#If I could hide my fics from people like that I would

[musings-of-a-rose]

A New Life - Part 1

Pairing: General Marcus Acacius x ofc Cornelia

Word Count: 4700+

Rating: Mature - 18+ ONLY!

Warnings: Just like ao3, “creator chooses not to use warnings.” If you click Keep Reading, that means you agree that you’re the age to handle mature themes. Also by clicking Keep Reading, you understand warnings may not be complete in order to avoid spoilers for the story. 

Summary: After her husband's quick death, Cornelia finds herself back in her childhood home. But when her father passes, her cruel brother Cato becomes Lord of the city. She feels trapped, hopeless, destined for nothing as her brother tortures her day in and out. Until one day, a certain renowned General comes to claim her city in the name of Rome. When her brother hastily offers her up in surrender to the stoic General, Cornelia happily complies. Anything to get away from her brother. But will the General accept her? What fate lies in store for her in the hands of General who has never lost a battle? And will she be able to survive Rome itself?

Notes: sigh. look, I had one scene idea and it became this. If you've ever read anything by me, you know this happens. And just look at Acacius. How could I not? Shoutout to @mermaidxatxheart for tolerating my existence in general for this fic.

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**Reader is not described

Main Masterlist

General Marcus Acacius Masterlist

“We can’t thank you enough, miss.”

I wave my hand. “No need to thank me. I’m just doing what I can.”

I pull the palla (scarf) over my head as I wind my way back up the city streets, heading towards the home I grew up in. The largest home in the entire province that used to belong to my father, the noble in charge of this entire area. But ever since he died, my brother has taken his place and well, let’s just say he is far from my favorite person. Which is why I’m hiding as I sneak back inside, my brother having forbidden my leaving the grounds ever since I was forced to return after my husband’s death. 

I wake the next morning to the sound of many footsteps running outside and down the halls. I quickly pull on my tunic and head out of the door, turning to head towards the main chambers where my brother would undoubtedly be. Sure enough, as I approached, I heard him raise his voice. It sounded like he was trying to muster troops? He barks out a few more commands and the door flies open, catching me off guard.

“Sister! Come here!” My brother, Cato, demands. I enter the room, casting my eyes downward and away from him for a moment before looking at him. 

“Brother, what is happening?”

His eyes scan me from head to foot, his lip pulling up in a snear. “The Army has arrived.”

I cock my head. “Who’s army?”

He sighs, exasperated,. “The Roman army, Cornelia. The one led by Marcus Acacius?”

My eyes widen. “The general who has never been beat?”

“That’s the one.”

The people running around make sense now. We’re preparing for a fight. “What will we do?”

“We will fight!”

I scoff. “You cannot hope to win.”

His mean eyes snap to mine. “You don’t think I can?”

“I…I just mean, General Acacius has a reputation. Our numbers are small, we can’t-”

He waves his hand at me, cutting me off. “Yes, yes. I know. We’re going to give it our best. But I also have a backup.” 

“Oh?”

The snear comes on full display. “Yes. Actually a way to solve 2 problems with one.”

“Two problems?”

“I will surrender and give the General you as a victory gift.”

My jaw drops, the air whooshing from my lungs. “M..me?”

“Yes, you. I know you’re already 30, but you look much younger. He won’t know. Besides, he doesn’t need to marry you.”

“You mean to give me to a man with no intention-”

He reaches out and grips my face with one hand. “Dear sister. I would whore you out to every noble, the emperors themselves, if it meant I got to keep my lifestyle.” He shoves me away. “Now go make yourself presentable. As much faith as I’d like to have in our troops, I rather think it will come down to you.”

And that was that. He turns, effectively cutting me off from any retort. I head back to my room, calling for one of my servants to help me prepare. As she washes me, I think on all that has transpired. Am I finally to be free of the hell that has been my life for the last several years? I know I should be afraid, terrified of the renowned General Acacius, but I’m not. Anything is better than here.

My brother has me sit in a chair off to the side of his own, the sound of swords clinking growing closer and closer. The heavy doors creak open and soldiers pour inside, nearly covering the space in a handful of steps. My brother holds up his white flag, a symbol of surrender and luckily, they stop, one of them yelling to get the General. Only a handful of moments pass before a man strides into the hall, broad shoulders barely contained in beautiful leather armor, the head of Medusa proudly displayed on its front. He is covered in blood and dirt and sweat, a sword still in his hand as he confidently strides up to my brother, who instantly bows. 

“General Acacius. I humbly surrender to your forces.”

“So many people died for you to be sitting here on your chair. You could have stopped the bloodshed before it started and you did not.”

“I had to give it my best shot. Honor was at stake. You can understand that, yes?”

General Acacius considers this for a moment. “And let me guess- honor is what you think will keep me from slicing you in half with my blade?”

The smile on Cato’s face falters slightly. “Well, yes.” The blade shifts in the General’s hand and my brother puts his hands up. “That and-” he reaches over and grabs my arm, his fingers digging into my skin as he throws me at the General. I fall to the floor on my knees with the unexpected movement, my palms stinging with the impact. “-my sister! Take her, marry her, use her, whatever. She is yours.”

The General leans forward, extending his hand towards me. I look at it, the blood and dirt mixed together in some kind of horrible art on his palm, and I take it, allowing him to help me up. Once I’m standing, my eyes find his and I’m shocked to see concern. 

“Are you alright, miss?” He asks, his eyes scanning my face.

I don’t break the gaze as I whisper. “Please take me with you. I will be faithful to you however you need me. Free me from this prison.”

He cocks his head ever so slightly, searching for something in me. Apparently he finds whatever he’s looking for as he looks over my shoulder back at Cato. “I will take her. But I should kill you here for the way you treat your people but especially for the way you treat your sister. Your own blood.”

“My people will recover and I’m sure you or your men will be thankful to have such a beauty after-” the General takes a step forward, his blade coming up. All I hear is slicing, a horrible gurgling, sputtering sound as a body thuds to the floor. I don’t move, not right away, using my breath to steady myself. I start to turn when the General grips my arms, preventing me from moving. 

“You do not need to see this.”

“I think I do.”

“Miss-”

I drop my voice so only he can hear me. “My brother has put me through hell for years. I have no love for him. Let me have this closure. Please.”

He hesitates for a moment before nodding, dropping his hands from my arms. I take a breath and turn, my eyes immediately finding the crimson pool on the floor, the thin gash across Cato’s throat bright and angry against his skin. His are vacant, every trace of the evil life he lived, gone. I nod once and turn back to the General, who is still watching me. His soldiers file from the room, a loud silence falling over us.

“So…do I..do I follow you or?”

He holds his hand up. “I do not plan on holding you to that deal or whatever your brother tried to do.” He starts to turn but I gently grip his arm. He looks down at my hand briefly before looking at me. 

“You saved me from this torture. I will be faithful and loyal to you.”

He puts his large hand over mine, taking it from his arm and holding it. “I have no doubt of that, miss. But you owe me nothing. Go live your life.”

“General Acacius, may I speak plainly?”

He nods. “Please.”

“I understand what you are trying to do. But please think: my brother has controlled this province ever since my father passed several years ago. He has placed more taxes and fees on these people than anyone before. And he just led half of them to slaughter with your arrival when he planned on surrendering. They are not happy with my house. They may like me but I don’t think that fondness will suffice when they are burying their husbands and sons for no reason.”

He thinks for several moments. “Perhaps you are right. I cannot in good conscience leave you here to die. I can escort you to our next province but know that it isn’t a place for a woman. War and battle are hard and bloody. I can protect you from my men but I cannot promise to protect you from those we fight against.”

“I understand. Wherever you need me, there I’ll be.”

“You are free to leave whenever you wish.” He turns, heading towards the doors.

“But what if I wish to stay? With you?” I follow behind him and slam into his chest when he abruptly stops and turns around. He looks down at me and my heartbeat races. Now I’m closer, I can see past the grime, see his greying hairs, the scar that runs down the side of his face, his eyes, dark and battle-hardened but also caring, a tinge of regret. They also darken with a look I’ve seen in many men’s faces as they chase the skirts of women. But then he blinks and it’s gone.

“We shall see.”

General Acacius accompanies me to my chambers and allows me to pack a few things. It’s lighter than I would normally travel with, considerably, but it’s not needed. And I can always get new things along the way. A few pallas (head scarfs) and tunics, some health and hygiene products and I’m ready, the General giving me a nod of approval at my small bag that I’d packed. His soldiers ransack the estate, including my room, taking anything of value to either sell or melt and turn into weapons. General Acacius ensured I had everything I wanted before he allowed it, a gesture I wasn’t expecting. As we head towards the front gates of my previous estate, he turns to me, speaking low so only I would hear.

“Stay close to me. Speak to no one. Pull that palla over your hair and stay quiet. Understood?”

I nod quickly as I do what he says, making sure it covers my hair. “Yes, sir.”

“Do you have a favorite horse?”

I blink. “Yes. In the stables.”

He allows me to lead us to the stables and I quickly locate my black barb horse, Caius. He is nervous, snuffing and chittering in his stable, but the moment he sees me, he calms. 

“Hi, Caius. Are you ready to go on an adventure?” He presses his forehead to mine, a gesture we’ve done since he was a foal. I can feel the General’s eyes on me, watching as I lead Caius from the stables and ready him for travel. It only takes a few minutes and I’m grateful for learning how to do it rather than relying solely on stable hands. He has me lead Caius out with his reins rather than riding, no doubt to make me less of an easier target. 

We head out of the main gate and I stifle a small gasp. I hear the sounds of wailing, mothers having lost sons, wives their husbands, children their fathers. The Roman soldiers are trying to calm the area, and they’re succeeding by sheer numbers, but the sounds of grief have no master. It’s then that I realize what the crimson tinge to the soil under my sandals is. I swallow hard, willing the tears not to fall. I don’t want to look weak. But these were my people, even if we were separated by title and money and my heart aches for them. 

General Acacius sets a brisk pace, winding around the main square, no doubt trying to avoid any sort of riot or call for my head. I couldn’t blame them. Like I’d said to the General, they may like me, but my family is the reason they’re burying their boys and men needlessly. I can feel how nervous Caius is, but he trusts me fully and obediently follows me without issue. What seems like hours later, we make it out of the city. The General steers us towards a group of men guarding horses. They salute him as he walks up.

“General, sir!”

He nods and they drop their salute. “My horse.”

“Yes, sir.” One of the soldiers runs off and comes back moments later with a beautiful chestnut colored horse. He hands the reins to the General and salutes before going back to his post. The General turns to me.

“We will ride to camp. Stay close to me. Keep that palla over your hair, yes?”

“Yes, sir.”

He watches me for a moment, his hand coming up to rub his horse’s nose. “Ready?”

I swing myself up onto Caius in one fluid motion, one that I had been doing for the majority of my life and at least 10 years with Caius. His eyes linger on me as I settle in, adjusting my palla to cover my hair. Our eyes meet and he holds my gaze for just a brief moment before blinking and looking back towards his own horse, swinging himself onto the saddle. Despite my situation, I can't help but to think...

Damn he looks good on a horse. 

We don’t ride far, maybe a quarter or so mile from my city. We break through a line in the trees and I gasp - an entire camp has been built, complete with walls, tents, cooks, all of it. The soldiers by the wall call out and the gates creak open, General Acacius riding through the opening, glancing back once to make sure I’m following. We wind through the camp to where the horses are kept. He hops down from his chestnut mount and offers me his hand to help me down from Caius. I hesitate a moment before linking my hand with his and slide off of my horse. General Acacius nods to a young man and hands him the reigns to his horse, motioning to me to do the same. 

“I promise they will take good care of him.” 

I give Caius a pat on his head and hand the reigns to the boy, who leads both horses off towards the makeshift stable area. 

“Follow me,” The General commands and I comply, my sandals squishing in the mud as I go. We arrive at a grand tent, some soldiers stationed outside, one of which holds open a flap to allow General Acacius inside. He motions for me to follow and I do, feeling the tent flap close behind me. The tent is just as large as it appears. One side has a table with maps on it with little pins placed all over it. There are some traveling chests, which I assume house either weapons or other clothing or armor. On the other side of the tent is a room divider, behind which is a mattress and a small area for changing. A loud clank snaps me back to my reality and I see The General lay a sword on another table, this one set closer to his sleeping area. He removes his bracers as well, rubbing his wrists after he does so, glancing up at me.

“I will instruct my men to not touch you, but I would advise you stick to my tent.”

“I- yes. I understand, General.”

He barks out a name and I jump, the volume catching me off guard. A man enters the tent and salutes.

“Sir?”

“Fetch me some bath water for my…guest.”

“Yes, sir.” The tent flap closes behind the man as he goes off to bring the bath water.

There are a few moments of silence where he watches me, his eyes quickly glancing down my body and back up. “You can leave your belongings here.” He walks over to the divider and motions for me to follow. He points to a small crate in the corner. “You can set your bag here. I have some space in a chest for your things when we pack tomorrow.”

“Oh. Thank you, sir.”

He’s so close now, I could reach out and touch him. I want to, his greying curls and dark eyes heating me in ways I didn’t know possible. He blinks, shaking his head slightly.

“I will have them make you a sleeping mat, but you may not get it for a bit. You can take mine and I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“Absolutely not.”

He cocks his head slightly to the side, curious at this woman who would say no to him. “Excuse me?”

I clear my throat. “I won’t have the general of Rome sleeping on the floor. I can do that.”

“But, you are my guest, and a woman. I can’t allow you to do that.”

“Well then, I guess we’ll just have to share.” The words come out of my mouth before I can think. He fights back a small smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth.

“You would share a bed with a man who is not your husband?”

“My husband has been dead for many years. And not just any man. The man who saved my life.”

He watches me still, his eyes softening but somehow dark. He reaches out, hesitating a moment before gripping my upper arm. “I am sorry for your loss….well, if you insist, I promise to be respectful until we can get you your own mat.”

I speak quietly. “When I get my own mat, then you’ll be disrespectful?” I don’t intend for him to hear, but sometimes my inner thoughts become outer ones. His eyes meet mine and he opens his mouth to speak, but then several men enter with a tub full of water and the moment passes, General Acacius holding my gaze for a moment longer before dismissing the men. He pulls over another room divider and places it in front of the bathtub, gesturing towards it. “This is for you. I’ll personally stand outside to make sure no one enters.”

I nod. “Thank you.”

I take my time bathing, knowing that it may be a moment before I’m able to again. The water is cool when I emerge, wrapping a blanket around me and wringing out my hair. I pull on a clean tunic and sit on the sleeping mat, grateful that I’d packed a brush. The General returns a few minutes later, poking his head around the corner. 

“Oh. I assumed you would be asleep.”

“Almost. I won’t take up too much space.”

He waves his hand. “I am not worried.” He shuffles around, grabs some tunics from a chest, and disappears, reappearing later with wet hair that has started to curl, in a fresh tunic, sans armor. He gets on the mat beside me, trying his best with his broad frame to give me space.  

“General Acacius, it’s ok. Take as much space as you need. Tell me if you need more. Whatever you want, I will give it.”

He shifts a bit longer. “You are fine. Breakfast will be brought to us in the morning. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, General.” I settle into my spot, trying to take up as little space as possible. It’s quiet, quieter than I thought a camp would be. 

“Thank you,” I whisper to him in the dark. I know he doesn’t hear me, but I wanted to say it anyway.

“You’re welcome,” a whisper back. I smile, knowing that I at least made some sort of headway into us getting to know each other. I meant what I’d said before -I will be loyal and go wherever he wants me. Do whatever he needs me to do. I owe him my life. 

It’s early when I wake, I can tell by the quietness of the camp. Slowly, I become aware of my immediate surroundings, remembering the events of the previous day. It’s then I feel something heavy draped across my waist. I crack an eye open and look down, seeing The General’s arm casually slung across me. His breaths puff out on my neck and I can tell he’s in a deep sleep. But then he shifts and..oh. 

He’s hard and pressed against my ass, pushing against me slightly in his sleep to relieve some of the pressure. It’s been so long since I’ve had any interaction this way, let alone with someone I’m attracted to. I’m torn as to what to do. If I wake him, I don’t want him to be embarrassed. If he needs me in that way, I will happily consent. Beg for it, even. But I don’t want to be presumptuous either and take advantage of him, even if it’s just to feel his warm, protective presence. My body seems to make the decision for me, my hips grinding back on their own accord. A few seconds goes by before his hand moves and he grips my hip, his fingers digging into my skin.

“You need to stop moving.”

My cheeks heat instantly and I’m relieved he can’t see my face. “O-oh. I’m sorry if I was bothering you.”

“Not bothering me. I am trying to be respectful and you’re making it…difficult.”

“Who says you need to be respectful?”

His fingers dig in tighter and I inhale sharply, the sensation going straight between my legs. He presses himself closer to me, which heats me up more. He stays like that for several moments, his breaths fanning out over the side of my neck. But then he pulls away and sits up, my back feeling cold with his absence. 

“No. I cannot ask that of you.”

I sit up too, turning to face him. “You would not be taking advantage. I meant what I said - I am yours in whatever way you need me. I will follow you wherever you want me.”

His eyes find mine, deep and dark, as he contemplates my words. He opens his mouth to speak but then the tent flap opens and a man calls out that breakfast is ready. The General’s mouth slams shut and his expression changes. “Place it on the table.” The man complies and the tent flap closes again.

He gently places his hand over mine. “Come. Let’s eat.”

The Roman troops are impressive. 

That day, they pack up the entire camp and start the long trek towards our next destination, which is at least several days worth of traveling by land. And every night they build an entirely new camp that looks identical to the one they had outside of my city. It’s mind boggling.

Ever since our first night, The General tries harder to keep a respectful distance from me, not wanting me to feel pressured or obligated to do anything. He keeps me close though, always keeping an eye on me to make sure I’m safe. A week goes by and we’re in his tent, him pouring over maps and moving the little pieces and pins, me reading a book that he pulled from one of his chests. A soldier enters the tent with a tray of food and the General motions to his side table. The soldier leaves and I close my book, watching General Acacius for a few minutes, his brow furrowed in concentration as he stares at his board, a single curl falling forward onto his forehead. I quietly get up and cross the space to him, gently squeezing his arm. 

“Hey. Come eat.”

He blinks and looks down at me, heaving a big sigh. “You’re right. I need a break.” He follows me back to the table and sits, starting to eat some of the cooked meat the men had brought in. 

“Have you thought about what you want to do once we capture the next city?” He takes a bite out of the meat and watches me as he chews.

“Are you asking me to leave?”

He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. Damn I want to lick it. “War is no place for a lady.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

He studies me for a moment. “You may do what you want. I told you you are free.”

“And I told you that I will follow you.”

“It’s dangerous.”

“You saved my life.”

“You do not wish to get married?”

I shrug. “I was married before. But I am not objecting to marrying again. To the right person.”

He takes another bite of meat and thoroughly chews it before speaking. “What happened to him? Your husband. You mentioned his passing before.”

I’m honestly surprised he hadn’t asked before. We had started having little talks at meals, but it wasn’t about anything heavy. 

“Remus was a kind man. He was the eldest son of the wealthiest merchant in our city. My father arranged our marriage to unite our houses. He was wealthy and had his own estate. We married and I moved in with him. I…suppose I loved him, in a content way. Like I said, Remus was kind, despite his hard exterior with his business dealings. He made sure I had everything I wanted. He had bought me Caius when he was just a foal. However, a few months after we were wed, he was called to the army. He left, proud to serve his people, despite his family begging him not to go. He never returned.” I take a sip from my mug, giving myself a moment to gather myself. “It was..hard, after he had passed. We had not really had a chance to have children. His family returned me to my family after a grieving period. I was allowed to keep Caius only because he had formed such a fierce attachment to me, along with some trinkets and clothes. Honestly, Remus would’ve been appalled at the way his family moved me from the estate. Anyway, I moved back in with my father and brother. A few years later, my father became ill and passed away, leaving me to my brother, Cato. He was abusive, verbally and physically. But I had nowhere to go. I dreamt every day that someone would come to take me away from him. But he always reminded me that no one would want someone who was used and old.” I shrug, taking another sip before meeting his eyes. “When I say you saved my life, I mean it. I am not simply in your debt. I want to be here.” He watches me for several moments, his jaw ticking as he fiddles with his mug. He sits up and leans forward, placing his large hand over mine.  

“I am sorry you had to endure all of that tragedy.”

“Thank you, General.”

“Marcus. Call me Marcus.”

My stomach flutters. “Marcus. Thank you.”

We’re back in the saddle the next day, me on Caius and him on his beautiful chestnut horse, Augustus. He has been softer with me since I told him my story, chatting and making jokes. He’s still respectful, never wanting to push a boundary. One that he set himself, I might add. Another camp goes up, this one built a little differently. There are more wood cabins instead of tents and Marcus explains that we may be here more than a night or two. We eventually settle into our bed, another mattress somehow never appearing for me. Not that I’m reminding anyone.

“We ride out in the morning. I want you to stay in this cabin, do you understand?”

“Y-yeah. Yes. Of course.”

He turns to me on his side, his eyes on me in the dimly lit space as I roll to look at him. He speaks quietly, but firm and I think I can make out worry in his eyes.

“I will have Caius ready and waiting for you outside. If you hear any soldiers, you take him and you ride. You run, do you understand me?”

“Yes, but what about you?”

“Don’t worry about me. You get to safety. That is your priority. Do you understand?”

“Yes, but-”

In an unexpected move, he reaches out and cups my cheek, his eyes on mine. “Promise me you’ll be safe.”

I place my hand over his. “I promise.”

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[vrystalius]

hi! Ive been reading ur fics for a while and i love them sm and hope ur enjoying ur break!

I was wondering if u could write about giyuu apologizing after an arguement?

once again i absolutely love ur fics lol 💗

Apologies

Giyuu apologising after an argument— how does he do it?

Pairing: married!Giyuu x gn!married!reader

“Why can’t you just talk to me? I feel like I’m the only one trying here!”

You immediately regretted those words the second they left your mouth. Washing out your mouth with soap won’t wash that expression of your husband from your face, him staring at you in both disbelief and deep guilt. Giyuu knows that he can come off as cold or even uncaring, even to you. It’s never intentional but rather a terrible habit he seemingly can’t get rid off and it keeps forcing him to push people away from him. That’s why it may seem he doesn’t try hard enough to express his thoughts, his feelings.

Despite knowing that you will be understanding and listen to his worries, hold him while you kiss his face until he finally smiles again, all those fears and thoughts that dwell on horrific events he experiences on a daily gone in mere seconds.

So, who should apologise first? Giyuu, or you?

Since your husband left your house after the argument, probably wanting to take a walk or get some fresh air, you had time to think about what to do to apologise to him. Directly talking to him might scare him off and result into him being too intimidated to answer or scurry off to hide somewhere else to avoid you altogether. A letter could work, right?

Composing and thinking about every word, every sentence helped you sort your thoughts out and properly speak about the argument from your perspective while also staying respectful to his own view of the issues. You just hoped that your crow was awake to deliver a letter to your husband. If not, you’ll leave it in your bedroom for your husband to find and read quietly while you waited on him somewhere else.

But before you could prepare a method for Giyuu receiving your letter, Kanzaburo, your husband’s elderly crow, weakly called out to you and ruffled his feathers while resting on your windowsill. A letter was secured around his neck. Gently, you took the bird and put it to rest on your lap, giving him well-deserved scratches while gently unravelling the letter from his neck. It was written by Giyuu, obviously, but before you could read, the door to the room opened and your husband stood in the doorframe, staring down at you in surprise. He eyed you, then the letter in your hands.

“Have you.. read it?”

“No, Kanzaburo just delivered it.”

“Ah.”

You could see the gears shifting inside his mind. He probably overestimated the senior crow and thought the letter would be delivered faster. You scratched the crows head and glanced back to the paper in your hand.

“Should I read it? Or do you want to say everything you wrote down to me personally?”

Giyuu silently averted his eyes, his shoulders sagging and a small frown spreading on his face. He was avoiding to look into your eyes.

“No. I’ll be in the bedroom.”

You watched your husband slowly close the door, leaving you alone with his elder companion. While the crow was contently preparing to nap on your lap, you opened the letter.

˚✧₊⁎⁺˳༚

My dearest,

I am sorry. I know I’ve caused arguments again and again because of my silence and my behaviour over all. You feel like you’re the only one trying in this relationship and I’m sorry for that. I thought that if I stayed silent it would be easier for the both of us but that is clearly not the case. I should’ve realised much sooner, but instead I am only doing it now.

I am just too scared to scare you off with my problems and issues since you have your own, just like everyone else does. You are important to me so you always are my priority. My thoughts and feelings can wait, so I stay quiet.

You deserve better than the way I am treating you, you deserve so, so much better. You’ve been patient with me, you stayed with me for so long, through good and bad times. I don’t deserve your love.

I want to do better and I will. Please have a little more patience with me. Please.

I love you, I am sorry that I haven’t said it enough times. I am sorry if you don’t believe me.

Yours forever,

Tomioka Giyuu.

˚✧₊⁎⁺˳༚

💠

Thank you so much for requesting!! I’ve been seeing you interact with my posts pretty often so thank you for all your love and support <33 I’ll happily write more requests for you in the future if you liked this one!

Also, I haven’t forgot about Kyojuro’s thighs request :,) I started writing it and it’s halfway finished— my NSFW meter just ran out and I started writing this instead XD

Anyways, make sure to EAT, SLEEP and DRINK enough!!

Take care of yourselves, physically and mentally <3

[drinkabletoxicdishsoap]

the fandom’s characterization of peri becoming a father to dev will always be interesting to me because where it did it even come from ???

I mean in operation birthday takeback, bro CLEARLY did not care. He honestly seemed so disinterested and didn’t even care when they went into his dad’s private office by accident. He didn’t seem care or smile for his godkid when he was happy. Even got a little mean when Hazel made a nice wish for him with the rocket boots (“Well that should keep him entertained for about 10 minutes” or smth like that)

Lost in Fairy World he didn’t really seem to care either??? he really only just wanted his wand and to ‘look good’ in front of his godkid and do things his way without his parents interfering. Sort of like how a babysitter wants to look good in front of the family of the kid they’re looking after if that makes sense.

The only time we ever seen him actually care about dev was in the finale when he said that. But even after fairy world got turned to normal he didn’t really seem sad about dev??? he was just smiling after, seemed genuine too and not a fake one. Maybe it’s just me, but if I was a fairy and lost my first godkid, who took over my home, I would be doing anything BUT smiling, even if we won in the end. Peri doesn’t seem like one to hide his emotions easily either (maybe I’m reading into his character wrong)

You could bring up best of luck, which I would say is a fair point, but I’m going to bring back the babysitter/job synonym. Wouldn’t you get jealous of the person that stole your position or place in a work environment after you got fired?? Especially if your rival/enemy took that position?? I PERSONALLY don’t think the jealousy comes from a place of care, but maybe that’s just me.

It could honestly just be the fandom’s way of coping since Dev doesn’t seem to have any good people in his life after the finale, but why Peri? I mean if you really want to make one of the fairies a father figure to dev, I’d say the anti fairies more over are his family but that’s IF we have to choose.

Don’t get me wrong, I do think all of the peri and dev being a father son duo is super cute and heartwarming!! I love seeing all of the art and fics of that because it really is sweet :3 but to me, it just doesn’t really make sense and seems more out of character for Peri if anything.

He seems to care more about following Da Rules in my opinion. And while I do think it’s important to follow rules, especially when it comes to a job, you shouldn’t rely on them. At a job, you shouldn’t be constantly looking over rules to make sure you’re following them, you might end up tripping over yourself. That’s what Peri ended up doing.

If I assign the duo as anything, it would be the tired babysitter who just wants to get paid and the kid he’s looking after. A dude working a 9-5 at his job he couldn’t really care less about (dev).

I mean (only from his words) he wanted to go into the family business. Not because he genuinely cares for kids, but because it’s what his family has done. He’s treating godparenting as work, not stepping into a kids family and genuinely looking after them.

I do wonder if he would act the same way if he had an easier godkid.

BUT!!!! that’s just my thoughts. I’m sorry if I got anything wrong and feel me to correct me if I did !! Also if you disagree with anything that I’m saying, tell me why in either the replies or reblogs !! I would love to hear other people’s perspectives or opinions.

That’s it 😨 thank you so much for coming to another yap session and I hope you have a great day/night wherever you are in the world <3

[joaniscruzing]

echoes in the elixirs

WOOHOOOO yay this fic is finally done! i had so much fun writing this! thank you to everyone who supported the last fic i did, i was so happy to see so much interest! special shoutout to @joj0-thesimp for requesting and proofreading beforehand! per usual, requests are ALWAYS welcome! I write for jinx, vi and caitlyn, and do take smut requests.

also, i did my research on the herbs. a good amount of people predict that Jinx struggles with schizophrenia, which its symptoms can be alleviated with ginkgo. please let me know if my research is wrong, that way i can fix this :)

summary: jinx, looking rather off, enters your apothecary, to which you take care of her for the night.

warnings: mention of jinx's mental health issues, mention of seizures, lots of fluff, herbs are basically meds for jinx, jinx needs a hug, one-bed trope, cuddling

“Have a great day!” you called as you gave your product to your client. In the Undercity, every day in the apothecary was quite a busy one. Hundreds of people would file in every day, as they would trade in for your elixirs and remedies that would cure their pain and suffering, even if it was just for a while. The atmosphere was always loud and bustling, making you struggle to keep up.

However, when Jinx would arrive in your shop, things would usually calm down for the amount of time she was there. Business would slow down, and it was usually just you and her alone in the store. Or maybe it wasn’t, and you were just so enamored by Jinx to even notice. Either way, Jinx was your one time to stop and take a breather during the day, which was ironic, considering her electrifying, energetic presence. 

“So, do you have my order, sugar?” Jinx would ask when she would enter.

“Sure do! Right here,” you’d always answer. However, today, there was something different. Jinx seemed like there was some sort of hole inside her. She hadn’t shown up for a while, since Silco had died, Piltover had been attacked, and she had had to hide to stay alive.

Today, however, she entered the store, a hood over her head, and her head low. Not to your surprise, instead of greeting you with those words, she browsed the store first, looking around, and generally not communicating with anyone. Understandable. However, you saw she was shaking as if winter’s frost had bitten her, and she had been without a coat. Trying not to overthink it too much, you went on with your business, packing up and giving your orders and occasionally convincing customers to buy more. When your final order was given, you left your table to check up on Jinx.

“Hey Jinx, are you okay?”

She seemed startled by your words, as if she didn’t expect you to come up to her and ask her that. She immediately tried to leave the store, ultimately avoiding your question.

“Jinx!” you called after her, grabbing her arm. “Do you need anything?”

“Yeah,” Jinx admitted, choked up in tone, “I need a shit ton of ginkgo biloba. More than you usually give.” Your stomach drops. Fortunately, now you know exactly what’s going on, and what you can do to help her.

“Is it getting worse?” you ask, turning Jinx around, and holding her shoulder. Her face was all you needed as an answer. Tear streaks lined her face, black and mixed up with her makeup. Her fingernails were unpainted and outlined with her blood from picking at the skin around it so much. The only distinct features that stayed were her two long braids, still hanging off her head and cascading past her waist to her ankles.

“With Silco dead, I just… don’t feel important anymore. They’re getting louder. I can’t sleep, or work, or do anything, I-” Jinx divulges, her head in her hands. You remove her hands from her face and replace them with your own.

“Jinx, do you need to stay here tonight? I can make you some food, and make you a nice tea with the ginkgo, as well as some lavender to calm you down. Whatever you need.”

“How much ginkgo?”

“The usual dosage I give you. Any more could make things a lot worse. Plus, the lavender will calm you down, help you sleep.”

“How much worse? Like what, I pass out for a week or something?”

“Jinx, have you ever heard of a seizure?”

“Oh. I guess I could stay the night. It’s not like I have anything better to do at home or anything.” With that, you closed up your shop, locking the doors, and covering the windows, that way no one knew you were secretly housing Piltover’s most wanted criminal.

You took the time to make Jinx a nice meal, as you knew she already didn’t eat enough, let alone whatever her eating habits were during this tough time of hers. As the meal cooked, you also ground up some lavender and ginkgo, which you then put into a bag in order to prepare her tea. After that, you left the kitchen in the back of your shop real quick to check on Jinx.

“Shut up! She wants to help me, I know it!” you heard her shouting, pacing around the room. Before you knew what you were doing, you ran up to her and hugged her as tightly as you could, making sure she knew that you did care. You heard her breathing slow down, and her body unwind as her tense state left her.

“You good, Jinx?” you asked. She pulled away to look at you, surprised.

“Why do you even care this much?”

“Look, you’ve told me a few things about yourself here and there. And it sucks. Other than the herbs I know you need to calm down, I know you need to be taken care of right now. You need someone to be there for you. And I want to be there for you right now.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re nice to be around.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re funny, and caring, and innovative, and your presence always brightens my day.” With this, Jinx’s round, purple eyes widen.

“I brighten your day?”

“Yes, Jinx. You brighten my day. I look forward to seeing you on the days you’re to come pick up your herbs just so I can see you, even if it’s for a few minutes. Jinx, everyone here is so down to business, and you’re the one who always lingers. Well, sometimes. Other times you were afraid of getting caught for sneaking out, so you were in and out.”

Jinx hugs you this time, burying her face in your chest.

“You’re a good person, don’t ever forget that,” Jinx discloses, tightening her grip.

“Okay, hate to let you go, but I do need to check in on the food and tea.” Jinx holds on as you struggle your way to the kitchen, making sure the food didn’t burn during the moment between the two of you. Luckily, everything was ready, and in about five minutes, dinner had been served for you both. Jinx’s tea helped her greatly, calming her down. The sense of calmness in her eyes brought relief to yours, as you were glad to know that Jinx’s head would slow down for a bit. She was also happy to eat the meal you cooked, which, per your prediction, was the first proper meal she had had in a very long time. After your scrumptious meal, you both prepared for bed. However, there was one small kink in the works of your plan to take care of Jinx; there was only one bed.

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” you assured, “I can sleep on the floor.”

“Are you sure? I can sleep there too,” Jinx replied. You put your foot down though, insisting that she needed a proper sleep. It truly didn’t worry you at all. You began to lay down on the ground, preparing for your sleep. Just as you were about to close your eyes, you heard Jinx’s voice from the corner.

“Could you maybe sleep in the bed with me?”

“Yeah, is everything okay?”

“I just, haven’t slept in a new place that wasn’t where I was holed up in for a long time. Plus, you’re comforting to be around.” You get up, pillows and blankets in your arms, and settle into the bed with Jinx. She clutches onto your waist, her legs wrapping around yours. It takes every fiber in you to not turn around and spoon Jinx right there and then. However, your bountiful dinner, Jinx’s tea, and the calming atmosphere put both of you right to sleep.

so. i originally was going to make this some sort of a love story, but i felt like i couldn't considering jinx's mental state in this fic. shall i draft a part 2/ time jump where they get together?

taglist: @ananas26t @stupendousbananasharkcop @sarcasm-is-my-form-of-attack @t-wylia @emiliaisdead @ihatethis222 @west-c0ast-00 @shootingc @iliterallyhavenoideawhattosay @sweetstarfalls @klerns-birdie

(btw, this is the largest taglist i've had per explicit requests. thank yall so much for supporting <3)

[ctrlhope]

Chasing Tornados (m)

synopsis: Ever since you were young, you found solstice in the clouds. Found haven in their winding winds, their chilling storms. Monsters of the air meant to destroy became your love— your safety. You know everything about the skies, yet you only want to know more about him. Wish for him to love you just as much as you do him. Your best friend. Your scorpion. Your impossible. Your Yoongi. -> part of the rest, relax, reserve series

m.yoongi x f.reader

⛆ ﾟ ⋆ : wc: 21.0k+

⛆ ﾟ ⋆ : genre: hybrid au, storm chasers au, soulmate au, friends/coworkers to lovers, idiots to lovers, angst, smut, fluff

⛆ ﾟ ⋆ : content: scorpion hybrid!yoongi x human!reader, storm chaser!yoongi+reader, angst, semi-public sex (bathroom), fingering, p in v, dom!yoongi, sub!reader, bratty!reader a lil, rough sex, thigh riding, sex under the influence (alcohol), multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, one mention of a breeding kink, yoongi has a tail, mates, misunderstandings, fights, jealousy, non-linear storytelling, reader and yoongi are both kinda stupid idk, but also v cute, angst but a happy ending <33

⛆ ﾟ ⋆ : notes: heyyyyy it’s ur girl, back with another mc let’s play video!! kidding lol, sorry this took so long to write, life has been really hectic. trust me on this fic lol. but i rlly fell in love with these two nd I hope you do too <33 and i hope u enjoy my attempts at comedy! remember!! my requests are always open nd you can always feel free to send asks to characters <33

18+ -> minors / blank blogs dni

Wind wraps in your hair, blowing it– making it form into some beastly, monstrous thing around your head. Tangling your face, your eyes falling askew as it finds itself messing around your very being. The howls of gusts form in your ears, sounding of ghosts that would haunt any normal person. 

But you, no. Not you. You live for this. Live for the rain that beats into your skin. Live for the cracks of thunder roaring above your head. Find serenity in the dark clouds that hang overhead, the adrenaline pumping through your veins. In the knowledge that it's coming. That it’s coming soon. 

The world acts as something greater- something more than yourself. A collective that has not a care for you or the people in it. A system acting for its own desires. A storm that takes and takes and takes until there's nothing left to give. 

You love it. Love every second of it. 

Even if you should be scared, even if you should be terrified– look for cover just like everyone else. To hide and cower away from the winding beast that destroys homes, takes down power lines. That kills. You can’t. Not when you feel this– this calling deep in your bones. This calling to know more. This calling to conquer a monster. 

To chase the impossible. 

You have always lived for that very thing. Have constructed your entire life around finding answers for beasts that are beyond reason, to construct something real from what can only be construed as fake. To look the storm in the eye, to live within it rather than to be consumed.

And that is exactly why you stand where you find yourself now. Tornado Alley. A storm brewing just in front of you. Warm air meeting cold, finding breath, coming to life. 

Maybe you should be scared. Maybe you should let panic set you alight and carry you far, far away from the death spirals. Maybe you should do a lot of things, yet you can't. You can only stare in wonder as rain hits your flesh. As the wind tries to take your clothes, battering them in the breeze. As electricity cracks above your head, light debris flying past your form to entertain the forming tornadoes fury.  

Bang, Bang, Bang. 

Now that sound isn't from the storm, it can’t be. Sounds too much like metal, like a fist hitting it. Oh right, the car. 

“(Y/n) get your ass in here, now!” His voice is loud, forced to so you could hear him above the storm. He would never yell otherwise. Never raise his voice a single decibel against you. 

Your body turns to face him, a smile breaking across your cheeks without a second thought. Eyes turning to crescents, rain dripping down your cheeks. 

Right, Yoongi. 

The impossible. 

You don’t know when it happened. It shouldn’t have happened. But you knew it did. Felt the shift in your soul whenever you looked at him, felt your blood pumping just a fraction faster whenever he was close. Felt yourself yearn to smell his signature Yoongi scent whenever you sat in his car, whenever he drove you around on one of your little escapades. 

Maybe it was a year ago. Maybe less. Maybe more. You could never be sure– emotions never were your strong suit. But he knew that, and he didn’t care. Never pressured or pried, always just let the two of you be. Act in co-existence in a way you doubt two people could. 

Your partner in crime, your solace among the disarray perpetuating every second of your job– your life. The only person you knew crazy enough to chase the storms with you. To risk their life driving you into the eye. Your right hand man. Your friend. 

None of it should have happened. But it did anyway. Isn’t that always the way life goes? The same way the storms control the skies, he found himself controlling your heart with no will of his own. No knowledge of the underlying flutter that found its way into your guts the second he looked at you, nor any knowledge of the way your eyes fell into adoration when they fell on him. 

Why did you have to fall in love with the storm? 

You weren’t sure– never cared to look deeper into the fact. Never cared to think about why you couldn’t fathom a future without him. Never dared to dip into why the scrawny kid from your college has suddenly become a man before you. Never even thought to challenge the pre-disposed ideologies that held your friendship by its core.

No. You would never do anything as stupid as that. 

Yes, you were a creature of impulse. Never the type to take into account the consequences your actions disclosed. But you like to chase the impossible. You would never think to actually attempt to change it. Especially when you could lose everything in the process. Lose him.

In more ways than one.

Plus, you know where he stands. Know he could never see you as anything more than a friend– a little sister. The hair ruffles, the slight glares he gives when men talk to you in the bars, the way he puts up with your ‘overly affectionate’ cuddles– as much as you wish the simple actions meant more, you knew they simply didn’t.

A big brother. Unfortunately for you, he knows that’s the role he plays in your life too well. 

But he’s not your big brother. He's a man, you’re a woman. It’s not like you ever asked to get caught up in the stringers that tangled you together. Not like you ever asked for this crush to form. 

“For fucks sake! (Y/n)!” His voice is louder now, a harsh yell pulling you from the thoughts that sunk you under the waves. His body forcing itself through the wind to get to you, arm raising to shield his face. “We have to fucking go!!” 

He would admonish you later for getting too caught up in your own thoughts again– something you knew all too well. But when the storm was raging around you, it was almost easier to think. To get lost in the recesses of your brain until you drew the conclusion you had been looking for all along. 

His hand grips your wrist now, dragging you back to the safety of your company truck all while scolding you harshly with words he never actually meant. Just his salt-coated concern peaking through the surface. And well, his concern about getting swallowed up by the storm. Yeah, most people worry about that kind of stuff. At least that’s what you suppose. 

“Are you that fucking stupid?” He shouts roughly at you, forcing you to get in the passenger seat. His touch is gentle even if his words are strong. He always has been strong. “You’re going to get yourself killed!” 

He slams the door closed before you can say anything back– frustrated but not mad. Never mad at you. And for that you can’t help the giddy feeling on your lips. Your eyes watching him as he quickly walks to his side of the car, tail curled close to his back almost as if to protect himself. 

Right, his tail. You forget about it a lot of the time– but at the same, you are so very fond of it. Smile whenever it moves in response to his emotions, giggle whenever he forgets about it himself, tripping over the thing. 

You often forget Yoongi isn’t a full human. But it’s never played much of a role in your life, in your friendship. So you don’t really see the point to care. Choose to ignore the scorpion blood that runs through his veins and view him as any other person walking the face of the earth. It’s never bothered you. 

Most people around you call you a fool anyway, it’s not much to add another reason to it. 

“Ah~ Don’t worry, King Yoongi. I don’t plan on getting myself killed anytime soon.” You let out a gentle giggle as he finds his way into the car, pressing on the gas almost immediately and driving as fast as he can away.

His body is so rigid, so stressed. Yet you can’t be further from it. Your legs propped haphazardly on the dashboard, your body sinking deeper into the seat. You trust him. He always gets you out. Something about his special senses, probably. Maybe. 

Actually, you don’t know. You should ask him about it later– how he can see in such horrid conditions. 

“You will if I just leave you there.” He rolls his eyes, glancing over to you for only a second before managing back to the road, “Don’t think I won’t.” 

“You won’t though.” He only scoffs, but you can see the smile at the corner of his mouth. It warms you almost as much as the sound of the rain– or maybe it's hail now, pelting the roof of the car.  

“I could and I will.” 

“But you won’t.” 

“Just put your fucking seat belt on.” He grumbles, his voice getting a fraction louder as he turns the wheel harshly, a last second manoeuvre. A stick flying through the air past your window. A narrow avoidance. 

The car bumps harshly as it drives, the roads narrow and in disarray. Swerving to avoid debris that litters the ground and jumping as it dips into potholes. It feels like a race. Makes you feel alive even as you click the belt into place– as he moves his tail across your frame to act as a second one. 

You should be scared. Should be terrified of getting caught in the storm. But you trust Yoongi. You know he’ll always protect you. 

“Did the other teams drop their equipment on time?” You ask, reaching below your seat and grabbing the computer. He sends you a pointed glance. 

“According to the sensors we were the last ones.” 

“Well we always are~” You mumble back, a little sing-song in your voice while your head tilts towards your chin. Eyes scanning the array of measurements that pop up on the screen– reading them, taking in their meaning. 

It is your job, anyway. 

“Who’s fault is that?” His words don’t perfectly cross your ears, never do when you're trying to focus. An input of too much information at once and a computer might explode! Aka your brain, aka he’s known for years you have selective hearing when trying to understand complicated things. 

“Mhmm…” You quietly mumble out, fingers moving quickly to type as he finally drags the car out of the storm. Slows down to a more human speed as you type out a few observations, input pieces of code to make your readings more sensible. 

You completely miss the small smile he sends your way, the tilt of his head trying to check “Mmm… Nothing we haven’t seen before. Got a couple of cool 3D models of the storm your screen, “Anything interesting?” 

though…” You tilt the laptop in his direction, showing him the model of the storm. Exactly how big it was, how fast it was moving. “Just an E2, but still pretty.” 

“Yeah, had to’ve been to almost let it eat you.” 

You roll your eyes, shutting the laptop as he pulls over to the side of the road, “Of course, I’d let anything as pretty as that take me out.” 

He scoffs, “Anything, really?”

“Yeah, you know that guy on Attack on Titan that's like ‘oh i’d let a pretty female titan eat’-- Wait a second it is not my fault!” You suddenly announce, his words before finally registering in your mind, “You’re always tinkering with the the the bits!! That’s why it takes so long!”

You grump, crossing your arms. A fond smile finding its way to his lips. 

“Yeah, cause the ‘bits’ are the real issue, aren’t they? Not you playing out music videos in your head while a tornado is hurrdaling at us?”

“Okay! That was one time! And totally not my fault!” You huff, not in any real annoyance, just simply banter. Yoongi always seemed to like your over-dramatic reactions anyway. “You said we could play Hurrcane!! By my girl Bridget Mendler! You know what that song does to me!” 

He can only laugh in response, the gums of his mouth showing as he tilts his head back. Long black hair falling lower against his shoulders. Tail falling lax for the first time in forever. Crests shown in his eyes. 

You like giving Yoongi your reactions if it means he can smile like this. 

When he looks in your direction for a breef second, you can’t help but puff out your cheeks and stick out your tounge in pestilence. The action only causing him to shake his head, eyes returning to the road a little brighter than before.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re right. How could I possibly forget.” A thousand words are said behind his tone that you could never pick up on. Never notice. “You get so excited, like a kid. It’s funny.”

Your head jerks to look at him, a pointed glare in your eye, “She makes me feel things you can’t even hope to understand, Min.”

He rolls his own, “Uh huh. I’m sure.” 

College. Senior Year. The perfect hell it bestows on all of its captors. 

The combined effort of senior thesis’s, grad school searches, advanced level course work, and the unyielding need for money after graduation, as it turns out, is the best possible combination for stress any one person can find! How wonderful. Especially for you, with a stupid gpa you need to upkeep to keep your stupid scholarships, so you can get your stupid degree and get your stupid job–

Well, okay. Now you’re just spiralling. 

Annoyed and tired has never been a good combination for everyday dreamers. Especially those that have been working their entire lives for a single goal. To chase their every last dying hope since they were a child. To become the very person they could only wish to be in their youth. 

But in all fairness, your ass has been handed to you on a silver platter after your last exam grade was horribly, terribly slid to you face down against the table. A quiet note of “see me after class” listed on the top without reverie. Your thoughts a sudden cyclone vortexing you inward and onward, wishing you could tell the sweet summer child of your adolescence that you had failed her. That you were never going to be able to live inside a tornado as she had wished. 

Oh. The monster that you were. 

That was, at least, until you did meet with your professor. And, apparently, he wasn’t going to drop you from the class and (somehow) get you removed from the college like you had thought! Even better, he saw how hard you worked– how much you truly care. Deciding to lend a hand rather than pull it back. Giving you a building and a time to meet with a tutor he specifically picked out. 

Someone he would apparently trust his life to. Your life– okay, academic career, to as well. 

That’s how you found yourself now. Walking through a library that had to be older than your great grandparents– the scent of mildew filling your nose as you moved farther and farther into the recesses of the building. 

Why, exactly, you had to meet in the deepest, darkest corner of the library at an absurd hour of the day confuses you even now. Annoys you a little, quite frankly. Leaving your dorm past 8pm feels like a nightmare.

But you trust your professor, you trust that he wouldn’t steer you wrong. Well, hope is probably a better term. One that more accurately portrays your inner conflicts as you make your way to the back conference table nestled deep within walls of encyclopaedias. Dust entrapping the air you sit in– age and memories baked in the walls. 

At worst, that’s all you shall make. Memories. Call the whole thing a bust and look online for some tutors or go to a used bookstore and buy a few more outdated textbooks. At best, you’ll pass the class and become one of the best meteorologists the world has seen. No pressure on Mr. Mystery Tutor or anything. Obviously. 

None at all. 

Your fingers find themselves tapping against the table as you think; seat already taken, items already spread out as you wait. Just your ring finger over and over in a repeated motion– the beat of wind speeds picking up on a desert plane. The bubbling of magma under the surface of the earth. The–

“(Y/n)?” A husk of a voice breaks your almost monotonous silence, your tapping suddenly ceased as a chill travels down your spine. A chill from the tone of someone's voice alone– can you believe that? 

Somewhere, once, when you were little, you heard that a chill runs down your spine whenever a serial killer passes by. But this isn't that. No, this is something entirely different. More familiar. More recognizant. 

Your eyes shoot pitifully fast up at him, almost tilting your head as you take in the features. Black hair– maybe brown, baggy hoodie, slouched shoulders. One hand supporting the shrap of his bag that hangs over his shoulder. 

No, you don’t know him. Maybe a future you does– one where a timeline passes over this exact spot. Where you’re friends already, maybe something more. Something safe. Though, that isn’t a very scientific explanation. One colleagues and professors may make fun of you for. You disregard the notion, only nodding your head to confirm. 

He only mirrors the motion in return, seemingly not one for conversation himself. Finding himself pulling out the chair across from yours, setting himself inside of it. Wasting no time in pulling out his own belongings. 

Laptop, textbook, notebook. 

“The professor said you were having trouble with qualitative analysis of…” His voice trails off, and you can’t help but wonder how someone's voice can almost sound like a well-loved record. A tune that can’t quite find its sink– almost too rigid to hope itself melodic. 

You listen to the same voice as it sings out the songs of your lessons. As he goes over the failed exam beat by beat. Explaining the first few questions in such simple terms anyone could understand them. Not in a way that felt condescending, no. Again, it just felt so warm that you couldn’t do anything but listen to him quietly. Absorbing everything without a single interruption. 

Well, until question 7 at least. That is when you feel two synapses connecting in your brain reminding you of an ultra-important task that absolutely cannot be forgotten. A handshake. Your small hand cutting him off, reaching across the table without a second thought.

He stares at the pervasive hand as if it is something he’s never seen before. Never been offered in the first place. Something offensive to hurt rather than anything else.

Interesting. 

“My dad always said you have to shake hands when you’re meeting someone. Or else it’s bad luck down the road. So…” You explain away simply, like it should be obvious to every person on the Earth. It should, honestly. But you’ve been told you have issues with thinking that way– that things obvious to you should be obvious to everyone else. That everyone else lives within the same bubble you’ve found yourself residing in your whole life. 

You know it isn't true– that the bubble you’ve created is something you simply live in alone. Periphery finding itself resident to everyone else. But that’s awfully lonely, isn't it? You choose to think the former. 

His shoulders slowly unfurl, defences slowly lowering as he meets your hand in the middle. Rough palm meeting yours, shaking slowly up and down before both sides pull away. A magnet short of attraction of two bodies as you pull away. 

“Good.” You nod, pulling your knees up to hover off of the ground. Resting them against the edge of the table instead. “I don’t like bad luck either.” 

There's a beat of silence, one that you don’t mind. 

“Do you not like black cats then either?” His tone has an edge of pessimism to it. His defences considering a raise. 

You, on the other hand, feel immediate offence. How dare he! “What?! Are you crazy! Or course I like them.” 

You miss the crook of his lip into a light smirk, defences gone once more, “Well, normally they’re seen as bad luck…” 

“That’s just a stereotype!” You instantly defend. Your body leaning over, moving your face closer to his. 

He holds his arms up in defence, pencil still wedged between his fingers, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. My bad completely.” He lets out a quiet chuckle at the end, you only puff out your cheeks.

“Entirely.” You huff quietly, almost sounding like a petulant child, “I would never judge something just off of how they’re born.” At that, he almost perks an ear. 

“Really?” He asks, his eyebrows slowly raising, “Not even hybrids?” 

Ah, hybrids. A common discussion other people find themselves having, one that you never really found the purpose of. Arguments on their rights, the ethics of keeping them as pets, on if they should even be classified as intelligent life. You hated all of them. Didn’t understand for a second why people kept themselves concerned with class divisions or keeping others subservient at all. 

As far as you care, they’re the same as humans. Think like humans, act like humans. Another creature just as deserving the right to live and exist as all others. You don’t concern yourself with the difference in their existence– seeing them, treating them the same as you would any other person. 

You can’t stand that others find different opinions than yourself. Cutting them off entirely for treating another living, breathing creature with the capacity to think for itself as less. Reminding you desperately that you live on the periphery. 

“No, why should I care.”  You scrunch your nose up at the notion you’d think otherwise. He takes the action differently. “They’re the same as everyone else.” 

You surmise your ideologies simply, though you’re never sure if your words construe correctly. His results are inconclusive as well, letting out a quiet grunt. Dropping the subject. Keeping his words from revealing what is true. 

“What else is bad luck then?” 

You don’t notice the quick subject change, “Walking under ladders, whistling in the woods, doing your laundry on a sunday. …I can’t imagine saying Bloody Mary in a mirror 3 times is much help either.” 

He pauses for a second, his eyes just looking at you. They’re sharp things– knives against a grinder maybe. Could even be too sharp to be human, if you cared to look a little closer. Cared to notice the differences between you and him. 

But you don’t, nor will you probably ever. Just allow him to shake his head simply, let him return to your test questions without a single other thought leaking into that brain of yours. Only this time, you feel comfortable enough to ask a few more questions. Let him delve more deeply into the work without the threat of your mind wandering off to useless things. Allow the clock to tick later, later, later into the night– moving from your exam, to the most recent concept your class has been working on. Carefully treading the water, staying afloat as you finally begin to understand. 

You hate to admit it, you really do for the sake of your pride alone, but he really is a good teacher. He doesn’t seem upset when you ask questions– no matter how stupid you are. He stays calm whenever you start to get frustrated, carefully talking you through it instead of getting upset himself. He seems so peaceful you almost want to hate him for it. 

Almost, because between the gentle instructions and messy handwriting as the hours tick late into the night, jokes begin to crack freely between both of your tongues. Gentle jabs that mean nothing, topics construing into obscurity flowing into something more entertaining to discuss. 

Though– he did seem to have pause when you told him you don't trust fish. Something about them thinking they’re better than you– of which he agreed. Not that they’re better than you, of course not. But that yeah… they do seem to have that kind of look in their eyes. 

He feels the same way about birds, you learned. Interesting. 

It isn’t until midnight that he calls it, a time you didn’t even think was plausible. You thought it was 9:30, 10 at the latest! There’s no way midnight could have come so soon! Just the idea of it sounded fake. But then you checked the clock in the library, then your phone, and now you don’t know what to think. 

Time has never flown so simply with another person. 

“I told you I wasn’t lying.” He has that stupid smirk on his face, the one you’ve decided means he’s feeling cocky and amused. 

“You could… you could have changed all of them when I wasn’t looking! To trick me?”

“Yeah.. mhmm.. And what would that do.. For either of us..?”

“. . . I haven’t gotten there yet.”

“Right.” He smiles, a real smile that shows off his gums. You can’t help but reflect a smaller one back at him. 

Once again he moves first, standing after he’s collected all his belongings. Tossing his bag over his shoulder while you hurry to catch up. Sliding your laptop inside before making sure your pens know their correct homes in the case–

What was that?

It was something so subtle anyone could have missed it. A mouse scurrying between cases, a piece of trash floating by. Something brown moving quickly in the corner of your eye. Something you neglected to notice. How could you not notice something so obvious?

When you look up at him– finally take the man you’ve spent the night with in his entirety, you see it. You missed it while he was sitting down, obviously trying to keep the thing from view, but now there was no hiding it. It was impossible to hide the thick brown tail that hung behind him in such a relaxed posture you wonder if he forgot about it, too. 

You couldn’t help the instant fascination as you took the form of it in. The pretty segments it appeared to be broken into– 5 if you counted them correctly, all stacked neatly upon one another. All leading to a stinger resting at the end, gently curled inward rather than held in defence. 

The gentleness of the man himself contrasted so nicely with the firmness of the tail. 

So pretty.

It was only then that he must’ve realised his mistake. Must’ve noticed your silence, followed your eye line to see exactly where it was laying. Realised that he let his guard down too quickly– understood too quickly that you didn’t already know about his… condition. His state of existence. 

The professor must’ve not told you. Probably thought it was a negligible factor even though it never is. Maybe when he came in you missed it, you didn’t actually look up at him until he sat down anyway. Until his tail was already tucked deep under the chair for protection. 

Without realising it, his tail raises. Curing behind his back, the tip looking even sharper than it normally does. Meanwhile his body tenses up entirely. Defence utterly encasing his form.

Fuck, and then your eyebrows are raising– and next you’re gonna start screaming and he’ll have to run so he doesn’t get taken in by hybrid services and–

“Can I touch it?” Your voice brings him back to reality, back from the ‘end-of times’ it found itself careening towards. Now he’s just, he’s just confused. Did you just ask him if you could touch it? Why aren’t you acting like he’s suddenly the scum of the earth? That’s how hybrids are treated anyway. 

Even if you said otherwise earlier, that doesn’t mean much to someone who's never experienced otherwise. 

“. . . oh… or maybe that’s rude. Forget it. Sorry.” You rush out instead, taking his appearance softly. Honestly, you don’t know much about what could be considered ‘rude’ to hybrids… you don’t have much experience with them at all, actually. 

“You’re not…” He fumbles with himself, his tail remaining raised like a predator. He forces himself taller, forces himself to appear more together. More ready to ‘strike’-- figuratively. He clears his throat, “What, you have something you want to say?”

You cock your head back sharply, rising to your feet, “No, why would I?” You feel just as confused as him. Maybe asking to touch a hybrid’s parts is more taboo than you thought… 

“Look I didn't mean any offence it was just pretty and–”

“Just fucking run off and report me if you’re going to–”

Both sentences are said at the same time from each party, the response mirroring exactly as well. Both faces twist into that of almost confusion and offence, upset that the other would dare say something like that for entirely different reasons. 

“What are you talking about?” Your question comes from annoyance, almost anger that he would think you would do something as nasty as reporting him when he was just trying to live his life. 

His comes from the simple word pretty. Why would you think his appendage was anything of the sort? The one thing his entire life that’s set him back– the very blood in his veins betraying him. The reason he can’t be accepted by normal people. The reason he has to take stupid night classes at this university with any professor that is actually willing to accept him. To accept his under the table payments. 

The very reason he’ll never get a real job– just hope to be adopted by someone who will let him do what he wants. Just hope that the authorities don’t find him, or that his own landlord won’t turn him in before he can do that. 

And you think it’s pretty? No fucking sane person would. 

“Why would you think I’d report you?” Your tone is hurt, the pang in his heart hurting just as much. He hates that he feels it, and he hates that he wants to comfort you more than anything else. Stupid fucking scorpion genes. 

“What else would you do?” He scoffs, crossing his arms.

“Literally nothing. I would do nothing.” You glare at him slightly, “I don’t care that you’re a hybrid, why would I?”

“Why wouldn’t you?” His tone is accusatory, but he doesn’t quite know what else to make it. 

“Okay, let’s go down the list, yeah?” The spite in your tone lets the both of you know this night is taking a sour turn, “You can think, you can feel, oh right, you’re your own fucking person.”

You roll your eyes, “I know words don’t mean much, probably, but I view literally every creature as equal.” He still stands firm, your words and his life experiences battling in his mind. You sigh, this isn’t going anywhere. “Listen, I know it probably doesn’t mean much, and like, we both just met so I know it doesn’t hold much value. But I’m really sorry for whatever you’ve gone through in your life. It couldn’t have been easy. But I really, truly don’t care about whatever laws are in place. As far as I’m concerned, you’re equal to me.”

Your tone had gone soft, more gentle. Trying to dispel the hostility that hung fragrant in the air. But it looks like he can’t move. Doesn’t really know how after all of that. You probably wouldn’t either– though you’re not sure, you’ve never been good at putting yourself in other people's shoes. You just hope he believes you… that’s all you can do. 

“I’ll head out first. You have my number, text me if you want to meet again.” You start towards the door, the ball left in the other man’s court. You wish you could’ve at least got his name first but.. He never introduced himself. Hmm, maybe you did the handshake too late, that’s why the bad luck kicked in. 

“You think it’s pretty?” You almost don’t hear his words, too far away. 

You turn your body back to face him, a gentle smile crocheted onto your lips, “Of course I do. Exquisite.” 

The two of you stand in silence for a minute longer, trying to navigate the confusing energy moving between both of your forms. It’s only when you turn back around again to leave that he finally speaks. The simple word of his name. 

“Yoongi.” 

“Well, it was very nice to meet you, Yoongi.” You say softly, tilting your head to look at him once again, “I really do hope we can be friends.”

But that was years ago. Friends came and went; now you want so much more. More than you could ever quite articulate. You know it now as you sit with him, an after-chase ritual in whatever cheap roadside bar you can find. Never finding yourselves regulars, always on the move– save for the presence of each other. 

“I don’t think luck is real, you know.” Yoongi drawls into your ear, the scent of alcohol heavy on his tongue. His body leaning against yours in the crowded bar, hair dancing against the side of your neck all while his tail finds itself curled around your back. A simple motion that could only be described as protective, possessive. 

“What?!” You dramatically slap your hand against your mouth, an action you picked up from him. Alcohol inhibiting both of your minds only slightly, letting words flow a little easier than they otherwise might. Letting touch feel a little more commonplace. 

An afterwork tradition, if you will. 

“You’re insane!” You announce, slapping his shoulder playfully, “You’re gonna make bad luck get us Yoongi!! Take it back!” 

Your voice is almost a whine, and he wants to fold because of it. 

“You say that like you aren’t a stem major!” He laughs, his eyes shining like crescent moons you want to live on. Wait, does that even make sense?

“That doesn’t matter! We're like– the least scienc-y!! Our whole job is practically based on luck! Oh my god!” Now you’re stopping your foot a little, and his tail finds itself pulling you closer.

“Yeah, but you have no idea how many ladder’s I’ve walked under and you still say I have the best luck.” He giggles– fucking giggles!! Can you believe the audacity of this man?! 

“Yoongi!! How dare you!! Do you know how many E5s’ you’ve cost us?! Probably like.. Like 20!” 

“Mm, maybe yours just keeps it up for the both of us. Huh?” You humph, you fucking humph, and maybe– just maybe, Yoongi feels himself going a little insane. Forgetting himself– what you are meant to be to him.

“That’s the only plausible explanation… obviously…” 

He hums, “Obviously.” 

There’s a brief moment, a flicker in the air of something indescribable. Something that makes your skin feel a quiet, humble flame strumming under the surface. That makes you feel as if there's electricity pulsing through the space left between your noses. That makes you feel almost invincible as your eyes meet his warm brown tones. 

You’ve come to love earthy hues since meeting Yoongi. He’s full of them, after all. 

But, the flame of the match is blown out far too quick for you to truly comprehend what that moment was. Why it felt the way it did. Instead, your left sputtering with the absence of Yoongi, the slow withdrawal of his form. 

“I’ll go get us more drinks.” His gravelly voice mutters just loud enough to hear over the music. You can only nod along, already missing the security of the tail curled around your back. 

At least he isn’t so shy about it’s presence anymore. At least not like he was back then– trying to hide it, trying to make the rest of the world forget about it. You never understood why, no, how could you when you love it so much? Find it just another integral part of Yoongi for you to love. 

You can even smile now, thinking back to how cute he got the first time he let you touch it. How he turned red to his ears, the chill that travelled down his spine. The flick of it as it chased after your hand when you retreated. It was too fucking cute back then… mm. Maybe that’s when you first started to grow a crush on the man. 

Or maybe it was always how struck he was when you complimented him. Pushed it aside like it meant nothing, yet he always seemed a little out of it for the rest of your time spent together. You suppose Yoongi has always been reticent to your gaze; but then again, he was always aloof when it came to his feelings as it was. Nothing to dwell on, honestly. 

You’ve never tried to hide your feelings– have never wanted to, really. You don’t think you even know how. But you’re not going to force them on him either. If he wants to act, the door has always been open. And it will remain open to him, probably forever. 

“How’d the chase go this time?” A voice carries you from your head, your feet returning to the solid ground. Jisung, a fellow chaser finds himself in the seat next to yours– the seat Yoongi used to fill. A friend in the industry, you could say. Though, you take to thinking he probably wants more. 

“Mmm… ‘bout as good as any other this late into the season…” You hum, taking a sip from your half-full glass, “Never as good around this time of year.” 

Your sigh makes a gentle smile grow onto his plush lips, “Really? I thought you fell in love with every storm.” He lets out a quiet snort, swirling his own cup. His eyes seem to remain focused on you, though. 

“Of course I do. Everyone is perfect and special!” You declare a smile stretching back, “However, like every caring mother, I do have favourites.” 

“I don’t think– that’s not–” He laughs, “Aren’t parents not supposed to have favourites?”

“You really believe that Lie, Sung? Bold of you.”

“Well, do you have favourite pets?”

“Of course not!! How dare– okay, yeah. It’s the goldfish. His name is Guppie and he is my pride and joy. Named after my first love in elementary school~ imagine I let out a dreamy sigh here.”

His laugh makes your own come out as well, “Your first love was a… fish?”

“What, no?”

“They were named Guppie? … Like a fish…”

“Nickname, of course.” You giggle, girlish and cute. 

“Do you give nicknames to everyone then?” He moves his face closer in wonder, excitement, “What’s mine? You have to tell me.”

You hum, tapping your chin in contemplation, “I don’t know ‘Sung, nicknames are reserved for extra special people in my life…”

“Ah!” He clutches his chest, looking down before popping his head up. Puppy dog eyes, “I’m not extra special? You wound me (Y/n)! You really do! And I really thought we had something, I can’t believe this.” 

You laugh loudly at the dramatic act– emotions on the sleeve are so much more fun to display. You know he probably means none of it, but it’s still adorable. You can’t help but lean in closer, slapping his chest gently. 

“Shh! Shh! You’re too loud! Too loud! You’re extra special!” The conversation is easy, just as it always is with Jisung. Though it isn’t the same– you can’t help but notice that fact. It feels easy, smooth… though like there is a wall in the way of true connection. Like there is a way you are meant to act. Just like there always is. 

Always is with everyone but Yoongi. 

It’s strange. But something you’ve grown attached to. Fond of. 

He clears his throat behind you– think of the devil and he shall appear. Or however the saying goes. You’ve never been good with them, anyway. Your strengths and your faults, the simple facts have become all too aware of over time. Not that you mind them, of course. You just accept them as a fact of ‘you’. Just like your bubble, just like your impossible.

“Oh, hey!” Jisung is bright as always, giving a gentle wave to the man behind you. 

“Poongie!” You smile, your inebriated mind already attempting to wrap itself around his torso. It’s not your fault you already missed him!

Jisung erupts in a fit of giggles, “Poongie?! That’s his?!”

“Yep! Mixture of Pookie and Yoongi. He loves it.” He certainly does, but he would never admit it. Actually, he feels kind of odd right now. More… stiff than he was before he left. Like something… darker? Is radiating off of him. Though, it’s not actually dark. Just kind of… displeased. You can't seem to find the right word. 

“I can tell.” Jisung rolls his eyes, “He looks thrilled.” 

That only seems to further upset the man, his tail slowly curling around itself on instinct. Moving to find purchase on your waist. To pull you closer. To claim you. Sober thoughts slipping into a drunk mind, his actions freer than he normally allows them to be. 

Jealousy. That’s all he feels. Jealous that you just called someone who’s been openly hitting on you the entire season ‘extra special’. How fucking childish of him. He knows that even now, but he doesn’t want to stop. Everything that normally does feels as though they’ve gone into hibernation at this very moment.  

He just wants you. 

The next thing the Scorpion knows, he’s setting the drinks on the counter while you gaff away. Lifting you by your hips, sliding his form underneath yours with a grunt. Placing you on his lap and finally, making sure you’re secure to him with a hug of his tail around your midsection. 

He almost feels proud at your little squeal of surprise. At the blush on your cheeks. That’s right. He’s the only special one to you. This other man– other predator should know it. 

He knows he’ll regret this display in the morning. That he’ll feel utterly embarrassed by the whole thing. But right now Min Yoongi feels on top of the world. 

“Yoongi! What are you doing!” You hiccup out in surprise, trying to turn to face him. But he holds you still, holds you secure. Holds you safe just like he always makes sure you are. Gives you a response only by the shrug of his shoulders, his chin finding purchase in the crook of your neck. 

“W-well.. Fine then!” You huff, puffing out your cheeks just a little, “I’ll stay, but… just for a little! I’ll stay here for a little…” You grow a little quiet near the end, a little nervous. But you couldn’t feel more warm than in this moment. So heavenly. 

Jisung only laughs, what else is he meant to do anyway? A small, petulant part of Yoongi was hoping he’d run for the hills– he would with such aggressive scent marking. But then again, the other man is a human, probably doesn’t know anything about such a thing. 

The other part of Yoongi almost wants him to watch. Wants the other man to watch you drown in your own blush, watch as you learn more and more into the firm chest behind you. Feel the connection you two have that–

Oh, you’re laughing again too, what a pretty sound. The conversation picking up once again– Jisung is a conversationalist isn’t he. Yoongi almost wishes he was the same. Jealousy is an ugly emotion. It makes people do drastic things. It makes Yoongi want to do even more drastic things. 

If only he was human. 

If he was human he'd do so much more. Would have already done so much more. But now, in his current state of being, he couldn’t handle it. He wouldn’t be able to handle the rejection. He knows it. Knows it in the way mother’s comfort their children after one look at his tail, and knows it in the way you look at storms. 

Yoongi isn’t a tornado. You would never look at him the same way you look at them. With such love and light in your eyes. 

But god he wants you to, he wants you to more than anything. He wants to be an option. He wants to be the center of your universe just like those dumb fuck storms are. He wants to be the wind that plays with your hair, the rain that kisses your skin. He wants to be the very thing that envelopes your entire consciousness just like those storms do. 

And maybe, just maybe if he presses himself close enough to you he can. He can pretend with the poison in his blood that you like him. He can be yours, even if it's only for a night.

He would always be yours. You never his’. 

And as the night ticks on, venom bubbling up every second that ticks, he feels himself becoming looser. Feels you melting into his grip as pretty drinks and florals fill your mind. Feels your scent starting to overpower his nose as his mind blurs with thoughts of you. Almost feels the tangle of souls joining in the way he’s always wished them to.  

“Yoonie..” You hum, fingers coming up loosely to move through his hair in a way they only do when the two of you are alone, “He went to get a drink, can let me go now…seats open.” 

He almost feels annoyed at your words, and you can’t help but let the disappointment of them bubble, too. You don’t want him to let you go. In fact, you’d be happy staying like this forever. But you know Yoongi, you know he doesn’t like to be so… affectionate in public. He’s one to show his love quietly, something else you’ve come to find endearing over the years you’ve spent by his side. 

Only, you don’t feel relieved movements like you expected to, no. While his arms go lax, his tail almost pulls tighter. The two sides of him fighting, arguing over what to do next. And next, next you feel something so warm. So soft against your neck that you don’t know what to do. 

Lips. His lips are against your neck. A gentle press to the side of the column robbing you of your ability to breath, ability to think. Normal affectionate pecks are common, sure, when the two of you have spent too long reaserching and analysing the your brains are working a little slower than they normally do, they might even be seen as common. But this kiss, this kiss was slow. It was languid. It was so much more. Everything you’ve ever wanted. 

“Have to?” His words are quiet, gruff. Lips moving against your neck as he talks. Spoken to you alone in the world, emboldened by the alluring mix of jealousy and alcohol. 

You shake your head, much emboldened by the same. He never has to let you go. 

“Good.” You feel your heart in your ears, ready to explode as he moves his arm back around you, back to your hip to hold you steady, “Mine.” 

Neither of you ever expected that single, life altering word to ever leave his lips.

“Y-Yours?” You can’t help yourself, you need to make sure you heard him right. Needed to make sure this whole thing wasn’t a dream. That his lips, slowly kissing along the ridge of your shoulder are real and not a figment of your imagination. 

Though he doesn’t say it again, doesn’t will himself to. Instead the sound you hear is something low, one you’ve never heard him use against you. A gentle growl lodged in the back of his throat, confirming it. Confirming everything for your head and your heart to hear. 

“Yours…” You try again, tilting your head to the side, giving him more room. He hums in assurance, in want. 

You think you could die happy. 

The impossible. The impossible is claiming you for himself. Is holding the heart of the love struck college student, the nervous new-hire, the assured scientist all in the palm of his hand. Is confirming your affections. Confirming the fire brewing deep in your belly. The coals that have been slowly and tenderly cared for over time. 

Yoongi and the storms– they’re both your impossible, your fate finding reality. 

“Y-Yoongi I—” He tilts your chin, cutting you off mid sentence. Passion alight beneath the subtle glow of amber that robs you of your words. Lets you know exactly what you need to. Makes the fire burst into flames as his fingers gently dig into your hip, makes your entire body heat as he rubs in gentle circles. 

“I don’t like him.” He grunts, letting his forehead rest against yours, “Keeps you from me.” 

“No one can keep me from you.” The reply is instant, your lips barely missing his. “You’re for me.”

God, and at that moment you know that the prettiest noise in the world is Yoongi’s quiet groan. The way his eyes close, the way he practically pulls you down into his lap sends you into overdrive. The way he slowly rolls his own up is enough to send you into a puddle of your former being. 

The rest of the world is gone, entirely melted away from reality. Now, now it’s just you and Yoongi. Cornered away from the rest of the bar, out of sight. Out of mind. Just his hands slowly moving your hips to be seated on just one of his thighs, his tail making sure you’re secure. Just your scent driving him crazy.

He can tell how wet you already are. He can tell how much you want him, just as he wants you. 

The contact is rough, a little maddening. His jeans pressing up against yours, the thin cotton of your panties not doing much to stop the harsh heat. But you don’t want it to stop. You want him to do whatever he wants. 

“You’re wet.” He isn't shy to admit it. Isn’t shy to admit the smell invading his nose. Isn’t shy to let you know exactly what it’s doing to him with the rock of your hips. Letting you feel something hard pressed right against your back. 

“Shut up…” You instantly complain, whining as you lean your back against his chest, further into his touch. He cracks a soft smile at your words, rocking you back and forth so slowly, so carefully. Letting you feel every flex of the muscle, every rough movement of the jean against your clit. Savouring every second now that the threat of the other man has dissipated. Taking his time in case all of this is a dream and he will have to give you up tomorrow. 

“Why? Not cute when I say it?” He chuckles, jumping his leg slightly off the ground, sending a wave through your body. A shock of pleasure to the system that has a gentle moan tumbling from your lips. That has your hips sending a gentle buck back. That has your brain feeling as though it might become mush.

Yoongi is going to be the death of you, you’re sure of it. 

“Hey guys I…” Yoongi’s eyes find Jisung before your own do. Before the flushed expression on your face can quell and certainly before you can find a coherent thought. And suddenly the lazy foreplay in the corner of the bar is gone. Suddenly Yoongi is no more than an animal once again. 

“O-Oh! Jisung! S-sorry let me just–” You try, but there isn’t any use. No, Yoongi is pissed you even said his name. Pissed you tried to move away from him. Why would you try to move away from him? A predator with his m– prey being stolen right out from under him. A predator that has everything to gain and everything to lose. 

Yoongi isn’t thinking anymore as he stands, just barely keeping you upright as he pulls you away. Grabs your hand and leads you to the bathroom, locks the door once you’re both inside. 

Sanity is no longer present. Only the jealousy he feels inside. Only annoyance at the other man for trying to take you away from him. You said he was yours, that he was made for you. And the other predator dared try to take you? Take you from him when you were about to share something so sweet?

Yoongi knows he isn’t thinking right. Knows he might regret it in the morning– but he also knows if he doesn’t do something now he’ll regret it even more. For once, for once in his life he wants to be selfish. For once in his life he wants to forget he can’t ever have you because he’s a hybrid. For once he just wants you. 

You’d let him have you. Over and over again. For the rest of your lives. 

“Yoongi what are you–” He cuts you off with his lips against your own for he doesn’t know the answer. He’s letting himself just exist for once. Exist in the way he wants to without care. And all he wants right now is to kiss you. 

You couldn’t want anything more. Have been waiting your entire life to feel the press of his lips against your own. Kiss him back without a second thought– without reprieve. Let your mouth slip open easily for him, let everything get as messy as he wants. 

The time for gentle foreplay is over. No, now is the time to consume. 

Without a second thought he lifts you by your hips, your hands falling into place against his shoulder. Letting him lead, letting him take control as he fits his body against yours with such perfect harmony. Nobody would doubt you’re two pieces of the same puzzle, ready to fit together for the rest of eternity. 

He groans when he feels your hips press against his, as he feels your heat seep through layers of clothing. Cusses when he finally pulls back, sees the saliva collected at the corner of your lips. The hazy look in your eye that tells him you need him just as much as he needs you. That you want him so terribly you can’t help but fall against him for love, for safety. 

It’s just the alcohol.

Yoongi practically growls at his own thoughts, his tail rising in defence, in defiance against his own brain. Forcing the thoughts away, forcing everything away other than your body in the room. Other than your desire in the room. 

When his mind is no longer clouded he can come to terms with all of this, come to terms with his feelings and shove them so far back down they’ll never see the light of day– but now, right now he needs this. Needs it more than anything. 

“Want you.” He grunts, his knees falling onto the dirty bathroom floor. His hands splay against your thighs, feeling them. Worshipping the skin as if it is an altar. As if you’re his religion. “Can I?”

He doesn’t have to ask, he doesn’t need to. He would never have to ask you. Every single time you’d fall for the storm that is Min Yoongi. Over and over again. As if it’s as easy as breathing, as easy as thinking. 

The answer is even easier now– as your heart beats in your ears, as arousal pools in your gut. As his blunt fingernails dig themselves ever so slightly into your flesh, begging for entry. Begging for you to just give in. His cheeks a flush, his hair already a wreck. His chest rising and falling and thinking just for you. 

He looks like a god. 

“W-want you.” Your stutter makes you feel meak, but his groan of approval makes you feel strong. Makes you feel like your bubble has been popped, like the world finally has meaning past tornados and cataclysms. 

He takes your approval without any grace. Without a second to even think before he’s pulling your pants down with such hunger, such carnal need. His throat releases a groan of desire as your scent hits him at full force, as you give yourself to him. 

He can’t help himself as he presses his face against your panties, his nose right against your clit as he inhales. Takes in all of you for himself. Lets himself be greedy. 

“Y-Yoongi!” You squeak in surprise, the noise tapering into a whine. How could he do something so embarrassing! What is wrong with–

You can’t even finish the thought before his fingers pull your panties to the side, his eyes focused directly on your wet, needy cunt. “Smell good.” 

If you weren’t entirely red before, you certainly are now. There is no way you couldn’t be. Not with the hunger in his eyes. The fire in your belly. 

His tongue darts out, licking your pussy directly without a second thought. Parting your lips, collecting your arousal on his tongue. Tasting you, basking in everything you. Listening to the pretty little moan that comes from your parted lips. Falling apart without a second thought. 

And suddenly he’s hungry. Hungrier than he’s ever been in his entire life. Hungry in a way that he’s sure can only be satiated by you. By making you his. 

“Fuck, (Y/n)...” He almost sounds more affected than you are, like he could cum from your taste alone. But he can’t, he won’t let himself. He wants, needs to be inside of you more than everything. Needs to fuck you, consume every part of you like he so selfishly craves. 

“Gotta get you ready…” He’s talking to himself more than to you as he stands again, trying to keep himself from succumbing to the scorpion screaming at him to just claim you as his. He can only be selfish for tonight. This night. “You gonna be quiet for me? Can’t get caught.”

“Please…” Your voice is practically a whimper, practically begging him to just do something, anything. And who is he to deny you of such simple pleasures? Especially when you whine just for him, moan just for him. Jut your hips out ever so slightly to present yourself just to him. 

His thumb finds your clit almost instantly as you call out to him. Rubbing circles into the bundle of nerves with quick, fast precision while another digit presses against your leaking hole. Preparing you, getting you ready for the intrusion. 

Your voice is a siren’s song, and Yoongi then knows why pirates used to get lost at sea. Used to become entrapped by the mermaids that sang for them. He feels himself going crazy now, as your head tilts back. As your cunt flutters around nothing, begging him to slide his finger inside just as you both desperately crave. 

A buck of your hips is all he needs to fuck the digit inside, trusting it in and out slowly. Making sure it goes as deep as it can before curling and slowly retracting. Increasing pace with the volume of your sounds, with the circle of your clit. Combining sensation, driving you further and further into the clouds with every movement. 

It is then you know that his hands are a deadly poison, one you know you will fall apart to. Especially with the gentle sounds of his grunts, with the push of a second finger into your hole. With his heated gaze focused on nothing but how well you’re taking him, how you’re stretching so prettily around his fingers. 

You place your hand over your mouth, try to keep your moans to a minimum. Try to suppress every little sound that threatens to spill past your lips. Yet you can’t help it, how could you when he knows exactly where to curl his fingers? When they press right against that little bundle of nerves inside. When they rub against you so perfectly. 

“Y-Yoongi!” You accidentally shout, your hips bucking in surprise. The band growing tighter and tighter in your lower abdomen. Your eyes clouding with pleasure as your head feels lighter and lighter. 

He only smirks, gentle and sinful. “Found it.” 

He thrusts his fingers back in the exact same way, their pace hurried. Concise. Locating that exact same spot over and over again, curling his fingers up just right. Timing the strokes perfectly with a roll of your clit. You feel like you could scream, you’re going to scream.

“Y-You’re so mean!” You whimper, the hand on your clit moving to hold your thighs down. To resist your messy bucking. Resist your adorable begging for more. This other thumb moving to press against your clit instead. 

Then you see it, see the pretty brown thing that had you so enamoured to begin with. Remember just how sensitive it was when you touched it first, and just how mean he’s being to you now. 

With all the clarity you have left in your little brain you reach for his tail, hold it in your tiny hands. Whimper at how big it is, how strong it feels. How much it protects you. And without a second thought, you wrap your lips around the tip of it and moan. Using it as a gag, using it to stop your cries. 

Yoongi suddenly tenses below you, his entire frame shifting as your mouth sucks on the tip. Your eyes closed in concentration, little tears bubbling up in the corners as you whine around him. Fully focused on your pleasure, the feeling of his fingers inside of you– so close to falling apart. 

He thinks he could cum at that second. He’s sure of it. 

A choked groan leaves his own lips as his fingers resume their pace, his senses going into overdrive. No longer thinking, no longer able to do anything but act. But take and take and give and give until there's nothing left.

And god he wants to burn this picture into his brain. Wants to cement it into the rest of his thoughts, his very being. His movements are messier, faster as he fucks his fingers into your cunt. Doesn’t care about the noise as his tail moves on its own, slowly thrusting in and out of your mouth. Your g-spot battered, you clit burning with pleasure. 

Sounds that resemble words fall deaf on your tongue as the band finally breaks, as the world around you spins. As you find euphoria from Yoongi’s fingers. The eye of the storm befalling your very being as electricity moves down your spine as the winds subside. 

You’re left panting in front of him, your walls tightening as he slowly coaxes you through it. Helps you feel every ounce of pleasure that you deserve. Kisses your shoulder gently, softly, watching you come down from your high. 

You can only whine at the affection, the fog lifting for a brief second as he slowly pulls his fingers out of you. You feel so empty– too empty. You still want him. You still want so much more. 

You try to say his name, try to vocalise but it only sends vibrations down his tail. A groan leaving his lips, heat still heavy in his eyes. You realise his tail is still moving, still slowly moving in and out of your mouth. You know he isn’t finished.

You know you never want him to be. 

You raise your leg up, kicking, trying to push his pants down. Begging them to just drop a little lower. To get his cock out so he can fuck you properly. So he can make you feel so much more full of everything him. 

He lets out a chuckle of a scoff, his bangs falling in front of his eyes as he shakes his head, “Needy.” He grunts, yet he feels the exact same way. Removing his tail from your mouth, finally letting you speak. Ignoring the way his heart hammers at the sight of your puffy, glossed lips. 

“Shut up.” Is the only reply you can muster, hands quickly moving to try and shove his pants down. To try and get him inside of you. He just smiles, the predatory glint never leaving his eyes. The dig of his nails never leaving your thigh. 

Finally, with your messy attempts you urge them down, force the annoying material down his thighs, his boxers moving right along with it. And fuck, you can’t help but gawk. Can’t help but whine because shit, you’ve never seen a cock so pretty! What the hell! That isn’t fair! None of this is fair and he hates you!

“You hate me.” You whimper, letting him take the lead once again. Following as he slowly leans you back, manoeuvres your hips in exactly the way he wants. Presents your puffy, fluttering cunt just for him. Messy and aching, desperate for more. 

“Maybe.” He smiles, teasing you. He’s teasing you! Can you believe that! You certainly can’t, a whine and a gentle smack to his chest telling him everything he needs to hear. Yet you’re forgetting about it all too quickly as you feel the head of something hard gently press against your lips.

In your hazed stupor, you completely missed the action. The way he gripped his cock in his hands, the languid strokes he’s made up and down the length. The way he flicked his thumb over the head just before he decided to so sinfully trace it along your slit. Teasing himself, tracing around your hole with the head. You think he might kill you. 

He thinks much of the same. 

“I’m on birth control.” You messily squeak out of the blue, eyes trained between your bodies where he’s so close. So very close to fucking himself inside. Into being exactly where you want him. Snapping that final line you two could never come back from. 

His eyes dart up to your face, something dark in the iris. Something neither of you address as he finally lets go of his last bit of reserve. As his lips slam into yours, consuming your very being. 

His hand finds your leg, pulling it up, resting it against his hip to draw you closer. In one single thrust drawing all the air out of your lungs, removing all thoughts from your head as he thrusts his entire length inside. Filling you, stretching you in the most perfect way. In a way you never imagined another person could do.

Your cries are drowned by his lips, his own curses lost in the same. The stretch, the burn is subtle, yet you could never want anything less. Anything more than the euphoric feeling of Yoongi feeling your ever being. 

“Shit…” He finally lets himself breathe, let himself have a moment to feel you. Feel your plush walls wrapped around his length, feel you fluttering around him so perfectly. You’re going to make him insane. 

He pants softly, trying to wait– trying to hold himself back from fucking you so hard you can’t walk. So hard he’ll have to carry you out of this shitty bar. So that everyone will know what the two of you did. Just who you belong to. 

You give an experimental wiggle of your hips, a signal to move. A signal to stop holding back. The only signal that he needs. 

“Yoongi!” The cry is loud, but he can’t seem to care anymore. The pace he takes is anything but slow. It's fast, hard. Rushed. Like he can’t wait a single second longer. Can’t waist a fucking millisecond doing anything else other than laying claim to your soul. 

His hips snap against your own, his cock practically hitting your cervix with every thrust. His cock pressed against that same bundle inside every time he draws back, every time he fills you again and again. It’s messy– messy and so wet. So perfect. 

“Fuck, fuck.” He mutters to himself, damp hair falling into his eyes, “Have to be quick, gonna fuck you hard, okay?” 

He drawls, scratchy. Rough. Pressing his hips fully against yours, fully feeling your slick heat. The lewd noises bouncing against the walls, filling the space. Sending a symphony into your strumming ears. Into your already worn out frame. 

You nod in agreement quickly, almost dumbly as you try to fall into a rhythm. Try to meet his movements the best you can. It feels pointless, all of it does. Trying to do anything feels so pointless when he’s fucking you so relentlessly. Like he’s waited his entire life for this moment and he’d rather die than waste another second.

Fucking you like it means something. Like you mean everything.

“Shit, (Y/n). So fucking wet.” He groans, his head rolling back, no longer able to look at the mess between your legs, “So needy.” 

You whine, shaking your head. Trying to gain a semblance of reality when it feels like it has been shattered in the most beautiful way.

“Sh-Shut up!” You whine, your walls clenching around his cock, “A-Am! Am not!” 

Your denial sends a wave of something through Yoongi. Something that makes him growl, that makes his sight darken just a bit more. 

“You’re not?” He scoffs, his eyes finding your own, reading you like an open book, “Little fucking liar.” 

His pace changes, taking shape into a different beast entirely. Something new. His thrusts turn from messy, hurried to sharp and precise– the pace never changing. Every single thrust knocking the wind from your lungs, changing the very shape of your DNA to scream for him and only him.

“Y-Yoongi what the fuck?!” You whine, your head knocking back, hitting the glass behind you. Even more of your brain cells scrambling, trying to stay in reality. Trying not to float off in the great beyond where Yoongi wants you to stay. 

“Hmm?” He grunts, his eyes focused back downwards. Right to where your slick coats him, to where a pretty white ring has formed around the base. He won’t last long. Even if he wants to keep fucking you forever, he knows he’s done for. “Thought you weren’t needy.”

You whine, unable to stop the band from pulling tight in your gut once again. Unable to stop the pleasure from coursing through your veins. Already a wreck– your body warm with sweat and your hole fluttering uselessly around him. Trying to draw him back in over and over.

Never get him to leave. 

His voice is suddenly in your ear, far closer than you remember him being. Far closer than you can manage him being. Fuck, and now his thumb is pressing against your clit again. You don’t know what you can do, what to do. 

“You can cum if you just admit it, human.” You’re going insane. “Tell me how fucking needy you are for me. C’mon, do it. I know you can.” 

It’s over for you. You had no clue Yoongi could ever be like this, no clue just how much you’d want it. How much you’d love it. Even as tears bubble in the corners of your eyes from the pleasure, even as your hips buck up weakly to meet his thrusts. As his cock makes you feel like you’re about to enter the pearly gates. 

You know you love it. 

“Y-Yoongi!” You whimper, your hands gripping his shoulders with so much strength you think they might bruise. Hell, you’re sure he’s bruised your hips. There isn’t much difference. “I-I!” 

“Mhmm..” He hums, sounding entirely unaffected on the surface, yet it’s clear he’s falling apart just as much as you. Clear in the way his hips stutter so slightly, losing their pace. Clear in the way he holds you tighter and tighter. The way his tail curls possessively around your leg. “You can do it. Say it, human.”

“I-I’m needy!” You whine, forgetting your volume, “I-I need you, Yoongi!” 

Just like that, he’s tumbling off the edge. Your words acting as an anchor, as the very thing he’s wanted to hear for years. His hips stuttering inside of you, filling your cunt with his cum without a second thought. 

“Cum, pretty thing.” His voice is guttural. A command as your legs lock around him. His thumb never giving your clit reprise.  while he doesn’t stop the movement of his thumb. Your own release finding you the second you feel his cock twitch inside of you, the moment you feel his cum leak inside. 

Winds swirl at your very being. Lifting you higher and higher into the clouds as your walls clench around him. Milking him for everything, for all he’s worth. Making sure every drop lands inside, making sure you stay nice and full of him while your head wanders into the clouds. While every bit of your being feels fireworks. 

Your legs don’t even let go as the two of you slowly begin to calm down. As your heart rates try to return to normal and air returns to your lungs. As Yoongi’s length slowly begins to soften inside of your cute, worn little cunt. 

You don’t want to let go. You never want to let go. 

His grip slowly softens on your hip. Thumb working to rub slow, gentle circles in their place. His lips finding the column of your throat once more– gentle, nipping kisses find home over the marks he left while sitting at the bar. Not any real bonding  marks like his scorpion may have wanted, but pretty red things that claim your skin in a human way. 

Your fingers find his strands, knotting themselves in them. Keeping his head where it belongs. You’ve never felt more loved, more wanted in this moment. 

You never want it to end. 

“Needy…” He smiles to himself, shaking his head softly. His hair tickles your ear. “Can’t believe you actually said it.” 

“Y-you!” You try, realising how severely you’re still out of breath. You hate how quickly he’s bounced back. “You made me! You ass!” 

He only smiles, shaking his head. Still in complete and utter disbelief that this is real, “I wanted to hear it. You were cute.” 

Your legs finally relax when you whine. They easily fall on either side of him, kicking slightly in petulance as he pulls away from your cunt. Removing himself from you, smiling as his cum starts to collect at your opening. 

This still all has to be a dream for him, it has to be. 

“You hate me!” You repeat again, warmth coming to your cheeks once more as his hands find your cunt. One thump pulling your lip open, letting him see just how much of a mess he’s made you. Letting him watch as his cum drips from your core. 

“Maybe.” He can’t help the fond glow in his eyes as he kisses your cheek. A thought coming to the forefront of his brain that he forces back. Another thought he could never let surface, not even now as you’re stuffed with his cum. 

His scorpion still preens all the same, though. Filled with thoughts of kids. Thoughts Yoongi, the human, not the scorpion, would never say aloud. Drunk, tipsy, or sober. 

He reaches for the dispenser, grabbing a few paper towels before turning on the sink and running them under. Not the best tool, but it will do. 

“Well, I don’t hate you…” You’re blushing as you say the words, almost embarrassed without real reason to be. What you just did, it was so much more than ‘I don’t hate you.’ At least, it wasn’t to you. You hope it wasn’t for him either. 

You help him with his pants, reaching your hands down and pulling them up slowly for him, “I don’t hate you either.” He rolls his eyes, gently cleaning the space between your legs. 

“Awkward if you did.” You huff, lifting your hips as he moves your underwear back in place. Stay hovering as he slides your jeans back up as well. 

He leaves a gentle press against your temple, offering you a hand as you hop off the counter. Hips and legs already entirely too sore, a whine shedding your throat as you let him know the pain. All while he only laughs, patting your butt as he helps you walk.

The picture of domesticity. 

Neither of you address the elephant in the room, both for entirely different reasons. For radically different realities. The morning would be better anyway, you surmise. With fluid thoughts and no liquor in your system. 

You assume Yoongi feels the same way as you both walk home. Gentle shoulders and banter thrown around as casually as ever. The only solid thing the both of you know: you can never go back to that bar again.

God, your fucking head hurts. Maybe?? Maybe everything hurts? When the hell did the sun get so loud?! Since when did light feel like fucking screaming, man?! This isn’t fair! Nothing is fair and the world hates you! Exclusively you, and no one but you!

No, that’s not true. That’s completely illogical, actually. But you can’t find it in yourself to care. Especially when your head is buzzing and your stomach is already growling for some kind of food. 

Oh god, food would be so good right now. Warm steamy pancakes, eggs, some kind of potato with a dash of Yoongi to eat it with like you do every morning. 

Suddenly, the other side of the bed feels entirely too cold. Freezing. A void empty where the warmth you felt last night should reside.

He fell asleep there, you're sure of it. You remember the feeling of his arms around you, the soft snores that left his lips after you both stumbled into bed. Barely getting undressed before falling into your bed. You remember everything about last night. So much so that you can’t help the heat that rises to your cheeks at the memory. The thought of everything done in that dingy bathroom, all the words spoken, the care professed. 

Even if you were tipsy, you would never forget it. You would never regret it. Were waiting to wake up in his arms to make everything official– a long overdue conversation that would finally set in motion your lives together. 

So where the hell is he?

A pout forms on your lips as you stretch, your body too tight for the morning and even more so for your search. The soreness in your hips, the bruises he left from his grip a brutal reminder of his absence as you sit up, your eyes squinting as you scope the scene.

You don’t think you like what you see– it’s a weird feeling, honestly. His bag is gone, his shoes are gone, his clothes are gone. For the first time in all the years you’ve known him, he feels utterly gone. Not a speck of him in your room, not a single sign he was even on this trip with you. 

Does he regret…

The frown pulls deeper as you reach for your phone. You definitely don’t like this feeling. Like he wasn’t even there to begin with after everything that just happened. 

“Ah, stop it.” You say to yourself, one of your hands coming up to gently pat your cheek. You hate where your brain is going so quickly. Maybe you’re just a sop that needed more aftercare than he knew about– yeah, that's probably it. He probably just wanted to go back to his own room and shower before you had to work today. See, that makes much more sense, doesn’t it? You nod your head, almost in agreement with your thoughts. Set on your decision, on the most-likely-possible solution. 

[9:27am] To: Poongie

> Goodmorning :> I hope you slept well 

> Did you wanna go get breakfast at the diner? I think I’m dying and only hashbrowns can fix me unfortunately 

You wish you could say you weren’t affected– wish you could say you weren’t sitting there, waiting for a response. Heart beating out of your chest like a schoolgirl in love. It’s silly, isn’t it? What emotions can make you feel inside and out. How they can seem to affect every part of your being without even trying. 

You suppose storms are the same way. Suppose all natural forces are– the sun, the moon, the stars. They all have their own cosmic power that distils someone at their very core. Leaving them waiting, abating in agony over a simple text back from the man you like. 

You toss your phone to the side, choosing to get ready instead of imagining anymore fantasies. You live in reality, a woman of science. There’s no sense in trying to explain everything you feel, only accepting that you feel it. 

Mmm. As you get dressed, you wonder how long you’ll be able to go on like that for. 

[10:02] From: Poongie

> gm

> i already ate

Oh. You don’t like that. In fact, you hate it so much you want to start making a powerpoint presentation on how to text just for him. But, you give him the benefit of the doubt once more. Yoongi has never been a good texter, anyway. You’re lucky if you can get more than a two word reply from him. He prefers phone calls. 

[10:03] To: Poongie

> So u hate me okay

> Come sit with me tho, I don’t want to look like a loser

> Meet me down there in 5 ;P

You give a soft smile as he reacts to your final text with a thumbs up. It doesn’t leave you feeling the best, but he’s not avoiding you entirely. And he never has been a morning person. Plus, he’s probably hungover too and doesn’t wanna look at his phone screen. You two are fine and last night was amazing. And soon you could make everything official. 

Your smile grows. Yeah. Yeah, that all makes perfect sense. 

You know what doesn’t? A lot of things, actually. Too many to count, but you try anyway. 

One. 

Yoongi walking in 10 minutes late acting like nothing happened. Like you didn’t happen. Just sliding into the seat across from yours, the thick plastic of the booth squeaking while he does so. His hands stuffed in his pants, nothing but a nod in your direction to acknowledge your existence. His face utterly blank, entirely neutral. 

Never once has Yoongi greeted you with less than a gummy smile. A ruffle of your hair. A jab at your tired appearance. But you ignore it– ignore the sense of unease, of dread already building inside. He must really have a bad hangover, poor guy. 

“Goodmorning!” You chirp brightly, a smile of a thousand suns cast in only his direction. Your usual greeting, of course. Maybe just a little extra chipper to balance him out. To try and prepare yourself, maybe to get a little excited for the conversation to come. Pull him out of any awkward tension he may be feeling. 

“Goodmorning.” He simply replies back, his eyes following the waitress as she places a cup of coffee, extra sweet, in front of him. His usual order. Something you’d never forget. Something he knows you’d never forget, but the way he stares into the warm liquid says otherwise. 

His eyes never stray from the cup, like he's thinking. Like he wants to say something but doesn’t quite know how. Like he isn’t sure whether to ignore it or bring it to light. 

You know that look well, and you don’t want to ignore it. 

Two. 

He calls the waitress back and orders another coffee. Black. 

He hates his coffee black. You know this. Everyone does. He hasn’t had the stuff since before he met you. You opened him to the world of how delicious sweet drinks can be. So why the hell is he planning on pretending to like something he doesn’t? It makes no sense to you– your expression shows it all. Eyebrows quirking together, lips pushing outwards slightly. 

“Wow, the great Min Yoongi is changing up his order?” A creature of habit never does, you would know yourself, “Hangover that bad?” 

You try to lighten the mood, raise the cloud that hangs above the booth. Or maybe it’s a cloud only you feel, you’re not sure. It doesn’t matter anyway, does it? 

“Mmm, you could say that.” He grunts, his chin tucking ever so slightly to his chest. His tail curling closer. Almost defensive. Almost.

“God yeah,” The conversation feels stunted, and you hate that even more. “My head has been throbbing since I woke up. I don’t know if I drank too much or not enough.” The banter isn’t flowing as easily, and he curls in on himself even more. Almost like the mere mention of last night rings alarm bells in his mind. 

Oh! Okay, yeah. Maybe he’s just nervous about everything that happened, you know? Maybe he’s worried that you don’t remember, or that you’re having different feelings about it. Maybe his brain is playing the same tricks on him that trickled into your consciousness that morning! 

Yeah, okay. That makes so much more sense now that you think about it. You have to stop beating around the bush, just come out and say everything you think. Everything you feel and you can talk about it. You’ll just bring it up– he obviously isn’t going to, but then you’ll be in a relationship by the time your pancakes come out! Perfect! 

Yet as you look up at him, find his face utterly void of anything, your confidence wanes. 

Three.

He’s refusing to look at you. Another thing he never does. You’re always the one to avoid eye contact, never him. You’re always the one to stare out the window, not him. He normally looks at you. Normally basks in you. 

You feel your mouth drying, all words becoming lost on your tongue the longer you stare at his disposition. You don’t break it as the silence becomes awkward, as he doesn’t try to do anything to fix it. Simply sips at his coffee. His disgusting coffee. 

Drinks it until it empties. Until the pancakes now in front of you remain nearly untouched and cold. Until the world stops spinning and time freezes. As the comet hits and the world ends. As society descends into chaos yet you can’t do anything but look at him. 

Okay, maybe you’re exaggerating. But that’s exactly how it feels for some strange reason. How it feels to be unable to reach him. 

It isn’t until he grabs his coat, sliding $30 across the table that you finally gain the courage to speak. Finally blurt out the words sitting on the tip of your tongue for the last 20 minutes. 

“We should talk about last night.” You didn’t expect to say anything honestly, shocked at the air leaving your lungs. 

And finally, finally he looks at you. The diner is still frozen, yes, but now he’s looking at you and for some reason that’s all that matters.

A deep drag of air fills his lungs as he sags his shoulders, rigid disposition weakening in attempt to show signs of aloof. His tail gives everything away. Sharp and pointed. Unnerved. 

“What is there to talk about?” 

Oh. 

“What?” You feel blood leave your face, “Everything. There’s everything to talk about.” 

He sighs, his eyes almost rolling at your words. Everything he does is ten times louder. Ten times greater than any storm, any power in the entire universe. 

Four. 

“Listen, (Y/n). Last night was a mistake, okay?”

Oh.

Is it possible for the Earth to stop rotating around the sun? For the moon to find home in another planet? Is it possible for the rings of Saturn to disband, to crack and shatter, leaving the planet feeling hollow? No more than a gaseous ball floating around an unyielding core forcing it to stay together?

It has to be. Because if it’s possible for Yoongi to say those very words, say the very words that are able to rip your soul from your body, you think anything is. 

You feel something in you crack. Something so fragile and innocent that you want to protect it with your everything. Run far and hide. Nurse it alone until it stops kicking and screaming for its unending pain to yield. For it to have rest in a world that only seems to take and take and take.��

“What?” You don’t even care that your voice cracks. 

He sighs again, his gaze dropping to the table. “I just don’t think there’s anything to talk about, okay?”

“There’s a lot to talk about.” Your eyebrows crinkle, your mouth moving into a frustrated frown. Red isn’t a colour you feel often, but your walls are up. Your bubble now a sphere frozen in time– a place with room for no one but you. Your body curled around that innocent glow. Protecting it. Keeping it warm. “For one, calling it a mistake.” 

He’s rigid again too, maybe red glowing around his form as well. But you can’t seem to care. Not right now. Maybe not ever. Not able to sense the danger. The tail pointed in your direction. Venom dripping from his lips.

“Wasn’t it? We’re friends (Y/n). One stupid night shouldn’t change that shit.” It changes fucking everything. Especially with your pining. Especially with your heart on your sleeve. With your affections for him always oh-so-fucking obvious. 

“Like hell it–” He cuts you off. 

“We’re done with this conversation. Just forget last night ever happened.” He stands, not planning on waiting around anymore. Not waiting for you anymore. “Just act like it never did. Nothing has to change. We’re not talking about this anymore.” 

With that he leaves without letting you speak. Without letting you talk. Shutting you down entirely in a way he never has before. In a way he promised he would never do to you. And for the first time since you discovered your crush on him, you feel something negative simmering for Min Yoongi. 

Q/Hybrids_Humans 

U/YGS_Min  •  posted 5y ago

Can Hybrids and Humans actually fall in love? -> Advice

> Hi. I’m new to this page so I might get things wrong with this post. Sorry in advance if I do. 

> I am a Hybrid and I recently met a girl who I think is my mate. I get all the classic mate feelings someone does when I’m around her. When we first met, a few days ago in the library, I automatically felt a pull towards her. Like I needed to be close to her. Everything in my body, my hybrid side especially, was begging for me to make her my mate right away. She even complimented my tail. Does she even know what that means? What it did to me?

> After that, she gave me her number (I’m helping her with a few things) (we're both ‘in’ college) and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her. Whenever I open my phone my brain automatically fries and moves to open her contact so I can text or call her. It actually feels a little crazy. 

> She said she wants to be friends and I don’t know what my brain is going to do if we actually get closer. 

>The issue is that she's human, though. So I already know she doesn’t feel the same way about me. She doesn’t feel the bond or the pull to get closer. And she already knows I’m a hybrid so there’s no way to avoid it. 

> I’m also not the most friendly Hybrid, I guess. People don’t like my species. My mom doesn’t even like the way I was born. And I’m lucky enough to get away from where I was before and am living my own life now. Trying to do good things with it. Maybe be human with it, I don’t know. It doesn’t matter anyway. 

> Point is, I’ve looked online and while I know legally it is possible to be mates with a human, I haven’t found anything about Human’s with more odd species. And I really just want to know if this could be possible, or if I should give up before things even start. She’s the prettiest person I’ve ever seen. Her mannerisms kill me– I love them. She’s so cute. And she acted like I was just like everyone else. 

> I don’t know. I want her to be my mate. But I just want to know other peoples experiences. I know she’d never be able to love me in the way I automatically do her, but if I told her she was my mate would she feel forced into it? Would she feel like I actually care? Could she ever actually care? Should I do anything about it or just pretend that it was never there in the first place? 

> I never thought my mate might be human. I never thought I'd find my mate. Any advice would be appreciated. Thanks. 

6 am. 

Yoongi isn’t sure if he’s slept. He’s not sure he’s ever slept with the exhaustion weighing on his bones. His consciousness. His very being. In fact, all he’s had is his thoughts as the hours have ticked by, unrelenting. Unwavering. As the sun starts to shine through the curtains and the reality of everything that transpired rushes to the surface. Past the alcohol. Past your adorable soft snores. 

He had you. He fucked you. For one night, you belonged to him. 

The first thing he felt after he held you in bed was peace. Complete and utter satisfaction with life, with you. Everything itching at him, pulling him towards you was, for once, content. He no longer felt the burning in his heart or the pulling at his skin to get you closer. The fuzziness in his brain whenever you smiled. All of it was gone. There was nothing but happiness in his being. 

Nothing but the ideas of his dream being true. Of getting to hold you like this every night. Getting you to smile for him, only him. Getting to belong to you in ways humans could never understand. 

In ways you could never understand. 

Something else starts creeping into his consciousness, then. Something starting in the pit of his stomach, rising until it feels like he's choking. Until not even the scent of your shampoo can calm the race of his heart. Not even the pull of his tail drawing you closer to his body– his hybrid side trying to calm him down in ways it only knows how. 

How could Yoongi let himself live in such a sick dream? 

You’re a human. He’s a hybrid. You would never actually love him. 

Your words were drunk– of course they were. Influenced by the alcohol and the idea of a warm body next to your own. Maybe you didn’t even realise it was him, maybe it could have been anyone and you would have been satisfied. 

It’s such an ugly thing, the words he thinks. The ideas that form behind his skull, twisting and turning. Forming an amalgamation of tangles and death defying drops to nothingness. Of the reality of things, his reality that is. One where he’s worthless. One where you are the sun and he is nothing but an asteroid following the orbit of someone else. 

Hybrids are never meant to be with humans. 

He knows that for a fact. Has read all the history books, looked at all the articles, scoured for any sign that the two of you could be together in a society that hates him only to be left with mockery. Left with anonymous strangers telling him that scorpions are meant to kill. Meant to destroy. How could a human ever care about him when his entire life he’s been told it’s the worst parts of himself? How could you care about him?

Well, he knows that isn’t all true. He knows you care in some ways. But they aren’t mate ways and–

Fuck. Fuck Yoongi, he knows he’s not supposed to think of those things. He’s never allowed to think of you and that word together. He forbade himself of it. Promised himself it couldn’t be true. That he would never admit it to you or anyone else. 

You are not his mate. 

But you are. 

But–

He wishes he could get his head to shut the fuck up for a fucking second so he could think. Think about anything other than those two words together, even if he knew them to be true from the moment he met you in the library. When he agreed to be your tutor. When he fell in love the moment you looked his way. 

And even then he thought that maybe, just maybe if you didn’t know he was a hybrid he would have a chance. That if he could keep it hidden for long enough, if you saw him as a human and not a terrifying creature bred only to kill, that you could fall for him. That he could be your mate– boyfriend. That he could be your boyfriend. 

But then you saw it. Saw the fucking thing he wishes he never had, wishes he could live without. The very thing he has been hated for his entire life. His genetic abnormality, originally bred to be used for attack, used by the government to kill. The very piece of his being he rejects time and time again to try and just feel a little more normal, a little more human. And you… you said you liked it. 

And no, you didn’t have any clue what those words meant at the time. Of course you didn’t. Didn’t know what they implied– didn’t know the true meaning they held. The acceptance of courtship behind their very tone. 

A nice tail to a human? Nothing. A nice tail to a scorpion? The very thing used by the hybrid to attract mates? To show their viability and strength as a partner? Everything. 

In that moment, you were everything. 

But you didn’t know the meaning behind those words. You didn’t love him the way he so implicitly did you. And while you accepted him as a friend, you would never accept him as more. He would never let you. 

That night was the night he promised himself you weren’t his mate. Promised himself he had no mate. 

Last night was the first time he ever broke it. 

Last night he could have killed you. 

You had his tail in your mouth. His tail. The tail that carries his venom. The venom bred into his cells meant to kill others. If he let any of it out by accident… if he…

Fuck. 

The heaviness that realisation brings is what finally makes him get out of bed. Finally set in motion reality. Stop himself from living in whatever dream he was playing with. Stop playing house with a girl that would never be his. That would probably think the entirety of last night was a mistake. 

Who gives a shit what you thought. He could’ve killed you. He could’ve killed his fucking mate.

Societally, he could’ve never had you. He wouldn’t have been able to live with himself if you had to face the same things he did on the daily. What others thought of you. What they would say about you if they saw you two together. What would happen with your kids. How much hate and fear you would receive by being with him. 

He could sacrifice his own life for you a thousand times, but he would never let you do the same for him.

And last night. Last night his venom could’ve been your end. 

He doesn’t need to think anymore. He knows what he’s going to do. Even if it hurts him. Even if the grenade is set to go off and destroy his very being, it’s worth it to keep you safe. To keep you content. To keep you away from him.

Best case, you don’t remember last night or don’t bring it up. Worst…

Yoongi knows the ship he’s boarding is bound to sink– that he’s destined to drown. But if it means your happiness, he’d do anything.

The car feels cold. The heat is blasting, but it still feels frozen. Decrepit. All fireplace memories hazing into ice as you ride next to him. 

Him.

Fucking him.

Fucking Min Yoongi. The fucking asshole that tore your heart out and stomped on it. The fucking asshole that didn’t even have the decency to talk to you. To explain why the fuck he was being so cold. The fucking asshole that made you feel loved. Like you weren’t alone in the entire universe, only to make you realise you were trapped in a metal box– steaming. Bubbling.

Maybe you aren’t cold. No, you definitely aren’t. You’re steaming. Burning up– ready to explode at the slightest thing. Still a burning blaze because he didn’t fucking let you talk. Just shut you down without a second thought. Without fucking anything.

Not that he owes you anything– he doesn’t owe you a relationship. He doesn’t owe you love, of course not. You’re not dumb enough to think that. But you do know he owes you an explanation. A chance to speak. Years of friendship tell you that much. 

Promises tell you that much. 

And you can’t fucking stand broken promises. Can’t stand acting like strangers after years of friendship. After all the time spent together. After all of the memories formed, all the bonds created. You don’t deserve to be treated like nothing. 

Hell, he probably wouldn’t have even come with you today if you hadn’t texted him. Probably assumed you’d rather go alone or with one of the other people on the crew. Probably– shut up, you decide in that moment to stop making excuses for him. To stop giving him the benefit of the doubt when he treated you as no less than a one-night-stand. A fuck that meant nothing. 

Were fucking years of friendship just for that? Just so he could fuck you? This fucking–

You scoff to yourself, crossing your arms over your chest. Shaking your head. An outloud reaction to the continued spiral that started this morning, that will continue to brew until it inevitably boils over. Until the pot filled with too much water gets too hot and just boils over. 

You never have been able to keep your opinions in. Open book pages laid out for the world to see. Another reason you’ve always been alone– should have stayed alone in your bubble. 

“What?” Oh, he wants to talk to you now? 

Your eyes shoot over to his figure from the corner of your eye. You can’t believe that yesterday you were smiling at him. You hate that today a piece of you still frets at the trapping of his fingers against the wheel. At his apparent aloof demeanour is automatically disillusioned by the simple movement indicating his nerves. 

He always does that when he knows a big storm is coming– when he’s worried about safety, your safety. When he's concerned about whatever events are going to follow. A tick tick tick, fingers tapping delicately one after the other. Not a harsh grab against the wheel, not an unease of temperament. Yoongi, even when nervous or agitated, has always been gentle. 

Well, every time except for this morning. 

You roll your eyes. 

As much as you hate how self destructive you become in times like these, you hate the bubbling feeling even more. Hate the strong emotion that floods your veins, the same one that makes you feel oh-so weak. The same one that makes you need to be strong. Need to be more.

Maybe you wish you could be more like Yoongi– be entirely unaffected by the strong feelings that permeate your being. Maybe you wish you could act as ‘chill’ as him. To separate how you feel from who you are. To be calm even if you want to be brash. 

But you can’t. Not when it's about him. Never when it’s about him. Almost like a piece of you continues and will always pull you towards Min Yoongi. 

You turn away from him, back to the laptop resting in your lap. “The PAR says a tornado is forming north-east. Head North so we can drop the doppler in the right position.”

“Mm.” He grunts. Doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t do anything. 

You don’t know what you expect him to do anyway. You didn’t give him anything to work with. Yet it doesn’t seem thinking logically is on the table, and you can’t help but get more mad, more frustrated by the second.

“Are we really not going to talk about this?” You’re quiet, almost vulnerable when you ask the question. So quiet he might not even hear. Hanging on the precipice, two winds twisting against each other in equal strength. 

Never have you felt this way about another person before. Dejection and anger weigh equally on the soul. You don’t quite know how to handle it. Don’t know how to combat what you’re feeling inside, just knowing the kettle is set to boil. 

He doesn’t answer your question. 

It was probably a bad idea to text him. Probably equally bad for him to answer and take you. An even worse idea to let the words slip out of your mouth without holding them back.

“Asshole.” The wind starts to pick up speed around the car, sucking you in. Pulling you deeping into the void. It’ll be no time at all before the tornado hits. 

“What?” His head jerks backwards, chin tucking ever so slightly to his chest. His tail coiled firmly behind him, acting like it isn’t even there. Trying to pretend he isn't there, maybe. 

“I said you’re a fucking asshole.” You can’t help the rumble that forms in your heart, the twisted words that spew from your mouth. The subtle ache from every insult you fling. 

Almost like you’re attached to him. Like you’re attempting to sever a chain never meant to come undone. 

“What the fuck?” Why he’s acting so scandalised, flinching at every word, leaves you almost confused. Almost. Because he has no reason to be confused, at least not in your eyes. Not in the storm's eyes either. 

The rumble of thunder hammers outside, deeper into the freeze. Deeper into ash. 

“I thought we were going to move past this, (Y/n). We need to be adults here.” He sighs that stupid fucking sigh that you hate. The same one he used in the diner. The same one he used to brush off your feelings. Your chance to speak. 

Maybe later you would reflect on how selfish you’re being. Maybe later you would realise how childish you actually are acting. But right now all you can see is red. Right now all you can feel is a part of yourself trying to rip away. 

Maybe later you would find out Yoongi is feeling the exact same thing. 

But right now, right now all you see is red. All you hear is the beating of hail against the car roof, the image that it is your own heartbeat set in your own mind. Right now all you know is the soul crushing weight of the only man you ever loved pulling away.

Your soulmate– if such things were real, breaking the bond. 

“Are you serious? I’m the one that needs to be the adult here? Me?” You scoff, indignant. “You’re the one playing pretend, acting like nothing happened!” 

“I told you that we shouldn’t talk about it.” 

“You said it was a mistake.” Your eyes are set firm in a glare pointed at him and no one but him. Petty and Spite are your new best friends. Congratulations! “Just tell me if you fucking regret it Yoongi, just tell me.”

“(Y/n).” 

“Was it a drunk accident? Did you think I was someone else? Please! I rather you say fucking something than nothing at all! Please just let me be selfish for once! I’m begging for something! Anything!”

…

“We have a job to do. Focus on it rather than us.” You hate that he paused before he spoke, that it gave you some sort of hope. You hate even more that his tone has not once changed– settling from incredulous to neutral. Almost like he exists as nothing but a robot reciting lines. You hate it. You hate it. You hate it. 

He makes you feel like a child throwing a tantrum. He makes it feel like your feelings mean nothing. Like everything you trusted him with was all for naught. Are you not expressing yourself well enough? Are you a complete idiot? What the fuck are you doing wrong?! What's wrong?!

“You’re serious?” The logical side of you says he’s right, your job is more important than anything else. But the piece of you falling apart, pulling away and leaving an empty hole inside feels otherwise. You’re convinced you’ve never felt any emotion other than frustration and annoyance. 

The car rolls to a stop as a clearing hits– hail ceasing, wind slowing even if it's just a fraction.  A calm before the storm. Where you’re meant to ‘dO yOuR jOb’-- fucking asshole. Does he really think you don’t know that? Does he really think that little of you?

“Fucking joke.” You can’t help the dry laugh that exits your lungs as you step out of the car. Your peace, the time you love to spend most in the world set askew, your feelings anything but. You love your time in the storms, but the tornado brewing inside casts a much larger shadow than the one overhead. 

Your hands fumble as they move the DOW out of the trunk– an action you’ve done time and time again feeling entirely foreign. Your body clumsy as it carries it to the front, your mouth spewing annoyed half thoughts all the way. 

“What?” Yoongi’s window is rolled down, his head leaning out of the front as he asks. 

Your eyes circle your skull again, “Fucking joke!” You call, trying to set up the radar. Your body only half in the moment. Half in the clouds. 

“This whole thing is one big joke!” You shout, foot kicking the dirt beneath your feet. The storm beginning to dissipate, a swell of rain forming behind your eyelids instead. 

“(Y/n) are you serious?!” You hate that his own frustration feels like a punch to the gut. 

“I have been this whole time!” You shout, brain finally working to kick the last pieces of the radar in place. In good time too, the wind is picking up again. The tornado will be coming soon. 

“Are you?! Are we seriously not going to talk about this?!” Your voice doesn’t feel like your own. It feels foreign, like something deeper inside is speaking for you– like it’s taking control. “Am I seriously just a cheap fuck to you?! Was I really a mistake, Yoongi?! Please, please just tell me.” 

“(Y/n), don’t do this to me…” Don’t do this to him? Don’t do this to him?! Does he realise what he’s doing to you? Does he even fucking care? You told him you want him! That nothing could keep you from him– and he doesn’t even have the decency to reject you properly. 

Maybe you're the bad guy– the villain for forcing this. For the path of destruction it might cause. But you truly can’t stand this. And maybe, just for once, the consequences mean as little to you as getting swallowed by the storms you’ve always cared for.

Yoongi is your impossible, remember? “But it’s always been about you! Don’t you get that, Yoongi?! It’s always! Always been about you from the second I met you!” You yell, not holding back your shouts. Letting them echo with the thunder coursing through the skies, coursing through your veins. “I’m not asking you to love me! I’m not asking for any of that shit! I just want a rejection!” 

What? What the hell are you saying? Why are you asking him to do that? Why are you asking him to do the one thing he can’t do?

He loves you. He loves you so much it keeps him up at night. That it infests his days like a parasite. You’re not asking him to love you? Are you crazy? Do you not see how he looks at you? Do you not see that you’re the person that’s hung all the stars in the night sky?

He can’t reject you. He can’t. His brain won’t let him form the words– his lips never to curl in the right shape to let them out. He can’t reject you because he doesn’t want to– because it would practically kill him to. 

He loves you. You’re his mate.

Why couldn’t you just make this easy? Why couldn’t you reject him? Why did you have to look so broken this morning? Why did you like him back? What does it mean? What is he supposed to do? How is he supposed to keep fighting when he knows he could have you for himself, for real? 

How is he supposed to protect you from him when it feels like he’s ripping a part of himself out when he tries to? He doesn’t want to hurt you. He never wanted to hurt you. He just wants to keep you safe. Why can’t you see that? Why can’t you understand that? Why can’t he just have you?

‘No one can keep me from you. You’re for me.’

Your words from last night ring in his ears. Existing as the only thing he can hear, the only thing that matters. Maybe it is. Maybe he’s wrong, maybe– 

A sharp beeping suddenly penetrates his ears, a sound resonating from your laptop. A map laid out of the tornado's path.

It's formed– its body barrelling straight for you. 

Yoongi looks scared, nervous. His tail uncurling from behind him. Reaching out the window, reaching out to you. “(Y/n)! Get in the car!” 

“Shut up!” You’re not listening to him, not listening to a word he says, “I’m not even worth a rejection?! Our friendship means nothing, huh?”

“That’s not what I’m saying!” His breathing is accelerating, his heart rate going crazy. He needs to get to you. He needs to protect you. To get in the car and drive as fast and as far as he can so nothing bad happens. “Get in the car!”

“Why does it even matter if I do or not?!” You yell over the sounds of rushed winds, ignoring debris that begin to fly past. Ignoring everything but the man in front of you, just like you’ve done time and time again. “If I get in, you’re just going to pretend nothing happened! You’re going to– you’re going to–” 

Tears begin to clog your vision, your words welling up in your throat. Scratching the inside, making you feel like you can’t breathe. Can’t think. Where you want to be strong, you are weak. And where you want to be weak, you feel strong. It’s a strange sort of feeling. 

“I can’t just fucking pretend like nothing happened last night, Yoongi!” A sense of peace washes over you, a complete contrast to the storm surrounding, enveloping the world. Acting as a monster, not caring about your feelings, swallowing everything whole. You finally feel at peace, oddly enough.

“I can’t– I can’t just act like everything’s fine! I’ve always been so fucking shit at that, you know that!” You throw your arms up in defeat, standing right in the path of the storm. Almost ready to watch the tornado come into view, to become the storm yourself. “But it feels like– it feels like you’re killing a part of me! Like you’re, you’re pulling out a piece of my very being and I don’t know why! It doesn’t feel real! And I don’t know if I can live without it!” 

What? It feels like– it feels like that for you? 

Yoongi steps out of the car, his tail curling almost too pleased at his human side’s actions. If it was anyone else, they would think you’re crazy. They would think you’re just being manipulative without a care in the world– but to Yoongi, to hybrids, he knows exactly what you're talking about. He knows the exact same thing. Has felt it every day of his life since he decided he couldn’t have you. 

The mate bond. The soulmate tie that will always lead two halves of a conjoined soul together over and over again. 

You feel it. Humans aren’t meant to feel it but you do. You feel the same pull, the same bone crushing heartbreak upon rejection from your mate. The same– the same everything Yoongi feels. 

He’s the one that's been hurting you like this, the one hurting himself by acting the same. In his bid for protection, he did the opposite. What kind of fucking mate is he? Why didn’t he just listen to the bond? Why didn’t he just let himself follow his heart?

Everything he’s dealt with in his past no longer carries any point. The comments under his stupid post to that stupid forum mean nothing. The words of his “family” are jack shit. The societal implications of him being less than human mean even less– you never saw him as less. His mate cares. His mate sees him.

This is what having a mate feels like? Yoongi thought he would never know. Never understand. But the warmth that feels him now, the subtle yearning he’s suppressed rises to the surface. His feet carrying him automatically, urging him to find you. To take care of you. To keep his mate safe. 

“We have to go!” He rushes, his legs moving quickly to try and meet your form. To try and find you. 

“No! No!” You shout, your foot stomping into the Earth. In any other scenario, he’d be shaking his head. Laugh at your antics. But right now, all he cares about is getting you to safety, and working on both of your communication skills. “I need you to tell me I’m a mistake! I need you to say I meant nothing!”

There you stand, arms open. Wind rushing past you, eyes closed yet looking straight ahead. You could never mean nothing, you mean everything. It’s his own stupid fault he ever let you think otherwise. 

“I just said what I needed to say!” He shouts, his body finally meeting yours in the open field. His hands land on your shoulders, trying to ground you. Hair  blowing around him, sticks flying past but never hitting the two of you. Almost like this needed to happen, like fate was set in stone for this very moment. 

Your eyes slowly open, and Yoongi thinks the world freezes around him. Misty watersheds sit in your tearline, your eyebrows forming together in confusion with his words. Your lungs raising and falling quickly, chest panting with effort held back. Emotions yet to be unraveled. 

If you feel the bond now, how long have you felt it? How confused you must’ve been. Yoongi feels awful. 

“Wh-what?” Your voice cracks, cheeks warm and irises searching for an answer. What is he doing? Why is he saying this now? Why does some part of you feel whole again? 

He doesn’t answer, doesn’t quite know how to articulate his words. But his body does. His body does what it’s been begging to do since he met you in that library. That he’s been holding back from every day of his stupid, (Y/n)-lacking life. 

He leans in, his lips pressing against yours roughly. Trying to tell you all the words he never said, trying to put everything, all of him into one measly kiss. One that means something. One that tells the story of the two of you. 

You, you can’t do anything but listen. Your eyes closing, your body returned whole. The piece of you pulling away settling back into your heart like stone. Warmth flooding your veins, home filling your very being. Making you feel safe, making you feel cared for. 

And when he finally pulls away, you hear the words you’ve always longed to know, “I love you and I’m sorry.” 

Yoongi feels free upon their utterance. A ball chain holding him back breaking– reality setting the world into motion once again. The earth that needs to keep spinning, that needs to keep the two of you afloat. 

You should feel mad, but you can’t feel anything but peace. But feel like your soulmate has returned home from a voyage you would never understand.

Before anything else can be said, Yoongi snaps his head to the left. His eyes going wide as the winds begins to form in front of him. Looking as if they’re not moving. As if nothing is moving. “Fuck, fuck.” 

He grabs your hand, pulling you back to the car as it starts to take focus in front of your mind, too. Fuzzy feeling fading, eyes going wide as you scramble from his door into your seat. He follows in quickly after you, not even thinking to buckle before taking off. Driving as if his life depends on it– your life depends on it, too. 

Sticks flying past the windshield, hitting against the body. Thunderous roars of the world being consumed outside. A tail pressing against your frame, holding you steady. Keeping you in place.

It’s only when you come to safety that all the words needing to be said finally spill out from both of your mouths. When everything is set ‘right’ again instead of feeling oh-so-wrong. It’s only then that he explains everything. That he explains his logic, that he explains how hybrids have soulmates. Don’t forget the scolding he gave– the promises made to each other that the other would never do something so stupid again.

He knows you meant them.

He’ll never forget the way you smiled at him then. When the heaviness left the air and the freedom surrounding the car became almost overbearing. He wishes he could tattoo the places you playfully slapped into his arm. Where you scolded him for keeping this from you. When you told him you would never have a second thought about rejecting him.

When you told him you could never think of a life where he isn’t your mate. 

“...Or boyfriend. Or partner. Whatever you wanna call it.”

You’ll never forget his gummy smile in that moment, when he has a possessive hand on your thigh. 

“I don’t care. I just want to be yours.” 

Wind wraps at your hair, blowing it– making it form into some beastly, monstrous thing around your head. Tangling your face, your eyes falling askew as it finds itself a messing around your very being. The howls of gusts form in his ears, sounding of ghosts that would haunt any normal person. 

But you, no. Not you. You live for this. Live for the rain that beats into your skin. Live for the cracks of thunder roaring above your head. Find serenity in the dark clouds that hang overhead, the adrenaline pumping through your veins. In the knowledge that it's coming. That it’s coming soon. 

And Yoongi? He can’t help but think you look like an angel enthralled in the storm. One that came to earth. One that was meant to find him. One that was created just for him. 

He can’t help but bask in you– bask in his mate as you live in your freedom, your happiness. Gets to be one of the lucky few finding sanctuary in your world. In your bubble made just for you. 

He smiles to himself as he watches. Shakes his head like a stupid boy in stupid love that couldn’t be happier. He’s so happy. 

He pulls his phone out of his pocket, opening a familiar app that he once looked to for advice all those years ago. Going to the same post he read the replies to over and over again– convincing himself that his impossible couldn’t be reality. He shakes his head as he reads them now, almost feeling foolish for believing him in the first place. Why should he have asked on a human forum anyway? It’s like he was asking to be let down. 

As he scrolls, his thumb comes to a stop above a comment he’s never seen before— a recent one. Posted just a few months ago. 

RMB_Joon

> Hey! This post is being talked about a lot on another forum specifically for hybrids! :-) I left the link for you as I think it would be a lot more helpful getting perspectives over there! :-) PM me if you ever want to talk.

Yoongi feels a curl of interest grow in his gut. Other hybrids? Interest in his post? He almost wants to know more. Almost wants to follow the inkling leading him to delve deeper into the world of others. 

“Yoongi!!” You shout, waving his attention over to where you stand. And suddenly, he doesn’t care about anything else anymore. How could he when he has the whole world in front of him? 

He chuckles to himself, marking his post as ‘resolved’ before tucking the device into his pocket. His legs catching into a jog, joining you at your side. Exactly where he should be. Where he’s meant to be.

⋆𐙚 WAHH THERE IT IS!!! I hope you all enjoyed <\\33 pls let me know any of your thoughts!! this is officially the longest fic I’ve ever written, and I put a lot of myself into this piece so I hope u all love it and it isn’t too skdhsksks yk?? MWAH ily © all rights reserved to ctrlhope 2019-2024 ; do not copy, plagiarise, or translate. 

[thegeekproblem]

okay, so there's no way i can actually write this fic, it's maybe too angsty for me? i just know i've been dissociating hard just thinking about it so let's purge the idea of my head. everyone feel free to write this fic, just tag me so i can go and read it. and who knows, maybe i will write it if i feel like i can get my ideas in order.

ANYWAY (timeline? what timeline?)

jason todd, after gotham war, with an implant in his head that makes him feel fear every time his adrenaline spikes, can't live in gotham anymore. once the criminal world in gotham find out about it he's hunted down like an animal, his normal nightmares just wake him up to more nightmares, there's no escape, no place safe. he runs from gotham, from the country. he leaves everything behind to go underground, as far away as he can manage. he returns to the all caste to hide from the world and as a way to at least be safe inside his head he erases all of his memories. everything. there's no bruce, no joker, no sheila, no catherine, no willis.

bruce notices the red hood is gone. he tries to search for him but there's no trace of him, he's just gone. damian says that talia helped him leave but he doesn't know where he is or if he'll ever come back. every once in a while bruce tries to look for him to no avail. barbara has a notification for a face scan world wide, tim has alarms in case he ever returns to gotham. still, jason is gone and life goes back to normal.

years pass and the world is under attack of the untitled and they have no idea how to save it. talia appears telling them the only way it can be saved is working with the all caste, there's a seer inside the caste that has seen what's going to happen and she needs to take them there. talia takes bruce to the chambers of all, even when all she wants to do is see gotham burn.

they arrive and ducra is waiting for them. (ducra knows who bruce is, who he is to jason but it's no longer important, she doesn't tell bruce any of this) ducra takes them to the seer but warns them that he's not completely here, that his mind has lived in the past-present-future and everything that could-would-will happen that he's kinda gone, that he paid the price with his memories so it doesn't matter. bruce doesn't care because he only wants to save the world and has no attachment to this seer.

they go to the chamber of the seer.

it's jason.

god, imagine jason, no memories, frustrated with the world and what it did to him, angry and unable to do anything about it looking at bruce and being like: i'm disappointed. i always wondered what type of person would do this to me? what did i do to make someone hate me this much? but i see you're just a normal human man.

A/N: if i ever get what the plot of this fic is actually about instead of just, you know, jus angst porn, i will write it. i love making jason suffer, but i also love bruce suffering the consequences of his own actions, and amnesia fics are just my jam, i fucking love them! i don't know where everyone else is in this fic, maybe dick and damian go with bruce to the chambers of all while tim and barbara man the fort back in gotham and dick goes all angsty-brother-filled-with-guilt at seeing seer!jason. and maybe jason is still a stubborn pice of shit, he still gets angry even if he doesn't understand why, he still holds grudges even when he no longer has memories. maybe seer!jason knows what's supposed to happen and joins them in gotham. also, imagine seer!jason sacrificing himself for people he doesn't remember because he knows that's what's supposed to happen. also, is there anyway to add jaydick to this fic??? i just love them so much.

[coreene]

The results are widely biased but they've also failed to disprove what I've been thinking about since I've locked my fics in Ao3.

Majority of engagement with readers comes from people who already have an account. Only thing you, as a writer, lose is the hit number if you choose to make your fics no longer available to the public.

Of course, there are exceptions for people with more popular fics or people who have loyal guest followers of their fics -

However, if you're a writer and been wanting to lock your fics but couldn't in the fear of losing engagement - it doesn't seem like you would lose a lot.

curious about something so it's polling time!

If you do not have an account on Ao3 how/where do you read your fics?

[folerdetdufoler]

Hi, I wrote my first evak fic in early 2023, before that I had been an avid reader for years. I know the fandom is a little quiet but there's this hardcore group of writers and readers that seem to have been around since the start and all know (of) each other. I don't know how to word this without sounding envious but it seems to me that group doesn't really read, comment on, give kudos or support new fics outside of their little circle. I want to believe it's a time issue but I have to say it comes across cliquey and a little hurtful. I really hope I am just being an insecure baby but I would be so happy if the established and popular writers would give me feedback and leave comments.

hiya! congratulations on writing and posting! i know it can be a big, scary jump from reading to writing and sharing, so applause for that in the first place.

i'm sorry your contributions to the fandom haven't been received the way you'd like them to be. if i'm included in this group of writers and readers, then, well my reasons for not reading/commenting/supporting are possibly going to be more hurtful than what you're already experiencing! i've whined about it years ago (first here, then here), and unfortunately it all still stands, because i have done absolutely zero work on bettering myself as a human being. i think i've read a handful of fics, mostly because they've been sent to me directly, with someone asking for my thoughts, and i managed to put in the effort to read it and offer a polite response. but there are also a bunch of fics that have been shared with me that i haven't read, even when i've said i would. i'm sorry if you have specifically done this with me in the past, because i have not treated your work, your creativity, with the respect it deserves.

i can't speak for anyone else, on how they choose to spend their time reading or writing, or the relationships they have with other fans. on the one active skam discord i'm in, i think a lot of them know each other from other fandoms, or have different relationships beyond writing/reading skam fic. also, as skam fades, people might only have the bandwidth for enjoying and supporting fanworks from established relationships, the same way you still want to support a favorite author even when you or they have changed genres or whatever.

but in reality i don't know the group where this is happening or why. i agree, it would be nice to receive more readers and commenters in general, and being jealous of the attention other people receive is natural. but i don't know how to change your relationship with that group, or my relationship with reading & supporting.

[scribbly-artist]

I just woke up from a dream within a dream about this account.

What. The. Hell??

[candyriku]

finally getting a chance to work on chapter 15 today :-)

[artemisdesari-blog]

A writer friend told me something that broke my heart a little bit today; they're going to quit publishing their fanfic.

My instant thought was that they had been trolled or attacked or that something terrible had happened in their life because this person is so passionate about their writing. It wasn't any of that. Engagement with their works has been going down, as it has for many of us. Comments are like gold dust a lot of the time, and just looking through the historical comment counts on old fics on ao3 demonstrates this trend very clearly. It was not simply the comments dropping off which caused them to decide to stop posting, however.

My friend came across a discord server for their fandom (I should point out here that their fandom interest and mine diverged a couple of years ago, we stay in touch but don't currently read each other's posts because I'm not into their fandom and they would rather gouge their eyes out with a wooden spoon than read anything Star Wars) and specifically to share fic in that fandom. They joined, because we all love a good fic rec, only to discover that their latest multichapter fic, which has almost no comments and very few kudos, is being hotly discussed in this server as one of the best stories ever. Not one of these people has bothered to say this to them on the fic. When they asked, none of participants could see the point in telling the author of the fic they apparently loved so much that they love it.

This discovery has absolutely destroyed my friend's love of sharing fic. They share because they love seeing other people's enjoyment, and fic writers do that through comments and kudos/reblogs/likes because we don't get paid. There is no literary critic writing a blog post/article about how amazing the story is for us to copy and keep/frame. There is no money from royalties. All we have are the words of the people reading our works.

Those people on that server could have taken five minutes of the time they spent gushing about how amazing my friend's story was to other people and used it to tell the one person guaranteed to want to hear that praise how much they loved it. They could have taken a moment to express their opinion to the person who spent hours upon hours plotting, writing, editing, and posting those chapters. Instead, they deprived my friend of thing that keeps them sharing their writing, and in the process have killed their love of it. My friend now feels used and unmotivated.

I won't be sharing a link to their fic, they said I could share their experience but not their identity. I know they plan to post one final chapter. I know they intend to express their hurt at being excluded from the praise for the thing they created, and I know they intend to announce that as a consequence they will not be posting for a long while, if at all.

So please, I beg you, don't hide your love of a story from the writer. It's just about the only thing we have.

[navybrat817]

Mr. and Mrs. Barnes

Pairing: Husband!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky suggests sneaking off at the gala. How can you resist?

Word Count: Over 3k

Warnings: Unprotected v. sex, sex in a closet, dirty talk, possessiveness, established relationship, slight insecurities, mention of breeding, slight feels (it's me), Bucky Barnes and he's a simp for you (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: Sorry, lovelies. I just really wanted this. Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky didn’t bother to hide his discontent as he looked around at the ballroom. Was it a gala? Fundraiser? What cared? He hated functions like these. People were either there to kiss ass and move up the chain of command or gloat about how well off they were in life under the guise that they were doing good for others. He didn't attempt to converse with any of them, but still had to go as a way to support SHIELD in some capacity and show that he was no longer the Winter Soldier.

At least Steve and Sam were excused from the event due to a mission.

Leaning against one of the pillars and tugging at his bowtie, he spaced out momentarily. No one looked his way, but he still felt judged. Like he didn’t just belong at the event, but amongst anyone. He wanted to go home, get out of his tuxedo, and get the product out of his slicked back hair. He debated sneaking away from some air until he blinked and saw the reason he was truly there: you, the only real person in the crowd of liars and cheaters.

He never understood the expression of clothes clinging to someone like a second skin until you stepped into your floor-length black dress earlier this evening, the fabric enhancing every beautiful curve of your body. His eyes narrowed as you moved around the room and exchanged smiles and handshakes with people. Your aura drew people to you, men brushing against you and their stares lingering for far too long. It served as another reminder of why he didn’t want to go tonight, especially when a General gripped your arm.

If he had a glass in his hand it would’ve shattered.

Convincing you to stay in bed didn't work since you both had to make an appearance, but it didn't mean he wanted you apart from him. “Get over here,” he whispered, craving your attention, needing you close.

As if you sensed him seeking you out, likely feeling the weight of his stare, you turned to meet his gaze across the room. Your eyes sparkled with love that he never thought he’d receive in his lifetime. The kind of love he never wanted to be without again. “Would you please excuse me?” You asked loud enough for him to catch as you removed your arm from the man’s grip. “My husband is waiting for me.”

Your hips swayed as you worked your way toward Bucky, not stopping for any other man who tried to catch your eye. Hearing you call him your husband brought the first smile to his face since he arrived. He still couldn’t believe some days that you wanted forever with him. “I was wondering when my beautiful wife would remember I was here,” he said once you were close enough, reaching out for your hand.

The moment you took it, he stood tall and pulled you against him. He was certain no one else came close to the intimidating vibe he put out, his hold on you possessive as you smiled. “As if I could forget. Practically heard you growling when General Rando touched my arm,” you teased.

“Because he has no right to touch you,” he said, your lashes fluttering as you spun away. His hands guided you back to him. “I know you’re better with people than I am, which is why you’re the one who has to socialize and I’m sorry for that. But you also said I’m not allowed to break any fingers tonight and I won't be held responsible if he tries to touch you again.”

He swore he didn’t have a possessive bone in his body until you sauntered into his life, giving him hopes and dreams and longing.

You laughed at him, a seductive sound that had a few heads turning. “You do know I can break his fingers myself, right?”

He chuckled, leaning close to your ear and tickling your skin with his breath. “I know you're more than capable of kicking his ass. One of your many wonderful qualities,” he whispered. People underestimated you and that was always a mistake. “But I still don't like that he touched you like he wanted to own you.”

You rang a finger along his bowtie. “We all know who owns me and we know I own you, too,” you said, holding up your hand to show him your wedding ring. He tried to ignore how fast his heart pounded at the sight of his ring on your finger, the pledge you two made together. “In a very healthy, non-toxic sort of way, of course.”

He smirked, glancing around at the crowd before looking back at you. “Of course, but maybe we could give everyone a friendly reminder that we’re a happily married and loyal couple.” His voice dropped lower, teasingly. He wanted to make your heart race like his. “Or maybe we could sneak away for a bit. Make this night a little more interesting.”

“Sneak away?” You feigned innocence as you blinked at him. He was certain any innocence you had before he met you was gone thanks to him. “Whatever for?”

“You know what for. It’ll be like that expo we went to a few months ago.” Bucky tilted his head slightly, studying your face closely. He easily picked up your sharp inhale, the way your pupils dilated and lips parted. It was clear that sneaking off was something that very much interested you. “C’mon, baby. This gala is boring and neither of us want to be here. My idea is much more fun. You know it is.”

He touched your cheek, your skin warm under his hand. He wasn’t able to keep you in bed earlier like he wanted, but the thought of pulling you away and having you right here and now had his stomach fluttering with excitement. “This gala is boring,” you agreed carefully.

“Then let’s make it exciting.” His thumb brushed across your lips and it took everything in him not to push his thumb inside. “You made me come to this thing. Don’t I deserve something for showing up and behaving?”

“I haven't made you come yet.” His muscles went taut when you briefly sucked the digit into your mouth, electricity crackling under his skin. He admired your boldness, how you were unashamedly yourself in front of these people. You didn't and would never care what they thought. “And I didn't make you come to this event, but I can make it worth your while.”

He held your chin and moved close until only an inch separated your faces. Your eyes gleamed with a hunger that rivaled his. The air crackled between you, daring you both to give over to your obvious desires. “And how exactly do you plan to do that?” He rasped when you suddenly pulled back and helped move him across the floor in a dance.

“My plan? I thought sneaking away was your idea,” you smiled, guiding you both closer to the open doorway. “But if we can find a closet or dark corner, you can do whatever you want with me. And I’ll even let you fuck my throat first thing tomorrow morning for behaving.”

A rumbling, deep groan escaped his throat. His fingers dug in possessively when he gripped the nape of your neck and tilted your head so he could taste your skin. Your body molding against his, soft and yielding against his solid frame, wasn’t enough. There were too many clothes in the way and he wanted to bury himself deep inside you.

“You drive me crazy, Mrs. Barnes,” he whispered, lifting his head to look into your eyes.

“The feeling is mutual, Mr. Barnes.” You bit your lip once he waltzed you for enough away from prying eyes, the heat flaring between you. “I need you.”

Every nerve ending came to life when he claimed your mouth in a searing kiss. His tongue plunged past your lips, holding you steady as he devoured you. You melted against him, which only brought forth his primal hunger more. His intensity never scared you and he would be forever thankful for that.

You gasped as your back hit a wall, the sounds of chatter and music from the ballroom muffled. Your nails scraped the fabric of his jacket, both of you lost in sensations of lust and desire. As one of your hands continued its journey to his shoulder, the other wandered down his torso and didn’t stop until you gripped his thick erection through his pants.

He abruptly broke the kiss when you gave him a squeeze, his eyes wild. “Fuck,” he breathed, gripping your wrist and pushing more firmly against your hand. “You feel that? That’s what you do to me.”

With dizzying speed, he spun you so that your back pressed against his front. You panted as his hand ventured through the slit of your dress and brushed along your trembling thigh. “Wait until you feel how wet I am,” you whispered, grinding your hips back against his.

His mouth brushed the exposed column of your throat, alternating between small bites and open mouthed kisses. “Still get wet for me?” He asked, massaging your breast with his vibranium hand and drawing another gasp from you when he pinched your nipple. He marveled at how much he could feel with that hand and how he’d never harm you with it.

“Have you seen yourself? One look from you and I’m soaked.” Your back arched as he bit down again. He wished he saw himself the way you did. “And you’re my husband. That craving for you isn’t going away.”

He rocked his hips against yours, seeking out more contact and friction as his cock throbbed and heart swelled. Marriage wasn’t a constant honeymoon phase. It took work. Effort. Compromise. But you were worth every moment, every struggle, every up and down.

Laughter from a few feet away had him lifting his head, both of you looking toward where the noise was coming from. “Fuck,” he snarled, wanting to scream at whoever it was to go the fuck away.

“There’s a closet around the corner. We just need to pick the lock,” you told him, smiling over your shoulder. “I may have scoped out the place in case this happened.”

He chuckled, utterly in awe of you. “I fucking love you,” he exhaled.

Walking with an aching hard-on wasn’t easy, but he managed to get you both further away from the ballroom. He picked the lock with record speed once you got to the door and moved you both inside. He flipped on the light, wanting to see as much of you as he could. For a moment, you two stared at each other and waited for the other to make a move. He loved the anticipation.

“I’m disappointed in you, Mr. Barnes,” you said, reaching for the doorknob to lock it. He was about to ask what he possibly did to upset you when you smirked. “You didn’t mention anything about me not wearing any panties.”

His cock was ready to burst from his pants. “Because that fucking clown out there interupted me,” he rumbled, pinning you against the door and crowding your body. His nose touched yours as he hiked your dress up, desperate to kiss you again. Eager to feel your wetness. “You trust me?”

It was a question he always asked. You put all of yourself into his care, your body, mind, heart, and soul. It was only fair that he made sure you still wanted him to be the one for you today, tomorrow, and every day after that. Even then a single lifetime would never be enough for him. He wanted a thousand lives with you.

“Always,” you said, an ache in your voice that he couldn’t resist. He fused his lips with yours, building up the fire all over again when his hand found your damp heat. The most intimate part of you where you allowed him to make himself at home. Your hands shook as you went to undo his pants, wanting to free him. “And you trust me?”

It wasn’t just his heart that contracted. His very soul trembled, wanting to wrap itself up in your light and love. “With everything in me,” he promised, sighing when he pulled his cock free from his underwear. “I’ll worship you later. Those gorgeous tits of yours. Your sweet cunt.”

Once you were home, he’d slip off your dress and give every beautiful inch of your body the attention it deserved. He’d draw a bath for you, too, and hopefully join you so he could simply hold you. But he was desperate for you now. He thought he’d burn if he didn’t have you.

You hiked a leg around him, moving your hips enticingly. There was only so much he could take. And who wouldn’t fall under the tempting spell of your body? “I’m ready for you.” Your soft moan echoed in his ears as he trailed a finger along your slit to your clit, barely touching it. He knew it would shoot small sparks through your body until you begged for more. “I mean it, Barnes. Get. Your cock. In me.”

“My needy little wife,” he whispered against your lips as he gripped the base of his cock and probed your entrance. The breathy sound you made when he began to push in had his blood pulsing in euphoria. It was a wonder he fit some days with how tight you were, but your slick heat stretched and welcomed him every time.

“My needy husband,” you smiled as you enveloped him completely, your fingers curling in his hair.

“What kind of man isn’t needy for his wife?” He began to thrust in deep, deliberate strokes. It matched the rhythm of the music in the distant ballroom, the two of you creating your own sultry dance. Maybe he would go up in flames. At least he’d have you to burn with. “Fuck, your body was made for my cock.”

Each snap of his hips tore more moans and whimpers from your throat and sent shockwaves through his system. You clenched around him with a smile, looking like a debauched angel. “My pussy was made for you, so ruin it.”

He groaned, his pulse beating strongly as his grip tightened on your hips. He fucked you without restraint, just as greedy for you as you were for him. Allowing himself to feel you and what you did to him was everything he was denied for so long. His life had only been order. Pain. You let him lose control. You gave him pleasure. Even a home.

I love you.

“I love you, too, Bucky,” you panted, brushing a thumb over his cheekbone as his eyes closed against the emotions threatening to surface. “I love you, too.”

His pace picked up, urgent, frenzied. At this rate, he might explode into fragments from your declaration and how good you felt. “You love me?” He bit out, his eyes opening and breaths harsh as he felt you clench again.

You cried out, his hand flying up to brace your head before it hit the door. “So much,” you moaned as you gazed at him. You were the most beautiful person he had ever seen. Fierce in love and loyalty, patient and steadfast. He feared some days he’d need you more than you needed him, but you drove that thought from his mind. “I’m yours.”

“I’m not gonna last,” he warned. He couldn’t with the way you looked at him, the way your walls gripped him, knowing you were his.

“Neither am…” Your mouth fell open as your release hit you, your fluids drenching him. It was a wonder to watch you go over the edge in a blissful orgasm. He wanted to be right there with you.

“There you go. Good girl,” he encouraged, your body still tight around his cock. He erupted in one last thrust, his head falling back with an animalistic roar. “Fuck…”

Bucky braced a hand against the door, the other holding you like a lifeline. If only the two of you were at home so he could properly cuddle with you. His breathing remained ragged for a bit as he came down from his high, your breathing beginning to steady, too. He couldn't help but smile as he took in the sight of you thoroughly ravaged and satisfied. “Worth every second of being here,” he sighed, slowly pulling out of your twitching hole. You inhaled when he moved a hand down and swiped two fingers along the mess seeping out of you. “Clean them off for me, baby,” he ordered huskily, bringing them to your mouth.

Obediently, you parted your lips and allowed him to push his fingers in. You swirled your tongue around them to taste your combined essence, moaning at the tangy flavor. He tucked himself away once you finished up, afraid that he’d fuck you all over again if he didn’t get completely dressed. It didn’t stop him from gazing longingly at you as he fixed his jacket.

And it didn’t stop him from imagining your mouth around his cock the next morning.

“Now.” You grimmaced slightly as he helped you steady yourself and straighten out your dress. He knew that look. It was the look you got for a split second whenever the sticky remnants continued to trickle down your thighs. He loved having that claim on you. “How do you expect me to go back to the gala after that?”

“I don’t,” he smirked, his hands moving back to your hips as he snuck in a gentle kiss. “I think it’s time to get you home and back in our bed where you belong. I promised I’d worship you, remember?”

You nodded, your eyes still slightly dazed. “On one condition.”

He titled his head. “What’s that?”

A slow smile curved your mouth, his heart pounding and cock twitching back to life at your answer, “You put a baby in me tonight.”

So, lovelies, was it okay? I feel rusty. And who wants a future fic of Bucky breeding you? Just me? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[ebodebo]

Hot For Teacher!

—professor!simon riley teaching anatomy… MDNI

(DISCLAIMER: in this fic, the reader is getting their master's, so reader is an adult! that said, this is still a student-professor relationship, so beware!)

"I heard he was from Germany….or somewhere."

"He's probably sooo old."

"I can't find his rate my professor anywhere!"

"I heard he only has one leg!"

Murmurs can be heard spread around the room; your fellow graduates flooded the lecture hall seats, not an empty seat out of fifty in site. They were itching with anticipation and anxiously awaiting the arrival of your new gross anatomy professor, including yourself.

You were even more nervous than when you had to present your senior thesis for your bachelor's to four of the most knowledgeable, bright minds you had ever come into contact with.

That was intimidating, but this somehow feels worse. You find yourself sinking into the squeaky plastic chair, praying that whoever walks through that door is as gracious and kind as your last professor.

Heavy steps echoed down the hallway, slowly and steadily etching closer and closer to the room you sat in. Your eyes nervously shifted up to look at the wide open front door, and you tapped your foot, restlessly, to a non-existent beat in your head.

The footsteps became louder and louder until the man finally stood in the doorway, sparing the class not even a singular glance. He steadily turned to the right and walked up to the chalkboard, back towards the class, carefully etching something onto the board with a small piece of chalk.

The murmurs around the room seized as the screeching noise of the chalk against the board bounced off the walls and went straight into everyone's eardrums.

It was a quick, illegible scribble.

He set the piece of chalk down and turned to face the class, eyes roaming around the room, allowing you to get a better look at him.

He wore a black surgical mask just below his nose, covering his lips and jaw. And, God, was he tall. He had to be at least six-two, maybe even six-four. He wore a charcoal gray button-up tight enough to display his broad shoulders and buff biceps, with kaki cargo pants that did nothing to hide his thick thighs. 

Fuck, he was hot.

"Your last professor was quite lenient," his gravelly voice echoes around the room as he begins, leaning his hip on the table before him. "Don't expect that from me."

His eyes roamed some more, and the murmurs you heard about how hot he was seized as he spoke again. "If you think this class will be easy, you're sorely mistaken. Excellence is the bare minimum I expect from each of you," he sternly says. "I don't tolerate excuses. You're in the wrong place if you can't meet the deadlines."

You didn't know the first time meeting your professor would just end up with him lecturing you about his obscure conditions and rules like this was a damn military base.

You try to remember if this course was even required for your degree: it is.

"If you miss class, don't bother returning," he continues. The mood in the room had shifted entirely. There was no excitement left; it had been completely sucked out and replaced by regret and anguish. You swore you even saw some people with their computers quickly going to your university's directory, hoping they could still withdraw from a course.

"Lastly, mediocrity has no place in here. Push yourselves or find another course," he gruffed, pushing himself off the desk he leaned on and maneuvering back over to the chalkboard.

"What are the instructions on the board?" Your eyes snapped to a random girl raising her hand adjacent to you, and you were surprised by her bravery in speaking.

The professor glanced at the girl.

“Ah, yes. These are instructions on how to withdraw from this course if you so choose," he said. "Save me the headache and you, your dignity, and withdraw now if you cannot abide by my terms," he almost seemed disinterested. "Also, you will call me Dr. Riley."

He picked up the chalk, quickly etching a strand of words onto it. "These are my office hours," he says, setting the chalk back down. "Any questions?" He asked, turning to face the class.

Not a single peep can be heard. There was only a tiny squeak from one of the chairs. He crosses his arms. "Alright. Quiz tomorrow. Class dismissed," he concludes. You freeze up in your chair as everyone around you starts moving as quickly as possible to get out of there.

You're wondering what you learned today that could be material for a quiz. Instead of waiting behind to ask, you shuffle your things in a bag and speed walk out of there.

This was going to be a long semester.

It was three months in, and this class was kicking your ass. 

No, that's not right. The class was outwardly blistering your entire existence. You pulled countless all-nighters to try and keep up with the material, but it was too much. There weren't enough hours in the day to study the copious amount of material.

It didn't help that Dr. Riley was a bit of a dick. He gave no leniency. Can't make the exam? Too bad. F. Didn't make class? Yikes. Get ready to recite the last lecture in front of the class when you return! Can't answer a question he asks? Well, well, it looks like we have a slacker on our hands. Have a lovely time writing an entire essay on the topic question you failed to answer!

"Can anyone explain the process of bone repair following a fracture?" Dr. Riley questions, taking his eyes off the chalkboard and turning towards the now half-full class. You snap out of your daydream, carefully looking back to your computer to continue typing what he writes.

Everyone averts their eyes from him to avoid getting called on. "No takers?" He asks once more, eyes narrowing slightly. You look over the top of your computer, eyes wondering over the messy array of notes he wrote to try and decipher them. "You," he says, flicking a finger towards you. "Give it a go."

Your eyes flick to his before widening in horror. Shit. You hadn't even gone over this week's slides because you were still working on the hundreds of slides from last week. 

"Preferably today," he raises a brow, impatience written all over his face, crossing his arm over his chest. You take a deep breath, quickly scan your notes, and sublimely thank God you found what you needed.

"Well, first the bone goes through clot formation, then callus formation, then new bone tissue forms, then finally the bone remodels," you explain, issuing a polite smile after you finish, breathing out a sigh of relief as he nods.

"Uh-huh. It's a very interesting process. And do you know which of those processes has the longest duration?" He says blandly. You tilt your head a little, surprised to see he has another question.

"Well, I think that would be the bone remodeling," you affirm, shifting in your seat a little.

"And the shortest?" He quickly supplements. 

"Clot formation?" You say unsurely. 

"You seem unsure of your answer. Do you truly think it is clot formation?" He crosses his arms over his chest. 

You were sure of it, but then again, why would he ask you if you thought it was wrong if it was right? You open your eyes wider, almost like you have just had an epiphany. "I—no. It's callus formation," you say matter-of-factly.

"Incorrect," he says, uncrossing his arms and turning his back to you. "I suggest trusting your instincts next time." You sink deeper into your chair, hoping that somehow it will shield you from his scrutiny. 

"On that note, class dismissed." You quickly gather your belongings, but not before Dr. Riley pulls you aside to assign you a three-page, single-spaced essay about the formation of a bone after having a fracture due in two days.

"Also, be sure to discuss clot formation heavily," his voice carries a condescending tone. "So that when you present to the class, they understand the concept better than you did." 

Your brows furrow a little. "Wait, I do understand—" You begin, though he interrupts.

"That's all," he cooly says, turning to grab his things from the desk in the front before switching the light switch off and stepping around you to leave the room. "See you and your paper Wednesday." You scowled as he turned away from you to go to his office.

This was such bullshit. You answered all his question, but God forbid you answer one incorrectly—well, not even incorrectly; he just made you feel it was wrong.

This was far from over.

"Dr. Riley. I, um, I don't understand why I have to write an essay," you found yourself saying later that day in his office, around six p.m. or so, when most of the faculty had already called it a night and left. His eyes stayed laser-focused on some papers he was going over.

"You didn't answer my question," he says, scribbling something on the paper. 

You find yourself coming in, shutting the door behind you, and sitting on the chair before his desk. "Yes, I did. I answered all one hundred of them," you say matter-of-factly. The corners of his eyes crinkle as they finally flick to yours, clearly amused by your exaggeration. 

"One hundred, huh?" He sets the pen down, leaning back in his chair, threading his fingers together. Your eyes wander to his arms. He had rolled up his sleeves to reveal his veiny forearms covered in tattoos. 

You flick your eyes back to eyes in a panic, praying he didn't notice you essentially checking him out. "Yes, sir," you tried to keep your voice even.

"So, you want out of an essay I assigned to you? 

"I—well. I was hoping…" You trail off, eyes averting his.

"No," his tone is authoritative, final. You release a small breath, sagging into the chair, feeling defeated. However, you caught your eyes wandering back to his forearms before moving up to his biceps. Fuck. They would have busted out of his button-down if they were any bigger.

He was a massive asshole. But, so fucking hot nonetheless. Had the most enormous thighs and arms you'd ever seen. Taller than anyone you'd ever met. Had a gruff, thick English accent you drooled over. Not to mention his raging ego, which did something for you.

"What is it?" Your eyes snap to his. Oh, God. Not again. 

"Nothing," you said quickly. He looked puzzled. You sat back in the chair, smiling awkwardly. He followed, leaning back in his seat and spreading his legs wider to get more comfortable.

You find your eyes drifting down, observing his clothed cock in his pants. "Nothing? Huh?" The corner of his lip quirks. You stare back at him; your face is hot, and your hands are clammy.

This time, there was no denying what it was you were ogling so intently. 

"Listen," he sits up a bit, placing his elbows on his desk and threading his fingers together. "I sympathize with your situation." You raise a brow because there is no way in hell he was sympathetic. His lip quips at your expression. "So, I believe I have a solution to your dilemma." That has you perking up in your seat, feeling a sense of hope.

"It's a bit...unorthodox," he mumbles, eyes boring into yours.

You squint your eyes in confusion. "Okay..." You trail off uneasily, sitting up a little straighter. "What did you have in mind?" He tilts his head up a little, carefully observing your face, before standing up and gripping the knot of the tie and carefully pulling it down so it rests lazily on his sternum. 

"Tell me," he prompts, easing his way around his desk to lean against the side you sit in front of. "What is it that caught your attention earlier?" You raise a brow, not only at his new position but also at his question.

"Pardon?" You prod. He lets out a small, scruffy, breathy laugh, crossing his arms over his chest and showcasing his huge biceps again. You release a slight breath as your eyes wander back to his arms. He tilts his head back as he examines your facial expression, dragging his eyes down your line of sight. He gives a breathy laugh as he realizes you are shamelessly checking him out. 

"Mhm," he hums. You snap your eyes to him in an instant, though this time you aren't embarrassed at the notion of him catching you. No. You wanted him to notice. Maybe, just maybe, then he'd finally find the courage to fuck you over his desk like you'd wanted since the first day he had arrived. "Your mind seems elsewhere," he observes.

"No, I'm—I'm just thinking," you whir, sitting in your chair.

He tilts his head back slightly. "What about?" His tone dripped with condescendence. He most definitely knew. He could read you like one of those fancy anatomy books he frequented. You lean back in your chair, legs spreading ever so slightly. His eyes glided to leer at your slightly agape legs. 

God, you had on that little fucking skirt you wore every so often. The damned thing was a couple of pieces of denim fabric. Not too short, but, ya, if you opened your legs at just the right angle, you could get a nice shot of your panties underneath. How lucky for your professor, who was at the receiving end of that.

"Oh, I don't know. Just things, you know?" You spread your legs just a little wider, and you swear you hear him release a breath. "It's the first day of fall tomorrow. Did you know that?" You casually say, spreading your legs that much further so he could get a better view of the wet spot already growing in your panties at him watching you. 

"I did." His voice was dry; he was surprised to get a damn word out. 

"Crazy, huh? Also, I'm thinking about our lecture tomorrow. What's it going to be on anyway?" You find yourself dragging your hand up your leg to the buttons of your shirt, carefully unclasping each of them gently. He could feel his cock straining against his jeans seeing you, legs spread, fingers fiddling with your cute little button-up top with frilly sleeves.

"Sexual reproduction," he gruffs, fingers moving to undo the buttons on his shirt. You get the final button of your shirt unclasped, carefully sliding it off and onto the floor, revealing a lacy bra that matches your panties. You honestly thought you'd be more nervous, but with a guy that hot and educated staring at you like you were the sexiest thing alive, how could you be?

"Maybe I should get a head-start, no?" You proposed as he unclasped his final button, slipping his shirt entirely off. Good-God. The man was chiseled and hairy. The scars etched into his skin only made him that much sexier. He reached for his tie next. "No, no. Leave it on," you voice, getting up from your chair to stand before him. 

His greedy hands instantly sought refuge on your waist, dragging his fingertips along the waistband of your panties, giving them a little pull. You release a slight whine as the elastic slaps back onto your skin.

"Like fuckin' music to my ears," he groans, pulling you flush to his body, ripping his mask off to encapsulate your lips with his hungry ones. 

You yelp into his mouth at the sudden sensation, though you find yourself getting into a rough rhythm. His hand's paw at your ass as yours covetously grips his shoulders. Although you were flush against him, you sought more contact. "I need—I need," you whined in his mouth. 

"Need me to what? Say it," he urged, hands slipping to thread through your hair, pulling it gently. Your mouth falls agape at the action, allowing him to slip his tongue in your mouth. You moan into his mouth once more.

"I need you to—to," you stutter, unable to speak from how out of breathe you were.

"Say it," he hissed, pulling your hair harder.

"Fuck me. Please," you finally managed to say. He wasted no time picking you up by the back of the thighs and hastily placing you on his desk, flinging the loose papers and books that dawned it on the floor.

You reached between you to undo his belt and pant button as he slipped your panties down so they dangled loosely around your ankles. 

Your lips never disconnecting once. 

Once you got his pants undown and he your panties, he gripped your waist, hoisting you so he could pound his cock into you. You both moan at the contact, gripping each other tighter.

"Fuck," he groans, "Feel so good." You press your lips back to his as he makes work pummeling into you, his hands digging into the flesh of your hips to get as much friction as he can.

You were sure you'd have purple and blue bruises tomorrow.

He brings his mouth to nip and kiss at the side of your neck, his teeth gently grazing against the sensitive skin. "Drivin' me fuckin' insane," he grits, teeth nipping your skin again. You whined, bringing your hands to thread through his hair.

"I drive you insane?" You breathe out, dumbfounded, his cock still sliding in and out of you at a hurried pace. His tongue brushes your neck until it reaches your lips, quickly bullying itself into the sanctity of your mouth.

"Such a good student. Aren't you?" He gruffs into your lips; your mouth hangs agape at the feeling of him in you. "Always do such good work. Don't you, sweetheart?" You moan at his words; he presses a thumb to stimulate your clit. "Fuck—you, you drive me mad," he grits, moving his thumb faster.

You let a string of incoherent words, too caught up with his cock in you and thumb on you to form any real words.

"Huh? Ya, ya. But you must know that already. Or else you wouldn't have worn this—" he signals to the matching bra and panty set you had worn, "to meet with me," he finishes. You respond with another pathetic whimper, feeling your impending climax.

The moment he whispers into the shell of your ear, "Better come quick, or I may change my mind about that paper," you're a goner. You clamp around him at record speed, gripping his shoulders impossibly tighter, as you loudly moan in his mouth. His fingers dig deeper into the fat of your hips as his orgasm chases yours.

It takes both of you a second to catch your breaths, both heaving and chests rising with much pace. After you have caught your breath, he helps ease you off his desk, deftly reaching for your panties that slipped off your ankles in a frenzy and softly putting them back on you, followed by your skirt resting on the floor nearby.

You slipped your shirt back on, buttoning it as he focused on dressing himself. It didn't feel awkward like you had thought it was going to. Sure, it was quiet, but it was comforting.

You grabbed your bookbag, giving him a slight smile as you walked over to the closed door. "I appreciate you meeting with me. See you tomorrow, Dr. Riley," you kindly say.

He nodded, pulling his tie to rest neatly on his neck. "Don't forget about the paper," he plainly said, moving to pick up some of the loose papers on the floor.

A confused expression overtook your face. "I thought—" you began.

"I don't play favorites, sweetheart," he interrupted. "Write the paper."

Okay, he was still a dick, but oh well, sure, you'd write the damn paper, maybe even put a couple of errors in it so that he could deduct some points off, and you could request to meet with him again.

Ya, that sounded like a fine plan indeed.

a/n: inspired by a lovely who commented on my poll about professor!simon <33 @aiqsa (this took me so long omg)

reblogs & comments are encouraged!

[theresascove]

you know how I love it when you ride on me ₊ ⊹

ellie williams x f!reader

Ellie fucks you in the locker room showers while her teammate is chatting to her in a nearby shower

tw: not proofread, FILTHY MESSY SMUT, college soccer player!ellie, strap sucking (e receiving), dom/top!ellie, sub/bottom!reader, strap in v (r receiving), degrading, exhibition, choking, fingering (r receiving), consensual secret fuck buddy relationship, locker room shower sex, Ellie can pull on r’s hair, hinted at containing fucking but e receives head

wc ✎ 1.8k • fic based off of chase atlantic’s song die for me

The utter of her name causes your heart to race. The nerves that overtake you whenever you hear, “Ellie Williams,” make you feel paranoid at times. Nobody would know, there’s no way—and yet you still feel watched at times. Like when people look at you, your mind whispers on about how they know. Somehow they know you slept with Ellie Williams.

In a way, she was considered the Caitlin Clark of your college’s soccer team. Not known around the country, but she’s known within your state—especially within your college campus.

And somehow, you ended up in her bed.

Your friend had offered to go to the soccer game that was happening on campus, suggesting that it be a nice way to spend the day rather than do nothing. These plans were made a while ago, since then things have changed. So now here you stand in line beside her, heart racing yet again from the knowledge of possibly seeing her again.

“You know,” your friend starts, eyes locked on the huge screen displaying advertisements in the entrance, “I never thought I’d go to any of the games our college offers.”

“Yeah me neither.”

She scans her ticket before you, free admission since you’re both students, “I know we’re on the grass but it’s not that bad.”

She walks around, guiding you through the food stand so she could grab a drink. It’s decently crowded, shoulders bumping yours occasionally. While waiting in line your friend makes a signal in hopes you’d lean closer to listen to her.

“I have to grab something from Casey after the game,” she yells.

“Who’s Casey?”

She points to the screen where the name Casey Spring was written on the board.

“Her.”

You did see her name, but the one that caught your attention was the one just below it. Ellie. Her voice contained to chat in your ear explaining why she had to pick something up from her friend, but your attention was mainly directed towards the auburn girl on the field.

Fuck.

Wasn’t long before you somehow ended up underneath her, trapped under her body while the water ran down. Your clothes got soaked, but even more so with how she was kissing you. How you landed this position was baffling, but the second you two saw each other in the empty shower room—she lost it and you melted into her touch.

“Ellie,” you whisper, humming when she kisses you again—pressing you further back against the shower wall. There was no space between the two of you, bodies sliding on one another.

“Ellie,” you whisper again, this time she’s cursing under her breath and shrugging her jersey off.

Somewhere in the room lied another one of her teammates, the shower running hinting at it. You two were almost caught before she came with the clever idea of shoving the two of you into the shower and turning it on.

You had stood before her, eyes locked for a minute in silence. She couldn’t take it much longer, eyes flicking down to yours before she continued to kiss you just as she had before her friend walked in.

Her friend calls from the other stall, yelling out Ellie’s name. Ellie finishes her kiss with you, not rushing her moment with you just to respond to her.

“Do you have any conditioner I can borrow?”

She mouths at your jaw, “yeah, in my backpack. Front pocket.”

You hear the pitter patter of her teammates feet as she steps near the one you two were hiding in. You gasp when she bites down hard, shooting a hand to cover over your mouth.

Your eyes screamed for her to wait, or at least show down but she didn’t. Her fingers trailed down to cup you, sliding her middle finger through your folds. The feeling in your chest was tight as you did everything to not make a sound. Knowing her friend lied just outside the curtain caused a sensation in you, making you drip onto Ellie’s fingers. She circles your clit before pressing onto it—keeping her finger there and grinding it down.

Your chest rose with the air you sucked in sharply, nails hand digging into her shoulder. She smiled, moving your hand to kiss you again.

“Oh finally found it,” her teammate announces, “thanks.”

Ellie doesn’t reply, too busy focused on making you squirm. Apparently Ellie not responding was the opposite of what her teammate wanted. While you’re getting fingered and kissed breathlessly, her teammate was trying to find ways to chat with Ellie—thinking she was upset that they lost the game.

She didn’t want to talk her feelings out, she wanted to fuck you—just like she was doing now. Enjoying watching how your eyebrows are furrowed and you’re hips are squirming under her pace.

“Ellie hey, just wanted to say that you played really well today.”

She wanted to roll her eyes like how you just did when you came—nails actually making her shoulder bleed. You gasped and she was quick to put her hand over your throat—not choking entirely, just keeping it there to remind you to stay quiet.

“You okay?”

“I’m good,” she responded finally, voice horse.

Ellie tugged the rest of your sopping clothes off, dragging them and leaving them to stay at your feet. She kissed down your body, licking over your nipple and smirking at how sensitive you are.

She reaches her hand back out, grabbing the strap she had lying in the back pocket of her backpack. Your eyes widened, looking suprised but also dumbfounded—confused too. She shrugs, mouthing, “what else do you expect?”

“You sure? I just feel bad. I know how you get in your head about this—“

She takes the pent up annoyance and uses it to tug on your hair—guiding you onto your knees in front of her. Her thumb taps at your jaw, opening you so she can slide her length past your lips.

“I’m fine, Jess—fuck me,” Ellie says, almost groaning at the end there when you look up at her.

She uses the close walls, laying your head back against it so you don’t have anywhere to turn—locking you there so she can fuck your mouth. Your mind shuts off so quickly, eyes glossing over and shutting from the slight water that falls from Ellie’s hair and onto your face.

You circle your hips down onto your heel, using the friction onto your throbbing clit. Though you had just come, Ellie’s known to drive you to heaven multiple times if your last night in bed with her said anything. She had you laid out beneath her as she fucked you from behind, ass stinging from where she slapped you. She had you crying, tears running freely down your cheeks from the way she used you. You couldn’t forget that feeling, you don’t beleive your body will ever be the same since her.

“Do you think you did well? I believe you played nicely. Scored the most goals out of anyone.”

She pushes you further down, bottom lip dropping open in a deep silent moan when tears show in the corner of your eyes. You looked like a slut, slick pooling on your bottom lip.

“Y-yeah, fuck yeah I did,” she says, pulling tightly at your hair.

“There you go, I hear the passion in your voice. You did well.”

She angles your face, pulling out and leaning to kiss you again. You wrap your arms around her shoulders, sliding them from up her thighs and up to her neck. Her body makes its way into the floor, leaned back against the white wet wall. Her fingers grip onto you, holding you steady on her lap.

Little sounds and gasps between you while you kiss. Your hips grind onto her length, sliding it between your legs and shuttering.

“Did you have any actual regrets with the game? Like ways we could’ve done better?”

She thrusts up into you, pulling you flesh down onto her. Her length and size splits you open. Your walls grip onto her tightly, making it a little difficult to thrust into you.

“The team could’ve been rougher,” she says, eyeing you and slapping your thigh. You take it as a hint to take over, using what energy you had to slide on her length. She slides a finger into your mouth, smirking when you lick it from the base to the tip.

“I guess so,” her teammate says, still trying to talk to Ellie and it was obviously frustrating her. Not that she didn’t appreciate it, she just was wanting to focus on you and this was interfering it.

You slide back down in a way that bumps with her clit, making her jolt. She hums from the feeling, and thankfully her friend only took it like Ellie was agreeing with her.

“Els,” you whine, voice so quiet and spoken so close to her ear, “Els, fuck me—please.”

Her tattoo shows in your face as she pushes her wet hair back—looking to you with darkened eyes.

“Ride me better then,” she mouths, her words barely spoken.

You try to, really but you’re sore still from the last time between you two. She can tell, she knows—seeing the way you shake atop of her. She takes pity though, hands sliding onto you to hold you in a way so she can fuck up into you.

There’s a bite mark on her neck from where you bit her to keep silent, but it doesn’t do too much—you still whimper, breath hot against her skin. You’re surprised her friend can’t hear the slapping of your skin, or your moans. There’s a chance she can, but she’s believing it’s just something else.

You come with a cry, teeth biting harder into her neck at a different spot. The pleasure overtakes you, wracking your body.

“Okay well, I’m heading out. Just wanted to say you did well today Ellie.”

“And so did you,” she calls out, eyes staring into yours as she brushes your cheek. Your vision is glossy again, and you’re sure you looked wrecked. Body wet and shivering atop her lap, slip on her strap.

As soon as the door to the showers closes, she’s pulling you close with an aggressive tug, “gonna eat me out now or do I have to guide your dumbass again?”

[itoshiexx]

running your fingers through their hair

you are now reading... LENA'S 1K MILESTONE EVENT FIC!

↳ itoshi rin, michael kaiser, reo mikage (separate) + cafuné (n.) - running your fingers through the hair of someone you love

notes: omg hi guys! i'm freaking ALIVE!!! i know i've been terribly inactive but life as a recently graduated lawyer has been INSANE and i barely have time to breathe, let alone write. regardless, i was able to finish this after some struggle, and i really hope you guys like it! cafuné is a brazilian word and it's something i love very much, so thank you anon, @kyukiss and @etoiile for the request and sorry it took so long ♥

event masterlist

Itoshi Rin

“you remind me of a dog, you know?”

rin’s eyes shoot open with your unexpected words, and you receive the harshest glare you’ve ever witnessed on his face when it came to you. 

“excuse me?”

his tone is supposed to be threatening, but his voice is slightly laced with sleep, so it sounds a lot more like a whine. you snort a little bit, pausing your ministrations on his head, where your fingers run through his hair. 

“not in a bad way, baby. i just mean you’re like a puppy when you want my attention,” you giggled a little, and if rin didn’t love the sound so much, he would have berated you. 

“that’s absolutely not true.”

“it is, though. you came back from practice all tired and grumpy, and the first thing you did was put your head on my lap because you wanted me to run my fingers through your hair. you didn’t even showered, rin.”

“i did shower! on the locker rooms!”

you smile mischievously. “oh, i thought the dampness was from sweat. i was about to call you out for being stinky.”

rin’s grimace worsened, and a pout formed on his lips. you couldn’t resist the urge to squish his cute cheeks together. god, he was so adorable it tugged on your heartstrings. how was that even possible?

you lowered your head to give him a quick kiss, and although rin tried to deepen it, you pulled away fast, grinning once again. he knew what was coming even before you said it. “you’re also like a puppy when you trail after me around the house. a lost puppy.”

his groan reverberated through the whole apartment, and rin shoved your hands away from his face, scowling. “i fucking hate you.”

“no, you don’t.”

“i hate you. i’m serious.”

you giggled again. “so why didn’t you leave my lap then?”

his eyes met yours, and you kind of relished in the furrow of his brows. it made his pout even cuter. “…what.”

smugness radiated off of you, because you knew rin — your rin — like the back of your hand. and if there was an universal truth in the world, it would be that the younger itoshi was down bad for you. enough for him to stay despite your shenanigans that always got on his nerves.

“i said, if you hate me, then why didn’t you leave my lap?”

his mouth opened, but no retort came out. he gaped like a fish for a few seconds before groaning again, turning his body so that he could hide his face on your stomach. you laughed at his childish behavior, knowing it was one of the reasons you loved him so much. not many people were able to see this vulnerable side of him, and you were glad to be one of them. 

“shut up.”

“yeah, yeah. you big baby.”

comfortable silence engulfed the both of you, and rin remained hidden on your stomach as you picked up the book you were previously reading, wanting to continue the story. though your left hand was suddenly tugged to lay on your boyfriend’s head.

“keep going,” he murmured, “…please?”

a gentle smile took over your features, and you were quick to run your fingers through his dark, silky strands. rin sighed softly, content with the affection you gave him — as if your angelic hands could take away every doubt swirling on his mind and wipe off the tiredness from his sore body.

“of course,” you said. and your mind completed silently: i’d keep going forever if it made you happy.

perhaps you were down bad, too.

Michael Kaiser

contrary to popular belief, michael kaiser was not a bad boyfriend. 

despite his huge ego, his narcissistic tendencies and his extravagant yet somehow rude personality, he wasn’t the type of guy to treat his partner poorly. in fact, he was a very attentive boyfriend, always doing his best to make sure you were happy and healthy.

or maybe it was just you. who knows.

whatever his reasons were, you relished the fact he took such good care of you, even if he wasn’t physically present because of away games — because michael was very good at making people notice him. whether it was with a bouquet of your favorite flowers delivered to your job, a nice breakfast cooked before you woke or even a small note of love professions. 

however, nothing really compared to having him there, with you, flesh and bone. 

especially on those days you just felt so miserable you wanted to disappear. 

“liebling? you okay?”

it was one of kaiser’s rare day offs, and all you wished for was to spend some much needed quality time with your boyfriend. though, this wasn’t possible due to your job, one you liked having despite michael saying he could support the both of you financially.

but the day at work just sucked. like, a lot. it was that kind of day where things go from bad to worse in a matter of minutes, and when you swear it can’t get shittier, it does.

you were exhausted and emotionally drained. the whole drive back to your shared apartment you were holding back tears, and the dam broke the second you heard kaiser asking you that.

“whoa!” the blonde exclaimed when your bodies collided on a tight hug. “what is it, engel? what happened? did someone hurt you?”

his worried tone just made you sob harder, and kaiser rubbed his hands on your back, trying to give you some comfort. he started to sway your bodies together while humming, doing everything to calm you down.

eventually, your sobs died down, and your boyfriend carefully brought you to the couch, making you lay on top of him; head on his chest. he started to gently scratch your scalp, running his long fingers through your hair.

“you feeling any better?” he asked in a low tone.

“yeah. thank you, mikka.”

the blond only hummed. “do you… want to talk about it?”

you had to stifle a giggle. god, he was so cute. even when he sucked at talking about feelings, he always made an effort for you. 

you slowly shook your head. “jus’ had a really bad day. but it’s okay now.”

his eyes softened impossibly, and you nearly swooned at the sight. “yeah?” 

michael kissed your forehead, and kept threading his fingers among your locks in a gentle caress. you smiled, because it was all you really needed to be comforted.

“yeah.”

Mikage Reo

reo’s body collapsed on top of yours, effectively knocking the air out of your lungs. you should have been used to it by now, really, since he’d always do that after you finished your smexy times, but sometimes it still caught you off guard.

“reo, you’re heavy,” you groaned, teasing him. “get off me!”

“give a guy a break, will you?” he whined. “i’m tired.”

your giggle reverberated through his body, and reo repositioned himself to lay his head on your chest, hugging your waist tightly as if to never let you go. he’d rather lose all his fortune before he let that happen. 

“is mr. athlete getting out of shape? i didn’t know this light exercise could make you so…”

your boyfriend interrupted you with a groan. “babe!”

you raised your hands in mock surrender, giggling again, and reo thought maybe he didn’t really care about your teasing if it meant seeing you this happy. he loved you in all your versions, but carefree was his favorite one. 

“sorry, baby. i’ll make it up to you, yeah?”

before he could make a suggestive joke, his breath hitched in his throat when your soft hands started caressing his hair, gentle fingers threading through his purple locks making him sigh. it was so unfair, he thought, how you managed to disarm him with just a small touch, reduce him to putty in your palms with a little gesture of affection. some of his friends said he was a fool in love, and reo couldn’t agree more. 

your love made him silly, but he didn’t hate it. he could never hate anything about you. all mikage reo was able to feel was love, love, love, an emotion so strong it nearly overwhelmed all of his senses, making him forget about all his worries and responsibilities — heck, even the whole world. and he didn’t mind if the world burned as long as he could keep you safe and away from the flames.

“what are you thinking about?” the whisper of your voice echoed the walls of your shared bedroom. 

“what makes you think i’m thinking about something?”

though reo couldn’t see you, he knew you rolled your eyes. 

“it’s usually how the human mind works, honey,” you answered, your wit making him stifle a laugh. “besides, you’re always so chatty, talking my ear off—”

“hey!”

“—so it always concerns me when you get quiet.”

the heir sighed, letting the silence linger a little longer to recollect his thoughts. reo usually didn’t have a hard time expressing himself with words, but sometimes his heart swelled so much it made it hard to think. so, pretty much every time he was with you.

“it’s just… i’m thinking about how i never really believed in past lives and reincarnation. i never really believed in soulmates, either,” he said, and you paid attention to every word. mesmerized by the wonder in his voice and even more by the sparkle in his purple eyes when he averted his gaze to yours. 

“but when i think about you, love… when i see you in my arms or when i rest in yours, i’m sure you are my soulmate, and that we were together in every lifetime. it’s always been you. it will always be.”

your chest swelled with love for the man laying in your embrace, and you tried to hold back the tears from falling. god, he was everything. you didn’t even know what you did to deserve a lover like mikage reo, but you were far from complaining. 

you gave him a chaste kiss on the forehead, trying to convey even a fraction of the love and adoration you held for him, and looked back to caress his face. then, smiling with the world in your eyes, you answered:

“it’s always been you, too.”

© 2024 itoshiexx. do not plagarise, translate, or repost any of my work on here or other sites.

[biteyoubiteme]

pretty boy; bloody nose

fem!reader x bangchan 

synopsis: you're a doctor at a hospital where Chan comes after a fight. 

warnings: 🔞!!! boxer!chan, blood, broken bones, bruises, praise, unprotected sex, creampie, thigh riding if you squint, 'pretty girl' used once, choking (m!rec), prob forgot some sorry

wc: 4k

an: all the photos of chan at or for the Fendi show have me gagged lol feedback is appreciated!! :)) [m.list] check out my other chan fic :)) [am/pm]

It was your starting shift when Chan came in. clutching his bloody nose with one bruised hand and pressing his other one to his wounded side. “my savior,” he smiled, dimpled cheek prominent even through the pain. He had blood in his mouth, teeth tinted pink with it. 

“Someone had a good night,” you laugh flipping open his chart, “says some minor pain but you seem to have lied seeing as you are currently bleeding right in front of me and you didn’t log it,” 

“my nose is fine, it was checked out by my coach, it should stop bleeding soon,” the rag he has to his face soaked through with red. “and I’m not a liar it’s only a bit painful and I wouldn’t have come in if I wasn’t contractually supposed to,” 

“uh huh,” you nod, tapping your pen against the clipboard you held. “So your nose doesn’t need to be set because your coach, who may or may not have any medical background, said so?” 

his smile widened and the cut on his eyebrow started to leak again from the movement. “exactly,”

“and I don’t need to see what you’re hiding right there,” you point with your pen to his fingers cupping his hip. 

“nope, I’m mainly a bit sore around the arms, so minor pain. I am not a liar,” he shrugs and you let yourself fully take him in past his injuries. He's slouched back against the hospital bed, his white tank splattered with his blood, gray sweatpants slouchy on his hips. if you could see his whole face without his hand in the way you’re sure he’s gorgeous essentially with a smile like that. what you didn’t like was to watch someone's cocky ass waltz in and say they aren’t hurt when it’s obvious they are. 

“well I am also contractually obligated to give you the best care I can offer and as your doctor, I’m here to say I can’t let you go without an exam,” 

“full body?” his tongue running across his teeth as you roll your eyes. it wasn’t exactly professional to let your annoyance show but you didn’t think he would run and tell someone. 

“let's start with your nose,” you turn placing your clipboard down and picking up a pair of gloves, “lean your head back,” 

Chan follows your orders as you walk around the bed to his side. 

“How did you end up here?” you ask, lifting the rag from his face. His nose wasn’t bleeding as much as it must have been earlier but it was still messy. And even with blood smeared all over, he was one of the most beautiful people you’ve ever seen especially as he grinned up at you. 

“fighting,” he shrugs. 

“Is this the part where you tell me that I should see the other guy?” you reach over to grab some clean gauze before cleaning up his upper lip. 

“Maybe,” he dragged out the word, the smile as flirty as ever.  

you lightly press your finger to his nose to check if it’s broken but only feel a little swelling. “keep your head back to stop the bleeding. let's now see your side and then we will tape up your eyebrow,” 

“I’m perfectly fine,” 

“Not unless I say you are, come on let me see,” 

Chan is slow to lift his shirt but when he does his side is covered in deep purple bruises. “you're going in for a CT,” 

“what? no, I'm fine it was a few hits nothing I haven't felt before,” 

“better safe than sorry I'm sure you've heard that saying before. next time don't go getting into fights,” 

“It's kinda my job,” 

“pretty boys like you shouldn't be fighters, and they shouldn't be putting their perfectly healthy bodies in distress, we need to check for any internal bleeding,” you peel your gloves off tossing them in the bin along with any bloodied gauze, chan's head still laid back as he watches you, “a nurse will be in to take care of your eyebrow and take you for the CT,” you pick up his chart, penning in the request. 

“You're not going to take me?” 

“I'll be back in to discuss the results it shouldn't be too long a wait it's slow tonight,” you didn't look up from his chart as you said it but you did when he said, “I want you to take me,” it's not suggestive in any way but the way that he says it is, deep and throaty like an invitation. his head lobbed to one side watching you, eyes leaving a trail of heat up your body as they trace your figure. 

“I will see you after your results come back,” you say, rushing to get out as fast as possible. it was frowned upon to flirt with patients no matter how hot they looked or how willing they seemed to flirt back. you went on your rounds before getting Chan's results, the nurse bringing them to you with a smile. 

“he will not stop talking about you,” 

“What?” but you can feel your heart thumping all of a sudden. 

“asking questions and whatnot,” she giggles as you pull out his scans. “Does she usually work Thursdays? Is she seeing someone? going on and on,” 

“about me?” You're a little shocked but trying to play it off. 

“if you don't give him your number I will hand mine over,” 

“We cannot give our numbers out to patients,” but your blush is hot on your face. who would know you gave him your number? no one. “we will both be out shortly please have his discharge paperwork ready,” 

“Should I put your number on it?” she jokes and you roll your eyes before pushing his room door open. 

“no internal bleeding,” you say once you close the door. “but you should ice your side the swelling will go down soon,” 

“I told you nothing was wrong, he couldn’t hit hard enough to cause internal bleeding anyways,” Chans sitting up now with his legs off the bed. 

“you should be getting checked regularly for damage that is visible, especially if you have pain,” 

“It was only a little pain,” he rolls his shoulders back making his tank top stick to his pecks. 

“you should take an over the counter pain med and then try to avoid fighting,” 

“Now where’s the fun in that? if I hadn’t been sent here I wouldn’t have met you,” dimples on display just for you. 

“uh huh sure,” you wave at him to stand, “Let's get you out of here before you steal the hearts of the nurses,” 

“the only heart I’m interested in is yours,” it’s cheesy but you can’t help the smile it gives you. “Let's go,” you laugh, pulling open the door for him. when he walks out he turns to face you moving backwards. 

“if I got into another fight would I be able to ask for you specifically or would you need to give me a number to hold onto just in case?” 

“flirty and shameless,” you say, walking him to the front desk to check out. 

“that did not answer my question,” 

“I’m sure you could find me in the hospital directory if you looked hard enough,”

“and if you’re not working? will it go straight to voicemail or will I somehow be able to get you over to take care of me?” 

“for someone who didn’t need my help at all for his little bit of pain, he sure is worried for his safety now,” 

“I was told by a gorgeous doctor that I should be concerned with putting my perfect body and pretty face in the line of fire,” 

“I said you had a perfectly healthy body,” you shake your head at him.

“You did say my face was pretty tough,” he leans against the desk elbow propped up to the perfect height to flex. “And I'm sure I can show you how perfect my body can be,” 

“goodbye Chan,” you wave your fingers in his direction walking away before you embarrass yourself in front of your coworkers. 

-

It's only a week later when you see Chan's chart in front of you again. “This one was asking for you by name,” the nurse comments. 

“of course he was,” but even as you say the words you can't help but feel the fluttering in your stomach. most people who came in you didn't see again and if they flirted you were happy to see them gone but Chan wasn't making you feel that way. 

he was alone in his room when you went in. laid out on the bed with his hand to his nose. It was like deja vu only now his tank was black instead of white. blood dripping down to his lips that smile directed at your heart. his eyebrow looked better but was still slightly discolored from last week. 

“I think this time it's broken,” but he's not showing any pain if it's the truth.

“your nose again? you’re too pretty to be taking punches to the face,” you pull on a pair of gloves walking over to inspect him. 

“That's why they do it, they are jealous,” he lifts away the gauze the nurse must have given him. 

His nose is clearly broken and needs to be set. you press your finger lightly to the bridge checking out the bone. Chan's eyes flutter shut and he lets out a weak moan, so soft that you probably wouldn't have heard it if you weren't so close to his face. you try to ignore the sound feeling along his cheekbones but when you press to the corner of his eye he lets out another soft whine. 

“I'm going to have to reset it,” you say pulling your hands away from him, “you can set up an appointment-“

“can't you just do it now? I don't think I'll need all the fuss of local anesthetic i think I can handle it,” 

“It's going to hurt,”

“it didn't hurt much when I was hit I'm sure it won't be too bad the other way around,” 

“You know it's okay to admit when it's painful,” you say, prodding again at his nose, he gives another soft moan at the touch, shifting his hips and leaning further back. 

“I like it, so even when it's a little painful I don't mind,” 

you move to grab a splint for his nose before preparing him, “I'll be quick so you shouldn't feel much but it will still hurt,” this wasn't the first time you've had to fix someone's broken nose but it would be the first time you were worried about messing up someone's face. you had full trust in your abilities but your anxiety was not helping. 

Chan crossed his arms nodding before you pressed the heel of your palm to his nose, “Deep breath,” he followed your instructions and without warning you reset his nose. He flinched knuckles bleached from holding on so tight to himself, moaning as you pulled your hands back. you grabbed the split to finish the job, “see quick and easy,” his voice thick before he clears it. “I think I need a minute,” 

“I can get something for the pain real fast,” you say tugging off your gloves already moving to get the meds. 

“no no I don't need that, I just need a second,” his head is leaned back, throat exposed, arms still crossed while he shifts his hips again drawing your attention to his waist. you can clearly see the outline of his hard bulge through his gray sweatpants. 

“Oh!” you turn around fast to try and give him some form of privacy feeling your face get hot. “I um- I'll just-“ you cut yourself off picking up his chart and moving to the door.  you close the door as he tries to say something but you’re already down the hall trying not to think about what you saw. you don’t really care it’s not the first time you’ve seen someone turned on in the hospital although all the other times you rolled your eyes. Now you’re stuttering and trying not to think of Chan in a way that could get you into trouble. 

but it’s all you can think about.  

how long would he need? would he be actively trying to get rid of his problem mentally or physically? what would have happened if you had stayed? would it have been beyond awkward or would you officially have to resign for having sex while on shift? 

you give Chan's chart to another doctor to check over your work and send him off. you didn’t want to go in and embarrass him or embarrass yourself for that matter. so you hid like a coward. 

-

it was a rare night off for you and you took the opportunity to spend it with your old friends. 

at a nightclub on a busy strip downtown your friends decide to bar hop. you had a late shift tomorrow anyway and didn’t care about sleeping in. At the third bar, your friend's boyfriend starts talking about a fight happening across the street. “the guy's undefeated I swear I just wanna see the end,” 

“If you’re dragging us along you’re paying the entrance fee,” your friend says before another pipes up, “and a drink each!” 

“Fine, fine let’s go, it's already started!” all of you rush across the street joining the moving queue as people file into the building. 

You can hear the cheering already, the announcer shouting over the speakers, your shoes sticking to the floor as if you were still at the bar. but this is far from it, people are jostling each other around, and the seats all first come already full. it’s not until you’re making your way up the steps of the bleachers that you see who’s in the ring. 

Chan is shirtless and glistening with sweat, hair stuck down across his forehead, lip bleeding around his mouth guard. muscles rippling as he delivers a blow to his opponent. 

you’re almost shocked still and unmoving in your walk up to a seat. someone behind you tries to move past you and you stumble, unaware of your surroundings. 

Chan doesn’t know why he looks up because he always tries to focus solely on the person in front of him determined to beat him. but he does let his eyes flicker up to the stands to see you apologizing to someone moving past you. He's caught off guard by your presence and the right hook that makes his head snap away from you. 

the crowd shouts in disapproval as you take your seat. Chan is now bleeding from his nose like every other time you’ve seen him. The droplets of blood fell to his toned stomach each breath pushing the trail of blood further down. 

you’ve never been into fighting, not watching or participating but now you’re fully invested. you don’t even want a drink when your friends ask if you need anything. your eyes follow Chan as he delivers hit after hit to the man in front of him. and when they call a winner you’re up out of

your seat cheering along with the rest of the watchers. 

“omg is he looking at us? I swear he’s looking right at us,” your friend laughs next to you. 

Chan is in fact looking up the stands at you. That dimpled smile on full display after he’s taken his mouth guard out. when he sees you looking back he mouths ‘Wait for me’ and you’re putty. you don’t even try to think that he could have been talking to someone else because you’re delusional enough not to give a fuck. 

when you make it down to where Chan is signing autographs you’re a little nervous after how you left things. but that goes away when he grins, split lip reopening. “my favorite medical professional,” 

“I thought I warned you not to get your pretty face in the way of someone’s fist?” 

“How else am I supposed to see you if I don’t come in needing your assistance?”  

the crowd around you is clearing and you’ve already told your friends not to wait on you so when Chan asks, “Can we talk?” nodding his head in the direction of the locker rooms, you don’t turn him down. 

He leads you to the hallway just out of the way from everyone else. “I wanted to apologize for the last time I saw you,”

“no no, I should apologize I shouldn’t have given you someone else to work with,”

“no really I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable I swear I was trying really hard not to have any kind of reaction I just-“

“It's okay truly I wasn’t uncomfortable it’s natural although I've never reset someone’s bones and had that happen-“

“I'm sorry,” he chuckles, rubbing at the back of his neck, arm flexing and you realize he’s still shirtless. all finely toned muscles on display the damp towel used to wipe away any blood and sweat thrown over his shoulder. but a spot of blood had been missed right at the band of his shorts. without thinking you reached out to brush it away with your thumb. 

Chan and you stood frozen, his breath shallow as he watched your finger wipe at his skin just low enough to send a shiver down his spine. 

“Are you doing anything else tonight?” he asks when you pull away. 

“you were just in a fight and you still want to go out?” 

“with you? yes. With anyone else? no,” you’re standing close together and when someone walks past to reach the locker room door Chan moves in blocking you against the wall. your hand comes up and rests on his ribs, his bruises gone from his first visit only now to be replaced with fresh ones. 

he’s leaning down close to you as another person moves around you two to enter the locker room. Chan's breath fanning your ear before he whispers, “We don’t have to go out, we could stay in…” 

he technically was not your patient, you weren’t at work and you weren’t obligated to deny yourself anymore. not when Chan was standing here willing and you were wet from just watching him win his match. 

“Okay,” your voice was low and weak but all the confirmation Chan needed to pull you along after him. 

past the locker rooms are a few offices and Chan knows there’s a secluded restroom right by there. you don’t even think twice as he shuts the door behind you locking it. you’re both on each other the second Chan turns around. hot and heavy kisses down your neck and over your collar as Chan palms your ass over your short skirt. your hands tugging at his hair but not the way Chan likes, “harder,” he breathes between kisses, “I want it to hurt,” and when you do his moan is music to your ears. 

Chan walks you back into the wall pressing you against the tile next to the sink. 

“When I thought about fucking you I never imagined you dressed like this,” Chan lifts your leg to his hip, hot hand running under your thigh and up under your skirt. 

“disappointed we can’t play doctor?” 

“I don’t care as long as I finally get to have you,” Chan's free hand slides up under

your shirt palming you over your bra. his mouth is back on yours as he wedges his knee between your legs. his thigh placed right against your clothed clit. 

Chan's hand fits right in the pit between your hip and thigh, fingers digging in as he pulls you forward on his thigh. 

your hips start to move against him, moaning into his mouth as you rock back and forth against him. “My pretty girl wants me so bad,” he breathes, planting kisses down your jaw. “I can already feel how wet you are for me,” 

with anyone else you would have been embarrassed about how needy you were but you didn’t care with Chan. not when he had been on your mind for weeks now, when every time you got off recently you had been imagining Chan's fingers doing the job instead of your own. 

Chan taps your other leg muttering, “Jump,” and you follow his orders, Chan moving to set you down on the sink’s countertop. He pulls away, hooking his fingers in your panties and tugging them down your legs. He stays on his knees leaning over to kiss you on your inner thigh. you tug off your shirt tossing it on the counter next to you. 

you cup Chan's jaw letting your thumb run over his bruised bottom lip, your finger moves over his nose brushing down the slope. Chan's smile is lazy, his gaze pouring over you. “you’re healing nicely,” 

“to have your hands all over me I’d make a million more visits, and,” he lifts himself until his lips are brushing yours, “I love the pain,” 

you slip your hand into the waistband of Chan's shorts wrapping your fingers around his stiff length. He moans loudly against your cheek as you stroke him. Chan's hand pushes under your skirt pressing his thumb into your clit, circling slowly. 

“I can’t wait anymore,” Chan grunts pushing your skirt up higher around your hips, dragging you closer to the edge of the counter before you remove your hands from his already leaking cock. 

Chan pushes down his pants to free himself before he’s lining up with your entrance. 

he doesn’t hesitate to thrust in fully pressing his pelvis to yours. both of you moan out your arms wrapping around his shoulders. chan inches out before slowly pushing back in. You whine, laying your head back until it’s laid against the mirror. 

you wrap one of your hands around Chan's neck, “is this okay?” 

Chan nods, “Harder please harder,” you squeeze enough to make his eyes flutter, the same way they had when you were back in the hospital fixing his nose, his hips finally picking up pace. every drag of his cock makes a bolt travel down from your spine to your knees. your back arching, Chan drags his teeth down your throat. 

your free hand scratches down Chan's back and you move your hips to meet his, trying to build any friction. 

��you feel so deep,” your voice not sounding like you as Chan angels himself up brushing against your g-spot. your legs wrapped around him shake at the contact, your walls squeezing around his cock. 

“I wanna hear you cum for me,” Chan moves his fingers between you rubbing your clit until you see spots, knowing exactly what you needed. 

Chan picks up his thrusting pace, punishing you with his cock, tip pressed right against the deepest part of you. “cum inside me please,” you beg, your nails usually nicely kept for work scratching him like they weren’t shortened. 

His thrusts falter at your words, his moan in your hair loud and echoing in the small room. “please I want it, I want to feel it,” your fingers around his throat give a squeeze and Chan knows he won’t be able to deny you.  

with a few sloppy thrusts, Chan is coming hard enough that his upper half gives out, laying on you. your hands leaving his throat and twisting in his hair as he shoots out ropes of hot cum inside you, hips jerking. 

The feeling of his release and his fingers on your clit send you over the edge, your legs locking around him as you cry out his name. Chan's slow thrusts help you ride out your high. both of you panting arms wrapped around each other not wanting to let the other go. 

clarity starts to set in as you catch your breath, your hair sticking to the back of

your neck. chan pulls out, the slick sound making you pulse around nothing. Chan watches as your combined cum slides out. He lifts your leg under your thigh using his thumb to spread your pussy lips apart watching as more comes out. “Next time I’m at the hospital I won't be able to forget this,” he drags his thumb up to your clit making you jump. spreading the slick around, “I might even ask for you to treat me this well again,”