you’re curious im a biology major. thank you for bearing with me <3

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spideyobsessed · 3 years

Text

Before It’s Too Late Ch. 2

peter parker x avenger!reader

Synopsis: With all the life changing events taking place, will you ever get to overcome some of your biggest fears?

Might wanna read Ch. 1

You run and run and run until your legs nearly go numb. Bumping into people, tripping over your feet, the sounds of your heavy breathing getting louder and louder. There’s only one thought etching itself into your mind: Tony’s words.

If you got your powers from that thing, then I’m positive you can do a lot more.

A lot more.

Why now? After years of having these abilities, why now? It’s almost like the words he spoke yesterday were a trigger and now they’ve awaken something that’s been dormant inside of you.

I heal and that’s it. I heal and that’s it. This can’t be happening right now.

You finally take a right down an alleyway and slow down to a stop. No words can be strung together to perfectly describe the sensation you’re feeling. It isn’t painful, but you ache. Energy is surging through your veins, but you feel like you need to lay down and rest. You feel anxious, but if the circumstances were different, you can find this quite enjoyable. It’s confusing.

You sit down right next to a dumpster and bring your knees up to your chest, fighting the urge to let out a gut wrenching scream. You can feel something inside of you bubbling up and growing stronger. It’s a tight feeling, like your body is a champagne bottle and the cork is going to skyrocket any minute now. For a brief moment, you come to the conclusion that you are literally going to explode and accept your fate.

...you can do a lot more.

Your hands cover your ears, your thoughts ultimately becoming too loud for you to endure. It’s like all of your senses are heightening, yet numbing all at once. You can’t pull it together. Your face scrunches up as you unintentionally hold your breath. Useless.

Involuntarily, you let out a cry that you’re sure can be heard throughout all of Queens. You feel your body jerk harshly three times before, all at once, everything stops.

A breath of relief escapes your lips as you finally relax your tense body, but the anxiety remains. Nothing new. Your entire physique feels tingly. Too fatigue to immediately spring into action, you remain sitting in your spot.

After a few moments, you take in your surroundings. The alley, although it was noticeably trashed when you entered, looks horrendous. The dumpster is about three feet away from you now. The windows in surrounding buildings are shattered. Several car alarms are blaring.

“What just happened to me?”

- - - - -

“You better keep your little girlfriend in check, Parker.” Flash threatens Peter before purposely bumping into him.

Unfazed by him, Peter turns his attention to Gwen. “Uh, is she..” He trails off.

“Yeah, she’s fine! I should still go check on her though. Best friend duties, ya know?” Gwen chuckles awkwardly.

Ned speaks up, “I totally get that. Being the superior friend comes with a lot of responsibilities.”

Peter furrows his eyebrows before shooting a look at his best friend, who is supposedly superior to him. “Don’t act like you didn’t know.” Ned says simply, earning a laugh from Peter.

“Exactly! So I gotta go.” Gwen says as she tries to walk away from the dorky pair.

“Can I come with you? I’d like to check on her, if that’s okay.” Peter asks.

If this were any other time, Gwen would’ve agreed before he even finished his sentence. She’s been rooting for you and Peter from the start, along with several other people, considering you two have made your feelings for each other extremely obvious to every except each other. It warms her heart to see your crush of four years finally getting the courage to get to know you.

However, having seen your hands radiating that familiar glow with her own eyes, she has to lie.

“You actually can’t b-because she’s just...on her period?” She lies horribly, but it’s perfect enough to fool two young men.

Peter immediately backs off, understanding that it’s not really his department of expertise. “Yeah I think you got this. Tell her I’ll text her later please?”

“Gotcha. Bye guys!” She waves at them before fast walking in the direction you went.

The two boys stay in place, as quiet as they’ve ever been. Both of them are obviously thinking the exact same thing. They don’t even have to say it out loud, but of course, they do anyway.

“Dude.”

“I know.”

“DUDE!”

“I KNOW!!”

They giggle together happily as they do their signature handshake before sharing a celebratory hug.

“She’s so into you!” Ned cheers when he pulls apart from his best friend.

“Do you really think so?” Peter questions, “That could’ve been strictly platonic.”

“Trust me, man. It wasn’t! She’s practically in love with you!” Ned over exaggerates, but he wasn’t wrong.

Peter doesn’t respond to his comment, but instead looks down at the ground and smiles to himself. “

‘Does she actually like me?’ He thinks.

The short events of today made him even more excited for the party tomorrow. Although he’s nervous and still very doubtful about your feelings for him, he planned on confessing his feelings for you at the party.

Ned continues to ramble on about “the birds and the bees”, (Peter doesn’t even know how he got to that topic), when suddenly chills plaster Peter’s body. He lifts up his arm and sees that every single hair is reaching straight up.

“Spidey sense. So cool.” Ned chuckles.

“Not cool. That means something is wrong, Ned.” Peter states as he begins to let his legs carry him to wherever feels right. Coincidentally, it’s in the direction Gwen just went.

As he rounds the corner, just as you and Gwen did minutes before, he spots the blonde girl standing in the doorway of the girls’ restroom. Before he can even get halfway to her, he watches as you make a beeline for the nearest exit of the school.

“I thought you said she was fine.” Peter says, strolling up next to Gwen.

“I thought you said I got this.” She quickly retorts, hoping he didn’t see your hands or eyes.

“Yeah, well look how that went.” He responds back.

He takes a few steps to walk after you, but comes to an instant halt. Peter turns on his heels and walks back up to Gwen.

“I’m sorry, that was sort of rude.” He apologizes sincerely. He looks back at the door you stormed out of and back at Gwen once more, “I’m just worried about her. Something is telling me to go check on her.”

He lightly jogs to the exit before Gwen can spit out another lie to protect you. Peter pushes the door open with determination, the cool wind breezing against his face. His head snaps left and right, looking for any sign of you.

A group of girls chatting.

Someone rushing through their homework.

A guy skating across campus.

“There she is.” Peter mumbles when he finally spots you.

He’s able to take one step before being yanked backwards by his backpack.

“Leaving so soon, Mr. Parker? It’s not even lunch yet.” He hears the voice of his principal.

“Uhh I have gym class next. I was just going to get a head start on my mile.” Peter lies through his teeth with a sheepish grin.

He might be good at fighting crime and protecting his neighborhood, but if there’s one thing Peter can’t do to save his life, it’s lie.

The principal obviously saw right through him and chuckled dryly. With a firm grip still on his backpack, Peter gets walked back into the hallways of his school. His principal even takes it upon himself to watch the young boy walk into his next class, earning laughs and taunts from Mj.

- - - - -

It was only a few minutes into physics whenever Peter’s senses started sounding off alarms in his head again. His eyes scan the classroom, every student with their heads down and focused on their work. He glances at the teacher, who is steadily typing away at her laptop.

“Psst. Ned!”

Ned, who is sitting directly in front of him, turns around, surely prepared to make some outlandish comment. However, upon seeing the worry on his friend’s face, he decides against it.

“Spidey sense?” Ned asks simply.

Peter frantically nods his head, “I’m almost positive it’s Y/n. It feels different. It feels the same way it did whenever I thought she was being followed.”

He takes one more anxious glance around the classroom to make sure none of his classmates were eavesdropping.

“I need you to create a distraction.”

Ned gives him a single nod before swiveling his seat back to its prior position. He obnoxiously clears his throat, “Uh ma’am, I think there’s a mistake on this paper. Here let me show you.” He rises from his seat and as soon as he does, everyone hears a mysterious low rumble.

Peter and Ned make eye contact, knowing that it’s already too late. Whatever Peter was being warned about is already happening. Without a single notice, the entire school is shook by a harsh vibration.

Boom

The students begin to talk amongst themselves worriedly before another vibration strikes. Panicked yelps scattering all around the classroom.

Boom

“Everyone stay calm. There’s no need to get worked up.” The teacher attempts to calm the students, despite sounding panicked herself.

If every fiber in Peter wasn’t going haywire already, there’s no doubt that they are now. It’s almost like he can felt the movements before they happen. He flies out of his chair and peers out the window.

He’s not sure if what he’s witnessing can be seen by everyone or if it’s just his heightened senses. “What the hell is that?” He mumbles to himself.

Peter watches as a violent ray of purple aura heads straight for them, everything in its way viciously convulsing. His heart rate quickens as he turns to face his classmates.

“Everybody get down!” He shouts, the people surrounding him do not waste a second to fling themselves onto the floor.

Peter grabs a hold of Ned and together they hit the deck just in time.

Boom!

A purple wave is washed over them, shattering the large windows in the process. Glass flies everywhere as the terrified shrieks of each individual fills the air.

The wave left just as quick as it came. Peter and Ned are the firsts to pop up from the ground, breathing heavily with shaky limbs. They look out of the broken window and are absolutely astonished by the amount of destruction that was caused in such little time.

“Still think it’s Y/n?” Ned chuckles in amazement.

Peter doesn’t answer because at this point he doesn’t know what to think. He definitely doesn’t want to rule it out. Whether it was you or not, he can only hope that you’re okay...wherever you are.

“Okay ladies and gentlemen, we need to evacuate now! Get on your feet and start calling your parents, we need to move!” The teacher instructs.

Everyone hurriedly follows in pursuit.

- - - - -

You let out a groan as you slowly pick yourself up from the floor of the dirty alleyway. Aside from being a little lightheaded and having a slight sharp pain on your side, you’re feeling 100 times better.

You dust yourself off, taking another look around as you do so.

Okay. Maybe that stone isn’t amethyst after all. You admit to yourself.

A dry cough erupts from your throat as you begin to walk to... well you don’t know where you’re going. You don’t want to go home yet, just in case an episode like this happens again. You wouldn’t want to put Alice in danger.

Just as you exit the dimly lit backstreet, an old man with thinning white hair and a white mustache to match it speed walks over to you.

“It’s the damn aliens!” He shouts as he whips out a tinfoil hat.

Where did he get that from??

“It’s the aliens, I say! They’ve finally arrived!” The man continues to yell as he carries on.

He wasn’t the only one in a frenzy. Everyone roamed the streets talking to one another. Theorizing what great threat they think has struck New York now, complaining about their vehicles, using some pretty strong language.

The pit of anxiety residing in your stomach quickly turns to guilt. You’re fully aware that you couldn’t control your actions, but it doesn’t change the fact that you still caused all of this damage. The further you walk, the guiltier you begin to feel.

How far did it reach?

You thought you only affected a block or two at most, but now you are starting to believe you victimized the entire city.

“Kid!” You hear a familiar voice.

You snap your head to the left and see a black vehicle with tinted windows. In the backseat sits none other than Tony Stark.

“You are in huge trouble. Amethyst crystal my ass.” He scolds.

The door pops open, “Get in.”

Not having the energy to argue back, you slide yourself into the car.

“I didn’t do it on purpose.” you clarify.

“Well I sure hope not. Happy, to the tower.”

The drive wasn’t long, only about 20 minutes, but the silence made it feel like hours. You’ve tried apologizing multiple times, but every single time you were dismissed by the lift of a hand.

Once in the tower, you didn’t even have time to look around in wonder at all the high tech features of the place. You were put in a room with Tony sitting directly in front of you. His eyebrows are furrowed, eyes focused on you, and his leg is bouncing so fast he could drill a hole in the ground. He still has yet to speak a single word.

You open your mouth to say something, but your phone begins to vibrate. Instead of answering, you freeze, not wanting to make Stark even more upset, if that’s possible. You also don’t want to see all the angry texts from Aunt Alice.

“You gonna get that?” Tony questions.

“Oh, he speaks.” You attempt to make a joke, but you’re the only one laughing.

Your smile falters as you take your phone out of your pocket to see who’s calling. Peter.

The smile returns once you lay eyes on the goofy contact picture he took on your phone. As much as you want to answer, you figured it would be better to wait for another time. It would be sort of hard to explain everything. Especially while Tony is shooting daggers into your head.

You take a swift scroll through your texts.

Gwen: That was so cool and kinda scary at the same time! Was that you??

Peter: Hey! Don’t mean to bother, I just wanna check up on you. Sorry I say that a lot haha.

Peter: Text me back when you’re feeling better. I hope you’re okay!

Alice: Y/n, you NEED to call me back. NOW!

Alice: You’re not in trouble, I just need to know if you’re safe.

Peter: I also want to say thank you for standing up to Flash for me. Even though I totally could’ve taken him myself! Okay okay, sorry for triple texting!

You send Alice a simple message back just to ease her nerves and not ground you before locking your phone.

You look up to see Tony still staring at you quite intensely. If you didn’t know any better, you could’ve sworn he hasn’t blinked yet. You clear your throat.

“Look, Mr. Stark, I really didn’t mean for-“

He cuts you off, “No no no, it doesn’t matter if you meant it or not. That’s not going to reverse what you just did!”

His tone of voice makes your heart shudder, the guilt you were feeling from earlier returning. You decide not to talk again unless he tells you to.

Stark runs a hand through his hair in frustration before cradling his left hand as he pushes himself out of his seat.

“I know you couldn’t control it.” His tone is softer now. “It’s not fair for me to take my anger out on you, I’m sorry.”

You still don’t dare to say another word. He sighs and walks over to the window that has a perfect view of the city.

“I’m not really angry. I’m just...scared.” Tony admits.

This is not the man you’ve been seeing all over the news for years. Tony Stark has never been one to be so vulnerable and open about his feelings. Or anything for that matter. You sure as hell didn’t expect a superhero to ever get scared, much less admit it to someone he barely met yesterday.

“Scared of what?” You ask quietly.

He turns and makes eye contact with you once again, but this time you don’t feel like he’s ready to attack. There’s a beat of contemplation coming from him before he says, “The little outburst you had might’ve sent a signal to a really bad guy. A really bad, really powerful guy. His intentions aren’t the best, and it won’t be long until he comes here.”

You blink a couple of times trying to process what he’s telling you. If an avenger is this scared of some “guy”, then you really have a situation on your hands.

“He’s coming for me?” You squeak.

Tony returns to his seat in front of you, “Not technically. But he will be coming for the stone that you have locked away in a desk drawer.”

“So if I’m in the way...”

“He won’t be afraid to move you.” Stark affirms.

You sink down in your chair, taking it all in. How has your life completely flipped upside in just two days. Two days! Just as you might finally get a chance with Peter after crushing on him for so long, you possibly just devastated the entire city. Maybe the entire country. Maybe the planet. You don’t really know how bad it is, but you feel too sick to your stomach to bother asking.

“How long until this dude gets here.” You ask.

Tony snorts at your usage of the word “dude” when describing someone who has destroyed multiple planets, but of course, you don’t know that yet.

“Our very own time telling wizard gives us about a week. A week and a half, if we’re lucky.” He answers.

“Great.” You sigh as you pinch the bridge of your nose.

You take a look at Tony, who sends you a sympathetic smile. You return a defeated one, tears burning at the corner of your eyes.

“We’re not going down without a fight, kid. That’s the one thing I can promise you.” He says sincerely, trying to make you feel better.

Although you appreciate the sentiment, you don’t respond in fear that the lump in your throat will make your voice crack. Instead you change the subject.

“Why do you keep nursing your arm like it’s a defenseless baby goat?” You ask, earning a hearty laugh from the man in front of you.

“Well after 10 years of being one of earth’s mightiest heroes, you’re gonna walk away with some battle scars.” Tony explains.

You let out a light chuckle, almost forgetting exactly who you’re talking to. With a smirk on your face, you stand on your feet and walk towards him, “May I?”

He scoffs and gives you a strange look, but nonetheless, offers his hand. You take it with both of yours and close your eyes. It isn’t long until you feel the warmth of your energy flowing through your veins and to your palms. Tony watches in amazement as his hand is engulfed by the same sensation that shook the city just hours ago.

You finally let go and open your eyes just in time to see the dumbfounded look on his face. He closes his hand into a fist, and then opens it as he wiggles his fingers around.

“Who’s the happy fingers now?” You tease. “I can’t heal 10 years of injury after injury in one sitting, but it should feel a little better now.”

Tony is still shocked beyond belief. All he can do is let out small breathy chuckles and stare at this hand that’s nearly good as new.

“Y/n.” He manages to say.

You’re shocked to hear him say your actual name. Weirded out even.

Stark finally puts down his hand and gives you a look of astonishment.

“How would you like to be an avenger?”

Your eyes widen and your jaw drops. Tony Stark, aka IRONMAN, wants you to be an avenger. After you’ve wrecked miles and miles of property, he’s asking you to be an avenger?!

“What? I mean...w-what?!” You let out an incredulous laugh. “You want me to- even after every- I can’t..I-I..” All you can do is stammer.

“Well don’t say yes too quick” Stark rolls his eyes.

“Sorry, I’m sorry! It’s just that I didn’t even know the avengers were a thing anymore. I also don’t know the first thing about being a superhero. All I do is heal tiny animals and cure hangovers.” You ramble.

Tony stands whiles still wiggling his hand around, enjoying the extra mobility it suddenly has. “And if you can do what you did today in a more controlled manner, you’ll be unstoppable. A bit of combat training wouldn’t hurt either.”

You think it over in your head. What he’s saying makes a lot of sense. You still don’t know what happened to you today, and you’d love nothing more than to figure it out. Tony is the perfect person to help with that.

Being an avenger is a lot of pressure though. Only a week and a half to train and fight some “really bad, really powerful guy”? It’s impossible. You’d be way over your head. You would get yourself killed.

“I know it’s a lot to take in.” Stark saying, practically reading your mind. “But I believe you can do it, and I’m never wrong. Scratch Saturday, you’re coming in tomorrow for immediate testing and training. Expect to be here all day.” He orders, returning back to his assertive persona.

All day tomorrow?

“I actually can’t tomorrow, Mr. Stark sir.” You say a little under your breath.

“You what now?” Tony stops in his tracks.

“I-I can’t come tomorrow. I’m going to a party, I sorta have a date.” You explain, getting quieter and quieter after hearing how pathetic you sound.

It’s his turn to laugh incredulously, “Yeah, sweet cheeks, and the world is sorta in immortal danger. I’ll let Happy know he needs to take you home and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You don’t bother trying to protest or be a smart ass because he makes a very valid point. “See you tomorrow.” you say, mostly to yourself.

- - - - -

Three knocks echo from your bedroom door as you sit at your desk doing some chemistry homework.

“Hey hun! I brought oranges slices.” Your Aunt Alice shuffles past the doorframe. As she comes closer, the brightest smile on her face, You notice she made a smiley face on the plate full of poorly cut oranges.

You let out a giggle and set down your pencil, “Thank you Ali, they look great!” You begin to eat the juicy treat while Alice takes in the atmosphere of your room.

“Those weird earthquakes were crazy today, huh?” She absentmindedly makes conversation.

“Earthquakes. Right. Yeah it was crazy. They really shook me at the core.” You say sarcastically, soaking in the irony.

Alice only hums in response. You watch her eyes dart from your trophies and then to the chair with clothes piled on it and then to the plants perched on your window until they finally land on the picture of her, your mom, and yourself.

It was your 11th birthday and you had cake smeared all across your face. The memory is so vivid, you can still hear the beautiful melody of your mother’s laugh dancing through the air. It’s the last picture you have of her.

“I miss her too.” You speak quietly, fearing if you spoke too loudly, the memory would go away.

Her gaze returns to you, tears brimming her eyes and her smile a little less bright. “You remind me of her so much, Y/n.” All you can offer her is a warm smile.

You’ve already cried all the tears you had left. You clear your throat, “Thanks again for the oranges, Ali.”

She wipes the tears that manage to break free before placing a quick kiss on the top of your head.

“Take out will be here soon.” She informs as she exits the room, her cheerful tone returning.

“Sounds good.” You respond.

You take one more glance at the picture of the three of you before getting back to work. However, like most things here lately, you didn’t get very far.

“Shoo, shoo! Stupid bird. I hate you!” You hear a muffled voice coming from outside. You wouldn’t have found this odd, if you weren’t on the fourth floor of an apartment complex.

You rush over to your window and peek outside, and much to your surprise you see just the person you needed to see. You snicker before unlocking your window and pushing it up.

“Peter, what are you doing up here?” You whisper.

“Oh, ya know, just...fighting some birds.” He chuckles weakly at being caught.

You smile wildly at the sound of his voice and the sight of him covered in feathers. You’re feeling too giddy to even question how he got up here. “Get in!” You move out of the way so he can crawl into your room.

Oh my god. Peter Parker is in my bedroom!

You hurry to shut the door, so Alice doesn’t see a boy in your room. You turn back around to see Peter stealthily make his way past your potted plants. He hops in with a soft grunt.

“Hi.” He says shyly once he finally looks at you.

“Hi.” You say back in the same tone.

Peter looks down at his hands, causing you to just notice he’s holding a plastic bag. “Um this is for you. You never answered my texts so I thought I should just...sneak by.”

You take the bag from him and sit on your bed, Peter copying your actions. Your breath hitches as your shoulders touch.

OH MY GOD!

You pull yourself together enough to take a look in the bag.

There are several things inside. Two chocolate bars, your favorite ice cream, a large bottle of water, a box of tissues, and a dvd of your favorite movie.

You look towards Peter with the softest smile to ever lie upon your lips.

“What’s all this for?” You nearly whisper, your heart aching at the gesture.

“Gwen mentioned that it was that time of the month for you, so I brought you some things. I asked her for your favorite snacks and stuff.” He explains as his face burns with a rosy tint.

You’re not on your period, so you just assume that Gwen covered for you earlier today. She could’ve come up with literally anything else because her lie is kind of embarrassing, but you’re not complaining at the moment.

After you don’t saying anything in response, Peter starts to ramble nervously. “I’ve seen this movie once, it’s pretty good! I don’t know if it’s Star Wars level good, but I’d recommend it to someone. Now that I think about it, I don’t know why I brought you a copy. If it’s your favorite movie, you probably already have it so that’s kinda stupid of me I guess. Did you know that-“

You could listen to this boy talk for hours and hours, but for now, you interrupt him with a tight hug. It takes him a second to process, his mind and his heart going just as crazy as yours. He recoups soon, wrapping his arms tightly around your lower back.

“Thank you, Peter. You really didn’t have to do this.”

“I just wanted to make your rough day a little better.”

And that, he did. More than he even knows. The two of you hug for a little while longer before pulling apart, your faces only inches away from each other.

You gulp as you look into his brown eyes. You’ve never seen them this close before. Chills are sent down Peter’s spine, but for a different reason this time. A better reason.

His eyes begin to flutter shut as he leans in and you mirror his movements.

It’s finally happening, and so fast too! Peter Parker is now literally in the palm of your hands. You try your best to maintain your excitement. Another uncontrollable episode is not what you need right now.

You can basically feel his lips on yours already. Your first kiss with Peter...

“Y/n! The food is here!”

...was too good to be true. Of course.

The sound of Alice’s voice makes you and Peter jolt to opposite ends of the bed. You run your hands over your face and let out an exasperated sigh. “Yeah Alice, I’ll be right there!”

The air becomes still as you and Peter look at everything in the room except for each other. He’s the first to speak up, “Well uh, I should let you go eat.” He rubs his hands on his legs.

“Yeah I probably shouldn’t keep my aunt waiting. She’s scary when she’s hangry.” You joke to lighten the mood.

You both share a small laugh before you walk Peter over to the window he’d just entered through.

“Thank you again for everything. You’re a really good friend.”

He doesn’t show it, but that word just stabbed him in the heart. Friend.

“Anything for you, Y/n/n. You should go, I don’t want you to see me climbing these walls.” Peter says truthfully, but plays it off as a joke.

You laugh along with him, “Call me if you hurt yourself. I have ways to fix ya up.” You say truthfully as well.

Neither of you catch on to the other’s honesty.

You give each other an endearing smile before parting way.

Once your back is turned, you whisper to yourself, “Friend? Why did I say that?”

Here’s one more thing to beat yourself up about all night long.

“Y/n, The food!” Alice yells, the hunger taking over.

“I’m coming!” You should in an equally frustrated tone, but because of a different type of hunger.

/ / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / / /

Sorry it took a while to post this chapter!! I tried making it longer than the others to make up for it :)

Omgg my Tom fic, The “Friendship” Test is currently sitting at 800+ notes, that’s insane!! Thank you guys so much, I know I say that a lot but I truly mean it!

((excuse any typos, i write at night))

tag list 🏷 (lmk if i missed you or if you want to be added!)

@jackiehollanderr @crazylittlereader2474

@phantomhrt @sassystay-bunny @sltwins

@bigassnocash @pignolithecookie

@big-galaxy-chaos @lilyblackx @jjjmaybank

@peterandtom @meilikki

@the-avengers-assembling @voldyphobia

@lumiees @frostay

@lupinpetersclearwaterodairparker

@mikaofasgard @empath-bunny

@neoneun-nananeun-neo @themoonlightofari

#peter parker x reader #avengers x reader #peter parker x avengers!reader #bucky barnes #peter parker x stark!reader #bucky barnes x reader #tom holland x reader #peter parker #tom holland #sebastian stan #peter parker fic

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ppersonna · 4 years

Text

i’ll float away - myg | m

they show you how to swim, then they throw you in the deep end. what if I don’t float? - float, the neighborhood.

↳ summary- years after the breakup, yoongi, a successful award-winning rapper with an unhealthy addiction, finds your wedding invite on Facebook.

↳ rating- explicit/18+

↳ word count- 12.6k

↳ pairing- yoongi x reader

↳ genre- idol!au, postbreakup!au, very heavy angst, smut, fluff

↳ warnings- discussions of drugs and death, penetrative sex, oral sex (m/f receiving), creampie, dirty talk, min yoongi being a mental health king

↳ a.n- hi everyone! some of you may recognize this fic. this fic is my baby. i went through and edited it a little more and put all the chapters together to make it a one shot. i think it flows better that way! i hope you enjoy this. this fic means so so so much to me and while it’s heavy, i hope you enjoy the ride it will take you on. this fic got me back into writing and i will forever be thankful for that.

↳ this fic contains adult content, such as drug use, discussions of suicide, accidental overdose, discussions of drugs and addictions. while this is not romanticized, or idolized, it is discussed. please take care of yourself and proceed with caution. 18+ | discretion is advised.

‘We cordially invite you to the wedding of…’

Min Yoongi felt numb.

Yoongi always felt numb, but this felt different, wrong. Like he was falling and had no ledge to grip.

It felt as if the world had stopped on its axis, and at any moment, gravity would turn off and he would just float, float away to nothingness.

There was no sound. Everything existed in silence.

His fingers couldn’t move. Eyes were glued to his phone screen where he stared at the wedding invite on fucking Facebook.

He wasn’t even sure why he was seeing it, considering you had blocked him on nearly every form of social media. Likely it was from your family, someone that still kept him around despite a million reasons not to.

It felt like centuries before Yoongi noticed his heartbeat again. And when it did, it hurt. It threatened to break his ribs, tear through muscle and sinew, erupt from the skin to go, get away, run run run from this.

The numbness was gone. Now all he felt was the pain.

Yoongi felt like his every cell, every fiber, was burning. Perhaps, they were mourning.

Perhaps, they were dying.

Water dripped onto his phone and it took him a few stunted breaths to realize the water was coming from him, pouring from his eyes like open wounds.

The numb silence surrounding him left him, and now he was too alert, too aware. The sounds hit him like a tidal wave.

His body was reacting years before his brain could catch up. He could hear himself crying, choking on his sobs, and at first, it didn’t register as his own voice wailing your name.

And then emotion erupted and smashed into his psyche, nothing standing in his way to protect him.

He was heartbroken.

He had felt nothing in years, refused to face the sorrowful demons lurking around him. It was easier to hide, to run. It terrified him to think of what would happen if he allowed himself a chance to feel again. He didn’t think he would make it out alive.

Alive.

Was he? Had he been living since that day? He wasn’t sure. He breathed, ate, drank, fucked, but he wasn’t positive he was alive at all.

Living? Sure. Existing? Yes. But alive, he couldn’t determine.

Now that he could feel every ounce of pain, his body accepted it tenfold. His throat felt angry and raw. He must be screaming—he thought. His fingers pricked with pins and needles as if they hadn’t moved an inch since the day he last touched you, refusing to believe you were gone. His arms wrapped around his own chest as his body wracked with sobs.

Yoongi hadn’t cried in years. He hadn’t allowed himself to cry, hadn’t given permission to his mind to even think about it. Surely, once he started, he was confident he would never stop.

His mind reeled. He was only half aware of where he was, what he was doing. It wasn’t until he felt his legs moving, feet shuffling to his nightstand, that he realized what was happening.

He didn’t want to feel. His mind, in an effort to protect, to avoid, was doing the only thing Yoongi knew to do.

He grabbed the bottle of Oxy’s, poured out a handful and contemplated swallowing them.

He didn’t think he wanted to die. To be frank, he felt he was already living in purgatory. He just wanted it to stop, to end, to retreat into nothingness and stop fucking crying.

Swallowing them wouldn’t do. He would fall asleep, and likely stop breathing. Too much. He couldn’t die. He knew in his mind he would feel too guilty to die. He didn’t want death; he merely wanted respite, sanctuary.

He could continue surviving as long as his nerves dulled and frayed, mind sticky and hazy. Exist. Don’t feel.

With skilled hands and tools, Yoongi crushed some pills into a fine powder and sat on his bed to arrange the drug into 4 lines.

He always felt better this way.

He would add a line of coke had his situation been different. It was his go-to, enough to keep himself present, to do what he needed to get through the day while still feeling dissolved. Sing, dance, record, smile for the cameras, sign for the screaming girls, plaster on that boyish smile, repeat.

He just wanted to sleep.

His body worked on auto-pilot. Yoongi was sure he was still heaving with sobs. He could feel his chest shaking, and his hands were unsteady.

You were getting married.

One bump. Inhale. Hold it. Don’t think. Breathe.

Someone else was holding you, smiling as bright as your future. Handsome. Kind. Family man.

Alive.

Second bump. Inhale. Don’t let it go. Breathe.

He imagined your hands on someone else’s body, your voice crying out in throes of passion in someone else’s ear. Whispering someone else’s name as you succumbed to your climax.

Third bump, then straight to the fourth without stopping. It burned as it passed through his nostrils, straight to his bloodstream.

Children, a home and a dog. Family dinner. Movies, laughter. All of them without him. An outsider staring in through the window, wondering what it could feel like to be within; wondered what it was like to get what he wanted.

Yoongi leaned back on his bed, feeling the slow, syrupy wave wash over him.

‘Please, take it away’ he pleaded silently as if the drug were his doctor, his therapist. It was, in many ways. ‘I’m not strong enough.’

His eyes drooped and felt like lead. He was tired. So tired. He could feel his sobs slow, before ending in quiet little whimpers and sighs. His breathing mellowed, and he felt his chest deflate for what felt like hours before his lungs pulled in harshly more air.

He ached but felt as if someone had pulled a blanket over him, over his tortured heart and crumbling brain. No more thinking, just sleep. Can’t feel, can’t cry, don’t want to face it.

Sleep.

Warmth.

Warmth surrounded him. It felt as if he were napping in the shady grass during summer. Warm and comforting.

You were there, in the meadow of his imagination. You were walking to him, a white dress and pretty flowers. Yoongi felt his heart tug at every artery in his body, as if begging him to stop, heel, resist, don’t go.

“Yoongi,” You called across the valley. Your dulcet voice rang through his head as if you spoke directly to his mind.

“Where are you?” You asked.

In a blink, you were in front of him. Your eyes were searching for him, even though he stood inches away.

He opened his mouth to beckon you, but no words came out. He was desperate to call out to you, embrace you. He strained to move his hand. He wanted to touch your cheek, feel real and alive again. His body would not respond.

“Yoongi, go!” You pleaded, eyes filling with tears, still seeking the male. “You can’t be here!”

His body stung, wincing at your words and aching at your distress.

“Yoongi, you need to wake up!”

The warmth faded.

It felt as if something had ripped his comfort blanket from him, exposing his body to the harsh chill of reality.

He could sense he was in a bed, and the lights were bright, so bright. He tried to open his eyes and groaned as the halogen pierced through his skull.

“Yoongi?! Oh my god, he’s waking up!” Distressed voices were too loud all around him, and he felt pokes and prods and beeping of machines.

“Ow-… loud.” His voice was rough as if he hadn’t used it in days.

Yoongi felt more acutely aware of his body as he struggled to wake up. He was so nauseated, stomach churning ferociously, even though he hadn’t eaten since… how long? He wasn’t sure. He wanted to vomit.

He wanted to sleep.

He lifted his eyes again and peered through the harsh lighting. His best friend Hoseok stood over him, along with Namjoon, his manager, and Jimin, his assistant.

Hoseok had tears in his eyes, and the sight made Yoongi wince with grief. Hobi hadn’t cried since high school when he got cut from the dance team. Something awful must have happened.

“Hobi…,” he murmured, coughing to clear his throat. “What happened? What’s going on?”

Adjusted to the light, Yoongi finally glanced at his surroundings and took stock of his environment.

He was in a hospital; he was the patient. An IV was stuck in the crook of his arm, his skin ghostly pale, enormous bags of saline attached overhead. He felt faint.

How had this happened? Did he hurt himself at practice? Was there a car accident? Yoongi could remember driving home from the dance studio but felt foggy about anything else. He didn’t even know what day it was.

His friends blanched at Yoongi’s questioning, side-eying each other. Who would have to be the one to tell him?

Hoseok’s eyes flooded with tears again as he looked at the rapper and spoke. “Yoongi… you-… you OD’d.”

The words hit him like an oncoming train.

Overdose.

It had never happened to him before.

He nearly died.

He had, unfortunately, been in the game long enough to watch it happen to others. Some were lucky to make it out okay, most weren’t.

It all flashed painfully in his mind as it all flooded back.

You. Marriage. OxyContin.

Inhale. Don’t breathe. Don’t feel.

“Oh, my god.”

Hoseok let out a soft sob. “Jimin found you in your bed. Thank god you keep Narcan.”

Yoongi turned to glance at the gentle, pink-haired boy who had already done so much for him. Yoongi felt wrecked, utterly guilty for putting him in such a situation. How many times had Yoongi had to force a needle into a friend’s thigh, watch as their pinpoint pupils widened and lungs gasped for air as their synapses released? Too many. Each time kept him awake all night and petrified for months. He regularly kept the overdose reversal drug on him, in the studio, in his home.

“Jimin,” he croaked, his own eyes filling with tears. “I’m s-so fucking sorry.”

Jimin couldn’t hold back the tears in his eyes anymore. “It’s okay, Yoongs.” Jimin’s voice was quiet, trembling.

Yoongi felt the tears slip down his cheeks at his best friends and team. He had put so much on them. So much.

“You saved my life, Jimin.” Yoongi’s quiet voice made the assistant cry more.

“You’d do it for me.” He whispered through tears as he pushed forward and fell into Yoongi’s chest, holding the rapper close. “Let’s just… get better, y-yeah?”

The rapper’s heart seized up.

Better.

What was better? Surely, Jimin meant rehab. Sobriety. Meetings and sponsors.

To Yoongi, it meant feeling. It screamed hurting. It oozed heartbreak.

When Yoongi had been introduced to drugs at the beginning of his rap career, it had been fun and sexy. They used coke at the hottest parties, weed at all the clubs, acid at the raves. Yoongi sampled each like a buffet, found out which made him feel lightheaded and loose, which made him dizzy, which made him ache.

The drugs led to the girls. So many women begging for him. The cloudy haze of his mind found it hard to resist, even knowing you were still his, still waiting for him as you and he promised with thin silver bands symbolizing your shared devotion and dedication.

Therefore, drugs led to regret.

He left you. Days before your wedding. He exposed all of his misdeeds, his infidelity, his vices. He had promised you after he was famous, rich, well known that he would come back to you, start a family with you.

Instead, he turned away and left.

It was easier to avoid it all and leave; he rationalized. Seeing your heartbreak had been his undoing.

After the breakup, Yoongi self-medicated daily. He stuck with opiates and cocaine, finding it just the right combination to get him pleasantly numb from the guilt and loss of you while giving him the euphoric high he needed as a rising star rapper.

He had tried to keep it to himself as long as he could. Hoseok knew about the recreational use but hadn’t realized the extent of the problem until he found Yoongi too high to function, slumped in a chair in the recording studio.

Hoseok told Namjoon, his manager, who interrogated Yoongi’s assistant, Jimin. None had known quite how far Yoongi had spiraled down. And none had an idea to pull him out.

Yoongi didn’t want to go to rehab. He didn’t want the forced positivity. Group therapy. Social workers discussing ‘goals’ and ‘treatment plans’. He would risk his reputation. He was now a top-earning Grammy-winning artist. He was fucking Agust D. He couldn’t be just another celebrity who ended up in rehab. It would ruin everything he built. He could do it himself, fix his problems alone as he always had.

“Yeah.” Yoongi croaked to his assistant. “I’ll get better.” His smile was weak, and probably unconvincing to the three men who knew him best.

As Namjoon opened his mouth to speak, a knock sounded at the door of his room. Yoongi’s brow furrowed in confusion. He did not know who it could be, the three people he interacted with most already present. His accountant? Wouldn’t seem likely. A fan? Definitely unlikely, Jimin and Namjoon had likely taken major strides to ensure his privacy and ask the hospital to provide security. Was it… you? Yoongi stopped breathing at the thought.

Namjoon strode to the door and opened it a crack, peering out. Yoongi couldn’t see who the manager was whispering too, but moments later watched as the door swung open.

It wasn’t you. He felt relief. He wouldn’t have been able to look at you. But the guest was only slightly better.

Your mother.

The matronly woman’s eyes were full of tears. Yoongi’s mother had been your mother’s best friend from childhood, to the very day Yoongi’s mother passed away from breast cancer. Yoongi had been 17, void of any motherly contact at such an impressionable age.

Your mother had stepped in, no doubt or worry in her mind about caring for the teen. He was already such good friends with you and she even encouraged and supported the underlying feelings the two had for each other. Yoongi became family and nearly a son-in-law.

Even after the breakup, after breaking your heart and leaving you at the altar, your mom still kept in contact with him. She still reached out, celebrated his achievements and ensured he was well. She was the picture of forgiveness and compassion.

Yoongi crumbled at the sight of her, suddenly feeling like a teenager again, and sobbed as she moved forward quickly to embrace him. Namjoon, Hoseok, and Jimin stepped outside to allow privacy and Yoongi clung to the only mother figure he had.

“I’m sorry. I’m so s-sorry.” He bawled.

He didn’t know exactly what he was apologizing for. For hurting you? For avoiding her and the entire realm of anything concerning you? For almost killing himself? Maybe a mix of it all.

His chest hurt, god it hurt so bad. It felt as if all ribs snapped from the crushing weight of his sorrow and guilt.

Her hand smoothed his hair, mint-colored now, and held his face to her neck and cried with him.

“Shh,” She soothed. “It’s okay, little lion.”

Yoongi cried harder at the childhood nickname from his deceased mother that followed him to adulthood with the woman holding him.

Yoongi couldn’t stop crying. It wouldn’t end. It felt like an endless river, a torrential storm that never passed. He felt raw, ripped from the inside out.

“You’re alive, Yoongi.” She whispered and kissed his forehead. “You’re still here. I love you.”

He wasn’t sure what he had done in a past life to deserve this kindness and unconditional love. Yoongi knew he didn’t deserve it, especially not from the mother of the girl he loved and broke completely. Not from the woman who he promised to make a grandmother, only to turn away and leave destruction in his wake.

“She’s getting married,” He choked out, the pain in his chest overwhelming him at his own words, so consuming he felt devoid of air. He gasped, struggling to breathe at all. “T-that should be me.”

She sensed this and squeezed her eyes tighter, hugging the boy closer to her as sobs wrecked his tired, thin body.

“I know, love.” She whispered. “I know.” She had no words to quell the heartbreak, just as she had many years ago when you laid across her lap, crying over the boy you loved completely. Words wouldn’t fix the wounds. She could only provide comfort; a band-aid on a bullet hole.

Yoongi allowed himself to sob, fully cry until he felt he might pass out. She held him, rocked him like a child, whispered words of comfort as his breathing eventually slowed and even out. His sobs turned to sniffles, and though he stopped crying, his eyes remained glassy and broken.

He had stopped crying; he noticed. The tears had stopped flowing, the thick pleas escaping his throat dried. But he hadn’t stopped the hurt. It felt as though the hurt was a gaping, infected, open sore that would never heal. He could hide it from the world, cover it up for none to see, but he couldn’t ignore the sting or the pain with every breath.

Yoongi steeled himself to look into the eyes of his comforter, preparing himself for the look of pity or disappointment in her look.

He bit back another cry as he only found compassion, comfort and unconditional love in her gaze. He didn’t deserve her.

“Please, don’t tell her,” he pleaded. “I can’t…,” he gulped. “I can’t let her know about this.”

She grimaced. “I’m afraid it’s too late for that.” She sighed, stroking her fingers through his mint colored hair. “She wanted to come to see you, too.” Yoongi groaned and felt his heart clench. “I told her it wasn’t the best idea.” She murmured. Yoongi was suddenly comforted and struck by how very much he did not deserve the grace of this woman.

“Fuck,” he sighed. “She thought I was clean. That was the last thing I told her.”

He recalled the last time you two had spoken when he promised to get clean. Instead, he had left and spent the next few years in a haze.

“I think you should talk to her,” she admitted. “Not now. Not until you feel better, but she was distraught at the news.”

The idea of seeing you again plowed through him like a freight train.

“Sure,” he whispered. He couldn’t understand why you’d be concerned. You had swung choice words at him as he left, insults he deserved. “Maybe.”

Yoongi spent more time with his mother figure, comforting him and whispering sweet revelations and promises to keep in touch before his doctor interrupted and encouraged Yoongi to get rest without distraction.

Soon enough, he was alone again. Stuck in the too bright, too white, sterile room he had landed himself in because of his grief.

His attention diverted between the discomfort of his withdrawal and the gaping wound of having to see you again.

Even if he made it out sober, withdrawal free, he wasn’t sure he would make it out for long.

He tried to stay away, stay clean. He managed for a few weeks, immersing himself in writing an album and using his creative expression to medicate his wounds. And it worked.

Until it didn’t.

It started with the marijuana. He couldn’t resist the way it helped soothe everything. Not just the pain, but the world around him. He could sink into his bed, write away his feelings and worries, and relish in the sensation of absolutely nothing.

That lasted for a few weeks. He’d try to smoke every day, but the darkness continued to creep up, wrapping around his throat like a vice.

He demanded his schedule to get busier, to get tighter, despite the warnings from Namjoon. He insisted on shows, award dinners, radio interviews, everything. If he was busy, he wouldn’t think about you. He could survive another day if you weren’t the first thing on his mind.

That’s when the cocaine started again.

It helped him muster the energy he needed to plaster on Agust D, rapper extraordinaire. He could sing, rap, dance, wink at the girls, sign the scantily clad flesh, throw back a shot of vodka and charm the press.

A few lines of coke every few hours pushed him forward, and towards his end.

But he was handling it. Wasn’t he? Wasn’t he working, being successful, making money? He was rich. He was famous. He was beloved. He was shining.

Did it even fucking matter?

The shine made his shadow darker. It made his fall from grace longer, more painful.

It didn’t fucking matter.

Yoongi found himself at the corner of the park, the same one you two had grown up playing in. It was in the center of the neighborhood you two lived. It was where he first chased you around the swings, laughed with you over comics at the picnic table, and fucked you for the first time in the parking lot in the backseat of his car.

He couldn’t stop the memories rolling over him like a boulder, crushing his lungs and threatening to snap his bones into nothing more than dust.

It stunted his breath. He felt as if pulling in a full intake of air was impossible.

He finally sucked up his faux courage and scheduled a time to meet you here at this park. The park that held such significance to both of you.

If he thought it was hard to breathe at the memories of the park, it was even worse when you walked towards him, and planted your feet in front of him.

There was nothing. Stillness. Absolute silence as you both felt as if the barometric pressure dropped around your vicinity. A vacuum. Nothing but you two, and so much hurt it was palpable.

“Y-You’re getting married-..” Yoongi broke the silence, voice dry and quiet. He wanted to say more, but couldn’t. He couldn’t look anywhere but his feet. Didn’t want to see a ring around your finger that wasn’t from him.

You nodded, tears welling in your eyes. “Yeah, I am.”

Yoongi couldn’t look at you, couldn’t look you in your eyes. It was too much. Too painful. Those eyes used to look at him with so much love, so much pride. He couldn’t bear to see what you held in them now.

“Great, that is great,” his voice was flat. “Happy for you. I hope it goes well.”

You cringed and turned your face up to stare at the mint-haired boy. The man of your dreams. The one who took so much and left you with nothing.

“Hoseok told me what happened.”

Yoongi closed his eyes, as if blocking out the words. Fuck. Of course. You and Hoseok were still close; it was bound to happen.

His world now was so dark, so ugly. Yoongi couldn’t bear ruining you any more. You had been the iron rod and lamplight that led him through the darkness. You were his lifeline. Without you, all stability, all light, gone.

“Yeah,” was all he could muster, flickering up to look at you. You were staring back, eyes full of unshed tears.

Yoongi inhaled sharply, feeling each tear from your eyes as a knife to his chest. He hadn’t seen your eyes in so long. Staring at you was like leaving a hand on a burning stove.

“Are you still using?” You asked. Your words weren’t callous or cruel. You asked to gather information, to determine an opinion, not to pass judgement. Yoongi knew you meant no harm and found himself powerless to lie to you, anyway.

“Just…,” he let out a puff of air anxiously. “Yeah, sort of. Weed and some coke, I guess. Nothing else.” He rubbed his neck anxiously.

Your lips set in a line, and your eyes flicked back down, sadness washing over your features. He could feel it rolling off of you in waves, lumps building in his throat.

“I miss you,” He admitted, words tumbling out before he could catch himself. “So fucking much. I know this isn’t fair, and I know that I fucked up. I just miss you more than anything else in the world.”

At first, you laughed. Yoongi felt as if someone had punched him.

Then you cried. Yoongi felt as if he had been shot, point blank in the chest.

“You’re right, Yoongi. It isn’t fair,” You walked closer to him, a mix of grief and anger. “You ruined my fucking life.”

You pushed against his shoulder. “You left me at the fucking altar. You cheated on me.” The tears came faster down your cheeks. “Then, you almost fucking died. And my mom won’t stop crying. And I can’t stop crying, I fucking cry my eyes out because my wedding is in 2 months and I realize I will never get over you.”

Yoongi felt another shot, execution style, to the head. He couldn’t speak and watched your anger, accepting the jabs to his chest.

“I thought I was happy, Yoongi. I really thought I would get the wedding and life I wanted so badly, and you took it away from me. Twice!” You were sobbing, pushed even closer against him. “You almost fucking dying made me realize I don’t want that life with him. I want it with you, you fucking inconsiderate asshole!”

Yoongi couldn’t bring himself to speak. Any elation he might have had about hearing your revelation was quickly quelled by the fire of your anguish.

“And, now you’re still using and there’s no way I could even think about seeing you high. I love you so much and it fucking hurts me knowing you do that to yourself, accepting no sort of fucking help. You can’t do it all yourself, Min Yoongi, no matter how fucking great you think you are!”

He couldn’t reply. He had no words, nothing of value to add. You were right. He couldn’t find a single argument. Your body pressed so close to him and his body ached. It yearned to close the distance and feel your shape against his, slotting together so easily as you always had. It was magnetic. He could almost weep at how badly he needed to hold you, to feel you, to touch you again.

You watched him, unable to stop the flow of tears you promised you would never shed for him again. “Look at me.” You asked quietly.

Yoongi’s own red-rimmed eyes lifted to yours. He looked so broken. So raw. He was crying, years of built up sorrow pouring down his pale cheeks.

You closed the distance and pushed together your bodies, wrapping your arms around his neck and resting your face against his neck. He smelled as he always did. Dove shampoo, Old Spice, laundry detergent. You knew Yoongi nearly down to his DNA.

You lifted your face level to his and pressed a kiss to his lips. He felt no heat in the kiss, no desire.

It felt final, resolute.

“Goodbye, Yoongi.” You whispered, pressing your forehead to his.

And you turned. And you left.

And another piece of Yoongi’s broken heart slipped away with you.

Yoongi avoided any semblance of routine. He couldn’t focus. He couldn’t feel anything but ache. He saw you in everything he did.

He tried to stay away from the drugs. He sincerely did. He knew the risks. He knew he had nearly died.

But he could not bear to take the pain anymore. He could not continue fighting his very breath, forcing himself to breathe even though it hurt too much.

He was still standing on the outside of your world, so far away from you. It was so cold. He didn’t remember what warmth was. He didn’t think he deserved to remember, either.

It was easy to score a baggie of smack. Yoongi had plenty of money and connections. But Yoongi had never done heroin intravenously. He had smoked it with his old dealer, the first man he ever had to revive with Narcan. IV use scared him. But it was what he could get a hold of, and what he needed.

Tie off. Fill up. Inject. Hold it. Breathe. Don’t feel. Release.

It washed over him quickly, the same fuzzy warmth that started at his toes and slithered up to his head. It felt headier than snorting it, less of a slow rush, more of an instant dive into warmth. Comfort.

The knot in his stomach loosened. Yoongi relaxed against his pillows and inhaled deeply before exhaling. He could breathe again.

He was so sleepy. So tired. He could sleep again without the torment of his dreams. He could live again without feeling his shattered heart. No hurt. Only comfort.

His only love.

He wasn’t sure how long he slept for. He didn’t dream. He couldn’t recall if five minutes had passed or five days. His head pounded him back to reality as he woke, and he realized it was dark outside his bedroom.

His phone was still on his bedside table. He checked it and groaned. It was the next day, next evening really. He had slept over 24 hours. He felt like shit.

The nausea and the chills came soon after. He felt as if he was burning. He couldn’t stop puking, even with minimal content in his stomach to begin with. Sips of water would come back up. His fever got worse. He became so drenched in sweat he stripped his clothes and sat in a bath, hoping to sweat the fever out. It chilled him to the bone. He was so hot, and so fucking cold at the same time.

Yoongi cried as he held himself in the tub. He was alone. He was withdrawing. He wanted more, god he wanted to sleep and feel good again, didn’t want the sickness or the grief. It was so much. So fucking much.

His fingers danced along his phone, dialing your number out of habit, out of a need to hear you.

“Why are you calling me, Yoongi?” Your voice, flat, asked through the phone.

Yoongi croaked. His voice was hoarse due to disuse for over a day. “I fucked up, baby.”

Your heart clenched at the sound of the pet name. It had been so long. God, you had missed it so much. You missed him. You fucking hated him for it.

“Are you okay?” You asked, concern edging out the anger at his call.

“No,” he sighed, shivering and holding his knees to his chest. “I sh-shot up.”

He could not stop the whimper leaving his mouth. “I’m withdrawing. I w-want to keep using it, but I can’t!” Yoongi sobbed, openly weeping at the physical and emotional pain. “I’ll fucking die again. I don’t want to die. I love you.”

Tears poured down your face, heartbroken at his words and actions.

“Yoongi, where are you?”

Yoongi quickly replied. “I’m at home, in the bathtub. The front door is locked,” He whispered. “I don’t think I can stand.”

“I still uh… have my key.” You admitted. Yoongi felt his heart clench, unsure of what to make of that idea.

Yoongi remained in the bathtub, holding himself and shivering violently when you arrived on scene. Your heart, already so broken, shattered at the impact of seeing the love of your life and the cause of your heartbreak, suffering.

“Fuck,” you whispered, quickly grabbing towels and kneeling by the tub at his side. “Yoongs, let’s get you dry, okay? Can you stand with me?” You grasped his clammy arms and allowed him to use your weight to balance himself on shaky legs.

You were so gentle. So compassionate. Yoongi felt his resolve breaking, wanting nothing but to wrap you up and never let you go again, tell your future husband to fuck off and allow the rapper to take his rightful place.

With your help, Yoongi stood and allowed himself to be dried. He normally would have felt the stirrings of arousal at such an intimate gesture, but all he felt now was unbridled affection and overpowering guilt.

You led Yoongi to his bed, settling him on the soft surface while you moved to dig through his drawers for clothes.

“Don’t make me go to the hospital,” he pleaded softly. You stole a look back at him, at his words.

“Yoongi, you need to see someone. You’re not okay.”

He shook his head. “No, I’m… I’ll be okay. I’ve gone through the worst of it already.” He rubbed at his sweaty forehead. “Will you just stay with me? I’m so cold.” He shivered.

You glanced at the man on the bed. He was thin, so sickly thin. While he had always maintained a lean physique, it looked as if the rapper hadn’t eaten in weeks. His skin was sallow, paper white with bruises on his arms and legs that seemed onyx against his alabaster skin.

You weren’t sure you could argue with him, but he definitely appeared less ill for wear now that he was out of the bath and dry.

“Yoongs,…” you breathed, dropping the clothing in your hands. “Let me hold you.” All reservations were held back. The anger dissipated. You couldn’t fight the need to help him, to nurture and hold him.

You moved to tear your thick jacket off your frame and toe out of your shoes before making towards the bed. Together, you took hands and slid gently in between his sheets. Yoongi’s body was trembling. He didn’t know if it was from the withdrawal or his proximity to you.

You pulled the blanket up and over your bodies, pressing yours against his thin body. His skin was freezing, forcing out a shiver of your own.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, forehead leaning to press against yours. You didn’t reply, not sure you’d be able to form words.

You laid in a long, comfortable silence as your warm hands rubbed along Yoongi’s arms and back, willing the blood vessels in his body to expand and return his heat. His breathing was even now, but occasionally let out a groan. He couldn’t tell if it was a groan of pain, or of pleasure. Your hands on his skin felt like heaven and hell, wrapped in one.

Everything he loved and lost in one package.

Bringing him to life and sentencing him to death.

“I love you,” his voice was shaky, quiet.

You nodded, tears now easily slipping past your cheeks. “I love you too.” There was no use denying it. It was clear in the way you ran to him, in the way you held him tightly, as if he would disappear without you pressed up against him.

His lips found yours easily, as if magnetized. The kiss was slow, gentle. You felt your own tears slide down your cheeks and meet his own. Yoongi couldn’t help them, couldn’t help the simultaneous ache and burn of your touch again.

His hand slid to rest on your hip, underneath your shirt, pulling you even closer. The kiss deepened, tongues swirling in each other’s mouth, searching for each other in the only place you knew.

It didn’t take long for your shirt to come off, and Yoongi’s hands to slide down your hips to push at your jeans. This wasn’t passionate or steamy. It was broken, desperately seeking comfort in the solace of each other.

Once your clothing laid strewn across the floor, Yoongi wrapped his thin arms around your waist, pulling you as close to him as he could. He could feel your breasts press up against his chest and was positive you could feel his hardness pressing into your thighs.

He didn’t want to fuck you. He wanted to love you, to feel you again. He wanted to hide inside you. He wanted the security that being buried deep within you once gave him. He wanted to feel alive, feel you. It seemed he could no longer separate the difference.

His tears wouldn’t stop flowing, neither would yours.

There was no foreplay, no teasing or edging. Yoongi laid you back against the pillows and kissed at your tears, eyes boring into yours to seek consent. You nodded, opening up your legs as a response. You needed to feel him too, fill the ache inside of you that widened each day without him. Yoongi lined himself up and slid into the familiar, inviting heat.

You muffled a cry, thrilled at the feeling of him filling you completely. You missed him. You loved him. You hated him. You never felt more complete. The thought made you cry more, both in pleasure and in sorrow. The man bringing you so much pleasure had wrought so much sadness and pain.

Yoongi kept a slow pace, uncaring about orgasms or getting off. His desire to be within you was void of sensuality at this point. Yoongi only wanted to be within you, to feel safe, to feel anything again. He felt alive.

Alive.

His thrusting moved quicker as your lips met and danced together, pouring out emotion through unspoken gestures. He didn’t have the words, couldn’t tell you every single thought ran through his brain. He hoped he could convey them to you here, in each roll of his hips.

Yoongi felt his release quickly approaching, unsure of how to proceed. He wasn’t sure what the moral code for cumming inside your ex fiancé was. He groaned as he kissed you.

“I love you, I’m close. Where…?” He hoped you would understand his broken question.

You sighed with relief, feeling yours coming quickly too. While there had been no fire, no passion, the unadulterated emotion coursing between the two of you was enough to bring you close to completion.

“Inside me, please,” you sniffed, gasping at the tendrils of orgasm beginning to wrap around you.

Yoongi pressed his face against your neck, leaving salty kisses as he felt your channel pulse around him in completion, triggering his own end. He momentarily thrilled at his cum coating your cunt again, but the thought quickly left him. Not that kind of night, nor that kind of fucking. Your moans were quiet, and he merely breathed a soft sigh into your neck.

It only took a moment for the reality of it all to hit you.

You had just fucked your ex. Who was in the middle of a withdrawal. While you were engaged to another man. Who you had no desire to ever see again.

Fuck.

Yoongi pulled himself out of you, but pressed you close against him. Despite the agony in his head and his stomach from the pain of withdrawing, he felt secure again. He felt, for a minute, like he was finally on the inside of his dream, no longer looking in from the outside.

It was quickly wrenched away as you slithered out from under him, your tears quickening.

“I need to go,” you murmured. “I can’t believe I-we…,” you shook your head as you pulled your clothes on quickly. “I’m engaged.”

Yoongi winced and sat up as he watched you. “Yeah,” he felt his own tears slip down his cheeks. “I’m sorry. Fuck, I’m so sorry.”

“You’re always sorry, Yoongi,” you snapped. It felt like a dagger to his heart.

He was. Always so sorry. He rarely felt anything other than sorry.

You felt guilty at the look that crossed his features. Fuck.

“I’ll-… I’ll call Hoseok to come check on you. Okay?”

Yoongi remained solid and didn’t move, only tracked you with his eyes as you shoved yourself into your coat and cried as you put on your shoes.

“Goodbye, Yoongi,” you whispered. He wondered if it was the last time he’d see you.

The door closed; all that was left of his weak heart left with you.

Fuck.

Sorry. Always so sorry.

Yoongi mulled that phrase through his mind since you left.

He was sure at this point sorrow and grief fueled his body alone.

He stopped caring, only subsisted on weed and whatever cans of food he found in his kitchen, or what Jimin would leave out for him. He stopped caring. The minuscule amount of care inside him evaporated.

He felt like he was wandering an empty, dark pathway with no light. No end in sight.

He hid from the world, stopped all the press conferences, the interviews, the shows. He dropped out of a three-month tour of Europe, one that would have brought him significant money and status. He wasn’t sure he could even perform anymore, drugs or not.

The tabloids started running about him then, too. Tales of drug addiction, of his deep and dark secrets he tried to keep away. They spun false tales of illicit sex, arrests, gang connections, violence. His career was on the precipice of crumbling around him.

He shined, he burned bright and fast.

Now, he was ashes on the ground.

He burned through his money, ate nothing but packaged ramen and beer, and cried himself to sleep at night.

His life was fucking pathetic.

Namjoon avoided him, only talking to him about business-related concerns and the press. Jimin remained steadfast and loyal, constantly checking in, but only looked at him with pity and sadness. Hoseok refused to spend time with him, citing his concerns about watching his best friend die in front of him.

Losing everything eventually broke him.

He stayed up all night, every night, so drugged out his mind, and cried. He looked at old pictures of you and him, of his best friends, memories of a time much easier and happier.

He had lost all of it.

For something that was going to fucking kill him.

He let you get away. He lost his friends. All for trying to be rich and famous. And that was quickly slipping through his fingers too.

It was time to stop. It was time to stop fucking around.

It was time to end it all.

With one last jab of the needle, Yoongi slid away.

Far, far away.

Rehab wasn’t as bad as Yoongi had painted it out to be.

There were group meetings, individual therapy, social workers and their treatment goals. There was crying. There was pain, so much it felt overwhelming. There were the withdrawals, likely the worst aspect of it all. The nausea, the fever, the stomach churning. He wanted so badly to end it, just use one more time to stop being sick.

But there he found healing. He found each time he cried, a piece of his heart built back up, sturdier this time. Each dry heave of sickness brought him one step closer to never feeling it again.

He found camaraderie. He found wellness. He found his muse and his passion again.

He met new friends, Taehyung and Jungkook, both fellow opioid addicts. Through them, they formed a bond of sobriety and perseverance. They held each other accountable and held each other close through their subsequent relapses and returns to rehab.

Yoongi started working out, started putting weight back on in places it was meant to be: his cheeks, his arms and thighs, around his ribs. Jungkook was a personal trainer and guided him through personalized workouts and a nutrition plan. Yoongi found peace in each 60 minute cardio or weight-lifting session with his new best friend. He realized he could pour out all his pent-up emotions through his sweat, his hard work.

Taehyung was an artist, a phenomenally gifted and talented man. Yoongi felt inspired by him. Yoongi wrote and wrote. He wrote songs, poems, stories, rap lines. He found that what he couldn’t release physically through his training, he could release through his gift of creative writing.

Yoongi released his album from rehab, with the help of Namjoon. He merely titled it ‘goodbye’. Taehyung’s creative muse helped him finish the lyrics to all his songs. Yoongi felt cathartic, releasing his last record, an ode to Agust D and a goodbye to the live fast, die young lifestyle he no longer wished to partake of.

Yoongi’s therapist, Kim Seokjin, likely made the biggest impact on him. Yoongi learned about love, actual love. Loving yourself, respecting yourself, allowing yourself to feel the entire scope and range of emotions.

It was amid a therapy session with Jin that Yoongi decided he wanted to be a therapist.

Yoongi stepped out of the spotlight, out of the lifestyle of the rich and famous, and Yoongi returned to school in the fall for his Master’s in Social Work, with Jungkook at his side working towards a degree in exercise science and Taehyung working towards a Master’s in Fine Arts.

Yoongi followed the Narcotics Anonymous guidelines to a T. He admitted to himself his faults, his addiction. He attended all meetings, called his sponsor regularly and in emergency situations where the need to use was so overpowering he felt he might give in. He apologized to Hoseok, Namjoon, and Jimin. It was important to him to mend those relationships. He felt it was important to right the wrongs he brought upon them over the last five years.

He apologized to your mother. He visited her weekly, checking in on her and surprising her with her favorite foods and flowers. She bought 6 copies of his newest album, and together they wept over the lyrics, the intricately weaved storyline, and the stunning change the boy made.

She attended his graduation, too. She cried when Yoongi slid the tassel on his cap to the right, to the left. Yoongi felt a rush that drugs never compared to as he shook the hand of the president of his university and held that thick roll of paper.

He had accomplished something. He had done something; he had worked through incredible odds stacked against him and achieved it. No longer was Yoongi content with watching his life slip by in a haze.

Yoongi became a therapist, a social worker. The same people he thought would drag him down and ruin his career and reputation were the same people who lifted him out of his darkest place.

Min Yoongi, social worker.

He liked that better than Agust D, dead rapper, anyway.

Yoongi was leaving work, a group home for adolescent men suffering from addiction, when he ran into you.

His horn-rimmed glasses framed his face and newly bleached blonde hair fell around his forehead.

His heart stuttered at the sight of you. It all came rushing back.

Pain. Sadness. Drugs. Addiction.

You smiled at him, surprised to see him looking so healthy. You had heard all about his progress from your mother, eagerness and pride in her voice. But seeing him was as if walking into another dimension. He looked fit, strong, healthy, intelligent. Frankly, he looked sexy.

“Hi,” you meekly croaked, a blush floating to your cheeks at the thought of finding your ex so dashing.

“Hi,” he replied, a soft smile filling his lips as he practiced his mindfulness to allow the self-sabotaging thoughts to work themselves out, replaced with hopeful and insightful ones. Min Yoongi wasn’t afraid to feel anymore.

He wanted to talk to you. He wanted to ask you out. He wanted to kiss you. He wanted to fuck you.

He felt mildly guilty about wanting to fuck another man’s wife, but shook the thought away. He would settle for talking. You may have been his ex fiancé, but you were also his childhood best friend. He craved to just settle back into that role, alone.

“Do-…” he faltered for a moment, then swallowed harshly and summoned courage. “Do you wanna grab a coffee with me? I was just headed to get one.” He pulled his backpack tighter to his back, unable to part with the bag that guided him through school and into a real-life job.

You nodded, finding it hard to speak. “Yes.”

Yoongi couldn’t stop staring at you. You looked so beautiful, so different while still so similar. Your hair was longer, healthier. Your clothes fit well to your body, accentuating your curves and sliding down elegantly and conservatively. Your eyes glistened with something. Maybe it was hope. Maybe it was desire.

“I heard you’re a therapist now,” you murmured as you clutched the hot matcha latte in your hands, sitting across the tiny wood table from the ex-rapper.

Yoongi blushed and nodded. “Yeah, I am.” You didn’t miss the way his voice sounded so confident, so proud. “I work at a group home for young men with substance abuse addictions.” He smiled, poised and content. The pride clear on his face had never been there when he was a musician.

You couldn’t help the hard beat of your heart. “Wow,” you sighed. “That’s incredible, Yoongs. Mom said she’s proud of you,” you gulped. “I’m proud of you, too.”

Yoongi took a moment to nod graciously, feeling a swell within him. You were proud. Of him.

“How’s errr…” he faltered, not remembering the name of your fiancé, or husband now, he supposed. “Your husband?”

You blanched at the words. “Oh, we, umm, didn’t get married. It didn’t work out.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I had no idea.”

You looked at the blonde boy, a smile reappearing on your features.

“It’s okay. It was for the best,” you surmised. “Everything happens for a reason.”

Yoongi caught the look you sent and smiled. “You’re right.”

You two fell into easy conversation. He told you all about his new best friends from rehab, Jungkook and Taehyung, and how seamlessly they fit into the friendships he already had. He discussed stories of their escapades in graduate school and how Namjoon, his manager, quickly fell in love with Seokjin, his therapist, and how Yoongi had played matchmaker for the couple. He discussed concepts he learned in therapy, in school, and now in his practice as a therapist.

You were enthralled and captivated. You were so unabashedly in love with Yoongi and realized you had never stopped.

“Care if I walk you home?” He asked, standing suddenly as he finished his chai, holding out his hand.

Your heart leaped, and you nodded, chugging down the rest of your drink and slipping your hand into his. He felt warm, strong. So much different from the pale, thin, clammy man you slept with years ago as he suffered through withdrawal.

This wasn’t the Yoongi of your childhood, who wanted to be famous. This wasn’t the Yoongi who broke your heart, who wanted to hide away in his substances. This was a culmination of all the Yoongi’s he had been and became. A strong, broken, healed, confident, loving man.

“I would love that.”

This was the Yoongi you were meant to be with. The man who you loved more than life itself.

Yoongi had courted you again since that initial coffee date. He sent flowers to your workplace, asked you out to lunch, kept things simple, proper and conservative. Yoongi was in this now, for the long haul, and wanted to prove his devotion to you.

While in rehab, they had forced Yoongi to face the fact that everything he did in relation to you was self-sabotaging, self-deprecating; a self-defeating prophecy. Facing that was his greatest struggle through his entire treatment process. He fought against it, even relapsed a few times because of it, and refused to accept that as a possibility.

Yoongi, with the help of Seokjin and his new friends, found that a world that didn’t revolve around you was finally a world he could live in, possibly thrive in. While you could exist in his world, making you his sole singular reason for breathing was dangerous. In that mindset, being without you meant dying.

Yoongi had finally lived for himself. Not for the money, the fame., the status, the reputation, or even you. Yoongi loved himself, as he was. Broken and healing. Addicted and sober. Yoongi lived for Min Yoongi, alone.

When he started seeing you again, he reached out to Seokjin. He was terrified that diving back in to you would be his undoing. Seokjin, in all his wisdom, spoke words of comfort.

“She is not your entire world, Yoongi. You are your entire world,” he spoke gently through the phone. “She can be part of your world, an enormous part of your world, but she cannot be the entirety. Life does not stop without her. Life is better with her, but does not end without her.”

Yoongi had been so obsessed with the idea of never having you, that he lost you. He stopped loving himself, stopped caring about anything but you and the pain he caused you.

“You hurt her, yes. But, it appears she is ready to forgive you now. Are you ready to forgive yourself and allow yourself to be vulnerable?” He asked the blonde boy.

Yoongi rolled the idea through his mind. “Yeah, I think I am.”

“You are allowed to love and be loved by who you want, Yoongi, but do not make your entire existence rely on that. Loving yourself will extend into all other relationships. And do not allow yourself to be consumed with the mistakes you made a long time ago. Focus on what you can do today. Living in the past causes us the most pain. Do not run from the pain, allow it to sit within you and give yourself permission to hurt, and then move through it.”

Yoongi allowed it all. Every emotion, every feeling. He cried. Jesus, he cried so much. He remembered that he used to think if he started crying he would never stop.

It was true, mostly.

But what Yoongi didn’t know was that within all the crying, all the pain, was a high unmatched by any substance that could be snorted or injected or smoked.

Yoongi no longer hid himself from feeling the darkness, but he allowed himself to remain in it until the light came back. And it came back ten thousand times stronger.

Yoongi felt encouraged to continue seeing you and progressed in his career and treatment. He took you on dinner dates, movie dates, picnics and theme parks. The only reservation was the lack of physical intimacy. He would hold your hand, kiss you, rub your back, but he always left your apartment without lingering. He wanted you to get to know him again, all of him, before he took that step. He wanted to do this right.

It was at the most recent date where things changed. It was a relaxing picnic in the park, the two of you laid in the soft sun-warmed grass, your head resting on his chest.

Yoongi felt content at the feeling of holding you against him. He thought of the dream he had when he was overdosing, nearly dying. Being so warm in the valley and meadows of his imagination, brain synapses firing off as his body shut down. You had been there, pretty white dress, telling him to go back, to wake up.

He admitted this to you, spoke out what he had told no one before. While he knows Jimin, with the help of Narcan, saved you, his subconscious attributed his revival to you.

“I’m in love with you, Yoongi,” you admitted, gently and easily with tears clouding your eyes, as you both watched the clouds roll by.

Neither of you had uttered those words since you held him in your arms and within you as he came down from his high so long ago.

Yoongi let the words soak over him. If he thought drugs had been like a warm blanket wrapping him up, this was like an absolute inferno of satisfaction and comfort.

The arm he wrapped around your shoulder pulled you close.

“I’m in love with you, too.”

Yoongi pressed you up against his wall, lips crashing into yours as his hands desperately sought the skin of your waist.

After the picnic, Yoongi suggested taking you back to his place for a movie. The charged energy in his car on the way there spoke volumes, knowing you wouldn’t be watching a movie by a long shot. A giddy grin lit up your features.

“God, I missed this,” he mumbled against your lips as his hands lifted your white sundress you bought specifically for the date with your ex-fiancé, now-boyfriend.

You moaned an affirmative reply, gasping as his hands rolled over your breasts, encased in creamy satin.

“I missed you,” he mumbled over your lips, hands tugging down the cups of your bra to rub against hardened nipples. “You’re so pretty, so warm.”

You couldn’t hold back any sound, gasping and keening at his touch. You were soaked, absolutely dripping, from his ministrations against your neck and breasts. You missed him too. Your short-lived engagement had ended without a wedding, for the second time in your life, and you pined after the boy who stole and broke your heart completely.

Yoongi pulled away from you, using the separation to tug the dress up and over your head and to gaze at you. Your breasts were haphazardly pulled out of the bra, your panties becoming slick against your core. Yoongi was sure he had never felt a pleasure this strong in any high.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” he murmured. Your cheeks heated, you couldn’t help it. Hearing him speak so gently, so lovingly, after so long and after so much pain flooded your senses pleasantly. His words wrapped around you like cashmere, warming and smoothing every inch of you.

“I need you, Yoongi,” you whispered, hand reaching towards his erection tenting his jeans. “Want to please you.”

Yoongi hissed at the feeling of your hand against his length. He nearly came right then. He hadn’t slept with anyone since your last time, the most heartbreaking sex he had ever had.

The feeling of you both crying as he entered you kept him turned off of it for over a year. And now you were back, pliant in his arms, and most of all, happy. He never wanted to see your anguished grief during sex again, or ever, if he could help it.

Your eyes looked so determined to please him, how could Yoongi say no? He nodded and leaned forward to kiss you, before switching positions and resting his back against the wall.

You thrilled at the switch and quickly dropped to your knees. Being on your knees in front of Yoongi was so familiar, so comforting and so incredibly hot. He looked so good. You could tell he had been working out. Muscles shone through his skin, and detailed lines appeared at his obliques and hip flexors. He was mouth watering. You missed him.

You loved him.

You made quick work of his jeans, unbuttoning the black denim and pushing down the zip and sliding the tight pants down and off his legs. He stood in his tight underwear and shirt, eyes so full of love and grace, staring down at you. He couldn’t believe it was happening again, and on such better terms.

Yoongi knew he had so much to make up to you, so much trust to build and apologies to promise you daily. Yoongi was grateful you were giving him that chance again.

Within moments, Yoongi’s boxers laid on the floor next to his jeans and his thick, heavy cock laid hot in your delicate hand.

Yoongi nearly cried at the sensation. Not only had it been long since any stimulation, it had been so long since he had been with you. The fact it was you again after all this time held the most significance to him.

Your eyes flicked between Yoongi’s thick and delicious cock, and his own face. No longer was the selfish, uncaring man present from so long ago. No longer was the drugged out, sorrowful, too thin addict in front of you.

As you pressed a gentle kiss to the tip of his cock and swirled your tongue around the tip, you felt amazed that you now had the confident, lovely, compassionate Yoongi you were in love with.

Yoongi groaned out loud, uncaring if Jungkook or Taehyung heard from their respective rooms in his shared apartment.

“Oh fuck, baby,” he whined, sucking air in through his teeth harshly. “So good.”

A smile danced upon your features as you stroked each vein and ridge of his cock with your tongue, flicking at the space he liked most. The resulting gasp encouraged you more. With a quick, deep breath, you lowered your mouth and fully encompassed his length in the hollow of your throat.

Yoongi nearly screamed, pleasure coursing through his veins as you allowed him to fuck your throat, a mix of gentle and rough. Your moans spurred him on and the visage of you with your lips wrapped around his cock and saliva streaming down the sides of your mouth nearly forced his undoing.

“Shit, C-Christ, baby,” he gasped. “I’m gonna cum if you keep that up… fuck.” He grabbed at your hair to gently pull your mouth away from him.

You pouted for a split second, already missing the luscious heat and weight of his hard cock gagging you. The pout was quickly wiped away as he wrapped his arms around your waist and carried you to the bed, unable to stop the giggles escaping.

“My turn then,” he grinned as he pushed you down to lie on the pillows. He quickly disrobed you of your bra, tits now fully on display. He sucked one into his mouth, tongue swirling over the bud, while his other hand pinched and tugged at the opposite. He remembered how much you enjoyed the pain of nipple stimulation. The thought made you wetter.

“Yoongi, holy shit,” you cried, dazzled at the pain in your nipples as he bit down gently at the one in his mouth. “Yes!”

Yoongi couldn’t help the smirk on his face as he switched hands and nipples, sucking the other harshly now and twisting at the wet and red nub he released.

“So good, princess,” he cooed. “So good for me.”

His mouth moved south, kisses burning up your skin as he trailed. He suckled at skin here and there, leaving delicious marks on your abdomen and thighs. You loved being marked by him, even more so now.

Yoongi groaned as he pulled your satin panties down your legs. Your cunt was slick and sticking to the fabric. His mouth watered at the sight.

“My sweet, you’re so wet for me. All from sucking my cock?” He murmured, teasing you by kissing at your thighs. “My dirty little princess.”

You mewled in response, aching to feel him where you needed it most. Words escaped you, unable to speak except in moans and sighs.

Yoongi looked up at you, watched your cheeks turn pink, your nipples hard and moistened from his mouth, marks of him all down your body. His cock throbbed, and he rubbed himself against the bed once to relieve some tension. He could hold himself back for now, but he knew as time passed he would be absolutely aching to plunge into your depths.

“I missed this cunt,” he pressed a kiss to the mound. “I’m sure you taste just as perfect as you always have. I’m drooling for you, baby.”

“P-please, Yoongi, I need you,” you begged, squeezing your eyes closed in desperation. “So wet.”

“I love hearing you say please, little princess. So sweet.” He kissed the outside of your lips, between your thighs. He loved teasing you, getting you absolutely fucked out before he even touched you.

“Please, oh god Yoongi! I need you so badly!” You were desperate now, nearly tearing up at the ache in your pussy.

“I can’t resist you when you put it like that,” he teased, before finally descending on your cunt. His mouth swirled around, sucking on your clit. You gasped your satisfaction at his touch, finally satisfying that burning desire.

Yoongi took his time, ensured pleasure at each twist and flick of his tongue. He fucked into your cunt with his tongue, groaning at the sweet taste of your channel. His mouth suckled at your clit, transitioning between harsh sucks, and tongue flicks. As he flicked up against your bundle of nerves, he slid two fingers into your pussy, hissing at the tightness.

“So tight, my sweet,” he whispered. “Can’t wait to feel you on my cock.”

You groaned in reply, nodding quickly. Your fingers tugged at your nipples, relishing in the painful stimulation there and hot mouth coaxing an orgasm out of you.

“Close, Yoongi!” You gasped, unable to complete a sentence. “Right there! So close!”

His fingers thrusted faster, slipping a third to stretch you out. His tongue fired rapidly against your clit, suckling and swirling as he went.

“Yes, baby, cum for me. Cum on my fingers, my love.” He encouraged, panting with excitement, to watch your undoing.

It only took Yoongi’s salacious words and skilled mouth and fingers toying a few more moments for the orgasm to completely take over. It rolled over you like an avalanche. You screamed in delight, gasping as you felt your channel grip his fingers and milk them as if it were his cock.

Yoongi believed he was watching heaven, itself. You looked divine, radiant. The feeling of your convulsions around his fingers made him whine, cock head oozing pre-cum and begging to be stuffed inside your heat.

“Fuck, my love. You came so good, you did so well for me,” he praised. “I love this cunt. I love watching you scream for me.”

Your breath was heavy, chest heaving with exertion. Every nerve, every synapse felt alive, alight with ecstasy.

“I’m going to fuck you, my sweet. I will fuck you and love you, all fucking night.” He sucked at the wetness on his fingers as he pulled out of you, before he kissed back up your body to your lips. The kiss was hot and messy, all teeth and no grace or finesse.

“Please, Yoongi, I need to feel your cock,” you gasped.

Yoongi could not delay any longer. His cock felt as if it might implode if it wasn’t buried into you. He pulled your legs up to his shoulders and gazed at your open slit.

“Mine,” he whispered as he lined himself up and allowed your pussy to swallow his length.

There were no words, no accurate description or way to describe how being inside you again felt. He couldn’t put into words the feeling of your slick heat hugging his cock close, your body heaving with ecstasy, your mouth crying his name in joy and pleasure. Yoongi would go through hell a million times over again to feel this again, to feel the physical and emotional love and pleasure he felt here.

You were his, again. He could work to make it right.

Yoongi started a slow pace, transfixed at the vision of you taking his cock so well. Your gasps and whines encouraged him.

“You were made for me,” he whispered as he quickened. “This tight little pussy was made for me, to love and to fuck and to ruin.” His words left his mouth without thought, acting on instinct alone. “You’re all mine. Only mine.”

You clutched at his arms, lifting your hips to meet his harsh thrusts. “Yes, baby, yours!” Your voice was five octaves higher. “All yours!”

Yoongi turned feral, his dominating internal narrative spewing from his lips. His cock thrusted into you quick and fast.

“That’s right, my love. All fucking mine. Gonna fuck you so good every fucking day,” he promised through gritted teeth. His thumb ran down to the apex of your thighs and rubbed at your clit. “Gonna fuck all my cum into you, baby. You’re mine.”

He continued his ministrations and your pussy felt like the definition of pleasure, itself. Sparks felt as if they erupted from your coupling. You cried his name, gasping at his possessive promises.

“Gonna marry you, baby,” he intoned. “Gonna make you my wife.” He felt his end coming close, your shattered cries and impossibly tight cunt bringing him soaring to the edge.

“Gonna fill you with my cum, gonna make you nice and fucking pregnant with our children,” the idea thrilled both of you. “My fucking perfect wife all swollen with our children.”

You agreed loudly. “Yes! Fuck me! Fuck, I want your baby!”

“That’s right, my little love. Your greedy cunt takes me so well. I know you want all my cum, wanna be nice and full for me.”

The end was nigh, you could feel the burning in your stomach blaze higher and higher. You begged him for more, harder, deeper, which he was more than happy to oblige.

“Fuck, babe, I’m gonna cum, gonna coat your tight little pussy.”

It only took a few more rough poundings before Yoongi crushed your lips together. Your orgasm washed over you with the power of the sun. Your eyes nearly rolled back into their sockets, gasping for air against his lips as your body convulsed. You moaned loudly as your walls pulsed around him, as if begging him to give you more and more.

Yoongi closed his eyes and soaked in the feeling, biting your bottom lip as he spilled into you, moaning your name with each pulse. The feeling of emptying himself into you rivaled the highest emotion he had ever felt. It felt like the ultimate expression of his love, his devotion.

He held you close as you both breathed heavily, allowing the afterglow of intense orgasm to bathe you in serenity. He carefully slid his cock from within you, groaning at the sight of a slow drip of seed following out your lips.

“I love you,” he murmured, leaning to kiss your lips tenderly this time. “I meant what I said. I want you to be mine again, forever.”

Tears sparked at your eyes, feeling more full, more loved, more warm than you had ever felt before.

“I love you, Min Yoongi.”

Yoongi held you in his arms as he showered you, kissed your body in the warm water, dried you gently with soft towels, and pulled you close in his bed. You melted against his body perfectly, two puzzle pieces who had been trying to force themselves into the wrong spot, finally coming together.

‘We cordially invite you to the wedding of…’

Min Yoongi felt anxious.

His stomach flipped. His palms were sweaty. His breathing was faster.

A warm hand landed on his back as the ex-rapper stared at himself in the mirror.

“You did it,” a gentle voice spoke. Yoongi looked at the male through the mirror.

“Jimin,” he breathed, feeling a bit of his anxiousness float away with his friend’s words.

Jimin smiled, pink lips puffy and sweet as always.

Yoongi felt his heart clench slightly. Jimin was the one who saved his life, who stuck a needle in his thigh and revived him when Yoongi was on the verge of death. He choked up at the idea that being here wouldn’t have been possible without the pink-haired boy.

He gazed at his trusted friend, no longer an assistant but a constant companion in the tight group of 7. He wanted to tell Jimin so much, thank him for saving his life, for pressuring him to check into rehab, for feeding him when he was too drugged out to care.

Yoongi didn’t need to say anything. Jimin understood at the tears pricking Yoongi’s eyes. Jimin’s cheeks turned pink, and he nodded slowly.

“You deserve this and more, Min Yoongi,” his voice was full of such care and sincerity. “I may have revived you, but you saved your own life. I just gave you the spark to continue it.”

Yoongi had started his adult life as an addict, as an award-winning musical artist with platinum albums and money, status, reputation. Grief had consumed Yoongi, along with regret, sorrow, loneliness.

Yoongi fought back, pushed against the odds.

Yoongi was beginning a fresh life—as a recovering addict, a therapist, a best friend, a husband.

He smiled at himself in the mirror as his groomsmen surrounded him and joined in the moment of happiness. It was peaceful. It was joyful. Yoongi smiled at each of the 6 men who affected him.

Hoseok, from childhood who allowed him to face the ugly fact that he was killing himself. Namjoon, his nurturing manager, who protected him at all costs and stood by his side through each dirt-dredging tabloid. Taehyung, his creative muse, his inspiration. Jungkook, his reason for health and wellness, his comedic relief. Seokjin, the therapist that changed his life and course of his future. Jimin, the man who saved his life, who accepted and expected nothing in return except Yoongi’s sobriety and happiness.

Together, the men walked out of the dressing room and orderly into the reception hall.

Yoongi took his place at the altar, the very one he left you at, and inhaled a breath.

The piano played gently, a soft and light version of the traditional song. It sounded ethereal. Yoongi felt as if he was flying.

The large, oak double doors swung open and the parade of flower girls and bridesmaids walked down the aisle to stand opposite the groomsmen.

Yoongi stopped breathing as the music played louder, more intently, more beautiful.

You appeared.

You looked like an angel.

Your mother flanked you to give you away. You both looked more beautiful than he could have ever recalled.

Yoongi couldn’t stifle the tears that poured out of his eyes. He couldn’t pull his gaze from anywhere but you.

There you were. Walking towards him, as if a dream. The loveliest of dreams. Wrapped in silk and chiffon and lace, delicate pearls around your neck.

Yoongi would endure it all again, feel every ounce, to have this moment.

It was complete as you stood next to him, hands clasped in each other, tears sliding down each other’s face.

At the word of the pastor, Yoongi leaned forward and pressed his lips to yours, sealing you as husband and wife, finally.

Yoongi was on the inside of your orbit now, basking in the warmth he had desired before on the outside. Yoongi simmered in the sweet, gentle glow of you and your encompassing love.

Now, Yoongi knew what it felt like to be the one on the inside of your world, instead of looking in from the darkness. Yoongi knew it now, and knew, with all his heart, that he deserved to remember it for the rest of his long, healthy life.

Yoongi was living.

Yoongi was finally, truly,

alive.

#bangtanarmynet #ficswithluv #ksmutclub #hyungsmutsociety #btswriterscollective #minthlynet #heartsforbts #bts fic #bts smut #bts angst #bts yoongi #yoongi smut #yoongi angst #agust d #bts agust d #bts suga #suga

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littlesniggy · 3 years

Text

Establishing Dominance

Anon: Hiiii hope ur doing well 💗 I was wondering if I could get Zoro with a easily jealous female crewmate who also a yandere. She not afraid to show how jealous she is. She sweet when she is around the crew and other people but she's actually dangerous when it comes to other females approaching Zoro. Maybe The crew stop by an island and Zoro talking to a girl about swords and reader see this and ask zoro to leave cause she want to talk to the girl alone. When zoro returns the girl is gone. Reader tells him she left but in reality she laying face down in a ditch.

Since your a fan of dark content you can make this as dark as you want tbh the darker the better.

Have a nice day ❣❣❣❣

Hey Anon! I'm doing great, thank you! Also thank you for your request! First time writing Yandere Reader and I had a lot of fun! I was thinking about making it darker but I wanted to see if people liked it first. Please, let me know!!

Warning: 18+, nsfw, Yandere reader, mention of blood, violence, jealousy

Pairing: Zoro x yandere fem! reader

Word count: 1.3k

You narrowed your eyes, anger boiling inside your stomach, slowly rising up until it would eventually erupt. You clenched and unclenched your fists, watching as Zoro talked to this tramp. You saw her eyes lit up whenever he said something, small touches to his hand when he showed her the handle of his sword, her admiring the handicraft.

Your whole body was on edge, ready to jump at this bitch and rip her apart. But Zoro would get mad; he wouldn’t understand. He almost never understands the way you feel, when you get protective over him when some innocent looking witch tried to seduce him, when you tell him to not talk to them because you feel a little jealous and you wanted him to pay attention to you! He always said you shouldn’t be worried, that there was nothing and that he didn’t even recognize them as women. Liar. After all, he was simply a man, looking for a quick fuck and then get out. You needed to make sure he knew you’d always be there for him.

With a sweet smile you walked over to them, linking arms with Zoro who looked a little bit confused but kept on talking to that woman. With a slight nod in her direction you let them continue their conversation about swords, waiting for the perfect moment to get him to leave. But the first step in establishing dominance was made: you had made clear to her that he was yours.

“Zoro?” You asked him when there was a short break in their conversation. He looked down at you, one eyebrow raised. “What is it, Y/n?” he questioned. “Franky asked me if I could tell you to come and help him with something on the ship. The others all left and I wasn’t strong enough. When you have time, could you go check on him?” The green haired man blushed a little at your warm smile. “Sure.” he looked at the other woman, apologizing to her. “Sorry, I’ll be right back. Then I’m gonna show you their blades, okay?” he said and the woman nodded, smiling at him. “Sure! But don’t worry. If you can’t make it I won’t be mad. I’m glad I even got to see such a great sword!”

You both watched him leave (after walking in the wrong direction twice), silence lingering between you two. When he was out of sight, she turned to you, smiling a genuine smile. You smiled back, looking just as genuine.

“I’m (Name). Nice to meet you.” She introduced herself. “Nice to meet you, too, (Name). I’m Y/n, Zoro’s girlfriend.” The witch didn’t seem to mind that you were his. She has no shame flirting with someone else’s man.

“Do you want to walk around a little before he comes back? I know a cute café not too far from here.” She suggested. Your expression became more menacing, smile turning creepy as you followed her to said café.

“Where did she go?” Zoro looked at you confused. It had taken him longer than (he) anticipated, mainly cause he got lost multiple times. Turned out Frank didn’t need any help.

“Huh? What a surprise. I must’ve misunderstood it then.” You said, cleaning a knife with a soft cloth.

“She left. She said she had some important things to do. I think you were just taking too long. Did you get lost again?” you asked teasingly, following the sharp blade with your fingers, admiring the sharpness.

Zoro huffed and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “I didn’t get lost! It’s not my fault that Franky moved the ship to another place!” he defended himself. His eyes caught you cleaning your knife, something you only did when you had fought against someone. “Who was it?” he asked, nodding towards the knife. You smiled at him, shrugging your shoulders as you put it away, back into its pocket.

“Just some guy hitting on me and when I rejected him he got angry. Nothing to worry about.” You grabbed his arm and pulled him with you.

“You have some time? Cause I wanna show you something.” You winked at him, turning the corner with him. Zoro grinned, knowing exactly what you were up to.

His grunts were low, his hand was fisting your hair, guiding your head to his thrusts. Small gagging noises joined his deep grunts, making you all teary-eyed. You braced yourself against his thick thighs, clawing at the muscular flesh as you took him in all the way, swallowing around his thick shaft, making him choke out a moan.

You were fingering yourself while you sucked him off, four fingers inside of you. Lewed sounds filled the air around you, the smell of sex clouding your senses.

Your tongue glided over the underside of his shaft, feeling the prominent vein that had always had him twitching whenever you touched it.

“Fuck, Y/n!” What’s gotten into you?” he gasped, opening his eye to look at you but regretting it immediately when he saw you staring up at him, teary eyes, his dick buried inside your mouth to the brim. He was throbbing and you felt him holding back, not wanting to cum just yet.

He pushed you off his dick, panting heavily, a heated expression on his face. You removed your fingers, getting up to your feet. “I love you, Zoro.” You whispered into his ear, wrapping your arms around his neck and jumping on his hips, wrapping your legs around him as well, pressing against his erect member. His hands supported you by grabbing your ass, kneading the flesh under his rough palms.

“You seem hornier than usual. Did anything happen?” he panted but you captured his lips with yours, starting a messy kiss with tongue and teeth. He turned around, pressing you against the wall, his dick brushing against your core. “Stop talking….just fuck me.” You hissed in pleasure when his dick pressed against your clit.

Zoro didn’t have to be told twice when he pushed himself inside of you, making you moan in pleasure in the process. You pulled away from the kiss, pressing your forehead against his shoulder, an almost wicked smile on your lips.

Blood. So much blood. Her screams in pain and agony, her pleas and her seemingly lifeless body, lying face down in the very same alley Zoro was fucking you right now. Not even 20 feet away she was, hidden behind a container.

You lifted your head, your eyes looking over to the container. You could see a hand on the ground, unmoving. You knew she wasn’t dead but you whished you had killed her.

“Harder!” you moaned when he hit your sweet spot, your nails digging into his muscular back, leaving bloody scratches. Zoro grunted, picking up the pace, ramming himself inside of you. “Harder.” You repeated, feeling him hammer into you as if he wanted to tear you apart. You loved it.

The sound of skin on skin, dirty and harsh, filled your ears and you felt your orgasm rushing closer. A little more.

You saw the hand twitch a little; a sign she was still alive and you pressed your body closer to his, wanting to feel him with every fiber of your body. He was yours and you were his. She would never come between the two of you, would never have what you had. You wanted to hurt her more, wanted to make her bleed until she was a bloody mess, not to be recognized again.

“Zoro!” You moaned when you came around him, feeling him fill you up right after. Panting and sore, you hung in his arms eyes closed in the afterglow of your orgasm. He had filled you up with his semen, had marked you as his – only his.

“I love you, Zoro.” You repeated, inhaling his masculine scent. Your eyes caught another movement from the hand, indicating she was coming to her senses.

“I love you, too, Y/n.” Zoro panted but you didn’t hear him.

I will kill that bitch.

#one piece #op #roronoa zoro #zoro roronoa x reader #Roronoa Zoro x reader #x reader #one piece x reader #op x readerr #ns.fw #sm.ut #yandere #Yandere reader #request #franky #op franky #one piece franky

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lightsovermonaco · 3 years

Text

His Good Sweater: Chapter 9

Masterlist

As always thank you to my beautiful bestie @acollectionofficsandshit you can also thank her for all the Max content in this chapter. Its a long one, enjoy!

Word Count: 9.6k

Recommended song: “Hate the way” by G-Easy and blackbear

The one thing that never failed to lift your spirits was your dad's homemade blueberry chocolate chip pancakes. Whenever you were upset as a kid, whether it be your team losing a sporting event, your high-school boyfriend dumping you for the head cheerleader, or getting rejected from an ivy league college you never expected to get into in the first place, his pancakes had been there to cushion the fall. Clever as he was, he always messed them up in some insignificant way like leaving off the whipped cream and hiding the container so you were forced to talk to him in order to remedy it. Then he would crack some stupid joke or cheesy pun that would just barely have the ghost of a smile curling your lips.

Blueberry chocolate chip pancakes were no match for the heartbreak of losing your best friend.

The morning after, you only trudge to the kitchen when your stomach's demands to be fed become too loud to ignore. A steaming pile of fluffy pancakes sits at your usual spot, no syrup in sight. You don't have the energy to find your dad and ask where he's hidden it, instead picking at them. You knew the flavor should be fruity and sweet but every bite tastes like ash. One pancake is all you can manage before nausea roils, threatening to make your meager brunch resurface.

"Some is better than none," Ben murmurs behind you and you drop your chin in the barest of nods. "We can save the rest and you can warm them up later."

"Thanks," you mumble when he takes your plate. You pull your blanket tight around your shoulders as your gaze turns to the window while your brother washes your dishes, wishing for all the world that you could make your uncooperative limbs move and help him but the mental effort it requires is too taxing. Instead you stay curled up on the chair, the noises of the house waking up around you a dull buzz in your ears. At some point your mother kisses your head and hustles out the door to work, her husband close behind. Ben is the last to leave and is reluctant to do so.

"Promise you'll text me if you need me," he says. "Mom already gave me permission to cut class after trigonometry."

"Sure." You both know it's a lie and a bad one at that. Your voice is dull and flat, completely void of emotion.

"Mom said she's coming home early anyway,” he tries. “Something about overstaffing at the greenhouse."

"Okay."

The mechanical spooling of the garage door tells you he's finally gone. Your elbows slide forward until your head rests on the table, unable to hold it up any longer.

Every fiber of your being yearns for him, to hear the distinct r's and flowery lilt of his accent as he comforts you through the heartbreak, always knowing exactly what to say. It was second nature to call one another when either of you had had a bad day or a good day or just a normal day - you'd talked so often that last year you had convinced your parents to add international minutes to your phone plan.

Your fingers itch to dial the number you had long since memorized, knowing it would ring no more than twice before he picked up. He never let it go to voicemail unless he absolutely couldn't avoid it and you had a hunch he was waiting for your call.

Despite knowing better, you scroll through the messages on your phone. Love was evident in each witty remark and wish goodnight, pulling at your heartstrings. Your finger hovers over the delete conversation button, and after a minute of debate, you can't bring yourself to do it. You would allow yourself one reprieve to look back on and remember the good.

It would be so much easier if he had given you a reason to hate him. If he'd cheated or intentionally led the media to your house, hating him would be easy. You wouldn't have to admit that you still loved him because his betrayal would have yanked out the newly blooming bud of love you nurtured and crushed the fragile petals. Instead, you were left knowing that it had been your choice to inflict damage in him. You had no right to seek comfort in his arms or even ask how he was doing. You deserved to be miserable for causing him to feel the same way.

Yuki is the first to check in on you. You don’t know what he expects; you lie through your teeth when you tell him you were fine.

The press is asking me for my thoughts. No idea why. I told them not to stick their noses where they don't belong.

At least someone had the guts to stand up to those bloodsuckers. Yuki was the last person you'd suspect to do so, but the scrappy twenty-something continued to surprise you.

Thanks, you type back. How is he?

You hesitate. You didn't really want to know the answer. Pierre was devastated and just as broken as you are. You delete the last part and opt to refrain from subjecting yourself to biting off more than you could chew.

I'm here if you need me, is Yuki's reply.

Charles, Daniel, and his newly promoted girlfriend were the next ones to text you, all offering varying degrees of support. Daniel's friend was the one that offered to sucker punch anyone that came near you without your permission, and actually dragged a single huff of laughter from your aching lungs.

I'm good thanks. But if I need a bodyguard you'll be first on the list.

Just because Daniel can lift me with one arm doesn't mean I'm not punchy!

I believe you.

Spent, you set your phone down and retreat under the down comforter. The bright pink clashed with your earthy decor, but at least the old blanket didn't smell like Pierre. Your mother had taken it upon herself to erase all trace of him from your room when she had managed to coax you into a shower, and the half hour you had spent letting the scalding water run over your skin had given her plenty of time to do so. The absence of him hurts almost as much as the trace of cedar you know you're imagining when you breathe deep.

It has to be impossible for so much agony to be contained in your body. No matter how much you try, the tears won't stop flowing because Pierre's crushed expression had taken up residence at the forefront of your consciousness.

It didn't help that so many of your recent memories were touched by his presence. Getting into university served to remind you of the ecstatic call you'd gotten after his race that Sunday, voice strained with a mix of excitement for you and the disappointment of his race ending crash on the opening lap. Even something as simple as staring at the saggy bean bag chair in the corner brought back the memory of the countless times he had lounged there, sprawled out like he owned it.

Max's text brings you briefly back to reality.

You doing okay? Dan told me what happened.

No, was all you say back. Within a minute, Max's face occupies your screen. You sigh but accept the call, laying the phone on the pillow.

"I don't feel like talking, Max."

"That bad huh?" He asks, concern lacing his usually chipper voice.

"Yeah. That bad." As if that summed up getting your heart torn to shreds.

He's uncharacteristically quiet for a beat. "Wanna hear about Vic's day? She had some crazy clients at her salon- it'll take your mind off it."

"I guess," you say, utterly nonplussed. You could care less if he kept talking or not, you wouldn't be paying attention. He prattles on for a few minutes, seemingly unaffected by your silence as his words pass through one ear and out the other.

"Told you it was crazy," he says finally, your cue to respond. You hum noncommittally and Max just sighs.

"Look, I don't know how I can help you unless you come here. I know you have a flight booked- do you still wanna come to the gala? My date's been stolen so I'm in need of one."

"Who stole your-"

The realization hits you before you can finish. Pierre. Pierre stole Max's sister and left him without a date. Something about his willingness to replace you so quickly rubs you the wrong way. It shouldn't have been so easy for him to find someone new; he should be hurting just as much as you. Fundamentally, you knew nothing would happen between Pierre and Victoria. She wouldn't go for him out of respect for both of you and you were thankful in the knowledge that it was completely platonic. Still, it was like rubbing salt in a wound.

"You know what? I'll go." It was the most you'd said all day, your throat scratchy with disuse. Max whoops on the other line and you could almost see him punching the air in victory.

"Great! When's your flight get in? I'll bring the Acura and pick you up."

You put him on speaker and login to the airlines website to punch in the flight number. Last night you'd debated canceling the flight that Pierre had paid for, determined to stay home and be miserable. Looking back you were glad you'd trusted your gut and left the reservation untouched. If he could find someone else to attend the gala with, so could you. "I land in Nice at noon on Friday. It'll be a short flight, I can text you when we take off."

"Sounds good. I'll set up the spare room for you. Victoria is staying here too, I'm sure she would love to help you get ready and do whatever it is girls do before fancy events."

"Hey, Max?"

"Whats up?"

You trace patterns through the condensation left by the glass on your nightstand. "Thank you. For understanding."

"That's what friends are for," he assures you. "Is there anything you wanna talk about now? Or are you planning to wait until you're here?"

"Ben's been keeping an eye on me. I'm okay for now." Better now that you had something to look forward to.

"All you have to do is call," he promises. "I'll listen, I don't have anything going on this week besides streaming."

You latch on to the small redirection and run with it. "You and the twitch quartet?"

"They've been kind enough to allow me to join them on the sim this week, yeah."

"I'll try to catch a race. No promises though."

"See you Friday. Try to contain your excitement."

Your lips twitch upward. "Bye Max."

**********

The rest of the week was more of the same. You stayed home and your family dealt with the swarms of people that still gathered on the lawn each morning not so patiently waiting for you to tell your side of the story. You had decided that the best course of action was to keep your mouth shut and let them figure out for themselves that there was no longer a story to report thanks to the wedge they had driven in your relationship.

By the time Ben drives you to the airport Friday the buzz has died down. You hug your brother tight before checking in for the flight and texting Max. His response is immediate, letting you know he's excited to see you.

You wish you could return the sentiment. You wanted to see your friend, sure, but you were beginning to dread the upcoming gala. Max would be your crutch and you knew he was okay with that, but it still felt wrong.

Unlike your brother, Max was waiting at the curb when you arrived in Nice. A nondescript cap was perched on his head, the oversized sunglasses he wore hiding his eyes from passersby. His gleaming orange peel of a car attracted more attention than he did for once, people stopping to ogle the Acura as they came and went.

"Hey you," Max greets, a broad grin causing his trademark dimple to appear as he wraps you in a rare hug. You cling to him, throat going tight at the intimacy of it. Max wasn't a physical person by any stretch; if he was hugging you this tightly it meant he knew how broken you were.

He waited for you to break contact first, giving you all the time you need. You sniff and wipe the single tear that had somehow escaped and laugh lightly.

"Hey," you say, voice scratchy. "Thanks for picking me up."

He waves a hand, brushing it off. "Vic wanted to come but she changed her mind when I told her I was driving."

"Probably a smart choice," you observe, letting him pop the trunk- which was in the front of the car, since the Acura NSX was a mid-engined beast of a Japanese supercar- "and considering your choice of car, she wouldn't have fit anyway."

"This is true." He starts the engine, the roar of which makes a poor old woman a few yards away drop her purse.

The drive back is near silent, broken only by Max's occasional quips about a landmark or an observation about someone's driving. It was impossible for any driver to turn off the analytical part of their brain, their Formula 1 habits crossing into their daily lives.

When Max parks at the curb outside his apartment, you move to open the door but he hits the lock button. You glance over your shoulder at him and quirk a brow.

"Am I your prisoner?"

"Are you gonna talk about what happened?"

Sighing, you sink back into the seat. The way the bolstering hugs your sides almost makes you believe you could fade into it if you try hard enough. "I wasn't really planning on it."

It had only been a handful of days since you had broken it off, the wound still leaking fresh blood when you poked at it. It refused to scab over or give you any kind of reprieve from the torture.

"You know you'll have to face him tomorrow at some point. He'll want to talk to you."

"That's why I'm going with you. You won't have a problem telling him to leave me alone."

Max sighs. "Yeah, I suppose. If that's what you think is best."

The trudge up the stairs and subsequent silent elevator ride allows your thoughts to wander to Victoria. It wasn't her fault that Pierre had asked her to come with him after you'd canceled, after all she was already planning on going and the late notice meant it was likely no one else could make it, but it didn't stop the pang of jealousy that rocketed through you each time you ruminate on it.

It didn't help when she wrapped you in a hug the moment she saw you and whispered an apology in your ear, like she knew she'd done something wrong. Tears spring to your eyes again and Victoria shoots Max a leave us alone look.

"Uh, I'm gonna hop on the sim. Help yourself to whatever is in the fridge if you're hungry."

"Thanks Max." Your eyes are pinned to a smudge of dirt on the wood floor, safely out of range of anything triggering. Keeping it together was more of a struggle than you'd expected.

"I hope you don't hate me," Victoria starts genuine concern lacing the words. "It was just easiest-"

"I know," you cut in. "And I don't." Your smile is tight, not quite hitting home as she returns it.

"Well then. Let's figure out how we're gonna do your hair tomorrow, shall we?"

**********

The dress was a single, simple piece of fabric, spun of sunset orange and free of any bells or whistles. The feather light chiffon hugged every supple curve through your hips until flaring out slightly at the bottom just enough to allow you range of motion. The deep vee of the neckline prominently displayed your cleavage, toeing the line between attention grabbing and scandal starting and leaving little to the imagination. The back dropped low, leaving the elegant curve of your spine free to be kissed by the salty Mediterranean breeze.

The dress is nothing special compared to the thousand dollar pieces that the other boy's dates would be wearing, but you didn't have the money- or the will- to find something new. It by no means broke the bank when you picked it up from the second hand store last year, but it looked the part. It had been a showstopper at the spring formal you'd originally worn it to and judging by Max's reaction, it still was.

He let out a low whistle when you stepped into the living room. "I'm sorry, did you pick that out with me in mind?" He laughs and despite yourself, heat rises to your cheeks. You hated being the center of attention, even among friends. "It's the perfect shade of orange to match my tie. I swear I didn't plan it that way!"

"I know you didn't." You give him a forced smile, praying he doesn't call you out on it. The dress you wore hadn't been your first choice. The one you originally planned to wear still sat in your closet at home collecting dust. It had been the perfect shade of blue to compliment Pierre's sky eyes, but it didn't match Max's deeper ocean blue. So at home it had stayed, and you had chosen the orange one because it made the necklace at your throat pop.

Your fingers engulf the stone before you can stop yourself, as they always do when your thoughts wander to him. Him, because you could scarcely think his name before your heart wretches at the reminder of what you'd lost. Flashes of bright smiles and soft kisses filter through your mind, making you lock up. You swear you can feel the ghost of plush lips to your throat and the scrape of callouses over the curve of your spine. Your eyes fall shut, desperate to get lost in the idea of him like you used to.

"You good?"

Max's quiet words startle you back into the present. No, you were in no way shape or form good, but you had no choice to fall back on the familiar mask of humor to cover up your inner turmoil.

"The real question is are you?" You smirk and look him over. The Red Bull navy suit strains over his broad shoulders, suggesting he had put on muscle since the last time he'd been forced into it. "You look stiff as a board in that tux."

"I feel so awkward." He straightens the suit coat and absentmindedly lifts a hand to tousle his hair. You grab his wrist just in time to keep him from ruining his sister's hard work and shoot him a chiding look. He grins sheepishly and lowers his hand.

"Vic would kill me if you got to the gala looking like you got run over."

"That's a good point." He offers you his arm and you accept the lifeline he unwittingly offers you. "But I refuse to leave the windows up on this beautiful night, so we'll test how well it'll hold."

You quirk an eyebrow at him. "You're driving us there?"

"Well duh. I always drive when I'm at home."

You glance sidelong at the glaringly orange Acura parked at the curb a few floors below. Your dress would blend right in with the paint, but perhaps that was a good thing. It would provide that much more of a shock factor when you arrived and stepped out.

"Just don't crash out on the hairpin," you tease half heartedly.

He rolls his eyes. "At least it's just the two of us so I don't have to call an uber. Vic's getting picked up by-'' Max cuts himself off and gives you an apologetic smile.

"You can say his name," you whisper, eyes trained on the tile of the hallway as you walk. "It's not like he's gone."

"Getting picked up by... Pierre," Max tries, carefully monitoring his neutral tone. God, you thought you could handle it but you can't, stumbling over your own feet with only Max's grip on your arm to catch you.

He'd dance with Vic tonight, and probably countless other women, his hands drifting over their bodies like they'd done on yours only days ago. You'd be forced to watch from the sidelines and make small talk that no one would remember come morning, utterly unable to do anything about it. At least Daniel’s girlfriend would be there to be the voice of reason, if you could peel her away from Daniel long enough to speak with her for any length of time.

Max was uncharacteristically quiet on the ride to the venue, leaving you to study the city as he drove. Few yachts were left in the harbor as the sun was swallowed by the sea, the owners undoubtedly set sail for a weekend getaway. Your gaze involuntarily searched for the slip that held Charles' Ferrari red speedboat that you'd visited countless times with Pierre. The eyesore was hard to miss when surrounded by its monotone brethren, memories flooding back in droves at the sight of it.

Sighing, you turn away to glimpse what you can of the city through the ridiculously tiny sliver of windshield. How anyone could confidently drive the Acura while having so little field of vision was beyond you. It was probably second nature to Max, who weaves through the narrow streets with practiced ease and barely lets off the gas through the corners.

The city of Monaco rarely slept, and tonight was no different. Soft yellow fluorescent glow seeps from high rise balconies, the occupants soaking up the last dregs of sunlight before heading out to the casinos and clubs. People spilled out of cafes onto the sidewalks, their laughter lingering on the breeze as you speed past.

The list of people you trust enough to get in the car with and let them drive with such intensity is short: Max and Pierre. Not even Daniel made the final cut, not when his then not-girlfriend had recounted the tale of him losing the rear of his McLaren 570s at a track day and nearly sending them into the wall. According to her, he'd been too busy ogling her to keep his full attention on the road, but it was enough for you to question his judgement at times.

If you close your eyes, you could pretend it was someone else next to you, cutting through the gears like a hot knife through butter and coaxing every inch of performance out of the car that he could with the light traffic. You draw a surf-scented breath deep, lungs aching with the effort.

Max joins the queue of cars waiting to park outside the venue, your attention trained on the guests stepping out of cars and climbing the wide set of marble steps leading to the sleek glass building. The modern structure is slightly out of place among the Roman-esque buildings surrounding it but the air of importance it exudes overrules any who dare say it doesn't belong.

"I can't tell you how glad I am that there's an open bar," Max remarks, hanging his head out the window to wave at someone. "It makes these events so much easier."

"You're telling me," you mumble, searching involuntarily for a familiar head of dusty blond hair in the droves of people arriving. Instead of sight, it's the unforgettable rumble of his Civic Type R's exhaust that alerts you to his arrival. Your head whips around, eyes eating up the pearl white paint of Pierre's favored car as it slides in behind you. You silently thank whatever deity is listening that his windshield is tinted, protecting you from seeing the smirk you are certain is playing on his lips.

Once upon a time, the cockpit of that car had been your favorite place in the world. You'd spent countless hours inside it eating shitty gas station cuisine and singing along to the radio at the top of your lungs as Pierre drove you to whatever adventure he had planned for the day.

Max waves at your- his friend, you remind yourself sharply- and revs his Acura in response. He leaves the keys with the valet, picking up on the tension in your shoulders as the white car parks behind you. Max tugs your arm in attempt to turn you away, but your feet are rooted to the spot.

“I see you found another date-” The flash of a grin on Pierre's face as he steps out is immediately dashed when he notices you on Max's arm.

If looks could kill, Max would keel over then and there. A muscle in Pierre's jaw flutters as he takes in the sight of the two of you together, your hand on the Dutchman's forearm and your matching attire looking for all the world as if it was purposefully coordinated.

Max lifts his chin, spine going straight under Pierre's threatening glare. “Her airfare was already paid for and she already had the dress. Someone had to take her.”

Your stomach sinks; the last thing you wanted to do was become a point of contention between the two boys, but you refused to apologize for at least attempting to enjoy yourself.

Pierre doesn't speak again, only nods to Max and pointedly avoids your stare. He tosses the keys to the smart-dressed kid serving as his valet, coming around to open Victoria's door. With his back turned to you, you take a moment to study the crisp white suit he's chosen for tonight. You had always told him black wasn't his color and he seemed to have taken it to heart. White was what you loved seeing him in, and the tight cut brought back memories of a different type of suit in an entirely different city only a few weeks ago. You'd peeled him out of that Alpha Tauri race suit the moment he made it to the trailer, eager to worship him after his podium. You'd be lying if you said it hasn't been the best sex of your life.

"Come on," Max urges, placing a chaste hand on your upper back and turning you around. He leads you up the stairs, his comforting touch never leaving your skin for a moment. The callouses were all wrong, the fingers too broad to be who you wanted it to be, and yet you couldn't help but imagine it was Pierre leading you up, stopping to smile for the few cameras scattered around.

Flashes spot your vision as you pull your face into an expression of excitement. Max murmurs something in your ear that you think is encouragement but the din of reporters is too deafening to be sure.

"How come you aren't with Pierre?"

The shouted question comes from an unknown assailant but it strikes you like a physical blow. You freeze, mouth going dry as you search for a suitable excuse. Max grants you the space of a single heartbeat to respond before he does so on your behalf.

"How about you mind your own damn business and worry about your cheating wife?"

The man who had bombarded you goes slack jawed, Max's wild guess clearly somehow hitting him just as hard as he had hit you.

"Keep walking," he urges you, leading you through the blinding sea of flashing lights. When you hear the same question directed at Pierre, his flippant laugh grates on your nerves.

You don't have it in you to appreciate the grand architecture of the entrance hall, too busy trying to keep your breathing in check. Max steers you off to the side and places his hands on your shoulders.

"Look at me," he demands, and you drag your eyes up to his face. "Breathe. He's hurting just as bad as you, only difference is he's better at hiding it. Just enjoy the night okay? I'll grab you a drink and we can find Daniel and his friend and you two can catch up."

You nod, placing a hand on your throat. The delicate chain of the necklace is a vice around your neck, the reminder of him pulling it tight. Your pulse hammers beneath your fingers and you focus on it until it slows. "Get me whatever you're having."

Max disappears in the crowd, and you take a seat at the bench tucked in the corner. No one pays you any heed as they walk past, entranced by the elegant decor and fragrant florals. Your head falls forward to rest in your hands and you struggle to take deep, calming breaths.

Pierre was here. Inhale.

He looked happy. Exhale.

He was getting by. Inhale.

You could get by, too. Exhale.

Renewed, you glance up in time to find Max standing before you with a drink of dark liquid adorned with maraschino cherries in each hand. He extends one glass to you and you don't bother to question what it is before swallowing half in one go. "Better?"

"Much." You stand and brush out the wrinkles in your dress. "Where are we sitting?"

"Er, about that," Max starts, rubbing his neck sheepishly. "They put two teams at each table. We're at the Red Bull Alpha Tauri table."

"I see." You take another deep, steadying breath, letting the anxiety ebbing in your veins fade out with the exhale. It was times like this that you channeled Daniel a bit. It sounded silly and you would never admit it, but the slogans on his helmets worked if you focused on them hard enough. All good, all ways.

If Pierre could get through tonight, so could you.

“I can try to see if I can switch tables-”

"It's fine," you say and down the rest of the drink. “I can handle it.”

Max shifts on his feet, his discomfort something you rarely see from him. He usually excelled at keeping a straight face in uncomfortable situations but it seems that your unease rubbed off on him. “We should get going then, dinner will be served any minute.”

You once again take the arm he offers you, the liquor in your veins already granting you false courage. “We would have time to mingle if you hadn’t taken the scenic route.”

“It was nice out,” he protests, and pulls you to a halt when he spots Daniel across the hall. His girlfriend waves at you with a sad smile. She gestures between the two of you to indicate that you’ll talk later before Daniel pulls her towards the McLaren table. That boy was punctual to a fault and would be caught dead before he was late to anything.

Thankfully, the two of you arrive before Victoria and her date and are able to secure seats that ensure there’s a buffer between you. By some small miracle Christian Horner and his wife were absent and instead a few engineers and their significant others sat at the packed table. Max greets Gianpiero while you take your seat, happy to observe.

“Hey!”

You twist in time to see Yuki’s short frame emerge from the crowd and point to the empty seat to your right. “This one taken?”

You shake your head, standing to give him a quick hug. “How are you doing? Where’s your date?”

“Ah, she couldn’t make it. Had some family stuff to take care of. You look great, by the way.”

You dip your chin in thanks, unsure how else to respond. He was in a white suit that you were sure would wind up stained five minutes into dinner. “Did they mandate that you wear white?”

He shakes his head with a rueful smile. “Honestly, it’s the only one I own. I haven't been to enough events to build up my closet yet."

"Well I think it's…"

You spot Pierre before he sees you. His brow is slightly creased as he hunts for the correct table using the same focused determination as when driving his Alpha. For a split second, he meets your gaze. The cacophony of the event fades to background noise and suddenly it's just the two of you and you damn near lift your hand in a wave. You're positive he can see your heart beating out of your chest like in an old cartoon as you curl your fingers into a fist in your lap. Your restraint proves fatal, the floor falling out from beneath your feet when he drops your stare. This was your new normal, you remind yourself. Stolen glances were all you would get.

"I can move," Yuki says, starting to rise. You grip his wrist, holding him in place.

"Please don't." The only other open seats were across the table, and at least then you didn't have to worry about brushing elbows with him all night long.

Yuki nods, slowly settling back in. Max finally takes his seat after giving your shoulder a supportive squeeze.

"You don't have to say anything to him," he reminds you, barely audible over the scrape of chairs and various chatter.

You find anywhere else to look as Pierre pulls out Vic's chair for her and makes his rounds to greet everyone. Daniel and his girlfriend are seated a few tables away and you distract yourself by attempting to read their lips. You manage a few minutes of tenuous peace, catching snippets of Daniel's cheesy jokes and her disapproving, yet flirty, responses.

"Damn, we clean up well, huh?"

You squeeze your eyes shut at the sound of home. His words are honey and you lap them up like you'd never tasted anything sweeter. They weren't even directed at you and yet somehow you twist them to fit your narrative.

Pierre stands at the bottom of the stairs like a chaste high school prom date patiently waiting for your grand entrance. He checks his watch and rakes a hand through his messy hair. You stifle your laugh with a hand, amused by his unnecessary nervous energy.

Taking mercy on him, you clear your throat. His gaze snaps up to you, mouth falling open. You take your time gathering the orange fabric of your dress and descending the stairs, savoring the way he eats you up. He was resplendent in his crisp white tuxedo and you had half a mind to make him late for the gala and strip him out of it then and there and devour him.

Your heels clack on the marble floor of his entirely too fancy apartment and you pause to do a little spin for him, earning you an appreciative whistle for your trouble. A laugh bubbles out of you and you place your hands on his shoulders. His own settle on your waist to pull you flush against him, his body heat soaking through the thin fabric of your dress to warm your core.

"Damn, we clean up well, huh?"

You start when knuckles graze the back of your bare neck. The touch is there and gone but you know immediately that it's Pierre. It's slight enough to be brushed off as accidental to anyone else, but nothing was accidental with Pierre. The barely there contact conveys more than any words ever could.

He still loved you. You looked stunning. He wishes you were still his so he could prove it to you. All this and so much more contained in a half second brush of his skin to yours.

It all comes back to you in a rush, the emotion you'd so carefully tucked away in a locked box in the back of your mind finally set free. His touch ignites any other thought in your mind that isn't him, burning it away until it's ashes on the wind.

Despite your better judgement, you lean into him, giving him permission to unravel you. This time you sigh when his fingers ghost over your skin, electricity sparking in their wake. You didn't care who might be watching; the tiny touches were slowly repairing your shattered heart. Your traitorous mind replaces his fingers with the brush of his lips to your nape, imagining the heat as he slides the strap of your dress off your shoulder, lips moving to follow.

You bite your lip to stifle a groan when his heat is withdrawn, leaving you feeling inexplicably naked. You open your eyes to find Victoria's pitying stare paired with an apologetic smile. Max nudges you with his elbow, and you realize someone has addressed you.

"Um, what?"

"I said I like how you guys coordinated outfits," Pierre repeats and openly prods your shoulder. "Obviously Max chose the color."

His tone is playful, but his words are clipped in a way only you understand. Craning your neck, you twist to look up at him. His eyes are cloudy and his smile doesn't reach them, more for show than anything else. "It was an accident."

"Doesn't look that way."

Your retort is ready on your tongue but he doesn't give you a chance to reply before retreating to his seat. His ability to act as if nothing has changed astounds you, as your head is still reeling from the pinpricks of his skin on yours. Instead of being rendered speechless, he strikes up a conversation with Yuki about the Alpha's performance, leaving out the confidential details but giving enough away that it surprises you.

The sheer fact that he can so easily switch off whatever feelings he harbors is unfair. The sensation of his fingers on your neck still lingers and it's all you can do to keep from stepping around the table and slotting yourself between his legs like you had in that bar in London. Your nails bite into your palms, listening in if only for his voice to wash over you and calm your racing heart.

When he mentions the rake angle, you know it's just to mislead anyone who might be eavesdropping. He'd told you the exact angle in the past, and it certainly was not one degree, and it did not cause the level of understeer he was describing.

"The understeer comes from improper tire selection," you blurt. "And driver error."

All eyes turn to you and you straighten. You knew enough about the construction of a Formula 1 car to be positive your assessment was correct. You were almost as certain that he'd said it to force you into speaking to him whether you liked it or not.

"What was that?"

If Pierre could torment you with his subtle touches, you could do the same and call him out when he was wrong.

"Driver error caused the rear end to slide out around that turn in Japan, not the rake angle. That's got nothing to do with it. Your tires were blistered because of you taking an imperfect racing line and they were old. You miscalculated the level of traction they'd give you."

Why no one else had pointed it out was beyond you.

"So you're an engineer now?" Pierre challenges, crossing his arms. Something about the arrogance radiating from him rubbed you the wrong way. You let all the emotion of the past few days surface and add fuel to the fire.

"No, but I've learned enough to see through the bullshit drivers spin to mislead other teams."

Max murmurs your name in warning but your frustration is boiling over. He replaced you tonight, didn't even pause to consider going alone and instead choosing to take Victoria. Sure, it had been your fault that he was dateless, but that didn't give him the right to hurt you too. He knew it would destroy you to see him with anyone else even if it was completely platonic, but he did it anyway.

"Why don't you tell me where I should brake on turn ten since you're an expert all of a sudden?" Victoria lays a hand on his arm but he yanks it out of her grip. "What crack in the pavement? Or is it a mark on the barrier? Drive one lap in my car and then you can tell me how to drive."

It wasn't your analysis that had upset him. You'd done so plenty of times and he had always taken your criticism with an open mind, using it to tweak his driving style to improve his lap time or turn it into a teaching experience so you could learn. No, judging by the way his eyes are lined with silver that he fights to blink away, it's your betrayal that upsets him and rightfully so. You glance around the table but no one is willing to meet your eyes save for Max, who angles his head as if to say fight for it.

But you can't. It's monumentally easier to let Pierre win and sweep it under the rug than to address the deeper issue. "I was trying to help," you say lamely, picking at the salad in front of you.

"You don't get to do that anymore."

The venomous words hit like knives, knocking the breath out of you. Your mouth hangs open like a fish gasping for air but any reply you think up dies on your tongue.

As the music fades out and a man climbs up onto the stage, Pierre gets up and leaves. You track his progress as he weaves through tables, noting Daniel reaching for him as he passes. You flinch when the balcony door slams behind him, an astonished murmur rocking through the crowd.

"You should probably talk to him," Max whispers.

You shake your head, not trusting yourself to speak. You had no idea what you would say. 'Sorry' was insignificant and 'I love you' would be cruel when the barest of thought regarding how the media treated you made your stomach churn.

Max pulls his phone out under the table and you think you see Charles' name on the screen. Good; someone had to make sure Pierre didn't do anything he would regret in the morning and if it wasn't you, Charles was the next best chaperone. A minute later, the Ferrari driver leaves his seat too, exiting the same way as Pierre.

Focusing on what's said on stage proves fruitless. Try as you might, your attention is trained on the side door Pierre had disappeared through, praying he returns despite knowing it would mean more barbed words hurled at you. Neither he nor Charles return at any point during the presentation. His absence was quickly becoming a gaping black hole, swallowing up any semblance of sanity you had managed to gather in preparation for tonight.

"Try to have some fun," Max says, nudging you with an elbow. "As soon as this guy shuts up I’ll get us some more drinks and then we can eat and get out on the dance floor and forget about everything, yeah?"

You nod. You already feel the buzz of the first drink, and one or two more would push you thoroughly over the edge into blissful forgetfulness. "I don't wanna be sad anymore."

**********

He didn't know where he was going. All he knew was that he had to get away from you before he said something that would tear whatever hope he held of repairing what was between you to ribbons. He registers Daniel's low, "Gas, you good?" as he breezes past, but doesn't pause to answer. His sights are locked on the wide, carved oak doors that lead to fresh air.

The breath whooshes out of him when he flings open the balcony doors. They slam behind him and he winces. Chalk that up as something else for Helmut to pick him apart for on Monday.

Pierre rakes a trembling hand through his hair and rests his elbows on the railing, sucking in lungfuls of air like he'd just surfaced from a dive in the harbor.

When you'd agreed to come to the gala with him, he had been overjoyed. You hadn't made it to the winter gala earlier this year due to a last minute exam and he had sulked the entire night. He still had the place card embossed with your name in the fishbowl by his door, the sizable container nearly overflowing with memories of you. Everything from forgotten earrings to plastic hotel key cards filled the bowl and it was a bright reminder of your adventures together. His plan had been to add another place card to the mix after tonight but after what he'd just said to you, he'd rather forget today ever happened.

He fucking hurt. Everything just hurt, from the shirt collar scratching at his neck to the bone deep ache that had started when he laid eyes on you on those steps, arm locked with Max's. You'd stolen the words from his mouth, the jab he'd planned to toss at Max dying at the sight of you.

He hadn't expected you to come tonight. Despite anyone's objections, he'd been fully prepared to get completely shit faced to the point that the ghost of your skin no longer haunted his fingertips and your voice no longer sang in his head. But seeing your damned face had shattered the false reality he had constructed, the one where you never broke him and left him scrambling to piece himself back together.

The universe had dealt him another low blow when he discovered Red Bull and Alpha Tauri would be at the same table and he'd be forced to endure your presence at arms length, close enough to touch but absolutely not allowed to do so. It was his own personal hell, constructed solely to punish him for whatever transgressions he'd made in his life.

And that fucking dress.

The orange painted the aquamarine charm at the hollow of your throat in sharp relief, showing it off like he somehow still owned you. If you had arrived with him, he would have already led you back to the Civic and bunched that damned dress up past your hips to drag his favorite sounds from you with his tongue. If he could just get you alone, he's sure it wouldn't take more than a single touch to have you crashing into him and begging for more.

Seeing you with Max tonight paints an entirely different picture.

It's Max he sees tearing off the dress at the end of the night when you get back to his apartment. Max's hands slide over your hips and you laugh, walking back so you can keep your lips on his as he slams the door shut behind you. You dip your head back when he presses you to the wall, Max unfaltering as his lips and teeth trace the curve of your exposed throat and he slips the straps of the matching dress of your shoulders to let it pool at your feet. Max's name breezes past your lips on a shaky exhale as you become putty beneath his fingers.

No matter how loud Pierre calls your name, you don't hear him, instead cupping the back of the Dutchman's head and pulling him in for a heated kiss. When you do finally notice him observing from afar, agony wracking his body, all you do is grin. It feels real, even though Pierre is certain it's a crazed fever dream, his mind spinning his worst fear to life: you seeking comfort in the company of someone that wasn't him.

Pierre starts when the door squeaks open, the nightmare thankfully dissolving. Charles steps out clad head to toe in blazing Ferrari red and instantly he knows who sent him. The thought alone stokes rage in his chest, the image of your lips on Max's still fresh.

"Not as easy as you expected it to be, is it?" He asks, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

"Fuck off," Pierre growls and immediately regrets it. Beyond you, Charles was his closest friend. They had known each other for ages. It wasn’t a friendship he was willing to sacrifice just because he felt like shit. Pierre sighs and throws him an apologetic glance. "No it's not."

"Why don't you talk to her?"

"She doesn't want to fucking talk, Charles. Take one look at her, she's hanging on Max like she can't get enough of him." Pierre hangs his head in his hands, emotions shifting faster than he did on race day. "I can't go back in there and watch her choose him over me."

"You don't really believe that bullshit, do you?" Charles asks, joining him at the railing.

Not entirely, but he still struggled to understand your thought process. He thought he knew you, but you being here tonight when he had been certain you wouldn't be proved he didn't.

"I don't know what to believe anymore. I thought it would be forever, that I'd finally found someone who didn't mind my lifestyle and accepted it for what it was, who loved me unconditionally. I thought she was my forever."

"You think she's done with you just because some assholes invaded her privacy?" Charles shakes his head. "She's loved you for a long time, years even. You haven't seen the looks she gives you, but the rest of us have. You hung the moon in her sky, Pierre. That kind of thing doesn't just get swept away by the breeze."

His shoulders curl inward in an attempt to hide the frustrated tear that escapes him. "What am I supposed to do?"

Charles shrugs. "I don't think there's a right answer to that. Try giving her some space. She didn't grow up in the spotlight like we did. It's not an easy adjustment for some people, mate. And blowing up on her when she tries to make conversation doesn't help anything," he says gently. "Let her figure it out and come to you when she's ready."

The concept of letting you go even temporarily was terrifying to him. Waiting on you to make the first move was even worse because he was setting his fate in your hands.

"I miss her," he murmurs, turning his face to his friend.

"I know." Charles throws an arm around the taller man's shoulders and follows his gaze out over the tiered streets of Monaco's city center. "My suggestion is to throw yourself into the season. Show her you know how to fight, y'know?"

Pierre nods. He could do that. It was how he normally handled his problems anyway; let the track wick away whatever was on his mind and force him to hone in on the details surrounding him in each moment.

"You ready to head inside?" Charles asks.

"I don't think I can go back just yet."

"Want me to hang out here with you?"

"No. I'll be back eventually."

Charles' hand falls from his shoulder after a short squeeze, the sound of a tinny voice over the speakers temporarily flooding the balcony as Charles returns to the banquet. Pierre allows himself a few more moments of reprieve before slipping back inside just as the applause starts. Rather than returning to the delicately portioned meal that sat cooling before his empty chair, he orders a drink. Whiskey on the rocks, his go to in times of crisis. He takes one sip before the reminder of you ordering it for him in London makes holding the glass of caramel liquid unbearable and he downs it in a single swallow, going back to order a beer instead.

He nurses the green bottle of Heineken as he leans against the wall until the meal is finished and the chit chat starts. You stand with Max, practically pressed against him as you snatch a flute of champagne from a passing server. You search the crowd, brows drawing together when you don't locate your quarry. Pierre had made sure that he was tucked out of the low lighting, unsure if he could survive you stealing worried glances at him all night.

Charles winds his way over to pass off a roll he snagged from dinner, practically forcing the Frenchman to eat it before returning to his date. He nibbles at it absentmindedly, entirely too focused on you to divert an ounce of focus elsewhere.

Your dress is a glowing sun in a sea of earth tone garments, drawing his eye as you pull Max out onto the wood platform serving as the dance floor before the tables are fully cleared. The flush in your cheeks tells him you're deeper in your cups than you should be; Max didn't know your limit as well as he did. Three drinks was all you could manage before you got tipsy, five if you wanted to be completely blitzed.

The lights dim and his hiding spot is no longer quite as good as the party lights sweep over him from time to time. Max places one hand on your hip and you place one on his shoulder and grin up at him. Judging by the fit of giggles that requires you to lean into Max for support, you were teetering dangerously on the edge of being wholly drunk. You throw your head back and laugh at whatever Max says in response to your fit, Pierre straining to hear the musical sound over the band.

"Hey," Victoria says, breaking his concentration. "You wanna get out there?"

Pierre grimaces. He had managed to completely forget about her, too stuck in his own head. "Sorry, Vic. I don't think I'd be a very good partner tonight."

"No worries," she says, a soft, understanding smile on her lips. "I can keep myself busy."

Pierre nods his thanks, his attention immediately returning to the dance floor. Daniel and his girlfriend steal the show, both laughing as he dips and twirls her across the floor.

Being together was so fucking easy for them, effortless in a way it wasn't for you and Pierre. They never once paid any heed to the photographers that swarmed them or the headlines printed about them, they just laughed the rumors off and carried on. No one could question their love for each other because they were vocal about it- sometimes annoyingly so- and Daniel was rarely seen in public without her at his side. They were always touching, holding hands or stealing kisses or even the near scandal of his hand blatantly on her ass at the podium a few races back, and neither of them cared.

Their love was all that mattered. They didn't care who knew it.

But you and Pierre were far too private to be like that, at least not when you were still trying to figure things out yourself. The first sign of outside pressure had you cracking, and he wouldn't stand for knowing he was the source of your pain.

He tries and fails to convince himself he isn't jealous of the way Dan's hand so easily glides under the navy blue silk of her dress to caress her back without a second thought, wishing he could do the same to you. If he's being honest, he's living vicariously through Daniel for the next few songs, pretending he was someone else observing you and himself on the dance floor instead. It almost works; the way she shudders when his lips graze her ear is strikingly similar to how you'd react. The smile she flashes up at him is agonizingly close to your own wicked grin.

When her mouth finds his, Pierre gathers his wits and turns away. Their blatant public affection flipped a switch inside him, disgust rocking through him for a split second before he pushed it away.

He was happy for them. He knew what a long, rocky road it had been for them to become lovers instead of friends, had firsthand knowledge of the stress they'd gone through before they'd finally admitted their feelings to each other, put their pride aside and got together. Pierre had been the one to offer her advice on a night not much different than this one months ago, helping repair the damage Daniel's idiotic, thoughtless words had caused.

But Pierre had since become the person who was sickened at the sight of others in love. It reminded him that part of himself was missing and he hated it.

No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't keep his eyes from wandering back to you. You still occasionally scan the room as Max struggles to lead you through a dance. By some stroke of bad luck your gaze snags on him just as a spotlight illuminates his face and he grimaces. A slow blink is the only surprise you let show before laying your head on Max's shoulder. Jealousy spikes through him like wildfire, igniting his blood and tinging his vision with red.

He wants to march over and rip you off Max. He wants you tucked safely against him as his thumb rubs circles on the bare skin of the small of your back. He wants, more than anything, to take you to his apartment and half carry you up the stairs, having to shush you because you're giggling loud enough to wake the dead, and lay you down in his bed. He wants to help you out of that stunning dress and into a pair of his sweats and curl up against you, letting you sleep off your hangover until noon.

He'd fucked up that chance though, hadn't he? He had slipped up and driven you straight into your friend's arms, who he trusted not to make a move on you but not enough to negate the jealousy coursing through him.

In that moment, he hates you. He hates the hold you have on him, the way a simple gesture between half-drunk friends could send him into a spiral so steep he didn't recognize himself. He hates that he can't keep his eyes off you, your gravity too strong for him to resist.

Most of all, he hates that he doesn’t know how to quit you.

@seasidetom @flashcal @limp-wrist-max @sunshinesewis @lifeofzoemichael @ninuffi @perfectfantasies22 @lamboleglerg @ladyperceval

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