#I’m just bitter right now because I know everyone is having fun and I’m just sitting here

[lemonynuggets]

sitting in front of my brother’s candy pile miserably knowing he won’t share a single candy with me

[ichorai]

thread ; coriolanus snow.

pairing ; young!coriolanus snow x capitol!reader (gender-neutral)

synopsis ; “they’re all just copying us, you know,” he said, sounding almost bitter. 

“of course they are,” you replied, taking a drawn-out sip from your cup. “we showed them there’s no sharks in the water. obviously they’re going to jump in.”

words ; 6.6k

themes ; mild fluff/angst, action

warnings / includes ; themes of classism, violence/injury/death/drug misuse, coryo's paranoia, he isn't exactly toxic yet but the seeds are very much planted, i tried to keep him in character as best i could </3

series masterlist. main masterlist.

Coriolanus came late to class. He rushed in, uniform only slightly askew, and hair messier than usual. You moved your bag aside so he could take a seat beside you. With a nod, he slipped into the row and began laying out his books. 

You wondered how Tigris reacted once he got back home. Probably worried sick for her cousin and her friend. Your father, of course, was furious with you once he learned about your tryst with Coriolanus in the Capitol Zoo, but there was little he could do when he was off working in the districts. During dinner with your mother, Lucretius Flickerman, and his wife, the tributes and the games were practically all the three could talk about. Lucky was going to be the first ever host, apparently.

How fun.

To neither of your surprise, Highbottom eyed the two of you with disdain. When you had strode into the hall, he remained silent. Coriolanus’ arrival seemed to tip him right over the edge.

“Both of your little excursions were in violation of about five different academy rules,” he grumbled. “Chiefly amongst them—endangering a Capitol student. Yourselves.”

“There were peacekeepers crawling all over the place,” Coriolanus retorted. 

The dean’s nose twitched angrily. Then, he fixed you with a harsh look over his spectacles, and drawled out your name. “Since you are the academy’s brightest, and your records have been… untarnished until now, I will let you off with a warning.” There was a pause, before the dean continued. “Mr. Snow, I’m moving for the gamemakers to disqualify you as mentor, effective immediately.”

“What?” the two of you exclaimed at once.

“You said we had to get them to perform, not stay away!” Coriolanus just about spat.

“I’ll add insubordination, as well,” Highbottom replied, tone venomous.

Raising your hand and ignoring the dean’s irritated exhale, you haughtily said, “It was me who went into the tribute’s truck. Coriolanus only followed. We didn’t know that we’d end up in a zoo enclosure.”

Arachne tittered with condescending laughter. “Yeah, and then you held hands with them. Made it seem like we’re the same as those animals.”

From your other side, Sejanus was quick to defend the two of you. “Coriolanus and Y/N didn’t show those people anything they didn’t already know.”

Stiffening, Coryo scowled and said, “I don’t need your help, Sejanus.”

He ignored him and continued on, “That the tributes are human beings, just like us. That’s why nobody wants to watch the games—because people know, deep down, that winning a war ten years ago doesn’t justify starving people’s children, taking away their freedoms, their rights!”

“Dean Highbottom,” you called, not bothering to raise your hand this time. “How is it fair that Coriolanus gets disqualified while I’m not? We did what you told us to do! We were just trying to get to know our tributes.”

“Would you like to be disqualified as well? I can surely arrange for that to happen,” he deadpanned. “But poor little Wovey would be left all on her own.”

Nausea coiled within your abdomen. You drew yourself up to your full height. “Well, that would be entirely unnecessary—” 

Before you could finish your sentence, the doors to the lecture theater swung open once more, and Dr. Volumnia Gaul crept in, footsteps completely silent. How she managed that, you weren’t at all sure.

With everyone’s eyes on her, she fixed her stare on the two of you. Her hair was wrangled back into a high up-do, tall and grey on her head. 

“Quite a show you two put on. You’re good players,” she said, voice booming throughout the theater. “The hunger games needs good players. Maybe one day you’ll be gamemakers, like me.”

The thought sent chills up your spine. Coriolanus kept his expression stoic.

“If the games continue at all,” said Highbottom.

Singular blue eye flashing, Dr. Gaul grinned in an unnerving manner. “Oh, they’ll continue. With performances like young Snow and L/N in that zoo? The people would never stop wanting for more.” She drew closer to the rows of seats, gloved hand trailing over a few of the desks. “I came here to ask the star mentors a question… what are the hunger games for?”

You and Coriolanus exchanged a quick glance.

“They’re to punish the districts for their uprising,” he said, as if it were obvious. “To commemorate the end of the war.”

Volumnia’s tongue darted out to wet her lips, in a similar fashion to a snake.

“And what would you say, Y/N?”

It was hard to maintain eye contact with her, especially because it felt like she could peer into your very soul and dissect you apart from inside out—but you managed. With your father being such an avid supporter of the hunger games, you wondered if your answer would be what she was looking for. “I don’t agree with the games. But I know it’s because—fear is power. Keep the districts afraid for themselves, for their children, and you’ll always have the upper hand.”

She smiled, wide and eerie. “You’re right. Fear is power. But punishment and fear can take many forms. They can come from bomb droppings, the cancelling of food shipments, stage executions. The question is, why games?”

Defensive, Sejanus spoke up, “Shouldn’t we be asking whether or not it’s right in the first place?”

“You have a problem with my games?” she asked, unimpressed.

“Some of those kids were two years old when the war ended! The oldest of them were only eight!” he exclaimed. “The Capitol is supposed to be everyone’s government now. It is supposed to protect all of us. I don’t see how making children fight each other to the death is protecting anyone.”

With a sneer, Dr. Gaul told him, “That sort of sympathy might be interfering with your mentoring assignment, Mr. Plinth.”

Finally, Highbottom said to his colleague, “Perhaps Capitol students are ill-suited to be mentoring tributes. Perhaps the games’ time has passed.”

Yes, you thought. It’s time to let it go.

To your surprise, Coriolanus abruptly stood up from his seat. “Dean Highbottom is wrong,” he asserted. “My classmates, too. Maybe Sejanus is onto something here. We should be viewing those tributes as human beings. You saw those kids at the zoo. They just wanted to get to know Lucy Gray. If we need people to watch, we should let them get closer to the tributes before the games. Make the stakes personal.”

“Who would watch the games if they care what happens to the tributes?” Dr. Gaul asked, as if the notion of caring about district folk was ludicrous.

“Everyone,” replied Coriolanus. “Especially if they thought the tribute they cared about had a chance of winning. People need someone to root for and someone to root against! And if we bend a few Capitol laws, we can even have them place bets.” 

You felt sick as you looked up at Coriolanus with a mildly disturbed expression. If he noticed, he didn’t give you any indication.

“I know Lucy Gray may not win in the arena,” he continued. “But if you give her a chance—I would bet the Plinth prize that she could win people’s attention.”

Dr. Gaul was effectively intrigued.

“I would like you to write up a proposal of these thoughts tonight, Mr. Snow,” she said. 

Clemensia, strong-headed as ever, stood up and said that she should be working with Coriolanus, as his class partner.

With an amused snicker, Volumnia bowed her head and made her way back to the door. “It’ll be an interesting test,” she ominously said before turning on her heel and exiting, her dark cloak billowing out behind her.

During lunch, you sat down across from Coriolanus in the cafeteria, noticing that he had three sandwiches stacked on his plate, along with half a dozen cookies on another. It was a rare thing, seeing him with so much food. Usually he opted for just starving himself to save some money, despite your urges to get him to eat.

“Hungry?” you asked with an arched brow, but he shook his head.

“It’s for Lucy Gray,” he replied, staring down at the food. Then, he pulled out a red handkerchief and started wrapping the food up. “I’m going back.”

With a soft sigh, you started digging into your own lunch. “Hopefully not inside this time.”

He spared you half a smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Are you coming? Everyone else is. I heard Arachne tell Felix she’s going to use food to get her tribute to do tricks for her.”

With a wrinkle of your nose, you glanced over at her several tables down. “Sounds like something she’d say.” You took a bite of your food and chewed thoughtfully.

“They’re all just copying us, you know,” he said, sounding almost bitter. 

“Of course they are,” you replied, taking a drawn-out sip from your cup. “We showed them there’s no sharks in the water. Obviously they’re going to jump in.”

He tied the handkerchief together so the sandwiches and cookies would stay put. “They’re all sheep. No original thought whatsoever.”

There it was again, your wind-chime laugh. Coriolanus smiled down at his plate, now empty save for a few bread crumbs. 

“It’s not that big of a deal, Coryo. Besides, I’m glad most of the class is going. The tributes must be starving in there,” you told him. “I’ll come and bring some food for Wovey.”

A voice from your right jutted into your conversation, Sejanus’ angry face coming into view as he slammed down his lunch tray in the empty spot beside you. “You guys going to fatten up your tributes so you can finally start taking bets?” he just about snarled.

“Do you think they’ll give those kids a scrap if we don’t give them a reason to do it?” Coriolanus responded defensively, leaning forward with narrowed eyes. “How do you think your tribute will have a chance if he can’t eat?”

“We can’t send them back to their homes,” you told Sejanus in a juxtaposingly calm tone. “The best we can do for them now is help them out here.”

The curly-haired man slumped forward, his shoulder stooping like an old wildflower. “He was my classmate,” he muttered. “Back in two.”

Though you gave Sejanus a sympathetic look, Coryo regarded Sejanus as if he was confused. He wondered why Sejanus even bothered to care this much when he was no longer a part of the districts.

“It’s not your fault that—” Coriolanus began, but was swiftly interrupted.

“Oh, yeah, I’m so blameless I’m choking on it!” he gritted out. Then, he let out a shaky breath, trying to steel himself. “My father bought him for me, you know. At the reaping. Just so he could show me that I could never go back to two.”

A frown marred your features. “He bribed Highbottom?”

“Something like that,” Sejanus told you, using the prongs of his fork to poke and prod at his food. “Morphling costs a pretty penny.”

Silence stretched over the three of you for a few seconds. Coriolanus looked annoyed, but Sejanus didn’t seem to notice. 

“Being in the Capitol is going to kill me,” he sighed.

This made Coryo scowl. “So do something about it.”

Sejanus’ dark eyes flitted over to the bundle of food in Coriolanus’ hands. “You’re quite the rebel.”

Coriolanus retorted, “Oh, yeah. I’m bad news.”

When he said that, he’d expected you to laugh again, but you kept quiet, staring down at your now-unappetizing lunch.

There was a considerably larger crowd around the enclosure that evening. You had a small basket clutched in one hand, consisting of juice boxes (still grape, since you now knew it was a safe option), soft bread rolls, and wrapped leftovers from your dinner with Lucky. You hoped Wovey wasn’t allergic to anything—you’d forgotten to ask in the heat of it all.

Coriolanus still only had the few sandwiches he saved from lunch, but you assured him that you were more than happy to share with Lucy Gray if need be. 

She looked much more haggard tonight, most of her makeup smeared off, her lips chapped and bleeding at the center from what you assumed was anxious biting, and her hair was more unruly. Though her eyes still held the same fire, the same passion, lighting up when she noticed the two of you approaching. She asked if the food was for them with slight surprise—you often forget that they hadn’t much to eat in the districts, anyway—and took what was offered, before handing off a good portion of it to her district partner, Jessup. The larger man declined the food at first, claiming he wasn’t hungry, but eventually caved and took the sandwiches. 

When he turned to walk off, Coriolanus asked about the nasty wound on his neck. It was just behind his ear and oozing with blood and pus. A bat bite on the train, Lucy Gray told the two of you, looking awfully guilty on behalf of her friend. 

Crooning from a little way’s away drew your attention to Arachne and her tribute. She was dangling a cold bottle of water just inches from the tribute’s reach, urging her to beg.

Lucy Gray’s brows cinched. “One thing I learned in twelve is that hunger is a weapon. Your friend over there sure knows it.”

The two of you scoffed at the same time.

“She is not my friend,” Coriolanus told her. “She is poison with perfect teeth.”

“How such a vile tongue hides behind those pearly whites, I wouldn’t ever know,” you remarked, earning you a snicker from Coriolanus. Finally, you peered around for Wovey, eager to finally get her something to eat. However, curse your damned softening heart, your eyes grew gentle upon seeing her curled up by the very same tree stump, head resting on Bobbin’s shoulder, fast asleep. 

Lucy Gray casted a glimpse over her shoulder to see what you were looking at. 

“Could you give this to her?” you asked, slotting the small basket between the enclosure’s metal bars. “When she wakes up, that is. She must be famished. Feel free to take anything in there, but just… leave some for her.”

The girl nodded, taking the basket from you and handing it over to Jessup, who cradled it as if it were more precious than gold. You watched him carefully—not because you were worried he was going to keep all the food to himself, but because you were curious as to why he hadn’t reached in to take anything for himself yet, even after several minutes passed by. 

Coriolanus leaned forward, wrapping a hand around one of the bars as he lowered his voice. “Are you going to share everything with Jessup?”

Lucy Gray’s expression faltered. “Why? You think I oughta build up my strength to strangle him in the arena? Not exactly my forte.”

“I might have a chance to help you,” he told her, watching her keenly. “To make some suggestions to the gamemakers. I might even be able to get the audience to send you gifts in the arena. Food, and water, to keep you going. You just have to try singing again.”

Firmly, Lucy Gray said, “I don’t sing when I’m told, I sing when I have something to say.”

“And you have nothing to say?” you asked her, head tilting. “The whole world is watching, Lucy Gray. Now’s your chance.”

A myriad of emotions crossed over her face. “It doesn’t matter much now, does it? I’ve seen the arena—there’s nowhere to hide. What’s the point?” Her gaze traveled from you to Coriolanus. “The guards say you get money if you get more people to watch and you say you want to help me. Which is it?”

“Both?” he offered. 

It didn’t satisfy her, but it was enough, for now. 

Then, she grabbed a sandwich from the red handkerchief and took a large bite, a muffled noise of appreciation falling from her lips. 

“Bread’s soft,” she said around a mouthful. “Softer than in twelve.”

Then, she offered a cookie to Coriolanus. He began to protest, but she insisted he take it.

“I saw you staring,” she said. “I always thought there was plenty of food in the Capitol.”

Coriolanus laughed, a coarse and unrefined sound. “One time during the war, I ate a whole jar of paste just to stop the pain in my stomach.” 

A match of pity struck within the confines of your chest, but you remained quiet. Coriolanus told you stories of his times during the war often—usually after the two of you laid together, sweaty and naked, bearing your souls to one another. Pillow talk made him quite emotional, you found.

“And how was it?” Lucy Gray queried, eyes round.

Coriolanus took a bite of the cookie, humming in though. Then, he shrugged. “Pasty,” he said.

Lucy Gray laughed. She looked back to you, appreciative. “Thank you, for the food. I’m sure the little one’s going to be happy.” Your eyes flickered back to Wovey. She stirred a bit on Bobbin’s shoulder, but remained asleep. “She’s so sweet. So young. Something about her reminds me of my cousin, Maude Ivory. I can’t stand to think of them without me like this.”

“I’m sorry,” Coriolanus whispered.

You nodded in agreement. “They’re waiting for you, I’m sure. You’ll see them again.”

Lucy Gray smiled sadly. “I won’t hold you to that.” Then, after she took another bite, she blew out a gentle sigh. “You two seem like… genuine folk. It sure would’ve been nice to meet you under different circumstances.”

Coriolanus leaned his head against the enclosure’s bars. “One of your shows, maybe.”

Somehow, her smile grew impossibly wider, but her eyes shone with unshed tears. “Yeah. Yeah, I would’ve liked that.” With a light sniffle, she asked the two of you, “You two keen on dancing?”

You thought back to all the dance lessons you were forced to take as a young child. It was never your strong suit. “Not really, no. Coriolanus is much better than I am.” 

“Not your fancy Capitol dancing,” she told you, waving a hand in the air. “Dancing like you’re free. Dancing with no rules. Just the music, to guide you.”

Both you and Coriolanus exchanged glances. “Can’t say I’ve tried,” you replied. “But it sounds fun.”

Lucy Gray nodded, showing more enthusiasm than you’d ever seen in her before. “You’d have the time of your life. If you ever visit… I’d love for you to come. Both of you—we’d have a drink. Share a dance or two. We’d have all the time in the world. People always say our music shows are the best places for romantic dates. It’d be perfect for you two.”

It was a pleasant fantasy to entertain. But that’s all it was—a fantasy. When you looked at Coriolanus, his expression was simultaneously strained and distant, as if he were far away, thinking of other things. You reached out to place your hand on his shoulder.

But before you could, screams erupted from around the enclosure, followed closely by shattering glass. You whipped your head away from Lucy Gray, seeing Arachne’s tribute jabbing the broken glass bottle straight into her jugular. Coriolanus yelled something—you weren’t entirely sure what, but he jumped up to grab Arachne, applying pressure to the wound.

It wasn’t enough. 

Blood, dark and viscous and filling the air with the smell of copper, began to pool around her neck, down her shoulders, filling the crevices of her collarbones. She was blubbering something, gargling through blood, but you couldn’t quite hear with the loud static buzzing in your ears. 

You glanced to the side, catching sight of peacekeepers lining up their guns to shoot. You rushed forward to get to Coriolanus, yanking him down just as several shots rang out. He was whimpering, telling Arachne to hold on for him, but when you frantically reached down to feel for her pale wrist’s pulse—it wasn’t there.

Arachne was dead. 

You clambered off of Coriolanus, away from the dead girl, backing away. You only barely registered Sejanus calling out your name in concern, but you didn’t pay him any mind. Instead, you turned your eyes to the tributes, all ducking and cowering behind trees and tires. To your relief, Wovey was now awake, eyes wide as she crouched behind the tree stump with Bobbin.

The relief was short-lived, however, because peacekeepers began urging everybody away from the enclosure. You reached out for Coriolanus, taking his arm. He was shaking, eyes as large as saucers and visibly distraught. 

The two of you walked to his estate in tense silence.

Once there, Grandma’am and Tigris fawned over the two of you, though in far different ways. Grandma’am dove into a lecture about rebels and how lucky the two of you were that your tributes hadn’t done the very same. Tigris wrapped a warm shawl over you and a patched blanket over her cousin, telling Grandma’am that Lucy Gray and Wovey weren’t rebels, just innocent girls. 

“Trust me, that one hasn’t been a girl in a long time,” Grandma’am bitterly retorted. “Outside this Capitol, they’re savages, however they may smile. She will use you, Coriolanus. You must use her or you’ll end up dead in the trees, like your father.”

Coriolanus stiffened. 

An hour later, he tugged you into his room and kissed you hard and desperate, as if he wanted to distract himself from his own thoughts. You were the one to pull away, even if everything inside you was screaming to stay. You almost caved, almost, when his head dipped forward in an attempt to capture your lips again, but you placed the tips of your fingers over his mouth with a soft, sympathetic smile. You hugged him tight until he stopped trembling, and reluctantly drew yourself away from him. After embracing Tigris goodnight, you walked home alone with your thoughts, wondering if the games were going to continue in lieu of the evening’s events.

There was an assembly held at the academy for Arachne’s death, followed promptly by a proper funeral. Though, it didn’t quite feel proper with all the cameras and reporters hovering around. You wondered if people were expecting to see you cry. You were incredibly shaken, sure, but were you sad?

It’d be a lie if you said yes.

They made sure to zoom in on you and Coriolanus when you kissed him on the cheek and squeezed his hand just before he was appointed to go on stage and sing the national anthem. Why he was the one to do so, the two of you had no idea. It’s not like Arachne was friends with him, despite what the reporters wanted to think. It was a ridiculous waste of breath, he thought, singing for a girl he barely knew.

After Coriolanus’ performance, President Ravinstill gave a rather monotonous speech about courage and bravery. How Arachne was going to be sorely missed. Right—of course she was.

And the very next day, life moved on. As if Arachne’s death had never happened.

Soon after, they had all the mentors and tributes gathered into one of the academy halls— with the tributes shackled to tables, of course. It wasn’t like there was anywhere for them to run. You’d seen all the peacekeepers lining the hallways outside.

“In spite of yesterday’s tragic events,” Highbottom said, not a shred of sincerity to be found in his tone, “our President has decided that the games must go on. Show everyone that the Capitol is unafraid of such acts of terror. To which end Dr. Gaul wishes you to preview the arena this afternoon with your tributes. Later this evening, there will be a special, televised presentation of each tribute to our audience so they could… get to know them.”

A glorified show-and-tell, you dryly thought. How wonderful.

You and Coriolanus looked at each other for a brief moment—he’d ask Lucy Gray to sing again, you were certain. Then, you turned back forward, where Wovey was fiddling with her thumbs, sniffling a few times.

“You’ll have an hour to discuss strategy,” said the dean, before whisking himself off to the shadows of the room to down another vial of morphling.

You sat down in front of your tribute, trying your best to offer her a warm smile.

“Did you like the food I brought? Was it okay?” you whispered, making sure to lower your voice.

A nod, a scuffle of feet. Her bottom lip trembled.

Gnawing on the inside of your cheek, you moved on to the pressing matter at hand. “Okay, Wovey. I need… I need to know what you’re good at. Are you a fast runner?” 

She thought for a moment, but then shook her head.

“I know you can climb?”

She let out a shaky sigh. “I used to climb in my mama’s factory all the time. Trees, too.”

“Good. That’s good,” you murmured, pulling out a notepad so you could jot some things down. “Are you good at hiding? Staying still?”

“I think so,” she said, looking awfully uncomfortable. “Will I go back home if I win?”

A sharp pang hit you square in the chest. You tore your gaze away from your notes on the paper to look at her. 

“Yes,” you hesitantly replied. “They’ll take you home.”

This seemed to satisfy her for the time being. Gave her hope that you perhaps shouldn’t have instilled.

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “So—for your televised presentation. We need to win the audience over so they send in donations—I’d be able to send you things. What do you want to do?”

After quite a bit of back and forth, you managed to get Wovey to agree to talk about her family on stage. How much she missed them. It wasn’t much, but perhaps the youngest tribute sympathy card would push the odds in your favor.

Halfway through the hour, however, Coriolanus and Clemensia were called away by Highbottom—most likely to discuss the proposal Coryo had written up once you left the estate. You made a mental note to ask him how it goes once you saw him again. You felt bad, seeing Lucy Gray sitting all alone, bound hands lightly rapping against the table’s wood.

By the stroke of four in the afternoon, they gathered all the mentors and tributes in front of the arena. Coriolanus came bounding up to the group just seconds away from the gates opening, appearing breathless and mildly frazzled. 

“You okay? Where’s Clemmie?” you asked, resting a hand on his elbow, brows kinking with confusion.

“She’s… not going to make it.” He winced, appearing distinctly torn. “I’ll tell you later.”

There was a brief silence where you scrutinized him, eyes wide. Something bad happened when he was with Dr. Gaul, and you weren’t too keen on finding out.

You walked alongside Coriolanus into the arena, with your two tributes in front of you. Lucy Gray was saying something comforting to Wovey in that sweet voice of hers, and for that you were grateful. The last thing you needed was Wovey to break down in an anxious mess. 

The arena itself was spacious but incredibly rundown, crumbling under the weight of its neglected upkeep. The glass roof was stained and dusty, rusty slants creaking as they parted to filter sunlight into the dome.

“Welcome to the arena of the 10th annual hunger games,” a distorted voice echoed through the arena’s shoddy speaker system. “Tributes, mentors, you have fifteen minutes to survey the space and discuss strategy.”

With one final squeeze on Coriolanus’ shoulder, you parted ways with him, stepping beside Wovey to urge her into a lap around the arena. Staggered rows of dusty seats lined the edges high above the ground—Wovey was a good climber, wasn’t she? 

You tried your best to give her advice. “Hiding in the seats is your best option. Climbing over the rows whenever someone comes to attack you should buy you time. You’re small, too—I think you’d be able to crawl beneath the seats to get away. As for weapons… maybe grab something small from the center. A knife or a dagger. But only if you have time, and only if you know you can make it. If not, just make a break for the seats, as fast as you can. Got that, sweetheart?”

Wovey stayed silent. But she nodded. Nodded and nodded until you worried her head was going to pop right off. 

You bent down at the waist slightly so that you were eye-level with her. “I’ll be watching you the whole time. I’m there if you need m—”

Sudden explosions rang out about the arena. Plumes of dust flew everywhere, blinding you almost instantaneously. With your eyes squeezed shut, you felt the ground shake and split and rumble until another closer explosion flung you a good few feet off the ground. You landed on your side with a strangled scream, though the pain only registered a few seconds later. Cracking your aching eyes open and squinting through the haze of dust, you caught sight of shattered glass thundering around you like crystalized rain, nicking your skin with sharp pin pricks. 

Your right side buzzed with warmth. Something damp. You dazedly looked down.

Oh.

It seemed you’d landed right on a broken metal pipe, sticking right out of your abdomen. Blood was pooling down your academy uniform, soaking the fabric a far more sinister shade of red. You choked out something akin to a dry sob, before screaming out for help. You heard dozens of similar cries echo back to you.

With a grunt, you pushed yourself up, 

“CORYO?!” you screamed as loud as you could. Faintly, you could hear his strained voice echo your name back—somewhere across the arena, you’d wager. 

The pain was starting to grow worse. Searing, almost, as if you were being laid over an open fire. You staggered through the rubble, pressing a hand to your side in a terrible attempt to staunch the bleeding, careful not to jostle the pipe. It was probably the only thing keeping you from bleeding out right then and there.

As you kept moving, you caught sight of a large, gaping hole at the opposite end of the arena. There were tributes running out. Peacekeepers shooting them. The explosions had been so loud that your ears were ringing with terrible white noise—you couldn’t even hear the sound of the rifles blasting.

You glanced around wildly. 

You spotted the small little girl near the edge of the arena. Running with Dill, you realized, mind still lagging a second too late from shock. Another explosion rattled through the arena—this time, crumbling the roof away completely.

With a mangled noise, you began limping as quickly as you could.

Another call of your name, echoing and rattling about your skull, and Coriolanus materialized right beside you out of seemingly nowhere. There were two of him, you realized. He appeared fuzzy. 

You reached out for him, but he suddenly pulled you forward, yelling something. Something you couldn’t hear. A flash of rainbow by his left, and you saw Lucy Gray just barely escape being crushed by a large stone support column. 

More crumbling ceiling. Coriolanus’ hands were cold when he urgently shoved you forward. So hard that you went tumbling down, screaming with the sudden painful jolts the metal pipe sent shooting up your spine. A second later, you blearily looked around for Coriolanus—realizing that he’d pushed you into the clear when you found him pinned down under heavy foundational slants—and they’d caught on fire. 

Numb panic shot through your mind. You barely registered your own voice croaking out his name. You tried to crawl towards him, but he only seemed to get farther away. 

The last thing you saw before your eyes rolled into the back of your head and you went careening backwards was the rainbow dress, and wild, dark hair. 

The hospital bed was far from comfortable, but you’d been so tired you were knocked out for half of the day. Though, Tigris told you that you did sort of wake up at some point in the night, mumbling Coriolanus’ name with half-cracked eyes, before falling right back asleep.

He’d startled awake before you—rushing to your bed (right beside his) and taking your limp hand in his cold, clammy one. Brushed the hair away from your forehead and muttered apologies and please don’t die like they were a mantra.

When you finally stirred, you nearly burst into tears upon seeing Coriolanus.

“I thought you died,” you dry-sobbed. Your side ached considerably with the effort. “I thought I was going to die.”

He drew you into a loose hug, careful to avoid your bandaged midriff. He pressed a kiss to your forehead. “I’m here. I love you—I’m not going anywhere, okay? Lucy Gray saved you. Saved us.”

“She did?” you croaked, voice soft. Yes, you sort of remembered. It was all a blur.

“She caught you before you could crack your head open on the ground,” said another voice. You turned your stiff neck to see Sejanus at the foot of the other side of your bed, next to Tigris, who was running her hand up and down your arm in a comforting manner.

You blew out a shaky sigh. Your head pulsed, and you suddenly felt nauseous. “What… what happened?”

They took turns explaining. Rebel bombing. The dead tributes. The president’s son, Felix, in critical condition. Sejanus’ tribute missing. How the games were still commencing regardless. The pipe that had been lodged in your abdomen missing any vital organs. How you were lucky to be alive.

“Wovey?” you whispered. “Is she okay?”

Coriolanus smoothed a hand over your head. “She’s okay. Not one of the ones that died.”

“Lucy Gray?” you whispered. 

“Alive. She could have run. She stayed back to help you and me,” he said as his hand traveled down to gently cup your face. There were dark circles under his eyes. “I owe her now. She saved the love of my life.”

“Oh, Coryo—are you okay? Are you hurt?” Your gaze roamed all over his form, clad in an identical hospital gown. 

“A few burns and bruises. Nothing compared to you.” 

You drew in a staggered breath. Every muscle and tendon in your body screamed with even the slightest movements. 

Tigris squeezed your hand. “We were so worried for you. Coriolanus couldn’t sleep all night. Your mother came by earlier but she had to leave—a spill in the lab, or something. And your father sends his love from district two. Your mother said he was furious. Military is doubling down.”

“Typical,” you whispered, supplying the three with half a weary smile, glad that they were there for you. “I can’t believe they’re going on with the games tomorrow. This is absurd.”

“They don’t want to seem weak,” Sejanus bitterly replied. “But you woke up just in time. The televised presentations are starting soon.”

Nearly an hour later, Sejanus switched on the television set hanging in front of the beds. Tribute after tribute went by, most of them appearing gaunt and exhausted. True to what the two of you had discussed, Wovey got on stage and talked about her family back in district eight, despite looking rather shaken. The audience crooned and sighed with pity. Donations were sparse, but still more than you had expected, to your bittersweet relief. You watched from the hospital bed, curled up with Tigris at the head of it, your head on her shoulder, whilst Sejanus and Coriolanus were standing far closer to the curved screen. 

Lucy Gray was the last to go on. She had a guitar with her. And she sang a beautiful song—one about a boy back from home, she said. The audience cheered and sniffled. Even the nurses stopped their bustling to watch, some of them discreetly wiping away tears.

Once visiting hours were over and Tigris and Sejanus were shooed out of the hospital, Coriolanus sat beside you and slung an arm over your shoulder. He slotted his fingers beneath your chin and kissed you deeply. It was a slow embrace, with not a hint of sexual intentions—he just wanted to hold you. Remind himself that you were still alive, still here, still his.

Your nose nudged his when he laid his forehead over yours. The two of you breathed in each other’s comforting presence. Just the two of you. It reminded you of when times were so… uncomplicated. Before all the mentoring came along, the only things you had to worry about were grades and Coriolanus’ refusals to eat properly.

Then, he told you about Clemensia. How she was probably somewhere in this very building. How she screamed when she was bitten by the snake muttation. Your mind raced with questions, but you yawned instead and leaned against his chest. 

“I love you, too, Coryo,” you whispered into his hospital gown, realizing you hadn’t said it back earlier. 

A few minutes later, you were back asleep. Coriolanus was careful not to wake you when he laid you back down. Tucked the blanket up to your chin. He kissed your hairline once more, regarding you with a fond expression, before straightening, trying his best to ignore the aches blossoming over his back and legs.

And then he left the ward, assuring the doctors that he was fine and he could be discharged. They reluctantly agreed after a brief check-up, and had him sign off for himself. Once he was out, he immediately set off for the arena, trying to search for something, anything to keep his tribute alive.

Tunnels. The ground had collapsed into them, giving Lucy Gray a perfect place to run and hide. He went back home, making sure Grandma’am and Tigris were asleep—before pouring a copious amount of powdered rat poison into his late mother’s compact. 

It was cheating. But you and Sejanus had both said it before—he was a rebel by nature. Bad news.

He visited the zoo enclosure and gave it to her then, informing her of the tunnels. Wiped her tears with a handkerchief, then told her he owed her his life and more. That you were okay, and it was all thanks to her. Lucy Gray looked overwhelmed for a moment. She did what any decent person would, she thought. He promised her that she’d get out. Return home to the Covey. False hope whispered unrealistic dreams into her ears and she let herself listen. 

“We all do things we’re not proud of to survive,” he whispered when Lucy Gray attempted to protest, not wanting to poison anyone. He pushed the compact firmly into her hands. “Do it for your family.”

Conflict warred across her features. She nodded once, then twice. 

Coriolanus' expression set with determination. “We are going to win this, Lucy Gray. We’re going to win this together. I’m going to get you home.”

[sserpente]

Bite Me (HAPPY HALLOWEEN! 🎃)

A/N: Happy Halloween everyone! I’m dressed as a kitten tonight because…well. ;) This year's Halloween Imagine simply had to go to Sylus.

Words: 2029 Warnings: semi-public smut, biting

“Pleeeeeease?” You drew the word out, putting on your best puppy face. Sylus was a hard one to convince. But if there was one opportunity to spend time with him in public, with your friends, it was Halloween.

Tara and Simone had invited you to a party on the 31st, a costume party you desperately wanted to go to with Sylus. It would be the perfect chance for him to dress up and remain undetected. Besides, the idea of dancing with him, grinding against him on the dance floor surrounded by strobe lights and fog…it was on occasion you both knew would lead to sex sooner or later.

“No, kitten. You go and have fun with your friends. I’m not the type to play dress up and get drunk on cheap party alcohol.”

But Sylus was a tough nut to crack. He really wasn’t the type for parties like that, you knew him well enough by now to know that. Still, you’d hoped he’d make an exception for you. After all, it was Halloween! The best time of the year!

The connection of the video call wavered for a moment.

“Sylus, pleeeease? You don’t have to do anything crazy. How about we just smear some fake blood all over you? Then you can say you’re dressed as a serial killer. That should do it!”

“A serial killer? That’s what you think would suit me?” He didn’t sound offended, instead he gave you a low chuckle. “Go to bed, kitten. I still have work to do and you will complain to me in the morning that I kept you awake.”

“Well, you are keeping me awake! Just say yes and I can go to sleep peacefully!”

“No. Good night, sweetie. Sweet dreams.”

He hung up before you could prepare a comeback. You growled. Damn it. But for what it was worth…at the very least, Sylus had just given you the perfect idea for your Halloween costume this year.

You were a little irritated when you got ready for the party the following evening. Applying your make-up meticulously, you eyed your outfit. A black bodysuit, a black skirt, black tights, high boots you normally wore for hunting, glued-on fake whiskers, and adorable cat ears made you absolutely certain that Sylus would have loved your costume of choice.

As you drew on a little button nose with your eyeliner, you debated whether you should send him a picture. But he didn’t deserve that, really, right? You could respect him not wanting to go to a party with you but you couldn’t help but feel bitter he’d turned you down regardless. He knew you loved Halloween!

You sighed, glancing down when a message from Tara popped up on your phone.

Are you ready, friend? We’re outside!

You nodded at your reflection. You were ready. With or without Sylus. Tara’s friend would drive you tonight so you could drink. And you were just on time too, arriving just before midnight.

The building where the party took place was decorated brilliantly. There were spiderwebs in the corners, garlands and pumpkin string lights lining the walls, and orange and purple strobe lights illuminating the dance floor. Fog wrapped around the ankles of the people dancing.

Pumpkins with spooky faces carved into them laughed at your face, and the selection of snacks and drinks was phenomenal. The bass of the music reverberated in your chest the more you mixed in with the crowd, with Tara holding your hand so she wouldn’t lose you.

You went with a Dracula shot for your first drink—vodka and cranberry juice—before hitting the dance floor. It’s just that someone was missing for this to be truly fun. God damn it.

You didn’t want to be one of those girls who couldn’t enjoy themselves without their boyfriend anymore. You could and you would. Still, it was alright to wish Sylus was here, right?

With a sigh, you nodded when Tara gestured she would get another drink and kept on spinning around on the dance floor—and rolled your eyes when a stranger placed his hands on your waist from behind.

“Go away! I have a boyf—” You flipped around only to be met with a very familiar figure. Your heart skipped a beat. Sylus.

“Sy-Sky! You…you’re here!”

“And you look absolutely ravishing. My kitten is a kitten. How adorable.”

Heat crept up your cheeks. Sylus didn’t exactly look bad either. A small trickle of blood decorated the right corner of his mouth, and his black shirt wasn’t buttoned up all the way. A pair of fake fangs completed the look when he flashed you a mischievous grin.

“You…you’re a vampire!”

“Let’s just say our conversation inspired me. Besides, I wasn’t keen on the idea of smearing fake blood all over myself.”

Oh, but I would have loved to roam my hands all over your bare chest, Sylus. You cleared your throat.

“But…you’re here! I thought you didn’t want to come…”

“I changed my mind. You seemed rather upset when I declined.”

You smiled. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Tara returned with your drinks before you could say anything else. You passed the one she handed you on to Sylus and leaned against him, careful not to smudge your makeup on his shirt and ruin it.

“Oh hello! Sky, right? Lovely to see you again! So you’re a vampire?” Tara began.

“And you. I am indeed. And you’re a…”

“A werewolf-zombie-witch!”

You chuckled. “Tara couldn’t decide which of the three she wanted to do so she combined all three of them.”

“I see. Very creative.”

“I’m sure you two want some alone time. Here, take my drink, I’ll meet you later!” She left with a wink before you could protest—not that you had any. You all but longed to throw yourself into Sylus’s arms. Which you immediately did as soon as she was out of sight.

“Kitten, you’re going to spill our drinks.” But instead of pushing you away, his arms wrapped around you even tighter.

“Let’s get rid of them then.” You downed your little cocktail way too fast for it to be healthy and put the plastic cup on a nearby snack table. Sylus took his time with his drink before doing the same though. You almost started tapping your foot impatiently—and you were certain he was doing this on purpose because the amused expression on his face spoke volumes.

God, he looked so handsome tonight. Your mind drifted back to that conversation you’d had with him, back when he’d taken you to this old castle and you’d slept in front of the fireplace. You’d told him he resembled a vampire…and right now, you wanted him to bite you so badly you could already feel yourself getting wet. Fuck.

“Dance with me!”

“Are you tipsy already?”

“That first shot was strong. And I had two glasses of wine prior to coming here so… probably yes.”

He shook his head, smirking.

“Now dance with me!”

“So demanding, kitten.” Sylus wrapped his arm around your waist and flung you around so your back was pressed against his chest. He moved you both to the rhythm of the music, his face buried in your neck.

“That’s a new perfume,” he muttered.

“Should the fact that you can tell concern me?”

“You tell me, kitten.”

You grinned and kept on dancing, your behind grinding against his crotch in the process. Again, and again and again…for what felt like an eternity, ignoring the rest of the crowd as if you two were the only one who existed.

“I can’t guarantee anything if you keep rubbing yourself against me like that, kitten,” he murmured with a start.

“Maybe that’s the plan,” you whispered back.

Sylus’s gaze darkened. Challenge accepted. He didn’t need to say it out loud. Still, you were unprepared for when he wrapped his hand around your wrist with a start and dragged you out of the main room into the hallway, crimson eyes darting around in an attempt to find...somewhere private, assumingly.

You laughed, the sound echoing through the building. Out here, the music was duller, the bass more bearable. Your eyes were ringing from the noise inside and you registered a little too late what was happening when Sylus tried for a broom closet and pulled you inside without any forewarning.

“That’s not very romantic!”

He huffed a laugh. “Romantic is for when we get home and I can make love to you in my bed. Be glad we’re gonna be here for a while longer or else I would have ripped those clothes off of you already. This…will have to suffice.”

With but one swift motion, he hooked his index fingers under your tights and pants and pulled them down to your knees before you lifting you up and against the wall, forcing your legs apart to accommodate his body.

You bit your lower lip, your pussy pulsing with need.

“S-Sylus,” you choked out, “c-condom?”

“Don’t worry your pretty little head, kitten. I have some with me.”

Your breathing was heavy by the time he nestled with his belt and eventually, freed his erection. You understood now why he’d been so eager to drag you off now. He was hard. He was struggling to roll the condom over his length while refusing to let you down. But as soon as he managed…you did not receive a forewarning before he buried himself inside you to the hilt, growling against your neck.

“F-fuck, Sylus!”

His hand came up to press against your mouth, keeping you from making a sound. “Quiet, kitten. We don’t want anyone to hear us, now do we?”

“T-the music is t-too loud a-anyway…” you said, muffled because of his palm.

Sylus chuckled, his lips ghosting over your neck as he thrust up into you, hitting your sweet spots with every single stroke.

But instead of giving you a hickey like he normally did (and then watching your reflection in the mirror afterward, smug and amused as you tried to cover it up with make-up when you had to get back to work)…he bit down on your neck. Hard.

Whatever fangs he was using, they held onto dear life as if he’d superglued them on. They were pointy, painful…but not painful enough to seriously cause you any distress. If anything… fuck, this was so hot…

You moaned, throwing your head back to give him better access. At this point, you didn’t even care if he drew blood. Would he drink it? If he broke the skin and a few droplets sneaked their way past his lips?

Sylus fucked you like the filthy girl you were being, teasing and riling him up like that, and much to your luck, it had worked. He knew. Of course he knew. This man was always in control, and you would be lying if you claimed you did not love it.

“Sylus…” You repeated his name over and over again against his mouth as if it were a prayer that would bring you salvation. It would. Oh, it would…for with every single thrust, you felt yourself creeping closer and closer to an annihilating abyss of pleasure. If you hadn’t been pressed up against the wall, legs wrapped around his hips, your knees would long have given in.

“I’m…I’m gonna come…” you whispered out of breath.

Sylus released your neck, the wound pulsing with a dull pain as he licked over it with relish and then released your mouth to capture your lips in a passionate kiss. His strokes grew more frantic, more eager. And it drove you straight over the edge.

You came with a grunt, moaning into his mouth. Pleasure rippled through you as you squeezed around his cock repeatedly, triggering his own release.

Sylus’s heavy breathing turned into a carnal groan as he came, his length jerking against your slick walls gripping him tightly. He slumped against you once he came down from his high, cradling you in his arms.

“Sylus…”

“Yes, kitten?”

“Take me home?” There was no way you were going to return to the dance floor. Not after this. Oh god…

He chuckled. “I was hoping you’d ask.”

[impish-baby]

Hey, could I have more HIWTHI content please? Possibly with them finding out reader would write in their journal a lot, possibly hinting towards reader having large amounts of self worth issues, and instead of them leaving because no one notices them, reader left because they feel like a burden?

I’m particularly interested in Marcus and the twins reacting.

Also, please make sure to take care of yourself. I love all of your writing, but no one will ever blame you for taking a break. Also, please stay hydrated.

-🌙

👀 close to something that would happen canonically actually!!

HIWTHI cast's reaction to reader's journal

(Trigger warnings: reader's struggles with self worth, mentioned/referenced suicide)

Marcus feels like a complete and utter failure as a father. No matter how cold or stern he is with his children, he does love all of them with everything in him. So the fact that you feel like a burden? That you felt like a waste of space in your own home? He hangs his head in shame.

Doesn't even bother with asking why you didn't speak up, he's well aware that this is his own shortcoming. It's his fault, that's the simple truth of the matter.

Once you are back home, you're required to start therapy. He'll even let you do in person instead of online if you promise to actually give it a shot, Marcus legitimately wants (needs) you to get better. He has no delusions of their being an overnight change, and so he tries to go at your pace.

There's lots of long conversations, firm reminders that you are loved and of value no matter what. Especially at night, he'll sit at the end of your bed and tell you how much you mean to him. He'd go on until he's blue in the face if that's what it takes for you to believe his words.

Clara refuses to believe what she's read for a long while. She knows it's real, she has the proof held in her hands. Just... her child, her baby, was struggling with almost the same thing she was. And she didn't know. She didn't know and now they're gone.

If she wasn't worried about reader before, she's actually terrified now. The worst outcome is going through her mind, because really, what was stopping you from doing something dangerous? Clara is constantly eyeing the news, fear eating her alive.

The next time she sees you, you're getting the tightest hug. The woman sobbing into your shoulder, thanking whatever higher being that her baby is safe.

You aren't allowed to have sharp objects, unportioned medication, or anything that could be used to harm one's self anymore. Clara doesn't care, she's not leaving a chance. She knows what it's like being in that state of mind. She'll be dammed if she doesn't start acting like a mother should and protecting her child.

Jack is bawling his eyes out right away. The pen ink in your diary smudging as his tears hit the paper. You...oh god..

He feels like the shitiest person on earth, he doesn't deserve to call himself an older brother. He knew Jaiden had his struggles, and now this..

He pockets the journal. Jack reads it as some form of punishment. You suffered with this, he'll suffer with it too. When you're back home, he's trying his best to include you in everything.

Movie nights, board games, he comes up with anything and everything so you can spend time together. See? He has fun with you, he likes hanging out with you, you aren't a burden..

Theo feels bitter, resentful. At your parents, at themselves, at the fact that you felt that way. His resolve to find you becomes ten times stronger, there isn't a single doubt in their mind that you need to come home.

Much like Marcus, they'll affirm how much you're loved and wanted any chance they get. Theo cages you in their arms and mumbles praises for what feels like forever. They'll even go into morbid detail about how everyone fell apart while you were gone just to prove how needed you are.

Jaiden is tempted to rip the pages out. He goes through a rollercoaster of emotions.

At first, he's pissed. That you didn't say anything, that you didn't do anything to get help, that you just sat there and felt fucking miserable for years-

He's ashamed. Deeply, deeply ashamed.

It feels.. awkward between you. Jaiden stares constantly, like he's never seen you before. When he finally breaks down sobbing, he's willing to beg at your feet if you'd forgive him for being such a horrible big brother

[lovebugism]

Spoooooky request, what if the gang went to a haunted house and everyone made fun of reader for being scared, but Steve holds her hand and walks with her 👻

thanks for requesting angel! i switched it up a bit and did a sort of second part to this fic! you def don't have to read it but it'll give some context :D — you're still getting used to the world post-vecna, but it's easier with steve holding your hand

fictober (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ)

The haunted house off Fifth Street looks strangely familiar. Two stories, faded cornflower paint job, boarded up windows. It looks like a dollhouse from hell. It looks like the goddamn Creel House. It’s like some kind of sick joke.

It didn’t take Hawkins very long to recover from last spring. Mostly because it was just an earthquake to everyone else. No one died, nothing was ruined beyond repair. To the rest of the town, it was just a minor natural disaster — an inconvenience more than anything.

No one knows that a thirteen-year-old girl killed the monster trying to end the world. No one knows that the local freak nearly died saving a bunch of teenagers. No one knows that one song, one heavy metal guitar, and one good memory just narrowly saved your life. 

It’s secrets all of you are gonna have to keep for the rest of your lives. It weighs you down accordingly.

“Am I crazy, or is that…?” Robin trails off, freckled chin tilted towards the velvet blue sky as she gapes at the artificially rotted house. It glows a sickly green color on the outside. The windows light up red every now and then, in time with the screams echoing from the upper story.

“Yeah,” Nancy answers, breathless and equally dumbfounded. “I think it is.”

A beat of silence falls over the group of you. It doesn’t feel so heavy with the surrounding chatter. The crowd continues to bustle around you on the street, falling over themselves with laughter and lingering fright. They have no idea the ghost story they grew up with nearly destroyed the world.

The bitter realization makes your chest ache. Steve seemingly understands this and gives your hand a reassuring squeeze. You wonder if he can feel the way you tremble.

Eddie scoffs a cynical laugh from the other side of you. A pink, sadistic grin tugs at his lips, almost as wild as his curls billowing in the autumn breeze. “It’s basically kismet then, huh?”

Steve shoots the boy a half-hearted glare, then deflates because he realizes he can’t really be mad about it. Those damn demobats might’ve taken a pound of flesh from his stomach, but it’s nowhere near the feast they made out of Munson.

“C’mon on, dude,” he murmurs quietly with a subtle nod down at you.

“What?” Eddie snorts. “If I don’t laugh bout it, I’ll start crying, so… Take your pick, man.”

Steve wants to tell him that there’s no shame in crying. That he’s done it plenty of times since the fall of ’84. He’s cried for you, for himself, for the kids who will never get to be kids again. He figures it’s better than letting it all build up until you damn near explode. 

But now’s probably not the best time for that talk. Or any time, really. He’ll get you to get all serious and sappy with Eddie about that another time, just like you did for him.

“I’m gonna, uh— I’m gonna go get the tickets,” Jonathan murmurs with his usual Byers mumblings. 

He wasn’t around for the whole Vecna ordeal — just the weird shit in California and the secret lair thing in Nevada. He feels like he can be a bit braver about the whole thing for the four of you.

Nancy brushes a kiss to the boy’s cheek before he leaves. She does that a lot now, with Jonathan and all the rest of you. She always feels like she needs to say a proper goodbye and I love you whenever someone leaves. Just in case the world decides to end again.

“You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” Steve mutters to you, gaze twinkling with sincerity but stern still. “You know that, right?”

He knows that you know, but he feels the need to say it anyway. Mostly because he knows you were already scared of most things before everything went to shit. You’ve always been delicate, tender, like an open wound. Now, you can’t step outside without shaking. You’re always shuddering with the distant fear that the curse might return and no one will be there to save you.

Steve knows this, too. That’s why he holds so ardently to your trembling hand. It’s a silent reminder that he’s there, that he won’t let anything happen to you again, that he’ll always be around to save you when you need him.

“Oh, my god,” Robin groans, eyes wide and head tilted back. “Leave her alone, Steve! She’s fine!”

You know she’s just trying to be supportive. She thinks Steve’s coddling you because you’re quiet — that he’s sticking up for you because he thinks you can’t stick up for yourself. 

He is. And you can’t. But still, she’s only trying to help.

Steve looks to his left to glare at her. They seem to communicate telepathically for a moment. His eyes soften again when he turns back to you. His deep cinnamon gaze swims with a honeyed concern, a silent “Are you fine?”

You nod. “I’m okay,” you tell him, mustering a soft smile that wavers at the edges.

He doesn’t believe you, not completely, but he doesn’t press it any further.

Jonathan returns with the ticket stubs. They’re black and blood red. You take the one he gives you with hesitant, clammy hands. He seems to notice how terrified you are without you having to say a single goddamn word.

“I’m not a huge fan of these things either,” he confesses with a thin-lipped smile. A light-hearted way of telling you that you’re not alone in the fear you keep hidden (very poorly hidden, you figure).

You smile back at him, but it doesn’t quite meet your eyes. 

Your fingers fidget with the paper stub — maybe a distraction for yourself or maybe to hide how you’re too anxious to stay still. Steve figures it’s a bit of both. ‘Cause he knows you too well and not a thing gets by him. There’s nothing about you that he doesn’t notice.

He turns to face you completely while everyone else gets their ticket. He keeps his wedged between his middle and forefinger as his hands curl around the outsides of your elbows. He’s serious, but still soft — gentle, but still firm. 

“Babe—”

“Stevie,” you interject with a similar tone. “I’m okay.”

“You heard her, Stevie. She’s fine!” Robin retorts, curling her maroon-tinted lips into a smirk. She scoffs out a laugh and gestures up to the fake haunt across the street. “This shit is basically for kids. No one’s dying here, alright?”

You know what she’s doing. She’s sticking up for you and taking the piss out of her best friend at the same time. It’s nothing new — hell, it’s her favorite hobby. She’s got your back now the same way she had it in that house last spring. 

But still, her words sting a little.

Because she’s right. This place is for kids. And you still feel a bit like you’re dying.

Steve knows this, too. He knows everything about you. Even the stuff you wish he didn’t.

His sneakers scuff against the pavement when he turns to Robin. His eyes narrow in a challenging squint as he crosses his arms over his chest. He doesn’t look quite as intimidating as usual in his fluffy, cable-knit sweater. 

“Well, you know what? I’m scared, actually. I don’t wanna do it, okay? You got me, Rob.”

The girl grins something cynical. She shakes her head all slow, like she’s just caught him in some kind of lie. “I knew it. You little baby.”

Steve lets her tease him. It’s not like he isn’t used to it by now. He just rolls his eyes and bears it, lets her laugh about it with the rest of the group as they head towards the haunted house. 

You watch with an attentive gaze while they head inside, flinching softly when you hear a thunderous boom and the sound of their screaming a second later. It leaves you secretly grateful that you hadn’t gone in behind them. 

A wavering sigh tumbles from your lips, a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

Steve exhales a gentle laugh from beside you. He smooths a wide palm up your spine and down again. He leans over to press the side of his hip against yours.

You cross your arms over your chest to make yourself as small as possible while you glance over at the boy beside you. You look at him so far beneath your lashes you’re basically peering at him from the corner of your eye.

“Thank you,” is all you say. It’s all you need to say.

Steve shrugs with a plush, crooked grin. “’S okay. I know you’re too sweet to say no, so…”

“I wanted to do it,” you confess, clearing your throat when your voice breaks.

“I know.”

“I guess I’m not… as used to everything as I thought.”

“I know,” Steve repeats. His hand curls around your waist and makes a home in the very center of it. He pulls you closer with the urge to melt into you. His brows raise, eyes sparkling when his smile widens. “But that’s why I’m here, though, right? We’re gonna get better together.”

You nod up at him, smiling more sincerely now. 

Arms still crossed, your hands ball into fists to fight the urge to smooth a hand through his hair — to push back the rogue chestnut strands hanging over his forehead.

You hesitate, so he beats you to the draw. He swipes a golden hand over his head right before he leans down to kiss you. 

He smacks a sweet peck to your smile. A bright light flashes with another thunderous boom a moment later. You flinch and pull back. You swear you hear Eddie screaming, “jesus fucking christ!” from the upper story. You forget to be scared.

You didn’t think it was possible. The whole getting better thing.

Steve makes you feel like could be.

[moonstruckme]

On Thin Ice

part 1 | part 2 | part 3

This was requested by anon, but I'm not including the request because I'm going to write at least one more part and I don't want to spoil anything. But thanks so much for requesting, anon my love! I'm really having fun with it :) Also, just a disclaimer that I know next to nothing about figure skating, so while I tried to look most things up, there may be some inaccuracies

summary: when your usual figure skating partner Regulus is injured, you're forced to prepare the most romantic routine you've ever done with Sirius Black. You've known Sirius since you were little and have always found him irritating, but as you spend more and more time together, your feelings towards him start to change

cw: mention of injury (no details), Sirius Black is a relentless flirt

Figure Skater!Sirius Black x fem!reader ♡ 3.3k words

You want to be kinder to your friend, but you’re a bit angry with him. You’re not great at hiding it, either.

“It’s not like I can fucking help it.” Regulus rolls his eyes, and you do your best to undo the petulant pout of your lips. 

“I know,” you sigh. “I know that. I’m sorry, it’s just, seriously? Why can’t Coach give me someone else?”

“You know why.” 

You blow out another huffy breath, because you do know, but that doesn’t make you like it any better. Sirius is our best bet, your coach had told you, firm and impassive to your protests. He’s great on the ice, he always scores well, and Reg can teach him the routine while they’re at home. If we used anyone else, we’d lose time while they learned it. You’d sulked, and he’d given you a stern look. So suck it up. 

And you’re trying. Kind of. You wouldn’t ordinarily consider yourself an ill-tempered person, but Sirius Black brings out the worst in you. Always has. He’s Regulus’ irritating older brother, always around to pull your pigtails when you were little and make fun of everything you and Reg enjoyed as you got older. And in everything you love about your best friend, Sirius is the opposite. Where Regulus is restrained, Sirius is brash; where Regulus is content with a few close friends, Sirius needs an entire posse around him at all times; where Regulus has a quick, quiet wit, Sirius seems to feel a joke isn’t worth telling if everyone can’t hear it. He’s loud and facetious and insufferable, and now he’s your partner in the most intimate routine you’ve ever done.

“I know,” you groan again, falling back onto Regulus’ bed. “I just wish I could change it. Who do I have to bribe to get you a miracle recovery?”

Regulus scoffs, but he lies down beside you sympathetically. “The doctor said it should be better by next season, but a fractured ankle doesn’t fix itself in a couple weeks.” His voice turns bitter. “Trust me, I asked.” 

You wince guiltily. You’re not the only one suffering from Regulus’ incapacity. You’d both been practicing this routine for weeks. It was one of the most challenging and showy either of you have ever done. You were both supposed to have the chance to really shine, showing off your skills with complicated jumps and throws, some of which you’d never attempted before. But now Reg wouldn’t get the chance.

Ironically, it had been a fairly simple routine that had taken him down. One of your go-tos. You’d been performing it together for years, but maybe that sense of security was dangerous too. It’s too easy to land wrong, and one tiny slip had fractured Regulus’ ankle right in the middle of competition, forcing your coach to come help you get him off the ice. 

You’d cried more than he had as the on-site medics had inspected it, completely unhelpful but unable to bear seeing your best friend’s features twisted in agony. It turned out that was nothing compared to the look on his face when they’d told him he wouldn’t be able to skate on it for months. 

“How does it feel?” you ask, more gently now, and Regulus’ scowl softens in response. “Does it still hurt all of the time?”

“Not really, only when I walk on it. And they said I should be able to do that without much pain soon, just no jumping or anything.” 

Your heart aches with sympathy, and you have to resist the urge to reach over and touch his hand, his hair. Regulus has never much liked being touched, which you understand, but it makes him a difficult person to comfort. You resort to your method with the highest success rate: distraction. 

“Well, at least the cast is a fun accessory,” you say, forcing levity into your voice. “We could draw on it, it’ll be like having tattoos.” 

“Pass,” Reg replies disinterestedly. “Tattoos are more my brother’s aesthetic than mine.”  

“Ugh.” You roll your eyes, unable to stopper your irritation at the return of the conversation to Sirius. “Do you think Coach will let me have a new partner if I kneecap him?”

“If you’re going to kneecap someone,” comes a cool voice from the open doorway, “it’s probably best not to ponder your scheme so loudly in their house.” 

You raise your head to find Sirius leaning against the door frame, arms crossed insouciantly in front of his chest. He looks at you with the eyes he shares with his brother, but where Regulus’ tend towards cool grayness, Sirius’ always seem to waver between gray and blue, like the sky during a storm. They’re flashing now, amusement mingled with cunning, as you meet them with a glare. 

“Maybe I’m just giving you a red herring,” you say smoothly, “so you’ll never see my actual plan coming.” 

“I wouldn’t put it past you, shortcake,” Sirius replies, grinning when your face goes hot at the nickname, “but I think I’ll start wearing protective gear just in case. Reg, think you could revoke this one’s key until after the competition?”

Regulus pretends to contemplate this, staring up at the ceiling. “No, she’ll only start coming in through my window again.” You grin at him, and the corner of his mouth twitches in response, remembering all the cuts and bruises you used to have when you were younger from climbing the old tree outside his window, late at night when you were both supposed to be asleep. The first few times you’d tried, rotting branches had broken and fallen from beneath you, but you’d kept at it until you’d plotted a safe course. You’re sure Reg would have snuck downstairs to let you in the front door if you’d asked him, but better you get in trouble than him. “Anyway, it’ll be entertaining to watch.” 

“Whatever happened to brotherly loyalty?” Sirius feigns hurt, but gets past it quickly. “Well, I suppose you’ll just have to keep in mind that if I can’t perform, there won’t be a performance. I’ve already learnt half the routine, and I think you might struggle to find someone else skilled enough to catch up in time.” He winks at you, and you scoff, pointedly unaffected. “So I’ll see you at practice on Monday, sunshine,” he gloats, and disappears down the hallway. 

You wait until you hear the click of his door to lay back down, passing a hand over your face exhaustedly. “I can’t believe I’m going to have to deal with that all of the time,” you moan. 

Regulus chuckles wryly. “Welcome to my world.” 

☆ ☆ ☆

“Y/N,” Coach calls frustratedly. “You have to let him throw you, not jump.” 

You’ve almost just followed in Regulus’ footsteps for the upteenth time today, which isn’t exactly in line with your plan of getting Sirius injured, but you figure will do in a pinch. The truth is, your focus has been off all day. Switching to a new partner is always hard; you’re used to Regulus, you’ve spent years learning how to skate together, to anticipate the other’s movements, and finding that rhythm with another person takes work. But learning how to skate with Sirius is more challenging than even you had expected.

He’s distracting, for one thing. He keeps smiling at you, making faces when you mess up, and whispering obnoxious little pointers when you’re in the middle of a complicated move. And his own movements are bigger and more elaborate than you’re used to, lacking Regulus’ control. You can see, objectively, how it works for him. It gives his performance that extra bit of artistry that Regulus has often been accused of needing, but it makes him more difficult to anticipate. He’s stronger than Reg, too, so he throws you higher, flings you farther, grips you tighter. It’s a lot to learn, but your coach doesn’t seem very sympathetic to your plight. As far as he’s concerned, you’ve wasted almost an entire day of practice and are undoing weeks of hard work learning the choreography with your repeated mistakes. 

You nod at him again, moving to reset, but Sirius slides in front of you. 

“Hey,” he says, “I can feel you tensing when I go to throw you. Is something wrong?”

You cross your arms in front of your chest, breath still puffing into the air between you from the exertion of your leap. “No,” you reply shortly. “I’ll fix it.” 

And really, you should have been able to fix it a dozen tries ago. You’ve practiced throws with Regulus for years now. You’re supposed to push down on Sirius’ shoulders, use the momentum of your spin to give you a little boost, and let him do the rest. But you can’t seem to manage the last part. Sirius’ hands on your waist had discomposed you from the first try, and you keep finding yourself trying to jump off the ground before he has a chance to lift you. It doesn’t work, you know it’s never going to work, but it’s like some fight-or-flight instinct takes over every time Sirius’ hands get close to you. You suspect it’s because you’re so used to Regulus’ touch aversion; this routine is meant to seem romantic, but between the two of you, it had always felt chaste, more about the mechanics of the movements than the meanings behind them. Sirius loves to be touched, though, probably too much. He teases you about how cold your hand is in his, the tentative way you touch his shoulder when you’re supposed to grip it, how you jolt a little when he rests his hand on the small of your back. You’re on edge every second he’s around you, which by the very nature of the routine, is often. 

And so you keep jumping, which causes Sirius’s throw to be stunted when he can’t get a good grip on you, which causes you to fumble your landing. Every. Time. 

“You can trust me, you know,” Sirius persists, looking half earnest for once in his life. “I’m not going to launch you too high or anything. Just let me do the work.” 

“I’ve got it,” you growl, and Sirius raises his hands in mocking surrender, moving out of your way. You glide back into position, taking a deep breath to steady yourself. You don’t need his advice, you’ve been doing just fine without it for years. You’ll get it on your own. 

☆ ☆ ☆

“Why is it,” Regulus drawls, coming into your room, “that when you mess up at practice, it’s still my problem to solve?” He sits on the edge of your bed, careful not to disturb the open bottle of nail polish you’re using. “I’m not even your partner right now, but both Coach and Sirius are complaining to me that you can’t sync up with him.” 

You keep your eyes on your fingertips, sweeping the brush across your nails in careful, measured strokes. “I’m working on it.” 

“What’s the problem?” He sounds more puzzled than frustrated. “Sirius is annoying, but he’s not actually an asshole. He won’t sabotage you.” 

“I’m not accusing him of anything,” you say. “I just…I can’t get it right. I don’t know. He’s so different to you, and I can’t figure out how to make it work.” 

“Well, you’d better figure it out soon,” Regulus replies, not without sympathy. “There’s only a couple of weeks until comp, and it seems like the both of you will need all the practice you can get together.”

You know he’s right, and that’s exactly what you’re dreading.

☆ ☆ ☆

The next practice goes about the same, the only difference being your coach’s mounting exasperation. Actually, no, there is one other change: Sirius’ movements become smoother, more sure, as he grows increasingly familiar with the choreography. 

So basically, he’s getting better while you’re getting worse. 

Though you all know there’s no time to waste with the competition coming up, Coach ends practice early in his irritation, letting you go with strict instructions to get your shit together before you meet again tomorrow. You promise him you’ll try, though you’re both coming to know that won’t be enough. 

You take your time unlacing your skates, shrugging on your jacket and stopping to buy a hot chocolate from the vendor up front before going out into the brisk autumn air. You’d started this new routine after your first practice with Sirius, stalling so that he’d have a head start and you wouldn’t have to walk home in the same direction, but you take two steps outside before you realize your plan has been foiled. 

“Coach will kill you if he catches you with one of those,” you say, and the cherry of Sirius’ cigarette burns orange as he takes a drag, eyes lighting with playful defiance. 

He blows the smoke away from you. “You won’t tattle on me though, will you, sunshine?”

“Reg won’t like it either.” 

“He knows,” Sirius says, as though Regulus’ opinion is of little concern to him. “You took your time in there. Ready to go?”

You don’t try to keep the suspicion from your face. “You were waiting on me?”

“I figure we could use some extra practice.” He drops his cigarette, stamping it out half smoked. “If you’re not too tired, I mean.” You give him an indignant look, and Sirius grins. “C’mon, it’s too cold out here for those leggings.” 

You follow him reluctantly, sipping at your hot chocolate because damn it, he’s right. The wind had been cool when you’d gone into practice, but nightfall has stolen the little bit of warmth the sun provided. You wouldn’t be surprised if you woke tomorrow to find the trees prematurely bare of their leaves. 

The Blacks’ house isn’t far, and your eager pace gets you there in a hurry. You’re thinking you’ll go to Regulus’ room as soon as you get inside, ditching Sirius and whatever humiliation he has planned for you, but when you approach the house, every window is dark. 

“They’re at my aunt’s for dinner,” Sirius answers your unasked question, unlocking the door. “I begged off because of practice.” He laughs as you follow him inside. “Try not to look so happy about it, shortcake.” 

You roll your eyes, starting up the stairs that go to the bedrooms. “When will Reg be home?”

“Late.” Sirius’ voice is close behind you. “You’re welcome to wait for him, of course, but we may as well make use of the time.” On the top step, you whirl, relishing the opportunity to look down on him for once. 

“Fine. What are we doing here?”

You don’t know if you’d hoped he’d be intimidated, but Sirius appears as unbothered as always. “Like I said. Practice.” He brushes past you, leading the way into his bedroom. After a moment, you follow grudgingly.

Like everything about Sirius, his room is loud. Almost every inch of wall space is covered in band posters, medals from competitions, pictures of his friends. There are clothes strewn across the bed and shoes scattered about the floor, but if Sirius is even conscious of the mess, he doesn’t mention it. 

“What did you have in mind?” you ask.

Sirius turns, and when his eyes meet yours, they’re surprisingly determined. “We need to figure out whatever it is that’s been holding you up,” he says. “We’ve gotta get past it.”  

You feel like stomping your foot, but very maturely refrain. You’re about done with the subject of your failures for the day. “I don’t know what it is.” 

“I think you do,” Sirius says cooly. “Wanna know how I know?”

“How?”

He grins. “Because you just admitted it.” 

“You—I just asked how,” you splutter angrily. 

Sirius gives you a knowing look. “Right, so it has nothing to do with you being afraid of me touching you?”

Your face heats. How could he know that? You look at him for a moment, and he looks back at you with that cool, even gaze, like he thinks he’s got you all figured out. As much as you resent him for it, he’s right. You’ve got no shot at a decent score in this competition if you can’t get past your mental block around Sirius. “I’m not afraid.” You roll your eyes, downplaying the admission. “I’m just not used to it, okay? I don’t know if you’ve ever noticed, but you’re not exactly a carbon copy of my usual partner.” 

Sirius grins again, and for the first time you get the sense that he’s laughing with you instead of at you. “I have been made aware of that a few times over our lives, yes. But okay, you’re not used to it. Let’s get you used to it.” 

You cross your arms over your chest, not sure where he’s going with this but fairly sure you won’t like it. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I’m going to throw you until you can handle it without flinching. Sound good?”

You look at him like he’s stupid. “The rink is closed, and there’s nowhere for me to land here.” 

“Sure there is.” Sirius pats his bed cheerfully. You stay right where you are. Something changes in his expression, and you think you might detect a bit of kindness behind his teasing tone. “C’mon, sweetheart. I don’t know what Reggie’s told you, but I don’t actually bite.” 

You huff, but go to stand in front of him. He’s shed his coat, revealing the plain black shirt underneath, and the sleeves grip his biceps. Even in the poor lamplight, you can see his eyes changing colors like schools of fish as they swim. Now blue, now gray. 

“Alright.” Sirius sets his hands on your waist, and you tense automatically. “See, that’s the habit we have to break. Relax for me, shortcake.” 

His words certainly don’t help, but you do your best, unclenching the muscles in your stomach and legs. 

“Perfect,” he says, then launches you into the air. You barely have time to gasp before you’re landing on his bed, springs squealing in protest. “Okay, next time, try to spin or something.” 

“I wasn’t ready,” you protest. 

Sirius laughs. “I know. Sorry, couldn’t resist. Let’s try to do it like practice this time, yeah? So you go over there,” he motions to the door, “and run towards me. When I throw you, try to spin if you can, but don’t try to stick the landing or anything. Just land on your butt.” 

You roll your eyes, moving to the door. “Yeah, I’m in no hurry to break my ankle like Reg, thanks.” 

He winks. “Just making sure.” He spreads his feet a bit, bracing himself. “Alright, let’s give it a try.” 

It’s easy to remember Sirius is an older brother when he gets all bossy like this, but you comply, gaining as much speed as you can on the way to him before he’s gripping you around the waist, tossing you into the air. You manage a half-turn before your back end hits the bed. 

“Better!” Sirius exclaims, beaming at you. “You still seemed a bit tense, but at least you didn’t try to jump by yourself. Again?”

You can’t help a little smile of your own as you nod, pushing up off the bed and repositioning yourself at the door. 

☆ ☆ ☆

When Regulus gets home, he finds you sprawled on Sirius’ bed with his brother sitting beside you, both thoroughly worn out. 

“Did you fix it?” he asks.

You grin at the ceiling, wondering if it’s your pride or Sirius’ you’re feeling in the air, or both. “I think so.” 

“Coach might get the chance to be mad at me instead, tomorrow,” Sirius laments. “My arms are fucking dead. Too many throws and I might drop you on the ice.” 

“Don’t break my partner,” Regulus says warningly. 

“Yeah,” you second, hauling yourself into a sitting position and going to meet Regulus at the door, “please don’t.” 

You can hear Sirius’ eyes rolling as he says, “I won’t. See you at practice tomorrow, shortcake?”

It’s harder than usual to muster up annoyance for the teasing nickname. “See you tomorrow.” 

[monamourbladie]

hi!! <3 im the anon who req the dan heng headcanons.. TYSM IT WAS AMAZING!!! OmG OMG OMG best idea ever. well not best idea ever. but imagine like blade is super distant and cold towards you as he normally is, right? but he secretly likes the reader for plot purposes. but one day, the reader is js like "oh well" and talks to someone else for a change, having fun w the other person instead of blade since blade 'doesnt' like them. would blade just stand there and watch knowing he cant rightfully do anything since it was partly his fault (and he has too much pride for himself), or would he try to get you to talk to him again?

HI ANON AHH tysm for the requests :D i’m glad you enjoyed it so much~! that’s a great idea i was so excited to write this one i tried to write it as fast as possible LOL

Secretly Loves You - Blade x F!reader

warnings: none~

You had been apart of the Stellaron Hunters for about a year now. You had grown the closest with Silver Wolf, as you both shared an intense love of games. You were picked up from their time on the Xianzhou Luofu for your healing capabilities and quickly became a core member of the crew.

Elio liked you and so did Sam, Silver Wolf adored you and Kafka respected you. But the person who you wanted to like you the most seemed to despise you.

Blade — Kafka’s golden boy (you always swore they had something for each other, but neither ever confirmed it and nobody could guess if they were together or not) Fierceness aside, he was absolute eye candy to you.

Blade was extremely closed off — it’s been like that since day one. It took him months and months to warm up to Silver Wolf (and now he treats her like an irritating little sister that he secretly adores but claims he hates), and even though it’s been almost a full year, you haven’t been able to break through to him just yet.

You didn’t exactly know why. It wasn’t like he was talkative and excitable to everyone else by any means, but he definitely showed at least some kind of enjoyment speaking with people. With you? It seemed like he absolutely hated you.

Maybe it was the fact that he hated being nursed back to health due to him wanting to die so badly. You never understood that, and were just simply doing your job to protect him.

You’ve lost count by now of how many times he complained to you about helping him was unnecessary. It irritated you, but you always smiled at him and told him you were just doing your job.

“I told you, I don’t need your help,” he grunted as you rubbed special Xianzhou healing oils on his back. You bit your lip as you continued to massage it into his skin, “Do you ever not complain?” you said teasingly as you pat his back playfully.

He only grunted in response. He hated having you see him like this. He was shirtless on the med bay table, sitting up with his chest bandage off for once. His upper chest was heavily scarred and destroyed from all the times Jingliu killed him over and over again. The first time you saw those wounds, you were determined to try and heal them so he wasn’t forced to wear as many bandages on the daily.

You were using special Xianzhou healing oils to increase the healing speed — and within a few months, you were noticing small bits of healthier skin, showing it was working.

“Complain all you want, Bladie, but it’s actually working to help you.” He glanced back at her with a glare, “I told you not to call me that, L/n.” His voice was bitter and cold as always to you.

It hurt, but eventually you grew thicker skin to it. It hurt especially because over the months you began to harbor a nasty crush on the immortal man.

Silver Wolf loved to tease you about it, and swore she would help get you two together. But little interactions like these with Blade helped cement in your mind that there was no way he saw you as anything more than an annoying healer.

What you didn’t know was that Blade actually harbored feelings for you, too.

Due to his painful past, he was very adamant about not getting close to anyone again out of fear he’d lose everyone he loves again — especially a lover.

He thought you were absolutely beautiful. He secretly loved the extra attention you were giving him, and although he wanted nothing more than eternal rest, he was thankful that you were giving him a distraction from the pain.

He just had no idea how to tell you. He had a reputation with the Hunters as being the cold and brooding one. He definitely wasn’t sure how to approach a girl he liked and say “Hey, I like you” without feeling like an absolute pathetic fool.

It stayed this way for months. Neither of you saying anything to the other that would let the other know you like each other. Until eventually, a new member on the medical team started to work for the Hunters — a man named Leon.

Leon was everything Blade was hoping he could be for you. He was handsome, he was nice, gentlemanly — he was attentive to you and could speak his heart. You and him quickly became close, and there were even some moments where Leon took care of Blade instead of you.

He absolutely was growing jealous over the man. Some nights Blade wondered if he could just kill Leon and get on with it and swoop you off of your feet, but being a romantic was not Blade’s strong suit by any means.

His final straw finally made him snap to go to Kafka for advice. After his weekly checkup with you, he got home and realized his bandages weren’t tight enough around his chest, so he had to go back to the med bay. As he walked back to the med bay he froze, seeing you kissing Leon from a distance.

He felt his anger consume him and he decided to just deal with the loose bandage and fix it himself. He stormed off as he felt the Mara flare up within him, making him angrier than he normally would’ve been.

Of course you’re moving on. Why wouldn’t you? He never made any move on you to let you know he liked you. Why would you risk waiting around when a perfect man for you was right there?

Blade found himself at Kafka’s door as he knocked. She opened it and frowned seeing Blade angry, “Bladie? What’s wrong?” she asked.

Blade pushed himself in the door and slammed it behind him, huffing in frustration, “Can I just fucking kill Leon already?”

Kafka raised as brow as she motioned for him to sit down on her couch. “You can’t kill the rookie. Why do you want to?”

Blade unbuttoned his shirt and jacket and slid it off of his arms, revealing his bandaged chest. “Can you fix these for me? Y/n’s too busy getting fucked to deal with it.”

Kafka bit her lip as she smirked. “Am i sensing jealousy from you? Over Y/n and the rookie?”

He grumbled as he shook his head, running his fingers through his tousled hair, “Would you just leave it and fix this shit for me?”

Kafka raised her hands in defense as she sat behind him, beginning to unravel the bandages. “You just want it tighter, right?”

“Yes,” he muttered, looking out at the photo of them all on her wall.

Blade, Elio, Sam, Silver Wolf, Kafka, and Y/n were in it. He felt his heart ache seeing her so happy beside Silver Wolf. She looked just as happy in the photo as she did leaning in to kiss Leon.

The image of them kissing was seared in his brain, and it made him angrier the more he thought of it.

Kafka, whose used her Spirit Whisper on Blade long enough to understand when he was angry, rest her hand on his shoulder. “Blade. Talk with me. Why are you so angry right now?” she asked, her voice gentle with him.

He was silent for a moment before realizing this might be his only shot for help. He sighed, “…It’s about Y/n. I… I like her,” he said, his gravelly voice low and soft as he spoke. Kafka was the only person he felt comfortable opening up around.

“And I’m angry that she can’t see that. She knows I have a hard time expressing myself. So why couldn’t she tell?” Kafka unintentionally let out a laugh at his commentary.

He turned around, glancing back at her confused, “You’re laughing at me? Seriously, Kafka?”

“No — it’s just… have you even attempted to tell her that you like her? Everything I ever see, you’re ignoring her, glaring at her when her back is turned, and badmouthing her whenever you’re alone with her and she’s patching you up. It hurts her, Bladie. I refuse to believe that you think you’ve made your feelings clear,” she replied.

Blade blinked in confusion. “But I like her. I don’t treat anyone differently than that.”

“Are you even aware of how many people think we’re dating?” Kafka asked him. “I’m sure she thinks we’re dating, too. She probably gave up and moved on with that rookie.”

“Gave up? Does she like me too?” Blade asked quickly, feeling a slight glimmer of hope. Kafka shrugged, “It’s so obvious. She definitely gave up trying since you made no effort to show you were interested.”

“Well — help me out, what am I supposed to do now? Did I fuck up already and lose her to that damn rookie?” he asked her.

Kafka sighed, sitting back against the couch. “I don’t know. I’d recommend asking her tomorrow and just pray that you have a chance still. I know you really like her.”

Blade grumbled at this and nodded, grasping at his shirt and sliding it back on over his head now that Kafka had finished bandaging him up.

“Yeah, well. I don’t know if I’m that lucky. She was kissing him and seemed to be very happy with it,” he said with a bitter tone. “Thanks.”

“If it comes to it, I can always pull strings and check with Elio-“

“No,” he said firmly, standing up to leave. “I don’t want to know the answer.”

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

The next day sometime after lunch, Blade headed to the cafeteria with his heart pounding. He had never felt this anxious before, not for a long, long time.

Just tell her you like her. She’s just confused, that’s all. It’ll be fine…

He saw you sitting alone at one of the cafeteria benches, obviously on your lunch break. He took in a breath and walked over, sitting across from you.

You looked up from your data pad and smiled, “Hi, Blade. Did you need me to fix your bandages already?” you asked sweetly.

He was embarrassed that he felt his cheeks burn from the kindness in your voice. “No. That won’t be necessary. Kafka fixed them last night.”

Your smile visibly fell a bit and Blade cringed at himself. “Oh, Kafka… right. Well, what did you need?”

“I’m not with Kafka,” he said quickly. “I don’t want you to get the wrong idea.”

“Wrong idea?” you raised a brow, curious as to where he was going. “Wrong idea about… you and Kafka?” you muttered. He could sense a bit of irritancy on your end at the thought of them together.

“Right. We’re not. But… you and that Rookie. Leon, right? Are you?” he questioned. You seemed surprised that he asked and you let out a soft nervous laugh, “W-well, no… but. I mean, it’s complicated, I guess.” you took a sip of your drink as Blade tensed up.

“I want us to be, because the guy I like really, really doesn’t like me. So I’m just cutting my losses and trying to move on, I guess. It just so happens Leon has an interest in me. I’m just anxious to make the jump,” you confessed. There was no way he’d figure out it was him, so you felt comfortable saying it.

“Don’t,” Blade quickly said. “Don’t date Leon.” You furrowed your brows at him, “I’m sorry, why do you care? As far as I’m aware, you hate being around me. Quite frankly, I’m shocked you’re even speaking to me right now.”

Blade felt offended that you believed so strongly that he hated you. “You think I hate you? Why the hell do you think that?” he questioned.

“Because you’re always so cold and closed off towards me! You always are grumpy whenever you have to speak to me and have me work on you, you’re closed off and never speak to me unless you absolutely have to, and it honestly hurts! I don’t know why you treat me this way, but I’m tired of it.”

Blade felt like a total idiot hearing you open up like that. Kafka really was right…

“I don’t… I don’t hate you,” he said quietly, averting his eyes out of embarrassment. “I like you, Y/n. I just had no idea how to deal with it. I figured you’d just… know.”

You couldn’t help your eyes widen at his confession. “You mean to tell me this entire time I’ve been trying to get over you, you just assumed I knew you liked me?” you gawked.

“Yes?” Blade replied. It was so obvious that he was so, so bad at relationships but clearly was trying hard. You could only giggle at this, shaking your head. “Jesus, Blade, you’re really something, aren’t you?”

Blade wasn’t really so sure how to answer your comment. You started to smile, “So, since you don’t want me to go out with Leon… I’m assuming you want to take me out on a date instead, right?” you asked.

Blade felt his cheeks flush again as he nodded, “I would love to.”

You smiled and stood up, walking over to him and leaning in. “I get off of work in 4 hours. Meet me at my room at 6, okay?” you said, leaning in to kiss his cheek.

You were shocked to see the man actually blush at your action. He looked up at you with a smile and nodded, “…Okay. I’ll see you at 6.”

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Suddenly I’m a sheep baa

You have such a way with words!!! I love the image of konig sitting down, cooing at his flock, while reader stands to the side, watching… does he even know? Does he know the effect he has on you? Would he even care, if he knew that you’re completely ruined over watching him work… (would he treat you the same, one hand gripping your legs and hands out of his way, tucked up against his chest as his other hand wanders down your chest and against your cunt,,,)

Ahem

Baa.

Baa!!! YEAH I can see it happening in bed as soon as he gets his freak on. It's purely subconscious too! But then I was also thinking how König must be a total softie with all animals... Treating everyone gently and lovingly while reader is pouting & looking from the sidewalks like a third wheel :( Time to pull out the big guns!

CW: Pet play (attempted), dom/sub undertones (implied)

You see him feeding apples to horses, watch how they burrow their muzzles under his arm, he’s always gentle with each and every individual as long as they’re animal and not human... Even the old farm cat gets more love and attention than you :(

He nearly trips on it one morning because it’s purring and meowing at his feet – if a human were to do that they would get slurs and yelling and spit landing on their face... This furry little beast only earns a soft rumble and a low, affectionate “You naughty little devil,” as thanks for showing this bitter cruel man some love.

You even see him pet the cat absentmindedly when he’s doing some paperwork in his office, the loud purrs of the animal making you absurdly jealous. Hearing the roaring content of this cat as a broad, sturdy hand softly pets it from head to tail stirs emotions in you that are wildly inappropriate. You would kill to get this man to pet you, these animals don’t even know how lucky they are...

And maybe he doesn’t even know what he’s missing, seeing only men and animals here at the farm. The only woman, namely, you, is always walking around in rubber boots and dirty oversized overalls. He avoids you like the plague, and treats you more harshly than the young rascals sent here by the state... Men are visual creatures, so perhaps it’s no wonder that he takes no interest in you, some weak miss farmhand who always looks like she came from feeding the pigs... Which is your job here, actually, because König never allows you near his precious horses, let alone the delicate sheep.

So one day, you sneak inside his office and climb on his desk in nothing but your black sheen underwear, now with the addition of a black cat’s tail attached to the bum, with your make up done and wearing a pair of cute little cat ears. This must be the silliest thing I’ve ever done, you think as you push your tits invitingly together while propping yourself on the table like a spoiled house cat would, with your ��paws” prettily together and your butt ready to lift from some good petting you fervently wish you’re about to get.

Heavy boots echo in the hall like doom just as you start to shiver from cold. Your heart nearly shoots out of your chest and your tits threaten to spill out of your too small bra, your rival is nowhere to be seen and all the sheep have been sheared so you hope you’ll finally spark this man’s interest in some intimate fun with an actual woman...

He walks in, comes to an instant halt on the door when he sees you, and from the looks of it, the poor man suffers a silent heart attack from seeing a half naked woman on his desk. He freezes right there on the spot, draws air so sharply you can hear it all the way to where you're sitting – all over his papers, innocently like a naughty feline would.

He looks both shocked and furious, but not a word of warning comes out – and how could he be mad at a pretty little thing like you? Donning your silly outfit consisting of black underwear, black cat tail and black cat ears, you even drew yourself some thin whiskers with your black eyeliner...

Your eyes are shy but accusing, they simply ask, why haven't you paid attention to me? Why haven't you played with me, turned me around in your lap any way you like? Where are the soft gazes and shushed praises that belong to me?

And while you were invisible to this man before, you now have his full attention.

His eyes fly to your tits first, then to your tail, they caress the dip and swell of your waist, rise to adore your rib cage and the fluttering pulse at the hollow of your throat, they steal a peek at your cute little ears... There's an endearing flash on softness in his eyes, and when he meets your stare again, he swallows so arduously that the sound of it is audible and thick. A chill runs down your spine as you realize this might not only be the first time in a while that he's seen a half naked woman... This might be the first time he's seen a half naked woman ever.

You give him your most demure gaze, bat your lashes slowly like cats tend to do when they see someone they appreciate and trust, and whisper:

“...Meow?”

[conundrumoftime]

no ACTUALLY ship and let ship. no, really. including Haladriel including Celeborn including everyone.

Checking on the Tumblr Haladriel tag this morning like the Troy-arriving-with-pizza gif...

Anyway: I left the following comment on someone's blog about this, and while I don't have any particular wish to fight with that person or reblog them in a way that might encourage anyone else to get into that, I do want to copy my comment here because 'ship and let ship' is something I do feel very, very strongly about:

I'm a Haladriel shipper who's been in this fandom since 2022 (you can see my 20+ Haladriel fics here if you want evidence of that: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eye_of_a_cat/works) and in Tolkien fandom on and off for many years before. I’m one of the shippers who was on the receiving end of a massive anti hate campaign over Haladriel during 2023-4, including repeated vicious suicide-baiting anon hate comments. I’m also a multishipper who talks about Celeborn too and writes fic about him as well. Can I please ask that you consider the old fandom adage of ‘ship and let ship’ on this one? I don’t care whether you like this fictional elf [ETA: Celeborn] or not - we all have different tastes - but when you start going after the shippers as people, calling us “probably antis masquerading as shippers”, telling us to “be honest” that we just hate Sauron x Galadriel (seriously, do you think I and fellow multishippers are writing all these Haladriel fics as some kind of elaborate undercover act?), setting yourself up as some judge of who counts as a Haladriel and who doesn’t - this is just unpleasant for everybody and makes the fandom a toxic, bitter space.  People have different tastes. People approach shipping in different ways. Fandom is a big wide world.  What I always ask people who hate Haladriel to do is mute the tag and live and let live when it comes to other people’s preferences, and don’t go after *people* because you don’t like their ship. Can you please consider doing the same for Celeborn?

I don't want endless discourse about this. I hate ship wars. I have a ton of messy unpleasant stuff happening in my real life right now and fandom - writing, fun, creativity - is such a welcome escape valve for me. I don't care who likes which elf or which ship, but ffs can we please leave each other in peace about it?

I am always happy to talk about any of my ships or the characters I like in more detail - at the drop of a hat in fact! - but for obvious reasons, I don't do this in a ship war context where I feel like someone's expecting me to 'prove' myself or justify why I'm allowed to like something. Because the point is that it doesn't matter why someone else likes something or whether or not you get its appeal - what matters is the ability to get along with each other anyway.

Some of my best fandom friends are people who don't like many of the things I like, and vice versa. One of my dearest fandom friends I've known for over 15 years has some ships that make me recoil in ARGH NO horror. And she doesn't like everything I'm into either! And we still get along fine, as people, because we know it's ships. It's fiction. It's not a referendum on us as people.

I don't care if people like Celeborn or not - he is a made-up elf, he is not real. I don't care if people like Haladriel or not - non-book-canon ships and EtL ships aren't for everyone. But the fans who like these things are real people who should be allowed to do our thing in peace.

[dark-frosted-heart]

Roger Barel Main Route - Chapter 10 Premium Story

As usual, can’t guarantee 100% accuracy on this. I’m doing this for archiving purposes and you can probably find a better translation out there.

nsfw, minors dni

cw: dubcon.

What you call romantic love’s just a dysfunction of the brain or a misunderstanding caused by sexual desire.

I have to teach an egoist who said that about being in love.

Roger: Hmm, so eating ice cream together’s a lesson in love?

Kate: It’s not like I wanted ice cream or anything…

(I boasted that I’d teach him about romantic love on a date…but was at a loss)

To hide the fact, I licked the ice cream I bought as part of our date after seeing a queue near the station.

Roger: Hey, Kate. You’ve been in love once or twice, haven’t you? What was that like for you?

(What love is like for me…)

Kate: …I don’t have much experience.

Roger: I’m not asking for advice from a veteran. Just let me hear it.

(Well, for example…)

Kate: To me, romantic love is something that gives me the image of something that glitters in everyday life. I feel joy because I like someone. It makes me want to work harder than usual, and makes me happy.

Roger: Glittering, huh.

Kate: Ah, you don’t believe me? I know you’ll laugh and say there’s no scientific basis for it. The person I like is different from everyone else. They’re especially glittering.

(Wait, that was a bit childish…)

I glanced at Roger sitting beside me, and contrary to my expectations, he smiled softly.

Roger: That sounds nice. The word through your eyes sounds fun. Ah, the ice cream’s melting.

Kate: Waaahhh…

When I rushed to eat my ice cream, I could hear the bitter smile from his voice.

Roger: But the more I ask about it, the more I find love to be uncertain, vague, unidentifiable peculiarity that’s inefficient.

Kate: Inefficient?

Roger: An unexplained emotion manipulates you into feeling happy or sad. But there’s no guarantee that the other person likes you back. Is there anything else in life that’s so inefficient?

(W-what a cold way of thinking…)

Kate: Heh, hehe. That’s such a you thing to say that I can’t help but laugh beyond amazement. …But, it’s a curious thing.

Roger: Hm?

Kate: Ah, well…when I learn more about your rational way of thinking… I wonder why you even bother with me at all.

I can’t think of any benefits to being with me at the moment.

Roger: Jude asked me the same thing. “You’re a super pervert that only cares about your own research and don’t like dealin’ with trouble.”

Kate: He’s as harsh as ever…but he’s right.

Roger: I didn’t plan on keeping you around at first. But I found something in you that I like.

Suddenly, those eyes behind his glasses softened.

Roger: When you first became Fairytale Keeper, you told me about how crushed you felt by your own weakness. “I won’t despair”.

(Now that he mentioned it…)

Kate: Strong…I want to be strong. Because I…don’t want to hate myself.

Besides…life’s too long to live in despair.

Roger: …O_O

Pfft, hahahahaha!

(At the time, Roger laughed so hard that tears formed in his eyes)

Kate: …Yes. I remember.

Roger: Even though you felt depressed, it was sweet seeing you keep looking forward and not give in to despair. I also believe that in life is to give despair the finger.

Kate: Give despair the finger?

Roger: Yeah. I went through the trouble of being born. I’m not gonna give into despair so easily.

As he said that, Roger’s smile was so radiant. I stared at it as if under a spell that stopped time.

Roger: And Kate.

He leaned forward and peered into my face.

Roger: I enjoy being with you right now.

Kate: …

Those straightforward words shot me right through the heart.

Kate: T-that’s…good to hear.

(My face is hot…I could only give a reply that wasn’t cute at all)

Roger: …Hey, Kate. My curse is “betrayal”. Like how the hunter in Snow White betrayed the queen. My “tragic fate” is to be doomed to be ruined by my own guilt.

My heart suddenly thumped after learning about Roger’s “curse” and “fate”.

Kate: …Roger.

Roger: However, I’m gonna change my fate. It’s absurd to allow myself to be controlled by it. Kate, I’ve taken a liking to you so I’ll promise you this. I will never betray you without a reason. Never.

Roger’s smile as he said that once again shot through my heart.

(That’s nice. I wonder if…I’ll be strong like him some day)

The instant I thought that, I understood.

(Ah, I see. Maybe I…admire Roger)

Not wanting to joke about it, I nodded.

Kate: Thank you, Roger… Ah…my stomach.

Roger: Pfft, hahaha! Your stomach’s feeling healthy today.

We talked and walked a lot.

To end the day—

Kate and Roger: Let’s go eat, Roger/Kate.

We looked at each other and laughed after saying it at the same time.

Kate: I am definitely not going to drink that much tonight.

Roger: Kate, do you know the saying “what happens twice will happen thrice”?

Kate: I’ll be fine, I’ll take care of myself. I’m an adult after all.

The night grew old—

--

Roger: Some adult you are. You’re dizzy after 2 or 3 drinks.

Kate: …Hmmm? Where am I?

Roger: My room. We’re back…Hey, watch out.

Kate: Ow…

I tripped over a desk leg or something and my vision spun with the dull pain.

The next thing I knew, I was looking down at Roger who sank into his bed…

Not knowing what was going on, I just stared at him blankly.

(Wow…This angle’s pretty nice)

(But Roger always looks good…)

Pushing him down made my heart speed up somehow.

Kate: …Hey, Roger. I get angry whenever you push me around.

I fixed his glasses and smiled, heart throbbing.

Roger: Pfft, haha…what, you’re slandering me while drunk?

Kate: …The way you push me around’s annoying, but more than that, it’s exciting.

I rested against his thick chest; he smelled like sweat and sunny days.

Roger: …

Kate: What kind of person…will I be tomorrow. I’m looking forward…to seeing how you smile…when I get stronger.

(I couldn’t be honest like this earlier)

Kate: …I also like…being with you.

Roger: …O_O

Kate: Roger, just watch…I’ll get stronger…

In an instant, strong arms surrounded me.

It was as if I was imprisoned in a sweet cage.

Roger: I wasn’t planning on messing with you because of all the noise out there, but I’ve changed my mind. Do you…want to do something that’ll feel good, Kate?

(What did Roger say…? My head feels fluffy…)

Kate: …Mm? Mmmm…?

Before I could properly reply, a hand held my tilted head.

Roger: I gave you a chance to escape.

Kate: Mm, mmmm…?

Roger’s lips devoured mine, cutting off my breath.

Kate: Ha…Mn, mn…nnn

I could hardly breathe and my mind immediately went numb.

Kate: Enough…mn…

Roger: Don’t set your own limits. You’re gonna be a strong woman, right? Heh.

He removed his glasses and brought his face closer to mine.

His lips were much closer than before, and he dove in deeper—

Kate: Mn…Nnn…

Straddling Roger, our tongues intertwined until my head felt like mush. When we finally parted, a hand slipped under the gap in my blouse.

Roger: I found something delicious.

With a mischievous voice, Roger’s lips enveloped a nipple through my blouse.

Kate: Ahhh

Teasing my breasts with his tongue, Roger sat himself up with me in his arms.

Now sitting in his lap, Roger pulled my blouse down from my shoulders. I jolted as his tongue flicked at my exposed nipples.

The stimulation alone felt so good that it drove me crazy, but when thick fingers slid between my legs, the pleasure building up felt like bursting— 

Kate: …Roger…I…

Roger: I can’t go all the way…Can’t put it in ‘til I train you.

Kate: Ah…

His hips pressed firmly against mine and I couldn’t help but cry out as I felt him even through hs pants.

Kate: …I’ve never…heard of anything like this.

Roger: Hmm, if we’re not not going to be lovers, then what’s there to worry about? Just focus on this for now. I’ll make you cum soon.

Kate: Aaahhh

More fingers pumped inside me and my whole body trembled.

(Roger’s fingers are driving me crazy…)

(Want to feel them…deeper. I want to feel good…)

--

The next morning, I woke up not remembering anything at all— 

Unfortunately, that wasn’t actually the case.

(What—have I done)

I remembered every single detail and was filled with self-loathing.

Kate: I only had 2 or 3 drinks.

Roger: *yawn*...When you’re tired, your metabolism slows down, which affects your liver’s ability to process alcohol. Meaning, even if you drank less than usual—

Kate: Thank you for the medical explanation! But even so, why…with you…

Roger: Ah, you mean when I stripped your clothes and pleasured you?

Kate: Please don’t say it so directly. Besides, you and I aren’t like that…so why!

Roger: I got turned on watching you say all those cute things. You should praise me for being a good boy and taking care of myself in the end.

Kate: Taking care?! Ah, um… Y-y-you’re the worst!

Roger: Who’s the worst here? This is the first time I’ve stopped half-way. Is it so wrong to love your own dog?*

(At this stage, It’s disgusting how you’re treating me like a dog again)

Kate: You don’t do perverted things with your dog!

Roger: I like dogs the best over any other animal. That’s how it is.

Kate: Huh…?

(If talking about favorites, then I’d say humans are among them…but that doesn’t matter!)

Kate: I-I won’t be tricked like that. I was dumb to think I wanted to be like you because I respected you.

Roger: Oh, that’s the first time I’m hearing about that. Respect, huh?

I had a feeling that anything I said right now would make this horrible man happy.

Kate: Next time you do something perverted, I’m breaking our friendship!

Roger: Pfft, haha! Are you a kid or something? Dummy.

Kate: Calling someone dumb makes you dumb.

I fixed my blouse and rushed out of his room with rumpled clothes.

My body still felt hot and I sighed when I was alone.

(Being with Roger always drives me mad)

Though I was drunk, everything I saw was the truth…that made it even worse.

—At the time, I was so absorbed in what was in front of me that I didn’t realize how deep the “despair” was inside Roger.

Next

[moonlesslights]

Red thoughts (Sanemi x f!Reader)

Summary: After being kept apart from the Wind Hashira by your master, a mission suddenly brings the two of you together into a heartwarming path with dangerous twists in between that end up putting a bulge in Sanemi’s pants.

Warnings: Smut with plot. This is somewhat long but i’m really in love with this man so I also needed some fluff here. Minor character death and choking kink.

(If there’s something more you consider should be in Warnings, please let me know!)

A/N: I hope you enjoy this, because I truly enjoyed writing it. A lot of fun, love and smut with a happy ending, so don’t worry. Love y’all!

...

“So you’re the little flame.” The Wind Hashira grins at you, mockery dancing on his eyes. 

His white hair stands out against his pale skin full of scars that cross his face from side to side. A tug on one of the corners of your lips occurs when you are now able to observe that classic extravagance in each of the Hashira.

“Is a pleasure to finally meet you, sir.” You bow, slowly, and his smile disappears at the sight, drawing you to your full height again with the doubt that you've done something wrong.

You frown at his irritated gaze, glancing quickly at your own clothes for anything that didn't look entirely presentable. But you just can’t find a single stained o wrikled spot on your kimono, and the anger on his face is starting to freak you out. Was this what Kyojuro meant with his warnings about this man all this time?

"Has anyone told you how weird it is to introduce yourself to someone after spending a week in the same place as that person?" His voice now carries a hint of bitterness and irony that makes your stomach sink. "I've seen you loitering around the compound for six days and I think I'm the only Hashira who doesn't know your name."

Your eyes widen in surprise before you can do anything about it. He had seen you? For six days? Your mouth opens only to close again without having managed to bring a single word of excuse to the tip of your tongue. Gods, how disrespectful has it been to have overlooked him all this time? Now you have to feel your face heat up at the thought: How much have I ignored his presence that I've only seen him for two days?

His large eyes continue to examine you, piercing through every layer of courage it took you to even appear in his domain. Your heart is already beating faster than you would like, and each blow to the chest makes you lose more and more composure in the face of his insistent, too insistent gaze.

But it's not your fault! It's not fair that any opportunity to have a healthy friendship relationship with him slipped away before you could even notice because of someone else, because of...

 “I was looking foward to talk to you for some days now” You rush to say, narrowing your eyes in his direction. You're not going to let the first thing the imposing man knows about you is the fear his presence seemed to exude for everyone else. “But Master Rengoku… Mhm…!” Are you going to say it?, was it right? Your lips snap shut, gods, how were you going to explain that now?

"Oh." There is no need, you realize. No more words are necessary for the Hashira in front of you to understand your reasons at once.

However, you are not sure if that knowledge makes you happy.

You shift one foot after the other, playing with your balance as you remember how many times you asked to meet Master Shinazugawa and how many times Kyojuro talked you out of it. It were his words as your superior that you respected enough to carry out his wishes...

At least until Oyakata-sama himself called for you to ask you to join the Wind Hashira on a hunting adventure that had come his way.

"I'm sorry!" You exclaim at the top of your lungs, bowing.

Sanemi frowns even deeper, but this time with confusion. His voice is next to appear:

"What are you doing?! Stop you idiot!" A weary sigh calms you enough to look back at his face. You shrug, a soft smile painted on your lips. "Whatever. Wait for me here, we'll be gone in a moment."

Your enthusiastic nod only elicits another groan from him. His figure turns around and disappears into his residence, giving you the opportunity to observe the large trees and the huge garden that surrounds the wooden house.

It looks like a quiet, comfortable home. Definitely much quiet than the place you shared with Kyojuro as his tsuguko, and with three guys a little too hyperactive.

Your eyes roam the neatly arranged room, the fine armchairs and china arrangements on fully stocked bookcases. You can't help but smile at how long such order would last in your own residence with your 4 favorite walking disasters present.

"But why can't I go too?"

"I don’t need you."

"If it's an easy one they shouldn't send a Hashira..."

"Who said it was an easy one?!"

Your attention flows into the structure, watching two tall figures walk towards you.

Sanemi is wearing his classic outfit now, instead of the training uniform, and the boy next to him, Genya, his brother, frowns at the shout the Hashira just let out.

"Idiot..." The younger of the two murmurs under a sigh, but continuing on his way next to the white-haired one.

"I don't think it will take too long." Sanemi replies, giving him a death glare. "Take care of the place while I'm gone."

"As if I ever hadn't." Genya murmurs, arms crossed.

A simple smile is drawn on your lips at the scene, attracting the dark-haired boy's gaze faster than you would have liked.

His eyes widen in surprise and his mouth falls in reflex as he turns to his brother with raised eyebrows.

"And what are you lookin at now?" Sanemi spits out, almost baring his fangs.

Genya gently shakes his head, widening his eyes even further: "Isn't she who...?"

The Hashira's huge hand shoots at his brother's head, holding it in a threatening movement for several seconds until he finishes whispering something into his ear.

A threat that, more than scaring the minor, encourages him to let out a mocking laugh and to say goodbye to both of you with a huge smile that seems to warm up the top of the ears of your companion.

...

Traveling to the northern village began as a journey nothing if not heavy.

Sanemi was not someone who was easy to strike up a conversation with, and you had to realize that sooner than later.

Monosyllables. That's the only thing you can expect for an answer. A "yes", a "no", a shrug of the shoulders or an irritated sigh; and, if the Hashira is feeling generous, maybe he'll give you an "Enough already"

Was that he was still angry about the incident with Rengoku?, or is it his nature that prevents him from trying to be the least bit nice?

Whatever the case was, it is gettin in your nerves. And maybe that’s why you get along so well with the guys and Kyojuro: they just never shut up. And neither do you. So how is this supposed to work now?

“How about we play a game?” You try now, giving him the most unstable smile he could have seen in a while.

His eyes travel to yours, slowly. He tilts his head with an almost imperceptible movement and your smile is now threatening to split your face in two.

“Mhm.” Sanemi shrugs and turns to the road again.

Your blood boils in your veins. You’re not going to be able to stand the next two and half hours of travel this way. Agh!

“Just answer me, would you?!” You snap, abruptly stopping. “I’m sorry about what happened with Master Rengoku, but I'm here now and I’m trying to make it up for both of us!, I wanted to talk to you too, I actually wanted to see your training, I WAS JUST FOLLOWING ORDERS, ASSHOLE!”

The silence after your scream cuts the air. The crow above your heads squawks between the discomfort as you feel your teeth pressed together. The wind caresses your skin, cold, and you swear this is how he would feel.

“I see something… yellow.”

It takes you a moment to restart your brain cells. One blink, two blinks. He’s standing right in front of you, not even looking in your direction; one hand on the Katana’ handle and his breath as calm as you have ever heard.

… Is he trying to play?

Your mouth feels dry. Your heart in the throat still. Of course.

“That yellow flag…”

“No.” He answers.

Both of you continue walking in silence, soft steps directed to that still far destiny.

“The curtains of that house.”

“No.”

“The dress of that girl.”

“No.”

“Haven’t we passed it already?” You ask, looking back to see if something yellow made it out of your sight.

“No.”

The shoes, those doors, the ornaments, that house, the hair of that man…

“No.”

“Agh! I don’t know. Screw it, you’re impossible…” You groan, looking at him. “What is it?”

He then turns to you, grin on his face and bright eyes of someone who just won. Well, at least he looks more happy now, it doesn’t matter if…

“The sun”

This mother…

“The sun it’s not yellow!”

“Of course it is!”

“No! Look at it now, do you see it yellow?” He frowns, glancing at you like you were crazy.

“Of course I’m not looking at it, I’m not stupid.”

That’s debatable.

“The sun is not yellow, that game wasn’t fair.”

“Everyone draws it yellow.” He shrugs, ignoring the looks of other people on the two of you.

You clench your jaw. Does he feel like he won?, let’s show him how stupid he really is.

“My turn.” You rush, looking around you. “I see something… White.”

“The clouds.”

“No.”

“The wall.”

“No.”

“If this is some kind of joke…” He looks at you as you spread an innocent smile over your face. “That doll.”

You turn your head as you actually thought about it, but then: “No.”

Ten more objects passed over his lips movements, his patience running low with every response your gave him.

“Do you give up?” You ask, leaning in his direction.

“No. Shut up.”

Another ten objects and the town it’s left behind, making him grow angrier with every step. C'mon, everything in the woods was brown and green, what the hell would be your excuse for cheating now?

“Do you give up?” You ask again, confusing his thoughts.

“Screw you.” He sentences, avoiding your gaze.

You take that as a yes.

Your smile widens and he lets out a sight, irritated.

“That.” Your hand raises and points to his head. “Your hair.”

His face… priceless. His clenching fist… threatening. He feels the anger raise up to his system as his eyes fix on the white strand falling to his face, smacking reason into him.

Nah, that should have been cheating, it wasn’t allowed, was it?, choosing something of one of the players. It wasn’t fair because… because he didn’t even thought for a second his hair was the thing you were seeing. Fuck off…

He looks at you, frowning and with his canines showing; but in the moment you burst out laughing, his walls crumble.

The joy that emanates from your throat is… lovely. He had never got the chance to hear it before, always too far from you, always too distracted. Your eyes are almost close as your smile spreads across your face, and then…

“Don’t look at me like that, neither of us can beat the other!” You let go your body to his, dropping your head on his shoulder with a soft movement. Then he learned your first love language: touch.

And it was bad, it was too bad, because he loved the touch, he craved it, but most of the time he didn’t know how to ask for it. So when someone he finds lovely takes ahead, he just can’t help it: he doesn’t want to lose it.

His hands raise to your shoulders and brings back your body against him, brute. Chest to chest, skin caressing skin, and cold wind messing his stupid white hair.

His eyes are glued to the distance in front of him, refusing you the possibility to look at his face. And maybe it was okay, because you would have got scared at how uneasy he looked, what the hell is he doing?

His brows are strongly furrowed and his arms are shaking with the idea of the mistake he just made; but he doesn’t seem to be able to lose the grip on your body.

And he just hates it, he hates it until you let out a soft happy sigh and rub your nose against the skin on his collarbones, he hates it until you let your head rest on his shoulder and your arms climb to wrap around his neck.

“This is nice.” And he doesn’t hates it anymore. 'Cause you murmur with your lips touching his skin, easing the crawl of anxiety you got every time you went on a mission.

So he lets go, lowering his arm to your waist, applying comforting pressure to your body. His head drops to your shoulders and he swears the rhythm of his heart calms as your essence surrounds him.

Another squawk echoes from the sky and his hands tighten on the fabric of your kimono.

"You know that the Demon in that town could be a Kizuki, right?"

"Mmm... Mhm" You nod.

"Genya doesn't know anything, I didn't want to worry him... He's always been affected a bit more than the others." Sanemi sighs, his cold hands giving a pleasant chill to your skin. "I'm not your master and I don't give a shit about oaths... If things get ugly, you're out, do you understand me?"

"No, wait..."

Sanemi stands back up to his full height, his arms still around you and his face inches from yours; widened pupils that don't leave your eyes for a second.

"I don't want you to play hero, all you'll do is embarrass yourself. I want you to get out of there and bring Rengoku or Tengen with you, do you understand?"

You shake your head, looking down. This is not how it is suppose to work.

"That's an order."

"Genya would never forgive me. If I came back without you, I would never forgive me... Not if this is our first mission together."

The Hashira shakes his head in amusement.

"He will. You will. It's an occupational hazard."

Your eyes go up to his, how can you fit in so well with someone you've only just met?, how can you feel it under your skin?

"I don't need you to promise me that you will..." He whispers, his lips brushing your cheek now and his lashes caressing your temple. "I need you to obey."

Your heart pounds in your chest, throwing you off balance. You have no choice but to nod.

...

The village... The village was not in the form you expected to find it.

There were no bodies on the sidewalks and no blood running down the streets. No screams or terrified people. It didn't look at all like what Oyakata-sama had described as "a village subjugated by a demon".

The only thing that seems to warn of danger is the strange atmosphere in which everyone seems to move. Pink particles that float through the entire town and begin to blur your vision just 10 minutes after your arrival.

"What is this?" You whisper, reaching your hand out in front of you trying to catch a few between your fingers.

Sanemi shakes his head next to you, tapping your wrist to stop you from doing that.

"I have no idea, but I don't think it's the best to stick around too long to find out what happens if we keep breathing this shit." A man walks in front of you, smiling a little too friendly, lowering his eyes to your entire shape. "This thing keeps them calm and happy one way or another. We need to get to the Demon before this lowers our own defenses."

After a few comments, you both agree that the best way to find the responsible for all of that was following the path to the biggest concentration of pink particles. But with every step you keep taking to the big house on the edge of the town, your head feels more and more light and your feet start to move on their own.

You two need to finish this as quickly as possible or you won’t be able to fight right.

“Let me take the front, you enter from the back. Let’s take it by surprise and cut its head off once for all.”

Sanemi smirks at your plan, nodding.

“Whatever you say, little flame.” He agrees, taking his katana. “Just try not to die before I get there to save your ass, got it?”

You smile as you see his frame disappear when he turns to the next lane, white hair floating between the darkness. He’s going to do his part, you’re sure, and you need to do yours if you want to prove everyone and yourself that you deserved to be the next Fire Hashira.

The front door creeks at your intrusion, letting you observe with apprehensiveness the first hall on sight. Your steps appear to make too much noise and your ears keep warning you on every little noise you’re aware of.

Katana on hand, it is the only thing that makes you feel ready to whatever it’s coming. That said, your movements are clumsier at every minute that passes, and the amount of concentration of pink dust in that house was crazy. You could barely see two steps ahead of you.

“C’mon, c’mon..” You mutter, rushing your steps upstairs. “Where are y…?”

“Where is your lover?”

You stop every single movement of your muscles at the voice breathing on the back of your neck. A chill runs thought your spine. Shit, you couldn’t even sense her smell by now.

“I’m sure he was with you on your way here…” She continues, starting to walk into your sight.

“Do you mean that white haired guy?” You ask, raising your katana in front of you, furrowing your brows.

“Yes!” She exalts, smiling with bright fangs. “Where is he?, did he left you? Already?”

Her pretty face shrugs in confusion, looking at you like she was really concerned about your answer. She’s tall, a lot more than you, and her dark hair seems to float around her pink dress, giving her an strange aura you have never felt before… But that could be just the amount of pink particles you had inhaled by now.

“It was about the guy you kissed months ago?, Is he jealous?” Her bright eyes give her a childish, almost innocent appearance.

You step back. How did she managed to know about that?

“You kissed him too just a couple of days ago, isn’t?!” Your eyes fly open at her statement, felling like an idiot the moment your face starts to turn red. How could you be blushing in a moment like this? “But you don’t feel the same way… Is it because this new man?”

Her voice trembles and you force yourself to look at her eyes. You feel your chest let go at the realization: She wasn’t a Kizuki. But the way tears start to build up under her eyes tells you that her explosive personality could be the real problem.

“But then why did he leave you?! Didn’t he know you want him?”

“No…” You try to calm her. Your hand tightens on your weapon, getting nervous at how every rush of emotions lets out another wave of pinky particles. “He’s not my lover, he just had things to do.”

“N-No… But you two… I was sure…” Her knees buckle, looking at you with hidden pain in her features.

“It’s okay.” You coo. As pacific as her death could, the better.

“No… No, no!” Another pink wave hits you straight on the face. “You’re lying!, or you don’t- you don’t know how he… Where is he? Where is he?!”

“I’m here.”

Both pairs of eyes fly to the the back door of the room, widening with different emotions at the white haired figure brandishing a katana on its hands.

“Yes!, he came!” She looks at you with evident excitement and you need to hide the amusement at the confusion written on Sanemi’s face. “Now I can tell you how he feels, now you can know I wasn’t wrong!”

That seems to activate something in the Hashira. Sanemi clenches his jaw, tensing up.

“Fuck this.” He whispers, rushing towards the demon with a clean movement, seeking to cut off his head in one move.

However, the smile on the girls face only gets bigger and bigger. Jumping aside, the blade misses her neck for inches.

You get on action now, taking advantage of the distraction caused with Sanemi intervention to direct your katana to her feet, hitting below her knees with almost a perfect technique. Still, your legs feel weak at the sudden movement and your fantastic success is quickly overpowered by your face crashing on the floor.

Before the demon falls, her crawls aim to Sanemi, who just in time steps back and brandish his katana so the entire hand of the girl is cut off her body.

You had seen it before, a thousand times with Rengoku: the only thing that could make a Hashira spend more than three minutes with a demon is a number on its eyes. Anything else, they would tear it apart.

The demon in front of you… She wouldn’t stand a chance.

And she appears to knows it, too early, too easy.

Sanemi’s blade doesn’t stop for a second, it redirects to her neck, letting the flesh slide through the metal, dropping an amused head to the ground with a soft thud.

Her body stays still on the air, frozen in time, just a few centimeters above the wooden floor; still connected to the Demon emotions.

A prostitute, you realize.

She was a prostitute, a girl too innocent for that kind of job. A girl without family, without friends, just her and business. A girl who dreamed of another life, a beautiful life, with a house, a dog and a man who loved her above anything else. She spent her last minutes as human believing she would find true love with one of those men she had in her bed.

And on her last night, she did. She fell in love. But the beast there saw another kind of potential for her, another job. So she took his blood and never got tired of it.

He never loved me…

“Flame, step back!”

Between those sheets, I never found love…

“Master!”

“But you…” She raises her gaze, smiling so pure that your heart drops at the sight. “You are going to find it. It’s really here…”

Her body twitches on the air and her skin starts to break on even more pink cracks that threaten to split at any given moment.

“I’m so happy for you two… I’m happy now.”

“Get down!”

Sanemi’s voice is the last thing you hear before her whole body exploits into uncountable waves of red particles, washing over you with so much strength that your own body is thrown to the nearest wall.

“Master?” Your voice is barely a whisper and yet, your throat aches at the minimal effort.

Your lungs tighten every time you breathe and your legs feel weak, too weak. Moving out of the room can’t even be in your plans right now.

Everything you see is just red.

…

“You stupid idiot, where are you?”

It is Sanemi. His voice is what brings you back now, again. His steps seem to be still far from you, but you can tell he’s getting closer.

The red dust has almost disappeared by now, only a few particles remain floating around you and your hair. What a disaster…

“I’m still here, Master.” You answer, trying your best to get on your feet again.

“Yeah, no shit.” His mad voice echoes trough the walls before his tall frame appears crossing the back door once again, too. “Lucky you…”

“Lucky me?, I have no idea how much of that red shit I just inhaled…” You frow, raising your face to meet his a few feet from you. Yet, the one thing that catch your eye is the enormous hole on the room’s window. Oh… “Lucky me, I guess”

He huffs at your realization, taking a few steps ahead, watching for himself from how high he had fell. A new record, it seems.

“Are you hurt?” You ask, shaking off some more dust from your clothes. He doesn’t respond, still looking through the window. “What is this shit anyways?”

You start to walk closer to him, muttering some more questions under your breath. Nothing really important as you try to convince yourself that the Wind Hashira is tough enough to take that fall, that he would be okay, that Shinobu would make sure of that.

By the way, you need to send a crow as soon as possible so they can know about Sanemi’s state…

“Stop”

Eh?

The Hashira’s hand is raised up to your chest, indicating you for don’t keeping getting any closer to him.

“What?”

“Stop. Just fucking stop” His voice cracks at the last word, turning on all your alerts.

“Sanemi?, are you felling unwell? Does something hurt?” Your hand reaches out for his shoulder and you take it back almost immediately.

He was burning…

“Sanemi?, are you…?”

“Get away from me. Now.”

His voice is harsh and doesn’t leave space for questions. You had only heard him using it on another slayers, leaving them with wreaked knees and whole body trembles.

Still, seeing the way his eyes shut close, almost painfully, you just couldn’t seem to obey this order.

“Why?, what do you feel?” You coo, leaning closer to him.

His response comes with another tremble.

“I’m hot. I feel like I’m burning alive…”

Your heart sinks, drowning in impotence when you don’t find anything you can do immediately to take that pain away from him.

“It’s okay, I’ll send a letter to Shinobu right now, I’m sure she will know what to do.” You try, taking him from both shoulders.

“No. You go…” He shakes his head, getting your hands off of him. “I want you out of this room.”

“No, what are you talking about?, I’m not leaving you.” You reach for him again. “Come on now, can you walk?”

You raise his arm on your own, trying to lock it over your shoulders to help him move, but his head starts to shake in denial the moment you step closer, struggling with each other.

“No. No, it’s okay…”

“Let me help you…”

“No, leave me.”

“C'mon now, just let me…”

“I told you to stop!”

The next thing you feel is your ass crashing down the floor, hard. His movements were too sudden and his strength too much for you. You need to look up to him to realize how far he had just pushed you.

However, any hints of anger wash away when you focus on his face:

White salty hair sticked to his even more pale skin, unmatched breath and open eyes with extremely widened pupils.

Oh.. and a bulge between his legs.

It hits you.

Hard.

That’s what that red dust was: an aphrodisiac. A powerful one for what you could see. You feel stupid for have just realized what you had let Sanemi gotten in to. He probably was in an even moren affected state since the beginning.

You start to remember your way to this house, how the men seem to be in an perpetual infatuation’ state. Even the Wind Hashira looked approachable under that pink dust. You bet women loved how easy was to deal with men under that spell.

Gods, you and Shinobu should start a new project right away…

“Out.” Sanemi orders, avoiding to look in your direction. You open your mouth just in time to be interrupted again: “Get out before I do something we will both regret tomorrow.”

You begin to shake your head as soon as his words hit you in the throat. His pain is evident, his face is red and his fists clench around nothing, digging his nails to his own flesh, so hard that you fear it’ll start bleeding.

Did he plan on you leaving him like that?

“Look at me…” You ask. “Look at me, Sanemi.” The way his eyes lift at the mention of his name dropping of your lips gets you walking to him in no time. “If I get out of here now I won’t be able to come back for at least three hours, you sure you can hold on until that?, you sure you won’t do something mad out of desperation before that?”

“If you do not leave this room right now I’m sure I will do something mad.” His eyes have turned bestial and his knuckles are white, clenching now so hard on the window frame you’re sure he will break the wood under his fingers soon.

Your heart pounds on your chest and your brain is working at full speed. You should go, you should start running as soon as possible and bring help here, but again, how long would that take?, how much suffering he would have to bear when you…?

“Fuck!” The pain that exudes his voice is the breaking point for you when you watch him fold on his stomach, bracing himself like he would die right there.

“Would you really regret it?!” You exclaim, looking down to his widened pupils.

He shakes his head, unsure.

“I don’t want to mess up whatever is going between you and Rengoku” He admits, frowning.

“What?, what are you talking about?, there’s nothing going with me and Kyojuro.”

He starts to try to stand straight again, still clenching to his stomach. You do your best to help him, letting him use your shoulder as a support and then getting your hands under his, so your arms avoid him to come down again.

Still, he lets out a desperate groan when your chest and his own rub through the movements and his hot skin touches your cold.

“That witch said you kissed a guy, right?, wasn’t it Rengoku?” His head drops to your shoulder. Hot breath running chills against your sensitive skin.

You nod, letting Sanemi's essence surround you.

“And she also said I didn’t feel the same… Remember?” That was the first time you admitted that out loud. “So tell me now if you will regret it so much so I can go out and bring help…”

“I would kill for having you in my arms the whole night, flame.” His lips brush against your neck, igniting your hear in only one sentence. “But if we do this, if we do this right now..” he lets you feel again the bulge pressing against your lower stomach. “I’m not letting you go back to him. This won’t be a one night stand, flame. I’m keeping you… so you tell me if it won’t be you the one who regrets it tomorrow.”

You smile, felling his head moving out of the crock of your neck to look at you directly on the face.

You get on your tip toes, pushing both of the tips of your noses together. His lips brush against yours and you start to wonder if that red dust didn’t affect you too. But with the growing tension, the only thing you can do is closing your eyes and crave for him to close the space that still remained between your bodies.

“I need words, little flame.” He grins, and when you open your eyes you swear you haven’t seen such a beautiful man in your entire life.

“I won’t regret it.” You smile, sure, running your fingers through his white strands, trying to make him certain of your decision. “Let’s do this.”

“You won’t run away?”

“Where else could I be, idiot?”

The way his lips crash against yours lets you feel how much pain was still running trough his system. The way his hands clench to your hips, forcing your body to curve into his, lets you feel how much desire he is holding on.

Your legs wrap around his waist when he lifts you from the floor. You can feel that he’s moving, but his hot lips dancing against yours, letting his wet tongue explore your mouth, avoid you to acknowledge anything else.

His neck then curves to lower his head, placing soft wet kisses to your sensitive skin from your jaw to your collarbones. Your mouth falls open, letting out a low gasp at the way his huge hands start to browse your body. You feel him everywhere.

Still, it is how his teeth crave into your skin what brings you back to what was really happening. No matter how much you would have wished this to occur under different circumstances, you can’t let the joy of the moment distracts you for what you need to do right here, right now, this time.

You drop from Sanemi’s embrace and plant your feet on the floor again. His confused face doesn’t last long after your hands push his chest and force his body to fall onto the bed of the room he had brought you two to.

“What are you…? Oh, fuuuuck.” Your tongue tracing the fine line of hair from his pelvis to his navel makes him arch his back with a loud groan falling from his clenched teeth.

Your hands travel around his exposed torso before you push your body up, straddling his hips with your legs. He takes you by the neck and pulls you into a kiss, devouring your mouth as you roll down your hips, applying friction on his crotch. The hardness in his pants rubs against your clit just right and you let a moan fall from your mouth, making him groan.

“Fuck, please, Flame…”

The desperation in his voice takes you by surprise when he takes by the waist and applies pressure down on him, forcing you to feel how bad he needed you.

You leave one last kiss on his jaw before kneeling down, looking at him when your fingers pull at the edge of his pants. Sweaty white locks glued to his forehead and a slight brush of pink across his cheeks and nose gives you every answer your needed. You pull down the fabric and he finishes to toss it off his feet, freeing his cock in front of you.

Well, his idiocy is definitely not the only big thing about him. Shit, is that really going to fit inside you?

You take him with one hand, giving it a few strokes, unsure. You are a virgin after all, you are not quite confident that you are doing it right. You move your hand up and down, applying pressure and registering Sanemi’s reactions; and when you pass your thumb across the tip and he throws his head back, you know you did something right.

“Just like that…” The white haired murmurs, supporting his weight on his elbows, closing his eyes, enjoying the soft caresses of your little hands of him, not sure if it was the red dust what was making his body feel surrounded in flames or  just how much he had dreamed about this from the first time he saw you...

God, this shit is getting on his brain, he needs to make sure it doesn’t get to his tongue.

Tongue...

“Fuck-... Flame!” His hand tugs at your hair as the wet contact of your mouth wraps around him. 

His eyes dart to look at you between his legs, your lips just a few millimeters from the tip and dove eyes looking in his direction. His breathing gets stuck in his throat and suddenly, Sanemi feels guilt pounding in his chest.

“Did I do it wrong?” You ask just above your breath and he swears he could die right there and now. 

“No, no... It’s just... We should change positions, c’mon, I want to make you feel good too...” He starts shifting his body before you press a hand on his chest again, shaking your head. 

“No, Sanemi...” You climb up to him without letting go of his cock, also raising your free hand to his shoulder. “Tonight is about helping you, besides...” You press your lips to his ear as you whisper: “You’ll make me feel good in a bit too.”

And you swear you can feel him throb in your hand. 

His eyes are glued to you as you lower down to your knees again. You let your tongue fall out your mouth, pressing along all his long shape before wraping your lips at the top and taking his balls and the bottom with your hand. 

The first few moves you try are just testing, because you can't get him deep enough before you gag. So when his hands tangles on your hair again but instead of pushing you away bring you closer to him, you know you’re fucked. 

“Relax your throat and stick your tongue out... Yes, like that.” His hand starts pushing you down and you feel your eyes getting watery as his tip hits the deep of your throat. “Juuuust like that. Good girl.”

You take a deep breath when he goes all the way back again and, before you know, he’s pushing into you with a new found rhythm. Your hands grasp at his hips, trying to mantain a little control over your body as brutal groans scape from his lips and the thrusting becomes even more erratic. 

You gag one more time and look at him with those lust-filled eyes and he truly believes he has never seen anything hotter. His hips stutter and he lets out a soft moan after a deep groan when he pulls you out just in time, ‘cause not even understanding what was going on, you followed his movements and now your pretty face was splattered in cum. 

He was wrong, there was something even hotter. 

“Shit, I’m sorry.” He’s not. Do not believe him. 

You smile and grab your kimono’s sleeve to wipe it off only for him to pull at your wrist and stop you. You open your eyes big and look at him closing the distance between your bodies. His thumb comes at your face and colects the cum with a couple of movements. 

“Open.” He orders, tapping your lower lip with his knuckles. 

You obey him, letting your jaw fall down just enough so he could push in his thumb, letting you taste him as he pressed down your tongue with malice. A grin appears on his face as your lips close around his finger. 

“Stop being so goddamn sinful, little flame.” 

A genuine smile breaks your act. You got caught. He pulls away and you let out a soft laugh, looking at him with bright eyes. God, how could this feel so right?

 “How are you feeling?” You ask, soon enough your features are full of concern again and he hates the sight of it. 

His big hands grab at your waist and pull you up to his lap, wraping his arms around you. You blink with curiosity at him when he frowns and press his index right between your brows. 

“Don’t do that, you’ll get wrinkles.”

You let out a loud laugh before pressing your own index on his forehead too. “But you are doing the same, idiot.” He looks up and huffs, letting his hand fall again to your hips. “Besides, smiling also creates wrinkles, here...” You touch both side of his eyes.

“Those I don’t care.” He complains, narrowing his eyes. 

“How are you feeling?” You ask again, preoccupied that the pain from the begginind hadn’t stopped. 

“Better. I can stop here, I feel good enough to wait for Shinobu if that’s what you’re asking, Flame.” Sanemi’s lips are now brushing agaisnt yours with every word his lips drop. “But I don’t want to. So tell me if I need to stop right now, we’ll do whatever feels okay with you.”

Your red face is the only thing that doesn’t feel okay. For fuck’s sake... C’mon!, what happened to all your confidence? No, why did you have to sit there?!

“Did you listen, little flame?, it’s okay if you want to stop here.” 

You shake you head at his suggestion, looking down. He tries to tilt your head up with his fingers but you refuse it, bitting your lip before your are able to speak.

“... This feels okay.” You whisper, rocking down your hips with his hard cock. His hands tighten on your skin and you are still wondering if he knew how wet you got of feeling him growing underneath you all this time. 

“Fine.” Is the only thing he says before he turns you around and drops your back against the mattress.

Sanemi undresses you quickly, big scratchy hands that run over your body without any shame. Your kimono slips off your shoulders when your breasts are exposed. Sanemi is fully hard again and... He was lying to you. He wasn't okay, every second tested his ability to keep his hands to himself, every time you touched him he ignited, just how much pain was he willing to take if you believed him?

His eyes follow each of your agitated breaths and you now know perfectly well that the red dust is still running through his entire system. His lips wrap around your right nipple while two of his fingers pinch the left one, creating electrical currents down your body. You let out a gasp, feeling his tongue dancing on your skin, but not satisfied with that, he presses his teeth down your nipple, not letting go until you whimper under him, and with that, he crawls to your lips again, demanding for his tongue to be taken into your mouth.

“Sanemi…” You whisper, cupping his face between your hands.

As he works with your lower lip, one of his hands loosens the skirt of your kimono and takes it down your legs, letting you push it off your feet to the floor. His fingers then trace down your leg up to your inner thighs, pressing his thumb slowly on your bundle of nerves and forcing a moan out of you straight to his lips.

“Let me prepare you, little flame.” He says, pleas, as his digit works on you, making your squirm under him.

“Mhm..!, Sanemi, no…”

“Shhh, it’s okay. I’m gonna take care of you.”

Your panties finally come off and you are, now, completely exposed to him. He accommodates you on top of a pillow, letting your head rest as he backs up a bit, only enough to watch your entire body, dark pupils all over it, red cheeks calling for another thing but just lust.

“You’re so, so beautiful, flame.” He grins, hidden thoughts under his tongue. “I’m scared to stain you…”

“Sanemi-”

“Am I even worth to it, love?” The sudden pet name takes you by surprise, letting you silenced for his next sentence: “I don’t think I have ever hold something so precious, I-”

“I want it to be you, Sanemi.” You interrupt him, smiling. “I’m starting to suspect Oyakata-sama knew what he was doing putting the two of us in this mission.”

He lets go of a simple laugh, warming your heart. “Do you really think so?”

You nod, cupping his pale face between your hands to peck his lips three times. His hand rests above one of yours, bringing you closer to him, enjoying your essence surrounding him.

“Thank you.” He whispers.

You try to look at his face to talk him out of “thanking you” but you’re suddenly pushed back into the mattress, covered by his whole body.

“Now let’s do this right, shall we?”

“Sane- Oh, fuck!” His fingers start to play on your clit without a warning, pressing down on your skin, almost making spread your legs with no other thought in your head.

His pace is savage, delicious, bringing you closer to the edge only for him to stop, delighting himself with the way you squirm under him, noting how he was the first man to make you feel this way.

Soon, one of his fingers looks for your entrance, moving cautiously until he finds it, then, he curves.

“Mhmmm…!”

“Yes, right there, love, isn’t it?” He gives you a sided smile, taking a much faster rhythm and adding a second finger a moment later, opening you for him. “I’m gonna need you to tell me if something doesn’t feel right when I put it in, okay?”

You nod, biting down your lip. His words were like an echo comparing to the felling overflowing all of your senses. However, instead of positioning right, your master continued with his finger inside of you, pulsing every time harder and harder.

“Sanemi… It’s okay, I can ~ah~ do it now…”

He shakes his head. His pupils almost take the entirety of his eyes by now, looking down at you when he says:

“I need you as relaxed as possible. I don’t want to hurt you, Flame… So I need to take one out of you first.”

His left hand comes down on your throat, deliciously squeezing, as a third finger joins the pair inside of you and his thumb takes over your clit. It soon becomes too much to bear and you can’t say no more than “yes” every time a new motion brings closer and closer to your ecstasy.

And it comes sooner than expected: crashing, destructive all over your body, making you grip fiercely to Sanemi’s arms, arching your back on senseless movements.

“That’s right, little flame.” His praising words drawn another moan from you, taking you back from your orgasm sweet and gentle. Two words you couldn’t believe, described the Wind Hashira. “Do you feel good now?”

You nod, closed eyes and sloppy smile.

“Yeah.” You grant. He steals another kiss and looks at you in the eyes. “Come here, Sanemi…”

As you share a deeper kiss he finally positions between your legs, still playing softly with your clit, and pressing the tip into your entrance. You gasp to his mouth and his tongue takes the chance to come down in you, letting you taste the salt and forest in him.

Sanemi starts to slide in, bruising grip on your hips when he groans, murmuring under his breath “you’re tight…”. The sting that comes along alerts your senses, but the feeling clouds them again. The pain and the pleasure had never been in such a close line before.

“I’m… Oh, god- I’m gonna start moving now, okay?” His head is beside yours and his breathing sends shivers down your spine.

You lift your legs, interlacing them around his waist when you nod.

Slowly, he exits you only half of his shaft, and pushes in again. Both of you gasp at the feeling. Your nails look for his skin one more time, burying themselves and leaving furious red marks on him as he repeats this movement enough times for you to accustom his size.

That was seven minutes ago.

Now that you have given him green flag to start moving as he wished so, now he was on his knees and your hips lifted up to him, with both of his hands holding you up by the waist as he thrusted into you in what it seemed an unstoppable pace.

Your moans were loud, specially since, on a particularly hard thrust that made you clench on him, Sanemi had growled and bitted down your shoulder, hurting the skin but sending you on another uncontrollable orgasm.

You don’t think you can take one more.

“Don’t close your eyes, flame. Look at me.” He takes by the chin, forcing you to lock gazes with him. He grins and you can feel him starting to squeeze on your throat again. “Mhm! Fuck, you like that, don’t you?, I know you like it because you squeeze me down here… and you moan, shit, you moan so sweet, little flame.”

“Sanemi…” You whimper, arching your back and pressing your fingers on his biceps, giving him exactly what he needed.

“I’m gonna cum, love. Oh- I’m gonna…”

“Inside.” You bring your arms around his neck when your back finally meets the mattress again and his body comes closer to yours.

“I-I can’t, flame. We can’t.”

He’s not lying. He might be dying to impregnate you and get his seed deep into you, hell, he can get completely turned on only with the thought of fucking a baby into your tummy, but…

You shake your head, pleasure clouding your reasonable brain when your legs find their own way to lock behind Sanemi, mumbling one more time “inside”

Well, fuck it.

The white haired resumes his brutal thrusts, continuing brushing your clit with the thumb of his right hand and pressing down your throat with his left.

He edges you for some more minutes, keeping you moaning into his ear and screaming his name as he wished so; but finally, his hips start to lose control and the big dom man above you soon turns into a mess of grunts and low whimpers almost asking you to make him cum.

“Oh, please, please, pleaseeeee… Fuck!, Ah! Fuck… So-so good.”

You wished you could have laugh at the moans of your master, but you weren’t in an exactly better state right now. If worst, you could barely speak and your legs were trembling intensely with your tummy still having spasms every three seconds, bringing another gasp out of you.

Sanemi moved out of you and to your side like a big cat that had been just fed and was ready to take a deserved nap.

“Are you okay?, how are you feeling?” His arm comes under your body, bringing you closer to him.

“I’m okay, how are you feeling?” You repeat, concern still hidden in your voice. Was he still in pain?

“I’ll survive.” He smiles, tilting his head, but the answer doesn’t sit right on you and he can almost immediately tell. “I’m okay now, Flame. I swear. Believe, if a need another little dosis of help, I’ll let you know.”

This time it’s you who breaks into a smile, smacking his chest playfully while you shake your head. At the action, he throws his head back, laughing with his eyes closed. He had never felt this happy before, he didn’t remember how good it felt. To love. To be loved.

It is really here.

And you have never seen such a beautiful thing before. If you could burn into your pupils a permanent image for the rest of your life, this would be it.

To want to hold something forever.

“Sleep, little flame, we have a big journey tomorrow.”

You are already yawning as he speaks, nodding and not even protesting at his words. Your legs were jelly, your vocal cords sore and the tiredness of the fight was finally catching up to you.

“Mhm-mhm, good night, Sanemi.”

He grins, placing the covers on top of both you.

“Good night, love.”

His lips pressed on your forehead are the last thing you feel before finally surrendering to your heavy eyelids, but you can still swear you hear the soft and lovely laugh of that little demon somewhere out there.

She’s glad you’re happy.

You’re glad she’s finally in a place where she can be too.

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

don't hold hands, m | myg

pairing(s): yoongi x reader

summary: You're fucking your ex-boyfriend's ex-best friend. You also now own a condo with him and owning this condo has made you house-poor. Yeah, it's not the usual love story and it's not going to be one. Not until you paint the walls black, that is.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; mostly conversations and feels tbh; minor smut (fem reader, marking / scratching, m-receiving oral, doggy, penetrative sex); non-idol!AU; guitarist!music producer!Yoongi x novelist!reader - fwb / roommates-to-lovers

just a story about two people who shouldn't fall in love falling in love, I have plenty of nasty smut so this is a different beat for ya lmao

--

“Is it fun being tortured?”

“Not really, no.”

It wasn’t fair to be this critical but, as long as you didn’t let these words travel outside this room, it was fine, right? At least, you kept telling yourself that. Delusion at its finest.

“It’s so stupid that people enjoy sticking their nose in drama that doesn’t involve them only because their lives are too boring to have any,” you sighed, tossing your phone across your desk, letting it skid into a pile of post-its covered in scrawled notes. “All because I deleted some photos.”

Notifications were now blocked.

“Some people mistake privilege with right.”

You glared at your phone even though the contents were the offender and not the device. Rolled your eyes, knowing you would be coming back to a shitstorm, but you couldn’t take it anymore. There had to be a limit. And the voice beside you had been telling you to put the damn thing down and stop deleting comments one by one, but the stubborn ram in you thought you could just headbutt through the bullshit.

And that imagery was gonna end there, thank you very much.

Your forehead found the palm of your hand and you sighed again, suddenly feeling the weight.

“I’m never doing that again.”

“You don’t have to.”

Minutes passed.

Silence never felt so serene.

Then it was cut through by steady, slow acoustic guitar, the notes drifting out from behind you. It almost made you feel more guilty. Almost. How fucked was that? You, sitting here right now, staring at nearly bare walls and a table covered in notes and your trusty laptop, almost feeling guilty for the guy that had backed out of the joint loan for this condo in the city that you didn’t even fuckin’ want, but you had been too far into the process to not lose a whole lotta money and too angry to let yourself lose.

How ironic, feeling guilty for the guy who cheated on you.

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m not,” was the guitar player’s response. “And you shouldn’t be either. For anything.”

You knew you shouldn’t apologize. It just felt like the thing to do, because you hadn’t been wholly right either and, even if you weren’t more in the wrong, you were still wrong, and wasn’t that fucked, putting levels of blame on a situation that, at the end of the day, was all said and done and left everybody bitter and full of scars.

The shitty part was everyone was on your case now and blaming you.

This was what you got for dating the lead singer of a punk band that skyrocketed to popularity on social media. Looked all elegant dark romance on TikTok and Instagram, just screaming and hate-fucking behind closed doors. Constant content to cover up the toxicity. And maybe it was your fault too, letting it get to your head that maybe you really were the beautiful, mysterious muse that the followers painted you out to be. You glossed over red flags – late nights, drugs and drinking, sleeping in rooms of girls that called themselves fans – all part of the industry. Nothing happened. Honest. But the greatest mistake was letting him tag you on Instagram. How cool was it that you were an author?

This bastard.

Not only had you given him some of your best quotes for his lyrics, but now you couldn’t publish those words as your own because this bastard would fuckin’ sue you for plagiarizing.

The guitar continued behind you, on the mattress on the floor.

So, not only were you getting crucified on social media at the moment because he had called you a backhanded bitch in his Instagram stories but also because you had deleted all photos of him on your profile and said fucking nothing. Silence to be polite and all that. He cheated on you, he was leaving you for some whore you had plenty of suspicions about, and, worst of all, he waited until you and him were finalizing the down payment for this expensive-ass-fuck high-rise condo – that money was out of your own pocket, not his, how convenient – and backed out of the loan for the mortgage. His reasoning?

You cheated on him first.

Hello?

With his former guitarist.

Hello?

Your ex-boyfriend had fired his former guitarist ages ago because you and him had gotten too friendly.

Alright, man.

You liked the guy, sure. Talked to him when he was in the studio and found you had a lot in common. Plus, he was crazy talented. Made most of the melodies, self-produced a lot of the songs for the band so they could save money, even contributed to lyric writing so they didn’t have to spend on that either. He even had a good voice, although sadly the band rarely used it. Your art of words paired with his knowledge of music made some viral hits. But then tensions rose between him and your ex when they started butting heads for no reason (there was a reason and it was ugly jealousy). Then arguments rose between you and your ex, but instead of breaking up, you buried yourself into writing your next novel to let the situation cool off.

Sigh, okay, call a spade a spade.

You were avoiding the confrontation.

He fired his guitarist and got a new one.

Then things were good.

Until they weren’t.

Of course, they weren’t. You didn’t solve shit, and he was fucking every girl that threw themselves at him behind your back. Good thing you had strict rules about condoms, otherwise you would probably have some lasting consequences right now. So, when the ground cracked and split apart from under you, what did you do?

Yup, this was the part that made you no better.

You found that former guitarist and fucked him.

Word travelled around. Word also travelled around that somehow you got someone to be part of that insane loan you got talked into. And, oh, shit, did things get messy once a certain someone knew who it was.

But here you were.

Feeling guilty.

You probably couldn’t publish for at least six months to a year because, harrowingly, your demographic was young adult – you had even relied on social media for self-marketing, fuck – and the half of a novel you had now had to be scrapped considering that so many of the quotes were now distressed in dark venues by the lips of an egomaniacal dick that you allowed into your pussy far too many times. Once was already too many.

Fuck.

You didn’t even want to live in the city.

It’ll be so much easier for me to get bigger opportunities. Don’t be a selfish bitch and only think about yourself.

You wanted to scream.

You wanted to throw your laptop into the wall and break it into smithereens, but you didn’t because this piece of technology was currently your only chance of making money. Fuck. Me. Always talking about himself like he was only important member of the band, even though it was the other guys who wrote most of the music and lyrics. No one sided with you, obviously. This was their job and technically not their romance. They were sympathetic but not empathetic to the point of jeopardizing their jobs. Obviously, you hadn’t signed any contracts for royalties or credit. This was supposed to be your soulmate.

Soulmates weren’t so generous to give you pennies.

You’re being greedy and self-important. Oh, so you’re only in the relationship for the money? I’ll give you money once we make it big. Once we get it all, I’ll buy you everything you want. But you gotta help me out now. We’re starving artists, ya know?

You should have asked your parents for monetary help, but you didn’t. Your pride didn’t want to hear the told-you-so speeches for dating a guy they didn’t choose for you. You also didn’t want the arranged marriage appointments back in your life either.

So.

Trapped in white walls, post-its of false starts, and impending doom.

Dramatic, but you were a writer.

“Come here and sit down with me.”

Some part of you didn’t want to face him. It was really dumb. He was your new roommate now. You were fucking him when you were too sad to avoid it, and it was pretty obvious he knew. You were living off his money. Sure, he only paid for half the rent but then food mysteriously appeared in the fridge, bathroom necessities were stocked when they were running low, cleaning supplies neatly sorted into the closet, and all that other shit. None of that wholesale stuff either, but the nicer things normal households could afford.

It wasn’t an exaggeration that you cried into the soap during your shower last night.

All because you finally acknowledged it wasn’t one of those shitty bars that made skin feel like plastic but actually fragrant lathering liquid that you could put on the dense, not-falling-apart-in-one-use loofah that you hadn’t bought. You would have been satisfied with cutting coupons and living on the dregs of the bare minimum, but someone cared enough to not let you do that, and you currently couldn’t do anything to contribute and probably couldn’t for a while.

And that made you feel undeserving.

Maybe you were only fucking him because that was all you could offer.

Pathetic.

The guitarist called your name softly.

Like a beaten dog, you got up and sat down beside Min Yoongi.

He continued to play a melody you didn’t know on his black acoustic guitar. He hadn’t moved in all his instruments and equipment yet. You had told him he could have the whole living room for his studio. He had asked if you were sure and you responded that you were sure that you weren’t going to have anybody over ever so, unless he wanted a living room space, you didn’t want one.

“Shit always happens, you know,” the deep voice reminded you.

“This happening was of my own doing and now I’ve ruined my own life,” you muttered, bitter over a boy and hating that you were bitter over a boy.

A small chuckle. “You have to admit you had help.”

Stupid boy.

“Can’t be helped. Humans are animals of regret.”

It stung to regret.

The guitar playing stopped and now you were met with silence.

Don’t cry.

But it was so tiring to be angry. So easy to be sad. So easy to think, my fault, for being swept up in what he was but not who he was, for believing that you knew what was best when clearly it wasn’t, for being spiteful on purpose. For avoiding looking at Yoongi in the face because you were too ashamed to acknowledge what was going on here.

For being too afraid to ask what he thought of it.

“I regretted not stealing you from him sooner. Thought you were too fuckable for that loser from the first day we met.”

A strange feeling.

Skin prickling, glancing the that pale hand of graceful, callused fingers simply resting on the neck of that guitar, not looking at Yoongi’s face even though you knew it quite well in profile.

“That’s one way to make me feel better,” you replied.

“I’m not trying to make you feel better. Just being honest,” he replied, tapping his fingertips on the wood. “You are ten times too talented and a hundred times too pretty for a guy like that.”

You twitched. “Are you shitting on my standards?”

“Back then? Yeah, I am.” A calm hum, setting aside his guitar and placing his elbows on his sweatpants-covered knees, charcoal gray and worn. “Pretty clear you went full desperado for a guy that didn’t deserve it. Also, he ain’t hot shit like he thinks he is.”

Ow and what the fuck. “Fuck off.”

You felt movement and tracked his hand raising, spinning a finger around his temple. A brief glance and the details sank in. Long, windswept black waves, light cream skin, pointed gaze directed forward and not at you, pensive slight frown of pink lips. You looked away again, past his loose white t-shirt and to your hands.

You used to be proud of them.

They used to be able to type prose like no other.

Now they were twisted in an oversized, olive-green sweatshirt that you picked up from the sale bin of the convenience store for dirt cheap and they didn’t write jack shit.

You also hated olive-green.

Nothing personal. It just wasn’t your color.

“You’re a psycho bitch to put up with him,” Yoongi commented.

He wasn’t wrong. “I’m a psycho bitch all the time.”

“Yeah, and I don’t date crazy.”

You thought you would feel insulted, but you were past the point of caring. Also, there was something about the way his calm voice said it. Like he knew what he was doing. Huh. That was a silly thing to think. Of course, Yoongi knew what he was doing. He did it. He let you in his studio when you tracked it down and camped out until he showed up. He had listened to your psychobabble and didn’t back away when you pinned him to the wall.

This wasn’t dating.

“At least, I thought I didn’t,” Yoongi added, not touching you.

He fucked you too. He wasn’t a starfish in bed, that was for sure.

“I wanted to get back at him too, you know,” that deep, hazy voice murmured beside you. “That bastard turned my friends against me, stole my mixes, and cut out all my connections. Made me start from the ground up, alone.”

Yeah, you did know that. You helped badmouth Yoongi. In the name of love.

Shit.

“Sorry.”

“You’re not sorry.”

Ouch.

“And you shouldn’t be, ‘cause what’s done is done and being sorry isn’t going to change anything.”

You untwisted your hands from each other, realizing your knuckles were white from anxiousness, and relaxed them on your bare knees. Best you could, anyway.

“Yeah,” was the best response you had. This fucking boy ruined your life and stole your eloquence too, apparently. Motherfucker. “You’re right.”

Neither you or Yoongi said anything.

Minutes passed.

Another night in the condo and both of you were sitting on a mattress with a single blanket, deflated pillows, and a box of condoms on the floor.

You touched his forearm the same time his hand moved to grip your thigh.

And then it was the don’t-look-him-in-the-eyes challenge, and he was doing the exact same thing, eyes averted, black hair over them, lips grazing your jaw. Breath against your ear. Hot. His neck under your lips, flexed, fair skin with remnants of bruises, and your teeth sank in, making new ones, listening to his hiss and feeling his hands slide under your sweatshirt. Weighted palms and blunt nails. Digging in.

“Harder.”

He scratched you up as you climbed into his lap, tasting flesh.

Those firm hands gripped your hips and forced them down. Grinding. Softness to growing hardness, unhooking your bra, hands all over like you had lost your mind, your thighs squeezing his sides, yanking his shirt collar down and licking up his collarbone, dripping spit, shivering as you saw it glisten over his marred skin.

Clothes coming off, thrown aside. Guitar sliding to the hardwood floor as bodies tumbled. Your hands on his chest, your hard nipples pressed into the sheets as Yoongi slipped his hand into your hair and shoved your head down. Mouth open, tongue curling around. Moan striking the air, echoing in the nothingness.

Hard, hot, now wet.

Up, down, hitting the back of your throat, unable to choke in the adrenaline of lust, in need, in desire for pain, rubbing your tongue all over as Yoongi face-fucked you hard and fast, thick cock swelling in your mouth, your lips grazing the swollen head and making him shudder, saliva slipping down your chin that was smacking into his balls.

Was it shameful that you were good at it?

Sex solved nothing but you sure had a lot of it as if it did.

A sharp gasp and salty cum filled your throat, drinking, swallowing with effort and the burning sensation of your locked jaw, maintaining the soft tightness. Tongue tracing the contours, keeping him hard, hearing the rip of a foil packet above your head.

You hadn’t even realized that Yoongi had let go of your hair, letting you lick him all over at your own pace.

“What position?” Yoongi panted, husky and breathless in the mostly empty bedroom.

Mattress, chair, desk, laptop. Oh, and guitar.

Bodies on the floor.

You didn’t say anything.

You just turned around and slid down, elbows on the bed, knees spread, ass up.

“Alright then.”

You bit your lower lip.

You almost turned your head, almost looked back, just to check, right, just to check he was okay with it, and then strong hands gripped your hips, lifting them, sliding in, condom on and stretching you out right away, his knees pushing your knees apart and forcing you to arch your back for the angle.

No chance to look back.

You gasped, gripping the sheets, blinded by pleasure and the fading resonance of pain.

Hard.

Deep.

You pushing back, deep not deep enough, hitting your preferred depth and letting your eyelids flutter, veins burning with the repeated ecstasy. One of your hands lifted and reached back, squeezing his hand on your hip, and the grip became tighter, fingertips digging in, smacking his hips into your ass, and your body threatened to throw him back, carnal power meeting his every thrust, clenching around his hard length, and you could hear Yoongi growl your name, low and deep and voracious.

Somehow, his name fell from your lips too.

Rough and sinful, no better than an animal.

His nails dug into your back and dragged down, burning lines into your skin.

Your head tipped back and you moaned, a clear, shameless sound that would become familiar to this ceiling. Pooling wildfire, tightening muscles, wasted nectar sticky between joined thighs, surge after shivering surge of orgasmic apex stinging your veins as you barely registered Yoongi’s shudder and blissful groan, feeling the pulse inside you made than hearing the sound.

The rush of blood roaring in your ears was far too loud for you to hear anything.

Your face felt hot, so hot.

Gripping the sheets, twisting them, pulling them off the edge of the bed.

This moment.

Very few things were as intense and exigent as an orgasm. Fleeting, but a violently memorable. Pure nothingness of soaring high. You chased it. Again. And again. And again, your fingers tangled in Yoongi’s dark hair, pulling it over his face but he didn’t look at you anyway, eyes closed and teeth trapping his lower lip, breath trapped in his chest, driving his hips into yours again and again.

You both kept going until the limits were reached.

The darkness willingly swallowed you up.

-

Min Yoongi always considered himself a rational person, which was precisely why he found himself entangled in the break-up between his former best friend and the only woman he ever considered committing a felony for.

Yeah.

He also didn’t believe in love at first sight.

She was still way too hot for that idiot though.

His eyes could communicate well enough with his dick. The short skirt and exposed thighs didn’t really help either. Still, Yoongi had let it be. Respect was keeping his distance despite racing heartbeat and keeping calm despite shaking hands. He got used to it once the late-night talks about music and wordplay became a regular thing. Sometimes they talked about general life and were surprised on how well they aligned. Still, she never spoke poorly about her then-boyfriend even though there was plenty to talk about.

Scorched earth was their sacred ground.

It was painful to witness.

Yoongi regretted valuing the friendship, mostly because it didn’t mean jack shit at the end of the day. He regretted believing in the elegant, age-old saying.

Bros before hoes.

Tch.

But mostly, Yoongi regretted pretending like nothing was wrong.

He would see the pain in her expression and not say anything. Watch her pack it all away and greet him with warmth that he didn’t deserve because he had a racing heart and shaking hands every time they met. He would watch his former best friend disappear into hotel rooms without explanation and Yoongi knew damn well it wasn’t right, but he kept his mouth shut because he was a coward, something he figured out later.

He could have washed his hands clean of that shitshow, but instead his hands had held her shaking shoulders and watched her struggle not to cry on that cold night.

Yoongi considered himself a rational person, but never a good one.

Too many ways to judge, and her lips had already connected with his as soon as his shoulder blades hit the wall. He didn’t stop it. Maybe it was bitterness. Vengeance. Hate.

No, it wasn’t any of that, actually.

He didn’t know exactly what but, in that moment, Yoongi knew that he would murder that asshole if he saw his former best friend’s face right then, ready to commit a felony all because those beautiful eyes couldn’t look at him, closing instead to blink back the tears that bastard didn’t deserve.

That meant something, all right.

He knew it could take a long time. He knew it would almost certainly be hopeless. He knew he would probably end up with a broken heart and broke as hell. He knew it was a bad idea and he knew it was going to tear him up, this spiral, but when he found himself looking up to the ceilings of these mostly empty rooms, this condo he now half-owed with the woman that was formerly his best friend’s girlfriend, and Yoongi found he didn’t know and he didn’t care what the future held.

She had trouble sleeping.

Less trouble after exhausting themselves.

He had trouble sleeping too, but that was because he was staring at the ceiling and wondering just how rational he really was. One hand behind his head, under the pillow. The other resting on the blanket, on the curve of her hip, feeling the steady hum of her breathing.

She never cried in front of him.

He knew she did cry, because he heard her in the bathroom sometimes. But never in front of him. Showed anger, yes, but never acted helpless even though it was perfectly reasonable to feel that way after everything that happened. Living on the least for his sake, even to the point of skipping meals and spending all her time trying to write, trying to get back to her livelihood, trying to get past all the false starts. Personally, Yoongi felt that she should give up for now and heal herself, but he also knew how it felt to feel stubborn and useless.

Hah.

It was weird, being so close and yet so far away.

He felt it most in the nighttime, even though that was when he was closest to her.

He was never going to be the same. He knew that. He already wasn’t, surprising himself with his own recklessness, and for what? He didn’t even know what she was capable of reciprocating after receiving all those scars. Didn’t even know if he was the right one, if he was better or worse, if…

If he was believing in something that wasn’t there.

Yoongi closed his eyes and went to sleep.

-

Livid.

It was weird. Feeling it. In the past, you buried it, numb, and promptly lived in delusion. But now you could feel it. What was more, you let yourself feel it. There wasn’t anything to stop you except for the occasional mental peanut gallery of you’re a bad person if you feel jealousy, but anger could overtake anything if you let it.

You stared at the scene before you, several meters away.

Seething.

It felt good.

Mostly because it was honest.

It surprised you. You hadn’t expected to feel anything. Sad, maybe. You had already been cheated on, so naturally you assumed the cycle would begin anew, just with less promises and in the gray area of uncertainty. But, no, instead of being distraught and delusional, you felt maddeningly, viciously, nearly on-the-edge of making a fist and dislocating Min Yoongi’s jaw from his skull because he was speaking to a female-presenting human at the entrance of the building that housed his and others’ music studios.

Did you lack context? Yes.

Would that get you arrested? Yeah, probably.

Would that probably not get you laid anymore and label you as an unhinged psychopath? Without a doubt.

But would it feel good?

Don’t know.

You had never punched someone before, although maybe you should have practiced on your ex-boyfriend. He was probably a more deserving candidate. In any case, you remained frozen in perplexation at your willingness for violence because you were pretty sure your… relations… with Yoongi were nothing more than a lonely bitch and a spiteful silver tongue executing revenge, so the amount of fucks you should give about Yoongi speaking to any human being – other than the obvious health and safety precautions – should be zero.

None.

Basket of fucks empty.

And yet.

Clearly wasn’t since you were mentally calculating the angle and force for jaw dislocation while having zero experience in doing so. In any sort of non-virtual manner, that is.

Hm.

Your hands were firmly in the pockets of your black cargo pants. The hip ones, although you had plenty of choice. You kept them there for the safety of passerby or, maybe deep down, yourself. This caused your jacket to fall open, the outlines of the sew-on patches and thick, bunched-up black denim crowding the space between your forearm and waist, your black cropped tank exposed to the chill evening air. You used to wear a plethora of band t-shirts, but, well, those were probably in a landfill or rotting in a secondhand shop.

You figured you would be cold. Unsurprisingly, the anger kept you warm.

Huh.

You thought about turning around and just straight up leaving, petty and picturesque of course, and then Yoongi seemed to sense your projected violence, looking up from the conversation. Dark waves over his cheeks, striking body line, backing away, hiding his eyes for a moment, not that you could see them that well from this distance. You twitched.

The girl reached out.

Yoongi simply bowed, out of reach, and pushed the glass door open.

Honestly, her role in this moment was so miniscule that you completely ignored whatever she did or possibly could have said to Yoongi’s retreating back. Sharpened gaze, and then he crossed the street with the crowd, walking past oblivious bystanders who may or may not become the harrowed audience of the next thirty seconds.

He stopped before you. Bomber jacket, white shirt, black track pants. Monochrome elegance.

You looked up at him, saying nothing.

Over one shoulder was his usual guitar bag that held said instrument and his yellow notepad sticking out of the pocket. He used it to jot down whatever came to him. You almost said something. Almost. Then you remembered that if this, this between you and Min Yoongi, if this was supposed to be nothing, then weren’t you supposed to do nothing but voice your casual annoyance for making you wait rather than, well.

Admit insecurity?

You looked away quickly.

No, it did not matter how reasonable it was, you didn’t like knowing that somehow you had been weakened by an ex-boyfriend, barely a man, no, a mere locust at best, so it was better to not say anything and accept that this was–

“Sorry, I got caught up with the staff about ending my lease.”

Compromised.

You didn’t look at him. “What?”

“Gonna end my lease this month and move my studio stuff to the condo. I can’t afford both.”

He had told you this already. It had been your idea. You already knew you were overreacting to a situation that you created in your head rather than reality. And, yet, the best your mind would allow was uh huh, a plausible explanation, sarcasm included.

“Ah. Right,” was your sharp, mildly frigid reply.

“I can’t read your mind.”

Do you intend to be exhausting?

Your mental peanut gallery was super annoying.

You breathed in. Cool, crisp air. The sound of cars and people bustling in and out of stores. You breathed in again. Did you really intend to be exhausting, irrational, and, worst of all, dishonest? Really, after all that had happened? After getting here, standing here, arriving to pick up Yoongi at his request to do the grocery shopping together?

You turned back to look right into black-brown, piercing orbs.

“I just realized that I have the ability to be jealous,” you exhaled, draining your lungs. “It’s unpleasant and not nearly as delightfully pivotal as the media makes it out to be.”

Something fluttered in those orbs.

Or maybe it was the wind catching his bangs, drifting black strands over his eyes shadowed by dark circles.

Yoongi half-smiled.

“Makes for good songwriting material though.”

There was an air of helplessness to his words. A tone you couldn’t define, except for the understanding, which left you both baffled and with a sense of guilt. There were emotions in that barely-there smirk on those familiar lips. Relief. Maybe a slight bit of shame. A shadow of guilt too. You realized people were glancing at you and him as they walked past, wondering why you both were at a standstill on the sidewalk. Yoongi seemed to not notice them or care.

You pulled your hands out of your pockets.

“Come on. We should go before it gets dark.”

Before you noticed it, your hand was rising.

You pulled it back, but not fast enough.

Yoongi’s free hand reached out and grasped around yours, strong fingers enclosing. Sliding up, calluses on your palm. Your hand lowered, slowly, your eyes moving in the opposite direction. Lips parting. His hand was colder than yours.

You stared at Yoongi.

He looked back, expression unreadable.

“I don’t hold hands,” you said, suddenly breathless.

You tightened your grip.

“Neither do I,” Yoongi replied, taking a step, on the cusp of walking past you, his hand around yours. “I simply just don’t like the idea of yours getting cold when I can do something about it.”

Previously, when you held hands, it was always with a purpose of showing public affection. The look-how-real-this-is-because-there-are-clear-witnesses show. Front row tickets nobody asked for. But this.

This.

You blinked hard and the sting was inside.

The sting of wasted time.

Your name in that raspy, soft voice. Familiar. You looked up, not saying anything and hoping the eye contact was enough. All Yoongi did was smile lightly and tug your hand.

“Let’s get take-out and shop tomorrow. We have plenty of time to eat healthier.”

-

“You can cry in front of me.”

Min Yoongi heard her breath hitch and still.

Seconds that felt like hours ticked by. It was the dead of night. Or maybe one could call it the time when honesty came to life, if the conditions were right. He knew this time well usually with a drink in his hand, but this time he was laying on his side with bruises of bites and carnal memories lingering on his fingertips.

“I wasn’t crying.”

Her voice was thick and strained from trying to keep it even. Her moment of jealousy had happened days ago. He had recognized it right away. Call it personal experience. He also recognized that she didn’t like to feel that way. It was obvious from her torn yet furious expression. It confirmed a lot of things for him. Still, she seemed pleased to help him move and set up his things in the bedroom. They found the living room to be a bit too echoey due to the large space so they switched the two, pulling the mattress to the living room and setting up his equipment in the center of what was formerly the bedroom.

He told her to paint the condo.

She had mentioned in passing that someday she would like to paint her entire living space black. Not this place, because he owned it too, and you probably think I’m crazy for wanting a dark space, huh, Yoongi? He asked her, why wait? No one lives forever. We’re just passing through.

She had given him a weird look.

We own this condo. Paint it.

There were cans of black paint waiting.

Yoongi had intended to go visit his family over the weekend. His parents and his brother who had recently been promoted to head chef at the classy restaurant he worked at. Someone in the family needed to have prestige. Well, that was his own personal feeling. Surprisingly at this point his parents had given up on telling him to get a higher-paying job. They told him to simply be happy.

And get married.

Yeah, about that.

He was still trying to get used to the music producer thing, for fuck’s sake.

“Are you afraid I won’t understand?” Yoongi let himself say, not turning around yet.

Sometimes, people didn’t want you to see them weak. He could understand that.

Call it personal experience.

A shuddering sigh. Deep breaths. Words bogged down, drained.

“I can only be so pathetic before I lose my mind recalling the past,” she mumbled. He felt her weight deepen on her side of the bed, as if she was trying to melt into the mattress. “I made things hard for myself. For you. It’s pointless to cry about it anyway. In the end, it only makes me look ungrateful.”

Yoongi thought about it.

“It’s true that you probably shouldn’t have involved me.”

He shifted, laying on his back now.

“But I’m not a good person either. I agreed, after all,” he murmured, his skin tingling with bruises and carnal memories. “Hm, to be honest, he was always a dick though, from high school till now. Always will be, I fear.”

“You’re easygoing enough not to be affected by his asshole behavior.”

“Not my job to change people. I leave that to parents and clueless fools.”

A pensive silence. Surprisingly not an irritated one. She seemed to accept it.

“Why did you become his friend?” she asked, staring at the ceiling with him.

“We just happened to like the same thing. Music.”

“I’m lucky you decided to become his friend.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment. Then, “I’m lucky that somehow he managed to bamboozle a hot and clever girl, two things he’s obviously not.”

She almost laughed. Almost.

“Who the fuck uses the word bamboozle?”

“You had to admit you were bamboozled, because you sure as hell weren’t dick-drunk.”

“Oh? You think you’re that good, huh?”

“No, I just know he’s that much worse.”

The faintest of chuckles.

“You… You get better every time,” she admitted. “I think I just caught you off guard the first time.”

“Firstly, I don’t like wasting time and, secondly, I had given up for a while before…” I met you. “Romance seemed like an expensive, worthless distraction when I could be using that time and money trying to push the band forward,” he pivoted, running a hand through his hair to push it out of his eyes. “Then that went to shit.”

“Sorry.”

Automatic.

He chuckled darkly. “I’m confident I got the better deal.”

A trembling pause.

“Why do you think that?”

He reached over and placed his palm on the top of her head, lacing his fingers in her hair. Messing it up.

“Tell me the truth. Was he good at sex?”

A burst of laughter. “Really? Alright. No, he wasn’t. He sucked. Thought he was a piston of a muscle car instead of a human being. Oh, and once he fell asleep on top of me.”

He cocked an eyebrow. Turned his head and forced hers to turn as well.

She was smiling.

Yoongi found his chest tight and breath shallow.

“And you didn’t leave him then… why?” he pressed.

She winced, albeit playfully. “I yelled at him. A lot. I don’t know, maybe he was tired.”

“Not an excuse.”

“I know, I know…” Sigh. “I… I didn’t want to believe I made the wrong choice.” Her eyes shifted, but her body was still turned to face his. “I… It made my entire family angry, dating him. Especially my parents. They would never forgive me and hold it over my head forever. I had to make it work. I thought, if only I worked hard enough…” Another heavy breath, squeezing her eyes tightly. “I know it was pride, but I wanted to prove to them and myself that I could do anything. Bad choices? Maybe. But they were mine. I don’t want my life decided by what is best for me. If I suffer for it, those are my consequences.”

Her eyes opened, but barely.

Yoongi kept his hand on her head, running his fingers through her hair.

“I… I feel like shit because now you’re stuck in my mistakes,” she breathed.

He liked to touch her hair. It felt comforting.

“You know what your problem is?”

She glared under lashes and dared him.

Undeterred, he continued. “You blame yourself for shit that hasn’t even happened.”

A disapproving frown. “Hah?”

He tapped her forehead. “You think it’ll bother me if you cry, but what truly bothers me is that you cry alone.” Pushed back the strands, and now he was closer, sharing breath. “You think I’m stuck in your mistakes. Mistakes don’t inherently have only negative consequences. They almost always exist in a gray area.”

“I... I know that,” she grumbled, face against his chest.

“I did say you were clever.”

A drifting, drowsy silence.

“I’m not clever,” she whispered to his skin, pulling her body closer. “I just like you.”

Yoongi felt himself losing to sleep.

“I’ve always liked you, since the moment I saw you,” he muttered into her hair, breathing in the familiar scent, so quietly that he wasn’t sure if he said it at all.

-

“Ah? Yes? Sorry about that. Oh, yes, uh, I’m painting. Everything. Yes, I’ll be sure the keep the windows open. Thank you.”

You closed the front door of the condo. Well. You had expected nervousness, but somehow the conversation between you and the downstairs neighbor had been very calm. Apparently, he worked from home and wasn’t expecting the loud crash of the ladder from your unit.

In your defense, you hadn’t expected it either.

Thankfully, you hadn’t been on the ladder, only trying to figure out how to set it up. It was one of those compact ones that saved space but required some innovative thinking to get the taller height you needed. One crash and a YouTube video later, the ladder was now secure, and then came the knock on the front door.

The thoughts flew by – I don’t belong here, I can’t do this alone, they’re going to scold me and I haven’t even done the upper half yet – but the guy just seemed curious and confused. Didn’t even comment on your awkward outfit of navy boys’ basketball shorts and ill-fitted gray sports bra. Both on super sale. You were still wearing your bra because of the incorrect size, so the gray blob was bordering on ugly-ass tank top.

Look.

Some people had clothing they didn’t care about to paint in and some people had to dive in sale bins because they left behind most of their wardrobe and, with the clothes, their bad memories.

That was the intent.

Things rarely go as intended.

For instance, you thought you were going to feel imposter syndrome for a neighbor knowing that you were painting your own goddamn walls. You turned away from the door after you locked it, frowning. That’s right. Like it or not, bad decisions and minus an ex-boyfriend later, these were your walls. You looked up, out the large, floor-to-ceiling living room windows, and saw the sunlight sparkle over the sprawling city, walls painted half-black and half white surrounding you, and you could say that you never wanted to be here, but.

It was a sick view.

We own this condo. Paint it.

Your muscles were sore from the repeated swiping motion of the paint roller, but there was still this inexplicable energy coursing through you.

“What if it doesn’t look good?” you had asked Yoongi.

He had shrugged. “Then we paint it again.”

“It’ll be dark.”

“Wow, really? I thought black was supposed to be bright and cheerful,” was the sarcastic quip. “Just believe you have good taste and paint the damn walls.”

This condo was an investment that made you poor.

That was the truth you needed to face.

You have good taste.

You scrunched your face slightly as you remembered Yoongi���s facial expression. Was he… praising you or himself? You squinted. This guy. Picked up the paint roller again and saturated it with ink black, making crispy crinkly sounds as you shuffled over the plastic. Good taste. Well, that was relative, wasn’t it? Everything was at the end of the day. You climbed onto the ladder and began the repetitive, monotone motion once more but at a higher elevation. You should have put your music back on. Your phone was on the plastic-covered mattress and you were not about to go back down until you finished this section or ran out of paint. This was going to be a long process, but you had several days and too much time as Yoongi had already left to visit his family.

Now you were alone with a lot of paint and mind-numbing fumes.

Shit, you should have opened the window.

You would have to paint a second coat anyway. Who cared if the first coat was shitty?

Sigh.

Climbing down and doing your due diligence before returning to your post.

You had forgotten once again to put your music back on. Hah. Well, that was fine; you had yourself. You didn’t mind being alone. Heh, sometimes it was better to be alone. You continued rolling away, hardworking in the consistent rhythm. Thinking about it now, this might have been the first time in a long time that you were okay with being alone. Before, you had felt guilty whenever you weren’t thinking about your relationship. Huh. Odd. Was it some kind of mental self-reassurance when you knew something was off? It was hard to tell, but possible.

Everything was off about that relationship. You just had too much pride to admit it.

You sighed, climbing back down to reload.

Wait a second. Was this why there was that wider step towards the top of the ladder? You poured some more paint in the tray and carried it up with you. Oh shit. Wow. Innovation. You coughed and went back to a different patch of wall. No one saw that. See, perks of being alone.

Well, you didn’t hate Yoongi being here.

You stopped painting.

You didn’t just think that.

You went back to painting. Shut up, nagging feeling. You furiously painted on, ignoring your soreness, telling that little voice in your head to shut up, because there were plenty of reasons not to think stuff like that. Firstly, you weren’t ready to think stuff like that. And what if it was only hopeful transference rather than genuine feeling? Asshole or not, your ex-boyfriend’s betrayal of trust was not something so easily overcome. It wasn’t fair to Yoongi either, pretending to like him if you weren’t sure.

You liked Yoongi before you broke up, too.

Wasn’t that fucked up?

You sighed and came back down, careful to scoot the ladder without spilling and causing a mess. Back up and at it. Of course, it was fucked up. And you knew it was, which might have been why you let it get that bad. Might? Was why you let it get that bad. Two hypocrites were meant for each other. You huffed, puffing your cheeks. It wasn’t enough to hold the ticking grenade; you had needed confirmation it was a, in fact, a bomb.

Maybe even hoping it would end you.

It didn’t.

For some reason, you thought Yoongi could see that in you.

Damn, he’s really living in your system, hm?

You frowned.

Your phone rang.

You almost jumped, startled at the sudden sound of an old song you used to enjoy. Back when you were a teenager, and the memories came back as you climbed down. A kid who just really liked rock’n’roll, and parents who did not, but that kid didn’t care, annoyingly setting it as her ringtone on her shitty flip phone. Couldn’t you be her again? Before you had time to ponder, you checked your hands for paint and picked up your phone, answering it.

“Hello?”

“Did you eat?”

You blinked, sitting down on the crinkly plastic upon hearing that deep, raspy voice. “Uh, no. I was gonna stop by the convenience store when the first coat was done.”

“No, you weren’t. You were gonna skip a meal,” Min Yoongi tutted. “Because you don’t want to be a nuisance and use the money I had left you.”

Damn. He knew you, all right.

“If I forget, I forget,” you grumbled.

“Yeah, yeah. Anyway, pick up the food order from the front desk when it comes. They told me about thirty minutes.”

“You don’t have to order food for me. I’m not a kid,” you hissed.

“It’s the pho spot you like and if I don’t put food in front of you, you won’t eat. You intend to do all that hard work without some fuel?” A pause. You made a disapproving noise. “And I know you’re not a kid. By the way, what’s your waist measurement?”

You remained a grump. “Why?”

“I’m here, so I’m going to buy you some clothes.”

“Don’t buy me clothes. Don’t spend money–”

“You need things,” Yoongi cut you off. “Unless you want to come with me? You don’t trust me?”

“That’s not it and you know it,” you snapped back. “It’s not worth–”

“Of course, it isn’t. It’s vain and silly and superficial. And I’m still going to buy you things, so tell me your waist measurement.”

“Yoongi, this is your hard-earned money,” you puffed out, exasperated.

“Yeah, and I make money to provide you with a good life because I think you are the most important person to me. So, do you want me to guess with my hands or are you going to meet me halfway?”

Dead silence.

He called your name, softly.

You told him in centimeters.

“Got it. Don’t forget to check the front desk in thirty minutes.”

-

“I love you.”

His hair was stuck to his face due to sweat. “What?”

“I said I love you,” she said, staring right at him, their chests shuddering from exertion.

Yoongi couldn’t believe it, but also he wasn’t surprised. The room still smelled faintly like paint. The windows still had no curtains or blinds. They were still fucking on the mattress in the center of the living room and he was holding the used condom when she said I love you.

The walls and ceiling were all black, covering them in darkness as the city below glimmered with light.

“I love you,” was his reply.

It startled him, the suddenness of his response. He knew he did. Of course, he did, and he turned away quickly, making his way to the kitchen and throwing away the condom, skin tingling, cheeks aflame, and he was startled by the feeling that remained. He hadn’t expected those words to come out of her mouth even though he was sure of his own feelings. Yoongi had resigned himself to not hear it from her lips. He also didn’t need to hear it to know that it was true.

He saw her head to the bathroom.

Time was funny sometimes.

Suddenly they were both staring at each other on the mattress, the usual ritual completed, and the moment suspended.

“You didn’t have to say it,” he finally said. “For my sake.”

“I didn’t.” Her hair curled over her shoulder, caressing her curves. “I said it for my sake.”

Blankets and pillows and questions.

“I wondered about the validity of it,” she admitted to him. “Been wrong before and all that. Might still be wrong. So, I said it just to see if I regretted it.”

“Ah.”

They stared into each other’s eyes.

“Do you?” he asked.

She shook her head. “No.”

He half-smiled. How very simple yet complicated. He understood. “All the paint fumes really got to your head, huh?”

She looked up at him and he realized with a start that she, too, was half-smiling.

He reached out, smoothing her hair.

“You have a pretty face, Yoongi,” she teased, eyes sparkling.

He raised an eyebrow.

“I thought it would be too cliché, you and me,” she continued and the tone was different now, softer and more serious. “I thought you would get tired.”

She meant, of me.

He had thought this was cliché too. Cliché didn’t mean worthless though. His hand fell, and rested over hers without a second thought. Warm and against the sheets. “If I felt that way, I would have stopped speaking to you long ago. You could take care of yourself too.” Not safely, but could. “Except for money.”

She smirked.

“So you’re saying I need a suga daddy.”

Yoongi twitched.

“Part of me wanted to sell the condo as soon as possible,” she went on, casually glossing over the comment. “But the realtor said it would be a bad idea. I wouldn’t have any buyers without a minimum of six months or a year. Too many superstitions. Part of me thought I should…”

She looked up to the ceiling.

It was a high-rise, after all.

“All the reasons to move here were his. More convenient, better opportunities, owning rather than renting for the investment… I believed in it, more than myself.”

He didn’t say anything. Couldn’t because all those things had benefitted him already. He didn’t only agree to move in help her out. He was still a working music producer. But she didn’t seem to be saying it to condone him.

“I didn’t really think this place was mine until I painted the walls.”

Yoongi thought he should at least confess this part. “That’s why I told you to paint them.”

A small laugh. “You don’t like it, huh?”

“Don’t you remember the walls of the old studio were dark gray? That was my doing. I always resented the last place I rented because they didn’t let me paint the walls.”

“Ah… He painted over the gray.”

“I bet he did.”

They had fallen to the bed now, side by side.

“I didn’t think this would work out,” she breathed.

“I thought it might,” he hummed.

“Why?”

“You’re hot and clever and I wanted you from the first day I saw you.”

A warm chuckle. “Just like that?”

“Well, you had to give me a chance. Couldn’t make the first move due to the circumstances.”

“It was a convoluted and confusing one.”

“Eh, life’s unfair.”

-

“Your husband already paid.”

Your what?

“What?”

The cashier waved you away. You shuffled back, dazed, seeing Min Yoongi emerge from the bathroom in the corner of the restaurant, tucking a bit of his long black hair behind his ears and finding you in front of him.

“The cashier just called you my husband,” you declared.

He shrugged.

“Surprise.”

You blinked at him.

Patrons chatted and laughed as if this was a normal day. The music was horrendous covers of cheesy 2000’s pop. It was very strange, but the pho was good and well-priced, which was why Yoongi and you came here often after his meetings with music companies. Popular talent was in high demand.

He ticked his head to your outfit. “I know you like this dress I bought you, but you’ve left your coat at the table.”

“Oh, shit.”

“You’ve been scatterbrained ever since you started writing again.”

“Shut up.”

--

masterpost

[m1ssunderstanding]

Get Back Rewatch 55 Years On: Day 21: The Concert

Every time they're not on camera I simultaneously feel so relieved for them and so upset that I don't get to watch. Messed up of me, but hey. Remember that slightly disturbing quote where Paul said he actually does believe he's kind of public property and he's fine with that?

He looks so determined. Like the fairy tale prince staring down the dragon or Enjolras about to hijack a funeral (Literally my baby was conceived after I watched this in IMAX so if that tells you anything about my feelings . . . I'm going to be annoying I'm sorry I can't help it)

Her legs look so good in those tights! I love that Mo came not because her boyfriend needs his mommy but because she wants to see them perform! Kissing her on the mouth right now.

Danger boy Paul!

Fun fact, I was this John for Halloween in 2021 to a college party. My hair was already like that, and I had dirty white keds and black jeans, so I just did fake sideburns, fake glasses, and a fake fur coat. I tried to get my best friend to be Paul. She wanted to be a hooker, and I was like “It’s the same thing!”

See, look at him and his whorish ways!

John’s little lip-bit smile. He’s so happy with himself nailing that solo. Cutie. 

Cocky boys. As they should be. I love when they’re proud of their work together. Get Back is 95% just Looks between John and Paul, isn’t it?

John and Paul instantly jump into their little “humble working class entertainers” act. You know what just occurred to me? You know how they talked about the “rattle your jewelry” comment backstage and Paul dared John to say it? I wonder if they talked about the “audition” comment too.

It really is a beautiful thing they’re doing. It’s lovely, watching everyon leave their desk jobs and their shopping and whatever else to sit in their fire escapes and congregate in the street and huddle together on rooftops. It really is just like the happy end in a sixties zeitgeist movie. 

All the girls nervous to be too enthusiastic after years of being made fun of themselves and watching others like them being mocked on TV. Let girls like things, damnit!

Mo jamming! I’m in love.

John mouthing Paul’s lyrics.

“Paul McCartney singing that. What a voice.” Literally me if time travel existed. 

“And if SOMEBODY loved me like she does,” Well, it is good manners to look at the person you’re talking to, I guess. But you do have an audience, John. And a mic and a camera. 

“Absolutely disrupt all the business in this area.” Yes! Get those blue meanies, boys!

“No lay rishi gahd blay bloojaygoo” should replace all the stupid quotes the Lennon estate puts on everything they sell. Then I’d actually want their shit. Paul trying to magic the words from his head into John’s there. Successfully, though.

That “Pleeeeeheeeeease” is one of the prettiest beatles vocal moments. I love it with all my heart. And clearly, so does Paul. Doing that thing he does, inappropriately thrusting into his bass. 

Oh my gosh it’s the song Paul and John do together on tour right now!

That “Yyyyyeeeeeah, yeaaaaaah!” (I mean the whole song, the whole concert, but especially that) does things to me. 

John’s extremely blurry, because he turned his head quick enough to give him whiplash there, sorry everyone. But look! They’re having the time of their lives! They just love performing together so much!

Everyone goes to check on their accumulating audience. (except Paul. Wonder what that’s about.)Ringo’s little pleasantly surprised smile is so so sweet!

It must be so fun for them to be performing One after 909 again after all these years. Bitter sweet with everything that’s changed since then. 

LMAO Kevin thank you for your service!

He’s a silly cutie.

The mic in the street asking that girl if she’d like them to come back every lunchtime. Imagine if they did? How cute would that be? Like back to their cavern lunchtime shows. Maybe that could’ve saved them.

Them playing God Save the Queen reminds me of that story where Brian was like, “This bigger manager wants to buy your contract from me, and I just wanted to be straight with you. They could probably get better deals for you.” and they were like, “If you sell us to him we’re only playing God Save the Queen from that moment on.” It’s probably a fake story, but that’s what it made me think of. 

I always think that quote of Paul’s is so strange, where he was like “I never got the chance to watch John while we were playing.” Like. What are you talking about, baby?

Literally “Uh. Yeah. Uh. Yeah.” Fucking his bass. Staring at John. Okay? And I’m not supposed to take that and run with it? I’m not supposed to assume from that that you want to fuck your songwriting partner?

I think he genuinely wants to get arrested. I really do. I think he wants them all to get arrested so they can finally be alone in a room together. A lovely cell for four. Just shimmying at them. And Billy looking at him like, Bro. What the fuck is wrong with you?

Paul’s “woo” and shimmy :: John’s “woo” and weird little kick move. And Paul looks so fond, of course. 

God bless Mal for stalling those little fucks as long as humanly possible. And Debbie! “Don’t actually go on the roof because it’s overweight.” Gaslight, gatekeep, girlboss!

Absolutely LOVE John and George turning their amps back on. That’s right. You guys are what’s keeping the country going at this point, so if you want to play on your roof they better let you play on your roof and say thank you.

All the times when they just simultaneously turn to each other. Like, yes, this is our que to stare hungrily into each other’s eyes. 

My stomach just dropped at those words across the screen. “This was the Beatles’ last public performance.” We know, Peter Jackson. You don’t have to remind us. Jeez. 

John and Paul’s two very different but equally important leadership roles in the band at work here at the end of the concert. John delivers his iconic line, makes everyone laugh, and seals the band’s last performance with a very tight bow. Meanwhile, Paul’s climbing the gate to bypass the crowd and schmooze the police out of arresting Mal. 

THIS is sooo cute. Heads buried together and John’s very sweet, “‘s’matter? Hmm?” 

George is so cute here in the control room afterward. No wonder they don’t listen to his not wanting to do things, honestly, if he acts like this after. “What’s the law say why you can’t do that? Well how disturbing the peace? Yeah, I’m for taking over London. And every rock group in the world all on different buildings, playing the same tune.” Adorable.

Poor John. It breaks my heart that he doesn’t think his little lyric flub is funny. He’s disappointed in himself. I wish he could see that that’s one of the things everyone loves about him. George was grinning ear to ear about it. For fuck’s sake, that’s one of the reasons Paul fell in love with you in the first place. If only John could see himself the way we see him, you know? 

This little moment cracks me up. John always has to be mommy’s naughty little boy, and Yoko does a very sweet job of playing her part here. 

Linda and Paul are so touchy and clingy and it’s very romantic and I love that Ringo joins in and makes fun of them.   

The whole after-show glow for everyone was just so palpable and fantastic. I wish they could've gone on performing together. Clearly it made all of them very happy.

[certifiedwhore4slashers]

Jealousy isn’t the best Policy

pairing(s): ethan landry x reader, oc x reader

summary: you introduced your boyfriend to the friend group, little did you know the disaster that would occur.

warnings: possessiveness, yandere, ethan literally being a yandere, gore, blood, violence, murder, toxicity, obsession, stalking, alcohol use, etc..

sorry about the fics like this one I have already wrote. I just like the idea of possessive!ethan🫣 but I will write other ways to show that. and if you already saw a snippet of this, no you didn’t.

also you can tell I don’t drink so bare with me lmao.

“Come on this party’s gonna be fun, You assure your boyfriend, whose arm was around your waist. “What if they don’t like me? Your friends, I mean? Taylor asks.

“They’ll love you, You smile. Your friends were fairly nice. Mindy was just brutally honest and blunt, but your other friends were sweet.

“Wow, looking good, Y/n, Chad said. It was obvious he was drunk. “Thanks Chad! You grin. Taylor smiles.”You do look good. Was that a friend of yours?”

“Mhm, you hum.”You want something to drink?” “I’m good, I’ll probably have to drive you home anyways, Taylor chuckled.

You shrug.”Well, come on, we came together so I really want to introduce you to my friends.” Anika and Mindy were sitting together and quickly enough Ethan and Chad were together, finding a girl for Ethan which made you kind of laugh.

“Hey! You say. “Hey Y/n, Ethan said, His face turning red. You were sort of oblivious but Taylor could tell Ethan liked you, his grip on your waist tightened. You pull him aside.

“Uh, you okay? You ask your boyfriend. “I’m fine, He whispers.”I just don’t trust him.” “Ethan? You whisper.”He’s only a friend. Besides they’re trying to find him a girlfriend. We have been for like months.”

“I don’t know. There’s something off about him, Taylor said. “It’s his eyes, You sigh.”I promise. He likes Chad so he will like you.”

“Okay, I trust you, Taylor said. “Ethan, meet Taylor, Chad you already saw him, You grin. “You’re Y/N’s boyfriend right? Ethan said, slight bitterness in his voice.

“Something off, man? Chad asks, noticing his tone. “I’m fine, Ethan said. “Mhm, Taylor smiled proudly.”We’ve been together for four months now. I heard their friends were sweet.”

“That’s great, Y/N! Anika said, somehow overhearing everything and coming up by you. “You want to get a drink with me? Mindy’s distracted, Anika offers.

“Sure, You say, then turn to your boyfriend,”I’ll be back, I promise.” You peck his lips then go with Anika, who was Mindy’s Girlfriend.

They fit well together. And were more so similar than different from each other. You hadn’t even drank yet and so you wanted to enjoy it tonight.

You didn’t see Tara yet, and you wouldn’t catch Sam at a frat party, god no. Not that you blamed her, with those ridiculous rumors on the internet that Richie was innocent and Sam was the real killer.

You found it laughable that people seriously adored Richie. They obviously didn’t have a high IQ. Anika smiled as you made your drink which was just a beer to start off with.

“Nothing to mix it with? She smirks. “Nah, not yet, You chuckled, sipping your beer. "Now I should get back to Taylor and you should be with your girlfriend. Maybe she’s drunk right now.”

Anika playfully hit your shoulder but did go to back to Mindy. And you went back to your boyfriend. “You smell like beer, He chuckled. “That’s my drink, you grin, holding the red plastic cup.

“I swear, is something wrong dude? Chad asks, noticing Ethan’s intense glare. You noticed too, and felt kind of worried. “Yeah, Ethan, are you okay? You asks.

“I’m fine, god why does everyone keep asking me that? He complains, going to a different room. “Just tired I assume, Chad explained.

“He probably is just tired, You mumble, Taylor kissing you which made you forget about your grumpy friend.

For a little while at least because Chad then came back and asked,”Have any of you seen Ethan? He said he had to get some fresh air and didn’t come back. We were his ride back.”

“Isn’t he your roommate? You ask. “Yeah but that doesn’t really matter right now, Chad said worriedly. “Well he isn’t that hard to miss, Mindy said.”He probably just went home.”

“I hope so, You muttered. You were worried but your boyfriend who stuck by your side said assuringly,”He’s fine, y/n. Try having more fun.”

“You’re right, You smile, continuing to drink your beer then got another. By your fourth drink you were quite drunk. But at least your boyfriend was sober. He only had sodas.

“You’re really drunk, y/n, let’s go back, Taylor said. “oookay, you slurred, barely able to stand up as held you up by your waist, getting to your car.

You had long forgotten that Ethan had suddenly left and simply disappeared. But you weren’t sober anymore.

But because of that you didn’t know you were being stalked. “Y/n, I think someone is following us, Taylor said as the both of you walk to your car but slowly.

“N-No… You hiccuped.”I doonnn’t think sooo.” He opened the door for you and you got in but struggled.

“I’m pretty sure someone is, Taylor said, gripping the steering wheel nervously. You quickly passed out as he drove. Not realizing his phone which connected to the Bluetooth, rang.

It read unknown number and Taylor knew that if this was like a horror movie, he better not ignore it. So he picked up, even if it wasn’t a killer. “Hello? He said softly, you still passed out from being drunk.

You were more so passed out, but could hear your boyfriend speak. Your eyes opened quick, recognizing who he was talking to. "Hang up! You exclaimed.

"Hello, Y/N. I love hearing your voice."

You hang up for him. Your boyfriend focusing on driving. Your heart was beating so fast you were sure you would die or have a heart attack.

You noticed he was going fast. "You okay, Taylor? You asked. He frowns. "I'm fine." You knew he was calmer since he slowed down, he added, "Someone probobly was pranking us, Y/n."

You shrug, slowly closing your eyes since you were still kind of drunk. You were so exhausted. Maybe you shouldn't have drank. You knew you were close to home.

your boyfriend shook you awake. "Come on, we need to get inside! Taylor said, panicked. You nod, following behind him inside. You quickly push the button for the elevator.

You both quickly go inside, but before it could close, Ghostface quickly came inside, then it closed. However, instead of focusing on you, He quickly came closer to Taylor. "Please, don't kill him! You begged, but you could only fight him off. You quickly jumped on him, he moved while you were on his back, trying to grab his knife which would kill Taylor.

However, he didn't even hurt you, just threw you off of him while you roughly hit the cold floor. You were surprised you weren't knocked out cold. You almost were. He could've killed your boyfriend but the door opened.

You both quickly ran out while the door closed, Ghostface didn't even bother . You wondered what his plan was. Couldn't be good. You were closer to his place than yours.

He unlocks his door, closing it then locking it. "I think we're okay now, Taylor panted. You sigh of relief. "I hope so." Suddenly, Ghostface came up from behind, stabbing him many times. "Y/n is mine, Ghostface said.

Taylor exclaimed, "What the fuck? Y/N do you know him?" You were surprised. "No, I don't. I swear." You help fight him off of Taylor, which didn't help since his knife could've stabbed you.

"Leave him alone! You said, grabbing a kitchen knife but witnessed your own boyfriend being stabbed then he fell, he was dead. You begin sobbing but when you see Ghostface lunging for you, You run. Of course you run.

You held on to the knife, in case you would need to defend yourself. which you would. You hide behind a wall, making sure you didn't look at your now dead boyfriend. You couldn't. You loved him so much. But right now, you couldn't get yourself killed.

You were confident you would be okay until Ghostface grabbed your arm, pulling you into his chest. You squirm, but you remember when he basically claimed you. You recognized his voice.

"Wait, I... recognize your voice, You said. "You finally figured it out, He said, taking off his mask. "Ethan? You said.

He smirks. "Why did you kill him? You asked. Well, You kind of had an idea but didn't want to believe it. "Like I said, You're mine, he touched what wasn't his, Ethan said.

You stepped back since you escaped his grip. "I'm not yours... You said nervously. He simply laughed, but his glare was dark, intense. His Jaw clenched.

"Don't be silly, Y/n. You are mine, I will kill anyone who goes against that."

[wintaerbaer]

things we don’t say: part 4 (kth)

banner credit: @itaeewon

summary: Three years after graduating college, everything seems to be falling into place for you: stable job, cozy apartment, and a long-term boyfriend with a ring box hidden in his desk drawer. But when a mutual friend makes a remark that your best friend of nearly two decades is clearly in love with you, you realize that life may not be as simple as it seems.

pairing: Taehyung x Reader (with some VERY brief Seokjin x Reader and Yoongi x Reader)

rating: 18+ (minors dni)

genres: best friends to lovers, idiots to lovers, slooooow burn, angst, fluff

word count: 11.5k

chapter warnings: swearing as usual, jin is sad and precious, alcohol consumption, one (1) instance of mild violence, suspension of disbelief as to the legal consequences of said violence, jungkook still has zero filter, feelings and bed sharing

a/n: this was a fun one >:) shout out to everyone who brainstormed, sprinted, or otherwise shouted about this fic with me and gave me the motivation to power through this (y’all know who you are, and i love each and every one of you <3)! and a massive shoutout to @jeonqkooks for the beautiful new banner!!

PREVIOUS // SERIES MASTERLIST // MASTERLIST

Read on ao3

“And Tae encouraged you to do this?”

“Yeah. Kind of made up my mind for me actually.”

You toss down a few potential dresses on Maya’s bed after spending the past several minutes raiding her closet. With the bulk of your wardrobe still at your old apartment, she’d invited you to borrow something of hers for your date with Seokjin.

You may also be sharing a couple glasses of wine to calm your nerves.

“Hm.”

“What?”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“No, but I can see you thinking.”

“It’s nothing.” She holds a sparkling gold number up to your shoulders, then frowns and throws it back down. “Or at least nothing you want to hear, anyway.”

“Don’t tell me you’re on about Tae and I again.”

She shrugs. “I think you’d be great together. Sue me.”

“I could say the same about you and Kook.”

A snort rasps from the back of her throat as she coughs on her wine. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

“The two of you are more alike than you think,” you say. “And I don’t think you give him enough credit. He’s a good guy.”

She purses her lips, watching clouds go by out the window. “He’s…frustrating.” Her eyelids drop, coming together in a slow blink as her focus turns back to you razor-sharp. “And weren’t you against us together in the first place?”

“Yeah, because it was just sex.”

“It is just sex.”

“Well, I changed my mind.” You take a sip of your drink, let the acidic taste roll around and coat your tongue before it slides down your throat. “If there’s a possibility you two can make each other happy, then you should have that. I think maybe love is rarer than it seems.”

“He and I are far from love.”

“For now,” you say. “But maybe someday?”

She only grimaces like she’s swallowed a bitter pill, giving the tiniest shake of her head before rushing to change the subject. “Tell me about this Seokjin guy.”

“Not much to tell,” you explain. “Joon knows him from the hospital. He’s been very pleasant when we’ve texted. Polite. I’m definitely not getting creep vibes from him.”

“Always a plus. But still, text me the address of the restaurant and a physical description once you’re there.” She pauses, tapping a finger against her chin. “Also, I have some condoms if you want to take a couple.”

“Um, no?”

“Why not? Best way to get over someone is to get under someone else.”

“See, that sounds like something Jungkook would say.”

“Well a dumbass clock is right twice a day, or whatever the saying is.”

“I don’t think that’s quite right.”

“Close enough in his case.” Her voice lowers suddenly—delicately—as if to share something confidential even though you’re the only two in the room. “But speaking of protection, did you hear back from the clinic?”

Maya had delicately suggested a couple weeks ago that you should probably get tested for STDs given that you don’t really know how many women Jace had been with and if they were being safe. It was a fair point, as humiliating as it was to consider that he may have found yet another way to rip apart your life, and so you’d gone for an appointment last week, trying not to cry as you provided the necessary samples.

“Negative,” you murmur, feeling embarrassed even though you know you shouldn’t be and that your friend would never judge you. But the fact that you even have to have this conversation at all gnaws at your own sense of self-doubt. “I’m clean.”

She presses her mouth into a line, an acknowledgment of the misfortune of the situation, while simultaneously tilting her chin in approval. “Good.”

You pick at a loose thread hanging off the hem of the dress you’re holding, a dog barking somewhere outside the window as you grasp for literally anything else to talk about. “So where are you guys heading tonight?”

“Who knows?” Maya says with a sigh, leaning back on the bed. “You know it’s like herding cats with them sometimes. I’m supposed to go over there after this, and we’re going to wing it then.”

“So one of our usual clubs?”

“I’d bet my left tit on it.”

You let out a soft laugh, feeling that maybe you’d rather be spending time with your friends tonight instead of going on a half-hearted date. But Seokjin seems nice, and you’ve already committed so you’re stuck. “Could you please just try to make sure Tae has some fun?” You chew at your bottom lip. “He’s been so focused on cheering me up, I want to be sure he still has time for himself.”

“Worry not. I’ll help him pick someone up,” Maya says nonchalantly.

“That’s not what I meant.”

Her entire body perks up, eager that you’ve taken the bait. “Why, does that bother you?”

“Also not what I meant,” you say, crushing down the tiny flip in your stomach at the thought of Taehyung taking someone home as Maya pouts. “I just want him to enjoy himself. I don’t think he’s been doing enough of that lately.”

“Without his other half there with him?” Maya mumbles. “Fat chance.”

You ignore it, knowing she’s baiting you yet again.

But your heart warms all the same.

Seokjin is the embodiment of a perfect gentleman.

He’s handsome—you can’t help but notice as he stands at your approach, introducing himself and coming around the table to pull out your chair for you with a slight bow. When the waiter appears to take your drink order, Seokjin (or “Jin,” as he says to call him) offers to let you pick the wine, so you go with a nice-looking pinot grigio (you haven’t even been able to look at reds since that night). Typical first date conversation flows as you browse the menu, order, and wait for your food, and you find that Jin is soft-spoken without being shy, confident without being arrogant. He tells you about his job as a physical therapist and how he likes to spend his weekends fishing with his brother on his parents’ boat. As you likewise share anecdotes about your publishing job and college shenanigans, Jin listens attentively with kind eyes, asks thoughtful questions, and chuckles at all the right bits.

He’s nice.

But there’s no spark.

You can sense it in his posture, too. His eyes are kind, but there’s pain behind them. He asks questions, but there’s an uncertainty lingering under the surface. He laughs at your jokes but subtly deflates each time like he’s guilty of something.

By the time your meals arrive, you’re ready to chalk it up as a loss.

“Jin,” you begin, tone aiming for the gentleness of “it’s not you, it’s me” proportions. “You seem like a wonderful guy, but for the sake of honesty, it doesn’t feel like either of us sees this going further, does it?”

Jin’s shoulders sag, the mask of obligatory cheerfulness falling away in defeat. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be!” you say quickly, not wanting him to feel bad when he was clearly trying his best to have a good time with you. “I think we both knew going into this that we were each coming to the table with…baggage.”

Jin nods, his eyes now tinged red as he murmurs, “It’s been tough.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Ah.” He smiles sadly. “We’ve only just met, and you’re clearly a very sweet woman. I’d feel bad dumping it all out on you when I’ve already wasted your time.”

“Maybe it would be good for both of us?” you suggest. “Obviously we’re both not feeling this from a date standpoint, but maybe what we need is just a friend who understands.”

A slow tip of his chin downwards as he considers. “I think I can do that.”

“And you’re not wasting my time, for the record. I just appreciate the company.”

Jin visibly relaxes at that, his posture easing with the pressure of the date now gone.

“So Namjoon told me you also just got out of a long-term relationship?” you ask, poking at your ravioli.

His chin dips in acknowledgment, voice rough as he states, “Aera.”

“How long were the two of you together?”

“Since high school.” He twists the fabric of his napkin in his hands. “She was my first…everything. Truly. I’ve never loved anyone or anything like her.” A stray thread absentmindedly twines around his finger, the blood darkening under the skin. “We made it all the way through college and my physical therapy schooling doing long distance. Spent the past couple years finally living together. We were happy.” The thread snaps, and he shakes his head. “At least I thought we were.”

You’d swear you can feel your heart literally ache with how forlorn he looks across the table as you gently ask, “I’m guessing she left?”

“I proposed, and she said no.” A strand of dark hair falls in front of his eyes, and he rakes a hand across his head one, two, three times in frustration. “She told me she thinks she’s missing out. That she already lost most of her youth to me, waiting to finish school, when she could’ve been enjoying herself and seeing what else is out there.” He slumps forward, leaning his forearms on the table and lacing his fingers together. “But I can’t understand. I spent just as much time with her, and I never doubted it. To me, she was always the one.”

A quiet settles at the table, the conversational white noise of your fellow diners taking over for the moment as you soak in the sudden sense of kinship with the man in front of you—both blindsided by the partners you thought you’d spend the rest of your lives with.

“I get it,” you tell him, feeling the need to give something in return after he opened his heart to a stranger. “My ex—I thought we were about to get engaged too. I was making all of these plans in my head only to find out that we definitely weren’t on the same page.”

Gentle eyes appraise your face. “He broke up with you?”

“He cheated.”

The words taste bitter as they drop from your lips.

“I’m so sorry,” Jin says, and you can tell by his tone and the look on his face that he genuinely means it.

You chew the inside of your cheek until a canine catches the soft corner of your lip and you taste blood. “I found a ring in his desk and then found him in bed with someone else two weeks later.”

“Wow, Y/N.” He bends in as if he’s going to take your hand before seeming to think better of it and sighing. “I can’t even imagine if I had…” A shake of his head like he’s trying to clear an intrusive thought. “Puts my situation into perspective. I feel awful even comparing the two.”

“Oh, please don’t,” you quickly say. “Your hurt is just as valid as mine. But I can tell that you’re a really great guy, Jin. And if Aera can’t see it, I’m sure there’s someone out there who will cherish that.” You smile to yourself, remembering a night not too long ago with tanned skin and old photographs. “That’s the advice Taehyung gave me, at least.”

“Taehyung?”

“Oh, sorry, he’s my best friend.”

There’s an agreeable hiss as Jin sucks his teeth with a nod. “Well, he sounds like a smart man.”

“He’s my favorite person in the whole world.”

“He must be pretty great, then.”

You can’t help but to nod your head eagerly, words rushing out of you. “He cares so deeply. And he’s so, so talented, but he has a tendency to underestimate himself sometimes,” you gush. “But he’s incredible at everything he does. And just…so resilient. I’ve seen him go through things that no person should ever have to endure, and he’s never let it make him resentful. He could be having the worst day of his life, and he’d still give you the shirt off his back. I admire him more than anyone I’ve ever met.”

“You’ve known each other a while then?”

“Since we were kids,” you explain. “It was lonely growing up in my house—my parents weren’t around a lot—so we’d hang out every day. He always knew how to cheer me up, how to make me smile, even by simply being there. Some days, we’d literally sit in my room doing homework silently for hours, and it just felt nice to share space with somebody else. I don’t know what I would’ve done if I didn’t have him.”

Jin watches you closely. It reminds you of Namjoon’s typical evaluative expression, and you can instantly understand why they’re friends. Heat rises to your cheeks as you realize you’ve been jabbering on, though Jin doesn’t look too bothered, asking, “And the two of you have never…?”

You sheepishly poke at your food again, red as a tomato now based on how hot your cheeks feel. “No, he doesn’t feel that way about me.”

“But you feel that way about him?”

Something strange churns low in your belly. You’re not sure why your usual denials catch on the back of your throat, but they stick there, holding your tongue hostage. It should come easily, the words, “No, just friends” a habit by now.

Why do they suddenly feel like a lie?

Thankfully, you’re saved as your phone flashes in the low light of the restaurant with an incoming call, Jimin’s face appearing on the screen.

You furrow your eyebrows at the smiling photo, Jin still watching you curiously. Jimin knows you’re on a date right now, and he’s supposed to be out clubbing with Taehyung, Maya, and Jungkook. Why would he be calling you? Could it be a case of butt dialing? Then again, maybe he’s just drunk.

Or maybe something is wrong.

Your anxiety wins out, and you make a quick apology to Jin, who kindly waves you off, before swiping to accept the call.

“What’s up? I’m on a date.”

“I know, Y/N, and I’m so sorry, but I think we need you at the apartment. Something’s happened.” Jimin’s voice is frazzled on the other end of the line, the discomfort in your stomach slipping straight to full-on nausea as your fingers tighten around the phone, skin stretching taut around your knuckles when he speaks again.

“It’s Tae.”

The club is loud, music pounding an earthquake into the walls and floors as a tangle of sweaty bodies surges around the dance floor. Jimin thinks to himself that maybe, just maybe, he's starting to get a little too old for this when the image of the writhing mob does more to set off feelings of claustrophobia than set him at ease. Still, once he and the others have made camp at a more secluded table in the back of the room, drinks in hand, he's still appreciative of the time out with his friends—even with Jungkook immediately scurrying off with a glint in his eye, target already in his sights.

"Ugh, look at him," Maya sneers, watching him chat up a blonde woman at the bar. "Shameless. Absolutely shameless."

Jimin can't resist a smirk. "Careful there, Maya, you sound jealous."

"Oh, fuck no!" she shrieks, punctuating this with a sip of her drink. "On the contrary, I hope this works out for him, and they get married and have a million babies and move far, far away. Get him out of my hair."

Both Jimin and Taehyung chuckle at that. "You do know you have the option of not sleeping with him, right?" Jimin asks.

"I take what I can get, and he's good at his craft. I'll give him that." Jimin chokes on his drink, while Taehyung only smiles, amused. "Speaking of getting, anyone catching the eye of either of you gentlemen? I'm happy to take on wing-woman duties tonight."

"No," Taehyung says, shaking his head. "I'm just here to make sure none of you do something stupid."

Maya rolls her eyes. "Translation: the love of my life is out on a date, and I'm trying not to think about it. How about you, Chim?"

"I don't know." Jimin shrugs. "Let me get a couple drinks in me and then see how I feel."

"Suit yourselves. But just remember that I offered when I ask one of you two to help a girl out." She tosses her hair over her shoulder. "Especially you, Tae. I know your heart is taken with your endless 'will-they-won't-they' thing with Y/N, but you could always sell the fake ex play better than Jimin here…Tae?"

But Taehyung is no longer paying attention, eyes now intensely locked on the crowd like a hawk zeroing in on prey. Maya follows his line of sight to a couple grinding on the edge of the dance floor, a dark-haired woman and a man with a distinct, bright green jacket—

"Oh my God, is that Jace?!"

Jimin's head snaps around, and even from a distance, there's no denying it. Jace tosses his head back, laughing at something the woman says, before he presses into her further, leaning back down to whisper something in her ear. Jimin quickly turns towards Taehyung, who sits terrifyingly still, eyes still zoned in on Jace and his date.

"Tae, I know you're angry. We all are," he begins, gripping Taehyung's forearm in an attempt to grab his attention. "But you cannot confront him. Not here, not now. Y/N is doing great—she's finally starting to move on. Don't undo that by poking the bear."

"He's right," Maya says, leaning in. "You're not going to accomplish anything here. It's loud, there's too many people—he'll just brush you off. And I know you care about her, Tae, but really? Not your battle to fight. Let it go."

Taehyung continues to sit in silence until Jace and the woman disappear into the crowd, and it's like a spell is suddenly lifted as he blinks rapidly at his friends. "No, you're right." He rubs a finger at the space between his eyes. "Y/N is a grown woman. She doesn't need me to protect her."

"See? A man of sense," Maya lilts. "Not like Mr. Don Juan over here about to stick his tongue into yet another college girl who thinks his immature ass counts as an ‘older man’." She nods her head towards the bar where the blonde woman has positioned herself closer to Jungkook, his hands now encircling her waist.

Taehyung quirks an eyebrow, teasing, "You’re not in college though."

Maya's jaw drops, and she puts a hand to her heart in feigned offense. "Wow! Someone's feisty tonight."

"Don't underestimate Tae when he's in one of his moods," Jimin laughs. "And don't overestimate Kook. I bet you twenty bucks he doesn't take her home."

"I'll take that action. He's got her wrapped around him already. Easy money." They shake on it, and the conversation devolves into trying to find someone in the crowd for Maya to shoot her shot with. However, in spite of her previous claim that she "takes what she can get," she finds an excuse to brush off every potential candidate ("Too short…too tall…too rich-looking?").

(Jimin suspects it may have something to do with the man who is now kissing the blonde at the bar.)

An hour later, and they're still parked at the table and on their third round of drinks. Jace has not resurfaced since they first spotted him, much to Jimin's relief, and he hopes he snuck out to a different club somewhere across town or maybe even a different country. Taehyung sports an easy smile now, alcohol loosening up his body as he laughs at a story Maya is telling about two guys who once had a fist-fight over her in this very club during college. Still, Jimin keeps an eye on their surroundings, likewise wary about what might happen if Jace spots them.

"And thankfully, the cops didn't wind up getting called, but oh God, can you imagine?" Maya howls, her and Taehyung in near-hysterics as she finishes up her story.

"Geez," Taehyung gasps, wiping at his eyes. "You're gonna make me piss my pants. I need the bathroom."

He stands from the table and wanders off in the direction of the restrooms, Maya staring at his back the whole way.

"We need to get that guy laid," she dramatically sighs.

"While he's still in crisis mode over Y/N’s breakup?" Jimin scoffs. "Good luck with that one."

"I don't get those two—I really don't." Maya rattles her perfectly-manicured nails against the table. "She's single for the first time in four years. He's been helplessly in love with her for so much longer. I don't know what he's waiting for."

"I mean it's only been what, a month?" Jimin muses. "He probably feels like it's too soon to make a move. Which is fair."

"Jimin. You're a man. You have eyes. Not only is Y/N pretty, but she has that whole—" She waves a hand in front of her face. "—'take me home to meet your parents’ energy to her. She won't be on the market for long, and you know it. She's already got this date with this Seokjin guy—and Tae told her to do it! It's like he's trying to sabotage himself! And then you have Y/N being smitten with him as always, too. I mentioned helping Tae find a hook-up earlier, and she looked like she was going to hurl."

He shrugs, tapping the side of his glass in thought. “I think they’re just scared. Imagine knowing someone for as long as they have and having to take that leap and risk losing it all.”

“You are out of your mind if you think either of them would reject each other,” Maya snorts.

“You don’t think Y/N might not want to take the chance that they fall apart? Especially after what she’s going through?”

“Tae wouldn’t do that to her,” she frigidly says, as if to challenge the very audacity of the thought.

“I’m not saying he would; I’m just saying she might be guarded.”

“So the solution is for him to help set her up with other guys at his own expense? That’s not fair to him either.”

He tilts his head in subtle agreement but adds, "Look, I want to see the two of them together as much as the next person. But maybe we need to just…let them come to it on their own? I mean, we've tried nudging them in the past, and it clearly hasn't worked. But I have faith they'll get there. Tae can be an idiot, but not that much of an id—"

His thought is cut off by screams and the sound of a commotion out on the dance floor. Hairs standing up on the back of his neck, Jimin bolts from his chair and darts into the crowd, Maya close on his heels. They shove their way through the surge of bodies—pressing back and away from the source of the disturbance—until they reach the spot where a small space has cleared out, and Jimin hears Maya swear loudly behind him.

Taehyung is knelt over Jace on the floor, his fists connecting with the latter's face and head over and over in a frenzy. Jace lies there, face bloodied and clearly dazed, his hands weakly raised in front of him in a futile attempt to shield himself from the blows, but Taehyung is relentless. His arm swings down on a repeated loop as if powered by a motor, and even though the music continues to pound above them, Jimin would swear he can hear the sound of knuckles cracking against flesh and bone. He rushes forward with Maya, both of them grabbing ahold of Taehyung's shoulders to pull him back, but he struggles against them, still trying desperately to connect his punches.

Jungkook suddenly materializes out of nowhere, a halfway-finished beer in his hand that he promptly empties over Jace’s head before grabbing Taehyung around the waist and dragging him back through the crowd. The three of them are able to muscle Taehyung towards the door, Jungkook breaking off to intercept the two bouncers who are stalking their way over as Jimin shoves Taehyung out onto the sidewalk.

"What the fuck, man!"

Taehyung's eyes are wild, his gray hoodie dotted with blood. "I wasn't finished," he says, deep voice chillingly calm.

"Are you out of your mind?!" Maya screams. "Are you trying to get yourself arrested?! Over that piece of shit?!”

“You said you were going to the fucking bathroom,” Jimin angrily adds. “How the hell did you wind up in a fistfight?!”

“I saw him. I hit him. I’m going to do it again,” Taehyung bluntly states. “Let me back in there.”

“The hell we are!” Maya exclaims, and Taehyung may have a few good inches on her, but she steps toe-to-toe with him to block his way. “He's not worth it, Tae, he's not!"

"She is!" Taehyung snaps, and Jimin notices his hands start to shake as the adrenaline begins to wear off. "She…you guys saw her that night. You saw her. In all this time, I have never seen her that broken. Never." His voice cracks, and a sheen appears behind his eyes, tears threatening to spill. "So get out of my way because I am going to make that motherfucker feel every tear I've had to wipe from her face because of him!"

"You're not." The door of the club swings shut as Jungkook joins them outside. "We're leaving now."

Taehyung takes a step forward, pleading, "Jungkook, I—"

"No, Tae, you're done." Jungkook moves to grab his arm, but Taehyung recognizes defeat and shakes him off, pulling his hood over his head and tramping off in the direction of their apartment. The others follow behind, close enough to keep a watchful eye out but with enough distance to give him space to cool down.

"How did it go inside?" Jimin asks quietly.

Jungkook pushes a hand through his hair. “We lucked out. I've worked with those guys before, and we're friendly. Gave them a quick rundown of the situation, and they're going to try and contain it, but…you know…" He shrugs. "That was technically assault."

"What that was was idiotic," Maya hisses.

"It was awesome."

"Kook!"

"What?! It was. Would've thought about taking care of it myself if Tae hadn't beaten me to it. Guy deserved it."

"At the cost of possible jail?" Jimin chimes in. "We all hate the guy, but I don't think it's doing Y/N a favor if she has to bail us out of—" He slaps a hand to his forehead. "Oh, fuck, Y/N."

The other two look at him in question, and he hesitates. "Do we…do we tell her?" he asks slowly. "She's on that date. What if it's going well?"

The three of them fall into silence, looking uneasily at Taehyung's back. He walks with his hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched and heels digging into the sidewalk. Jimin watches as he takes a kick at an empty can, sending it flying into the gutter.

"It's Tae," Maya murmurs suddenly from his left. "She'd want to know."

"Shit, yeah." Jimin presses the heels of his hands into his eyes, trying to rub away the headache that is quickly developing. "I'll call her—see if she can meet us back at the apartment."

"I'm going to call Hobi too," Jungkook says, phone already out. "I've punched someone before and can guarantee—his hand is fucked up."

Jimin nods, slowing his steps so he can fall behind the others for a bit of privacy. He doesn't know how the night spiraled so out of control, but he can't shake the existential feeling that something in the cosmos has changed.

Sliding his phone out of his pocket, he takes a deep breath of the night air and dials your number.

Your hands shake as you fumble with your keys outside the guys' apartment, struggling to grasp the spare that Taehyung lent you when you decided to stay with them. Jimin had said to take your time if you had to, but the thought of something being wrong with Taehyung had you in a panic. He hadn’t given you any details either, saying that they’d explain it all once you were there.

Jin had hurried you out at the distressed look on your face after you hung up, telling you that he’d take care of dinner and to go take care of your friend (you’ll later try to have Namjoon pass along some money for your meal that Jin will steadfastly refuse). Not wanting to stand and wait for an Uber, you had half-run the twelve blocks from the restaurant instead.

Out of breath, you gasp out a, "What happened?!" when Jungkook opens the door at the sound of your scrambling, not even giving him a chance to answer before you're pushing past him inside.

Taehyung sits on the edge of the couch with Hoseok kneeling in front of him, first aid kit at his feet. From here, you can see that his right hand is littered with cuts, purple bruises already forming across his swollen knuckles even as Hoseok tends to the wounds. Taehyung doesn't look up when you walk in, his eyes hooded and fixed on his hand.

"What the fuck happened?!" You repeat, but the room is quiet for a moment more as Jungkook, Jimin, and Maya all look at each other as if they don't know what to say.

Jimin breaks first. "We, ah…" he begins from his armchair seat. "We ran into your ex."

Your heart drops into your stomach, and you immediately feel dizzy. Images of Jace flood your mind: his smile, his hands, his voice—him tangled up in your bed when you got back from the beach house.

"He was at the club," Jimin continues. "And Tae…he, um—"

"He kicked his ass!" Jungkook chirps, an unmistakable hint of delight in his voice.

A tornado of feelings rips through your insides, a blend of confusion and anxiety that has you momentarily reeling. You'd be lying if you said you didn't have any residual feelings for Jace, the tiniest part of your brain in a worry over the state he might be in right now. But it all melts away when you look down at the man who still won't meet your eyes, his purpling hand making your heart twist even harder.

"Are you okay?" you ask softly, and Taehyung finally lifts his head to look at you. His gaze is stoic, but there's a haze of emotion behind his eyes that you can't place.

"I'm fine," he says, but his voice is tight and gravelly.

Hoseok tuts, dabbing a spot of ointment across Taehyung's knuckles. "Let's hope you stay that way. I don't think you'll need any stitches, and nothing seems to be broken, but we'll have to keep an eye on this to make sure nothing gets infected." He pulls bandages out of the first aid kit and begins wrapping Taehyung's hand.

You're afraid to ask this next question, but the words fall out anyway. "Did the police come?"

Jimin shakes his head. "We got out of there quick, and Kook talked to the bouncers that were friends of his—" Jungkook gives a two-finger salute from his perch by the kitchen. "—they said they'd try to take care of it, but who knows." He pauses before asking, "Do you think Jace would press charges?"

"I don't know," you answer honestly. You've known Jace to be proud, but you're not sure if that means he'll brush this off as a simple scrap or want to save face in some way.

"If he does, I know a lawyer who might be able to help," Maya pipes up at the opposite end of the couch. "He's a…friend. Owes me a favor."

"A lawyer friend?" Jungkook asks, eyes narrowing. "Do we know him? What's his name?"

"Last name: Out. First name: Butt."

Jungkook scoffs at that, but you also hear him mutter under his breath, "He sounds like a butt."

"Well as much as I would like to stay and chat about fights and butts," Hoseok says, bandaging the last of Tae's hand and closing his kit, "Sunny and I have a meeting with the wedding coordinator in the morning so I’ve gotta go. Keep that clean, and text me immediately if anything looks or feels wrong or if the swelling doesn’t go down. I can swing by in a couple days to look at it again."

Taehyung nods silently, and Hoseok heads for the door, waving as Jungkook shouts, "Thanks, doc!"

An awkward silence sweeps the room as the door swings shut, the only sound being that of Jimin anxiously tapping his heels against the floor. Maya reads the room, looking around at each person and eventually settling on you and Taehyung. Your posture is tense as you stiffly hover by the side of the couch, shifting your feet, while Taehyung is back to avoiding eye contact.

"I think I'm going to head out too," she says, standing up and shooting Jimin a pointed look.

"Do you need a ride home?" Jungkook asks. His tone says that he's trying to be nonchalant, but his eyes betray his eagerness.

"I'm a big girl, Kook," Maya drawls. "I can get myself home."

"Would you let lawyer friend drive you home?"

She rolls her eyes dramatically, her whole head tilting back in exasperation. "Oh my God, you're insufferable. Fine."

Jungkook moves for his keys, a certain spring in his step, while Maya addresses the rest of you. "I'll stop by tomorrow. Please, please try to stay out of trouble until then. Looking at you, Tae." And then she and Jungkook exit the apartment, Maya slipping money into Jimin’s hand as she goes.

Jimin lets out a heavy sigh. "Well he's not coming home tonight." He stands and stretches his arms above his head. "I'm gonna turn in. Let me know if either of you needs something, yeah?" He shuffles away to his bedroom, leaving you and Taehyung alone.

Taehyung continues to sit still as a statue, staring at the wall, and so you take a careful seat next to him, slowly so as to not jostle the cushions too much. When he keeps his eyes straight ahead, you gently take his injured hand between both of yours. His body visibly softens as you graze your fingers back and forth across his palm.

"Tae…"

He looks at you then, and you take the time to examine his face. There's no guilt or shame in his expression, but you see a pain there that has you reaching up to rub at the creases between his eyes.

His eyelids droop down at your touch. “I’m sorry about your date.”

“It’s fine,” you say. “It wasn’t going that well anyway.”

You see a muscle jump in his jaw, concern tightening the corners of his mouth. “Did he do something?”

“Easy.” You resume your tracing of his palm. “He was very kind and respectful, and we had an oddly sweet conversation. Just realized that neither of us is in the proper mindset for it to be anything more than maybe a friendship.”

A hum comes from deep in his throat. “Alright.”

“Certainly no need for you to fight any other men on my behalf,” you say, and he shoots you an uneasy look before staring down your reflections in the dark of the TV screen.

You take it in with him, observing the shadowy duplicates who feel like they’re sitting across from you. The linked arms, the soothing press of your knee to his—your current situation may feel anxiety-inducing, but the figures mirrored in the screen look comfortable. Unified.

"Are you mad?" he whispers after a moment.

The question catches you off guard. "Why would I be?"

"I know you still care about him." Taehyung swallows, glancing down at your intertwined hands. "You wouldn't still be this upset over him if you didn't."

You let his words sink in, not altogether untrue but certainly not at the forefront of your mind right now. "I'm not worried about him—I'm worried about you." Taehyung's eyes flash at that with something akin to confusion, and you chew at your lower lip. "I've never seen you like this."

It's true. Taehyung, in spite of his mild nature, has always had a protective streak in him. One time, when the two of you were twelve, a few boys in your class had spent a week bullying you about your clothes—calling you a “spoiled, pretentious bitch”—only to come back from gym class one day to find their shirts in the garbage, cut to bits. But never—in all of your years together—have you ever known him to get violent.

"I tried to let it go. I did," Taehyung insists. He picks at his bandages, and you cover his hand with your own to still him. "I just…" His voice cracks, eyes suddenly glassy. "I couldn't stop seeing you on the bathroom floor that night."

The tears spill over, and you pull him into you, his arms wrapping around your waist as he gasps into your shoulder. He's trying to force the emotion down—you can feel it in the way his body trembles—and so you tangle your fingers in the spot where his hairline meets the back of his neck. You know it's always been a soothing spot for him, and his breathing slowly evens out as you coast your fingers back and forth, a rogue piece of your brain taking pleasure in the feel of his soft hair under your hands.

"Tae," you whisper again once he's calmed, and he pulls back to look at you, face entirely too close. Your heart stutters at the sheer amount of raw affection in his expression, and the words you were about to say catch in your throat along with your breath. Since when does being around him make you so nervous?

"I'm sorry," Taehyung murmurs, entirely oblivious to your current internal struggle. "I know this isn't about me—"

"No," you quickly say, snapping out of your inner turmoil. "Tae, you're allowed to have feelings, you know?" Your fingers absentmindedly run along his neck again. "And like you told me that night, I will be fine. I will be. It just…takes a bit of time. And I appreciate everything you've done to try and help get me there."

You try to convey just how much you mean this in your tone, lacing your words with every bit of gratitude you've built up over the past month (over the past years). Taehyung seems to understand, his thumb coming up to gently brush against your chin.

A glimpse of white bandages turns you sullen, raising your hands to delicately graze against their soft edges and chart the way they wrap around his knuckles. He winces as you touch them, and frustration crests like a wave in your chest; you hate that he’s hurting, hate that your own troubles are the cause of it.

“You didn’t have to do this for me,” you sigh, dripping with guilt.

“I’d do anything for you.”

His words are firm, and he cants forward as he says them until his forehead rests against yours, a single shared breath haunting the space between your lips.

"I just don't ever want to see you like that again," he whispers.

And it's all too much: your pulse spikes, the blood pounding through your veins at his nearness and the honey-sweet words rolling off his tongue. This time, you're the one who can't look him in the eye as you put some distance between your bodies, abruptly shifting away from him on the couch.

"You won't."

The tension settles in thick, and Taehyung gazes at you, undoubtedly perplexed by your sudden withdrawal. Just as he opens his mouth to say something, you nod at his hand. "You had an eventful day. I'm fine out here if you want to sleep?"

He slowly shakes his head. "No, uh…I don't think I'll be able to sleep. Might just stay up and watch some TV. You can take my bed, though, if you're tired."

The charged atmosphere still has you slightly shaken—your scrambled brain trying to make sense of the tingling in your stomach—but concern for Taehyung ultimately wins out, and you tell him that you'll stay up to keep him company. He doesn't argue with that, simply flips on your favorite cooking channel and drags your legs into his lap as you stretch out.

It's how Jungkook finds you as he slinks back in the next morning, smiling to himself as he drapes a blanket over your sleeping forms.

July is beginning its descent into August, stifling clouds of heat stuffing themselves into roads and alleyways, when your sign to move back into your own apartment comes in the form of Jeon Jungkook almost getting a full look at your bare ass one Saturday morning.

He immediately flips his back to you, frantically covering his face with his arms and bellowing, "I'M NOT LOOKING!" at the top of his lungs.

"Jeon, you'd better keep your eyes covered or I swear to God I'll put your nuts in a vise!"

"Is that like a kink thi—"

"Do NOT." You rush to dress yourself, giving him the signal when it's safe to turn around.

He doesn't look the least bit ashamed, the bastard.

"Not that it's necessarily unwelcome, but why were you almost naked in my living room?"

You glare at him. "Jimin is taking one of his long ass showers."

"And Tae's at work. Just use his room."

You'd thought about it, but the idea of getting naked in your best friend's bedroom had made you blush, like you'd be crossing some sort of line.

"I thought I could change fast enough," you say, not wanting to have to explain your reasoning to Jungkook of all people.

"Well you obviously thought wrong." He smirks, and you already know what's coming. "Nice bra, by the way."

You pick up a throw pillow off the couch and fling it at him. You'd been shooting for his head, wanting to smack the smug grin right off his face, but your aim is about two feet off and he catches it effortlessly anyway.

What an ass.

“No wonder Maya is always pissed at you,” you jab. “Constantly flirting with other girls.”

His demeanor shifts ever so slightly—his shoulders lower, and you can tell by the way his cockiness subtly but immediately deflates that you’ve wounded him. A pang of regret for your words hits at the sight of wide doe eyes.

“She talks about me to you?”

You wouldn’t have believed it to be possible, but you don’t think that you’ve ever seen him look so innocent, tentative hopefulness coloring his face.

“Not, like, regularly, but sometimes, sure,” you say, not quite certain how to handle this new edition of Jungkook.

“What does she say?”

Wow, those big, round Bambi eyes are really doing work.

“Just that, you know.” You scratch at your ear, not wanting to accidentally throw Maya under any buses while also honoring your friendship with Jungkook. “You’re kind of annoying sometimes.”

That clearly doesn’t make him happy, his jaw tightening with discontent as he grimaces. “Right.”

“I mean think about it, Kook,” you say, compelled to defend Maya. “You hook up with her, and then flirt and pick up other girls right in front of her face.”

“We’re not exclusive!” he exclaims.

“Maybe she wants to be?”

“But that was her idea!”

That stops you. Not once since you found out the two of them were hooking up did it cross your mind that Jungkook would ever be the one unhappy with their arrangement. He’s never had a serious girlfriend in the entire time you’ve known him. Up until this moment, you were sure he’d be a perpetual bachelor. “What?”

“She wanted to be non-exclusive.”

“And you…don’t?”

He looks away from you, crossing his arms over his chest. “I don’t know.”

No. It can’t be.

“Wait a second.”

You move to stand in front of him, taking his face in your hands so you can turn him every which way, inspecting his face. Pink cheeks, a creased brow, jawline so hard you could probably cut yourself on it.

“You’re flustered!” you shriek. Jungkook quickly uncrosses his arms to bat your hands away, reeling back to put some distance between the two of you.

“I’m not!”

“You are!” you shout, following him as he roams around the room. “Jeon Jungkook is flustered!”

“Bah, you’re insane, woman.” He swings a dismissive hand even as the two of you settle in at the kitchen island.

“You’d be cute together!”

“She’s too stubborn.”

“I can totally see it!”

“It would never work.”

“You don’t know that!”

“Hey, worry about your own love life.”

He means it to be teasing, obviously not thinking too hard about his words because the second he realizes what he’s just said, he pales. “Y/N, I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” you say, sobered. “I know you didn’t mean anything by it.”

“Still—“

“You’re right. I’m avoiding things.” You peer over at the pull-out couch, still in bed-mode with your blankets and pillows messily strewn across it. Your suitcase, meanwhile, sits off to the side with the contents tangled and half-overflowing.

In short, you’re a mess.

The guys have never made you feel unwelcome, have only ever made it clear that you are free to stay as long as you’d like, but you’d be lying if you said you haven’t felt your time here beginning to weigh on your shoulders, knowing you’re only putting off the inevitable.

You feel like you’ve been (slowly, but surely) making emotional progress, but going back to the apartment might threaten to undo all of that. Although it may have felt like it at times growing up, you’ve technically never lived alone, and you’ve grown accustomed to having your people around. In fact, you thrive on it. Being around your friends is the only reason why you’ve been doing as well as you have.

You love having someone to come home to.

“I need to move back soon,” you tell Jungkook. “But returning to the apartment is actually terrifying.”

He considers you for a moment, leaning his weight back on the granite countertop. “Do you know what helps me when I’m not confident about something?”

“Getting a stranger to moan your name?”

“Well, yes, but aside from that.” You shrug, and he grins. “I just do it.”

“Wow, Jeon,” you say, with the appropriate amount of eye roll. “Reaching real deep on that one.”

“I mean it!” he urges. “Just need to rip off the band-aid. The longer you dwell on it, the harder it will be in the end.”

That’s…oddly decent advice.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but you might have a point,” you say, somewhat thrown off by this flustered, good-advice-giving version of your friend.

“And speaking of things being harder, that last bit of advice also goes for forepl—“

“Aaaaaaand it’s ruined.”

“I’m just saying it has multiple applications!”

“Yeah, it’s time for me to move back out,” you say. “I can’t live with you anymore.”

Jungkook chuckles, rubbing at his jaw. “Tae is going to be devastated though.”

Your head jerks around. “What? Why?”

“Because he likes having you here,” he says, looking at you like you just asked him what color the sky is. “The guy punched out your ex for you. I think it’s safe to say he enjoys having you around.”

You wince at the mention of the club, a nerve jumping in your chest every time you’re reminded that Taehyung almost got arrested defending your honor. Nothing had ever come of the fight, so you’re assuming Jace has chosen to just let it go, and for that, you’re thankful. You never would have been able to live with it if Taehyung had suffered serious consequences over your own personal crisis.

You’d do the same thing for him, sure. But that’s different.

“Jimin and I will miss you too, of course,” Jungkook continues. “And I’m still kind of sad I didn’t get my own shot in on that asshole that night. Dumped a beer on him though.” He smiles at you like he’d be wagging his tail if he had one.

“My hero.”

“Yeah, the mayor said I’m getting a medal.”

“Oh, really? When’s the ceremony.”

“Sunday afternoon.”

You snap your fingers. “Ah, I can’t make it. I have a thing.”

“A thing?”

“Yeah, a super important thing. Way more important than your thing.”

“You’re a heart-breaker, Y/N. My ego will never recover.” He grins again, playfully rapping his fingers against the counter as he stands to grab a drink.

“Yep,” he says, voice muffled on the other side of the fridge door. “Definitely going to miss you around here.”

As Jungkook predicted, Taehyung frowns when he gets home from work and you tell him about your plans to move back into your apartment at the end of the week, perhaps sensing your apprehension about returning to the scene of the crime. He insists he’ll come with you and sleep over the first night for support and to make sure you’re okay being back there.

“Whatever you need,” he says. “You’re not going to face it alone.”

Your apartment is pitch black when you swing the door open, the quietness hovering in the air making you feel like you're suffocating. You flick on the light, and you're struck by how much emptier the space is. Jace definitely came by at some point as all of his things are no longer present: his gaming system, his turntable, the tiny rhino statue he had picked out on your last vacation together. Out of the corner of your eye, you spot a glint of a key on the kitchen counter.

Taehyung tries to give you space by busying himself—turning on lights and opening cabinets in a seeming attempt to take inventory of what Jace left behind. He steals glances at you every now and then as you slowly move through the living room, hands reaching out to lightly brush at the furniture with no real goal in mind. This is supposed to be your home, but you feel like a stranger—the ghosts of late nights binging TV shows, giggling wildly at inside jokes, promising forever lurk around every corner.

When you take a hesitant step inside the bedroom, your breath catches in your throat and you choke on a sob. The bedsheets are still in a tangle, a relic of that night seven weeks ago when your whole world fell apart.

Taehyung senses something is wrong and bolts to your side in an instant, hands steadying you where you slump against the doorframe. He turns you in his arms, and his fingers come up to cradle your face in his direction.

"Don't look at that, look at me," he murmurs, thumbs rubbing away the tears that have begun to fall. "What do you need?"

To run, to hide, to crawl into the deepest hole you can find and scream your lungs out until the pain subsides. But you can't. Instead you focus on the brown of Taehyung's eyes, let it ease you back down until your breathing steadies and your heart rate levels.

"A shower," you finally choke out. "I need a shower."

He takes a final swipe at your tear-stained cheeks and offers up a small smile. "Okay. Where are the towels?"

You nod in the direction of the closet as Taehyung ushers you out towards the bathroom. It feels empty in here too, the single toothbrush staring you down from its holder and counter notably absent of shaving cream and hair gel. You tear your eyes away from the vanity to start the water running, and Taehyung pops up a moment later with a towel in hand and a fresh pair of pajamas he must've found in your dresser.

"Take your time," he says. "And if you need anything, anything at all, just give a shout. I'll be right out here." His cheeks take on a hint of pink when you quirk an eyebrow at him. "I'll close my eyes. Promise."

You thank him as he steps out so you can strip and get into the tub. The water is set to a near-scalding temperature and you welcome the sting, scrubbing away at your skin as if trying to erase all of the memories that are once again flooding back.

Your first date at the art museum, where he pointed to a painting of an extravagant rose garden and said it reminded him of you.

Your first kiss under the stars, the two of you losing track of time as he pulled you in again and again.

Endless Saturdays wandering around the city, not caring where you wound up as long as his hand was in yours.

Planning your someday wedding, his whispered promises of, Soon, beautiful, soon, sealed with a signature wink.

Picking out names for children who would never be born.

The tears are pouring out of you now, but you let them. One cry, you promise yourself. One final, good cry to wash it all away, and then it'll be time to let go for good.

You don't know how long you spend in the shower, but by the time you step back out into the living room, Taehyung has already set himself up with a makeshift bed on the couch. He lifts his head when he sees you and, taking note of your red-rimmed eyes, gets up to pull you into a hug.

For a moment he just holds you, arms banding tight around your shoulders before he says, "I cleaned out your fridge. Most of it was spoiled." He hesitates, pulling back to look at you. "And I changed the bedsheets." A hand rubs at the back of his neck. "I actually ran downstairs and threw them straight in the dumpster, I hope that's okay."

His thoughtfulness overwhelms you, and you'd probably start crying again if not for the fact that you don't think you have a single tear left in your body. As you gape at him, Taehyung interprets your silence for disapproval and quickly adds, "I'll buy you new ones."

You respond by wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him back into you, sinking your face into the crook of his neck as you whisper a, "Thank you."

He seems to falter for a second before returning the hug, and as you give him one last squeeze he steps back, scrutinizing you more closely. "You look like you could use some sleep."

"Yeah," you admit, eyeing the cramped set-up on the couch. "Is that going to be okay for you though?"

"Absolutely," he chimes, bounding over to the couch to settle back in. He has to bend his long legs to fit, toes pressing into the fabric of the arm. "See? Comfy." When he catches the uneasy look on your face, he says, "Honestly. Y/N. Nowhere else I'd rather be."

You give him a hesitant nod—you know it'd be useless to try to convince him otherwise. "Okay. Goodnight."

"Goodnight!" He flips onto his back, popping an arm behind his head and closing his eyes.

You cross the room slowly and, just like last time, find yourself pausing at the threshold of your bedroom. The bed is no longer a mess, fresh sheets now stretched neatly across the mattress, but as you look at it, it strikes you that you have never slept here alone. And while you may have committed yourself to moving on from this moment forward, you know this has the power to break you. Tomorrow, maybe, but right now, you're nowhere near ready for this.

You look back and forth between your bed and where Taehyung is lying, his legs now half-draped over the couch's arm, and you make up your mind.

"Tae?"

"Hmm?" He opens his eyes and turns his head to look at you.

"Can you sleep in here with me?"

He blinks, jaw dropping in surprise. "Uhh…are you sure?"

His hesitancy has you losing some of your nerve, and you have to look away. "I just don't think I can…" You purse your lips and shake your head. "You don't have to. I just—"

"No, it's okay. We can—yeah," he blurts, already standing up.

He sidesteps you in the doorway, taking your hand and pulling you into the room after him with a soft smile. "C'mon. Like I said, whatever you need."

Taehyung pulls back the covers so the two of you can crawl in. It's awkward at first, both of your bodies lying stiff across from each other. Physical affection has never been altogether uncommon for the two of you, but this—lying in the bed you used to share with your ex—feels like crossing a line of intimacy that you've never experienced with him before.

But then Taehyung laughs, reaching over to take your hand in his. "I know we’re a long way from high school, but we can do this, yeah? Not like we haven’t shared a bed before."

It breaks the tension, and you giggle back, looking down at where he's laced your fingers together. His knuckles are still lightly bruised with touches of yellow and green, and you run your free hand over the marks, smile drooping.

"I'm really sorry about this," you murmur.

"I'm not." Taehyung's forehead creases. "I'd do it again."

"Please don't," you say quickly. "If you see him again, just let it go."

He frowns and opens his mouth to respond, but you cut in. "Not because I care about him. I just don't want you getting into any trouble on his account. He's not worth it."

Taehyung briefly clenches his jaw but eventually gives you a slow nod. "Well I think my point was made anyway."

"Thank you," you say, pulling his hand up to brush a light kiss to his bruises. "I know I keep saying that, but I really can't tell you enough."

"You don't need to thank me. I know you'd do the same." His face breaks out into one of his boxy smiles. "Remember when Luna broke up with me, and I barely left the apartment for two weeks? You stopped by every day to make sure I was still eating."

You hum at the memory. It had been two weeks of dropping off take-out and commandeering the boys' kitchen to make large batch meals, even harassing Jimin to give you regular updates on whether or not Taehyung had eaten lunch. Jace had given you grief about it at the time, whining that Taehyung was a grown man who could take care of himself, especially when the two of you had just moved in and were still working on unpacking.

“And my birthday junior year of high school.” He’s quiet as he remembers, eyes fixed on some spot over your shoulder as if he’s rewatching the moments on film. “You got me those shoes I’d been absolutely enamored with.”

His old ones had been falling apart entirely, soles curling away from the fabric like orange peels in the sun. Barely even looking away from the bottle at that point, there was virtually no chance that Taehyung’s father would give him enough money to buy him new ones at the thrift store, let alone the high-end sneakers you’d always catch him subtly staring at every time the two of you wandered around the mall after school.

So of course, you’d done the only logical thing and surprised him with them for his birthday, the look of complete elation on his face making your heart leap in ways you didn’t even know it could.

A touch of joy slips into his expression too now as he picks another recollection out of his brain. "Or that time in college when I got stuck in that bathroom across campus with no toilet paper and you left class to break into the men's room and bring me some."

You scrunch your nose at that, saying, "We swore never to talk about that again!"

Taehyung laughs. "I know, but what I'm trying to say is that that's what we do. We take care of each other."

The truth of the statement hits you like a truck as you're suddenly anchoring yourself in Taehyung's eyes again.

It's as though every moment of the last seventeen years comes rushing back to you all at once—every joy, every celebration, every tear, every heartbreak. And at your side in each memory are the same brown eyes you're staring into right now.

A feeling that you're too scared to place stirs in your chest and has you panicking, and you can see that Taehyung isn't unaffected by the moment either as his lips part and he studies you with a newfound softness. When he reaches up to brush your hair behind your ear, the feeling in your chest swells and snaps, and you bury your face in his chest, tears starting afresh, as he wraps his arms around you.

"I'm here," he whispers. "I'm right here."

You press your hands into his back, clinging to him, and hope the pressure conveys what your words can't—what you don't even have a name for yet.

Your sobs subside after a while, but you stay wrapped up in each other. Right before you fall asleep, one final flashback of Jace leaks into your mind—words he had spit at you before leaving this place that night.

I've never been your priority. No one can be. Not when he's around.

It's hard work dragging yourself awake the next morning, your eyelids heavy and begging you to close them for just five more minutes.

But you realize that the side of the bed next to you is not only empty—it's cold. Reaching out to your nightstand, you flip your phone over to check the time. 10:42. The morning is practically gone.

You pull yourself out of bed and shuffle into the living room where you spot a figure standing in the kitchen. Taehyung is busy at the stove, white t-shirt tight across his shoulders as he works, humming to himself, and you stop for a moment to take him in (was he always this broad?).

"Good mood today?" you say. He turns, flashing you a smile over his shoulder.

"Morning, sleepyhead!" He catches himself, realizing he might sound a little too chipper for the occasion and quietly asks, "How are you feeling?"

"Alright," you shrug, and it's the truth. The seemingly endless crying the night before had been exhausting, but it also provided you with something of a catharsis, leaving you feeling almost refreshed today.

"Good," Taehyung says. He nods to the plate on the counter next to him. "I made pancakes."

"The chocolate chip ones?"

He places a hand over his heart and looks at you in mock offense. “Of course. What do you take me for?”

You laugh and wander over to the dining room table where a bright bouquet of lilies now sits in a vase. Pinching one of the delicate, silky petals between your fingers, you ask, "What's this?"

Taehyung glances over his shoulder again, blushing slightly when he sees what you're looking at. "Oh, I um—" He fumbles for his words. "I ran out to get you some groceries and saw the florist next door. Figured they could, you know, brighten things up in here a little."

"You didn't have to do that," you tell him softly, but he brushes you off with a shrug.

"I wanted to."

You reach for the petals again, the bright orange seeming to cast a glow on your skin like a sunset. “You know these look like—“

“The ones you used to collect on our walks growing up?” He chuckles at your stunned silence. “Yeah, I know.”

It still surprises you sometimes—the depth of his thoughtfulness and how well he knows you—and before you can stop yourself, you’re stepping up behind him at the stove. You wind your arms around his middle, pressing your forehead to the space between his shoulder blades and allowing your breath to warm the cotton of his t-shirt. It’s soft—intimate—and you feel Taehyung tighten up under your touch, his entire body going rigid.

“Y/N—“

“You know you mean the world to me, right?”

It’s a near-whisper—you sound like you’re on the brink of tears—and maybe that’s why Taehyung’s hard lines soften at the sound of your voice, turning in your arms so he can reciprocate the embrace and press a cheek to your temple. He doesn’t say a word, just holds you tight as you lean your face into his chest and inhale the comforting scent of pancake batter, laundry detergent, and honey-scented soap.

You think you could stay here forever.

Last night’s mood seems to linger in the air like little beams of light that warm your skin in the best way. You recall falling asleep in these same arms, this same scent wrapped around you—how it was easily the best sleep you’ve had in weeks.

It's different, this space between you now. Has been since the night in the bathroom. You and Taehyung may have gone through a metric fuck ton of pain over the course of your lives, but there's no denying that this breakup is pushing your friendship into a new form, molding it into a new shape.

You're too nervous to dwell on it, but damn, if you aren't going to take advantage of how good it feels to cling to him right now. You want to wrap yourself around him like a koala—draw your legs around his waist and bury your nose into the hollow space at his collarbone.

What a great way to scare him off too, your brain says, even as your heart argues, He's stuck with you through worse.

You're tempted—seriously considering dragging him over to the couch so you can snuggle him properly—when the fire alarm goes off, the pancake on the stove burnt and blackened.

Taehyung releases you in a flash, spinning to shut off the burner and pull the pan off the stove as you rush to the hallway closet for a broom. You swing it underneath the alarm until the smoke clears, and the device stops its blaring shrieks. As silence filters back in, Taehyung tips the burnt pancake into the trash, the previous moment ruined.

"That'd be our luck to burn this place down your first day back," he jokes.

You tip your head up, already thinking this may have been a bad idea and wishing you were back at the guys' place. "Maybe not the worst thing in the world."

He approaches you slowly but deliberately, raising a long finger to press at your chin until you've lowered your gaze enough to look him in the eyes. Taking your hands in his—gently, so gently—he says, "We're going to breathe life back into this place. I'll be here every day if you want me to be."

"You d—"

"I will. Or Maya or Jimin or Kook." He moves his head so you're forced to look at him even as you try to look away, confronted with the raw sincerity in his eyes. "We'll drown out the bad memories with new good ones."

His voice is CPR, pressing warmth into your chest, and just like that, the suffocating walls around you open up a bit. You can see it, the two of you sitting on the couch watching TV—or maybe you watching him play one of his games—your other friends occasionally dipping in and out as they please.

More orange lilies on the table.

You pull your hands from his and drift to the kitchen counter, picking up the glinting silver key sitting on its surface. Turning back to Taehyung, you press it into his palm, and he stares at you, eyes wide with wonder.

"You're sure?"

You nod, and he curls his fingers around the key like it's something delicate—handling it with the same care you once saw him give a baby bird that had fallen out of its nest in the park when you were thirteen.

"Every day," he promises, pinky wrapping around yours and squeezing. "Just say the word."

NEXT

a/n: likes, reblogs, and feedback are always appreciated! <3

taglist is open!

[peachy-wolfhard]

The Lair Games

a/n: raaa i love the lair games best mfing episode so whimsical and fun raaaaa also im obsessed with lair games cheerleader hc, italics are interviews (i didnt put everyones interview in only the readers)

Let me know if you would like to be on my tmnt taglist!

Warnings: donnie is a drama queen, The Incident, throwing up mentioned

Word count: 702

I love the lair games and Donnie sm

Sigh the lair games, the time when only Leo wins and then spends an entire year gloating

While it is very fun watching everyone compete a part of you feels bad for Donnie because he NEVER even gets close to winning

That is…until this year

Every year you take it upon yourself to be Donnie’s cheerleader because oh man he needs it. As long as you’re there cheering even as he's losing miserably, he's a little less bitter about it

This year was going to be different though you could feel it! History was about to be made

April had told you before that she was going to record the games, and everyone was even more excited

“Sigh, my legacy of losing will be cemented in film history”

It's now the most anticipated day of the year, the day that everyone looks forward to and trains for this year the prize would be…Leo’s room!

The first game of the day was Handstand Hill Bomb and like every year Leo won first place but this year Donnie won second!

“Let’s go Donnie Let’s go!” you cheer as it’s almost time for the next game, Pipe Goop Chicken

“My personal least favorite game if Donnie wins this one he's not kissing me for a month I swear”

“Let’s go Donnie Let’s go!” you cheer once again

“Do you have any more creative cheers?”

“No, get what you get, and don't throw a fit”

And he won! (Kind of a win-lose scenario, beat Leo and rub it in his face and lose smooches)

Win after shocking win Donnie acquired with Leo hot on his tail and you as his loyal cheerleader yelling catchy cheers while shaking purple and black pompoms

That was until…the incident

“y/n can i get a comment about…the incident?”

“Sleep with one eye open Leo. That’s all I will say on the matter”

While Donnie was recovering Leo began his winning streak

“Cough cough…y/n is that you?”

“Donnie you’re not dying stop acting like a sick Victorian child”

“Take me to the surface…one last time…” he says pulling the blanket up to be under his arms

“Shut up,” you say scratching under his chin then sadly going back to the games

“My moment!” he shouts as you walk back to Splinter announcing Leo’s next victory

Just as Splinter announces Leo’s perfect 10 Donnie appears!

“Not so fast, my friend!” Donnie announces masked in smoke (drama queen I love him)

“I’m here brother, lets bowl”

“When Donnie showed up I was stunned! Just a minute before he was pretending he was a sick Victorian child,” you explained to the camera

After all of Donnie’s dramatics, it was time to bowl. He launches himself off and attempts to get his ankle into his shell

Just as he was able to he’s launched into the mannequins knocking all down…

…But one making it a tie and after consulting the rules the next event was left up to a…

Splinter’s choice

“I knew that rat man would come up with something sinister but I didn't think it would be THAT sinister!”

The final event would be the Slippery Whippery Woo?

“If I vom please hold my hair April”

“We can hold each other's hair”

“Hold my nonexistent hair please”

“We will Mikey”

Your cheerleading was quickly forgotten about not knowing if you should root for your boyfriend to catch his slipper rat father or just leave

The match was quickly over with the words “Do you know what rhymes with second place? Leo’s face!”

“I-i- need a shower…I will claim my prize when i'm clean”

As Leo moves out of his room, April closes in for a final interview, and Donnie gloats

“I’m very proud of you Donnie,” you say kissing your hand and touching his forehead

“You’re very lucky i’m touching you right now,” you say, a lovesick smile plastered to both of your faces

Later that night the two of you are unable to sleep

The one thing Leo didn’t mention is that Splinter’s snores are amplified by the vent directly in his room

Needless to say, Leo got his room back very quickly