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aemondsbabe · 1 year ago

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Hour of the Owl

summary: there's only one thing you want for your nameday and your sweet husband is more than happy to let you have it

pairing: dom!harwin strong x sub!reader x switch!daemon targaryen

warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors go away!), afab reader, reader is described as having some targaryen features (white hair, lilac eyes) but no other physical descriptors are mentioned, threesome, oral sex (f & m receiving), handjobs, piv sex, brief spitting, cum play, brief breeding kink, choking, spanking, daemon ignoring the rules, fingering, breast/nipple play, hair pulling, facesitting, very brief mention of miscarriage (world building only, does not directly affect the reader), praise kink, degradation, aftercare included, some fluff, "good cop/bad cop" trope, hair pulling, creampie, bi!daemon and harwin (they're at least experimenting asdfgh), daemon whimpering!!! i repeat, daemon whimpering!!!

word count: 11.8k (genuinely HOW)

a/n: this is dirty, y'all, i won't lie. this is filthy, filthy stuff. there's literally about 7.2k words of just pure smut here. gird your loins, this one is a wild ride. godspeed.

likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!

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A soft breeze blows through the sheer curtains of your chambers, filling the room with the scent of the sweet smelling flowers your older sister had planted in the gardens of the Red Keep a few moons prior. You busy yourself with removing the countless delicate golden pins your ladies had stuck in your hair that morning, silvery hair pooling around your shoulders as you undo braid after braid. Finally, you run your fingers through the last one, lost in thought as you walk out onto your balcony, your feet bare against the cool stone floors.

You sigh as you lean against a stone ledge, looking out over the many fires and torches that light Kings Landing each night, spread out below the Red Keep like a field of stars. You say a quick prayer to the Mother as you gaze at the moon, praying for your sister’s safety during her pregnancy; praying that this one would carry to term and that the Seven would bless your sweet niece Rhaenyra with a little brother or sister.

You smile as you hear the heavy wooden door to your chamber opening, practically skipping to the door as Harwin slips inside, already unbuckling his leather armor.

“My love!” You call happily, giggling at the exaggerated groan he makes as you thud into him, practically attacking him as you wrap your arms around him, “I missed you!” You whine playfully, breathing in his scent as you bury your face in his chest, your cheek pressed against the tunic he wears.

“I missed you too,” he laughs, his hands hooking under the backs of your thighs as he lifts you up, wrapping your legs around his middle. He walks you over to your large bed and gently sits you down on the plush fabric, “My sweet little wife,” he coos, pressing a kiss to your forehead before turning around and striding over to the mirror leaning against the wall next to your wardrobe. “What meanness did you busy yourself with today, I wonder?” He questions, smiling adoringly at you over his shoulder.

“No meanness,” you smile, eyes scanning his muscular body as you watch him unbuckle and untie his leathers and tunic; you bite your lip when he finally pulls the tunic over his head, eyes scanning his bare back, lightly tanned with various scars and bruises from his training. You feel a heat building in your belly at the sight of him, which only grows stronger when he turns to face you once more, your eyes roaming over his strong chest and stomach, covered in dark hair that disappears beneath the tops of his trousers. “I simply assisted Aemma in choosing decorations for the princess’s upcoming nameday celebrations,” you start, standing from the bed and making your way over to Harwin, watching for a second as he struggles with the knot at the top of his trousers before you finally push his hands away and begin pulling at the strings yourself, “Then I aided her in welcoming some new maids, worked more on my needlepoint, and responded to the letter from our mother.” You shrug, finally pulling the ties free before returning to the bed.

“A busy day indeed,” he smirks, running a hand through his curly hair as he stalks toward you, “Mine was much the same; we started training the new recruits today.”

“My poor husband,” you pout, sitting on your knees at the edge of the bed, “Working so hard.” You coo, aching between your thighs as Harwin places his hands on your waist, feeling his warmth through the thin, nearly translucent Myrish lace of your nightgown. You press a soft kiss to the middle of his chest, the hairs there tickling your lips, before you bring your hands up to his shoulders and begin kneading the skin there, massaging around his neck and shoulders.

He groans appreciatively, letting his eyes slip closed and his head tilt back as he allows himself to savor the feeling for a moment; your sweet hands, so small and delicate compared to his, still send shivers down his spine. He can’t help but think of the first day he saw you – you had looked so ethereal stepping out of your family’s carriage in the courtyard, draped in a fine silk dress in the sky blue color of House Arryn’s coat of arms. You had arrived the day Princess Rhaenyra was born and had made King’s Landing your home ever since.

He had been fond of you from that moment forward, offering to give you tours of the Keep and personally escorting you anytime you ventured from its walls. He had known you for nearly eight years and in all that time, he had yet to find a single fault with you. Were it up to him alone, the two of you would have been married within a week, although you had always joked with him that those were the exact sorts of thoughts you’d expect from the foolhardy teenage boy he was at the time. Eventually, your families finally came to a marriage agreement, Lord Rodrik Arryn pleased with the promise of you one day inheriting Harrenhal with Hawin. He smiles, thinking back to your wedding day, in disbelief that it was nearly a year ago now.

Finally, he opens his eyes once more, finding your mesmerizing lilac ones already gazing back at him. “You are so handsome,” you breathe, fingers tangling in his hair as you lovingly smile at him, “The most beautiful man in all the kingdoms.”

He captures your lips in a sweet kiss, his arms holding you tightly to him, wanting to feel as much of you pressed up against him as possible. He buries his face in your hair, inhaling the sweet smells of the oils you use in your baths, “And you are positively divine, my sweet love,” he murmurs, pulling back to gaze at you once more as he twirls a silvery strand of hair between his fingers, “The Seven have truly blessed me with the most heavenly of creatures.”

You blush, lying back on the bed as he kicks off his trousers, his entire form finally bare to you. Your eyes roam his tanned skin appreciatively as you lean back against your pillows, fingers fiddling with a tie at the front of your dressing gown.

“Would you do me the honor of joining me in the bath, my lady?” he asks, reaching out a hand to help you up from the bed.

“Oh, I would be honored, my handsome knight,” you joke back, kissing his cheek before the two of you make your way over to the bath, separated from the rest of your chambers with a decorated screen you’d gotten from a trip to Dorne many years ago.

You quickly undress, draping your gown over the screen, as Harwin steps into the bath with a hiss, “Seven Hells!” He curses, wincing as his skin adjusts to the water, “Did you have your maids retrieve this water from the belly of the Dragonmont itself?”

You snicker, gently easing yourself into the water at the opposite end of the tub, “After all this time one would think you would know how I take my baths, husband.”

He simply rolls his eyes, finally lowering himself into the rest of the water with a pained groan, much to your amusement, which earns you a splash. The two of you laugh together for a moment and you tell him all about the various decorations you’d chosen for Rhaenyra’s nameday as the two of you quickly wash. Finally, he beckons you over, resting his arms on the rim of the bath as you settle yourself against him, curling into the side of his long, burly body as you lay your head on his chest, creating swirly patterns in the hair on his chest with the point of your finger as you finish describing the decadent flavors you and Aemma had chosen for the cake.

“Speaking of namedays,” he begins, chuckling as he hears you groan, “A certain someone’s nameday is a mere two days away and she has yet to tell me anything she wishes for.”

“I’ve told you,” you start with a sigh, peering up at him, “How am I meant to wish for anything when you spoil me so?”

“I do not spoil you!” He admonishes, a guilty smile tugging at his lips, “I simply give you all that you deserve for being such a sweet little wife.” he teases, punctuating each word of the pet name with a kiss to your forehead and cheeks, making you giggle – his favorite sound in the world. You lay in a comfortable silence for a moment, still tracing various shapes and patterns onto his chest before he speaks again, his voice soft and questioning, “There must be something you long for, my love. Anything you want, simply name it.”

You stay silent for a minute longer, pondering exactly how to voice your thoughts. There was something you wanted, or rather someone — Daemon, the king’s younger brother. Like Harwin, he had caught your eye quickly when you’d first arrived at King's Landing. According to Aemma, Viserys had even been considering betrothing the two of you for a time; though your sister had put a quick stop to that, she had never been the Rogue Prince’s biggest fan.

Yet, still, there was something about him that simply drew you to him, something intriguing in the way he moved, the way he spoke. You loved your husband, more than anything else, but Daemon was…tempting, you couldn’t lie.

You look up at Harwin, still silent as you stare into his soft brown eyes, before looking away again, unsure of how to even broach the topic.

As per usual, though, your ever-observant husband was one step ahead of you. His toned arms wrap around you and pull you up, until you’re sitting in his lap, your legs on either side of his muscular thighs as you straddle him, balancing yourself by holding onto the rim of the tub as his hands remain on your waist, “It is the prince, is it not?” He asks slowly, carefully, his eyes never leaving your own.

“Husband,” you start, worried he is upset with you, “You must unde–”

“I understand, my little love,” he soothes, pulling you closer to him, relishing the way your breasts press against the firmness of his chest, “You need not explain it to me,” you rest your head on his warm chest, your face buried in his neck, “Lust for him does not do away with your love for me, I know this.” He confirms, gently carding a hand through your hair.

Even with his reassurance, you remain silent for a moment still; this is new territory in your relationship – never before had you seriously considered the possibility of sharing yourself with another, your husband so adoring and protective of you that you never dreamed he would entertain the thought.

“You…wish to share me in this way? Truly?” You question, heart skipping a beat when you feel his cock beginning to harden between your legs.

“I admit I was wholly against the idea at first,” he starts, his calloused hands slowly running up and down your thighs, half-submerged in the warm water, “I am still not thrilled that the object of your desire is Prince Daemon,” he laughs, teasing you, “Of all the knights in all the seven kingdoms, you pick him.” He jokes, his chest vibrating underneath you as he laughs.

“Harwin!” You gasp to hide your own laughter, though you know the cheeky smile tugging at your lips gives you away, “Please, be serious!” You reprimand, playfully slapping at his chest.

“I yield, I yield,” he laughs, holding his hands up in surrender. Eventually, the two of you settle down once more, a quiet calmness descending over you, “But I see the way you look at him,” he smiles, indicating that he isn’t upset when he sees worry cloud your soft features once again, “Very different from the way you look at me…only lust. And I see the way he looks at you,” your head shoots up at this, a soft blush creeping over your cheeks at this knowledge, “Lust, yes, but also a certain softness,” his hands come to rest on your hips once more, gently rocking your slick heat against his length, “Like you are something sacred to behold.”

He finishes finally, taking pleasure in the way you shudder against him, small whimpers and whines escaping your lips as your bud is dragged up and down his cock, his hands gripping your waist so tightly there are sure to be bruises in the morning.

“Husband,” you gasp, eyes squeezed shut as you mewl into his neck, the lavender scent of your bath oils filling your lungs, “Oh, Gods!” You moan, your aching bud catching on the head of his cock.

“He should look at you in that way,” Harwin grunts, thighs bending under the curve of your rear as his knees come up out of the bathwater, giving him more leverage to rut against you, “Like you are, fuck, like you are something divine.” He groans into the hair at the crown of your head, big hands coming up to cup your breasts, thumbs swirling against your sensitive nipples, “You are, my love,” his words come out in breathless, broken gasps, “Divine, sacred, a gift sent straight from the Seven.”

You nod wordlessly, whines and moans getting caught in your throat as your hands roam over the firm planes of his chest, lips busying themselves against the column of his throat. No further words are needed between the two of you, a common understanding being enough for now as your bodies press closer together, nearly melding into one beneath the warm, sweetly scented water.

Golden morning light shines in through the sheer curtains of your chambers as you busy yourself with dressing for the day, your maids flitting around you as they button, tie, and lace you into your dress.

Harwin had left much earlier than you, already strapped into his leathers before the sun rose above the horizon. Just like every other morning, he had gently kissed you awake to let you know he was leaving, telling you he promised to be safe when training and that he would see you at supper. Unlike every other morning, however, he had added, “I imagine I shall see Prince Daemon in the training yard today,” he had softly cooed, a warm hand tenderly caressing your cheek, “If I do, I shall speak with him about our…offer. See what he says.”

At the time, you had simply mumbled sleepily, head too clouded with sleep to truly process his words. Now, though, you could not keep from wringing your hands with worry, fidgeting uneasily as your hair was pinned up, half your hair braided and wrapped up into a bun at the crown of your head, the rest left to cascade down your shoulders like a pearly waterfall.

Your maids finally finished, leaving you in your chambers with your still steaming breakfast, which you could only bring yourself to pick at, the nervous knots in your stomach keeping your appetite at bay.

What if he thinks me perverse? You worry, staring out at the morning sky, watching as puffy clouds blow in from the winds of Blackwater Bay. You know this is nonsensical — if even half the rumors of Daemon’s various appetites were true, he had no justification to call you of all people perverse. What if he tells everyone? You wonder, halfheartedly sipping at your tea, but even this you know was absurd. He was brash, incredibly rude at times, but the prince knew when to be discreet, and if he truly gazed at you in the way your husband claimed, you had no doubt he would keep your secret.

After exhausting your list of worries, you finally stand up from your small breakfast table, intending to find Aemma and ask for her to accompany you on a walk through the gardens.

You make your way into the hallway, winding your way through the various passages of the Red Keep in your search for your sister, saying polite thank you's to anyone wishing you a happy early nameday.

“Auntie!” You hear a small voice call behind you as you step out into the Godswood, the stoic face of the weirwood tree there peering at you from under its canopy of red leaves. You turn on your heel, smiling brightly when you see Rhaenyra running at you at full tilt.

You scoop her up at the last second, grunting a small “Oof!” as she barrels into your arms, “If it isn’t my favorite little niece!” You chirp brightly, her small arms hugging around your neck, “What wickedness are you up to?”

“Training!” She answers, excitedly squirming in your grasp, perched atop one of your hips.

“Training?” You question with exaggerated interest, “Whatever for?”

“To ride Syrax!” She giggles, “She’s getting big and the keepers say she is almost ready!”

“How exciting,” you nod, setting her down before crouching before her, “She is growing quickly indeed,” you add, motioning for her to turn around before you begin braiding her hair, the same pale shade as your own, “Are the keeper’s training you as well?”

“Konir sagon ñuha gaomilaksir,” a deep, smooth voice answers from behind you. You gasp, whipping your head around just in time to see Daemon step into the courtyard, dressed in his familiar dark metal armor, Dark Sister hanging from his belt, “Ñuha riña.” He nods simply. (That would be my job.) (My lady.)

“Ñuha dārilaros,” you nod in return, quickly finishing Rhaenyra’s braid before standing and turning to face him, “I trust the morning has found you in good spirits.” (My prince.)

“Oh, it has indeed,” he says, eyes flashing with mirth as he smirks at you, his head cocking to the side, stands of pale hair contrasting against the dark metal covering his chest, “Eman ryptan mirri udir, ñuha riña.” He drawls. (I have heard some news, my lady.)

This catches Rhaenyra’s attention, her Valyrian lessons clearly paying off as she gasps excitedly as she bounces between the two of you, “What news? What news?”

“Nothing to worry your pretty head about,” Daemon chides, shaking his head with a small smile, “Just some news from the council, nothing that would be of interest to you,” he continues quickly, waving his hand dismissively before nodding his head to the old stone archway that leads back inside the Keep, “I need to speak with your aunt quickly, run along to the dragonpit. I’m sure Syrax would appreciate a treat before we begin training.”

Rhaenyra nods happily, twirling a small yellow flower around in her hands as she practically skips from the courtyard, singing, “A treat for Syrax, a treat for Syrax!” as she disappears down the hall.

“Ao jorrāelatan naejot ȳdragon lēda nyke?” You question once Daemon returns his attention to you, politely clasping your hands together. (You needed to speak with me?)

“Ser Harwin approached me earlier this morning in the yard,” he starts, eyes sweeping over your body like a predator eyeing its prey, “Vēttan nyke iā jiōragon.” He smirks, watching you blush under his gaze. (He made me an offer.)

“Gōntan ziry?” (He did?)

“Konir sagon paktot,” he continues, voice nearly patronizing as he slowly paces around you, circling you like a shark in the water, “He says you want me to fuck you.” He finishes, coming to stand before you once more, a proud smile on his face once he sees the shock on yours. (That’s right.)

“Iksis bisa drēje?” He asks once it becomes clear you don’t know how to respond. (Is this true?)

“Kessa.” You say simply, inwardly wincing at the wobble in your voice, though you try your hardest to appear confident. (Yes.)

Daemon snickers, “Naughty, naughty girl,” he tsks, shaking his head teasingly, one hand casually perched on the hilt of his sword, “He tells me I’m meant to be your nameday present; quite the honor, I must say.”

“Mērī lo ao agree naejot se jiōragon, ñuha dārilaros.” (Only if you agree to the offer, my prince.)

“Consider this my agreement,” he says proudly, gaze straying to the neckline of your gown, “I’ve been asked to arrive at your chambers at the hour of the owl,” his lilac eyes meet yours once again, “Is this acceptable, naughty girl?”

You flush deeply at his nickname, only used to sweet praises from Harwin, “That is most acceptable, my prince.” You nod.

“There’s no need to be so formal,” he chides, reaching forward to tuck a stray hair behind your ear, “Certainly not with the way we’ll be so intimately acquainted later this evening,” he steps back again, still smirking, “You may call me Daemon…or sir.” He adds, noting the way it makes you squirm.

“Very well…Daemon.” You tease, feeling proud when you see his eyes widen just the slightest bit.

“Perhaps this sweet little kitten has claws after all,” he smirks, eyes looking you up and down once more, “Very well,” he says with a nod, “I’m needed at the dragonpit, but I shall be seeing you and your husband later this evening.”

“Hen rhinka.” You nod as you watch him leave, your entire body relaxing, releasing unrealized tension, as soon as his back disappears from view. You allow yourself to breathe for a few moments, standing in the silent courtyard as your heartbeat returns to normal, before you leave, once again going to try and find Aemma, or really anything else to keep yourself occupied until the evening. (Of course.)

“I promise, sweet girl,” Harwin says, watching from the small sitting area in your chambers as you pace back and forth across the stone floor, “I told him all he would need to know. About you, about what you like, all of it.”

You nod, half listening, as you walk back and forth, feet bare on the large, plush fur rugs that cover the floor in front of the fireplace. The warmth of it on your skin was usually a welcome feeling, although tonight you only felt overheated. Outside, the sky was dark, the sun having set quite a while ago. King’s Landing once again sprawled out like a sea of stars beneath the Keep, mirroring the stars in the black sky overhead, the bright light of the moon reflecting off of the waters of the bay – the hour of the owl was drawing close.

“We do not have to do this if you’re having second thoughts, my love,” he says, standing and striding over to you, “If you wish, I will simply tell Daemon to fuck off.” He jokes, chuckling as you relax in his arms.

“I do want to!” You sigh, tilting your chin up to peer up at him through your lashes, “I’m simply nervous, I suppose. We’ve never done anything like this before,” you bite your lip, looking away from him as you resume speaking, “Honestly, I’m still shocked you agreed to it at all.”

“I want to share you,” he shrugs, pressing a comforting kiss to the top of your head, “Show off what’s mine.” He says lowly, chuckling when he feels you shiver against him – he knows very well that his possessiveness gets to you.

Suddenly, a knock sounds on the thick wooden door of your chambers, making you jump, which makes Harwin chuckle as he stands to open it; he had dismissed the guard that normally stood at your door in the evening, insisting that he take the night off. Not knowing what to do with yourself, you merely stand in front of the fire, nervously fidgeting.

Your husband gives you one last look, his eyes questioning; you nod to him, signaling that it was okay, that this was truly what you wanted, and he opened the door.

“Ser Harwin,” Daemon drawls, looking your husband up and down as he strides into the room, cocky as usual. Finally, his eyes land on you and you can’t help the small fizzle that takes hold in your belly at the way he stops suddenly in his tracks, his eyes glazing over as he looks you over, “My lady,” he says softly, nodding at you as he stalks closer to where you stand, feet still planted firmly in the carpet, “Ȳdra daor ao jurnegon gevie.” (Don’t you look beautiful.)

“He says I am beautiful,” you tell your husband, translating the Valyrian for him, an act that is second nature for you now. “Kirimvose.” you say, trying your hardest to keep your voice from trembling. (Thank you.)

Daemon comes to stand in front of you, his eyes searching yours for a second, looking for any hesitation you suppose. When he finds none, he hooks a finger into the delicate ribbon tied around your waist, the one keeping your silk dressing gown shut; again, he catches your eyes, and again you suppose he must find what he’s searching for because suddenly he’s pulling the bow there undone.

“She looks ravishing all the time,” your husband said, his breath fanning over the back of your neck as he seems to materialize behind you, rough hands skirting up your arms before coming to rest at your shoulders, “The most beautiful creature.”

“A beautiful creature,” Daemon agrees, his hands, not as rough as Harwin’s though still battle-worn, settling on your hips as he looks at your body appreciatively, his light eyes growing darker by the minute, “And a naughty thing.” He finishes, smirking when he hears a small, barely there whimper escape your lips.

“Is she?” your husband asks, gathering all your hair over one shoulder, exposing one side of your neck before he kisses you there, relishing the sigh he gets in return. You gasp as one of his hands comes up to cup your breast, warming your skin through the thin lace of your nightgown, “She’s such a good, obedient girl.”

You lean back into Harwin, your back against his firm chest as he kneads your breast, sending sparks flying down between your thighs. “Only bad little things fantasize about being taken by two men.” Daemon practically growls. Your eyes are only half open but you still don’t miss the look he gives your husband over your shoulder, nor do you miss the way the brunette subtly nods against the column of your neck. You moan when Daemon’s lips finally press against your own, his mouth soft and warm, tongue already licking into your mouth.

The motion presses you further back against Harwin, pressing his half-hard cock into the small of your back, the feeling making you near dizzy with lust as you realize that he truly wanted this just as much as you. Daemon’s tongue eventually wins its battle for dominance and the two of you kiss for a moment longer, the only sounds in your chambers being being yours and the prince’s lips moving together as your husband kisses, licks, and bites along your neck, causing you to mewl softly into Daemon’s waiting mouth like a puppy.

“Are you a bad girl, sweet little thing?” The prince growls against your jaw as he finally separates his lips from yours, trailing kisses down the opposite side of your neck.

When you neglect to answer, too caught up in the men’s attention, Harwin suddenly palms at the plump flesh of your rear, roughly grabbing and squeezing it enough to have you whining, “I believe Daemon asked you a question, my love,” he chucked, his other hand pulling down the neckline of your nightgown, nearly ripping the delicate lace, to reveal your breast, “It would be rude not to answer.”

“Gods!” You moan, sucking in a breath when you feel the blond’s lips wrap around your exposed nipple, his teeth teasing at the sensitive, peaked skin, “I-I’m a good girl!” You gasp, your fingers carding through silky hair, the same silvery shade as your own, “Harwin says I-“ You start, only to be brutally cut off as one of Daemon’s large hands wraps around your throat.

“Harwin may claim what he wishes,” he sneers, nose touching yours as he speaks, “But to me, you’re nothing but a lovely whore.”

You gasp, having never been called such a thing before. A part of you knows you should be offended, yet you can’t help the way your thighs squeeze together at his harsh treatment, knees nearly buckling beneath you.

Your husband tenses behind you, his kisses freezing on your neck before he lifts his head. Narrowing his eyes at Daemon over your shoulder, he grabs his forearm and pushes his hand off of you, “You are not to speak to her in that manner,” he growls, jaw squared, “Nor handle her so harshly. We discussed this earlier.”

“Oh, hush,” the prince dismisses, prying his hand from Harwin’s grasp with a tsk, “She’s enjoying it, naughty little thing.” He nods his chin at you, noting the blush on your cheeks and the way your chest is heaving.

Harwin’s eyes shift to yours, his hand tilting your chin up as he peers at you. Before he can speak, though, the large bells at the top of the Keep begin to chime, signaling the hour. Once, twice, all the way up to twelve. Finally, the hour of the owl had arrived, and with it your true nameday.

“Well, well,” Daemon drawls, abandoning you and Harwin to perch at the edge of your bed, helping himself go to the pitcher of wine sitting at your bedside, “You know, the girls in Flea Bottom have quite the… interesting nameday tradition.” He smirks, studying you and Harwin with amusement as he takes a sip of wine.

“What is it?” You ask, pulling your husband behind you as you approach the bed, accepting a glass of wine from Daemon. Beside you, Harwin shakes his head, glaring at the other man.

“We talked about this. I told you that I would be taking the lead–”

“You told me, yes,” Daemon interrupts, giving your husband a pointed look before shifting his gaze back to you, “However, it is her nameday. I believe she should get to decide.”

“Decide what?” You inquire, looking between the two men.

“Who will be giving you your birthday spanks, naughty girl.” The blond smirks, gazing at you appreciatively, “One for each year you’ve graced the realm with your presence.”

You looked back and forth between the two men again, Daemon looking at you as if you were a piece of prey, a prize to be won, and Harwin looking at you concerned, as if you were a precious treasure in need of protection. You deliberate for what feels like a long while in your mind – on one hand, Daemon was new and exciting, but you also knew of his unpredictable nature; on the other hand, Harwin was comfortable and safe to you, but wasn’t the entire point of this endeavor to branch out?

“Can…” you begin hesitantly, looking back and forth between the two men, “Can both of you do it?”

“I think that can be arranged, my sweet girl,” your husband says huskily, excited at the promise of exploring this particular act with you once more, “Why don’t you be a good little girl and kneel on the bed for us, hm? On all fours, as you normally do.”

At that remark, Daemon looks at you with great interest, making your cheeks heat up as Harwin helps you remove your robe, draping it over a nearby chair. He turns around quickly when he hears you gasp, only to see the prince laving his tongue over your nipple again, mouthing at it through the paper thin lace of your nightgown, as one of his hands busies itself with your other breast, palming at it desperately; his other hand visible through the thin material of your gown as his fingers tease at your center, brushing through the slick folds with practiced ease.

He can’t help but admire you for a short moment, cock hardening at the soft blush that settles across your cheeks, the way your chest heaves as you gasp with pleasure, tits bouncing as you writhe against the other man’s hand. Finally, he comes out of his reverie and strides to where you and Daemon stand, taking his place on the other side of your body.

He begins toying with you once more, guiding your mouth to his while his hands roam over your curves before one finally settles on your breast, the one unoccupied by Daemon’s tongue. His tongue battles with yours as his palm gently squeezes your breast, fingers teasingly pinching at your nipple, causing him to groan in satisfaction once you start mewling in the way he loves. His other hand joins the prince’s at your core, two of this thick fingers teasing at your opening, “Fuck,” he groans, nipping at your bottom lip with his teeth, “So wet, my love.” His fingers slide into you with a practiced ease, knowing exactly what you like after having spent nearly a year taking you apart on a practically daily basis.

They crook up perfectly, rubbing against that spot within you with the perfect pressure and accuracy. If there was one thing Harwin was determined to perfect from the moment you were officially declared his in the eyes of gods and men, it was bringing you pleasure in greater amounts than you’d ever thought possible. He couldn’t help the satisfied smile that spread across his bearded face as the sounds of your whimpers and whines grew more and more desperate, telling him once more that he was successful in his mission.

Just as your husband's fingers speed up within you, Daemon traces tighter and tighter circles around your eager bud, his mouth growing more insistent on your breast as he teases your nipple with his tongue and teeth, sucking it harshly into the warmth of his mouth.

“Getting close, naughty thing?” the blond asks teasingly, lilac eyes peering up at yours as he continued stimulating you.

You nod frantically, whining as Harwin begins tracing his lips down your jaw, right to that spot on your neck that he knows drives you crazy. “Let go, princess,” he husks, the tips of his fingers zeroing in on that small rough patch within you, “Give us your pleasure.”

You can’t help the noise that leaves you, a loud, desperate, whining moan that would leave you horribly embarrassed at any other time, but right now you don’t have the ability to care. The ministrations from the two men, along with the utterance of the one pet name Harwin only dared utter in private, send you tumbling over the edge. You feel your knees buckle, although you aren’t worried about falling, too dumb with pleasure to think but still reassured that two pairs of strong arms will surely hold you steady.

Fireworks explode behind your eyelids as you feel your center contract around your husbands fingers; the two men groan when they hear the slick sounds pouring out from between your thighs multiply nearly tenfold as your peak takes you, soaking Harwin’s fingers and wetting Daemon’s hand.

“What a naughty, dirty girl,” the prince teases, fingers only leaving your bud once your legs had started to twitch from the overstimulation, “Peaking over the fingers of two men,” you whimper as your husband carefully removes his fingers from you, face flushing when he immediately takes them into his mouth, licking off the evidence of your arousal, “No better than a common Flea Bottom whore.”

Again, Daemon’s words send a shiver up your spine, the knot that had just come unraveled in your stomach tightening once more. “She is a good girl,” Harwin corrects him, hands lovingly stroking over your body, “For peaking exactly when I commanded her to. Such a good, obedient girl.”

Your head spins at their words, head swimming as one man degrades you, clearly gaining pleasure from the way his teases and rude remarks affect you, while the other praises you so lovingly, proud at way his tender words affect you so after months of perfecting them, learning exactly which phrases drive you to madness and fully exploiting them.

“Are you ready for your sweet spanks, my good girl?” Harwin asks, brown eyes shining with love.

You nod breathlessly, still leaning on both men for support. Beside you Daemon chuckles, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Ask for it properly, naughty girl.”

“Ask us, sweetling.” Harwin nods encouragingly.

“Please…” you start softly, finally finding your voice, “Please, husband, sir, please may I have my nameday spankings?”

Daemon growls lowly in his chest, satisfied at you finally learning your place and addressing him the way he feels he deserves, “Get on the bed.” He commands easily, leaving no room for backtalk or questioning.

Blessedly, your sweet husband still sees fit to help you arrange yourself on the edge of the bed, taking your shaky legs into account as he helps you move. You’re indeed kneeling on all fours, your legs tucked up under you as your feet dangle off the bed, your ass in the air, though still covered by the lace of your gown.

You feel the air shift behind you as they move, both standing behind you still but Harwin to the left and Daemon to the right. The one of Daemon’s hands strokes down your back, you can feel him leaning over you as he trails his hand down from the very top of your shoulder blades all the way down to the small of your back, right where the curve of your ass starts; you can hear him hum appreciatively. His other hand drags up the back of one of your thighs and slowly, he slips his fingers under the hem of your gown. He pulls it up over your ass, letting the soft, silky fabric pool in the dip of your spine; your walls clench around nothing when you hear both men groan behind you.

“Gods,” Harwin breathes, rough fingers lightly tracing over your skin, “You get more beautiful every time I see you.”

“Pretty little cunt,” Daemon quips, smirking when he hears you whimper as he spreads your cheeks apart, hands gripping you hard enough that there are sure to be fingerprint sized bruises, “Wetter than the Narrow Sea.” He remarks, chuckling as he runs a thumb over the slit of your heat, marveling at the way your slick remains connected to his thumb by a thin thread for a second as he pulls his hands away.

“Ready, princess?” Harwin murmurs behind you, hands soothing where Daemon had grabbed you.

“Please!” You nod, hands gripping the furs spread across the bed.

Suddenly, a hand comes down on the left side of your ass, harsh but not overly painful; you whimper at the impact, walls clenching from the pleasant sting left behind. Harwin. You were sure of it – the two of you had only experimented in this way a scant few times but enough that you knew the feel of his blows.

Again, a hand comes down, this time making you jerk as a palm strikes the right globe of your rear. A sharp cry leaves your lips, back bowing for a second before the same hand is pressing harshly at the small of your back, “Keep that back arched, naughty little thing.” Daemon hums.

Harwin gives you a moment to breathe, a gesture you appreciate very much, before striking you once again. Again, you mewl as you feel the welcome heat spread across your skin. You turn your head, burying your face into the soft furs beneath you, only to practically inhale the wolf pelt there as Daemon brings his hand down again, making you gasp. Another cry leaves your lips, louder and harsher than the last as tears pool in the corner of your eyes, some already leaking onto the coat. The right side of your ass practically feels as if it’s on fire, the sting so harsh it makes your ears ring.

“That’s two,” Daemon taunts, smiling wickedly as he sees an outline of his handprint already blooming on your ass, “So many more left to go.”

Harwin leans over you, brushing the hair from your face, brows furrowing with concern when he sees your tears, “Are you alright, my love?” He asks, smoothing a hand down your back, “Do you wish to stop? We don’t have to continue.” He reassures you, smiling lovingly.

You shake your head, determined to see it through – determined to impress Daemon, really. “N-no,” you say tearfully, taking deep breaths to calm yourself, “I want to, please.”

“Don’t be so modest,” Daemon cuts in, gripping your cheeks harshly once again as he spreads them, tugging them somehow further apart than before as he clicks his tongue, pleased, “You love this,” his hand wetly smacks against your slit, making you whine as Harwin further soothes you, glaring daggers at the prince, “Little cunt’s soaking the bed.”

Your husband knocks his hands away, the ferocity of it making you gasp and peer over your shoulder, “We’ve discussed this,” the brunette hisses through his teeth, knuckles white as he grips Daemon’s wrist, “You will not handle her in such a manner, we agreed on this.”

“Oh, please,” the prince huffs, rolling his lilac eyes as he jerks his arm from Harwin’s grip, “She’s enjoying it, see?” You don’t have any time to react before his palm is once again smacking against your flesh, harder than the previous two hits combined. Your vision swirls, eyes stinging as tears blur your sight, a scream ripping its way from your throat as his hit shoves you further up the bed. You feel as if your entire lower half is radiating with pain, ears ringing once again.

There’s some commotion behind you, though it takes you a few seconds to get your whits about you enough to turn over, grimacing as the tender skin of your rear brushes against the pelts, ones that normally feel so soft now digging into your skin like dozens of little thorns. When you do finally clear your eyes, rubbing the tears away, your mouth practically falls open at the sight before you.

Harwin has Daemon pushed against the wall next to the bed, one of his forearms pinned down across his chest to hold him back; Daemon looks enraged, his teeth bared as he stares down your husband, “Unhand me, Strong.” He growls.

Harwin presses him down harder, chest heaving with anger, “You dare harm her,” he mutters, his other fist clenched at his side, “We trusted you for this and you harm her!”

“She fucking liked it!” Daemon retorts, struggling against your husbands strength — although strong in his own right, he had nothing on Harwin, “Go look at her fucking cunt, it’s soaked! She loves being hit!” He positively seethes, nodding his head toward you.

The brunette sneers, lip curling up in disgust as the other man continues to squirm in his grasp. You watch, worried, as the hand not pinning the prince to the wall shoots up and roughly grips Daemon by his throat, forcing his head back.

Daemon whimpers.

The world seems to stop in a single breath, the three of you staying quiet and still. Your eyes are wide, not believing the small sound you heard, but there was no mistaking it. Harwin seems just as shocked as you, taking a half step back from Daemon as soon as he hears the noise.

He’s quiet for a second more before a teasing, nearly sinister smile slowly spreads across his face, “She likes being spanked, you say,” he starts, putting more pressure on Daemon’s throat, “And you, your grace, like being choked, don’t you? Nothing more than a common Flea Bottom whore, right?”

You’ve never heard your husband use that tone before, so deep and threatening, it makes your thighs clench, a soft breath escaping your lips.

The small sound seems to remind both Harwin and Daemon that you’re still there and their heads whip toward you. They remain silent for a moment but then your husband smiles, looking between you and the prince with a mischievous smirk.

Harwin leads Daemon over to where you sit on the bed until both men are standing in front of you once again, the blond in the front with the brunette behind him, one hand holding his arms behind his back while the other remains wrapped around his neck. There is still a fire in Daemon’s eyes, though it’s merely a simmer now instead of a blazing inferno; you can’t help but be reminded of a tamed animal, of the dragons in the dragonpit — so much wildness choosing to be contained.

“I think you need to apologize,” Harwin starts, pushing Daemon forward until his legs hit the side of the bed, the two of them towering over you, “For hurting our lady, hm?”

Your breath catches at his choice of words, our lady. You watch as Daemon nods, his eyes half closed, glazed over by some kind of fog, his breathing slow and calm, as if he’s in a trance.

“Come now,” Harwin shoves him a little, just enough to make him jump, “Answer properly.”

“Yes….” Daemon whispers, hardly able to get words out around the grip Harwin has on his throat.

“Yes what?” Your husband asks slowly, words spoken through clenched teeth, his lips right next to the prince’s ear.

Daemon sighs, his shoulders sagging as any fight that remained in him seemed to vanish, “Yes, ser.”

“See?” Harwin teases, patronizingly tapping him on the cheek, “You can be good.” You see Daemon shiver at that.

Leaving Daemon to stand at the side of the bed, your husband bends down and kisses you softly, “You still desire this?”

You nod, looking deeply into his eyes as one of your hands cards through his curly hair, “Yes husband,” you whisper, “More than anything.”

“Stand.” Harwin commands simply, and you obey, coming to stand beside Daemon. “You,” your husband snaps, motioning at the man standing next to you, “Strip and lie down.”

Daemon does as he says, with no fuss for once. You can’t help but admire the way he moves as he removes his tunic and pants, his movements still so fluid and graceful despite the haze he seems to be in. After a moment, his clothes lie in a pile on the floor as he takes his place on your bed, laying on his back, half hard cock lying on his stomach, already leaking and flushed.

“Good.” Harwin praises simply, though you see Daemon’s brows flutter with pleasure. “My love,” he addresses you, giving you a gentle kiss, “Let me?” He asks, gesturing to your nightgown. You nod with a smile, letting him undress you. “Perfection,” he groans once you’re bare before him, dark eyes roaming your body.

“I want you to do something for me, princess,” he says, leading over to the bed, motioning for you to kneel on your knees next to Daemon.

“What’s that?” You ask, looking from your husband to the prince.

Harwin grabs your waist, much gentler than Daemon had ever touched you, and you can’t help but whimper, loving the way he manhandles you into position. Before you know it, he has you hovering over Daemon’s face, your entire body flushing as you realize what he wants.

“Sit.” He says lowly, letting you drop onto the prince’s waiting mouth.

“Oh!” You say in surprise, your thighs clenching around Daemon’s head. Immediately, you feel a rumble beneath you, making you whine as you realize he’s groaning with contentment as his tongue meets your aching heat. “Gods!” You gasp, hips moving of their own accord over his lips as your fingers tangle in his pale hair, causing him to groan more underneath you.

You pant, humping against his face like nothing more than the wanton whore he claimed you to be, mewls and whines escaping your lips constantly as your eyes squeeze shut.

You hear Harwin shuffling next to the bed and open your eyes, peering over your shoulder and shivering at the sight of your husband undressing, his muscular body on full display for you. Finally undressed, he turns to you, stroking his cock as he stalks toward the bed, eyes scanning over your body.

“Is he making you feel good, my little love?”

“Yes, sir!” You pant, nodding frantically. The bed dips under his weight as Harwin kneels on the bed next to you, his free hand coming up to palm at your breasts, thumb teasing over your nipples before he pinches them, humming appreciatively at the way you squirm atop Daemon.

“Good,” Harwin chuckles, leaning over to mouth at one breast while his hand continues teasing the other, “He must atone for earlier.” He finishes, letting go of his stiff cock to slap at Daemon’s thigh, making the man below you jerk and moan, his hands gripping at your rear tighter as his cock twitches against his abdomen.

You gasp, surprised by both the slap and the way Daemon’s lips seal around your bud in response, sucking it into his mouth and teasing it with his hot tongue as your hips grind down harder, “Oh, Gods, fuck!”

Beside you, Harwin stands on the bed, bending to kiss the top of your head, chuckling at the way you cling to him for support. “Shh, little sweetling,” he soothes, standing up straight, the sight of his cock making your mouth water as he fists it in front of your lips, “I have something you can occupy yourself with.” He teases, moving closer to you.

Smiling up at him, you softly lick the tip, pride swelling in your stomach at how much the slit is already leaking. You wrap your lips around the head, suckling softly as one of your hands untangles itself from Daemon’s hair to stroke the rest of Harwin’s length. You mewl around him as the prince continues feasting on your slit, plunging his tongue inside of you, deep groans vibrating through you every time he feels your walls clench around the muscle as he fucks it into you.

Slowly but surely, you take more of your husband into your mouth, eyes watering when he hits the back of your throat. He groans above you, half lidded eyes keeping contact with yours as he gently strokes his hands through your hair.

“Such a lovely, precious girl,” he grunts, his eyes nearly black but still shining with adoration, “Gods, princess, you’re perfect like this.”

Your husband’s sweet praise pushes you closer to the edge, the knot in your stomach growing dangerously tight as you rut against Daemon’s mouth, his tongue zeroing in your bud as he feels you moving more and more determinedly against him, his eyes rolling back in his head at the way you taste.

“Are you getting close, sweet girl?” Harwin asks, gently fucking his hips into your mouth.

You nod around his length, eyebrows furrowing together as you stare up at him pleadingly. Blessedly, your sweet husband can never bear to make you wait very long.

“Find your peak, my love,” Harwin huffs as he strokes his length, “Cover him with it.”

As always, you do as he commands. The knot in your belly finally snaps once more and you moan above Daemon, practically crying at the way each wave of your orgasm crashes over you, sending shivers down your spine. The prince slurps noisily below you, savoring your release as his cock twitches, leaking heavily onto his stomach.

“Ah!” You cry, hips twitching as Daemon’s tongue persists against you, only stopping when you lift yourself off of him and settle back onto his chest, “Seven Hells.” You breathe, your wet slit pressed tightly against the center of Daemon’s chest.

Harwin once again kneels on the bed and you peer over your shoulder, eyes widening as you see him swipe a finger through the pool of of arousal leaking from the flushed head of the prince’s cock, where it rests against his stomach, bringing it to your lips for you to suck off, which makes the man below you groan.

“Seems he wants something,” Harwin teases, “Shall we let him have it?”

“Please, sir,” you whine, nodding pathetically at the chance to finally sink onto Daemon’s cock, “Let him, please!”

“Aww, sweet thing,” Harwin coos, tenderly caressing your cheek, “Thank you, although you are not who I wish to hear from.”

At that, you can feel Daemon squirm beneath you, a determined set to his eyes, “Forget it.” He shakes his head, hands tracing over your curves.

“Really?” Harwin asks, reaching behind you and grabbing Daemon’s aching length, stroking him slowly, making the prince’s body go rigid as he practically whines beneath you, “You don’t want to feel our lady’s sweet little cunt on your cock?”

“Seven—“ Daemon chokes, hands gripping your waist enough to bruise. You can’t help but ruck your hips against him, your bud dragging deliciously against the barely there hair on his chest, “Fuck you, Strong.” He grunts, legs twitching as Harwin meanly squeezes at his length.

“I don’t think it’s me you want to fuck,” your husband taunts, shaking his head, “I know you want it, know you want to have your way with my little wife,” you can tell when Harwin begins stroking Daemon’s length again as the man underneath you tenses, his muscles pulling taut, “Simply ask nicely and you may have her.”

You watch Daemon for a moment, studying the pained look on his face, his jaw still clenched and determined. You know he won’t do as your husband commands, still too proud no matter how true Harwin’s taunts are. So, you take pity on him, unable to reign in your own desire either. Bracing your hands on his chest, you move yourself back along the length of his torso, coming to hover over his stomach just above where your husband continues teasing at his length.

Leaning down, you gently kiss along Daemon’s jaw until your lips are positioned just under his ear, “Tell him what he wants to hear,” you implore, your breath tickling his pale skin, “I want it as badly as you, please my prince, please just do as he asks.” You beg, rutting your hips against his firm stomach.

Daemon opens his eyes finally, dark with desire as he looks at you, watching as you nod encouragingly, your own brows set in a pleading furrow. Again, the prince sighs, his body deflating, “Please,” he starts, his voice barely a whisper at first, growing louder once you dip your head down and begin teasing his neck, “Please let me fuck her, let me please her.”

“Let you fuck who?” Harwin teases, finally releasing Daemon’s cock.

“Please, let me fuck your pretty wife,” Daemon sighs, his hands coming up to cup your breasts, making you gasp and rut your hips against his stomach again, “Please, ser.”

“That wasn’t so difficult, hm?” Your husband chuckles, making himself comfortable at the head of the bed, his back against the plush pillows. He fixes you in his dark gaze, muscular arms folded over his chest, “Ride him. Tame our dragon, sweetling.”

Our dragon. Again, his words make you shiver and you nod wordlessly, sliding further down Daemon’s lithe body before your center, dripping and aching, is finally positioned over his length. Once more, you look down at the prince’s face, his silvery hair spread in a halo around his head; he’s breathing harshly, his cock twitching against your center as he gazes at you, the animalistic lust in his eyes replaced with a glimmer that makes your heart twist — you’ve seen the same one in Harwin’s dark eyes time and time again.

Before you have time to dwell on it, Daemon’s hands grip your hips, pushing you down slowly. Both of you groan, his length stretching you deliciously. You brace your hands on his chest, nails digging into his skin as your hips sink lower and lower, cursing as he’s finally pressed inside you completely, his cock filling every inch of you as your walls pulse around him.

“Fuck,” Daemon grunts, his hands gripping at your waist and hips as his eyes roll back, “Tight little cunt, so good.” His hands suddenly grip your ass, making you whimper and grind yourself against him at the feel of his rough hands against your still tender skin.

You can’t help the moans and whimpers that escape your lips as you begin rocking in Daemon’s lap, angling your hips in a way that causes his head to brush against that spot deep within you, the one that makes your head spin. “Gods, shit!” You can’t help but gasp at the way he feels inside you, his cock stretching you nicely — not as wide as Harwin’s but just a hair longer, filling you to the brim.

“Does he feel good, my love?” Your husband asks, causing you to open your eyes and look over at him. You nod as you meet his eyes, the brown almost totally taken over by blackness as he relaxes against the pillows, eyes sweeping up and down your body as he watches you grind yourself atop the prince, “How does she feel, your grace?” He addresses Daemon.

The man below you groans, the wild look returning to his eyes as you start bouncing more frantically, “Fucking perfect,” he grunts, wrapping an arm around the small of your back and pulling you down to him, your chests pressing together, “Perfect, wet, fuck, wet little cunt.” He groans into your neck, hands gripping at your ass again.

You whine at the feel of his lips and teeth on your neck, your hands tangling in his hair. You whimper when you feel him bend his legs behind you, his thighs pressing against your bum; your whimpers turn to sharp cries as he begins thrusting up into you, spearing you down onto his cock over and over, the head nearly kissing your cervix as he does.

Your cries rise in volume the closer you get, your thighs tensed against his movements as the knot in your stomach tightens, your walls clutching at his length. You gasp as one of his hands comes up, abandoning your ass to wrap lightly around your throat, only holding it instead of squeezing. His movements make your bud rub against the small thatch of hair at the base of his cock, sending sparks throughout your body.

“Ooh, she’s getting close,” Harwin observes, lightly tugging at his length as he watches you come undone atop Daemon, “Don’t you want her to soak your cock?”

“Gods,” Daemon groans, feeling the way your walls keep getting somehow tighter around his cock. He pants as he moves his hips faster, punching his length into you relentlessly, savoring the way you gasp and moan into his mouth, “Yes, yes want it.” He groans brokenly, spiraling toward his own release as well.

“Aren’t you going to ask my permission?” Harwin teases, smirk spreading across his face at the frustrated groan that leaves Daemon. “You need my permission to make her peak,” your husband says, his gravelly tone making you shiver as you lose yourself, “Beg for it.”

This time, thankfully, Daemon does not protest, both of you too desperate. “Fucking hell,” he hisses, a light sheen of sweat on his brow, “Please, fuck, please I need to make her peak, please!” He huffs, pressing his forehead against your own, staring deeply into your eyes as he grabs at any flesh of yours he can reach.

“Very good,” you do not miss the way Daemon shivers at Harwin’s praises, “Make her come undone.” Your husband commands.

At this, one of Daemon’s hands buries itself between your two bodies, fingers frantically seeking out your bud and rubbing tight, wet circles into the sensitive flesh. Within seconds, you unravel, light bursting behind your eyelids as you cry out, fire igniting in your veins. Your walls pulse around Daemon’s cock as you cry out, your whole body shaking as your release flows over you in waves.

Even through the blinding pleasure you can tell Daemon is teetering on the edge, savoring your orgasm before he allows himself his own. Harwin can tell too and his smirk grows, a devious idea coming to mind, “You cannot finish inside her,” he growls, shaking his head at Daemon, “That is mine and mine alone.”

The prince curses, his eyes squeeze shut as he manages to lift you up, pushing you back to sit atop his thighs as one of his hands comes up to strip at his cock a scant few times before a low, rumbling growl settles in his chest. A second later, he jerks suddenly, abdomen contracting as he finishes over his fist, pearly cum dripping onto his stomach, some of it shooting onto your chest and torso as well, making you gasp.

The two of you breathe heavily as you collapse forward onto his chest, your tired muscles unable to hold you up; you whimper softly at the feel of his seed on your stomach, one of his hands stroking over your hair. “Thank you.” You sigh.

He laughs, kissing the top of your head, “You need not thank me, princess,” he says tiredly, his choice of pet name making your heart skip a beat, “The pleasure was mine.”

You feel the bed shift beside you before a pair of lips descend upon your back, kissing up to your shoulder. Your husband pushes your hair back and you smile up at him shyly. “You are truly perfection, my little love,” he smiles, “Has our dragon tired you out?”

You shake your head, reaching out for Harwin, “I want you,” you breathe, letting him flip you onto your back until you’re lying next to Daemon, “Please, take me, my love.” You beg, grabbing onto every part of Harwin you can as he positions himself between your legs.

“Fuck her,” Daemon says suddenly, his eyes scanning over Harwin, “I wish to see her break.”

You shudder at his words, your core clenching at nothing, making you whine. Harwin shushes you lovingly, running his length through the slick still dripping from your center. “Shh, I will give you what you want, sweet one,” he says as he pushes his head into you, already deliciously stretching you, “As I always do, always will.” He grunts, sinking into you.

Your eyes flutter, his cock still stretching your walls, causing your center to ache beautifully, your back arching on the furs. “Gods,” you breathe, moaning as Harwin bends down to lick into your mouth, your hands grabbing at his thick shoulders, “You feel so good inside me.”

He chuckles into your mouth before leaning back up, brown eyes gazing down at you adoringly, watching your chest bounce with every frantic breath you take as his hips finally press against yours. Groaning, he grabs at the backs of your knees, your legs bending as he pins them back, nearly folding you in half.

“Fuck,” he grunts, rutting into you as you squirm beneath him, “I swear to the Seven you feel better every time.” He praises, looking down at where his cock disappears into you, marveling at the way your cunt shines in the light of the many candles placed around your chambers.

The two of you move together for many moments, slick sounds from your center making you blush as you lose yourself in Harwin’s strong thrusts. He knows exactly how to unwind you after this much time together, and he wastes no time in doing so, a proud smile on his face as he feels your muscles tensing underneath him.

“Close already, pretty girl?” He asks, his curls tumbling wildly as he moves. You nod, words catching in your throat as you clench around his thick cock.

Beside you, Daemon, who has been watching with dark eyes all the while, slowly strokes his length, his other hand resting on your throat once more, his own breath growing more ragged each minute.

Harwin’s gaze shifts to him, his thrusts speeding up as he looks over the prince’s lean figure, “Up,” he commands, motioning for Daemon to stand next to him, “Watch as I claim her, see her in the way I do.”

Again, Daemon listens without a fight, rising from his place next to you as he comes to stand at the side of the bed, shoulder to shoulder with Harwin as he continues pumping at his cock, breathing heavily as he stares at the place where you and your husband connect.

Harwin bends down suddenly, the motion pulling his length from you and causing you to whine — though that quickly turns to a sharp gasp when you feel his tongue lick at your stomach. Tilting your head up, you look down in just enough time to see his tongue sweep through the pool of Daemon’s seed, still splattered on you. “Oh!” You exclaim, surprised as you watch your husband gather the other man’s spend on his tongue.

Leaning up, Harwin once again spears you on length before hovering his face over yours, his eyes searching your gaze. Knowing what he wants, you open your mouth, smiling through moans at the familiar sight of him gathering spit in his mouth. A second later, he is leaning down again, his lips nearly connecting with yours as he spits into your waiting mouth, sharing Daemon’s seed with you.

Your eyes roll back as you swallow, savoring the unfamiliar, heady taste of the prince as your cunt flutters. Above you, Daemon lets out a groan so loud he almost sounds as if he’s in pain.

“Good girl,” Harwin praises, smoothing a hand through your hair as he resumes his harsh thrusts, his other hand bracing itself against your lower stomach, thumb toying with your bud, “My good girl.”

“Seven Hells.” Daemon groans, fisting his cock harder and faster as he nears his own release.

“I’m close, my love,” Harwin pants, his thumb pressing against your bud harder, making your hips twitch under him, “With me?” He asks, half lidded eyes watching your own.

“Yes, yes, yes!” You moan in time with each of his thrusts, nodding your head wildly as you thrash within his grasp, pleasure threatening to overwhelm you.

“Watch as I claim her,” he commands Daemon, tangling a hand into his silvery hair, pointing his gaze exactly where he wants it — where the two of you connect, “Watch as I breed our princess.”

His words send you over the edge, your walls milking his length as you feel the heat of the two men’s gazes fixed on your cunt. You gasp as your peak washes over you once more, the strongest of the night, causing your entire body to spasm uncontrollably in Harwin’s strong grasp.

Above you, Harwin grunts as his cock spasms within you, painting your walls with his seed. As he tips over the edge, he turns his head to Daemon, pulling the dragon to him, their mouths crashing together. Hearing their twin groans, you manage to open your eyes, the sight before you nearly making you peak again. Their lips battling for dominance, neither relenting as their tongues tangle together, grunts and growls filling each other's mouths.

Daemon finishes at nearly the same second your husband does, his seed splattering onto the furs beside you as his chest heaves.

Harwin comes to a stop within you, his hand softening in Daemon’s hair though he does not pull away. You watch them kiss for a moment more, surprised at the heat building within you at the sight. Your walls clench around your husband's spent cock, making him jump and finally pull away from the other man, facing you with a knowing smile as you blush, your eyes flitting between four others.

“Vaogenka riña,” Daemon drawls, his hands grasping one of your legs, massaging the muscle of your calf as your foot rests delicately on the center of his chest, “Taking pleasure from watching your husband with another.” (Dirty girl.)

“Watching him with you.” You clarify with a grin.

Happily groaning, Harwin withdraws his length from you, shushing you as you whine. You feel your husband's seed dripping from you a moment later and both men hum appreciatively at the sight.

“Shall I draw us a bath, sweetling?” Harwin asks, brushing sweat from your forehead, “I know you do not like to go to sleep so dirty, though if you are too spent…”

You shake your head, giggling as both men help you stand on shaky legs, “I would gladly take a bath, husband,” you look between the two of them before your gaze settles on Daemon, “With both of you?”

Daemon kisses you, much sweeter than he had before, “Hen rhinka, dārilaros.” He smiles, picking you up by the backs of your legs, making you squeal with laughter as he carries you over to the tub, sitting on the edge with you on his lap as Harwin prepares the bath, just the way you like. (Of course, princess.)

A few moments, and kisses, later your husband confirms it’s ready. He steps into the bath first with a curse, “I do not know how you find pleasure in this heat,” he jokes, gritting his teeth as his skin grows accustomed to the hot water, “Caraxes may as well be burning me where I stand.”

Daemon laughs at that, the two men helping you into the bath, settling you against Harwin, a position you’d taken many times before. You sigh gratefully as the water warms your tired skin, the sweet smelling oils relaxing you, “Hush,” you chuckle, watching as the prince lowers himself into the water as well, on the opposite end of the large tub, “It feels perfect.”

Daemon sighs in agreement, long arms resting on the lip of the tub as he tilts his head back, the steam making silvery strands of his hair cling to his shoulders and chest. “Perfection indeed.” He says contentedly, making Harwin’s chest shake with laughter against your back.

Your eyes droop closed after a moment, Daemon massaging your feet and legs as Harwin busies himself with washing your shoulders, neck, and chest.

A gentle breeze billows through the sheer curtains of your chambers, the cool air feeling delicious on your heated skin, the smell of Aemma’s sweet blossoms in the palace gardens making your lips quirk up into a tired smile.

“Sleep, princess.” Harwin commands gently, whispering against your neck.

“Ēdrugon.” Daemon echos. (Sleep.)

You obey.

taglist: @fan-goddess @marthawrites @helloworldiamnotarobot @drakonflames @aemshaircare @imaegontatgaryenwife0 @valeskafics @watercolorskyy @marysucks-blog

(tags are based on your answers to my google form; if you were mistakenly tagged, please contact me & update your answers on the form! thank you!)

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jackiepackiee · 4 months ago

Text

𝒟𝑒𝓂𝑜𝓃 𝒮𝓁𝒶𝓎𝑒𝓇

𝐻𝒶𝓈𝒽𝒾𝓇𝒶 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒸𝓉𝓈 𝓉𝑜 𝑅𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇! 𝒟𝒶𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒢𝑒𝓃𝓎𝒶

𝒲/ 𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝐻𝒶𝓈𝒽𝒾𝓇𝒶

GN! Reader expect for Tengens part

𝒮𝒶𝓃𝑒𝓂𝒾 𝒮𝒽𝒾𝓃𝒶𝓏𝓊𝑔𝒶𝓌𝒶 - 𝒲𝒾𝓃𝒹 𝐻𝒶𝓈𝒽𝒾𝓇𝒶

Contrary to a lot of headcanons I’ve seen, Sanemi would be happy about this

Obviously not outwardly smiling and laughing, but a reserved and peaceful relief

He wants the best for his younger, and now only, brother

And he wishes for nothing more than his happiness and has always hoped for a lover for him to make happy

Family that Genya could have that wouldn’t leave or be tainted like he was

Kind and loving

Now… he wasn’t expecting this lover to be a fellow demon slayer

Especially another Hashira

Sanemi and you, before all of this, get along fine

He respects the other hashira, and obviously sees your strength and drive

But he’s not overly kind, he’s just himself and standoffish

When he does find out about this however, don’t expect a huge reaction

Because he doesn’t know how to react

It’s most likely that you wouldn’t tell him outwardly, and Genya doesn’t speak much with him

Whatever the situation may be, he looks at the two of you for a second

Genya, having grown up with him, recognizes the look in his eyes

It’s the look he’d have with their mother and younger siblings

Yet much fainter now

Sanemi is protective, and this new fire is to cradle you two with your feelings

He wants the best for his brother, and you’re perfect for him

Kind, incredibly powerful, and strong willed

Another person to look out for Genya while able to give him the affection Sanemi fails to deliver

For the sake of happiness, let’s say Sanemi and Genya speak more

Sanemi tells Genya to not be an idiot and treat you right

Before a date he’ll sometimes silently approach Genya and fix his little arrangement of flowers with a huff

“Make sure they put them in water…”

As for your relationship with Sanemi

It’s more like you two are enemies and comrades at the same time

You’re upset at his harsh behavior, talking back at him when he berates anyone

but also willing to die for Genya just like he is

Although he’ll make sure that never happens

Unbeknownst to you, you’re now on his protection radar too

How can Genya be at his best without you?

Lucky you! Dating Genya and getting his scary brother as your new bodyguard

𝒢𝒾𝓎ū 𝒯𝑜𝓂𝒾𝑜𝓀𝒶 - 𝒲𝒶𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝐻𝒶𝓈𝒽𝒾𝓇𝒶

Giyuu is, like most things, indifferent

He’s happy for you, and happy that you could find love

It’s admirable how you find time to balance work and a more domestic life

But… he’s him

And won’t pay it too much mind

Not wanting to get into your business

To add a little more to this, let’s make a scenario!

You and Giyu are on a mission

And on this mission you’ve been instructed to assist at a small village

Multiple lower rank slayers have gone missing

Sooooo, you both make the journey

Only to find out Genya is a victim to a lower moon

Along with a bunch of other lower ranks of course

You and Giyu make quick work of the smaller demons, but the lower moon obviously poses a challenge

It’s relatively normal until he sees the demon go directly for Genya

It had read your feelings and went for your most important emotional connection

Just before the sharp nails reached Genya, Giyu severed the hand off

He wasn’t sure what made his body move on its own, but seeing you happily embracing your boyfriend after the battle was enough to pull a small smile onto Giyu’s face

Willing to do anything to assist his fellow hashira

𝒦𝓎ō𝒿𝓊𝓇ō 𝑅𝑒𝓃𝑔𝑜𝓀𝓊 - 𝐹𝓁𝒶𝓂𝑒 𝐻𝒶𝓈𝒽𝒾𝓇𝒶

Despite being only slightly older than you and Genya, Rengoku acts like a big brother

Laughing (in his way, not a mocking way) while patting Genya’s back

Genya of course blushes and acts like it’s something to ignore

Rengokus enthusiastic response makes him embarrassed!

Now this man is probably one of the first to know (because Mitsuri gossiped to him and his brother over lunch)

And while his energy is over the top, he won’t share the secret

He’s a smart man, and very in tune with emotions

So he knows that it can’t be easy for you

Demons are enough of an issue, no more pressure trying to keep a secret as big as a relationship

Now he loves to talk just as much as he loves to listen

You’re like a little sibling and he’ll listen to all your rants

“The way he wore his hair today. It curled up after the rain and..!”

He won’t judge you for your blushing while recounting the events

Instead he’ll try his best to make that situation happen again

Genya happens to have his hair like that everyday now?

It’s because Rengoku told him that leaving his hair the way it is after air drying is healthy!

(He totally lied, he just knows you think it’s cutest right after it dries)

And Genya believes him, always taking the advice

Which leads to cuter and kinder Genya and more often occasions of you swooning

𝒯𝑒𝓃𝑔𝑒𝓃 𝒰𝓏𝓊𝒾 - 𝒮𝑜𝓊𝓃𝒹 𝐻𝒶𝓈𝒽𝒾𝓇𝒶

Oh boy…

You’re both in for a ride

Tengen is probably also one of the first people to know

The man has three wives, he knows what it looks like when two idiot teens are in love

Especially when one of them is you who’s never been distracted from training expect when Genya is with you

And with Genya who seems to train even harder to not only impress Sanemi but now you too

Speaking of his wives, they’re probably the reason you know they Tengen found out

It was some “secret flashy plan”

It was early in you and Genyas relationship

And Suma, Hina, and Makio suddenly snuck up on you and stanched you away into the sound hashita estate

They gave you a makeover

Makio and Suma picked out a pretty outfit while Hina gently did your hair and a little bit of makeup

The entire time you four all gossiped, which ended up in your blushing while blabbering about Genya and your early stages of dating

Genya… he wasn’t so lucky

Tengen stole him away and was on his “make over” duty

Not that Genya and Tengen are bad in their respective rights, it’s just…

Genya is a hard around the edges boy and Tengen is Tengen

But he eventually cracked and gave him some serious advice that wasn’t just “I have three wives, I’m a ladies man”

All while helping him find an outfit that isn’t his uniform

“Girls… they’re less complicated than you think. And that one, she’s in for the hell of it. So you have to treat her nice, and she’ll do the same. You’re both good kids, you’ll be fine.”

This all leads to you looking like an angel by your makeover and him blushing furiously

And… Tengens plan may have just set up the date when you two had your first kiss!

𝒮𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑜𝒷𝓊 𝒦𝑜𝒸𝒽ō - 𝐼𝓃𝓈𝑒𝒸𝓉 𝐻𝒶𝓈𝒽𝒾𝓇𝒶

Shinbou is very intelligent

She knows patterns and human behavior

And she’s familiar with Genya after his demon consumption

So it’s very obvious to her what’s going on

Especially after he’s the first to visit you and visa versa

She remembers the day she really found out though… wasn’t a good one

Genya had eaten demon flesh again, even if instructed by everyone to stop

Gyomei said it was immoral, Sanemi said it was stupid, and Shinbou said it was unhealthy

But you, you hated it the most

Seeing him become something he’s not

You loved him, not a demon

And hated the danger it proved

So when this night came, hell broke loose

He had eaten demon and transformed for the night

It’s just that you saw him right before sunrise

And we’re unsure if he had transformed back into a human before the sun

Leading you to leave the battlefield, covered in bruises and pushing past every slayer who tried to speak to you

When you met Shinbou, you started crying

Genuine tears one only cried after the loss of their life

Being herself, she hugged you

And tried to help by inquiring your emotions

“G-Genya! Sniffle Is he here? He was still a demon minutes before sunrise.”

She understands and ushers you someplace

Genya is fast asleep, making a cute face as if he was dreaming

You never outwardly told her, but she’ll never forget the fear at the thought of losing him, and the relief in your eyes and you feel to the ground in tears at his survival

𝑀𝓊𝒾𝒸𝒽𝒾𝓇ō 𝒯𝑜𝓀𝒾𝓉ō - 𝑀𝒾𝓈𝓉 𝐻𝒶𝓈𝒽𝑒𝓇

Unbothered king

Now he’s friends with Genya but both are rather reserved people

Not the type to share much about their lives and feelings

Let’s pretend this is after his memory is restored

Muichiro is a good kid, and your friend as well

But is pretty unaware of romance and honesty not that interested

Not that he won’t listen

You could talk him ear off about anything and he’d hum in acknowledgment

He just doesn’t have much input

You three do hang out together sometimes

If you’re more extroverted it works well

You pull them along to do fun things

You three really getting to act your age and mess around

If you’re more introverted this is one of the chillest groups ever

When Genya is around people he trusts (his lover and friend who are both Hashira) he never yells or acts over the top

He’s actually rather quiet just like Muichiro, especially when in his presence

The one real involvement of Mui in romance is Genya asking if the flowers he picked are good and Mui nodding even though he knows absolutely nothing about gift giving or flowers

𝑀𝒾𝓉𝓈𝓊𝓇𝒾 𝒦𝒶𝓃𝓇𝑜𝒿𝒾 - 𝐿𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝐻𝒶𝓈𝒽𝒾𝓇𝒶

Either your best dream or worst nightmare

She is more enthusiastic about this relationship than you are!

Expect weekly letters inquiring your dating status

Have you had your first kiss?

He held you hand?

You had a sleepover?!?

And the second she sees you she’s bouncing in excitement

Pulling you to the nearest place to sit and interrogating you

For being the love hashira, she’s pretty clueless

She always wants to know every cute detail

“You kissed his cheek? The scar or the other side? Did he blush? He always blushes around you!”

This is what I mean by dream or nightmare

Either you get embarrassed about the question or love the gossip about your lover

She’s the more supportive, giving you amazing date ideas

Even if most of them have to do with eating

She’s the first to know about your first kiss and this girl wants the WHOLE story

She definitely tells Obanai too (if you’re okay with it)

She doesn’t talk to Genya much though :(

Especially since the first and only time she tried to ask about your relationship his face lit up bright red and he seemed to freeze

“All I did was ask about your relationship and he didn’t respond! The conversation was fine before that!”

But he is never surprised when he gets a visit from her crow with a letter of all your new favorite foods, places, and items

She’s an excellent gift giver and wants to help him

As if he didn’t already know all of that, he genuinely appreciates the effort

This girl is your biggest fan!

𝒢𝓎ō𝓂𝑒𝒾 𝐻𝒾𝓂𝑒𝒿𝒾𝓂𝒶 - 𝒮𝓉𝑜𝓃𝑒 𝐻𝒶𝓈𝒽𝒾𝓇𝒶

Gyomei knew first

He’s a wise older man and a observant mentor

And while you may be off most of the time, Genya is always training under him

And he doesn’t fail to notice Genya always hitting that much harder whenever you are gone on a long mission

I’m saying this man knew Genya had a crush before Genya knew that himself

And he was moved, brought to tears and not paying attention to Genyas huffs of embarrassment

Genya would never yell at him of course

Gyomei is a smart man

And with that he knows a lot about kids (he considers you both kids)

So he’s well aware of your dancing around your feelings

And that upsets him

Your time on this earth is very likely to be short as demon slayers, so you both shouldn’t be wasting it

That is why, as the oldest hashira, he gets some plans in motion

Why are you suddenly on more missions with Genya?

Why do you both end up at the same wisteria house?

Why is it that you both happen to have the same days off?

Gyomei Himejima is why baby

He wants what’s best for the people under his care, even you can take care of yourself

And if he has to put in some forced proximity? So be it

𝐼𝑔𝓊𝓇𝑜 𝒪𝒷𝒶𝓃𝒶𝒾 - 𝒮𝑒𝓇𝓅𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝐻𝒶𝓈𝒽𝒾𝓇𝒶

Obanai does care

Not some bullshit of him being uninterested with other people’s lives

He sees you as a child (you’re obviously around Genya’s age) and knows that only so many things could make a child in the demon slayer corps happy

He knows neither of you have had good lives

If you had, you wouldn’t be in this damn job

That being said, with how withdrawn he is you’d probably think he didn’t even know you and Genya were an item

But he’s observant

And cares for his fellow hashira just like everyone else

He won’t have much to do with anything

But best believe he listens to both Sanemi complain and Mitsuri babble about you two

Sanemi is trying to seem tough

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just-some-user-hunny · 5 months ago

Note

I’d imagine bastard!Reader has a much closer relationship with her guard than anyone else in the keep and that includes sharing stories about her life with her mother

I’m imagining her mother had a couple traditions to celebrate birthdays (or namedays as they call them) every year and when her well-ish meaning new family tries to go all out it just completely overwhelms reader so she tries to hide. But her sworn shield finds her and they do the birthday traditions together just the two of them every single year!

I completely agree with the wording of 'well meaning but overwhelming' families reaction to her name day, because it would be exactly like that! 😅

You can imagine the overall festivities that occur every year- Rhaenyra loves to go all out, along with the rest of the family who add more and more to everything. We should have pretty flowers everywhere, Helaena will suggest. We should have a giant feast with guests, suggests Aegon- who's eager for wine and celebration. We should give her many gifts of books and fine jewelry, Aemond will chide in.

Before you know it, the whole day is dedicated to dancing and feasting. The castle is filled with music and laughter and light as everyone enjoys wine and makes merry.

But obviously, it's gotten so over to the top and extravagant, it's... Overwhelming. There are too many people, too many gifts and flowers clogging the corner of her room and the entirety of her bed, and it's like every part of her safe space has been invaded and made a parade of. She just wanted to celebrate her name day the same way she did back at home- a simple, but heartwarming day of simply having little chores to do, and being gifted something like fruit and a toy sewn from cloth that her mother made her. It's all she needed, there was no noise about it- she wasn't shoved in some limelight to be gawked at. To be whispered and gossiped about by high lords and ladies, about how controversial she is for even standing there in her pretty birthday dress.

Her name day feels like it's not even her day anymore, despite the eager and extravagant displays of affection from her new family. They mean well... But it's... Simply too much.

It makes her want to hide behind curtains like a frightened mouse, or squeeze herself beneath her bed to avoid the crowds of people.

Her sword protector however? He listens to her. Abides by what he can recreate to his best abilities, like taking her out for a simple day of buying some fruit in the market whilst under his protection and concealment of her within his cloak, and buying some honeyed cake and eating it messily with sticky fingers in the garden, away from prying and gawking eyes. The day is simple and sweet, just like she remembers. It becomes their little tradition every year.

Even when princess!reader is older, and her knight grows silver with age, he still keeps to his promise.

#bastard!princess reader #bastard! reader #asks #yandere hotd #platonic yandere house of the dragon

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redcrowncafe · 2 months ago

Text

FANFICTION CHAPTERS IN SHORT

Here you will find a summary of the chapters so far, so there will be spoilers. There may not be all of them so I'll add them from time to time.

Be warned.. spoilers!!!

Chapter 1: Introduction

The chapter begins with Lambert arriving to Camelliatown in a taxi. They are freshly graduated from university and they're moving to a new city to spend some time alone and learn how to be independent on their own, working at a "simpler" job while looking for some more close to their study's field.

Once they clean and fix their new home, after stumbling into a certain three eyed mean cat who told em to fuck off, they start giving their CV to several places. They find Ratau's coffee shop and manage to get hired after Midas quits the cafe after he wins the lottery. Lambert is happy about it even if they find out that mean cat works there and will be their colleague.

When they come back home and look outside the terrace they meet their new neighbor: Ratoo. They think he's similar to someone they've seen, but they don't know it's Ratau's older brother.

Chapter 2: Gerberas for the café

After facing some insecurities due their memories of struggling to fit in back in university, Lambert starts their first day of work at the Red Crown Café. They arrive pretty early and Ratau shows approval, then expresses frustration towards Narinder, revealing he always arrives late and sometimes never shows up, without even warning him beforehand. He hints at some issues the coffee shop had to went through after its best era, but refuses to elaborate, leaving Lambert confused. The sheep then gives him the idea of renovating the workplace aesthetically and they all agree on getting some flowers to decorate the entrance.

Lambert goes to the flower shop to buy the flowers Ratau gave them and they meet the owner, who is Forneus, who also sells handmade things in the same place. In fact Lambert lays their eyes on a green sweater and Forneus decides to keep it aside for them so they can buy it whenever they want.

When Lambert comes back they find Narinder, who is receiving a lecture from Ratau for his being late, and when they show the flowers they bought he acts mean. Things get worse when Narinder spits in the drink that was preparing to a customer and Lambert takes it away from him, pouring its contents in the sink. Angrily, Narinder drags them in the storage room and pims them on the wall, insulting them and what they're doing for the shop, but when Lambert takes a stand he fails to sustain his point when Ratau interrupt them awkwardly.

Lambert gets to know one of Ratau's friends: Klunko, who is silly and kind. He helps them placing the flowers the sheep bought in the vases and leaves a good impression on Lambert. When they come back home, they don't realize someone is watching them.

Chapter 3: Fake cigarettes

Ratau is visiting his brother's house before starting the day of work. He knows Ratoo is depressed and when he doesn't find him in any room, he starts to fear the worse, but thankfully when he checks the terrace he finds he simply fell asleep on a chair outside.

Lambert meets the Fox in the café while Ratau is in the bathroom, and the Fox, after introducing his character with politeness, he starts to insult them without apparent reason while they are preparing their order and they don't find the strenght to fight back. After the Fox leaves Narinder arrives and sees Lambert leaving the coffee shop in tears.

Lambert is crying on a bench not too far from the café, and when they see Narinder reaching them and trying to comfort them in his own special way, by telling them they should never let someone step on their feet just because someone is a customer, they are pretty surprised by it and starts seeing him under a different light.

After Lambert comes back to the café with Narinder and Ratau comfort them too, they get to know the rest of Ratau's friends and they end up playing cards together. Narinder seems to adore Shrumy.

At the end of the day Lambert has a nice conversation with Ratoo, who gives them advices on how to befriend the mean colleague. Anyways, the following day Lambert will visit a new city since Ratau suggested them to take a day off because of the stressful day they had to endure.

Chapter 4: Abandoned Necklace

Ratau wakes up in Shrumy's bed and panics because he remembers what happened the previous night. He finds him in the kitchen and, after Shrumy insists on Ratau staying to his place for the morning, failing, they have a lovely conversation while the turtle prepares his horrible coffee. Ratau starts to feel nostalgic, remembering about how it was to be with him, and when Shrumy notices it he starts to get bitter and kicks him out of his apartment.

When Narinder gets to the café to work, before Ratau arrives, he finds the vases flipped over and the plants are a mess. When the owner arrives and sees what happened he seems shocked, but pretends to not to know what and why it happened, belittling the event and looking suspicious in the eyes of Narinder.

After a calm morning, Lambert visits the nearby city, that is bigger. They get to buy a new dress, even if it isn't the one they wanted to get in the beginning, they visit a park and they find a LGBTQIA+ bookstore café, where they meet Heket, Leshy and Shamura. Lambert doesn't get a good impression of the first two, due Heket's coldness and Leshys nervousness, while they're visibly having a crush on Shamura.

The chapter and with Ratau meeting the Fox for mysterious reasons at night and with Lambert finding a moon necklace on the beach.

Chapter 5: Vanilla Extract

Narinder wakes up from an unpleasant and confusing nightmare featuring Shamura and start their day in a depressing way. When he arrives late at work and Ratau lies him Lambert being already here to make him feel guilty, he explodes and tries to stab him with a soft straw. Meanwhile Lambert is visibly in love because of Shamura and both Narinder and Ratau fear they're high. Lambert works in a very distracting way because of their crush, ending up to pour too much vanilla essence in someone's order.

During the day, Ratau understands Shrumy is trying to avoid him and the only way he manages to get the turtle's full attention is when he mentions the Fox. Meanwhile Narinder manages to manipulate Klunko into telling them why Ratau and Shrumy are having a weird time thanks to reverse psychology, so Klunko tell them about the fact they were a couple once but broke up several years ago due Ratau not telling his parents about his gay boyfriend.

After work Narinder drags Lambert away again, but to tell them about the fact he's sure Ratau is hiding something and that he wants their help to investigate. Lambert agrees but at one condition: to hang out so they could at least get to know each other a bit more. Narinder agrees, and then receives an unpleasant call from his landlord.

Chapter 6: Mushroom pizza

After moments of gender dysphoria, self hatred and ADHD syntomps, Narinder arrives late at the restaurant with Lambert, who forgives him for letting them wait so long. The two get to know the owner of the pizza place, Sozo, who Lambert learns he is now happily married with another man. Meanwhile, Narinder and Lambert seem to have a nice conversation: they joke around, tease each other, but for a reason or another Lambert hit the wrong nerve and manage to piss Narinder off, turning that pleasant, casual dinner into an awkward and depressing one.

When they are going to come back home they see Forneus being cornered and attacked by hooded people who want her money. Narinder is paralyzed from the fear, but when Lambert sees one of them pulling out the knife they vocally intervene, trying to stop them. They manage to distract them and Forneus flees, but this makes the criminals pretty angry and start to chase them and Narinder. During the flight Lambert feels sick, and when Narinder takes a sigh of relief because of the danger they escaped, he sees his friend passing out in front of him.

Lambert wakes up in Narilamb's place, a very small apartment, and that's where they admit they have a congenital heart defect. Narinder tries to convince them to talk about it to Ratau, but they insist on waiting for the right time. The chapter ends with Narinder telling his friend to stay for the night and then he plays the bass in front of Lambert's sparkly eyes.

Chapter 7: Missed calls

Narinder wakes up near Lambert and disapproves the fact they're drooling over his pillow, having one of their sweet dreams featuring a certain person. After the two wake up and talk about the events that took place the previous night, the landlord enters the apartment to talk to Narinder, and suddenly shows disapproval when he sees him with another person, which is against the rules of his rent. He doesn't believe in their story while displaying his bigotry and ableism. When he leaves the two realize they're late for work and go together to the café.

When Narinder and Lambert try to explain what happened to Ratau, he forgives their being late but don't seem to take seriously anything they report, which brush them the wrong way, especially Narinder who is deeply disappointed. Shrumy doesn't approve Ratau's behaviour as well and brings him to the storage room to talk about it. The two have an argument but Shumy learns Ratau doesn't want to minimize what happened and that he simply wants to hide his secrets to protect them, then Shrumy explains that even if Ratau is doing so to keep the workers safe, he's getting the opposite result.

At the end of the day of work, Narinder leaves with an upset expression without even saying bye, which makes Lambert sad, but then Ratau explains them he acts like this because he's scared of rain, in fact it was very cloudy.

Ratau and his friends bring Forneus to the police station, where she reports the aggression of the previous day to the cops. They don't do much about it and she's so unhappy about it that she screams in anger mentioning a certain Delilah. Ratau and his friends are forced to drag her outside to avoid troubles with the police and after they bring her back home, Shrumy comforts Ratau who feels guilty and offers him to sleep in his house that night.

Chapter 8: Baggages

The chapter opens with Kallamar and Leshy interacting behind the counter. Kallamar comments the ugly color combinations worn by some customers, while Leshy replies with more creepy comments directed to him and taking advantage of his hearing impairment to not to repeat the mean things he said to him. Leshy also shows disapproval and frustration when Kallamar talks about removing a star that Narinder drew on the wall before leaving.

When Lambert enters the bookstore cafe Kallamar serves him and introduces himself in a very polite, almost dramatic way, also explaining his disability (hearing) and the ones owned to the other two colleagues. He looks a bit weird, but leaves a good impression on Lambert. When the sheep sees Shamura and they don't seem to recognize them they feel horribly embarassed, but then that's how they learn about their friend's memory impairment. The two happily chat again and Shamura lets Lambert give them their phone number, that is also secretly taken by Kallamar.

The following day, on Monday, Narinder manages to get to work on time, but he's particularly tired and silent. During their day of work anyways, Lambert catches Narinder being bullied by the same woman he tried to give her that drink in which he spitted during the first day of Lambert's work. She reveals to be transphobic towards him and it turns out that wasn't the first time she was verbally attacking him. So Lambert defends their friend and kicks the mean customer outside the café, surprising Narinder.

Once the day of work is over, Lambert meets Forneus again, who thanks them for the help they gave her when she was being attacked by those criminals and, as a gift, she gives them the sweater that kept aside specifically for them. Then, when they're about to come back home with the new sweater, they see Narinder being dramatically kicked out by the landlord because of his inability to pay the rent for more than one month. Lambert tries to comfort their colleague and convinces him to sleep in their home until he finds a new sistemation.

Chapter 9: Guns

Lambert welcomes Narinder in their home and he seems to be happy to not have to sleep in the streets. Anyways, he definitely changes attitude when he finds there is only one double bed and decides to sleep on the sofa, even if this one is terribly uncomfortable. Narinder also opens up about his mental health issues linked to depression before they go to sleep.

The following day Narinder punches Lambert in the face while he's sleeping because he doesn't want to be waken up, and after eating breakfast the cat finds Ratau talking at the phone, talking about someone meeting mysterious. The two manage to hear the whole thing and to not get caught by Ratau, then they decide to follow him after work to see what is he really hiding.

When the moment arrives, the two struggle to follow Ratau because of the not functioning street lights and Narinder seems to be concerned with his physical state. Anyways they finally find Ratau and they see him courageously facing the same Fox that insulted Lambert days ago. He lends him a empty envelope telling him he won't give him any more money, and the Fox starts to punch him in front of the two scared colleagues who get caught by Klunko and Flinky, who were here too. After the Fox tells Ratau he's not going to kill him, but attack the people he cares about just to see him suffer, Shrumy appears and immobilizes the criminal. Anyways, he finds himself surrounded by his sidekicks he finds himself forced to leave him go. When the evil guys leave Ratau invites everyone to his house so he can finally give Narinder and Lambert the explanations they deserve.

Chapter 10: Cracks

Once they all get to Ratau's house, Flinky starts medicating his wounds while he explains how he started to pay the Fox many years ago to protect his café because of issues and troubles unknown people caused. He is aware about the fact it was a mistake and he regrets it everyday.

After said explanation, Lambert sees Narinder looking at the raindrops on the windows with a tense expression, this is where Narinder expresses his illogical yet intense repulsion for rain. He gets melancholic and Lambert fails to comfort him.

The same night Shrumy and Ratau sleep in the same bed and they almost kiss, but Ratau steps back because he hates the Shrumy keeps being romantic with him even if he stated pretty clearly he doesn't want to be in a romantic relationship with him anymore.

The following day Forneus and her kits show up at the cafe, and when Baal sees Shrumy, recognizing him for mysterious reasons, he flees, leaving everyone confused but the turtle, who is feeling suspicious about it. When Narinder tries to serve the two customers he suddenly feels unwell and finds himself unable to move because of the tension. Lambert fears he's having a heart attack, but then it turns out Narinder suffers from panic attacks and that one of those was happening right now. Ratau and Kudaai, who is a doctor, manage to support Narinder, who is brought to Lambert's home after the attack.

At the end of that difficult day of work Lambert apparently receives a message by Shamura, but they don't know the person who is texting them pretending to be the spider is, instead, Kallamar.

Chapter 11: Masks

When Lambert arrives home, they find Shrumy entertaining Narinder with the bass and when they leave them alone, Lambert asks him how he feels. After expressing the fact they will do anything to help them in case another panic attack occurs, they gift him the moon necklace they found on the beach, telling him it's magical and brings luck. Narinder of course doesn't believe them but still apprecciates the gift.

This time Lambert lets Narinder sleep on the bed while they will sleep on the sofa instead, surprising their friend. Lambert struggles to sleep that night and they end up chatting with "Shamura", managing to get a date with "them".

The following day, while Narinder stays home, Lambert goes to work and gets to see Sozo and his husband, Helob, enter the café. They express how much they love each other publicly and Lambert feels inspired, wishing to be in such a cute and lasting relationship in the future.

The chapters end with another victim of the criminals who gets beaten after he explains why he can't give them the money. One of the goons runs away from the scene and, removing their mask once he's away, he reveals his tears. He is Baal.

Chapter 12: Comics or books

Baal comes back home pretty late and has a heartbreaking argument with his mother, who begs Aym to let her know whatever is going on with his brother once he finds out.

Lambert finds Narinder's secret: he keeps a gay comic and they decide to read it out loud to tease him. Once they're done Narinder ask them to give him some secret as well and that's how they give him an album filled with photos, the most embarassing ones as well. He starts to feel melancholic and pretty jealous because Lambert still has a family, but when a half burned photograph portraying Lambert and a lion person distract him, they explain that is their ex-boyfriend and that they left them because nonbinary. Narinder of course comforts his friend telling all those muscles and hair compensate for something else. When he suggests them to burn or destroy that photo to get rid of him on a deeper level, Lambert says they will think about it.

The day of the date finally arrives, Lambert waits for their date for almost a hour and when they see Kallamar arrive instead of Shamura they feel confused. Heartbroken even, when Kallamar says Shamura simply forgot about the date. The squid almost convinces Lambert to hang out with him instead when Heket and Shamura arrive on the spot and this is how they all find out Kallamar was pretending to be Shamura just to go on a date with Lambert instead. Heket drags him back to the bookstore café where he left Leshy working all alone while Shamura decides to hang out with Lambert.

Lambert spends a beautiful day with Shamura, buying books and comics for the bookstore, eating dinner together and they end up stargazing. Lambert is completely enamoured with Shamura, even if they don't understand their yapping about astronomy and physics, but then they found they spent too much talking and lost track of time. In fact, it is too late for Lambert to get the bus or the train and go back home, so Shamura suggests them to sleep in their home as a solution. Of course, Lambert accepts their offer, not realizing Narinder had been calling them for a long while due the late hour and them not showing up at home.

Chapter 13 - Pancakes and apologies

When Lambert arrives in Shamura's house they realize Narinder has called them several times because they planned to dine together and he was also worried because of their disappearance. After apologizing and reassuring him they're fine, they find Shamura live with the people they work with, Lambert even meets Kallamar who suggests them to sleep in his beautiful room because of a more comfortable bed, proposal that was kindly denied by the sheep before Heket dragged him away. That night Lambert sleeped in the guest room then than was revealed to be a room that belonged to a friend Shamura really misses and disappeared years before.

After sleeping and having a nightmare about being lost in a maze that looked just like Camellia Town and being eaten by the Fox, Lambert wakes up and hears someone playing the guitar. After they investigate on the sound they find Leshy and a yellow cat on his bed while he's playing the guitar for her. During breakfast the yellow cat reveals to be Felix, a friend Leshy never spoke about to the people he lived with and she leaves overall a good impression on everyone, aside Kallamar who finds her a bit gross.

After exchanging music playlists with Leshy and Felix, Heket invites Lambert for a Halloween party, and when they come back home to invite his friend Narinder he is just too offended by the carelessness Lambert showed the previous day to accept the invitation.

The day comes to an end as Felix brings Leshy back home after a karaoke night. She encourages him to practice his singing to get better and offers herself as a singing teacher since Leshy is already giving her guitar lessons and he gladly accepts the proposal even though he isn't convinced about the singing. She greets him with a kiss on the cheek before going back home, leaving Leshy embarassed and confused, snd that's when Kallamar intervenes saying that it's obvious that Leshy and Felix have a crush on each other, but when he denies Kallamar's insinuation he proceeds to say pretty aphobic things. Heket and Shamura interrupt the discussion before it devolves and Leshy flees locking himself in his room.

Chapter 14 - True Colors

The chapter continues where it was interrupted in the previous one: Leshy is inside his room after having an argument with Kallamar and Heket comes in to check how he's doing, communicating with him with a text to speech option on her phone. Leshy opens up about how Kallamar made him feel, but doesn't mention his doubt for what he feels for Felix.

As Halloween approached Narinder mantained a cold and detatched behavior towards Lambert, who felt a bit too awkward about it to try and actually speak about it with him. Anyways, after they dressed up as a vampire to go to the party, they find Narinder crying inconsolably in the bed. Lambert manages to let him open up for the first time and this is when he finally drops his lore trauma: turns out that he was kicked out from his biological family because he is transgender when he was 18 yo, that he was helped by a older friend who hired him at their bookstore café and that he accidentally caused his death in a car crash he fleed away from out of panic. In the beginning Lambert is disgusted by the latest revelation, but after seeing in much pain and shame he was because of the burden he has on his conscience they feels sympathy and comforts him, deciding to give up the party and stay with him that night so that he won't be alone.

Meanwhile, at the Halloween party, as Kallamar despairs after learning Lambert won't join the party, Leshy and Felix are chatting on the terrace. When Leshy explains her what is aromanticism and asexuality she expresses how much she finds that relatable, even though she doesn't think she's ace. Then she mentions the fact that probably the blame falls on someone who ruined her relationship with intimacy, and when he jokingly says it's because romance sucks, she clarifies that the person who ruined that for her wasn't a romantic partner, leading to an ominous change of mood.

Chapter 15 - Clauneck

When Narinder and Lambert wake up they get prepared to go to an autumnal fair in town, while at the same time Narinder finds the courage to remove a gacha game from his phone. The same morning Clauneck, who is getting prepared to go the same fair but as tarot reader, gets called by Kallamar, his most annoying customer who asks him for the upteenth future love tarot reading.

Narinder and Lambert spend a beautiful morning in the town when at the fair they see Clauneck for the first time, while hes having a fight with another seller who tried to sell a sick woman rocks to heal her cancer. They get a tarot reading from him that reveals the challenges and transformation they will have to face in the future.

Leshy dreams about kissing Felix and wakes up with a flower growing on his face.

Chapter 16 - Blooming flowers

This chapters begins with a flashback of a younger Leshy having his first flower growing on his face and his parents explaining that his body just started to change and telling him where do babies come from. Rest in pieces Leshy.

The current Leshy refuses to give any explanation to his roommates, who ifnore his refusal and check an anatomy book with him, unveiling the reason of Leshy's physical change: basically wormfolks like him bloom pink flowers in spring to signal their most fertile moment in the year, while when they bloom red flowers in any season it means they are in love. Anyways, Leshy seems to have a "Blooming syndrome" that occurs when a wormfolk refuses to admit their feelings for another person. If he won't admit his feelings for Felix it won't be fatal, but he will keep growing flowers non stop. He doesn't take it well.

The day of an important date with Shamura came for Lambert, but they couldn't stop thinking about their ex, so Narinder helps them burning the photo in the storage room, comforting them. After such bittersweet, touching moment Chad (Lambert's ex) enters the cafe and starts flirting with Narinder in a transphobic way. Narinder finds himself powerless and Lambert helps him by pouring boiling coffee on Chad's balls, who is also kicked out from Shrumy. When Lambert has to leave for the date, Narinder feels jealous while not knowing why, but in the end he wholeheartedly wishes them good luck, because he wants them to be happy.

Chapter 17 - Heartache

After spending a beautiful date with Shamura, Lambert finally finds the courage to confess their feelings when they're stargazing with the telescope on the roof, confession that ends up with a polite friendzone under the most romantic sky. Lambert's feelings are hurt but decides to not to take it personally and stay friends with Shamura.

When Lambert comes back in Camelliatown they witness the Fox's goons bringing cans of gas to their cafe to set it on fire, but thankfully Shrumy, who was there, knocks them out and Ratau, Klunko, Flinky and Narinder arrive on spot. The Fox and Helob appear too, and this one is revealed to work for the boss. The two criminals pretend to leave the group alone but, while they're in the car, the Fox tells Helob to shoot at one of the two coworkers, not to kill them, but to seriously damaging them. Helob is reluctant and refuses to do such thing, but the Fox physically forces him to do so and ends up shooting at Lambert's arm.

Everyone is in shock as they see Lambert collapsing on the ground and having a hemorrhage even though the bullet caused just a scrap, which confuses everyone aside Narinder, who knows that the bleeding is caused by the pills Lambert is taking for their heart condition. Ratau yells at Narinder for never telling him about their condition and him, Narinder and Shrumy, bring the wounded sheep at the hospital. When they arrive Ratau and Narinder have a confrontation in which the cat shares his feelings of guilt because of what happened and his fear of losing Lambert forever, Ratau reassures him and expresses he never hated him but felt sad because of how Narinder wasted his potential and hide his best qualities.

After that lovely conversation, the doctor tells them that Lambert is no longer in danger but that they will need to rest for some week at the hospital. Ratau goes in the hospital's garden to refer everything to the Klunko and Shrumy reaches him. When Ratau shares with him the profound guilt he feels and how he wishes to be more like him, Shrumy admitted he isn't strong and brave as he looks amd that he was scared that night, maybe even more than him. Then, they kiss passionately.

The following day Lambert wakes up in their hospital bed, with Narinder at their side. He brought flowers for his friends and they chat about everything that happened, including that disappointing date and the old men yaoi that Narinder silently witnessed last night. During the rest of the day Narinder doesn't feel hungry at all and when he comes back home and realizes he miss having Lambert sleeping next to him, he finally understand that he loves them.

Chapter 18 - Complications

The chapter starts with Sozo kicking Helob out of their house, throwing objects, clothes, and baggages from the balcony. Helob is visibly sorry about what happened, but of course it isn't enough to be forgiven by his husband. Meanwhile, as they pass Lambert finally heals and decides to write a fanfiction about Shrumy and Ratau.

One day at the red crown cafe, Narinder catches Lambert laughing at the fanfiction they wrote and shows disapproval, but he really can't get mad so they start lovingly teasing each other. Narinder then reveals to Lambert that he wants to face his fear of rain and asks them for help and of course, the sheep accept.

When Lambert has to leave the coffee shop to buy some ingredients, they meet Kallamar and find out he specifically came there to meet them without any warning. Lambert tries to avoid him politely but due his stubborness they explode and tell him how they dislike his disrespectful behavior. Kallamar unpromptedly asks them for their star sign and when Lambert reveals to be an aries, the squid rejects them and leaves.

Felix finally visits Leshy at home woth the purpose of explaining what she was talking about during Halloween. She tells him that she once was part of s group friends and that there was a member of her friends that confessed her feelings for her but after some days she rejected him, he forced her to kiss him, probably taking advantage of the fact she could be drunk, and she broke his nose with a punch as reply. Because of that her entire group of friends despised her and left her lonely. Leshy showed his closeness and sympathy to her after the revelation, and in those moments he realizes he's feeling both romantically and physically attracted to her, while she's telling him beautiful things. He tries to kiss her but decides to step back and hug her instead, profoundly disappointing his friend.

Chapter 19 - Gentle Rain

Leshy finds himself having an argument with Kallamar as soon as he wakes up: the squids accuses him of self sabotaging himself and that he can't stand seeing him losing his chance to be in a romantic relationship while he's still single at 29. Leshy refuses to listen to any of his advices and after he finds Kallamar has peeked in his room the previous night and saw his failure, he kicks him out of his room.

After Shrumy and Ratau finally admit in front of their friends that they're putting the past aside and trying to see if their romantic relationship can work out, Felix shows up at the café and asks Lambert and Narinder loves advices since the person she likes keeps driving her crazy. After Lambert encourages her to just be herself and follow her heart. In all of this Leshy's name was never mentioned, but Narinder already has a guess.

After work Narinder and Lambert go for a walk and once they're in the beach, the cat opens up and explains how he think his fear of rain probably started when he ended up being homeless under the car crash and about the fact he tried to rob Ratau's café with a visibly fake gun just to burst into tears in front of him after he asked him if he was okay. Lambert learns that Ratau hired Narinder out of sympathy and because he wanted to help him. After this revelation it starts raining and Lambert sustains and encourages Narinder to help him overcome his fear. When the cat is finally calmed down Lambert decides to kiss him for the first time, and the two end up confessing their feelings and romantically kissing under the rain.

Chapter 20 - Love Potion

After the Fox gives Helob new fake documents and a new home to avoid any more suspect, Narinder and Lambert wake up on the sofa and shows each other a lot of affection.

That afternoon, anyways, Felix finishes her shift at the tattoo store, after tattooing a beautiful moth on Heket's chest. Kallamar was there as well and decides to bring Felix to the shop where Clauneck works, so that he can buy her a love tarot reading, but when they arrive they find Chenmach instead, who gives Felix a love potion. As soon as she leaves the shop she throws it away, explaining to a shocked Kallamar that it is unfair to force someone to love her.

After she finally arrives to the cafe to go to the karaoke with Leshy, Kallamar locks them inside the workplace, where they are condamned to spend the entire night there. They have a pleasant night and after chatting, joking, singing and talking about deep stuff, Felix finds the courage to kiss him. After such action she fears she disturbed her friend ruining their beautiful friendship, but that is when Leshy kisses her with even more passion, and this is how they spend the rest of the night. The following morning, anyways, Leshy feels scared because of how things quickly developed and starts to have regrets.

Meanwhile, the Fox has a talk with Baal, who started to neglect and hate his job especially since he learned his mother was assaulted by the same people he works with. The Fox tells him he will help Forneus' job to flourish, but if he decides to leave his role his entire family will have to pay.

Chapter 21 - Petals in the sink

The following morning Ratau goes to visit his older brother, who is struggling with severe depression, and after he cleans his neglected home he promises him he won't leave him alone during wintermas holidays, that he likes it or not.

Later, in the café, the gambling gang notice how Narinder and Lambert are all cuddly and shit and they're happy about it. Forneus shows up with both of her kits and Baal decides to pay for all his family, while Shrumy still feels suspicious about him.

Meanwhile, the same morning Leshy tries to leave the café in which he woke up without telling anything to Felix, who quickly reaches him and hugs him. Leshy, heartbroken, tells her that while he enjoyed that night with her, he can't stop thinking it was a mistake, and that he wants to stay friends with her. She reacts by getting angry and accusing him of using her, telling him he is a coward and he reacts by saying that while no one can force Felix to love her, the same applies to everyone else him included. Felix feels offended and leaves, even after Leshy tried to hold her back, almost feeling drawn to kiss her again. When he goes to the toilet he notices all the flowers that grew on his head fell off.

Narinder receives a call from Ratau while he's watching a horror movie with Lambert and the old rat invites them for wintermas eve dinner, invitation that they gladly accept. Lambert also invites Narinder to their family's wintermas lunch and, after being a bit reluctant and insecure, he accepts.

Leshy comes back home in a horrible mood and when he's listening to the old recordings about him and Narinder playing their guitar and bass together, he feels incredibly lonely and regretful, crying his heart out all alone in his room.

Chapter 22 - Karaoke

After some days Lambert brings Narinder to dine out for his 28th birthday at the pizza place ran by Sozo. There they also check on him and turns out he's devasted by the revelation of his ex partner being part of the local mafia. He also feels very guilty for not realizing sooner and for what happened to Lambert.

Meanwhile Felix is dining with her parents and she's struggling to eat vegetables, in that case broccoli, because they remind her of Leshy. Since her parents want to force her to eat broccoli before eating anything else, she decides to go in her room with an empty stomach.

Narinder and Lambert go back home and they give him a frame with their photograph as birthday gift. The sheep feel a bit ashamed because they wanted to give him something more, but the cat reassure them that they are all he could've hoped for his birthday.

Felix is hungry and empties her fridge because she hadn't eat anything for dinner. Also, she's still stressed and heartbroken because of what happened with Leshy and she eats unhealthy food to distract herself from the pain. Anyways, since she knows this can bring serious issues on the long run, she decides to stop and to call her friends Narinder and Lambert to vent. They listen to her and when she invites them to go out the next evening, Lambert accepts.

That same night Shrumy brings a drunk Ratau home, and when they're in the car the rat vents about how guilty he feels because of Ratoo's psychological state. Turns out that Ratau feels responsible of his brother's dead wife since the Fox's goons set fire on their home while she was sleeping inside.

The next evening arrives and after their day of work, Narinder and Lambert meet Felix, who introduce them to her friends Amdusias, Valefar and Barbatos. They all go to a pub specialized in karaoke and they get their own room, there turns out Felix's friends know Leshy and that he's part of their friend group, and when the yellow cat vents about what happened they all decode to stand on her side. Anyways this is when Narinder gets the confirmation that both Felix and Lambert know Leshy and he's genuinely scared.

#red crown cafe au #cult of the lamb #cotl coffee shop au #coffee shop au #cotl

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dilemmaontwolegs · 1 year ago

Note

I saw your requests were closed But I really couldn't help sharing one. I hope you do like the idea :)

So what about a Charles × Wolff/Hamilton reader where she is working in Health care but has a new boss recently and he passes inappropriate comments/threats etc about her and acts out of line, which keeps on escalating (As dramatic and much as you want it to) and she doesn't tell him or anyone and starts behaving irratically and is scared, but one day it was too much or he finds out about it on accident and is angry at first at her for not sharing and then is all protective and possessive and does something about it.

One shot/ Series. Honey anything to read any version of this would be just 🤌🏻

Thank you ❤️🥹

Your Safe Place || CL16

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x fem!Wolff!reader Warnings: 18+ only, injuries, bullying, panic attack WC: 3.3k F1 Masterlist

Translations: ma (petite) louve - my (little) wolf || chérie - sweetheart || putain - fuck || je t’aime (aussi) - I love you (too) || Quel salopard - what an asshole

The second you closed the front door you could finally breathe again. Taking a moment to just settle after the day you had endured, you pressed your back to the door and closed your eyes. It was like you told your younger patients when they were feeling stressed: smell the flower, blow out the candle. Inhale through your nose, exhale out your mouth.

Peace calmed your mind as you smelt the dinner Charles had made, your plate kept warm in the oven like he did whenever your shift ran overtime. That was an almost daily occurrence, especially with the new boss. You took another breath to clear your mind before it could return to the man who was single handedly making you regret your entire career choice.

"Hey-oh," Charles caught himself before he could hug you, spotting the blood on your scrubs. "You, uh, have a little something-" You looked down where he gestured, his nose wrinkling at the sight.

"It's fine," you said as you dropped your bag to the floor and pulled the shirt off. "It's mine, not a patient."

He nodded with relief as he took it from you to put in the washing machine but then it dropped as he realised what you had said and took a closer look at you. "Ma louve, what happened?" his fingers were gentle as they guided your face up to the light and he saw the bruising around your nose. "Putain, you're hurt."

"It was an accident," you said softly as you took his hands from your face and stepped into his embrace. "Cassia just had an episode, you know how it is, she didn't know what she was doing."

He wasn't appeased by the answer as he led you to the kitchen where he sat you down before checking your dinner was still warm enough to eat. "Where was security?"

You were grateful his back was to you as he reheated the pasta, something he hated having to do since it was never as good as when it was fresh. You had grimaced, wondering the very same thing at the time. They should have been close in the ward but with the new boss, expenditure was more important than safety and the budget had been cut in half the moment he started.

"They got there as fast as they could." It wasn't a lie. They had run all the way from the maternity ward on the floor above but you had already reset your broken nose by the time they arrived. She had quickly calmed after a dose of haloperidol and been apologetic when she realised her actions while delirious. “I’m fine, Char.”

Diana sighed as she bandaged your wrist, a look of pity in her eyes as she shook her head. “Why do you stay? It’s not like you need the money, hun.”

You tested the range of movement and winced at the sharp pain, just another incident to add to the growing list. “What good does quitting do? You guys would just be another nurse down and it would put more pressure on an already crumbling system.”

The older nurse patted your hand before standing up and putting the left over roll of gauze away. “You’re too kind, but sometimes you have to put yourself first.”

You should have taken the rest of the day off but there were rounds to finish and call bells ringing left, right and centre. It was only when you couldn’t ignore your rumbling stomach any longer that you really took a proper look at your watch and saw your shift had finished over an hour ago.

“Katrina called in sick, I need you to stay on,” Tommy said without a simple hello when he caught you alone in the staff room.

“I can’t,” you replied as you grabbed your bag with your good hand, “it’s my dad’s birthday - we’re going out to dinner.”

“I don’t give a shit if you’re having dinner with the Crown Prince himself, we need you here.”

“Albert may actually be there,” you mused as you started to leave, but an arm blocked the doorway.

“Your yearly review is due next week, and I would hate to have to make a note of insolence, poor attitude and lack of empathy for others. We are short on staff and it’s not like you have children at home.”

That had been the only reason you took some extra shifts when you could manage it, because there were nurses like Katrina who had two young ones and they often fell ill with colds and flus from their daycare. It meant you had to become the automatic fall guy when any other member of staff couldn’t make it - but that was what the on-call nurses were for, except…

“Maybe we wouldn’t be short staffed if you didn’t get rid of the on-call contractors, or if you hired more nurses like we were promised two years ago,” you snapped without thinking, your hunger and exhaustion removing the filter that stopped you from having the temper your father did. Or, passion, as he liked to call it - a Wolff trait.

“So this is my fault?” he scoffed. “Nurses cost money. You might not know this, but money doesn’t grow on trees.”

You rolled your eyes at the reminder that you grew up with a silver spoon in your mouth, but that didn’t mean you were the spoiled daughter everyone who didn’t know you thought you were. You had studied hard and put in the effort to become a nurse because you wanted to help people. Tommy only cared about the profit.

“Healthcare shouldn’t be about money,” you muttered as you rolled your eyes. “It should be about helping the people who need it.”

“Then ask daddy dearest to make a donation, sweetcheeks,” he mocked as he pinched your cheek like a child. “That’s the only way you’ll get your precious nurses.”

You slapped his hand away from your face and ducked out the door before he could stop you but his voice echoed along the cold sterile corridor, “I hope you like night shifts, you’re going to be on them for a very long time.”

“You wouldn't,” you turned with a gasp. Charles' timetable was erratic but unless he was out of the country for a race he would always make the effort to be home by the time your shift ended.

“I would.” He chuckled and left in the opposite direction, pointing back to the staff room as he went. “You can leave at the midnight swap.”

Sighing with defeat and tears stinging your eyes, you grabbed your phone from the bag and sent an apologetic text to your father for missing his dinner party.

By the time midnight arrived your feet were aching and you had nearly emptied the vending machine of snacks to stave off your hunger. It wasn’t far from the hospital to the apartment you shared with Charles but it felt like a million miles when you stepped out into the cold night.

You pulled your jacket tighter around your body and shivered as you started off, your head down and hood up. You were so focused on just putting one foot in front of the other you didn’t see the shadow join you until a hand grabbed you and you screamed with terror as you were pulled into their chest.

“Ma louve, it’s me,” Charles soothed as he pulled your hoodie back and saw the tears in your eyes. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“I, I,” you stammered as you tried to unscramble the thoughts in your head.

“Shh, I’m sorry, I called out to you like three times. I shouldn’t have grabbed you, that was stupid,” he chided himself.

“No, no, I’m sorry, I was in a world of my own.” You finally took notice of your surroundings and saw the car park was almost empty and none of the cars were his Pista. “What are you doing here? Did you walk?”

“I didn’t want you walking alone at this hour,” he said with a kiss on your forehead. “You’re shaking, ma chérie.”

“It was a long day,” you murmured as you yawned, resting your head on his shoulder as he gently rocked you. “I think I have more coffee in my system than blood right now.”

“You can’t keep this up, my love, you are going to burn out.”

You pulled out of his embrace and started down the footpath so he didn’t see the tears begin to escape. “I’m fine, Char. I can handle it.”

It was Charles' home race and you had promised him you would join him in Ferrari this year. It was one of the few races you could always attend, managing your shifts around it so you never missed it, and all week you had seen the city setting up for the pride and joy of Monaco.

Dawn was breaking on the big day and it looked like it was going to be a stunner as the sky turned blue and you left the hospital after yet another night shift. Tommy had found a way to make your life miserable and your shifts were constantly changing just to upset your mentality and circadian rhythm. You could barely tell morning from night when it always looked the same blue hues, same cool temperatures, the only indication was which side of the city was glowing, east or west.

“Good morning, baby,” you greeted as you wrapped your arms around Charles and kissed his shoulder as you found him at the bench making breakfast, already wearing his bright red Ferrari uniform. “How did you sleep?”

“Not bad. Would have been better with you,” he said as he turned to face you, his head dipping down to indulge in a kiss. You giggled as you saw a few crumbs of toast caught in the short hairs of his beard and brushed them away. “Thank you.”

“Now you can kiss me.”

The doorbell rang and he reluctantly released you from his arms to go answer it, his finger pointing to the second plate you hadn’t noticed. “Eat, amour.”

You hummed happily as you grabbed the toast and took a bite, casting a wave to Andrea as he walked in with Charles.

“You look half dead, Wolff,” his trainer said with a worried look.

“She just got in from a shift, and will be going to bed as soon as she has eaten, right?” Charles said pointedly while you rolled your eyes.

“Does he boss you around this much?” you asked Andrea, making him chuckle as he shook his head.

“No, but he doesn’t love me the same way.”

“Who said I love you at all?”

“You do, every time you get a podium,” Andrea pointed out seriously.

You nearly choked on the mouthful as you tried not to laugh at the truth. Charles was very affectionate when he was celebrating, and you hoped he would have an entire night of it after today's race. Unfortunately you wouldn’t be able to share it with him since you were due back at the hospital at 7pm for another 12 hour night shift. You had tried to find someone to swap with but Tommy had made it clear there would be consequences - all because you questioned his qualifications.

You hadn’t been able to quiet any more, not when you had the imprint of a patient's dental records on your forearm from when they bit you. You started dreading going to work, somewhere that should have been a safe place, a refuge for those needing help had become the opposite for you. It was bordering on dangerous and you had to say something.

In hindsight, you shouldn’t have said it in the morning meeting in front of dozens of staff, but you had serious doubts about his ‘people skills’ and wanted to know where he got his management degree from. Suggesting it was from Hogwarts, because it must be a thing of fantasy, may have been a step too far.

You were now paying for those words.

You still stood by them.

You still hadn’t told Charles.

He would only worry, or suggest taking a sabbatical. Yes, you longed to travel with him to his races and show your support, but you didn’t feel there was any way to contribute to society with that life. Nursing gave you a sense of purpose and fulfilment that you were certain you couldn’t feel just being the driver’s girlfriend, or the principal’s daughter.

“Hey,” Charles roused you softly and you realised you were starting to fall asleep while eating. “Let’s get you to bed, ma petite louve.”

You were already closing your eyes before your head hit the pillow but you felt his lips warm your forehead. “I love you. I’ll see you in the garage,” you mumbled as sleep took over.

“Je t’aime aussi.”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you swore as you scrambled out of the bed and pulled on the first outfit you could find, a pair of comfortable jeans and a Ferrari shirt with Leclerc across the back with the number 16. There were dozens of missed calls and even more text messages but do not disturb had automatically turned on and you had forgotten to stop the setting. Today of all days you wanted to be disturbed.

Out on the street you could already hear the high keening of the cars racing around the city and you dashed through the thick crowds to get to the paddock. You hadn’t even remembered to grab your pass as you left in a rush but for once you were thankful someone recognised you and let you through.

“Arthur, how is he doing?” you panted as you reached the Ferrari garage and grabbed the headset he held out.

“Not the best start, he was a little distracted I think. You should probably let him know you are here.”

You agreed and went to the desk at the back rather than the main set up on the pit wall, quietly asking them to connect your headset to Charles. They were hesitant but there was no need for a pit stop any time soon since he had fresh tires so they made the adjustments to the channels.

“Hey baby, sorry I’m late.”

“You had me worried, little wolf.”

“That sounds so strange to hear in English,” you giggled, knowing the rules of the comms meant he couldn’t speak French on them. “I just wanted to let you know I made it so you can stop worrying.”

“I’ll always worry about you,” he said and you didn’t need to see his face to know he was smiling. “I’ll see you soon.”

The final 12 laps went almost as quickly as your nails, the nervous habit ruining them under the stress of the tight street circuit and close calls. Every time his car went flying through the sharp corners around the pool you were sure you were going to see him crash and your heart could barely take it. You ripped the headset off and rushed out of the garage as a wave of nausea crashed over you.

“Are you alright?” Arthur asked when he caught up to you in Charles’ driver room, a bottle from his fridge pressed to your clammy forehead. Your hands could barely keep it steady as the shook uncontrollably and you ended up letting it fall to the floor with a thud as you wrapped your arms around yourself. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

You couldn’t answer him as you struggled to pull air into your lungs, the screams of the crowd outside doing little to calm the panic gripping you. Dropping your head between your knees, you tried to keep from fainting but you could feel your heartbeat in your head, the throb sounding in time to the darkening pulse invading your vision until it all faded to black.

“You’re not listening, mate, she cannot come to work. She fucking passed out from exhaustion.”

“Then she should have been sleeping and not wasting her time watching some cars go around in circles. If she doesn't show up tonight, tell her not to bother showing up ever again.”

“She won’t,” Charles ended the call and slammed your phone down. “Quel salopard!”

The anger on Charles' face softened when he saw your eyes opening and he rushed across the room, his race suit still tied around his waist. “Don’t move, just lay down, ma louve. You need to rest,” he whispered as he knelt on the floor beside the couch you were lying on, his fingers brushing your cheek bone. “Arthur’s gone to get Toto.”

You couldn’t tell if minutes or days had passed and trying to think felt like trekking through a swamp of sludge in your mind. “The race?”

“4th.” He pressed his palm to your head and ran it over your hair feeling the damp heat on his skin. “You’ve sweat almost as much as me, mamour. You should have stayed home if you weren’t feeling well.”

You shook your head and it cleared some of the haze that hindered your cognitive ability. “I’m not sick, I just had…a moment. But I’m fine now.”

“A moment?” he asked with a frown. “What type of moment? And don’t tell me you are fine, you are clearly not and you haven’t been fine for months. Talk to me, please.”

The pleading, the puppy eyes, the way he dropped his head to your shoulder like he was defeated, it crested into a tsunami of emotion that broke the wall you had built between your personal life and your work life. The two worlds crashed together and the sob broke his heart as you crumbled apart in front of him.

The wave of truth crashed upon him and everything you had tried to keep from him for the past six months was lifted from your conscience as you confessed it all. You told him about the stress you were under, the bullying you had faced and the danger you were in each night with nearly no support or security.

You had been in a long sleeve when you went to bed but now you were in his shirt and he could see the latest wound marring your flesh, the impression of teeth setting to bruises.

Horror painted his features as he absorbed it all, then it turned to anger, hot rage as his clenched fists turned his knuckles white. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked with quiet restraint. “Pourquoi?”

You swallowed and shrank back into the couch as you felt that anger aimed at you. The shaking started again, a fine tremor coursing through your body until it reached your teeth and they chattered as a cold sweat broke out.

“Fuck, no, bébé, please,” Charles cursed as he unclenched his fists and reached for you only to freeze as you flinched. “Please, I would never hurt you. I’m not angry at you.”

“Yes, you are,” you whispered.

“Okay, I’m a little bit angry you didn’t tell me sooner. We are meant to share everything, no?” You nodded meekly. “But I would never hurt you, ma louve. I’m angry at myself, I should have noticed, I should have, I don’t know…I failed you.”

“I was scared. You would make me quit if you knew.”

His head lifted and confusion swum in those green eyes of his. “Why would you want to work for that asshole?”

“I like my job, I like what I do, Charles.” You looked away from the intensity of his stare. “I don’t know who I am without it.”

“Oh, chérie, you would still be the same selfless, kind, beautiful woman you are right now. That is who you are, and that will never change.” When he reached for you this time you let him take your hands and he kissed your knuckles before holding them to his chest. “I think it’s time to prove it to you.”

You sighed and gave him a small nod. “I think you might be right.”

The sound of relief he made brought a smile to your face and he returned it with a guilty one. “That’s a relief,” he admitted with a nervous chuckle, “because I think I got you fired.”

#charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x you #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #wolff!reader

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chisubi · 2 months ago

Text

a recollection of bellflowers — h. rindō

content. fem!reader, slice of life, implied／referenced infidelity (not by you or rindō), non-linear

word count. 7.4k

note. this is something i’ve been working on for a while because i have no idea how to write rindō . . . >< i wanted this to have a summery shōjo feel to it, so hopefully i was able to capture it well enough ?? (also, sorry, this is a little unedited.)

i had to force myself to finish this or else i would end up forgetting about it again ! there’s only three parts to this, however, updates will be sporadic :x

part one ／ from summer, 1999

Your fiancé has a lover in Tokyo.

He doesn’t tell you, you never ask, you just know — a woman’s intuition is never wrong. Something you learned from your dear mother.

Two nights ago, while you are both lying beside one another in bed, he complains that he has yet another business trip in Tokyo [his last one was just a few weeks ago], he asks if there is anything you would like him to buy — like that dessert you find yourself indulging in a little too much these days, a new novel to add to your collection of unread books that you swear you will get to them eventually, a new set of coffee mugs or a bouquet of your favourite flowers. You tell him, “No, it’s okay. I don’t need anything.”

He doesn’t press when you decline. Instead, he leans down to capture your lips with his before he leaves; the wind rushes by, chilling over the spot he had touched. His “I’ll miss you” never reaches you, carrying with it the ghosts of your past. His “I love you” completely passes you by. Ever-so-fleeting.

It’s been this way for a few months now. You don’t know when it first began, but the signs became more and more obvious as the days passed by. Rather than sadness or anger, you don’t really feel anything anymore. Only regret remains. Those memories and promises you both made together are beginning to fade. And what seems to make your heart shake is that you don’t know what to do, despite change and abandonment seemingly always following after you. Time and time again. Even after all these seasons, you are still lost.

When summer burns, or when fireworks spark up the midnight sky, you feel it on your tongue and skin as the same memories fill your mind once again. That summer night by the river’s edge. And summer nights following that — all of them are unforgettable, always leaving you feeling the bittersweet taste of citrus and honey drowning in the back of your throat. Too sweet, too sour.

No matter where you are in the world, a spirit of a little girl clinging onto the sandbox of an old playground remains in Roppongi. Abandoned, yet not once forgotten. Your flesh, blood, and bones will always be made up of Rindō and Ran from way back then. You hold these memories deep in your heart so preciously like a collection of little treasures as you continue to grow older.

A quarter before midnight, the moon is down and clouded by the fog; you take the train all the way to Roppongi. It’s strangely empty inside, you cannot see what lies outside. Tired and uneasy, the sound of the midnight train running across the tracks lulls you to sleep.

—

You are eleven when your mother drops you off at your grandfather’s house all the way in Roppongi during the summer; miles away from the countryside you grew up in. She doesn’t wait for your grandfather to open the door to come and greet you. She yells out how she will see you in a few weeks, the engine roars, and she is gone.

You have never met any grandparents before. Your mother doesn’t like to talk about them, so you never ask, not wanting to overstep the invisible line (she is scary when she is in a foul mood). You learn to be a good child because you want to see your mother smile again — she stopped smiling for months now, and you don’t know why. However, you believe she will feel better once she picks you up in a few days.

After all, adults need their rest as well (or something like that).

You soon also learn that your grandfather is a tall, scary man. A seemingly permanent scowl, a low and gruff voice that is only heard through a few words. A strong scent of alcohol lingers on the collar of his shirt – one you sometimes smell on your mother’s breath – he looks at you so emptily, then sighs. The chill in the air prickles against your exposed skin, you gulp.

No matter how silent of a man he is, you are a good daughter, so you introduce yourself to him and thank him for letting you stay with him — “I’ve always imagined meeting you, grandpa. I saw you in a picture before!”

These words seem to catch his attention. His tracks stop, he doesn’t look back, and all you can see is his wide back. You hear him mumble something beneath his breath, you don’t catch any of the words — you weren’t meant to. Something sticks out about your grandfather. Something you can’t help, but focus on is his missing a pinky. You try not to stare, and he doesn’t say anything when he catches your innocent, curious eyes. Rather, he doesn’t say anything at all to you and you can’t help but become overly sensitive to every draw of his breath.

You wish you were back home in that little countryside town, tucked far away from this bizarre place. You want your mother to come and pick you up.

You would rather be at home with her than here.

—

Surprisingly, you got more sleep than you expected last night. This is your first time sleeping in a bed that doesn’t belong to you; in a place that is so foreign to you.

And you guess it wasn’t so bad. The mattress is a lot softer than the one back at home.

Breakfast is simple and traditional. A bowl of steamed rice, fried mackerel with a side of nattō (you don't like the smell, but you try your best to swallow the beans without making any faces, and fail). The mackerel on your plate is neatly pulled apart, bones discarded, and you smile to yourself. Your grandfather is more attentive — kinder than he looks. Your teachers have always told you and your classmates to never judge someone based on their appearance.

“Um . . . Grandpa?” Silence is met with your call. However, you take that silence as a sign to continue speaking. “Can I, uh, may I go outside for a little bit?”

“There’s a park nearby,” he simply replies with a few words before directing his attention back onto the television.

Your eyes brighten. “Okay, thank you!”

Quickly shoving down your breakfast, you’re out the door and ready to play.

So, your grandfather isn’t the greatest at giving directions. After some twists and turns and walking back and forth, it is not too hard to find the park he vaguely described.

There's a group of kids playing on the playground, dangling off the monkey bars and sitting around. Too shy to approach, you shuffle over to the swing set, and rock yourself back and forth.

After some moments of swinging, and looking back at them to your feet, you hear a bunch of footsteps heading towards you.

You look up in anticipation and nervously smile at the group of boys in front you. Maybe they want to join you? [Hopefully.] “Um, hi! Did you want to—” Your words are immediately cut off as someone steps right in front of you.

“Get off.”

“H-huh?”

“H-huh?” A boy mocks with a high pitch tone and your cheeks heat up when you hear laughter surrounding you.

“Get off so we can play,” this one stands in front of you, hair short with a red cap in his hand. “You can hear properly, right?”

Someone says, “No, I don’t think she can.”

Another laughs.

The short-haired boy glares at you, hand reaching over and tugs on your hair — hard. You yelp as your hand immediately wraps around his wrist. “We told you to move, so move,” he harshly shouts and you flinch as your ear rings.

You don’t understand why they’re mad or why they are telling you to leave. This has never happened to you back at home before.

You yell at the boy to let go of you, pushing his arm away as hard as you can. However, this action only leads him to pull hard this time. You yelp. The group breaks out into snickers and grins.

Traitorously, your body betrays you as tears gather in the corner of your eyes. You don’t want to cry — you don’t like crying, never wanting anyone to see your tears. But you feel so helpless and lost and alone.

"Hey, wait, you're gonna make her cry. . .” Someone speaks up and for a second, you’re hopeful.

“I’m not even doing it hard. She’s just being a baby,” the short-haired boy scoffs before he accuses, “why do you care? You like her?”

His face flushes, and beneath the thick frames of his glasses, his widened eyes shake. “No way!”

“I bet you think she’s pretty.”

The boy gags as he takes great strides away from you. His arms cross over his chest as he yells, “Gross. Over my dead body.”

“Oh, is that so?”

It’s a voice that comes out of nowhere, causing you to jump. Colour drained from the faces in front of you; awfully, sickly pale.

And it comes fast all too fast — someone running in between you and the group of boys with a flying fist. Another one and another one. Colour falls from your cheeks mirroring the group and unlike them, you find yourself unable to move. To run away. You think you see a drop of red splattered on the concrete as you tightly shut your eyes, your body shakes and you cover your ears in an attempt to block the sound.

Someone cries. Screams, shoes smacking against the pavement, and laughter — one both loud and taunting. Then all of a sudden, everything goes silent. Hesitantly, you slowly open your eyes. Purple fills your entire vision. You jump at the sudden close proximity, you can feel their hair tickling your cheek as he leans in close to you.

There’s glass covering purple gems.

The boy asks, "Are you good?”

You slowly nod, “Thank you for, um . . . helping me?” You say this rather confusingly, unable to comprehend everything that had happened within minutes. You take a step back as you look around, you don’t see any of those boys from earlier. They vanished as if they were never here, the footprints made in the sandpit and droplets of blood remind you otherwise.

Your eyes fall towards his hands that punched those bullies — knuckles all red, you bite your lip to conceal your quivering lips. You turn to the taller boy with no visible cuts or bruises, only a smug grin on his face that matches with the one in front you, and you thank him as well. When you take a better look at him, you notice the two of them sort of look similar.

He looks down at you and waves a hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it. Those guys were lame for ganging up on you. They always pick fights with people weaker than them.”

“Right, those idiots got what was coming for them,” the other boy adds with a laugh. “Are you not from around here?”

You shake your head.

“Thought so. Haven’t seen you around here before. So, what’s your name? I’m Rindō, and that’s my older brother, Ran,” the boy – Rindō – introduces.

You tell them your name and thank them once again.

“Uh-uh. Just tell us if they bother you again. We’ll deal with it,” says Ran.

You perk up, “You will?”

“Yeah, Roppongi belongs to the Haitani brothers.”

Roppongi belongs to the two boys who don’t seem older than you. Confused, you ask, “Are you guys protectors or something? Like heroes?”

Your words are met with snorts that evolve into laughter. Beside you, Rindō gives you a toothy grin as he readjusts his glasses. “I guess if that’s what you think, then sure.”

The heroes of Roppongi.

The sun is shining and his smile glows.

Meeting the Haitani brothers was probably nothing special, a similar story that could be told by countless people during their youth. However, to you, an eleven-year-old girl being picked on at the playground, helpless and tear-stained, they seemed like your heroes. So bright and blinding. A moment that changes your entire life.

—

Ran and Rindō have come to knock on the door to your grandfather’s house nearly everyday since then. When the old man opens it to see two unfamiliar children, he sighs before calling out your name (which makes your heart jump from your chest from how loud his voice can be). And you’re quick to slip on your old running shoes and bolt out the door.

Rindō tells you he found a cool place the other day, a hidden room at the back of an old shrine, and he wants to show it to you. Keeping up with the Haitanis is hard; chasing after them is even harder. Their legs aren’t that much longer than yours, but their strides are far too long, too fast.

Rindō is kind enough to slow down, only for a moment. “You’re too slow,” he complains before grabbing your hand and pulls you along to keep up with them. Without noticing, you don’t trip over your own feet anymore.

“Careful, Rindō,” Ran lowly warns as his hand reaches out and wraps around Rindō’s wrist, pulling him away from walking up the stone steps. The tall, red torii gate looms above. A crow lingers at the very top. “Don’t you know young children get spirited away here?”

“Huh? Spirited away? Like the movie?”

“No, no. Not the film, Rin,” Ran snickers at his brother’s words, you don’t understand what Ran finds so funny. And Rindō doesn’t seem to know either, but his face is red and he looks mad at Ran. “The legends. Haven’t you heard that the yōkai will come and snatch you up? They take away children who run off alone. They’ll come to get you, dummy.”

Rindō shakes his head, staring up at his brother with skeptical lavender eyes. “No way. You’re just trying to scare me again. I won’t fall for it anymore, nii-chan.”

“Nuh-uh, ‘m serious this time.” Ran says this so lightly, it sounds unconvincing.

Rindō's glare hardens as he crosses his arm. “Okay. Why are you such a liar these days?”

“Am not.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No—”

You block out their childish bickering — they always seem to do this. It’s always Ran who seems to start it. And through their yelling, an old memory flashes in your mind. Your head perks up in remembrance as you gasp.

This garners their attention because they both immediately stop their “argument” and turn to look at you.

“Wait, it is true! I heard that Tomoko-chan from the class next door visited the shrine last summer and she never returned . . .” you pitch in with the eerie rumour your classmates had whispered to each other last year — Tomoko-chan got taken away by a monster. Those words reach to the end of the long hallways and snuck into the wooden panels in the room. Kids at school don’t go anywhere alone now.

In the distance, a crow caws.

So, you learn something new: monsters also live in the city. They don’t only reside in the little town you grew up in. Monsters exist everywhere in the world.

The brothers send each other a look, one that you don’t understand, something only they know — only them. You watch as they communicate through stares alone before turning their attention back onto you.

“Really?”

Quickly nodding, you add, “Yup, it’s true. I swear. Everyone said so. She went to make a wish, and then disappeared. Her family isn’t even in town anymore.”

Ran lets out an exaggerated sigh. He crosses his arms with a half smile to his face. “See, I was looking out for you.”

“Right. Don’t you think you’ve been lying too much to me lately? At least, learn to make it believable.”

Ran laughs before quietly saying, “If you’re scared, just say so.”

The crow above the gate caws, careful, you glance up at the noise, to the long steps then to Ran, and then Rindō, who looks up at his brother clearly unimpressed.

Obviously, Rindō isn’t scared of ghosts, or yōkai, or monsters that eat children. He is already too old to believe in things like that. He protests and says this, despite you and Ran telling him otherwise, Rindō is skeptical. He says he still doesn’t believe you, he can’t believe you would make up a lie and follow Ran, and you tell him you would never lie to him or anybody. Only bad people lie.

However, the Haitani brothers are closer than anyone — they told you this when you first met, so it’s to no one’s surprise when they turn around and gang up on you instead. Because you are scared, or so Rindō insists. Ran says it’s okay because you are a girl and you’re just a baby compared to them. It’s true, you are scared of the yōkai who snatch away wandering children. You aren’t scared because of the reasons Ran says. It’s rather annoying how Ran calls you a baby for something like that.

(You don’t tell him that, though.)

The three of you don’t enter the shrine. They show you around the neighbourhood and some spots they like to hang out at, like an arcade and a newly opened ramen shop. The entire time, Ran holds both of your hands tightly, you are sure he is holding Rindō’s even tighter. Your shadows are overlapped, mixing together. The yōkai don’t come for them or you. You are safe together.

As the sun begins to set, you stop by a food stall, the old lady running it tells you that you look so pretty and you remind her of her granddaughter. She gives a discount — 100 yen for six pieces. Ran takes out the coin from his pocket and he divides the takoyaki between the three of you before heading home.

It’s quiet when you enter the house, nobody welcomes you home, but your grandfather sits in the living room watching television again. He spares you a glance, before turning his attention back to the t.v. Static and muffled voices fill the house.

—

A week turns into two, then three. Summer passes by quickly here in Roppongi. Everything moves so fast in the city, it’s exhilarating — overwhelming. Your little body struggles to keep up.

You run, run, and run the days away.

Again and again, you fall.

(Rindō and Ran pick you back up.)

“My mom abandoned me,” you tell Rindō one afternoon, weakly adding in, “. . . I think.” Hopefulness seeps through; a child’s innocence, your naïveté.

Underneath the big oak tree, Rindō turns to look at you while opening the blue ramune and gives it to you to drink first — he was supposed to buy two, but he forgot the rest of his change at home. He says it’s fine because he doesn’t mind sharing his drink with you. He shares drinks with Ran all the time. And you don’t mind it either.

“. . . She will,” he slowly replies, “maybe she is just busy working — adults are like that, y’know. What about your dad?”

Adults are like that, at least the ones you know. Your mom is probably busy, but either way, she lied to you and this is what hurts. You don’t try to hide your disappointment in her.

You shake your head, looking down at your swaying feet. “I don’t know.”

You really don’t know.

You don’t remember his face, eyes, and everything is blurred, but you recall his boxy smile and a heavy hand that ruffled your hair.

“I haven’t seen my dad before either. I don’t even think that guy knows I exist.”

“Oh,” you breathe out. “Are you lonely without him?”

He shakes his head, hair bouncing with every movement. “Nah, I have Ran. Even though he’s so annoying these days.”

The two [three] of you are similar in a way. It’s rather comforting knowing you aren’t the only one with a family like that.

Rindō vows to you that he will always be by your side so you aren’t alone anymore, because he has Ran, but you don’t have an older brother like Ran to stay with you.

He holds your hand — one so cold and sticky from the blue ramune. Again, he tells you that you still have him and Ran, because you are his best friend. Maybe he thinks you didn’t hear him the first time. His words are warm, so you don’t mind his cold fingers touching yours — it cools you down from the heat, even if the rest of your body is melting under the summer sun. Somehow, it always finds a way to peek through the little gaps, through the spaces between your fingers.

Together, you finish the ramune with lighter hearts.

At the end of summer, you are still at your grandfather’s house — your mother never comes to get you. That little, big, tiny feeling brewing in you all summer in Roppongi turned out to be right. But you aren’t alone.

Time flows quickly in Roppongi. Months pass by in a blink of an eye.

—

Coming home to the city where everything first began leaves your thoughts in a flurry; too jumbled and twisted. This house hasn’t changed one bit, walking into your old bedroom feels like a dream; both familiar and alien. A few of your old belongings still remain in place, you never have it in you to pack it up and bring them with you. Your mother hasn’t bothered to move them either.

Tonight, you help your mother make katsu curry. A staple in many households; also, the first dish you learned how to make.

You can feel your mother’s nerves as today is the day where you are officially meeting the man she is seeing (whom she had once mentioned as her new colleague over a year ago). He seemed like a normal, stand up man, but you can tell she likes him, so you don’t disapprove of him.

To calm her down (as well as your own excitement and nervousness), the two of you make small talk as you cook.

“Did you love him?”

You immediately stiffen, the knife stops just above the fresh carrots from your mother’s garden, and you don’t press down. She doesn’t say who, but you already know who she is referring to. Your heart aches without the mention of his name. A boy who isn’t your fiancé. Your soon-to-be husband. “Did you love that boy from back then?”

Your face shines in the knife, the glare of the light above makes your reflection disappear. You force yourself to focus, continuing to cutting the carrot into chunks. The sound of the knife hitting against the cutting board echoes in your ears. “Why are you mentioning that? Why are you curious about it now? It’s been too long since then.”

“I used to think you would end up marrying him in the future.”

The sentence has you turning around in surprise. You harshly swallow, forcing a short laugh. Your heart clogs your throat. Emotions twisting like ebbing waves. “You never even liked him,” your voice doesn’t sound less tense.

“Maybe I didn’t, but you did.” Her expression says nothing — no hatred, regret, or sadness; she is only looking at you so clearly — right through to your leaking heart. All you wish is to run and hide from that all-knowing gaze of hers, you wish you never turned around. “For some people, they are only capable of loving one person their entire life. There’s a saying that nobody forgets about their first loves and for those people, sometimes their first love lasts forever.”

Some people, she says. By this, she means you.

The ring that sits prettily on your finger feels too heavy, squeezing your finger.

“. . . That already ended so long ago,” softly, you say.

The doorbell rings, cutting through the tense atmosphere. There’s an exchange of looks — her expression soft as she offers a small smile of condolence.

The man – Mr. Hajime – arrives earlier than expected. You follow behind your mother as she opens the door and you see bright red roses before you see him. Your mother’s cheeks turn red as she bashfully smiles while accepting the bouquet.

He enters the home and when you meet his eyes, you smile and nod in acknowledgment. Mr. Hajime stops in front of you, pulling out a bouquet with a variety of flowers; of blues and whites.

“Thank you,” you say as he places the flowers in your hand.

His smile is awfully gentle. His eyes match that gentleness, too. An old, loving soul. “No, I should be the one thanking you. It’s nice to finally meet you. Your mother often talks about you.”

You smile as a reply.

You wish to know what she has said. And maybe you will ask him another time, you know you will. There’s no doubt you will be meeting him again and again.

Mr. Hajime moves with familiarity in the house as if he has been here many times before (you wouldn’t doubt if he has). He makes his way to the dining room as he turns on an old song on your grandfather’s beloved record player. You don’t know the title, but you remember hearing it play many times back when you were a kid. It sounds so nostalgic.

As the three of you eat dinner, a younger image of your mother and you eating in silence overlap, and the bittersweet feeling at how much your mother has grown begins to hit you. Despite her fading black hair and the grays that replace them, and the barely noticeable wrinkles around her eyes; the look in her eyes seems younger — happier.

You’ve never seen her like this before. Her heart races for her — her love for Mr. Hajime and the happiness he brings to her. You’re happy for her, you really are.

This street and this house bring back so many memories; memories of times that will never come again and new ones are being created. And even more in the future.

Nostalgia continues to devour you. Your heart is aching in many different ways.

—

A year passes by, you don’t hear from Rindō or Ran after a few weeks of sending letters back and forth, and occasional phone calls made on your house line when your mother works overtime on Saturday nights.

Ran had warned you beforehand that he doesn’t do handwritten letters or phone calls or emails [whatever that means], you think he may just not want to talk to you, and strangely, you don’t take much offence in it. Like Rindō has always said, Ran is Ran, he does things his own way. Plus, you had already assumed you would hear updates on Ran from Rindō, however your assumption turns out to be wrong.

Tons of calls and letters left unanswered. You send another one, your final letter to him.

2002 年 4月 22日

Hi Rindō,

I know it’s been a while since my last letter and I haven’t received one back from you either. I make sure to check the mailbox twice a week! I really will be upset if you don’t reply or call me this time for real.

The new year started recently and I’m being forced to join a club this time. Kaa-san is still busy with work, and she comes home exhausted, so I decided to join the culinary club. Coming home to a cooked meal is something everyone likes, right? I am not really confident in my cooking skills though. . .

I miss you and Ran a lot. It’s lonely here without you guys. I hope you haven’t forgotten about me. I won’t forgive you if you did. Write to me soon, okay? I want to know what you have been up to.

And it’s no shocker when there’s no response to it.

Your initial bitterness eventually fades into nothing but nostalgia.

As the years go on, you forget all about the Haitani brothers and Roppongi. Their faces become more and more blurred with each passing month. You must’ve been erased from their memory — a little childhood memory too dazed to remember.

Junior high is harder than it seems — making friends doesn’t come easy, you spend the majority of your time alone. But ever since you joined the culinary club in your second year, everyone there is friendly and supportive, and things begin to change. School becomes a little more fun, and sometimes, you don’t mind waking up so early in the morning.

You find yourself trapped in the middle of a circle. All eyes on you. Ones full of anticipation.

And of course, this could only be one thing — gossiping. They talk about love stories, first kisses, and boys. Unfortunately, the target today is none other than you.

“No, I don’t have a crush on anyone," you firmly state. It’s the third time this week you've been asked this question, you don’t understand why everyone is so curious.

“Ehh, don’t lie!” Sachiko playfully nudges you with a giggle. Eyes piercing into yours, and you inaudibly sigh at her skepticism. You don’t budge when she continues to push and she pouts. “Fine, fine. What about Naoki-kun from the baseball team?”

A chorus of ‘Ahh’s’ and giggles erupt in the room. A telling sign of the boy’s popularity. Even someone like you, who doesn’t care much about boys [yet] knows about him. From what you heard, he spends most of his time practicing baseball and he only dated one girl during his first year for only a week. He’s more serious than he seems, yet he gets along with everyone, parents and teachers included.

He’s good-looking. You aren’t blind, you know this much, but you don’t think you like short hair so much — even if Naoki-kun’s short hair suits him quite well. Still, you end up timidly agreeing with your club members, wishing to get this over with. “Mhm, I think Naoki-kun is kinda cute . . .”

"Oh my gosh . . .”

“Ah, I knew it,” someone says. “I mean, most girls like him, so it’s obvious, right?"

You never said anything about liking Naoki-kun in a romantic way, you just said he was kinda cute (you guess). You just shrug and the topic moves onto how a student in the grade below you had caught the new teacher from class 2-b and the principal on a date. Your married principal. A classic love affair. The rumour echoes down the streets in the town, forever spiralling.

And in the early morning of May, 2003, your mother enters the house again and you think she may have forgotten something before heading off to work. Instead, she tosses a letter on the kitchen table. She says it’s for you. It’s plain. A white envelope with no decorations — you immediately know it’s not from one of your friends from school and your heart races in anticipation even before you grab it. You flip it over to see if it says who it’s from.

And it does. It’s a letter sent from Roppongi — a letter from Haitani Rindō.

Time slows and your heart beats loudly in your ears. The wind leading into summer suddenly doesn’t feel so slow; the morning birds chirp in tune of your heartbeat.

It was already the end of June, you blow out your candles. Another June goes by and you graduate from junior high.

—

You are sixteen when you meet Rindō and Ran again.

They surprise you at the train station, and when you see them, you don’t recognise them at all. It feels like you don’t know who they are. They’re suddenly a lot taller, more mature with matching tattoos and dyed hair that you don’t see people your age with — and to their defence, they have always had dyed hair back when you first met. There’s an intimidating air to them which draws you in. An edge you should look out for. One step and you will fall.

Your grandfather has also changed — barely, but you can see he looks a little smaller than you remember him to be. Older, too. There’s wrinkles around his eyes and mouth — ones due to his permanent frown. Yet his eyes feel warm, they soften when he looks at you.

Ran doesn’t really hang out nor talk to you anymore. During your trip there, he spends most days out and sometimes Rindō tags along with him, in which you stay at home with your grandfather or go shopping. And when you first caught them with bruises on their faces and torn skin on their knuckles, you cried. Catching them two and three more times didn’t make it any better.

You knew from first glance that Rindō and Ran are what people call delinquents, you aren’t blind when faced with the obvious. It feels strange seeing your childhood friends like this — the violence indulge in.

(You couldn’t believe it when you first learned the reason as to why you haven’t heard from Rindō in a long, long time. It’s still hard to believe, but when you see them like this, you can’t refuse it.)

It gradually builds into a routine, always finding yourself in the Haitani home while their mother is away at work. Forcing Rindō down onto his bed as you clumsily clean up his wounds, shaky, and unable to look away. Fretting over the way they’ve been hurt like a mother to her children (this is how their own mother probably feels coming home to be greeted by bruised faces). A burned cd of his favourite songs plays in the background. Quietly, because you’re both afraid of Ran waking up.

“Stop looking at me like that.” His tone is anything, but harsh. His sigh is heavy, yet soft. “You gotta stop worrying at this point. It’s nothing you haven’t seen before.”

You immediately frown as you glare up at him. “I worry because you don’t.”

“You know it’s not as bad as it looks. Can barely feel a thing. You’ve got nothin’ to worry about.”

You quickly retort, “It is . . . Why do you keep saying that? Every time I see you, you are injured. That’s not normal.” Growing more frustrated at his lack of self-care, you softly glare at his tattered hand. You mumble, “What are you and your brother even up to?” More so to you, than to Rindō.

However, he hears you. He laughs, more rather airy than his usual boastful one. “Aren’t you too nice?”

“No, I’m not,” you mutter. “Something like this is normal.”

“I guess that means my world isn’t so normal. I don’t know anyone else like you.”

Those pretty amethyst eyes draw you in. You shake your head, replying, “You will meet others like me. Caring about someone who is hurt is nothing special. It’s . . . it’s human to do so.” You hold his hand carefully in yours, inspecting the cloth to make sure it’s securely wrapped. Thumb brushing over the fabric.

“There’s only you.”

The room falls silent. The track slowly fades into the next. Your heart races.

Rindō coughs into his sleeve. “Um, I meant that I only know you. The guys I know aren’t really like that at all.”

It may be your mind playing tricks on you. The way he looks and sounds — his every gesture feels too tender to be Rindō. It’s odd, not him. Your eyes must be playing tricks on you too because the look in Rindō’s eyes seems too gentle and intimate. You look away.

“You have Ran, who cares about you a lot,” you point out, eyes looking anywhere but at him.

He quietly chuckles, “Yeah. That’s just Ran though. You know how he is.”

You vaguely reply, “I guess so.”

“You know so.”

“Everyone knows so,” you softly add, “just take of yourself more. Please.”

You lift your eyes for a split second, and he meets you within it. Rindō softly smiles, “Okay. I will, so you won’t cry anymore.”

You can’t look at him for too long without feeling your face flush, it gets too hot, and the unfamiliar feeling of butterflies that invade your stomach, pooling, itching to explode whenever he smiles at you. He makes you so nervous and you don’t know how to react. You’ve never felt this type of nervousness with someone before.

“I don’t cry.”

“I sure hope you won’t.”

You don’t know how to act.

That night, once Ran awakens from his nap, the three of you decide to hang outside. Roppongi is not similar to the countryside in any shape or form and you’re no longer surprised to see the city awake during these late nights. This city is always brighter after midnight.

Rindō had run off to the nearest konbini for drinks due to him losing three rounds of rock-paper-scissors [really, who actually chooses rock], and you and Ran are squatting down by the riverbank with sparklers burning in your hands. Rindō will probably be annoyed that the two of you started without him the second he ran off, but it’s Ran fault if anything. He’s the one who made you grab the sparklers and lit them himself.

However, Rindō wouldn’t be surprised by this, because everyone knows how impatient Ran can be at times.

“Y’know, on summer nights like this, the main character and her love interest would light sparklers together—” Ran begins to say with his sparkler dangles above yours, burning so fast and bright, “—and they will become stuck together. It stays like that, and that is usually when something in their relationship changes. . . I saw it in a shōjo anime before.” He pulls the end of his sparkler before his and yours get the chance to become tangled, and smiles softly at you. Ran looks pretty — prettier than most celebrities you see on television and magazine covers. He’s probably popular with girls.

And you assume, Rindō, too. He’s definitely no less popular than his brother. This thought immediately makes everything feel sour, your smile falters and you look back down at the sparklers. A pile of ash building below. The flames are bright, rushing into your eyes and leaves your head dizzy.

It’s quite beautiful; the way sparks flicker and dimming ashes fall around you. Vanishing within moments it hits the ground.

“You learned that from a shōjo anime?”

He replies with a shrug. “I mean, yeah. It’s a popular trope these days. I know you girls are into those types of things. Quite romantic, hm?”

You nod and don’t try to hide your smile. You didn’t think Ran was into anime like that. You didn’t know he was a romantic type of guy.

“Don’t laugh,” Ran scoffs. “You’ve become quite rude, huh.”

“I’m not! I just thought it was cute,” you huff in defense.

“Uh-huh.”

He rolls his eyes in which you mockingly repeat back, and you both laugh.

So, Ran is a little different these days. He’s all grown, almost unrecognisably so. But he is still your friend — there is still the Ran you knew back then there inside of him. And you think, he and Rindō could probably say the same about you. Change is inevitable, it comes hand-in-hand with growing up.

“So, this is something you do with someone you love. . .” you mutter his words to yourself. “Why aren’t you doing it with someone you love—well, uh, have you?”

It’s silent. A croak of a frog, a call of a cicada. His answer lies in his silence and it’s sad to hear, because beneath everything, Ran is someone with lots of love to give. It’s unfortunate how he’s never once liked to wear his heart on his sleeve, hidden away deep in a metal cage. He is a nice guy, really. So sweet to Rindō — sometimes towards you.

Ran shakes his head, redirecting the conversation to you. Something he always seems to do. “Why aren’t you?”

You . . . ?

Attentive with the eyes of a hawk, Ran picks up on your confusion within seconds. He tells you not to mind his words which only makes you feel more lost — heart racing. You think Ran knows something, but you do not know what. The unknown is always terrifying and you want to know.

Ran wants an answer that you cannot provide. Beginning to feel warm underneath your thin clothes, you grow anxious under his heavy stare, yet can’t find it in yourself to look away.

His eyes drift for a second and light from the sparklers fall in. He looks back at you, then cocks his head in the opposite direction. Curious, you follow his line of sight — Rindō.

Immediately, you take this opportunity to run. You hand the remains of your incense stick to Ran as you jump up, dusting off the dirt and ash that may have gotten on your clothes. Running up the stone steps, meeting him halfway (you pay no mind to Ran who yells that you got dirt on him). Your shadows reach before your bodies do, overlapping underneath the flickering lamp post.

“Rindō! Why’d you take so long?” You ask while leaning in, folding your hands behind your back. His blond locks are messy and sticking to his forehead instead of styled in his usual fashion, red cheeks and his chest is raising up and down as he breathes. “Did’ya run here? You’re looking a little red . . .”

He lets out an exasperated sigh, visibly annoyed with a prominent scowl on his face. “This idiot in front of me was taking his sweet fuckin’ time,” he replies, his glasses shift down his nose bridge and you reach your hand up to fix it. However, before you can, he grabs your wrist (a sudden yet gentle gesture) completely stopping you.

You awkwardly mutter, “Um. Sorry . . . ?”

Rindō blinks before letting go of your hand, shaking his head. “Ah, no,” he clears his throat, “I got it. Thanks.”

Opening the plastic bag, he holds a bottle of ramune towards you. The little spot he touched burns, and it’s then when Rindō asks you what’s wrong because you had suddenly froze in your movements. “Did you want a different flavour? I think I saw a strawberry one left,” he offers, “or you can take my drink. It’s beer, though. You don’t drink, right?”

“No, no. I like it. I prefer the original one,” you decline as you take the drink from his hand. Fingers brushing against his cold ones. “Thanks, Rin.”

“I do, too. It’s my favourite.”

His favourite, yet he had replaced it for some cheap canned alcohol — he and Ran aren’t even old enough to drink, but you don’t really care, either. Things like that strangely suit them.

You bite your tongue when you almost reply, I know. However, you do respond with a brief, “Really?”

“Yeah. It’s a necessity on summer days, y’know?”

You can’t help, but agree. “That’s why I like it.”

“Yeah, I know.”

And you wonder if Rindō remembers everything that happened the summer the both of you first met — you do. Those summer days spent underneath the shade side by side sharing melting popsicles and ramune, running around Roppongi and challenging each other at the arcade games. Aiding new cuts and bruises that appear on the brother’s bodies, Rindō would place a bandaid on your hands and knees every time you had fallen down trying to catch up to them, and whispering secrets only meant for the two of you to know [ones Ran comes to know, unsurprisingly]. You miss those summer days, and you don’t want to see the end of this one too.

Days with the Haitani brothers are unforgettable — so special, a feeling nothing can replace. Your hometown has never once felt like this.

Nobody has made you feel this way before.

You bring the ramune to your mouth, sweetness dissolves on your tongue, your lips tingle, and your heart burns and burns and burns.

—Bang!

A sudden sharp noise causes you to jump, droplets of your drink splash onto your thin shirt and down your chest. The culprit is none other than Rindō, who had bought firecrackers along with the drinks — setting it off a little too close to him and Ran, bursting right beneath their feet. Rindō laughs uproariously due to your surprised expression — so loud and clear, it cuts through the cicadas’ callings, passing cars, and the booming of firecrackers. His smile is like the warmth of summer; brighter than sparklers and the sea of little stars above. Your cheeks heat up, and all you can see is him.

At this moment, it’s two a.m. at the end of July when everything hits you like a huge tidal wave. Oh. You understand it now.

This feeling burns into you.

Everything feels like summer.

#tokyo revengers #rindou haitani #rindou haitani x reader #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo rev x reader #haitani brothers

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kithtaehyung · 2 years ago

Text

busted (3tan) (m) | myg

title: busted pairing: 3tan!yoongi x reader(f) , jungkook x reader(f) series: masterlist | three tangerines | fireworks | house party | basketball | stay | sidewalk talk | friends | dalo | like that | anytime | sundress season | yoongi’s interlude | forfeit | flutter | video call rating/genre: m (18+) ; angst , fluff , smut ; brother’s best friend au, implied age gap au summary: when things go a bit south at your house party, decisions between you and yoongi have to be made. note: well. here we are, y’all. it’s been quite a long time, but we are back to regularly scheduled programming :’)) thank you to everyone that has supported and encouraged me throughout this whole process – and series, for that matter. i couldn’t have done this without y’all and the next part is already in the works. also i cried a lot writing this lol have fun! note 2: happy birthday, hedgehog! and to colourless and nicki and whoever else had birthdays recently, consider this my gift to y’all! warnings: language, the amount of content itself fck i’m so sorry, parties, alcohol consumption, tense situations, shoving, abandonment mentions (parental), obligatory yoongi on the phone, ch*king, head/hair pulling, reader has a pain kink and it shows oops, angst, overthinking :((, penetrative s*x, chains but come on now, protective s*x, cowgirl, or*l (m/f rec), edg*ng a ha ha, thro*tf*cking, kissing :’))), kissing D:, did i say angst?, bro😵‍💫, but also bro😭, jungkook gets a warning too, yoongi’s jeans are as ripped as he is heyo, hitting from the b b back, yoongi king of consent sheesh, multiple org*sms, spitting lmfao, sl*t/wh*re mentions, yoongi jfc lol, the aftercare y’all i–😭, the ending🧍 drop date: june 9th, 2023, 7:17pm est word count: 18.8k gdi

Here goes nothing and everything.

It was fifteen years ago when you first met Jungkook. When the sidewalks in your neighborhood were fewer and the occupancy in your house was higher.

A tiny boy, he was immediately ready to stay by your side, despite the limited amount of time he got to hang around before his parents corralled his energy back inside their car.

Later on, he would tell you that had something to do with them not wanting him influenced by your brother and his group. But you didn’t know that at the time.

Ever since the two of you met, you became the best of friends. And as you grew older, it was only natural that feelings bloomed with everything else.

In the midst of an ever changing garden, you found something that never wavered, vibrant in color and immovable at its root.

Which was strange. You’d never compared people to flora before him.

But, because of Jungkook, you couldn’t help but see everyone as such—lilies, buttercups, the ones that trap to survive.

And he was the prettiest, strongest flower of them all.

There was rain. There were storms. But with them came hope, and a pair of cheap rings that the two of you bought nestled nicely in boxes, waiting to be unearthed when you were ready.

However.

What also came was a lesson. One that you would learn again when two of every seat remained unused in your household.

A lesson that people are more like seasons than flowers.

They change with or without you.

And they pass by.

“We can go somewhere quieter if you want,” Jungkook offers. And you know he’s going to suggest your room before he even utters the words.

But of course he adds a small, “If I’m allowed in there anymore.”

When he laughs, your smile is as slow as your head shake, a few memories of old tasting bittersweet on your tongue. “We can.”

“Okay.”

When you make your way to your room, you hear the thumps of music and rhythms of conversation—both casual and loud—echoing throughout the house. Some people are sharing laughs, others are scooting just a bit closer, and a lucky one is cackling before demanding that everyone hand over their money.

All of them oblivious to the fact that you’re about to rip off a piece of your heart.

Well. That may not be the case. But based on the conversation that you had with Jungkook before your interview, this wasn’t going to be an easy one in the slightest—not for him, nor for you.

But if he’s gonna keep pushing forward, this is a stop you need to put up regardless.

During a party isn’t what you had in mind, though. Much less one in your own house.

You don’t know if anyone sees you open your door for Jungkook to pass through, or if they notice the slump of your mood, but you figure no one will care anyways.

Until you see someone out of the corner of your peripheral.

And the skip of your heart tells you who it is.

Occupying one of the hallways a ways away, you can tell he’s very aware of you despite being in the middle of a chatty group.

But what’s on his mind? Is he worried? Is he gonna ask what this is about?

Damn it. You’re just gonna have to tell him later. You can’t exactly do anything now.

A voice peeps from behind your tense shoulders,

“You okay?”

Fuck.

Turning, you nod to the boy in your room before shutting your door, giving one more look to the man whose last text you couldn’t read.

And the way he stares makes you wanna bolt from everyone entirely.

When your door clicks shut, you slowly swivel, only the bass of your brother’s music pushing the walls in closer.

Jungkook’s doing exactly what you knew he’d do, wandering around your room and either leaning in to observe, or lightly touching things that he remembers.

The soft puff of a laugh snaps you into focus. “I can’t believe you still have all his medals up.”

Ah. He even remembers the way you have all your brother’s trophies and achievements displayed—all because you liked seeing them shine, and he didn’t want them in his room.

Sweeping your gaze along two of your walls, you let out a tiny sound of amusement while agreeing, “I can. Too lazy to take them down.”

“I can do it,” he immediately responds. “If you need me to.”

If it had been five years ago, you would’ve been enamored that he even offered.

But five years ago is when he shattered any hopes you had for the two of you, so you turn him down yet again. “It’s okay.”

“You sure?”

“We’re here to talk, not decorate, Jungkook.”

He stares before nodding in dejection, eyes finding something other than you. “It’s still weird to hear you say my name.”

It’s weird to say it.

But you can’t let him know you agree, so the sound you make is half-cautious and weakly lighthearted. “You think so?”

“Ah, yeah.” He flashes a smile that still squeezes air from your lungs. “I’d gotten too used to all the names you had for me.”

“Oh, god.”

“But I guess someone else gets to hear them now.”

Goddamn it. He’s not gonna give up, just like he said right before your interview.

“Who are you seeing?”

“Kook…”

“I wanna know.”

“Why?”

He walks over to your nightstand, picking up a picture of you and your friends from years back.

And your heart pangs at how big his back has become.

Without turning, Jungkook lifts his head to stare at your ceiling. And if he’s wondering whether the glow stars he stuck all over it are still there or not, you don’t know if you’d admit that you never took them down.

“So that I’d know if I still have a chance.”

“You already had yours,” you whisper. “Remember?”

And when you look up, he’s already staring at you with regret.

Memories start to come back, but you shove them away with force, trying to empty your sinking boat with a teaspoon.

Every time he had walked back from school with you, every time he would make you laugh when you felt alone, every time he stayed at your place when your brother had to be out—all of them competed with each other to punch you in the gut and push you to your knees.

“I do,” is all he says before softly placing the frame on your bed. “I fucked that up, didn’t I.”

The times he said he’d be there when you needed him, the times he said it was gonna be okay when you struggled with your seemingly deepest darkest secrets.

All the times you knew you’d have a long future with him.

“You did.”

Everything leading up to the time he said you should break up before you left for university.

Right before you were going to tell him you loved him.

Your heart hasn’t beat in awhile, but you don’t notice until Jungkook starts walking towards your planted feet. Was he really so far away? How did he cover the distance between so fast?

With a sigh occupying your chest, you muse that he looks so different, but also not different at all.

And just like the time you saw him downtown, your brain doesn’t know how to separate the Jungkook you knew from the one you see in front of you.

Because they are still the same.

You don’t budge as he stands resolute, inches away but encasing you in his familiar presence. When his hand comes up to your face, he almost touches—but the slight hesitation has you holding your breath before he surrenders his hand at his side.

“I was an idiot,” he admits, throat seemingly small and making yours the same size. “I never should’ve… I can’t believe I…”

You watch as he flips his head up, and you hate how you know exactly what he’s trying to hide.

But your soul still remembers the wound it was dealt. So while you don’t want him feeling this way, you’re perfectly okay to fight back.

He doesn’t get to cry when he’s the reason for all those tears.

“And yet you did,” you remind him, proud of how stable your voice leaves lips that used to seek his. “And you left me so fucking confused.”

“I know.”

“Do you really?”

He flickers regretful eyes your way, giving you all the room to talk.

And you’re going to.

“Do you actually know, Kook? How fucked up that made me feel right before going where I knew nobody. No one.”

His nostrils flare while eyebrows flinch.

You expel a tough breath, everything that happened before bubbling up to the surface. The nights you spent wondering what happened, the days you spent feeling unwanted, the times you felt so fucking alone.

“Is it true that you even loved me?”

“Yes,” he finally shatters, face contorting and eyes welling at their rims. “Of course I did.”

Did.

“I still do.”

Liar.

“I thought I was the only one.” You search his eyes, hating how you would comfort him in an instant if this were any other circumstance. Hating, hating, loathing that this is how you find out your love wasn’t unrequited. “Why did you push me away?”

“I didn’t—I didn’t mean to…” He turns, unable to handle the loud silence streaming from your bones. Voice shaken, he flounders, “I don’t know. I’ve—”

When he pauses, it’s to keep his lips from shaking. You just know it.

“I’ve regretted it every day since.”

“Bullshit.”

“I have!”

“Really. So all those texts you never sent were full of regret, too, huh?”

“No, I—”

“All those calls you never made.”

“I wanted to call!”

“You wanted nothing to do with me!”

“No! That’s not true—”

“Liar!”

He digs palms into the soaking divots of his face, tense at all angles and making you so, so angry that this is what the both of you have come to.

“I’m not lying!”

“You are!”

You thought it would feel better seeing him cry.

But it’s not, it’s not, it’s not. You hate this.

Because Jungkook made sure your tears were short-lived. Made sure to chase them away every single time—

There’s a rapid twist of your locked doorknob before you hear a shout,

“What the hell’s going on in there!”

Shit, your brother. Were you both yelling?

…Were you both that loud?

“We’re fine!” you shout back, embarrassed that your fight somehow managed to outperform the aux. “It’s okay.”

“Open the door.”

“No.”

“You better be serious—”

“Promise!” You look toward the shouts. “We’re okay.”

“…Okay.”

And then it’s completely silent.

But you know he hasn’t left.

Fuck, he can’t hear the rest of this. He shouldn’t have heard any of it in the first place, and you can feel the heat of his questions coming later tonight.

Which, you are fine answering when it’s just the two of you. But you cannot have anyone hovering right now so you go to open the door and tell him off,

“Dude, I said I’m—”

Oh, fuck.

Yoongi’s right there with him.

And your heart fucking lurches.

Fuck fuck fuck they both see your tears and you’re getting moved aside before you know it now there’s—

“The fuck are you doing making them cry?”

“Wait, it’s not like th—”

“You come into our house after years—”

“Stop!”

“And pull some shit like this?”

Alarmed, you squeeze yourself between him and a very wide-eyed Jungkook, having to wrestle an angry wrist off a captured bicep. “Seriously, relax!”

You and your brother have a thousand differences.

But one thing you two have in common?

He’s just as stubborn as you are.

A strong swipe moves you back so fast that your feet can’t keep up, and you find yourself stumbling until firm hands and familiar cologne keep you upright, voices springing up all at once.

“I’m not—”

“Hey—!”

“The fuck—”

“What’s wrong with you?” you question, commanding attention and snagging both your brother’s and Jungkook’s stares.

Barely even caring if they see where you are and who’s holding you.

Because this is all stupid. It’s not fucking high school and you aren’t some kid that needs their useless, shitty, good-for-nothing parents to stand up for them.

Resisting Yoongi’s grip until he lets go, you stalk up to rip your brother’s hand off your ex’s arm, voice darkened and sharp, “Get out.”

Breath hard, the reply you get is directed more at Jungkook than your own pinched brows,

“Why should I.”

“Cus it’s fine,” you shoot out, sparing a glance at Yoongi and regretting it immediately.

Because he’s not looking at you. He probably wasn’t ever looking at you.

No. Based on that look alone, he’s been eyeing Jungkook with an energy that sends chills straight through your veins.

It’s so unmoving, so infernal that your throat dries, forcing you to swallow before laying more reassurance on three pairs of tense shoulders. “It’s alright, okay? We’re just talking.”

“…So it’s like that?”

Jungkook immediately replies to your sibling with a monotone, “Of course it is.”

To which he moves forward again before you stop him with a hand and a shout,

“The fuck it isn’t—”

“It is! Fucking hell, dude...”

You force an exhale, hating how your room is overflowing while you’re still drowning in the conversation prior.

Because now one talk is gonna sprout into three, and you already dread what each one is going to look like when it develops.

You hope Jungkook understands that you’re done.

You hope your brother understands that you’re tired.

And, above all the others, you hope to any high power out there that Yoongi understands that you are anything but finished.

When the tension doesn’t budge, you sigh and shift your weight.

“Look. We’re just talking. But I need to speak to him alone.” You breathe with finality, eyeing your sibling and his ride or die—hating and loving how ready they are to do whatever they need to, together.

But they don’t have to do anything.

Except let you do this yourself.

“Please.”

After a moment, they both look over your shoulder before your brother watches your face again.

But Yoongi seems to have finally caught Jungkook’s attention, because his eyes haven’t broken their lock until you say something,

“Trust me.”

Two weighty seconds pass before both men nod. And they leave without a word, emotions toppling on each other as soon as your door shuts.

When you walk up to lock it shut, you stare at the knob in silence.

While that was massively uncalled for, it could’ve gone much worse. You can already think of over a hundred outcomes, because that’s a look you’ve seen on your brother many times.

However. That’s not what has you lost in thought.

What keeps you frozen is the fact that you have never seen Yoongi like that.

It almost scared you, but somehow comforts you all the same. You can still feel the way he subtly squeezed you in assurance, pressing you into him when you really didn’t fall that far. There’s a jittering in your chest that hasn’t simmered, and it makes you feel like you’re halfway floating back to where Jungkook stands.

But you’re promptly grounded when you rejoin him, voice soft when you ask if he’s okay.

“He hasn’t changed,” is all he whispers.

And you look at the door with a sigh of disappointment. “He has a little. Still uptight as ever, but. At least I can leave the house.”

“Yoongi was a surprise.”

Oxygen abandons your lungs before you quickly catch yourself. “They’re best friends.”

Jungkook glares at the floor in thought before exhaling, and his silence seems charged. Almost off.

“Right.”

…Well, what the hell is that supposed to mean?

Is it because he saw when Yoongi caught you? Or the fact that he showed up at all?

“Hey,” you whisper, hoping to rope him away from whatever scary things he could be pondering. When he flicks his attention to you, it takes a lot to not flinch at his watery eyes. “Ignore them. We aren’t finished here.”

“I know. I’m sorry,” he murmurs, and your conversation jumps right back to where it was. “For everything.”

“I know.” You close your eyes before sadness lowers your gaze. “But it’s gonna hurt for awhile.”

Even if you get this closure, it can’t cover all the years he made you doubt yourself. Made you feel like everything you went through was a lie and that love was something you just didn’t deserve. Confidence vaporized as a result, leaving nothing but issues and manufactured intimacy for years.

Maybe that’s why everyone said you were a bad lay before. Because you actually were.

Through your thick haze, you hear a faint, broken,

“You loved me?”

“I…” Don’t say it. Don’t tell him. “I still do.”

“What?”

Fuck.

It’s true. While he broke your heart first, he still cared for it more than anyone else after him had—until recently. The only grief he gave you was the breakup, which was why it threw you for an absolute loop.

As you grew up, though, you started to rationalize that the split was a good decision. He was moving, and you were leaving for college. How would you both have fared with the long distance? It probably would have ended one way or the other anyways.

So while the resentment burned your heart, it didn’t quite rid you of affection. What you feel as a result is similar to before, but so very, very different. Subdued. Faded. Like jeans you wore constantly but haven’t touched in years.

In all honesty, what broke you the hardest was losing a dear friend.

“I do,” you finally admit, not looking at him because of your next words, “But not the way you want me to.”

Jungkook doesn’t respond, letting the outside world bleed into the room like a bitter interlude.

When he still makes no sound, you lift weary eyes to check on him.

And your chest constricts at the way he looks utterly and totally lost.

When you call his name, his gaze doesn’t leave the floor. When you whisper it again, the tear that falls makes you weak. “Kook, what’s wrong?”

He finally looks up, and you feel your eyes quickly reflect his. “I was so stupid,” he sniffles, wiping his nose. “I really didn’t know. Honestly, I knew that was impossible.”

For some reason, this makes you chuckle, and a new mood starts to paint the walls. “Why?”

“Because you were so cool.” His smile hasn’t changed. And that’s what cuts the deepest. “And I was just there because I always was.”

“What?” You start to join him in bittersweet recollection, albeit from a different perspective. When you reach forward to point at his necklace—because you will not touch the ring—you softly laugh. “Then what were these for, silly?”

When he sighs, you can feel the cracks in his curve. “I’ve been told that I’m clueless.”

“You are,” you say with a sagging grin. “Extremely.”

He laughs again. So do you.

And the both of you break all at once.

He’s crushing you in a hug and you’re crying into his clothes, hands gripping at his jacket and shoulder feeling the weight of his world.

While he repeats that he’s sorry, you choke out that you are, too. When he says it was never your fault, you cry even harder.

You fucking hate this. Now that you know the truth, it hurts that much worse. You hate, hate, hate that this is what everything came to. Everything that you both went through, destroyed by one mistake at the bitter end.

But you need to move on. You need to sacrifice the past for the future.

“I still love you,” he whispers, and you tense when he tightens his arms. “And I’m still sorry.”

“You idiot,” you cry into his chest, and you hear him hold back a sob before burying his head again.

And the two of you stay like that. One last embrace that you both needed.

Reminiscing over everything that doesn’t matter anymore.

When you both calm, you feel like it’s been hours.

But you move to step away first, confused at the way he doesn’t let you leave.

What’s he doing? Why is his mouth hovering over yours? You need to move. You need to move away.

But all you can do is plead, “I can’t.”

Still, Jungkook moves in.

Leaning to kiss just next to your lips instead.

What once would have lit your soul on fire now feels like a tempered flame, the smallest light of a candle before it burns out. And you’re grateful that he respects you enough to not push in a time of weakness.

You move away again, and he lets you go this time. But not without last words, “Promise me this person is alright.”

“I promise.”

“Only alright? I have a chance then.”

“Kook.” When you give him an empty glare, dying stars still linger in his eyes. “Friends?”

His lips give away his breaking heart before he nods. “I’m not leaving you again.”

Swallowing, you spread a thankful smile. “You better not,” you sniffle. “I need to decorate.”

He huffs, giving you one more teary stare. “If they ever hurt you, let me know.”

“I’ll be okay.”

After a noncommittal nod, he stands until you politely tell him you need a minute. When he leaves, you wait until the door shuts before wiping nothing from your cheek.

Wondering why this closure doesn’t make you feel better in the slightest.

You don’t know how long it’s been. Time doesn’t exactly flow when you’re caught between the past and the present.

But when you open your door, Dom is watching you with pure, unadulterated focus.

And your face scrunches in pain before she ushers you back inside.

She doesn’t say anything as you sit on your bed, offering her shoulder even though she doesn’t prefer physical contact.

While you’re grateful—so, so thankful for her presence—intermittent sniffles are the only sound you’re capable of.

Until you stabilize and come up for air, fishing words from your river of grief, “Remember what I told you. When he broke up with me.”

Anger simmers in her reply as her shoulder moves under your chin. You assume by the movements that she’s typing something on her phone—or prepping for revenge, either one of the two. “I do.”

“He said he still loves me.”

Your first thought is proven correct as a device plops onto your comforter. “Bullshit.”

“Dom…”

“What? Like he loved you then, too?” She scoffs. “You were the one that loved him and he cut you out. He needs to get over that.”

“He said it was a mistake.”

“It sure as fuck was.”

“I dunno. Something just doesn’t sit right.” You swipe at your nose. “He looked so.. I just…”

“Uh uh. It’s too fresh.” She gently lifts your heavy cloud off her person, firm fingers squeezing out rain. “You gotta get out of your own damn head right now.”

“I know.”

“Now.”

You break into another sob, hiccuping before nodding. “It just sucks, Dom. I d—”

“Look, I get that. But everything you’re thinking about already happened. It’s done.” A glance is thrown behind her back before she swivels around. “Focus on what you have now.”

In your moments of weakness, you ask the dumbest things,

“What do I have now.”

As always, Dominique is quick and to the point. “A man that’s waiting outside your door.”

Huh?

Your eyes flash up to hers as she stands. “Wait, what?”

What did she say? What does she mean? How does she know that what’s going on—

“One minute,” she warns, far away and not to you. “Then you’re on your own.”

“K.”

Wait, what.

You don’t even realize you’re vacating your bed as you see him walk in, nodding back at Dom closing the door before regarding your wreck of a face.

His name is molasses on your tongue.

What is he doing? Isn’t the party still on? Why is he walking closer?

He’s not supposed to be in here he can’t be here and you’re telling him that but he pulls you in so tight that the rest of your tears rain down in sheets.

“Fuck,” is all you can manage now, and he crushes you in even harder, as if he wants you pressed against all of him forever like a keepsake leaf on a journal page.

Your voice writes words into his clothes, silence his only reply but the only one you need.

Even if you only get a minute, this is enough. It’s enough, not enough, enough.

When he holds you at arm’s length, his question comes out a bit fast-paced, “What happened?”

Damn it. As much as you should probably tell him, you use precious seconds to pause, not really knowing if you want to or not.

“Don’t sweat it,” he quickly understands, kissing your forehead just as chaste. When he moves again, you catch the tension in his shoulders, notice the ruffles in his hair. “You gonna be okay?”

“Yes. No.” Fuck, he kinda looks as rattled as you feel. What is happening right now? “I just, umm. I need a minute.”

“You don’t have to go back out there, you know.”

“But you do,” you counter. “And I just wanna see you.”

Finally, Yoongi stops, and his whole upper body relaxes at once. A beautiful sound to your ears, amusement huffs out his nose before he mutters, “You can’t keep saying shit like that.”

“But it’s true.”

His chuckle is light, and mischievous eyes find the ground before they lift to yours,

“Makes me wanna take you home.”

Well. You swiftly realize why he doesn’t want you to keep saying certain things. The zing of emotion through your body was definitely uncalled for.

Any other day, you would want this type of conversation to keep going. And maybe you’d be a little coy about it.

But right now, all you are is tired, and your barriers are crumbled enough for a truth to escape.

Resigned, you step closer to wrap his waist in your arms, not caring if he can feel the rapid beats of your heart. “I want you to do that,” you admit, breath warming your face on his already warmer shirt. “All the time.”

“Take you home?”

“Mmhmm.”

Yoongi runs fingers along your arm. “You know I’d do it if I could, doll.”

If you were someone else. If you didn’t have to hide.

If you didn’t have to wait.

At least you don’t have to wait for much longer. Definitely can’t say anything to your brother tonight, but you and Yoongi agreed on after this party. So things will be better from here on out.

But why does he seem so—

You’re spooked by a warning knock on your door, and you flicker eyes to see his filled with something you don’t like.

And the air suddenly shifts to something alarming.

“Listen.”

“Hmm?”

“I know we said we’d say something.”

Oh. You shake your head, already on the same page and liking how in sync you are. “There’s no way. At least, not tonight. Jungkook—”

“It may need to be a bit longer than that.”

Huh.

What does he mean by—

“So you probably won’t see me for awhile.”

You freeze.

So does time.

A minute is no longer enough.

“Yoongi, please—”

“Can you do that?”

Your heart slams against your ribcage, banging and banging and screaming that what he’s asking is not possible.

Because he isn’t asking what you want to do. He isn’t even asking how long you can wait.

There’s a reason why he’s risking all sorts of shit to say this in person. Why he seems so restless.

And you’re already missing him so hard it hurts.

Truthfully? You can’t do this. Not now. Not when your heart is bleeding out on your own bedroom floor. There isn’t even enough time to process Jungkook’s talk and now you need to deal with this?

“Babe?”

But despite what you feel, even if your throat is seizing and your chest is caving in, your answer will be what he needs.

Because seeing Yoongi look like this—torn and frayed at the edges—renders you powerless and protective all at once. For fuck’s sake, he looks slightly panicked and this is the second new side of him you’ve seen tonight.

And yet he found a way to be with you one last time.

Sacrificing seconds just to say goodbye.

So you give up something, too. Your wants and needs because you don’t think you can do this, but it seems way too important to him to not try.

You get it. That whole confrontation probably snapped all sense back into him. He doesn’t want to hurt his best friend. Or disrupt his work environment. Or both. Whatever whatever whatever. You should’ve seen this coming.

If distance is what he wants, you’ll give it. Instant karma because you just told someone else to give you some, too.

Of course you lose someone as soon as you gain back another.

“Doll, let me know because—”

“Anything,” you rush out, and yearning taints your voice on the descent. “I’ll do it.”

He pans from one eye to the other, and you weakly reveal a crack in your resolve,

“Anything for you.”

That answer was a lot more than what you meant to say. And the next look he gives rips you into shreds. Shreds of the bigger truth you just told him with moments left of his time.

“For us,” he corrects, swooping in to give you one more soul-shattering kiss.

And with that, he pulls away, turning to retreat into the real world that proves absurdly cruel.

You don’t know when you’ll get to be alone with him again. It could be a day. Or months. Or even longer.

But watching him go, you know you can get through this. You know you can do it.

Because this is nothing new. Just another person leaving. You’ve gone through it before and you’ll go through it again and this time will be different, right? Right? He’ll come back. Of course he will.

And yet there’s still a part of you that questions.

If people are like seasons…

Which one will Yoongi be?

Fuck.

Your body is moving before the rest of you does, and you propel forward to tug him in, flooding his lips with saltwater and longing and a deluge of reluctant trust.

And he responds in an instant, swallowing you in an embrace you’ll cherish forever and willingly giving in to your desperate tugs on his jacket.

“Yoongi, I—”

You hear another insistent knock before he slings you into the nearest wall, and he grips the back of your head so hard you sob into his mouth.

“I know.”

His name rattles around your mouth.

“It’ll be okay.”

You wanna believe him.

“Okay?”

But you only nod, eyes filled with oceans but gaze unwavering. Because you need to see him. Because you need to see him.

“Fuck.”

He smashes his lips on yours once more, capturing every soft plea for him to stay and holding you so tightly that your heart splinters. And while you know this is his way of telling you everything will be okay, you have a sinking suspicion that he is fighting to believe it himself.

It’s not fair.

None of this is fucking fair.

If he was anyone else, if you were anyone else, if your brother wasn’t the way he was, if Jungkook wasn’t in the position he’s in now.

It was just nights ago that you cradled all his moonlight in your palms.

And now you’ll be farther apart than stars.

Yoongi finally pulls away right as Dom opens the door, and a myriad of emotions slosh into your brain when his eyes never leave you.

“I got us,” he vows, finger on your chin the sole thing keeping you afloat, and you suspend in disbelief that someone you know is witnessing his lips press your forehead in real time and no explosions or helicopters are crashing onto the scene.

Just a panicked “Hurry up, for god’s sake!” to indicate your friend is not amused or phased.

Yoongi finally steps away, slowly backing up before slipping out, and the door closes with only you inside—hand clawing deep into your chest.

Because you know him well enough.

He was committing your every feature to memory.

And the desperation in his reddened eyes hunches you forward in pain.

The rest of the party goes on. Music booms, people laugh, conversations sparkle.

And you hear them all through your door.

Unmoved from the spot everyone left you in.

Idiot🙄 [1:34am]: Hey

Idiot🙄 [1:34am]: You up or nah?

You [1:40am]: yeah

Idiot🙄 [1:40am]: Help me clean up

You scoff at your phone, letting it fall from your hand before resting tired eyes between your knees.

When it buzzes again, you reluctantly read it with vision unreflecting.

Idiot🙄 [1:42am]: Left food for you, too

That you will leave your room for. You may have just cried out your weight in tears alone.

You🙄 [1:46am]: ok

Idiot🙄 [1:46am]: 👍

Cleaning is a quiet event, with you both doing the chores you’ve defaulted to over the years. While he clears the floors and deals with the trash, you steadily get through the dishes, scrubbing them as well as you can before placing them in the washer to dry.

A plate. A bowl after that.

Two whisky glasses even though there were plenty of solo cups to use.

You needed this. Needed a way of going through the motions and letting your brain fly on autopilot. If you sniffle, the water drowns it out, and only the dishes get to see any lingering tears.

And unluckily for you, there are plenty of both.

“Hey.”

You hum.

“Do I need to beat his ass?”

Well, that didn’t take long.

Frustration tears its way up your throat on all fours, “I should kick yours for what you did back there.”

“And I’d deserve it.”

You pause.

“But I still wanna know.”

Sighing, you shake your head, knowing that neither of you are angry enough to fight anyways. “No, okay? I was serious. We talked.”

“I know you talked but he still hurt you.”

Your lip stings under your teeth.

“And I can’t just let that go.”

When he stops, you place another dish on its rack. “Let’s just finish and I’ll tell you everything in a sec.”

He sets down the last of his trash before retiring in the living room, the thump of weary weight squeezing a sigh out of the couch.

And you eventually join him, water cutting off with a squeak before you shuck off your gloves.

As you walk through the cleaned-enough rooms, you keep hearing afterimages of conversations, wondering how many revolved around your shouting match with Jungkook, or how many speculated who Yoongi is or isn’t seeing.

All these pretend scenarios mock you from all sides.

But the conversation you’re about to have with your brother is gonna be real. And a long time coming, quite frankly.

You take a breath before crossing into a space that’s seen and heard many things. While you take residence in your regular spot on the sofa, your brother doesn’t deter his gaze from a television that’s not on.

But as soon as you blurt out your confession, he slowly closes his eyes.

“He broke up with me. Before I left for school.”

“...Why didn’t you tell me.”

Brows scrunched, you waste no time in pinning him with your response, “Did you see yourself back there? Imagine if you found out back then.”

Silence.

“Besides,” you continue, deflating back into the cushions, “He was moving, remember? And you had enough going on. I didn’t want you to worry.”

“I always worry.”

“It’s whatever at this point. I didn’t even know he was back until Yoo—you told me.”

Shit, that was close.

“I shouldn’t have made it a surprise.”

“Not your fault. What’s done is done.” When you observe the blank screen, you can see your brother aim a look your way. “Just made the whole uni thing miserable at first.”

And the years after, too, but he doesn’t need the same details that Yoongi got.

He sighs, hand scratching the side of his head before free-falling. When it’s quiet, you think he’s preparing for war. Prepping a vow to go after Jungkook and dealing with a problem that’s not yours anymore.

But he doesn’t do that. What he says catches you completely off guard.

An apology.

“I’m sorry I’m always gone. Or not really here when I’m back.”

Where did that come from? Are you already done with a talk you dreaded for years?

This can’t be it.

Blinking, your mouth slowly opens before you respond as level as possible. “It’s okay. I can pretty much fend for myself at this point.”

“I know. But I’ll try to be better.”

He’s gonna what? “Why?”

“Cus I feel… Uhh.” He moves his lips around in thought, as if the next sentence takes strategy to arrange. “I feel like we don’t really talk anymore.”

“…Oh.”

You’re thoroughly thrown. Because who the hell is this person you’re talking to right now? What’s up with him? He doesn’t need to try anything better except calm the fuck down sometimes. And let you be an adult.

And frankly, you feel like you talk a normal amount anyway. At least, you didn’t think anything was off about it.

What the hell happened after he left your room?

Suddenly, you see him laugh at the ground before asking it a question. “Remember when we’d go get our own food?”

Alright, he’s definitely drunk or a clone.

But you’ll take it. This switch in what you expected this conversation to be is a welcome one, and you softly entertain memories that aren’t supposed to be this funny. “Yeah. We’d get told to come back with our parents.”

“Until they realized we kept going alone.”

A memory makes you smirk. “You even tried dressing like a grown up.”

He chuckles again, elbows resting on his knees as he watches your coffee table. “I really thought I did it, too.”

“You did.” Thinking about all the shit you both went through, it’s truly a wonder how you’re both still here. Living and existing and doing big things.

A rueful chuckle leaves your lips, floating to the floor. “We’re fucked up, huh.”

“Very,” he agrees. “But who isn’t.”

True. “It could be worse, I think.”

“How?”

You play with some of the frays on your sofa, wondering when this piece of furniture started to resemble thin lines of too-soft polyester at its edges.

Did it start to give up around the same time your parents did? Or had their patience worn thin way before the threads on this cushion began to fade?

Whichever truth remains, at least it’s still here—witnessing all the struggles and triumphs, the highs and lows, and all the times the two of you had sat in puffy-eyed silence.

Together.

“They could’ve left us somewhere else.”

“Ah,” he nods, slowly shaking his head and twisting the watch on his wrist. “Nah.”

Silent, your eyes find his side profile in due time. “No?”

And his glare burns the path ahead. Just like it always has. “I wouldn’t have let them.”

“Oh, really.”

“I got them to leave us all this, didn’t I?”

Wait, he did what now?

…You didn’t know that.

“Hold on,” you breathe slow. “That’s what happened?”

“We had a deal.” He sighs before leaning all the way back, hands joined at the knuckles on his stomach. “If I graduated with full marks and, uhh. Got a starting salary high enough, they’d pay for your tuition.”

The pause he makes weighs a ton.

“And leave this to us when you came back.”

So… He…

Holy shit.

You were just fucking relieved you didn’t have to pay any loans. For once, you thought your parents really had your best interests in mind and did something out of kindness before peacing the fuck out.

But it’s all because your brother negotiated and pulled off the near impossible?

…Is he paying loans?

“I didn’t know any of that,” you whisper, finding yourself on the verge of tears again.

He simply shrugs, looking down at his cherished piece that he rarely takes off. “You didn’t need to. You were just a kid.”

“So were you.”

Your brother purses his lips, and you wonder what words he could be holding back. What thoughts he has that he won’t say out loud. If any of them are things he wants to say but can’t.

“It’s whatever.”

He had to grow up fast so that you didn’t have to.

And you don’t have the heart to tell him that university fast tracked that anyways.

So, while grateful as hell and knowing you’ll be thinking about this conversation for years, you switch the subject. You’re already overwhelmed as is.

And you suddenly understand what Yoongi might be struggling with, too.

Because if he did all this for you, what lengths has he gone for his best friend?

Shoving that thought into a far corner of your brain, you rest your head to mirror your sibling, letting your tears slide back to where they came from. “I, umm. Was wondering why they left us the house. But I figured they just didn’t wanna pay for it.”

“It was already paid off,” he explains, seemingly just as happy to talk about something else. “Don’t ask me how I know this, but it’s how I was able to negotiate in the first place. They had four other properties, and a condo on some island.”

“What.”

“That’s why they were rarely here. Work trips, my ass.” He scoffs before bouncing a leg. “And they had us in this place.”

“I like it here, though.”

“I do, too, but…” You hear a shuffle of his feet before he stops. “I just. I dunno, it’s just us here. It feels...”

“Empty?”

“Maybe. More like something’s missing? I dunno, that’s probably lame.”

You inhale before assuring him. “It’s not.”

And with that, you’re both left to stare at the same ceiling, conversation stewing and simmering around the whole room.

Usually, this is when you leave. Because you don’t wanna talk about shit like this, or you simply feel like doing anything else.

But tonight, you want to stay. You didn’t know these things about your brother and what he did, and it’s making you realize a lot of things.

And regret others.

A question rolls off your tongue before you can overthink it, “Do you ever wonder what we did wrong?”

“All the time.”

“When I think about it, I always end up thinking the same thing.”

“Hmm.”

You tilt your head his way. “We weren’t the adults. But neither were they.”

And you both huff in tandem after he grins. “Damn.”

You don’t know how the two of you got here. But it was much better than talking about anything else, and you silently thank him for not making you more miserable than you already were.

Truthfully, you feel a little better instead.

He just needs to know for sure that you really are past the whole situation. Mostly. A healthy amount, at least.

So you tell him. “I mean it, thou—”

“I’m sorry.”

“Huh?” You look over to see regret fill his side of the couch.

“For what I did. I was outta line.”

“Oh.” You swallow, surprisingly emotional that he’s even owning up to it. You know it only happened because he was being protective, but hearing this from him is huge. That had to be hard. “Thank you.”

“I just.. I love you, okay?” He turns to look at the ceiling again, and you quickly have to do the same because you know how that was even tougher to say. “You and my brothers.. You’re all I’ve got.”

Liquid emotion runs down your cheek, never having been told that more than once in a single day.

It’s a shame how foreign it sounds when you say it back.

But that doesn’t make it any less true.

“Love you, too.”

An hour later, you find yourself in bed, clutching your phone while a single question loops through your brain.

…Calling should be okay, right?

Even if you can’t see him, or really be in the same room, this should be okay. At least, in the dead of night when even birds are asleep. When no one is awake to judge you both for lying to the people you...

Your chest squeezes when you press down on your decision, the talk with your brother repeating in your ears.

Yoongi: Outgoing Call

It’s ringing.

Still ringing.

…And you feel your chest cave when you hear it go to voicemail.

Fuck.

Maybe he’s sleeping already. Unforeseen circumstances like emotional turmoil tend to slow down your getting ready for bed process, so it took a lot longer than usual. Maybe he isn’t actively avoiding your calls and is just face down in a pillow you miss using.

And maybe you need to get used to this god-awful feeling as quickly as you can.

This hollow, aching, painful feeli—

Yoongi: Incoming Call

Your chest booms when you see his name, and you try your absolute hardest to answer normally even though instant tears blur the screen.

“H—”

“Sorry, I was showering, fuck.”

His breath sounds so rushed, and you immediately wonder what he looks like if he didn’t take that long to answer. Imagining him in only a towel or less, you let out a pained chuckle before whispering, “You okay?”

“Shouldn’t I be the one asking that?”

Of course that’s his answer. “I’m not. Just wondering if you were.”

“Why would I be if you aren’t? Ow.”

Body alert, you only focus on that last syllable. “Wait, are you hurt?”

You hear a low grunt before he responds.

“Just hit my fucking knee getting out.”

Ouch. How the hell did he do that? “I’m sorry. You got ice, though, right?”

“It’s not that bad. Just stings.”

“Okay.”

There’s some crunching sounds before you hear footsteps and hisses, and a thump before other noise crackles through.

“Spoke to Kook.”

Shit.

“And the guys.”

Oh. About work. “What’s up?”

“We’re gonna be busy as shit for the next month or two, so.. Guess that came at a good time.”

Ah. No finish line in sight.

But he didn’t hide that information from you, so you appreciate the honesty. Better than him leaving you in complete darkness.

“Yeah, do your thing,” you support. “I need to prep for this interview anyway. And figure shit out if I end up getting the job.”

“When you get it.”

You exhale, shy. “When I get it, yeah.”

“Where is it again? That blue building, yeah?”

“Mmhmm. But where I’ll be is like, third floor.”

“See? Claiming shit already.”

You realize right as he says it, but you meant something completely different. Your laugh is soft. “I meant for the interview.”

“Mm. Well lemme know where you post up after they hire you.”

“Yoongi.”

“Fine.”

“Did you, umm. Did you and Kook talk about anything else?”

“Just work stuff.”

“Okay.” Your eyes lower. If he’s telling you everything, you gotta reciprocate.

Even the stuff you don’t wanna mention. “He tried to kiss me.”

“What.”

Swallowing at his tone, you whisper, “I told him I couldn’t.”

“…I see.”

Fuck. He does not sound okay with that in the slightest. Disappointed with yourself, you apologize, “I’m sorry.”

“Huh? Don’t be.”

“You sound mad.”

There’s another moment of silence, and you don’t think you breathe until he responds,

“Not at you, doll.”

Well, shit. You don’t wanna cause any friction between them, especially after the energy Jungkook gave off earlier. It’s still bugging you to hell. “Nothing happened, baby. But he felt really off after y’all left, so.. I dunno. Be careful.”

“I will. But that means I can’t talk when he’s around.”

You bury your head, watching the hours that you get with Yoongi dwindle away. Knowing Jungkook, he’s gonna immerse himself in whatever keeps him distracted. So he will most likely be at the studio just as much. “At least you were there today,” you whisper.

“Mm.”

“Honestly, I didn’t expect that.”

There’s a breath on the line, and you can tell he’s hesitant just by the way he moves his phone. So when he finally speaks, your jaw goes slack.

“I was there first, doll.”

He what?

“Wait… You were?”

He was at your door first? He has to know how that looked, right? Your brother clearly saw him if he was the one to shout, and yet there was no mention of it when the two of you spoke.

Maybe that’s part of why Yoongi decided what he did. A decision to help you came with consequences he knew were coming. But he did it anyway.

Your breath is suddenly short. And your head is starting to spin with information overload.

“The plan was to only check for a sec, but he had the same idea. Showed up right behind me.”

“So… You both heard—”

“Nothing until the yelling.”

They were there the whole time. Both of them. Yoongi first? Your brother joining him?

Nope. This is too much. All of this is way too much for one night and your head is bursting at the seams.

Just another reason why this separation could be a good thing. Other than the fact that Jungkook seems weird and you can’t see Yoongi at all and him and your brother really are more than friends and you wedged yourself right in between everybody—

Information. Realizations. Guilt. You’re spiraling.

Run.

“I’m, umm. I’m gonna get off now.”

“You okay?”

Say yes. Say anything but “No. I’m… I don’t know, I really don’t know—This is a lot and—”

“Wait—”

“I get it and I’ll stay away for as long as you want—”

“Babe, talk to—”

“Bye, Yoongi.”

And you immediately hang up before your dam floods.

He doesn’t need to hear your grief over the past, your regrets of the present, your fear of the future. He doesn’t need to know how pained you really feel dealing with everything at once. How harsh his departure is because this is when you need him most.

Yoongi: Missed Call

All he needs to know is that you’ll do this for him. Because he would do the same for you.

And he’s done enough for everyone other than himself.

But goddamn if this doesn’t hurt like nothing else you’ve experienced before.

And you’ve been through hell.

Yoongi: Missed Call (2)

Why is he calling? Won’t this just make it harder?

Why does he keep trying if you need to stay away?

Yoongi: Incoming Call

With a heart so busted you don’t know where all the pieces are, you finally reach up to acknowledge his effort.

And his greeting sends a pang through your chest.

“Knew you’d answer on the first try.”

Sniffling, you say his name so, so softly.

“You didn’t let me say bye.”

When you don’t respond, he trudges on.

“So now, you get to hear the longest good night ever.”

Huh?

“And no hanging up this time.”

What the heck does he… mean…

As soon as you hear the light strums of a guitar, your heart shows signs of life. And you let everything out while he gathers the scattered shards with every chord. Every note.

Every second he doesn’t say goodbye.

A river flows into your pillow until it runs dry, and the Moon outside your blinds casts a silver blanket over your defeated shoulders.

And it’s only when you and your phone are dead to the world that the Sun steps in to peel it off with calm palms.

For the first time in a long time, you plan a sleepover at Taehyung’s.

And after getting a rundown of what happened, he completely agrees that you both need it.

It’s been a minute since you slept over there, and rolling onto his driveway makes you remember the first time it happened.

Your brother was outright flabbergasted you even asked.

But after some arguments from you and very clear energy from Tae, your brother waved you off and just demanded no funny shit better happen.

And you’ve spent so many nights over there since then that Taehyung’s one of the people he calls if he’s looking for you.

Being reminded of something else interesting, you think back to the first time you went to Yoongi’s, spending enough time there that he ended up on the list of people to call about your whereabouts.

As hot as he was picking up with a cheeky arm around you, it was surprising he was on that list in the first place.

Well, maybe not. They’re best friends. But why would he—

“You just gonna waste gas in my driveway or what?”

Snapping your head up, you see Taehyung looking bored, hands on his hips and wearing the most comfortable clothes you’ve ever seen.

Your glare in return is empty when you finally get out, circling around to grab your stuff and take-out from the passenger seat.

“You’re lucky I like you,” you joke as he goes to grab the food. Locking your car, you follow his grumbles into the house with a laugh, feeling a little okay already.

“How’s Jimin?”

“Still complicated, but that’s not what we’re here to discuss.”

You sigh before you poke your noodles, knowing you have quite the catch-up to get through. If only your attempt at procrastination worked.

“Eat,” Taehyung orders before taking a hearty slurp of his meal. “I don’t care if you’re sad, this wasn’t cheap.”

“Excuse you.” He’s lucky you resist the urge to fling saucy food all over his shorts. “Also, I paid for it, the hell?”

When your friend blows air through his nose, you scoff before silently doing as he says, pouting at the beginning credits onscreen.

“How long has it been?”

Ah. That’s a good start.

As you peer down at your food, emotion and appetite abandon your palate,

“A month.”

“...Damn.”

Taehyung already knows all about what happened. But even if he didn’t, you think he would’ve caught on to your increasingly depressing song choices. And the way you barely watched Yoongi during the last intramural game.

“How’s the new job, though? Good distraction?”

That you can talk about for hours. “Thank fuck it is.”

“That’s good, at least.”

As your meal progresses, you continue to catch him up on everything, including the way night calls are the only thing keeping your hopes afloat.

Because Yoongi was right. Ever since the party, weekdays have been radio silent, and you soon got accustomed to looking forward to his late texts saying he’s home.

And you’ve been okay with that. Landing the job and getting swamped with training has kept you busy, and your friends have been a wonderful salve for persisting wounds.

It just stings when you know the studio is close by. Because even though Yoongi extended invitations before, you avoid that area like the plague.

“But enough about me,” you huff. “Still complicated with him, huh.”

If Taehyung knows you’re too sad to keep talking, he doesn’t show it. His response simply comes after a few chews. “Yeah. But”—he swallows—“Not in a way I’m mad about.”

“What do you mean?”

Taehyung settles back into the sofa right as a ball of fluff hops on, and you watch the movie roll by while he gently orders him to get down. “He’s not as flaky. We just haven’t really labeled anything yet.”

That’s surprising to hear. Tae doesn’t strike you as the labeling type at all, so your question is genuine, “Do you need one?”

A huff is what you get in return, and you can hear the smile in his tone. “He seems to want one more than me. Which is why I don’t get the hesitation.”

“Mm.”

That makes more sense. Knowing what you know about Jimin, you aren’t shocked he would be conflicted about something he really wants.

Why he’s skirting around the point is the question. It’s clear to you that they would be so cute together. And sickly annoying in public.

“Maybe that’s a good sign,” you blurt, roping your friend’s gaze and attention. Spotlight on you instead of the characters bustling about his television, you smile. “It’s like he’s scared because he cares about your feelings.”

Not unlike what’s happening between another pair of friends you know.

Taehyung blinks, and you’ve always liked the way curiosity widens his eyes.

But he’s so quiet that you shift. “What?”

He keeps staring before biting an incoming smile. Before you can question him again, something brightens his expression. “You’ve changed, you know that?”

Huh. “Me? How?”

Your friend just grins before resting his head on the top of his cushion. “I’ve always known you were amazing. But now you look like you know that, too.”

All thoughts fizzle out before your jaw dips. When you try to present arguments, none materialize, and Taehyung laughs at the way you physically buffer.

“Not even denying it. I like this.”

“Shut up,” you finally pout, embarrassed and shy when he laughs again.

The rest of the film continues with nothing else but your commentary, and Taehyung clicks out of the queue screen before another one can start.

“Break? Or what do you feel like?”

You feel Yeontan’s fluff at your feet. “We can keep going.”

“Mmk.”

Both of you contemplate which one to pick when you feel your phone vibrate a ton. And when you see the notification, your heart leaps before crashing back down to the ground.

Yoongi [5:02pm]: Just got booked for another week

Yoongi [5:03pm]: Can’t talk now but

Yoongi [5:03pm]: Letting you know

Right.

You slowly let your hand drop with a sigh, and you can feel Taehyung’s pitied stare without moving.

“I know,” you whisper. “I shouldn’t be upset.”

“You can definitely be upset.”

You lift weary eyes to see that your assumption was very wrong. There’s no pity evident at all.

Only warmth. And understanding.

“Cus knowing him? He’s probably more frustrated than you are.”

There’s a pinch in your chest, a sharp one that cuts your breath for a small second in time.

Him? Being more upset than you?

You only thought about that possibility once, but you quickly dismissed it. There’s no way.

But hearing Tae say it from a guy’s perspective—and someone that knows how Yoongi can be—gives you pause.

It just didn’t make sense before because he sounds fine when you call, and he doesn’t really talk much about his own shit unless you ask. Which is strange considering he was fine doing so after your huge breakthrough at his place. Granted, it was mostly about good things.

Does he only hold back when it’s about stuff that stresses him out? That’s not ideal. You’ve told him before to tell you what’s bothering him, so if he’s still hesitant to let you in…

Taehyung’s honeyed voice brings you into the present,

“What are you gonna say?”

Blinking, you push your lips together in thought before looking at your phone again.

If Yoongi really is more upset than you are, then you should tell him something that you would wanna hear from him. Even if you aren’t feeling so hot.

You [5:07pm]: how’s ur back feel from carrying everyone so hard🥴

You [5:07pm]: jk its ok<3 you’re getting recognized and it’s about time

When you send those, something strange happens to your shoulders.

They’re lighter.

How is that possible? You’re still sad.

But your mind seems to clear some junk out, instead feeling a little okay about the whole thing.

Hopefully Yoongi receives them well. If he doesn’t, you’ll figure something else out.

Yoongi [5:09pm]: Lmaoo I’m saying. They better run me my check and cover my hospital bills.

You laugh with teary eyes, soul feeling like it’ll live despite plans being pushed back again.

The lingering sadness remains, but it’s dwindled for now. An afterthought to the slight happiness you feel from lifting him up instead of dragging him down.

Another message slides into the thread before you click your phone shut, so when Tae gets more food, you catch what it says.

Yoongi [5:11pm]: Fuck I miss you

And your heart beats extra loud, mouth slightly curved and wobbly because you agree but it’s okay, okay, okay. You can both do this.

You [5:12pm]: i miss you too.. but focus now and tell me all about it later

Of course you want to cry. Of course you want to curl up into a ball and sob.

Yoongi [5:15pm]: Thanks doll

But just like there’s strength in being strong, there’s just as much strength in being gentle.

Because as upset as you feel, it’s better if you don’t show it. While you aren’t completely resolute, you push forward in silence. Even if you can’t see the finish line.

The lingering feeling of anxiousness remains; the what-if’s batter your mind from the inside. But you choose to stay optimistic for him, and even you have to admit that’s admirable.

But the yearning still packs a fucking punch.

Your shoulders must be slumping to hell because you feel a warm presence settle against you, slinging an arm around and holding you close.

The only sound you make is a quick sniffle, but you don’t move as Taehyung reads the thread on your phone.

“You see what I see, right,” is all he whispers.

And when you slightly shrug, he leans his head against yours.

“You will.”

Nodding, you feel more tears follow the paths of their predecessors, and you don’t move to wipe them away. “You’re a good person, Tae.”

His chuckle sounds like a hearth, and you welcome Yeontan’s sniffs on your legs.

“Jimin’s lucky you’re even giving him a chance.”

“Ah.” After squeezing your bicep, your friend reaches down to pick up his baby. “He’s lucky I gave him more than one.”

“Oh? The luckiest then.”

“You can do this,” he murmurs. “He’ll be ready before you know it.”

With heavy eyes, you glance down at your still unfinished food.

“Maybe you’re right.”

One week turns into three.

Then two more pass.

And Taehyung might be less correct than you thought.

“Fuck,” you groan, clutching under your stomach. “Sorry, I’m a mess.”

“It’s okay.”

“At least you don’t have to see me this gross.”

“So?”

“You better stop.” Another eruption of pain shoots through your lower body, and you exhale into your pillow. “This is only making it worse.”

“You got a heating pad?”

A what? How does he know about—

Oh. Right.

…You probably shouldn’t tread waters you don’t know the depths of.

“Yeah. But it’s too far and I’m lazy.”

He laughs in pity but doesn’t show any in his words,

“Go get it, doll.”

Because being reminded of his last relationship also makes you wonder why it ended. And wonder if that also has anything to do with his decision.

Now hurt in multiple ways, you childishly retort, “You get it.”

“I would if I was there. But I’m not, so you’re gonna.”

“Fine.” You huff into your pillowcase, knowing you’re gonna get up because his perfect mix of support and command is annoyingly attractive. “How much longer?”

Yoongi’s too quiet for your tastes.

“I’ll figure it out tomorrow.”

Eyes closed, you’re silent for eons.

“Okay.”

To your confusion, you get a food delivery at your office the next day.

Inspecting the contents of the bag, you’re cautious until you notice a takeout box of mandu under some sweets and a few all too familiar fruits.

And at the note inside, you promptly proceed to the least used bathroom to compose yourself.

Soon.

Soon and Almost are somewhat similar.

Both can give people a bit of hope.

But they can also be the most dangerous words to play with.

Because soon is hilariously arbitrary, and you almost believed it meant something good.

“Going to Yoongi’s.”

“K.”

“You wanna go? He’s having a few people over.”

You bite down so hard your jaw hurts. “Nah, I already have plans tonight.”

“K. Have fun!”

When the door closes, you keep your eyes on the television.

Arms falling at your side because you know you aren’t going anywhere.

On a random Tuesday, you finally get a package you’ve been waiting on for what seems like months, and you rush to your room to check if it’s exactly what you wanted.

When it looks so beautiful, and feels smooth to the touch, you clutch the material in sorrow.

It’s perfect.

And completely useless for the time being.

Calls have been the one thing getting you by.

But over time, even those have virtually stopped.

It can’t be helped. He’s working far too late into the night for you to stay awake, and is passed out by the time you need to wake up.

Spending time with friends helps distract from the drift, especially when one of them keeps snapping you into the present, but they’re getting busy, too.

However. Despite all the obstacles, you keep waiting. A season has passed, yet you stay grounded.

Hoping, wishing, choosing to believe that Yoongi’s not gonna do the same.

You accidentally spill your drink.

And you sob.

One chilly night, you take more of Taehyung’s advice, going to Jimin’s determined to have a good time.

But despite the manufactured confidence you had while getting dressed up and the way you were totally fine walking in and conversing with people and the admittedly perfect vibes of the party…

There’s a hole in your chest that won’t decrease in size.

No matter what you feed it—food, drinks, the compliments of others—it refuses to budge, and this emptiness holds weight. Heavy. Melancholic.

Painful.

As you suddenly find yourself on Jimin’s windy balcony, one with a slightly different view than the one you’ll remain on forever, dull eyes lower to your solo.

If you forget this one on the railing, too…

Will he finally show up to hand it back?

A sharp ache spreads as the hole expands, new tears too powerful to ignore. You know your vision swims, but you don’t move to stay afloat at all.

Three months.

Ninety days.

Eight million seconds.

It only took sixty for you to miss him. And it only took sixty-one for you to feel something else.

How many more will you end up counting? How long until you get to count down instead of up?

You keep asking yourself that. When you know for damn sure that you don’t want to know the answer.

A breeze wraps around your limbs as you sip, the chill cutting through your dress and making you teeter in your heels.

Because it seems like Yoongi doesn’t know, either.

To the point where it’s starting to scare you.

Has he been perfect otherwise? Sickeningly.

But something in you keeps wondering why the wait keeps extending, anxious that he could be flat out stalling.

Prematurely saddened by the possibility that he’s reconsidering entirely.

It makes sense. At least, more sense than him actually wanting something with you. Maybe this time apart has given him the clarity to realize how rose-tinted this whole situation has been. How unrealistic and laughable.

But that night in his kitchen…

It’s getting harder and harder to stay positive.

On the verge of defeat, you hold out your phone, clicking around until your finger hovers over a certain Call button.

You can’t.

He’s working. Someone could see your name, if he has it saved as normal as you have his.

Your finger moves a bit closer.

What the fuck are you doing? Stop. Don’t screw up everything you’ve had to endure with one impulsive decision.

But your mind is fucking bad tonight and you have no clue why.

When the screen lights up with the call screen anyway, ice water rushes through because you totally didn’t mean to call and you need to end it now.

Hold on, it’s an incoming call?

Oh fuck, it’s an incoming call.

Your throat sears as your eyes shut tight.

How the fuck did he know? How the fuck does he always know?

Tears burning, you try your hardest to calm the hell down before you answer, wondering why he dubs you his good luck charm when he puts guardian angels to shame.

You can’t even say hello.

“Hey.”

Fuck. Get it together. Gentle, silent, strong.

“Hello?”

But you can’t. Not this time. Just hearing his voice for the first time in weeks has you crumbling, and that damn hole in your chest is unquenchable.

As soon as your greeting is nothing but a weak sniffle, his change in tone seizes your soul and squeezes.

Because it plummets.

“Where are you.”

There’s quick shuffling and a door opening.

“What’s wrong.”

Damn it there’s keys jangling and you can’t help but sob even harder knowing exactly what he’s doing.

Goddamn it, Min Yoongi. He doesn’t have to go home just because you’re what, sad? Pathetic.

You feel way too many things for this man and it fucking sucks that eight million seconds have gone by after you finally acknowledged them.

However many you get with him now, whenever that may be, you’re not taking a single one for granted.

“Babe, tell me. Now.”

“Jimin’s. Outside,” you choke out, sniffling and wiping both cheeks. “But nothing happened, Yoongi, I just—It just—”

“Gimme twenty. Can you do that?”

Lowering your head and expectations, you huff in sad amusement.

Of course you can. Twenty minutes is nothing to you now. You can wait until he’s free. “Guess so.”

“K. Go back inside and grab a bag.”

Huh? Knitted brows get aimed at your cup as you question him.

“Chips, doll. Jimin has some in the pantry.”

That doesn’t answer anything, so you remain thoroughly confused. “I’ll be okay,” you respond after a moment, simply assuming he wants you to replenish sodium. “I’m not hungry.”

“I am.”

You freeze.

So does time.

And the next three seconds are enough.

“But you better bring the good shit or I’m not letting you in the car.”

After camping in the only unoccupied bathroom, you finally get a text that he’s somewhere around the corner.

And your chest has never felt lighter.

Texting Tae, you let him know that you’re leaving and that you don’t apologize to Jimin for raiding his kitchen. When he responds, that’s when you slip out, your departure a mess of crinkling and racing heartbeats.

If anyone sees you walking out with chips, you pay them no mind. Because you only care what one person thinks.

And seven minutes later, when you see him doubling over at the bazillion noisy bags in your arms, you laugh along at the absurdity of it all.

It’s almost enough to distract you from what he’s wearing.

But to your credit, you don’t exactly see the damn rips in his jeans until he opens a back door for you to throw your haul in.

As if the black top wasn’t already disrespectful enough. His hair has even gotten longer, and you really, really like the new length.

“Fucking hustler.”

No second is wasted as you grab his shirt, positively melting at the way he doesn’t resist or shy away at all.

In fact, he does the exact opposite, crushing you against his warm car so fast he has to brace himself. You welcome the way air leaves your lungs, because you’re giving it all to him with each pass of his lips over yours.

Both of you know you’re outside, in public, somewhere you can be seen. But, mirroring the last time you kissed under a starry sky, neither of you act like you give a shit.

Just like that, everything that has haunted you fades. The worries, the fears, the doubts. It doesn’t matter how many days have passed, because it feels like he never left.

And you suddenly know Yoongi is summer.

Endless.

“Get in,” he rasps through a smirk. “Thief.”

With a grin spread so wide your cheeks hurt, you respond right as your foreheads meet,

“Anything for you.”

With nothing but the road ahead and him beside you, everything is right with the world.

“You still have to gimme chips.”

Maybe not quite everything.

Smile ruining your attempted pout, you reach behind your seat to pick a random bag, settling on the easiest one to grab. “You really made me get these just for you, huh? Are you eating?”

“Yes, my love. And I never said that.”

Well. That first sentence will never, ever, ever be unpacked.

As you shakily open the bag, you hope his music hides your shiver, “Such a smartass.”

“You’re the smartass.”

“Don’t act like you aren’t smart, too,” you laugh, tugging down your dress because he has his car pretty cold tonight. “I know you are.”

When Yoongi reaches to grab some crisps, his blatant stare on your thighs makes you squirm. “Why?”

“I just… You read.”

To your chagrin, he laughs in surprise, forcing you to look out the window.

Which makes you miss the way he turns down the fans. “I’m smart cus I read? How do you even know?”

“You have books under your coffee table,” you answer without doubt as he digs for more chips. “And you don’t have decor just to have it, so…”

He cocks a brow before focusing on the road, licking his fingers and giving you grief. “I moved those, by the way.”

“Em”—you cough—“Embarrassed?”

“Proactive.”

“Huh? For what?”

He can barely contain his spreading curve. “The next time you decide to fuck up my place.”

Your heartbeat skips as you gawk, and the current song is overshadowed by your playful shouts and tickle attempts. “Oh, bullshit!”

“You soaked—aish—my whole apartment!”

“That was you!”

“No?”

“Yes? I was nice and only got your head wet!”

Yoongi glances at you then, head tilted up in cockiness and wide smirk slicing through your every thought.

And you glitch when you realize why.

Settling back into your seat with arms guarding your shyness, you sniff upward. “Ugh. Whatever… I’m right.”

He chuckles a bit before making a turn, and the scenery starts getting familiar.

Way too familiar.

Wait, he’s taking you back to your house?

No no no. Why is he taking you there?

You got into his car fully prepared to go back to his place, consequences and shit be damned. Everything else be damned. One night is all you want right now, and there’s no way you aren’t going without a fight.

All sense of the current mood dissipates when you grip his forearm. “Not there.”

He flicks his gaze, rolling to a stop at an intersection that’s frighteningly close. And his expression falls when he shifts into park with a sigh. “Babe… We can’t.”

“I don’t care.”

“I was only gonna bring you back.”

“Baby, please.”

“He’s home—”

“Do you still miss me?”

He freezes.

Which gives you a chance.

Eyes glossy, you use all the seconds you have to say everything you’ve kept to yourself.

Almost everything.

“Because I get it if you don’t. I do. But I really… I really fucking miss you. And not just because of, whatever. But I consider you a friend and fun as hell to be around, and I haven’t”—you inhale, hating how it shakes—“I haven’t been this happy in weeks. And we aren’t even doing anything.”

Yoongi is completely silent. But that’s okay because you aren’t done.

“I know you said I wouldn’t see you. But after getting to know you? The real you? …That sucks.” You can’t look at him when his hand slips from the wheel. “I’m not gonna make you change anything, just. Telling you what’s on my mind. Like you said. I’m gonna do that a lot more now.”

He doesn’t say a word as a tear cuts one of your cheeks, and you’re brave enough to look his way again. “But it’s been three months, Yoongi,” you whisper. “Is that still not enough for you?”

Time ticks as you hold your breath, oxygen depleting and lungs nearing collapse as you watch his eyes close.

You laid everything out on the table. Your words, your thoughts, your pain.

Whatever he decides, though? You’ll respect it. You said what you wanted to say and you won’t take any of it back. If he wants to prolong this, you won’t stop him. If he doesn’t want this anymore… the home in your heart will need repairs, but you’ll live. Somewhat. You don’t know how but somehow. People are like seasons. You’re used to it.

Yoongi’s still way too quiet.

So, giving up and getting the point, you reach up to open your door.

“Stop.”

You do.

And the way he flexes his jaw shoots magma through your veins before he wrenches the car into drive.

The universe spins as you burst into Yoongi’s apartment, running, bumping, slamming into furniture until you get thrown against his bedroom door.

Welcoming the pain, you devour his scorching lips, fingers digging into his hair with a desperation that frightens you. All you feel is him him him, barely recalling the manic drive over and the way he all but busted into his own place.

If there were any lingering doubts to your question, they’re left out in the chill, not allowed to witness the way he hitches your leg up before pinning you firm with his pelvis.

“Shouldn’t be fucking doing this—”

You moan at the way his jeans feel on your skin, shivers running rampant when you more than feel his hardness poke through. “Please,” you pant, sticking to your word and ready to tell him what you want.

“Please what.”

Everything you want.

Tugging his head back, your admissions rub right against his mouth, “Choke me. Use me. I don’t care, do it all.”

“Huh?”

A breath whooshes out when he yanks you forward with a growl, and you cannot seem to stop, “Don’t be nice. Spit in my mouth. Make me beg like a fucking slut, I need it.”

All the other times, you’ve seen Yoongi break in different ways.

But this is the first time you’ve felt him legitimately snap.

“The fuck.”

Lightning strikes the dark as he slams you backward, teeth clinking against yours when he smothers you with saliva and lust. When he shoves his door open, you stumble back, more unholy plans in mind than he imagines.

You don’t know what’s coming over you.

Even as you force him sideways to shove into his rolling chair, the piercing look he gives is no match for your inner storm.

“Babe—”

Impatient, you drop to your knees, the pain nothing to you as your fingers twitch over his zipper. As you tug his pants down with force, Yoongi’s outright shock is another first for you.

“Are you su—”

“Let me do this,” you plead upward, and you feel highly motivated when he doesn’t do a thing except let out a low, gritty hum.

Grabbing at his cock, you already moan at the way it feels in your palm…

Softly, oh so softly, a large hand closes over yours, and you hear your name in a whisper, haze temporarily receding.

What’s wrong? Does he want you to stop?

When you ask without a word, Yoongi leans forward to capture your lips, and this gives you a warm sort of deja vu. “You drank tonight, yeah?”

“Yeah…?” Oh. He totally tasted alcohol. And your frantic behavior. He thinks—Oh.

Understanding what he’s getting at, you reach up and caress his cheek. “I’m not drunk, baby,” you chuckle. “I just missed you.”

Again, he looks at your eyes, one after the other. When you say it once more for good measure, he kisses you in acceptance.

“So are you gonna fuck my throat or nah?”

He falls back with a groan, raking his hair and legs spread wide. “What are you doing to me.”

“This.”

Without prompt, you dive head first, leaning forward to take his tip and swirl your tongue all around. Commanding his every drop of attention, you don’t let up as you tug your dress downward, breasts spilling out before you stand just enough to claim his lips.

He takes full advantage with a devilish curve, smacking your tits before ordering, “Get the fuck back down there.”

And you obey with a proud smirk of your own, hoping he’s liking this new side of you, too.

Back between his knees, you worship his length in earnest, swallowing him again and again and lathering him in saliva so your hands slide easily on him, too. When you feel his veins rub both your palms, you hear a symphony of lustful baritones.

“Holy fuck.”

You quickly discover you can’t get enough. Lapping, sucking, sheathing your head on his cock so far your brain smushes upward. He feels so familiar at this point that you realize you missed him even here, knocking the back of your throat and burdening your tongue with heavenly, sinful weight.

And you feel more familiar palms grip your head, eyes opening to see him staring down with reverence and something you can’t quite decipher.

“So fucking filthy...”

You chuckle, the rumble making him hiss and throw his head back against his chair.

“Don’t do that.”

You gladly disobey, laughing even harder around him before releasing with an expert pop to suck on his balls.

“Fuck!”

There’s a slight squeak before he grips you again, and you can tell he’s slipping by the way his moans devolve into breathy, short hisses.

Breaking, he pushes your head into his sack before slapping your cheek with his cock, and you hum as it slips back inside your grin.

Yes yes yes. You want him to enjoy this just as much as you do, steal this time together and run with it, need him to hang on the brink of mania where you currently reside. Because even though he’s saying things, you can’t hear them over the wholly impure sounds slopping out of your esophagus.

“Fucking hell, baby,” he praises, thrusting up slow as you keep him slathered. “Missed that fuckin’ mouth.”

You finally come up for air, gulping in air and letting him see you in all your panting glory. When you lock eyes, his lidded gaze is loaded, aimed only at your taunting stare.

Drool coats you in globs. Your chest, the floor, hanging from your lips as you stroke him with wet fingers before swallowing another time.

And you think you can do this until your jaw falls off.

But suddenly you’re hoisted upward before being thrown onto soft sheets, legs roughly shifted to one side as you paint the dark with your hoarse giggles. Before you know it, his lips attack your chest, and he’s setting butterflies wild as you arch in record time.

“Take this off,” he growls, tugging at your dress with sweaty fingers that you want lodged in multiple places. “No more hiding.”

You mewl, undressing as fast as you’re able, tearing the garment off and flinging it away. But your heels are still on, and whether he’s just as deft at removing those, too, you’ll need to hit pause. “What about my—”

“Don’t,” he grits with brows pinched, and his next vow is absolute, pure sin,

“I’m fucking you with them on.”

“Oh, fuck.” Your whine is high as you throw your head back, the next groan guttural as you feel a hand smack the side of your ass with force. Your jaw comes loose, soreness shooting through its curve as your legs are erotically parted to give Yoongi a view of everything.

You know your panties are soaked.

You know he’s gonna wreck your shit.

But seeing him eye the whole mess on display before lifting his hungry gaze your way? You’re damn sure you aren’t gonna survive the night.

Perfect.

“Please fuck me, baby,” you let out with a tone so soft that you think he doesn’t hear you.

He does. “I’m gonna do a lot more than that, doll.”

You tilt your head, confused and wondering what he means.

But he ignores your wordless question, sliding fingers along your ankle before holding your leg to kiss that same spot.

The action alone is enough to rewire your brain, but it’s the way he looks so confident, so unbothered, so determined that has your insides churning with want.

He plants lips there again before shifting his hand down to your calf, yanking your leg back wide and pulling a tiny help out of your throat. When he shifts to grip your other leg, he growls under his breath,

“So fucking perfect.”

“No, you,” you counter with a pout, and flinch what the fuck his slap to your cunt felt good. “Hey!”

“None of that,” Yoongi orders with finality. “Not after all that shit you said at the door.”

“I dunno what happened there,” you admit, inevitably shy under his commanding presence. Your cheeks sizzle before your teeth grip your lip, temporarily brought back to normalcy at his confession,

“Almost made me come.”

“Be for real.”

“Damn serious.”

The cheshire cat would be jealous of your grin. “Then I should keep going?”

“Uh huh.” He cups your whole cunt, and the possessive nature it exudes pushes a whine against your teeth. “Tell me.”

“Fuck me like you missed me.”

A groan rips through his room before he swoops down, lips bruising yours on the landing before he shoves his mouth against your neck.

Tingles erupt over your skin as he laps at your throat, so hard that your entire upper body slides across his rumpled sheets. When you feel his cock rub across your thong and his jeans grazing your skin, his name flies out of your chest. Moans, sighs, everything in between.

“Careful,” he warns low before another toe-curling lick. “You won’t leave if I did that.”

“I don’t want to,” you grit in return, reaching to sink claws in his hair and tug. “Wanna stay.”

Strong arms wrap around you before you feel him spread liquid fire up your shoulder, and he reaches to nip at your ear before deft fingers flick a nipple.

His voice rasps against your cheek, but the words sound reluctant to even leave. “You shouldn’t even be here, babe.”

Fuck. You know that’s true but your heart is rattling like a monster starved.

“Just tonight,” you plead your case. Because you don’t want to be shooed away before it’s over, but if this is all you get, he needs to do something now. “But if you really don’t want this then please kick me out before—”

“Fuck that.” After greedily tweaking your other nipple, he rolls his body against yours, making you fiend for the weighty cock wedged against you with only thin material between. “Fuck all of that.”

He rushes upward before nudging your leg over with a strong hand, and you fixate on the way his chains hit his chest. Just like always. “Don’t move.”

You don’t even get to breathe twice as he drops from sight, and you yelp to his roof as soon as you feel teeth nick your inner thigh. At your flinch, you feel him grip your leg with force, ordering you even harsher,

“I said. Don’t move.”

“But—Yoongi!”

You don’t notice him yank your underwear sideways before flattening a hot tongue against your folds, sucking so good you have to back away from the stimulation. Immediately, both your legs are seized before he tugs you back to him.

“Uh uh.”

And he keeps your legs apart before diving deep, and you’ve never devolved into a quivering mess so fast in your goddamn life. The way he licks, sucks, kisses just where you need—everything sends thunder through your chest, lightning across your cunt, rain into your eyes.

You can do nothing but squirm, squeals and whines and high moans leaving arrowheads in his ceiling.

Holy fuck, did you sound this loud when you worshipped him? Even now, spread wide and willing to give Yoongi the world, you find a moment to be embarrassed in the best way.

If the neighbors hear, you don’t care. They’re gonna know how well he’s feasting on you, how gorgeously corrupt you feel. How you’re his and his alone and ready to scream it to the rooftops.

When you feel a finger alongside his tongue, the sound you make borders on inhuman. You think it’s his name, but even you aren’t quite sure.

All you know is that you’re close. Your thighs are burning and your fingers swipe at his locks but he refuses to let you go. “Yoongi—I’m—”

Suddenly.

He stops.

And every nice thing you have to say to him falls to the wayside. “No no no! Please, fuck—”

The light tap to your cunt makes you quiver, and your chest heaves when he chuckles without pity,

“What’d you say?”

“Plea—Baby!”

“Huh?”

Every fucking time you speak, he taps again. And every time he gets you close, he edges with aggravating control. Again. And again.

And again.

You exist between reality and fiction, somehow seeing yourself unwinding, winding, spiraling out of control. Words start to form abstract blobs of syllables, your mouth hanging open as he peppers lazy, unbothered kisses on your thighs.

In your foggy vision, you think you see him stand. And you’re pretty sure he grabs his cock before he’s rubbing his thick head between your folds oh fuck—

“This is what you wanted, huh.”

Your breath hitches with a whine as you nod.

“You gonna be a good little slut?”

Oh, you’re gonna be whatever he fucking wants. So you nod again, not without a smile lopsided.

“Then fucking beg.”

He smacks his cockhead against your cunt, springing your back in an arch and tugging strings of incoherent speech from your depths. You make hard lines of his sheets as you grip them in both palms, and you don’t wanna know what you’re saying because the way Yoongi’s staring with a smirk has you blacking the fuck out.

To the point where you’re nothing but a quivering, shaking, restless mess on his bed.

You somehow closed your eyes at some point, because they fly open when you feel his lips on yours, and you tug at his stupidly attractive shirt that he didn’t bother to pull off. “Please,” you whisper, brain floating oceans away. “I need you.”

“Need you, too.”

He breaks away to grab a condom, and this is when you realize how intertwined you feel because even this distance is too much to bear. You’re spilling nonsense and breathing harsh and you attribute that to the sole fact that you crave release. It’s aching. Consuming.

Yoongi’s already naked and prepped by the time he positions himself between your sore legs, and you give in without resistance again when he descends on your lips.

When you whisper his name, he kisses it away, and you briefly wonder why his hands shake running up your sides.

Finally, finally, finally, he gives exactly what you want, the initial connection stretching you sore because it’s been way too long. And you feel emotional when you don’t even doubt it’s been too long for him, too.

Because his eyes speak volumes.

They hold onto your every move, watch your every reaction, hesitate when you blow out air accommodating his size.

But you lock yours with him when you relax, weakly grasping his jewelry before sliding fingers up his shoulders. When you nod, he pushes in further, both of you sighing in tandem.

And as soon as you whisper you’re ready, all niceties fly out the window.

You’re thrusted up his bed with a determined stroke before he sets a pace, and your head kicks back as soon as a hand captures your neck.

“Look at me,” he commands, and he gives you a light pat on the cheek before squeezing your jaw. “Open up.”

When you do, spit flings from his mouth into yours, and you already sprint to the edge feeling the weight of your heels and the strength of his body. “Fuck!”

You get pat again—rougher this time—before Yoongi goes to choke you a second time. “What do you say?”

“Me?” you pant, tearing the first thought from your throat when he grits it again. “Thank—”

Fuck, his dick is hitting every spot you need it to. It takes you a second to repeat your garbled guess in full, knowing it’s something you would’ve said anyway. “Thank you.”

“Now swallow.”

As soon as he shoves inside, your obedience is your undoing. The skies open to welcome you as your body locks, thighs squeezing his taut sides as he moans through your release. Waves tug you unbelievably far, and you almost lose yourself in the swell before you crash onto shore again.

“Such a whore for me,” Yoongi praises, kicking you back to the very first night and making you melt. When you peel eyelids open, you notice his smile matches yours, and the shared, cherished memory smoothens your gravelly laugh.

“Love when you do that,” you admit, shaking your head at your own strange preferences. “Don’t know why.”

“Me neither.” He spears you again with a cheeky lip bite. “But it’s so fucking hot.”

Your grin can’t be contained, and this is where you wanna be. Right here. Nowhere else in the fucking universe.

“I’m ready,” you pant, and he gives you a brief look of affection—which you shatter with force. “Fuck the shit out of me.”

Yoongi twitches madly inside your core as he expels a pained, breathy laugh. “Goddamn, this isn’t good for me.”

“What?”

“Nothing.” He doesn’t waste a second gathering your calves while you ponder what he says. “Hold these pretty legs up for me. There you go.”

When you find the easiest way to do so, you marvel at how shaky and slippery your thighs are, wondering if the rest of you is faring any better.

It’s not.

But you can’t dwell on that now because Yoongi is holding on like he’ll lose you, resuming a delicious pace and smacking your hips into his with the most indecent sounds.

Your whines soon join in, and his hums of satisfaction fuel your ever going flame. Heaven and earth could move and you would remain here, suspended in time as he fills you perfectly with every fast stroke.

“Feel so good—”

When he leaves your cunt, you mewl before he grunts, “Fucking—Get up.”

What is he—

You’re hoisted upward so quickly that you see starlight, not even registering the clanks and shifts of items before he’s spinning to pin you down on a solid surface. Your heels find purchase on the floor but your knees prove unbelievably weak.

What’s—

Oh fuck, are you on his desk?

Your hands retreat until they find an edge to grab, and you moan outright when you feel his fingers slide up your cunt, shoving your thong farther over one side of your ass.

“Yoongi—”

You feel full in an instant, jaw going slack as he shoves you backwards on his cock, praises washing down your back as he pushes down any arches you instinctively make.

“Uh uh. Stay like that.”

“I wanna—” Your words are cut off with a whine as you feel a sting on your ass. “Fuck!”

“There you go.”

The rock of the desk is so strong that every bang against the wall booms loud, equipment sliding back and forth and making you briefly worry if anything will fall.

But this is the most turned on you’ve ever, ever felt, and you have no fucking clue why.

You wonder if he feels the same right before his dark laugh consumes you.

“Goddamn.”

Your hands are grabbed before he shoves you forward, letting more of your body lie on the surface so that he can pin sweaty arms at your back.

Oh, fuck!

Your moans glide across wood as he doesn’t let up, and you don’t even want to know how much drool will exist on his desk when you’re done. Maybe you’ll never be done. Maybe he really will keep you here forever, and you’ll soak his whole—

“Come here.”

He gathers your wrists in one large palm before reaching to grip your chest, hauling you up and securing you against his body by the throat.

And you think your soul just left your earthly vessel.

Pressing you further into him, he grits in your ear,

“Never fucking kicking you out.” His tight stroke launches you across space. “Don’t even think about saying that again.”

When did you— You said— Why don’t you remember—

You go limp when he shoves into you again, but your heels wobble and you focus damn hard on staying upright.

But Yoongi doesn’t give a shit. “You hear me?” When you let out a breathy confirmation, he still isn’t satisfied. A hand pats your cheek before he asks again, “Say it louder.”

“Yes!”

“Good.”

He drops all talk, pistoning in from behind while you take it and take it and love it. Mercifully, he lets your sore arms go to pin you down again, gritted words and curses dancing with your high-pitched sighs.

Fuck, his strokes are so deep that you see into the next universe, and you don’t think your mouth has been shut ever since you made contact with his desk.

Maybe he was more frustrated than you were. He’s using you as stress relief like you intended, and his roughness is a fantastic surprise.

It’s just what you need. Which kicks you into a whole other level of want and the beast inside you transforms yet again.

When Yoongi yanks himself out, you’re quick to spin and shove him backward. As he flops onto the bed, he laughs like sin incarnate when you pounce, his hot hands grabbing at your hips and encouraging your behavior in the nastiest way.

“Let’s go then, pretty bitch.”

“You already fucking know.”

“Show me what I’ve been missing.”

“Don’t fall in love.”

When you sink onto him, Yoongi’s already groaning. But when you start to swivel at a pace that will render you sore, he begins to lose it.

“Fuck.”

His head kicks back, eyes shut and brows pinched to hell. After holding your waist, he has to slap his sheets to squeeze even tighter, chest marred with red under pretty silver.

You make sure every rotation is full, slowly rocking with each circle you make and gritting teeth at how fucking big he is.

Soon, his hisses devolve into groans, and he snaps his head back up to slap your breasts—one after the other before gripping your hips so hard you welcome the pain.

“Fuck, I missed this pussy,” he confesses with husk, and you whine in response as you lower yourself to kiss him deep.

“It missed you, too.”

Coming back up, you dig one of your hands in his mattress while bracing on him with the other, and you close your eyes in bliss as you arch your tits toward his hungry lips.

Just like you want, he chuckles in satisfaction as he suckles, lolling his tongue all around before giving your nipple a hard suck. His noises remind you of lollipops, and you briefly think of a few fun things you could do with those for next time.

But a hand juts up to seize the back of your neck, forcing you to arch in place as he starts thrusting hard.

“Yoongi!”

“Uh huh.”

Before you can talk again, his other hand joins in to choke you just enough, and you find yourself teetering on a precipice. Holy fuck, holy fuck, you’re close again.

“You gonna come?”

A frantic nod.

“Then come.”

As soon as you hear the words, you do exactly that, windpipe released just as you pulse around him incredibly hard. The waves prove tsunamis, and you dangle from their crests before plummeting and tumbling below. Your moan extends as he thrusts erratically through your quivers, encouraging you and digging rough fingers into your hips.

“Again.”

Somehow, that’s enough to make your body obey, and you cry out as you flutter around his trembling cock, hearing him talk you through it but not quite understanding what he’s saying.

Maybe you also choose not to listen because of what you think you hear, and you don’t want to be haunted if you realize later on what you thought you heard wasn’t true.

The world rotates up as Yoongi sits up, and you sling arms around him as he leans back on his hands. Your breath hitches at the new angle he’s filling you at, and your eyes swirl when he coolly, confidently commands,

“Again.”

You can’t you can’t you can’t but you can. Holy fuck apparently you can, and this time, it consumes you so hard your eyes roll back enough to see the past. Past you, insecure and meek and scared to say what they want.

Oh, if they could witness you now.

You shudder impossibly hard around him, coated with his deep chuckles and dashing, ego-ridden grin. It’s all you see before you slump against his chest, heartbeat pounding against yours when you can’t feel any bone in your body.

One breath.

Two breaths.

Two hearts.

One night is enough.

“So fucking perfect.”

“For you,” you wisp out, lost in galaxies. “Only you.”

He can only kiss the side of your head in response, gently lowering you both onto spent cotton and helping you straighten out your muscle-locked legs. When he asks if you’re okay, you can only nod, and he plants another kiss on your temple before sliding off his protection.

Both of you take time to calm down, breaths heavy from what felt like a marathon. But a much better marathon than the one you’ve had to endure over the last three months.

When you lie against his chest, you silently thank him for giving you tonight. It’s the riskiest thing you’ve ever done with him, but you won’t worry about it. Not right now. Not when you feel more at home here than your own house.

Your brother is right. Something is definitely missing over there.

It’s when your pants have relaxed into soft breaths that you nudge your head against Yoongi’s chest, eyes shut in peace as he lazily draws circles on your back.

And the first words he says in minutes inject sparkles into your eyes,

“I need to re-up this damn cat’s food.”

Oh, shit!

Your outright squeal is surely coming out too loud but you don’t care. Don’t care don’t care don’t care not when Yoongi just gave away so many different things.

This man leaned right into the whole thing.

“I knew it!” You proclaim in triumph, smacking his thigh while hearing a very elongated ‘shut up’ at your side. “Tried to hide it from me all these months? Somebody’s getting soft.”

“First off.”

“Uh huh.”

God. If only you both could go on one of those late night shopping trips he talked about before. Maybe you could’ve gotten plenty of things. Like some little cat toys, or extra storage cabinets for your clothes.

Yeah. Stuff like that.

“I’m her favorite.”

Your scoff is immediate as you hoist yourself up, leaning on your hand and regretting the burn in your arm. “Only because you gatekeeped her.”

A soft disagreement precedes a more prominent, “Won’t even matter.”

Yoongi looks so at peace when you stare, and your voice calms to match as it floats down, “You took care of her.”

When he only smiles, you decide that this is how you want him to be all the time. Content and outright glowing, fireflies dancing in his eyes.

Does he feel at home, too?

“She was gonna be your surprise,” he finally murmurs. “For getting the gig.”

Heart and tear ducts full, you lower yourself to tenderly press lips to his. And, since it seems to work for you, his forehead is what you decide to kiss next.

Then you pull away.

Wondering why he’s not smiling anymore.

“Come here.”

You blink, lying back down to snuggle against his side. When his arm wraps around your shoulder, it's only then that you’re aware you still have shoes on. A clean person, you hope Yoongi doesn’t mind them touching his sheets.

But maybe it’s a tad too late for that concern.

“How are you gonna get home?”

Oh, right. You use his chest to scratch an itch in your nose before responding, “I’ll call a ride in the morning. He’ll be out cold until noon at the earliest.”

“K.”

“Did I keep you from anything?”

A puff flies out his nostrils. “Kinda late for that, huh.”

“True,” you sigh, berating yourself for thinking a lot of things too late. “Sorry.”

“But no, we were finishing up when I called.”

“Okay… Did I scare you?” You lift your eyes then, because you need to know for sure.

When he levels a look, you curse at his quiet confirmation. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”

“S’ok.”

“I just… It hurt tonight.” Emotion washes over your face before you bury it. “Really hurt.”

After a light squeeze, Yoongi gently rolls you over, resting his head exactly where your hand clutches your chest. When you move your fingers, he kisses that same spot, and your heart stops. “How about now.”

Feeling the deepest pain you’ve ever felt in your life, you cradle his head with a whisper,

“Maybe try that one more time.”

And he does, not looking at your tears as he sits up to peer down the bed.

When he scoots down to the edge, your breath catches as he holds a heel in sure hands, his back beautiful even with the scars. While he works through leather straps, he starts to speak,

“I always do, babe.”

Blinking, you ask what he means as he slips your shoe off with ease.

“Miss you.”

As he tenderly holds the other, you gulp in oxygen to quell the sear around your eyes. “I just… Wasn’t sure,” you admit, voice wavering.

His hair falls forward when he sighs, and his palms feel way too relaxing to just be taking your heels off. Even now, it feels like he’s revering you. And you truly don’t know how you deserve any of this.

“That’s my fault.”

Throat small, you’re swift to reassure him. “No, no. I need to just suck it up. I’m sorry.”

After freeing your other foot, he rubs it without prompt, and you don’t know how to deal with someone giving you this level of care.

“Just a little bit longer, doll,” he says, and you admire his profile when he turns. “I’m sorry.”

“You gave me tonight.”

When he swallows, you reassure him with all the support you can give,

“A little longer is nothing.”

A moment passes by before he finally moves, and you catch a hint of a smile right before he faces his disheveled to hell desk again.

Deciding that conversation has concluded, you crack the atmosphere with a joke, “You liked whatever happened over there, huh.”

Immediately, Yoongi’s shoulders bob with a laugh before he admits, “Fucking you on my desk? I’ve wanted to do that for months.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” He leans forward. “There’s a lot of shit I’ve wanted us to do for months.”

Us.

Thoroughly giddy and full of life again, you egg him on. “Oh? Like what?”

Finally, he looks over his shoulder with a grin, and you scoff in frustration at his answer,

“What’s the fun in telling you?”

“Ass!”

While you’re getting ready to shower, he leans against the doorframe of his bathroom.

“We have a game next week.”

As you fetch a towel from his cabinet, you clarify, “The championship, right?”

“Mmhmm.”

“I’ll be there,” you confirm, walking away to slip the thick cloth over its rack. “I can’t believe it’s still going.”

“Same. But there’ve been a lot of delays, remember?”

“Oh, yeah.” Your hand feels out the water, satisfied with its temperature. “I meant your win streak but whatever.”

And you squeal when he rushes forward, shutting the glass with a wobbly thud before he can get to you. When you stick out a childish tongue, you laugh under the spray, curve slowly, curiously, softly fading when he simply keeps staring.

What’s he doing?

You don’t move as he slowly slides the entrance open again, and you don’t dare breathe as he leans inside to kiss your wet lips.

When you tenderly take one of his wrists and pull, he obliges without hesitation, and you take another shower with the man that sets fireworks off in your soul.

An hour later, filled with food and laughter—and slight disappointment when you couldn’t find your surprise near his door—you occupy his bed with full bellies and fresh minds.

As he lies on your chest, you think this is better, because it gives you time to think about things. And tell him about others.

You finally tell him what all happened with Jungkook, to which he listens without a single word. When you can’t seem to shut up about your job, he doesn’t stop you, and you adore the way he cuddles you under faint moonlight cutting through his window.

“Oh, wait,” you stop, feeling like you’ve talked his head off by now. “What did you call about?”

“Huh? Tonight?”

“Yeah.”

“We finally have a confirmed date. For that album,” Yoongi rumbles against the shirt he let you borrow. “I was gonna invite you to the release party.”

Whoa, what the fuck? “Me?”

He chuckles soft, and you wonder if he can guess how shocked you look. “Yes, you. All of y’all.”

At least it’s everyone. But at the same time, you still hesitate. “That won’t be weird?”

“Nah. You can bring anyone you want, so. I was assuming you’d bring your friends.”

“Ah, I see.”

You didn’t mean to sound disappointed. You truly aren’t. But Yoongi pushes up to comfort you anyway, planting kisses along your skin, your neck, and finally your lips.

“It won’t be the only one,” he promises. “We got time.”

“Duh,” you giggle. “And I’ll be at all of them. Whether you like it or not.”

Yoongi regards you before laying his weight back on your chest. And you find it strange how familiar his body already feels. How you’re already attuned to every way his legs fit against your own, or how you would know it’s him solely based on how his chest molds with yours.

You start mindlessly caressing his hair, fingers weaving through a dark sea of strands before smoothing over its surface.

And you start to hum.

It’s not really any song, just notes you start stringing together at random. You build up before you dip back down, staying in a comfortable middle range and dancing between similar tones.

You stop from time to time, trying to figure out what would sound best next and changing up the cadence. Always coming back to a central theme because it’s what you deem best.

And you’re so comfortable that you completely forgot he’s lying right under your chin.

“Shit, was I too loud?”

He just shakes his head, arm pressing a bit more into your side.

“Not at all.”

So you keep going, humming more familiar tunes and phrases, softly giggling when Yoongi huffs at the way you drum on his head.

And that’s how the night goes on, with you at peace and him in your embrace.

Never noticing how the shirt you're wearing collects rain.

When dawn breaks, you part with one final, heavenly kiss.

Yoongi watches until you get in the ride he politely called for you, and you spend the whole drive with eyes filled with light.

You can do this. Just a little longer, he said.

For him, you can do anything.

But when you get home, your brother occupies the foyer as soon as you open the front door.

And you feel the world shatter and crash at your feet.

“I think,” he states, “There’s something you wanna tell me.”

—

tbc. :)

—

a ha ha... what do we think/like! | wanna support with a 🍊?

A/N: i’m so swirly-eyed that i don’t even know what to say here other than i’m sorry for throwing that ending at y’all! busted pt. 2 is gonna be its own huge part at this point so i had no choice but to end it here (originally it was gonna end before they went back to yoongi’s but i love y’all too much dlkfjdsklf) A/N 2: gonna say this again: enormous thank you to everyone supporting this whole journey, whether that’s liking/commenting/reblogging/messaging, recommending this series to people, telling me how it makes you feel or what it means to you, or even wanting a physical copy of the series like😭 that’s surreal to me and makes me wanna keep working harder. A/N 3: as far as feedback, i would absolutely love any type y’all wanna give. this chapter took all of my brainpower and the next one is gonna take just as much haahahahdksfks so any encouragement would be wonderful! ++ feedback box: ⇥ of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated! ⇥ for the ones that are too shy to reblog with a review, comment on this, or send a message, i went ahead and made another anonymous form where you can send in what you think! ⇥ no emails collected, no need to put in a username. it’s literally just a comment dropbox :D feedback can be as short/sweet or as long as you’d like! ⇥ here! ++ more links: ⇥ three tangerines masterlist ⇥ masterlist

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thehauntedetheral · 6 months ago

Note

Hello! Since i saw ur bio that you take requests and i want to ask for a yandere boyfriend that wants to marry you immediately since you guys were at the right age, (hes 21 and the y/n is 20)

And I'm going to add something, like the boyfriend gets too jealous whenever there's other boys are looking at y/n or other people

(i don't know if you take baby fever? kind of thing, though just the boyfriend wanting a baby with you once you accept his marriage)

And just a headcannon of boyfriend getting so, sooo jealous whenever you get crushes on fictional men, you can add what you think of this! So and Is it okay if I give him a name? If yes, then Elliott, Thank You!

Keep up the good work! I really love it! And i also hope you'll do a part two of the Yandere Dom Kidnapper!

If you need ideas please do say!

(sorry for any grammar, english is not my first language! 😭)

Thank you for your idea. I hope you like this fic. And yes please keep sending me ideas. I love writing for you all.

Yandere Possesive (Dark)

Requests are open !

• You and Elliott dated throughout the high school. He was older than you but only by one year.

• You were happy with him. He is caring, charming, has a good humour with which he always tries to make you laugh. He is love of your life and you are his.

• You and Elliott were in same college as he doesn't want to be away from you no matter what. Recently you celebrated your 20th birthday with him. Everything went well only the plot twist was that Elliott proposed to you on your birthday night. You love him and you know he is the only one you want to marry but not now. You were just 20 and Elliott 21.

• But after much convincing or more like manipluating Elliott convinced you to say yes. Life didn't changed much only the difference now was that you were engaged. You thought to yourself that you were just being anxious about marrying too young but was not a issue atleast to you and Elliott as he was a really good patner.

• Elliott would bring flowers for you weekly, cook delicious meals for you, read a book to you while you snuggle in his arms, go out on dates with him, watch movies, bake together, talk with each other till late night and then falling asleep in each others arms.

• But as no one is perfect and everyone has their own flaws. Elliott had them too. He was extremely jealous and possesive about you that it many times led you two to an argument which always ended with Elliott fucking you against the wall or wherever you are making you beg for him while he would ask you

"Who do you belong to, darling?"

• You were talking to a man who was not him for some college project? This man becomes extremely jealous. That after your conversation he threatens the poor boy to stay away from you.

• You loved your stuffed teddy and would often cuddle with it. Well this man is even jealous of your teddy bear. What can I say whatever or whoever catches your attention he gets jealous of it and when you ask him one day "have you seen my bear?" "No. Darling but don't worry I am here cuddle me whenever you want until we find that stuffed bear". When in reality he has thrown that bear to a very distant place in jealousy. This man wants your attention 24/7 on him. Madly obsessed with you.

• You read many romance books and whenever you compliments some fictional character he gets jealous and says "Let's recreate those spicy smut scenes of your novel so I can show you how much better I am than him."

• A guy tried to flirt with you when you were hanging out with him at bar? Elliott beats that person until he is an bloody mess.

• When some random boy looks at you a bit long kisses you infront of them. To show how you belong to him just as he belongs to you.

• This man worships you like a goddess but is a freaking dominant in sheets fucking you until you are a dumb drooling mess.

• Elliott often thinks about you with a glowing round belly pregnant with his child. Having babies of you two. Showing it to the whole fucking world that you are only his and carrying his child. Hence leading to his baby fever.

• Would often show you cute videos of babies and saying "Our's will be more adorable with your pretty eyes, darling".

• Shops all the cute baby stuff he finds under the saying of "For future, darling". While you just ignored his baby fever thinking it's just a phase.

• You both got married on the fixed date in a beautiful church.

• Elliott cries like a baby while seeing you walk down the aisle in a beautiful white wedding dress looking like an angel which you definitely are according to him.

• After marriage you thought Elliott's jealousy would become less as you are husband and wife now but it doesn't lessens even a bit. Hence leading to many arguments again.

• This arguments scares him thinking you might leave him so he baby traps you with him knowing too well you would never leave him while having a child. He knows he is fucked up. But no matter what he is never losing you. And after all you both love each other and the unborn baby so anything else doesn't matter to him. Now only you and the baby matters to him.

• Elliott knows that he is crazy for you. But after all love makes us do crazy things, right?

Requests are open !

For more yandere Reading:

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wisteriaw0rld · 1 year ago

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Hello I just started following you and I love the way you write! I was hoping you could do a sanario where the Kamaboko squad plus muichiro with a reader that is the sister of kyojuro. I want to see a protective kyojuro that doesn't want his little sister dating. Thank you in advance!🙂❤️

-ˋˏ ༻protective༺ ˎˊ- kny x reader

✰synopsis: the kamaboko squad + mui with an s/o that is the flame pillars younger sister. Unluckily for them, kyojuro is quite protective of his little sister.

✰additional tags: fem! reader, readers the younger sister of kyojuro, mentioned to be a pillar in muichiro’s part, protective older brother, fluff, headcanons + oneshot

✰character order: kamado tanjiro, agatsuma zenitsu, hashibira inosuke, shinazugawa genya, tokito muichiro

“i believe in free love and that’s just how i feel.” -Lana Del Rey

˚ʚkamado tanjiroɞ˚

❥kyojuro trusts tanjiro. With his life, at that. But with you? That’s a whole other story.

♥the flame pillar has explained to you multiple times that you’re too young to be dating. Especially when even he himself hasn’t started dating anyone!

❥he knows tanjiro would never do anything to hurt you but that doesn’t mean kyojuros going to lower his guard and not be protective of you. Needless to say tanjiro quickly gets nervous whenever he see’s kyojuro.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀

“Where did you say you were taking her, again?” Kyojuro asks, leaning down towards the smaller male in front of him as tanjiro only nervously scratched the back of his head.

“u-uhm, to the new restaurant nearby..” tanjiro muttered as kyojuro then stood up fully and walked away from tanjiro, leaving the maroon haired boy to stand there confused.

Due to how much pressure he had unintentionally put on the flowers stems, they began looking down as if sad. Tanjiro then watched as Kyojuro then walked into the family house, heading to your room.

“Y/n, I told you you’re too young to date!” Rengoku complained while grabbing your shoulders and shaking you gently while you laughed at his reaction.

“It’s only Tanjiro. You know how kind he is.” You smiled at your brother, blushing slightly at the thought of your date. Kyojuro only whined more, explaining that you were too young to date.

He most definitely dragged Mitsuri to spy on the two of you while he sulked the whole time while Mitsuri gushed, almost fainting while yelling out, “young love!”

❦taisho secret❦: kyojuro definitely thought that you had chosen such a nice person to be your lover but he couldn’t admit that his younger sister had a boyfriend already and was growing up so quickly.

˚ʚagatsuma zenitsuɞ˚

❥yeah, good luck ever convincing your older brother that you should be with zenitsu. He’s seen how perverted they boy can act at times.

♥both you and zenitsu have to be secretive about your relationship or you’ll get a lot of scolding from Kyojuro as he explains that you’re too young to be dating. Especially someone like zenitsu.

❥but even before when you’ve never showed any interest towards others, he’s always given you the talk, telling you you’re too young to be with someone.

♥if he were to ever find out you’re dating zenitsu, he’ll definitely double the time of these talks and will even add that as a young girl, you shouldn’t let any male take advantage of you.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀

“No, I don’t like that one.”

“But it’s my best kimono! And last time I wore it you said you liked it.” You sighed, frustrated as Kyojuro once again instructed you to change kimono’s before leaving on your date with Zenitsu.

Your room floor was littered with multiple Kimono’s. All the ones you tried on but couldn’t wear as Kyojuro repeatedly told you he didn’t like them. You groaned before once again walking over to your wardrobe as Kyojuro closed the shoji door.

You cringed, seeing only one Kimono left. A plain white one with no decorations. A frown graced your lips as you knew what kyojuro really wanted. You closed your wardrobe, walking over to your full body mirror as you looked at yourself in the kimono you were currently wearing. It was your best one. So, you refused to change.

A sudden knock was heard at the front door, making you smile. You had already done your makeup and your hair. You were ready just on time. You quickly walked out the room. “I’ll get it!” You yelled out, putting a beautiful hairpin in your hair before running out of your room.

That was until you were stopped by an arm moving in front of you. “I told you not that one.” Kyojuro frowned, making you laugh at his desperate attempt to make you change into a plain kimono.

“but-”

“Alright, you don’t have to change, but let me answer the door.” Kyojuro informed you confidently before walking over to the door.

You crossed your arms, already having a feeling of knowing what he was going to do. “Y/n’s not home.” Kyojuro spoke, not even giving Zenitsu time to say anything.

“kyojuro.” You spoke out, the flame pillars eyes widening as he knew he’d been caught. He mumbled a ‘dang it’ before moving out of the way to let you outside with the yellow-haired boy.

Your eyes softened and you gave a gentle smile at Zenitsu before grabbing the bouquet from his hands and kissing his cheek, making his face go pink.

“You look to pretty, Y/n!” Zenitsu yelled cheerfully before grabbing your hand to rush off to the festival you two would be going to together.

Kyojuro sighed sadly before closing the door to sulk inside at the thought of his younger sister being with someone.

❦taisho secret❦: kyojuro knows about how kindly and sweetly zenitsu treats you. He’s seen how much of a gentleman the young boy can be but he still tells you he doesn’t trust you dating him. Deep down he knows otherwise. You’re practically perfect for each other.

˚ʚhashibira inosukeɞ˚

❥kyojuro doesn’t worry as much about inosuke breaking your heart. He worries more about the fact inosuke might physically hurt by complete accident.

♥the flame pillar has first-hand seen how unintentionally harsh inosuke can be at times. But he doesn’t know himself just how different inosuke is when he’s around you.

❥your older brother is protective and of course he tries to see what the two of you are up to sometimes. But every time he tries to look for you, the both of you are already gone and already all over the place.

♥so for that reason, he doesn’t see how inosuke treats you when the two of you are alone.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀

“Y/n, how did you get this scar?”

“Kyo…I’ve had that for a year already. So it wasn’t Inosuke if that’s what you’re thinking.” You sighed, face palming as Kyojuro sheepishly smiled.

“I know Inosuke can be rough at times but that doesn’t mean he’s like that with me.” You reassured your brother, earning a nod from him in response. “Now, I promised Inosuke that I’d meet up with him later.” You smiled before hugging your brother and running off.

Kyojuro turned around to head back inside before seeing a small but neatly wrapped present with a bow on it. He grabbed it before realizing it was meant for Inosuke. And of course, you’d forgotten it.

The pillar immediately chased after you and by the way you were calling for the other males name, it made it easy for him to track you down.

Just as he was about to approach you, he suddenly saw Inosuke sneak up behind you with a smirk on his face.

You felt a pair of arms wrap around you before suddenly lifting you up from behind. You let out a yelp of shock as Inosuke twirled in the air before finally setting you down.

A laugh left your lips as you then cupped Inosuke’s cheeks, planting a short kiss on his lips. “Hmph.” Kyojuro huffed before walking off, completely forgetting about dropping off the gift you left behind.

❦taisho secret❦: inosuke, from the corner of his eye, saw kyojuro standing there and waiting to approach you. When he saw the flame pillar walk off, he laughed and for an odd reason, took pride in the fact he was able to “scare off” a hashira. Yeah. “Scare off.”

˚ʚshinazugawa genyaɞ˚

❥kyojuro doesn’t know much, or more so anything about Genya, just that you love him. But the very moment he finds out he’s the brother of the ill-mannered wind pillar, he’s so quick to become skeptical.

♥he’s never met Genya personally and he trusted you enough to go on two dates with the boy before he met him, but once he hears the boys last name is shinazugawa, he immediately asks you if he can meet him.

❥genya already gets nervous enough when he’s around you so when you told him your older brother, a hashira at that, wanted to meet him, he was slowly dying on the inside.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀

Genya sat seiza style, staring at the flame pillar right in front of him. Beads of sweat were dripping down genya’s forehead as he thought of what to say. He wished you were there. Hell, even from your own room you were able to sense the awkwardness. If anything, you wished you were there.

You do badly felt like leaving your room and going over there to start a conversation for them but Kyojuro had so politely asked you to stay in your room. A long and dramatic sigh left you as you thought of what to do to pass time…

Eventually, you had fallen asleep. Only to wake up moments later to loud chattering. Curiously, you peeled your head out the door.

Shockingly, Kyojuro and Genya had been happily chatting away. Kyojuro had long forgotten this was the brother of someone so rude. And Genya had long forgotten this was pillar he was talking to. This was his lovers older sibling that he was talking to.

You smiled but instead of intervening, you retreated back to your room to let the two enjoy their time together.

❦taisho secret❦: because of the long awkward silence and the scary aura kyojuro was emitting, genya felt the need to speak up first. So the conversation had oh so conveniently started by genya asking what kyojuro’s favorite food was. It then ended up into a really long conversation about various topics.

˚ʚtokito muichiroɞ˚

❥ Kyojuro had no reason to dislike his fellow pillar, Muichiro. Up until he found out the two of you had began dating. It wasn’t even Muichiro’s fault. Your older brother had simply hated the idea of you dating anyone.

♥just because kyojuro knows the youngest hashira well doesn’t mean he trusts him with you. Especially with the harsh attitude the mist pillar has. He’s afraid you’ll easily get hurt by him.

❥while he’s protective of you and doesn’t want you dating, Kyojuro can’t deny the fact he finds it cute that Muichiro’s eyes only sparkle when they’re on you or when he’s with you.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀

Kyojuro sat in your pillar estate as you were getting ready in your room. Muichiro had asked you earlier if he could come pick you up to take you somewhere as a surprise. Of course you agreed, curious as to where your boyfriend planned on taking you. When you told your older brother he insisted on coming over to your estate which you were fine with.

A few short hesitant knocks were heard at your estate door, making kyojuro snap out of a small trance. “Kyo, can you get that? It must be ‘chiro!” You yelled out from your room, fixing your kimono once more before you left for your date.

Kyojuro stood up from his seat, walking over to the door. Opening it, he found Muichiro, dressed in a yukata which the flame pillar quickly recognized as the one Muichiro wore on his first date with you.

Conveniently, Kyojuro immediately thought the worst. Muichiro had a bouquet in one hand and a box of chocolates in the other hand.

The flame pillars first thought was that the young boy had maybe come to apologize for something drastic. “Why are you dressed all fancy?” Kyojuro asked, inspecting Muichiro as he only tilted his head.

“Well…I want to ask your sister if I can be her boyfriend.” Muichiro responded bluntly as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“But…You’re already dating her..”

“really?” Muichiro questioned, his eyes sparkling for a quick second.

“Actually-” Kyojuro thought about it. Maybe if he played his cards right it’d be like the two of you never dated. But then you’d think your boyfriend stood you up. He frowned. “Yes.” He sighed.

The moment Muichiro saw you exit your room in your beautiful kimono, Kyojuro’s words quickly left the boys mind.

“Mui!” You cheered before pulling the boy into a hug before kissing his cheeks softly. Muichiro’s stoic face remained but a red hue covered his cheeks.

“Y/n, will you be my mine..?”

…

“Love…We’re already dating…”

❦taisho secret❦: the reason you weren’t exactly shocked when Muichiro asked you to be his girlfriend was because it’s happened before. Three times, actually. And each time he gets really excited at the thought of you two dating even though you already have been dating for almost a year.

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mischievousmoony · 6 months ago

Text

𝚜𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚝𝚞𝚊𝚛𝚢 𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚘𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜' ⟡ 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝟹

⟢ james potter x black!reader (fem)

⟢ summary: after your parents cross the line, you and your older brother sirius find sanctuary at the potters'. your first day goes very poorly . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ 5.1k

⟢ warnings: there is talk about the reader's previous hostile home environment, although it's not pictured. walburga black is implied to be mentally unstable. a theme here is the lasting impact growing up in that environment has on a person: reader fears becoming like her parents, longs for a more loving environment, doesn't handle her emotions very well, and picks fights. both anger and sadness are dealt with unhealthily by different characters. if there is anything i should add here, please please let me know.

⟢ part 1 ⟡ part 2 ⟡ part 3 ⟡ masterlist

note: well! yikes! angst! i'm not sure i like the vision but i’m trying to remind myself this is a hobby and doesn’t have to be perfect <3

“A walk?” You questioned with a raspy voice.

“Mhm,” James nodded, “Just around the yard. Think it’ll help you feel better.”

You let James lead you to the back door, hand and hand. When he opened it, you discovered that “yard” was a bit of an understatement. The Potters’ property was larger than you knew— enormous, really. Lush garden beds thrived nearest to the house, and the grassy green beyond was surely where James practiced quidditch over the summers. The large trees scattered around the outskirts of the property made you picture a younger James climbing them.

James led you into the grassy landscape, taking notice of your awestricken expression as your eyes fall on Euphemia’s garden.

“I knew you’d like it out here.”

“It’s beautiful,” you mused, stopping to admire a bed of flowers. James dipped down and plucked one from the ground.

He fit it behind your ear and winked, “Don’t tell my mum.”

You frowned, reaching up to remove the flower from your hair. You twirled it inbetween your fingers.

“Your mum must think so poorly of me now,” you muttered, staring down at the flower.

“What? Why would you say that?”

“The first thing Sirius and I did after we were invited to stay is have a screaming match in the dining room. We sure know how to make ourselves feel at home,” you laughed bitterly. “And now she knows we’re together. Didn’t even get to properly tell her. I can’t imagine what she thinks of me.”

“Hey, look at me.” James said in a stern but gentle voice. You wonder how all the Potters can sound so kind even when they’re working up to a lecture.

You peered up through your eyelashes. James sported a pretty smile, and that alone made you feel a little better.

“It’s gonna be alright,” he said, “My mum’s not one to jump to any conclusions. She trusts me, alright? And don't worry about your fight with Sirius. No one's expecting this to be easy for you. For either of you."

James continued, “Besides, we all let our emotions get the best of us sometimes, yeah? We’re human. My parents will understand.”

James could tell you over and over again that it’s okay to be angry and it’s okay to slip up, but you didn’t think any amount of it would ever make it feel okay. You wondered how he could even believe it.

It surprised you, actually, how mature and level-headed James could be. We’re human so it’s just okay if our emotions get the best of us sometimes? Who actually thinks like that?

At your house, you had to be nothing short of perfect at all times. Now that you’ve seen Fleamont and Euphemia in parent mode, you can see where James learned it all. You never had anything like that, and it was difficult to wrap your mind around it.

Especially because it wasn’t too long ago that James was one of Hogwarts’ biggest trouble makers—his pranks were the epitome of immature. Evidently, he's grown up a lot recently.

Stupidly, you felt bitter about it. Which was completely absurd, you thought. Because surely you were not jealous of your boyfriend because he learned how to regulate his emotions better than you did. Because he was growing up, maturing? And you… well you don’t know what you’re doing. You felt stuck, like you’d always be a scared little kid who needs her older brothers’ no matter how old you got.

“Maybe you’re right,” you said, not really knowing what else to say. You were compelled to change the subject, “I’m worried about Regulus.”

“I know,” James began leading you around the garden again. You dropped the flower back where it came from, not wanting to be caught red handed with a freshly murdered flower from Effie’s garden.

“We have to get him out of there,” you sighed.

James looked at you through the corner of his eye. Apprehensively, he said, “From what Sirius told me, you guys barely got out of there.”

“Yeah, so we’ll need a really good plan so that we don’t get caught.”

James turned his head to look straight at you. He looked at you like you had two heads.

“What, you want to break him out or something? You want to go back there?”

“We have to. Regulus–“

“Regulus made his choice.” James interrupted warily.

You felt your heart sink into your stomach, “Please, not you too.”

“You heard what Sirius said. Regulus was given the option, and he chose to stay behind,” James tried to reason.

James knew how much your twin meant to you, it wasn't a surprise that you'd be worried about him. But to go back to that house? That was a step too far for his comfort. The moment that Sirius admitted exactly what his mother had done to him, James knew he'd never let either of you near her again. Something must've snapped in Walburga Black— she has been teetering on the edge for years, but she has unmistakably gone from being a cruel mother to an outright unstable woman.

The though of Regulus still being around her made him sick. Even though James didn't know him that well, he still found himself caring about him. It was likely an extension of your love for Regulus manifesting in James, who cared for you so deeply that your concerns became his. But that's just it— you're the one who he really cared for. Above all else, it's you he wanted to protect.

“He did not choose to stay behind,” you raised your voice, offended that James could ever think so.

“Love...”

James didn't mean to, but he looked at you with pity in his eyes, as if he thought you were in denial.

Anger flared up in your chest when you registered his expression, “No, don’t do that. Just because Sirius said so doesn’t mean it’s true. Regulus wouldn’t just choose them over us. Sirius– he doesn't have his facts straight.”

James didn’t say anything. What could he? It sounded like you were implying that Sirius was lying and James knew Sirius wouldn't do that.

For the record, you didn't think Sirius would lie either. But he was absolutely capable of missing something.

“You don’t believe me,” your mouth hung open after your words.

“It’s not that.” James rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably, “I believe you, but I believe Sirius too. And Sirius said that Regulus refused to come. Whatever the reason, that's the choice he made. I’m not going to let you put yourself in danger for a– a lost cause.”

His words stopped you in your tracks.

“A lost cause?"

You had never been so affronted by James. He might not know Regulus nearly as well as he knows you or Sirius, but the fact that he could easily tag him as a lost cause was unbelievable.

"Don’t be an idiot, James. How could you say that?”

James had kept walking for a couple more paces, so he had to turn to face you. He tried to cover the way the venom in your voice made him flinch.

“You can’t force him to leave,” he said, sounding as understanding as he could muster, but he needed to get through to you.

Phantom alarm bells were ringing in his ears, his desperation for you to hear him growing. You were stubborn and you'd do anything for your brothers, James knows this all to well. But not this. He couldn't let you do this. He wouldn't let you go back there.

“Merlin, you’re siding with Sirius!” you accused, giving in to the anger burning in your chest.

James tried to remain calm as he spoke.

“I’m not siding with anyone.”

“Yes, you are! How could I be so stupid? Of course you’d choose Sirius over me!"

James features twist in anguish, "Love–"

"This is what I get for falling for my brother’s best friend. When there's a choice, it will always be him, won’t it?” You spat, glaring at James in a way that almost knocked him off his feet.

He was completely taken aback; you two had never fought like this. He tried to take some semblance of control over the situation, “Okay, you’re angry right now, and that’s okay–“

“Oh, would you stop that!” you shouted. A small part of you hoped the sound wouldn’t travel back to the house, but a bigger part of you was consumed with a growing rage. That part didn’t seem to care.

“Stop what?” James knitted his brows.

“Being some master of emotions all of a sudden! I’m accusing you of picking Sirius over me! I’m raising my voice at you! I’m calling you names! Why won’t you fight back? Yell at me, do something!”

James took a deep breath, “I’m not going to do that.”

He sounded completely calm and collected. Somehow, that pissed you off.

“Oh, you’re so perfect, aren’t you?”

“What?” James felt like he was going crazy, unable to decipher what he could possibly be doing wrong.

“Perfect James Potter, wouldn’t hurt a fly these days! You could never–! never lose your cool, could you?” you shouted.

James gaped at you. He couldn't be mad even if we wanted to; he was just confused. What the hell was he supposed to say to that? You yourself didn’t even seem to know what you were saying, your words tumbling out awkwardly as you said things even you knew weren’t true.

It’s not like James never lost the reign on his emotions. He throws his quidditch gear around when he loses a match, he can’t control his frustration when he doesn’t do well in class, he isolates himself when he’s sad instead facing it, he does a whole lot of things that he’s not proud of.

And you’ve seen it all before, but for some reason, you’ve chosen not to remember those moments. All you can think about is how you were so angry and scared, and he was so understanding and level-headed. And how you grew up with screaming matches and unfair punishments, and he probably got to grow up with calm discussions and soft spoken apologies. And it all felt so unfair.

“Are you–? Sorry, you're mad at me because I'm not getting mad at you? I’m sorry, I guess?”

“I don’t want you to be sorry I want you to yell at me! Be mad at me, fight with me!” You felt the familiar sensation of tears welling up in your eyes.

James looked shellshocked. Truthfully, he didn’t know how to deal with you like this, he’s never seen this before. Sure, sometimes you bicker— all couples do— but this was reaching an uncharted territory.

"I'm not going to yell at you for wanting to keep your brother safe–"

"Then yell at me because you think I'm naive for thinking I can get him out of there. Fight with me because I think you're an idiot for thinking Regulus is a lost cause!"

You were trying to rile him up, James knew this, and he so badly wanted to not let if affect him. Not because it was making him angry, no, it was making him sad.

But he couldn't fight it.

And James always does the same thing when he's sad.

“I think we need to take a step back from this conversation. Why don’t we go inside?” James offered.

He sounded like he stole that line from some therapist's book on navigating conflict. It made you want to scream.

“You go inside! I’m going to keep walking.” You pushed past him, deliberately letting your shoulder collide with his as you stormed away.

James let the blow knock him back a step, too thrown off to do anything else. He listened to your receding footsteps and he wanted to be the type of boyfriend who runs after you when you’re upset. Who holds you and listens to you until you can work out the problem. Instead—

“Just stay by the house, okay?” he called over his shoulder.

“Yeah, whatever.”

A few hot angry tears slid down your face. You aggressively wiped them away and willed any more tears to dry up. You were tired of crying.

You stomped around the gardens and grass, thinking of Regulus and how he deserved better than siblings who left him behind to find refuge with a boy who wouldn't think twice about rescuing him too.

Leaving that house was something you'd always dreamed of. But you had imagined both of your brothers by your side. No one was ever supposed to be abandoned.

Sirius just didn’t understand how horrible being alone in that house was. You and Regulus had already experienced a taste of it when he went off to Hogwarts a year before you two. Not to mention, Sirius was always the strongest of you, so without him, navigating that house was a whole new terrain.

Maybe that’s what Sirius senses is different about your relationship with Regulus. Those nine months were probably the worst of your life, and Reg is who you went through them with.

And maybe that's why you were so adamant that Regulus can’t be left there alone while everyone else seems ready to abandon all hope. Your parents had never been more furious than when Sirius was sorted into Gryffindor all those years ago. You suspected that they would be worse, angrier than ever after the departure Sirius orchestrated for you and him. You couldn’t let Regulus face that alone.

Somewhere along the line, worry for Regulus took precedence over the anger that held your gentle love for James hostage. By the time you came to a large trees on the outskirts of the lawn, the anger from the previous argument had simmered.

As you plopped down in the dirt and sat against its trunk, you tried not to be annoyed that taking a step away from that conversation really worked.

You took in your surroundings to distract yourself. It was to no avail, as a nearby shed caught your eye. Through its open window, you could see James’ broom and other quidditch gear.

“You idiot,” you chastised yourself aloud. You let your head fall into your hands as a million nasty thoughts about yourself raced through your mind, the most prominent being you’re just like your mother.

It was just like her to pick fights. You couldn’t breathe in that house without her telling you that you were doing it wrong. She always found something to yell at you for.

How could I act like that, you winced as you recalled the fight you just walked away from.

Poor James, who you yelled at for not being mad at you. It really was just like her to get upset over something so irrational. You felt ill over the similarity, and you were overwhelmed with a sense of impending doom.

You couldn't let yourself be doomed to your parents' fate. You wanted to be kind, reasonable, rational. So, what wouldn't they do in this situation?

A safe assumption would be that they wouldn't feel bad, so you're already on the right track it seems.

They also wouldn't apologize.

Okay, yeah. Apologize. You could apologize.

You have to apologize.

Just go apologize.

But you just couldn’t get yourself to move. You were frozen in shame for your behavior, the only movement was the rise and fall of your chest from your labored breath.

James Potter did not like feeling sad. It was unsettling, uncomfortable, so utterly unlike him.

Whenever it happened, he tried to hide from it. He'd lock himself away somewhere before he'd dare face it head on— or admit that it's there at all.

The last time he was sad, he let himself fall asleep in the common room just so he wouldn't have to face his friends back at his dorm. And when his childhood pet died, he didn't mention it for months, only alerting his friends to his cat's passing when Peter asked how old his cat was again.

It's not that James thought there was anything wrong with being sad. He definitely didn't believe in any of that nonsense that real men don't cry. In fact, he was always the first to offer his shoulder if any of his friends were upset, back pats and let-it-all-outs at the ready.

But when it was him, when he was the one with the lump in his throat and a pit in his stomach, he couldn't handle sadness anymore. It made him feel vulnerable, and he wanted to be the strong one, the brave one. The one who lights up a room with the force of the sun and brings humor and fun into everyone's days.

So, when he couldn't be that, he'd rather be alone. He'd rather sit isolated in a dimly lit room where the darkness can't touch anyone but himself.

His bed creaked under his weight as he shifted in place, the only movement he has made in several minutes.

He was trying to be still and let his mind focus on nothing but his breathing. He was especially trying not to think of your argument.

He counted out his inhales and exhales, just as he had learned years ago in divination class.

James took divination for one year only. It wasn't for him, but one thing from that class did stick with him— the lesson on mindfulness. Something about mediation and a clear head opening your mind to frequencies you may not normally be able to comprehend.

James wasn't sure about all that, but he quite liked the calmness of the exercise they did in class that day, even if he felt a bit silly doing it.

He finds himself repeating the meditation from that class when he's down. He much prefers a clear head to one with racing thoughts that give him that choked up feeling in his throat.

He was broken out of his feeble attempt at a meditative state when there was a knock at his door.

Hope swelled in his stomach. Maybe you've come to talk. Maybe he could smooth things over with you. And then he could stop feeling like this.

He tried not to look disappointed when Sirius walked through the door.

Sirius gave James a once over as the door clicked shut behind him, "What's wrong with you?"

"Me?" James forced a chuckle, "Nothing's wrong with me."

"You're sitting at the foot of your bed, starin' at the floor, shoulders slumped," Sirius' hand swept towards James' hunched form, "I know what upset looks like, Prongs."

"I'm not upset," James insisted still, "I'm just thinking. Is being lost in thought a crime these days?"

Sirius shrugged, plopping down on the bed next to James. His legs hung over the edge as he let his back hit the sheets, his arms sprawled at his sides.

James listened as Sirius puffed out a long, exhausted breath.

"You alright?" James asked, not bothering to look back, letting his sad eyes remain fixed on the floor.

"Ah, I see. Worried about me, are you?" Sirius guessed.

James seized the opportunity to excuse his demeanor. Besides, he wanted to talk about what Sirius had said earlier anyway.

"You did have a pretty nasty spat with your sister. And then you nearly collapsed."

There's a lull in the conversation for a moment as Sirius thinks.

"Your parents fixed me right up again. Gave me some nasty potion to help with the dizziness. Tasted like sewage but 'm good as new. They're off now, by the way, picking up some herbs they want to steep and feed me for these spasms I keep having in my hands."

James winced. Spasms, a potential side effect of being under the Cruciatus Curse.

"Sirius... about what you said happened. Your mother–"

"I don't want to talk about that," Sirius spoke quietly, somberly.

After a moment, Sirius added, "I don't want to think about any of them ever again."

James felt a pang in his heart, knowing Regulus was included in 'them'. You wouldn't have stood for it if you'd heard Sirius say that.

James' mind wanders back to your earlier argument, his earlier attempts to avoid these thoughts futile now. You were so adamant that you needed to go back for Regulus, ready to dive into some sort of escape plan, and that still scared the hell out of James.

He considered telling Sirius about what you wanted to do. One on hand, he knew Sirius would be on board with keeping you the hell away from there— keeping you safe. On the other hand, it felt like tattling on you to your brother.

James thought about the betrayal written across your face earlier. How hurt you were when you suspected James was choosing to believe Sirius over you. Confiding in Sirius now would surely, surely make it worse. And James didn't want to hurt you.

And yet—

"Thing is... I have to talk to you about something. About your sister... and about Regulus."

A flinch finally broke you out of your statue-like state when a sudden and distinct fluttering sounded above you. You expected to see any mundane bird when you looked up, but there was nothing there. You leaned around the tree to try to locate the source.

Instead of any random creature of flight, it was a familiar owl. And he was not in the tree, rather next to it, in a designated perch located on the other side of the thick trunk.

"Oh. Hello," you greeted the owl. He stared at you blankly, of course.

You've met this owl before. His name was Glory. You didn't know why, but James had named him, and you supposed that it was a name that James would have thought of.

You've received countless letters from James, all delivered by Glory. There were the long ones, which you mostly received during the times you were apart. Glory was good at discretely delivering them to your window. And if James also had mail for Sirius, he knew to deliver yours first.

James was always checking up on you over the holidays, making sure you were okay and telling you stories of his own time at home that would take your mind off of whatever horrible things were going on at Grimmauld Place.

When you were together, back at Hogwarts, James still sent you little notes whenever you weren't near. He knew how much you loved receiving notes from him, so he made it a habit. He would send notes about things he saw that reminded him of you, expressions of how much he missed you even if he'd seen you mere hours prior, declarations of love that he couldn't keep inside until the next time he'd be alone with you.

Oh, your sweet boy.

"I really messed up, didn't I?" You asked Glory. You chided yourself for continuing to try to talk to an owl. Not that owls weren’t smart. In fact, they were very intelligent, especially the magical sort. Glory could understand you, but it’s not like he had the ability to respond.

You imagined that Glory would tell you that you messed up big time if he did, though.

You pushed yourself up to your feet, wiping dirt and twigs off your pants when you rose. As you walked back towards the house, you wondered if your mother ever felt sorry like this, if she ever wanted to apologize sometimes. Surely, at some point she did. James' words come back to you about how we're all human, and you want to believe that maybe there was a memory lost in your mind of her apologizing to you.

You'd have been a wide-eyed little kid at the time, snot-nosed and teary-eyed after she yelled at you for spilling milk or leaving a toy in the middle of the floor. She'd wrap her arms around you and apologize for raising her voice. Then she'd shush and coo soothingly until your tears dried up and you could show her all of your baby teeth in a wide grin.

It was unnatural, the image of her in your mind like that, but your heart burned for it to be real. As sick as it was, you still yearned for your mother's love, even if it was a thing of the past.

Maybe your house really was a poison. Because if she had ever been gentle, one way or another, Walburga Black got colder and harsher over the years. She spiraled so deep into darkness that she seemed to want to be cruel. After all, to cast the Cruciatus Curse, you do have to really want it.

Each step you took was invigorated with a new sense of determination. Apologizing to James now, owning up to your mistake, it was only the first step of doing everything in your power to never be anything like that woman.

It felt like no time passed at all by the time you arrived outside of James' door. You didn't feel ready to face him, but you raised your fist anyway. Just when knuckles were about to meet wood, you heard a muffled voice from inside.

"What do you think?" James' voice asked softly. Then, after a beat of silence, "Did you hear me?"

"Yeah, James, I heard you," Sirius said. He had that far away kind of tone in his voice he gets when he's trying to distance himself from his emotions.

"And?"

"And I'm bloody tired of talking about him!" Sirius barked. Even from the safety of the other side of the door, you flinched.

"She doesn't get it. She'll never get it because it's him," your brother continued. "If she had known he wasn't coming she probably wouldn't be here either. If it's a choice, it'll be him over me in a heartbeat. He could've done the bloody spell on me himself and she'd still choose him. Merlin, she could've done the bloody spell if he asked her to."

If felt like the wind was knocked out of you. You bit your tongue until you drew blood, fighting the urge to cry out, as if Sirius' words physically wounded you.

Rationally, you knew that Sirius was just angry, that he didn't mean it. But the rational side of your brain hasn't been winning many battles today.

You vaguely heard James tell Sirius not to say things like that as you backed away from his door until you met the wall behind you with a thump.

There was silence from inside James' room for mere seconds before the door was ripped open. Sirius stood in the doorway, James behind him. You couldn't read your brother's expression, there barely was one. How typical of him to hide behind a blank stare.

You, however, were wide eyed with a hand clamped over your mouth, leaning against the wall behind you, sure you'd collapse without its support.

Sirius began to say your name and suddenly your hand was gone and the words were tumbling from your lips.

"How could you say that?" Your voice was strained, "I wouldn't ever do that– He wouldn't ever do that!"

Sirius' eyes bore into yours but he didn't say anything. You wished you could tell what he was thinking under that stupid mask of his.

"I shouldn't have to tell you over and over again that I love you both. You are both my brothers, you both mean the world to me. It's so irrational and– and foolish to worry about a choice that I'd never–"

You cut yourself off. The irony of being so hurt by Sirius' words were not lost on you. You had only just been accusing James of choosing Sirius over yourself.

"No, that's not true," Sirius bit back, "because that choice is upon you now. So, go ahead. Let's see if you can surprise me."

"What?"

"Choose me, stay here where it's safe. Choose Regulus, go right ahead and try to be his jailbreak. But when you can't convince him to leave, when he refuses, I won't be surprised when you choose to stay there too."

Your eyes flashed to James, who looks way too shameful for you to not put two and two together. You were conflicted; feelings of regret over accusing James of choosing Sirius over you were mixing with feelings of betrayal that James had ran right to Sirius with your words.

You'd let the guilt and betrayal sink in and shred you to pieces later. You had Sirius to deal with first.

"What is wrong with you?" you hissed. "How could you be so dim? Wanting our brother to be safe does not mean I'm choosing him over you."

"Color me unsurprised!" Sirius yelled, looking smug.

Your eyes began to burn, "Fuck you, Sirius!"

James tries to interrupt, "Er, hey, maybe we should–"

"Don't you dare tell me we need to take a step back from this conversation, James!"

James' mouth clamped shut.

"Don't yell at him!" Sirius squawks.

"You want to talk about choosing one person over another? Let's talk about it. Don't pretend you haven't given up on Regulus ever since you met his shiny new replacement!"

You'd feel real shitty about saying that in front of James later; the look on his face at your words was already burned into your memory.

"Don't turn this on me!" Sirius shouted.

"You're such a hypocrite. And an imbecile for thinking I care about you any less than Regulus. Of course I care about you both the same. And you may not believe it, but Regulus cares about you too!"

"That's–"

"I don't want to hear it," you interrupted, "I'm done. Say it James."

James looked like a deer in headlights, "What?"

"Say the thing!" you shouted.

"We need to take a step back from this conversation?"

Your arms flew up, gesturing towards James as you stared Sirius down with an exasperated look on your face. Your brother scoffed and stormed down the hall, disappearing to anywhere else in the Potters' home.

For a moment it was just you and James in the hall. Your eyes met and he looked anguished and far too apologetic. You knew that you were supposed to be the apologetic one, and you felt your heart begging you to let the sorrys loose.

It was too bad that the betrayal started settling in before the guilt.

"Sirius was right before. You are a snitch."

With that, you slipped back into your room and let the door slam shut behind you.

James remained in the hall for a moment longer, not knowing who to follow. He should follow one of you.

Instead, he decided to retreat back to his bedroom.

James wanted to be alone again.

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