#By the way? Pretty sure I have this person blocked elsewhere so if you’re block evading me. Genuinely fuck off I’m so serious

[blacksugarswan]

soryy bothering but, are you really really REALLY usre there is no other cookie to ship with black sugar swan besides whipped cream? no one? literally no one else? if your answer is still only fatedfeathers exists, then okay, i understand it... sorry for asking...

Fuck off.

[suicidalslasher]

Watched "Bones & All" finally and of course, became obsessed with Lee and the story itself so here's a small blurb I wrote as soon as the credits rolled. Nothing special, just wanted to write it because surprisingly there isn't many fics of him as Lee? SO!!! Here yall go.

TW and sidenotes: female reader. she&her pronouns used. Cannibalism, blood, lots of shitty jokes made by Lee. Also, the "scent" aspect does not exist in this scenario, but they do have strong instincts of who may be an eater which is why there was such an attraction from her and Lee! Hope that makes sense, lol. ANYWAYS AGAIN!! Not the best. I do plan on writing more stories with him and actual smut but for now, here you go :)

(Y/N) hadn’t meant to walk in on her boyfriend, Lee, kneeling over a corpse with pieces of flesh stuck in his teeth and droplets of blood smearing down his chin. In a situation like this, what is one person supposed to do, really?

Sure, if you were sane, you’d be quick to turn around on the balls of your feet and go the opposite way rather quickly and dial 911 before getting the hell out of there.  

But… no. In this case, (Y/N) stayed put, mouth fallen into an ‘o’ shape as time itself seemed to freeze around her; she was rather positive too that the beating of her heartbeat had even stopped. 

She couldn’t move. She couldn’t breathe. 

 It wasn’t until Lee had looked up, his dark green eyes pouring into (Y/N)’s and for that brief moment - that millisecond - they said nothing at all, simply looked at one another with a blank, lifeless expression. 

“I’ll leave you to… it.” She said before  reaching for the knob on the door and pulling it close, leaving Lee to do whatever the fuck it was that he was doing. 

She wasn’t stupid. 

(Y/N) knew what he was doing, she just… didn’t want to think about it. Didn’t want to believe it. 

*~* 

It didn’t take long at all until the door creaked open and there Lee stood, leaned up against the frame of the door with blood smeared across his face, hands stained a crimson and he stood there, giving her a wicked grin, teeth red as he grinned from ear to ear. 

“Thought you weren’t supposed to be home until five o'clock?” He said with a hum as he dug his bloodied hands into the back of his jeans, lifting a cigarette to his lips before he lit the end of it with his lighter. 

Lee said nothing, did nothing except inhaled and exhaled  a  few puffs on the cancer stick before he then continued, “You know I’m not going to hurt you,  right darlin’?”  He said, amusement clear in the tone of his voice. He didn’t stop grinning either as he spoke.  

“Mind enlightening me of what the fuck I just witnessed?” (Y/N) said with her head cocked aside, lips pursed with one another as she waited  for his response. 

“You’re not that big of an idiot, dear. You and I both know that. Don’t go stupid on me now.  What you saw was real and not a figment of your imagination.” Lee said with a shrug of his shoulders.

He took the cigarette out of his mouth before lifting his leg and crushing the end of the flame on the bottom of his shoe and flicked it elsewhere, not bothering to place it in an ashtray nearby. 

He stepped closer to where (Y/N) had been sitting on the recliner chair, arms resting above her head as he continued to smile. 

"I've already mentioned that I have no intention of causing you harm. If I truly wished you gone, you would not be here in front of me, still alive and breathing. You can breathe, by the way, it’s okay. It’s still Lee, still the same boy you love and adore. Still the same boy you open your legs to.” He giggled as he gave a playful wink. 

“Now isn’t really the time for jokes, Lee.” (Y/N) said.  

“Baby, my pretty girl, please listen to me, will you?” He leaned in closer, his hand pressing on her cheek and (Y/N) grimaces, attempting to push away thoughts of the blood now streaking her face. 

She struggles to block out memories of the blood he had spilled before, pondering how many lives he had taken. 

How many had he devoured? 

How much blood had stained his hands, drinking it as if our life force was merely a seductive, addictive wine for him to relish, to savor, to consume? 

“I’m not a monster.” 

“Says the person who literally was eating someone. Says the person who QUITE LITERALLY has blood on their hands from said person they were devouring from.” 

“Well, shoot. You got me there.” Lee giggled again before he shrugged and stepped away, arms dropping at his sides as he stood up.

“Want the truth? Here’s the truth. I was going too.” 

“Going…. To do what, exactly?” 

“Eat you.” He said flatly.  “You looked fucking phenomenal, swaying your hips on the dance-floor that Friday night,  your clevage looked rather spectacular too, may I add, in that little black dress you wore. You looked good enough to eat. And in this sense, I don’t mean hypothetically.” Lee giggled again before he grabbed another cigarette out of his pocket and started a new one. 

He inhaled before exhaling the gray smoke, allowing the cloud to circle around (Y/N) as she weighed in on the heavy statement he had just given to her. 

“You… were going to make me one of your victims? One of your meals?”

"Yeah. But as I got to know you better that night and in the weeks that soon followed, as we grew closer, for once in my life, I listened to my heart's desires and didn't let my hunger ruin something good. Because that’s what you and I have, isn't it, darling? Something good. We can't let this one silly thing come between us, can we?"

“You’re a cannibal, Lee.” 

“And yet you don’t have a problem when I’m devouring that cunt of yours, do you?  You love to be eaten out. What’s the problem if I enjoy eating out other people?” 

“They are not the same, and you and I both are well aware of that.” 

“Yeah, but it’s still a funny joke, right?” 

“Lee…”  (Y/N) sighed and shook her head. “Listen… what I saw was… shocking, there’s no way around that. However, and before you say anything, I… I’ve always had that hunger, too….” 

“Wait, you bullshittin’ me, babe? You’re an Eater, too?” Lee asked, eyes widening and mouth agape as he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“Why in the hell didn’t you say anything!? We could’ve shared my meals together!  Now, that’s what I call romantic.” 

“That’s why you had been attracted to me that night. Why we both couldn’t stay away from one another. Believe it or not, I was planning on doing the same to you. My first in ten years, anyhow. You were going to be the one  that I fed upon, my first in a very long time. Typically, I  enjoy my meals  when they’re from a special occasion.  They taste better, in my opinion.” 

“Aw…. baby, that’s so touching. I got actual butterflies in the pit of my stomach, listening to you.” Lee smiled as he took (Y/N)’s hand with his own, squeezing her fingers.

“How come you never told me before?” 

“I had…. A suspicion but didn’t want to bring it to the table  for obvious reasons.” She explained, giving him a sheepish smile. 

“But now that I know the truth and know that you and I are one in the same, it’d be nice to have dinner with you. A proper one to satisfy both our appetites.” 

She looked up at him and smiled, squeezing his fingers back as he had done to her. “So, want to go out to eat?” (Y/N) asked. 

“I’d love nothing more, my pretty girl.” Lee grinned.

[elf-osamu]

“AZUL, JADE AND FLOYD WITH A S/O WHO IS SCARED OF THE SEA”

[ masterlist ] [ reblogs are very appreciated ]

hurt/comfort ig, romantic, azul ashengrotto, jade leech, floyd leech (separately) x gn!reader

warning(s) : slight book 3 spoilers in azul’s (only in the first paragraph) !!!!, the reader has an anxiety attack but in floyd’s it’s not described with many details, perhaps a bit ooc but honestly i’m not really sure abt it, not proofread

word count : 1411 words

plot : “you’re scared of the sea, but you haven’t said anything about it to your boyfriend because you don’t want him to take it personally. how does he discover it? how does he support and reassure you?”

a/n : very self-indulgent prompt because i get very scared when i see/think about the marine depths for various reasons, so here you go :) <3. i just wanna remind y’all that everyone’s experience can be different, this is mostly inspired by mine !!

AZUL ASHENGROTTO

[ ☆ ] he has come to terms with his past self, but his insecurities still linger to his mind from time to time — he only brings up some aspects of his previous way of living, usually things that have to do with business.

[ ☆ ] so i’d say he wouldn’t talk about it as much as the other two do !

[ ☆ ] still, since he’s the housewarden of octavinelle, everything is very much sea-related in his dorm.

[ ☆ ] rooms, hallways, the mostro lounge… everything.

[ ☆ ] and, since you’re azul’s partner, he trusts you with some of his projects. certain people are fascinated by marine depths, so he would probably host events or re-arrange the mostro lounge with decorations inspired by those.

[ ☆ ] although he could be quite busy because of his schedule and complicated matters, azul is an extremely observant person, no detail escapes him.

[ ☆ ] he would notice quite rapidly if something bothers you, unless you hide it pretty well. but, even in that case, something would give it away, from a worried expression to slight trembling to just not communicate much when he or someone is talking about said topic.

[ ☆ ] azul is probably suggesting a new idea for octavinelle’s restaurant, about the darkest places you could find in the ocean — he’s thinking about changing the walls decor with posters of mysterious creatures and frightening images — when you just start to space out, blocking outside’s noises and his voice.

[ ☆ ] you’re not particularly aware of this action of yours, you don’t mean to ignore him, but the fear has set in and you can’t focus on something except depths and depths of dark water.

[ ☆ ] azul would immediately notice how your body is stiff and your mind seems to be elsewhere; he would waste no time in taking you to a quiet place.

[ ☆ ] when you feel better and explain why it happened, he’s

[ ☆ ] he’s very mindful about this topic with you around! after all, he remembers all the secrets, weaknesses and strenghts of his clients, so it’s not a problem for him to keep your needs in mind, it’s quite the opposite.

[ ☆ ] he would stop holding events with things related to your fear, or he would warn you beforehand.

[ ☆ ] he isn’t fond of swimming, but he would make sure to be by your side if you want to see ocean documentaries or read about sea depths.

JADE LEECH

[ ☆ ] he loves to learn about the customs people follow on land or about nature, especially mushrooms, as we are aware of. so, since your world has piqued his interest, he doesn’t bring up his life in the deep waters on a daily basis.

[ ☆ ] however, with jade the problem rises when he makes comparisons between twisted wonderland’s customs and the ones in the dark depths of the sea.

[ ☆ ] he can be extremely accurate when it comes to describing his experiences and the creatures he met when he was younger, making you shiver in fear when he explains the darkness of some places.

[ ☆ ] at first he is too immersed in his story-telling to see your reaction.

[ ☆ ] but after you two enter a new stage of your relationship, being used to floyd’s frequent mood changes (he’s very perceptive after all), it doesn’t go unnoticed when you hold your breath, shake your head or close your eyes to not think about those scenarios.

[ ☆ ] he would ask you if there’s something wrong and, since you deny it, he doesn’t say anything else on the matter.

[ ☆ ] however, he’ll observe you more than usual and wonder what you’re hiding from him.

[ ☆ ] it doesn’t take him long before he grasps the reality of the situation — he prefers not to say anything though, because he wants you to feel comfortable enough to share it with him.

[ ☆ ] he proceeds to talk about how his life was before he was chosen to be a student of NRC less and less in detail, and he notices the way you see, more relaxed.

[ ☆ ] until one day, you’re in your biology class with jade and the professor chooses to talk about marine life, showing pictures and accurate descriptions of certain places.

[ ☆ ] upon noticing your discomfort, he’ll excuse you and himself, taking you outside the classroom because “[name] needs to go to the infirmary and it’s necessary to accompany them there”.

[ ☆ ] once you tell jade about your fear and the reason you hid it, he listens very attentively and gets it.

[ ☆ ] “dear, you have nothing to worry about; in the sea there are many creatures that are terrified of what could possibly be waiting for them on land, so i don’t find it hard to understand where you’re coming from”, he smiles fondly. “next time, would you mind telling me about something that bothers you straight away? so i could better prevent anything which may trigger you?”

[ ☆ ] he’s very gentle about it!! he’ll ask you what exactly he has to avoid and if he can do anything to better support you.

[ ☆ ] if, after a while, you want to “test” yourself and try to swim in the sea/watch something related to sea life, he’ll be there for you! <3.

FLOYD LEECH

[ ☆ ] among the octavinelle trio, he would be the most blunt about it.

[ ☆ ] no waiting, no schemes, he would go directly to you and ask if something is wrong.

[ ☆ ] how would he notice it?

[ ☆ ] well, when floyd is interested in someone or something, he’s very loud and open about it; with you being his significant other, he spends a big amount of time with you.

[ ☆ ] he easily catches up on some of your habits and little facts about yourself just by watching what you do, he’s very attentive when he’s motivated to do so.

[ ☆ ] he adores to swim when he’s in the mood to do so. it can be both relaxing and exciting: it’s something that often vitalizes him, making him think more clearly and calm him down when he’s upset.

[ ☆ ] if you refuse to go in the sea with him, he would slightly complain the first times, as he usually does when he doesn’t obtain what he wants.

[ ☆ ] it’s only a bit of whining though, floyd would never force you into doing something you’d rather not.

[ ☆ ] when people around him and he’s bored, he passionately tells scary stories about his childhood and the creatures he has met during that time; he mostly entertains himself by exaggerating and adding unnecessary details, but he’s always satisfied with himself when he manages to scare someone.

[ ☆ ] but if that someone is you? things are a bit different.

[ ☆ ] he becomes aware of your fear almost immediately after noticing how you’re quiet when he’s in the middle of explaining how a huge monster tried to attack him once and he couldn’t see anything since it was quite dark there; you haven’t said anything in a while and you look bothered but also… truly frightened.

[ ☆ ] floyd has demonstrated multiple times how he’s quick-witted; thinking about all the times he was storytelling or just suggested to go in the dark marine depths, he has no doubts about it.

[ ☆ ] “[name]”, he says in a slurred tone, his eyes are looking for yours. “you’re scared of the sea, aren’t you?”.

[ ☆ ] when you admit your fear, explaining why you thought it was better to keep it a secret, he frowns. then he proceeds to gently hold your jaw in one hand and place the other on your shoulder.

[ ☆ ] “i don’t judge [name]. has someone done it? who are they? should i squeeze them?”.

[ ☆ ] he’s really caring when it comes to people who are close to him! so you can feel totally safe with him on your side.

[ ☆ ] if you ever wanna try to do something related to your fear, he’d be 100% excited and supportive about it.

[ do not copy, translate, repost, etc. | by @ elf-osamu ]

[neverwritewhatyouknow]

To the four people I blocked who have called me racist:

I’m sorry you’re too antisemitic to understand the fact that Jews are important.

I knew that people would assume I was mad about Nora being Black when I started calling out the Jew-erasure, but I think I’ve made my position on the matter pretty clear. Especially considering how vocal I am about the fact that they could’ve cast a Jew of color as Nora, and how great that would’ve been. I’m not going to defend how I’m not racist, because I know I’m not, but haters gonna hate, and multiple things can be true at once:

You can be upset about Jew erasure, and call out a movie for casting a non-Jew who happens to be an actress of color while also not being racist. Calling out antisemitism does not mean I’m a racist, it means I’m against hate. Clearly by the messages I get, that isn’t true for a lot of others.

I have and will always continue to fight back against ALL antisemitism in the media. I do that frequently elsewhere too. Most recently I have been in contact with countless people about the new Marvel casting of Joe Locke and the casting of Daisy Edgar-Jones as Carole King. I have also written published articles about MoonKnight and the Jew erasure there, as well as the use of Jew-face in Hollywood.

This isn’t a race issue. I don’t hate that Nora is Black, I hate that they erased my ethnicity and religion and took joy in it and refuse to own up to it. If they had cast Rachel and then explained why, or apologized, or acknowledged it in any way whatsoever, I wouldn’t be as angry. But using Jews when you want them and throwing them away when you don’t, is shit.

If you’re calling me a racist because you can’t handle the fact that I’m calling out the antisemitism here, then your problem is with Amazon. Not with me. They put us in this position. I would be doing this regardless of the non-Jewish actress they cast as Nora, believe you me.

Rachel is incredibly talented. She’s a good person. She’s a brilliant professional. She was not the right choice for Nora, since she’s not Jewish. She has no Jewish heritage even though there was a lie going around months ago that I debunked, about her possibly having Jewish heritage. She herself even strongly alluded to not being Jewish in an Instagram story (along with many other posts). So, she wasn’t the best choice for Nora. If Nora wasn’t Jewish then for sure, but as is… No. It’s just a fact. I’m sorry if that upsets you, but it’s just the truth. UPDATE: As of the movie’s release, it’s clear that the movie erased the Jewishness entirely, Rachel was great (like I knew she’d be) and since Nora was no longer Jewish in the movie, her casting can’t be looked at through the same lens as a Jewish character directly

And here’s a fun fact: antisemitism is racism against Jews, so defending those who commit antisemitism is defending racism… So the racist here, is actually you.

[maybeitsalivescribbles]

Hi ! This blog has one year. I don’t think this is gonna be very interesting for someone else, but I still wanted to make a recap post.

You’re more than 100, which is a number that lots of writing blogs can pull out in a month a lot more than zero, which is crazy.

The tragic backstory of this blog is that I’ve made it because I was incredibly burned out. Check the first post if you like. This was written by a guy who couldn’t take a deep breath without a long nap after. My first objective is not to ruin my health and take it as slow as possible, through gritted teeth.

I had a writer’s block, too. But if I am to believe the file where I put all my blog snippets...

Yeah. That took care of that. (For now, anyway.)

the typos the typos the typos so many typos aaaaaaaaaaah I’m so sorry - I really hope my English got better, but…

I love writing in English though. Perfectionists, try to write your story in your second language. Not only it’s cool – it’s the equivalent of saying “I’m not left-handed” in a duel – but you’re forced to go straight to the point. It helps !

It’s my playground. I don’t write to make good snippets, I try to make fun snippets. Viewing things that way helped a lot. If it doesn't have to be good, I’m free to experiment more.

Of all the things I’ve written here, ““Muahaha”, they said in a polite effort to keep the conversation alive” might be one of my favorite sentences. (From here)

Tags might be the greatest thing on this website. I cherish them. Obviously, I love reading yours, but I love writing mine too, giving you behind-the-scene comments and/or bullshit jokes. Sometimes it’s the first thing I write.

The first time I’ve ever tried to write second-person narration was on this blog. Apparently people don’t like it very much, but I think it’s pretty fun.

I am hilariously bad at guessing what you’ll like. I’m dead wrong almost every time.

Fun fact, These two dorks nearly never existed. I hated the first post featuring them, I thought it was awfully written and was ashamed of it. When I decided to finally post it, dozens of readers tugged my sleeve to say “we like this”. And I was baffled, but...sure. I kept on. I still don’t like this post, but I’m fond of the series now.

Chairs are the bane of my existence, so when I read lots and lots of snippets where people are forced to kneel because it’s submissive and stuff, my eyebrow lifts very high. Cue this snippet. Cue more than a hundred of readers tugging my sleeve to say “we like this”. S...sure ? Vampire Hero jumped into action.

Basically dear readers, though I’ve obviously done the work, without your support the reoccurring characters here would never have existed. Thank you.

Unfortunately it goes the other way, too. I’ve deleted a couple of things I was fond of but weren’t read (that’s one of the reasons why reblogging is important btw). I’m very fond of detectives and I wanted to write a series featuring a detective/thief, but since I’ve only had a bunch of notes for these snippets, I’ve set aside the project. Maybe one day ?

Tumblr is allergic to names, but most of the recurring characters actually have one.

My fantasy snippets are not read much, but they’re still fun to make. I’m not going to stop them. I’m grateful for the H/V community but it’s never gonna be 100% what I make.

Have I told you how much I love notes and tags and comments ? People who interacted in any way, people who liked dozens of snippets in one go, people who reblogged and even took the time and effort to write tags or a comment, people who left asks, you are noticed and appreciated.

Lurkers, I don’t begrudge you. I was one of you for years and years and years. I’d love to hear from you one day, but if not it’s okay. I know how hard and overwhelming it can be to reach out.

I know, I’m a hypocrite. I don’t reblog enough myself – or interact altogether. It’s not you, it’s the lack of spoons. Truth is, since I had this blog, I read much less because my energy is taken elsewhere. Either I write either I read, it’s hard to do both.

I don’t follow you because I fucking hate the dashboard. I avoid looking at it as much as I can. It’s an overwhelming sea of information with 90% irrelevant posts and 10% that disappear when you want to find them again and it gives me a headache every time. Sorry! Again, it's not you! I should change that, but it’s gonna take some time.

Readers, I can’t thank you enough. This silly blog helped me so much. It helped with my writing and creative process in general, it helped me go through some pretty bad days. It’s such a comfort to know that real actual people around the world are willingly reading the stuff I’ve made. It’s an incredible feeling and I’m still not over this.

The first six months were great. I loved it. These six months, less. This site seems to get progressively worse. Maybe I should find a second Internet place (all suggestions are welcome. I know nothing about this kind of stuff.)

I don’t intent to go, though. I want to try many, many things. I can't tell you more in case I have another block or something, but there are projects, so- stay tuned?

[damnation-if]

so, i’ve been putting off writing this post for a while, telling myself that i didn’t really need to do it and everything would turn out fine but honestly. some of the asks i’ve been getting recently have been very upsetting to me personally and they’re sort of mounting up in my inbox and making it feel not very pleasant so i thought i’d just. get this post out of the way...

since the demo was released i’ve been getting an increasing number of asks that seem as though they’re designed to try and push me away from including polyam options in the game or attempt to try and goad me into admitting that the ROs prefer monogamy and consider any polyam relationships “lesser” than “proper” monogamous relationships.

this has ranged from direct criticism of my characters (”don’t you think it’s unfair that Lithiana won’t give up sleeping around and become monogamous if mc is romancing her”) to what i’m sure are intended to be subtle attempts at manipulation (”don’t you think it would be Healthier for [RO] if they were monogamous so that they could Know that mc Truly loves them and Only them and they’d be so much happier in that kind of relationship”) to attempting to shame other players for being happy about polyam options being included.

that last bunch really, really hurt me. i get a not insignificant amount of asks from people being happy that polyam options are included or that they simply won’t be shamed for being promiscuous but i’ve gradually. stopped answering these because i almost always get an ask shortly afterwards that reads something like “i do [rephrasing of something that was mentioned in the original ask] ONLY with [their favourite RO who i won’t drag into this], because i’m a GOOD LOVER ;)” and it feels like absolute crap, every time. (and of course tumblr being tumblr blocking this anon ask sender simply doesn’t work, because Webbed Site  🙄)

i’ve seen authors get backlash for including (and especially Adding) polyam routes and readers getting possessive over “their” ROs but i never realised people were just as mad about the. idea that other players could be doing non-monogamous things elsewhere and not being shamed for it. and that... really boggles my mind and saddens me a lot.

to the what i assume to be minority of people for whom stuff other players are doing is apparently a problem, i hope you can understand that other players being polyamorous doesn’t affect your playthrough of the game in any way, and there’s no need to just. be mean to them about it. and if you’re actually mad simply because people aren’t ashamed of being polyamorous well... that’s pretty cruel, i have to say, and we probably wouldn’t get along if we knew each other, because i’m also polyamorous. i’d appreciate it if you’d stop trying to use me as a platform to shame other polyam people, and maybe just unfollow if it bothers you so much.

to the people who have sent asks that mention or talk about monogamy in a sensible non-judgy way who may have noticed me not answering them - i’m sorry, i haven’t felt like answering these for a bit due to the other batch of asks and me feeling icky at the idea of galvanising the other group despite there being nothing wrong with your asks in particular. i’ll probably keep them in my inbox and maybe answer them in a while if this dies down.

to everyone else, thank you for supporting me and i’m sorry to have to talk about this but it’s really been bugging me recently lmao. i appreciate each and every one of you that Isn’t sending me these asks lmfao<3

[snackhobi]

min yoongi is the best shot in the business. you’re the best gunsmith in the city and the only person he trusts to programme his tech; to make his gear. 

he likes your work. it’s a shame, then, that he doesn’t like you.

pairing: yoongi x f!reader / word count: 14.3k / genre + rating: NSFW (18+), cyberpunk!au, smut, frenemies (?) to lovers

warnings/etc: hitman!yoongi. black market dealer/gunsmith!reader. cursing/explicit language. whole lotta tension, sexual and otherwise. mentions of injury/violence. minor character death (no one important, don’t worry, this isn’t an angst fic). brief hurt/comfort. reader has tattoos. sexually explicit content. oral; fingering; multiple orgasms; overstimulation (f). unprotected sex (please take the necessary precautions irl). rough sex?. choking. creampie. brief mention of aftercare. I think that’s everything but please lmk if I missed any!

a/n: thank you SO MUCH to both @hobi-gif​ and @morndas​ for beta reading this and being so supportive, ily both so much and I owe you my life 🤧💕 as always what was meant to be a short fic turned into a huge one. also this is technically for my 1.1k milestone but it’s a billion years late, oops!​

Yoongi really doesn’t like you.

You’re loud. Cocky. Arrogant. You needle him all the time, dig your fingernails in and squeeze, revelling in the way he sets his jaw, the muted spark of irritation in his eyes. You bat your eyelashes and tilt your head, throw it back whenever you laugh and reveal the easing column of your throat, dragging each interaction out with a kind of sadistic pleasure that has him gritting his teeth. Because you love annoying him, getting under his skin, tapping your fingers against the soft swell of your bottom lip as you eye him up, taking your time before you speak.

Infuriating. You’re infuriating and you know it.

It’s unfortunate, really, because you’re unavoidable. 

Jungkook had asked, once, why Yoongi doesn’t just go elsewhere. They’re more than familiar with the underbelly of this heaving city, underneath all the neon lights and shimmering holograms and towering skyscrapers and legal tech; the scuttling seams of back alley traders and illegal goods, tech or otherwise. There are plenty of black market dealers, after all, plenty of other vendors he could go to to get the equipment he wants. Plenty of other skilled crafters, artificers, artisans, people who would be more than happy to create the things that Yoongi asks for, that he needs. People who can get their hands on anything you want. For a price.

Yoongi’s answer had been short and succinct.

“She’s the best there is,” he’d said, and that had been that.

Because it’s true. You might be exasperating, maddening, laughing in Yoongi’s face where others might cower or genuflect, but no one is as good as you. All of Yoongi’s gear has been crafted by you; each and every single one of his weapons, his tech, the headpiece that fits so perfectly around the back of his skull that Yoongi often forgets that it’s there, hidden in his hair, unfolding across his eyes whenever he lines up a shot to make the kill—there’s evidence of your work across every inch of his body, hidden away under his clothes, day in, day out. Even when he’s not on a contract Yoongi never leaves anything to chance. 

(A walking armoury, Namjoon had called him once.)

(You’d phrased it differently.

You’re always packing, hmm? you’d hummed, rapping your fingernails in a steady beat as you’d leaned back in your chair, smiling with teeth. There was laughter in your words and your gaze, no attempt made to hide your amusement, but after your goading you’d made him a collapsible sword anyway. It’s a beautiful thing, this folding blade, bristling with plasma and energy if Yoongi needs it, lethal and deadly. One of his most prized possessions, something that’s gotten him out of multiple corners, and he owes it—you—his life.)

There’s no one on par with you. You’re a Renaissance woman, a fiercely talented polymath who doesn’t need to rely on anyone else to create the things you create. Low-tech, high-tech, no tech—you make everything from scratch, programme things yourself, hunched over each project in your own workshop with nothing but your mind and your own two hands.

It’s the only reason he puts up with you and your antics, the sharp jibes, the shameless flirting; you’re the most infuriating person he knows, but there’s no one else he would trust with the work that you do.

Unfortunately.

Which is why Yoongi finds himself here, again and again, as familiar with this studio as you are—he watches you work, sometimes, watches you sketch up blueprints and drag your fingers across your array of displays, your world cast in shifting shades of cyan and electric blue from all the tech in here, humming and alive. He likes to see how his equipment is made, after all. It can mean the difference between life and death. He takes this seriously.

It’s the one time you might be quiet. Might be quiet, because you still talk even when you work; flick your gaze between Yoongi and whatever’s set in front of you, that ever present smile spread across your lips, smug and amused. You’re only silent during the hardest jobs. Like right now, you’re intense and focused, a furrow dug between your brows as you survey his sniper rifle—almost shorn in two. (It had been the only thing to hand when he’d had to block a blow from a guard he’d somehow overlooked, no time to draw any other weapons before they’d started to brawl.)

You’d been unimpressed. You’d raised your eyebrows with all the severity of a disappointed mother, bitten words out at him with molten snideness, dripping heat and snark.

“It’s a gun, Yoongi. A gun. You know, something you shoot with? Pew pew? Blammo? I’m not sure what sort of shields and body armour you’ve seen in the past but this isn’t either of those things. Do you want me to sketch some diagrams up for you? Or maybe I could write you a book. Baby’s First Arsenal, Chapter One: The Difference Between Things That Are Guns And Things That Aren’t. Would that be helpful?”

No one else talks to Yoongi like that. No one else would dare. It’s only a rare few that know his birth name and it’s not often that he hears it, more used to the sound of Agust D falling off people’s lips. But that had been part of your price, part of the agreement when he’d first met you and asked for your services: his real name.

Yoongi had let it wash over him, had endured your tongue-lashing before putting the gun down with a heavy finality and thrust it over at you, tired of all your talk.

“Just fix it,” he’d demanded.

You’d laughed in his face.

“As always, your bedside manner leaves something to be desired,” you’d said, taking the rifle from him.

The D-2 Shadow isn’t just a weapon. It’s a piece of art, clean edges and slick lines, and Yoongi is grateful to have it back in his hands. There’s no other sniper rifle like it, made of super lightweight alloy and easy to handle; thermal scope, enhanced stabilisers for accuracy; superior kinetic coils for better shot penetration. Yoongi had asked for the best and you’d delivered. Gone above and beyond, crafted a weapon the likes of which no one else possesses, modified in ways other people can’t even fathom.

And you’d fixed it when he'd almost let it get destroyed. Made it better than new, even, layered it in more alloy to make it stronger without making it heavier, a new material of your own design. If he hadn’t known you as well as he does he’d have worried that it was beyond repair, knows that other gunsmiths would have taken one look at its crumpled body and shaken their heads, but you hadn’t. 

Of course you hadn’t. You never do.

You charge him a pretty penny for your work, make him pay through the nose for everything he asks of you, but Yoongi is more than willing to do so. More than capable of paying, coffers lined with more money than he might need, one of the best contract killers there is—the real price he pays is with his sanity, worn away each time you open your mouth. He can’t help but rise to your bait, as derisive as you are; it’s only the smallest things, a sharpness to his otherwise even tone, an angry spark in his eyes, but you pick up on it all.

He’s not your only customer. You don’t extend your services to many, only to the people you want to—Yoongi’s not sure what set of harebrained criteria you have that lets you choose who you’ll sell to and who you won’t but he can’t make heads nor tails of it. He knows he’s not part of your clientele because he’s got the credits to pay, nor is it because he’s one of the most highly regarded hitmen in his line of business. 

You don’t just choose people who can afford to pay or people who have a level of power and influence in this dark underworld you inhabit. You really don’t care about those things. You just pick and choose on a whim.

(Once, back when he’d first met you, Yoongi had discovered that you’d concocted an entirely new security system—practically incapable of being hacked, crawling with tech, a level of complexity even the richest elites could barely afford—for some small artist who’d worried that their paintings might get stolen. He was an unknown at the time, this V, squirrelled away in one of the dark corners in the lowest levels of the city, and you’d all but given him some of the best work you’d ever done, undercharged him something chronic.

You’d shrugged when Yoongi had asked why.

“He makes me laugh,” you’d replied.)

Yoongi isn’t your only customer but he’s certainly the only one you seem to treat the way you do. There’s a level of irreverence in everything you do, self-confidence settled across every inch of you like the obnoxious stench of a teenage boy’s body spray, but you seem to take particular pleasure in Yoongi’s displeasure. He’d brought Namjoon along, once, inquiring after an imitation greenhouse, how someone might set up the tech to raise tropical plants that wouldn’t survive otherwise (mostly above board, even; Namjoon might grow illicit plants, poisonous and prohibited, but he likes pretty flowers, too). And there had been none of the mocking that Yoongi receives. None of the wind ups. You’d been pleasant, despite your incessant snark, agreeing to take the job with a smile on your face that Yoongi never gets given.

(It had been infuriating, to know that you’re capable of not being an ass, but you just choose not to be. For fun.)

Yoongi really, really doesn’t like you, but he respects your work. Respects you, even if he’d never admit it out loud.

You keep your word. You don’t supply his competitors, although you claim it’s not loyalty to him and it’s only because they can’t pay as well as he does—winnings go to the highest bidder, you’d said sagely, as obtuse and irritating as always. 

But Yoongi knows other sellers will provide anyone who’s willing to pay, freelancers who peddle their wares regardless of affiliation or alliances. You’re beholden to no one and yet Yoongi knows you would never double cross him. Never supply anyone who challenges his work, even if they have the money, even if he’s on good terms with them (it’s not personal, it’s business; Yoongi has no issue with other hired killers as long as they stay out of his way). He knows he can rely on you, which is something to be treasured in these back-crossing back-stabbing backstreets.

So when he makes his way to your door, the details of a new contract still fresh in his mind, he instantly comes to a stop.

There’s something off. He can tell immediately, years of instinct causing the hairs on the back of his neck to rise, every part of him on edge. Everything looks normal, is normal, but there’s a burning in his gut that has Yoongi’s finger itching for the trigger even though there’s nothing to shoot. 

You’ve granted him the privilege of access to your workshop, to the other rooms, entered the scans of his hand and eye and voice into the security systems, keep him updated on the varying passwords you cycle through, so he can enter whenever he needs to. 

(He’s woken you up on more than one occasion, roused you from sleep for last minute supplies before he leaves for another contract, appearing in the dead of night like a spectre of death, clothing dark and eyes darker, overflowing with weaponry. A looming silhouette edged in strokes of cyan and magenta from the ever present, low-level neon light in your room, so much darker than the bright lights of your workshop. Intimidating. 

And you always just roll your eyes and sigh and tell him to keep a better eye on his cache of equipment and climb out of bed for him. You’re so at odds to him in your sleep rumpled clothing and mussed hair, still unafraid even when he’s fully geared and ready to kill; shirt slipping off your shoulder, swathes of bare skin in the place of Yoongi's all-encompassing outfit, shimmering black light tattoos visible on your legs and arms and bare skin of your collarbones, geometric lines in the palest of blues and greens. You hand over whatever he needs and tell him the creds he owes you.

“I’ve already given you a key to my apartment and you haven’t even taken me for dinner once,” you sigh—dramatic and melodramatic—even as you hand over a bundle of crossbow bolts. The synthesised toxin inside the darts is your own concoction, of course, courtesy of the plant matter provided from Namjoon’s greenhouse.

“I’d literally rather be shot in the head than willingly spend time with you,” he replies.

“You wanna fuck me so bad it makes you look stupid,” you say, and just laugh in the face of his unimpressed deadpan. As insufferable as always.)

So he doesn’t need your permission to enter. He’s silent, light-footed as he makes his way inside, scanning each inch of this familiar interior; nothing’s wrong, not yet, but Yoongi can sense something in the air. Something heavy, settled bitter on his tongue, coating the back of his throat.

And then he walks into your workshop.

You’re meticulous. Even when you’re overrun with gear, with parts that have yet to be used, everything has its place. You prefer paper over datapads, too, tack sheets of designs and notes up on the wall, have clipboards and stacks of sheets set neatly in their place, a throwback to a time before tech ruled everything. Yoongi knows the layout of this room as well as he knows his own home, a mental map of straight lines and unwavering coordinates with you in the centre of it all.

Upheaval. Those neat lines of organised cartography have been pulled apart. Ham-handed work, to be sure, more of a statement than anything else; intent to instil fear rather than to destroy (although, Yoongi sees now that one of the monitors has been smashed, display sparking white and blue as it bleeds out electricity.). Even in the darkness of the room—overhead lights off and only emergency lighting on, painting things in shades of dark crimson and pink—Yoongi can tell that whichever interlopers have done this are already gone. The room is empty.

Then the sound of a clatter breaks the silence and Yoongi’s already got his pistol out, drawn without a thought as he approaches the sound that comes from the back room, fleet-footed and silent as he raises the gun and rounds the corner—

And sees you at the end of the barrel.

There’s a first aid kit on the floor. Packs of medi-gel and rolls of bandages and other supplies scattered around your feet. You haven’t even spotted Yoongi yet, in despair at the mess in front of you; he’s never seen you like this, never seen anything other than your veneer of enraging smugness and never-ending energy.

“Y/n?” 

You flinch even as your head snaps around, eyes wide—but the second you see Yoongi you visibly relax, even though he’s still holding a gun in your direction.

There’s a bruise blossoming across your left cheek.

“Ah, Yoongi.” The smile that paints itself across your lips is almost convincing despite the dark flower that’s unfolding on your skin, blood rising to the surface and painting it in hues of pain; you wince, a little, when the smile makes your wound ache. Soldier onwards as you act as though nothing is wrong. “I know you’re always desperate for my attention but do you mind giving me a second? I’m kind of indisposed at the moment.”

Yoongi’s lips are set in a thin line. He only has one question on his mind.

“Who did this to you?”

Your gaze flickers before you break eye contact, staring at the first aid supplies on the floor. “What, this? Have you never dropped something before?”

Yoongi ignores your deflection. It only takes a few moments to reholster the pistol, to step over to you, to grasp your chin and tilt your face towards him.

“Who did this to you?”

Yoongi’s tone is quiet and low, firm and undeniable. For the first time since he’s met you it seems as though you’re lost for words, lips parted around a silent sound of surprise as you’re subjected to the full force of Yoongi’s gaze, cutting through you; past every layer of self-inflated narcissism you put on, past every deflection you might make.

There's a beat of silence.

And then you slowly but irrevocably fold underneath the weight of his stare.

You let him lead you, sit you down, bowing to his hands and his directions. You’re silent throughout, lips an unfamiliar shape as they’re pulled down into the slightest of frowns. He’s only ever seen you smile, seen you laugh, self-assured. Never like this.

You seem surprised, startled when he sits across from you and cracks open a pack of medi-gel. Yoongi’s surprised too, although he doesn’t show it, lets his instincts take over and settles into auto-pilot as he reaches for your face. He’s never seen your eyes so round, so wide, watching the hand that descends on your cheek with all the single-minded intent of a man about to fillet a fish—careful and practiced but menacing, maybe. (He doesn’t like you but you don’t deserve to have been hurt and Yoongi can’t just stand by and not help.)

And you don’t shy away. You stare at him as he stares at his fingers, layers the gel evenly across the pain of your bruise, cool and soothing.

It’s only when he’s reached for more medi-gel and touched your cheek for the second time that you finally speak.

“It was one of the Tang cousins.”

Yoongi goes still, fingers resting across your skin, slick with purple gel. 

“One of the cousins?”

Yoongi doesn’t like you. But—and God knows what he did wrong in a previous life for this to be true—you’re one of his inner circle, one of the very, very few people he trusts. You’re not friends and he doesn’t like you, but he owes you, owes you a hundred times over, owes you for every successful kill, every silent infiltration, every averted detection. All thanks to your tech and the work you put into it for him. He’s indebted to you.

Yoongi always pays his debts.

“I didn’t even catch his name.” You sound dismissive. Normally you’d laugh, deride the person you’re speaking about, but instead you just sound tired. “One of the low down ones. New kid on the block; someone I didn’t recognise, with some lackeys or similar. Trying to make a name for himself, I think. He demanded that I build weapons for him. I said no.”

The Tang family is a big one, a criminal empire that has its tendrils dug in everywhere. You don’t deal with them, have no interest throwing your lot in with them intentionally or not; it’s a big, formidable family, but it’s not the only one around. You’d be dumb to get involved in that mess of generational, cross-family conflict. You’ll sell things to the highest bidder, shift illicit high-tech stock, build generic modifications that people can buy—but you don’t make bespoke weaponry for just anyone.

You don’t even sell to the heads of the Tang family directly, let alone to some back-alley sewer rat who probably barely has the faintest ties to the family, a single vein of Tang blood in his body, just enough to give him an in.

Whoever this cousin was he must be really fucking stupid to not know that. Stupid to think he could demand anything from you. Stupid to think he could hurt you when you laughed in his face and said no. Anyone with half a brain-cell should know not to fuck with you, know that it’s an honour to even be allowed inside your workshop, that to be told ‘no’ by you is a privilege.

Stupid to think that he wasn’t going to pay for that stupidity.

The pack of medi-gel is empty, the deflated pouch forgotten on Yoongi’s knee as he stares at you. The flecks of biomatter in the gel catch the light, sparkling like glitter in the lavender that’s seeping into your skin; all the surprise is gone from your eyes and instead you’re just watching him, stolid and steady. Analytical.

(You’re smart. Yoongi knows you are. For all that you talk shit and play foolish, he never forgets about that fierce intelligence. Never underestimates you or how perceptive you are. He only wonders what’s on your mind right now; what it is that you see in front of you.)

“Next time don’t let someone in unless you’re certain you’re going to sell to them.”

You scoff in his face. “Alright, Dad. Do you want to update my curfew while you’re at it? Make it ten p.m. instead of eleven?”

Yoongi blinks slowly. You’ve got both eyebrows raised, surveying him with a mixture of amusement and disbelief that he’s trying to tell you what to do (because no one tells you what to do; they wouldn't dare). But you don’t pull away, your knees still touching his, body bowed towards him from when he’d coaxed you closer so he could reach your face—so he knows you don’t mind. Not really.

(Knows you don’t care about anyone’s opinions or rules, only sticking to your own. The fact you’d been shaken from that place of confidence by some thug—even for a moment—doesn’t sit right in Yoongi’s belly. That bitter taste is back in his throat and it’s ice cold, icicles prickling through his blood.)

(He doesn’t like you but you’re one of his people and no one fucks with Yoongi’s people.)

The bruise is still there days later, after you’ve rearranged your workshop back to the way it was, sourced a new monitor to replace the one that was broken. You’re back to smirking, already ready for his request, more bullets for his weapons and super-charged plasma to recharge his sword, but the bruise is a stark reminder of what you’ve been through. So is, too, the new blueprint he spies half finished on your open displays: an automated security system that scans thermal signatures, guns unfolding from the ceiling whenever aggressive movement is detected from an unfamiliar person. Anyone who’s not listed as familiar in the security logs. 

(Yoongi used to wonder about that. Why you didn’t have security mechs set in place, programming their AI to protect you, but you don’t like to use mechs. Don’t like to use them, even if you could afford to build them, because you compare it to forced servitude. You’ve never needed them before now, anyway. Safe in your reputation, knowing that you’re in a position of power, that people come here because they know you’re the best of the best.)

(But it seems like you don’t trust that any more. Don’t feel safe.)

Yoongi keeps as silent as always, bites his tongue when you cut him off mid-sentence with nothing more than a raised finger.

“Ah, ah, ah,” you tut, wagging the finger back and forth like the slow pendulum of a grandfather clock. “No more crafting requests. I’m still working on the concentration mod you asked for and I’ll let you know when it’s ready. I don't rush for anyone. Patience is a virtue, baby. Did no one ever tell you that?”

“Don’t call me baby.”

“Okay, handsome.” Your reply is instant, unruffled, and Yoongi grits his teeth. 

But still. For all that you’re acting like normal, workshop set back into place, white lighting shining overhead, as neat and presentable as always—Yoongi can read uncertainty in the way you move. Discomfort. You don’t feel safe in your own space and it’s obvious, even if you don’t realise it.

“Come back any time,” you say coyly, and Yoongi, as always, ignores you. Transfers the creds he owes you in silence before he takes one last look at the bruise that’s still painted across your skin, dark eyes touching yours for the briefest moment before he turns and leaves.

For the first time since you met, Yoongi buys from someone who isn’t you.

It’s not bad. Well made, decent tech, Predator pistol sitting easy in his hands when he brings it to the light and watches it unfold from its holstered state, the way plasma bursts to life in the barrel; weaker than bullets but easier to reload in the field. It’s no surprise that the Yeom family gets their stuff sourced from here. The body armour, too, isn’t bad, engraved with the family crest and cast in their colours.

It’s not bad, but it’s not as good as it could be. Not as good as Yoongi needs his tech to be, demands it to be—but quality doesn’t matter. Not today. He has a job to do.

It’s easy to find his mark. Scum gathers in stagnant water, in the dirtiest and dankest places, and this is where Yoongi finds Tang Lee. Finds him spilling beer and money in the backroom of some grimy strip club where the holograms flicker from age and the strippers are tired, trying their best to scrape a living from the seething riverbed of filth that runs underneath the bright neon lights of the skyscrapers in the levels above.

Lee isn’t alone but it’s so easy to take them out it’s laughable, men drunk from cheap alcohol; Yoongi catches one in a chokehold, smashes another’s face into the glass table with enough force it shatters, faces Lee once they’re the only two standing. The music outside is too loud and the room is sound proofed for privacy and so Yoongi isn’t interrupted as he brings Lee to his knees, thrusting his face into a smear of blood that drips from his now-broken nose, courtesy of a quick jab of Yoongi’s right fist.

It’s not a quick kill. It could be. Yoongi could have ended this in moments, caught Lee off guard and ended his miserable life almost effortlessly—but he doesn’t. He takes his time, makes it count, teaches him a lesson, has Lee on his hands and knees as he sobs out apologies and snivels for mercy before he takes the pistol and blows his brains out. Yoongi doesn’t feel sorry for the man, eyes the body impassively, not even worth his disgust—he only feels sorry for whoever finds the chaos of the room and the bodies inside, the distinct plasma burns he purposefully leaves in the wall with the Predator pistol, the entire scene he’s created here: a scuffle gone wrong, fast.

You’re not the only person Tang Lee has crossed but you’ll be the last. Yoongi checks the pulses of the other two men, finds one dead and the other still alive, barely, just like he’d planned—and his work is done. It’s the Yeom family’s problem now, any fall out from Lee’s death pointed at them, a repayment of a slight Lee had made to a Yeom supplier only a few weeks ago. (Yoongi wagers that neither family will care, will draw a veil over this moment and let this settle without raising arms, no one important enough to go to war over.)

He discards the pistol and armour once he’s done, incinerates it all, no interest in keeping subpar equipment. It’s not even worth dismantling for parts. Hoseok finds him in their basement, eyeing the blue flames that lick their way around the discarded armaments; he just watches Yoongi, inscrutable and calm as he eyes the blood on the clothing before it bursts into flames.

“Not a contract,” Hoseok says. (It’s not a question.)

“A job.” Yoongi replies, watches the cloth turn to ash through the thrumming display of the incinerator. “Something that needed to be done.”

He doesn’t tell anyone what he’s done. There’s no point in it. Yoongi decides something needs to be done and he’ll do it, whether that’s building a new chair for Jungkook after he broke his old one or killing a man who hurt you.

The next time he sees you your bruise is practically gone, faded into your skin. You’re intent on something on a monitor but when you notice him you turn, swivelling in your chair in one smooth motion as you lean back and put your hands behind your head, cross one leg over the other, dripping self-satisfaction, your smile sharp and full of teeth.

“Ah, Yoongi.” You look so smug that Yoongi has to resist the urge to roll his eyes. “Welcome, once again, to my laboratory. Is this visit for business or pleasure? Either way, you know I'm happy to oblige.”

“I’m here for the mod you promised me,” he says bluntly, and you just keep smiling, even as you hold out a hand for the sniper rifle, handling the D-2 Shadow with as much reverence as Yoongi does as you affix the mod.

It’s perfect, of course. All that Yoongi asked for and more. The software links with his eyepiece, biometric sensors that help him find his target, software to adjust to his pulse and breathing.

“You can even change the colour of the HUD,” you say, as if it’s some sort of buy-one-get-one-free offer, some fun little feature, rather than another helpful piece of software that you’ve created. Dismissive. An afterthought.

(You act like you take nothing seriously. Yoongi is your stark opposite, weighing everything in his hands and treating it with the level of attention it deserves, intent and focused.)

He’s staring down the scope when you speak once more. Light and easy, for once, rather than loud with your usual exaggerated exuberance or silken with unnecessary suggestiveness.

“I hear that they found a Tang family member dead.”

Yoongi just hums in response. Keeps his eye on the scope, wills the colour from dark green to white using the affinity link he has synced with his headpiece, watches the lines of the heads up display of the scope repaint themselves without even a single flicker, transition smooth and effortless. (Perfection.)

“It seems like the Yeom family did it,” you say, tone still conversational.

“Is that so.” Yoongi sounds disinterested, face impassive as he draws the gun away from his face, eye piece automatically folding away from his eyes. “Can I ask about other mods now that this one is finished?”

One of your brows rises, a perfect curve of discontent. “Say thank you first, Yoongi.”

Yoongi’s eyes cut into yours but you don’t back down, watch his blank face as he eventually says: “Thank you. Now I need more mods.”

You throw your head back as you laugh. “You’re insatiable,” you say, but you don’t say no. “What do you want now?”

(It’s not that you never say no to Yoongi. Because you have, and you do, and you will. But never because you can’t make what he asks for—and only because you refuse to make things that might endanger his safety, illicit bio-mods that other hired hitmen use, things that degrade the body from the inside out.)

Yoongi’s just holstered the Shadow, ready to go, when you speak one final time.

“Yoongi?”

He’s never heard you say his name like that, soft and quiet.

“Thanks.” You’re staring at him, regarding him steadily, solemn in a way that he’s never seen. You’re smiling, as always, but the expression is lightyears away from what Yoongi is used to—just the barest hint of an upturn to your lips.

Yoongi stares back at you. “I don’t know what you’re thanking me for.”

Your smile grows, a warm thing, unfurling like a flower. Almost affectionate. “Sure,” you say. “Of course. Silly me. Slip of the tongue.” And then, as if your brain’s only just caught up with what you just said, the smile turns salacious. “On the note of slipping the tongue—”

“Bye.”

Your cascading laughter follows him on his way out, cutting and shining with amusement. 

Yoongi’s been getting more contracts. He’s finally buckled under Jungkook’s insistent whining and has agreed to get gear for him, too, to train him how to shoot. Hoseok has more than enough contacts in the underworld to get jobs for them both—he’s the most powerful information broker around, after all, sitting in the centre of a web he’s woven after years of work, all that sharpness and darkness hidden behind his deceptively bright smile.

(Yoongi’s lucky to consider him a friend and not an enemy.)

So that’s why he’s here with increasing frequency. That’s why he finds himself at your door more often than not. To get those orders in place, to make sure they’re progressing as fast as they need to.

You never react when Yoongi steps into your workshop. Well, you do, you lean into your hand and smirk at him, pursing your lips around each snide remark, each suggestive comment—but you never question his appearance. You just go with the flow, unbothered by his presence, even when there are other people there—other customers who eye him with unveiled curiosity and confusion (some Yoongi recognises, some he doesn’t, well-known faces and unknowns alike; none of them know who he is, though, unrecognisable as Agust D without his battle gear on). Yoongi keeps a close eye on their stances, any unchecked aggression or hostility towards you. Keeps a watch on the tension of your shoulders and spine, because of… habit. Battle instinct. Nothing else.

“You know my policy, Yoongi.” You’re analysing something in your hand. It looks like an antique spyglass, something from the decades before technology overtook the world, but it’s jammed full of tech; it doesn’t just magnify to a terrifying degree, it also amplifies sound, connected to an earpiece that’s sleek and easy to overlook. ‘A small project’, you’d called it, as if it isn’t something that people would pay a fortune to own. “If I’m making something for someone I have to meet them first. If you want me to make anything for this ‘JK’ then it’s not happening until you bring him here. Just like with your friend RM.”

Yoongi is lolling by your monitors, half-asleep in your chair (which had moulded to the shape of his body the second he sat in it, designed to be too comfortable for its own good). 

“I know you can’t pull yourself away from me,” you continue, glancing up from the scope. “But you have to spend time with your friends sometimes. I know they’re not as pleasing to look at as me—”

“Stop.”

You shift the spyglass to one hand and lean your chin on the other, regarding him with sharp eyes and an amused quirk to your lips. “I love that you think you can tell me what to do.”

Yoongi resists the urge to make a noise at the back of his throat, opting to keep mum instead.

He’s too tired to argue with you. He’d come straight after a contract, blood still on the edge of his sleeves (not his), watched the way your eyebrows had risen when you’d casually taken in the state of him before offering to wash his jacket. You know the reality of this world you both inhabit, operating in the shadows, survival paid for in blood; you might not be on the high ground, lining the shot up to take the kill, but you craft the trigger that Yoongi pulls.

(You might be aware of this reality but you’re far removed from it, shaken by violence on your own door. You never should have been faced with it. You’re an inventor; a creator. Not a killer. Not like Yoongi is. He’s not going to let that happen again. He doesn’t like you but you shouldn’t have been subject to pain—shouldn’t still have your motions edged with a held breath, as if you’re waiting for it to repeat itself. 

No matter how well you hide it, Yoongi knows that there's a part of you that's still scared.)

“I know you think you’re too important to need to remember things, but we’ve worked together for long enough that you know that I’d ask to meet JK first, Yoongi,” you say. “Did you really have to come straight after murking someone just to be reminded about that? Not complaining—you know I love seeing that pretty scowl of yours—but I just figured you’d rather be resting right now. Don't tell me the infamous Agust D missed me and decided to come here instead.”

“You were on the way.”

(He’d circled around, taken a longer route, descended into the familiar maze of the lower city. To throw off the scent of any potential pursuers. You just happened to be nearby, pure coincidence and convenience.)

You retract the spyglass, collapsing it in your hands. “Either you leave right now and go to your own place to sleep, or you’re going to sleep in my bed. Your choice.”

(If Yoongi took the time to think about it, really think about it, he’d notice that the words aren’t shrouded in suggestion or insinuation. Your brows are raised and you’re looking at him expectantly, waiting for him to decide what he’s going to do—unimpressed at how tired he is, how he’s come here instead of sliding into his own bed for the rest he so clearly needs.)

Of course, Yoongi leaves. He returns home without his jacket, strips his shirt off as soon as he’s in this safe place, this base, sheds pieces of his body armour as easy as anything (you’d designed it to be lightweight and easy to don and doff, the perfect defence for someone who relied on stealth and speed); he’s just removing the last greave when Hoseok appears, rapping his knuckles against the open door.

“You’re finally back.”

Yoongi looks up. Hoseok is dressed for work, Hope Broker persona in place, tailored suit that sits perfectly with the lines of his body, handsome and stylish and entirely put together. He oozes poise and power. Elegance.

“Yeah.” Yoongi lets the greave drop, silent as it falls to the floor. “Job’s done.”

Hoseok smiles. It’s a genuine one because it’s for Yoongi. “I know,” he says, even though scarcely any time has passed since Yoongi put a bullet in the back of the target’s skull. Nothing happens in this world of theirs without Hoseok finding out about it, always sooner rather than later. “Just wanted to check in and make sure you were okay.”

“All good.” 

“Good.” Hoseok is used to Yoongi’s blunt nature, his short responses when he’s tired. “Get some sleep.”

Hoseok’s elegant even as he adjusts his cufflinks. It’s just the briefest of moments, the crisp edge of his perfectly white sleeve contrasting with the shining silver, the design inlaid in them—but Yoongi recognises that design immediately.

Because it’s yours.

It’s the same emblem on each piece of his gear, small and understated, hidden away, easy to miss—but Yoongi knows it intimately. He doesn’t say anything. Lets Hoseok leave without a word. Each one of the men that Yoongi considers family, the tiny collection of people that stay in this same home as him, know that he only gets equipment sourced from you—but Hoseok had never mentioned that he’s been in contact with you, too. 

It’s not important. Hoseok might be his friend and a staunch ally but there’s plenty that he gets up to that none of the others are privy to, trading information to the highest bidders, head of a huge network that Yoongi can use to his advantage but isn’t technically a part of. The people Hoseok deals with—buys his information and resources from, keeps perfectly balanced in comparison to his own power—is his own business and not Yoongi’s.

Yoongi moves to gather his armour, the hardsuit he wears like a second skin, and spots that insignia that he knows so well branded into it. To have Hoseok wearing it at his wrist—the Hope Broker, renowned trader of secrets—is a statement. You could have made the cufflinks plain and unadorned. But you hadn’t.

When Yoongi climbs into bed that night, he finds that his sleep is restless.

The smile on your face fades. “You know I don’t talk about business with other customers.”

Yoongi’s staring at you across your workbench, the light from its surface going dim as you take your hands off it, disassembled stun mine forgotten.

No one knows about his genuine friendship with Hoseok, but they do know that Agust D and the Hope Broker have an agreement; a professional working relationship. “I know the Hope Broker,” Yoongi says. 

Your eyebrows rise so far they seem to threaten to ascend into your hairline, you’re so incredulous. “Everyone does. What’s your point? Do you expect me to give you information about everyone you ask about? I get paid to keep people’s privacy, Yoongi. Do you think I sell the information of your equipment, how to dissemble every defence you have? Do you think I give your name out to everyone who asks?”

There’s no touch of amusement to the line of your lips, no sparkling irreverence in your eyes. You’re genuinely displeased.

“He’s wearing your symbol.”

You scoff. “You wear my symbol too. Why, are you jealous? Your armour has exactly the same technology. Better, even, because I can fit more tech in there.”

The cufflinks generate a kinetic barrier, then, a layer of invisible shielding that lays just atop Hoseok’s skin. But no one sees Yoongi’s armour; no one sees the workmanship of your weapons, no one except him. Your insignia isn’t emblazoned on his wrist for all to see.

Yoongi isn’t jealous.

“Hope is a powerful man,” you continue. “Everyone knows that. Even people who haven’t met him know that. Even people who aren’t sure he exists know that. If I want to sell to him then that’s my business.”

Everyone who’s anyone recognises your logo, no matter how rare it is to spot it (you only craft for a select few, after all). And Hoseok’s influence is far reaching and powerful; no one would dare cross him, dare to cross anyone who’s associated with him. 

“I’m looking for a new workshop.” You rise, moving away from your workbench to your monitors, touching a display with your fingers to bring it to life. Ignoring Yoongi’s presence, not even looking at him. “I haven’t got the space to modify the systems in this one as much as I want to. The walls are already full enough as it is. Do you know how hard it is to find somewhere with the specifications I need?”

Yoongi realises, then, why you’re doing this. The bruise is long gone and your skin is unmarred but you still don’t feel safe. You’ve always worked alone. Until now. Now you’re making moves to settle down, settle in, make a statement of allegiance to someone who can offer you a level of protection with their influence.

Someone who can offer you somewhere new, away from this inadequate place you’ve outgrown.

Hoseok laughs lightly when Yoongi asks about it, mentions it in passing as the two of them drink soju side by side, Hoseok in his suit and Yoongi girded in the armour under his unassuming clothes, both in the upper city for work; they stare down at the myriads of tall buildings and huge holo-boards and rainbow array of neon lights, far above the place they call home.

“Oh, yeah,” he says, utterly relaxed (and faintly amused). “I know you respect her work so I thought I’d reach out. I’m surprised she can make the things she does in that tiny workshop. You’re right; she’s very good.”

You are. The next time you meet, you give Yoongi his usual shipment and more besides, more than he’d ordered, reflected in the amount of creds he has to pay—because he won’t be able to just drop in for a while, your workshop dismantled and scraped empty in preparation for the move. Where to, he doesn’t know, but you say you’ll pass on the information once everything is up and running again.

“If you break any of your gear while I’m gone then you’re on your own,” you say. “I’m not shipping anything before my new workshop is finished.”

Two days later, Yoongi spies a new watch on Hoseok’s wrist. It looks low-tech, old style, metal strap and round clock face—but he sees the silhouette of your logo under those ticking hands and knows there’s more tech in there that meets the eye.

He looks away.

It takes a week for the message to appear, encrypted: your new location. Levels above your former workshop, one of the higher strata of the lower city—still hidden and out of the way but away from the dirt and darkness. 

Yoongi goes. He finds the door panel, scans his palm, leans forward for the light to flit across his eye, murmurs a word, watches the door slide open. He’s already programmed in. New workshop, new security system, but he’s still allowed in, still one of the people you consider familiar, trustworthy. 

(He doesn’t know of anyone else who fits that category. Has only ever seen you manually allow people inside, granting your permission each time, rather than giving them free run of the place. No one has as many complex orders as he does, he’s certain. It’s for ease and practicality’s sake.)

He’s unfamiliar with the layout of this new building, first corridor already longer than he’s used to; he pauses for a moment but then hears something, faint—your laughter. Follows that sound, makes his way forward, through polished corridors with lines of light underfoot, leading him down some stairs and towards the sound of you.

Your new workshop is beautiful. There’s enough room in here for everything, no need for a backroom: a central worktable, benches lining the walls, tech displays built in, everything edged with lighting, dark surfaces shining bright, large floor panels underfoot emitting a low glow. Your former home had been that underground workshop and a locked door to a ladder to your micro apartment up top, tiny kitchen and single bed in a small room with a shower cubicle in the corner. Yoongi already knows that this building is far, far bigger, and you have more space than you’ve ever had before; you’d never been discontent with your smaller home, comfort from familiarity, until that comfort had been stripped from you.

You’re smiling. The snark woven into your words that Yoongi is used to is muted, light comment falling from your lips as you sit on that central table, perched on its edge. And Hoseok, he laughs, grinning so widely his teeth are on show—he’s wearing a suit but his jacket is resting on his shoulders, tie undone and cast around his neck. A stance of relaxation, one Yoongi’s never seen from him, not when he’s working. Not when he’s The Hope Broker and not Hoseok.

He’s still smiling when he notices Yoongi, the two of you looking over when the hitman speaks.

“Didn’t expect to see you here, Hoseok.”

That ever-present smirk freezes on your face for a split second, eyes widening at the sound of Hope’s real name. Hoseok just takes it in stride, his smile not dimming even for a second.

“Hey, Yoongi.” His greeting is as warm as it always is. “Just checking in. Have to make sure everything is up to scratch. What’s the verdict?”

You’ve hidden your surprise, wiped it off your face, eyes on Hoseok as you answer him. “It’s perfect.” A pause. “I take it you two know each other?”

“Sure. Yoongi is an old friend of mine.” Hoseok is still smiling, looking at Yoongi with creased eyes. Unafraid of revealing this information to you, still at ease despite the tension that’s bubbling in the air, Yoongi’s impassive face. Hoseok is always an unshaken pillar of positivity. “I didn’t realise he was coming. Am I interrupting an appointment?”

You stare at Yoongi. “No, you’re not. I wasn’t expecting anyone.”

(You’d sent the message less than an hour ago. Yoongi had taken one look at the address, memorised it, pulled on his jacket and headed out; clearly you hadn’t anticipated how fast his arrival would be.)

“A happy coincidence, then.” Hoseok sounds like he genuinely means it, is pleased to see Yoongi here, his smile unwavering. There’s a languid set to his body, the easing line of his spine, hands in his pockets. A glittering in his eyes. (No one ever gets the drop on Hoseok, never surprises him, catches him off guard, no matter what they do.) “But I’ll let you conduct your business and we can catch up another time.”

He takes a hand out of his pocket as he walks past Yoongi, pats his shoulder amicably. His palm is relaxed against the tense set of Yoongi’s shoulders before he ascends the stairs and disappears out of sight, the sound of his polished shoes fading until he’s gone, one of the monitors on the wall flickering to indicate the front door is shut once more.

You’re still staring at Yoongi. The atmosphere had been heavy, even with Hoseok there—and now that he’s gone there’s nothing to alleviate that pressure, nothing to dissolve the strange twist to the air.

“Who,” you start, measured but sharp, “do you think you are?”

Yoongi returns your stare, looks back at you with his dark eyes. Doesn’t respond to your question; an unnecessary, unprompted thing, razor-edged for a reason he can’t discern. 

“Can’t you hear me?” You slide off the table, stalk towards him. “I said—” you raise a hand— “who? Do? You? Think? You? Are?”

You emphasise each word with a sharp jab to Yoongi’s chest, driving your finger forward with so much force it must hurt. You keep it in place, keep it dug into the centre of his ribcage. There’s no laughter hidden in the corner of your lips. He’s annoyed you again, somehow, a familiar guest turned unwelcome interloper.

“You say that you know Hope and yet I just watched you treat him like dirt.” Your eyes are piercing, cutting through the soft frame of your curled lashes, boring straight into him. “You come into my workshop as if you’re meant to be here; like there’s something you’re owed. Do you want me to treat you like a child, send you to your room? Not let you back in here? Because I will.”

“You sent me your address,” Yoongi points out.

You let out a bark of laughter. “Please.” Your hand drops back to your side and you turn, stepping away. “I’ve sent this address to all my business associates. I can’t sell or buy unless people can find me. You’re the only one who’s taken this as an invitation to just turn up and waltz in. At least when Hope turns up he warns me beforehand. Oh, and he doesn’t say stuff like he’d rather blow his own brains out than be forced to see me. I know you just love being contrary but has it ever occurred to you to be more polite to people? You’d make a terrible waiter. You’d get fired on your first day.”

You’re in front of one of your cabinets. You reach inside for something, hefting it in your hands before returning, handling it in a way that’s completely unceremonious, dropping it to the bench at his side like you want to be rid of it. Like you don’t even want to hand it directly to him, to interact with him. “There. Nothing but a pleasure doing business with you, Yoongi, even if your customer service still needs improving.”

It looks like a flat, hexagonal panel, the same colour and material as his armour. Something to be locked into it, wired in, trailing veins of unattached tech spilling from it. He’s seen you working on this for a while, seen you draw up blueprints with a bruise fresh on your cheek, seen it turned in your hands as that mark had faded and left your skin. 

It’s not something he ordered.

“What is this?”

You wave a dismissive hand. “Auto medi-gel distributor. It syncs with your armour and senses when you’ve been hurt and disperses gel in the affected area. Your armour’s always been too lightweight to have extra mods on but I’ve been working on this for a while.”

It’s an astonishing piece of tech. Usually one that’s reserved for heavier armour, restricting and hard to move in but easier to mod—but this thing is slim, compact, the same technology crammed into a smaller package without losing any of its punch. He doesn’t know what materials you’ve had to use to circumvent this, the level of tech you’ve layered into this, the amount of time and thought you’ve put into this.

“How much is it?”

The wrong thing to say. The smile that spreads itself across your lips is an echo of its usual curve, brittle and flaking around the edges, a baring of teeth.

“It’s a gift, Yoongi. Usually when someone does something for you, you return the favour.” Your lips are still upturned but your eyes are unsmiling even when your tone seems whimsical and light. You’ve got on your usual flippant façade, but there’s a pointed undercurrent to it. “You know, I don’t understand you at all. You remind me that you don’t like me but then you always hang around. You kill someone who threatened me and pretend that you didn’t do it. You say you don’t like me, but I thought you at least respected me, and yet here you are. Lying to me and treating me like I'm a fool.”

“I do respect you,” Yoongi says. 

(Because he does, and as much as he would hate to inflate your ego, he doesn’t shy away from telling the truth.)

“Sure you do.” An unimpressed eye-roll, cutting under his words, knocking his feet out from underneath him. You don’t care to believe him. “This is my fault for not treating you the same as all my other business associates.  Next time you come in you’ll have to have an appointment, just like everyone else. It’ll minimise the amount of time we have to spend together.”

Yoongi doesn’t like you. He finds, though, that he likes the sound of this even less; finds it pulling at his brows, his mouth, impassive expression turned to one of disapproval.

And his mouth opens. The word falls from his lips before he has a chance to think—years of battle intuition, years of following instinct, moving as he needs to in the moment.

“No.”

A raise of the brows. A purse of the lips. Incredulous. “No?” you parrot it back, mocking. “Oh, okay, sure. Never mind. You’re welcome to come in whenever you want and act like you have free rein of the place. There’s nothing I enjoy more than your scowling presence.”

Sharp tongued, sharp eyed, narrowed at him: a confrontation. For all that you needle him you never mean it, really (even if it’s still infuriating, aggravating). But right now? Right now each of your words is barbed, your sarcasm a defence, an offence. You’re running your mouth not just to rile him, but to ward him away. 

“You’re really not as smart as you think you are, Min Yoongi.” You wield his name like a weapon. “You tell me right now why I should listen to you. What do you come here for? And don’t say it’s for my work because it stopped being just that a long time ago. And if it is just for my work then take it and go. Then I’ll take you off the security system and we’ll only see each other as much as is strictly necessary. In fact, you could pass your orders along via Hope—then we won’t have to even see each other at all. ”

“And then he’ll be the only one allowed free rein?”

It comes out before he’s even really thought about what he’s saying, which isn’t like him at all. Yoongi is two parts: pure, honed instinct, and careful, wary vigilance. He’s not like you, saying the first thing that comes to mind—not normally, anyway—but the words jump from his lips, from some near-silent part of him that balks at the idea. Of Hoseok stepping into your space the way that Yoongi does, appearing without warning, to be greeted with a curled smirk and glittering eyes.

“You’re a fucking idiot if you think that you’re not the only person with security clearance. My God. You’re infuriating. Seriously? I didn’t realise you were genuinely this dense. You’re the only one I’ve ever allowed in without prior agreement.” You emphasise this statement with another jab to his chest, your finger a sharp knife that cuts into him as you stab it forwards.

He catches your wrist. His grasp is firm but there’s no pressure to it; doesn’t squeeze, doesn’t tighten his fingers, just holds you in place. You’re staring at him with a challenge in your eyes, one that he finds himself rising to match, never one to back down.

“Is that so?”

Your hand unfurls, fingers splayed across his chest; he’s still holding your wrist, shifting with your movement. “Don’t be obtuse.” An irritated exhale. “Normally you complain whenever I talk and now you’re trying to get me to repeat myself. Again with the inconsistency, Yoongi. Make up your mind.”

He could do what you do whenever you’re feeling particularly aggravating. Play dumb, ask more questions, drag out the interaction until you’re bordering on snapping—but he doesn’t. He looks at the set of your jaw, the way you’re staring at him. Unflinching. You’ve never been scared of him, and you aren’t now, not with how he’s got a hold of you, how close he is to you.

He toes the line. Shifts closer. Notes the way your pupils dilate, how the tips of your fingers dig into the fabric of his shirt; how the air grows heavier, a frisson of electricity crackling through it. Yoongi doesn’t like you, but he likes that feeling—how the tension in the air shivers from indignation into something different.

Because you’re still staring at him, and there’s still that hard set to your jaw, but there’s not just anger in your eyes. There’s that warm thing he’s grown used to seeing, smouldering in near silence until he’d coaxed it to full flame, thrown gasoline onto the coals when he’d shot plasma into the back of Tang Lee’s skull. He’d protected you even though he hadn’t needed to, doesn’t need to, but does anyway—because he trusts you and there’s no one else he trusts to keep you safe.

And there’s no one else you trust, either.

“You talk too much,” Yoongi says, like he so often does—but there’s no irritation in it, touched instead with a simmering heat, the faintest edge of a bite.

You tilt your head. There’s a provocation etched into the twist of your mouth, the way your lips lift. Because no matter how much you needle him, dig your fingernails into every crack of his armour and twist—no matter how annoying you are, how angry you make him—you know that he’s not mad. Not really. Not in a way that makes you afraid, but in a way that thrills you, makes you want to see him snap, to wipe away that level facade he maintains.

“Maybe you should shut me up, then,” you reply, a murmur. A challenge.

A beat. Yoongi’s fingers tighten around your wrist. A warning.

And in response?

You just smile.

The way your eyes widen just seconds later is delicious, though, when Yoongi lets go of your wrist—because he’s moving faster than you expected. Your surprise melts into delight, a spark of glee that says you’ve gotten exactly what you want when Yoongi threads his fingers in your hair, tilting your head back to bare the column of your throat. He holds you firmly in place, crowds you back against the workbench so hard its edge must be digging almost painfully into your back but not once does that glee dim, written over every line of your smile, eyes bright and teeth sharp.

Yoongi likes to take things slow. There’s the part of him that never steps into a situation without knowing every angle, every escape route, each one of his kills planned meticulously. But, he thinks, the two of you have been waiting long enough, and he’s never been patient around you—has found his composure worn thin faster than anywhere else, by anyone else. It’s this part of him, frayed into non-existence by you, that rises to the surface now, makes him move as quick as he does.

And you respond just the way he knew you would. When he presses his mouth to yours you kiss him back like you have a point to make (you always do), fast and almost reckless, all lips and teeth and tongue. There’s no finesse to it. When he presses his tongue into your mouth you part your lips so prettily, let him take his fill, slide your tongue against his and tilt your head to get even deeper—and just like always, you're vocal, letting out small noises that are caught and muffled in the kiss, lust filled. But when you try to nip at his lip with the edge of your teeth Yoongi tightens his grip in your hair and swallows down your gasp before he pulls away, holding you in place so you can’t chase after his mouth. Your lips are kiss swollen and under the bright lights above they shine, slightly parted, pupils blown as you stare at him. 

(You look good like this.)

Your eyes slide shut when Yoongi lowers his lips to your neck, across your throat. There’s nothing gentle about it. He moves with single-minded intent, lips and teeth harsh against your sensitive skin—and you take it all, little sounds falling from your lips as Yoongi drags his teeth towards the hollow of your neck. And when he takes his hand from your hair, takes both hands and digs his fingers into your waist and lifts you, you go so easily; a mimicry of your earlier position when he’d stepped in, perched on the edge of the table. Legs spread so Yoongi can stand between them. He’d be surprised at how pliant you are if it wasn’t so obvious that this is exactly what you want: lifting your hips so he can strip your lower half bare. 

Your bare thighs press against the surface of the workbench, tech displays coming alive under your body heat. You’ve shrugged your cropped jacket off and you’re just reaching for your top when Yoongi stops you; splays a hand in the centre of your chest and presses you back, slow but undeniable. You’re not the one setting the pace. He is. He’s the one in control, with you spread out in front of him, only a thin layer of fabric keeping you from being completely bare—thin cotton underwear, dark and damp between your legs, betraying your arousal.

“Wet,” Yoongi murmurs.

Your retort stutters on your lips when he drags his fingers upwards over your slit, barely dulled by the material in the way. “No shit,” you say, and then suck in a breath when he presses the pad of his thumb across your clit.

It’s no good, the fact you’re still talking. But that’s okay. Yoongi’s planning on changing that.

It’s lewd, the way your legs are spread, parting further at the urging of his hands. Your hands slide across the bench, papers scattering, palms flat on the work surface and white light shimmering on dark blue in reaction to your touch; an unnecessary distraction that you both ignore. There’s nothing graceful about this, the peel of underwear away from your core, already slick even with the barest of attentions; he drags his fingers down the inside of your thighs, all that soft skin, and then under, urging your hips up and towards his mouth. No foreplay to this foreplay, no dragging out this moment—he bites at that soft skin of your inner thigh, sinks his teeth into it and listens to the way you gasp in surprise—and before you have a moment to ground yourself, he presses his mouth to your cunt.

You’re wet and warm under his tongue and the smell of you surrounds him, musky and heavy, and he feels how your entire body goes tense as you arch your back. He’d normally take his time with this, have you strung out and begging, but he has different plans today—knows exactly what he wants from this, sucking your clit between his lips and feeling your thighs tighten around his head, legs slung over his shoulders as he listens to the way you moan. Each sound shudders out from your mouth like you tried so desperately to keep it in but couldn’t help it. Yoongi loves eating pussy anyway but this is even better, the way all your witty ripostes die in your throat before you can shape them on your lips, turned into breathy gasps instead. 

The taste of you fills his mouth and it’s so fucking good. You’ve been watching him, how his head moves between your legs, but he can tell you’re close; you’ve given up, eyes shut as you lean into the sensation building up in you, and Yoongi thinks he likes you better like this. Forced into speechlessness under his hands and tongue. Your pretty mouth softened from sharpness into urging noises of pleasure. He slides one arm across your stomach and holds you in place, a hard line that you can’t overpower and you’re left squirming in place, hips trying to kick up each time he draws his tongue over your slit, every part of you sloppy with your own arousal and Yoongi’s spit, flushed and lovely. One of your hands is in his hair and you’re pulling, pulling hard, unaware of how tight your grip is as you try to buck your hips and sob. 

You’re so sensitive, and it only takes one, two fingers pressing into you and curling just right as Yoongi slides his tongue over your clit before you’re cumming, hot around his fingers as you come apart all wet and messy. He’s never seen you so undone, back arched as you ride out your orgasm, hair swept away from your forehead as you throw your head back. Keeps his mouth open on you, feels you under his tongue, until you’re flopped on your back and your chest is heaving, legs untensed and loose over his shoulders.

You shift an arm. Your fingers barely brush the medi-gel mod you’d made him, a loose sheet of paper sliding away and joining the others on the floor.

“Just moved in and it’s already a mess,” Yoongi says, and he doesn’t just mean the paper; fingers and chin and mouth covered in your slick, your core soaked. He’s still knuckle deep and when he curls his fingers again your entire body jolts, your mouth parting almost wantonly before you seem to struggle back to reality, surfacing from a haze of arousal and post orgasmic bliss.

“That’s your fault,” you say, voice weaker than usual. “I’ll send you the cleaning bill.”

“Mm. Not my fault you’re a messy girl.”

“Fuck you.” The blunt words are softened by your breathlessness, your bonelessness; the way your breath catches in your throat when he calls you a messy girl, even if you try to hide it. Trying not to let him in on exactly how much power he holds in this moment. 

“I was planning on it,” Yoongi says, as calm as ever, even if arousal is simmering through his veins and gathering in his gut—has been this entire time, the taste of you on his tongue and the heat of you under his lips and the sound of you in his ears. “Want to make your workshop even messier?”

You dig your balls of your feet into his back, legs still over his shoulders. His fingers shift inside you and you shiver. “I don’t think so,” you say. “Bedroom.”

“So you’re giving me a tour, then?”

You don’t dignify him with a response, although the noise you make when he finally pulls his fingers out of you is more than enough to satisfy him. He’s still fully dressed and you’re only half so, and it would be comical if the sight of your bare legs and slick on your inner thighs wasn’t so hot, barefoot on the glowing and pristine (papers notwithstanding) floors as you reach for his hand and lift it to your lips, sucking his fingers into your mouth and licking your arousal off his fingers with your tongue, warm and wet, before you grab his wrist and pull. 

He watches the movement of your hips as you lead him, your bare ass. Shameless as ever. Confident in yourself, even now. It’s not until you’ve stepped over the threshold and into your new bedroom that your tattoos become visible, as bright as the low lights in the room, those geometric lines and stylised circuitry on your legs shifting as you step forwards.

Even with the relative darkness Yoongi immediately notices something. Cast over the back of a chair near the bed, there’s his jacket, blood stains at the edge of the sleeves gone. Cleaned. Yoongi shifts his hand so you don’t have your fingers wrapped around his wrist any more. Instead he’s the one shackling you, holding you in place as you look over your shoulder.

“Were you ever going to return that to me?” He tilts his head at the chair. 

You pause. Glance over. Look back at him, all amusement and provocation, recovered from your earlier breathlessness. “But Yoongi, I get so cold.”

There’s something about the idea of you in his clothes, clothes that you know he’s worn when he’s been getting his hands dirty—he ignores the curl to your lips and moves you towards the bed, ignoring the sound of your self satisfied laughter when he reaches for your shirt and pulls, with you lifting your arms to help him, grinning at him the whole time. Even when he’s thrown your bra aside and kicked his boots off and pushed you onto the mattress, trapped you underneath him, completely naked against his completely clothed body you’re still smiling, like the cat who got the cream.

You’re stunning. There’s no doubt about it. You always have been, annoyingly so, even when Yoongi’s wanted to wring your neck; not just because you’re pretty but because you’re intelligent and confident and in control, staring up at him without a lick of fear or concern, even now. Never with him, never. He can see your tattoos in all their glory, nothing hidden away from his gaze; he sees one he hasn’t been able to see before, a sunflower bursting across your ribcage, curved under the swell of your breast, glowing red and orange in the midst of all your other cyan and teal lines, glowing in the black light. He’s pressing you down, trapped under his body, and you’re just waiting. Waiting and still smiling, smirking, letting him take you in, preening under his attention.

He wants to eat you alive.

So he does just that. Shifts back down the mattress on his knees, keeping his hands on you, pulling his hands down the easing lines of your ribs and waist and hips, before a firm tug has you lifting up—your smug facade shakes when you’re left with only your shoulders and head against the bed, the rest of your body pulled towards Yoongi’s waiting mouth once more, held in place with fingers that dig into your hips, thighs soft against his ears, your hands scrabbling at the linen underneath you when Yoongi’s lips press into the crease of your thigh, off balance.

“Safeword?” He murmurs into your skin, and you pause.

“Hoseok,” you answer, and Yoongi responds by biting into your thigh again, soothing it with his tongue when you squeal.

“Shameless.”

You’re still wet from before, slick with cum, and Yoongi doesn’t hesitate before he dives back in. He can hear more than he can see the way your fingers curl into your sheets and rumple them in your hands, anchored helplessly into place by Yoongi’s mouth and the fingers cupped under your ass, digging into the soft skin, undignified and at his mercy. 

“Yoongi!” You gasp, almost a whimper as a breath gets caught in your throat. “Y-Yoongi—”

You’re so helpless like this. It’s a little hard for Yoongi to breathe, your legs tightening around him, but it’s worth it for the way he can see you shaking apart. He presses his tongue as deep into you as he can, sucks your swollen pearl between his lips and circles it with his tongue, notices the way you jolt at those wet kisses, still sensitive from before, and he doesn’t let up. Keeps going and going and going until you’re gasping for air, sensations rippling through your body as you buck and writhe; you’re trying to keep yourself together, he can tell, but you’re unravelling, smirk wiped off your face and your mouth in a pretty little circle whenever you choke out oh, oh.

You cum faster than he expects, shoulders lifting away from the mattress as you arch your back so far it must hurt and tighten your legs and he feels the way your pussy throbs under his tongue, practically gushing when you reach your peak. Your eyes are unfocused when they flutter back open but you’re reaching for him, for the waistband of his trousers, trying to touch the hard length of his cock—he’s been ignoring it, how he’s leaked so much precum he can feel how wet it is in his boxer-briefs.

He keeps ignoring it now. He catches your hands, stops you in place, stares you down with an unimpressed tilt to his brows.

“What,” he says levelly, “do you think you’re doing?”

“Want you in my mouth,” you say. You seem almost desperate for it, fingers flexing in his hold, letting your tongue linger against your lips longer than necessary. “I want your cock in my mouth, Yoongi.”

He tightens his grip around your wrists. And then, for the first time all night, he smiles.

“No.”

You look stunned. Just for a moment. Then you’re squirming in his hold, but you’re trapped, nowhere to go. “What do you mean, no?”

Yoongi’s still smiling, mirroring the self satisfaction that had been written all over your face earlier. “I mean no. You don’t get what you want. You get what you’re given.”

There’s nothing he’d like more than to sink into that wet heat, to see your smart mouth put to good use, lips spread over his cock, but this is better. Seeing the genuine frustration and disbelief written across your features. 

He doesn’t give you time to line up another angered retort on your tongue. Doesn’t give you time to breathe before he’s flipping you over, the wings of your shoulder blades and curve of your spine emphasised by the lines that are traced symmetrically and shining across your skin. They shift when you move, hips lifted from the mattress by Yoongi’s hands, on your hands and knees as he fumbles his waistband and zipper and pulls his cock free. He’s painfully hard, flushed head with precum that beads at the tip, and when he tugs you back he watches the way the head drags across the curve of your ass, leaving a shining line of wetness on your skin.

And when he sinks into you he barely gives you time to adjust, barely has time to adjust himself, to all this hot tight wetness after his cock’s gotten no attention at all—you let out a moan that almost sounds like you’re singing, long and high with pleasure, the slide eased from all your cum.

 You take it so well, always so good to him no matter how irritating you are, so lost in the sensations that you don’t say anything about the hard edges of Yoongi’s clothes whenever he drives his hips forward and it presses into the soft skin of your thighs. It’s messy and choppy and fast and you slump onto your elbows, entire body shaking as you take everything Yoongi is giving you. Caged underneath him when he follows you forwards, presses his front to your back, feels the way the sweat on your skin is caught against the fabric of his clothes. Grinds his hips deep and feels the way you gasp, sucking in a shaking breath, your entire body lost in it. He bites his lip and keeps his own sounds caught behind his teeth, not letting you know how you’re pulling him towards his own edge.

He’s not done with you yet.

Your clit is slick under his touch when he lifts his fingers to touch you, to layer another sensation on top of the cock inside you, and you’re sobbing. You don’t ask him to stop, never know when to quit, face every challenge thrown at you—and Yoongi can tell that you love it even if your body is crying out, that you love this oversensitivity, pulled taut and strung out. You’re beyond speech, words slurred, barely recognisable as his name and pleas of more, please, more. He can feel when you’ve crested the wave of too much sensation and fallen back into that rippling sea of pleasure, and when you cum it’s with a soundless moan, mouth wide open but no noise escaping. No more sharp retorts, no smart words, fucked into incoherency, trembling and quivering as you go tight around him and Yoongi struggles not to lose himself then and there, in your scorching, wet cunt, fluttering around him.

The noise when he pulls out is slick and lewd, just like all the other noises that have been filling the room, the slap of skin on skin temporarily halted when Yoongi rolls you onto your back. There’s sweat beading on your skin, shimmering, tears gathering in the corner of your eyes and glistening like tiny jewels in the multi-coloured low light of this room. Your lips are parted and your gaze is bleary and you’re everything Yoongi has never seen from you before, fuzzy and quiet, entirely pliant. When he reaches for you again, runs his hands over the rise of your hipbones and down the side of your thighs, you whimper.

“One more,” Yoongi says. “One more, you can give me one more.”

You’ve never known when to quit, and now is no different, even if you’re on the verge of being entirely fucked dumb. Those tears pool in your eyes and stream down towards your hairline, but you let Yoongi move you, try to help by lifting your hips but almost too gone to move at all. Yoongi almost cums when he sinks into you, your willing body; he thinks you’ve never looked better than you do now, smelling like sweat and sex and so soft under his hands, taking his cock like you were made for it, and you’re so gorgeous when you’re falling apart. 

The attitude you wear normally—the one that chafes at Yoongi’s nerve-endings—has been entirely wiped away, forced out of you by mindless pleasure. But still, you know what you want, even now, even when you’re barely coherent—Yoongi feels your hand slide across his and pull weakly, guiding it across your chest and up, circling his fingers around your neck.

He swears. Snaps his hips forward hard, watches the way your eyes roll back when he gives an experimental squeeze around your throat. Yoongi’s choked people before, knows exactly how much pressure to give, how much it takes to cut someone’s airways completely or how to just leave them reeling; he lets you linger on the edge of breathlessness, feels the way you go tight around him. When you orgasm it rips through you, your thighs tightening around Yoongi’s hips as you hit your peak and cum hard, and the feeling of it has Yoongi cursing and bending forwards to shove his face in your neck and kiss the salt-sweat taste he finds there as he falls off the edge. He cums wet inside you, keeps rolling his hips through it all, lets his cum mix with yours and watches the way you just keep taking it, even when your whole body is trembling from how much it is.

And when Yoongi calls you a good girl, you don’t snap back like you normally would, don’t deride his praise. You bask in it, as tired as you are, letting out a soft noise when he pulls his softening cock out of you, unbothered by the wet patches on your sheets and how the whole room stinks of sex. When he moves to lift you, to get you clean, you go easily and without argument, every one of your honed edges dulled, and you make no move to sharpen them again, to drag them over Yoongi in the way he’s so familiar with by now. Even when you’ve lifted out of your haze and you’re back in the moment, the way you watch Yoongi is no less calm than normal, but still different.

“Stay.”

He’s in the middle of reaching for his boots, discarded on the floor, a discordant note on the clear floor. You’re wearing clean underwear and a loose t-shirt and you’re looking at him with something verging on surprise, like you hadn’t expected to see him moving to pull his shoes back on to leave.

He hadn’t been planning to.

“Just moving them out of the way,” says Yoongi, putting them upright by the base of your chair, and then he makes his way back to you. You don’t attempt to hide your pleasure that he’s listened to you,  pulling him onto the bed despite the fact he’s still dressed.

“I don’t cuddle,” he says, even as you tuck yourself into the crook of his arm, and he shifts to make it more comfortable for you.

You press your face into the hollow of his neck, touch your nose against his throat, breathing in the smell of sweat that still lingers—because you’re shower soft and fresh but he isn’t, and weirdly enough, you seem to enjoy it. Seem to enjoy that contrast, the one that’s always existed between you, Yoongi immersed in blood and sweat and tears while you’re away from it, one degree of separation from it all. “You know, I like it when you do things for me.”

Normally he’d protest, say that he doesn’t do things for you, but the truth is that he does, even if he’s only just admitting it to himself. 

“Like that time you killed someone for me,” you say, and Yoongi’s fingers tighten, soft skin of your waist yielding under his touch.

“I kill a lot of people.”

You let out a laugh against his skin, quietly amused. “Just admit it. You like me, Min Yoongi.”

A pause. 

Then: “Against my better judgement, I do.”

And he does. Even if you’re irritating and maddening, he does like you, and not just because of the work you do for him. He thinks that even if you weren’t so good at your job that he’d find himself here anyway, caught in this push and pull you have, magnetised.

“No need to sound so begrudging,” you say, but there’s no real annoyance behind your words. 

Yoongi finds that he likes that note in your voice, like you’re indulging him and his stubbornness and you’re unmoved by it. He hums in response. Feels the way you shift back, lean on your elbows to look down at him, lips curled up at the corners.

“Kiss me.”

Not a question. A demand. Yoongi stares you down, just for a second, before he lifts a hand and weaves a hand back into your hair, tilting your mouth against his. He can feel your self satisfied smile against his lips and he doesn’t mind it at all, sees it spread across your face when you eventually pull back, all flushed lips and warm eyes.

You’re still sharp, a weapon in your own right, but you willingly hand yourself over to be held in his skilled hands, let yourself be worn smooth by his touch. He weaves his fingers between your own, your palm soft and warm against his, and he likes this. That you’re unafraid of what he is, that the fact he’s a killer isn’t something that scares you or thrills you.

Yoongi likes your work. He likes that he knows he can trust you. He likes that he knows of your loyalty, to the people you choose and to yourself, your unwavering principles, as unpredictable as they might seem. He likes that you’re unashamed to be yourself and to be confident, no matter how people react to that cockiness. 

What he likes even better than all that is this, though: the way you’re pressed against his side, evidence of his touch written into your skin. The feeling of your hand in his. Despite all the odds, all the months of drawn out and simmering exasperation and tension coming to a head like this, Yoongi likes you.

“I’m not going to give you a discount, you know,” you say suddenly, and for the first time since you met, Yoongi allows himself to laugh at you.

“I’d be offended if you did.”

(You’re loud. Cocky. Arrogant. You love to irritate him just for the hell of it, because you think it’s funny and you love knowing that you can rile him up—but he can rile you up too, and you both know it.

Yeah. Yoongi likes you.)

tagging: @beyoncesdragon @vensulove @gyukult  @swinginpicklesuitcaseapricot @kpopheart2 @loveyoongles @muzikabijou  @katbonv @jaxx-7 @yeojaa

[tenswrld]

old enough to understand

mark lee x reader, childhood friends to lovers, fluff

summary: now that you’re older, you seem to finally understand how mark makes you feel

a/n: came up with this at 2am while listening to my mark lee dedicated playlist and pluto projector came on and u already know that one part made me emotional also do u like my doodles i made on the photo ^^

growing up, you were surrounded by the concept of love. you witnessed it with your parents, when you got your first pet, and even when you took your first bite into your favorite fruit.

when you first met mark lee at the age of 6, you didn’t think that the word love would apply to him. at least, not in the way that you knew it. 

“no! it’s mine, i don’t want to give you any!” the young boy yelled.

“you can just go get more! i just want some watermelon!” you screamed back.

“go get some yourself!”

angry, you stomped away towards the table of adults. “mrs. lee, mark won’t give me a piece of his watermelon.”

the older woman laughed softly before getting up and leading you to the table of fruit. “forgive him, watermelon is his favorite. i’ll be sure to make sure he shares next time, okay?”

while you ate your own fruit alone in the grass, mark came up to you scratching his neck awkwardly, avoiding eye contact. “i’m sorry for being rude...i just really like watermelon...”

you narrowed your eyes at him before bursting into a fit of giggles, offering your own watermelon out to him. “it’s okay, mark, i like watermelon too. i understand.” he took the piece that you held out to him and took a seat next to you.

when you first met mark, you didn’t think anything of him except for that he was the dorky boy next door who seemed to reserve the concept of love for his favorite fruit.

in middle school, you and mark seemed to clash heads more often than not, and you found it hard to stick around him. desperate to seem cool in front of the new friends that he made, mark steered away from you and teased you whenever he saw you in the halls. you almost despised him in your middle school years, but no matter how much teasing he did mark always waited for you outside of the school gates and walked you home safely. 

though he was still unsure of the role you had in his life, mark knew that he wanted to keep you around.

in high school, your parents fantasized about the idea of the two of you dating, but you and mark always recoiled at the thought. friend groups and social status set you and mark even further apart and before you knew it you became a messenger to girls who wanted mark to call their own. when you got your first boyfriend in sophomore year, mark tried to warn you that the guy was no good, but like always you never listened to him. when he broke your heart, you expected mark to scold you and tell you he told you so, but he provided you comfort in his arms instead.

though he didn’t love you then, mark vowed that he would never let your heart get broken again.

when it came time for you and mark to go off to college, you found yourself a lot more upset than you had initially thought you would be. you were excited to go off and find yourself elsewhere, but something about not having the silly, brown haired boy by your side 24/7 felt strange. granted, you two weren’t as close as your six year old self thought you would be, but you found that you and mark held a special type of bond that you feared you wouldn’t find anywhere else. 

you still hadn’t figured out your love for mark lee, but you knew that leaving him was one of the hardest things you’ve ever had to do.

“just...promise to call often, okay?” you told him as you walked with him to his car, a box of his things in your arms.

mark’s lips curled up into a smug smile. “why? gonna miss me that much?” 

you rolled your eyes. “you’re making me regret saying that. you’ll be lucky if i don’t block you after this, idiot.”

mark laughed loudly and you found yourself smiling softly at the sound. you placed the box in his truck before you both turned to each other. “i’ll text you everyday and call when i can. don’t worry, you can’t get rid of me that easily. you’ll probably be hearing about my uncontrollable gas everyday so if that’s not what you’re looking for then...”

you laughed and shoved his shoulder, mumbling for him to shut up. “it’s gonna be weird without you, i think.”

mark shrugged. “yeah, well, we’ll see each other again. just think about it like that time where you got so mad at me for blowing up your house in minecraft that you ignored me for a week!”

mark expected you to laugh but became concerned when he saw your lip quivering and your eyes threatening to spill tears. “y/n? sorry, is that, like, a sensitive memory?”

when you suddenly wrapped your arms around his torso and mumbled a soft ‘i’ll miss you’ into his chest, mark cursed at himself for being the first one to fall in love.

___

“isn’t it like 4am for you? you should go to bed,” you scolded him half heartedly. you sat at your vanity on facetime with a sleepy mark as you did your nightly skincare routine.

mark groaned through the phone and shook his head. “but i wanna talk to you,” he whined groggily. “i miss you.”

your cheeks heat up and you smiled shyly. “i miss you too, mark.”

mark blinked slowly with a tired look, his hair all messed up and his face in need of a shave. he watched you silently as you rubbed your moisturizer into your skin, smiling at the sight. “...you’re really pretty you know that?”

you froze and chuckled nervously, keeping yourself busy with your moisturizer so you didn’t have to see the way mark was looking at you. “you’re talking nonsense again.”

he grumbled, “i’m not talking any nonsense. you’re so pretty, y/n, i miss seeing your face. i hate facetime and my shit wifi.”

“you’re rambling, marky, go to bed,” you ushered him, this time grabbing your phone to look at him.

he smiled fondly at you. “i like it when you call me marky.”

“okay, i’ll call you it more if you go to bed.” 

mark huffed and complied, bidding you one last goodbye. “fine. i miss you so much, y/n, call me tomorrow.”

“okay, i will.”

“promise?” mark asked softly, peeking open one eye to look at you.

“i promise, you big baby.”

“okay, goodnight. love you,” mark mumbled softly into his pillow, already half asleep.

your breath hitched in your throat at his words. you two hardly ever said that phrase to each other but you began to realize that nowadays mark seemed to say it quite often. before, you’d probably make a face in disgust at the cheesiness, but now it only made your stomach sick with butterflies.

“yeah, love you too, marky. sleep tight.” 

already fast asleep, mark stayed silent. your thumb hovered over the ‘end call’ button, but you waited a few more seconds just to look at how peaceful mark looked. you could see the sky turning from a dark black to a paler blue from his window, making you frown since the boy had stayed up so late. before you could look at him any longer, you ended the call and sat back in your chair.

loving mark lee had always seemed impossible to you, but now you realized that it was the one thing that you wanted to do for the rest of your life.

___

you spent a lot of time thinking about your feelings for mark while you were away and most of it was you being in denial. you thought that maybe it was just because you weren’t used to being so far away from him, but deep down you knew otherwise. your friends had tried setting you up on blind dates, yet no one seemed to fill in the gap that you felt you had in your heart.

after you finished your first year of college, your mother began to pester you about having a boyfriend for you to bring home for the holidays. yet no matter how many guys you thought about, your mind would always bring you back to mark.

it was now christmas time and your family and mark’s family were going to have a small get together, meaning that you and mark would get to spend time with each other in person again. you weren’t sure if you should tackle mark at the sight of him, but you figured he would do the same to you anyway.

“y/n, sweetheart! my gosh, it’s been so long! you’ve grown up so well,” mark’s mother cooed as she gave you a warm hug.

you chuckled and returned her hug, replying with, “thank you, mrs. lee. it’s nice to see you again.”

she playfully nudged your shoulder. “any boyfriend yet?”

you laughed awkwardly and shook your head, looking away. “oh, um, no...not yet.”

she beamed. “mark will be happy to hear that.” she said it so fast that you almost didn’t catch it. “he’s out back waiting for you. i told him i’d tell him when you got here, but it’ll be a nice surprise for him,” she winked.

you thanked her briefly before making your way to the backyard excitedly. you thought that you’d be more nervous facing the boy you loved but, frankly, all you wanted to do was finally tell him that you loved him.

when you opened the door mark immediately turned his head, expecting to see his mom, but his facial expression completely changed when he saw you. he ran up to you with the brightest smile on his face and engulfed you into his arms. you laughed joyously into his shoulder as he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you as close to his chest as humanly possible.

“you have no idea how long i’ve been waiting to do that,” he mumbled into your hair.

you smiled against his shoulder before pulling away to look at him. the two of you held eye contact for what felt like an eternity before mark finally returned his arms back to his side.

“even though we call everyday, it feels like i’m meeting you for the first time all over again,” mark said with a light laugh.

“i hope i lived up to your expectations, then,” you joked.

mark smiled fondly at you before brushing snow out of your hair. “definitely above expectations.”

you blushed at his comment but thanked the cold weather for hiding your rosy cheeks. before you could make more small talk, mark burst out into another sentence.

“y/n, i have to get this off of my chest before i explode,” he blurted.

your eyes widened and you nodded your head. “oh, um, okay, what is it?”

he gripped at his hair and turned around, beginning to whine. “oh my god, i’m gonna sound like the biggest idiot on earth. please don’t hate me after this.”

“...what did you do, mark?”

“i didn’t do anything! well...” he faced you again with a sigh and grabbed your hands taking you by surprise. “y/n, i’m in love with you. and i know you probably just see me as that stupid annoying boy your mom forced you to be friends with but i’ve loved you for over a year and it’s driving me crazy and i-”

“mark!” you interrupted him, placing a hand over his mouth. he looked at you with wide eyes while you smiled at him, practically glowing with happiness. you removed your hand from over his mouth and he sighed again.

“just reject me so i can go cry in my room.” mark shut his eyes and prepared himself for rejection but it never came.

“i love you too, mark.”

mark opened one at to stare at you suspiciously. “...really? like, seriously?”

you chuckled. “yes, really. for a few months now.”

“wait, you’re not pranking me or anything, right?” mark asked with a small laugh.

you glared at him. “mark...”

“i’m sorry, i’m just really surprised!” mark opened his mouth to say something but then gasped and dug into his back pocket to grab something.

when he pulled out a small piece of mistletoe you seemed to fall in love with the brunette boy all over again. he grabbed one of your hands and gently pulled you closer to him, using the other hand to hold the mistletoe over your guys’ heads. 

“i brought this just in case. i know that you’ve always fantasized about a moment like this so...” he said sheepishly. “kiss me?”

you laughed and brushed his hair out of his eyes before cupping his cheeks and placing a soft kiss on his lips. you felt him smile into the kiss, making you laugh and pull away.

“been waiting for that one too, huh?” you teased.

mark waved the mistletoe above the two of you and shook his head. “less talking and more kissing please...”

it took you over 10 years for you to realize that you loved mark lee but, if you had to, you would do it all over again in a heartbeat.

[ray-ray-writings]

HELLO CAN YOU PLEASE DO A TECHNOBLADE IMAGINE WHERE THE READER IS IN THE PRISON INSTEAD OF DREAM IG AND TECHNO TRIES TO LIKE BAIL THEM OUT

Prison Break

So this is an imagine request done in a more drabble type beat. I hope you enjoy and I hope this is okay! Let me know what you guys think!!

Techno frees you from your wrongful prison sentence. 

Dream is pissed that Techno didn’t come. He was counting on redeeming that favor he was owed to get him out of the things he had done catching up to him. But Techno didn’t come. He wasn’t there. Dream made sure that Techno paid for it. 

How did Techno pay for it you may ask. Simple. Dream pinned all of his crimes on you. Techno’s s/o. He easily manipulated the entire server once before, he absolutely is able to do it again, no problem. If anyone were to actually sit down and think about it, it would make no sense. You were always really kind to everyone and just was not a bad person at all. But everyone was so angry at what had been happening and wanted someone to blame so bad, that really all Dream had to do was connect your name to Techno’s and remind everyone that Techno had caused a lot of grief in the server and you had done nothing to stop him. In fact, you encouraged him. 

It was not something you ever expected. An angry mob showing up at your front door and announcing that you were under arrest. But it was a thing that happened in your life. That night, you’re in cuffs and being guided into Pandora’s Vault by Sam. You’re left alone in your cell and you break down. You know you don’t belong here and you don’t want to be here. You hope that Techno is able to get you out, to break you out. But as you stare at the crying obsidian walls that trap you in the cell, you know that this place is inescapable. 

Inescapable to a scared coward

And Techno was not a scared coward. No in fact he was livid. He was the most angry he has ever been in his life and he could literally rip Dream limb from limb but he knows better than to do that while you’re locked up. He knows he needs to get you out of there and soon. He works with Phil and makes a brilliant plan. A fool proof plan. And if he’s lucky, they won’t even know you’re gone. 

Techno goes to the prison about three days after you get locked up to visit. Sam doesn’t think anything of it, you two are dating after all. Techno goes through all of the proper procedures, signs all the waivers, and is soon enough standing in front of the lava wall you’re behind. Techno stands beside the fire resistance potion dispenser and begins to execute his plan. Techno focuses his gaze on the opposite wall which in turn causes Sam to also turn his attention to the wall, wondering what it is Techno sees. While Sam’s attention is elsewhere, Techno manages to reach into the dispenser and swipe a few fire resistance potions, safely tucking them into his inventory before turning his own attention back to the wall just in time for Sam to snap out of it. “Right… Are you ready?” Techno pretends to snap out of the “intense gaze” he was in and turns his attention to Sam and gives him a small nod. Of course he was ready. He’s been ready for the past three days. 

Sam has him stand on the little platform and presses the lava wall button before the path opens and Techno can finally see you. His heart aches at the sight of you. You look so broken down, so hopeless. His heart aches but his blood boils at the same time. Dream had done this to you. Dream was the reason you're here. The voices are raging in his head, telling him to kill the man that had done this to you. To make him pay and to not let him get away with this. He forces himself to take a deep breath and calm himself down, one thing at a time and right now he has to focus on getting you out. 

You almost don’t believe your eyes. The lava wall is being moved and there floating toward you is a pink headed angel…. Techno. Techno is coming toward you on the platform. And you could honestly cry. But you manage to keep it together until he’s safely on the obsidian. The netherite block wall is lowered and all bets are off. You throw yourself into his arms and bury your face into his chest. Your arms wrap around him tightly, as if you’re afraid if you let go, he’ll disappear. But he doesn’t mind. He’s holding you just the same way. 

You two continue your hug until the lava wall comes back down and closes you in the cell. Techno pulls himself back ever so slightly, just so he can look down at your face. Noticing his movement, you peer up at him, your cheek still resting on his chest. “Hey there love,” he speaks gently. You could burst into tears just from that. It had only been three days but it had felt so much longer than that and you could only relish in the contact you had with him now. 

“Hey” you manage to croak back, your voice a little raw and rusty for not having used it for the past few days. Techno leans down and presses a gentle kiss to the top of your head and just leaves his face resting there for a little bit, hugging you tighter to him. 

You two stand there for a while, just holding each other. You’re so content in your boyfriend’s arms, so relaxed, that it nearly scares you half to death when several explosions happen around you. Techno holds you tightly to him as you jump at the loud noises. Your head shoots up and your fear filled eyes meet Techno’s cool, calm, and collected ones. In fact a little smirk is playing on his lips. “Right on time Phil,” he murmurs, looking at the ceiling.

 “Phil?” You asked, still very confused as to what is happening. 

Techno’s gaze shifts to you and his smirk shifts into a smile. “Phil,” he confirms. 

“Why is Phil setting off explosions?” 

“To distract Sam of course.” As he answers, Techno pulls out the three potions he managed to snag from the dispenser. 

“How did you--” Techno doesn’t let you finish your question. Instead he presses all three into your palms.

“Listen to me very carefully okay? You have to follow this exact plan. Do you understand?” 

You only nod and listen as Techno explains to you how you’re going to escape prison. He explains in as much detail as possible. Tells you at what times you will take the potions and the path you will take that leads you out of the prison. But then he also tells you about the path you’ll take once you’re out. He tells you how to get to his house in the tundra. There you’ll be safe. 

He gives your forehead a kiss and then presses one really passionate one to your lips as well. “I’ll see you soon okay? Sam will let me out of here at the end of the day once he finds it was only a few creepers lurking around,” Techno tells you with a wink as the two of you stand by the lava wall. You can’t help but giggle at the wink, even though it’s a pretty serious time. But you nod and give him a soft smile in return. 

“I love you.” 

“I love you too.”

You give Techno one more kiss before popping a fire res potion and swimming through the lava wall. You follow Techno’s instructions to a T. Only a few times did you get a little confused and have to take a moment to really think about what Techno had told you. When you find yourself outside, you can’t help but cry a little. Three days in complete solitude will do that to a person you guess. The emotions just overwhelm you and you allow yourself to cry for a little bit as you sink on to your knees in the grass, your fingers clutching some of the strands. You’re very lucky that no one is around to see you but you’re finally free… Well almost. 

After a little bit, you manage to pull yourself together and get yourself up off of the ground. You have to make your way to Techno’s house now. You know the way of course, but you have to make your way through the SMP without being seen. It’s a lot easier than you expected it to be, everyone busy with their own things, not really paying attention, so you make it through rather easily. You do take a small detour and swing by your house and get a few supplies before making your way out to Techno’s house. 

Back in the prison, Techno is calm for the most part. He has complete faith in Phil leaving behind no trace of the actual cause of the explosion and he trusts you to make it out just fine, but he still worries a little bit. This is a big thing that’s happening and he can’t exactly make sure you’re safe and that you’re okay right now as you travel, so he can only wait. After a few hours, he hears a noise from the other side of the lava wall. He rushes over to the bed and pretends to be leaning down and kissing your forehead as the wall moves to reveal the cell. “Visiting Hours are now over.” Sam calls from the room across the cell. “Please move to the platform.” 

“Goodbye my love. I’ll be back soon,” Techno promises the thin are as he moves over to the platform and is moved out of your cell and back to Sam’s side. 

As Sam is walking Techno out of the prison, Sam explains what happened. “Yeah, somehow some creepers got in and blew up. They didn’t do any damage or anything so it’s fine… I suspect Tommy or Tubbo were trying to prank me and it didn’t completely go well.” Techno lets out a hum and nods along with Sam as he pretends to know nothing about the situation. Techno gathers his things from his locker and bids Sam a farewell before heading out of the prison. Once he knows he’s out of sight, he breaks into a sprint to Phil’s old house in L’Manberg.

Phil is waiting outside with Carl and Phil’s own horse already saddled up when Techno arrives. The two men share a hug and celebrate how they were able to pull off the perfect prison break. Techno and Phil quickly mount their horses and soon enough they’re on their way out to the tundra. 

You had crashed in Techno’s bed as soon as you arrived, exhausted physically from the journey and mentally and emotionally from the prison. That is where Techno and Phil find you, asleep in Techno’s plush bed. The two just spend a few moments looking at you, as creepy as that sounds. But they just want to prove to themselves that they did it, they saved you and you were safe and no longer in prison for crimes you did not commit. Philza is the first to break from his staring trance. He claps Techno on the shoulder before turning around and walking out of the room. 

Techno very quickly also breaks from his trance, peels off her shoes, and climbs into bed beside you. His arms wrap around you and he pulls you gently into his chest. Techno didn’t mean for it to happen, he actually didn’t want it to happen at all that’s why he was so gentle, but you stir and you begin to wake up. Your eyes pry open and you meet his gaze for a moment before you curl yourself into his arms even more. Techno can only chuckle at your clingy behavior, but he can’t blame you. He’s feeling the same way. So he only holds you closer and gives you multiple quick pecks before one long kiss. “Welcome home my love.” 

Like I said, let me know what you guys thought of this and if you’re still okay if I write some of the imagine requests like this in the future!!

[theoriginalcarnivorousmuffin]

In your latest post, you said that Dumbledore MEANT to put Harry in a abusive household. That, or when he found out he did nothing to stop it. Why is that?

You’re going to get a lot of people angry with me. Well, I suppose they’re already angry. Somewhere out there, on the wider internet.

Right, anyway, the evidence of Harry’s abuse is so overwhelming that it seems improbable to me that Dumbledore wasn’t aware of what was happening. More, every interaction he has with not only Harry, but characters in similar circumstances, lends me to believe that in the event that Dumbledore does know he’d take no action.

Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone: Scene 1

We start out the entire Harry Potter series with Minerva and Dumbledore waiting in the early dawn for Hagrid’s arrival and to place Harry with the Dursleys. Minerva immediately announces her discomfort with this, 

She specifically says the following:

"You don't mean — you can't mean the people who live here? Dumbledore, you can't. You couldn't find two people who are less like us."

Lily Evans’ relatives are infamous enough such that Minerva McGonagall, who is presumably not as close as her like aged peers (i.e. Sirius, Remus, and Peter) knows about them.

Granted, some of this is anti-muggle sentiment. Minerva isn’t sure that suburban muggles raising a magical child like Harry Potter is a good idea. Nevertheless, she has deep misgivings, and relays them to Dumbledore.

We know from further evidence that Dumbledore is perfectly aware of what Petunia and Vernon are like as well. He gives Harry to the Dursleys anyway.

Dumbledore, for his own reasons, chooses not to listen.

Dumbledore’s Letter to Petunia

Dumbledore writes a letter to Petunia, knowing it is highly necessary, as he gives Harry to the family. The letter is... vaguely threatening but in a very polite Dumbledore way. It pretty much implies “Take Harry, or else, also be nice to your dead sister.”

The point is, Dumbledore is aware that this letter is highly necessary. And then... other things happen.

Dumbledore Sends Hagrid

Dumbledore sends Hagrid to pick Harry up.

Ordinarily, in such circumstances, Minerva is sent to introduce muggleborn children to the Wizarding World. “Perhaps she was busy,” you say, too busy for Harry Potter? Wizard Jesus and the child of perhaps her favorite students who she openly favors throughout the series?

“Perhaps Dumbledore was being nice to Hagrid, and he had an errand to do anyway,” well, it’s all well and good to be nice to Hagrid, but is he really the best guy to introduce anybody to the Wizarding World?

This is Hagrid, the likelihood of him having taken Harry to an exotic pet shop where Harry then gets eaten by the Chupacabra is 95%. The 5% where it didn’t happen is because Hagrid went to the pet shop alone and some, distant, rational part of his brain told him that Harry would want the pretty owl vs. the one-eyed blood sucking rat demon in the cage next to her.

You don’t send Hagrid if you want a child returned to you with all its limbs intact.

So why do you send Hagrid?

When you want someone who’s so painfully oblivious, loyal, and stupid that they could stare a hellscape in the face and wouldn’t even notice.

Hagrid gets a firsthand view of Harry’s living conditions. He learns that Harry’s relatives have been actively blocking Harry’s letters, that they have run across the country to avoid them. He sees the state of Harry’s clothing in comparison to Dudley, how thin Harry is in comparison to Dudley, and the way the family interacts with each other.

Harry’s child abuse is staring Hagrid right in the face.

Minerva would demand that Harry be placed somewhere else, they can find some other means of protecting him.

What does Hagrid do?

He gives Dudley a pig’s tail illegally and proceeds to tell Harry that Dumbledore is the greatest man who ever lived. 

Other Evidence Comes to Light

Other characters start getting pretty big warning signs that all’s not right at the Potters.

Ron and Hermione know the situation is “bad” and that Harry’s relatives “hate magic”. They’re also kids and don’t really understand what this means, the idea of being abused and hated by your guardians is unthinkable to them and Harry doesn’t come out and just say it.

That said, they’ve seen enough that they drop hints to those around them. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley are told about the bars on Harry’s window. Ron was so concerned about Harry in the summer after first year that he steals his father’s car with Fred and George to go pick him up. That is not normal behavior, that is deep concern for your friend.

Despite all of this... nothing happens.

Hermione spends far more time at the Weasleys then Harry ever does. Every summer, he returns to Privet Drive, and it’s likely if Arthur and Molly did have concerns Dumbledore told them off.

Arabella Figg

Arabella has been keeping an eye on Harry for years. She’s noted some very disturbing trends and been witness to years of the Dursleys interacting with Harry Potter.

She passes this information on to Dumbledore.

He knows how bad it is.

Harry Potter

Harry tells Dumbledore he does not wish to remain at the Dursleys, he notes that they don’t like him and he doesn’t like them. Now, he tries to downplay it, but this is a child saying some pretty disturbing things. You don’t brush this off.

Dumbledore does.

Dumbledore Visits the Dursleys

In book 6, Dumbledore visits the Dursleys and sees, in person, how bad it is. However, he shows no surprise, only vague disappointment in Petunia. Tsk, tsk, Petunia, I thought you were better than this.

He offers a few threats and then he and Harry go on their merry way.

Severus Snape

Snape is Dumbledore’s spy who reads Harry’s mind for half a year. Granted, Snape is a bastard who loathes Harry Potter, but he sees evidence of the Dursleys abuse of Harry.

We know, from what he relays to Dumbledore later, that he had at least some concern for Harry and was very disturbed by Dumbledore’s plan to murder him in cold blood due to the horcrux.

I think it’s very likely Severus Snape knew and told Dumbledore that Harry was being abused. I’m sure Albus’ response was, “Bitch, I know, would you like a lemon drop?”

Point being, there is no conceivable way that Albus Dumbledore, even if he was the world’s dumbest man, didn’t know exactly how bad it was. He let’s it happen anyway.

But What About the Blood Wards?

Dumbledore eventually tells Harry that the reason he can’t run away from Privet Drive is because of the blood wards created by his mother. They can only be applied if he lives with blood relatives and protect the Dursley house as long as Harry considers it home.

Now, this is a bit suspect given that Harry really considers Hogwarts his home, Privet Drive is just that hell hole he has to go back to every summer. Even the Burrow is more his home than Privet Drive so... That doesn’t sound right.

More, though, there are other means of protection.

There’s the Fidelius which Dumbledore casts on Sirius’ house in book 5. Given that, Harry really could have lived with Sirius (well, Sirius is not in a good place to have a kid around and that would be a disaster and a half). Point being, Harry could be raised elsewhere and there are wards that could protect him.

More, Voldemort and the Death Eaters are out of commission for thirteen years. Indeed, we see Dumbledore up Harry’s security detail by secretly assigning the Order to tail him after fourth year.

So, for a very long time, it’s not about Harry’s protection and when it does become that we see Dumbledore make significant changes.

So, what could it be?

Well, let’s look at Dumbledore’s other actions. Dumbledore prevents Harry from becoming prefect because “he thought it would go to his head”. Which, Harry should absolutely not be made prefect at all, and Ron’s a laughable candidate too but...

To me that’s very telling.

I hate to say this, but this is Dumbledore, but I think he has a very similar reasoning behind Harry going to the Dursleys.

He doesn’t want Harry to be corrupted by the Boy Who Lived persona. He wants him in a certain state of mind when he enters into the wizarding world and... Frankly, he wants him vulnerable. Dumbledore, in time, will need to either murder this boy or have him kill himself. If Harry has a halfway decent guardian, that task becomes a hell of a lot harder.

Harry has to love the wizarding world so much, trust Dumbledore so much, that these things are worth dying for.

You Mentioned Something About Dumbledore’s Other Actions?

Dumbledore has no sympathy for victims of child abuse.

Tom Riddle, an impoverished orphan loathed by those in his orphanage, he thinks is the very devil and sends him back into the Blitz with a smile and a wave. Enjoy the bombs, Tom, hope you die.

Severus Snape, the half blood child of an abusive muggle father and absentee mother, who is nearly murdered by Sirius Black via Remus Lupin, is told to shut the fuck up and sit down before he ruins the lives of his betters.

Dumbledore has a very bad track record with this and, well, Harry Potter is not an exception.

To be fair, I think the wizarding world has not concept of CPS or even child abuse. There’s no hint of a foster system, you go to the closest relative of the godparents. So, I think to them, you’re stuck with whoever you’re stuck with and if your uncle rapes you then it sucks to be you.

[animeomegas]

I'm sorry if you've said elsewhere and I just missed it, but what is Sasuke in this au? I could see him presenting as an omega (what age do they present?) and being so adamant against it, telling Itachi that's he's never going to have a rotten alpha, a whole spiel about it, then not that long after sees a cute alpha (even just a childhood crush) and 'oh' while Itachi gets a good laugh and pokes fun a bit after all his big talk

Awww, this is so cute!

Sasuke is an omega in this au yes, and he's known his whole life which is one of the reasons he gets so defensive and weird about Itachi's alpha!

But you're so right, Sasuke goes out of his way to talk about how he'll never get mated because he won't quit being a ninja and alphas are evil and they force omegas to stay at home and raise pups, and Sasuke doesn't even like pups!!

Now, Sasuke's reasoning for not wanting pups is pretty solid and makes sense for his personality, so Itachi doesn't hold his breathe for any nieces or nephews.

But Sasuke's reasoning for not getting mated is based on stereotypes and his weird hatred for Itachi's mate, not any actual desire to avoid mating (which Itachi would of course respect if Sasuke genuinely decided to not do.)

So, Itachi has a sneaking suspicion that Sasuke might start to change his tune a little when puberty truly gets its claws in.

...

When Sasuke is about fifteen, fully in the grasp of puberty, but not yet started with his heats, Itachi begins to notice some odd behaviour. It takes Itachi a little while to put the pieces together, but in his defence they no longer live together and Itachi has his hands full looking after his pup.

But when Itachi does figure it out, he spends the whole day smiling.

Sasuke has a crush.

And a seemingly serious one at that.

On days where he doesn't have missions, he's been coming back to the compound very late.

His mother has had to go to the market more frequently because Sasuke has started taking more food for lunch with him to train (almost exactly double, what are the odds?)

He's stopped training so often on clan training grounds, instead favouring the public ones.

And perhaps the most damning piece of evidence, a badly hidden scarf Itachi found in Sasuke's room (he was going in there to see if Sasuke had a book he could borrow while Itachi was visiting his parents for the afternoon.) Unremarkable on the surface perhaps, but the fact that it was drenched in an unfamiliar alpha's scent suggested it may have been a courting gift.

Now, Itachi does find it unabashedly adorable that Sasuke is obviously an enthusiastic participant in a courting ritual. (He also immediately sets Shisui on tracking down this alpha, because their identity cannot remain a secret any longer, of course. And unfortunately, bringing a four-year-old pup on a tailing mission rarely ends well so Itachi can't do it himself.)

But Itachi also finds this situation to be perfect for a little bit of teasing, as is his right as big brother (and of course, Sasuke's rather impressive cock blocking back in the day has nothing to do with this desire for revenge teasing. Itachi is far too mature for something so petty, of course.)

...

"Sasuke," Itachi greets, walking into the main house just in time to see Sasuke wrap up two bento boxes. "Good morning."

"Itachi?" Sasuke startles, surreptitiously trying to stand in front of the two bento boxes. "What are you doing here?"

"Ah, well, mother mentioned that you were planning on training this morning, and I know it's been a while since we trained together, and my mate has the pup today, so I thought I could drop by," Itachi voice was light and sweet, careful not to give away to Sasuke that any of this had been planned.

"I'm training at the public training grounds today, perhaps we can train together next week, or perhaps this evening when I return?" Sasuke politely declines, eyes darting to the clock on the wall for a split second. Itachi realises that he must be holding him up. Good. A little bit of urgency should make him more likely to slip up and reveal something.

"You don't want to?" Itachi asks in fake surprise. "You asked me the other day for help on a jutsu. I..." Itachi's pretends to only now notice the two bento boxes. "Oh, are you training with a friend? Is that why? Why don't you extend an offer to come and train here and I can assist you both."

"I don't think-"

"I know I'm retired now, Sasuke, but I'm sure I'm more than capable of taking on two chunins, and you know you're allowed to invite trusted friends to use the main three training grounds."

"I'm not meeting with anyone!" Sasuke blurts, cutting off Itachi's tirade.

"Oh, then why the two boxes?"

"I eat more when I've been training, I'm a chunin now, brother, my regimes are intense," Sasuke explains, face blank but with a slight blush on his cheeks that gives him away.

"Well, if you aren't meeting anyone, I'll come with you to the public training grounds, it's been a long time since I trained on any of them, it will be fun!"

"No, I-"

"Or perhaps you are lying to me and you are meeting the someone who gave you that scarf," Itachi says cooly.

Sasuke startles and immediately goes bright red.

"How did you find out about that?!"

"Hmm," Itachi hums, amused. "Have a nice time 'training', little brother."

And as Itachi turns to leave, he hears a sputtering Sasuke trying to explain that they are planning on only training.

"Uh huh," Itachi says in a way that makes it clear he doesn't believe Sasuke. "Hurry now, Sasuke, you don't want to keep them waiting."

Sasuke, despite his horrific embarrassment, grabs his bag and follows Itachi out of the door with a murmured 'we can talk about this later'.

Itachi makes the short journey home with a small smile glued to his face.

[fics-n-stuff]

Home - Pt 2

For @glowstick-lesbian, request here

Pairing: Kaz Brekker x Reader

Summary: After Y/N finally gets out hiding, it's time to sit down with Kaz and talk through whatever it is that's going on between them.

Word Count: 5.1k

Warnings: Brief talk of Jordie and Kaz's trauma and touch aversion

A/N: Wow this ended up being longer than I intended! I'm so sorry it's taken so long, I was focused on The Bastard's Shadow and Affluenza pts1 + 2, and then I started picking up more shifts at work and got writers block at the same time. I really hope you like how it turned out!! ❤❤

Pt1 here

After the very enlightening visit from Kaz, the days seemed to drag on even slower than before. The next two months went by in a crawl, and no matter how much you buried yourself in work you couldn’t distract from the longing you felt to get out of your apartment.

When your messenger came to deliver the news that your pursuers were willing to come to a truce you had been so happy that you’d gone straight to pour yourself a glass of whisky to celebrate. From then, you counted down the days until the meeting that you set up, the result of which should mean that you were free to roam the city again.

Inej had shown you how to get out of the window and onto the roof months ago. It was your escape route in case of an emergency, but you had used it every now and then just to sit on the roof and enjoy a taste of the outside world. That night, you had climbed out with intention and dressed in your finest coat.

You travelled over the rooftops towards the Government district, where your meeting had been arranged to take place near the Stadhall. The presence of the stadwatch would serve to protect you in case the deal went south.

You had been jittery with a mix of anxiety and excitement when you descended to street level and wended your way through the streets to find three men waiting for you at the Stadhall, all of them tall, broad and commanding. Barrel businessmen that you had crossed one too many times, and no doubt they had been angered that forcing you into hiding hadn’t put a stop to your business.

You were too smart to have not found a way around it; you had to be to run the business that you did. You owned three boarding houses and two bars in the Barrel and two ships that brought in imports from Ravka and Novyi Zem, a squaller as a permanent fixture on the crew of each to whom you paid a fair salary. You’d had Kaz put them under the protection of the Dregs to keep them safe from slavers. On top of all of that, you used your contacts in Ravka, Novyi Zem and other parts of Kerch to help get kids out of the Barrel and into honest work elsewhere. You might operate from the criminal underbelly of Ketterdam, but you made a mostly honest living.

The meeting took longer than you had anticipated. The three men were eager to negotiate territories that you couldn’t conduct business in and items that they didn’t want you to import because it was cutting into their own business. You held firm, you knew what was fair and you would be damned if you let anyone bully you into submission.

In the end, you essentially just agreed not to get in their way, which was easy enough to do. You wouldn’t actively compete with them in the sale of imported goods, and you wouldn’t try to convince any of the lads that they used as runners and grunts to get out of the Barrel. As long as you kept your distance from them you’d be fine, since they were clearly tired of chasing after you.

“Alright then, the deal is the deal.” You said, holding out your hand. All three shook hands with you in turn, echoing the phrase as was customary. When the man in the middle – clearly the leader and the last to shake with you – took your hand, you tightened your grip and leaned forward. “If you try to cheat me after this deal, you will have Dirtyhands to answer to.” You said lowly. He tried not to show his reaction but the fear in his eyes betrayed him, and you released his hand. It wasn’t often that you involved Kaz and his reputation in your affairs, but sometimes it paid to be friends with the most ruthless man in Ketterdam.

You left the meeting with your head held high and took a gondel back to the Barrel. You were approached by a few people who stayed in one of your boarding houses or drank in one of your bars on your walk to the Crow Club, telling you that they had been curious or worried about having not seen you around for so long. You didn’t engage in any conversation beyond polite acknowledgment, too eager to get to the Crow Club.

Inej was the only one that knew that you were getting out tonight. You had told her when she had come to deliver your food for the week and she had promised to try and keep everyone corralled at the Crow Club so that you could make a big entrance, but the later it got the less likely it was that she could keep them all there without raising suspicion.

You practically ran down the last street towards the Crow Club, bursting through the open door and searching the crowd for your friends. Jesper caught sight of you at the same moment that you spotted them all at the bar, and you saw his jaw drop in shock. A huge grin spread on your face as he set his drink down, his sudden change in demeanor getting the attention of the rest of the group and causing them to turn to follow his gaze.

“Y/N?” Jesper called, prompting you into as much of a sprint as you could manage across the crowded floor of the gambling hall. You vaulted yourself into him, wrapping your arms tightly around his lanky frame. “You’re back! How?” He exclaimed, and you laughed as you felt him hug you back and sweep you off of your feet.

“I had a meeting to call a truce. As of tonight I am a free person!”

“We missed you so much!” Nina grinned, prying Jesper’s arms off of you so that she could pull into a hug herself. “Why didn’t you tell us that you were finally coming out of hiding?”

“I wanted it to be a surprise.” You grinned, pulling away so that you could move to hug Wylan next. “I missed you guys so much too, you have no idea.” You caught sight of Kaz over Wylan’s shoulder, his eyes wide as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. You pointed your smile at him and his lips twitched upwards before he cooled his expression and gave you a simple nod.

Your reunion was spirited to say the least, even Matthias couldn’t help but smile at the fact that you were back. You made them tell you about all of the most significant things that you had missed in the year that you had been trapped inside and update you on any power shifts between the Barrel gangs. Jesper wouldn’t shut up, Wylan was excited to tell you about all of the new explosives and weapons that he had developed, and Nina was making a list of places that she wanted to get lunch together to make up for lost time. It felt amazing to be with them all again.

“Okay! I want to play a few hands of Three Man Bramble before I go.” You announced, pushing your glass away from you after downing the last of its contents.

“Don’t have to ask me twice.” Jesper grinned, slinging an arm around your shoulder and guiding you to a table.

It seemed apt that fortune seemed to be in your favour, winning so consistently that you continued to play even though you knew that you shouldn’t. It felt like every time that you looked up from the table you caught Kaz watching you, and his unashamed gaze made your heart flutter.

After a while you saw him give a slight nod towards the door, an action that meant that it was time to go, and you tucked you lip between you teeth as you gave a subtle nod back and turned your attention back to your cards.

“Unbelievable!” Jesper exclaimed upon seeing that you had won again. “I guess you’re catching up on a year’s worth of luck.”

“Perhaps, but I’m going to quit while I’m ahead.” You smiled, gathering up your winnings. “I need to go and breathe some more fresh air.” You pocketed half of your winnings and pushed the other half around the table to Jesper. “Not too much fun.”

“There’s no such thing as too much fun.” He beamed and pulled you to him so that he could plant a kiss on your cheek. “Good to have you back, Y/N.”

“Good to be back, Jes.” You winked before bounding back to the bar to say goodbye to the rest of your friends. Kaz had already disappeared, no doubt in an attempt to avoid drawing attention to the fact that you were leaving together.

“We’re going to get waffles tomorrow. I will break your door down if I have to.” Nina asserted, practically crushing your ribs in a hug. “Inej, you’re coming too.”

“What about me?” Wylan pouted, and you laughed.

“Everyone’s invited.” You replied, holding his face and turning it towards you so that you could press a soft kiss on his forehead before pulling him in for a hug. “I just got out, I want to spend time with you all!”

You kept your hug with Inej pretty short, considerate of the bad feelings that too much contact could stir up in her, and even managed to coax a hug from Matthias before you headed out. Kaz was waiting not far from the entrance and you smiled as you quickly made your way towards him

“Hey.” You chirped.

“You wanted it to be a surprise, huh?” He questioned, starting towards the Slat. You chuckled.

“I know you’re not a big fan of surprises, Kaz, but I thought this might be a fun one. Why? Were you offended that I told Inej and not you?”

“Did you have anyone go with you to your meeting?”

“No, I didn’t need any backup.”

“Things could have gone badly, and you didn’t tell anyone about it.”

“Well things didn’t go badly.” You rebutted. “I’m here, I’m fine, and I surprised you all.”

“You shouldn’t put yourself in danger like that.” Kaz said flatly, ignoring your point, and you groaned loudly at his stubbornness.

“If it makes you feel better, I made sure to drop your name in to intimidate them. But I can handle my own business.”

You hopped along the cobblestones playfully, irrationally happy to be back out on the filthy and foul smelling streets of the Barrel, but even the stink couldn’t dampen your joy at finally being free. You were sure that you and Kaz probably looked like a bizarre pair walking together now, him with his stoic exterior and identifying limp next to your childlike joy, though you had taken after him fashion wise with your smart attire and well-fitted, black coat.

Walking back to the Slat with Kaz took you in the opposite direction to your home – now that you were out of hiding you could finally return to where you actually lived in a house on the boundary of East Stave and the Zelver District – but you wanted to talk to Kaz, and he wouldn’t have asked you to leave with him if he didn’t want to talk to you too. Nevertheless, you continued the rest of the walk in silence.

When you got to the Slat, Kaz continued straight up to his room while you lingered on the ground floor to say hello to some of the Dregs that you were more friendly with. The noise of the Slat was unfamiliar to you after so long, but you had kind of missed the rowdiness of it.

You followed upstairs shortly after. Kaz had left his door ajar for you and you could see him sat at his desk through the opening.

“Shut the door behind you.” He said as you slipped inside, and you heard the door click as you push it shut after yourself.

“You wanna talk to me?” You questioned, walking over to lean on the side of the desk casually. “Or did you just want some time to look at my gorgeous face?” He did look up at you then, his eyes darting around to take in the entirety of your face, and you felt your heart flutter.

“How did your meeting go? What deals did you make?” He asked. You sighed. It wasn’t new that Kaz was asking about your business, he liked to know about what you were doing the same way that he liked to know about literally everything else, but you had hoped that this conversation would be a little less mundane than that. You had hoped that he might express an iota of joy that you were back.

“I can’t dock my ships in 3rd Harbour anymore.” You shrugged. “So I’ll stick to 2nd for imports going into the morning market, mostly 5th for everything else. There’s a few streets that I need to keep my business off of, and obviously I can’t try and undermine their operations anymore. That doesn’t mean that I won’t, it just means that I’ll be smarter about not getting caught.”

“And what do you get from them?”

“They leave me alone. I don’t need more than that. I mean, their terms are hardly going to impede my business anyway.”

“And your insurance?”

“You.” You smiled sweetly. “Very few people are bold enough to cross someone that has Kaz Brekker on side.”

“I thought you prided yourself on running an honest business.”

“I do. My association with you doesn’t make my business any less legit. I’m more honest than most of the Merchant Council anyway.”

“That’s fair.” He conceded with a slight nod.

Kaz had visited you a few times since the night that you had both let on about how much you cared about each other, but you hadn’t talked about it. It felt like the tension between you had been building and building like an elastic band ready to snap. It was driving you crazy.

“Anything else that you want to talk about?” You hinted. Kaz let out a long breath, his eyes sliding away from you for a moment. You could tell that he wanted to talk about it but he was struggling to get it out. “Because you haven’t told me that you’re glad I’m back yet.”

“I am glad that you’re back.” He affirmed, then he took a hard swallow. “We all missed you.” You smiled brightly at that.

You could hear the crows moving around on the half-roof outside of Kaz’s window and crossed the room to perch on the windowsill. There hadn’t been anywhere for the birds to land in the apartment that you had been cooped up in.

“Can I stay here for a while? I don’t want to be alone again just yet.” You said softly, tucking one knee up against your chest as you watched the birds through the glass.

“Sure.” Kaz answered.

You sat in silence for a while after that, which wasn’t unusual for you two. Before you had gone into hiding, you had spent many evenings with Kaz in his office just like this. Tonight felt different though. Something had opened between the two of you and now you couldn’t close it. The feeling permeated every corner of the room until you felt like you might explode if you didn’t break this silence, but, to your surprise, Kaz spoke first.

“I’ve been thinking about that day that I saw you outside the Crow Club.”

“Why?” You asked, blinking in surprise. Kaz was still facing forward at his desk, back turned to you, but his pen had stilled over the page.

“I watched you for a while, deciding whether to chase you off or recruit you for the Dregs.” He continued, ignoring your question. You were used to that too. “You were good at pickpocketing – you could spot a good mark, distracted them by pretending to beg for pennies – but you stayed in one place for too long.”

“I know, you told me at the time.” You smiled amusedly.

“I was just planning on telling you exactly that, but after I got your attention and you looked at me I knew that I had seen you before. It was in your eyes.” He turned around to look at you then, his gaze finding yours immediately. “Your eyes never changed.”

Kaz’s eyes had. Maybe that was why you hadn’t recognised him. Kaz Rietveld had eyes full of wonder and warmth, that were curious about everything and shone when he was happy. Kaz Brekker's eyes were cold, they held secrets. The curiosity had become analytical, and the shine had turned into a devious glint. Kaz Rietveld didn’t exist anymore, the R tattoo on Kaz’s bicep was the only relic of him, and you were the only one left to remember him.

“Crows remember the faces of those that are kind.” He finished softly.

“And that’s why you took me in? Because I was kind?”

“Because we were friends. We are friends.”

“Just friends?” You murmured, a challenge in your eyes. It wasn’t a provoking challenge, more of an encouraging one. You wanted to know where he stood and you wanted him to be able to tell you. He was silent for a long stretch.

“Would we ever be able to be more?” He asked. You knew what he meant. Kaz had built up so many walls that he didn’t know how to let down, and he knew that about himself. It was how he had survived, but it was a way of being that wasn’t very conducive to relationships. He didn’t think that he could do it.

“That depends on you.” You answered with a soft smile. “Because I’m not looking anywhere else.” Kaz swallowed and looked away quickly, but you swore that you had seen a hint of a blush in his cheeks.

A knock came at the door, and you cursed whoever was on the other side in your head.

“What is it?” Kaz called.

“There’s a man downstairs says he has a job for you.” Specht’s voice came through the wood. “Won’t talk to no one else but you.”

“I’ll be down in a minute.” Kaz replied, then muttered something under his breath bitterly. You heard the creak of Specht's retreating footsteps and Kaz turned to you. “Will you wait until I get back?”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

You watched Kaz leave the room and let out a long sigh once the door had closed behind him. You were finally talking about whatever it was that was between the two of you and you just had to get interrupted.

You shed your coat, dropping it lazily on the floor next to you, and rolled up your shirt sleeves. Despite the pressure put on you from some members of the Dregs, you had never gotten the crow and cup tattoo on your forearm. You had known from the start that you didn’t want to belong to the gang, no matter how thankful you were for the help that Kaz had given you.

When you had realised who it really was that had approached you that night outside the Crow Club, you had been shocked. He knew your name when he spoke to you, though he had seemed unsure of it, and you had furrowed your brow and asked if you knew him.

“It’s Kaz.” He had said, and you had blinked.

“Kaz Rietveld?” You had whispered in disbelief. His jaw had clenched, his shoulders stiffened.

“That’s not my name anymore.” He snapped. “It’s Kaz Brekker now.”

When you asked him why he had changed his name he had simply told you that it was easier that way. When you asked him about why he was in Ketterdam he had answered that his father had died and they had sold the farm. When you asked about Jodie he didn’t answer.

He had walked you to the Slat, told you not to talk to anyone, and brought you up to this very room. You had trusted him enough to follow. Despite his proud presence in the Barrel, despite the fact that he was walking you into the den of a gang, despite the fact that he was almost unrecognisable from the Kaz that you knew as a child, you had trusted him. And in the years that followed, he had never broken that trust.

He had helped you pay for the first boarding house that you purchased, come with you to the bank when you took out the loan to buy your first ship, had come to the harbour to see you off the first time that you had gone to Ravka.

Kaz had once reminded you of something from your childhood while around the other Crows, and once it had slipped that you and Kaz had been friends when you were young, people were constantly asking you about what he had been like. He never told anybody anything about himself and people had been eager to find a source of information on him, but most people had quickly come to realise that you weren’t going to say anything either. Kaz had never thanked you for your discretion, but you knew that he was glad for it.

If you were honest with yourself, you had found yourself drawn to him ever since you got your first glimpse through his cold and uncaring exterior and saw his loyal and protective nature. The pull had only grown since.

Your thoughts were broken by the sound of the door opening, and you looked over to watch Kaz enter. The door clicked shut behind him and he moved to the wash basin directly across the room from the window that you were sat in, set down his cane and pulled off his gloves .

“A good job?” You asked. He shrugged.

“A job that I’ll do.” He answered and began unbuttoning his shirt. You tried not ogle as he pulled it off and picked up the washcloth from the basin, but you caught sight of a reddened stripe of raised skin across his side and furrowed your brows.

“When did that happen?”

“A few days ago.”

“How deep did it go?”

“Not too deep.”

“It doesn’t look like you stitched it up properly.”

“It’s fine.” He dismissed. You rolled your eyes and got up from the window ledge. Kaz never took proper care of himself but he was always too stubborn to admit it.

“Let me see.”

“I said it’s fine, Y/N-"

“Kaz.” You interrupted sternly, meeting his eyes in the mirror. “I said let me see.” He held your gaze for a moment before letting out a huff and raising his arm so that you could get a better view of the wound.

You kept your distance as you looked over the injury, but you could clearly see that the stitches were sloppy on the end of the gash towards his back; the side that he couldn’t reach easily himself.

“You’re keeping it clean?”

“I know how to treat a wound.” He grumbled.

“I know that you know how, that doesn’t mean that I actually trust you to do it. You didn’t even have it bandaged or anything, what if it gets infected?”

“It won’t, Y/N, stop worrying so much.”

“Well, if you’re not going to worry about yourself then somebody else has to.” You exasperated. “At least bandage it.” You didn’t wait for a reply before you crossed over to the cabinet where he kept his impressive stock of medical supplies and grabbed a roll of gauze. Kaz caught it grudgingly when you tossed it to him and set it to the side while he finished washing his torso.

“You worry too much.” He muttered.

“It’s good for you.” You smiled.

You watched him as he unrolled the gauze and wrapped it around his body, carefully laying it over the wound with pale fingers that you rarely saw. He was precise, but he couldn’t see his back and the bandage twisted as he moved it between his hands.

“It’s folded.” You told him softly, taking half a step towards him. “I can fix it... if you want.” There was a beat of silence before Kaz nodded slightly.

You moved towards him slowly and reached for him even slower, your eyes constantly flicking back to the mirror to gauge the reaction on Kaz’s face. Your fingertips barely brushed over his back as you unfolded the downturned piece of bandage and you immediately stepped away when you were done. It took no more than a few seconds, but you could hear Kaz’s short breaths and when you looked at him in the mirror you could see that he had paled.

You picked up the clean shirt that was laid on his bed and held it out to him at full arms length. His hand shook as he took it from you. He pulled it on quickly, making short work of the buttons, and pulled his gloves back on hastily.

“Sorry.” You mumbled, though you weren’t exactly sure what you were apologising for.

“It’s because of Jordie.” Kaz’s voice was hoarse when he spoke, his eyes trained on his shoes. “Why I can’t touch anyone. It’s because when he died...”

“You don’t have to tell me, Kaz.” You said softly when he trailed off. He shook his head slightly and cleared his throat, squeezing his eyes shut for a few seconds.

“When Jordie died, I was sick too. It was the Queen's Lady plague. One night, I fell asleep in an alley and woke up on the Reaper's Barge.” He swallowed thickly, wringing his hands together thoughtlessly, and you could see sweat forming on his brow. “When my fever broke, I had to swim back to the harbour, and Jordie... whenever someone touches me, all I can feel is those corpses.”

Silence hung between you as you tried to find the words to respond. It was a lot of information to take in, but suddenly things made sense. Now you understood why Kaz had become the way that he was; why he was prone to shutting people out, why the light behind his eyes had dimmed.

“Kaz, I... I’m sorry, I don’t know what to say.”

“That’s okay.” He muttered. “I have work to do. You’re welcome to stay as long as you’d like.” He crossed the room to sit down at his desk, his movements tense. You watched him for a minute, unsure of what to do. It felt wrong to leave him alone right now, but you didn’t know if he would want you to stay.

“I’m sailing to Novyi Zem next week.” You said. It was the first topic that you could think of. “I’d really appreciate it if you could look over the rent ledgers while I’m gone.”

“Sure.” He replied flatly. Silence again.

“Will you come with us all to get waffles tomorrow?”

“I have work to do, and Nina didn’t invite me anyway.”

“Yeah, well, the celebration is for me and I’d really like for you to be there.” You smiled slightly. “She probably didn’t invite you because she knew you’d say no.”

“Smart of her.” Kaz responded, and you let out a frustrated huff.

“Don’t do that, Kaz. Don’t shut me out.” You complained. He didn’t answer at all. You folded your arms over your chest and went to stand beside his chair. “I don’t care that you can’t touch people, it doesn’t bother me. You went through trauma and that’s not your fault. What is bothering me is that you’re choosing to stay closed off to everyone. You can’t keep your walls up forever, you’ll kill yourself trying.”

“I can’t handle it, Y/N.” He snapped, his voice low. The gravel in his voice might have intimidated you into backing off if you weren’t so adamant on getting through to him.

“You’ll never be able to handle it if you don’t start trying.” You insisted. “Maybe if you’d just admit to yourself that you care about people it wouldn’t be so hard to see that we care about you too.”

Kaz pinched the bridge of his nose, his eyes shut tightly, and released a long breath. You watched him, waiting for a response, not backing down. After a moment of silence, he glanced up at you.

“I can’t need anyone.” He said slowly. “Not after Jordie. I can’t let myself need anyone else.”

“You don’t have to need me, Kaz. You just have to want me.” You replied softly. His head snapped towards you and you actually saw his pupils dilate for the few seconds that he held your gaze before quickly turning away again. You hadn’t meant it like that, but you weren’t upset that he’d heard it that way.

“I don’t deserve you.” He muttered. You leaned against his desk, a sympathetic smile on your face even though he wasn’t looking at you.

“I’ve been around this long, I’m not going anywhere.” You promised. “There’s more to love about you than you think.”

Kaz tapped on his desk with a finger, a nervous action that he would usually suppress. Then, he took a sharp inhale and turned back to you.

“Okay.” He breathed. “I can try.” You bit down on your tongue in an attempt to suppress your grin, but you couldn’t stop the smile that stretched across your face.

“That’s all I ask.” You lilted. You stood up straight, pushing off of the desk and starting across the room to the window. You rolled your shirt sleeves down and snatched your coat up from the floor. “I’m going to head home. I expect to see you at my door promptly at eleven bells tomorrow morning, ready to get waffles.”

“Alright.” He nodded, breathing a single light laugh.

“Perfect. I’ll see you then.”

“Here, Y/N, these are for you.” He said quickly, picking up and couple of envelopes from his desk and holding them up for you. “You’ll have to make sure to notify your business partners of your change in mailing address.” You chuckled, going to take the letters from him, and he gave a small smirk as he handed them over.

“Thank you.” You smiled, before turning and heading to the door. “Eleven bells, Brekker. I know you’re a punctual man.”

“I’ll be there.” He affirmed. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight, Kaz.” You echoed softly before stepping out of the room and shutting the door behind you, a fond smile on your lips.

[hqbbg]

no regrets.

pairing: iwaizumi hajime x fem!reader (ft. oikawa)

prompt:  "I wonder what he’d do if he knew you were with me right now."

genre: smut with a sprinkle of angst

word count: 7.3K (i’m so sorry, this came out way longer than i intended)

warnings: 18+, slowburn like wow look at that word count, mentions of alcohol, some cheating, fingering, oral (f.receiving), unprotected s3x, aftercare

author’s note: here’s my monthly contribution to the Haikyuu!! Headquarters server collab! here’s the masterlist, so be sure to check everyone else’s works out too! hope you guys enjoy :)

The sunlight seeping in through your bedroom window feels warm on your face as you stir awake. Stretching your arms above your head, you sigh in contentment, satisfied with the quality of sleep you had. You roll over to check your phone, frowning as it fails to turn on, realizing that you’d forgotten to charge it after a call with your boyfriend who’s currently halfway across the world.

Suddenly, a thought strikes you and you scramble out of bed to check the wall clock you have hanging in your apartment’s living room. A loud gasp followed by a curse leaves your lips as you rush to the bathroom to get ready for work.

You’re running late. Again.

Dread spreads through your senses as you quickly go through your morning routine, thinking of all the possible excuses you can offer your boss that won’t result in the loss of your job. As you finish up in the bathroom, you practically run to your room and carelessly throw on a relatively clean white shirt and a pair of pants before rushing out the door. Despite your hectic morning, you’re out the door in record time, locking it behind you. You have half a thought to give yourself a pat on the back. Unfortunately, you just don’t have the time for that right now.

By the time you arrive at work, you’re breathless and visibly frazzled, only slightly annoyed when your coworkers give you suspicious and questioning looks. As you’d expected, your boss hardly greets you before demanding a reason as to why you’re late. You can already tell that today’s going to be a long day, the fact amplified when you realize you’d left your phone charger at home.

When you finally clock out after a particularly long shift, hardly sparing your coworkers a proper goodbye on your way out, you feel momentary relief knowing that you’ve gotten that out of the way. As you step outside, another groan leaves your lips as you look up at the thick and dark clouds overhead. With your phone being dead in combination with being late, you had no idea that rain was in the forecast for today. There were hardly any clouds this morning on your way to work, too! Well, maybe there were, you were just too preoccupied to notice.

You silently plead that the journey home is a dry one, but you should know better than to have hope on a bad day like this.

When you feel the first of many heavy raindrops, you curse under your breath and briefly scan the area to find some shelter, eyes landing on a nearby café. You walk as quickly as you can, avoiding others who either came prepared with their umbrellas or those who, much like you, are rushing to find a place to stay dry.

Pushing the door open, you’re finally able to catch your breath. However, the relief is short lived when someone else opens the door from behind you to get inside, shoving you into another person who was on their way out.

Just as you begin to think the day can’t get any worse, the world clearly has other ideas. You feel it before you see it: the cup of iced coffee spilling onto your shirt and practically freezing your skin as you let out a yelp.

“Oh, shit, are you okay?”

Your head whips up at the oddly familiar voice and you’re surprised to see Iwaizumi Hajime standing before you, looking around frantically to search for napkins to clean you up. If it weren’t for the icy and numbing sensation on your chest, you would’ve been happy to see him.

He takes a couple long strides to the nearest condiment bar and swipes a handful of napkins before rushing back to you. He still hasn’t realized that it’s you standing before him: his best friend’s girlfriend whom he hasn’t seen or spoken to in years.

Wordlessly taking the napkins from him, you peel the shirt away from you while pressing them into the fabric. Though your chin is tucked so you can look at your shirt, you can feel Iwaizumi’s eyes on you.

“Wait, Y/N?”

You lift your head and greet him with an awkward smile.

“Hey,” you lamely respond as you finally give up on your shirt. Your next best option is to get home quickly and throw it into the washer while you take a nice, long shower. Yeah, that sounds like a good plan. The only issue now is finding a way home that doesn’t involve getting drenched by the storm raging outside.

“Wow, it’s been awhile,” says Iwaizumi as he lifts his hand to rub at the back of his neck. “It’s good to see you, but sorry about your shirt.”

“It’s fine, my day’s been pretty bad to begin with,” you sigh. You immediately realize the implications of your statement and feel your eyes widen as you scramble to recover. “I mean, not to say you’ve ruined my day or anything! I just—it’s just been one of those days.”

Iwaizumi offers an apologetic and understanding smile. “I get it, you don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

“Thanks,” you reply gratefully. “I didn’t know you came back from the States.”

“Yeah, I graduated and came back for good a couple months ago,” he says casually. His eyes flicker for a brief moment to the stain on your chest and he quickly shifts his gaze elsewhere, clearing his throat. “Do you, uh, have a jacket or a change of clothes?”

“No, I was running late this morning and my phone’s been dead, so I didn’t get a chance to check the weather or anything,” you reply with a frown. “I’m clearly living my best life right now.”

You half meant it as a joke to lighten the mood, but the frown settling on your former classmate’s face tells you that it was not received that way.

“It doesn’t look like the storm is gonna let up anytime soon,” says Iwaizumi, sensing your concern as you turn your head ever so slightly to check the weather outside. “Do you live far?”

You shake your head, turning back to face him. “No, I’m just a couple more blocks away.”

“If you want, I can walk you home,” he generously offers. “My umbrella isn't that big, but it would get the job done.”

“Oh, you don’t have to!” You’re quick to shake your head, waving your hands out in front of you. “My shirt’s already done for and I can just make a run for it, so it’ll be faster.”

Iwaizumi seems to hesitate, giving you a quick once-over with his eyes. “Okay, well, the least I can do then is offer you my jacket. I did spill my coffee all over you, after all.”

You open your mouth to refuse his kindness, but he’s already shrugging out of the outerwear and holding it up in front of you.

“Take it,” he insists as he locks eyes with you. “I’m not taking no for an answer.”

You hesitate for a moment and glance down at your shirt to see if you really need it. Your eyes widen slightly when you’re able to see your bra through the damp fabric and the way it sticks to your skin, particularly the valley of your cleavage.

Muttering your gratitude, you’re quick to take it and put it on, feeling dwarfed instantly. You close the jacket and glance out the window again to see what you’re working with before looking back at him.

“Alright, well, I guess I’ll be going now,” you say, getting ready to turn and leave. “Oh, wait.”

You turn back around and Iwaizumi raises a brow.

“How do I get your jacket back to you?”

“Oh, right.” The thought seems to have slipped from Iwaizumi’s mind too. “Uh, here, give me your number. We can find another time and place for you to give it back to me.”

Iwaizumi shuffles and grabs his phone from his pocket, giving it a couple taps before holding it out to you. You thank him and quickly input your contact information, sending a quick text to yourself before handing the device back to him.

“Thanks, Hajime,” you say with a grateful smile. The look on his face is one of surprise and you realize it’s the first time you’ve called him by name today. Actually, since the last time you saw him back in high school. “This time, I’m going for real.”

Iwaizumi recovers quickly enough to give you a nod and a small wave. “Good luck out there.”

“Thanks, I’m gonna need it,” you say, sighing warily as you turn towards the door again. This time, you don’t look back, preparing yourself for the stormy commute that awaits you.

“Sounds like you had a rough day.”

“It was awful, Tooru,” you whine as you pad through your kitchen, trying to figure out what you want to eat for dinner with your phone propped up on one of the kitchen counters. You’re on a video call with Oikawa in your oversized t-shirt and hair wrapped up in a towel, having come freshly out of the shower before this. “Oh! But something interesting did happen earlier.”

You hear your boyfriend hum curiously, urging you to continue.

“I saw Hajime,” you say, inspecting some vegetables in your fridge that have been in there for a suspicious amount of time.

“Oh?” Oikawa sounds as equally surprised as you were earlier. “Wow, how long has it been since you saw him?”

“I haven’t seen him since high school,” you reply as you put the vegetables on the counter next to your phone, seeing Oikawa still laying in bed. “He let me borrow his jacket on my way home to avoid getting my shirt any wetter.”

“Oh, that’s nice of him,” Oikawa responds with less enthusiasm than you’d expected. You thought he’d be more excited to hear that his girlfriend and best friend interacted, but there’s something in his voice that doesn’t necessarily sound right. “He always had a soft spot for you back then, too.”

“Really?” You raise a brow as you return to your fridge. “How so?”

“Well, that’s irrelevant now,” Oikawa says, nonchalantly brushing off the subject. You don’t question things further, more concerned about what to eat for dinner.

You stay on call together for a little longer before Oikawa has to leave for practice, and eventually, you’re left alone in the comforts of your apartment. You still have yet to settle on dinner and migrate to your couch to see if anything looks appetizing on your local food delivery app.

As you mindlessly scroll, you hear your washing machine go off to alert you that your laundry is done. Setting your phone down on your coffee table, you stand and go to transfer the clean clothes into the dryer. As you pull out Iwaizumi’s jacket, you’re reminded that you need to return it soon; there’s no point in keeping it here for too long.

Walking back over to your couch, you plop back down and pick up your phone. This time, you navigate through it to locate Iwaizumi’s name and type up a quick text to ask him for his availability in the next couple of days. He doesn’t respond for several minutes and you return to your relentless search to find something to eat.

Deciding on one of the local fast food restaurants, you place your order and sprawl yourself out over your couch. With roughly twenty minutes before the food arrives, you try to busy yourself on your phone before dejectedly placing it down beside you.

Your phone buzzes with a notification and you lift the screen to see a banner with Iwaizumi’s name on it. Reading over his reply, you find that he’s available on your day off in the next few days. You type up a response to ask him if he’s willing to meet up so you can return his jacket, and this time, he responds quickly with a simple agreement.

After texting him a time and place, you set your phone back down beside you. It’s been so long since you last saw him, it feels strange. You can’t help but think back to your time in high school and the memories you had with him.

Back then, you weren’t the biggest fan of volleyball like the rest of your friends were, so you never really went to the games unless they dragged you along. You recognized some of the boys from your class, though you could hardly remember their names; they were never the ones your friends talked about—they weren’t Oikawa Tooru and Iwaizumi Hajime.

You actually met Iwaizumi before you’d met Oikawa, but that was because you’d bumped into him on your way to the bathroom during one of the games your friends had taken you to. Sure, he didn’t introduce himself or anything, simply muttering an apology before storming off somewhere, but it was still your first memorable interaction with him.

It was one of your friends that got you acquainted with Oikawa sometime later, and after the two of you officially started dating towards the end of your second year, you started seeing Iwaizumi more often. He was slightly intimidating at first, but after some time, you’d come to learn that he was a big softie on the inside—he just didn’t like to show that to other people.

Most of your friends were jealous that you were the lucky girl who somehow caught the popular captain’s eye, so when the two of you had gone on a break in the middle of your third year, no one was really around for you. Except Iwaizumi.

It was neither of your first choices to have him listen to you cry over the phone about Oikawa on a Friday night, but that’s where you’d both ended up. He was terrible at giving advice, but he was a good listener at the very least.

Ever since then, you were more comfortable with him and he seemed to feel the same way. When you got back together with Oikawa, he was less than thrilled to hear the news, but respected your relationship nonetheless. He stopped responding to your texts as much, stopped answering your calls, and by the time you graduated, he barely spoke to you when Oikawa wasn’t around.

To say that it didn’t upset you was a lie; you considered him to be a friend, after all. So, when you had to hear from Oikawa that Iwaizumi left for America for school instead of hearing it from him directly, you were a little hurt. Oikawa had assured you to not take it so personally, telling you “that’s just how he is”. Since then, you’ve moved on with your life and now you’re here.

Your thoughts are interrupted when your phone buzzes and you look to see that your food’s arrived. As you bring it inside, you settle back down on your couch and find something to watch before indulging in your meal. Finally, the day is over.

Thankfully, the rest of your week isn’t too bad. Your day off finally rolls around and you’re waiting patiently inside the café you’d bumped into Iwaizumi at, nursing a cup of hot coffee in your hands. You’d arrived several minutes early, so you’re surprised to see him walking in five minutes before your agreed upon time.

Calling out his name, you raise your arm to wave him over to the table you’re sitting at.

“Hey, you’re here early,” he says as he sits himself down across from you.

“So are you,” you remark, taking a slow sip from your cup.

“Ah, yeah, I was hoping to get some coffee before we met up,” he says, glancing towards the front counter.

“Sure, don’t let me stop you,” you say with a small smile on your face. He nods and excuses himself, leaving you alone at your table.

Your eyes follow his figure, trailing along the broad expanse of his shoulders and back, admiring the way it all tapers at his waist. He’s filled out a lot since high school, and you can tell he’s worked hard to get to where he is now.

When he comes back with his iced coffee in hand, he sits back down in his seat across from you.

“Here’s your jacket,” you say, lifting the paper bag you packed the borrowed clothing in. “Thanks for letting me use it.”

“No problem.” He takes it and there’s a moment of awkward silence.

You can feel his slight discomfort as he shifts a little in his seat, so you decide to break some of the ice. “So, how’ve you been?”

As the conversation progresses, you can feel him slowly opening up and getting more comfortable with you. You come to learn that he’s still in contact with Oikawa, which spurs a shared trip down memory lane.

By the time you start to wrap up your time together, you realize that it’s getting dark outside and check the time. Where had the time gone?

“Wow, we’ve been here awhile.”

Iwaizumi flicks his wrist to check the time and nods. “Yeah, we have. Do you wanna grab dinner?”

You hesitate for a moment. Typically, you call Oikawa around this time, but you figure it doesn’t hurt to not call today. He would understand, right? He knows that you were upset when Iwaizumi practically ghosted you, so he’d understand that you’d want to make up for some lost time, right? Iwaizumi’s his best friend, after all; what would be the harm in hanging out with him for just a little longer?

“Sure, what did you have in mind?”

The two of you settle on a restaurant nearby where you proceed to spend a couple more hours just talking and enjoying each other’s company. You want to ask him why he stopped talking to you in the first place, but you figure that maybe tonight isn’t the best time nor is this the place.

Iwaizumi ends up walking you home, claiming it’s not safe for a girl to be out alone at this hour and that he’d be doing a disservice to you and Oikawa if he let you go off on your own.

“You know, I actually had a lot of fun today,” you say as the both of you stand in front of your door.

“Surprisingly, I did too,” he says with a playful smirk on his lips. He seems much more relaxed than he was several hours ago and part of you is excited to think that things might go back to how they used to be in high school with him.

“Let’s keep in touch more,” you suggest. “It’ll be like high school all over again.”

His lips falter a little, a detail you miss as you turn to unlock your door.

“Anyways, thanks for walking me home,” you say with a smile. “Have a good rest of your night.”

“Yeah, I’ll see you later,” he replies with a nod before turning on his heels to leave. You also step into your apartment and lock the door behind you. Today’s been a good day.

Over the next several weeks, you end up seeing Iwaizumi more often. Whether it’s for a quick coffee or even running errands on your day off, he’s been there to keep you company. When you had told Oikawa about it at first, he was less than thrilled to hear the news, but you figured it was simply because he felt left out.

When you told him that Iwaizumi had come over once to help you carry groceries, he had gotten upset and it led to a small argument that led to the two of you refusing to speak to each other for three days. You didn’t see the harm in spending this much time with Iwaizumi—did Oikawa not trust either of you?

Needless to say, when you started talking again, you felt some tension and decided not to bring up Iwaizumi as much anymore. Part of you felt bad for not giving your boyfriend the whole truth, but he didn’t seem to trust you and you didn’t want to deal with another argument and the possibility that your long-term relationship would end over your friendship with another man.

You decided to keep this from Iwaizumi; you didn’t want him to feel bad in case he blamed himself if something were to go wrong with your relationship. Well, not that you’d think anything would go wrong. You’ve gotten this far in your relationship with Oikawa, and sure, there have been a couple bumps in the road along the way, but you’ve both made it work.

“Oi.” Iwaizumi’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts and you turn your head to look at him. You’re currently sitting on his couch in his apartment, having agreed to come over to watch movies.

“Hm?”

“I asked if you wanted something to drink,” he replies from his kitchen. The fridge door is propped open and you think it over for a moment.

“I’ll take anything,” you say, shrugging your shoulders. He returns with two beers in his hands, handing one to you before sitting himself down beside you on the couch.

“What are we watching?”

“I found this movie with one star,” you say as you pull it up on his tv. “It’s going to be terrible.”

“I’m gonna need more drinks for this.” You laugh lightheartedly as the movie begins playing.

The both of you don’t even make it halfway through before searching for another bad movie to make fun of. As Iwaizumi searches on his phone, he gets an alert that the food you two had ordered has arrived and you get up to grab it. When you return, you place the food on the table in front of you and plop down beside him.

You feel your leg brushing his and realize you’ve miscalculated your spacing, but he makes no effort to move away from you. Taking out the food, you hand him his meal and grab your own, settling back comfortably as he sets up another movie.

As the movie drones on and on, the two of you finish your dinners, engaging in your own conversation. You see his eyes on your mouth as you speak and suddenly feel a little self-conscious. Do you have something in your teeth?

“You have a little,” he lifts his finger to point at his own mouth, “something there.”

You wipe at your mouth with the back of your hand, but apparently miss as Iwaizumi tells you the food is still there. You wipe at it again, but it seems to be stubborn and Iwaizumi eventually gets frustrated. He lifts his hand to your face and gently brushes the culprit away with his thumb, allowing his digit to trace your bottom lip for a moment.

He seems just as stunned as you are at the soft and intimate gesture, quickly pulling away and turning back to the movie, clearing his throat. You also slowly turn, keeping your eyes fixed on the screen in front of you.

The air feels awkward and heavy and the silence between the two of you is deafening, if not for the movie blabbering on its own. You watch from the side of your eye as Iwaizumi takes a long sip from his beer, knocking the whole thing back until there’s not a drop left. He sets it down and clears his throat.

“Uh, do you want to watch something else?” He doesn’t meet your eyes.

“This is fine,” you reply. “It’s not as bad as the first one, at least.”

You watch the corner of his lip quirk upwards a little. “Yeah, that one was pretty bad.”

The tension in the room seems to ease up a little and he leaves to grab a couple more drinks, taking the trash left from your dinner with him. When he comes back, he sets the bottles down on the table and sits down right where he was, though this time it feels more intentional with his placement by your side.

The movie, although terrible from the start, seems to get increasingly more boring, so you turn to him to start another conversation.

“I have a question,” you say, fidgeting your fingers in your lap. Iwaizumi turns to look at you with a raised brow, wordlessly urging you to continue. “So, you remember back in high school how we were friends and then we weren’t?”

“Uh, yeah, sure,” Iwaizumi says, nodding slowly. He seems to know where this is going.

“Why did that happen?”

You can practically see Iwaizumi’s thoughts being processed in real time as he weighs the different options he has depending on his response. He opens his mouth to say something, only to close it again.

“Fuck it,” he mutters under his breath before inhaling deeply. “I liked you. A lot.”

The way his eyes lock with yours nearly sends a shiver down your spine, but you chalk it up to the alcohol pulsing through your veins.

“I wanted to ask you out, thought that you might be into me too, but then I heard you got back with Oikawa, so I backed off,” he says. “I know it was a dick move on my end without telling you why, but I figured it was better that way.”

“Did Oikawa know about this?” You have a lot of questions you want to ask, but somehow, this is the one that slips through first.

“Of course he did; he’s my best friend.” Iwaizumi seems a little agitated as he fidgets in his seat.

You try to think of a way to respond. That would explain Oikawa’s attitude towards your renewed friendship with his best friend, though part of you feels conflicted. Could you have possibly harbored feelings for him in return back then? Maybe, but what does it matter now? You’re in a relationship with Oikawa, you shouldn’t even entertain the thought of what if…

“It doesn’t matter now,” says Iwaizumi, pulling you out of your thoughts. “That was the past.”

“If I hadn’t gotten back together with Oikawa, what would you have done?” Your voice is quiet and you know you’re treading dangerous waters right now. The alcohol is definitely not helping with your sense of judgment either.

“I probably would’ve asked you out,” he replies plainly as he shifts his attention to the fabric of his sweats. “If the feelings weren’t returned, well, I don’t see much being different from what ended up happening.”

“What if I said yes?”

Iwaizumi lifts his head and turns to look at you again. You know you should stop now, but now you want to know. To be honest, it’s not like you haven’t thought about dating him in the past; he’s a great guy, and honestly, anyone would be an idiot to turn him down without a really good excuse.

“Y/N, we shouldn’t,” he says slowly. You don’t even realize you’ve been leaning into him until your lips are nearly touching.

“I know,” is all you manage to say before your lips are pressing against his. You feel electrified and realize how touch-starved you’ve been all this time.

Iwaizumi tastes like beer and the musk of his cologne feels overwhelming to your senses. You can’t help but raise your hand to weave through his hair, hardly protesting as his tongue pushes into your mouth. You feel his hands rest on your waist and you slide onto his lap, unable to resist the small roll of your hips against his groin. He lets out a low groan and you can feel him twitch through his pants.

A million red flags and sirens are going off in your head, but you ignore them all, letting your hands slip down to rest on Iwaizumi’s broad and built chest. His own hands slide down the dip of your waist towards your hips and you feel him slowly guide them along the growing hardness between his legs.

Just as your hands begin to wander further, your phone begins to vibrate loudly on the table behind you. It’s as if a bucket of ice water is dumped on you and you pull away rather quickly. Iwaizumi’s hands drop from your side.

Your phone is still buzzing and you slide off of his lap to grab your phone, the weight of guilt beginning to settle in your stomach as Oikawa’s name and a picture of you two flash on the screen.

“I’m gonna go,” you say, standing abruptly, trying not to sway at the headrush.

Iwaizumi doesn’t say anything as you practically run out of there, quickly answering Oikawa’s call before it goes to voicemail. You don’t see the way he buries his face in his hands as he leans forward on his knees.

“Hey, Tooru,” you greet a little breathlessly.

“Hey—are you okay?” His voice is laced with concern and you can only imagine what you sound like right now.

“Yeah, I’m just out right now,” you say. You chew your bottom lip as you begin your walk home, still able to taste Iwaizumi. “Can I actually call you back?”

“Sure, but is everything alright? You sound a little stressed,” he says, voice laced with concern. You feel the tears springing in your eyes as you inhale a shaky breath.

“Yeah, I’ll call you back when I get home, okay?”

Oikawa hesitates, but you’re already hanging up on him. By the time you get back to your apartment, you feel lightheaded. What just happened?

You went a solid three days before breaking under the pressure you’ve placed on yourself. Oikawa was beyond livid and you had cried yourself to sleep that night, telling yourself that he deserved better. You know he does.

He doesn’t answer your call for the rest of the week and you consider simply sending him a long message to express how sorry you are. As you’re about to do so, you receive a text from one of your friends, followed by an apology. With a frown, you open it and see that it’s a link to a gossip website in Argentina. Not really caring for the words, you scowl as you scroll through and see paparazzi photos of Oikawa with a beautiful woman draped on his arm. There are several different photos of the two together in different outfits to imply that they’ve been taken on different days.

It feels like you’ve been punched in the gut when you connect the pieces.

Without even thinking, you simply text Oikawa that your relationship is done and grab your jacket and keys, practically running out the door. You feel blinded with hurt and anger as your legs carry you all the way to a familiar doorstep you haven’t been to in awhile.

The door opens on your third knock and Iwaizumi looks surprised to see you standing there.

“Y/N? What are you doing here?”

“Oikawa and I are done,” you say. Hearing yourself say it out loud seems to solidify it as reality and you resist the tears threatening to spill from your eyes.

“Y/N, I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be here like this,” he says, sighing warily, before muttering under his breath, "I wonder what he’d do if he knew you were with me right now."

“Hajime,” you say, hands and voice trembling as you pull out your phone, holding it in front of him. He hesitantly takes it from you and you can see his eyes widen for a moment as he scrolls, slowly handing the phone back to you.

“I’m sorry, Y/N.”

“I just need a distraction right now.” You look up at him with watery eyes before he lets out a sigh, stepping aside so you can come in. Closing the door behind you, he follows you into the living room.

“So, what do you want me to—”

His sentence is cut short when you turn, leaning up to kiss him. Your hands fist his shirt, and you can feel him hesitantly move his lips against yours. You know your way around his apartment enough to begin pulling him into the direction of his bedroom, careful with your steps so you don’t trip or fall.

“Y/N,” Iwaizumi says, pulling away slightly as the backs of your legs hit the edge of his bed. His voice is coarse and his half-lidded eyes are dark. “I don’t want you to do something you’ll regret later.”

“I won’t regret this,” you say softly, looking up into his eyes. He can still see that you have tears in your eyes, but behind that is a sense of lust.

“If at any point you want to stop, tell me, okay?” Iwaizumi lifts a hand to brush your hair away from your face. Your grip on his shirt tightens as you nod.

“Thank you,” you say, before kissing him again. This time, he seems more willing to kiss you back, easing you down until you’re laying on your back on his bed. He hovers over you, kissing along your jaw to your neck. You let out a shaky sigh as his hands slowly stroke your sides. You can feel his hesitancy to touch you more, so you wrap your legs around his torso and grind against him.

“Fuck,” he hisses under his breath as one of his hands slip under your shirt. You watch as he leans up slightly to drag your shirt up to your neck, exposing your bra. You sit up just a little so he can help get the fabric completely off, tossing it aside before kissing down your chest to your clothed breasts. His hand comes up to squeeze one and a whimper leaves your lips.

Seriously, when was the last time anyone has touched you like this?

Iwaizumi reaches under you to unhook your bra with seemingly practiced ease and you arch your back up to give him easier access. Peeling the garment off of yourself, this time you’re the one to discard it somewhere on his bedroom floor.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he says before capturing a nipple between his lips. You sigh softly as his tongue flicks the hardening bud, the other being pinched between his thumb and index finger.

He alternates between your breasts for a few more moments before kissing his way down your abdomen. He sets on his knees on the floor, peering up at you.

“Y/N, you sure you wanna do this?”

You nod quickly, suddenly very aware of the heat pooling between your legs.

“I need you to use your words.”

“Yes, please,” you respond.

“Good girl,” he says, lips quirking upwards into the slightest smirk before his fingers hook the waistband of your pants. He easily tugs them down with your panties and you gently kick them off your legs. “Holy fuck.”

The way he eyes your glistening cunt has you blushing and suddenly very aware of your surroundings. Before you can even tell him to stop staring, he leans forward to lick a hot stripe between your slit. A loud gasp echoes around the room as you feel your body instantly react, lifting you head to watch as he leans forward again to bury his face between your legs.

His arms reach under and around your legs, allowing his fingers to hold your lower lips open to reveal your most sensitive bundle of nerves. He gives it a hard suck after flicking it with his tongue and your hand shoots to fist his hair. He groans lowly, allowing the vibrations to further stimulate you.

He dips down a little lower so he can properly taste you, humming in satisfaction with how wet you are. He brings one hand back down and around before pushing a thick finger inside. You let out a loud gasp at the sudden intrusion, though you aren’t complaining. He slowly thrusts it in and out, keeping his eyes on your face to see what you do and don’t like. When he finds that one particular spot within you, he inserts another finger and does his best to hit it again. As your back arches and eyes roll to the back of your head, Iwaizumi can’t help but smirk a little, satisfied with himself.

“Fuck, H-Hajime, I’m gonna cum,” you whimper as he continues his relentless ministrations. Before you know it, your back is arching and toes curling as you finally hit your release.

He lets you ride out the rest of his orgasm on his tongue, relishing in the way your hips buck from the sensitivity. He pulls out his fingers, admiring the way they glisten before pulling away from you completely. You lock eyes with him as he licks his fingers clean and another whimper leaves your lips.

“Are you feeling okay?” He asks as he moves to hover over you on the bed.

“More than okay,” you say, unable to resist the dopey smile on your face. Iwaizumi chuckles softly as he combs his dry fingers through your hair. As he does so, you realize that you’re completely naked while he’s fully clothed. With a frown, you sit up and look at him.

“What’s wrong?”

“You still have your clothes on,” you say, turning and climbing over him so you’re straddling his lap. He sits up with a small smile.

“We don’t have to go any further, Y/N,” he says, putting his hands on your hips.

“I want to,” you say as you grind your hips against him much like you had the first night you shared a kiss.

He can see how dark and clouded with lust your eyes are and the raging hard-on in his pants would never forgive him for turning you down.

“Okay,” he says simply. You flash a smile before tugging at the hem of his shirt. He easily pulls it over his head in one fluid motion and you can’t help but lick your lips as he gives you a full view of his toned chest and abdomen. “Like what you see?”

You can feel your cheeks burn with embarrassment, not missing the arrogant grin on Iwaizumi’s face. You don’t say anything as you loosen the drawstring of his sweats and he helps pull them down. His cock practically springs out and slaps against his hard stomach and you all but drool at the sight. The angry tip is leaking with precum and you want to get a taste, but Iwaizumi stops you by pressing his lips to yours to capture you in a hungry kiss. You kiss him back and let his tongue push through your lips and you can taste hints of yourself still lingering on his tongue.

“‘M wanna taste you,” you mutter against his lips.

“Next time, baby.” You want to say something back, but his sturdy hands are lifting you by your waist so you’re sitting up on your knees over his lap.

Before you can say anything else, he’s reaching for his weeping cock and positioning it between your legs. You can’t help but whimper softly as you take it upon yourself to lower your hips on him. He feels so big, so thick, and you feel so full despite him not being entirely sheathed within you.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he hisses as he keeps his gaze fixed where your bodies meet. Something about the way he’s disappearing inside of your warmth leaves him a little lightheaded.

“Mm, you’re so big,” you gasp as you finally seat yourself fully on top of him. Iwaizumi feels his chest and ego swell with pride as he looks back up at you. He admires the way your lips are parted, eyes glazed over with pleasure.

He doesn’t rush you as you adjust to the sheer size of him, kissing along your neck and shoulder until you’re ready to move. When you are, you slowly drag your hips up until he’s nearly out of you completely before you drop back down. A loud moan leaves both of your lips and you have to brace yourself on his shoulders as you repeat the process, eventually finding a steady rhythm to follow.

A string of curses mixed with praise leaves his lips as you bury your face into the crook of his neck and shoulder, letting his hands roam and squeeze your ass. As you roll your hips in circular motions, another loud moan leaves him before he holds you and flips you over so you’re on your back.

“Fuck, I almost came too early,” he practically growls, placing a kiss to the corner of your mouth before sitting up.

You let out a soft giggle until he grabs one of your legs, tossing it over his shoulder. This new angle has him hitting a different spot inside of you and you feel your walls clench around him as he drags himself back out only to thrust right back in.

“Shit,” he hisses as he feels you flutter around him. “You look so pretty like this, fucked out on my cock.”

His thrusts are deep and precise as one hand presses against your lower abdomen while the other holds your leg. He presses a kiss to your ankle as you practically chant his name, feeling close to another orgasm. He seems to notice this too, losing some of his rhythm as the hand on your abdomen moves lower to rub harsh circles against your clit.

Just like that, it feels like the tightly wound coil in your belly snaps and your back arches off the bed as you reach your climax. Iwaizumi’s not far behind, pulling out and roughly jerking his throbbing cock until thick white ropes of cum decorate your chest and stomach.

The room fills with sounds of both of you breathing heavily and Iwaizumi flops onto his back next to you.

“Wow,” he says breathlessly, turning his head to look at you.

“Wow,” you parrot back, unable to resist the smile pulling at your lips. He tiredly smiles back for a moment before his eyes flit towards the mess he’s made all over you.

“Sorry for the mess.”

“It’s fine,” you tiredly shake your head. With the roller coaster you’ve been on these past several days and the physical exertion, you feel the exhaustion finally hitting you.

Your eyelids feel heavy and you barely see Iwaizumi get up from the bed and disappear for a moment. The sound of clothes shuffling and the sink running tells you that he’s cleaning up and in a few more moments, you feel a warm and damp towel wiping your body. You hum softly at the pleasant feeling, still riding the tail end of your orgasm as you open your eyes to see him wiping you of your sweat and his cum.

“I don’t regret anything,” you say as you feel Iwaizumi pull away.

“We can talk more in the morning,” he says softly as he places a kiss to the top of your head. You sleepily watch him as he disappears again and hear him running a bath.

He returns shortly after and easily scoops you up in his strong arms. You cling to him and let him slowly lower you into the warm water. He gestures for you to scoot forward a little bit so that he can slide in behind you, filling up the small space even more.

As you lean back and let him press soft kisses along your neck, your phone lays discarded on the floor, buzzing with another call from your now ex-boyfriend. That’ll just have to go on the list of things to figure out in the morning.

[thebigoblin]

An anon left me an ask regarding a 13 year child making a post ( @two-frogs-in-two-trenchcoats ) and scoot mccall defense squad descending on her like hyenas. You can see her post linked above. Or see it here:

Stiles: Trying to figure out how to make sure Derek doesn’t d i e

Scott: dik go b o i n g

I mean, this is pretty much canon. SM has favored Allison over Stiles and his wolfy problems. It’s clear that OP is either anti SM or just stating one of her observations, it’s nothing too serious. It’s literally just her observation and her conclusion. But then there are people like Prince (yup the infamous one) and Brydes (idk if this person is as infamous or not, but i will link to both their reblogs. i’ll also copy/paste what they’ve said if you have them blocked).

1. Brydes

OP, I would like to speak to you about two things.

The first is rock slides. There’s a site not far from my hometown where a rock slide buried an entire town.

You see pictures of where this town used to be, and you’d never know it was there. It just looks like a pile of rocks, tiny pebbles, and huge boulders. And underneath, bodies and houses and pain and death.

The second is how former US president Donald Trump became president. The fact is that the man pretty much campaigned on a rhetoric of anti-Black and anti-Latino racism, appealing to the white supremacist lurking in the American soul. He is now widely regarded as, well, not good. He was a not good president.

I want you to think of Trump’s entire presidency and his campaign as a rock slide. It came down and it buried people under several tons of rhetorical rocks and many of them did not survive.

Now I want you to look at this joke and understand that it is a small rock. It seems insignificant and meaningless, until you understand that it, too, is part of this slide, and it, too, is burying people. A small rock in a big slide is as deadly as any bullet, or more.

You’re old enough to make these jokes. You’re also old enough to understand and face the consequences of making jokes like this. I would hope that would mean you also have enough maturity to take responsibility for making these jokes and act accordingly.

And I don’t just mean this particular joke. I also mean jokes like this you may have made elsewhere, at home or school or with friends.

Don’t be part of the rockslide.

This is just straight up ??? What the fuck ??? There’s talk about rockslides and Trump and as you finish reading what they’ve written you’re like “oh, this person had their feelings hurt”. Which, honestly, ok. People can get upset at the weirdest things, this checks out. But also you don’t have to go ahead and say this. You could also have just not responded. But this is still relatively chill, except the part where Brydes assumes OP’s character and then bashes it all because of this one post. 

2. Prince

Hey OP – This is a racist joke.

It’s racist because it relies on the stereotype of Latinos being sexually obsessed to the point where nothing else matters.

It didn’t happen in canon, and you know that. You know that Scott risked his life to save Derek not once but several times, while Stiles did things like attempt to force Derek to get out his Jeep so he could “leave you for dead” and beg Scott to “couldn’t you consider letting him die for me?”

And if you turn around and say that you don’t care about canon, that makes it doubly racist because if it doesn’t depend on misinterpreting canon, it solely depends on applying negative stereotypes.

Get your racist shit out of the Scott tag, if you don’t mind. But I will gladly preserve your racist bullshit for as long as tumblr lives.

This is what prince first wrote to response to OP’s post before again reblogging with:

So apparently, I’m being told that the OP might be 13 years old. This makes what I did even more important to do, in my opinion. Kids are not inherently racist. They are taught to be, and the only way to stop that is to teach them not to be racist.

And this one has been apparently taught to see whatever white characters do in the best possible light and to see whatever minority characters do in the worst possible light. Does anyone think that doesn’t translate into how they see the real world? I don’t.

And I just - WTF. This is in no way a racist joke??? Where the fuck did you get that impression from?  It’s racist because it relies on the stereotype of Latinos being sexually obsessed to the point where nothing else matters.- has anyone heard this about Latino people? I have not. And like, how do you even. Think that OP’s post assumes the worst of Latinos. Like what. What I infer from OP’s post is how *I* infer SM’s character in the show - that he’s obsessed with his personal desires first and foremost. And that he definitely doesn’t care for Derek. Does anyone agree with prince? Do you? I’m just. super bewildered. 

And about Stiles wanting Derek to die. You know who has canonically saved Derek again and again? You guessed it. Stiles. He’s ready to cut off Derek’s arms if it means Derek will live. He could have left Derek to die in the swimming pool - because if he does want Derek dead, this would have been the perfect opportunity - but no, Stiles kept him afloat for around 2 hours and then dived back in for Derek when SM hung up on him. Stiles is the only one who keeps going back for Derek - the elevator scene, for instance. 

SM tho? He told Derek his family deserved to die. He saw Derek in pain and in chains in a literal basement and basically went “i’ll only save you if you promise to save allison”. He made Derek trust him and then broke that trust by joining forces with Gerard, made Derek bite his enemy who is a fucking Hunter and his family’s murderer’s father. He didn’t tell Allison why her mom was bit; he let her believe Derek bit Victoria on purpose because basically “i want allison to like me still and letting her know the truth so that Derek can be off her hook is not my priority”. 

I get that teens make stupid choices. That they learn and grow as a person. But SM? He’s told to be this compassionate, good guy who just wants to save everyone, and then he’s shown to treat Derek like this. Not to mention the fact that he never suffers the consequences of his actions. And no, the “No Stiles!” moment between Melissa and SM and doesn’t count. 

There’s just so much wrong with Prince’s rb and addition - and seriously? You think you are “teaching” a kid to not be racist? No, what you are doing is silencing her from speaking what she feels because oh no, the great True Alpha was badmouthed! Oh no. 

Seriously the fuck. 

And with that I end this rant. 

[peculiarpatches]

𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘮𝘦 𝘢𝘥𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 - 𝘫𝘢𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳 𝘹 𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘹 𝑓𝑒𝑚 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

I’m republishing this since it hardly got notes the last time and I’m ~ crazy ~ and need validation that my stories are good. Out of all the Twilight ones I’ve been working on, this still is one of my favorite’s because it’s the first one I’ve ever written. It’s the first one that got me inspired to write for the other characters, too. So, as much as I love this one, I hope you love it, too.

A/N: This story includes smut. If this makes you uncomfortable, don’t read. Simple as that. 

 There’s not much other than oral and dirty talk, however. Either way, I hope you enjoy.

Centuries — that's how long Alice and Jasper have been together for.  The two were simply inseparable; Stuck to each other like glue. It'd take millions of weapons  and hundreds of people to try and tear them apart, no matter what happened or what went on in their crazy, immortal lives, it didn't matter, no, because they lived for each other. 

Their lives were better, happier, because of that other person.  

And nothing - nor, nobody - was ever going to change the fact.   Jasper wasn't one to express his feelings (though, he could control other people's emotions,  ironically enough) but that small grin you  see every now and then across his face  was all thanks to Alice.

 The smile belonged to her because she was the one that brought peace, happiness, and love back into his life, even when he swore he'd never find it. Hell, he swore he'd never find any of those listed off again, if he was being honest here. But... she somehow did it. She brought all of those into his life along with hope and faith.  (Alice told him that very saying too upon their first encounter  together - the moment she took his hand with her own, she felt hope. And she hadn't felt that in centuries. He never met the gal before, not having a single clue as to who she was. Here he was, sitting in a  diner in  Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, trying to figure out where he planned to go afterwards, where his next stop would be within the states when an attractive woman walked up to him, letting a happy, relieved sigh fall from her lips. "It's about time." She announced, the grin growing across her face as she slid in the opposite side of the booth, guiding her hand out to take Jasper's hand within her much smaller one. She gave his fingers a squeeze and explained the situation, the happiness on her face only growing wider and brighter as she continued to talk. Jasper was  confused, to say the very least;  But her emotions overwhelmed him so much, in his gut and in his heart, he felt as if he could trust her, right then and there. 

Even if they have only have met that day, she spoke about the future and to others, they would have laughed and called her crazy. But the way she spoke, so open, so generous, loving and kind, all these feelings directed towards him, he felt it, too - love. Love at first sight, if you will. And Jasper had ever only felt that once and it lasted briefly.  But this time, as he continued to listen to her speak,  a tiny grin found it's way across his lips. In-love, he was. As absurd, and as crazy as it may sound, he could feel it. They belonged together. And the gal - Alice - was exactly like him, too. Of course, she would be, having a power like that and all.  Alice saw them in the future, had seen Jasper plenty of times in her mind but didn't know exactly when she'd be meeting him.  She admitted today, however, she knew.  Jasper even said he felt something today, too. He just didn't exactly know what it was. But he felt it. The emotions were difficult to ignore. He laughed and leaned close, whispering to Alice he assumed these feelings he felt within him were nothing but hunger. "You won't have to worry about that, either." She told him. "I know a way of keeping not only you safe but me, as well. To keep your hunger satisfied without harming or needing to hunt humans." Alice continued. Jasper cocks his head to the side, confusion written across his facial features, as he wondered what she meant by this. Instead of asking, as he figured he'd understand more of the situation later, he chuckled and gave her hand a squeeze which she happily returned. "Well, now you have me and I promise you, I won't ever let a pretty gal like you go, either." He said, making the smile on her face somewhat bigger than what it was before. "I wouldn't let you lose me, anyways." She responded. "Besides, I see the future here, don't I? None of that will be happening. You're stuck with me, Jasper." Jasper laughed gently, "I'm more than perfectly fine w'tha, darlin'." He commented, his accent  drawing out as he spoke.)   (Love - Jasper never wanted to look for it. Never sat down and thought about having a significant other.   He assumed he'd be alone, forever. And as dull and as depressing as that may be, he was content with it. Who could love someone as broken and as damaged as he? His past was fucked up. Surely, his future was going to remain the exact same, too. So, to Jasper, he figured it'd be best to be alone. He didn't want to put his baggage onto another person for them to carry and haul out. He'd do it himself, without a doubt or without a care in the world; he'd drag his own baggage behind him.

 Not once, did he ever think or want to allow people to see what secrets he held within the case, within himself.  But, life is amusing and love has a funny way of revealing itself. Though, so secretive and mysterious, hardly ever speaking a word to strangers, let alone any other vampires, a girl who saw the future and saw him in it, already knew all the secrets he kept hidden away from the world. 

Alice knew what Jasper's past was like. And she still accepted him. Still loved him. "If you're broken, you don't have to stay broken." She said, that same very night. "I won't let you be, neither. We'll fix each other's broken, shattered pieces, we'll place them right back together. Fit the two of them together like puzzle pieces. 'Cause, I believe that's what you are to me. You are the piece of the puzzle I've been searching to find. Been waiting centuries to come across.  And now that I finally found you, I have hope and faith once more - that everything is okay. And I hope that you believe me, too, when I say these words but; I love you, Jasper.. and again," she joked, a goofy grin playing out on her cheeks, "I see the future and therefore, I know you believe me, too. I also know you love me as well." 

And Jasper said nothing. He only chuckled deeply and nodded. He met her then and there, not once meeting her elsewhere before but  he loved her, too. And he didn't need to say those three words out loud because she already knew how much she meant to him.) (His future was brighter, better, because of Alice. And he couldn't thank her enough for showing him that life was better when you found that special someone by your side.  He found both - happiness and hope - within not only her but the Cullen family. Alice along with a man named Carlisle, even helped Jasper with his hunger and taught him how to remain strong and fight his urges.

 As Alice mentioned beforehand, back at the diner, she was going to help him. And she did. Not once did she ever break her promise to him.) However, that's when everything falls back onto him. When everything starts breaking. Decades. Centuries. Years and years together. It was bound to happen, eventually, right? Boredom. Falling out of love. Finding someone better to fulfill her needs and satisfy her. You get the idea. Jasper was afraid that Alice would announce she no longer loved Jasper, for whatever reason that may be, he didn't know. But he was going to find out today.  *~* Even if he hadn't been watching Alice,  it wouldn't and didn't matter because he could feel her emotions with as much as a second glance and a look in her direction, an overwhelming sensation would flood over him instantly. So, even if he wasn't watching her, he could feel everything she was attempting (but failing) to hide.    The typical, loving and affectionate gaze she would always give him was no longer there.  If it was, it  lasted a millisecond before she'd drop her head, strands of hair falling in front of her face and a frown would replace the look.  Of course, this was not only concerning but worrisome for Jasper. Had he done something wrong? 

If so, what did he do? What could he do to fix it? He didn't want to sound like Edward before he met Bella — dull and depressing and nothing but those but it's exactly how he felt and he hated every aspect of that. 

He and the rest of the Cullen’s made fun of Edward for being so gloom and grey but now, alas, here Jasper was, feeling that exact way. 

Oh, how the tables have turned.  Even Edward, the petty little shit he always was and will forever be, even made a joke about it.  Luckily, he had Bella beside him so Jasper couldn't abuse Edward's emotions and make him feel what he was feeling because she could put up a shield and block it out, protecting Edward.  "Just go and talk to her." Edward said once he saw the look on Jasper's face.

  "Trust me, I'm the mind reader out of all of us here. I know what I'm talking about and I know what's going on. And no, before you ask, I will not give you the answer as to what exactly is going on. You just have to go and find out yourself." He said, tilting his head back as laughter left his lips. 

 Bella scoffed and gave a playful hit to her husband's shoulders before giving Jasper an apologetic smile. The two then had left, going to go and find their daughter, leaving Jasper all alone with his thoughts and worse of all - his feelings.  Taking a deep, shaky breath, Jasper decides it's now or never.  He creeps up the stairs, and the closer he gets to his and Alice's room, he hears her angelic laughter and can practically see her, smiling from ear to ear as the giggles erupted her and hung into the air. Jasper loved her laughter, loved seeing her smile even more. 

He just hated the fact he wasn't the one who was the meaning behind it. If not him, who was?  "Darlin'?" He walks in front of the bedroom door, giving a gentle tap across the frame of it. He rocks back and forth on the heels of his feet as he anxiously waited for an answer. The loud laughter he once heard died down quickly which makes him feel even more anxious. 

Biting his lip, he shuffles and rocks his body back and forth as he still continued to wait until the door was to be answered, not wanting to walk in and upset Alice more by invading her privacy. 

The laughter is replaced now, however, with faint giggles and muffled, hushed whispers. He hears some shuffling and the bed squeaking before finally, Alice is pulling the door open. She stands there, giving Jasper a sheepish, yet shy smile. "Hi, baby." She cooed, leaning up on her tippy toes as she plants a gentle yet adoring kiss on Jasper's cheek.  This took him by surprise because not only did she call him 'baby' but she kissed him and it felt like she hadn't kissed him in years. So, this being said, it brought a smile to his lips. 

 Her upcoming sentence  brought the sides of his lips upward even more, the grin growing and his nerves and anxiety, slowly, dying out.  "You know, I've been expecting you. Wondered when you'd come up here." She said as her feet came back to touch the floor. Alice reaches over, taking Jasper's hand within her own and walks into their bedroom, closing the door behind them as Jasper walks in.  There, on the bed, was another female. She glanced up and smiled shyly, the same way Alice did when Jasper knocked at the door and she saw him behind the frame of it. 

 "Jasper, you remember (Y/N), right?" She asked, dropping his hand as she makes way to the queen sized mattress and makes herself comfortable on the bed, next to (Y/N). (Y/N) (L/N). They've only met a few times and even then, it seemed so long ago, Jasper had to rethink of when and where they met at.   The graduation party they held and then Bella and Edward's wedding. 

Of course, he remembers now.  Jasper and Alice both would even bump into her while taking a stroll into town every once in awhile and in high school, they shared a few classes together.   ("You two enjoy walks in the rain too?" She had gushed, laughing as she held the umbrella above her head, trying her best to ignore and dodge the rain that fell from the sky above them. Alice and Jasper looked at each other and Alice giggled and nodded. 

"Yes. It's our favorite thing to do. One of our favorite things to do... Would you like to walk with us?" She asked. (Y/N)'s face bled a crimson red and she shook her head before mumbling about how sadly, she couldn't, though she wishes she could. She had to go back to work. She was only walking to grab a quick bite to eat, one that wasn't at the place she worked at. 

"Next time then." Alice said, the smile never dropping from her face. "Of course." (Y/N) replied before waving goodbye to the both of them and walking in the opposite direction.)  Now, coming face to face with her, after a few years of not seeing her, he wouldn't deny the obvious fact; (Y/N) was as beautiful as Alice.   Alice, though, she wasn't the jealous type, he'd never admit that or say it.  Jasper preferred to keep that thought to himself. (Y/N) was human. Jasper remembered. His smile was quick to fall down into a frown as he looked at Alice, wondering why she brought a human into their home. 

She, so easily, could expose our secret too! He thought, the frown only increasing and getting deeper as he furrowed his eyebrows together, trying to come up with an answer as to why she could be here.  And right as that thought popped into his head, Alice gave a nervous giggle and shook her head from side to side. "I'm no mind reader like Edward is but I know what you're thinking, Jas. Come, sit down with us. We've got to talk." And as confused as he may be, - especially with what she just said in front of a human, no less -  Jasper obliges and sits in the middle of them both, the mattress sinking beneath his weight. "What's going on?" He asks,  crossing his arms over his chest as a mixture of emotions paint itself across his face.   Alice, taking a long and deep breath, begins to speak. "Jasper," She began, "It's obvious I haven't been myself lately. I know you've been noticing it. Everybody has, I'm sure."  "Yes," He replied, chuckling lowly as he chewed on his bottom lip, still not piecing two and two together.  "I'm very aware of that, doll."  "Well, I don't know how else to tell you this but that reason is because of (Y/N)."   Once the sentence leaves her, Alice reached over and grabbed (Y/N)'s hand, squeezing it tightly.  Jasper blinked. Once, twice. He didn't understand. Alice and (Y/N) both looked at each other once they took notice of his expression and they erupted into a storm of giggles. 

Almost as soon as it started, however, they stopped and their expressions were quick to change. They went from laughing to a deadpanned glare, both girls wearing masks of seriousness.  "I've been having visions. Of this exquisite, gorgeous and oh, so wonderful girl. And, well, Jasper, some of us don't just have one love but we have two. Maybe even more... but in this situation, in this scenario, it's you two." She explained.  Jasper went from watching his girlfriend to giving a quick glance to (Y/N)'s direction. 

She sat there, silent, but her cheeks spoke another story. One of which, Jasper easily could read and make out.  Her cheeks, like the day they bumped into each other in town, were as red as a rose and she was biting her lower lip as she fumbled with her hands, twisting and twiddling with them as Alice continued to speak.  "I know you feel the same way about her as well. Don't even try to lie or deny it. I've been seeing the visuals everywhere, they play out like scenes in a movie. The feelings for her are the same you have for me. You gained them at the party we had a few months back, the same way I did." And Jasper sat there, feeling dumbfounded but more importantly, he felt foolish too. Of course, he couldn't get away with his thoughts or actions. Alice could see everything. Even before it happened. "That's why I've been distancing myself." Alice continued. "I didn't mean to, my love. It has nothing to do with you, either. You're as perfect as you were when I first met you. So, do not fret and think you have done something wrong because you haven't. However, I had to have you come to me before I could tell you what was going on and why I was acting the way I was. Or... well, come to us, I should say... So, we could show you how this all would work. Us, three, together." Alice's tongue darted out of her mouth as she wets her lips, a look of seduction rising behind her eyes.  "Besides, isn't it every man's fantasy to have two, beautiful women beside  him?" "Or, perhaps underneath him?" And that was the first thing (Y/N) had said during this entire conversation. Jasper would be a liar if he said  both women's words didn't go  straight to his cock, causing it to twitch against the zipper of the pants he wore.  "Come on, Jasper. Admit it. Don't lie to yourself. You've been wanting her for some time, yes? Wanting - no, craving for this for awhile. Now, is your chance. Today and every day, you can have us." Alice purred. She leaned upward, standing up on the tips of her toes as she had done earlier and her tongue comes within contact of Jasper's neck, setting soft but wet and seductive kisses over the smooth, cold surface.  Jasper grunts in reply, eyes fluttering shut as he gives a weak, timid nod. "Hm," He mumbles. "Today and everyday?" He asked, a smirk finding its way on his lips. "I can live with that, darlin'." "Heyyy." (Y/N) mewled, her bottom lip jutting out into a pout. "If she's darlin', what's going to be my pet name?" She asks, the pout only growing bigger yet both Alice and Jasper knew she wasn't truly upset by it. "Considering you just mewled like a kitten, that's what you will be. Now, kitten, why don't you and darlin' both come here and show me a good time, hm? After all, I have been wanting this for some time." Alice tssked, slapping Jasper's chest playfully as he - finally - admitted those words.  (Y/N) said nothing but watched the two with love and fond written across her face.  How did she get so lucky to be involved in this relationship?  She'd never know. Maybe, some things are better unanswered, (Y/N) thought.  She's quick to snap out of her thoughts and standing to her feet, her eyes never leave her now boyfriend and girlfriend's gazes.  (Y/N) strips down to nothing but a matching pair of panties and bra. She watches how Alice and Jasper lazily yet hungrily kiss one another.  Jasper's hands were on Alice's waist while Alice's hands were tangled in between his golden curls, tugging it every now and then as the session grew hotter and as the two grew more sexually frustrated with each other. 

(Y/N) didn't know what to do, truth be told, she didn't think this would have ever happened.  Luckily for her, Alice pulled away and shot her a lovingly glance before their own make out session could get any hotter (and before (Y/N) could get wetter, untouched). 

"C'mere, beautiful.  You're part of this, too, silly." She giggled as she taps Jasper's shoulder, telling him to get off of her with a movement of her finger.  Jasper chuckled lowly as he rolls over, undoing the belt of his jeans and zips them down as he shimmies out of both that and his shirt. "Who would you like to pleasure and please first, lovely?" Alice asked once (Y/N) sat down on the bed. Her face was still the same exact shade of red, it never seemed to vanish or go elsewhere. It seemed to be permanently there, only growing deeper and darker by the second. Both Alice and Jasper loved it. Loved having this kind of power and effect on her. It was a turn on to both vampires.  "Personally, I think you should  pleasure Jasper first." Alice turns to face Jasper who lay beside her  wearing his birthday suit, stroking his cock, eyes fluttered shut as complete bliss and satisfaction takes over. "For me, however, I am enjoying myself. I would very much rather see you two, touching." He said, opening his eyes as he glanced over at Alice and (Y/N).  "I'm happy with that." Alice giggled  as she's quick to lay upon the mountain of pillows behind her,  stripping her shirt over her head and allowing it to fall down the floor.  Oh, she's so filthy.... such an eager slut. She truly has been wanting this for some time. God only knows how long...  He says this - well, thinks it, anyhow - because the woman didn't wear a bra underneath her shirt and the moment she slides out of her skirt, Jasper notices she wasn't wearing panties either. "Touch me, please, (Y/N)." Alice moaned. She  lay back against the cushions as she spread her legs out in a starfish position, her hand resting at Jasper's thigh, fingers sneaking up and curling at his genitals, softly brushing her fingertips across his groin. Her pussy was slick with juices, (Y/N) and Jasper noticed. She was already so drenched, as was (Y/N).  Jasper's cock twitched, knowing both women were as hot and as bothered as he. "Go on, kitten. Don't be scared. I give you permission. We both do. From this moment on, you can touch us and hold us and whatever you please-" "Cause you're ours, as we are yours." Alice finished, shooting Jasper a smile before returning said smile to (Y/N). (Y/N) chewed on her bottom lip, fluttering her lashes and lids shut, she bends forward and presses her mouth on Alice's core, earning a quiet, low whine proceeding to fall from Alice's lips above. "Oh, (Y/N).... please." Alice whimpers, bucking her hips against (Y/N)'s touch. (Y/N) craved nothing more than to please both Alice and Jasper. As of this moment, however, her main focus was pleasuring Alice. All the girl wanted to do was get Alice  to cum, no matter which way it was. (Y/N) could use her fingers, her tongue or Hell, even both, she (nor Alice) didn't care as long as the short haired gal came with a cry of her name and soaked her fingers as she reached her orgasm. That is all (Y/N) wanted. She wanted to be good - be a good girl, for both significant others. Realizing both vampires were hers to love, to hold and to cherish, really just everything in between,  it sent a chill throughout her entire body and caused her cunt to tingle at the realization. The air in the room was bitter and both Alice and Jasper were cold, too. So, really, that could play a huge part together as well.  But (Y/N) knew her cunt was throbbing because of knowing they were hers, as she was theirs. Not because of their icy touches or the harsh, bitter air but because of them. They, all three of them, were together and happy. And just like when Alice found Jasper and him, finding her, (Y/N) really didn't know what happiness was until she met these two. "(Y/N), babygirl, please..." Alice's frustrated voice brings the girl back into reality, allowing her to leave her thoughts. She giggled, sending  little waves of vibrations to  shake against Alice's clit.  She pulled back, much to Alice's disappointment. "Sorry, I got lost in my head. 'M just happy is all. Can't believe this is happening." She admitted. But before Alice or Jasper could answer, (Y/N) is bending back forward, letting her head fall down and her lips capturing Alice's clit once more.   She gave Alice a few kitten licks, gentle, soft and sweet ones before slipping her tongue  in between Alice's folds, licking away as if this was her last thing she was to do on Earth. And really - if they were to die in their sleep or some random meteor hit, (Y/N)  would much  prefer dying while she's buried between Alice's legs and  her mouth would be full of Alice's pussy, her mouth full of her juices as Alice rode her high out on her face. It sounds like a perfect way to go, if she were being honest. Well, that was one option. The other idea and preference was with Alice riding her face, shifting her weight back and forth, grinding her pussy against (Y/N)'s tongue and lips while (Y/N) laid back against the bed, her legs spread in a "V" shape as Jasper slid his cock back and forth, deep inside her pussy, hitting her spot over and over again. All three of them, moaning in perfect harmony. Alice would cum over and over again, nearly drowning (Y/N)'s face  (which, (Y/N) wouldn't be upset at) with her juices as Jasper shot his load deep within her walls, filling her up with his cum. That was also a fantastic way to die. Alice, above, giggled and squirmed as (Y/N) ate her out. "Don't worry." She murmured, hand coming down to intertwine with (Y/N)'s hair as she pulled her girlfriend closer to her womanhood. "You'll have a piece of Jasper, right here, right now. Isn't that right, baby? You want to be a dear and go up behind (Y/N) as she's eating me out and fuck her tight, little, pink pussy? I can tell she needs it. Can feel her, leaving a puddle by my feet. Think - ah, fuck... (Y/N) - think she needs it. I wanna see it, too. Want to see you, fucking her as her face is full of my cunt." Jasper groaned as he fisted his cock, listening to his girlfriend speak while watching his other girl, eating his other lover out. He could have came right then and there. He was quick to get up and walk up behind (Y/N). (Y/N) was, in fact, soaked. Which was a given. It was obvious, even someone without vision could see that just by the high pitched, muffled noises she was making in the back of her throat. You could tell the poor thing needed a cock stuffed deep inside her hole, stretching her out and all. "Jasper, please, just... fuck me already!" She cried. "More than happy to." He replied. Being the fact she was so wet and aroused, the head of his cock pushed inside her, slipping in easily and comfortably. Even though, Jasper isn't (Y/N)'s first, the girl still needed to adjust to his size and the stretch that was his large and thick cock. Out of all the men she has been with (which wasn't a lot, neither. Only four or five.) Jasper was the widest and fullest. Jasper pauses, letting her adjust for a moment or two and it’s only when he hears a faint, "Go ahead, move... You can move," does Jasper push deeper, his cock sliding deeper within her walls, her juices already sticking to his cock as he slowly rocks his hips back and forth against the human. go ahead from you that he pushes deeper. You do open remarkably well for him, and although he takes his time, he’s awed by the fact that it isn’t unbearably long for either of you. You wonder if maybe it’s the fact that it’s him and you’ve done this before that makes it less stressful for you and lets you relax enough and so relatively quickly, too. While Jasper is behind, (Y/N) is stuffing her face full of Alice's pussy, and not a second later, the human girl buries her index and forefinger into her awaiting cunt. "Oh, fuck! Yes! Oh, yes. Oh." Alice chanted, her voice growing higher and higher as her hands curled at the comforter, nails digging into the fabric. "Oh, (Y/N), fuck me just like that! Fuck me, (Y/N)! Fuck me with your fingers, oh, yes. Oh, yesyesyesyes!!!" Alice squeals in delight, eyes closed as she gets closer to her orgasm. "Look at that," Jasper purred, his accent thick as he spoke. He only got like that when he, himself, was close to an orgasm. 

"My girls. My two beautiful girls. You both going to cum? You want to cum for each other and for me, don't you? Go on then. Be my good girls and cum. I'll cum with you." And just like that, both (Y/N) and Alice moaned loudly, Alice shouting her girlfriend and boyfriend's name in a pattern-like style as Jasper growled, fucking into (Y/N) so roughly the frame of the bed smacked against the wall so harshly, all three  knew it was going to leave a dent in the walls. But they couldn't care less. They were enjoying themselves way too much. (Y/N)'s moans were muffled, as she was being drowned by Alice's cum and like the good girl she, oh so badly, wanted to be - she happily swallowed every last drop that Alice squirted at her. (Y/N wanted to make her cum, sure, but didn't even think about the possibility she could make her squirt.)  

"Oh, fuck~ I'm cumming. Oh, fuck....!" And right as she was done, licking up every drop of Alice's pussy juices, her own pussy is being filled up by Jasper. This causes (Y/N) to moan again, an ear piercing scream more than a moan, actually. Which, truth be told, she was embarrassed by it - knowing other people were in the house but she tried not to think about it. All she could actually focus on was Alice and Jasper. That, and her coming down from her peak. Slowly, with a hiss leaving his lips, Jasper pulls out and plops down onto the bed, next to both of his lovely women. "That was fun." Alice said, leaning over and pressing a kiss to Jasper's cheek.  "So, you aren't mad at me?" She asked, pulling back as she reached over to pull (Y/N) into her arms. 

"Not at all, darlin'. I love you. You know that. Nothing in the world could ever replace or erase my feelings towards you, Alice. It was... unexpected, sure, but I'm happy." Jasper looked over at Alice and (Y/N). "I'm happy with the both of you. And, (Y/N)? I love you, too. I promise, I didn't forget about ya." He said with a low laugh. He kisses Alice first before bending forward and kissing (Y/N) sweetly. "I only have one question left... how does she know about us? About what we are?" "It's kind of obvious." (Y/N) replied, looking up from playing with Alice's fingers and shot Jasper a sheepish smile. "Like Bella did beforehand, I put everything together and it made a lot of sense the more and more I looked at it. That and Emmett told me. Well, I take that back... he didn't exactly tell me but I knew something was odd when I saw you lot at the cafeteria and saw him, carrying a random plastic baggie of eggs. It isn't the most human thing in the world to eat like that. 

Especially with them, being spoiled and rotten, which they were, by the way. You all tried to be secretive and hide who you were but.. you didn't do it exactly well. And again, I did what Bella did. I straight up asked her too if you guys were what I thought you were.  And having known Bella since we were kids, I could tell when she was telling the truth and when she was lying." (Y/N) took a deep breath before continuing. "Plus, I knew things were, uh... supernatural, I guess is the right word here.... anyways, it was when Bella drastically changed. Not only in personality but in everything else. So, I just... kind of figured it out and placed everything together. And like I said, Emmett and Bella practically told me." "Edward truly married a girl who made an oath to keep us and what we are a secret yet easily announced what we are to an old and dear friend... No offense, (Y/N)." "None taken." "I still say I should've snapped her neck at her birthday party then." "Jasper!" "Wait, you tried to do what?" "Anyways, all that matters is we have each other and there isn't any secrets between us." He said, quick to change the subject. "I love you, gals." Speechless and flabbergasted, (Y/N) says she loved him too, Alice following along. Sure, they were vampires and they could easily kill her at any given moment but (Y/N) trusted them. Not only them but the Cullen's as well. (Although, Jasper and Alice, of course, were her favorites out of the bunch.) (Y/N) was now happily part of the Cullen's and was dating the two most wonderful people in the  world and she couldn't want it any other way. (Of course... she did want to be like them. But that's a conversation for another day.) (Little did (Y/N) know, however, Alice already had seen the both of them - her and Jasper - taking turns and turning her into one of them. For obvious reasons, she never brought this up, though. Alice was just happy to know in the end, they'd all be together, forever.)

[fan-written]

Meet cute Monday

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"Is that a Crossword?"

---

It wasn't the screech of tires that caught her attention first. That was pretty common around Gotham. The yelling was too. And she had barely glanced at the black van that squealed past her at a speed sure to be unsafe. Even the gun fire was barely a note in her mind after she absently gauged it's distance.

No, by this point Marinette was used to all that.

What she wasn't used to was a boy leaping out of the window of said van and rolling to a stop at her feet. In her civilian form at least.

She blinked down at him in surprise, her mouth slightly agape. Intense, dark eyes blinked back up at her and she noticed he was less of a boy and more of a man. Probably a year older than her at most.

She also noticed he was rather handsome and his lips alone made her want to sketch. She quickly shoved that thought out of her mind, though. After all, he did just jumped out of a vehicle of gun toting probably criminals.

"Is that a crossword book?"

Marinette jerked slightly, shocked that he spoke to her. She blinked once more at him, looked at the puzzle book in her arm, glanced at the direction the van went, and finally returned her gaze to him.

"Yes?" She had to double check that it was, because that really shouldn't be the first question someone asked after jumping out of a moving van. "I, are you alright? You just-" she gestured to the road then down at him. "And now you're here. Should you really be asking about my puzzles?"

A gun shot and an engine roaring interrupted his reply and they both looked up to find the van turing back around the corner, racing towards them.

"Fuck!" The stranger quickly stood. He turned and almost ran into her in his haste to run. She barely caught the flicker of surprise that she was still there before he grabbed her wrist and pulled her into a sprint. The small alley way he pulled her into already felt safer since the van wouldn't be able to follow.

"Fuck, I'm so sorry about this," he called out over his shoulder. "Really. It's just, they saw you and who knows what those shithead's would do to a beautiful girl like you. Especially since they saw you with me."

Marinette stumbled the first few steps, but easily settled into the run after that. She sent a silent apology to Tikki as her bag bounced against her leg. "Why would being seen with you be a problem?" She asked, desperately hoping he wouldn't look back at her. If he did then maybe he'd think her blush was just from the sudden exertion and not him calling her beautiful.

"You don't know?" Unfortunately he did glance back then and Marinette caught the pleased smirk tugging on his lips before he turned back to guide them. "You're holding hands with Bruce Wayne's most recent adopted son. I'm worth big money to some of the criminally minded."

"So you were kidnapped?" She tried to keep her voice normal, but now that he'd pointed it out all she could think about was how his hand wrapped entirely around her wrist. Honestly she wasn't that surprised it came out more like a squeak.

She tried to tug her arm away since she was keeping up fine without it, but the Wayne boy suddenly turned into a small alcove. The harsh yank on her arm that followed pulled her clumsiness to the forefront and she tumbled gracelessly into his hard chest.

Marinette opened her mouth to question him, but he shushed her with a finger to her lips. Instead he pressed her deeper into the corner, behind him. She subtly moved her purse so she wasn't squishing Tikki.

The shadowed corner was small, barely enough for one person, let alone two. It might have just been his body blocking the light, but Marinette felt that it was darker than it had been only seconds before.

Everything was still. She breathed shallowly, matching the Wayne in front of her. Both trying to silence their heaving chests begging for air so the could listen.

Several feet pounded down the cement from the direction they just came. Wayne turned around and lifted his hood up from his black jacket. Marinette could barely make out his eyes in the darkness. Would the goons even see them if they could hardly see each other?

Marinette held her breath, head tilted so she could listen as they ran past their hiding place. Her hands tightened around the shirt and book she held within them. Her body though settled into a relaxed state, ready to attack or defend if necessary.

She didn't notice, but the Wayne had done the same.

Finally, after what felt like hours but was only seconds, the sounds of the kidnappers were gone. Marinette let out a long sigh and rested her head against the chest in front of her. It had been a while since she had to hide like that. Most of the recent Akumas had to be fought head on.

She probably would have stayed as she was to collect herself if she hadn't felt like she was shaking. Marinette couldn't quite figure out why since she'd stopped having panic attacks after every life threatening experience years ago. Then a pair of arms tightened around her and she remembered she's not the only one around.

Marinette jerked her head back, and slammed it into the wall behind her. The muffled laugh escaped for half a second until a hand buried it again. She absently rubbed her new goose egg and glanced up into mirthful eyes. The heavy darkness seemed to have dissipated and she chalked it up to the fear of being caught.

he shouldn't be laughing though. She shouldn't laugh too. None of this was funny. But it kind of was. It's not every day she gets attractive men throwing themselves at her feet.

And that's the thought that got her. Because once an Akuma made all men do just that.

The first giggle escaped and her face matched Wayne's now, with wide eyes and a hand covering her mouth. They both had another staring contest, but this time it was broken by laughter.

"Sh-shhhh! They- they might come back," she whispered.

Wayne nodded but neither of them could stop, especially when they looked at one another. "I know," he said between gasps. "It's not, it's not even that funny."

Marinette shook her head, but couldn't answer because another bout of giggles took over. Finally she gave up and rested her head against him just so she wouldn't look at his face again. She could feel him lean into her, relaxing against the wall, but keeping them safe if the villains returned.

Slowly the laughter died, occasional giggles escaping like hiccups as they calmed down. Marinette sighed again, more out of breath from their laughter than their run.

"Running from life threatening situations usually doesn't make me that giddy." She kept her face down, afraid she'd laugh again if they shared eye contact.

He hummed and she could feel it against her cheek. "Yeah, I don't think I've ever reacted like that. Wait!" He pulled away and she had no choice but to look at him. "How many life threatening situations have you been in if you know what your usual reaction would be?"

She shrugged, hoping he would take the non answer. She doubted it, based on the look he was giving her, like she was a puzzle he needed to solve. "What about you?" She deflected. "You know your usual reaction too."

"I'm a fuckin' Wayne. Of course I've been in these kind of situations before." His deadpan stare told her he wasn't fooled, but she was off the hook for now.

"Oh yes," she snapped her fingers. "The newest Wayne Adoptee. You mentioned that, but I still don't know your name. I mean, you did run off with me, and now you've got me pressed against the wall. That's like first date material right there." She smirked up at him, hoping it would distract him.

Instead he grinned back, happily taking the challenge issued. "Duke Thomas-Wayne. And you, ma'am, must have had some shitty first dates if you think this would count as one." He looked her over as if finally taking in her appearance. His eyes paused on the book in her arm, before returning to her face. "And you definitely deserve something better."

She blushed, begging the shadows to hide it but knowing it was futile. She refused to lose their verbal spar though. "W-well, maybe I haven't found anyone worth better?" She cocked her hip and lifted an eyebrow.

Duke chuckled, just as pleased as her with their banter. "I might be able to change your mind, if you don't mind giving your name?"

"Marinette," she said while holding out her hand. "Marinette Dupain-Cheng. You've left quite the first impression Monsieur Thomas-Wayne. I don't often have men leaping out of cars to meet me."

This time his smile turned sheepish, but not for long. "Well Miss Dupain-Cheng," he gently took her hand, "it's not every day I find myself staring up at a goddess. One who even shares a favorite hobby of mine." He gestured at the puzzle book. "But maybe we should continue this conversation elsewhere." He glanced behind him at the empty ally way. "Hopefully without any villains nearby. Maybe at a coffee shop?"

Marinette nodded, pulling her hand from his. Finally he stepped away and Marinette could breath. Somehow she was genuinely flirting. And it was working!

She grinned up at him, far to happy for the situation they still had to successfully escape from. "It sounds like a date!"